FUCK YEAH!

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>>36641357

You hope this mission isn't going to be too hard on your expert rider, just hard enough to toughen her up. The morning's confrontation with a guilt-ridden Eliza was draining for both of you, but, judging by her even breathing, she's doing a lot better now. Just riding the motorcycle seems to calm her.

That's not surprising. Big chunks of metal and composites have a way of doing that, especially when they've got half a jet engine as their chewy center.

"Nav signal's down," she says, her untroubled voice whispering straight into your ear through your earpiece, "probably an info blizzard."

Great. That'll help keep what's going on here covered.

And what you're going to do here is going to need to be covered.

Unfortunately, you don't have a clue where the courier is, or where they're going. Hell, you're not even sure what they're carrying, but you'd bet it's infected with the nanoplague, judging by how Vulnex is reacting.

Could this be a plot to spread the plague, increasing Plutonix's target market?

You need clues, and you know where to get them. A few seconds' fumble with your phone, and you've opened a line to the most helpful man in the sector.

A direct radio connection, not a relayed signal. If Davey's anywhere in range, he'll pick it up.

>"Davey, you old bastard!"
>"How are you, dad?"
>"I can pay."
>Write In

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>>36641402
>META POST

Wait, who is this guy? Aren't you a motorcycle courier?

No, you're currently Raynard Eriksson, a Director of Nepcor, leader of Dagon Core, and general badass at large.

Have fun and go completely nuts.


Twitter(for quest news, not my political views): https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge

Archive (for figuring out how you got here): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Cyberpunk%20Motorcycle%20Courier%20Quest

Questions: http://ask.fm/haikudeluge

LAST SESSION'S STATS:

PROFESSIONAL RANKING: COMPLICIT!
BONUS OBJECTIVES CLEARED: Drowning Your Sorrow; Fists Of Fury; Cheap Sunglasses; A Sympathetic Ear; Not Your Thing I; Reach Out And Touch Somebody; Heavily Ed-ited; Out Of The Water; Not Your Thing II; I Can Almost Hear; Freely Given; Not Your Thing III
STYLE POINTS: 1300

OVERALL RANKING: BANKED!

>>36641402
>"How are you, dad?"

>>36641402
>"How are you, dad?"

>>36641402
>"Davey, you old bastard!"

>>36641402
>"How are you, dad?"
Holy shit, this changes everything -ish

I really like that we can choose our relationship with npcs. also, Am I the only one who wanted Eliza to be dating Qui?

>>36641402
>"How are you, dad?"

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>>36641402

"You out there, old man?" you ask over the scratchy airwaves, radio set to Davey's preferred frequency and encryption mode.

"Finally," you hear the old fly's breathy voice buzzing in your ear, "someone using their head to get around the blizzard. You got business for me?"

It's been a while since you heard that voice. You didn't expect it to drag so many memories out into the light.

"How are you, dad?" you ask. You aren't a scrawny boy, swimming in pants too big for you, claiming to be a man based on your height. Not this time. You're a full-fledged megacorp exec, here on business.

You wish it felt more different, as you lean into your subordinate's armor.

"Christ, Ray," he says, voice even weaker, but harsher, "I told you not to come out here."

An engine roars in your ear and he gasps - something high-powered is passing the old man.

He's out on the streets again.

In the middle of a lockdown.

You see black stripes across white light. Locked in, venting your impotent rage against the boards over the window, watching his back as he left to figure out what was going on.

Eliza grunts, and you realize that her armor's creaking under your spasmodic grip.

You slacken it.

>Lockdowns are still for other people?
>Business brought me.
>Fuck you too.
>I'm here about the biohazard.
>You could retire. I could set you up a nice place.
>Write In

>>36641816
>Business brought me.

>>36641816
>I'm here about the biohazard. And you should be inside.

>>36641816
>I'm here to stop a premature ejaculator spilling seeds to the ground.

>>36641816
>Fuck you too.
>I'm here about the biohazard.

>>36641816
>>36641849
This, and throw in
>You could retire. I could set you up a nice place, but right now business brought me

i wonder where we'll end this session. I'm guessing there'll be a timeskip for Laura II.

>>36641816
>>36642010
Seconding

>>36641816
>Fuck you too
>I'm here about the biohazard

>>36641816

"I'm here about the biohazard," you tell him, voice carefully held level as the brick building crawl by, "and you should be inside."

"Hah," he laughs over the scratchy connection. Maybe you're lucky he didn't just cut it, "now you care? You think I'm too frail for this? Do you know how long I've been doing this?"

No, you would have been lucky if he'd cut it. There's the hiss of venom in his voice. You're balling one hand into a fist before you know it.

"Yes," you hear yourself spit into the rushing wind, "I know how long you've been trying to prove you're the best," and how many times he left you behind to do it, stewing in that second-story room, "but you haven't found the one piece of info you actually want, have you?"

He starts to say something, but you cut him off, voice cracking ice, "it's been forty years, and you still don't know who killed her, or why!"

"That's not my failure," he says, voice breathy, you have to strain to hear it, the effort you put into hearing the words giving the insult blasting weight, "you are my failure. The maddest of mad dogs, leader of Nepcor's pack!"

"You could retire nicely," you tell him, civil, polite, as measured and correct as the bricks of the buildings Eliza's driving you past, "I could set you up a nice place."

"Walls papered with blood money, then," he says, breathing heavily, "only bills with splatters on them. A coffee table made from the wreckage of the most helpful machines you've shattered, and a fridge well stocked with," he pauses for a second to catch his breath, maybe he's running, "the bottled tears of the innocent. Now," he says, voice stronger, "do have business or not?"

>What drove past you?
>Any likely drop points for an incoming package?
>Want some of that blood money, do you?
>Write In

>>36642330
>What drove past you?
>Money is money, the actions of those who held it and those who possess it do not change its physical state.

>>36642330
"All you got on the package, the courier and potential destinations."

>>36642330
>What drove past you?

>>36642330
>What drove past you?

>>36642330
>What drove past you?
>Any likely drop points for an incoming package?

>>36642330
>What drove past you?
>Any likely drop points for an incoming package?
>And god damn it, Dad, get inside and safe. I can't have you die because you were too stubborn for your own good.

>>36642020
Probably a long one so Laura can get used to her brand new cybernetics.
She'll truly become one wih her bike.
Transforming Motorcycle Girl Courier Quest is a go!

>>36642403
Or she could be fine.

>>36642403
Dammit, Laura will stay as pure as she can. Minimal cybernetics, no connectivety.

>>36642470
I wouldn't mind a little connectivity, just to better 'interface' with her bike, but yeah, I prefer staying as natural as possible, while having a few handy subtle augs

>>36642470
Yeah, not like she can't stea- Find some Power Armor later.
all the benefits of cybernetics without adding anything metallic to your insides.

>>36642506
You shouldn't put anythign on your body or bike that can be hacked

>>36642470
This. This like fuck.

>>36642519
hardware connection maybe? GitS style hard lines for connecting/communicating?

or full magical realm 'connective' seat

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>>36642575
The answer is simple.
MECHADENDRITES SON.
There are very few problems Thick mechanical tentacles linked directly to your nervous system the obey your every thought can't solve.

>>36643142
I'd only want those if they were detachable and didn't mare Laura's body

>>36643160
Something like a Mechadendrite would probably need a connection port to interface with the nervous system.
Probably something small and round linked to her back. Fairly obvious, if she is naked, but nothing terribly difficult to hide when they're disconnected.

Or you could call a Magos Biologis to make you a Biological one. Oh wait, you can't, that'd be Tech Heresy.
also, there are no Techpriests in this setting anyway.
... I think

>>36642330

"Yeah," you tell him, keeping your tone professional, despite the smart of his insults. You don't spit teeth out, you swallow them, "what drove past you? Any likely drop points for the incoming package?"

"What are you offering?" he asks in a low voice.

"What I know about the biohazard," you say, glancing down an alley as Eliza passes it. She's driving slowly, now that she doesn't have a destination, "and splattered bills."

"Fine," the old man says, "but make it quick."

So you tell him about the theft at the Plutonix digsite, the biohazard courier, the package probably infested with the nanoplague. Nothing he wouldn't have gotten for himself after the blizzard cleared, but timely information is worth so much more.

You enjoy the feeling of knowing more than the old man, for once. He tracks down information on tireless legs, you beat people down with your steel fists. Being better then him at his own game, even if it's only for a short time, is gratifying.

"If it's a standard package," he says quietly, "it could be going anywhere. But if they're trying to spread the nanoplague, there's a warehouse with a large amount of biomass in the basement. It recently changed hands in a rather bloody fashion, and it has excellent incubation potential. I'll send coordinates."

>>36643292

How does he get his information, you wonder, as Eliza whispers "got it," and her map updates. Hauling the bike across the lanes of the empty road, she turns down an alley.

"A big bike drove past me earlier," Davey tells you, "probably an Asset. I was too busy with you and trying to hide to recognize it."

The courier, perhaps? The nanoplague would be an terrible end for your old man, but God, you'd love to say "I beat it, can you beat it?" just once.

An Asset makes more sense, you think as you hang on tightly to yours. The cobblestones are bouncing the powerful bike around, forcing Eliza to keep a reasonable pace. You can imagine every mega's deploying something to Vulnex sector right now - they all need eyes on the ground.

Hands too, in case there's anything worth grabbing.

Suddenly, an explosion pierces through your ear, and you hear your father swearing in a breathy undertone. You realize forgot to terminate the connection, and he's probably in trouble.

>Terminate the connection and go to the warehouse
>He's in trouble, ask him for coordinates
>Taunt him as you ride for the warehouse
>Write In

>>36643308
>hang up

>>36643308
>He's in trouble, ask him for coordinates

>>36643308
>>He's in trouble, ask him for coordinates

>>36643308
>He's in trouble, ask him for coordinates

>>36643332
>>36643337
>>36643338
You are guys are good people

>>36643308
>Terminate the connection and go to the warehouse

>>36643308
>Terminate the connection

>>36643396
Well I'm not.

>>36643396
And shitty CEOs

>>36643308
>>He's in trouble, ask him for coordinates

>>36643484
But anon, we're not the CEO, we're the Director, very different.

>>36643560
You wont make CEO with that attitude

>>36643586
Why would we want to, CEO's are help responsible to the board, and have a lot less freedom than we do.

If we were CEO we wouldn't get to go fuck our mistress with a warship or help console our employee when she's going through a tough time.

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>>36643308

It's a real temptation to just cut the connection and leave him to his fate. You're pretty sure the explosion was that large pistol he took to carrying years ago, and a second report confirms your suspicions.

He doesn't know you're still on the connection, he'd never know you could have helped.

Opening your mouth is difficult, much more than it should be. you almost choke on the words a couple of times, bouncing down the dark cobbled alleyway. Finally, you manage to say them "what's going on?"

"The biker's back," he breathes, and you cut him off with a single word before he can continue.

"Coordinates?"

It hangs in the ether between you for far too long, his heavy, weathered breathing crackling over the airwaves, punctuated by scattered reports and the roar of an engine.

"Got it," Eliza says, voice modulated oddly by the bouncing bike, "should I change course?"

"Yes," you tell her, readjusting yourself in the uncomfortable seat, and getting a better grip on her armor, "that's the next stop."

>You ride there together in silence
>She has the nerve to ask you about your father
>Write In

>>36644071
>>She has the nerve to ask you about your father

>>36644071
>She has the nerve to ask you about your father

>>36644071
>>You ride there together in silence

>>36644071
>She has the nerve to ask you about your father

>>36644071
>You ride there together in silence

>>36644071
>She has the nerve to ask you about your father
>We tell her to forget this ever happened

>>36644168
>>We tell her to forget this ever happened
Nah don't do that, we've been sticking our head into hers all morning long, she deserves this much

>>36644168
Consider this a vote for
>You ride there together in silence
if it doesn't get any support

>>36644071
>>She has the nerve to ask you about your father
May as well give her that much

>>She has the nerve to ask you about your father
>>Write In
"When we finish this up, you forget about what you just heard between me and Davey."

bedtime bump for this anon, thanks for the thread HD

>>36645117
Sleep tight anon.

>>36645117
>>36645140
We'll try not to fuck it up

So is HD ded or does this sort of thing happen from time to time?

>>36645783
HaikuDeluge @HaikuDeluge 42m42 minutes ago

I have things I have to do today. Sporadic updates. Hopefully I can fully run tonight.
0 replies 0 retweets 0 favorites

>>36645792
Bah

>>36644071

"I'm surprised your father's still alive," Eliza says quietly, taking a sharp turn into another alley.

She did hear all that, or at least your end of it, didn't she? "I am too," you tell her wryly, "he's almost gotten himself killed more times than I can count." Back when you cared to keep track, at least.

"Is it Davey?" she asks, pouring on more speed, sending the bike bouncing dangerously down the narrow alley, "I ran into him a few times as a courier. Your dad's a nice guy. A lot of people like him."

"I'm not one of them," you say, hanging onto her armor for dear life as the brick walls flash past, thankful once again for your artificial arms.

"I kinda got that impression," she tells you, bending further forward over the handlebars, pulling you forward with her.

There's nothing much to say to that. She knows another one of your secrets now, but anyone who caught and decoded your radio chatter knows it too. You're not sure how much it matters in the end - you're both more important targets on your own than as leverage against the other.

And yet here you are, laying atop your newest Asset, barreling down Vulnex sector's alleys (alleys you know too well) to help a man you've hated for years.

While it might be aerodynamic, this riding position doesn't suit you at all. Eliza's armor digs into you uncomfortably, uncaring gravity forcing you down onto its most painful parts.

Finally, the motorcycle shoots out of the alley into the remnants of the glowering sunlight, and Eliza slews it around on a broad street. There's no traffic to merge into, no haulers to dodge, just her powerful machine and the road rolled out like a red carpet in front of it.

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>>36645987

There's competition for the gala spotlight.

Another motorcycle sits astride the road, its powerful bulk clad in shining chromed armor, its rider clad in the telltale suit of an Asset. And your father, wrapped in the same old trenchcoat you remember him always wearing, is tied onto the back.

"So," you think you catch over the racket of the cycle's engine, "were you ever going to call?" Oh God, it's her. And that means Juptek's getting mixed up in this too.

What was her name again?

The Asset, unruly strands of blonde hair flying in the wind, hauls her motorcycle around as Eliza opens up the throttle. The full-throated roar of two powerful engines echoes off the brick-faced buildings, and the chase begins.

>Shoot the Asset without hitting your father
>Shoot the asset, and all the better if the old man takes a couple
>Shoot the old man - you can say you were aiming for the asset if anyone asks
>Hang on and wait for an opportunity to board the other bike, assuming Eliza can catch it
>Write In

1d100, please

Rolled 41 (1d100)

>>36646260
>>Hang on and wait for an opportunity to board the other bike, assuming Eliza can catch it
We solve things with our fists, like a real man.

Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>36646260
>>Hang on and wait for an opportunity to board the other bike, assuming Eliza can catch it

Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>36646260
>Shoot the asset, and all the better if the old man takes a couple

>>36646260
>>Hang on and wait for an opportunity to board the other bike, assuming Eliza can catch it
>>Write In
Get in close if you can, I'm gonna have a little heart-to-heart with Davey.

>>36646463
Oh, and my roll for this action.

Rolled 37 (1d100)

>>36646463
>>36646544
Need help?

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>36646544
Oh come on chat box, work with me please.

New Captcha style broke my 4chanX.

Also, things are coming up, so I'll be off for probably the next hour or more.

Today was a bad day to quest, I guess.

Rolled 34 (1d100)

>>36646260
>Shoot the Asset without hitting your father

>>36646612
It works without the quick-reply function. You have to use the inbuilt function.

>>36646612
Damn

>>36646612
I know that feeling HD, take as much time as you need.

>>36646260
>Shoot the Asset without hitting your father

Last bump from me, someone keep thread alive til OP comes back

Testing, is everyone here having problems posting?

>>36649350
afaik, 4chanX is pretty much fucked, you can get around it by enabling the default form and disabling the quick reply

>>36649386
ccd0 made a hotfix

>>36646260

"Catch them," you growl, and the bike leaps forward, its turbine throbbing underneath you.

Eliza's bending even farther forward, flattening herself against the mighty machine, eking out every last ounce of speed. The wind flowing over her blasts you in the face.

Whatever its virtues, the blonde Asset's bike just doesn't have the acceleration to break away from your ride. Not after Eliza's head start. Maybe it's the slablike armor, or the struggling bundle on the back.

You grab onto the back of Eliza's suit, mechanical fingers gripping armor plates, then lever yourself up and bring one foot onto the seat. Getting the other one up beside it is a tense endeavor, buffeted by the wind. Within a few seconds, you're crouching on the seat, hanging onto Eliza's suit for balance.

Ready to spring.

Your machine gains quickly. Eliza's an excellent rider, and she's not letting her head start go to waste. Coiled to strike, you wait for the right moment.

For a moment, it seems like the motorcycles are standing still, everything beyond them an unreadable blur. The trenchcoat whips across your father's lined face.

The Asset's dishevled blonde hair teases your eyes.

>Jump at the Asset
>Jump to grab your dad
>Write In

>>36650084
>Jump at the Asset

>>36650084
>Jump at the Asset
IT'S PUNCHING TIME!

>>36650084
>Jump at the Asset

>>36650084
>Jump to grab your dad

>>36650084
>>Jump at the Asset

>>36650084
>Eat Knuckles, Knave!!!

>>36650084
>>Jump at the Asset

>>36650084
>>Jump at the Asset

>>36650084

You jump.

Fist pulled back, you clear the gap between the two motorcycles. Your distorted reflection glares back at you from the polished armor plates.

There's a flash of the blonde Asset's face, then you land on her bike, punch flying at her face. She dodges your punch, but she doesn't dodge you.

Your momentum carries her straight off the bike, splashing you both into the concrete river.

You didn't win the desperate struggle for orientation in the air, but you sure didn't lose. Steel and composites took the brunt of your fall. The left arm will need tuning, but you don't care.

As you pick yourself up, a giant throws a fork into a titan's blender behind you, an echoing scream of metal and brickwork. The motorcycle, but there's no time to care.

A pair of venomous green eyes assault you as the Asset springs from the ground. Fist in your gut before you know it.

Sucking wind.

Your arms don't need it.

A steel fist swings down, mallet-like, as she goes for a follow-up. She dodges, straight into a piledriving punch. It smashes into her and she flies back, golden hair streaking in the wind, reddened by the sun's last light, as if heated in a forge.

She sags into a wall, on gloved hand holding her up against the brick.

And God, she's got a smile on her face.

"Looks like you know more than sweet talk," she says, and licks her lips.

>Defensive
>Offensive blitz
>Careful offense
>Figure out what happened to the bikes
>Write In

>>36651583
>>Offensive blitz
Ah yes, this is a true fight!

>>36651583
>Offensive blitz

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>36651583
>Offensive blitz
Nothing else matters but turning her into hamburger.

>>36651583
>>Offensive blitz
Give the Lady what she wants, the way she wants it.

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>36651583
>Offensive blitz
going all out, no hesitation

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>36651583

>>36651657
>>36651687

The dubs are real.

Even though I didn't actually ask for rolls.

>>36651583

A matchingly manic smile paints your own features as you flex your left fingers. Everything works well enough.

Well enough to give this lady what she wants.

Without warning, you dash forward, right fist drawn back high. They'll never get her out of the mortar lines on that wall, if it connects.

She half-collapses forward, hair hanging over her eyes, the picture of exhaustion. At the last second, she slips sideways, snaking her leg out to hook yours.

Uprepared, you hit the concrete for the second time in thirty seconds. But you don't go alone.

Your left grabs onto her shoulder as you fall, bearing her to the ground with you.

>Choke
>Slam her into the ground
>Punches
>Write In

Also, anything you want to say?

>>36652355
>Slam her into the ground
>"Welcome to the Jam!"
Because even the Darkest, most Cyberpunk future needs the wonder that is Space Jam.

>>36652355
>Slam her into the ground
>"I haven't had this much fun in ages!"

>>36652355
>Slam her into the ground
>Incoherent angry yelling.

>>36652355
>>Slam her into the ground

>>36652355
>Choke
"Choke on this."

>>36652355
>Slam her into the ground

>>36652355
>Slam her into the ground
"is that your best? what a shame..."

>>36652355
>>Slam her into the ground
*Insert snappy one-liner here*

>>36652355
>>Punches
>Write In
"Eliza make sure my useless old man is alright, I don't want to paint the sidewalk for nothing."

>>36652355

"Welcome to the jam!" you yell, putting your weight into it, throwing her to the ground beneath your mechanical arm. There's a crunch as she hits the pavement under you. The light scent of perfume mingles with blood, sweat, and asphalt in your nostrils.

She groans under you.

"Is this your best?", you ask, picking her up by the neck as you rise from the ground, the fabric of her suit bunching under your cruel hands.

Her answer dies under the crushing assault of your mechanical fingers, clenching inexorably around her creamy throat, rumpling her starched white collar. "Choke on this," you tell her, as those beautiful hands claw at your steel arms, and her lithe body writhes suspended in midair.

The setting sun tints the scene a dim red, filtered through the thick-covering clouds. Even its light can't mar the defiant green eyes glaring hate at you behind the tousled blonde fringe.

Suddenly, there's a stabbing pain in your gut. You catch the flash of steel on her boot's toe, and start to crumple.

If you're going down, so's she. You pivot, swinging her around bodily, then slam her to the ground. She lands hip-first, with a cracking sound, and sprawls across the pavement, a broken thing.

"What a shame," you say, looking down at her with furrowed brows, "I thought this was going to be the most fun I've had in ages."

Her eyes are still glowing green points of murder, but she's biting her lip to keep from screaming.

She's got enough pride to not give you that satisfaction.

>Make her scream
>Coup de grace
>You've had your fun, find out what happened to the others
>Write In

>>36653231
>>You've had your fun, find out what happened to the others

>>36653231
>You've had your fun, find out what happened to the others

>>36653231
>You've had your fun, find out what happened to the others

>>36653231
>Make her scream

>>36653231
>Make her scream

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>>36653290
Guys, I found the ryonafag.

>>36653231
>Make her scream
Do not fuck with my family

>Write In
Knock her out, task the hounds with bringing her in, we want to have some fun later, whether that fun is sharing a drink with her or something more violent is up to her.
then
>You've had your fun, find out what happened to the others

>>36653231
I also like this >>36653419

>>36653231
>>You've had your fun, find out what happened to the others

>>36653419
>>36653231
I'm up for a reasonable compromise

>>36653419
Just missed it, but I'd like to support this in addition to my vote here>>36653440

>>36653231
>>36653419
This

>>36653419
Seconded

>>36653231

Smiling down at her, you note the coordinates in your phone, along with a reminder to send them to the Hounds when you leave the info blizzard. They should be able to pick her up later.

She's not going anywhere.

You turn on your heel and stalk away from the defeated Asset, shoes rapping on the asphalt. Weight will tell in any fight, and your cybernetic enhancements give you a magnificent advantage.

She's probably a former courier anyway - hired and promoted for her riding, not her combat skills. Like Eliza, you think as you lay eyes on your subordinate.

She's crouched over your father, near the wreckage of the other Asset's bike. Looks like the thing plowed itself straight into a wall after you took its driver off.

To its credit, that doesn't seem to have done more than mar the mirror sheen of its armor. And that was a bit ostentatious to begin with.

As you walk toward your subordinate, you wonder if she would go down as easily as the blonde Asset did. The hardsuit should help, but she's not a combat powerhouse.

Maybe regular sparring needs to become part of her routine. A vision flits by of you two raining blows on each other, toughening her up with every assault of your mechanical limbs, sweat splattering onto the practice mat. But there's no time for that now.

>>36653830

Your old man's face is calm, although there's a nasty cut across his forehead, and Eliza's securing his arm in a makeshift sling, made from the remains of his bonds. He doesn't seem to notice you, even as you tower over him.

"How's he doing?" you ask Eliza, who's busy preparing a bandage, probably for the forehead wound.

"Amazingly well," she says, ripping off a length of gauze, "for being in a collision at that speed. We need to take him somehwere to get taken care of."

It's been forever since you set foot in the old second-story room your father called home, an untidy shrine to your mother's memory, every article of furniture exactly the way she'd placed it all those years ago.

Christ, he beat you once for taking the wilted flower stems out of the vase on the table, despite all their leaves having crumbled to dust years before.

It'd hurt to go back there, but it's the most likely place to find someone who'd be able to help him.

There's always the option of dropping him at a corp hospital, but those should be shut during the biohazard alert.

Not like that would stop you, you think as you pick the old man up, cradling him in your arms. His eyes are dilated. Eliza gave him the good stuff.

>Take him to a hospital
>Take him home
>Take him back to Nepcor
>Write In

>>36653856
>Take him home

>>36653856
>Take him back to Nepcor

>>36653856
>>Write In
>>Bring him along for the ride. Get the hounds to double time it over here and get them pick him up along with the asset in a van.
I want to find out what he was attacked for.

>>36653856
>>Take him home

Hooray! I can post again! And now all captcha needs is a click instead of forcing me to discern unintelligible runes!

>>36653856
>Take him back to Nepcor

>>36653955
>all it needs is a click

I'm happy it makes your life easier.

New captcha thinks I'm a robot, so I have to click, then discern the runes, then click again.

>>36653856
>Take him home

>>36653856
>>Take him home

>>36654012
when you enter the captcha successfully you can tab twice to the submit button and hit enter, it saves you a click, but having to click in the first place to activate the captcha is fucking annoying

>>36653856

"I know the way to his place," Eliza tells you, as she mounts up on her bike, "made a couple of deliveries there."

"Great," you say, trying to get seated with your father on your lap. It's difficult to find a position that works with his injuries, and you finally settle on one that relies on the strength of your mechanical arms to stay situated.

The ride to his home is much slower going than any traveling you've done yet today. Throbbing with pain, the wound in your stomach seems to grow more insistent that you notice it, that you pay it attention. Hanging on to the motorcycle and your father is about all you can do.

Eliza stays mercifully silent as the empty streets get more and more familiar. There's the alley where you and Trevor held your own against five older boys. That's the corner where you saw your first Assets, three suited agents blasting down the road while shooting out out with the corp cops, a bulging bag on the seat of their half-destroyed stolen car.

The wind, cooling as the last red glow of the sun disappears, ruffles your hair. It's not longer the violent assault that Eliza's speed subjected you to earlier. You can smell it now, the slight tang of chemicals and the whiff of hot oiled metal.

And there's the wall where you carved your initials into the brick, inside a heart with Sally's. Maybe they've been buffed out, maybe not. You can't tell from the moving motorcycle.

You made it out.

You made it to the top, or close enough.

>>36654946

And, damn it, you don't regret it. For all the decent memories this place brings back, there are twice as many bad ones. There's a reason you shipped out with Nepcor as soon as you were tall enough.

It wasn't to get this pair of mechanical arms, ironically the only things keeping your father on the prototype bike. He might be burned about that, if he was awake enough to care.

He never did like the idea of augmentation.

Soon enough, Eliza's turning the motorcycle into the dusty ground-floor chamber filled with bent bike racks. You're surprised to see how full they are. This building didn't have that many tenants when you were here.

You and Eliza help your father up the stairs, the puncture in your gut throbbing every step you take on the dusty steps. Finally, you're standing in front of the rusty steel door on the second floor. It's still got the coarsely-painted black three on it, but someone's scratched "A.E.T." in one of the number's semicircles.

That sets you on edge. It's a change, and you know how much your father hated changing anything about this place, the dusty shrine to his wife.

Perhaps it was a local vandal, you think, but some faint noises of talking from within make your already on-edge mind wonder.

It's not like your father to leave any of his devices on, for all his love of system-questioning.

>Burst in through the door - it's probably looters
>Knock on the door - it's probably someone your father knows
>Write In

>>36655385
>>Knock on the door - it's probably someone your father knows
but be ready for violence

>>36655385
>Burst in through the door - it's probably looters
play it paranoid

>>36655385
>Write In
>Quietly lockpick the door, the old man never did want to change the locks

>>36655385
>>Burst in through the door - it's probably looters
Think Dad would mind if we borrowed his gun real quick? Cause I'd say its time to kick in the door waving the .44.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNwvHEme_JE

where did all the voters go?

>>36655786
Its late for most of the US and kinda mid day for a bunch of the pacific.

>>36655385
>>Burst in through the door - it's probably looters
Best be safe

>>36655854
I'd say you've got it, do you know which timezone HD posts from?

>>36655879
He lives in the Pacific Northwest right?

>>36655890
Welp, looks like I ain't gettin much sleep tonight then.

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>>36655385

During a lockdown, looters are always a possibility. And you can't imagine your father having as many people as you can hear behind the door in while he's out.

You leave the old man with Eliza, propped against the concrete wall near the door, out of the way of any retaliation.

Because things could get pretty ugly.

A sharp punch from your powerful arm dents the door, buckling the rusted steel around the knob. The buzz of conversation gives way to shocked silence.

Then you just bull on through, a shoulder made of steel and composites taking the force of the impact as you smash into the room.

It's not the room you expected.

The soft warm light is the first thing you notice, coloring the room in healthy wholesome shades.

Everything you knew is gone.

The cheap carpet's been replaced with slightly irregular matte brown tiles. Instead of the furniture you knew, preserved to honor a memory, there are enough bookshelves to stock a library, and a set of tables. The golden light flows from hanging stained glass fixtures.

The place has an elegant air, higher class than some exec's homes you've been in.

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>>36656264

The people sitting, lying, laughing, talking, reading, playing, and eating are most certainly not higher class. It looks like the general population hasn't changed much, and a significant portion of it is sitting out the lockdown in your father's apartment.

Every eye is trained on you, from the children interrupted in their game of checkers to the factory toughs starting up to cut you off from the rest of the room.

You take it all in at a glance, and it leaves you dumbfounded.

You can't imagine your father doing this, letting anyone do this, or not gutting anyone who tried. For all your rebellion against the notion, the untouched room was a source of stability in your life. Seeing it transformed into whatever the hell this is makes you clench your fists instinctively.

Christ, there's even a restaurant set into the left-hand wall, in back of where the big couch used to be, the one your dad snagged from a demolition, and the two of you barely got up the stairs together.

And then there's the white-haired young man who seems to have materialized in front of you, an unpleasant smile on his fine features, one hand thrust into a pocket.

"Is there something I can assist you with?" he asks, eyeing you steadily.

>Punch him out
>What the hell happened to this place?
>I found Davey, he's outside and badly hurt
>Who the hell are you?
>Write In

>>36656293
>>What the hell happened to this place?

>>36656293
>>What the hell happened to this place?
>>I found Davey, he's outside and badly hurt

>>36656293
>>What the hell happened to this place?
>>I found Davey, he's outside and badly hurt
>>Who the hell are you?

>>36656293
>>What the hell happened to this place
>>I found Davey, he's outside and badly hurt

>>36656293
>Who the hell are you?
>What the hell happened to this place?
>I found Davey, he's outside and badly hurt

>>36656293
>Who the hell are you?

Told you guys we should have picked the lock

>>36656293
>What the hell happened to this place?
>I found Davey, he's outside and badly hurt

>>36656293
>>What the hell happened to this place?
>>I found Davey, he's outside and badly hurt

>>36656293
>Punch him out
>What the hell happened to this place?
>I found Davey, he's outside and badly hurt
>Who the hell are you?
All of them

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>>36656293
I assume this more or less sums up our MC's reaction to this recent turn of events, with less abject horror.

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>>36656636
This interlude has just been emotions after emotions.

Not what I expected from a megacorp exec quest. Still trying to figure out if I like it.

>>36656670
Little known fact: megacorp execs have some of the most emotionally trying careers known to man.

>>36656293

"What the hell happened to this place?" you ask him, staring the young man straight in the face.

"You appear to have damaged the door," he says, in a carefully controlled voice, as the toughs fan out behind him, "but that's the only major change we've had in months."

"No," you say, sweeping your hand across the room, "this is nothing like how da-Davey kept it. Where's the couch? Where's the coffee table? Where's the fucking vase?"

You catch his eyes widening in understanding for just a second before he narrows them suspiciously at you. "He remodeled it years ago. Bought up most of the floor to make this place. Anything he kept is in his bedroom. Who are you?" he asks, eyeing you carefully.

"That doesn't matter right now," you tell him, "I found Davey. He's outside, and badly hurt."

That gets a reaction. People start shooting each other worried looks, and the toughs begin to look jumpy.

The young man's face goes pale, well, paler than it was. "Let's get him up to his room," he says, trying to push past you into the hallway, "we've got some medical supplies up there."

>Let him by
>Not until you tell me who the hell you are
>Write In

>>36656780
follow him and get answers

>>36656780
>>Let him by

>>36656780
>Not until you tell me who the hell you are

Well, we are an alpha male. And I kinda dislike that white haired guy.

>>36656780
>>Not until you tell me who the hell you are

>>36656780
>Let him by
"And who the fuck are you supposed to be? His new cockslut?"

>>36656780
>Let him by
we can ask questions on the way there

>>36656780
>>(Write In) Carry up dad yourself.
We can take care of our own dad

>>36656780
>>36656846 here changing to >>36656851

>>36656851
>>36656823
Supporting these, we're the dude with the augmented to hell arms here. We don't even know who the hell this pretty boy is.

>>36656780
>>36656851
This.

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>>36656780

"I'll carry him," you say, as you back out of the doorway, staying between the young man and your old man, "just show me where to go."

He tears his eyes away from Davey's pitiable state to take a look at your obviously mechanical hands, and nods. "Fine," he tells you, as you hoist your father into your arms, "follow me."

Stabbing pain shoots through your recent wound with every step you take up the worn concrete steps. You can hear Eliza's footsteps behind you. "So," you ask the young man through gritted teeth, "who the hell are you?"

"I'm Paul," he tells you, coming to a stop on the third floor landing, "Davey's assistant."

There's something that doesn't sit right with you about this guy. Maybe it's the smile, or the way he acts like he owns the place, as he unlocks your father's room.

Peering in, you see that this cubbyhole of a room looks more familiar than the library downstairs. You can see the old coffee table in the center, with the vase set atop it.

It still has those withered stems in it, brown and frail with age.

You lay your father gently on his bed, and Paul starts tending to him, as Eliza tells your father's assistant what she's already done for the old man.

The white-haired guy appears to be efficient and knowledgeable, deftly reaching for and using various medical implements and medicines squirreled away around the room. Perhaps you should be glad that your father has someone competent to help him out in his dotage, but you still don't like the young man.

Something about Paul just rubs you the wrong way, as he straightens up after tending Davey and says "thank you for bringing him back to us, Mr. ?"

>Tell him your name
>Give a false name
>That's not important
>Write In

>>36657301
>Tell him your name
>Write In
>Someone want to help me here? Kind of got stabbed.

>>36657337
this

>>36657337
Supporting. Can't go hunting rogue pyromaniac couriers riddled with holes now can we.

>>36657301

"Could I get some help here?" you ask, brushing aside his question with a more urgent one, as you pull up your shirt, "I got stabbed earlier."

"That looks quite serious," Paul tells you as you lie down on the floor. You only hear Eliza's little gasp through your earpiece - it isn't even loud enough to reach through her helmet.

The next few minutes, even with the drugs they give you, are an unpleasant experience. Paul is good with his hands, and Eliza is helpful, but they're still swabbing out a wound and sewing you up, no matter how smoothly they do it.

It's not fun.

But it does give you an opportunity to probe Paul a bit further. It runs out that Davey took him in around ten or fifteen years ago, and now the young man runs, or at least oversees, most of the day-to-day operations of the information brokerage, the restaurant, and the bookstore.

Absolutely invaluable. Your father could never have done it all by himself.

But would your father have even tried to do all these things?

The old man who gave up his shrine to your mother to be turned into a combination of soup kitchen and library doesn't seem like the father you knew, with his near-mania about her and her death.

It seems like the only observance he still follows is his aimless questing into the sector to ferret out whatever information he can, even if he's forgetting what mystery he originally wanted clues for.

>>36657807

You narrow your eyes at Paul, studying him intently as he concentrates on sewing you up, deft fingers sending the needle on its journey through your flesh. The drugs are fuzzing you a bit, you wouldn't trust yourself to combat, but you can see that the young man is definitely poised to take over the concern when your father finally dies or retires. He'll succeed to whatever' left of your father's works.

"By the way," you say, when Paul's almost completed things. Any shock he gets now shouldn't mess them up, "I'm Raynard Eriksson."

"Oh," he says, glancing up quickly at you, and then over at Eliza, "the Nepcor director?"

You can tell he's not entirely sure if you're being serious. But that doesn't matter.

What matters is that he doesn't even think you might be Davey's son. You'd expect a sharp guy like him to at least get suspicious about the identical surnames.

Then it hits you.

Davey never told him about you. He's your replacement.

You're the failure, he's the son.

A tear starts to trickle down your nose. They'll probably blame is on pain not covered by the drugs.

>Break down
>Lose your shit at Paul
>Just get out of here. It's not your place anymore.
>Lose your shit at Paul
>Write In

>>36657824
>Break down

>>36657824
> Just get out of here. It's not your place anymore.

>>36657824
>>Just get out of here. It's not your place anymore.

>>36657824
>>Write In
"I'm Davey's son."

>>36657824
>>Just get out of here. It's not your place anymore
Much as I'd like to get the info on what the old man was up to, it's not worth making a scene over.

>>36657849
This, I want to see his reaction before we punch him through a wall or do something stupid

>>36657863
thats a good point

>>36657837 here changing to supporting >>36657849

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>>36657849
Supportan'.
>>36657824
Along with:
>Just get out of here. It's not your place anymore.

How and why did we turn the alpha-male, high testosterone badass interlude into "Daddy Issues: the Quest."

>>36657902
Fucking pretty boy Paul ruins everything. I'm 90-95% certain this cheeky little cocksucker is the big bad of the quest.

>>36657902
Inner emotional turmoil does a number on your actions.

Supporting >>36657849

>>36657849
thirding
then
>Just get out of here. It's not your place anymore.

>>36657824
>>36657849
This, but let's drop some remark about that making us brothers.

>>36657924
>saying that about our brother

>>36657824

"Davey's son," you say quietly, jerking your head toward the bed. You have to make an effort to keep your voice even.

"Oh," Paul responds, pausing his work to look at your face, "I, that is..."

You can see confusion on his features. Probably a rare sight, if you've got his type pegged right. Worth it, even through the slight haze of pain meds.

But you realize there's a final cap you can put on it, and you go in for the kill.

"I guess that makes us brothers," you say, staring past him, keeping your voice level, "of sorts."

"Of sorts," he echoes dumbly, tying off the final stitch with nervous fingers.

Hah. You blindsided him, twice in a row. That probably doesn't happen too often. A smile spreads across your face as he snips the thread.

"So when are you going to take me out to a strip joint, brother?" he asks you, perfectly deadpan, as he rises to his feet, "isn't that one of the older brother's traditional duties?"

And then you have to laugh as you stand up yourself.

Maybe he's an alright companion for your father's waning years.

You take one last look at the sleeping old man before you leave. He looks tired and delicate. When he's awake, there's a certain core of dynamism, but when he's asleep, that's just gone.

Eliza's been hovering in the background during the whole thing, doubtless trying to do the polite thing, and not intrude. With the three of you on it, the third floor's landing feels a bit crowded as you exchange numbers with Paul.

Having more contacts is always a good thing.

>>36658338

Then you and your Asset tromp down the stairs, back to her bike. It looks humorously out of place in the dingy first-floor antechamber, leaned against a wall near bike racks full of cheap bicycles.

By the time you finally get to them, the warehouses are on fire, surrounded by Vulnex personnel who look like they're not doing as much as they could to douse the flames. You can't blame them, if they think someone was delivering the nanoplague there.

Eliza whisks you away before any of them can get the bright idea of trying to bag another corp's Asset.

Other than that, the ride back to the Telchine Harbor is the least eventful thing you've done all day. Both of you are too tired to talk much, which is probably best.

You're not sure you can withstand another conversation today.

[INTERLUDE: RAYNARD I]

[END]

>>36658357
>You're not sure you can withstand another conversation today.
Time for sex on the desk then!

>>36658357
thanks for running

>>36658357
Thanks for running!

>>36658357
Thanks for the thread HD, hopefully in the future we get to play as Eric again and wreck shit up unconnected to the main plotline so anon feels free to let loose.

>>36658357
>META POST

Well, we're done with Raynard Eriksson. I hope you all enjoyed it.

I agree with >>36657902 - this interlude was supposed to be a fun break from Laura, where the temporary MC solved problems with violence and yelling.

Instead it became an emotional mess!

I'm still not sure how that happened, but it's making me look forward to writing Laura again - she doesn't seem to have that problem.

>SESSION STATS

PROFESSIONAL RANKING: COMPLICIT!
BONUS OBJECTIVES CLEARED: I am Your Father; Daddy Issues; To The Rescue; Permission To Speak Freely; Offensively Offensive; Welcome To the Jam; You Can't Go Home Again; I Found him Wandering Without A Collar, Is He Yours?; CVA; Big Brother
STYLE POINTS: 1200

OVERALL RANKING: BANKED!


TOTAL STYLE POINTS: 3600

>STUFF

Twitter(for quest news, not my political views): https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge

Archive (for figuring out how we got here): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Cyberpunk%20Motorcycle%20Courier%20Quest

Questions (they make me happy): http://ask.fm/haikudeluge

>>36658524
>I'm still not sure how that happened, but it's making me look forward to writing Laura again - she doesn't seem to have that problem.
I know exactly how it happened.

Eric was too close to the main events of the quest, so anons felt like they couldn't let loose and tiptoed around.

If EriK stayed at sea and wrecked shit up there it would have been very different.

I still want to do that in the future if we see Erik again, it would be fun to see him fucking the ocean while annihilating competitor corps platforms

>>36658524
pretty much what >>36658549 said

>>36658524
Damn it HaikuDeluge, if you want simple plots, stop writing such cool complex characters. I had a ton of fun exploring his personality and view on the plot.

>>36658524
Well slap my ass and call me sally, we nailed every bonus objective. These style points are going to be useful for something right?

In all seriousness, thanks for running HD, it was a blast.

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>>36658549
Well, pic very much related.

You could have chosen to torch everything Llyrind owned, out on the high seas. I gave you a choice.

Of course, what you did do had its strong points too.

>>36658556
What I want and what I want are two very different things.

I'm glad you had fun with it - that was the intent.

Besides, just because I meant for the interlude to be one thing, that doesn't mean that it's worse because it turned out to be something different.

>>36658567
>every bonus

I haven't been listing missed objectives since I switched to the style points system.

I'm just too tired at the end of threads now to think up funny names for missed objectives. Maybe I'll start doing them again for Laura.

>>36658614
>You could have chosen to torch everything Llyrind owned, out on the high seas. I gave you a choice.
And I took that choice, but everyone else bitched out.

>>36658614
>What I want and what I want are two very different things.
>what I want
>what I want

They don't look like it

So what do the style points do?

great fucking thread HD

>>36661213
I just wish people had voted for being colder to Davey and his PA, but I guess that's what I get for going to my exams instead of participating