>>448853
>Stop being such a pussy, because your in a fucking super suit.
>run over the plan to increase mission success chance.

>>448865
Seconded

>>448853
>Talk to the boys

>>448853
>Run over the mission again

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>>448853
“Okay,” you start, deciding that going through the brief would kill two birds with one stone, “just so we’re clear on why we’re kitted out on a lovely, cloudless Friday night instead of getting hammered, we’ll run through the plan one last time.”

The declaration is received, naturally, by a chorus of groans from your own fire team, and mix of pity and disinterest-mostly the latter-from the other. Well, all except one. The rookie sits up attentively and cranes his head to look at you, eyes wide with anticipation and not a little apprehension. It would be you that got sat with the new guy, but at least you were on a nice, easy operation to get everyone into the swing of things.

“We’re being dropped into the penthouse of a Gentek egghead by the name of Mercer,” you recite from memory. “His employer came to the Peacekeepers with some… concerns about him and two days ago, the geeks monitoring his abode caught a phone call he had with some unsavoury types. We’re to go in, dig up what we can, and bring the good doctor back for a nice, friendly chat.”

“Big whoop,” one of your boys, a Brit by the name of Julian, spits. “I still don’t get why the bloody Peacekeepers don’t handle it.”

“They probably would if they could, but they’re stretched thin with all the riots,” another of your team, Zak, informs him dourly.

“Not riots,” the last member of your little collective, Wes, interjects.

“/Protests/. Fine, whatever. Doesn’t change the fact that they’ve not got the manpower, so instead, here we are.”

“Can I continue?” you ask, testily. Zak holds his arms up in a placating gesture and slouches back into his seat.

“Thank you. Now, the plan-such as it is-sees us going in through the roof. We sneak in, tap everything that even /looks/ like a computer for data, snag Mercer, and then make like a tree and get the fuck out of dodge. Happy?”

“Yes, boss.” Wes and Julian chorus.

“Yes, sir,” the rook chirps. Then he pauses, and adds, “Sir, can I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What’s a tree?”

>”…what?”
>Moving right along...

>>448977
>”…what?”

>>448977
Don't understand why you don't kmow what a tree is. Your a city boy for real aren't you? Never saw nature?

>>448853
OH SHIT FROSTY?

Waddup nigga

File: the rookie.jpg (110 KB, 850x1000)

110 KB JPG

>>449056
Soup

>>448977
The silence is palpable. Even the other fire team stare in disbelief, not sure if they have actually just heard what you very much think you have.

“…what?” you venture. You actually have no answer to this.

“I-I was just curious is all,” he stammers, face reddening. You catch the way he pronounces his vowels. His accent is curious–what you imagine a blend of American and British would sound like. Then the wheels begin to spin, and understanding follows.

“Ahh, you’re the local boy we picked up!”

“Yes sir. Antanan born and bred,” he states, puffing up his chest proudly.

Antana–exporter of exceptionally rare metals and the worst holiday spot on the planet. It was quite literally an island city, with ‘megablocks’ that rose higher than most skyscrapers dominating the view. The only greenery that existed anywhere on this densely packed isle was located in a district nicknamed ‘the Crown’; an area that only the wealthy inhabited. If this boy, Mack, you recall, had been raised here, then the chances were good that he had gone all his life without seeing so much as a blade of grass.

“Shit, we are /actually/ babysitting here,” Julian breathes with a mixture of awe, horror and resignation.

“If this guy starts gaping at bushes in the middle of a firefight, can I shoot him?” Zak asks you dryly.

“No, just…” you trail off and squeeze the bridge of your nose with a hand. “Okay, rook. Tree: they’re usually tall, big and leafy. Just think of a thick stick with a whole mess of green on top of it.”

“Oh, okay.” Mack nods rapidly. His face takes on a ponderous expression, and then he asks, “What’s a stick?”

You don’t hear much more over the other fire team roaring with laughter.
***
Five minutes later, after everyone’s quietened down, your pilot notifies you that you’re approaching the DZ. As you check your loadout, Julian poses an interesting question.

“So, this guy Mercer, he ex-forces at all?”

You search your memory, and shake your head, “Nope.”

“He got any security?”

“You know, you’d have the answers to these questions if you actually paid attention to anything I said in the last hour.”

“So, yes?”

“No, he doesn’t. He lives on his own.”

“All right… so why are we playing this all quiet-like then?”

“What?”

“The guy’s a geek, the rookie here could probably take him with one hand behind his back. We have not one, but /two/ fire teams. Why are we wasting time setting up for an entrance when we could bust straight in and wrap things up all ricky-tick?”

You pause to consider.

>No, we do things as we were briefed
>You know what, you’re right. Shock and awe

>>449112
>No, we do things as we were briefed

inb4 it's a trap.

>>449112
You consider throwing all caution to the wind for only the briefest instant.

“No, Jules, we do this as planned. Mercer was way up on Gentek’s payroll and they don’t hire morons. He could have planned for a raid, in which case we don’t want to tip him off that anything’s wrong in his cosy little life until we’ve thrown a sack over his head.”

“Spoilsport,” Julian groused, but you can see the gears turning in his own head as he lowers his head to check his own weapon.

“We’ll be over the target in two minutes. Team One, get ready to rappel down. Team Two, you’re on overwatch.”

Oh, thank Christ for that.

You slap home a magazine and quickly run through your initial safety checks, your fire team mimicking your actions almost perfectly in sync bar the rook. Once you’re satisfied, you clip yourself to a line, raise the bar on your seat and make ready to…

>Rappel down (grants ASSAULT: Bonus to all short-ranged weapon and close combat rolls)
>Stand on overwatch (grants SUPPORT: Bonus to all long-rifle, heavy and support weapon rolls)

>>449176
>Rappel down

We're going in with our team.

Whatd you use to run desu? I have no idea why I was already following you on twitter

>>449176
Rappel.

We're gonna be a bad mother fucker.

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160 KB JPG

>>449206
Some short-running steampunk shit that is best forgotten.

>>449176
In your time with Assagai Security Consultants Ltd, you’d picked up a reputation. Whenever someone needed a bunker busted, or a complex cleared, you and your boys were the ones they called. Yours was the only fire team in the entire organisation that had cleared the infamous ‘Gauntlet’ in less than five minutes. Close quarters combat was a specialty of yours, so it stood to reason that you would be going in first.

Out the door.

Dangling from a rope a hundred storeys above ground…

The lightweight body armour and the webbing you wore would be for shit if you dropped. The only upside was that, at that height, the end would at least be quick.

“Good luck,” a rough, gravelly voice offers in a tone that makes it quite clear he wishes anything but. Konrad Kilgore cuts an intimidating figure with his tall, broad figure, tattoos and wild features. Despite appearances, however, he much prefers to do his killing at distance. He bares his teeth at you in a feral grin. You sniff, unimpressed, and he scowls at you before you turn away to make sure you’re all sorted.

“Ten seconds,” the pilot warns.

“All good?” you ask your men as the ramp drops.

Four affirmatives. The rook’s sharper than he looks, you note with some satisfaction. Maybe those growing pains won’t be as bad as you feared they might be.

Finally the count reaches zero and the five of you launch yourselves out of the aircraft. You feel your bowels clench involuntarily as you take in the distance between you and the winding streets below, all lit up like lights on a Christmas tree. Then muscle memory asserts itself as you slow your descent to a safe level, reaching the roof of the penthouse with no dramas and no embarrassing accidents, much to your relief.

Once you and your team unclip yourselves, the VTOL gains some altitude. Kilgore’s mob would provide overwatch until you made entry, where they would drop down and continue to provide cover all the way through until you had Mr Mercer in hand ready to dust off. You find yourself on top of a rather modest terrace with a little infinity pool and a hot tub, as well as a couple of deck chairs.

“Nice setup,” Zak murmurs approvingly as you approach a French window that will take you into a veranda. It’s locked of course.

“Going to need to get through that somehow,” Julian mutters, patting a pouch of his webbing, in which you know sits a breaching charge.

>Pick the lock
>Fuck it, go loud

>>449287
Sky pirates?

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55 KB JPG

>>449290
Please don't. I cringe each time I remember it.

>>449287
Pick the lock.

Assault is more fun and safer when they don't know you're coming

>>449287
Pick lock. Go in all stealthy.

>>449287
You give Julian a look of stern disapproval before holding a hand out. Seconds later, Wes drops a set of lock picks into your open palm.

“Fine, here I was trying to make sure we got back in time for the party but if you want to be all nitpicky about it…” you filter out the rest of his drivel as you concentrate on working the lock. A few brief seconds and you hear a satisfying /click/ of another portal yielding to your powers once more. You shake your head; that was actually far too easy. Whoever had built this pad had been woefully overpaid.

Quietly, you open the door and creep inside, Julian shutting up as your team follows on, moving as silently as you. You hear the whine of the VTOL’s engines dim as it veers around to drop off Kilgore’s team–

–and then you freeze.

“Boss?” Wes asks, uncertain.

It’s dark in Mercer’s slice of heaven, one of the perks of being so high up in Antana is that you don’t have to deal with the light from all the megablocks sitting around you, but not so dark that you can’t discern certain details.

Like movement, for instance.

The veranda you and your team find yourselves on overlooks a luxurious lounge with two couches, three armchairs and a gigantic flatscreen TV. It’s the hall beyond, however-or, more accurately, whatever is skulking about in there-that’s caught your interest.

>Advance
>Hold
>Other?

>>449364
Put on night vision goggles.

>>449364
Hold, have the team fan out behind us. Head on a swivel, and safeties off.

>>449364
>Hold

>>449364
You swiftly raise a hand to your head and flick down a set of NVDs. Instantly, the world before you is bathed in hues of ghostly green. You keep your eyes plastered on that hallway but don’t catch any further movement. You frown; it could have been nothing, you doubt that you'd be that lucky tonight.

“Get those NVDs on and toggle those safeties, boys,” you order, making sure to speak softly rather than whisper, “I think we might have company.”

“Mercer?” the rook asks, swallowing.

“Unknown. Fan out behind me, I want–”

Then you see it again: a shape; a figure, creeping through Mercer’s home in a manner not unlike your own. He’s armed-a short, stocky submachine gun clutched tightly in his hands.

“I don’t think we’re the only ones here for Mercer,” Zak muses. “Anyone see anybody else down there?”

“No,” Wes replies briskly.

“He doesn’t look like he’s spotted us. Call the play, Boss,” Julian says, all trace of whatever he has that passes for humour gone from his voice.

>Drop him
>Hold off for now
>Sneak down and try to capture him

>>449421
>Sneak down and try to capture him

>Our target is Alex Mercer

This will be a short quest that will end with Cthulhuian tendrils slitting our throat.

>>449421
I assume our weapon is suppressed. If it is, creep up as close as we can and put two in the back of his head.

If it isn't follow him. Maybe he knows where Mercer is

>>449456
>I assume our weapon is suppressed.
Yes it is. Probably should have put that up somewhere. Fuck.

>>449421
“Keep an eye on him, boys. I’m going to say hi to our new friend.” You then hail Kilgore and the pilot, “Team Two we have an uninvited guest.”

“Mercer?” Kilgore wonders.

“Not likely. He’s playing it quiet just like we are. I’m going in to ask him a few questions.”

“Fine, whatever,” he growls.

“Very professional.”

You sever the link before he has time to bite back a response and stalk towards the staircase, making sure to check that the new arrival hasn’t cottoned on to your presence. Fortunately, he is entirely preoccupied with sweeping the first floor and hasn’t noticed you yet. Step by step you close in, your heart hammering in anticipation and terror-what if he turns around now? You fight to control your breathing, keeping it slow and muted so that he doesn’t hear it.

He starts to face your direction and you duck behind one of the couches, hearing slow, steady footfalls grow ever closer. He looms over you, and for a heart stopping moment, you think that’s it…

But he continues on, oblivious. You suppress the urge to sigh in relief and pick yourself up to carry on the hunt-

-only to notice more movement to your right.

There are five more bodies entering the lounge, all of them armed.

>Chance it and go for the takedown
>Drop and pray they don’t see you
>Open fire

>>449507
I want to fuck up all this tactical bullshit everyone is doing.

>Open Fire

>>449507
>Open fire

We have the element of surprise, why not.

>>449507
Go for the takedown just after Throwing a flashbang. Because we defiantly should have one

Rolled 81, 89, 95, 75 = 340 (4d100)

>>449507
Of course none of these fresh arrivals would have the decency to reveal themselves earlier. You could have tried for the takedown, but you’d likely have blown your cover in the process. Besides, if you placed your shots right, there might be a few left alive once the smoke cleared you could drag back for questioning.

Until then, however, you raise your rifle and plant a quick burst into the back of the man you were stalking. He drops like a sack of potatoes. The others are alerted by the noise, but in the dark, they can’t pinpoint your position for the immediate time being, allowing you to line up a shot even as you give the order for your team to unleash all sorts of hell.

>All right, first roll. Roll me 3d100, lower is better, -10 bonus due to ambush in the dark

Rolled 79, 94, 10 - 10 = 173 (3d100 - 10)

>>449582

>>449582
>>449590
Aaaand I'm retarded. Sorry folks, just roll the one d100 with the -10 modifier

Rolled 55 - 10 (1d100 - 10)

>>449582

Rolled 20 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>449600

Rolled 71 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

A roll under. I like it.

>>449582
No sooner have you settled into that familiar hunch with the stock of your weapon tucked into your shoulder than you’ve locked your sights squarely onto the centre of the closest shooter. Two quick bursts and he drops. He’s barely hit the floor and you’ve moved onto the next. One more squeeze of the trigger and contestant number two joins his friends in painting the floor a fresh coat of red.

By now, the penny’s dropped for the rest that they aren’t as alone as initially believed, and they begin to dive for cover as fire from your team tears through the air, ripping through glass, shredding wood and deforming steel. You wing two as they dive behind one of the couches, one of them drops his gun as a bullet blows two of his fingers off and he doubles over, shrieking in agony as he clutches his bleeding hand.

You take the time to snap back down behind your couch before anyone can draw a bead on you, taking advantage of the early confusion to get back in touch with your backup.

“Team Two, we’ve made contact! Bad guys with small arms; counted at least six, could be more.”

As if on cue, three more shooters emerge from the end of the hallway, guns flaring to life as they unload in your general direction. It’s pretty shoddy work, if you’re honest.

“Yeah, we noticed. They’re firing these dumb little peashooters at us /and/ at the VTOL. Who the /fuck/ did you just piss off?”

“Really like to know the answer to that one myself,” you murmur as you survey the combat zone. Your team has precious little cover but a good angle to rain down fire from up on the veranda. You, on the other hand, have a very soft couch sitting in between yourself and harms way, and while you’ve no doubt this particular piece of furniture is a treat to kick back on, you’ve got doubts as to whether it will do as admirable a job as a bullet-stopper.

>Charge
>Hold
>Other

And pick an action for your team:
>Hold the high ground
>Get down and find some decent cover

>>449718
>Charge
>Get down and find some decent cover
We're a close quarters kinda goy.

>>449718
>Charge
>Get down and find some decent cover

>>449718
>Hold

>Get down and find some decent cover

Rolled 35, 96, 80, 89 = 300 (4d100)

>>449718
“Get down and grab some cover!” you bellow over the din even as you leap over the couch, unloading the rest of your magazine at the fresh arrivals, scattering them and forcing their heads down. None of your team bother with the stairs, instead opting to vault over the edge. All of them stick their landings, though the rookie staggers a bit and Wes has to pull him back behind a support beam before he gets his face shot off. Despite this, you feel better knowing that your boys have something solid to hide behind, especially with how wild the aim of your opposition is. Seriously, it’s almost depressing.

Still, you can’t dilly-dally forever, and with that in mind, you sprint to the next couch where the two shooters you wounded are cowering. There’s no time to reload your SMG, so it seems like you’ll have to get your hands dirty. You remove your pistol from its holster and vault into the middle of a cluster of these unidentified shooters.

>Roll me 1d100 with a -5 modifier

Rolled 82 - 5 (1d100 - 5)

>>449806

Rolled 75 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>449806

Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>449806

Rolled 49 - 5 (1d100 - 5)

>>449806

Rolled 86 - 5 (1d100 - 5)

>>449806

>>449806
You see the guy whose fingers you shot off earlier. He’s still doubled over whimpering and pawing at his ruined hand. You ignore him and focus instead on the other one, who wields his spent weapon like a club, bringing it down with the intention of mashing your handsome face. You check the swing in its infancy, robbing it of a good chunk of any impact it might have had with your free hand, and plant the barrel of your sidearm against his shoulder before squeezing the trigger. He drops with a loud, sharp cry.

One of the fighters leans out from a corner and spots you. His weapon jumps up, finger already tensing to rattle off the burst that will take your life.

Before he can manage that, however, a bullet takes him in the skull. His body judders and collapses in a heap. You don’t have time to find out which one of your men just saved your hide, there’s open ground between you and the doorway the last two shooters in this part of Mercer’s penthouse are hiding in.

>Flush them out with a grenade
>Onwards!
>Pull back and rejoin your team

>>449718
>>449806
>>449882
Holy shit next time I do this I'm starting earlier. Literally every post has some sort of typo or error that I keep fucking missing. Also failed to notice my dropped trip, goddamn.

>>449882
>Onwards!

>>449882
Onwards! And bring your team up

>>449882
>Onwards!

>>449882
>>Flush them out with a grenade

>>449882
Hell, you’d gotten this far on sheer balls alone. What was a few more metres in the grand scheme of things?

“Cover me,” you tell your team, before belting towards the open door at full pace.

“Jeez, Boss, slow down. You’re going to give us a goddamn heart attack,” Julian breathes.

A gun barrel pokes through the portal. You squeeze off a few shots and it ducks back, but only for a moment. You lash out with a kick that knocks it wide and lean around the corner. Two individuals garbed in black-and you now notice that they are black civvie clothes, not BDUs as you had initially assumed-gawk at you standing in the doorway. One of them is hunched over something, though you can’t tell what it is through the green haze your NVDs have cast the world in.

>Execute
>Takedown
>Try to force them to surrender

>>449959
>Takedown

>>449959
> drop your weapons and lie on the ground, fuckos!

>>449959
>>Takedown

Double takedown!

>>449959
>Takedown

>Roll 1d100

Rolled 92 (1d100)

>>450038

Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>450038

Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>450038
Why do high rolls go to roll under quests and vice versa?

>>450056
The dice gods frown upon us.

>>450056
Because there is no loving God.

Sometimes, however, we are given a small beacon of hope, like your roll, even if it is just to be taken away later.

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>>450056
The dice gods giveth, and the dice gods taketh away.

>>449959
You lash out at the closet of the two with a snap jab that sends him reeling back. He recovers swiftly and lunges at you but he’s far too slow and you sway aside and drive a vicious hammer blow directly onto his cranium. He falls and doesn’t get up. You hope you didn’t overdo it, you weren’t trying to kill him after all.

The last man panics and scrambles away from you on all fours. You see he has what looks like some sort of vial full of some strange black goopy crap, which he throws at you. The toss is poor, however, and all it does is shatter on the carpet. You pause, wondering if it might be some sort of biological agent, before you notice that your cornered prey is reaching for a gun. Instinct takes over and you cover the distance in two bounding steps before delivering a quick flurry of punches that puts him–painfully–to sleep.

You take a step back and hear something squelch. Your heart freezes as you find that you’ve gone and trodden in whatever that black shit was in that vial. It seems almost… /alive/. It writhes and squirms and you swear that it’s starting to crawling up your...

Holy shit, it /is/ crawling up your leg!

>Get rid of your boot
>Call for help

>>450132
>>Get rid of your boot

>>450132
>>Get rid of your boot

Ditch the boot. And the pants. Preemptively.

We're about to get our nanosuit, aren't we?

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>>450132
Yeah, no, this was too fucking strange.

You reach down and tug frantically at the laces of your boot, all the while that goop continues to climb and climb. It bubbles and it shoots a gobbet of… itself? Doesn’t matter, whatever this stuff is, it’s now on your hand. You yelp and try to scrape it off on the floor to no avail. You feel a cold, tingling sensation and realise with mounting horror that it’s pulled itself over your boot and latched onto your pants, completely enveloping your foot.

You keep willing yourself not to panic, but you can’t stop it. This crap is stuck to you and it is not coming off and holyshityoudon’twanttodieyouwishyouwerebackhomewithSamandMoniquewhycan’tyoubethere-

A loud /boom/ shakes your world and you suddenly find yourself face-down on the floor. A cold, shocking numbness has gripped you and, try as you might, you can’t think of a reason for it. You try to pick yourself up to work out what just happened but your strength seems to have inexplicably vanished. You feel something soak your BDUs and, looking down, you can see something pooling out from underneath you, while out of the corner of your eye, you can see one of those black-dressed goons cradling a shotgun, staring down at you as if-

Oh.

Oh…

That’s what happened.

Your hearing grows dim and muted. You think you hear an explosion or two, but you can’t be sure. The cold tile floor feels strangely fuzzy. You think Monique would like it, though you can’t say why. In the meantime, that unpleasant freezing sensation continues to spread up your body, like you’re being slowly lowered into a tub of ice water. It’s reached your neck, now your chin. How long has it been now? You can’t say. You take a breath but it comes out wheezing and pitiful. Something’s filling your mouth. It tastes awful. You try to spit it out you but you don’t…

have…

…strength…
***
>INITIALISING BOOTUP SEQUENCE…
>25%
>50%
>75%
>ERROR: USER VITALS IN CRITICAL CONDITION
>INITIATING RECOVERY PROTOCOL
>DEFIBRILATOR ENGAGED
***
A fierce shock jolts you awake. You feel like you’ve woken up from a deep, deep sleep and your limbs feel like lead. Your chest feels heavy, and dimly you remember there’s something you need to do in order to… to…

Breathe! That’s it! You need to breathe!

You gulp down a great big lungful of air and begin to hack and splutter like a damaged engine. Jesus Christ, you fucking /hurt/. What on earth happened while you were…

While you were…

>VITALS STABILISING
>RESUMING BOOT UP SEQUENCE

What?

What on earth is..?

>75%
>100%
>WELCOME NEW OPERATOR TO THE CRYNET SYSTEMS NANOSUIT MODEL 1.4

Ooookay.

>ALERT! HAZARDOUS ENVIRONMENT DETECTED! SUGGEST IMMEDIATE EXIT!

Huh?

Wait, why was it so damned hot in…

And as you finally take in your surroundings, the reason becomes clear.

You’re currently trapped in the middle of an inferno…

>>450213
Aaaand cliffhanger finish. Kind of. This is more or less where I wanted to get to, and it's gotten pretty late (or early, to be precise) for me. I'd like to make a regular thing of this, but I'm in that strange state in between temporary jobs while I hunt for a real one so, unfortunately, no promises.

To all who read: cheers very much for stopping by, even if it was just for a post or two. If there was something you didn't particularly like in regards to my writing or the dice system, feel free to leave a comment and I'll do my utmost to take the critique onboard for next time. Similarly, if you've got any questions, just leave them here and if the thread's still up by the time I get up, I'll give them an answer.

Thanks, and have a good morning/day/evening/whateverthefuck

>>450225
hmhm thanks man and good luck with it all
good morning/day/evening/whateverthefuck

Cool quest. Really looking forward to where we're going. Next run when?