Starlance

DELTΔ HYPER (Anti-Gravity Racing, Cyberpunk/Solarpunk RP)

Thursday September 2nd, 2094, 17:00
Marina Bay, Singapore

The Zone

”We’re always watching.” Bea gave Jen a friendly nudge when the Yorkshire lass finished her attempt, ”Every race, every corner.”

“I’ll be messing with some settings, you lot go first so you don’t have to put it all back again.” When she plugged in, it became clear what she meant. Despite being among the youngest pilots by age - sharing second with Paul only beaten by Ben - she had her link set up like an old codger to the point of Alistair jokingly calling her a hipster when they first started training together. The setting screens flew by, seemingly stripping away aids. Bea didn’t use AR to see through her cockpit, she used its frame as reference points. Even her neural link use was almost one way, using it to control the ship but receiving the bare minimum of information required to handle FA speeds and the insane reaction times required, everything else that could be handled by HUD and the actual dashboard was.

She wiped out in a 90 degree chicane at Zone 18, not realizing it was a chicane and not a simple bend. ”WOAH!” She sat bolt upright, ”Mistakes were made.”

---

Thursday September 2nd, 2094, 19:00
Marina Bay, Singapore

Curry Night

Bea was enjoying the shared dinner, a bowl of genuine chicken korma and butter naan in front of her. It was not meant to last.

”Sure, so a three way race for the title. And yet, no certain edge. I'm just looking at Carrera and Valkyrie.”

”Scared? You could try wearing a turtleneck if us breathing down your neck unnerves you.” Bea joined the shittalking with a grin when Cassie spoke, ”So how much yelling was there between you, the engineers and team leadership after Canada?”

”Anyway. Question to you all. Everyone's neural link playing up, or you all fine?”

Bea stopped eating, only half paying attention as thoughts raced through her mind at Zone 30 speeds. The whole comatose conversation, Layla, Ava and Kais’ hidden chat and the new server rack in her garage. Inadvertently, she found herself staring at her teammate, catching Ava glance in Kais’ direction before Bea excused herself from the table abruptly and headed out of the dining room to find a secluded place where she could hyperventilate in peace. Had she been a smoker, she’d be lighting them up three at a time. She never returned to the dinner, taking a cab back to her hotel once she’d calmed down at least a little bit and sending a message to Lúcio, her neural link specialist, as she waited, personal number to personal number.

Thu 02/09 19:14 LUCHO [Batt: 66%]

———— Today ————

> Hotel bar, 20:00, off-books paid overtime. Need to talk.

---

Carrera Condor NPCs

Tactical Breach Wizards: Fireteam Hex (Military, Modern, Fantasy, Action-Thriller)

Day 1: 17:35:01
The World's End Pub
Village of Pristupin, Libor Province
Republic of Polavia

Borys Skala

---

“Take the next left, then stop when you see a blue house.” Borys guided Rowan down an even crappier-looking street than the one before. If Polavia looked poor to outside observers, this place looked poor to Polavians. When Rowan stopped the car in front of the indicated building, Borys got out and hopped the fence, leaving the car’s other passengers to be stared down by a woman sitting behind one of the windows.

A backpack appeared, thrown haphazardly over the fence, followed by a ballistic vest, a gas mask case, a baseball bat, an AK with a shovel handle for a stock and a spare pair of running shoes. Then some angry Polavian yelling, Borys’ and another man’s voice clueing the other ex-reactor operators in to the fact that the owner of the goat pen Borys had been squatting in saw him even without understanding the language, just as a dull thud that ended the shouting match indicated one of them used a traditional Polavian countryside argument to end the shouting match.

An unpunched Borys hopping the fence back to the street - carrying a whole wall mirror for some reason - likely didn’t come as a surprise. Well, the mirror probably did.

---

Day 1: 18:01:42...
Oksana's Babuskha's House (Oksana's Grandmother)
Somewhere outside the village of Pristupin, Libor Province
Republic of Polavia

Blood Alcohol Levels: Questionable

---

“And they said I was difficult to work with.” Borys rolled his eyes in Felix’ direction, offering a polite greeting in Polavian to Oksana’s grandmother when the old lady acknowledged their presence before translating what she said to the rest of the team.

The squat operator was the third one in right after Oksana and her grandmother, cleaning his shoes meticulously before setting foot inside and following the old woman into the kitchen. Anyone who - frankly, understandably - assumed the uncouth drunk was rushing to secure the best portion would soon witness the serving speed of a Polavian babushka with people to feed and a Polavian hick who would sooner be sober than make such a kind old woman lift such a heavy pot, by this point having enough ethanol in his bloodstream he could simply pick up the scalding hot steel pot with his bare hands like it was a basket of flowers and not feel a thing.

”Lots of guests there grandma. Sure you're gonna have enough Babushka?”

“Of course. Any Polavian grandmother will always have en- Wait, Doc Silas? With the smooth homebrew?” Borys finally put the face to a name in his mind, immediately piling half an extra portion onto his favorite Libolian’s plate.

---

Day 1: 21:21:42
Babuskha's House (Oksana's Grandmother)
Somewhere outside the village of Pristupin, Libor Province
Republic of Polavia

Bellies: Full

---

”How the hell did she make that much food? There's like, not enough pantry?”

Borys was the last to leave the house, flicking dirty dish water off his hands even as he did. “Old magic of Polavian hedge witches. Every pantry door is a portal to an extradimensional space.” Borys answered Felix, 100 percent bullshitting but with a completely straight face, “They really didn’t feed us well at Reactor, I’d fallen out of practice.” He huffed as he slumped in a seat in the barn, listening to the bickering.

”And why the hell did you throw a bottle at a local as our best chance?”

“Becasue she knows how Polavia works. You tourists don’t, contrary to most DSR folk thinking you ate all of the world’s wisdom.” Borys offered a simpler explanation for the seer’s seemingly perplexing actions. “Good thing, too. If the raiding team bothered to think instead of assuming they were hot shit, we’d be in deep shit.”

Giving a half-assed salute to Felix as a semblance of a plan was put together, Borys turned to Rowan. “What do you ne-?”

”Oh you want a big batch of spell ink. You know what I use that big cauldron for… you know the one you want me to leave behind! If I have to leave all my gear here, I won’t be able to set up a still to provide Borys with alcohol either. Fuck you Felix!”

“Easy, easy. He may be dense enough to sink in pools, but he’s from Liboli, it’s not his fault. He wants a big batch now to cover for the possible absence of the cauldron later.” He tried to calm Rowan down a bit.

“Like it or not we’ve been seen together, by now we’re all on the list, if for no other reason than to prevent us from helping him. So we either put the cat in a carrier crate and mail him express back to DSR, or we figure out how to live together until this bullshit blows over. And the former is snitching bitch behavior and thus not an option.” He declared with the finality of someone who has been through a Polavian prison and had their code of conduct hammered into his mind, “I agree we should move out of here. If Harry Whatshisface is willing to raid a pub in broad daylight, he’d turn Maria Denisovna’s house into splinters without a second thought.”

DELTΔ HYPER (Anti-Gravity Racing, Cyberpunk/Solarpunk RP)

Friday August 27th, 2094, 13:03
Buenos Aires, Argentina

”The Ranch” (Carrera Condor Formula AG Team headquarters)

León had decided to capitalize on the actual ranch outside the factory once the visit was done. The trio were sat near the central farmhouse on wooden chairs made out of old barrels, a glass of fresh milk in front of each of them with a pasture of cows for a backdrop.

”Thank you for inviting me around to your factory! So, you took me around and showed us what your culture is like earlier. What would you say it is about Carrera Condor, going from a smaller, backmarker team into top of the midfield feels like? Has it changed, or do you still feel like underdogs, despite what feels like expectations changing surrounding the team at each round?”

León glanced at Bea and let her answer, given that he was representing the expectations Aurora was asking about.
”I don’t think expectations have changed much. Only once, actually. Before, it was ‘Do your best,’ now it’s ‘Be fifth.’ Possible or not, might as well try anyway, right?” Bea shrugged, ”I can’t really comment on any shifts in the team’s culture since I barely know how it was before this season.”
”I think there’s definitely been a change in the team’s mindset.” León picked up, ”Before, we used to be happy to be out of the bottom five. Now, we’re disappointed when both ships aren’t in the points. Not in a ‘You should have done better.’ way, but ‘It could have been better.’”
”Thanks for the clarification, that’s a relief.” Bea grinned, getting a chuckle out of the team principal.
”It’s 40 points and seven races. A lot can happen in that time.”

---

Fri 27/08 20:31 ACE [Batt: 97%]

———— Today ————

> Thanks for taking care of the media duties today. Really wasn’t in Aurora mood.
> No problem. 👍
> Shame you couldn’t attend the tech meeting because of it. When you see the new engine specs, you’ll squeal!
> I did! Felix dropped by to give me the bullet points. He hasn’t misspoken, has he? We’ll outpace the Kitty Cats on engine alone if they’re dumping power!
> I knew you’d be excited about that. Wish I’d seen it. 😀
[You reacted with 😀]
> I think there’s CCTV in the cafeteria.
[‘Ava’ reacted with 👍]
> How’s that contract extension looking, anyone talk to you yet?
> Yes. The conditions are surprisingly good, but I’m still thinking about it.
> No other team has the benefit of having me around to draw journalists away from you. 😛
> That is a point.

---

Fri 27/08 15:51 FACTORY CHAT [Batt: 31%]

———— Today ————

R. Faríaz (Manufacturing): Anyone care to shed any light on what the commotion at the cafeteria was?
N. Quirós (Neural): Oh, that’s easy. Burkhart stopped by to tell Ward about the new engine plans.
J. Cicada (Propulsion): I thought she’d have been told at the meeting?
L. Gallegos (Neural): She missed it due to the Delta visit.
N. Quirós (Neural): Ava was like “No.”
N. Kirkland (Propulsion): I thought it was an earthquake, but no, it was just Bea shaking with excitement.
J. Cicada (Propulsion): Yea, we’re awesome like that. Apologize for the inconvenience, everyone.
[‘N. Kirkland (Propulsion)’, ‘R. Faríaz (Manufacturing)’, and 5 others reacted with 😀]

---

Carrera Condor NPCs

Tactical Breach Wizards: Fireteam Hex (Military, Modern, Fantasy, Action-Thriller)

Day 1: 17:30:05
The World's End Pub
Village of Pristupin, Libor Province
Republic of Polavia

Borys Skala

---

”Go fuck yourself, Borys. Aren't I just lucky you're too shitfaced for me to find out if you taste better than a horse. Bastard.”

“Probably do. I’m also more useful than one.” Borys shrugged, sharing the drink with the ginger operator. “Can carry about as much and kotlet and semechki are easier to lug around than hay.”

”Holy Shit! That crap could be used as paint thinner!”

“We are practical in Polavia. Everything has more than one use to make up for the shortages. I tried to warn you.” Borys laughed at Rowan’s reaction to the drink, “Try the Silver Swan, it’s a lot smoother. Or the North’s Call Gin, some rich, tree-hugging hippie up north makes that in her spare time.”

The next arrival seemed to block out the Sun. “Keodis! Finally, someone with proper manners.” Borys went to help the giant stand up if he wanted the help, then joined him at the booth. “Haven’t seen you since fucking Liboli.” He spat on the ground as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth, “When you brought the sand python or whatever it was into the barracks in a shoe box. How have you been, bratan?”

And then things started moving. Or stopped moving. Both, somehow. All Borys knew was that suddenly there was the muzzle of an MP5 in his face and orders being barked. What was this, prison again?

By now he felt he could chance the 9x19 at point blank and live to tell the tale, and if he’d had his armor on the breacher would be taking hands already, but the lack of titanium plates around him would have made that a very painful ordeal at his current blood alcohol level, and the 7,62 the team leader’s G3 was chambered in also threw a spanner in the works, as if a round with that much ass behind it hit him at point blank, even the vest wouldn’t have helped him if he could stand on his own. No, this would require teamwork, thought and some good old Polavian combat creativity - sometimes known as war crimes. Good thing Sana was there so he wouldn’t have to save the situation alone, he thought to himself. Of course the seer would have a plan, and given the bottle throw, he could guess at what it was. It was likely just a matter of stalling until she could put it to work.

And stall he would.

“Whaaat? You think we’d lower ourselves to working with that debil Hairy Lipstick?” Borys said in response to Felix’ suspicion, sounding as if genuinely offended by the thought and about nine pints deeper in than he actually was..
“Shut it! Hands!” The operator holding him at gunpoint shouted.
“Hhhey, heeeey!” He turned to the man, “There’s… no need for thooose. There’s enough to go around… for everyone!” His speech was interrupted by the drunkest belch he could muster, “And why is that lovely lady aaaaall by herself? Come, join party! Barman! BARMAAAAAAA! One Polavian Nipple for the lady, you lazy kurwa! This a pub or waiting room?” He gestured wildly toward the time stopping witch, taking a wobbly step in her direction.
“Shut the fuck up and quit moving ya cunt, or I’ll stab ya!” The breacher yelled.
‘You’re welcome to try.’ Borys thought.
“Now… that’s not very nice of you! Haven’t you heard women have rights in Polavia now for some fucking reason? Let her speak for herself!” He said.
“You wanna try this, you drunken fuck?!” The operator holding Rowan up turned to aim at him, confirming his suspicion that her assault staff was the most dangerous thing in the room, likely including a transformed Felix and freeing up a few seconds for the chemical witch to act when things started going down.

When the time stop spell fell apart, the raiding team hesitated, briefly distracted by the drunken Polavian yelling unexpectedly not coming from Borys. Long enough for Borys to grab the breacher. Not to disarm him, the weapon sling was a bit of an obstacle in that. Borys simply hugged him, headbutting him in the process, trapping the MP5 between them and utilizing him as a human shield, putting him between the ruby assault staff and himself. Before long, the entire DSR commando had bigger problems than their actual targets to deal with, and Borys wouldn’t be surprised if one or two of them would die right there and then unless they had blinkout spells prepared.

"We need to leave, right now!"

“I got it.” Borys replied, picked up his still-swearing human shield and raised him over his head like lifting a barbell before throwing him through a nearby closed window. “Go! Davai!” He called out to the team, figuring the raiding team was so confident in their ability to stop time that they hadn’t set up a proper cordon, or at least had it set up in a way that the seer thought manageable. He waited for the rest of the operators to vacate the building, grabbing a bottle of vodka before diving out of the window after them. An astute observer would note that Borys’ cigarette hasn’t left his mouth through that entire ordeal. “Hey, your friend? Real asshole, not gonna lie.” He said in Felix’ direction, only then checking what he’d grabbed.

Fucking Medilandia…

Tactical Breach Wizards: Fireteam Hex (Military, Modern, Fantasy, Action-Thriller)

Day 1: 17:21:02
The World's End Pub
Village of Pristupin, Libor Province
Republic of Polavia

---

“Best in all of Libor Province. That much is true, and it explains why this place is such a depressing shithole. It tastes like a potato threw up in your mouth.” The man in a wizarding ushanka and tracksuit robe grumbled as he and Rowan passed an ajar window, “Which still ranks it above rubbing alcohol and Medilandia.” He added dryly in a tone that left one questioning whether he was serious or not, stopping to wipe the mud off of his shoes while the witch went in before following.

”BORYS, KURWA! YOU DWARF MIDGET PRICK, YOU OWE ME A HUNDRED CROWNS, YOU CHEAP BASTARD! ”

Being met by angry yelling upon entering a pub had by now become a habit. Usually it was an old uncle yelling through a fresh tooth gap or the owner of the place, something about broken or… stained… furniture. This was slightly new. For once, he recognized her. For two, she was already asking to get slapped, only reason he didn’t try it being that he recognized her and knew it didn’t have much of a chance working.

”Did you not fucking forget that I might be able to see this coming?”

“It’s a useful talent. For example, if I knew ahead of time I’d have to look at your mug, I would have gone elsewhere.” He replied in Polavian, using the fact that Oksana grabbed his ear and thus only had one free hand to do anything to pick her up under her shoulders and carry her back to the bar like a wet cat, stopping just short of purposefully taking her prior seat.

”He's fucking paying my tab! Aren't you, BORYS? Taking advantage of a fucking Albani!”

“Forsee my answer, Suggestion Box.” He switched to English as well, flipping off the seer to give her a hint while signalling the bartender for a drink with his other hand. “And you can also see what might start happening if you don’t let go. Not my fault you lend people money without having anything in writing.” He might have already been six shots in - it was after five, shut up - but with the screeching banshee in close proximity, at least he wanted something to make his ears stop hurting. More if he was about to fistfight a seer.

The vodka disappeared down his gullet as fast as it arrived, Borys taking in the other operators while waiting for a re-up as Felix talked shit. “When did you see the bottom of the barrel? When they tried to drown with the rest of the litter, kitten?” He might not have taken Oksana’s seat, but decided to provoke at least a little bit and hit them both with one swing - ordering a packet of salted breadsticks and sliding them over to Felix. “Wouldn’t want you going hungry. You look like you could eat a horse.” He noted, lighting a cigarette and holding out the lighter in an unspoken offer to the gathered wizards, white-knuckling the thing in case Oksana wanted to start collecting in installments.

DELTΔ HYPER (Anti-Gravity Racing, Cyberpunk/Solarpunk RP)

Sunday August 22st, 2094, 15:00
Moa Tempest, Hawaii

Race

Bea didn’t know if she got a great launch, or if it was because the first two ships she had to get around were SuperCat, but she opened the race with gaining two places before turn 3 was behind her, weaving past Vladimir off the line and seemingly appearing on the outside of Kofi at turn 1, yielding him space to get through the turn safely but fully leveraging the fact that the African team had just as bad stability while being worse in every other category, carrying more speed through turn 1 and able to keep accelerating through turns 2 and 3, simply walking away from the Ghanian.

P18.

A few laps later, Max was on the chopping block. This would be a fight, the Miller Motors ship handling quick turns better but lagging behind everywhere else. It came to a head at turn 8 where she gained a speed advantage along the dam and went alongside, the position of her ship forcing Max to the inside of turn 8, an even worse line than Bea tried to take in qualifying. Max evidently came to the same realization as he backed out of the corner. He made a valiant attempt to regain the position in the following chicanes, but it slowed them both down enough for Kofi to start nipping at his heels, forcing Max on the defensive and leaving Bea be.

P17.

With an even slower ship than Max’ and, plainly speaking, half the talent or less, passing Bjorn was a case of same test, same solution - this time making the pass at the end of the main straight where Bjorn braked too soon, practically handing her the position even without Carrera’s speed advantage.

P16.

She made that pass just in time to see Ben’s overtake of Ulrich, the latter’s energy reserves somewhat depleted from being on the defensive evening out the difference in ELS skill and allowing Bea to make up time along the straights of Pira and Kapua complexes before striking in the fast section that followed after the brain scrambling spatial madness of turns 9 through 11, a pass down the inside behind the waterfall definitely one for the cameras.

P15.

Ben was up next and doing a good job of holding her back through the slow sections, possibly remembering how to race her from the junior series and having the stability to do it. The Tempesta climb would be his undoing just one lap later, with Bea building up momentum through turns 2 and 3 before feinting left and quickly switching right in a barrel roll-like pass using the full breadth of the 360 degree MAG tracking in the lava tube.

P14.

Astrid would hold her own, making good use of the ships’ matching ELS and her experience with it, on top of simply not making a mistake per lap on average like her teammate, enough viking blood in her veins to be immune to the psychological effect of being tailgated by a driver with a point to prove and little in the way of self-preservation instinct. It took ten laps, Bea constantly gaining time with gutsy cornering only to lose it again with a mistake, a dance that was starting to seriously worry her team whose pleas to calm it down a bit fell on deaf ears, but the long straights and tight hairpins of sector one were taking their toll and lap by lap, the gap still shrunk until she took another corner faster than Alistair would have liked and ended up alongside, the Nordic Call ship losing the drag race to the joint second fastest ship on the grid.

P13.

And then she came upon Florence. Bea expected it to be harder than Ben, but somehow Flo was keeping up on the straights way better than Bea thought she would. There was only so much skill could do to make up for machinery, and yet… Corner after corner, she held on. Straight after straight, she failed to make a move until the safety ship.

”What kind of sushi sorcery is this thing running on? Al, any pointers?” The young Brit sounded exhausted, but spurred on by a certain kind of fury born of frustration known to people who followed her rally career. Unlike Monaco, where she was cursing Astrid hard enough for her grandkids to be affected, this time Bea herself was the source of her frustration.

Bjorn’s 15 minutes of fame scrubbed the safety net they’d built up, and not long after the restart Bea suddenly found herself with the rear view camera full of pink and blue. ”Fuck off, we’re fighting here!” Bea growled as she closed the door on the Faorese pilot in a move she’d later consider to be a bit late, but in that moment seeing nothing but red and the NOVA ship ahead of her.

Florence eventually lost the battle of attrition, the rabid determination of Bea guided by the calm experience of Alistair eventually wearing out the inferior NOVA ship. ”Fucking! Finally!” Bea breathed a sigh of relief, or rather shouted in joy, as Flo’s ship stayed behind following the next few corners, not looking like she’d be making a comeback in the next few laps, the rest of the race passing without any further excitement.
”So sorry, lads. Not my day. You worked your arses off to get us back in the race today, and that deserved better than this.”

---

DELTΔ HYPER

Episode 12: Hot Like Lava

---

”Bea, a rapid push right through the backmarkers, but you just couldn't get into the points today. How did you find duelling Florence, and do you think her experience tripped you up?”

”I won’t lie, it would have been a lot more fun if we were fighting in points.” Bea started with a joke before turning more serious, ”Real unfortunate, Paul was having a bad race so points still might have been possible despite the qualifying. We don’t talk about qualifying.” She chuckled, ”Experience definitely played a part, I don’t know what exactly she was doing with ELS but I will be studying that replay on the flight home, you can be sure of that.”

”At least it served as a neat demonstration of how far our ship has come.” She steered the conversation elsewhere, ”And from the way things are looking, our starting platform next year will be even better.”

---

Sat 22/08 18:37 PAUL [Batt: 91%]

———— Today ————

> Saw your walkout from the post race interviews. Jen, Max and I are going to Ohana Café [map link] at 1915 for a meeting of the “Hawaii ‘94 sucked” club if you want to join and coat your nerves in sugar. 😛

Sun 22/08 23:33 JEN [Batt: 48%]

———— Today ————

> How much brick / plywood / plasterboard / composite wall do you think you can punch through with prosthetic limbs? I'm configuring a rage room in London just asking for a friend.
[You reacted with 😀]
> No that wasn't totally bullshit and she should totally not get a penalty for a move that was clearly too aggressive, and write off yet another chassis with a hit that felt like losing teeth.
> [A picture of Bea’s left hand holding an aluminium plate used as base for painting with an indentation in the shape of right hand knuckles in the middle.]
> Less than that of aluminium.
> I got a 3D printer a few weeks ago, want some busts of Han for the rage room? 😛
> What for, they have you covering for that factory fire? 😛
[You reacted with 😀]
> Also, yes please.
> …
> That was a low blow, but I respect it. 😀
[‘Jen’ reacted with 😀]
> Yeah, it was one of those moves where if it lands, you’re a hero; and if it doesn’t, you’re the villain. Honestly racing incident seems fair to me, I would’ve tried that same move if I was in her position and you don’t want to hear what I would’ve said after the collision 😀.
> Nah, you don’t go for gaps that don’t exist.
> I’m pretty sure I did that to Ambrogi in Portugal in ‘92. Or was it Lister? I forgot, the lobotomes blend together after a while.
> Either way, scaring the guy ahead into making a gap is a valid approach. And Astrid got a grid drop for talking to her sternly in Italy, so I wouldn’t hold my breath either way. And stay away from Zygon fans unless you want to gas yourself up for the rage room. 😛
[‘Jen’ reacted with 😀]
> Yea, I took a page out of your book and took a peek at their official forum. Wow.
> I’ll bet you a tenner that there’s an effigy of you being burned somewhere in Korea right now. 😀

---

GalwayGirl: Bea showing up behind Flo with the energy of Gollum sensing someone has Precious in their filthy Hobbit pocketses. 😀
SmolNjol: Waldgaard finding happiness for the first time this year.
User420: Reject modernity, return to monkey.
NorthWest: Could they, like, leave him on that beach when the team goes back to the factory?
Endothermic: MMR fans seeing their team drop it at both of their home races: [link]
MrSmooth: As a Max fan, can confirm.
GaryFromIndiana: That “overtake” had so much “Boraro at Ark Angel” energy Han might as well be albino. Absolutely braindead, what the fuck? That could’ve been a win.
Cylonking183: Wrong, but agree that Silver Apex needs to put a brain back in Lowry’s head.
Ail33nDaw: And eyes in yours if you think that’s Jenny’s fault.
Sol_de_Mayo: I can’t be the only one falling fast for Hamid. Dude’s like Al-Saqr’s Bea!
Cats4Life: I ship it.
DarkStar69: #HamBead
GalwayGirl: Pray she doesn’t see that.
MadBea: I mean, what the Hell can I do with that? Is it weird as fuck? Yea. Can I say anything without catching Hamid in the crossfire? No. 😀

---

Carrera Condor NPCs

Tactical Breach Wizards: Fireteam Hex (Military, Modern, Fantasy, Action-Thriller)

Borya

Tag Drunk Tank

Name: Borys Skala

Age: 29 (looks 35)

Gender: Male

Nationality: Polavian

Craft:
The origin story of Borys’ Craft begins shortly before his 17th birthday with four friends, a liquor cabinet, a reason to celebrate and the dreaded words… Actually, the night is hazy and Borys doesn’t remember whether those words were “I bet you I can…” or “Hold my beer.” Whether the impulse came from him or someone else, bets were made, it got out of hand and before long Borys found himself standing in the street with an altyn helmet that his buddy Lev’s dad had stolen from his army unit on his head and the aforementioned Lev pointing a Makarov PM, sourced in the same way as the helmet, at his face.

Whether or not the helmet could withstand the bullet, as was the subject of their bet, remained unanswered as Lev missed his head completely and shot Borys in the chest instead.

It turns out that after unlocking, Borys is resistant to pain and damage… when he’s drunk. When he’s sober - which, admittedly, he hasn’t been for several weeks at least - he’s just a normal guy (questionable hygiene habits aside). But the more shitfaced he gets, the tougher he becomes. Not invincible, alcohol poisoning would still kill him faster than he’d reach that state, but slightly tipsy, he’ll shrug off a bar brawl; moderately wasted he might not notice that you tried to stab him and completely shithoused he may hardly stand, but also hardly react to bullets.

Vessels Carried

• Bottle opener - Borys’ own vessel, whoever holds it doesn’t become resistant to damage, but numb to pain. On the upside, you don’t need to see double to make it work, a few beers will do you.
• Lighter - A metal refillable lighter that used to belong to a mage who could teleport between reflective surfaces, it allows the holder to do so between reflections of themself. The reflective surface also must be big enough for the user to fit through as if it was a regular passage.

Appearance:
Borys is a 162 cm (5’4”) pale-skinned man, covered shoulder to fingertip in criminal tattoos, with short, greasy black hair, a patchy stubble and brown eyes. What he lacks in height, he makes up for in muscle mass, his CQB instructor once noting that “God must have shoved two two-meter guys into that midget.“

Years at a dead end posting with little oversight mean that his equipment standard has suffered a bit, as his usual kit now consists of a telnyashka and a black Adidas-branded wizard’s robe under his armor and elbow pads, a gold chain around his neck, a pair of jeans with knee pads, white running shoes, wraparound sunglasses and a black ushanka with the pointy top of a wizard’s hat.

Personality:
Borys is not your garden-variety lazy. Oh no, Borys was a member of Reactor’s equivalent of the “E4 Mafia” from the day he signed up: The kind of guy you could tell to go help Sisyphus and that he can go take a nap when the job’s finished, and it will be done by lunch. Just as long as you don’t care about the ethics of how it was achieved. A smart commander will find a way to use this, but it does seep into the way he conducts himself on the battlefield, namely expending the least amount of effort required to complete the mission. This is a man who would drive an APC through a parking lot full of civilian cars if it shaved 10 seconds off the mission. That being said, it is a can-do attitude of a sort, and when a task is given, he expects everyone involved to get to it (though he’ll still bitch and moan about it, a Polavian national sport and great bonding ritual). It’s just that he’s just as creative in finding ways to avoid being told to do something as he is in doing things he’s told quickly.

Borys is not a patient man either. Someone once said that his patience ran out six years ago and he’s just been on standby since. Another thing he’s run out of a while ago is fucks to give, leading to an unfiltered, blunt man who will say what he thinks regardless of whether it’s appropriate or if anyone asked. On the other hand, an unbothered Borys displays capybara-levels of chill and is one loyal bastard on top of it, once quoted saying “Fuck this. When we give him shit that’s different, because he’s one of us!” When someone was insulting a squadmate of his that he didn’t even like in a bar, before going over to explain the error of his ways to the offender and ending up with an assault and battery charge when the message was not received. A man who will take a bullet for you and ask for nothing but enough vodka to keep him alive the next time he does so in return.

History:
A poor kid from the countryside, Borys’ parents both got sent to prison for robbing a gas station when he was four, and as such he was raised by his grandmother, a 120 kilogram woman who - like any grandma worth the title - wouldn’t go four hours without trying to feed something to Borys and once smacked a brown bear over the head with a stick so hard it ran back into the woods and never tried to steal their apples again. Grandma’s cooking and Borys’ lifestyle - active by necessity as grandma lives in the rural armpit of Polavia - meant that he’s been built like a brick shithouse since an early age. Living where they did also meant he hadn’t seen a colored television until he was 19.

His first job was stealing bricks so he could head to the city on the weekends and use them to smash windows and prop up axles of the cars he was stealing radios and wheels off of. Stolen cars was also how he learned to drive. It wasn’t long before he fell in with a group of like-minded individuals at 16, and only slightly longer until he went to prison for aggravated assault at 20. He made some contacts with the vast Polavian black market during his time, many of which he still maintains through his grandmother. Prison was where he was noticed by Reactor, or rather one of their operators doing time for getting a bit out of hand on a raid, the stocky drunk somehow winning every fight in the fighting pit the Druid Albani Thieves were holding - with the quiet tolerance of the guards who were of course taking their cut from the betting - no matter how hard or where he got hit. When he was released early ‘for exemplary behavior’ (which he did not remember engaging in, because it didn’t happen) at 22, Reactor recruiters were already waiting.

And only then did Reactor learn how his Craft actually worked.

There was an honest attempt to have Borys active in the field, but keeping his platoon supplied with enough bottles of Polavian Standard to fuel his Craft had the inevitable downside of that entire platoon having the highest rate of DUIs, sexual harassment reports, brawling and other alcohol-related disciplinary issues. Thus, it was decided that Borys would be stationed pulling security at a site in Polavia, ostensibly because he knew the language and the culture, unofficially to get him out of sight and out of mind until a reason to get rid of him despite being a caster could be found.

Weaponry (including Channels):

• AK-74N - The rude, drunk gopnik will be your gravedigger, and he brought his shovel. Her name is Svetlana. Try making fun of her and you’ll meet her sister. A completely mundane rifle of Polavian make, equipped with an EKP-8-18 Kobra sight and bayonet.
• PB - The suppressed variant of the Makarov Pistol ubiquitous all across Polavia.

Other gear/weapons/equipment:

• 6B45 Ballistic Vest - A vest used by the Polavian military (officially, in reality it gets sold by logistics officers to supplement their income, which is how Reactor got a hold of them), level IV plates all around, but even more importantly, pouches. Some for magazines, yes, but also for all the beer and vodka he needs to fuel his alcoholism Craft.
• Wooden baseball bat - Svetlana’s sister, Yelena II. He used to have an aluminum one, but someone stole it and sold it to a scrapper for drinking money.
• CS gas grenades
• PMK-3 gas mask
• Garwan Tactical Smart Watch
• ”Illyrian Sea Canal” Cigarettes
• Ordinarily weed, but his guy left him hanging last week.
• A tin of dog food - Never know when Felix might get out of hand. Whether this works or is an incredibly stupid idea has not been tested yet.
• Wall mirror - Exactly what it looks like. Just a regular mirror. 60 cm diameter. Varnished wood frame.
• Sunflower seeds - Practically always has a packet of “semechki” on him.

Other useful information:
Borys is a decent accordion player, somehow getting better a few drinks in.

Likes:

• Music (especially partial to hardbass, heavy metal and Polavian folk)
• Board games, card games and pub sports
• Semechki
• Polavian Standard vodka

Dislikes:

• The countryside
• The entire country of Liboli
• His height being mentioned (Seriously, don’t…)
• Salads
• Medilandia vodka

Tactical Breach Wizards: Fireteam Hex (Military, Modern, Fantasy, Action-Thriller)

Borya

Tag Drunk Tank

Name: Borys Skala

Age: 29 (looks 35)

Gender: Male

Nationality: Polavian

Craft:
The origin story of Borys’ Craft begins shortly before his 17th birthday with four friends, a liquor cabinet, a reason to celebrate and the dreaded words… Actually, the night is hazy and Borys doesn’t remember whether those words were “I bet you I can…” or “Hold my beer.” Whether the impulse came from him or someone else, bets were made, it got out of hand and before long Borys found himself standing in the street with an altyn helmet that his buddy Lev’s dad had stolen from his army unit on his head and the aforementioned Lev pointing a Makarov PM, sourced in the same way as the helmet, at his face.

Whether or not the helmet could withstand the bullet, as was the subject of their bet, remained unanswered as Lev missed his head completely and shot Borys in the chest instead.

It turns out that after unlocking, Borys is resistant to pain and damage… when he’s drunk. When he’s sober - which, admittedly, he hasn’t been for several weeks at least - he’s just a normal guy (questionable hygiene habits aside). But the more shitfaced he gets, the tougher he becomes. Not invincible, alcohol poisoning would still kill him faster than he’d reach that state, but slightly tipsy, he’ll shrug off a bar brawl; moderately wasted he might not notice that you tried to stab him and completely shithoused he may hardly stand, but also hardly react to bullets.

Vessels Carried

• Bottle opener - Borys’ own vessel, whoever holds it doesn’t become resistant to damage, but numb to pain. On the upside, you don’t need to see double to make it work, a few beers will do you.
• Lighter - A metal refillable lighter that used to belong to a mage who could teleport between reflective surfaces, it allows the holder to do so between reflections of themself. The reflective surface also must be big enough for the user to fit through as if it was a regular passage.

Appearance:
Borys is a 162 cm (5’4”) pale-skinned man, covered shoulder to fingertip in criminal tattoos, with short, greasy black hair, a patchy stubble and brown eyes. What he lacks in height, he makes up for in muscle mass, his CQB instructor once noting that “God must have shoved two two-meter guys into that midget.“

Years at a dead end posting with little oversight mean that his equipment standard has suffered a bit, as his usual kit now consists of a telnyashka and a black Adidas-branded wizard’s robe under his armor and elbow pads, a gold chain around his neck, a pair of jeans with knee pads, white running shoes, wraparound sunglasses and a black ushanka with the pointy top of a wizard’s hat.

Personality:
Borys is not your garden-variety lazy. Oh no, Borys was a member of Reactor’s equivalent of the “E4 Mafia” from the day he signed up: The kind of guy you could tell to go help Sisyphus and that he can go take a nap when the job’s finished, and it will be done by lunch. Just as long as you don’t care about the ethics of how it was achieved. A smart commander will find a way to use this, but it does seep into the way he conducts himself on the battlefield, namely expending the least amount of effort required to complete the mission. This is a man who would drive an APC through a parking lot full of civilian cars if it shaved 10 seconds off the mission. That being said, it is a can-do attitude of a sort, and when a task is given, he expects everyone involved to get to it (though he’ll still bitch and moan about it, a Polavian national sport and great bonding ritual). It’s just that he’s just as creative in finding ways to avoid being told to do something as he is in doing things he’s told quickly.

Borys is not a patient man either. Someone once said that his patience ran out six years ago and he’s just been on standby since. Another thing he’s run out of a while ago is fucks to give, leading to an unfiltered, blunt man who will say what he thinks regardless of whether it’s appropriate or if anyone asked. On the other hand, an unbothered Borys displays capybara-levels of chill and is one loyal bastard on top of it, once quoted saying “Fuck this. When we give him shit that’s different, because he’s one of us!” When someone was insulting a squadmate of his that he didn’t even like in a bar, before going over to explain the error of his ways to the offender and ending up with an assault and battery charge when the message was not received. A man who will take a bullet for you and ask for nothing but enough vodka to keep him alive the next time he does so in return.

History:
A poor kid from the countryside, Borys’ parents both got sent to prison for robbing a gas station when he was four, and as such he was raised by his grandmother, a 120 kilogram woman who - like any grandma worth the title - wouldn’t go four hours without trying to feed something to Borys and once smacked a brown bear over the head with a stick so hard it ran back into the woods and never tried to steal their apples again. Grandma’s cooking and Borys’ lifestyle - active by necessity as grandma lives in the rural armpit of Polavia - meant that he’s been built like a brick shithouse since an early age. Living where they did also meant he hadn’t seen a colored television until he was 19.

His first job was stealing bricks so he could head to the city on the weekends and use them to smash windows and prop up axles of the cars he was stealing radios and wheels off of. Stolen cars was also how he learned to drive. It wasn’t long before he fell in with a group of like-minded individuals at 16, and only slightly longer until he went to prison for aggravated assault at 20. He made some contacts with the vast Polavian black market during his time, many of which he still maintains through his grandmother. Prison was where he was noticed by Reactor, or rather one of their operators doing time for getting a bit out of hand on a raid, the stocky drunk somehow winning every fight in the fighting pit the Druid Albani Thieves were holding - with the quiet tolerance of the guards who were of course taking their cut from the betting - no matter how hard or where he got hit. When he was released early ‘for exemplary behavior’ (which he did not remember engaging in, because it didn’t happen) at 22, Reactor recruiters were already waiting.

And only then did Reactor learn how his Craft actually worked.

There was an honest attempt to have Borys active in the field, but keeping his platoon supplied with enough bottles of Polavian Standard to fuel his Craft had the inevitable downside of that entire platoon having the highest rate of DUIs, sexual harassment reports, brawling and other alcohol-related disciplinary issues. Thus, it was decided that Borys would be stationed pulling security at a site in Polavia, ostensibly because he knew the language and the culture, unofficially to get him out of sight and out of mind until a reason to get rid of him despite being a caster could be found.

Weaponry (including Channels):

• AK-74N - The rude, drunk gopnik will be your gravedigger, and he brought his shovel. Her name is Svetlana. Try making fun of her and you’ll meet her sister. A completely mundane rifle of Polavian make, equipped with an EKP-8-18 Kobra sight and bayonet.
• PB - The suppressed variant of the Makarov Pistol ubiquitous all across Polavia.

Other gear/weapons/equipment:

• 6B45 Ballistic Vest - A vest used by the Polavian military (officially, in reality it gets sold by logistics officers to supplement their income, which is how Reactor got a hold of them), level IV plates all around, but even more importantly, pouches. Some for magazines, yes, but also for all the beer and vodka he needs to fuel his alcoholism Craft.
• Wooden baseball bat - Svetlana’s sister, Yelena II. He used to have an aluminum one, but someone stole it and sold it to a scrapper for drinking money.
• CS gas grenades
• PMK-3 gas mask
• Garwan Tactical Smart Watch
• ”Illyrian Sea Canal” Cigarettes
• Ordinarily weed, but his guy left him hanging last week.
• A tin of dog food - Never know when Felix might get out of hand. Whether this works or is an incredibly stupid idea has not been tested yet.
• Wall mirror - Exactly what it looks like. Just a regular mirror. 60 cm diameter. Varnished wood frame.
• Sunflower seeds - Practically always has a packet of “semechki” on him.

Other useful information:
Borys is a decent accordion player, somehow getting better a few drinks in.

Likes:

• Music (especially partial to hardbass, heavy metal and Polavian folk)
• Board games, card games and pub sports
• Semechki
• Polavian Standard vodka

Dislikes:

• The countryside
• The entire country of Liboli
• His height being mentioned (Seriously, don’t…)
• Salads
• Medilandia vodka

Tactical Breach Wizards: Fireteam Hex (Military, Modern, Fantasy, Action-Thriller) INTEREST CHECK

You know my answer.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP) (COMPLETED)

Ebrima Arendse
Somewhere in the Australian Outback, Perth, Australia

Two Months Later After Return, 0400 Hours

---

”That works.” Ebrima nodded, ”If they’ve learned anything, they will split up before sunrise and only travel at night. It’s not the sanest thing to do, but if we brave the sun, we can erase their head start.” Traveling through the desert during the day was discouraged for a good reason even with supplies, but with ten liters of water, a boonie hat, loose long sleeved shirt, full fingered gloves, wraparound Oakleys and a shemagh leaving very little exposed, Ebrima felt confident about it. ”But the Arziani twins are plain insane enough to try even with minimal water supplies, and Johanssen from Bravo group likes to think outside the box.” The Cameroonian said as he prepared his long-barreled MDRx.
“Yes, he’s looking promising on training grounds.” Purna nodded at the mention of the Swede, “I’m looking forward to seeing how he fares in the field.”
”I hope Bravo passes intact. Imagine the Christmas bonus for everyone if we deliver a complete squad, already worn in?”
“Ever the mercenary.” Purna shook his head.

Sometimes, Ebrima wondered if the only reason he got the job in the end was that Athena could order him to stop talking back now. And with the world and his life no longer at stake, he found himself doing so more and more often, to the point of overhearing two of Bravo group’s trainees wondering if he stole a soul out of a spare Rose clone when no one was looking. He was sure to show them the generosity of his newfound self by bestowing upon them pushups up to 20 counts of four.
Then again, there was a also counterargument to make about changing:
”Aren’t you considering going back to field ops when this batch is done?” Ebrima raised an eyebrow, the slight shift in Purna’s stance signifying the rumor was correct. ”And they say I’m the one who can’t let go of the past.” He laughed.
“Do I want to know how you heard of that?”
”I did work security before I came to Raven, knowing things was my job. You know where I’ll be and who to ask if you need help anytime.” Ebrima shrugged, the statement’s tone making it look like it was an obvious thing. He might as well have said ‘Let me know if you need to borrow some milk.’
“Appreciate it.” Purna said after a pause to consider.
”Shall we make this a bet?” Ebrima paused preparing his drone, a simplified version of the Scouters he used two months ago, less capable but not requiring a separate processing unit and lasting more than an hour. ”Whoever catches the most trainees gets to sleep in on Saturday, loser takes the C and D group long range landnav course that day?”
“Set your alarm, then.” Purna chuckled as he set out toward Bravo group’s target.
”Try to keep up on those stubby legs of yours.” Ebrima called back, already allocating Saturday’s morning to finishing that model of Ark Angel that’s been sitting on his desk for nearly two weeks.