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>>1173237
"I think I'll take the bodyguard job; it's been too long since I've done any work with you guys."

Nodding, Dimitri smiles. "Good to see you won't be off by yourself. You're a loner, but we still like spending time with ya."

Pulling a small tablet out from his pocket, he taps the information in, and puts it back, more interested in breakfast and shooting the shit.

"Any other reason? Say, browsing the goods on the Craft Station, and then spending your pay all at once?" Dimitri looks at you with a smirk, as you reach across the table to bop him with a fork.

"That was ONE TIME, Dimitri! God, will you ever let me live it down?"

Winking at you, he says, "Nope."

Throwing up your hands in exasperation, you simply say, "Ugh!" and settle back down into your seat, a mock frown on your face.

You brightened up immediately as Rachel hands you your bacon and eggs, however. "Thanks, Ray!"

Rachel blows you a kiss, winking before turning around to get back to cooking for the rest of the crew. "No problem, hun."

Digging in, you devour the breakfast that Rachel made. Oh, this is heavenly. Taking a moment to appreciate your food, you listen as Dimitri asks,

"So, Alex, who are you going to take with you on the bodyguard job? Can only bring one or two of us, who are ya thinking?"

Gulping down the mouthful of eggs, you say, "Well, I was considering you or-"

You are interrupted by hands circling around your head, covering your eyes, and a familiar voice, saying: "Guess who?"

>Riley?
>The cutest medic in Free Space?
>Please get your hands off me, this breakfast is amazing, and I have to get back to it.
>Write-In.

>>1173261
>Dipshit McGee?

>>1173264
To clarify, we're saying this jokingly.

>>1173261
>>The cutest medic in Free Space?

>>1173261
>The cutest medic in Free Space?

>The cutest medic in Free Space?

>Writing

>>1173282
>>1173269
This

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>>1173261
"Is it... the cutest medic in Free Space?"

You hear a little laugh from behind you, and your eyes are uncovered.

"Yep, it's me, Riley! How's breakfast?"

Turning around on in your chair, you see Riley Bowen, your team medic standing there, smiling. "It's delicious, Riley. Rachel's cooking for us today."

"Ooh, that sounds wonderful! Rae, can you cook for me too?"

Winking at Riley over her shoulder, Rachel says, "I suppose I can work that in here, somehow. Not like I was going to do that anyways, or anything?"

Hugging her tightly from behind, Riley says, "Thanks! I knew I could count on you!"

Rolling his eyes, Dimitri stands up, finished with his plate of bacon and eggs. "I'll be in the armory, if anyone needs me."

As he passes you on his way to the sink, he murmurs, "When you need me to go with you to the Craft Station job, I'll be ready."

Raising your eyebrows, you say, "Isn't that a mite presumptuous? I might bring Rachel, or Markus."

Snorting, Dimitri says, "The job calls for body GUARDS, not point-blank annihilation. See ya in the armory."

Shrugging, you finish your plate, and put it in the sink on top of Dimitri's. If Rae needs help washing the dishes, she'll ask. Popping your back, you stand in the corner of the mess hall.

What do you want to do before it's time to leave for the job?

>Talk with Rachel and Riley
>Maintain your weapons with Dimitri in the Armory
>Hunt down Markus. Where could he be?
>Go back to your room, catch a few extra hours of sleep.
>Train in the gym.
>Write-in.

>>1173346
Fuck, didn't mean to show that yet.

That's Markus, by the way.

>>1173346
>Go back to your room, catch a few extra hours of sleep.

>>1173346
>>Talk with Rachel and Riley

>>1173346
>Train in the gym.
Let's see what Alex can do, eh?

>>1173346
>>Train in the gym.

>Train


>Writing

>>1173346

You might as well get some training in before you go on the mission. Training never hurts.

Going back to your room, you change out your clothes for a tank top and shorts, tossing your clothes on your bed. Walking out of your bunkroom, you head to the gym, walking through the corridors, strangely running into no one. Oh well.

Reaching the gym, you walk in as the door opens automatically, revealing a small room with lots of equipment packed in it, gymnastics equipment along the wall, even a boxing ring in the middle. It's cluttered, but if you can find a space to yourself, it's amazingly. Pretty modern, too.

Walking to the middle, you lean against the turnbuckle, thinking about what you should train, before you go on a job. The treadmills beckon, as they always do, for you to beat your highest time for a three-mile-run. Alternatively, you could punch a boxing bag, or lift some weights.

While you're thinking, you request an old song to be played on the gym's sound system.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_Y3zbRxZ6Q

>Run on the treadmills
>Punch the boxing bag
>Lift weights
>write.

>>1173474
>>Punch the boxing bag

>>1173474
>>Punch the boxing bag

>>1173474
>Punch the boxing bag
>Start imagining it as the claw monster who took our limbs
>Kick the bag off the chain
>Rachel: "Again?!"
>Sorry

>Punchy punchy time
>subvote of imagining it as the claw monster that I like

>writing

>>1173474

With the dream you just had, you feel the need to punch something. Heading over to the boxing bag, you pick up a pair of fingerless boxing gloves, and drop into a fighting stance.

THWAP

Punching the bag, you stepped back for a second, feeling the punch.

Letting the sensation resonate in your hand, you got into a pattern, punches flowing from your hands into the sandbag.

As you kept punching, you began to think back on Galvea. Why did you have a dream about that, after five years? You haven't thought back on it in a while...

Suddenly, you were back there, on Galvea, in the rain, impaled by a metal claw, lidless eye leaning in, impossibly big for its' head.

Screaming at the beast, you let loose a flurry of blows at its glass eye, cracking it, and with a final blow, you shatter it, with glass raining down around you.

Catching movement in the corner of your eye, you whip around, lashing out at it, throwing a frantic punch. Whatever it is, it ducks, and grabs your arm, pulling you into a hug.


A̶̪̪͓̳̤̗͓̾ͨ̇̐ͨ̈́ͭ͘l̷͙̣͕̯̳͖̝ͫ̀ͤͭ͌̓̍ȩ̝̙͙͇̱̈́̿ͨ̉̏͆̿̀ͅx̢͚̹̹̖̝̼͔̯͛̓̈́̀ͪ͂!

You feel like that sound is familiar, somehow.

...Alex... stop!

That voice, it's...

>Who is it?

>>1173673
Rachel.

>>1173673
Sarge, somehow.

But nah, Rachel. Cinnamon roll = best friend.

>>1173673
Markus

So we can meet the last dude on our team.

>>1173673
>>1173685
This.

>Rachel

>Writing

>>1173673
"Alex, Alex please! It's me! Rachel! Calm down!"

Gradually, the feeling of terror slowly fades away, the smaller woman's hug calming you down.

Collapsing, you fall to your knees, and Rachel does as well, still hugging you from behind.

"Shh... shh.... what's wrong, hun?"

"I-I-I- m-monster, and and and-" Rachel pulls you back, leaning you against her.

"Don't worry, I'm here. Whatever it is, it wasn't real. I'm here."

Wiping away the tears you just now realize are on your face, you pull away, turning around. Pulling her into a proper hug, you manage to mumble out, "Thank you," into her back.

"No need for thanks, hun." Holding the hug there, she asks, "You know that we're here for you, right?"

You nod, as any words you formed would likely be incoherent.

"So don't do this to yourself, okay? Tell us."

Nodding, you feel Rachel stand up, and hold out a hand for you to take. Grabbing her hand, you stand up, and look around the room.

The boxing bag is off the hook, and actually is leaking sand, and the fingerless boxing gloves you had on are ruined, tattered around the knuckles. Thinking about what just happened, you try and form a sentence.

>I'm... I'm sorry. I won't let this happen again.
>Well... now at least we know I'm ready to fight, if I have to?
>This is something I have to handle by myself, although I appreciate the help.
>Write-in.

>>1173888
>>I'm... I'm sorry. I won't let this happen again.

>>1173888
>>Well... now at least we know I'm ready to fight, if I have to?

>>1173888
>This is something I have to handle by myself, although I appreciate the help.

>>1173888
>I need to find a cheaper way to confront my deep seated fears, and that sand is going to be a pain to clean.

>>1173942
kek

>>1173888
>That's coming out of my paycheck, isn't it.

Keeping the vote open until we have a consensus.

>>1174015
Actually, no. I'm done running for the day, so we'll pick up in this thread next time. Thanks for playing.

>>1173888
>That's coming out of my paycheck, isn't it.

>>1174053
Next time should be sometime Monday EST, followed by a Fantasy Crusader Quest.

>>1173888
>I'm... I'm sorry. I won't let this happen again.

>>1173888
Switching >>1173927 to
>I'm... I'm sorry. I won't let this happen again.

>I'm...I'm sorry. I won't let this happen again.

>writing

>>1173888
"I'm... I'm sorry. I won't let this happen again."

Looking into your eyes, Rachel shakes her head, but doesn't say anything. Placing a hand on your shoulder, she says, "Alex.... just remember. If you need to talk... Any of us are here for you."

Walking past you, she looks back at you. "Okay?"

Silently nodding, you rub your eyes, sniffling. You haven't freaked out like that since... the hospital.

Turning around, you walk to the door, closing it behind you, and head back to your room. You'll clean up the sandbag later; you certainly didn't expect to freak out like that.

Although; a thought strikes you that makes you smile weakly; you DID get some exercise. Even if you freaked out.

Going back to your room, you get a quick shower and change, putting on black clothes and similarly black body armor. The armor you have is more kevlar weave than anything, won't protect against anything larger than a pistol, doesn't do much against blades, but at least it's SOMETHING.

Leaving your bunk, you head to the armory, where Dimitri is.

-------------------------------------

Dimitri is cleaning a battle rifle when you walk in, going over all the pieces, making sure they're in top condition.

Looking up as you enter the room, he smiles, and then frowns with concern as he sees your face.

"Hi Alex- shit, are you okay? You look terrible!"

Shaking your head, you say, "Nah, I'm fine- .... I'm good to go on a job."

Standing up, Dimitri moves over to you, holding a pair of aviators. "You know, it wouldn't be professional for you to show up, looking like you've been crying... take these."

The aviators in question are 'replica' aviators, modeled after some design from old Terra. Of course, they're old enough to be antique in their own right, but you don't bring this up.

"Alright, Dimitri. I know how much you care about these, I'll try not to break 'em."

Waving dismissively, the Rossiyan man says, "Don't worry about it, I've got another pair." Trademark smirk back on his face, he says, "So, who, (other than me, obviously,) are you going to take on this job?"

Rolling your eyes, you consider saying you'll go it alone, just to spite him, before you actually think about who you're going to take with you.

Who will you take?

>Dimitri [Heavy]
>Rachel [Demolitionist]
>Riley [Medic]
>Markus [Machinegunner]
>[MERC UNAVAILABLE]
>[MERC UNAVAILABLE]

.... and what gear will you bring?

>Marksman Rifle
>Pistol
>SMG
>Karambit
>Long Knife
>Smoke Grenade
>HERC Goggles

>>1183022
>Rachel [Demolitionist]
>Marksman Rifle

>>1183022
Fuck /u/, time to go full husbando on this quest.

>Dimitri [Heavy]
Also he gave us a pair of aviators and is pretty cool.

>Karambit
We should play to our strengths.

>>1183022
>Riley [Medic]
>Marksman Rifle

>>1183120
What this guy said fuck /u/

>Dimitri

>Karambit & Marksman Rifle

>Writing

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>>1183022
Grabbing your 600 MK Marksman's Rifle, and your Denyfe Combat Karambit, you put the knife in a sheath on your body armor, and the 600 MK in a rifle sling, carrying it across your back.

Turning to Dimitri, you roll your eyes. "Hmm, maybe Rachel... or Riley. Yeah, I'm gonna bring Riley with me onto a fucking Craft Station."

Face deadpan, you let Dimitri laugh for a second before saying, "Of course I'm gonna bring you with me, you Rossiyan asshole. Who am I supposed to bring? Markus? He'd probably spend more time hitting on the hookers than actually guarding the principle."

Dimitri seems like he's about to object, to defend his friend, but then he shrugged and says, "Eh, I'll give you that."

Putting the rifle together with the speed of someone who knows his weapon, and could put it together blindfolded, he looks to you casually, still rebuilding his rifle as he speaks.

"So, the lady I spoke to said she'd meet us on Levant, in the main hangar bay. Seems she doesn't even wanna leave her ship without some sort of guard. Either she's rich and paranoid, or has made enemies on Levant." Shrugging, he continues, "Seeing her, she didn't look like she was Sheng, let alone a Merchant-Lord, so my opinion is that she's got enemies."

Clicking the last few parts of the rifle together, he says, "Although, with me there, I doubt anyone's going to mess with us. You do know the saying about 'Scary Rossiyan Men.'"

Chuckling, you gesture towards the door. "If anything, people would want to mess with you, if only to punch that ugly mug of yours."

Getting up, slinging the rifle across his back, he laughs. "Ain't gonna even reply. Let's go."

------------------------------

The SC Nero pulls into one of Craft Station Levant's many hangar bays, landing, causing the deck of the station to audibly creak, even inside your ship. Sharing a pointed look with Dimitri, he says,

"Well, there's still time to back out now. I mean, it'll only cause your reputation to take a massive hit, and the principal's probably going to blacklist you among the Merchant-Lords if you don't do this job, but fuck if that didn't get me thinking about my own mortality right there."

Shrugging, you stand up, moving to the back of the cockpit. "My only consolation is that the other people probably had it as shitty as we do when they go into their hangars. Shall we?"

Opening the airlock, and stepping out into the slapdash job that is the hangar, you look to the door that leads farther into the station. A blonde woman stands there, watching you. Not creepy at all.

Calling back inside the ship, you shout, "Hey Rae! Should be back in a couple hours, lock the ship will ya?"

From deep inside the ship, you hear, "Sure thing, hun!"

Walking down the ramp, you head towards the door to the market strip, asking, "So this Sheng woman, you get what she looked like?"

(cont)

>>1183423

Shaking his head, Dimitri messes with his pistol holster's strap, flicking it back and forth. "Nope, sorry. Got the job through an intermediary. Some Sheng girl in a suit. However, she should be waiting around here. Look for any Sheng people."

"As if that weren't vague enough, look for any Sheng people? You do realize how many Sheng people are in this part of Free Space, right? Not a whole fuckin' lot."

Shrugging, Dimitri sighs. "Well, Alex, you were the one who picked this job in the first place. Can't really complain now."

Grumbling good-naturedly, you elbow him in the ribs. "I have the right to complain any damn time I please. It's in my contract."

"But we don't have contracts-"

"Shh."

Passing the blonde woman, you look at her face and barely suppress a shudder. Her eyes are dead-looking, and her skin is subject to several grafts, that have quite visible stitchwork. Keeping your head down, you are surprised when she speaks up.

"Alex Navaal? Surely you're not thinking of backing out of our deal?"

Turning slowly, you force yourself to look this woman in her weird eyes. Don'tlookatthescars,don'tlookatthescars- Dammit!

>.... Hi?
>So you're the Merchant-Lord?
>Hi, what's up with your face- Hi.
>Well, that's creepy.
>Write-in.

>>1183469
>>So you're the Merchant-Lord?

>>1183469
>.... Hi?
>So you're the Merchant-Lord?

>>1183475
Supporting

>.... Hi?
>So you're the Merchant-Lord?

>Writing

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>>1183469
".... Hi."

"Hello."

"...So you're the Merchant-Lord, then?"

"I am."

Giving Dimitri a side glance, he holds up his hands, as if to say, 'all yours'. Groaning internally, you say, "Uh. Pardon me, but... You don't... look like you're Sheng-Long, and, well, we didn't have your description."

In a cool, didactic tone, she says, in a monotone, "I have a wig. And skin grafts. And I didn't give it. Let's move on, shall we? I've a deal to get to, and I don't feel like being late."

As she starts walking briskly into the Market Strip, you look at Dimitri, bewildered.

"Listen, I don't have a fucking clue, either, so let's just get this done and get the FUCK out of here."

Agreeing that sounds like a good plan, you nod, and follow the woman through the creaking, rusted corridors, until you hit the core of the station, the Market Strip.

-------------------

The Craft Stations have a long and sordid history. Back on Terra, there was a group of people that kept getting pushed out of their homeland, time and time again, and after they got displaced, yet again, in the Last Terran War, they decided, 'fuck it', and took to the stars before anyone else.

The first Craft Station was Station Jerusalem, in the Sol System, out near the Kuiper belt. After that, it seemed like, everywhere there was a major system of Humanity, the Craft Stations eventually appeared. Soon, they became a part of life everywhere, and if you needed something that couldn't be found anywhere else, or if you needed some cheap goods produced by the massive factory-machines they had, you would go there.

However, their propensity for lawlessness and illegal goods brought them quite the criminal clientele, and a thriving 'Black Market'.

You can't complain, however. You've benefited from the 'Black Markets' ' lawless nature more than once, so there's that.

The woman is in front of a merchants' stall, making her deal quickly and professionally. Transferring credits to the man's account, she received a small, silver briefcase, which she handcuffed to her wrist.

Dimitri, seeing this, looks at you bewildered. Why would she need to handcuff it to her wrist, unless...

Oh.

Both of you come to the same conclusion simultaneously, readying your weapons to be drawn, looking around, paranoid. The dingy lighting and low ceiling seem more threatening, and every person that passes around you seems more sinister. Edging up to the woman, Dimitri asks,

"Miss, what's in the suitcase?"

With the first trace of emotion that you've seen from the woman, a smirk so slight as to be invisible, she says, "The activation codes to a drone army. Standard stuff."

Oh SHIT. There's probably agents and mercenaries everywhere coming for you:

"THERE SHE IS! GET HER!"

From behind, a rough voice calls out.

>Fire at the voice
>Duck and grab the woman
>Grab the woman and run
>Pull the woman into cover
>Write-in

>Roll 1d20, BO3

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>1183708
>Pull the woman into cover

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>1183708
>Pull the woman into cover

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>1183708
>Pull the woman into cover

>>1183708
>>Fire at the voice

>Pull the woman into cover
>15

>Writing

>>1183708
You hear the staccato crack of automatic gunfire, but you're already gone, bullets pinging into the metal deck where you were.

Jumping over a stall to your right, causing the goods on display to fall to the ground, and dragging the woman with you, you throw her on the ground, actually eliciting shock from the woman.

"Stay down until I tell you!"

Unslinging your rifle from your back, you peek up over the stall, trying to get a bead on where the gunfire is coming from, but before you can see any gunmen, you're forced to duck by another burst of gunfire.

On your earpiece, you hear Dimitri say, "Alex, ya good?"

"Yeah, kinda pinned down here with the principal. Kinda rough the way I got her over, but she made it."

"I saw. You're cold, you know that?"

You scoff, and peek out at the enemies, trying to find anyone. "Nah, worst she's got is a nasty bruise."

With another round of gunfire, you duck back, and look at the Merchant-Lord, who is now crouching behind you.

"That was.... unpleasant." She grimaces. "Although I suppose you didn't have time for a warning. What are we going to do?"

>Have Dimitri lay down covering fire while you escort the Merchant back the way you came.
>Have the Merchant stay here, while Dimitri lays down covering fire, so you can sneak up to where the gunmen are (probably.)
>Write-in
>Roll 1d20, BO3

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>1183831
>Have the Merchant stay here, while Dimitri lays down covering fire, so you can sneak up to where the gunmen are (probably.)

>>1183831
>Have Dmitri lay down covering fire while you escort the Merchant back the way you came.
Repeat after me: Never leave the VIP unguarded.

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>1183831
>>Have the Merchant stay here, while Dimitri lays down covering fire, so you can sneak up to where the gunmen are (probably.)

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>1183831
>>Have Dimitri lay down covering fire while you escort the Merchant back the way you came.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>1183838
Whoops, forgot dice.

>>1183837
Switching to
>Have Dimitri lay down covering fire while you escort the Merchant back the way you came.

>Have Dimitri lay down covering fire while you escort the Merchant back the way you came.
>18

>writing

sorry 'bout the 20 but I don't do retroactive rolls in BO3

>>1183831
"Hey, Dimitri? Could you be a friend and lay down some covering fire so the principal and I can go back the way we came?"

"Sure, Alex, just tell me when you're ready."

Looking over your shoulder, you asked, "Hey there! We're gonna be going back the way we came, you good for that?"

The Merchant looks as if she's about to say something, but just nods. "I am ready. Just tell me when."

Taking a deep breath, you count to three.

"And, go."

Springing into action, you hustle the Merchant forward making sure she keeps her head down, while a steady stream of automatic fire came from Dimitri's gun, who you see, is across the path through the Marked from you. Sweeping the automatic fire across the area, Dimitri scans for signs of any enemies sticking their heads up.

Moving from cover to cover, you guide the Merchant along, until Dimitri says, "I'm out!", and duck behind another stall, narrowly dodging a flurry of bullets.

Looking back at Dimitri, you see that the unseen gunmen are now focusing their fire on him, and as much as it pains you to do this, you're going to let them, so you can get the Merchant farther away. He's a tough guy, and a good fighter. He can handle himself.

"Go, go, go!" The Merchant looks at you, surprised.

"But your companion-"

"He's a big boy! Go!"

Jumping up into a sprint, you and the Merchant make it to a doorway, and taking cover on either side of it, you say...

>We're going to stay here, and give Dimitri covering fire, so he can run to us.
>We're going to run to my ship, and lock you in. I'll run back as fast as I can.
>You're going to run back, and I'm going to give Dimitri covering fire.
>Write-In

>1d20, BO3

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>1183935
>We're going to stay here, and give Dimitri covering fire, so he can run to us.

>>1183935
>We're going to stay here, and give Dimitri covering fire, so he can run to us.

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>1183950
Fucking damn it, I need to remember to roll.

>>1183953
Fucking damn it, I need to NOT roll.
>I don't roll in time
>20
>I roll in time
>1
Thanks, dice gods.

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>1183935
For Fez

>We're going to stay here, and give Dimitri covering fire, so he can run to us.
>1
RIP

>Writing

>>1183935
Raising your rifle, you look through the reflex sight, trying to spot one of the attackers pinning Dimitri down.

There! You spotted one!

Turning to fire at him, you carefully take aim, and-

CRACK

You feel something go through your eyeball. It takes you a second to remember what it's called.

Oh yeah. A bullet.

Time seems to slow down now, you're falling.

There's a hole in the back of your head now, and the bullet went through. Was... that always there?

Dimitri's calling you. You hope this doesn't make him sad. He's nice. He lent you his aviators! You gasp. The bullet broke his aviators!

Oh no. He really liked that pair.

You hit the ground, but you don't feel anything. Wasn't getting shot supposed to... hurt?

Ah, there it is. The pain.

And everything goes black.


------------------------


Well, that was..... a special episode. As always, thanks for playing, and see you next time!

>>1183998
Thanks for running, Somnius
I admire your balls. Take that sentence how you will.

Really?

>>1184009
Don't worry, Anon, SMQ will continue, tune in next time to find out what happens.

I can guarantee that it'll be a wild ride.

>>1184009
to be honest, I wasn't expecting a 1, and most crit fails are instadeath

this came out of left field to me, too[/spoilers]

>>1184012
Over 14% for death per roll?

>>1184012
Your a fucking idiot and shit QM then if you think like that.

>>1184136
Well, I come from tabletop games, so

I might be a shit qm, but not an idiot, eh?

>>1184025
Again, my experience with this kinda stuff comes from D&D and tabletop gaming.

Haven't QM'ed before.

>>1184322
I have never seen a tabletop where critfail is an instant death.

And you're idiot if rolling 1 on d20 is a surprise to you.

>>1184338
Guess you never played high-casualty games, then.

>>1184436
Surely if you decided to run a quest in the same style as a high-lethality tabletop, you should have some plans on what to do when the character invariably dies?

Note that with 1d20b3, there's a 14.3% chance of rolling at least one nat 1, and a 27.1% chance of rolling at least one crit of any kind. The other anon is putting it rather strongly, but you may wish to moderate the consequences of rolls in accordance with the probability of getting them - or else have a large stock of NPCs ready to take the main character's place.

>>1184457
Yeah, don't worry, remember, you're in the future, so you have future medtech.

>>1183998

And what about that 17 that was rolled, also? It IS best of 3. When was "crit fails trump successes said?"

>>1184534
guess this is now a headshot rehab quest