>>2392153
>>͢͡T̷̸̢r̡͘͘y͟ ̛͟t͘͡o̕ ͜͞k̵̨͟͠͡í̸l̴̢̡̕͝ĺ̵̨.̨͘͜
[X]FLESH OF FALLEN ANGELS

>>2392153
>Try to speak.
What can change the nature of a boat?

>>2392153
>>Try to act.

>>2392153
>>Try to speak.

Monika

File: dami-nuga-highresscreensh(...).jpg (441 KB, 1920x1079)

441 KB JPG

>>2392153
>Try to speak

Slow, the light becomes bearable enough to open- slowly, gradually, first slits to sample its brightness, but finally fluttering open. Your first impression is white. White ceiling... you turn your head. White walls. Wait... the words, the voices. The last one... a question? Your thoughts are snail-like, slithering their way through your brain. A question that needs an answer.

"I-" Your lips part, but when you try to vocalise your voice cracks from disuse. You swallow, and try to continue. "I hear you."

You slowly lift your head off the padded surface you're lying on. A bed. You see... a body. You try and move it, but it's strangely unresponsive, a firm pressure on your limbs. You're... strapped down?

"Verbal comprehension is active." Your gaze snaps back up to where the voice is coming from. One wall of the room is purest black. There's a grille of some kind attached to a box in the wall above it. "Can you give me your name and ID?"

What? How would you know that? Even as that thought makes itself heard- they're quicker now, like darting fish- knowledge bubbles up from the depths of your mind.

"M-Mahan. ID 2583-38376." How did you know that? You ponder that, but no suggestions present themselves.

"She's tracking. Neuralware is linked and running."

The speaker goes silent then, and you're left to wonder for a few minutes before there's a solid ka-thunk behind you. Footsteps and the squeak of a wheel. To your left, a face intrudes on your vision- middle-aged, broad. A woman in white.

"Don't you worry there, dear. We'll soon have you out. How do you feel?" Her voice is calm and soothing as she reaches down and one of the straps loosens.

>Calm.
>Confused.
>Annoyed.

>>2392449
>>Confused.

>>2392449
>>Calm.

>>2392449
>>Confused.

>>2392449
>>Confused.

>>2392449
>Confused.

File: 9dcf2b7a518bbd4ce8b1816b8(...).jpg (466 KB, 2184x1456)

466 KB JPG

>>2392449
>Confused

Your arm is released, then one of your legs. You raise your free hand up to your face and flex your fingers curiously, watching how your knuckles pull the skin taut as you close your fist. "I'm... confused. I think."

The final strap securing your waist is undone, and you're able to sit up. "Careful now!" The woman admonishes as you start to raise herself up. One of her arms slides around your shoulders, ans she helps you into a sitting position. "You'll be as weak as a lamb for a day or two. Don't worry, being confused is normal. Now, let's get you something to put on, hm?"

As she steps back, you look down at yourself again, and realise you're naked. By the time the blush rises into your cheeks, the woman has laid a simple pair of trackies and t-shirt on the bed, along with what your strange source of knowledge informs you are navy-issue underwear. Without a word, she turns away so you can get dressed.

---

Ten minutes later you're being wheeled down a hospital corridor in a wheelchair, your legs too weak for you to walk. It's... quiet, if not completely empty. You can hear the soft sounds of human habitation, you think.

"Here we are." The woman- head nurse, it turns out, though you're not sure what that means- stops you in front of a door. She pulls it open after rapping, and wheels you through to confront... a lady in a white coat. She's sitting behind a desk in a room that would be spacious if not for the mountains of paperwork, which covers most available surfaces apart from the desk and a singular chair apart from her own. On the desk is some kind of screen, its contents hidden from you by the angle.

"Ah, this is the new girl? Come in, come in." You're wheeled into the room, and the stranger looks at the nurse behind you. "Thank you, Molly. You couldn't have one of the Girls run along when I'm done with, ah..." She looks at something on her screen. "Ah, Mahan."

"Of course, ma'am." Molly replies warmly, and rests her hand on your shoulder for a moment before she steps out, closing the door behind herself.

For several long moments, the woman reads something off her screen, then nods and turns to you with a little smile, brushing her long blonde hair behind her ears.

"Now then. I am Chief Psychologist O'Mara, in charge of you lasses and your well-being, for my sins. You're comfortable? Yes? Good. I'm afraid we have a lot to get through."

Psychologist O'Mara sits back in her chair, and begins to explain what you are, the state of the world, and your purpose in it.

"You are what we call a 'shipgirl', or, because of how you've been made, a 'Fleet Maiden'. You see, around forty years ago when the effects of global warming was at its worse..."

---
cont.

>>2392698
---
"...Now, if it was up to me we wouldn't have to use you girls at all. But unfortunately, that isn't an option. The navy- no, humankind needs your help. So, Mahan. How do you feel about this? Will you help us?"

She's astonishingly earnest, sitting forward and resting her hands on the desk as you ponder.

>Of course you'll help. That's what you were made to do.
>You're still a bit confused, but if people are in need then you'll be the one to help them.
>You're really not sure, this is all happening so fast...
>Now wait a minute, what gives her the right to just ask you something like that?
>You're going to need to ask her a few things before you answer... (write-in)

>>2392716
>>You're going to need to ask her a few things before you answer... (write-in)
Global warming
How can you make a ship a girl?
Who am I fighting?
Why is the technology that made me insufficient that you need a old boat like me?
Your sins? Elaborate.

>>2392716
>>You're still a bit confused, but if people are in need then you'll be the one to help them.

>>2392716
>>Of course you'll help. That's what you were made to do.
It's good to be useful.

>>2392716
>Of course you'll help. That's what you were made to do.

File: 1445740339927.jpg (448 KB, 707x1000)

448 KB JPG

>>2392716
>Of course you'll help.

You hesitate a long moment. O'Mara's gaze rests on your face silently. "I mean... It's what I was made to do, right? I'll help."

"Good!" O'Mara sits back with a smile, regarding you for a few more moments. "In that case, I think I'll have one of the other Girls show you around. Tomorrow you'll have your equipment sorted. However-" Three smart knocks sound on the door. "Come in!"

The door is pulled open, and in the doorway stands a girl. You frown- there's something weirdly familiar about her, in the way she stands, the colour of her hair. It's almost as if-

"Sis!"

The girl is most of the way across the room, eyes wide and a grin splitting her lips, arms outstretched, before O'Mara half-stands with a hurried, "Arleigh, wait-!"

Unfortunately, it's too late. She's already seized you and you swear that a couple of your rips are scraping against one another. "Gurk-"

"Oh jeez, sorry." You're hurriedly released and placed carefully back down in the wheelchair. O'Mara is pinching the bridge of her nose."

"Mahan, this is Arleigh Burke. Arleigh, this is your newest sister." Arleigh is grinning.

"Y'all never told me I'd be getting a sis! I tell ya Mahan, ever since I got stranded on this backwater island, I never thought I'd see-"

"Arleigh, I thought you were on a raid?" O'Mara interjects, trying to calm the excitable shipgirl.

"Oh, I got back last night." She brushes the question off, looking back down at you. "Y'need me to show her around?"

You're not sure if her showing you around is the safest, but O'Mara just nods with a long-suffering sigh. Arleigh barely waits until getting that affirmative before you're being wheeled out of the room. Once out into the corridor, she sets off in a direction that seems random to you.

"This is gonna be great! They must've shipped you over, the only gals I've had for company have been those Brits but all they want to do is sit around and drink tea, I tell ya- oh, right, where d'you wanna go? We should probably get you a room in the barracks, but if you're hungry we can stop by the mess. Oh, and I guess if you want we could check out the armory, see if they have a Rig for you yet?"

>The barracks.
>The mess.
>The armoury.

>>2393066
>>The armoury.
DDG-72 and not DD-364, huh interesting

>>2393066
>The armoury.

File: piero-macgowan-armory.jpg (462 KB, 1920x1055)

462 KB JPG

>>2393066
>The armoury

O'Mara said something about them not being ready until tomorrow, but you're curious, so... "Can we visit the armory?"

"Sure!" Arleigh continues to wheel you along corridors. You reach an elevator, and inside are a couple of doctors and a soldier in uniform. You wonder if that strange source of knowledge will give you something, but... nothing pops up. Oh well. It turns out the hospital is only a few stories tall, and you emerge into... heat. Damp heat, at least 60 to 70 degrees.

"Gotta love that English winter!" Arleigh chuckles, as you hold up a hand to keep the sun out of your eyes. It's bright.

She starts to wheel you across concrete, and for the first time you get to see where you are- definitely some kind of military base, with squat buildings blocking you from seeing elsewhere. A couple of times you pass emplaced SAM positions manned by uniformed soldiers. In fact, soldiers are everywhere, from a group of them jogging along in formation to pairs patrolling.

"Looks like this place is on high alert." You observe.

"Ah... yeah, scuttlebutt says there's been some kinda Abyssal up North." Arleigh's smile falters when you glance back at her. "Eh, we're definitely fine though!"

You decide to keep your peace for now, and settle back to enjoy the ride. Once you see a small group of girls. They notice you, and a couple wave. Arleigh waves back. Finally, though, the pair of you reach a large building that has a definite factory look about it. The side you're approaching has a tall, wide door that's big enough to fit a couple of tanks through with no difficulty, and a much smaller normal-sized door beside that. There's a bored-looking soldier standing next to it. He straightens up when he spots Arleigh, and snaps off a brief salute with a laconic "Ma'am."

Arleigh gives him one of those sunburst smiles, and he holds the door open for you. Inside, there's even more heat, like a solid wave of it in your face. That's not as bad as the noise, a continual shrieking cacophony of grinding, cutting, bolting and god knows what else. The massive floorspace is given over to work benches and jacks of all kinds, and there's some kind of heavy rail up in the rafters onto which lethal-looking machinery is hung from. It's filled with people, too, men that seem uniformly squat and hulking, stained sleeveless shirts showing off hairy arms and tattoos of all stripes, with dark navy coveralls tied around their waists.

Arleigh says something, you think, but it's impossible to hear her in the noise. Instead, she wheels you in, taking you past what appears to be a half-dissembled tank with two barrels and box missile launchers mounted on the turret, a helicopter without a rotor, and several other oddities. It's clear after a moment she's heading for a small series of side rooms off the main factory floor, offices with inoffensive blue carpeting and cream walls.

cont.

File: 20b523e206fb733ab66251393(...).png (514 KB, 1024x1024)

514 KB PNG

>>2393403
The noise is less here, at least, but Arleigh takes you to an office with the door open. Inside there's more men stood around a broad planning desk covered in blueprints, paper scraps, pencils and other miscellaneous items that are the wreckage of a good brainstorming session. That doesn't interest you, however. What really interests you is the woman standing next to the table, gesturing at the plans with one hand. She's the centre of attention, but you don't think that it's because she looks at least two decades younger than the men- they're nodding along to her words.

"-so try hooking up some giga-conductor cells, see if extra juice'll boost the wattage. Careful though, we do not want those get hit, 'cause they'll go up like-" Arleigh raps on the open door. The woman breaks off as she looks over, and nods to the men. "Alright, we've been at this a while. You lads get some coffee, yeah?" The men file out past you as Arleigh wheels you in, breaking off to capture this woman in a hug before she can resist. "Alright, woman! Calm down." She grumbles.

Arleigh turns back with a cheeky grin. "Sis, this is Vindicative, but we all call her Vindy. She's one of the, you know... Natural shipgirls."

"One of the damned few left." 'Vindy' offers you her right hand, and you realise that her left is missing, along with half her forearm. "You the new destroyer I'm making a Rig for? How y'holdin' up?"

>Boast
>Neutral
>Polite

>>2393475
>>Neutral

>>2393475
>Neutral
She doesn't seem the type you'd be overly formal with, but we don't seem the boastful type either.

>>2393475
>>Boast

File: 670e24cbd764ae11b2db7f202(...).jpg (178 KB, 1000x1391)

178 KB JPG

>>2393475
>Neutral

You lean forward and grasp Vindy's hand. Her grip is strong and firm. "Mahan. I'm... good, I think." You reply. You must be staring, too, because her mouth quirks and she lifts up her stump a little.

"Ain't pretty, huh? I tell you, they've got all kinds of stuff these days, test tube body parts and robot hands. Don't work on me though, can't risk me in the fight either. So here I am." There's a note of bitterness in her voice- hidden, but there. Arleigh steps in and pats Vindy's shoulder. "Anyway," The shipgirl leans against the planning desk. "What can I help you two with."

"I wanted to know how my Rig is coming along." You pause. "Also what a Rig is, I guess."

Vindy snorts, and steps over to the window of the office which overlooks the factory floor. She gestures to the equipment hanging from the ceiling. "Y'Rig is what lets you fight, yeah? Turns you from a strong, fast young miss to what a warship wishes they could be. As for how it's comin' along, pretty decent actually, almost finished. If y'want, maybe we can see how it fits-" She breaks off as the three of you become aware of a strident keening siren. You've never heard it before, but somehow you know- enemy attack.

"Shit, I better go see what's going on." Arleigh starts jogging for the door. "Just give me a-" She stumbles as the ground shakes. The armoury doesn't have windows, so you still don't know what's going on.

"Bloody hell." Vindy grunts, her eyes unfocused and staring off into the middle distance. "Biggest attack in months, 'parently. They just hit our airfield."

Arleigh pauses in the doorway, biting her lip as she looks at you. "Vindy, do you think we could get her fitted up now?" The other shipgirl shrugs.

"Risky, she din't have the proper headware activated yet. Still, ain't up to me. M'han?" Her gaze feels like it's skewering you to your seat in the wheelchair.

>Whatever you can do to help.
>Sounds pretty risky. Too risky.

On that note, I'm going to pass out. We'll resume the quest tomorrow (later today) at the same time we started, 7pm GMT.

>>2393784
>>Whatever you can do to help.
Who needs working legs when you can have big guns?

>>2393784
>Whatever you can do to help.
It's what we were made for.

>>2393788
Are these new Shipgirls more cyborg than the usual ones, which I presume are based on WW2 ships?

>>2393784
>>Whatever you can do to help.

>>2393784
>>Whatever you can do to help.

File: yall mind if i t pose.jpg (82 KB, 800x450)

82 KB JPG

>>2393908
You'll have to find that out anon :^)

>>2393784
>Whatever you can do help.

You barely hesitate. "Sure. What do I have to do?"

Vindictive nods to Arleigh. "A'ight, you get out there. Leave her to me."

Arleigh nods and dashes from the room back through the factory floor. Meanwhile, Vindy calls the men she sent on break, and one of them wheels you behind her as she strides back into the factory proper. It's actually much quieter now, since all the work has stopped and the workers are passing out large-bore weapons you're not given any time to inspect.

"Okay, so I've got some stuff that'll help with your legs and all." Vindy grunts, leading you into what you can only assume is some kind of private workshop off the factory floor. Half-assembled weapons and equipment are hung on the walls and stacked on workbenches. Pride of place is... something. "This is your Rig." She raps on it with her knuckles. "Pretty basic, but you'll make do. I can summon mine outta thin air as I need it, but yours'll be stored here and you can summon it wherever with a bit of practice." She continues walking you through but you're pretty distracted by the stuff that'll help with your legs.

It's actually not too weird, thankfully. A skeleton-like thing with bands that go around your waist, thighs, ankles and wrists.

"Why my arms?" You ask, waving one carefully as what Vindy calls her 'experimental exoskeleton' whirs.

"Rig's pretty heavy, you'll thank me in a minute. Now, can you stand?"

You can, though it's a bit precarious. The exo takes the weight you can't hold, adjusting to your movements and stance.

"Right. Now for your Rig." Vindy seems pretty animated as a couple of the worker blokes help her place a couple of electrodes on your forehead. "Your neuralware ain't on yet, so let me just..."

Processor Node #1 online.
Processor Node #2 online.
Memory Node #1 online.
Implant online.
Text prints itself briefly across your vision, and then everything... changes subtly. Your vision seems to sharpen, your hearing too - though that's hardly pleasant, from the cacophony of warfare outside - and a small map of your immediate surroundings flickers on in the bottom left corner of your vision. After a few moments, you can also see information such as the ambient air temperature, your height from sea level and so on.

"Whoa." You almost stumble, but the exo keeps you upright.

"And now..." The soft murmur you would barely be able to hear before is now picked out and magnified for you. A speech log even appears if you think about it. However, you're immediately concerned with a much greater weight settled on your shoulders. A few pieces of armour appears on your legs and arms, giving you a little bit more protection than your tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt.

cont.

>>2395672
Your height abruptly goes up by an inch as metal boots appear on your feet. A dozen new pieces of information print themselves on your vision- missile count, ammo stores, engine heat, armour status, it goes on. With a bit of a struggle, you banish all but the most pertinent information.

"Here." You look up to see Vindy holding out a rifle. You take it hesitantly. It's heavy, but not exceptionally so, and a line of text pops up to inform you your implant has linked to '5"/54 Mark 45 rifle'.

"Sorry it's not fancy, but I'm not done with your Rig so it's the best I can do. It's linked with your implant, yeah? Good, you can thought-click to fire, the trigger is for an emergency if your link goes down. No trigger pull to throw off your aim. Now then, for radio channels..."

Vindy does something and your head is blasted by static for a second before you manage to turn it down. Your implant hooks into the base radio chatter, and you're greeted with chaos.

"-the bombers are about to hit! Get those SAMs up!"
"-they're coming up the goddamn Nene! Shore battery's been wiped out, they'll start pounding us in a minute! Where's our air support?"
"They already wiped out the airfield! Air cover ain't gonna be here in time!"
"-clear the skies of those fighters and we can get our choppers up!"

You turn down the gain and look up to see Vindy's grim expression. "Looks like they need us out there, huh? Where do you think we should help?"

>You should help clear the sky of enemy planes.
>Those bombers sound like bad news. Maybe you can do something to help.
>It sounds like there are ships coming up the nearby river. You need to stop them before they can fire on the base.

>>2395733
>>Those bombers sound like bad news. Maybe you can do something to help.

>>2395733
>You should help clear the sky of enemy planes.
Air superiority and shit.

>>2395733
>>Those bombers sound like bad news. Maybe you can do something to help.

>>2395733
>>Those bombers sound like bad news. Maybe you can do something to help.
Otherwise there won't be a base left to defend.

File: 0e2ecc2be710a8be5bf3762bb(...).png (206 KB, 886x1008)

206 KB PNG

Rolled 76, 67 = 143 (2d100)

>>2395733
>Nix the bombers.

"Uh, there's reports of bombers coming in. Maybe we should see about that?" You suggest. Vindy nods, and picks up what looks like a pair of mortar tubes welded together.

"Anti-bomber duty it is, yes ma'am. C'mon then." She leads you out of the workshop, and across the factory floor. Halfway across, the ground shudders.

"-firing on the base! Burke and Daring are charging them!"

You share a glance with Vindy, and the pair of you emerge from the armory into a fair facsimile of hell. The already-hot day is even hotter with several blazes burning on the concrete, the wreckage of vehicles and a SAM site close to hand. A smell wafts into your nostrils... burning meat. Your implant hurriedly shuts down your olfactory senses as bile rises in your throat.

"Come on, Mahan. Let's get to work." Vindy claps you on the back of your Rig as her own materialises. It's blocky, chunky, and covered in haphazard bolted-on weaponry, including half a dozen boxy missile tubes. "Get your head in the game and engage your VLS."

With a directed thought, you manage to manipulate your implant into showing you the contents of the VLS tubes that are part of your Rig- several anti-ship missiles along with anti-air missiles packed in four to a cell. Right. Now where's the bombers?

>Roll 1d100, best of 3.

Rolled 24 (1d100)

>>2395981
What's our full loadout? Or are we a little busy at the moment?

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>2395981
[AACI intensifies]

Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>2395981

>>2395998
Fairly busy, all you need to know at the minute us that you've got the missiles to engage the bombers.

File: kancolle078e7.jpg (16 KB, 520x293)

16 KB JPG

>>2395981
>49, 76 vs 67

"...I can't see them. Can you see them?" You say after several moments.

"Turn your radar on." Vindy's voice is dripping with enforced patience.

"Oh. Right." You find that mental control, and suddenly a new sense opens itself up in your head. Overhead, strange organic-looking fighters twist and turn, locked in mortal combat with several sleek fighter jets. Missiles are flying through the air... bullets even. More and more data starts piling through your brain, and a pain sprouts into life a few inches behind one of your eyes. With a soft grunt, you manage to dial the gain right down, and focus on sweeping the sky. If only you knew where they'd be coming from...

"I've got 'em." Vindy says suddenly. "Thataway." You ping in the direction of her pointing finger, and find them. Organically shaped masses, much larger than the fighters, hulking masses still fifty miles out.

"-ombers incoming. Fighters are vectoring in from Waddington, but they're still a ways out!"
"Where's our goddamn SAMs?"
"Mostly taken out by the enemy warship bombardment! We haven't got mu-"

You consciously tune out from the radio. It's just distracting. "Launching." You announce, thoughtclicking on the launch icon. Behind you, a dozen small missiles scream up out of your Rig's VLS cells, clawing for height. One of them actually happens to strike one of the enemy fighters wheeling through the air above the base, and it comes apart in a scattering of black fragments. The rest are locked onto the flight of bombers. Just eight, thankfully. But as they close the distance, hell-red beams snap and crackle forward from their slick black hulls. One missile is claimed, then two. Then five. Those beams are murderously effective, and finally only two missiles manage to close the distance, plunging into the body of two bombers and detonating in a fierce flare that sends them tumbling towards the ground.

"Not bad for a first try." Vindy comments. "You'll get the hang of it. In the meantime..."

The other shipgirl turns and faces the bombers. With a roar of flame and plume of smoke, she launches every single one of the oversized box launchers attached to her Rig. Dozens of missiles ranging from what appear to be cruise missiles to anti-air designs like the ones you fired meet the enemy bombers just as they're coming down into bombing altitude- some of them opening hatches in their bellies. They manage to shoot down some of the deluge, but it's not enough- Vindy claims the other six in great fireballs.

You're still marvelling at the destruction when a desperate voice comes on the radio- it's Arleigh!

"Hey sis, you out there? I could really do with some help!" Your eyes meet Vindy's- she's heard too, but apparently waiting for your decision. You get the impression she isn't used to combat.

cont.

>>2396415
Tuning into the rest of the chatter, it sounds like things are still pretty desperate, but there's several squadrons of fighters coming in from a base. If you clear out the fighters, they'll be able to strike the enemy ships, and probably harder than you could. But if they take too long, then Arleigh might be hurt... And you could probably distract whatever enemy ships there are, right?

>Focus on clearing out the enemy air, let the air support deal with the enemy ships.
>You've got no time to waste! Arleigh needs help pronto, even if you're light on anti-ship missiles.

>>2396423
>>You've got no time to waste! Arleigh needs help pronto, even if you're light on anti-ship missiles.
She asked for help, let's give it to her.

>she launches every single one of the oversized box launchers attached to her Rig
That was doubtedly effective, but doesn't seem very smart. I'm impressed she managed to get cruise missiles onto bombers though, that couldn't have been easy.

>>2396423
>>You've got no time to waste! Arleigh needs help pronto, even if you're light on anti-ship missiles.

>>2396423
>>You've got no time to waste! Arleigh needs help pronto, even if you're light on anti-ship missiles.

File: flood256.jpg (61 KB, 975x531)

61 KB JPG

>>2396423
>Help Arleigh right away!

Not good. Not good at all. You're not sure where she is, but... ah! Your implant shows Arleigh's location with a green dot in your vision.

"I'm going to help Arleigh." You tell Vindy.

"A'ight. I'll see what I can do about that." She waves her stump at the sky in general. You nod, and set off at a run.

...Okay, so it turns out the base is a lot bigger than you first thought. The sun is beating down on the concrete through the haze of smoke, and you start sweating even with the exo taking most of the wait. You rush between buildings and past fighting positions that balefully spit tracers into the air battle above. All of a sudden, you emerge out from the press of buildings onto a dock, and for the first time you can see what's surrounding the base- miles upon miles of flooded swamp flats. The docks jut out onto what instinct tells you is a wide, brown river. You look to the left along the river, and on the horizon you can see a city, with dozens of towers reaching for the sky. But to the right...

To the right, Arleigh is fighting for her life. Several strange-looking ships are floating on the surface of the river several miles away. Like the aircraft, they look more organic than anything else, their shiny black hulls reminding you of some kind of floating beetle. They're close enough to bombard the base, but they're not for a very important reason: Arleigh and at least two other girls like her are constantly pelting them with fire. They seem to have some kind of anti-missile system, as you watch a missile fired from one of the dog-fighting aircraft overhead suddenly detonate its warhead, but you can see flashes of some kind of weaponry that constantly impacts their hulls. However, they're not taking it lying down. The cannons on their hulls are constantly tracking the shipgirls. Shells and some kind of beams are constantly flying, the former splashing into the water, the latter throwing up gouts of steam.

Well, what do you have? It takes a moment to figure out how to bring your loadout back up.
>6 Lance Anti-Ship Missiles
>4x4 Sea Raven Anti-Air Missiles
>1 5-inch Mark 45 rifle

Now you know what you meant when Vindy said she wasn't done.

>Try launching all your remaining missiles at the enemy ships.
>You'd better get in close with your rifle and keep them distracted from Arleigh.

>>2396765
>>You'd better get in close with your rifle and keep them distracted from Arleigh.
getting the missiles through the enemies defences would require a coordinated attack

>>2396765
>You'd better get in close with your rifle and keep them distracted from Arleigh.

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>2396765
>Move in with your rifle.

Roll 1d100, best of 3.

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>2396975

Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>2396975

File: 42ab4aa6d13af28254f1f8bdd(...).jpg (96 KB, 778x1100)

96 KB JPG

Looks like things are slowing down a lot and I don't know how much longer I can stay awake, so I'm going to stop things here.

Next week, Fleets of God quest! If you like this stuff and want to keep up to date, then check out my twitter: https://twitter.com/Pixel_Anon

I hope you enjoyed, have a nice night!

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>2396975

>>2397142
G'night.

>>2397142
Thanks for running.

>>2397142
Thanks for running!

So how much of this quest will draw from KanColle? Btw, this reminds me a lot of Merc's earlier KC quest too.