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Post by fuzzysocks on Oct 4, 2020 15:44:01 GMT -5
Doing fine! I can't recall any of my implants acting up today, though it's always difficult to know if my memory implant is on the fritz. What is today's mission, anyway? ...Actually should I know that? IS my memory implant on the fritz?
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Post by Eversor on Oct 4, 2020 15:51:15 GMT -5
Tell him that your bionic butt implants have a crack in them and their might also be a hole in it.
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hats
Acolotls
Posts: 39
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Post by hats on Oct 4, 2020 16:56:45 GMT -5
Doing fine! I can't recall any of my implants acting up today, though it's always difficult to know if my memory implant is on the fritz. What is today's mission, anyway? ...Actually should I know that? IS my memory implant on the fritz? You run down the mental checklist, cataloging all your bits and bytes, testing nerve response time, checking your enhanced sensory pack, the works. Everything seems nominal. Everything's great.
Oh dammit oh fuck it comes flooding back to you all at once.
Urban search-and-rescue's not exactly your brand of brandy. It's a nice break from the usual shoot-everything-that-moves ops, 'specially as there are usually a lot fewer folks shooting back, but it calls for subtlety. It takes restraint. It takes quiet, honest, trusting teamwork in a tense situation.
And when you get assigned the same gig as Ox, all that goes straight out the window.
Easier to keep your cool under a napalm strike than when workin' at her side, and not just because she's got a higher kill count than you, or that she benches deep into the 400s, or that she almost never laughs at your jokes, or... or...
Tell him that your bionic butt implants have a crack in them and their might also be a hole in it.
Ah, shit, Rat's staring at you, still waiting for an answer. You snap yourself out of your reverie. "Tip-top, my rodent friend. 100%. 'Cept... well, there's this one little issue."
"I'll have it repaired before the meeting," Rat says, fishing a handheld scanner out of the mess on the table. "What's wrong?"
"Well," you say, and lean in. "It's... it's my ass, Rat."
There's a shuddering scrape as he shoves his bench back away from the table. "I hope you take your missions more seriously than this," he says through gritted teeth, scooping up all his supplies.
"I am serious! Deadly serious!" You stand, too, and follow him towards the hub. "There's a crack in my butt, Rat, and I need you to fix it!"
He's still got his back to you as he storms away, but you crank up your visual sensitivity and zoom in on the reflection on a broken wall panel. You wouldn't bet your life on it, but you'd bet a case of beer that Rat's got just the tiniest ghost of a smile on his face.
You're fed, caffeinated, and nervous as shit. Gotta burn off some of this energy or else you'll be too hyped-up to sit still later...
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Post by fuzzysocks on Oct 4, 2020 17:04:00 GMT -5
Rec Room!
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Post by Eversor on Oct 4, 2020 23:31:54 GMT -5
Holo-Chamber!
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hats
Acolotls
Posts: 39
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Post by hats on Oct 5, 2020 13:34:15 GMT -5
Rec room! Rec! Room! REC! ROOM!
You've dumped a whole heap of hours into the rec room. It's got everything! You want video games? We got video games. You want foosball? We got foosball. You want fully immersive hard-light holographic projections? ...We got video games.
Pretty busy for seven in the goddamn morning, too! A wave of noise washes over you as you take stock of the scene:
A couple of support staff vie for supremacy in the racing pods while hurling some extremely pointed insults at each other.
Chef Sam's racking balls at the pool table and looking for an opponent, as unsubtle as humanly possible. (Sam doesn't cook for shit. They maintain the gruel dispensers and food fabricators and coffee synthesizers and such. They're doing their best.)
Hare and... oh no, oh jeeze, it's Ox... are just wrapping up a deadly serious game of air hockey.
Stoat's draped across one of the armchairs staring up at a screen showing some sitcom or another, that one about a magician judge or something, fucked if you can remember the name. She raises a hand in lazy greeting.
Open spots all around--light guns, fightin' games, skeeball, getting revenge for that godsawful muffin... the world's your oyster!
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Post by fuzzysocks on Oct 5, 2020 14:29:02 GMT -5
Aw, let's cut Sam a break and play them. But maybe play OX when we're done.
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hats
Acolotls
Posts: 39
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Post by hats on Oct 5, 2020 21:26:05 GMT -5
Aw, let's cut Sam a break and play them. But maybe play OX when we're done. ...yeah, okay, you can throw 'em a bone. It's not their fault that, like, the entire agricultural infrastructure is a pile of ash.
Sam's got big circles under their eyes, and they're leaning pretty hard against the table, but they perk up a bit as you approach. "Hi! Morning, uh, Shrike. Are you up for a game?"
"Sure am," you say, sliding a cue off the rack. "You wanna break?"
"Yeah, okay." Sam leans over, aims, shoots. It's a piss-poor break. Nothing goes in, barely anything makes it to the rails, and there's a big mess in the center. "Dang."
You shrug. "Happens to the best of us." There's an easy couple of shots you could take, but instead you fire back into the center mass, breaking the clusterfuck into something a bit more playable. No balls in, though. "How've you been? You look like shit, if you don't mind me saying."
Sam manages a laugh, though the cheer fades into fatigue only a second later. "I'm hanging in there. The main water recycler went on the fritz yesterday and I was up all night fixing it." They shoot and tip the 9 ball into a corner pocket. "I guess I'm stripes, then."
Nothin' like a little reminder of how close y'all are to dying, literally all the time, to kickstart your day. "Fuck. Nice work." You watch Sam line up and juuuuuust miss, cue ball kissing the side of the 15 and spinning to a stop. "Close one."
"Thanks." Sam tilts their head a little. "How about you? Have you been sleeping okay? Some of the others... well, there's a reason I wasn't alone here this morning. Ha."
You mull over the question for a long moment as you aim. (With an overcomplicated ricochet, you might get the 6 and the 4 in one go...) How are you doing, really?
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Post by Eversor on Oct 5, 2020 23:04:54 GMT -5
>Better than Sam looks, but hey, we don't need to get into the thick of it with him!
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hats
Acolotls
Posts: 39
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Post by hats on Oct 6, 2020 22:39:01 GMT -5
>Better than Sam looks, but hey, we don't need to get into the thick of it with him! Sam's nice and all, but this ain't exactly an early morning conversation, and to be honest it's kinda hard to talk feelings with somebody who doesn't also get shot at for a living. "Doin' pretty good, I gotta say," you throw out there--and hey, you nail that trick shot, which makes it even better!
You chat aimlessly for a couple minutes as the game progresses. Shootin' the shit as you shoot pool. Ha.
Maybe you'd be more evenly matched under normal circumstances, but Sam's just one fuckup after another, scratching and tipping in solids and doing other dumb shit that you don't know the Official Pool Names for. They've still got three left by the time you're aiming for the 8-ball and about to put this game to bed.
A bark of laughter catches your attention--Hare must've said something real sharp, because Ox is just full on cracking up. Head thrown back, hand hitting the table, the works. A sight as rare as a unicorn, not counting gengineered horned horse-beasts. Wonder what the joke was.
You sink the 8-ball in the side pocket, nice and clean. "Welp, guess that's that. Good game!"
"No, it wasn't." Sam's smiling, though, and it seems pretty genuine. "I'll get you next time. Unless... I can't remember all the rules. Are you supposed to call the last shot? Pick a pocket before getting the 8 in, or else..."
"Aw, piss."
Sam winces a little. Real empathetic, that one. "I could be wrong! It doesn't matter, I had fun either way--"
"Nope, that's an L for me. Nice catch." You shrug, roll the cue around in our hand. Gotta give 'em credit: the kid's real good at saying 'hey you fucked up' as nicely as possible. "I'll get you next time."
Not the first time you've let yourself get distracted by Ox. Hell, losing a dumb game is sunshine and roses compared to the first time you were out in the field with her...
It's fuzzy. Was that the bank job? Or the throwdown at the dam? Or somewhere else... you dig deep in your archived memories, letting it come back to you...
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Post by fuzzysocks on Oct 6, 2020 22:50:19 GMT -5
It must've been at the plates and cutlery store. Which went as well as a bull in a china shop, honestly.
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Post by PuntRocket on Oct 6, 2020 23:26:34 GMT -5
Have you seen the Holo-vids about bulls in china shops? They touch nothing, flawless walk in and out. But they also fail what they were there for, the cash.
>Bank job went bad, no casualties but no money either. We were marked people.
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hats
Acolotls
Posts: 39
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Post by hats on Oct 8, 2020 0:51:45 GMT -5
It must've been at the plates and cutlery store. Which went as well as a bull in a china shop, honestly. Have you seen the Holo-vids about bulls in china shops? They touch nothing, flawless walk in and out. But they also fail what they were there for, the cash. >Bank job went bad, no casualties but no money either. We were marked people.
You remember like it was yesterday.
A milk run, the boss had said.
A gang of two-bit hoodlums struck an accord with the Mayor and set up a protection ring out of the old department store. Not a made man among them--all milk-fed city folk getting by on threats and empty promises.
Smash and grab, the boss had said. Break in, rough up the jingle-brained lollipops running the joint, glom every scrap of cabbage in the coffers, and get out.
Easy.
Here's your partner, the boss had said. New transfer from the Western Branch. Play nice.
She walked in tall and proud. No empty-headed canary, this one--a real hard number, eyes like an eagle, shoulders broad as a barn, her mitt dwarfing yours in a firm shake. She looked like she could drop a whole wrecking crew herself, even without the typewriter tied to her back.
Ox, she said.
Shrike, you said.
The butcher bird, she said, the corner of her kisser twitching skyward. I've heard of you. Looking forward to seeing your work in person.
You wrote her off as a hell cat right then and there. If only it were that simple.
...
You kicked in the drywall and shouldered your way through the rotten timber. Half a dozen slackjaws stood among the broken china on the other side and watched, paws dangling at their sides. You hefted your iron and sighted in.
Everybody down now, you suggested.
You could see it in their eyes. Even saps like these could do basic math, and the odds were in their favor.
Then Ox came in the front like a Chicago rainstorm, throwing a spray of lead at the ceiling. Down, she roared, almost as loud as her artillery.
The dopes dropped. For a second, for a lifetime, you stared at Ox wreathed in smoke, holding court with that overgrown peppermill, swell as a summer's day. And then it clicked: not only was she a smooth operator, but a real looker too.
She was such a looker that you miscounted the trumps and didn't hear the buttonmen stomping around behind you until one of them rapped you on the conk with a chunk of asphalt. The Mayor'd had your number right from the start. Things got hazy after that.
Ox got you out in one piece, mostly. The only permanent mark was on your pride. But the job got hashed up beyond repair, and one more pack of grifters got away scot-free.
The imaginary jazz quartet and scent of stale tobacco fade away as a chime sounds, bringing the rec room to a standstill.
"All hands report to the conference room in ten minutes," a no-nonsense voice announces, and another chime turns the activity around you back up again.
"Ah, sorry, I have to run and start on lunch." Sam hastily stows their pool cue and waves. "Thanks for the game, Shrike!"
"No problem. Any time." Your eyes aren't on Sam, though. They're on Ox, and Ox's are on you, and you'd bet your entire ass she's thinking the same thing. Awful hard to pass up a chance to show her you're damn good at... well, at everything, really.
Ten minutes. Just enough for one head-to-head game. The rec room's your playground--what's it gonna be, champ? Or are you gonna sit back and let sleeping oxen lie?
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Post by fuzzysocks on Oct 8, 2020 1:13:06 GMT -5
Man you KNOW we gotta play air hockey against her, at least once. Maybe flirt while we're at it if we've got the gall.
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Post by Eversor on Oct 8, 2020 9:34:13 GMT -5
>Reach to your back-pocket, retrieve your fingerless air hockey gloves. It's time to be bad.
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