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>>44794964

>>44794964
>Please take your seat rookie. I know stake outs aren't the most fun in the world but you're going to attract attention.

>>44794964
>>Let her, it'll keep her quiet

>>44795071
Russo sighs and goes back to her bucket seat, crossing her arms just long enough to get tired of it and go back to her phone. You return to your window on the driver's side and continue watching the building.

From what you recall, there's supposed to be some kind of big shot from the Covenant making a hand-off to another guy from out of town, potentially the hottest drug all the kids are into lately, Daylight. The stuff gives a sort of euphoria all throughout the body when the skin is exposed to ultraviolet light, and the more the tinglier. You're unsure how this ties into the rumor that the whole operation is run by bloodsuckers, but it reeks either way.

"Sir? Have you gone to see Detective Pedroni? How's he doing?" Russo's sudden concern for Dean seems odd. They'd only met a couple days before, and hadn't said a word to one another.

>"He'll be fine."
>"Why? Got a crush on him?"
>"Who cares, he's probably already croaked."
>"You kidding? A freight train to the head wouldn't get that scumbag outta my hair."
>Other

>>44795476
>"You kidding? A freight train to the head wouldn't get that scumbag outta my hair."

>>44796003
Russo has a chuckle as she pops another raisin into her mouth. You continue watching the building. A voice comes over the radio. One of the other officers on the stakeout is changing out for his relief. You ask Russo if she wants to head home for the night.

"No, thank you sir. I already lost a day of work. I don't mind sleeping in a car. Wouldn't be the first time, anyway."

>Leave it at that
>Pry
>Other

>>44796109
>"What am I? An alarm clock? Whatever, get some sleep rookie."

>>44796109
>(joking)My house is your house

>>44796109
>>>Leave it at that

>>44796411
>"What am I? An alarm clock? Whatever, get some sleep rookie."

Russo reaches back into a duffel on the backseat she brought with her earlier before dawn. She retrieves a throw quilt and drags it over herself before hitting the seat lever. The seat reclines, allowing her a better posture to roll over and mumble incessantly for the next hour, then fall asleep. Much to your surprise, the girl snores like a bear.

Sometime around 2:00, the window of the room you're on lights up, and you see shadows moving behind the curtains. Then, a car pulls up near the entrance of the hotel, dropping off two men. One has white hair and is wearing a trenchcoat, and the other is in a tracksuit with a baseball cap. They approach the front door, and enter without any hesitation or pause.

>Wake up Russo
>Call it in
>Keep watching

>>44796589
>>Wake up Russo

>>44796715
You reach over to Russo and shake her awake. She gurgles and snorts a little before sitting up and rubbing her eyes. You let her know the deal might be going down, and she scoops up her binoculars again to peer over your shoulder.

You don't see any movement for a while, then the shadows in the room window begin playing again. There's no way to tell how many people are in there now, but there's definitely something happening.

>Move in
>Hold back
>Other

>>44796895
>>>Move in

>>44796927
You reach over to the radio on the dashboard and squeeze the call button. You let the others know that the deal might be happening now, and that it would be good to move in. The other two teams confirm, and you start the car.

You drive quickly but carefully out of the garage and down to the street, where you see the other two cars emerging from their own hiding places. You and Russo step out first, and make your way into the building through the lobby.

Inside is a classically decorated room, tall and lit dimly by a glass chandelier hanging high above you. The rugs are plush, and the walls painted an off-white that goes well with the pure white sofas and chairs, as well as the light wooden tables. You pass by the concierges desk, saying nothing as he tries to halt you, but flashing your badges to let him know this isn't a party crash. The two of you make straight for the elevator, and as you step in, Officers McCready, Doyle, and Khorne pile in after you. You rise up to the third floor, and flood out into the hallway, all doing your best to keep silent as you get into position around the door of room 315. Just moments before the breach, you turn to Khorne and ask about his watch partner, Stevens. He says he went home to see his kids, rather than spend the night on a cold trail. Typical.

You knock on the door, and hear an answer back.

"Hello? If you're here to clean, please come back in the morning, I'm trying to sleep."

>Break it down
>"Sir, this is the police. Please unlock the door and step back with your hands raised."
>"Phone call at the front desk" (25%)
>"Housekeeping!" (30%)
>Other

>>44797404
>"Police! Stand clear of the door!"
>Then break it down.

>>44797494
Seconding

>>44797494
>"Police! Stand clear of the door!"
>Then break it down.

As the door splinters and breaks away from the frame, three men come into view. Just as you suspected, one in a trenchcoat with snow white hair, one in a tracksuit and baseball cap, and another in an expensive looking robe. Tracksuit is holding a small attache case, which you can only guess is the evidence you need to put the three of them away, or at least gain some leverage on the real mastermind.

Trenchcoat, an older gentleman with a mustache fit for a bowling champ, pulls a piece from his coat, while Robes stands back behind him.

>Duck
>Take it and return fire
>Other

>>44797738
Technically you break down the door then throw the flashbang, but hey. Everyone else should have their pieces drawn and aimed, right?
>duck out of their line of fire.
>yell GUN

>>44797852
>duck out of their line of fire.
>yell GUN

You move away just as a burst of bullets tear through the doorway, narrowly missing Russo and Doyle, but hitting McCready, who was just a second too late. You don't have time to check on him as he slumps to the ground, instead opting to turn around the corner of the doorway and open fire on Trenchoat, along with the other detectives. He is lit up by seven or eight rounds from your service pistols, and collapses to the ground. Seeing this, Tracksuit and Robes raise their hands above their heads. You step in and approach them, reciting their rights as you begin the arrest. Tracksuit says something in a language you don't know to Robes, who only nods. You tell them both to pipe down.

Suddenly, a shot rings out, and the window of the hotel room shatters. Doyle clutches his chest as he falls to the ground, and Russo ducks to help him. You take your attention from Tracksuit for just a second, but it's long enough for him to bust his cuffs and turn on you, grabbing your head and smashing his own into it. You stumble back, hitting the wall just as he comes at you again. Just your luck to have to go toe to toe with two half-breeds in the same week.

>Take him on alone, let Russo and Khorne take care of the injured
>Ask for help from Russo
>Other

>>44798242
>Take him on alone, let Russo and Khorne take care of the injured

>>44798242
>Take him on alone; let russo and Khorne take care of the injured
Note to self; get a built in fist-taser. What happened to Robes?

>>44798242
>>Ask for help from Russo

>>44798242
>>Take him on alone, let Russo and Khorne take care of the injured
I can't believe we have a co-worker named Khorne. He isn't from a demonic lineage is he?

>>44798296
>>44798363
>>44798382
>>44798391
Did you guys carpool or something?

>>44798242

>Take him on alone, let Russo and Khorne take care of the injured

>>44798296
>Take him on alone, let Russo and Khorne take care of the injured

You let Russo and Khorne handle Robes and Doyle, while you catch the charging criminal in the cheap Nike gear. He tackles you back into the wall, leaving a decent crack in the plaster. His fists, though wild and untrained, leave bad dents in your armor plating as he throws nasty gut blows your way. You hammer the back of his neck and head with your own metal fists, and start to see some blood before you're finally able to grab his waistband and toss him into the wall. He collides sideways and rolls onto the floor.

>Shoot him
>Kick him
>Grapple him
>Other

>>44798502
>kick him
In the legs. See if you can't break a shin or something. Bullets don't slow people down like broken legs down, and they're a lot more survivable.

>>44798406
I missed the beginning part of the quest! Currently we have 9 unique posters, so 5 unique votes and you does mean two people haven't voted.

Congratulations, you're popular!

>>44798502
>other
strangle him with cold, unfeeling robot hands and whisper softly into his ear

>>44798406
I've been here since the beginning senpai
>>Shoot him

>>44798594
>>44798612
>>44798986
Well, we haven't been able to come to a compromise. How about we do all of them; stomp on a leg, him over, shoot him in the other one, and grab him in a chokehold until he goes out?

Honestly, though, we really should tell the others to get down. Or at least get away from the window. Looks like there's a gunman out there.

>>44798594
>kick him
You bring your foot down as hard as you can on his ankle, a total of three times, until you hear a sickening snap. Tracksuit screams in pain, smashing his fist through the wall beside him. Before you can react though, he reaches out and grabs your own ankle, tugging it so you fall onto your back, and dragging you toward him. He pins your right arm with his left, and begins mercilessly pounding on your head with his closed fist. Your lamps are smashed on the first blow, and you can see the blood beginning to trickle down from his knuckles as he cuts himself on glass and smashes the skin open on steel. You lose count of the number of times he brings that meaty hand down on you, but you suddenly become aware that he's doing a real number on your insides. You try to wrestle with him, but he just plain outmatches you in sheer brute strength. Your last resort is to reach down for your piece and put a full magazine in the guys guts. Five shots go off, and your hand becomes drenched in blood as it pours from his stomach, but the guy finally falls over. He ain't dead, but he's down for the count. You eject the mag from your gun and load in a new one, taking stock of your internal systems. Memory core is going off like an air raid siren, and your smell meter is completely fried. You turn around to check on the others.

You sigh and grab your head. Khorne has Russo in a headlock, and is pressing his piece to her little red-haired noggin.

"Gun down, 'Murphy'."

>"You don't wanna do this, Karl."
>"Alright, I'm putting it down. Let's not do anything rash." Put the gun on the ground
>"You dirty, fucking rat."
>Other

>>44799062
I'd be down on this plan sans the shooting bit. If kicking him works shooting would just be excessive, but it would be a good time to get him in a chokehold.

>>44799131
>>"You don't wanna do this, Karl."

>>44799131
>>"You don't wanna do this, Karl."

>>44799131
>"You dirty, fucking rat."

>>44799131
>"You don't wanna do this, Karl."
>keep the gun pointed at his head. If you get a shot, take it. He isn't going to let either of you get out alive.

>>44799167
>"You don't wanna do this, Karl."

"I really do. We took you into account, but you're not some off-the-shelf dishwasher. Get up!" Khorne kicks Trenchcoat, and the stiff actually gets back on his feet. Robes is already long gone. It's only then you realize, despite Trenchcoat taking at least seven shots to the body, he isn't bleeding.

"Sir, I was informed not to-" he begins, but is cut off by Khorne.

"Shut up! Scoop up the lousy fucking half-breed and get him to the back exit, don't let anyone see you." Trenchcoat complies, moving past you to reach Tracksuit. As he walks by, you hear servos. A Con, and a damn good one too. You recall what Davis was saying some time ago, about getting the skin perfect. Trenchcoat slings Tracksuit over his should and exits the room.

"Now, here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna put that fucking gun on the ground and slide it over here. Then, you're gonna go into low-power. Do that, and this bitch gets to live, got it?"

He's bluffing, or he's got a hell of an escape route. If you and Russo die here, he comes out a hero for surviving. But if Russo lives, he can't go back, meaning if he isn't full of shit he's got somewhere to go. But then, what about the shooter? You look toward the window. The curtains flap in the breeze, but not enough for you to see who fired on Doyle. You suspect Stevens, but you've got no proof, and that's not the most pressing matter right now.

"Don't worry, those are just birdshot to you, fucked up skull or not. But this girl? I doubt she can take one blank."

>"We can talk this out, Khorne. Nobody else has to get hurt."
>"If you even scratch her, I'll rip your head open like a damn pomegranate."
>"Alright, I give up."
>Other

>>44799478
>>>"We can talk this out, Khorne. Nobody else has to get hurt."

>>44799478

>"We can talk this out, Khorne. Nobody else has to get hurt."

>>44799478
>tell russo to go limp
>fire
Putting your gun down just means you can't shoot him after he shoots her.

>>44799478
>"We can talk this out, Khorne. Nobody else has to get hurt."

>>44799478
>Other
strangle Khorne with your cold, unfeeling cyborg hands

>>44799790
We've got plenty of feeling in our hands.
And we're not a cyborg. Stop trying to strangle people with them.

>>44799530
>"We can talk this out, Khorne. Nobody else has to get hurt."

Khorne scoffs. You can see Russo struggling against him, but for some reason her movements are a bit limp. She can't honestly be that afraid, can she? Then again, bullets don't do to you what they'll do to her.

"I'm only gonna tell you one last time. Put it down, or I put her down." He makes a point of readjusting his grip on his gun to show he means business. You think if the thing wasn't striker fired, he'd have cocked it. You look to Russo. Her eyes are focused on your lamps, as is normal, but you can see how desperately she seems to be asking you for help.

>"It'll be alright, Rookie, I'm not gonna let you die here."
>"You're not gonna walk out of here, Khorne."
>Put the gun down
>Shoot

>>44799790
I'm cheering for you, anon

>>44799907
>"It'll be alright, Rookie, I'm not gonna let you die here."
>Shoot

>>44799907
>>Shoot
Right through his face.

Hand is acceptable if we don't have a clear shot because he isn't an idiot.

>>44799907
>"You're not gonna walk out of here, Khorne."

>>44799907
>"Ok, ok,"
>shoot

>>44799907
>>"Fine"
>>Shoot

>>44800042
>>44800026
>>44799953
>>44799978
But what about the shooter?

>>44800071
What shooter?

>>44800092
Us.

>inb4 makes us roll for it
>nat 1

>>44800092
Dude firing from outside in.

Took out one of the good guys with a gut shot, I believe. Or he hit him in the chest and he's dead.

Russo can duck, scramble to cover.

>>44800165
Or the gearhead can cover the window with his body.
That would work too.

>>44800152
There was a gunman who shot Doyle through the window.
>>44800071
He's an unknown element. But Khorne hasn't got any incentive to let anyone leave alive. We go low power, he drags Russo in front of the window, she dies, then he pulls us over there and then gets him to rifle-shot us in the brain-case. There's already one guy with a bullet in him from that gun, two more won't make a difference.

Rolled 48 (1d100)

>>44800182
That's probably the best option. Shoot, step in the way of the shot.
A mediocre result!

>>44800182
Not if it's a high-powered rifle.

Those still hurt.

>>44800222
Welp.
I hope our big bulky mechabody can take that shot for her.

>>44800258
Keyword: hurt, as opposed to turn her into red paste.

>>44800189
I'd still say cover the window

>>44800274
>Keyword: hurt, as opposed to turn her into red paste.

>taking a shot that penetrates to our domepiece will still kill us

>taking a shot that penetrates our torso can hit other vital pieces as well

Hurt, in this instance means it can actually do shit to us, as opposed to bouncing off.

>>44800305
Eh, we can take a bullet for a youngster like her. She'd probably do a better job once she grows up a bit.

>>44799953
>"It'll be alright, Rookie, I'm not gonna let you die here."
>>Shoot

The shot rings out through the hotel room, and time seems to stop. You can't follow the bullet, but the moment it impacts feels like it goes on for days. You miss Khorne, striking the barrel of his weapon. Russo screams, then goes quiet as Khorne's gun goes off in his hand. He lets her go, recoiling and cursing as he drops his weapon, clutching his wrist in pain. You react entirely on reflex, and put three shots into Khorne as he stumbles backward. The wall behind him, once a pretty white, and the delicate painting of a cafe scene hanging from it, are splattered a deep red. Khorne twitches, and curses one more time before banging his head on the wall, and passing out. However long he remained attached to the mortal coil you'd never know, but you hoped it hurt like hell.

You drop your weapon and rush to Russo's side. The side of her head is bleeding, and she isn't responding to her name. You tell her to stay with you. She reaches a hand up and clutches your head, planting her fingers in the dents Tracksuit made a moment ago. Her face contorts strangely, and she grins up at you.

"Sir, I got him..."

>"Got who?"
>"Take it easy, Rookie, I'll get you to a doctor."
>Other

>>44800380
>"Take it easy, Rookie, I'll get you to a doctor."

>>44800380
>"Got who?"
We...DO have a radio to shout "officer down" into, right?

>>44800380
You're a psion aren't you?
Relax, I'll get you to a doctor.

>>44800380
>>"Take it easy, Rookie, I'll get you to a doctor."
Seconding the radio idea.

>>44800380
>>44800380
>"Take it easy, Rookie, I'll get you to a doctor."

>>44800380
>"Take it easy, Rookie, I'll get you to a doctor."

>>44800462
>"Take it easy, Rookie, I'll get you to a doctor."

Russo removes her hand from your head and points to the destroyed window.

"S-sir...I got him..." You lower head head down slowly and move toward the window. You throw open the curtain, and peer out into the night, brilliantly lit by the moon and stars above the city. Across from you, in the very same garage you and Russo had been waiting in, is Peters, holding a hunting rifle across his chest. Even from here, you can see him spasming, trying to move against some force holding him stationary.

>Arrest him
>Shoot him

>>44800793
>>Shoot him

>>44800793
>Shoot him
KNEECAP HIM AND GET THE GODDAMNED DOCTOR

>>44800793
>Arrest him

>>44800793
>>44800867
>shoot him
>nonfatally
>tell Russo first in case that's going to be a problem for her
We don't want our psion getting a sudden seizure due to the death of the person she's hijacking.

>>44800937
Thisthisthisthisthis

>>44800793
>>Shoot him
Use her gun to do it.

>>44800937
>shoot him
>nonfatally

You take your sweet time lining up a shot. you may not be dexterous, but you're steady as can be, and with all the time in the world to adjust, it only takes one shot to pierce Stevens' thigh, hobbling him. He collapses, and you holster your piece before going back to Russo.

She seems to be in much less pain now, but her breath is ragged and shallow. You try to keep her alert as you call for an EMT, then carry her out over your shoulders, down through the elevator and to the main lobby.

Thankfully, you're in Limelight and not Lowtown, so the ambulance arrives in minutes. They load her onto a stretcher for the second time in three days, and you watch her zoom away. Not much later, other officers and detectives arrive on the scene to go over the events of that night.

The attache case, whether it was carrying Daylight or not, is gone. Somehow, McCready lived through his injuries, and corroborated your story with the investigator. Peters put up a fight during interrogation, but even he cracked under the pressure of evidence. you yourself were detained, housebound, for three days before finally being able to roam free. You also heard from Samson that Tracksuit was a wanted man, and that so long as he was moving with the case and Robes, there'd be a trail to follow.

Sometime around 3:00, on your last 'day off' from work, there is a knock at your door. You go to answer it, and are both unsurprised and utterly shocked to see Russo, in good health and carrying some sort of gift box.

"Afternoon, sir. I took my lunch and came over to make sure you weren't banging your head into the wall. May I?"

>"I don't like visitors."
>"Wipe your feet."
>"Of course."
>Other

Just as an aside, we're going to come out slightly better than I anticipated. Even if Russo doesn't make it (callous bastardness nonewithstanding) our bullets aren't in any cops.
Even if we shoot Peters from here, he's put rounds in our guys too.

>>44801133
>"Of course."

>>44801133
>>"Of course."

>>44801133
>>"Of course."

>>44801133
>"Of course."
Did we get our repairs done?

>>44801133
>"Of course."
>Did you bring me donuts?

>>44801209
Not a one, you look like a used soda can

>>44801173
>"Of course."

You step aside and let Russo in, shutting the door softly behind her. She takes a look around your studio, and you can practically feel her stiffling a chuckle.

"Wow, Sir, your home is very..." Empty.

"Minimalist, I was going to say. Oh, here, I brought something. A present, for watching out for me this past month." Russo hands you the gift box. You open it carefully, and reveal a picture frame. Inside is a poster, a draft of the new ads going up across town. From the delicate linework, you can tell this is the work of none other than the precincts resident artist, Captain Davis. His render of you is loving, capturing the rugged exterior of your chassis, yet also the tenderness behind your lamps. you also notice he seems to have made Samson look a lot meaner, and Dean a whole lot less ugly. Russo's portrait seems to be the most peculiar, as her eyes are much wider, her figure much more full, and you've never seen her take such a... cute pose.

"I thought they were going to use a photo, but I guess Davis talked them into going with something like this. Apparently it tests well with kids. I asked if he could give me the original, and he said yes, so I had it framed. You don't have to hang it if you don't want to."

>"I will, just need a nail."
>"I love it, kid. Thanks."
>"I'll put it next to the Van Gogh."
>Other

>>44801376
>"I love it, kid. Thanks."
>"How're you holding up after that whole mess?"

>>44801376
>other
>Looks cute, just like you, kiddo.
>check on her health, sudden change as to why she was in Dean's head in the shootout

>>44801376
>>"I'll put it next to the Van Gogh."
>just need a nail."

>>44801446
Second.

>>44801446
I wouldn't call what he described as cute, unless you're refering to the drawn version of her.

>>44801446
>other
>Looks cute, just like you, kiddo.
>check on her health, sudden change as to why she was in Dean's head in the shootout

You get a big, wide smile out of her as you set the frame down on top of your standing desk. You look at it for a second longer before turning back to her and bringing the mood down. You ask her about her condition, and she reports nothing wrong. They only held her long enough to stop the bleeding and give her some medicine the day of the bust, and she was back to work by the afternoon. You're relieved, but still tense. You bring up the incident at the museum, and about invading Dean's head. She seems to have anticipated this.

"Guess I couldn't keep it hidden forever. At least not with you around. I'm a psion, yeah. Have been since I was a kid. When I was little, I didn't really understand what it meant. My parents thought I was just emotional, sensitive, loving, all that stuff. I would see through my cat's eyes. I would tell birds to do tricks in the air. It was just a game to me, until I felt what real pain was. I was connected to a squirrel one day, and it wandered away from my yard. I held on for a while, wondering where it'd go. Then it got hit by a car trying to cross the road. It hurt like you wouldn't believe. I didn't know how to sever the connection, not when I was in so much shock. My family took me to the hospital, thinking I was hurt because I was screaming and coughing so much. By the time we got there, the squirrel was dead and I was better, but it still freaked them out. I didn't try to connect with anything else for a long time. At some point, I learned what a psion was, but I was still afraid to out myself. Up until college, I kept it to myself, and only occasionally probe someone or something. Birds, hamsters, boyfriends...girlfriends. It was just a way to feel out other people, or have some fun. When I started studying Criminal Justice seriously, I gave it up. Seemed wrong. But..."

[Cont]

>>44801654
"...But when I heard there was a psion in the museum, and when you said you wanted to go in alone, I got worried. It felt shitty to just sit there, safe behind the barricade while you and the others walked into the fire like that. I had to make sure you'd be alright, sir. So I felt the three of you, since you were in my line of sight, and was only able to connect with Dean. He's not much for security, so it wasn't too hard to maintain the connection even when I couldn't see him anymore. I watched you take those bullets, and I watched you pin that perp to the wall. When I saw Dean punch you, I realized the little guy was the psion. It was hard, but I managed to wrestle him for control of Dean. I couldn't overpower him, not with as little practice as I've had, but I was able to help you a little. I even tried to jump from Dean to the psion, but that was a bad idea. Right when I did, you blew a hole in him, and the connection snapped. The feedback, I guess you'd call it, hit me full on and I had a seizure. That's when they took me to the hospital."

You fold your arms. Russo looks down at her feet. You think for a moment, and recall that an unregistered psion is a very bad thing. Often they're more easily persuaded by very persuasive people, into doing bad things. You didn't doubt Russo, but you were also a cop, and cops know better than to let things be. You see Russo look back up, as if she knew what you were thinking. She bites her lip in anticipation of some sort of response from you.

>"You're a good cop, kid. That's all I need to know."
>"You need to register. For your own sake."
>Other

>>44801793
Is there a place in the force for psychics?
Is there any downside to registering?

>>44801793
>"You need to register. For your own sake."

>>44801793
>"You're a good cop, kid. That's all I need to know."
>"That said, it might be better to register than be at the mercy of someone else who finds out your secret, someone less well intentioned.
But I'm leaving that up to you"

>>44801793
>"You need to register. For your own sake."
She needs to learn at least what you should not do as a psion.

>>44801892
Sure, if they're registered.

It's basically being branded for everyone to see. get to carry special papers and everything. The feds don't treat you any different for the most part, but people will find any reason to be angry, and if there's a whole group of people who are different and can do scary things, you better believe they'll be all over that

>>44801931
Well, Cons are mistreated to, he can relate.

But yeah, I'd rather let her pick, and make sure she gets why registering would be a good idea in some senses, even if she'll become less well... liked.
Kinda with how the whole Ford & Girl case thing went.

>>44801931
>>44801793

In that case, I'll go for >>44801908
>"You're a good cop, kid. That's all I need to know."
>"That said, it might be better to register than be at the mercy of someone else who finds out your secret, someone less well intentioned.

Everyone's got their talents, even if it makes them hated. Russo's worth more as a psychic than as a detective who can get gunned down as easily as the rest. We're good for catching bullets, and how's that been working out for Russo so far?

>>44801793
>"You need to register. For your own sake."

Emphasize that we think she's a good cop regardless of what she decides to do, but for all the headaches it will likely bring, there are some very good reasons to register.

Probably best to get it on record, especially for her own protection.

>>44801908
>"You need to register. For your own sake."

Russo looks back down. You can see her clenching her fists. After a minute, she stands without making eye contact.

"I understand, sir. I'll think about it. I should be getting back, so I'll see you tomorrow." You consider stopping her from leaving, or at least walking her out, but you realize as soon as she begins making for the door that she wipes her face, trying not to let you see her cry. As the front door shuts, you look down at the drawing on your desk. Suddenly it doesn't seem as cute. You pick it up, open the drawer beneath your keyboard, and slide it in. It barely fits.

After a while, you decide to use the rest of the day to get something done.

>Go up to Silver Sands and see the mechanic girl
>Head to the Rivet Club
>Go for a walk

>>44802180
That's not what I voted for, but whatever.
Suggesting something and telling someone they need to something are different things, but whatever. Maybe I should've put emphasis on
"ITS YOUR CHOICE I WON'T INTERFERE"
As it's written right there: "I'm leaving that up to you"
But oookay

>Go up to Silver Sands and see the mechanic girl

>>44802180
>Go up to Silver Sands and see the mechanic girl

>>44802180

Meh, doesn't seem like our response really matched what was voted for. Would have liked us to have said something a bit less blunt.

>Go up to Silver Sands and see the mechanic girl

>>44802266
>>44802373
It was three to two

>>44802266
>>44802373
Alright well, I clearly got confused by the way things were written. If you guys really want, I can backpeddle it and redo the bit. The way I wrote it was meant to be more firm but gentle

http://strawpoll.me/6549620

>>44802384
>>44802373
That's not what I'm complaining about, your post usually replies to the vote that decides the choice. "You need to" won, but my vote (the one you linked) wasn't for that, not at all.

Aaand one of the "you need to" votes is a bit different than the regular no write in choice, but whatever. It's what won.

>>44802451
I'm just an effing sperglord to be honest, my bad for bothering really.

>>44802384

My vote >>44802105 wasn't meant to be a flat "You need to register", which was why I added the stuff after about emphasizing she was a good cop + reasons.

It wasn't a big thing regardless, something just seemed off between the votes, the vote you responded to (as >>44802459 mentions), and what (I thought) had won.

>>44802459
Nah, it was 3-2. We're blunt. It hurts.

>Go up to Silver Sands and see the mechanic girl

>>44802581
Poll says otherwise, for what its worth.

>>44802581
I think I wasn't clear enough, or you've misread it.

Maybe go back and try again and if you still don't then I'll explain exactly why what you said is agreeing to what I just said.

>>44802611
The poll is overwhelmingly in favor of being open, with 301 votes. With 17 posters and thus 16 max voters the error margin is a low 18,886%, too!

>>44802035
You tell Russo you think it's better for her to register, to save herself and everyone else a whole lot of trouble down the line, but that you won't force her to do it, knowing the consequences. She doesn't look at you, but you still hear her let out a little breath of relief.

She stands soon, and doesn't look at you, but you see her wipe her eyes with the palm of her hand. She thanks you, for what you aren't sure, and before you know it, you are pulled into easily the most awkward hug of your life. you pat her on the back, unsure of the right reaction, until she lets go and begins fishing in her pocket for her phone.

"I need to get back, but I'll see you tomorrow, sir." She doesn't look at you once as she dashes out the front door, slamming it behind her. You listen to her footsteps drawing away, and the sound of her car revving up before driving away. You take a look at the drawing again. You can't tell if this is how Davis sees you, or just how he chooses to show the world through his optimism. That said, Russo may not be a super model, but she's a lot better looking than this doll Davis sketched up.

You set it down and decide to spend the rest of your day doing something productive.

>>44802266
>Go up to Silver Sands and see the mechanic girl

You call a cab and get dressed before riding up to Silver Sands. Surprisingly, the driver knows the shop, and drops you off right outside without much problem. As you enter, the Con greeter bows and welcomes you in. you wave and ask if the boss is in. She points you to the backroom, and tells you to go right in. You do.

The backroom, unlike the front, is a grease pit full of machinery, boxes and crates, and good old fashioned rock music blasting over a stereo. The girl, a slim gal with her hair in a tail, wrapped in coveralls and a bandanna to keep her hair clean. She is singing in a deep, off-key voice when you enter, and has her arm elbow deep in her work.

>"Afternoon, Doc."
>"Is this a bad time?"
>Other

>>44802693

Yep. It's exactly what the poll ends up being worth, sadly.

It's like people have nothing better to do than make me facepalm.

I don't mind backing up, I blame myself for being unclear mostly, but it just helps me if you highlight your response accordingly, so I don't get mixed up counting votes

>>44802762
>Doc! They got me, da doity bastids! Also I think I have a memory overheating problem. They got me, da doity bastids!

>>44802762
>"Afternoon, Doc."

>>44802693
You know, just because you're the kind of faggot who has a script to samefag strawpoll it doesn't mean others are like you.

And no, I complained because my vote seemed to be counted for something I didn't vote for.

And NO, I did not say my option won, in fact the other post that had a reply with "but 3-2, we're blunt"
>>44802459
Was meaning to say "Their option won, even if it might seem unclear" So I'm not claiming anything too bizarre.

Just that my fucking vote seemed to be counted for the opposing fucking vote.
Is that too hard to get?

>>44802762
>"Afternoon, Doc."

>>44802849
Hey, relax, man. This isn't justice.

>>44802762
>"Afternoon, Doc."

Mmm, mechanic girl in coveralls.

>>44802762
>"Afternoon, Doc."

>>44802904
>"Afternoon, Doc."

The mechanic tucks her head underneath her arm to see you, and you notice a smile cut across her already pink face. She tears her arm along with a spanner out of the chest of some poor schmuck, and hits a small remote attached to her shoulder that shuts off the speakers. She tosses the spanner onto a nearby table and dusts off her hands, not that it does much. When she turns back to see you, hands resting on her cocked hips, she whistles.

"Hot, damn. You look like shit. Husband have a bad day at work? They have shelters for gals like you, yknow. Three hots and a cot. Or was that prison?"

You laugh a little, and show her her own business card, reminding her that she invited you over.

"I'm just yankin yer chain. Name's Ella, Ella DuBois. Part cajun, part texan, all mean, if you was wonderin'. You's the first Con ever walked through my door with a head full of thunk, rather than a grocery list. Mostly, I was hopin' to crack you open and get a little squeeze ah yer bits. I'm willin' to buff you out and maybe swap out a couple of yer parts, if that's decent payment."

>"Sorry, my bits are my business."
>"What kind of parts are we talking?"
>"You get this fresh with all your customers?"
>Other

I can stop with the accent if it's bad, but know that it is implied

>>44803100
>"What kind of parts are we talking?"

>>44803100
>you get fresh with all your customers?"

I like her. Can we keep her?

>>44803100
>"You get this fresh with all your customers?"

>>44803100
>"You get this fresh with all your customers?"

>>44803147

Agreed, me likey.

>>44803100
>"You get this fresh with all your customers?"

>>44803147
>"You get fresh with all your customers?"

Ella laughs. You peg her for a smoker, if only a casual one.

"Yer alright, copper. Wanna have a little lie down on my loveseat there? I promise my hands are warm." She wiggles her digits, and points to a slab of steel set between a large array of monitoring devices and power tools.

>Lie down
>"Not today, just came to talk."
>Other

>>44803367
>"Not today, just came to talk."

>>44803367
>Lie down

>>44803396
>"Not today, just came to talk."

Ella seems disappointed, clicking her tongue and shrugging.

"Fine, but I'm gonna be thinkin' about you naked the whole time." She laughs as leads you toward a steel desk in the corner of the room. You lean against the concrete wall as she unzips her suit, revealing a tank top, and plops down in the rolling chair. She reaches into one of the top drawers and fishes out a box of cigarettes, and nice ones too. Perks of doing business in Silver Sands, you suppose. She lights it with a wood match from the same drawer, takes a drag, and crosses her legs before speaking up.

"So, what can I do fer you? If you ain't here for parts, I reckon yer here for info. That or you're the same as ole' Ford, and got the hots for little thang like me. Flattered as I am, you'll need a couple mods done before we can seal the deal."

>"Just wanted to know about your work."
>"You caught me, Doc. I'm awful sweet on ya."
>Ask something
>Other

>>44803643
>"Just wanted to know about your work."

>>44803643
>"You caught me, Doc. I'm awful sweet on ya."

>>44803643
>"You caught me, Doc. I'm awful sweet on ya."

>>44803643
>"You caught me, Doc. I'm awful sweet on ya."
Why the hell did a heavily damaged robot come to a mechanic just to chit chat.
...

>>44803785
>"You caught me, Doc. I'm awful sweet on ya."

To your mild surprise, you actually see a bit of blush fill her cheeks. She takes another puff from the cigarette and taps it out, half finished.

"Well, it's nice of ya to say, but I get the feelin' what you wanna know is what I'm willin' to do for ya. Typical man." She smiles, recrossing her legs as she taps the keyboard on her computer, bringing the monitor to life.

"I didn't get to Silver Sands doing paint jobs and sprayin' Cons down with pine smell. I'm the best in town. Started workin' on ya'll when I was just a squirt, with my daddy. And I didn't just call ya here because yer a real boy n' all. Truth is, you're a bit of a rarity. What did ya do before you were a cop?" You tell her you were a host at a private club. You don't mention the technical prostitution. "What kind of penny-pinchin' snake wastes a thang like you on fingerin' ladies behind some velvet curtain? You my friend, are a genuine M-Series. American Muscle, true ingenuity brought to you by the good ol' United States. Betcha didn't know you were compatible with every military grade mod for the past fifty years, didja? Why I bet I could fit you with a railgun, if ya don't mind losin an arm."

>"No thanks, I like having two."
>"And where would these parts be coming from? Remember that I am a cop."
>"I like the sound of that."
>Other

>>44804094
>"I like the sound of that."

>>44804094
>"No thanks, I like having two."

>>44804094
>These fingers may end up needing to be used if you keep talking like that.

Loot gets my rocks off.

>>44804094
>"I like the sound of that."

>>44804094
>"No thanks, I like having two."

>>44804094
>"I like the sound of that."
>"What other mods do you think I would benefit from?"

>>44804158
>"I like the sound of that."

"And that ain't all!" You can practically feel the excitement coming off her in waves. "Looky here! Get real close." You move over and look at the monitor. "See this? Little pet project I got on the backburner. I call it the Tickler. If I rip of yer little digits there, I can swap the parts from yer forearm down with this motor and battery, then replace the outside and coat em with a new finish, after sandin' off the old on a course, and as long as you got charge in your drive core, you can shock bad little boys that you get your hands on. What's the best part, you ask? Well I'm glad you did, because this little beauty works on humans, bloodsuckers, halfies, you name it! I got all the parts I need to build it, but what I ain't got is a Con registered to carry weapons. You, my sexy, steel sledgehammer, are a sentient Con, and yer on the police force. all you'd need to do is register it like any firearm, and you could be struttin' down the street with it, no legal bones to pick er nuthin! So? Whaddya say? Let me crack ya open and let's make some sweet music, darlin."

You step back to think. This would benefit you, certainly. But you know the old saying about replacing planks on a boat.

>Accept
>Refuse

>>44804400
>Accept

>>44804400
>Accept
"Any chance I can get some heat vision and flame decals too?" Chuckle

>>44804400
>Accept

>>44804431
>>Accept

Ella jumps out of her chair and claps. Without a moment's notice, she shoves you over to the work table and pushes you down. You lie on your back and spread out a bit, giving her access to all your parts. She hits a few buttons on a console nearby, and two hydraulic arms extend, pressing on your shoulders to hold you in place.

"Sorry about the rough stuff, babe, I've had wigglers before. I can't put ya in low-power, since I need your battery at full run to test the Tickler, but if ya want I'll put on some music to relax ya." You ask for synth-noise. The choice of the modern Con. She grimaces, but presses a few buttons on her shoulder remote, and the stereo comes to life with the top 40 on KBOT. As you lie on the table, Ella pulls on a pair of goggles, and gathers the parts and tools she needs. Within minutes, your belly is oped to the air, and your arm is practically down to the bolts. Ella climbs up on the table, her coveralls still pulled down to her belt line, and stuffs her hands into your stomach, biting her lips.

"Mmm. No words, darlin'. Jes lemme work my magic." You hear her giggle before a sudden pain surges through you as she messes with the connections on you battery. You spend the next few hours with a half-naked, increasingly breathy Texan rooting around inside you, making frankly rude comments on your internal workings. By the end, she needs a smoke and a comb, and you need a shower.

>>44804740
That'll be a wrap for this week. I'm gonna try to think of more cases by Monday, but if you want to know for sure when I'll be back, check my twitter in the OP.

Thanks to everyone who came, I hope you had some fun with this. Tomorrow will be my RtR thread, which should be wrapping this thread or next.

I hope the archives work better, I hope you all come back again, and I hope my southern accent wasn't in the top ten worst of /tg/ history!

I'll be around a while if anyone wants to chew the fat

>>44804781
Thanks for running.

That was strangely, and hilariously, sexual.
And hey maybe check some old detective movies for ideas, god knows those things can be entertaining.

Some kind anon already archived too it seems.

>>44804781
Just a suggestion based on the backtrack kerfuffle earlier, maybe have a bit more voting time so custom answers have time to be noticed and potentially selected.

Also you should totally watch/read some old noir stuff for ideas.

>>44806798
I mean, I sometimes go nearly 30 minutes. Any longer and I might as well just do this by mail

>>44806851
fair enough.

>>44804781
Thanks for running boss, loved our crazy machine fetishist Texan.

I also like how you tastefully included technical prostitution into our backstory. I chuckled at that.

>>44807481
I was feeling her out as I typed. Somehow it just felt right.

>>44806798
>>44806851
What about a secondary vote if a custom option seems popular?

>>44809053
If it's unpopular, it wouldn't be picked