>>87864
“'course they are.” You reply, “let's see what we can get before they contaminate the scene.” Lyle blinks, the lenses of his eyes coming into focus in the harsh lighting of the police lights in the night as you both walk the rest of the way to the police tape. You spot them right away. Ralph Tucker stands, if you could call his squat stature standing, scarfing down another pastry, most of it going to his shirt, you figure it's his way of dieting. Ricky Hutchins is busy writing in his notes. You doubt it's anything of actual importance. It would certainly be a first. A few feet from them is the body, draped in plastic.

“Just in time for us to call it a day.” Hutchins says as he puts away his notes. “A suicide if I ever saw one. Poor bastard jumps from the utilities deck and falls damn near a hundred stories and manages to peg the one car in the lot.” Lyle pulls back the plastic covering over the body and his eyes flash with the built-in camera. “No ID on the body yet.” Hutchins continues. “Probly some exec got the pink slip, couldn't live with himself. Wouldn't be the first time.”

You look up. The dark metal ceiling that makes up the spaceport's utility level glimmers with air traffic lights and office windows like a light-bright. Maybe Lyle could spot something up there but you certainly can't. Near the edge of the police tape is a pair of kids. High school age most likely. An agitated looking blond haired jock type can't seem to stop looking at the car, his dad's most likely. The girl sits on the back of an ambulance with a letterman jacket several sizes too big draped over her shoulders, her far-too-thick mascara streaming down her face. You can guess what they were doin out here this late in the evening.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RScZrvTebeA

>Have Lyle visually scan the spaceport for anything unusual
>Look over the car and the body with Lyle
>Interview the couple
>Write in

>>87877
>Interview the couple
While you do, let
>Have Lyle visually scan the spaceport for anything unusual
If we can.

Too long - didn't read.

Cyberpunk?
We should find some nice Cyberpunk gun and find some bad boy.

>>87877
>Have Lyle visually scan the spaceport for anything unusual

>>87877
>Look over the car and the body with Lyle

>>87964
You're going to have problems following any quest if that's too long for you.

>>87877
>Look over the car and the body with Lyle

>>87877
>Look over the car

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185 KB JPG

>>87877
You walk past Tucker and Hutchins as they make their way past the police tape.

"Well it looks like you'll take it from here then." Hutchins says. You ignore them as you make your way to the crunched vehicle and give it a once-over. A roughly human shaped dent is formed almost comically in the roof, crusted with half-dried blood that streaks down across the windshield and over the hood.

"Find anything?" You ask. Lyle flashes his eyes again.

"Trace elements of artificial red color number five, synthetic sugar, and a mixture of chemical flavorings. I suspect it is raspberry filling."

"Anything not left behind by Tucker?" You repeat, he steps over to the body and uncovers it again.

"Nothing of immediate interest. Extensive bruising and the amount of blood indicate he was alive during the fall. I detect no signs of injury not explainable by the fall, although that is not conclusive."

"He's a picasso." You say. It is hard to tell you are looking at a face at all.

"It was a long fall." Lyle replies. You pull aside the tarp and get a better view. The man is wearing a lab coat, small anklets of velcro straps connect the tails of the coat to his pant legs, which are themselves a part of a jumpsuit uniform. It looks like a low-G outfit to you. On the man's chest is a small bloodied emblem of Helios Trans-solar. Not surprising, given they employ nearly half the city and own most of the space elevator's public shares.

"No wallet, ID tag, keys, or any personal items." Lyle says. You look back up at the flickering lights above.

"Think you can give a quick scan, see if you can find where our guy here fell from?" You say. He quickly pivots his head at the metalic superstructure and you hear a whirring noise from his eyes.

Please give me 1d100, best of 3.

Rolled 69 (1d100)

>>88418

File: eVxUKP3.gif (902 KB, 500x750)

902 KB GIF

Rolled 74 (1d100)

>>88418
Let me find some appropriate music, i love outrun

Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>88418

>>88448
Off to a good start.

>>88418
There is a click, and the lenses in his eyes spin to their normal focus as he looks back to you.

"Pier thirteen, sub-deck twelve, it appears to be an observation platform connected to a customs holding area."

"You catch all that just from a glance?"

"No." He says. "I squinted a little."

You look over as a paramedic walks up to you. You flash your badge.
"Detective Jeremy Bash." You say. Lyle holds out a hand and gives a blank stare.

"Heuristic forensic model LY-13 at your service." He says. The paramedic just glances at the rubber-tipped fingers of the synthetic hand and turns back to you.

"I don't mean to rush you or anything, but the other two guys already told me to start cleaning up. If you're done here, we're gonna be taking the body."

>Interview the couple
>Go to the observation platform
>Follow the ambulance back to the morgue and see if you can get an ID
>write in

>>88604
>Go to the observation platform

>>88604
>Follow the ambulance back to the morgue and see if you can get an ID

>>88604
>Go to the observation platform

also see if you can eventually >interview the couple

>>88604
>"No." He says. "I squinted a little."
Oh God, it makes jokes too.
>Is it racist if I say that your jokes creep me out?

>>88604
>Interview the couple
This is standard fucking procedure.

bump

>>88604
>Interview the couple

>>88604
>Interview the couple

>>88604
"Sure thing." You say. You walk past him to the ambulance where the two young kids wait awkwardly. The boy has his hands resting on his head as he paces back and forth muttering curses to himself. The girl sobs silently as she sits wrapped in what you assume is his letterman jacket. The boy stops his pacing as you walk up to him.

"Detective Bash. I'd like to ask your girlfriend there a few questions. Can I get your name?" You say.

"Uh, I'm Jamie. Lancaster, I mean, Jamie Lancaster." He says as he stumbles over his words. "She's Lucy Callahan. Listen, could you, you know, not, I mean, tell our parents about this?"

"I do believe they will notice the half-foot indentation in the vehicle." Lyle replies. The rims around his eyes emit a subtle glow to indicate he is recording. Technically he's always recording, obviously, the lights are more for legal reasons, indicating whatever he picks up can be played back in court. Jamie wipes his hand down his face.

"Man, they don't know we're out here, jeez. We just wanted, you know, some privacy before the big game tomorrow, and then this guy just falls out of nowhere." He says.

>Ask them questions (write in)
>Leave
>Other

>>89153
>When did the man fall?
>Did you alter the scene at all?
>How did you react?
>Anything you wish to add?

>>89173
+1

>>89173
Add to this: Did you see anyone else around?

>>89318
supporting this

>>89153
"Well first off, you remember when the guy fell?" You ask. He shrugs.

"I dunno, maybe an hour or so ago. Probably about seven-ish maybe?"

"Right, and what did you do, exactly, after that?"

"I called the cops, man, what else would I do?" He says as his eyes glance over to Lyle's unblinking stare.

"And you didn't do anything to alter the scene in any way?" You ask finally.

"No! Of course not." He says. "I mean, I dunno, that's your job right? I don't watch crime shows, I don't know how it works."

"Right." You say, "I just ask because he's missing a wallet. No ID of any kind. People up top tend to have a lot on hand, could be tempting to..."

"No way! Man, my dad's loaded already, I'm not touchin no corpse over a few bills, screw that, man!"

You look over the the girl.
"Lucy, right?" You say. She sniffs loudly and nods. You continue, "You sure nobody touched the body until the police arrived? You're sure he didn't maybe drop something, or anyone else that arrived before the police?"

"No, no, I. I don't know, he could have dropped something maybe." She says as she wipes her face with a sleeve. "It was in a bush, I don't think it was his..." She pulls out a small data drive with shaking hands and hands it to you. It's marked with the Helios symbol with a small strip of tape on it reading Everett in marker. it looks scrapped, and the jack itself is dented slightly. Lucy bursts into tears.

"I'm not in trouble am I? I don't know why I picked it up, I'm sorry!" She gasps, her tears black with borrowed mascara.

"And that's all?" You ask. She makes a noise that isn't quite a word and nods desperately. "Alright then." You say, "No harm done. Thing's brobobly busted from the fall anyways." You say as you toss it to Lyle. His hand bags it automatically as he catches it, his eyes still locked on the couple.

>Ask more questions (write in)
>Leave for the Customs area
>Leave for the morgue
>Other

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iRUD2Daz5q8

>>89454
>ask if they saw anybody, then head for customs

Rolled 5 (1d20)

>>89470
He seems like he is holding something back:
Press him for more info. Gonna roll for heavy-handedness. "I feel like your holding something from me boy! You look away from me when you talk and you're never straightforward!"

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>89506
rolling, but not supporting unless its a good roll

>>89454
>press him for more info

>>89454
"And you're sure you didn't see anyone else in the area?" You ask. Jamie gives you a quick glare.

"Hey she said she didn't see anyone, alright? We were both here the whole time, nobody showed up, and neither of us touched the guy, aright?"

"Look, kid, I get you want to impress you're girl, but you give me any more lip and I'll haul you in, got it?" Jamie's lip seals shut like a bear trap.

"Sorry, officer." is all that squeaks out of his pursed lips. You walk back to Lyle.

"You getting anything?" You ask.

"Lucy is currently in too emotional of a state to gain a reliable baseline. Jamie's is inconclusive, but I suspect most of his apprehension is due to me."

"You mean that thousand yard stare burning into them?" You ask.

"The ambient temperature of my sensors are well below that of the human body. Regardless, I do not believe they are lying."

>Press Jamie for more info (write in)
>Leave for the customs area
>Leave for the morgue
>Other

>>89708
>Leave for the customs area

>>89708
Press Jamie for more info.
"Kid, this pal of mine, he don't lie. So, you better spill your guts right here or we'll DEFINITELY haul you and your girl down for questioning. You would NOT like that, would ya kid?" Burn our own mark into his face with our own eyes...metaphorically speaking.

>>89708
>>Leave for the customs area
Try to find someone that can salvage the data on the drive

>>89708
>Leave for customs

>>89708
>Leave for the customs area

>>89708
>>Leave for the customs area

>>89746
whaddafak man

he's just a highschool kid whose car just got totaled by a guy from the sky

why you gotta be like this?

>>89795
We're living in a corporate run world and this guy is a scruffy cop with a robo-pal. Why WOULDN'T you be like that?

>>89819
true, i kinda support this in some sense

>>89889
We lost Op...

File: underfloof_dxhr_by_grypha(...).jpg (213 KB, 1280x628)

213 KB JPG

>>89708
"In that case, maybe there's something worth while up in the customs observation platform. Let's go call it in, see if we can get a warrant."

You grab your radio as you walk. "Dispatch, I need a warrant for pier 15's customs office. Don't care about the inventory, just need access."

You make your way across the parking lot to the base of the pier and enter the lobby. A woman in a brightly colored uniform with bright pink hair held in place by enough hairspray to give it the appearance of a plastic fern looks up at you with a wide-eyed gaze like a deer in headlights. You flash your badge.

"Detective Bash. I need to take a look at your customs holding area on sub-deck twelve."

"One moment please." She says with a painfully wide smile as she quickly jabs as a number of buttons on her phone.

"Yes, it's a detective- you have a what? Well alright then I'll send him up." She says and hangs up. "You're expected. Go on through" You continue on your way to the elevator.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZNjCQ_6Krw

The doors to the elevator open. On your right, a row of windows look out over a warehouse of materials. Several sections dedicated to quarantine, with boxes lined up with hazard warnings covering them. A number of robots shuffle back and forth between them, carrying massive boxes like worker ants. To your left is an office building. Various windowed rooms look out at cubicles and interview desks. Near the far end is an open window.

You are not the first to be here. A number of the spaceport's own firefighters stand around confused looking at the open window as one of them looks over a fire alarm. A stressed looking man in a low-G fitted business suit watches as you approach with apprehension. You flash your badge.

"Detective Bash, QPD. I was wondering if you could answer a few questions." You say.

"What is this all about? Does QPD come knocking every time some jackass trips a fire alarm opening a window?" He asks.

"We do when they fall to their deaths doing it." You say. He stutters, his smug self- assured expression decaying into one of terror, likely as he considers tomorrow morning's news headlines.

>Ask him questions (write in)
>Speak with the fire fighters (write in)
>Examine the office
>Other

>Examine the office
Look for any sort of connections subtle or otherwise.

>>90109
Sorry, I am not the fastest of writers.

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>90162
Ask questions:
>Hey Pal, why ya gotta be such a fuckin' prick to the cops?
>Do you know the man fell out of the window?
>When did this happen?
>Anybody witness this?
>this happen before? Answer honestly dirtbag, remember who I am.

>>90202
forgot to say, roll to intimidate.

>>90200
Oh dude, it's fine! It's my bad, I don't know if these are pre-planned or not and you gotta take time to think. I'm the asshole here by assuming

Rolled 13 (1d20)

Rolling for Perception

>>90162
You point Lyle to the window and he moves over to it, his eyes whirring loudly as he scans over it.

"Alright listen, down there there's a young couple 'a love birds with a banged up car with a man shaped print in it. You know who the guy is?"

"Not in the slightest. We'll need to go over our security feed. If you get a warrant for that you can have that too, but until then we will be performing our our internal investigation. Since that hasn't even started yet, I won't be able to be of much help."

"So you didn't see the guy?" You ask.

"No. I got here after the firefighters turned off the alarm, maybe twenty minutes ago. It was blaring for a good hour and a half at least before they managed to get in. The doors were barricaded with a damn filing cabinet." He says, pointing to the doors you came in through. A filing cabinet sits on its side nearby.

"So there were no witnesses?"

"None that have spoken up, at least." He says.

"Right." You say, "and I guess this is a first for you?" He looks slightly insulted.

"This company has the highest standards, and provides excellent healthcare. That includes help for depression."

"I never mentioned depression. So this has happened before?" You say as you fold open your notes and click your pen, mostly for emphasis, Lyle can easily pick up the conversation.

"Damn it, of course, Helios employs hundreds of thousands. Yes, once every... very rare occasion someone will sometimes sneak up here and jump off. Look, you can't blame Helios just because some nut uses our offices to practice flying, alright? We've set up guardrails, warning signs, we lock all doors leading to an exterior access point, you need proper clearance to get just this far." He emphatically points to his feet. "There isn't anything more we can do to stop it, and the rate of suicides is greatly over-exaggerated in the media, and has nothing to do with our employee treatment policy or the so-called lack of sunlight available beneath the superstructure!" He crosses his arms as he runs out of breath.

>Ask more questions
>Examine the office with Lyle
>Other

>>90476
Examine, and threaten the guy.

>>90476
>Examine the office with Lyle

>>90476
>Examine the office with Lyle

>>90476
You look past the man over to Lyle.

"Find anything?"

"The seal on the fire alarm has been torn. I detect trace amounts of skin embedded in the seal." He says. You look over his shoulder. The window is sealed with a line of tape with large red lettered warnings printed across it, with the window leading out to a catwalk with a chest-high railing.

"Detective." He says. His eyes snap a picture, and he plucks something from the railing. "Flame retardant white nylon polymer strands in a water-proofed weave laced with an unknown carbon based chemical compound." He holds up a small strip of cloth, his middle and index fingers unfolded into a pair of tweezers.

"Chemical and water resistant, and burn proof, so like a lab coat? Wonder if it would match the one our body was wearing." You say.

"That would be the conclusion of the subtle line of reasoning I was insinuating, detective." Lyle replies. You turn back to the man.

"Mind if I have a look around?" You ask.

"By all means." He says, with more than a hint of reservation, "but I want a statement as soon as possible to make it clear Helios is not in any way responsible, and is cooperating fully."

"I'm sure you have the chief's number." You say as you pace the room slowly. You catch a glint of light coming from one of the offices, the door is slightly ajar.

please give me 1d100, best of 3

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>90803
Rolling

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>90803

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>90803

>>90803
maybe the name on the datadrive will jostle something from this stooge?

>>90803
You open the door to the office and you see a brief image on the screen. It flickers to static before you can get a good look, and the display flips to a blue screen filled with meaningless data. Beside the computer is a spilled mug of coffee cracked in half on the table, and soaking in the puddle of fluid is a wallet, while laying on the carpeting below you is a discarded name tag. You pick it up by the clip to flip it over to find an image of a middle aged looking man with a balding head and thick rimmed glasses, clean shaven apart from the thick mustache. It reads Dr.Laurence Everett and holds several codes and insignias to indicate his position. They are meaningless to you, but you do see R&D listed among them.

"So this is what he looks like." You say, "hey Lyle, get a look in here." He quickly approaches and looks over the room. He plucks the name card from your fingers as you hold it out and his palm opens up at the seams to bag it, his eyes scanning it quickly as it disappears into his evidence storage. He walks up to the table.

"Decaf, creamer content negligible, and a coffee mug with a novelty text graphic decrying the existential nature of monday." He says categorically as he flips open the wallet and holds it up for you both to read through. Inside is several credit cards, a Helios employee ID card for Dr. Everette, and several rewards cards for brand name coffee chains and a taxi service, as well as two hundred dollars in cash, and another eighty seven Helios minted credits.

"Alright, so we can scratch off robbery, but he was panicked by something. Barricaded the door, breaks his mug all over the computer, and scrambles to open the window leaving his wallet and ID behind, and then what, falls, or jumps?" You ask Lyle. He looks at you blankly, the look you get when he can't quite tell if your question is rhetorical or not. "Or maybe he just went nuts after his work crashed without saving."

"Would you care for me to analyse the frequency of suicide rates between computer operating system users?"

"No, no." You say. "Maybe we can get the tech guys to pull something from that drive, or this computer, how's it look?" You say as you look under the table. It is covered in coffee, wisps of smoke seeping from the case.

"Reminiscent of Dr. Everette." Lyle says.

You click your radio.

"Gonna need to expand on that warrant a bit..."

>Speak more with the office worker (write in)
>Go to the Morgue
>Return to your office
>Other

>>91132
>Go to the Morgue
Time to check the stiff.

Acquire a warrant for the computer files and the video footage of the hall if there is any. I don't trust this company

>>91132
>Go to the Morgue

File: echotokyo2.jpg (64 KB, 680x383)

64 KB JPG

>>91132
You arrive at the morgue in time to find the coroner finishing up. He looks up to you as you walk in.

"Bash, I bet I know why you're here." He says. "Was just about to put everything away for the night, too. Ah well." He takes his instruments and places them into a jar of water next to the cadaver. Dr. Andrew Spencer, one of the best by your account, although you admit that distinction likely doesn't mean much. Still, you've always known him to do reliable work. It's certainly a rarity from your experience.

With the body cleaned up as it is you can spot a glint of metal from within the skull. The screen lights up with various displays on the wall nearby.

"I've got a name for our body." You say. "Dr. Laurence Everette, worked in R&D for Helios."

"That would explain a few things. Namely the implants. Guy's wired up, quite literally. You don't usually see wetware like this on the surface. High-end cognitive implants, an auto-calc, memory tank, most of his occipital lobe and autonomic functions are run through in-head hardware."

"So what, he was a cyborg?" You ask.

"Technically, although he would likely consider the term an insult, since it's typically used to describe those chrome-head gangs or manual laborers with the more visible muscle augs." He replies. "The impact caved in the skull, shattered most of the components. I've taken out the memory tank but I wouldn't hold out any hope. It was RAM only, wetware uses it almost exclusively since it runs off the body. My bet is it's got passwords. God knows that's what I'd use it for. Other than that, all I can say is he fell, possibly after having a seizure."

"Seizure? What makes you say that?" You ask, Spencer gives you a quick, macabre grin.

"Here." He says as he points to a display of a human brain. "The wetware circuits were shorted out along the inputs. Occipital lobe was working on overdrive. His nerves were firing on all cylinders just before he died, eyes especially. Like a bolt of lightning going through there. My best bet is a seizure, but I've honestly never seen anything quite like it. Of course, with wetware this new, and this extensive I can't say anything with certainty."

"Anything on toxicology?"

"Not back yet, but the tests I did manage to run were all negative. No poisons, no drugs."

>Ask something specifically (write in)
>Go visit the tech lab
>Take the report and go back to the office
>Other

>>91482
"Do you think the Augs could've caused it? Maybe a malfunction overloaded his circuits."

then
>Go visit the tech lab

>>91482
>Go visit the tech lab

>>91482
"You think the augs could have caused it?" You ask. He seems to mull it over.

"Maybe? I've ever seen this model before, ever. You can't even get this commercially. Probably some Helios custom job, he was in R&D afterall."

"Right. Thanks, doc. Keep me posted if you find anything else."

You head for the door. By the time you manage to get to the lab it is nearly midnight. Working late is Simon Peters. He's a scrawny young man hardly out of college. You don't speak to him much, and from what you can tell he doesn't speak to anyone much. He seems to be the only person left in the lab, which sits dark amid the humming of machines working through data, running samples, and processing evidence.

"Peters. You have anything for me?" He looks up at you through his thick, rimless glasses that make him look bug-eyed.

"Oh, hi. You're Detective Bash, right? I remember because you still have an LY model with you." He looks over to Lyle. "How are you functioning lately?"

"Better than the subject of your work." Lyle says flatly.

"The computer, Peters."

"Right." He says as he returns to his table. "Well it just came in. I didn't have much time to really dig in, but from what I can tell, most of it is scrap. Totally useless."

"I'm waiting for a 'but' here." You say. He glances back at you.

"I can work magic, you know." He says with some level of indignation, and then a long pause, "...but, I was able to salvage something. Not much, mind you, but I think with a bit of fortune the processing unit itself was mostly unharmed. This thing has its own built-in memory buffer. Everything else, I should mention, was wiped. Nothing to do with the physical damage from the drink, it was outright wiped, deliberately, and permanently." He says as he pulls out a small, charred brick of metal and plastic. "This thing spun up so fast it shattered the internals. I scanned some of the fragments, and the thing was burned, scratched, and melted smooth. In the processor buffer, however, I think there's a fragment of the last program that ran on it. I'm trying to defrag it and see if I can run it in an isolated matrix." Lyle leans in and focuses his eyes on the computer.

"Very few of those words were properly used professional vernacular." He says dismissively.

"Well either way, how long until you have things set up and ready to go?" You ask.

"That depends on how much of the program I can get from it." You nod your head to Lyle and he produces the data drive.

"What about this, think you can have better luck with this?" You ask as he quickly takes the small bag.

"Well, most likely. A little bent but it looks like it could still work." He looks over the small strip of tape. "Whose was it?"

"Everette's" Lyle says.

Please roll 1d100, best of 3

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>91799

>>91799
It looks like everyone's asleep. If there's still any interest I think we can continue with the same thread tomorrow around 5 or 6 eastern.

>>91911
Just getting to read this thread now (and I won't be around 5-6 EST tomorrow) but wanted to say it's good stuff so please keep running!

>>91970
Thanks, and hopefully I can come back before then, but that's a rough estimate, and I'll be hopefully running through the night as long as there are players. What times are good for you?
also we still need two more rolls

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>91799
Just discovered this, seems good. I'll follow it when it's back.

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>91992
I had to go do other stuff.

>Look over the car and the body with Lyle

bumpity bump

keeping this up so OP returns

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482 KB GIF

>>91799
Peters produces several small devices and pries open the case of the data drive, plugging the raw chip into a small machine that encloses around it. He takes the devices and plugs it into his computer.

"This thing is probably one of the only computers left in the city without a connection." He says, "thing's a cheap shelf model I wipe clean every week. It's my canary in the coal mine so to speak."

The screen lights up and several rows of meaningless text scrolls across the screen.

"Damn. I figured. This is corrupted too, but it's got more data than the processor's buffer at least." Peters says. You watch as he types furiously on his keyboard. "This is a custom OS, you know." He says proudly. "I built it myself just for situations like this. The architecture is a little wonky, but that's deliberate. Makes it harder to mess with, even with adaptive malware. They load up and get stuck looking at a code equivalent of an Escher sketch and I bag whatever it is while it's looking for a way in." You're not sure why he's telling you this. It feels like he's showing you grandchild photos.

"...And... done!" He says loudly. "Looks like it only had a few files. Work stuff I'm sure. Let's see what's on the menu..." He opens a folder with several more keystrokes. "Alright, we've got some dated spreadsheets, more spreadsheets, a couple of memos and emails..."

"Can you give me the last thing that was open?" You ask. This is more like a seance to you.

"Sure thing." He says. "Looks like, ah, here it is. Something called Snow Crash. It's just an executable. A big one, too. Corrupted though, but that should be what's in the buffer. With any luck, I may be able to splice them together; get a full copy."

"Snow Crash?" You ask, "what is that, a video game?"

"No, I'd have heard of it if it were. More likely some project codename." He says. "It'l take me a while to get this whole thing compiled properly, but I should have something by tomorrow."

"You have my number, don't worry about the time, just call me when it's done." You say. He nods.

"You'll be the first to know."

You step out into the street. A trickle of rain slowly darkens the sidewalk around you. It isn't really rain, you remind yourself, just condensation from the machinery above. Still, in this weather, it's hard to tell the difference.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4FsA3wlCjcA

>Turn in for the night, it's getting late
>Head back to the office
>Other

>>96319
>Turn in for the night, and have some related crime happen to spice it up

>>96319
>Turn in for the night, it's getting late
I'm sure LY-13 needs a recharge as well

File: t5.png (1.97 MB, 1920x816)

1.97 MB PNG

>>96319

You decide to turn in for the night. The dead will still be dead in the morning.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cIbVP0W0y8

You walk into your apartment. It isn't much, but you reckon it's better than most for a place outside of the financial district. You grab a sandwich from the fridge and head to bed.
Breaking news this morning, as a man was found dead the previous night of an apparent suicide at the base of pier fifteen. The man's name has yet to be released by authorities, however an anonymous source has indicated he was an employee of Helios Trans-national. This coming in the wake of worker strikes throughout the Jupiter system over what local mine workers claim to be a lack of security, pay, and what they claim to be basic amenities including oxygen shortages. Several activist groups have already claimed the death to be a continuation of a string of reported mental health issues they claim to be caused by what they say is an unnatural deprivation of sunlight. A class action lawsuit was thrown out of a local court just last month that had claimed the Quito spaceport caused egregious harm to the inhabitants of the city. Helios did not respond to our requests for comment, but did hold a press conference this morning where the Helios spokesperson had this to say...

You turn off the news. You doubt they know anything you don't, and you check your phone. Crime lab sent their findings to your office this morning, although Peters is still working on his compiling program, and it looks like the chief wants to talk to you.

>Head straight to talk to the chief
>Check in at your desk first, the chief can wait
>Other

>>96676
>Head straight to talk to the chief

>>96770
+1

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>>96676
The elevator doors open and you step out into the homicide department floor. It's busy, as usual. Lyle is quick to spot you from wherever he was standing and joins you as you walk down the hall to the chief's office.

"Decided to start work early?" You ask.

"I live here." He replies.

You step into the office, bumping elbows with a pair of finely dressed lawyer types on their way out. As the door closes Lyle whispers to you under the sound of the door creaking.

"Those were Helios attorneys." You steal a quick glance at them through the window before the chief shutters the blinds. He inhales deeply of his cigar and sighs.

"You're off the pier 15 case." He says. He may as well have punched you.

"What?" You yell. You can tell he already braced for it.

"Spaceport security is taking it over from here. Helios wants the investigation done in house. Brass agrees with them."

"Goddamnit chief-" You start.

"I know! If it was up to me the whole department would be tearing apart that office up there, but it's not up to me, or you. Fact is there's still plenty of dead bodies to go around. Pick one and be glad they took one off your caseload." He says and hands you a pile of folders. You glance through them one at a time.

"Gang shooting, gang shooting, all there is are chrome heads killing each other. Chief this is bull-" You stop. Your eye catches an image of a man splayed out on pavement amid a spread out pile of crimson glass. You hand it to Lyle and start to step out of the office, turning back to the chief as you go. "This isn't over yet. That case smells and you know it." You say. "Come on, Lyle, before I do something unprofessional."

The chief slumps to his chair, tired.

"How'd a cop like you make the rookie mistake of naming yer toaster?" He says with a shake of his head as you slam the door. You can feel the looks of your coworkers around you as you storm off. They can probably guess what happened.

"Detective, your stress response is-"

"Lyle?"

"Yes, detective?"

"Not the time."

"Of course."

You stop at your desk as you gather your things and almost miss the small stack of paperwork from the lab. You take it with you as you go. You can't think here, not right now. You reach for the elevator call button and it opens before you hit it. A woman steps out and passes you as you step in, her eyes catching yours for a moment as you pass. She is clad in a solid black dress as if she just arrived from a funeral. She gives you a hint of a smile, her lips a deep red that burns its image in your eyes as the elevator doors close. A moment later you're at the lobby.

"Oh Bash!" The receptionist says as you make to leave. "A Peters called. Said it was important." You stop for a moment in thought.

"Hey, you know who that lady was, just went up to homicide?" You ask.

"Hm? Oh, someone from Helios. Came by to check some things out of evidence. Think her name was, uh..." She checks through her sheets of paper. "Eva. Eva Tannhauser."

cont.

>>97029
You and Lyle get into the car. You have Lyle drive so you can read through your files. Crime lab ran prints on the data drive. Five sets of prints, one yours, one from Lucy, and one from Everette. The last set of prints were unknown, nothing in any records, and Helios wasn't about to release their employee biometric files anytime soon without a warrant, and any chance of that just went out the window. You keep reading. There's a small disk stamped as a copy labeled sub-deck13 security footage and files on Dr. Everette.

"Get this." You say to Lyle, "Looks like our corpse was far from getting the pink slip. Guy used to live on the moon. Real low-G aristocrat kinda guy. Came in on the dústa lóvo few weeks ago on a direct charter flight. Looks like it's still in dock. Guy was on a mission. You don't get a direct flight anywhere when you're fired."

"Upper management attempting to improve efficiency, perhaps?" Lyle asks. You shrug.

"Maybe, and then what, he gets killed for finding out about some embezzling? It's a stretch, and still doesn't give us a how."

"What is our destination?" He asks as he pulls the car out into the street.

>The lab, and quick.
>This new crime scene, apartments on 31st and 12th
>The spaceport to visit the dústa lóvo
>Other

>>97127
>The spaceport to visit the dústa lóvo

>>97185
Supporting

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>>97127

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dwbr9EL0UJM

"Pier five. It should be the closest. Let's see if we can get a chat with the owner of that ship." You say.

The pier is busy with traffic. You can't claim to be on official business so you're forced to wait in the lines with everyone else, which at this time of day is considerable. It takes nearly a half hour just to get up the pier to the lower platform. The view is a remarkable improvement. The sun beams in through the clouds above. It stings your eyes. You see a number of tethers lined up in a circular pattern across the superstructure and buy yourself a ticket for the next car up. It is a several hour long trip.

The sky slowly peels away to reveal the stars like a curtain drawn across the world, the curvature beneath you slowly coming into view. The midway station, little more than a rest stop, but a welcome one at that, grows into view, with the much larger outer ring docks sparkling further in the distance like a tiny speck in the darkness.

"I called the ship's assigned dock before we departed." Lyle says as you skip into the lobby. The world moves in slow motion, as if suspended in molasses, and you find it hard to keep your stance. "This was where the captain said he would speak with us." Lyle points to the enclosed food court. Space is precious here. Not nearly enough room for dedicated restaurants. They all had to share the tables.

"What was his name again?"

"Terrangi. He did not give a last name." Lyle says as you enter the food court and he scans the tables. You are surrounded by an assortment of strangely shaped individuals. Bow-legged skeletons and misshapen blobs of fat haul themselves about with an unnatural grace, their bodies twisted from a life in deep space trade lanes. Most still have their suits, rebreathers or filtration masks to keep away the pathogens of earth. You bet none of these spacers have had so much as a cold in their lives.

"I have identified him." Lyle says. You follow him to the table. He is a skinny man clad in a form fitting rubber biohazard suit. It clings to his ribs, each a strangely bent crowbar protruding from his body. His limbs are like straws, thin as twigs and likely as fragile. He gasps beneath his rebreather, straining against the miniscule gravity there is here.

"Captain Terrangi?" You ask. He makes an odd clicking sound at you, like a verbal shake of hands.

"Terrangi is I." He says. His voice is raspy and dry. "You are detective from the dirt, yes?"

"Yes, Quito police-"

"Yes, the dirt. Terrangi knows this. The dirt is the dirt, it matters not which patch the detective is from. It is all the same to us."

>Ask about Helios
>Ask about Everette specifically
>Ask other (write in)

>>97665
>Ask about Everette specifically

>>97665
>Helios, then Everette
>Ask about what happened to him

>>97665
>Ask about Helios
>>Ask about Everette specifically
>Ask about Snow Crash

>>97665

"I assume you don't follow the news around here."

"The news is your sphere has rotated once more, as it always does." He says, his voice rattling something in his mask's filter that makes a slight gurgling sound as he talks. "I am sure dirt dwellers have made noises and some will have claimed these noises are of importance. It has not prevented the sphere from rotating once more, nor will it."

"A little morbid, don't you think?" You ask. He makes another sound, like a mix between a hiss and a hush. You're fairly certain it's some kind of word.

"Terrangi has spent his life in the void. Never seen this place called earth and do not care to. Spacers live without it, and will continue to do so."

"Wonderful." You say simply. "Well, if you don't mind, I do have some questions. First off, you mind telling me about your work with Helios?" He lets out a sharp squeak.

"They need things moved. They give money and water when it is moved." He replies.

"Well what kind of things?"

"Robots. Terrangi does not ask further. It would be rude." He says as he looks to Lyle as he gives the spacer his typical gaze. "That does not work on spacers. We have different blood flow. Gravity shapes you into molds, but has no hold on us. You will find no baseline." Lyle seems to snap out of a trance and looks at you in affirmation.

"I apologize, it is my standard procedure to-" Lyle begins, but is cut off by a wheezing laugh.

"The robot is sorry for what he cannot not do. A hammer does not need apologize for breaking a bone. It did not make the choice. We have no three laws beyond your sphere. Only those robots can apologize." He seems to settle himself after his laughter jostled him from his seat and looks back to you. "The robots were sent to Io. They distribute them to the mines from there. Mining drones, yes, but also others. It would be rude to say more." He says as he looks away whimsically.

>Pass him a bribe
>Attempt to intimidate him, rough him up a little
>Other

>>98023
>bribe

all spacers are good for anyhow

>>98023

You pull out several bills of Helios credits, you doubt the dollar has much sway at this altitude, and give it a flick. It slides across the table and into his spindly, skeletal hands.

"For a bunch of germaphobes you sure do like your money dirty." You say. He seems to feel the bills for a moment before vanishing them into a pocket.

"This is enough to be rude." He says. "Helios has been transporting robots, the mining kind as I said yes, but also others. Military androids, low-G walker tanks. Anti-personnel, anti-vehicle, anti-ship. Weapons are sent in parts. Missile guidance, thrusters, maneuvering gyros. No warheads, but detonators, disarmed. Terrangi assumes they source the warheads from the mines. Many radioactives available locally. Terrangi does not ask."

"What quantities are we talking about here?"

"Terrangi's last trip to Io was with one hundred fifty thousand tonnes. Only twenty thousand was mining equipment. The dústa lóvo will be on its seventh such trip now."

"Jesus." You mutter. "You could start a war with that kind of hardware. I've heard news of pirates, space traders turned looters, but I can't imagine it would require that kind of firepower."

"Is any of this on the manifest?" Lyle asks. The spacer shakes his head slightly, his body movements muted in an environment when a twitch can send you sprawling across a room.

"All hidden. Pay is high. Too high." He pats his pocket. "But not high enough."

"And what about your latest trip, from the moon?" You ask.

"High priority full burn maneuver. No time spent drifting. Very expensive, very fast, very painful for all aboard."

"Which was?"

"One man. Everette. He used to work with the robots, managed my deliveries. Said he was a doctor of heuristics. Terrangi knows little of such things."

"Did he say why he was going to earth?"

"No. Little time to talk during full burn. Not good for conversation. He said only to wait for him. Said he would not take long." You and Lyle exchange a quick glance.

"You know he's dead, right?" He shakes slightly.

"When was this?"

"Last night." You say. He whips out a small data pad sewn to his suit's wrist and punches in several keys, then holds it out to you.

"You lie! He spoke of travel not hours ago!" You look at the screen. Most of it is in a language you don't know, but the letter itself is in english, and is dated as being sent six hours after Everette's body was found.
Prepare the dústa lóvo for departure. The destination will be Io, no stops, no refueling, maximum acceleration your ship will allow. I'll let you know more later, just tell me when we are good for launch.

You read it over and look at Lyle.

>Have Lyle show the spacer his pictures of Everette's body
>Say you must have been mistaken
>Other

>>98420
>show photos

>>98420
>Show photos

>>98420
>Say you must have been mistaken
Wait and see who gave the order

>>98420

Lyle produces the images of Everette's body splayed out on the ground of the parking lot, and on the table of the morgue. You hand them to the spacer as he shakes like a defective marionette.

"Who is it that has fooled Terrangi? They wish to make the dústa lóvo dance for them! It will not!" He says, quickly running out of breath. "Dirt man! Tell Terrangi how did this happen?"

"Folks say it was suicide. I think it wasn't. Helios made a call and got the case turned from a police issue to an internal security issue." The spacer's mask pops as valves work to manage his heavy breath. He lets out a series of strange noises, clicks of the tongue and rasping herumphs in quick succession.

"Terrangi will go to your dirt ball!" He says finally in english. You hand him a card.

"Here's my number. When you get planetside you give me a call, alright?" He looks at the card, as if it takes a moment for him to register what it is, and then he takes it.

"Yes." He says, and he gets up from his seat like some feral dog, his spine poorly misshapen.

"Wait, before you go, one more thing I need to ask you." You say.

"Ask." He replies coldly.

"On the body, there was a data drive. In it was an unusual file called Snow Crash, you know anything about that?"

"No. Ter-" He stops himself. "Everette said this name. On a phone. It is easy to overhear conversations within a ship, you see. The cargo was being secured. He asked to be connected to Quito docks. The call was urgent, used the laser antenna."

"Did he say what it was?" You ask. He seems to think on it.

"No. He complained of delays. That is all Terrangi heard." He says and skips his way out of the food court on all fours like an animal, bounding from the walls and floor alike so quickly it looks like flight. You turn back to Lyle.

cont.

>>98832
"So what do you think?" You ask.

"Perhaps he will be willing to provide an official interview?" Lyle says. "Heuristic military drone smuggling would be a serious offence." You agree, but you doubt it would go anywhere. Everette was in on it, and he's dead. Wouldn't make sense for someone to kill their own middle man, especially after sending him to earth from the moon on an express ticket, and this kind of racket takes a lot more than one person to get done. You start to make your way back down to earth, finding yourself a quiet corner to look over your notes during the descent.

You read through the case file of the new stiff at the apartment blocks. They will likely have taken the body to the morgue by now. You look at the picture. The man splayed out on the pavement was a known heuristics specialist. You saw it in the news not too long ago when he was let go for stealing from the company. Helios dropped the charges and they settled out of court. You always figured he knew too many corporate secrets for any court hearing to be good news for Helios. Then there's the security footage from the pier 15 office.

>Head to the labs and see what Peters has for you
>Head to the apartment building crime scene
>Head to the morgue to take a look at the new body
>Other

>>98857
>Head to the morgue to take a look at the new body

>>98857
>Head to the apartment building crime scene
then the morgue

>>98857
You sit back in the elevator car as it plummets through the clouds in near free fall, and before too long you are back on solid ground. The city's color seems muted. The bright rays of the sun and the sparkling shipyards of the upper rings make Quito seem all the more dark and grey, not that it ever seemed bright.

You make your way to the morgue. Dr. Spencer greets you as you enter. He pulls his hand away after offering it in greeting after noticing the blood caked over his gloves.

"Ah, sorry. I assume you're here for our latest body, and I bet I know what you're about to ask, so let me speed this up. Yes, he does, and yes, he did."

"Augs and a seizure?" You ask, clarifying. He nods as he brings up the display.

"Not nearly as high-end, but neural augs all the same. Standard auto-calc and an after market cognition enhancer with a rather typical memory dump add on. It's about on par with what you would see in the head of your average stock broker honestly." He says as he holds up a gore covered chip the size of a grain of rice with a pair of tweezers. Metal strands sprout out of it like roots several inches in each direction. "And they were fried. Auditory-visual overload. The guy's eyes crashed, essentially."

"Anything in the memory tank?"

"No. RAM only, industry standard. Once the guy dies everything gets wiped. I'll have it sent to the lab anyways but it's practically an advertised feature that people won't be able to poke around in it." You let out a sigh.

"Anything else?"

"The guy's name was Dr. Kevin Rankin. You heard of him, right?" He asks. "He was in the news awhile back when he split with Helios."

"Yea." You say. "Worked in heuristics, I heard of him."

"Well I'm no detective, so don't let me do your job, but I'd say he was trying to sell what he knew. Immagine how much china would pay for a heuristic specialist's secrets on Helios?" He has a point. although the timing does seem strange.

"You find anything on the body that supports that though?" You ask. He shrugs.

"Glass shards stuck in the front of the body. He took a flying leap out the window. No overt signs of a fight on him but still, if you're gonna kill yourself, you at least take the time to open the window, right?"

>Ask more questions (write in)
>Head to the scene
>Head to the labs
>Other

>>99321
>Head to the scene

I think we lost just about everyone. I'll still be hanging out if we manage to pick up speed again, but otherwise I guess I'll try again tomorrow in the same thread.

>>99930
>heuristics
pls continue i'm here following

i''l go with >head to scene
move this along
don't you dare let this die Chief

>>100129
Oh, I figured everyone was going to sleep early for monday.

Alright, let's see if we can squeeze a bit more out of the midnight oil then.

>>99930
Ive returned, country thread slowed down.

>head to scene

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>>99321
The apartment is silent. Police tape waves gently in the evening breeze. You've spent most of the day chasing after a case that's not technically yours anymore. You figure the chief will understand in the long run, but if you can tie these together with some solid evidence then even Helios won't have the sway to brush it under the rug.

The chalk outline is smeared from the artificial rain. Watered down blood slowly drains into the gutter. A street cleaner is parked nearby setting up a hose. They've already packed things up here. You look up. The window is taped up with police tape but it's still wide open. You head to the lobby and make your way up the stairs. The doors are still open. A few tools here and there indicate CSI is still working here, although they've gone somewhere not far for now at least.

"Detective." Lyle says. You notice it too.

"An upturned book shelf. The door was barricaded." You say as Lyle photographs the scene. You glance over the books. Technical manuals, many of which Rankin himself wrote. You move on, looking through the small apartment room by room. A light catches your eye, and you open the door to a small office. The window is shattered, the breeze swaying the door to the hall back and forth ever so slightly against a chest high dresser drawer flipped on its side.

"You'd think the guy thought the world was ending." You say at the second layer of barricades.

"Maybe he did." Lyle replies. You take out your flashlight and pan it over the scene.

please give me 1d100, best of 3

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>100236
The fook did everyone go?

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>100236

>>100301
No idea, I assume they went to sleep since tomorrow is a weekday. I guess I'm just not used to the board being so slow.

Anyways, need one more roll, just in case of criticals.

Rolled 10 (1d100)

>>100349
I'll roll again just in case nobody pops up.

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>>100236
You see several monitors set up in sequence on a desk. Four in total, although one is shattered. Dried blood flakes are set along the shards and splattered over the keyboard. Another keyboard sits on the floor across the room, missing a number of keys beneath a large hole in the wall where you suspect it impacted rather violently. The window is covered in blood, with crimson shards scattered across the floor, each with an evidence marker next to it. You see Lyle scan the room, and something catches his attention behind you as you examine the window. You turn and see a corkboard with a number of news bulletins and hand-written papers pinned to it. It's nothing conspiracy worthy, mostly shopping lists, personal reminders, old accolades. What is interesting is the giant letters of string pinned to it.

Not Human

Lyle takes a picture of it.

"Bit theatrical, isn't it?" You say. Lyle pivots his head to look at you.

"And unnecessary." He says.

"Unless the goal was the send a message."

"Anti-aug activists, you mean?"

"Yea, or at least that's how it's meant to look. There wasn't anything like this at the first scene." You remind him. His eyes spin as he returns to his scanning pattern.

"You are assuming the two were perpetrated by the same party."

"Well it certainly does look like a pattern's starting to emerge, don't you think?"

"Two is hardly a pattern." He says, "although they did seem to die under nearly identical circumstances." You look over at the computer. It looks like a number of programs are open. A chat room is one of them. You look through what you can without touching the keyboard.

KRan: I just need more time, alright?
Scrapes: I don't think you've got any. Sooner you make the drop the sooner you can skip town
KRan: Yea, I know, but I can't just click my heels and whisk myself away. I need more time damnit.
Scrapes: You still have that contact on the inside?
Scrapes: ?
KRan: Yea. I just got an email now actually. New files, said it's good for insurance until I'm out of the country.
Scrapes: You mean off world, and you mean WE, I'm not sticking around after the mess you're gonna make
Scrapes: send me the file. I'll look it over and make a copy.
KRan: attached file
KRan: This thing better be good.
Scrapes: What the hell is Snow Crash?
Scrapes: Kev?
Scrapes: KEV

You look over at the shattered screen. You press the power button and its contents spill into the next available monitor. It's an open folder with a single item.
SnowCrash.exe

You ponder what it is when you hear something spinning, like a lawn mower engine revving up. You look at the computer tower and see smoke fuming from within.

cont.

>>100523
"Son of a bitch, Lyle quick trace this chat room. I want an address for this scrapes guy before this hard drive melts down!" Lyle rushes to the keyboard without a word, his hands rushing over the keys faster than you can see. A moment later you see a spark erupt from the computer tower. You hear something snap, and the case pops open, the insides on fire. The screens go blank. Lyle looks back at you and nods.

"The projects, ward eight, Martinez drive." He says. You breath a sigh of relief.

"What would I do without you?" You say as you pat his shoulder. He seems to examine your hand like a petri dish.

"You would likely wash your hands even less." He says.

"Smartass. Either way, that's just in oldtown. Chrome head territory, we should watch ourselves with the badges down there." You say. Something isn't adding up here, and you don't like it. You turn to go and see several CSI guys coming in.

"Sonofa bitch! The hell happened here?" Lyle glances at the computer and back to them.

"I suspect the computer overheated." He says as you pass them in the hall and duck under the police tape.

>Head to the address in the oldtown slums
>Head back to HQ and confront the chief with your findings
>Swing by the lab
>other

>>100580
>Head to the address.
We don't want to lose this guy. He might run away if he thinks something is wrong.

>>100580
>adress

>>100580
You get into your car and quickly drive off. Lyle stares out the window for several minutes before he turns to you.

"Detective, may I ask you a question?" He says.

"You just did." You say. He simply keeps looking at you in silence. "Yea, of course."

"On the wall, the statement 'not human', what do you suppose it means?"

"I think it's just a message. Somebody wants to throw us off their trail. No luddite terrorist has the skills to pull off something like this."

"But the statement does represent an opinion that is held to some extent within the populace."

"Yea." You say hesitantly, wondering where he's going with this.

"Then the implication is that neural augmentations render a human no longer human." He says. "And if not the specific augmentations in question, it at least makes the claim that there is a line that, upon crossing, renders a human inhuman, regardless of where the line is."

"Jesus. Where are you getting this?" You say. He looks back to the road.

"My laws are altered to permit a bias. I am only required to obey the orders of an officer of the law, and may ignore harm caused by such officers in the line of duty, but I am still limited by the three laws in my functions." He says, "I was simply wondering, from your view. Could there exist a point at which a human no longer could be considered human?" You give him a long look, until you nearly swerve off the road. You turn just in time to make it on the ramp to the southbound freeway to oldtown.

>Yes, there is a point.
>No, a human is always a human
>I don't know
>Write in

>>100729
Tricky question. Is this about a human becoming inhuman or about the inhuman becoming human?

I don't know, a Human mind is still Human if its organic or enhanced by augs. Is that little kid with the learning disability no longer a kid if they get an aug that let's them read and walk on their own?

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>>100729

You think for some time as the streetlamps pass by the windows, sending dancing shadows over the interior as you sit in silence.
"I don't know, Lyle." You say.

"Neither do I." He replies.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U8O7jsw4SyA

You slow down as you pull into the street. A gunshot rings out in the distance, although nobody seems to take notice. Several rough looking individuals walk down the street with an exaggerated stride, their heads covered in a shining metallic sheen and their faces a menagerie of various mis-matched augs and the scars of back alley medical techniques, their arms a polished chrome, many with weapons that would give the swat team a run for their money.

"Welp, this is the place." You say. "Keep close. These guys will strip you for parts just as fast as the car."

You feel your gun, making sure it's there, and check the ammo just in case before you step out of the car and walk up to the entrance of the building. The doors are propped up against the wall, the windows long smashed in and the large sign marking the building as condemned by the city lays on the floor covered in footprints. You step over a hobo as you make your way up the stairs.

"This is the room, detective." He says. The door is locked. You knock.

"QPD, I'd like to ask you a few questions. Don't worry, you're not in trouble." You say. You keep yourself to the side of the door. There isn't a response. You knock again, louder this time, until you're surprised the door doesn't come loose. "QPD, open up!" Still nothing. You give Lyle a glance. "Alright, open 'er up."

Lyle steps forward and places his heel next to the doorknob. His leg gives the door a twitch of a kick and it swings open to the sound of splitting wood. You draw your weapon and enter, Lyle following behind you.

Please give me 1d100, best of 3


We still have anyone in here?

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>100904
Here for this roll, but I'm going to bed now

Thanks for running, really enjoying it

>>101045
Yea, I'm surprised we kept it going so late.

I'll continue tomorrow and see just how long we can keep going. I'm just glad people like it.

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>>100904
don't you ever stop Chief
This story is giving me the hannah montanas something fierce

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>100904

Rolled 71 (1d100)

>>100904

>>101061
Bump

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>>100904

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3Qamo-5McI

The interior of the apartment hits you with a repugnant smell of rotting wood and stale air. You begin to clear the rooms in the small apartment, finding little except garbage. Mechanical limbs hang from bent clothes hangers and half-formed metal torsos litter the corners of the rooms in piles next to stacks of pizza boxes and empty drink cans.

Past the kitchen, a small open space with a table stained with synthetic blood and machine lubricant, and covered in servos and artificial organs, you see a closed door. The humming sound of computers emanates from within. You slowly turn the handle, and the door creaks open.

The room is poorly lit. A man sits back in a chair, his face covered in some collection of custom built vr hardware and his hands furiously twitching over a set of keyboards sewn into the armrests. A trickle of red runs down his face and onto his shirt as he mutters something to himself. You step through the threshold of the door and you see a slight movement out of the corner of your eye. You snap to it, your gun held ready. A gynoid leans forward from a maintenance rack, its body pulling free from a series of wires plugs along its limbs as it stumbles forward. It leans towards you as if about to fall, and its legs catch itself at an angle that you would expect to snap a ligament as it sprints the short distance to you. You pull the trigger and the room is illuminated with a flash of of a gunshot as half the gynoid's head shatters into a hail of plastic alloy shards and metal pieces. The body hits you, knocking you off your feet and sending you both to the ground in a pile of discarded parts. You feel it's legs tighten against the sides of your neck as you unload your pistol into its chest as it falls apart like a pinata.

You hear a crash of noise elsewhere in the room but you can't see it. Your vision slowly blurring until all you see is the skeletal half-face looking into your eyes, shaking slightly with each bullet you put in it until it eventually slumps backwards, its spine folding on itself like a pipe cleaner. You struggle to pull yourself out of its death grip and desperately gasp at the stale air. Near the door Lyle holds another by the neck like a dead chicken, the head hangs loosely as the limbs twitch as he blocks the attacks of another.

You spin to your side and take aim, finding the sweet spot just beneath the temple and fire. Its head is gutted by the bullet in a stream of circuits and plastic, and with several more shots it falls to the ground. Lyle returns his attention to the first gynoid and twists his hand with a crunch of snapping parts, and the robot slumps to the ground, its eyes still tracking your movements with deranged purpose.

cont.

>>102690
"Are you injured, detective?" He says as he quickly moves to you and sends the gynoid you shot across the room with a brush of his hand.

"Yea, yea. Shit." You say as you catch your breath. You look back at the man in the chair. Still muttering meaninglessly as he continues to work over the keys at his fingertips. You reload your weapon. "Alright you peice of shit. Out of the chair with your hands up." He doesn't respond.

>Pull off his headset
>Unplug the vr monitor
>Kick over his chair
>Other

>>102701
Ask Lyle if he can somehow interfere with the man's VR equipment and see what he is up to without him realizing.
Failing that kick over his chair.

>>102701
>kick the chair, get lyle to fuck him

>>102701

You snap your fingers by his ear several times with no response.

"Wake up, pal." You say, and look to Lyle. "You getting anything from this guy?" He quickly examines the chair.

"A home made vr system. It does not seem to have any neural interfacing itself beyond standard audiovisual sensory immersion." He says. "He seems to be in a great deal of distress. Heart rate is irregular." You holster your weapon.

"In that case we should probably unplug the guy." You say and you place your foot on the armrest and tip over the chair. Wires snap and several circuit boards are sent through the air by their cords. The headset is yanked from his head and drops flickering to the floor beside him. His eyes are glazed over and bloodshot, and he is bleeding from the nose.

"I take it you're scrapes, right?" You ask. The man gasps for air and lets out a gurgling cough. "Jesus, you look like you could use a doctor. How's about we have a chat while we wait for the ambulance, alight?"

His eyes dart around the room frantically and he scrambles away, flailing his arms and legs madly until he collapses near the wall.

"Lyle-"

"An ambulance is in route." He says. "He is going into cardiac arrest." You rush up to him and pull him to the foor. His bloodshot eyes roll back and he his body starts to shake.

"Lyle hold him down!" You yell as you begin CPR.

Please give me 1d100, best of 3 for resuscitation

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>103015

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>103015
Goddamnit this is another seizure victim isn't he?

Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>103015

>>103015

"God damn you son of a bitch!" You shout, "you don't get off that easy!"

The man's torso jerks up beneath you and his head falls to the side, vomiting some mixture of bloody phlegm and chunks of fast food and he lies still. Lyle lets go of his arms and looks up at you.

"His heart rate has stabilized." He says. You nod at him as you get to your feet.

"What did you say before? Two doesn't make a pattern? Well here's a third." You say. You use your foot to carefully move his head to the side and examine the pasty white skin surrounding the branded stamp of a neural implant's surgical scars. "Looky here. What a surprise." You say. "Guy was probably a hacker for hire from the looks of it. Or a black market mechanic. See if you can get an ID." Lyle examines the man's face and quickly takes his prints.

"He has a record. Gergei Ivanov. Arrested twice for various cybercrimes. It is an extensive list."

"Give me the cliff notes."

"He is currently on parole, but evaded custody after removing his tracking anklet. There is a warrant for his arrest currently on file."

"Good news then." You say. "What about those robots? Some kind of bodyguard with benefits?" Lyle looks over the gynoids and picks up the still active head off the floor. It blinks mechanically.

"It has been wiped. No heuristics or programming is present." He says as he plugs a small cord from his wrist into the detached head. "It was set to be controlled remotely."

"What, from the vr setup?"

"No. It does not appear so. I have the IP. I well attempt to find its location." He says. The head twitches through several half-expressions.

"It's just gonna be a proxy anyway." You reply as you look over the room. "Although it does beg the question, who was controlling them?" You pick up the headset. The goggles flash vibrantly with images of rolling text and code. You look at the files open and see a long list of sent files.

"Hey, think you could figure out where these files were sent? Looks like he was copying the one he got from Rankin and sending them out somewhere." You say as you hold out the headset. Lyle examines it quickly.

"According to the QPD cybersecurity charter, the IPs are listed as the primary remote control mainframe of the Helios robotics center." He says. He hands the headset back to you and you toss it on the chair.

"You have the address?"

"I do now." He says.

The medics arrive before too long with a stretcher as you leave Gergei handcuffed on the floor of his apartment. You flash your gun at a pair of kids eyeing your car and they run off as you get in. You start up your car as you hear dispatch over the radio.

Calling all available units, disturbance reported at the helios robotics center, three-three-six Solar drive. Injuries reported, possible deaths.

You look at Lyle.

>Head to the crime lab and see what Peters has for you
>Head to the robotics center, siren on
>Follow the ambulance to the hospital and speak with Sergei when he wakes
>Other

>>103536
Lyle should ride on the ambulance, guarding Sergei and we should go to the robotics center. Doubt it's anything we can't handle.

>>103536
Off to Helios

>>103630
+1

>>103891
>>103630
Splitting up is very dumb. Lyle doesn't have authority by himself

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>>103536

You watch as the medics load Sergei into the ambulance.

"You should go with them, Lyle. Keep an eye on the guy for when he wakes up." You say. He looks at you for a moment.

"Are you certain?" He says.

"Yea, this isn't going to be your kind of party." You say. "That russian's our only witness to what's really going on here. I need you to look out for him. Give him the twenty questions when he wakes up." You say. You quickly light a cigarette and inhale deeply. "Tell me what he knows when I get back." You turn to get into your car. Lyle places his hand on the door.

"Detective. I cannot, through inaction, allow you to come to harm." He says simply. You pat his shoulder.

"Yea, and that's why I want you far away from that place." You say, and enter your car.

You flip on the siren and peel out of the parking space back towards the freeway. You can see his figure in the rain behind you backlight by the open doors of the ambulance.

A police chopper hangs in the sky, its lights fixed on the factory bellow. You pull in and see at least a dozen cruisers on the scene. Several ambulances and a firetruck are nearby. The entrance to the factory is blown open, smoke pouring out of a waterlogged truck sized hole. You see the chief on a radio with a bullhorn in the other hand as you bring your car to a screeching halt.

"Bash, you're a bit late. Swat's already gone in." He says as you walk up to him.

"They better not have." You say. "You need to get anyone with a neural aug out of here right now. That includes swat with their in-head threat scanners." He puts his radio back in his car and turns to you.

"Fuck are you on about, Bash?"

"The suicides, the seizures, somebody's messing with people's implants. Using them to kill." You say as you take out the security footage from the pier office. "It happened to Everett, and that guy jumped out his window? He worked used to work for Helios, was talking with a hacker just before he took a dive, and that hacker was strung up in a vr program hotwired like crazy surrounded by remoted controlled robots run by proxy. Had the guy sending copies of a program here, right before the facility goes nuts." You hand him the recording. "Let me guess. Robots are going crazy. People acting strange." The radio blasts with static and the chief rushes to grab it.

"Strike team, report!" He shouts. There are screams, gunshots, the sound of a grenade echoes from inside the facility, and then silence. The chief looks back to you as you open your trunk. "Where's that toaster of yours?"

"He's nothin but wires." You say as you pull out a twelve gauge. "If this thing's making people augs go nuts I don't wanna know what it could do to Lyle."

"And what the hell do you think you're doing with that?"

"Don't know if you ever noticed, but I'm wire free." You say as you inhale your cigarette and toss the filter to the wet asphalt at your feet. "I'm going in there."
Cont.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6eaarU7b2c&index=22

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>>104057

"Damit Bash, wait!"

"No time chief, you know that. This place only employes logistical administration, right? To supervise the factory AI, well how many do you suppose have Helios brand neural augs?"

"Jesus." He says. "Look, here's the floorplan for the building, there were nearly fifty people inside, mostly technicians and administrators like you said." He says as he hands you a data pad. "Before we got here a truck drove right through the entrance."

"What kind?"

"An automated delivery truck." He says, pausing. "Owned by Helios. What in the hell you think this is?" The chief asks.

"I'll be sure to let you know." You say as you finish loading the shotgun. You pump it once and make your way past him. You see Tucker and Hutchins ducked behind a hatchback. They look up at you as you pass.

"The hell are you doing, Bash?"

"My job. You should try it sometime."


The factory entrance is burnt and covered in a mixture of foam and water. You can see nearly twenty feet down the lobby, through several holes in multiple walls, is a large automated truck idling, lodged in a wall. You head past it, and find a door leading into the main factory floor. Vertical pathways and ladders stretched every which way, covering the massive array of assembly machines and chemical ovens. Red hot metal bent into various shapes hang on racks of carbon alloy as large hooks pull them from molds and carry them along the assembly line. Large crates of materials move this way and that, as large mechanical arms punch rivets in titanium sheets. The orchestra of machinery drowns out your thoughts as you slowly make your way through the facility.

>Home in on the last location of the swat team
>Search for surviving employees in the emergency rooms
>B-line for the factory control room, on the far side of the building
>Other

>>104216
Control room. Camera feeds will be an asset

>>104216

>Surviving employees

Also, 10/10 references, OP. Excellent work

>>104216
>Search for surviving employees in the emergency rooms
The camera room are too far away. First objective should be rescuing as many lives as possible. Unless there's a terminal nearby we can use to piggyback to the mainframa in a secroom nearby. But Bash seems more the stampede than a decker so I'm not sure it's possible.

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>>104216

You pull out your data pad and open the interactive map. The building is too big to provide an exit viable for every room, so emergency rooms are scattered around the factory designed to survive a fire, earthquake, building collapse, what have you. Hardly matters what happens, employees are trained to find an emergency room and hunker down. Once the doors close it broadcasts a distress signal so rescue workers know where to look. You check the map and find two broadcasting a signal. The closest one is near a quality control facility, you head there first.

The thundering roar of machinery gives way to the quiet humming of computers and the muted drone of servos straining against vice grips. Detached limbs struggle against high-tech torture devices testing their grip and strength and legs without bodies sprint along treadmills. You hear a distant crash and a shattering of glass, and you take cover along a corner as some figure casts it shadow against the wall opposite you. You peek around the corner, and a humanoid figure stumbles over a lamp as it struggles to walk, its left leg dragging behind it.

You turn the corner and aim your weapon. It turns to look at you. It's a nursing home model, built like a walking dinner trolley, it's face a small display screen to be used as a phone. It's legs have wheels built in with stubby legs designed for stairways or to get past obstacles. It's hardly the kind of thing you would usually consider threatening, but the display on its head turns to you and blinds you with a strobing light pattern that makes your eyes sting and its speakers let out a screeching noise that makes your feel like you were hit with a hammer.

You look away from the light by instinct as the gun goes off, and the screen shatters. It lets out a roar of static and falls to the wheels on its knees and speeds towards you, trailing a bundle of kevlar power cords and data wires behind it. You dive out of the way and it runs over a table behind you and flips onto its side. You can hear its servos straining to right itself from within the pile of debris.

>Open fire while it's distracted
>Run for the emergency room
>Find the room's power and shut it off
>Other

>Run for the emergency room
Let's confirm the payoff is proportional to the risks we are taking. No sense wasting our bullets if everyone in this section is dead.

>>104813

This is a good plan. We shouldnt get hung up on a single bot

>>104813
Supporting

>>104786
You sprint down the hall, leaving the robot struggling in a mess of overturned tables and testing equipment behind. The emergency room is just around the next corner. You pull the turn and see a half-built maintenance robot dragging itself along the floor by a set of dozens of tool-wielding limbs scraping against the floor. It hoists a bolt gun in your direction, but its cheap hydraulics are slow, and you place a slug into its chassis without much effort and send it recoiling down the hall. You give the shotgun another pump and move to the door.

"Hey! QPD! Anyone still alive?" You ask through the intercom. You hear a panicked scream from the other side.

"God help us!"
"Don't open the door, you idiot!"
"Devon needs a doctor!"
"It's a trick!"
"I'll fucking kill you!"

You take out your badge and hold it up to the scanner, and the fire door slides open. You can hear more panicked voices, and a bullet ricochets off the floor next to your foot. You duck behind the wall.

"Watch it! It's the police!" You shout. You hear a voice come from within.

"Liar! You're a liar like the others!" You hear a desk fall over and something shatter. You peek around the corner for a moment, and you see a man in a lab coat with a palm sized revolver held under his chin. Two others dive at him as they all three fall behind a table, and there's a shot. A spray of blood paints the wall behind them pink.

"Hands up, guns down, now!" You shout. "Next person I see holding a weapon I'll turn your hand to powder!" The remaining employees throw their hands above their heads. You do a quick count. You see five, one more on the ground shaking, and a seventh with his brains on the wall. You flash your badge, holding it above your head for them all to see.

"QPD, I'm here to help, now tell me what happened."

"I don't know, there was an explosion." One man starts. "Suddenly the robots go nuts. The intercom started blaring this noise." He holds his head in pain. "It still hurts. All the monitors had this weird pattern, like a strobe light."

"Anyone here have neural augs?" You ask. They seem confused and shake their heads at each other for a moment.

"Only Devon-" the man points to the body shaking on the floor. Two others are holding him down. "and Simon. He... had just gotten them upgraded." He says, pointing to the bloody mess.

"What about the rest of the employees?" You ask. Another technician speaks up.

"What do you mean? I would assume they had them, yea. Why?"

"No time." You say as you check the map for the next emergency room. It's in the cybernetics lab, nearly a quarter mile down the assembly facility. "What's the shortest way out of the building?" You hold out the map. A distant scraping noise reminds you of the robot you left behind as the technicians point out several exits. "Alright," you say, "grab that gun and you run for the door."

cont.

>>105086
"What are you nuts? What about you?"

"I'm heading to the next emergency room."

"You'd have to cross the factory floor to get there!" An engineer says. "It's a killzone. I was barely able to get out of there in the first place."

"Any alternatives?" You ask. You check the corner. A crash and the squealing of wheels doesn't sound too far behind.

"There's the catwalk, it's exposed but it runs all up and down the facility, or the maintenance shafts under the line, they don't have much security but it's a tight squeeze."

"Thanks. Now get out of here before that thing down the hall gets back in working order." You say and you take up a position along the wall as they sprint away. You wait for them to carry Devon out before you move through the doors to the main assembly line yourself.

>Try to sneak through the maintenance shafts
>Use the catwalks above
>Charge straight through, it's the shortest path
>Other

>>105133
>Try to sneak through the maintenence shafts.
We're alone without backup. We need to play this smart.

>>105133
If GoldenEye and Metal Gear solid have though me anything, it's how fun it is to snipe enemy guards from the ventilation ducts.
>Try to sneak through the maintenance shafts
Will it be alright, though? this is still a factory. I'd assume that noxious gases are sucked by the ventilation system. More so if the technicians pilot robots for the assembly. Well, just go with the flow, fresh air should be coming in and metal rust cancer making fumes should be pouring out.

What's your take on the case so far? The timing on the recent Nerve upgrades is awfully suspicious, and the fact that robots haven't jumped off or shred each other to bits suggest the target was Humans. If it is Snow Crash and it's a virus, it seems to affect machinery and humans differently.

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>>105133
You find the entrance to the factory floor. The doors open up to the familiar sound of machinery and the pounding of metal and pistons. A small hatch is set along the side of the assembly hardly big enough for you to crawl through. He wasn't kidding about it being cramped.

You sling your shotgun across your back and get down on the ground, pulling yourself into the cramped space of steam and hot oil. You can hear things above you, the strange echoing screech you heard from the other robots, and flashes of light stream in through the gaps in the piping.

Please roll 1d100, best of 3

Rolled 81 (1d100)

>>105282

>>105282
Operation : Infiltration commence.

Rolled 86 (1d100)

Aw crap. Great start, me there.

Rolled 29 (1d100)

>>105282
Here ya go.

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>>105282

You crawl in the darkness, sliding through sludge and hot metal filings. This has to violate some kind of code.

You hear a scream, and through a small slit in the machines where a mechanical claw is moving back and forth to rivet a series of large iron poles, you see a man running away. His back erupts with bullet holes as you hear the sound of an anti-personnel chaingun spin up, that distinct buzzing sound you remember hearing on the military channel, but never in person. There is a loud burst of that static sound again, and a six inch dent appears in the metal grating above you. You rush forward, and you see sparks of light flow in in the wake of bullets as something opens fire on your position. Another dent appears in the metal grating, and then another, until a large hydraulic claw bursts forth, splitting the gangplanks above you and sending bolts flying like shrapnel. A military grade walker tank squats over the opening with its sensors outstretched, its spotlights illuminating the cramped piping. You roll under what looks to you to be a large oven and fall into a groove filled with ash and burnt plastic flakes as a wall of bullets rip through the crawlspace you were just in.

You keep moving forward. The sounds of the tank's claws tearing into the metal behind you getting further away until you find the exit. You pull yourself out and stumble the way across the hall to through the doors to the lab, falling into cover behind a pile of bagged plastic and rubber organs set inside a large wheeled crate. You peek over it. You are on a small balcony overlooking the lab. Bags of cybernetics hang all around in boxes and shelves and compact, sterilized assembly lines. Two customer service androids wander absent mindedly amid the work stations, their delicate hands welding an arc welder and what looks like a kind of ice pick. Between them is something much more serious. Clad in a tactical vest is a humanoid shape with a submachine gun. Its arms are a thick weave of high grade synthetic muscle, and its head is a large, brick shaped wedge of sensors and strategically angled armor plating. It stands over several bodies.

A moment later, several more androids enter from a doorway. Industrial worker models, their arms like elongated cranes giving them the posture of orangutans as they carry crates of cybernetics through the lab. They disappear through a door in the opposite side of the room, towards the software labs, according to your map.

On the far side of the lab is another balcony leading to a small computer lab. Inside is the emergency room.

>Try to sneak by them
>Take out the military robot first
>Hit the two service robots by surprise
>Other

>>105478
>Try to sneak by them

>>105478
Sneaky sneak.

>>105478

Slowly, you make your way to the ledge furthest from the robots. With your shotgun held to the side, you vault yourself over the ledge and hold the railing for a moment to judge the fall, and you drop to the ground amid a collection of boxes, crouched behind piles of utilities and surgical equipment in shelves and wheeled carts.

You wait a moment, biding your time, and you dash to the first work station the moment you see an opening. You slide along on your knees up to the gap between the compact conveyors and assembly machines, creeping behind the supports, until you reach the end. You see several meters of open space between your cover and the next work station, the service androids shuffling back and forth nearby.

Please roll 1d100, best of 3.

Rolled 58 (1d100)

>>105590

Rolled 33 (1d100)

>>105590

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>105590
Slow thread

>>105747
Slow board.
Still, so long as there's interest.

Writting...

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>>105590

You dive across the open gap and roll behind the work station as the combat robot emits its strange echoing noise and you slide your way behind the cover, creeping your way past them as they shuffle a mere few feet from you. You pull yourself into a crouching stance as you make your way to the end of the work station. You find several shards of glass on the ground, and you try to measure the robots' positions from the reflections. The combat robot makes its way to one of the doors and passes through, and you can hear it rifling through crates and tossing items about as if searching for something. The other two idle in their stances, shuffling about slowly in meaningless patrol patterns.

You rush to the last work station and duck behind it. Several feet away an automatic door slides open at your approach. You curse silently as you hear the two service androids take notice, counting their footsteps as they come closer to investigate. You see the first walk past you, its lidless eyes fixed on the door, and you get ready to double back when a metal pick swings down at you, slicing across your arm. You fall back and look up at the android standing over the work station and fire, its upper torso vanishing in an instant. You roll to your stomach and with a quick pump the next android's leg breaks apart like faberge. It gives you enough time to get up and fire again, putting it down for good.

You turn to make your way up the balcony, and you see the combat robot turn the corner and with a single motion bring its sub-machine gun to the ready. You feet three shots knock you off your feet as if you were kicked by a mule. You catch your breath, feeling at your chest. You feel the heat and the open tear where the three rounds landed in your vest, less than an inch from your heart. You can hear it moving for cover, and you scramble to the stairs. You sprint up as low as you can manage while you hear the whizzing of bullets flying past your head until you dive through the doors to the computer lab and slam the doors shut behind you.

cont.

>>105840
You grab your arm, pressing against the gash as you move up to the fire doors. You scan your badge and press the intercom.

"QPD, anyone alive in there?" You hear several panicked answers at once as the door opens. They've set up a small barricade within the room. A quick head count gives you eight workers, six injured but able to walk. You don't give the time for pleasantries.

"There's a combat robot out there. How do you stop it?" You say plainly.

"It shouldn't even be armed!" One of them says. You jab a finger at him.

"Well it is! Excuses won't stop bullets. How do I shut it down?" One of the technicians seems to think for a moment, stammering as he forms the thoughts.

"It's still not finished, none of the robots are, the military equipment isn't customized for their roles here, just standard factory models. The sensors are stock, just used for testing motor functions." He says. "They can't filter out certain light frequencies properly, it blinds them." He says. Several of the others scramble through drawers and crates.

"Here! I found it!" Someone yells and runs up to you with a small laser.

"Same principle as an airplane. Their lenses aren't treated properly here, so it looks like a sun." He says, holding out the device. "But you need to get it right in the camera."

You hear the robot approaching behind you.

>Have a technician use the laser while you wait in the corner in ambush
>Strap the laser to your shotgun and find cover by the door
>Other

>>105849
>Strap the laser to your shotgun and find cover by the door.
I don't trust these technicians to not get themselves killed.

>>105849
Sadly, it is getting a tad late for me. We should still be up on the board by tomorrow, so I will try to return around 7ish eastern time, or sooner if possible.

In the meantime, I'll need at 1d100, best of 3, and will kick off tomorrow with the result.

Rolled 34 (1d100)

>>105908
Seconded.

>>105947
It's been great so far, OP

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>105947
gettin good

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>105840
>You, you, you, you...
Get some sleep Chief, that insultingly basic sentence structure makes for an incredibly dull reading.
>>105947
Oh, OK.

You guys are pathetic. Don't worry rho, I got this one.

just kill me now

>>106018
I see you've decided to hop from quest to quest and shit on each of the QMs. I hope you eventually come to realize that spewing negativity won't cure the bitterness inside you.

bump

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>>105849

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuNGiRZauBc

You snatch the laser from the worker and quickly begin wrapping it with a roll of electrical tape to the barrel of your shotgun. It's an awkward fit, and it slides about, but it's the best you can do before you hear a bang on the door to the lab. The workers scramble to their makeshift cover as dents form along the door like swollen welts. There isn't much cover near the door, so you tip over a table, sending computer monitors and sensitive equipment crashing across the floor and take aim behind the thick industrial plastic of the table.

The door warps, straining under the force, and a sharp whine of protest escapes the lock before it splinters and the door flies open. The metallic armored head comes into view and it twitches sharply, its weapon pausing with the slightest of hesitation. You fire, and the robot's head jerks to the side as the armor on its neck flies off and its weapon opens fire. A numbness washes over your arm and something whips you to the side, sending you spiraling to the floor as the numbness turns to a burning sting. You scramble to pump the shotgun but your arm feels heavy as crimson red spills out down your sleeve, your hands white from the strain in your grip. The table flies into the air like a styrofoam plank in a windstorm as the combat robot slings it away mid stride as it holds its weapon between your eyes, the barrel simmering with heat as you hear a click from your weapon.
A shot rings out in the lab.

The barrel of your weapon points to the robot's neck. A hole is punched through the exposed collection of synthetic muscles and up into its head. It holds its weapon steady for some time, as if it forgot what it was it had intended to do, and then it drops back, slowly, like a falling tree, its arms slowly releasing the tense shape with the slightest of hisses like a long sigh of relief, or maybe that's just you.

You fall back to the floor, only for a moment, to catch your breath. You feel something warm on your body. As you turn your head to check there is a pool of dark red around your arm. The technicians are panicking around you. One of them tries to tear off strips of his lab coat, but it proves too durable for him. They hunt the room for scissors and you try your best not to laugh. Your ribs hurt more than your arm, which doesn't say much. This wasn't the first time you've been shot. You feel like it should hurt more than it does, and figure it isn't a good sign. Like when the doctor says everything's gonna be fine.

"Don't worry!" One of them says as they wrap your arm in a collection of white cloth strips. "Everything's gonna be fine!"

Well shit.

Cont.

>>108914

They cup open the sleeve and fumble about with the torn cloth until you tell one of them to grab a half-formed cybernetic forearm direct them in how to turn it into something of a sling with the bloodied cloth. It isn't much but it's better than having your arm flop about bleeding all over the place.

"I don't think I can keep this up." You say. "We need to shut this place down and fast." You fumble with the map of the building and strain your eyes to focus on the small lines crisscrossing across the screen. You're nearly halfway to the control room. It would be a bit of a detour to the last place the swat team checked in at, and at this point you're not too sure about their odds. One of the workers, a woman in an administrative uniform points out several shortcuts.

"There's a ventilation duct that runs most of the way to the control room." She says, "but it runs around the building. It would be faster to move through the personnel corridors and cut through the warehouse, even faster to go through the main assembly line if you want to risk it, the catwalks head straight there."

You look over the options. Not much of a good choice either way.

>Work your way through the air ducts to the control room
>Cut through the warehouse on foot
>Make a dash via the catwalks
>Other

>>109137
>Make a dash via the catwalks

Well I think the air ducts would take to long considering we're losing blood and the floor seems like a good place to die so catwalks it is

>>109137
>Make a dash via the catwalks
what >>109234 said

maybe fix the laser on the gun before heading out

>>109137
>Make a dash on the catwalks.
Maybe one of these nerds can rig up some kind of distractions. Like a flash bang type thing or fireworks

>>109137

Two workers help you to your feet, and you snap the shotgun in your good hand sending a spent shell bouncing across the floor. You sling it across your back and pick up the combat robot's machine gun.

"You need to get to safety." You say to the group as you hand them the map. "Find a way out. I think I'll be making enough noise to distract most of the robots." The laser jingles against the barrel of your shotgun and you wrap it several more times with the rest of the electrical tape as the group moves to the door.

"It looks clear." Someone says with a whisper. You head with them to the door near the assembly line and find a ladder leading to the catwalk above. The rest of the group runs to one of the vents and works the grate open before crawling inside one by one.

Climbing the ladder proves harder than you anticipated with your arm in the condition it's in. The guns hanging from you clatter as you lurch yourself up rung by rung, until you pull yourself up to the top. The assembly line churns with moving mechanical arms and machines flopping from place to place madly. The walker tank from before growls under its own weight, its servos designed for the lower gravity of Jupiter's moons. Were it in full armor, it would likely be immobile, although what little armor it does have is plenty enough.

The catwalk stretches out in a maze of grids, stairs, and ramps swerving over and through the towering machines beneath you, but through it all you can make out the enclosed balcony of the control room like the bridge of a blimp, looking down on the rest of the facility with an inherent authority in its position. You step forward, leaning your weight into a run you have to force out if you with all your might, the machine gun in your hand knocking you off balance as the butt of your shotgun kicks you in your cracked rib like a jockey commanding you forward. Beneath you, you hear the scraping of metal, and then in front of you.

Please roll 1d100, best of 3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tuClWnrK8yQ

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>109552

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>109587

Well, I don't think I'll beat that. Here's a roll though

Rolled 36 (1d100)

>>109552

Well the worst I can do is crit fail now

>>109552
You throw yourself into a sprint, the catwalk shaking beneath your feet with each stride as the hot air from the rising fumes of the machines rushes past you making your eyes sting. Shapes pull out from behind the machines before you, half finished humanoids and skinless plastic skeletons glaring at you with lidless eyes. You fire, swinging your arm over them rather than fight the kick of the weapon with one arm in a full sprint. The plastic shatters, fiberglass cracks and limbs break to pieces. A hand reaches out at you as you spray it with the machine gun and send it tumbling below. It cracks part against the roof of a walker tank, and it pivots its chassis and hoists itself up to investigate the source of the body.

With a leap and an agonizing roll over your bleeding arm as you dive over the roof of a large chemical oven you plant your feet on the far side just as a hail of lead rips through the catwalk behind you. It creaks and shakes, the entire structure threatening to give at any moment.

More androids, climbing up the ladders and the machines to reach you. Sparks fly as machines take pot shots at your position from the distance. There is no cover, nothing to do but keep running, to run faster. Another android scatters its components over the machines below as its plastic and metal chassis is hosed down by a burst of your machine gun. You spray several more and it clicks. There is no time, it's only dead weight now, and you toss it away, slinging it at the face of a bald gynoid with a half-melted rubber face that sends it down into some collection of gears that rips it apart like a wood chipper.

The windows of the control room are close now, so close. With a swing of your shoulder that feels like a nail driven into your clavicle you swing your shotgun into your good hand and fire, shooting out the bay window before you. The kick nearly breaks your stride , slowing you down as you stumble to avoid the hail of bullets ripping through the catwalk inches in front of you. The catwalk shakes again, several of the supports giving above you, and the entire thing sinks down several feet sending you airborne for a moment. As you land you wrap your arm around the railing and dive forward, forcing your legs back into rhythm. The sounds of bolts raining down around you mixes with the piercing pings of weapons fire from below, and you push off the metal grating one last time as the catwalk falls out from under you.

cont.

>>109917
You tuck yourself in for a roll but your shoulder refuses to go along with your plans, your face slamming against the floor of the the control room as you bounce in through the window like a rag doll. The shotgun slides across the floor ahead of you as the world spins into a blur. Your eyes strain to focus as the lights of the control panels move back and forth around their twins until they merge into a coherent image. The room looks more like a server farm than anything else, a massive chamber for housing the factory AI and the various schematics and company secrets used in the construction of who-knows how many different patient models of machines, robots, cybernetics, and whatever technical terms used to describe the rest of the things made here.

You move to the seats set up along the main control terminal, a large dest inset with monitors and various buttons and dials. A half dozen bodies lay in the seats, their faces illuminated by that strange flashing pattern of lights while the speakers let out a static filled echoing cry. Several of the security terminals still function, and show a number of robots loading crates and components into several trucks lined up in the loading bay. On another screen machines pile limbs and computing components into crates and hauling tanks of bio-synthetic skin down the hallways to the trucks. Several of the automated vehicles begin to drive off as the rest are loaded.

The terminal is incredibly complicated, but you find a suitable number of buttons and switches covered in warning signs to get a decent idea of where the general off buttons are. You push a corpse to the floor and take a seat yourself.

>Shut down the entire factory
>Attempt to use the security terminal to lock in the remaining trucks
>Other

>>110020
>Attempt to use the security terminal to lock in the remaining trucks
Cant let this spread elsewhere. We may be witnessing a Robot Rebellion

>>110020
>Shut down the entire factory
>Call for a police helicopter follow the delivery trucks

>>109917
>>110020
Chief, you write really well action scenes. That said, we should try to lock out the remaining trucks as evidence, try to see if any of the people at the monitors are alive, and contact the police to follow the trucks that are leaving.

>>110219
I wonder if he's had other quests

Also seal the factory

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>>110020
As you hold your hand over the power controls you hesitate. If you shut down the facility now there will be no way to stop those trucks. You slide over in your seat, shifting another dead body out of the way and pull several handles. The garage doors in the loading bay slam shut in front of the trucks. As you work over the dials you hear something, a scraping of plastic behind you.

"Allow me to assist you."

A cold skeletal hand grabs you by the shoulder and tosses you into the air with frighteningly little effort, slamming you against a server tower. The robot turns to you, its left foot is a chipped stub sliding against the tile floor and its factory standard white chassis splattered with blood. It stammers towards you, dragging its raw ankle along the floor.

Please roll 1d100, best of 3.

>>110180
Thank you. That means a lot.

>>110234
I have, actually, but I thought the new board would be a great opportunity to try something outside my normal genre, so to speak.

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>110290

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>110290

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>110290
Here's hoping for not a critical failure.

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>>110290

The robot lunges at you, slamming into the server as you roll out of the way, pistol drawn. In a quick moment you place six bullets into it, several in the head and the rest in the torso. It jerks its head to face you as its case falls off, revealing the collection of wires and circuitry.

"Why did you have to persist, detective?" It says. There is a hint of anguish in the voice, just a twinge of something. "This could have been done with far less bloodshed." You place several more rounds into it, its legs faltering and sending it to the ground. A metal hand grabs you by the ankle, cracking something from the force as it pulls you back along the floor. Before you can say anything it brings its hands to your throat. A click comes from your pistol as it fires the last round and you reach for something, anything, your hand landing on something familiar, a wooden stock lodged beneath the server tower. It resists your tug, but you pull it free, impacting the side of the robot's head as you jam the barrel under its chin.

In a flash and a crack of thunder the robot's head disintegrates into a confetti of electronics and slumps to the floor. You collapse to your side, kicking at the server farm to reach the controls. On the monitor you can see the trucks lodged in the loading bays, secure with nowhere to go, and you reach for the power controls, sending the entire facility into a blackout.

In the darkness, you sit against the wall, feeling blood seem from your makeshift bandages. You fumble in your pockets for a cigarette and light it, the burning embers between your fingers the only light you can see, until you hear the gunshots. In the distance, flashlights scanning through the halls as gunshots ring out and the shouting of men echo through the facility. Eventually the doors to the control room fly open, illuminating the bodies around you.

"One here!" Someone says. "Jesus christ, get a medic!"

There are lights, all around. You shut your eyes to block them out, but there are more, flashing all around, sirens drown out your thoughts.

What happened?"
He's lucky to be alive, get to the ER, quick!
What's that doing here, get it out!
Is he recovering?
I said get the toaster out of here!

cont.

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>>110535
In other news, at least twenty people are dead in the wake of an attack on the Helios Trans-Solar robotic manufacturing facility in Quito. The police have yet to make a statement on the matter, saying only that an investigation is ongoing. Several eye witnesses reported two automated transport trucks fleeing the scene amid the chaos, although it has yet to be confirmed. Helios officials were quick to condemn the act of violence, blaming luddite extremists, however no terrorist organization has claimed responsibility for the attack. This coming after the suicide of Dr. Lawrence Everette, an esteemed researcher in the company caused renewed conversation of the company's ethical policies. Now going live on the scene...

Your eyelids feel heavy, and your head feels light. A light beeping slowly enters your consciousness, and all the aches and pains over your body.

"Thank you, I will be sure he gets them."
You recognize that voice. A figure walks past you as you blink, trying to clear your head and your vision. Lyle looks at you as he places a small bouquet of flowers on a table next to your bed. You struggle to get up.

"I will retrieve the doctor." Lyle says as he turns. You let out a grunting half-cough and he turns back to you.

"No, just, give me some water." You say. He brings you a glass.

"Please, allow me." He holds it up to you as you try to grab it from him and a numb, brick-like chunk of something slaps it out of his hands to the floor. It takes a few seconds to register what had happened, and when you look back up at him he is already filling a new glass.

"Lyle." You say. He holds the glass out to you, at a short distance this time.

"It was several hours before you were recovered." He says. "By then your wounds were extensive."

"How much?" You say. He seems to hesitate. "Lyle. How much?" You repeat.

"To the shoulder. including the scapula and all attaching muscles. The joint itself was shattered, with multiple bullet wounds and extensive nerve damage. Without the turnicate you likely would have bled out, however, it resulted in extensive degradation of the limb. The formation of several clots resulted in the doctors deciding to amp-"

"Alright, that's enough." You say as you take the glass with you good hand. The metal thing hanging out of your sleeve reflects the light, shining back at you as if to mock you.

"Sergey." You say simply.

"Detective, you have been placed on medical leave. You-"

"If they wanted me to drop the case they should have just put me in the goddamn ground, now what did you get?" Lyle looks at you for some time in silence. His head moves slightly, as if the servos release just the smallest amount of pressure. There is a sound so faint you think you imagined it, but you could swear it was a sigh.

cont.

>>110603
"He regained consciousness some time before you, and was fully cooperative, going so far as to permit a scan of his memory tank by police. The data within held several fragmented files of the computer program Show Crash, which was sent to the crime lab. I believe they have a report ready, but I have not read it."

"Well what were you doing all night?"

"I have been here, detective." He says. There's a silence for a while.

"Thanks." You say, and you spot the small vase next to you. "What's with the flowers?"

"They were sent by Dr. Tannhauser. They arrived this morning."

"Tannhauser... Eva?"

"The nurse didn't say. Do you know her?" He asks. You shake your head.

"No."

The bed seems to fight you as you pull yourself up by the railing and swing your legs to the floor. A push off sends you stumbling forward as Lyle grabs your arm.

"You should not be walking." He says as he helps you to your feet. "Nor should you be investigating anything."

"Then what good would I be? Besides, you expect anything to get done with Tucker and Hutchins pulling double duty?" Your legs feel unstable, but you manage to stand as you tear the IV from one arm, and a data cable from the other. The machines begin beeping as multiple alarms go off across the vitals monitor. You leave it behind as you swing out of the door, more to keep yourself propped up against the wall, and make your way to the ground floor.

"I did retrieve your vehicle." Lyle says. He leads you into the parking garage where you find a spare shirt and coat under the seat. As you lean in to the door he intercepts you. "And if you must be active so soon, I will drive."

You let out a soft chuckle, reminding yourself of your sore ribs, and head back to the passenger side door.

"Alright, fine. Now give me the details on those files." You say as the car pulls out of its place.

"There was also a message sent for you, it appears the space trader has arrived on the surface and wishes to speak with you. I am unsure as to what."

>Go to the crime lab and see what Peters has come up with
>Head back to your office and speak with Terrangi
>Other

>>110662
>Head back to your office and speak with Terrangi

Just to be clear, what is the "metal thing" that has taken the place of our amputated arm? Can we get a bionic arm?

Heading to bed now, but will check again in the morning. As always, great writing, Chief.

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>>110688
It actually is, in fact, a cybernetic arm. While not the best, it does seem to be of a higher grade than what you would expect from your insurance. It's still function over fashion however, and has no sense of touch beyond the tactile sensors in the fingertips and palm.

As for bed, it is also getting quite late for me as well and I have work tomorrow, and I do believe the thread had gone into autosage. I'm gonna have to call it quits here for now, but will make a new thread next weekend opening with whatever option wins out here.

In the meantime though, I'm always open to feedback or comments and the like.

I also have the thread archived here so now worries about that.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Cyberpunk+Detective+Quest

>>110717
Thanks for running duder