[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / x] [rs] [status / ? / @] [Settings] [Home]
Board:  
Settings   Home
4chan
/tg/ - Traditional Games


"Man down! Man down!" You hear the guttural roar of your team mate Dhul Saif reverberate out of your hearing plugs and through your adamantium skull. It's a testament to the power of his voice and the gravity of the situation that something which should not technically happen is. His Excidium, possibly the reason behind his vocal augmentations, fires round after round at another thing that should not have happened, the horde of Metastreumonic abominations pouring into the temple doors. Slavoskivich, your "man down", is his polar opposite. Lightly armored, wielding a Facere Mortis blade and BK13 Handgun, very quiet and inert. As well as surrounded by Carnophages all too eager to dismantle his body.

You frantically shoot round after round into the corrupted squadron you were sent to eliminate in the first place, despair beginning to build up inside you as your Hunting Machine's shots are deflected by their damn forcefields. You earn yourself a split second to choose what to do as one aims its TKR ultra-heavy sniper rifle at you. The other aims its Spiculum Ovum grenade launcher at Dhul Saif. Yet the other two seem to do nothing at all, but you know from your mission briefing this bunch of traitors has been involved in the Metastreumonic rampage across the planet; they will be the ones commanding the beasts.

>Weapons reference, useful always: http://eyedivinecybermancy.wikia.com/wiki/Weapons

>[]Quickdraw your Damocles and block the attack. Your personal immediate problem will be solved, but..
>[]Use your Psi powers and attempt to teleport inside an enemy and tear him from inside out (choose the enemy, difficulty may vary). This may work wonderfully or ultra-fail bullshittily.
>[]Draw your HS 010 and fire a full speed barrage at the Carnophages. You might earn Slavi a few seconds to ressurect and rush at the heretics.

>Roll a D20
>>
Rolled 16

>>32102991
>[]Use your Psi powers and attempt to teleport inside an enemy and tear him from inside out (choose the enemy, difficulty may vary). This may work wonderfully or ultra-fail bullshittily.

Gotta go for the bullshit. The one with the grenade launcher.

Also, I really need to play divine cyber nancy again.
>>
>>32103097
Or cybermancy. Though a game about a cyborg nun sounds interesting.
>>
Rolled 13

>>32103097
Writing since slow start.
>>
>>32103248
Crap
>>
File: maxresdefault.jpg (153 KB, 1920x1080)
153 KB
153 KB JPG
You quickly snap your fingers into the Dragon handstance, more a mental trigger to what is a rather esoteric and hard to understand mental process than a magical thing. The effect on your own brain on the other hand is rather physical. As expected, your target resists your intrusion, and you experience the nauseating effects of psychic backlash ravaging your sinuses.

Your foe gets the worst of the exchange however, as you reform your body from inside his own with a bang of smoke, sending lumps of flesh flying everywhere. Undaunted, his sniper buddy turns to face you, and suddenly you're in the very same predicament which you had extricated yourself from a moment ago.

You are fairly sure Dhul Saif has drawn his Bear Killer in an attempt to rescue your fallen team mate, you don't hear the distinctive sound of genocidal cannon pushing your hearing receptors to their limits. A good choice, assuming you survive the Manduco bullrush.

>[]Trust your team mate's decision and get rid of the sniper with:
>a) Your Damocles
>b) Your Hunting Machine
>c) Your HS 010's quick burst
>[]Bite the bullet and cut off the enemy Metastreumancers.
>>
Rolled 74

>>32103511
Damocles. We're closer now, and he's for a long ranged weapon, so let's cut his shit.
>>
Rolled 3

>>32103578
Pffft, I rolled a d100 out of reflex.
>>
>>32103511
>>a) Your Damocles
Can't go wrong with a sword that makes things explode.
>>
Bye OP
>>
File: synicle.jpg (215 KB, 1680x945)
215 KB
215 KB JPG
>>32103578
>>32103620
Drawing your blade with practiced alacrity, you rush at the heretical piece of perigrum waste and slash diagonally at his collarbone. As expected, the forcefield of the Damocles easily batters away what remained of the foe's shield, and your cut undoes the target's structural integrity. In a quarter moon splash of blood vapour, your enemy's innards split and fan out in front of you, the treasonous offal of the heretic raining down upon the Manducos rushing at your team mates. The sight sobers up the delight taken in such a thorough undoing of the enemy.

But not quickly enough to react to the first shotgun blast to your lower back. A group of females clad in white dresses, somehow both revealing and dignified, inspiring purity and damnation alike, have materialized behind you. You block the second shot, powering the Damocles' force field. And the third shot. Somehow you feel arousal at the scene before you. Something about these creatures, which you know not to be women at all, is making you drop your guard. You begin to black out, just as the fourth shot rips into your shoulder bones.

This pain does not focus your senses, but it does prompt you to action. You don't need your increasingly blurry HUD to tell you your vitals and energy are dropping fast though.

>[]Fight somehow. You have your sword, SMG and rifle, although the victory strategy isn't clear cut. How do you fight the trio of demon whores?
>[]Let yourself fall into the plateau. Manducos are a good cushion, an easy to kill bunch, and you have your buddy Dhul-Dhul watching your back. What could go wrong..?
>[]Let this nightmare be over. Give in.
>>
>>32104101
>Going with last option in 10 minutes if no vote
>>
>>32104101
Use Polycloning, assuming we have it. At the least it should buy us some time, if we're lucky the clones can take out one before they die.
>>
>>32104101
>[X]Let yourself fall into the plateau. Manducos are a good cushion, an easy to kill bunch, and you have your buddy Dhul-Dhul watching your back. What could go wrong..?
>>
>>32104101
Waitasec, we gibbed two heretics where's our brouzouf?
>>
>>32104595
In your inventory.

>>32104472
>>32104473
>Mixin'

You're outnumbered, and as such you decide to even up the odds. You focus on splitting your existance into several warriors, focusing on all the sweet weapons you wish you could lug around. Your mental mnemonic provides the stimulus the subconscious mind needs to kick the Polycloning synapses into motion. With a puff of smoke, three individuals in the unflattering Culter Dei medium armor appear.

And even before they do, the searing pain behind your eyelobes tells you they bring with them Black Crows. Hardly a terrible weapon, if one isn't a braindead tulpa. Fuck this, you're not giving the Synicles the satisfaction of gunning you down.

Hopping back, you throw yourself out of the edge of the plateau, and perform a long moonsault into what you expect to be a meatshield of Metastreum flesh cushion. A sudden vertigo batters away at your perception, and you can vaguely make out the sounds of shotguns and handguns, your clones being made short work of. They got one of the whores though! Down below, Dhul Saif's heavily armored body is serving as a shield to the now-revived Slavoskivich, performing emergency medical procedures on himself. Which is to say, he's injecting himself with medical drugs. In your dizzied state, wherein you perceive time to pass slowly, you find it in yourself to wave at them. The whole situation seems funny for some reason.

You black out just as Dhul-Dhul bellows in slow-motion. "Yooooouuu duuuuuumb mooooootheeee-"

...
>>
...

A stabbing pain behind your eyelobes is the first thing you perceive as you come to. If you hadn't replaced your biological eyes with semi-biological replacements, theoretically an improvement, the lake of tears forming beneath your futon would tell you how many litres of blood had pooled in your eyelobes.

"Wake you, you dumb motherfucker! Wake up you dumb motherfucker! Wake up you-" Irritated, you kick at the third-hand scrabal unit serving as your wake-up clock. It seemed like a good idea at the time, recording that particular phrase. You were right in one way, at least.

This was the most vivid dream you've had in a while.. You think. As much as you try, you can't either shake off the feeling of dej√° vu, or try to recall past dreams of the sort. In fact, your recollection of the night's dream is beginning to slip away fast.

"Argh!" The plodding work performed by the local barber surgeon manifests, as your blackmarket outdated cybereyes temporarily short out in your cranium. You become temporarily blind. Then they arrive. Advertisements for new pornographical products from a myriad disreputable corporations flash mercilessly across your field of vision. You sit it out, knowing you have a good ten minutes of this ahead of you. It was fun the first time, but a month later you feel an urge to kick anyone playing with themselves in poorly lit corners.

To be honest, you feel a bit out of it... What was your name again?

>...
>>
>>32105320
>Ivan Drago.
>>
>>32105590
As you see an ad about "deluxe donkey punch collections", your name floats into memory. Ivan Drago. For some reason historians and other folk living in the past break into a fit of laughter when you say your name. Whatever the reason, you've grown to resent your parents over it.

Finally, the pain begins to subside, and with it the damn ads. You need new eyes, the faster the better. This morning ritual needs to stop. Alas, there's something missing. A necessary piece of the puzzle, which you partially squandered some time ago when you didn't need it. As badly at least.

Brouzouf. You must gain brouzouf.

You rise up from "bed" and inspect your living cubicle. An overheating terminal provides you with contact to the Cyberspace and its myriad opportunities. Typically you can find out low-paying jobs, but every now and again you try out a spot of script-kiddying to discover more interesting offers. Some are profitable, some are way over your head, and some force you into hiding as your script alerts the Federal authorities. You know better than to confront your script suppliers for their stunts, who invariably barricade themselves in death traps of combat turrets and cyberthrall guards.

Under it are your two prized possessions. A Rotten Mound, and the book Thaumaturgy for Dummies. You remember how you came into possession of it. One of the last bookstores in Linuxia sold you the last copy it had one day before an Interceptor shot a stray plasma cannon round at it. The book went out of print shortly after, and can command a hefty price in the black market. You've thought about selling it, but quite frankly you've just began putting its contents into practice. You can even create a clone of yourself now.

And of course, what idle looksee around your demesne would be complete without staring at your wardrobe. A bunch of mismatched military outfits all wrapped up in a mound. [char limit exceeded]
>>
>>32106094
Get a twitter, OP. I need it.
>>
>>32106094
You groan at yet another source of annoyance this morning. Your other prized possession, Grandpappy Khil's Damocles, is somewhere underneath that mess. You toss aside dirty pieces into a new mound and stuff you might wear today onto another, digging out the weapon from underneath the pile of bullethole-riddled cloth. Finally, like legendary Excalibur emerging from the lake, the chipped blade of your Damocles emerges from the depths of tattered fatigues. Mission completed. You gain brouzouf. No seriously, you do. Somehow you find an envelope with about 1000 brouzouf. Among it, a note saying "for earlier". It all seems a bit weird...

No matter. Brouzouf is brouzouf. And you plan on getting more of it before the day ends. Where to then?

>Hydroponics farm. Terrible pay, but you won't get killed. At least if you don't care to get Naughty Ned to set you up for some special tasks.
>The Round Table, a medieval-styled tavern, complete with real pox victims. You've been trying to get into the Tourney for some time.
>Try out HitFinder 5.7.4 and hope that they fixed the "bug" which alerts the fucking Feds. Muut's a fag. (roll 1d100 for this one, 10% chance of anal anguish)
>>
>>32106452
Roll under or meet 'n' exceed?
>>
>>32106571
If (roll<=5 OR roll >=95) ANAL_ANGUISH(u)
>>
>>32106616
96 rather...
>>
Rolled 60

>>32106616
Alright, then. Since we're not about to pawn our brass balls, might as well make use of them some other way.

>Try out HitFinder 5.7.4 and hope that they fixed the "bug" which alerts the fucking Feds. Muut's a fag. (roll 1d100 for this one, 10% chance of anal anguish)
>>
>>32106647
Second.
>>
>>32106647
This.
>>
>>32106807
>>32106647
You draw a deep sigh. Your morbid curiosity leads you to try and find out the hard way whether Muut's "deep regret" over "the unplanned and tragic software flaw" was genuine or not. Bastard's the reason you needed bionic eyes in the first place. You tap your password into the terminal, and wait for it connect to the Cyberspace. Loading screen.... Open up the browser. More loading screen.... Magoogle's leery daemonic face shows up, along with a search bar. Instead you type out the address of Asocial Loafers. More loading screen.... Network's a shit in your corner of the slums.

Finally you're where you want to be. The typical job postings for colonists, security officers, hydroponics farmers, test subject for a variety of unhealthy activities pop up. You're not here for getting scraps off the table of minor corporations eating scraps off of the megacorps' table though. With but a moment's hesitation, you click on the HitFinder plugin. You wait for a tense moment as the loading screen appears again. You have to hand it to the hackers, it doesn't take a genius to understand the genius of keeping such a system unassailable by the best attempts of the Federation to eliminate it. If everything works well, your terminal will soon receive an encapsulated packet within the forcefully "lost" packets sent back to your end. This means the loading screen loads longer.

Your wait with baited breath is rewarded with an absence of Interceptors firing stray plasma shots. New listings are mingled with the old. Listings for assassinations, corporate office raids, tryout positions in ambitious looter bands. You've been around long enough to know which offers are less of a death trap for the desperate though. Usually the ones that sound less like a rip-off.

(choices inc).
>>
>>32107125

>Take an offer to join the flash mob planned out in protest of Croon's terraforming of the Enducid wilds and kill their leaders. You're even offered fancy hipster get-up to go along with 10K Brouzouf.
>A Vindico CEO has gotten too far for an investor's tastes. An ad has been put out to eliminate him. 50K Brouzouf
>An entity known as the Syndicate is holding out a "trial by fire". They offer 500K Brouzouf and "ensurance of a monthly payment plan to the familiar aggregate of diseased workers for up to a year".
>>
Rolled 78

>>32107207
Well shit.

Guys, are we bad enough dudes to go for the 500k?
>>
Rolled 61

>>32107207

Off the CEO
>>
>>32107274
Yeah, why the fuck not.
>>
>>32107244
>>32107274
>>32107357
For a split second, you feel adventurous. Your cursor hovers over the ad for a "trial by fire". It doesn't take too long for a familiar feeling of nausea to assail you. Deep down, you know you don't want to do this. You'd rather spend the rest of your days suffering electroshocks and unskippable porn ads from malware-riddled eyes than take the sort of job offered here.

Briskly, you select another offer. Enough for new eyeballs, and you won't even have to sell your body and soul. "Mattias Harde", the CEO of Vindico's operative branch here in Linuxia. You've heard of him, and namely of the stock market scam he's pulled to put Vindico-Linuxia ahead of the other branches. The man will not be without his generous helpings of security staff at any time, he's no dumb bandit. But you're a resourceful individual. Might as well take the offer. You click the Accept button.

Soon after, your screen is flooded with info on the target. Time to start planning your hit.

>Look around for places where you can find contacts.
>Look around for places you can stand a chance at infiltrating (1d100)
>Take a look at his schedule and go in guns blazing as he's leaving. Subtlety's for stick herders.
>>
Rolled 37

>>32108022
>Look around for places you can stand a chance at infiltrating (1d100)
>>
Rolled 50

>>32108022
>Look around for places you can stand a chance at infiltrating (1d100)
>>
Rolled 24

>>32108022

Infiltration
>>
>>32108022
>Deep down, you know you don't want to do this. You'd rather spend the rest of your days suffering electroshocks and unskippable porn ads from malware-riddled eyes than take the sort of job offered here.
No.
>Look around for places you can stand a chance at infiltrating (1d100)
>>
>>32108067
>>32108164
>>32108175
>Roll Average: 37

Places to sneak into it is. You begin flipping through the list of possible locations that aren't unfeasible for one of your high social standing to share without sticking out. You mark out the Grav Palace Sushi Bar, the Rollercoaster Magnetic Casino, the Moulin Bleu Escort Emporium's toilets...

Wait. You open a new tab. You're pretty sure you saw an opening for... That's right. Plummer. You might just be able to infiltrate the Emporium that way. Time to head for a job interview! You click the Accept button. A video of a mature, dark-haired Madam in a sports suit pitching out the offer in a deadpan and unengaged voice plays out. Apparently their last service plan is too harsh on the client's bowels but too profitable to give up on. You don't want to know (do you?).

Well, time to get dressed for a job interview. You pick up the vests with the least bullet holes and dry blood spatters, which are incidentally the ones that provide the least amount of vestigial protection against bullet fire. Surprise, surprise. Job starts upon interview success. Let's try to not scoop out turds for long and get the hit done within a single night. How bad would it be to show up with a Rotten Mound for work, you wonder?

>Take the Rotten Mound, explain you live in a rough neck of the woods.
>Take the Damocles, do your best wandering samurai act, organized crime bitches love samurais
>Take your scrabal unit. There's a combat mode described in the manual and you're sure there's at least one bullet in the chamber...
>Take your Thaumaturgy for Dummies book. You'll get some ideas later.
>Procure a weapon on the spot.
>>
>>32108746
In the semi-recent future, plumber is spelled plummer btw.
>>
>>32108746
>Take your Thaumaturgy for Dummies book. You'll get some ideas later.
>>
>>32108746
>>Take your Thaumaturgy for Dummies book. You'll get some ideas later.
>>
>>32108746
>Take your scrabal unit. There's a combat mode described in the manual and you're sure there's at least one bullet in the chamber...
>>
>>32108746
Take the thaumaturgy. Easiest to disguise as just a regular old book.
>>
File: cyberslum.jpg (492 KB, 1920x1200)
492 KB
492 KB JPG
>>32108920
>>32109009
Well, looks like you'll take your least assuming prized possession for this job. There's a chapter upon mmemonic casting that you can read while you pretend to work on toilets. No way things can go wrong, it's not like you're holding a grimoire of secret knowledge handed out for obscure and ulterior motives, right?

You take a look at your scrabal unit, still offline from the blow. You consider reactivating it, but to be frank you've had enough of it for another day. You get dressed, give your hair one final brush, and head off out into the streets. Almost immediately you understand why you tent to stay indoors, as squalid as your dwelling is.

It's been three decades since any concerted effort by any entity has been made to restore the Moonshine Avenue. At one time a moderately cosmopolitan area, its buildings have begun to fall apart and the descendants of those who colonize the area and stayed behind have taken to shoring up the buildings with whatever they can find. The whole area is covered in a blue-tainted smog, byproduct of the many industrial facilities spread across the land. You ignore the broken wrecks begging in the streets, your conscience made light by the knowledge they would waste whatever money you gave them on drugs to quicken their demise with. You even sold to some of those tramps before, on behalf of Nasty Ned.

You make your way towards the metro station. Armed Federal troops are on the lookout there, and you're frisked for guns soon after you buy a ticket to the upper class area wherein lies your "employer".

Soon you take the train to your destination. There is a depressing lack of company coming from your station. You stare out the window, at what seems to be a never-ending, gargantuan tunnel beneath the underbelly of the world. There's an almost hypnotic cadence to the pattern of safety lights planted across the length of the tunnel. You resist the urge to fall asleep; the ads are activated upon awakening.
>>
File: 03PitchDarkTunnels.jpg (128 KB, 1600x1073)
128 KB
128 KB JPG
>>32109756
You take out the book, deciding to read a few passages to stay awake. It's a surprisingly small book, whose author goes by the name H.E. Cathe. No publisher, strangely enough. You go over the basic Octagram of Transformation, the basis of bending matter. and taking it onto yourself. Something you're confident you can do, but have never understood the purpose of. The inverse process, however, the Giving of the Mind to Matter, you are practiced at. The basis of Polycloning, involving a concerted effort of willpower. You stare at the mnemonic sigils one last time, knowing from past experience their effect upon preparing you for imminent usage of your powers.

You suddenly feel watched as you recite your incantations... The darkness of the tunnel is oppressive, and as you do your rituals, the opposite of what you seeked to achieve happens. You suddenly cannot help but conjure up imagery of creatures inhabiting your nightmares crawling out there, in the darkness. Preying on the poor sods who took the Asocial Loafer's offer to pick off suicide remnants from the tracks.

You close the book, upset at what your overactive imagination performed. As if reading books had an effect on the world... Whatever, you are sure you'll be able to cast your Psi power effectively now. And you dismiss the rare irregular bright light in the tunnel as nothing out of the ordinary.
>>
Rolled 20

>>32110162

>Metastreumonic invasion in the tunnel

Pls no.
Pls.
>>
>>32110162
>>32110217
This does not gain brouzouf.
>>
File: Blade_Runner_(PC)_04.png (141 KB, 640x480)
141 KB
141 KB PNG
>>32110162
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQ2tWPjar1M

Your thoughts grow lighter as you spot the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. You're all to eager to leave the place, to be honest. So much so that you ignore the disgusted looks of the well-to-do whose domed citadel you have entered. You are slow to take in the sight of the Humble Haven, a paradoxical title for the rich part of town. A land of skyscrappers, silenced air recycling plants, neons and luxuries by night keeping it in perpetual motion. Where the rich plot to become richer still, and eliminate the competition.

You suddenly feel like a fall guy.

No matter. You motion for a taxi. "To the Moulin Bleu Escort Emporium, good man." The smartly dressed cab driver stares at you for an uncomfortably long moment. Silently, he complies. It's a good thing he bears the traces of one who's replaced the majority of his cranium with augmetics, or else you'd feel tempted to break your hand on his skull and stumble along to your destination.

You can't help but stare at the anachronistic construction before you, a blue windmill tower made of titanium alloy, with neon windmill blades, deactivated during the day. It's as tacky as it stands out, and you suppose that's the objective. The driver skirts past the garishly inviting entrace however. "Hey, we're here!" You protest. Fucker's going to charge you extra for bullshit. "I think you want the service entrance.

Yeah, you probably do. Not the least because the front door is locked. Unsurprisingly, the building, wedged as it is between skyscrappers, has an unremarkable service door in the back. An interphone, and a metal door. More of a metal bulkhead really. You pay the 100 brouzouf to the cab driver, a veritable steal really, and make your way to your job interview.

You ring the interphone. After some time, the groggy female voice of Madam Fleiss answers your call. "Th'fuck you want this time of day?"

"I'm here for the job. Ivan Drago." There's the scoff...
>>
File: Courtesan_2.jpg (77 KB, 700x1002)
77 KB
77 KB JPG
>>32110792
No matter, the door opens. "I hope you brought your CV with'cha." Your what now?

You make your way inside the building. A typical mess of walkways and paint flaking off greet you as you enter Madam Fleiss' realm of iniquity. A part of you feels a tinge of envy at Harde's habitual visits. Another is altogether glad to have never become involved up until the point in the business of flesh peddling. You are still surprised at this small side of you when you find your way into Fleiss' office. Surprisingly enough, she greets you in her typical work clothes.

"Welcome, Monsieur Drago." Monsieur..? Wtf is a monsieur? "I am so glad you are here." Her hoarse and forced accent is grating. "Please, take a seat." The woman motions you to a sofa, better fit for reclining than sitting in a job interview. Still, you comply, feeling offput by it all. "You come at a perfect time, we will have a great event tonight and our sewage system has given up."

You suddenly feel a tinge of dread. Certainly they meant unclogging toilets? That's what plumbers do, right? "Our system is old and battered, and I'm afraid we cannot hire anyone but an experienced man with over 5 years of work in legacy systems." Oh no...

She smiles with all the fake charm of an experienced prostitute. "But I'm sure you will exceed my expectations with your CV, yes?"

>Spill the beans, and seek out another means of inflitration.
>Concoct a lie (roll 1d100 and provide a general idea, good themes may provide bonuses or malluses)
>>
>>32111255
....why are we giving our real name for a job we are not going to do that is cover for an ASSASSINATION
>>
>>32111255

Ok, first of all, what is a CV

Second of all, you motherfuckers done fucked up I've been doing plumbing work for the past couple months for the sake of something to do.
>>
>>32111339

The best lies have truth?
>>
>>32111339
Because your QM is tired and botching basically. Retconning your name offering to Rocky Balboa.
>>
It's probably best I stop now before I do more stupid plot twists...

Keep an E.Y.E. out for https://twitter.com/BrozoufQuest ye who follow in the way of Brouzouf Gaining. I'll even continue in this thread if it's alive by morning time.
>>
>>32111617
>that pun
I giggled.

Good night you beautiful bastard.
>>
>>32111617
Alright.
>>
bump
>>
File: 2271549-ivan_drago_2.jpg (14 KB, 320x320)
14 KB
14 KB JPG
>>32116184
Seems I haven't scared you off with my bad-strange plot twists. Wonderful. Resuming for a bit.

>>32111343
You realize just how dreadfully unprepared for this interview you are. Maybe next time you'll listen to what's being told on the job requirements... Then again, you didn't really plan on staying. "Madam, I'm gonna be honest. I have no idea what a CV is. You made an ultra-failed ad when you got up from bed and I thought I came here to unclog toilets and maybe do some pipe fixing, end of. That's what I've been doing for the past few months to get by." it's true enough, you did have to mess around with a sewage pipe once to retrive that suspicious briefcase for an even more suspicious client.

The woman's demeanor changes drastically, dropping the exotic courtesan facade. "Get up." You oblige, as she gives you a once-over. "You start right now. Tenth pay. You better unclog every toilet, and keep them that way for one night at least. I don't care how, and I'm placing you in debt for every customer we lose because of shit smell."

What a shitty assignment...

>Accept the proposal.
>Maybe you can use your chiselled aryan looks to get you a better offer. Bitches love aryan ubermeschen
>>
Rolled 59

>>32119348
Alright. Back to brouzouf.
>Maybe you can use your chiselled aryan looks to get you a better offer. Bitches love aryan ubermeschen

>I'll unclog every pipe in this building!
>[eye ass]
>Say, you look like you need some unclogging of your own. Ever done a manual enema? Triple the price and I'll add it in: free of charge. Balboa has much experience in this science. You will not be disappointed.

Rolling to see if the attempt at seduction is successful.
>>
Rolled 82 + 30

>>32120083
Oh boy here we go!
>>
>>32102991
>>32120268
>>32119668
>>
>>32120418
Why do you hate fun?
>>
>>32120435
BECAUSE | HATE YOU
>>
>>32120435
>he hates eye so much he avoids typing "i"
>>
>>32120083
>>32120245
>59 vs 112. Attempting to seduce a veteran sex worker was not a good plan.

With zeal catching you by surprise, you jump to attention and proclaim "I'll unclog every pipe in this building!" Madam Fleiss smiles unengagedly, and turns away. Granting you a rather catching view of her derriere, which reminds you of one catchline from this morning's ads... "Say, you look like you need some unclogging of your own. Ever done a manual enema? Triple the price and I'll add it in: free of charge. Balboa has much experience in this science. You will not be disappointed."

She stops, and turns to glare coldly at you, like only a whore who's moral integrity has been questioned can. Alas, you may has well have been a hormonal teen playing a grown man's game in this instance. "You're lucky we have a shortage of staff, otherwise you'd be out in the street for that. With a bounty on your head. Your pay is halved, so feel free to leave at any time." She leaves the room, walking stiffly. "Bathroom's down the hallway, to the right towards the strip hall and on the left corner. Follow your nose if you get lost."

That went nicely enough. You didn't get thrown out.
>>
We should have chosen the trial by fire instead of the trial by feculence.
>>
>>32120782
>Quite so. A better infiltration roll would've made this whole process a bit more dignified though.

>>32120671
Time to get to what you were meant to do in the first place. On your way to the toilets, you make sure to memorize every nook of the glorified whorehouse. Not surprisingly, there are several security cameras on the show hall, where the prostitutes will deliver their dancing performances. A quick detour or two reveals you the location of the private quarters. There are also cameras on the corridors, and possibly inside the rooms. This is starting to look harder than you thought...

Cameras everywhere, but inside the toilets. Good thing too, because the reek coming out from the otherwise pristine white seats would make delicate hardware short circuit. You have a solid grasp on the area, however. Aside from the cameras, the typical boisterous shows thrown inside would make a discrete dispatching of a single individual easy to get away with, and you've got several ideas planned out for several situations.

Now you just need to figure out a way to not get so obviously backtracked... You grab a bucket and utensils, and go over the ways to pull out this hit to get your mind off the stench.

>Try to give Muut a call. He might enjoy the challenge.
>Seek the security room and deactivate them manually.
>Just play it by the ear and hide your face before the cameras go online.
>>
>>32120955
>Try to give Muut a call. He might enjoy the challenge.
>>
>be back in a few..
>>
>>32120955
>play it by ear

We had the same idea with the book. I like this whole "eh, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it" persona that will likely get us killed.
>>
>>32122214
Eh, I don't really want to build a bridge. Let's just swim across.
>>
>>32120955
>>Try to give Muut a call. He might enjoy the challenge.
>>
>>32120955
>Seek the security room and deactivate them manually.
>>
I am confused, when did this go from getting hired to assassinate some CEO to literally a janitor?

Feels like I wondered into a different quest...
>>
>>32122845
When you made a low infiltration roll. Don't worry, assassination procedures start now.

Muut call wins by half the votes (heh). Writing.
>>
>>32122929
You'd sigh, but you don't want to inhale more of the fetid atmosphere you were tasked to dispel. The safest way, at least insofar as you can see, would be to give your "friend" Muut a call. The mobile cyberphone rings busy, but you know better. After exactly 10 seconds, Muut answers.

"Do. You. Need. Help. With. Security." An automated voice synthesizer speaks out the other side. It's as jarring as the first time you've heard it. You came to learn that Muut plugged that particular system directly to his cyberbrain to maximize his energy use. Odd as he might be, you've gotta hand it to him, he's good at what he does.

"Good guess. Think you can give me a hand with that? I need to get around some cameras." A pause. After a moment of electronic humming and impossibly fast key tapping, Muut replies. "My. Estimates. Indicate. I. Can. Give. You. A. 5. Minute. Time. Frame. To. Carry. Out. Your. Hit. Call. Me. And. Drop. At. 6. Seconds."

"Thanks man, I wouldn't-"

"That. Will. Be. 30. Thousand. Brouzouf." 3/5 of the hit money!? "Muut, buddy.. You're kidding me right?"

"No. I. Am. Not. I. Have. You. By. The. Balls. As. It. Is. Bitch. And. I. Have. Electricity. Bills. To. Pay. Just. Be. Happy. I. Will. Not. Hack. Your. Bank. Account. This. Time."

What a faggot.

>Take the deal. You can get new cybereyes with 20K Brouzouf.
>Tell Muut you'll handle things on your own, and hope he doesn't call the Feds.
>>
>>32123329
>Take the deal. You can get new cybereyes with 20K Brouzouf.
No Feds.
>>
Rolled 66

>>32123329
Rolling to persuade
"If I get offed by the Feds where will you get your brouzoufs for those bills? Let's make it a 50/50 split and call it even
>>
>>32123735
Yeah, let's at least try to negotiate a more reasonable price.
>>
>>32123735
I should probably start adding a custom option... Writan.
>>
>>32124259
"Muut, buddy..." You start again, trying to make sure you get what you want to say come across as sensible. "If I get offed by the Feds where will you get your brouzoufs for those bills?" You can think of several other ways, but you know he just giving a pretext regardless. "Let's make it a 50/50 split and call it even. For old times' sake."

You hope reminding him of the 'old times' wasn't a stupid idea. You know it would be were the tables flipped. "Very. Well. Fifty. Fifty. It. Is."

You secure 5K brouzouf.

"You. Will. Have. Four. Minutes. Now." Of course, you wouldn't do something without a catch, would you Muut? "I'll be fast. Thanks for everything man." You end the call. And get back to work. After all, you need to keep your hunting grounds inhabitable by your prey...

... Several hours of soul-crushing, back-breaking, nose-grinding work and more than a few pipes unscrewed and cleaned later, the Moulin Bleu finally opens. You recall your target tends to hang out at the bar before the show starts, making small talk with his co-stockholders and shady business partners. The difference being merely academical. He only rarely watches the pre-show can-can dance, one other trademark anachronism beloved to Madam Freiss. He will eventually watch the stripper show, and pick out one of the girls and retire to the private quarters. Currently you're disinfecting yourself, still in the damn bathroom.

>Sit around. Every man needs to attend to his needs, let him come to you.
>Pay him a visit at the bar and overwhelm him with your clones. You might even get a bonus for offing one of his partners.
>Sit on the sidelines and follow him to the private quarters, fake being a waiter to catch him with his pants down.

>Roll 1d100 for any
>>
Rolled 16

>>32125187
>Sit on the sidelines and follow him to the private quarters, fake being a waiter to catch him with his pants down.
Seems like the most subtle option.
>>
>>32125253
Or maybe not, with that roll.
>>
Rolled 10

>>32125187
>Pay him a visit at the bar and overwhelm him with your clones. You might even get a bonus for offing one of his partners.
CHAOS
>>
Rolled 41

>>32125253
>>32125286
No
No
>>
Rolled 47

>>32125187
>sit on the sidelines
We can have a polyclone stand outside the door keeping intruding eyes from peering in while we do the dirty work.
>>
>>32125187
>catch with pants down

we are paying muut a lot of money to get the cameras down. if we were gona wait in bathroom, could have saved the brouzoufs. may as well get what we paid for
>>
>>32125335
Oops, initially said it didn't post but it did. My bad.
>>
Rolled 41

>>32125187
Consider this a test, as, looking at these rolls, the dice gods seem to want us to wait in the bathroom.
>>
>>32125405
Nope, they just kind of hate us. Good to know.
>>
Welp, with two votes for pants-down catching and waiting, at an average roll of 32 (rounding up), I would say faking buttlery it is.

Typing.
>>
>>32125694
>Got sidetracked, sorry for the unheralded wait..

You decide you've had enough of the freaking bathroom and walk outside. With your expert eye for camerawork, you know that if you wait for 3 seconds and sort of stick to the floor and walk along sideways... Yes! You're just beneath a camera, and with an unimpeded vision to the bar! You have to wait a good half hour before you spot your target. Sipping on his expensive drink, smiling a conniving smile, and worryingly flanked by a pair of bespectacled buff individuals in tuxedos, Mattias Harde stands before you, conversing with whomever he's trading information with. There's enough chaos all around the house of ill repute for you to stand a chance at making your move. Aside from those two lumps of cybermeat, that is.

And thus you wait, determined to make good on your limited time window of cinematografic impunity. You're all too glad you didn't resolve to wait in the bathroom: not only have you see a few patrons of sexes both opposite and otherwise stumble into it for deeds not necessarily involving excretions, but Harde's bladder is as large as his balls apparently. Man can handle his liquor alright. The main show begins, and Harde charmingly dismisses his companions. Save of course for the bodyguards.
>>
We should have grabbed a knife at home. I guess a bottle will serve just as well.
>>
>>32126663
Obviously, you would be a fool to walk out and wait for him to pick up a tramp to spend the night, or part of it, with. Good for you then, that the bodyguards are just barely within sight of you. He wouldn't walk out on them.. Would he? You feel a pang of apprehension at the thought of your plan falling flat on its face after the sacrifices you've made, especially the dignity ones, which only increases as one cabaret song is played after another.

After what seems like an eternity, the guards spring to life, and so do you. You quickdial Muut's number, grinding your teeth as the busy call vibrates a good 6 times before you can finally walk in. It's 1:52, by 1:56 you will have to have done the job.

>Head straight to the show hall and tail Harde.
>Stop and look for something you can use as a makeshift murder weapon at the bar. Roll 1d100
>>
>>32127396
we need something to kill with. lets find us a large glass bottle.
>>
Rolled 91

>>32127456
forgot to roll
>>
Rolled 1

>>32127483
Well, I'll assume the silence is more than merely everyone coming up with a brutally cunning plot and do a little something of my own before typing...
>>
>>32127483
Sure. Once we're done with that tail him.
>>
Rolled 21

>>32127396
>>Stop and look for something you can use as a makeshift murder weapon at the bar. Roll 1d100
Might as well have something to use along with the cloning psi power.
>>
We could grab one of those plates of wine glasses and play a waiter, get close to him to grab his empty glass and then attack with all of our clones. I'm not sure we're dressed for the part, though.
>>
>>32127707
>21 eh? Seems like I'll be throwing out a complication...

>>32127637
You follow in Harde's footsteps alright, taking a short detour towards the bar. While people were all too happy to ignore your presence while drunk, horny, in need of a dump, or a combination of all the previously mentioned, you are now the focus of negative attention for a crowd of excessively wealthy middle-aged males. Fortunately you are just the combination of proletary and forgetabble enough for them to ignore you soon after. You move to an item catching your eye, a rather thick and heavy bottle of a drink you know not the origin of, labelled Borgy. Half-consumed too, for a nice balance between extra hmph, weight, and the ability to take a sip to calm down. You decide being stressed out and psi-capable is more important however. Quickly, you head back into the show hall, where Harde has wasted no time monetarily persuading the last acting call girl to head towards the private quarters.

It's 1:53. You fake taking a sip of the beverage in your hand, watching him grope the scantily robed female along and towards the stairs. Impassive, the two body guards follow him along, presumably to stare down people foolish enough to stumble onto his door. Cross-armed, they stand guard while Harde closes the door behind him, hastily putting the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob. This is it, Ivan... Time to show everyone what you're made of.

You rake your head for a battle plan just as you advance upon the bodyguards. Clones now? Try to catch one by surprise and overwhelm the other? The butler pla- "What are you still doing here..?" You feel a surprisingly strong push on your collar to go with the hissing voice of Madam Fleiss. Wonderful, one more witness...

>Strike her head with the bottle, hope the guards react.
>Throw her at the guards, polyclone your firing squad.
>Other. Think fast, think well.

>1d100 roll for all actions
>>
Rolled 35

>>32128337
>Just enjoying the party after being done with my work. What, you don't want my business? I'll be gone within the hour. Is that soon enough for you?
If she reacts poorly:
>Throw her at the guards, polyclone your firing squad.
>>
>>32128337
Push her into one guard and splash the Borgy in the other ones face.

Use the distractions to burst through the door.
>>
Rolled 48

>>32128337
>Throw her at the guards, polyclone your firing squad.
>>
Rolled 72

>>32128501
Why it no roll?
>>
>>32128472
>>32128501
>>32128536
>Approx. average roll: 52

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZpFoU-f_EGs

"Just enjoying the party after being done with my work." You say non-chalantly, hiding the truth that you're quickly on your way to becoming nervous wreck right now.

"You were supposed to leave after doing the job!"

"What, you don't want my business? I'll be gone within the hour. Is that soon enough for you?" She goes to claw at your face, livid with anger. "Get out NOW!" That does it. Your innate cruelty triggered by this aggression helps you concoct a plan far better than any strategy book, meditation or street smarts. You grab her wrist and hurl the woman at one of the guards. Quickly, you splash the other's face with your improvised weapon's contents. So far so good.

Just as you go to burst into the door, you notice that the one towards whom you threw Fleiss did not so much bother to catch her.. As he drew his Facere Mortis daisho and is reducing her to screaming and quickly separating slabs of flesh. Vicious barbarians, the pair. To hell with this. You halfway snap your left thumb counter-clockwise, the pain being your chosen trigger to let your psi ability manifest. A trio of men with afros, BK13s and Motras manifest. "Fire! Fire!" You command hastily.

Presented with such an immediate threat, the bodyguards are too preoccupied with getting shot at to notice you slipping through and shoulder charging the door. "What the fuck's wrong with you!?" A half-naked Harde, a moment before whipping with a metal whipthe exposed breasts of a sobbing and tied up call girl, turns to face you, reddened with both anger and vestigial lust. "You dumb motherfucker!" You can't seem to find it in yourself to disaggree, what with him swinging the thing at your face.

>Take the blow and charge headlong.
>Parry with the bottle..?
>Try to trap the thing with your arm and disarm Harde
>>
Rolled 41

>>32129237
>Take the blow and charge headlong.
Just a bondage whip. Might even be enjoyable.
>>
Rolled 23

>>32129237
take the blow, if that call girl can take a couple lashings so can we. tackle his ass while we're at it.
>>
Rolled 33

I'm convinced moot is manipulating the roll results.
>>
Rolled 65

>>32129237
Take the blow
>>
>>32129363
>>32129384
>>32129584
>Avg 43

You are running out of time, no more subtle tactics. You charge at your target, clenching your teeth in anticipation- *CRACK*. You're suddenly very aware of where your flesh ends and your skull begins, and everything it the vicinity hurts like hell. And your left eye is displaying porn ads and shorting out. Ravenously, you throw yourself at Harde, banging your head against his on the way down.

Closing your left eye, more out of reflex at the pain inflicted upon your optic nerve than an effective means to stop the flashing ads, you start pummeling Harde's head with the bottle. Short into your frenzy of blows, the glass shatters, and you feel your forehead start to swell. Of course he'd be capable of affording a cyberskull... The merely bruised Harde pushes your face away and tries to claw at your eyes with one hand. The other he uses to strike the side of your face with the whip's iron cable.

With one last effort, you stab at the bastard's throat with the jagged edges of your broken bottle. As you tear through the soft tissue, his ragged breathing becomes a vaguely swine wheezing the more you slice and slice and tear veins and arteries with your frantic sawing motion.

>He's not dead yet. Go for the spinal cord!
>Get yourself together! (1d100, might default to the above)
>>
Rolled 28

>>32130126
>He's not dead yet. Go for the spinal cord!
>>
>>32130126
>>He's not dead yet. Go for the spinal cord!
But after this we have to get the fuck out of here, and fast.
>>
>>32130126
>>Get yourself together! (1d100, might default to the above)
So, this is obviously a resist madness roll. Looks like the rolls won't be necessary. We are plunging into madness willingly.
>>
Rolled 63

>>32130126
>Get yourself together! (1d100, might default to the above)
>>
Rolled 100

>>32130126
>he's not dead yet, Go for the spinal cord!

>>32130367
Let the madness come Anon, it is our greatest weapon
>>
>>32130409
Can't argue with that.
>>
Rolled 69

>>32130367
Fuck, you're right.

I'm going to change my vote to that.
>>
>>32130434
To madness it is?
>>
>>32130490
To getting yourself together.
>>
>https://twitter.com/BrozoufQuest
>Account suspended
>The profile you are trying to view has been suspended. To return to your home timeline, click here.
>>
>Due to slightly better rolls and passing the test, sanity wins the match.

The echo of your cackle as you stare transfixed at the pool of blood forming under the mutilated windpipe of Mattias Harde serves as a chilling wake-up call to your fell deeds. You accomplished your mission. That's what you came here to do. That is all. You try to focus on the ads blaring mercilessly in your left eye, anything to get your mind off of the sweet warmth and soft texture of the flesh of the corpse spasming its last beneath you. The woman Harde was torturing earlier is now wailing like a banshee heralding its customer's brutal demise. It's giving you a headache. You silence her, in a mechanical imitation of what you had done before.

With the adrenaline rush subsiding, faster than you'd wish, you stumble out of the room. One of your clones remains. The bodyguards put up a good fight, but outnumbered and surprised they were outgunned. You drop the broken bottle and take hold of one of their daishos. One of them had a GCTG and two reloads.He barely got time to fire it. Good for you.

The brothel is now deserted. The gunfire made the inhabitants flee for their lives, and presumably out the front door. That suits you fine as well. You limp out and towards the service area. Just before 1:56. You did it. "You fucking did it!" Finally, the victory rush comes down upon you. Well, at least you're 25K Brouzouf richer.

Now, all you need is to worry about the blaring sirens of Federal Vehicles approaching your location.

>Twitter a shit. Made me register a non-throwaway mail.
>New Twitter: @CaptainBrouzouf
>Will probably be a bit sporadic. Thanks for playing, and I'll see you next time
>>
>>32131000
>No 'You gain Brozouf'
Pfft.

See you next thread.
>>
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/captainbrouzouf
>>
>>32131117
I knew something was amiss....
>>
Thanks for the thread.



[Advertise on 4chan]

Delete Post: [File Only] Style:
[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / vr / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [s4s] [cm / hm / lgbt / y] [3 / adv / an / asp / biz / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / gd / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / out / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / wsg / x] [Settings] [Home]
[Disable Mobile View / Use Desktop Site]

[Enable Mobile View / Use Mobile Site]

All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.