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>>Unknown date
>>Unknown location

A voice whispers in the void: "Well now, it's certainly been a while since we last spoke...although I can't begrudge you for not returning my calls..."

You are not in that place. There is no sensation of wet soil beneath your toes, and the scent of raw and open earth. This is a void, a barren and empty space. It is not the warm darkness of closed eyes, but a sheer expanse of nothing. There is no horizon line, no point of reference beyond your own limbs and body. There is only the howling emptiness in the desolation of...your mind, presumably.

Because given your tendency to be summoned by angry goddesses upon being knocked out, where the hell else would you be?

"A good question...maybe Virginia Beach, cocktail in hand and impressionable college freshman in the other had you not decided to work with the Task Force."

The being before you is not one of the goddesses. You know for a fact that there is something that has caught you and set you before itself. But to discern its features or outline is a futile endeavor. The only thing that separates the entity from the landscape is the wide and open expanse of its teeth, a leering grin that teeters perilously between the macabre and the predatory.

The entity shrugs. "You always did like them young...Leandra, Jessica, Corey, Katherine and, your latest 'conquest,'" he says the words with a condescending derision, "Alyssa...certainly a surprise that you've taken up with a woman two years your senior."

"You aren't one of the goddesses," you declare with a scowl.

"An astute observation," the being notes.

"...the highway. You were there, when we were attacked-"

"By a weak and relatively unimportant duke of hell," it finishes, crossing its arms together. "...but just enough for you to slip into where I reside. Perhaps that's what it took to trigger at least YOUR attack...fire and smoke caused by demonic magic..."

Memories flood into the forefront of your mind. The swing and playground, the taste of honeysuckle on your lips and grape juice staining your shirts, laughter and cheers as you raced across the soccer field...visions of a better time, visions before you lost your faith to a fiery conflagration of literal hellfire.

"What are you?" you demand of the creature, bristling with hostility. "If not a goddess, are you a demon? I've had it up to here with entities trying to dictate their demands-"

The figure holds his hands in placation, the coarse and withered hands that caught you as you fell. "I am neither demon nor goddess...but I do not know what I am either. You may consider me...an observer, a sort of passenger latched onto your soul. I am merely along for the ride that is your life, Adrian Brown...and thus far, I have been very entertained.

"And as for my name..." the entity smirks, "Well, there's no point in that. But for the foreseeable future, you may call me 'The Other One.'"
(cont.)

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>"How long has you been a part of me? If you know about the inferno then it must have been awhile."

"Picked up on that, didn't you? Good job." The entity applauds with the slow clap of a sardonic audience. "I've been a part of you since that day...only a handful of years away from twenty years since you lost your faith."

>"Was that "Gas leak" really a gas leak, or a duke of hell attacking us kids? Because it seems every time Hell shows up this happens."

The entity grins. "'Gas leak' is just what it should say in the official police report. I have no doubt that if you asked your British friend to dig into the Task Force archives or database, he should find something...if he can take his eyes off his pornography..."

It reaches out towards you, placing a vaguely-defined hand on your shoulder. You shudder as it runs its finger down where your scar ought to be, coarse and withered flesh raising goosebumps along your arm.

"This wound has long since healed, but it still bears a remnant of hellfire. Unique only to demon in the upper echelons of the court of hell, such is the extent of the damage."

"They had to shave off skin from my leg," you deadpan, "And my folks donated some more to cover the worst of it...they come at you with what looks like a cheese grater...I mean, I couldn't feel it given how doped up on morphine, but it ain't pleasant to look at a flayed leg."

You can almost detect what sounds like...bitterness in the entity's voice. "What great parents you have, Adrian...their donation may have saved you from the worst of demonic contamination."

>"So since you've been bumming around in my life car, what do you have that can pay for the gas?"

"Pay you?" The Other One tilts its head. "I'm not sure if you noticed, but I am not the most liquid at the moment."

You scowl. "Doesn't need to be money. Energy, blessings, spells...you aren't human. You've got to have at least something to give me since you're holed up in my head."

The grin vanishes. "You have no power over me, Adrian." But before you can threaten him with an exorcism via MacKay, the Other One relents, pinching where you expect to be the bridge of its nose. "Ah...I suppose that's only fair. But where I have nothing physical...

"I suppose I could lurk in the back of your head, offering commentary or insights that you might not be able to see. Think of me as a less annoying version of Jarvis," it finishes with a sneer. "Or your COMP A.I."

A personal secretary and spotter inside your head?

"All you need to do is let me in."

Huh?

Where there is nothing behind you, there is suddenly a presence, and a great shadow over your head.

"You must be the one to let me in," the Other One explains, grinning and pointing towards the Door. The gate is enormous, the size of a small building, and stands ominously behind the two of you. "But it's your choice if you want me to 'pay for the gas.'"

>>Will you open the Door and accept the Other One's aid?
>Yes.
>No.

>>3417328
>What do you know about the thing buried beside my house?
That's the distinguishing question for me on whether to Open the Door.

>>3417328
>>No
It's already too crowded

>>3417572
"No more vacancy, I've got like 4 other things already crammed in here. Seriously, it's like my brain is prime real estate."

>>3417328
>>No.
I've seen this movie.

>>3417446
The entity frowns. “As much of a surprise to me as it was for you. Certainly not every day that a child actually finds treasure in their backyard, much less a relic inscribed with sacred runes.”

“Do you know what it is?” You demand.

“No better than your pixie’s estimates. I suppose it might run the range of a containment unit for a demon, or perhaps like a demonic pesticide that wards off the supernatural from your house.

“But the big question isn’t what it is,” the Other One says with a grin, “It’s ‘who’, specifically, who’s the one that placed such an artifact in your backyard? A true mystery for the ages, especially since there’s no mention of this in the official handbook of the Task Force.”

>>3417328
>>No
For now anyway. Maybe later after a few more of these visits we can revisit this option, but allowing a mysterious entity we barely know into our head seems foolish. Gotta work on that trust thing between the two.

Now if it was a cute girl asking to be our Cortana/Burroughs my dick would make me reconsider, but as it stands my dick had no opinion on the matter.

>>3417572
>>3417698
>>3417754
>>3418146

If not comprised of white particulates and ether, you suppose you might have seen the Other One purse its lips at your refusal. It at least makes the disappointed noise that goes with it. With a neutral, flat tone, it demurs, "I see..."

You've already got the three goddesses to deal with, each powerful in their own right and capable of exerting influence through you in the real world. The Other One is, at least, only a spectator, a passenger watching your life...

...okay, thinking about it that way, you can't help but blanch, internally. If that pale bastard's been with you since that day, seeing what you see...getting intimate is gonna be a struggle in of itself, ignoring the Peeping Tom in your head. And good God, what does that say about you, the first thing to fret about is sex, as opposed to the bathroom, your emails...classified information.

But as if reading your mind, the Other One laughs darkly, "I have no interest in the sordid details of your love life. Fret not. Fornicate with whomever you wish, and however you want. You'll not have any voyeurism from me...unless you wish for me to? I've heard that there are some people that are into that kind of thing..."

"For a disembodied spirit, you're certainly a horny bastard, aren't you?" you retort.

It shrugs. "I do what I have to do to pass the time...but my offer still stands. Consider the information I surrendered to you a 'free consultation'. But the next time you come here, I expect you to want to open the door."

"...right, because getting to wherever the fuck 'here' is will be just that easy. The goddess' have been easier to meet up with-"

The Other One cuts you off, intoning, "Simply think back to that day...put yourself back in the hellish nightmare of the playground...recall the scent of burning fat, the screams of dying children, the feeling of your arm being doused in liquid fire..." At your furious expression, the being affixes its mouth into a flat line. "I derive no pleasure from your discomfort. But that is the only way for you to enter into this dimension, short of exposing you to a Fiend's hellfire."

"...why me?" you demand.

"'Why me', what?" the being retorts.

"...out of all those kids, out of all twenty five of them..." Your teeth clench tight, fighting against a sudden rush of helpless rage, "Out of all the kids that day on the fucking playground..."

'Why was I the only one who lived?'

"...why did you choose me?"

The Other One stills, unresponsive and stock-still. Then, without any warning, it closes the distance between you in the blink of an eye. Your training kicks in, and your arms automatically move up to receive and grapple as its arms reach towards your body. But as it grabs your shoulders, with coarse and withered hands,it pulls you in close, too damn close towards the gaping maw of its mouth.

"IT COULD ONLY HAVE BEEN YOU, ADRIAN BROWN!" the Other One screams at you. "YOU AND NO ONE ELSE!"

(cont.)

You shout back, struggling with the entity, "Get the fuck off me!"

Where was once a calm and mocking lit of a voice is now a furious shriek. "YOU SPEAK AS IF I HAD A CHOICE IN THE MATTER...BUT YOU KNOW NOTHING, ADRIAN BROWN! YOU KNOW NOTHING AT ALL, DEVIL SUMMONER!"

...there's something in his voice that sounds familiar. But attempting to recall it sends a sharp lance of pain through your cranium, worse than any migraine you've ever experienced. It eludes you, painfully close to a blind and groping hand, but vanishing just at the last and final moment-

"YOU HAVE TRULY FORGOTTEN, HAVEN'T YOU?"

>Roll 1d100.
>Best out of three.

Rolled 20 (1d100)

>>3418255

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>3418255
Luck be with us.

Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>3418255

>>3418406
I think we're gonna remember some nefarious shit.

>>3418869
>The piece of random chocolate you found and ate that day....
>WAS NOT CHOCOLATE

>>3418958
>>3418869
Man we are going to get hit by all this repressed shit at the same time we are potentially being court martialed or being interviewed by Sparda

Perfect timing

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>>3418289
>>3418314
>>3418406
...you try really damned hard. It’s not for the Other One’s sake as much as your own, trying to figure out how deeply that day affected you. It seems to not only be the day you lost your faith, and the reason for your “scouting” into the Task Force, but something far more sinister...

“Don’t stray too far from the soccer field!”

...the memories are there, and they bring with them the ghosts of old sensations. There is the smell of honeysuckle, the sound of children playing, the feeling of cool grass underneath your feet...the blissful ignorance of a child, but one that would not last.

Suddenly, you double over as pain envelops your arm, racing up finger, hand, arm and shoulder as if you’d plunged it into a roaring furnace. It is a struggle to not curse or otherwise break out into hysterics. The phantom flames are merciless, spreading from your fingers to your wrist, then your elbow and shoulder, taking your arm inch by painful inch as if dousing your hand into molten rock.

“There’s going to be CCD afterwards! So make sure you come back without dirtying yourselves.”

...it was nothing short of a miracle that you didn’t lose the arm outright. Given how long your arm had been cooking, and how deep the flames went into the skin, saving the limb was a miracle in of itself. Demon magic, perhaps? But it is also the cause of the accident in the first place.

Hellfire. Not just a regular agi- spell from any rank and file demon. It’s up there, just short of the Almighty Megido- spells, but definitely one of the most powerful kinds of magical flames a demon could conjure. And ones only capable from a Duke of Hell, to boot!

God was certainly looking the other way, you think grimly to yourself.

“Just because you aren’t the eldest, it doesn’t mean you can just ignore the other kids.”

In the eye of your mind, you can see them. As soon as Mass ended, they rushed out of the church, racing each other and undoing their ties and top buttons. Parents chase their children, you rush out as soon as you can. The homily had been so boring, and you can’t be bothered to sit still for another few hours without burning some energy.

You know how it plays out. You led the boys through a wild chase along the border fencing. You courted girls with the freshest honeysuckle, kicked a ball around the field, dug up the earth for any sight of worms or other critters. And then, when you try to help a girl find her parents for whatever reason...white noise, pain and misery, death and despair.

“Adrian, be a good boy and go take [rM17ndnBa4] with you, okay?”

But the memory changes. What you once believed to be your own trauma locking these memories...it is something else entirely. Now, it has only just relented, allowing for you to recall an experience you absolutely have no memory of. Yet it is real enough. There could not have been anyone else who experienced this.

(cont.)

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When you turn from your mother, and look towards the target of her gesture, there is simply...nothing. It is not the absence of a person, but as if someone had taken a pencil and erased a child-shaped hole in your sight. The figure behaves like a person, pantomiming a gesture of acknowledgement, but its existence is defined by the absence in the background. No trees or no distant houses behind, no downtrodden grass or woodchips underneath...

“rM17ndnBa4! Adrian! You’ll get chocolate if you’re on time!”

It is a paradox. There is nothing there, save for the shape of a human being that was and had been there. The shape follows you, dogs your footsteps closely in a game of tag, plucks honeysuckle with a deliberate gentleness...it helps you when you stumble, and in turn, you help it back upon its feet. Together, the two of you dominated the center of the playground.

A storm of emotions roil in your heart. Euphoria and happiness, deep concern and a profound sorrow, a loss and longing to drive you nearly to tears...

Who is this person?

The only answer you receive is an earth-shattering motion that nearly knocks you off of your feet, and certainly knocks you out of your memories. As the ground shakes, the Other One releases you, retreating quietly to a respectable distance from the door.

“...I change my mind,” the being says, seating itself own on the ground, before adopting its lackadaisical grin once more. “You may also wish to bother me should you completely remember...”

And with those words, you are pulled out of wherever the fuck that was, grabbed as if by the collar. You lurch and come perilously close to heaving as the door and the Other One become small, infinitesimal specks on the wide and infinite landscape of your mind....

>>Interrogation Room #2

...and into a windowless room and an unfamiliar ceiling...hard to believe, but Shinji’s got one over you. The winy kid’s got at least a nice view of his area, whereas the only source of illumination...

“He’s awake, sir,” a muffled voice says behind you. You are unable to satisfy your curiosity. Your arms have been bound to the stretcher’s limbs with ziptiess. Your legs are in working order, however, and your captors have at least the kind courtesy to stretch those and continue circulation.

“Excellent.”

(cont.)

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The room they have you in resembles that of a hospital receiving room, or a set for residents or visiting students to watch a procedure or surgery. Behind a pane of neigh two-way glass, you can make out the faded, distorted silhouette of a single man or woman. In your case, however, the huge and intimidating frame could have only belonged to a man.

“Specialist Brown,” the voice says, shuffling some unseen papers, “I’d first like to preface this debriefing without any further delay or pleasantries, though they are appreciated. Would this be acceptable?”

You nod. So, at the very least, this doesn’t appear to be a court marital. Yet. But you’d be an idiot to assume that the stunt you pulled with Alice and the orders wouldn’t be addressed, at the best, or punished at the worst. “Yes.”

"And before you ask, the restraints are for your own safety. We could not be sure about any cross-contamination, but after this, you have my assurances that you will be freed."

The man clears his throat, before intoning, “When confronted with the demon Alice, you were given orders to lead her to an ambush point in Constitution Park, is that right?” At your affirmation, he continues, “Why did you disobey orders from Tailpipe-One and choose to escort Alice away from the ambush point?”

>Central was being incredibly reckless to confront her that close to D.C.
>In the heat of the moment, you followed Commander Alger’s training.
>You happen to care more for civilians than a hefty bounty or cold revenge.
>Custom option.

>>3419704
>You happen to care more for civilians than a hefty bounty or cold revenge.
It's why we do what we do. Keep the nasties away from the civvies. Alice AND Belial AND Nebrios in the same area is a recipe for disaster, regardless of how well prepared central is.

>>3419704
>>Central was being incredibly reckless to confront her that close to D.C.
"The plan was hastily put together and required too many things to go right in a situation with too many variables. One thing goes wrong and DC would become a warzone. Nebiros was still on the field and Alice seemed to have been able to sniff out Devil Summoners easily enough."

>>3419704
>>Central was being incredibly reckless to confront her that close to D.C.

>>3419704
>Central was being incredibly reckless to confront her that close to D.C.

>>3419707
>>3419704
This, especially the sniffing part
If she is able to do it, I don't doubt that her uncles are capable of it as well and that could only have gone bad

>>3419704
support >>3419707

>>3419704
>>3419707
This. She already knew we were a summoner. She’s, despite her childish demeanor, incredibly strong, and she’s not stupid either.

>>3419707
>>3419725
>>3419727
>>3419743
>>3419853
>>3419865
You answer as pleasantly as you can, which is to say with no small amount of self-control. The metal cuffs that keep your wrists bound to the stretcher are not so tight as to cut off circulation, but make moving even slightly a laborious endeavor. It’s somewhat hypocritical for you to feel angry, as you’d be similarly irritated if your subordinate disobeyed a direct order...

...then again, you were never in the business of giving suicidal orders in the first place. If not MacKay, the Sarah would check your stupidity with a few terse words. Maybe even a slap.

“With all due respect...sir,” you add, just to be safe, “Central was being incredibly reckless to force a confrontation with her that close to D.C.” At his silence, you take it as a sign to continue, “Slapped together too quickly, too many variables and intricate pieces...one thing goes wrong, the entire half of southern D.C. goes up in flames.”

The figure behind the glass shifts in its seat before replying, “You seem to doubt our ability to keep a situation contained. That is...quite the mindset for you to adopt, as you’ve barely four months of experience in the Task Force.”

“It was the best call I could make given the circumstances. The alert said that it wasn’t just her. Nebiros and Belial-”

“The Archduke had been trapped in a pocket dimension,” the speaker dryly notes.

You shake your head. It’s not good enough to just keep one out of the picture. Even if Alice kept being “a good girl” and didn’t attack, there’s no way to guarantee that Nebiros would do the same. Even when disguised as a mortal, he could have pulled off some sort of “perverted stranger” scenario. So he didn’t and found humor in your exchange, but the marquis is said to be fickle.

“So with Nebiros on the field, an Alice able to be able to sniff out Devil Summoners-”

“Sniff?” the speaker interrupts you with what you suspect to be a wry tone of voice. In spite of the situation, traces of red manage to dust your cheeks. “Your expression makes enough sense, but those are words I would have chosen to describe such a thing.

Rolling your eyes, you bluntly retort, “If she could sniff me out, then it means that she could have sniffed out the rest of the ambush....” Your eyes harden as you stare into where you’d expect the man’s eyes to be. “Exposing my squad to something as reckless as that would make me an irresponsible leader, because right now, they’re a goddamn great team, and I’d hate to replace any one of them because The order didn’t come from the field.

But they’re nowhere near enough ready to face something along the lines of Alice, DEMONICA or not. A chain is only as strong as its weakest attributes, and it applies just as well to Carina. At least with Alice, you had the option of otherwise attempting to negotiate and be open to being a good girl.

(cont.)

So is this one of those 'we can totally go look up records to see if another kid died, or if we had a sibling!'

Or 'Weird inexplicable magic means no record exists of them beyond even the minds of all those who knew them, the records aren't just unnoticed but literally gone in all instances!'

I'm thinking it's the second, but you know.

>>3421962
Probably the latter if our mind was wiped of this child specifically. Like Adrian thought it was all just PTSD repression, but once he unlocked everything the child was still missing.

>Diarca returns
>SMT TF returns

god damnit I'm gonna cry
I missed you two

>>3421100
If the speaker agreed with you, he makes no show about it. His figure remains unmoving and otherwise impassive behind the two-way mirror. And with the eerie lighting in the next room, it’s impossible to discern any emotion beyond simple body language: not quite nearly ramrod straight, but definitely not relaxed. Ex-military perhaps?

After a pregnant silence, the speaker says, “...you seem to have a problem with authority, Specialist Brown.”
Considering how Central was this close to bringing down the hammer on you for supposedly releasing the demon in Kentucky...

“And I was under the impression that we’re supposed to operate as semi-autonomous units,” you heatedly shoot back, “Capable of making our own decisions and judgment calls in the field.”

“...for the most part, yes. But that’s out in the field, not when a demon comes this close and breaches into our territory. At that point, you leave the thinking up to Central.”

Even if they give you orders that’ll doom you and risk the lives of countless civilians?

But you hold your tongue. And the speaker continues, “Several higher-ups in Central are demanding that you be court-martialed. However, now that people have had time to cool off, there are also several that are content to let you off with a stern warning.”

You try not to sag in obvious relief. If not God or some other random deity, then you’ve at least got a few local angels looking out for you. At least there are some people who aren’t blinded by revenge or the cash prize for Alice.

“However, while they debate the finer points and discuss your...merits, it’s been deemed best for you to be away from Central temporarily.”

Blinking, you ask, “A leave of absence?”

You could almost hear the grin in his voice. “Not quite. Given your prior record, it’s been deemed that it would be a waste for you to simply languish or otherwise atrophy while we render a decision. Your assignment will be waiting for you once you return to your barracks.”

...it seems that even an international coalition of demon hunters isn’t immune to its own internal politics. Case in point with all those factions that bastard Mordecai offered and told you about. But this mission...there’s gonna be a thought that dogs you, as to whether or not this is penal, and how it affects your teammates. Ah, well, but you’ll burn that bridge when you get there.

(cont.)

An electronic buzz cuts through the dry noise of the air conditioning, and the restraints holding your wrist in place pop off with a heavy CLANK. And as you flex and stretch, the speaker offers you one final word before the other room goes completely dark:

“Good luck, Specialist.”

>>Your current reputation with the Task Force Administration: Eccentric.
>>Your current reputation with the Task Force Rank and File: Oddity.

>>For your successful handling of Alice, Adrian has gained enough experience to level up!

>>Adrian has become level 32!

>>Please select a perk for Adrian:
>Battle Couple [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Fighting alongside your significant other drives you to even greater feats of combat. You gain +10 to Combat rolls when in the same party, but suffer a -15 to Combat when they are absent. Investing in this increases the bonus and decreases the penalty.
>Deadeye (Rank 1): Apply +5 bonus to Combat rolls when using firearms.
>Deadshot (Rank 3): Firearms do an additional 20% more damage, rounding to the closest whole number.
>Fearful Presence (Rank 1): +30 in social rolls made to Intimidate, Coerce or Force a single target, human, demon or otherwise into doing your bidding or fleeing. Also can be used in combat to inflict Debuffs in certain opportunities.
>Mag Magnet (Rank 1): +5% flat increase to all Magnetite you loot from enemies.
>Nice Guy (Rank 2): Demons recruited through negotiation start with an additional 20% Approval.
>Other’s Sight [SPECIAL CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Contact with the Other One has granted you insight into things not ordinarily seen. Gain +20 when making Perception checks.
>Super Shot Special [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: If Sarah is in your party, you can order her to make a Called Shot that will Knock Down or Stun an enemy, both bosses and mobs, in its tracks at the cost of all her ammunition for the current battle.
>Razor Sharp (Rank 2): Slash-type weapons do an additional 15% more damage, rounding to the closest whole number.

Sorry for disappearing like that. Had to organize a German exchange trip to D.C., and I had to wake up at an ungodly hour to herd them all. Crashed like an over-modded copy of Skirim as I was typing the next update.

>>3422009
>Super Shot Special [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: If Sarah is in your party, you can order her to make a Called Shot that will Knock Down or Stun an enemy, both bosses and mobs, in its tracks at the cost of all her ammunition for the current battle.


Are they at least taking in consideration that we also got a the Marquis of Hell to respect DC's/Task Force's sovereignty and borders?

>>3422018
Hence the ferocity of the "debate".

>>3422009
>Super Shot Special [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: If Sarah is in your party, you can order her to make a Called Shot that will Knock Down or Stun an enemy, both bosses and mobs, in its tracks at the cost of all her ammunition for the current battle.

>>3422009
>Other’s Sight [SPECIAL CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Contact with the Other One has granted you insight into things not ordinarily seen. Gain +20 when making Perception checks.
We shall see all things.

>>3422009
>others sight
Not a fan of a ghostly apparition on our shoulder, but let's use it when we can

Also, we need to talk to Alger as soon as we can

>>3422009
>Other’s Sight [SPECIAL CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Contact with the Other One has granted you insight into things not ordinarily seen. Gain +20 when making Perception checks.

>>3422009
>>Other’s Sight [SPECIAL CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Contact with the Other One has granted you insight into things not ordinarily seen. Gain +20 when making Perception checks.

>>3422053
>>3422117
>>3422210
>>3422253
>>Other’s Sight [SPECIAL CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Contact with the Other One has granted you insight into things not ordinarily seen. Gain +20 when making Perception checks.

>>Later
>>Carina Barracks

The reunion with your squad is not loud or raucous. Knocking on the door, you are greeted by the sight of your team, seated at the table and quietly conversing among themselves. Hands clap your shoulders, and you receive a bone-breaking embrace from Sarah as you settle in with your friends and comrades.

“I’m not gonna lie, Adrian,” Vicky shivers from under her blanket, “I thought we were gonna be goners...”

Brady keeps a stiff upper lip, but he can’t hide the way his hands shake as he passes her a bottle of what you suspect to be alcohol. Normally, you’d chide the both of them for drinking on the clock, but you can hardly blame both of them for taking generous swings of the bottle.

“I suspect that our...friends,” MacKay says the word wryly, “Over in Bootes felt the same way. Certainly, it didn’t help that the veteran Devil Summoners were going over what Alice had, ah, done to the people who had tried to go after her.”

Snatching the bottle right out of the protesting mechanic’s hands, Sarah takes a deep swing, before demurring, “Gallows humor. Kinda fucked to not hold back about the gorier details next to rookies...I wasn’t worried though. That much, anyway.”

You decline the bottle when it comes your way. On any other day, you might join in the ritualistic sharing, even with your aversion to germs and dislike for what you suspect to be whiskey. But the next mission from Central hasn’t come yet, and it’d reflect better on you to receive it stone-cold sober.

Idly nursing a glass of soda, you murmur, “I’m sorry you all had to go through that.”

“Sorry?” Brady squints at you, incredulous. “Mate, you got nothing to be sorry for. It’s only because of your bloody intervention that we aren’t stains on the wall.”

Vicky pipes, “I’ll drink to that...” But when Sarah refuses to pass the bottle, the mechanic scowls. “Jerk. But that aside...I want to file a complaint.”

“Get in line. The queue’s at least got least seven of the veterans...maybe half of Bootes. Not sure where that crazy broad stands, though...fucking slag was giggling the entire time. On the goddamn company channel.”

It’s impossible not to wince at the image that conjures. From the woman’s shrill voice when she gets all heated up, and her borderline psychopathic behavior when it comes to life and battle...maybe even a hedonist might feel some kind of hysteria so close to death. Further exposure to her would be necessary for solid confirmation, but you have little desire to stay in her presence any longer than necessary.

(cont.)

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“I’ve already taken the liberty of filing a separate complaint to address her...behavior,” MacKay offers. “But, I should mention that there were other Devil Summoners that were very eager to battle Alice.”

In his disgust, the programmer almost spits on the floor. “Cocky shites...”

The mechanic’s unease only seems to grow. “...some were angry...they wanted revenge on her for all of the comrades she killed. Others wanted the bounty. And when Central told them to stand down...they were so angry.”

“Tell ‘em to pound sand, Vicky,” your girlfriend says, with a derisive leer on her face, “If those fuckin’ idiots wanna commit suicide, they should at least have the goddamn courtesy to not drag all of us into it.”

Her words paint a vivid picture. You’re not sure how many Devil Summoners were chomping at the bit to fight Alice, but MacKay’s words indicate that a great deal of them wanted to. And that could range from as small as seven to under eighty, if a company channel was needed to keep proper communications. Certainly, if Central deployed all hands on deck, that would be the least of all the field agents stationed in D.C.

Little wonder why the bigwigs want you to go away for the time being. If shoulder bumps and cold stares are what you might expect in a mundane day job, the scorn of Devil Summoners must be something fierce indeed.

“What’s done is done.” You set down your cup with a noise of finality. “If they have any complaints or angry letters, they can shove them right up their ass. Even if I got the lion’s share of the prize for leading her to you, that wouldn’t be worth the blood we’d have to pay to take her down.”

Brady snorts derisively. “If we even took her down at all. I did a little reading...little scamp’s been active since the end of the last century. Almost four hundred operative kills, thousands of civilian casualties...I’m not surprised that she doesn’t have a ‘flee on sight’ designation.”

“Or ‘Godslayers only,’” Vicky notes. “I’ve seen the demons that one of them had...they’re very powerful.”

You recall the image of the grumpy old man, the crank who stopped you in Central after you saw Nebiros and Alice off. If he got to his age being a Devil Summoner for the Task Force, then he’s certainly got the chutzpah to justify it.

You gesture for their attention. “At any rate, we should be getting our next assignment soon.” As one, they turn to you, unease and worry forgotten as they pelt you with questions. “Okay, okay! Listen...”

>>You explain why Central is sending you away.

“Horse shit!” Brady shouts, slamming his fist on the table. “They should be pinning a medal on your chest and giving you administrative duties for not turning half of the capital into rubble! Not exiling us because it's fucking inconvenient for them to have you around!"

(cont.)

MacKay might have taken offense at the programmer’s outburst. But his mouth set in a thin line of disapproval. It seems he also has his own reservations, if not outright loathing. In an uncharacteristically sardonic tone of voice, he intones, “Behold, the inconveniences of bureaucracy...and its internal politics.”

“...fucking cowards,” your girlfriend spits out in disgust. She’s upset, and rightly so, but her anger goes deeper than your own. If you were to take a guess, it might have something to do with her unwillingness to talk about her past.

Vicky, on the other hand, seems to perk up at the thought of leaving D.C. “Oh. Well...do you know when we’re leaving?”

You shrug. “They said we’d be getting details tonight, actually. Might be as early as tomorrow, or in the next few days at the latest. So get some rest. All of you, understand? I want you all refreshed and watered just in case...and plenty of time to fight off any hangover.”

One by one, your friends file out of the kitchen returning to their respective side of the barracks and personal berthing. Left alone at the table, with only the bottle of whiskey to keep you company, you sit there, staring at nothing, thinking about nothing. This, you do for a solid few minutes before you stand up and walk towards your quarters...

>>Prior to the next mission, you have enough time to follow up for more private conversation with some of your teammates.

>>Please select two teammates to speak with:
>Brady.
>MacKay.
>Sarah
>Victoria.

>>3422988
>Brady.
I kinda want to see if we can do some research and see if we can find a record of a female Devil 'Buster' from over hundred years go that was married to some engineer based on the information Nebiros told us.

>Sarah
Aftermath, If Abby is okay, etc.

>>3422988
>>3423004
This
If there is any way to do it, find Alger, if he doesnt find us first

>>3423004
+1
finally, cough up.

>>3423075
oh hi morty

>>3422988
>>Brady
>>Mackay

>>3422988
>Brady.
>Sarah.

File: Brady2.png (193 KB, 514x714)

193 KB PNG

>>3423004
>>3423075
>>3423372
>>3423891
>>3423963
You just miss Brady. Literally. As you’re about to knock on the entrance to his berth, the door slides open and the programmer nearly runs into you. Something straight out of a vaudeville show occurs as the two of you struggle to orient yourselves without tripping or falling onto the floor in a disorganized heap of tangled limbs and awkward positions.

“Whoa...sorry ‘bout that,” he sheepishly says. “I, uh...I’m not drunk.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t ask, but you’re good. Just where were you going to in a hurry?”

“...midnight snack, and then a trip to the head.” Ah. You’d normally take it at face value and leave the sentence as it is, but you see his eyes flicker in the direction opposite of the bathrooms. Now isn’t that intriguing that it just so happens to be the direction towards the women’s side of the barracks...

“Do you mind?” you ask, pointing towards his berth. “Just wanted to talk and follow up...some one-on-one time, you and me. Haven’t really had a chance for that since, the...ah...that incident with Vicky-”

Brady’s ears go pink and he almost chokes on his own spit. “Yeah, uh...y’know, in hindsight, that was bloody stupid of me. I should’ve picked something...tamer to play-”

“Literally anything except for explicit, incestuous, animated Japanese pornography,” you interject bluntly.

He coughs, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “...you’re still mad about the bet, aren’t you?”
“’course not,” you deliver with as straight a face as you can muster.

For someone displaying the characteristics of a NEET, Brady’s berth is otherwise an organized chaos. It’s certainly a far cry from any sort of military standard of cleanliness. Books and charts are scattered on the desk, papers and maps pinned to the walls and brownboards. Gone are the posters of catgirls and underage waifus clothed in indecent lingerie. In their place, a Union Jack hangs alongside the Stars and Stripes, right above the three monitors at his desk.

Certainly an improvement. Vicky won’t immediately turn tail the next time she accidentally walks in. And at the very least, the priest can finally enter the room without committing at least five mortal sins.

Sitting down on the edge of his cot, the programmer heavily exhales, “...I really appreciate it, mate. You checking up on me. Wasn’t about to say it in front of the others, but...I was really fucking spooked.”

“You hid it well,” you offer.

“Yeah, well enough to not get BLAM’d by one of the veterans.” At the confused tilt of your head, he elaborates, “Shot in the back for turning tail or getting the others to follow. Because with the way those tossers were acting, I wasn’t about to let us get thrown into a bloody meat grinder for some vindictive shite.”

(cont.)

It’s only slightly hypocritical given how bent out of shape he is towards Copland, but the hedonist is hardly the level of a demon with over a century’s worth of blood on her hands. Certainly the lesser of two evils. Instead, you say, “Compassion is one of your best traits. Even if we butt heads over it from time to time.”

>Brady approves +8

Demon fusion comes to mind.

“Now you’re starting to sound like MacKay...or a fortune cookie.”

“I’m in the same boat as Bon Jovi as a ‘recovering Catholic,’” you joke, “Still haven’t made it past step...fuck if I know. I don’t need to be religious to talk about your...better parts.”

Brady snorts. “Yeah...you say compassion, but most other folks think ‘clinginess’ or ‘over-attachment’...the side-effects of being an embassy brat. You’d think I’d be the opposite and be all aloof and unattached, but...that’s just my damage,” he finishes sarcastically.

That’s right. His father was a member of the consulate, which meant traveling from one assignment to another in all parts of the world. Not entirely different from the life of a military brat. Settling down in one place for a few years, before packing up and moving to another...it probably isn’t the physical exhaustion that does a marriage or relationship in as much as emotional fatigue.

“...how many languages do you speak?” At the confused tilt of his head, you elaborate, “I saw you and Vicky speaking Japanese...”

He actually has to think about it, ticking off fingers with every count: “Beyond the Queen’s English, I’ve got Japanese, French, German, Spanish...my Arabic is a little rusty, and I never did nail down Russian lettering. I can speak it, just can’t read the damn characters.”

Holy shit. And you’d think that one would have an easier time with Cyrillic in spite of its lettering instead of...the squiggly lines and brush strokes that comprise Arabic and Japanese. “You’re certainly a worldly man.”

“No thanks to my old man,” Brady mutters resentfully. “...but he did what he had to do to put food on the table. Just wish it didn’t screw me up as it did...drifting everywhere at the whims of Her Majesty’s wishes...”

...this seems to be one of Brady's skeletons. Certainly not his point of demon contact, but a skeleton that's one of the reasons for how he turned out the way he is.

>>It’s starting to get late, but you can ask him one question:
>“Do you at least feel comfortable and stable with us in America?”
>“So who exactly were you trying to visit in the girls’ side of the barracks?”
>“You're overqualified; what convinced you to sign on with the Task Force?”
>Custom option.

Asking him to investigate Alice and Nebiros' information will be automatically written in as a part of the next update/post.

>>3424595
>So, who were you going to visit?
As if we don't know, just tease him a bit

>>3424595
>“You're overqualified; what convinced you to sign on with the Task Force?”

>>3424595
>“Do you at least feel comfortable and stable with us in America?”

>>3424595
>“Do you at least feel comfortable and stable with us in America?”

>>3424638
>>3424658
>>3424674
>>3424750
The programmer nods, a small smile on his face. “Yeah, it’s...nice. It’s nice to just be grounded. Four years is the longest time I’ve been in a place, and this side of the pond grew on me. Never thought of going back to Bristol, God no. That’d mean being too bloody close to my old man.”

Coughing, you venture, “It’s not my place to ask, but...if there’s anything you want to say to me or MacKay about that-”

“Nah, that’s just me being a mope. I still send him Christmas and birthday cards and call once a while, if only to appease my mum.”

At least there’s a point of contention that’s resolved itself easily.

>You feel like you’ve gotten to know Brady a little better.

“Then for all intents and purposes,” you stand, clapping him on the shoulder, “We’re glad to have you here.”

>>Brady approves +10

“...thanks.” He smiles, shaking his head ruefully. “Y’know, it’s actually...it’s pretty good to be a yankee. Those sods back home have no idea what they’re missing out on...both here and in the American station of the Task Force.”

A faint spirit of patriotism springs within you, and you leap to defend your country, “Oi. You make it sound like living in America is a bad thing.”

He looks unsure as to how to respond, afraid that he offended you. But at the mirth in your eyes, the programmer relaxes, and he snipes back with an exaggerated accent, “It’s absolutely undignified to live in a former colony of the Empire!”

Oh, so he wants to play that way, huh? “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of throwing tea in the harbor!”

“Says the culture that drinks ice tea! ICE TEA!” He shakes his hands as if to throttle you. “Have you barbarians never heard of a kettle?”

“Have you ever heard of spices? For all the trade from Indies, you’d think you’d know how to flavor your food!”

“Five words,” he shoots back, with the grin of the cockiest fucker you’ve ever seen him wear. “‘Burning of the White House.’”

>The two of you spend several minutes sniping back at each other in an effort to undermine the other’s home country with events that happened long before you were born.
>At one point, Pixie angrily texted you with a message to just “whip them out and measure them already”.
>Before departing, Brady promised to look into the matter of Alice and Nebiros. He should have results for you within the next few days.

>>Later

The jovial mood you took away from Brady’s berth doesn’t last long. Standing in front of Sarah’s door, you have to...well, not steel your mind, but throw away all the jokes and blithe comments. Even before your relationship upgrade, both of you know the time and the place for proper banter.

(cont.)

She answers the door only a few moments after you knock. Her eyes perk up at the sight of you, driving away any lingering fatigue or unease that might’ve been on her face. “...been wonderin’ when you’d show up.”

You offer her a smile, and quick peck on the cheek once you’re sure Brady’s already left to the kitchen. “Sorry I’m a little late.”

Out of everyone’s berths, Sarah’s is arguably the most spartan. Her walls are bereft of the posters you see on the others’ walls. MacKay had at least a crucifix above his bed, but she has nothing beyond documents and papers tacked to the wall. Weapons kits and supplies lie on the nearby table. And in one corner of the room, a pile of clothes rests in a disheveled heap, either waiting to be folded or sent to the wash.

She catches you off-guard with a light punch to your shoulder. “Quit starin’ at my laundry, ya perv.”

“Sorry,” you laugh back, “Can’t help it.”

“The hell’s that mean?”

“My mom drilled a compulsion to folding laundry...for all of my siblings. With six Browns running around, we learned real quick to do our own laundry.”

“...still not lettin’ you anywhere near my unmentionables.”

As you settle up against each other, backs against the wall and nestled comfortably on the sofa, you ask, “Is Abby okay?”

She nods. “Yeah...told her to get back home since ‘business’ came up. Had to pull the big sister card to do it. Might’ve pissed her off about cancellin’ dinner, but she doesn’t stay mad for long.”

“Better to be mad than in the crossfire.”

The noise she makes in the back of her throat catches you off-guard. “Now that's real rich comin’ from you..."

You frown. “Meaning...?”

Her hand clamps tightly on yours, and she meets your eyes, blue matching brown with the most intense gaze you’ve seen her make. In a low voice, she whispers, “You fuckin’ went on your own...and you left me behind to play ‘patty-cake’ with that demon...and I didn’t know if you were alive or dead...and then I read the goddamn report of what that brat does to Devil Summoners that try to hunt her...

“Honest to God, when we got the report that you’d been taken into custody, the others were mad as hell and stark ravin’ furious, but...” she shakes her head, a mirthless smile on her face. “I was happy. Happy that you weren’t dead so that I could tell your stupid, reckless ass before I let you back into my room-”

>“I’m deeply sorry for making you worry about me.” [Apology]
>“I only did it to get you and Abby out of harm’s way.” [Protect]
>“Next time we run into her, I’ll bring you along.” [Sarcastic]
>“So there’s no possibility of ‘we’re still alive’ sex?” [Flirt]
>“There’s always a risk of death in our line of work.” [Duty]
>Write-in.

>>3424888
>“I’m deeply sorry for making you worry about me.” [Apology]
"I just couldn't see another way to get Abby out the line of fire without making a scene and potentially making Alice... upset. So when she dragged me off I just used the opportunity to split up. God I could you imagine having to negotiate with the Marquis with Abby quipping in the background?"


...


>“So there’s no possibility of ‘we’re still alive’ sex?” [Flirt]

>>3424888
>“I’m deeply sorry for making you worry about me.” [Apology]
>I just couldn't see another way to get Abby out the line of fire without making a scene and potentially making Alice... upset.
>and....I get the feeling Alice's comment about me smelling like her mommy wasn't just nonesense.

>>3424897
+1

>>3424888
>>“I’m deeply sorry for making you worry about me.” [Apology]
Trips

>>3424888
Checked
Also, supporting >>3424897

>>3424888
>>“I’m deeply sorry for making you worry about me.” [Apology]

>>3424897
>>3424904
>>3424918
>>3424921
>>3424983
>>3425567
“I’m sorry for making you worry,” you offer, squeezing her shoulder tightly. “Just didn’t see any other way to get your sister out of the way without making a causing a scene.”

“...well, that ain’t the point, but I could’ve just told her to fuck off.” Sarah’s grin doesn’t entirely reach her eyes. Their relationship must be that good for her to call that a viable solution.

“Then what is the point? I didn’t want to make Alice upset. Splitting up when she dragged me off was the best we had...it was best to have all of her attention on one person than three. One of which is a civilian, to boot.”

She scowls. “I know, I know...makes enough goddamn sense...I’m just mad that you’re too damn eager...and I’m mad at myself because it’s stupid since you’re the squad leader...” Her free hand drags down her face in a gesture of weary resignation. You let her gather her thoughts before she continues, “...fuckin’ hell, this is why I stopped datin’...”

You have a vague inkling at what she might be getting at. Prior to your current relationship, you enjoyed the status of friends and fire-forged comrades. Certainly, everyone was and is worried about each other’s safety in the field, beyond professionalism.

Now? You’ve got the additional weight of a relationship with your subordinate that persistently hangs in the background. And it’s going to dog you at your heels, and weigh heavily on the decisions you make to complete the mission, and whether or not those decisions would adversely affect your physical or mental capabilities.

“...maybe this is why people keep relationships under wraps in the Task Force,” you observe, “...was it ever like this in the police?”

“No shit. They catch feelin’s after a stress fuck, start dating and everything is real nice and fine...then you gotta fret and stress about your S.O. catching a bullet or coming at the wrong end of a gangbanger’s weapon...and the same goes for the military.”

“Makes enough sense...although I thought North Virginia is a far cry from Baltimore. Or Fallujah.”

Snorting, she says, “But all it takes is one unlucky day...and don’t think I’ve forgotten everythin’ from the Academy. I’m a little more reckless than I’d normally be, but the four of you?”

“...I’d like to think we’ve been doing well, all things considered,” you reply, and at the look she gives you, you quickly add, “That and lucky...” Pausing, you consider her words, mulling over them before you cut back to the pith of the matter: “So what exactly are you trying to get at?”

Sarah jabs your chest, hard, with a pointed finger. “If we’re gonna make this work and not get emotionally fucked at every mission...I’ll dial back down on chargin’ and bargin’. Which means that you gotta think twice before doing somethin’ that’ll put yourself in danger.”

(cont.)

“Just me? Because this relationship goes two ways,” you counter. “I’m worried about you as well when you take point-”

“Quit bein’ a smartass. I already promised, so you gotta step up. And it goes for all of us...so Brady, MacKay and Vicky...and whoever the fuck we’ll be working with. I’ll be damned if you think I get priority over all of them just because we’re knocking boots together. Understand?”

“...yeah, okay. I’ll...work on it.”

“You’re fucking right you will.” Sarah leans into you, resting her head against your shoulder, murmuring into the fabric of your shirt, “...I’m sick of losin’ men in my life because they thought they could handle it all on their goddamn own...”

“The gun belonged to my dad...also a cop. He retired, alright, but it wasn’t willingly...but the chief was kind enough to give him his pension watch when they lowered him into the ground...”

You say nothing, pulling her into a gentle embrace. A silence settles in her berth, only interrupted by quiet breaths and the sound of your hand gently rubbing her back. It isn’t the tight, impassioned embrace, but a warm, assuring affirmation. Both of you are here, both of you have come to understand something, and that’s all you need as far as you’re all concerned.

“...dear Lord, could you imagine...?” you whisper into her ear, and she shifts slightly at your words. Perhaps it’s now the best time to lighten the mood now that she’s gotten everything off of her chest. “I had to negotiate with a marquis of hell...imagine having your sister making commentary alongside Alice like some kind of unholy peanut gallery.”

It doesn’t elicit an otherwise visceral response, but her body shakes with restrained chortles, and her breath quickens as she holds back her laughter. The edge of smile hasn’t fully returned to its usual cocky smirk, but it’s halfway there, and a plain and obvious warmth lights up the blue of her eyes.

“...yeah, I reckon that’d be a sight,” she muses.

...

“...so does that mean that there’s no possibility of ‘we’re still alive’ sex?”

To her credit, the mood whiplash doesn’t leave her shocked for long. The only sign of surprise is a slow blink, as if processing at an unusual sight. Her smirk returns in full force, and she says, “Gee, Adrian. I coulda sworn you said somethin’ about havin’ all of us get a good night’s sleep...what you’re offerin’ sounds like we won’t be goin’ to bed for a while...or 'sleepin'' at least. What’s that goddamn phrase...‘rules for thee, but not for me?’”

Before you can protest, she grabs the collar of your shirt and pulls you in for a kiss. When you pull away, you have no more complaints to offer, only a growing arousal in its place.

“...we’ve got plenty of time,” you murmur.

“...you’d think that with everybody knowin’ about us, we'd be a little more careful.”

(cont.)

She has a point. While the two of you do have privacy in the barracks, there’s no denying that a great deal of it is offered by the others. The obvious turning away of heads whenever the two of you talk closely, raised eyebrows when you’re crashed on the couch...Pixie grumpily advised keeping encounters to the night, but leaving either your or her berth empty would be the same as sending a message on the squad channel: “Just started dating! Guess what we’re doing right now?”

Shrugging, you lean in close once more. “...then they should just know when to look the other way...or otherwise just observe basic decency and the sock on the door knob.”

That gets a laugh out of her. “...ah, well...” she shakes her head, still grinning all the while, “...maybe I oughta give you some incentive, at least. Just to make sure tonight’s gut-spillin’ and heart-to-heart actually gets drilled into your thick skull.”

There’s no way Sarah missed the way your mouth widened against hers in a smirk. The two of you fall back onto her cot, fumbling at the buttons of your shirts as you continue to fight for dominance. “If it’s as thick as you say, then we might need repeat lessons, just to be safe...”

She laughs, casually tossing her top towards the pile of laundry in the corner. Definitely dirty, are the last words in your mind before all else gives way to her, and her alone...

>...
>You spent a long time with Sarah.

>>Choose one:
>Brady.
>MacKay.
>Victoria.

>>3426585
>>MacKay.

>>3426585
>>MacKay.

>>3426585
Victoria

>>3426585
so do we roll for performance like we did with the red head?

>>3426585

>Victoria

>>3426585
>Victoria

File: Vicky.jpg (164 KB, 1200x979)

164 KB JPG

>>3426587
>>3426588
>>3426676
>>3426712
>>3426751
Vote locked in for Vicky.


>>3426688
I mean...eh, why not?

>Roll 1d100.
>Best out of four.

Gotta go to traffic court for a ticket. Will resume when I get back.

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>3426795
look at my 1, my one is amazing!

>>3426809
neither 1 nor a 69, i am disappoint

Rolled 62 (1d100)

>>3426795
I hate having tonroll for this.

Rolled 29 (1d100)

>>3426795

>>3426814
I mean, it's all in good fun and you could have just protest posted

Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>3426795

Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>3426795
come on, give me a high roll

>>3426688
What kind of masochistic person actually asks for performance rolls? The hell is wrong with you? 20% of the time you'll get the 'Oh Anon you're so good at sex' but most of the time it's just mediocre or flat out bad.

>>3426822
It's all fun and games until you get that sub 30 or nat 1 that canonically introduces erectile dysfunction for the MC even though he seemed pretty proficient with Alyssa.

File: O6w80NyR_400x400.jpg (15 KB, 400x400)

15 KB JPG

>>3426814
>>3426817
>>3426827
>>3426809
You are Victoria Yamane, mechanic extraordinaire and collector of cute demons. Contrary to popular belief, you are at best a casual fan of 90’s and more of NASCAR kind of girl. The Harley you currently drive is a relic of your father’s, a gift from Hell’s Angels for ‘services’ rendered. A certain Isabelle Copland is at the top of your shit list, and Brady has joined you in a conspiracy to bring her down.

And at the current moment, with your head smushed tight against two pillows, have never been more conflicted about the events that have led up to the current state of affairs.

On the one hand, you should be grateful. At least Sarah and Adrian have the common courtesy to keep themselves quiet. Their voices seldom register anything higher than a breathy sigh or occasional grunt of exertion. That could be easily remedied with a playlist loud enough to drown them out, but quiet enough to ease you into sleep.

But it isn’t their voices that are keeping you awake. It’s the noise of how intensely they’re screwing themselves silly that give you disquiet. They haven’t graduated to the wall, a miracle unto itself. However, the persistent thumps of the cot are still in the background of your music; at their mildest, like an unwelcome ride symbal, and at their worst, an active counter-beat to the snare and bass drum.

Soundproofed rooms, your butt. Maybe Brady had a point when he ran to you and MacKay, pale and babbling about furniture and sanitizing the barracks the other week.

“...jerks,” you say to nobody in particular, repressing your traitorous imagination at the images the noise might conjure up. You have to think about other things. Like...cute demons! Or how Karasu Tengu looks like underneath his hood...that blueprint of modifications you could add to the car...

You’re certainly not jealous. Nope. Because ew. Sarah didn’t need to say anything, but you knew she had dibs since Cocytus. Only a blind man could ignore the way she looked at him. So, being the...not the gracious loser, because that would imply you had a thing for Adrian! No, instead...you played the role of the supportive friend and matchmaker. Even if she didn’t know it.

...what? You’re not that far removed from femininity to resist the siren call of matchmaker and cupid. A grease monkey does not a tomboy make...and matchmaking is definitely more legitimate and less creepy than shipping! One has negative and stalker-ish connotations when applied to your friends. The other one is more whimsical and mischievous, and definitely not creepy in any single way...

...okay, maybe Brady had a point when you tried to scare off that sorority girl. But in your defense, Sarah would do the same, if not less subtle than you. Yep. Absolutely. Because you have significant reason to believe that your friend has the same amount of subtly as her Mossberg 12-guage.

(cont.)

>>3427836
Ah vicky, I understand you. My college dorm-neighbors have the same subtlety

>>3427836
A particularly loud thump is the final straw. For a solid moment, you think about throwing off the covers of your cot, marching towards her berth and giving them a full broadside about how even Adrian is disobeying the orders he set out for everyone. Hypocritical jerk...

“You ain’t gonna find a whole lot of men like Sawbones anymore...”

...your hand hovers over the doorknob. And then you stop, pause and consider for a very, very long time.

“...you’re a damn sight better than the broads that used to call me their friend, Vicky...”

...you really are a bleeding heart. Sighing, you retract your hand, and softly declare: “Just this once...”

But the next loud noise seals the deal, and you’re out of your berth and heading towards the barracks, blanket and pillow clutched tightly in hand. You’re not about to interrupt, but there’s no way in hell that you’re staying put. Trying to sleep with that happening less than four feet away from you in a “soundproofed” barracks-

“Vicky?”

The voice almost causes your heart to leap out of your throat. In your haste to claim the couch for yourself, you didn’t notice the sole occupant in the kitchen. Brady stares, spoonful of...oatmeal(?) halfway to his mouth all but forgotten at your entrance.

“Oh...ah...hi,” you begin awkwardly, shifting on the heels of your slippers. “Hey, Brady...what are you doing?”

“Can’t sleep. Midnight snack.” The delivery comes with the succinct bluntness of someone in the middle of a meal. He takes a bite out of his food, swallowing before continuing, “Oatmeal and milk usually puts me away really quickly. How about...the heck are you doing with those?”

Ah. Right. The second most important question of the evening. “Same as you...can’t sleep either.”

He frowns. “If you’re still nervous about earlier today...”

So he didn’t hear them...maybe his hearing aid is dialed back a few notches. Well, you could be discrete, but given how you don’t want to lie...and on the plus side, discomfort loves company. “Yeah...I’m a little over that, but thanks for asking. I just need a good night’s sleep to completely get over it...not that I can find any back there...”

“What do you mean...” At the flat look you give him, he puts two and two together, and actually drops his spoon back into the bowl as his eyes and mouth go wide. “Oh my fucking God, they’re not-”

Ha. “Poor choice of words, but...yeah, I wish,” you mutter sourly, “I heard Adrian go into her room for a heart-to-heart...came close to shouting, feared an argument, but nothing serious. Turns out they aren’t anywhere near done with...uh...‘hashing out’ the rest of their issues.”

Your fellow conspirator runs a hand through his ragged face. He mutters something about a library before he exhales, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph...so, you’re gonna crash on the couch then, eh?”

(cont.)

>>3428030
Why am I shipping these two?

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>>3428030
>He mutters something about a library before he exhales

>>3428223
But anon she's totally not jealous of Fitz.

>>3428281
yeah, time for team drama and get Sarah jealous

imagine jealous Sarah, dangerous shit right there

>>3428368
Or we could not be in high school. We can hope at least. Jealous Sarah might be ok. Vindictive Sarah I want to stay far away from.

>>3428030
“I don’t have a lot of other options,” you say, holding up your blanket. “Sure, we’ve got some empty rooms, but they don’t have sheets...aaaaaand the alcohol’s made me lazy. Don’t wanna have to set something up that I’m gonna have to strip off tomorrow.”

Maybe the whiskey’s made your tongue a little looser, because you blanch and kick yourself for an equally poor choice of words. But if Brady noticed, he doesn’t show. He seems to still be digesting the revelation, food all but forgotten as he ponders with a face of discomfort...

Frowning, you muse, “...you know, you seem to be oddly fixated on the two of them...getting it on.” You’d even say horrified, honestly. “You got something against the two of them being together?”

“Nah, fuck no. Just that-”

“Then what’s the issue?” Somehow, you manage to deliver it without any overt hostility. It’s actually pretty fulfilling, squaring up on behalf of a friend against gossip. You never really had this kind of experience in high school or university. “...you jealous or something?”

He actually pales. “Oh God no...Fitz would break me in half. Far as I’m concerned, Brown’s the only one who can actually handle her. Just worried for his sake-”

“The bullet incident is water under the bridge,” you say curtly.

“I know! Just...I am happy for them. Really, no joke. Just a little uncomfortable with ‘ye olde PDA.’”

Surprisingly prudish, you recall. Even more so than MacKay, and he’s a priest! Yet the man is shameless enough to watch hentai without headphones on at full blast...and the less said about the posters in his room, the better. Because holy shit, every other one is a prime example of how female anatomy doesn’t work.

“...I mean...who isn’t?” It’s why you’re out here, isn’t it? But you decide not to comment about it and shove the issue to the side. “Well...don’t mind me. I’m just gonna set up shop here...” The items fall from your hands without any fanfare or ceremony. Shortly afterwards, you likewise collapse in a heap atop the cushions with a loud POMF. “...actually, these aren’t all that bad...certainly more comfortable than the cots we’re breaking our backs on.”

The change in topic is enough to ease him out of his discomfort. He chortles, spearing another helping of oatmeal. “You ever try pilates? Heated yoga? ‘cause regular stretching doesn’t often cut it. 'specially for us, given what we go through. Really works wonders for the back. The Task Force actually has a Hindu demon running the bloody classes...”

The image of Brady dressed up as the archetypal yoga practitioner, headband, hippie t-shirt, baggy pants and leaf juice milkshake in hand, is too much. He actually looks offended when you start to giggle uncontrollably. You're quick to apologize, “Sorry, sorry! It’s just...I never would’ve pegged you for doing that kind of thing...”

(cont.)

“...yeah, I can see that,” he says matter-of-factly, hackles lowering as he accepts your apology. “But I need to do it. Out in the field, I sit on my ass scripting programs, doing research or otherwise being a Hackerman if I’m not toting my rifle with all of you in combat. Fucks up my back something awful to sit upright for hours on end. Especially in a DEMONICA.”

“Okay,” you cede, flexing and stretching your arms as you yawn. Finally, sleep approaches. “I mean, I can see the benefits for someone with your particular skill set-” The words die in the back of your throat as you feel your spine, back and ribs crackle like bubble wrap. Audible enough for even Brady to flinch at the noise. “...ow.”

“...you alright there?”

The noise you make as you sink into the couch, mortified beyond the pale, is neither an affirmation nor denial. At the best, it’s a miserable gurgle that compliments the shade of red your face has become.

“...if you say so,” he snorts, finishing the last of his oatmeal. With a fantastic swing, he downs the entirety of his milk and drops his dishes into the sink. As you pull the blanket and pillow into a more comfortable position, you can hear him pause just as he reaches the threshold of the barracks...before he rapidly retreats away.

You try not to groan. The two of them are still at it?! You know for a fact that Cocytus gave everyone a new lease on fitness, but you had no desire to know the limits of your companions’ “stamina”.

But no, you deduce the reason of his flight incorrectly. He returns with a piece of paper he thrusts towards you. “Here. Take it.”

“...what’s this?”

“Room numbers and schedule for all the classes. Pilates, yoga...even physical therapy.” He offers a cocky grin. “I’m not too keen on cars, but bending over a six-cylinder or sprawled underneath the carriage prolly isn’t easy on the back.”

You stick your tongue out in a half-hearted gesture of irritation. It only causes him to smile...then it softens unexpectedly, becoming less certain. His eyes dart from one side of the room to the next, as if checking to see if anyone else is there. Then, he says, “...if you’d like, I could...show you the beginner’s class...they got one in the morning, we might not be deployed until the afternoon. Guaranteed immediate results, I swear...”

It seems that Brady is all about surprise and more hidden depths than your last talk. Geez. And you thought that his irritation at being an embassy child was just the peak of the iceberg. Smiling, you take the offered paper and cut off his rambling. “...I think I might just take you up on that offer...sumimasen, Brady.”

...a considerate, multi-lingual and worldly pervert...and an unmatched friend. A good friend will introduce you to his demonic-taught pilates class, but a true friend will help you get revenge on the bitch that nearly stove your face in and kicked the tar out of you.

=====

>>3428534
Well that crazy bitch is good for one thing. Got these two to get closer.

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>>3428559
For a moment, I thought you were talking about Sarah before I remembered that Copland's an even crazier bitch than she is.

Writing...

>>3428615
Yeah was talking about Copland.

>>3428534
Stuff like this makes me a little sad that Firz won the Adrianbowl, but I like gear head chicks.

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>>Following day
>>Adrian Brown

Daylight stabs you in the face. An oddity given how Carina’s barracks are three stories underneath the ground. Nevertheless, you roll away from it and nearly fall out of bed and onto a pile of clothes. You wouldn’t call Sarah’s berth immaculate, but after what happened last night, it’s truly a pigsty.

The policewoman stretches out on the length of bed she hadn’t already claimed, and there’s just...something about the way the overhead lights pick out the tiny hairs on her skin. Light brown freckles dot her back and arms. Her hair’s grown since she cut it for Cocytus, and blonde locks have started to trail down the back of her neck. You know for a fact that she’s stronger than she looks. And you have a feeling that the scratches on your back are going to be a regular feature in the years to come...in addition to the sparring bruises.

Searching for your shirt, you find it underneath her slacks. You have to pick up a few more things off the floor before you find your pants. These run the gamut from belts and socks, shoes and wallets, even a pistol magazine and empty shotgun cartridges. There’s absolutely no way in hell that you’re going out of the berth area without a shower, but you slide on your shoes. Just in case you step on something, you’d rather not get tetanus.

Fumbling at the wall, you slap the AC switch, and the system chugs to life with a slow and keening grate. At the noise, Sarah grunts, covering her head with a pillow as she curses underneath her breath. Seconds later, she’s back to snoring.

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. God, what a woman.

...no, that isn’t right. She’s not just ‘a woman’, like the ones you’ve had before before. Sarah’s different. You’re still somewhere in the whole “exploring feelings” stage, but you’re a far cry from just fumbling around in the dark. There’s definitely something there...and in time, who knows? You’ll have a more concrete answer down the road.

One visit to the shower and a change of fresh clothes finds you at the table, scrolling through your COMP for any errant messages or alerts. But beyond the spam, weekly bulletins, and the angry texts from Pixie about your ‘bedtime injuries’, there is nothing from the Speaker regarding the mission Carina’s been sent to take care of. Now isn’t that odd...

The door to the barracks opens, revealing MacKay in all his glory. The priest nods politely as he walks towards you, but he fails to return the beaming smile you give him...

...oh shit.

“I trust that you are well-rested, then?” His tone betrays nothing, not even the slightest hint of disapproval or judgment even as he hands you a tablet. Perhaps he doesn’t know what happened...or he’s doing a real good job of being a professional.

(cont.)

>>3428900
>the angry texts from Pixie about your ‘bedtime injuries
Probably cause she wants to be the one to make them.

>...oh shit.
....Forgive us Father, for we have sinned.

>>3428900
“I took the liberty of fetching the mission briefing from the clerk’s office,” he explains. “I believed that given what happened yesterday, we all could use an extra hour or two. You especially considering what you went up against.”

“Oh...thanks, MacKay.”

He manages a small smile. “I figured it was the least I could do...although it seems that not everyone was able to take advantage of it...”

...now that he mentions it, Brady left the door to his berth unlocked. The programmer is absent. And while Sarah’s still passed out in her room, you didn’t hear Vicky’s alarm clock go off at its usual hour.

At the unspoken question, MacKay gestures towards the door. “I think they went to a pilates class...or yoga,” he says the word with a visceral distaste. “I saw them leaving the barracks dressed for the gym. Either that, or they’re going to ambush Copland before she has a chance to get her morning coffee.”

“...how the heck do you know when that crazy...erm, Copland,” you amend at his flat look, “Gets her coffee?”

“She makes it a point to otherwise harass me when I offer morning confessionals.” Ah. Well, that’s certainly bad. You accept the cup of coffee he offers you, taking your own swing of liquid energy just as he curtly says, “Her favorite pastime is to completely misconstrue and blaspheme the rite...the only acceptable prayer is ‘bless me, father, for I have sinned’, not ‘sorry, daddy, I’ve been naughty.’”

...even as you struggle to get the coffee out of your nose, it seems that MacKay’s mood has improved. Perhaps this is his own way of venting, and he doesn’t seem to otherwise be smacking you on the head for premarital sex. He did promise, after all...and you’re holding him to it.

“Good, you can still laugh!” he squeezes your shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. “Sorry about that, by the way. I wished to make sure that you’re back to top form.”

“Nobe probem,” you reply, wincing as you clear your nose of the stuff. “Ugh...thanks, MacKay. For the coffee and the laughs. Just, uh...one question.”

“You’re welcome. And ask away.”

“Why the dislike for yoga?”

His face darkens. “It’s origins are pagan in nature, and the practice is supposedly meant to unite one’s body with the universe. There is nothing inherently wrong with meditation, and we priests do it often to pray or become closer to God. But the Hindu notion of ‘emptying one’s mind’ of all things, including God, is...concerning.”

You cut him off before he can mount his hobby horse. Or in this case, his faith. “Come on, MacKay...it’s not like they’ve got a demon teaching them how to stretch and do all those positions...though I will admit that 'downward dog' is pretty...uh...it's pretty sketch, not gonna lie.”

(cont.)

>>3428965
>it’s not like they’ve got a demon teaching them how to stretch and do all those positions
Totally do

>>3428965
He chortles humorlessly. “Indeed, but...pilates would be a safer alternative. Digressing from that, I hope you enjoy your breakfast. I’ve got some phone calls to make.” He sets down another item on the table, this time a bag with what you suspect to be bagels. “I’ll be back in time for the general briefing. Hopefully, the others will be as well...certainly odd for Fitz to be sleeping in...”
...oh come on, you frocked prick. If he wants to accuse you of something, don’t just prevaricate around the issue! Argh, no wonder you stopped practicing. Reverse-psychology and passive-aggressive priests you met growing up certainly didn’t help in the wake of the explosion.

But it comes off as just a harmless observation from the cleric, and nothing more. MacKay disappears into his berth, carrying nothing but a half-eaten raisin bagel. The man’s promised to otherwise ignore any sort of “occasion of sin” that you and Sarah might find yourself in, but damn you if he isn’t going to simply play ignorant.

Shaking your head, you throw a thought to Brady and Vicky, wondering where the hell they are before you boot up the tablet. Time to see what hell Central has you walking into this time...

>>OPERATION NAME – BRIMSTONE RAIN <STOP>

>>MISSION BRIEFING – CARINA SQUAD <STOP>
>>CLASSIFIED – SQUAD LEADER EYES ONLY <STOP>
>>MISSION TYPE – ASSET RETRIEVAL/DESTRUCTION, PERSONNEL EXTRACTION <STOP>

>>BRIEFING – Production of market drug ‘Devil Dust’ confirmed to be illicit narcotic with demonic origins. Effects include intense auditory/visual hallucinations, elevated sensory perception, lowered inhibitions. <STOP>
>>BRIEFING – ‘Devil’s Dust’ is incredibly addictive, withdrawal symptoms are SEVERE. Heart failure, organ failure including endocrine function has been observed, death and comatose states are common, at least three persistent vegetate states documented. <STOP>
>>BRIEFING – Allies in the demon world refer to the source of the drug, designated [Demon’s Forge] located in an unknown demon’s Domain. <STOP>

>>OBJECTIVES:
>PRIMARY – Complete and utter DESTRUCTION of site [Demon’s Forge] and permanent end to manufacture of enemy asset ‘Devil’s Dust’. <STOP>
>SECONDARY – CIVILIAN targets are to be EXTRACTED for interrogation and possessing in Central. <STOP>
>TERTIARY – ASSET RETRIEVAL of substance ‘Devil’s Dust’ for analysis, cure synthesis for afflicted victims. <STOP>
>>ALERT – Threat Matrix has analyzed sufficient danger to authorize use of a [Godslayer]. <STOP>
>>ALERT – A [Godslayer] chosen at SQUAD LEADER BROWN’s discretion will accompany Carina Squad to the [Demon’s Forge] <STOP>

(cont.)

>>For this mission, Central has authorized the use of a Godslayer to accompany Carina Squad.

>>The following Godslayers are available for you to choose. Please select one:
>Charles "Deadeye" Turner – The most veteran godslayer in the North American station with over three hundred confirmed kills with his arsenal of demons. [Defense]
>Dante Sparda - A powerful solo operative, an enhanced human who fights with weapons forged from D-sources extracted from gods and monsters. [Offense]
>Johnny Wong – The last true sorcerer in the world, a descendant of Tvix Neeb, master of the Demon’s Whisper and their powerful magic. [Support]
>(No Choice) [Carina Squad will be able to handle this mission on their own]

>>3429080
>BRIMSTONE RAIN
ahaha sounds about right

>Godslayer
okay, so this is about the pecking order.

>>3429084
>>Johnny Wong – The last true sorcerer in the world, a descendant of Tvix Neeb, master of the Demon’s Whisper and their powerful magic. [Support]
here's my vote, he might have some things to say about Adrian's current power set. That is, if we end up trusting him enough to spill the beans.

>>3429084
>Dante Sparda - A powerful solo operative, an enhanced human who fights with weapons forged from D-sources extracted from gods and monsters. [Offense]

>>3429084
>Dante Sparda - A powerful solo operative, an enhanced human who fights with weapons forged from D-sources extracted from gods and monsters. [Offense]

>>3429084
>>Dante Sparda - A powerful solo operative, an enhanced human who fights with weapons forged from D-sources extracted from gods and monsters. [Offense]

>>Dante Sparda - A powerful solo operative, an enhanced human who fights with weapons forged from D-sources extracted from gods and monsters. [Offense]
>>3429084

>>3429084
>>Johnny Wong – The last true sorcerer in the world, a descendant of Tvix Neeb, master of the Demon’s Whisper and their powerful magic. [Support]

>>3429094
I feel the need to point out that your choice and logic are completely sound, but there ain't stopping this particular train.

>>3429084

>>Johnny Wong – The last true sorcerer in the world, a descendant of Tvix Neeb, master of the Demon’s Whisper and their powerful magic. [Support]

>>3429362
CURSE YOU, SON OF SPARDA

>>3429084
>Dante Sparda - A powerful solo operative, an enhanced human who fights with weapons forged from D-sources extracted from gods and monsters. [Offense]
THIS PARTY’S GETTIN CUHRAAZE

Why are people voting to be cucked by dante?

>>3429515
>implying that Sarah would fall for the charm of some slightly chaotic half-demon with great abs, amazing style and enchanting humour, when she is with adrian ...
lets choose someone else

>>3429515
>Cucked
>By Dante
>The depressed dork virgin who is only happy when he is killing demons and fighting with his brother

Now this isn't exactly the same one from DMC but still.

>>3429084
>>Johnny Wong – The last true sorcerer in the world, a descendant of Tvix Neeb, master of the Demon’s Whisper and their powerful magic. [Support]

>>3429515
pfff, like she would fall for a narcisistic, asshole full of himself, the risk is she punching him and not cucking us

>>3429515
Dante has rotten luck with women.

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>>3429105
>>3429117
>>3429161
>>3429356
>>3429361
>>3429429
>>3429450
>>3429739
>>Later

The Godslayer you selected makes himself known, not in the briefing room, but in the garage as Carina Squad is about to load up the vehicle with supplies and munitions. Or to be specific, he doesn’t exactly go out of his way to make himself look like someone of his title. Truth be told, everyone thought that the scruffy-looking, white-haired man slouched against the wall was a hobo that wandered in the building.

“Yo...” the man drawls, flashing a jaunty wave as he saunters over. “You guys better be the ones that I’m supposed to meet...I mean, I didn’t want to get up either, but the old men are about to foreclose on my house if I don’t close up my pizza tab...”

For whatever reason, the man’s chosen to don red leathers in the peak of summer, including fancy kickers as opposed to combat boots. Two guns hang off of his belt, and you notice that their caliber is significantly larger than anything you’re packing. But what truly makes the pièce de résistance of the Godslayer’s kit is the gigantic, fuck-off sword he’s got slung across his back.

Surprisingly, neither of those things are what gets your attention. Brady gestures to the white mop of hair that comes down the side of his face, incredulous. Before anyone can stop him, he asks, “Is that really your natural color?”

“You bet your ass it is, kid,” the Godslayer shoots back, “All natural, with just a hint of L’Oreal in the morning and evening...because I am way more than worth it. And not an old man in any way, shape or form.”

...must be a touchy subject.

Extending your hand out, you approach him with a friendly smile. “Hi. I’m Adrian Brown, leader of Carina Squad-”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” he cuts you off, but not unkindly, “I’ve read the reports, and I gotta say...for a bunch of green rookies, you’ve made quite a name for yourselves. Especially...you.” He thrusts a finger towards you, singling you out from among your friends. “You’re pretty damn ballsy to stare Alice straight in the eye and not run away screaming.”

“It was either that or see D.C. burn,” you reply, somewhat stiffly.

“Certainly would get the rest of the old men off their asses for the first time in decades...” Only as you’re beginning to retract your hand, he reaches out and clasps it. The palm of his skin is rough, with calluses that indicate many years of combat with weapons on his back. “Dante Sparda, professional Godslayer and independent agent at your service, kid. Let’s hope you won’t be the dead weight the old men have normally paired me up with. ‘cause I’m hoping to see if you live up to your reputation.”

>“I look forward to working with one of Task Force’s best.” [Neutral]
>“The sentiment is likewise mutual...Godslayer.” [Challenging]
>"You wouldn't happen to be related to Commander Vergil?" [Distract]
>Custom option.

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Originally, the April Fool's joke for this year would have been having Donté from Ninja Theory's DmC being the one you had selected. This, however, was scrapped because of my own prevaricating when it came to running, as well as my own general distaste for said character and reboot.

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>>3431759
>>"You wouldn't happen to be related to Commander Vergil?" [Distract]
>>3431773
>Not Donté, el exterminador de demonios

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>>3431759
>Dead Weight

>“The sentiment is likewise mutual...Godslayer.” [Challenging]

>>3431759

>“I look forward to working with one of Task Force’s best.” [Neutral]
>".....what's your favorite pizza?" [Distract]

>>3431759
>>"You wouldn't happen to be related to Commander Vergil?" [Distract]

>>3431759
>Here's hoping you more with it than the tech we had in the Ohio mission then.
>"You wouldn't happen to be related to Commander Vergil?" [Distract]

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>>3431804
>>3431806
>>3431821
>>3431827
>>3431915
“...you wouldn’t happen to be related to Commander Vergil of Division One? We met him in Cocytus-”

At first, he’s surprised that you even know of the man, as well as the fact that you’ve met him. Then something that looks like unease causes the levity to disappear from his face. “...yeah, he’s my, uh...brother, actually. Elder twin.”

“No shit?” Sarah drawls, stunned. “The two of you look nothin’ alike!”

“And act like it, too...eh, he’s the kind of guy that thinks acting mature is being an arrogant and workaholic dill...” the godslayer grimaces, shaking his head. “...but don’t take it personally, kids. He’s like that to just about everyone...”

...it seems that Commander Vergil is a sore subject as well. Even more so than the color of Dante’s hair.

Coughing to clear up the awkward air, you offer, “Well, I’m likewise hoping that you’re more with it than the analyst we had in the Kentucky mission.”

“Yeah, that guy was kind of a jerk,” Vicky adds.

“I’m a godslayer, aren’t I?” His mouth twists into a smirk as he flashes his leathers dramatically. “I make eight figures just by eating, sleeping and flushing the toilet. And that’s without collecting demon bounties.”

It’s such an odd contrast. Between the stern Alger and the cool Vergil, the outgoing and confident Dante is certainly a change of pace. Where the former had a sort of...unapproachable aura towards the both of them, this one...well, there’s certainly that given what he is. But the man is certainly less abrasive or otherwise dismissive of any kind of casual talk or banter.

“Still, we’re burning daylight...” He gestures for you to follow him, and cuts MacKay off before he can pop the trunk of the Sedan open. “Don’t bother loading up that rust bucket, preacher. I took the liberty of swiping the keys to something better and more-suited for a trip to the demon realm...”

>>SUBLEVEL-13, OMEGA GARAGE

Calling the area a “garage” would be a severe understatement. It’s at least the size of a football field, and about as high as a small building. How the hell there’s enough room underneath D.C. for all of this to fit is anyone’s guess. Not that you’re about to complain because holy shit what took three background checks and Dante’s personal clearance to access is enough to banish all questions from the front of your mind.

At best, you could describe the collection of vehicles assembled in here as some sort of staging ground or assembly area. These run the gamut from small jeeps and mundane personnel carriers to tank-like structures and even vehicles the size of a small destroyer. You have no single doubt in your mind that these serve anything but a military purpose, and none of you have ever laid eyes on anything like these.

(cont.)

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It seems that the Task Force gets the lion’s share of the budget not only when it comes to R&D, but to the distribution of materials and manpower needed to manufacture these things. With the exception of the typical military vehicles, a great many of these are no doubt several years ahead of what any military in the world has to offer.

All of you are displaying ranges of excitement and awe, but none so much as Victoria. The mechanic nearly fainted as soon as the doors opened, and it’s all Brady can do to keep her from harassing the mechanics and technicians in the assembly area. She darts from one vehicle to another, uncaring at the stares people send her way as she babbles in broken and excited Japanese and English, gesticulating wildly to the angles of frontal armor to the placement of the wheels.

Idly picking your ear with the small of your pinky, you can still hear the distant echo of SUGOI bouncing off of the metal walls.

Even Sarah seems somewhat off-put by this uncharacteristic...okay, you can’t really say that given how much of a nerd she is for cars or automobiles in general. This wouldn’t be just her mechanic’s version of Comic-Con, but heaven as well. “For chrissakes, slow down, Vicky!”

To the stunned Dante, MacKay sheepishly rubs the back of his head. “I’m sorry. She’s normally not this...excitable.”

“Nah, it’s fine...” he waves off his apology, sporting a softer smile. “Knew a girl just like her, except her kink was weapons...” Dante points to one of the smaller APCs. “We’ll be taking one of the smaller ones-”All of you pointedly ignore the wail of dismay that comes in Brady’s general direction. “...the old farts only bring out the big boys if shit has really hit the fan. ‘sides, the hell are we gonna do with all the extra space?”

Brady and Sarah have to drag Vicky away from one of the larger vehicles, a metal monster whose tires are taller than you! But the five of you begin loading the one selected for you, a more reasonable-sized APC only slightly bigger than a tank. Meanwhile, the godslayer seems to have struck up a random conversation with the head engineer...as well as flinching some of the mechanic’s leftover pizza.

The man, whose nametag identifies him as Irving, holds a cup of coffee in his hands bearing the words “Number One Bad Motherfucker”. He seems wearily resigned as he adds something from a hip flask that you suspect not to be creamer. “Please, for the love of God, bring this one back in one piece. The last time I loaned you something-”

“C’mon, Crew Cut...” the godslayer pats the man’s shoulders comfortingly, “If these things weren’t meant to take a beating, how come we’re using depleted uranium to armor them?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to drive it into a goddamn quippoth root!”

“Details, details...’sides, the kid in charge of this op isn’t nearly as reckless as me.”

(cont.)

You stop loading the APC for a brief moment, just long enough for the chief engineer to cast a hard, long look in your direction. “He’s not even properly cleared or trained to operate them.”

“He’s one of Alger’s prodigies. Besides...” Whatever Dante whispers into Irving’s ear causes the engineer to ignore his spiked coffee and take a long, hard swing from his hip flask. When he finishes, his eyes have the haunted look of a man who’s long since had too much shit to deal with on his plate. “I’m taking it out of your pay if this has even as much as a scratch on the paint, Sparda, is that clear?”

At the godslayer’s warm and endearing smile, the man wearily trudges towards you with the look of a condemned man. “Hi, kid. Hope you didn’t see too much of that. Name’s Irving. Chief of Engineering down here in Omega. And I have it on good word that you’re going to be checking out one of my APCs for an operation...?”

You nod, saying, “That’s right. Asset retrieval and extraction.”

If he takes offense at the need-to-know delivery, he doesn’t show it. Irving simply blinks before gesturing towards your vehicle. “The Whistler is a smaller model, but she should be able to house the people you’re gonna exfil. Within reason, of course. And she’s got enough firepower to punch a hole through four inches of solid armor and knock down a demon...”

He pauses, considering something before continuing on, “All of our crap down here is modular, so you can swap stuff out according to the needs of your mission. Right now, you’ve got the standard loadout spec’d out for a balanced all-rounder, but at your discretion, I could have the guys and girls adjust the vehicle...”

You consider his offer. The briefing mentioned you going not only into the demon realm, but into a demon’s Domain. And given how Dante was able to wrangle the use of a specialized vehicle for this operation, it might not be a bad idea to review your options before deploying...

>>An APC’s main stats are Firepower (damage), Armor (structural integrity), Speed (evasion) and Engine (power output)
>>Damage to each stat will damage the vehicle a certain way, i.e., bringing Firepower to 0 disables weapons, bringing Engine to 0 shuts down all systems.
>>The maximum amount of points a vehicle of the [Whistler’s] size can have in each stat is five.
>>Currently, the [Whistler] has twelve points, with three spread accordingly to each stat.

>>Please select a build for the [Whistler] to take into this operation:
>All-American All-Rounder (Firepower – 3, Armor – 3, Speed – 3, Engine – 3) [Balanced]
>Big Demon Hunter (Firepower – 5, Armor – 3, Speed – 2, Engine – 2) [Offense]
>Greased Lightning (Firepower – 2, Armor – 2 , Speed – 5, Engine – 3) [Speed]
>Sentinel Striker (Firepower – 3, Armor – 5, Speed – 2, Engine, 2) [Defense]
>The Rocinante (Firepower – 2, Armor – 2, Speed – 3, Engine – 5) [Support]

>>3432532
>>All-American All-Rounder (Firepower – 3, Armor – 3, Speed – 3, Engine – 3) [Balanced]

>>3432532
>All-American All-Rounder (Firepower – 3, Armor – 3, Speed – 3, Engine – 3) [Balanced]

Don't really know what to expect with this system yet so lets go with this. Can specialize next time after some experience

>>3432532
>The Rocinante (Firepower – 2, Armor – 2, Speed – 3, Engine – 5) [Support]
I suspect the civilians we exfil may not necessarily be the size or weight of normal humans.

>>3432532
>Sentinel Striker (Firepower – 3, Armor – 5, Speed – 2, Engine, 2) [Defense]
Our crew is pretty well decked out for offense and support, but we're lacking a good defensive front, especially since we need to exfil some people.

>>3432532
Firepower 2
Armor 4
Speed 4
Engine 2

To increase survivability and to have speed to get the hell out of there

>>3432532
>>All-American All-Rounder (Firepower – 3, Armor – 3, Speed – 3, Engine – 3) [Balanced]

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>>3432546
>>3432552
>>3432562
>>3432934
>>3433403
“We’ll take it as is. Figure that the next time we need to drag the Whistler out, we’ll have a better feel of how to spec it.”

Irving grunts. “That’s fair enough. But lemme give you a warning: these vehicles aren’t like the Sedans we’ve got up in the main garage. Each one costs a solid fourth of a third world country’s GDP, and we’ve sunk billions into developing all the technology and installing it.”

No shit. “Yeah, I heard what you said to Dante. I’ll be careful-”

“Want to make me feel better? I don’t give a rat’s ass that you don’t have any training; just leave it to the AI to navigate for you. But for the love of God, put anyone in the driver’s seat except for Sparda. Under no circumstances is he allowed to get anywhere near the cockpit, let alone the goddamn controls.”

...you have a feeling that Irving’s mania over Dante goes beyond concern for the vehicles. But you bid him farewell with a firm handshake and return to the Whistler to finish up the loading process.

Once you’ve strapped everything in place, the six of you move into the vehicle proper. The interior of the APC looks like something out of a science fiction movie. Holographic displays are mounted on almost every wall, running the gamut from environmental controls and life support, to turret munitions and a MAG scanner. The surfaces are polished with a sleek and silver finish, almost enough to make you blind with how much of the overhead LED bounces off them.

The Whistler isn’t an APC as much as it’s a mobile base. It has everything a squad could need. There are enough supplies for two months in the field, and enough bullets and firepower to last at least two dozen engagements. Hidden within the armory’s walls are five DEMONICA suits and enough space to change in and out of them on the fly. The damn thing even has its own Demonic Fusion chamber.

How the whole thing manages to have enough power is a miracle in of itself. There’s no way in hell this thing is nuclear, even for the larger models...magnetite maybe? You recall hearing that it’s being used as an alternate source of energy for a great deal of Task Force equipment, including the DEMONICAs.

“This...is...” At some point, Vicky’s words and sentences have devolved into rapid-fire Japanese, occasionally punctuated by a low and ominous giggling. MacKay voices his apprehension, but a whispered word from Brady eases the priest’s concerns. “...you’re the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Not that she helps by caressing the console as she sinks into the cockpit.

“Dibs on the rack.” Dante has the gall to take up an entire row reserved for troops, collapsing onto the seats and kicking his feet up. At least he has the smarts to strap his sword on the wall, but not enough to buckle himself down to the bench. “Wake me when we get there, kid.”

(cont.)

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Brady joins Vicky in the cockpit, grabbing the headsets and linking his COMP to the Whistler’s central mainframe. The programmer’s found himself as a sort-of Combat Controller, managing communications and the battlefield. It’s his duty to relay information back to Central, ensure a constant link between the entire squad, and call shots for the turret gunner to aim at.

Said turret gunner is Sarah. With a quick peck on the lips, she gives you a wave and grin as she disappears to the back of the vehicle. The double-cannons on the back of the vehicle are nowhere near the gargantuan size of the weapons equipped on its bigger cousins, almost resembling the cannons on old WW2 ships. But you have no doubt that the modified 125 mm cannons are more than overkill.

“Alright, let’s get her moving!” Irving’s voice crackles over the general channel. “Styles, Matthews, prep launch tube No.5 for launch. Bunting, you’ve got the taxi! Slow and steady, right out of the gate if you please, man.”

The vehicle lurches as something clamps to its front. With an audible groan of steel, the Whistler rolls along the garage and out of its berth. From what small windows you have in the cockpit, you and MacKay can make out the sight of technicians atop vehicles, waving or otherwise mouthing words of what you hope to be encouragement.

“...launch tube?” The priest shifts uneasily in his seat, uncaring for the environment that passes by. “I understand that the Domain is in the demon realm, but how are we going to bring the Whistler into the demon realm?”

Dante’s voice wafts from his prone form on the bench, but there’s no mistaking the smile in his words. “Where we’re going, priest, we don’t need roads...”

The taxi stops, uncoupling from the vehicle before a large, seemingly endless tunnel. It’s just as big as the Lincoln tunnel...no, it’s even bigger than that. Someone could lay down a building along its length, and there would still be enough room in all three dimensions for a lane of traffic to squeeze through.

An artificial voice comes over the channel, intoning in a dry and monotone flange, “Initializing all processing systems...WHISTLER is cleared for MAG-Launch. Pressurizing interior and sealing all bulkheads...”

Something deep within the Whistler clunks, and the air is filled with a high pitch whine as the vehicle starts to shake. The noise penetrates through your headset, setting your teeth on edge and the hair on your arm standing ramrod straight. A similar strained look on MacKay’s face confirms that you’re not alone in this sudden discomfort.

The voice continues, overlapping with other announcements as the vehicle powers up. “Ignition power to the main engine complete- / -Locking in coordinates for space-time jump to demon realm- / -Primary launch checklist complete- / -Magnetite output increasing- / 5% to threshold.”

(cont.)

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...at this point, you’re almost half-tempted to yell at Vicky to stop giggling on the comm channel like a maniac. Almost. Because holy fucking shit, this is something straight out of a goddamn science fiction movie and you could not be more fucking stoked to do something as close to hyperspace as possible.

And at least her excitement over something cool and fucking awesome, unlike a certain hedonistic devil summoner...
“Jump path clear, plasma shield holding at one hundred percent integrity!” Brady yells from his seat, “Everything on the board’s green and ready!”

It then falls to you to issue the command to launch, with expectant eyes falling towards you. And it’s with the biggest, goddamn swollen head that you pop the straps off of your seatbelt, sprint towards the front of the cockpit, and point dramatically towards the end of the tunnel like a character straight out of a B-movie science fiction.

There’s no holding the childish glee from out of your voice, unprofessional as it is. And whoever wants to citizen you for the debriefing can go pound sand, suck a hard one, kiss your ass and all manner of degrading activity because right now, you’re at the goddamn helm of a vehicle about to warp.

“WHISTLER LAUNCH!”

Irving’s voice shouts over the intercom one final time. “Godspeed, Carina!”

“Hold on to your butts!” Dante roars with a wild laugh. “Because this party’s getting CUHRAAAZE!”

Vicky doesn’t gun the throttle and floor the gas as much as she nearly punches her foot through the reinforced armor. The Whistler shoots down the tunnel like a bat out of hell, going from zero to God knows how fast in less than a moment. The lights on the tunnel wall lose any sort of individuality as they merge into an unending stream of white. And then...

The godslayer’s reference wasn’t off. Sparks fly off of the exterior armor, coalescing towards the front of the vehicle to form a barrier of light that nearly envelops you. Even as Vicky hits the switch to polarize the windows, it’s still too painful to look at directly.

It’s with a noise like shattering glass and a sudden vacuum of noise that the veil of reality is torn asunder. Through the tear in the fabric of the world, you see nothing but chaos and a horde of eyes that stare at you. Formless limbs reach out as if to grab the Whistler only to bounce harmlessly off of the shield as you make the transition from the material world and enter into the realm of demons...

>Gonna need a 1d100 Encounter Check.
>Best out of three.

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>3433813

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>3433813

Rolled 74 (1d100)

>>3433813

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>>3433836
>>3433839
>>3433856
The vehicle bounces as the ground shifts from the hard concrete of the tunnel, abruptly changing to a softer, gravel-like consistency. Everything that isn’t strapped down goes flying from the bump, which means that standing up for some dramatic gesture was a stupid idea in hindsight. Sparks fly and tires skid as Vicky wrestles with the controls, cursing in Japanese as the vehicle skids and comes too damn close to fishtailing.

But whatever talent she seems to have with the Sedan seems to translate nicely to armored military vehicles. Hidden gyros and servos from the carriage of the vehicle scream and whine at a flick of a button, and the Whistler keeps all sixteen of its wheels on the ground. It kicks up a large cloud of dust as the armored carrier comes to an eventual stop, shuddering with the force of exertion as the stabilizers deactivate.

There isn’t a single person in the cockpit who isn’t short of breath. Except Dante. The godslayer remains nonchalant as ever, continuing to recline on his bench as if he were king of the world. At everyone’s incredulous looks, he shrugs, saying, “I rate it six out of ten, with room to improve.”

MacKay wastes no time. Even before he’s blinked the dust out of his eyes, the priest is already calling out orders. “We need eyes on the immediate area. Victoria, lights if you please. Brady, we’re going to need a deep scan and triangulation of our current position.”

As the three of them busy themselves with establishing a perimeter, you pull yourself off from the floor. “Eyes on the prize, Sarah,” you murmur. Nothing hurts so far, and the only thing that’s really bruised is your pride. “Don’t use the cannons if you can help it...none of us want the vehicle to tip over.”

Her reply comes quickly, without any trace of flirtation or dry amusement. “Understood. The fifty cal’s spooling up right now.”

“Good...that’s good.”

Even with the polarization off, you can barely see anything outside, even with the headlights of the vehicle at full blast. At the very most, you can make out a dust-like ground and a sunless sky, one whose height barely registers higher than fifty meters on one of your scanners. According to the briefing, the coordinates of the LZ should only be a few klicks away from Demon’s Forge. Obviously, you’re in some kind of cavern, so the next logical step is to finally get that triangulation into place-

Brady’s voice cuts through the din like a hot knife through butter. “Heads up, guys! Reading multiple contacts coming in from the south...six x-rays and closing in at two clicks, fast!”

“On screen!” you command.

(cont.)

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As he said, the targeting computer has picked out six targets from out of the darkness. Five of them are common oni, and their red skin and blue robes are familiar enough. But it’s their leader that stands apart, a dark red giant with different robes and a double length metal club. Unlike the dumb brute force and malice in its subordinates eyes, you can make out a malice in its eyes, a cruel and cunning intelligence as it rallies its troops to follow with a deep and guttural bellow.

“...and I got more coming in...one, three...shit!” Brady curses in alarm as the radar fills up with multiple points of contact, and the computer struggles to put firing solutions on all of them. “Twelve oni, not including their leader, maybe more on the way. Bloody git’s trying to bring down his gang on our location!”

>Stand and fight. Even if it’s unrelated, you’ll not back down from a visible danger.
>Withdraw and retreat. Unless otherwise linked to the Forge, this foe isn’t your problem.
>Custom option.

>>3435139
>>Stand and fight. Even if it’s unrelated, you’ll not back down from a visible danger.

>>3435139
>>Stand and fight. Even if it’s unrelated, you’ll not back down from a visible danger.

>>3435139
>Stand and fight. Even if it’s unrelated, you’ll not back down from a visible danger.

>>3435139
>Stand and fight. Even if it’s unrelated, you’ll not back down from a visible danger.
Exfiltrating with oni outside is a bad idea

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>>3435189
>>3435207
>>3435362
>>3435398
“Light ‘em up!” you shout into the channel. “Hit ‘em with everything you got!”

No sooner do you finish your order when the rear turret groans and bears down upon the charging horde. “Contact left!” Sarah roars, and the vehicle shudders as she opens fire with the cannons. A brief burst of light turns night into day as the muzzle flare chases away the shadows, sending two cylinders of light hurtling down towards the demons.

The explosion is something you won’t be forgetting. It’s nowhere near the sun that Titania conjured up in the heart of her forest, but the fireball has its own quality. Even before the blast, the .50 cal opens up, spitting a hail of death towards the oncoming enemy. On the monitors, several of the targeting solutions blip out as their targets fall or are otherwise neutralized.

Brady shouts, “Confirming eight x-rays neutralized. More incoming from the north side. Vicky-”

“Hai!” She guns the throttle, swinging the Whistler around to bear against the new threat. More oni charging into the cavern, and you’re not even sure if the damned fools can see the Brownings underneath the vehicles high beams. “Can I get a firing solution for the forward guns?”

“The A.I.’s in charge of the direction. Just spray and pray!”

The mechanic nods, flicking a cap on her controls to reveal a red button. “Utte!” she cries, depressing the switch. Tracer rounds streak from the front, racing towards the new threat. While lacking the explosive power of Sarah’s cannons, these demons fall all the same like wheat before a scythe.

As you watch them go to work, MacKay taps you on the shoulder, a look of concern across his features. “My understanding of military tactics is minimal at best, but I think they’re trying to sandwich us in the cave. I believe the term is...pincer movement?”

“...just a regular flanking action,” you correct him, although you’re certain that there’s another word better used to describe it. “But you’re probably right. I mean, not that we’re in any immediate danger...”

“But as long as we’re detained here, I fear at what might come as we battle it out,” he grimly finishes. “And I fear what will happen once we run out of ammunition.”

“No danger of that. We supervised loading nearly three tons’ worth of munitions for both the cannons and machineguns. And that’s not including munitions for our own weapons.”

But before you can continue your discussion any further, a bone-chilling roar echoes throughout the cavern. It is the leader of the demons, one of a few sole survivors from their attempted attack. It appears unbloodied, without even a single blemish upon its clothes. Shaking its weapon furiously in the air, and uncaring of the fire directed at it, the demon bellows:

(cont.)

“Is the human race now so gutless that you must hide in a machine to fight the likes of us? How lamentable and detestable! I am the oni Sui-Ki, and if you have any honor, then you will face me in combat, or suffer my curse for your cowardice!"

Unsurprisingly, Dante takes the dramatic pause after the demon's declaration to yawn and settle further into his seat.

>“Sweetie...blow him to pieces.” [Fire the cannons]
>“We accept your challenge.” [Send someone to duel]
>“Vicky...hit the gas, please.” [Run him over.]

>>3435491
>Vicky...hit the gas, please.” [Run him over.]
Has the bonus of not being flanked if we push through one side

>>3435491
>>“We accept your challenge.” [Send someone to duel]

>>3435491
>>“Vicky...hit the gas, please.” [Run him over.]

>>3435491
>"Sweetie...blow him to pieces." [Fire the cannons]

I'm not taking any chances that he can somehow take a hit from this vehicle. Blast him from far away and mow him down with bullets

>>3435491
>“We accept your challenge.” [Send someone to duel]
the oni type demons are always solid friends. Any that are more concerned with honor rather than drinking and destruction could be handy.

If they're trying to gank us in the duel, then I'll bet the curse would happen in one form or the other anyway.

>>3435491
>>“Sweetie...blow him to pieces.” [Fire the cannons]

>>3435491
>>“Vicky...hit the gas, please.” [Run him over.]

Let’s see him duel our front bumper.

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>>3435498
>>3435583
>>3436065
“...he wants a duel, then we’ll give him one.” At the confused looks you receive, and an incredulous noise from an unseen Sarah, you turn towards the person sitting in the driver’s seat. "Vicky...hit the gas.”

The mechanic’s eyes harden, and a smile worthy for Sarah appears on her lips. It seems that she’s learned more than how to throw a right hook from your girlfriend, and gained a new mean streak courtesy of Copland. “With pleasure.”

And as you speed towards Sui-Ki, who seems to be too shocked to even run or block the incoming APC, you can only pray that you made the right choice and called his bluff out for the bullshit that it (hopefully) is...and hope that whatever’s giving him immunity to Gun-related attacks isn’t protecting him from a physical strike.

Unstoppable force meets flesh and meaty object, and it turns out that even some demons aren’t immune to the laws of physics. About sixty five metric tons of “fuck you” make for one hell of an impact against a demon no more than ten feet tall. Thus, you have proved once and for all that Sir Isaac Newton remains the deadliest son of a bitch on the battlefield.

The oni goes flying, deriving a graceful arc from an otherwise brutal impact. It flies like a ragdoll for a good three seconds before gravity asserts itself with brutal force. With a sickening crunch, Sui-Ki falls upon a cluster of stalagmites. Such was the speed at which you rammed him, all of the stones punch through its body, pinning him in place like an insect upon a collector’s display.

What euphoric rush all of you feel at tricking the demon quickly turns to nausea and horror. Even Dante doesn’t look all that pleased at the result. Sui-Ki writhes in place, feebly clawing at the stones that impale him like a stuck pig. It’s a pathetic, piteous sight that robs the demon of its pride, and Carina of any previous joy you have at defeating the demon’s gang.

“...well, ain’t that a downer,” the godslayer murmurs, idly tapping one of the display screens closest to him. “And to think Irving was worried about me wrecking the Whistler. Hope that’s gonna buff out when we get back, kid.”

His words are distant. Brady looks pale, and Vicky's cheeks bear a slight shade of green. MacKay refuses to look away, starting intensely at the demon as it slowly bleeds to death. And even though Sarah isn’t in the cockpit, you can already imagine how she might have reacted...

...Christ, what a mess. Way to take the wind out your sails for the earlier rush of excitement.

>Attempt to heal the demon.
>Exit to put it out of its misery.
>Leave it there and drive off.
>Custom option.

>>3436316
>>Exit to put it out of its misery.

>>3436316
>Exit to put it out of its misery.
That probably would have ended even worse if we picked any other car type. Hitting it faster probably would've been less gruesome, but not worth the damage to the vehicle.

>>3436316
>>Exit to put it out of its misery.
i didn't even vote and i kinda feel bad

>>3436427
I kinda do, but consider this.

He was Gun immune so having Sarah light him up would do nothing.

Dueling him would have someone be exposed outside and I also want to point out that he only called the duel AFTER he tried attacking with a bunch of Oni and tried to surround us. Who calls upon Honor only when they are losing?

>>3436430
no i agree, the logic is sound, doesn't have to feel right tho
cheating out on a one on one challenge always feels wrong to me

>>3436316
After adding Dante and Vergil to the quest-verse, have you thought about adding other characters?
Just imagine, John Constantine as a devil summoner, he already made lots of deals with devils, demons and others

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>>3436323
>>3436329
>>3436427

"Atmospheric levels are indicative of an earth-like environment," the A.I. drones as you suit up into your DEMONICA. "78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.93% Argon. The use of an oxygen tank will not be necessary."

"Duly noted," you mutter as you hit the seal on your helmet. With a snap and a hiss, the Kevlar suit binds to you as it molds to the contour of your body and the ceramic armor decked across your limbs. "But I'm not about to take any chances in the demon realm."

The bulkhead decompresses, and the sterile air within the rear of the vehicle quickly takes on a pungent tone as it equalizes with the outside environment. The smell of gunpowder, ozone and blood register on your sensors. With an irritated slap of a button, your filter kicks in, and fresh oxygen begins to feed into your suit.

"Clear," you say to nobody in particular as you step down the ramp. "But I want eyes on the turrets and on the radar. I want to know yesterday if we've got bogies, x-rays or Charlies coming at us at all directions."

One by one, Carina squad sounds off their respective affirmations. Turrets hum and rotary guns track imaginary targets as they sweep the perimeter of the Whistler. From laser sights to demountable sensors, there's nothing short of the most powerful magics that could hide from the sight of your squad.

"I gotta say," Dante says, unabashedly following behind you, "You've got a whole lot of guts to do this." The godslayer falls in line beside you without as much as a ballistic vest, let alone filter should the environment take a turn for the worst. As far as he's concerned, he's treating the demon realm like one might casually take a stroll through the beach. "Not a whole lot of people that'll go out of their way to give their respects."

You answer tersely, "I'm not like those people. 'sides, I don't think I'd be able to sleep if I didn't put the poor bastard out of his misery."

"I can imagine...still." He pats your shoulder, and the casual strength of the blow is almost enough to knock you off balance. "You've done pretty well so far."

"Enough to prove that we aren't dead weight?" you say, wincing at the soreness.

"Jury's still out..." He scratches the back of his head with a dry laugh, "But here we go..." As you approach the dying demon, the godslayer shouts out, "Hey, ugly! I get that acupuncture's all the rage, but I think you're taking it a bit too far..."

Sui-Ki's snarl of fury is more like an angry gurgle. The demon's body shifts as if it were to rise and swipe at him, but even the slightest of movements stresses already lethal and painful wounds. It's clearly angry, but you have severe doubts that it would risk bleeding to death quicker or making the holes wider in some vain attempt to attack either of you.

"Son of Sparda..." the demon hisses, spitting a mouthful of steaming blood towards you. "And Son of Adam...you have dishonored not only yourselves...but my honor is sullied..."

(cont.)

"Yeah, big talk coming from somebody who needed a gang to even think about approaching us," the godslayer shoots back. "Too damn late to play that card now, ugly...and don't," he pauses to unsheathe his sword and stab it into the ground. "...don't even think about spouting off some dying hex."

You take a guess that the gruesome noise it makes is some kind of gurgling laugh. "Had I known you were in that metal box...I'd have brought some more of my friends...there are those who would still pay handsomely for your head."

"I don't suppose I could just turn myself in, could I?" he muses. "Certainly could pay more than what the old men give me."

Sui-Ki pointedly ignores the jab, instead turning the entirety of its attention towards you. "You...Son of Adam..."

In a quick flash of light, High Pixie appears. Your demon stands at the ready, lightning in one hand, quintessense in the other, and a fierce scowl on her face towards the offending enemy. "Like the guy said...ugly. One move towards my master, and it's a slow and painful death..."

"You have nothing...daughter of the earth...nothing that you could do to me that my own wounds will eventually give unto me..." the oni's mouth twists into a sickening smile. "But I shall not curse you..." It raises a trembling claw, pointing towards you with a gesture of finality. "...your death at the hands of my brothers and sisters will be vengeance enough...as you wander through this wasteland, they will surely come for you...with their own gangs and followers..."

"They can certainly try," you quietly reply. With a final gesture towards High Pixie, you step back as your demon prepares to put Sui-Ki out of its misery. "And for what it's worth, I really wasn't hoping for this to happen."

"...then perhaps in the next life, Son of Adam..." the demon muses as the energy in High Pixie's hands reaches a high point. "...perhaps we then shall have our duel...and I would then know the taste of your blood and bones...and not even will I ask my siblings as to how your flesh tastes...""

>>From this meeting, you learned the following:
>Roving packs of oni are patrolling the immediate area of the landing zone, led by siblings of the late Sui-Kui.
>In your search for the demon's domain that houses the Demon's Forge drug factory, you must be alert for encounters by oni, who will actively hunt you down to avenge their brother.

As High Pixie brings her arms down, the dust has yet to settle. The only sign that Sui-Ki existed at all are the bloodstained rocks and the twisted wreck of its club. This, Dante picks up, casually swinging as if it weighed no more than a feather. Then, with a shrug, he sets it over his back, and begins to walk back to the Whistler.

"Fifty percent of the share for this," he says with a wave, "Labor fee for transporting it back."

...good lord, the man is incorrigible.

(cont.)

>>3437140
oh god, dante keeps his habit of taking every demon weapon he comes across
He is gonna use that for the rest of the mission, isn't he

>>3437140

>>You are in the Demonic Wasteland, the rough coordinates of where intelligence believed the Demon's Forge site to be.
>>You may be required to spend several days searching for the correct location of the site, but negotiations and diplomacy with the land's residence may give you pointers to narrow down the hunt.

>>Research from Brady's computer reveals three verifiable siblings of Sui-Ki. These are:
>Ongyo-Ki the Shadow, leader of the siblings and the founder of ninjutsu.
>Fuu-Ki the Tempest, master of the winds and purveyor of pleasure.
>Kin-ki the Golden, a beast with golden skin akin to invulnerable armor.

Now, if you were creating a domain to cook up narcotics, where would you place your lair?

>>Please select a site to search:
>The Brooding Mountains, to the north. [Threat level: High]
>The Forest of Death, to the west. [Threat level: Severe]
>The Hill of Swords, to the east. [Threat level: Medium]
>The Valley of Bones, to the south. [Threat level: Low]

>>3436811
Nah, Dante and Vergil get a special pass only because Dante was invited to be in SMT way back in Nocturne, so he's not as much a crossover character as much as he's a returning member of the cast.

>>3437196
>The Brooding Mountains, to the north. [Threat level: High]

Probably a nice cave structure to keep hidden.

>>3437196
>Kin-ki the Golden, a beast with golden skin akin to invulnerable armor.
lets meet this handsome fellow, i am sure he has lots of innuendos to share

>The Forest of Death, to the west. [Threat level: Severe]
for lots of wood, if it is an actual forge, or
>The Brooding Mountains, to the north. [Threat level: High]
for a more secure location

>>3437196
>The Valley of Bones, to the south. [Threat level: Low]

I'm thinking "bone dust" and drugs kinda fit together, so let's try this

>>3437235
It's called a Forge though

>>3437196
>The Valley of Bones, to the south. [Threat level: Low]

Gather info first. Let Dante nap.

>>3437196
>>The Brooding Mountains, to the north. [Threat level: High]

>>3437196
>The Brooding Mountains, to the north. [Threat level: High]
get as much as we can done BEFORE the horde of oni come

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>>3437214
>>3437221
>>3437401
>>3437921
>>3437760
>>Day One of exploration

“Squad Leader’s Log...star date whatever...”

“Oi, master...”

“Fine, fine...sheesh. August 1st, 2015, and Carina’s first day exploring the Demonic Wastes. Our best guess for the location of the Demon’s Forge is at the top of what the map labels ‘the Brooding Mountain’. How the hell that got named or who named it is anyone’s guess, but we figure that given its height and defensible position, it’s the first location we should scope out. Morale is...it’s definitely there.”

“I am not going to defile the sanctity of the confessional with your antics! It is bad enough that I have Miss Copland disturbing the rite, but booby trapping the penitent’s booth is a bridge too far!”

“...still, things are going well, all things considered. Didn’t think I’d inadvertently start a blood feud with a pack of flesh-eating oni, but we haven’t run into any troubles yet. And on the bright side, that ‘bump’ on the front of the Whistler when Vicky rammed Sui-Ki? It’s toooootally gonna buff out! Only a small dent. Thank God for plasma shields, so Irving shouldn’t be worrying too much.”

“...okay, I think it’s someone else’s turn to drive-”

“You’ll never take me alive!”

“...Vicky, you’ve been on the console for the last twelve hours-”

“Those jerks in Central had all this amazing technology...and they didn’t even think to share it with us...oh, I’m going to so be writing an angry letter towards them!”

“The Whistler is making good progress. Even with the rocky terrain and sharp incline, we can get an average of about twenty miles per hour. Still nowhere near close to making it anywhere near the summit, but it’ll get us there until we have to disembark...”

“...master?

“...I already missed my brother’s birthday party back in Kentucky. I just hope we can get this shit wrapped up before I miss any more...and hopefully before we need to resupply. I have no desire to test the endurance of the MAG reactor and inadvertently have a twenty-first century reenactment of the Donner Party...”

“These rations taste like ass.”

"...thanks, I hate it."

“Just needs some Worcestershire..."

“Even that has its limits, dude. Then again, with English cuisine..."

"Oi, what was that?"

“Yeah, no kidding...you’d think the old men would feed the grunts better...ah well. Tough it out, guys. I was in your position once, too.”

“...”

“What?”

“WE DON’T WANNA HEAR THAT FROM THE GUY WHO ORDERED DELIVERY IN THE DEMON WORLD.”

“Yeah, well...that’s tough. They gave you those rations. I paid for this. I don't see you guys willing to cough up so...”

(cont.)

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“I’m honestly more impressed than angry, if I’m being honest.”

“Demon delivery service...fuckin’ hell, that’s amazin’.”

“...I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share?”

“Yeah, by all means, preacher...here ya go. Got you a big slice. Careful, it’s a little hot...”

“Thank you kindly.”

“What?! How come he gets one-”

“Because he asked nicely. And I’ve got bad memories of ladies stealing my pizza without asking my permission...don’t think I didn’t see you try to take one when the delivery came.”

“But I’m not a lass!”

“...huh. Coulda fooled me...”

“...at any rate, Brady just picked up something on the radar as we hit the mountain pass. General quarters have been set and we’re more than ready to throw down if it’s one of the oni. Brown signing out.”

The programmer squints at the radar, gesturing towards a point a few hundred meters out. “Just appeared as soon as we crested the hill. Didn’t bloody swop in, so it must’ve been hiding itself.”

“That’s oni for you,” Vicky says in an uncharacteristically serious voice. “If these guys are anything like the stories my grandma used to tell, then they’re masters at hit-and-run tactics, appearing and vanishing at a moment’s notice.”

“And yet this one’s forcing a confrontation.” MacKay idly taps one of the screens nearby, frowning at the reading it gives him. “A powerful one, too. Nothing so dangerous as to be an outright slaughter, but only a slight degree more powerful than Arachne.”

“Plus, we’ve got Dante...” But you aren’t feeling the enthusiasm. As one, all of you turn back towards the rear of the cockpit, where the eponymous godslayer lies fast asleep on the rack, five empty stacks of pizza containers sprawled out beside him. “...whenever he wakes up from his food coma.”

Sarah shakes her head, chortling, “Yeah, that prolly won’t be for awhile...and why don’t we go blastin’ at them outright?”

“Don’t wanna burn another bridge if I can’t help it,” you answer. “But if they attack, then you’re more than welcome to bring the mountain pass collapsing down upon it.”

“Aren’t you sweet...”

Vicky and Brady pantomime gagging noises while the priest rolls his eyes. “Let’s not do that until absolutely necessary. I’d rather not spend a day clearing the rubble to clear the pass, or otherwise alert any more oni towards our position.”

“I’ll second that. Alright guys, suit up. Vicky, bring the Whislter close enough to talk.”

“And if this is one of Sui-Ki’s siblings?”

“...then let’s hope that they weren’t on speaking terms,” you grimly finish. "So keep all the guns hot and the engine running in case we need to bolt."

(cont.)

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To the end of the mountain pass, what Vicky identifies as torii gates stand between the high slopes and walls of the pass. It’s an impressive structure, one that almost looks like it was carved out of the surrounding stone. How they and supports themselves without collapsing is a miracle of engineering. All you can discern is that they’re wide and tall enough for the Whislter to drive through unimpeded and undisturbed.

“Rashōmon,” Vicky translates the sign hanging at the foremost gate.

Your eyes light up in recognition. “Great movie, by the way.”

"I agree, but now's not the time," the priest replies.

At the foot of the gates lies a sort of shrine, a small temple no bigger than the height of a small building. The paint as long since faded, the once lustrous red now the shade of dried blood. Wooden spars and arches lie in varying states of disrepair and decomposition, and a jagged crack runs down the offertory altar.

Not that it dissuades its sole occupant, and the anomaly on the radar. Lounging atop the stone, the small figure takes deeply of a saucer, throwing it to the side when it finishes its drink. It sits up, looking at the vehicle, and even from a distance, there is no way it can hide its lack of humanity.

Horns? Check. Inhuman appendages? Check. Teeth unnaturally sharp? Check. What could have passed as a small child in the dark is so clearly, and obviously, a demon. And one powerful one, in spite of its size.

“Kuhaha...” The oni bears its...her teeth in a ferocious smile, speaking with rough tone, “You’re back sooner than expected, humans, but I see that it did not take long for you to make a wise and correct decision. Now come. Bring your mystic devices and iron carriage, and we shall make haste to my brother. As soon as tonight, we will feast upon the flesh and entrails of our enemies!”

>>How will you respond?

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>>3440023
>>How will you respond?
"Yeah fuck it, I'm game. Hop aboard. Which brother are we dropping?"

"Also you got a name?"

This isn't what I was expecting but I'm rolling with it.

>>3440048
>>3440023
I guessss I should also ask the important questions too.

"By the way I'm pretty sure we aren't the same humans with an iron carriage you met earlier. Can you tell us about them?"

>>3440023
".... sure, lead the way. Oh and do you mind listing all the accomplishments you had with us, i would appreciate it."
lets hope for a villain monologue

>>3440023
She's obviously mistaking us for someone else, play along


Now that you talked about missing our brother's birthday, I imagine how funny will it be whem we bring Sarah home for a dinner>>3440023

Playing along works too. We can always ask the prudent question when the cat's out of the bag.

$5 she's going to ride on top of the APC

>>3440023
>This brother wouldn't happen to be Sui Ki, would it?

>>3440048
Oni hate liars, and can sniff them out.


>>3440023
You may have us confused for someone else Miss. Which other humans have you seen, and where?

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>>3440048
>>3440084
>>3440108
>>3440109
>>3440953
>>3441032

All of a sudden, all thoughts of power levels, deceptive appearances and Vicky’s gushing about a “cute demon” fade away. MacKay meet your gaze with alarmed reaction to mirror the one on your face. The priest seems to have reached the same conclusion you have from the oni’s declaration. The fact that Carina Squad isn’t the only human presence is a given, due to the nature of the mission. Drugs need distributors, and Central did stress some level of human collaboration in the operation of the Demon’s Forge.

But the fact that they seem to have their own “iron carriage”, or armored vehicle as large as the Whislter is extremely disquieting. Because it not only implies that you’re going to have to fight another team of Devil Summoners with their own goddamned APC, at the very worst. It means that whoever you’re fighting, they’ve got enough clout and resources to either manufacture their own...or steal one from the Task Force proper.

And you’re not quite sure which one’s the worst of the bunch.

...but, you digress. You’ve got an expectant oni to deal with, and you have little desire to otherwise offend or give her any cause to attack. Right now, you’ve got the upper hand against her. So why not make a bold and risky play?

“...fuck it,” you murmur to yourself more than anyone else before you open up your COMP. Within seconds, you’ve got a connection with the external speakers. At everyone’s looks, you offer a smile you don’t entirely feel, and a resolute nod of determination. “Hope you guys have good poker faces.”

Then, you speak towards the oni, “Sure, lead the way. Just a little worried that we’ll damage the gates.”

Even as she snorts derisively, it’s clear that she’s quite literally beaming with pride and self-satisfaction. “Such a foolish concern! Worry not, humans. I took care to ensure that the gates were wide enough for your entry. One look at your carriage was all I needed to make the proper adjustments. Now come! We must make haste to the top of the mountain!”

“Ah, before I forget...could we have your name? So we would know what to refer to you as before your brother.”

The oni blinks, as if stunned, before she grins. “If you have forgotten my name, then you will remember it by the end of tonight!” Stabbing her sword into the ground, she puffs up what little chest she has and declares, “I am Ibaraki-Douji, lieutenant of my brother’s gang, the Kin-Ki oni of the Brooding Mountain!”

“Already on it,” Brady mutters, punching information into his computer. Within seconds, he’s got the relevant pages pulled and retrieved, both from the internet and the Task Force database. “Gimme a second to analyze and I’ll send out a summary.”

(cont.)

MacKay departs from your side, briskly walking towards the communications station. “Ah, if you would just before you work...open up a channel with Central. It is beyond imperative that they know that the mission has changed.”

“Understatement of the century.” Sarah’s voice is dry over the squad channel. “...I almost miss those amateur cultists on the highway. Looks tame in comparison to this shit.”

Vicky doesn’t. “Those guys nearly drove us off the road.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t have a fuckin’ tank.”

“...touché.”

>>Later

Even in your most reckless of moods, there is absolutely no way in hell that you’re letting her inside of the Whislter. You’re already on thin ice with Central as it is, and you have no desire to give them more ammunition to the firing squad. It’s somewhat hypocritical, as the others have their smaller demons out on standby or otherwise running small tasks key to the operation of the vehicle. But they’ve already been vetted, and you need the extra manpower. Especially for the turret.

Thus, Ibaraki is forced to sit atop the Whislter as you make your way up the mountain. Not that she seems to be complaining. Quite the opposite, really. She seems to be enjoying the ride. Perched atop the turret, her hair bounces gently with the wind and every bump in the rocky trail. The camera feed is somewhat grainy given the dim lighting of the Demonic Wastes, but there’s no mistaking the childish, almost gleeful smile on her face as she watches the scenery zip by.
It’s almost enough to break your heart. But not enough to stop you from asking questions.

>>Accomplishments with her.
“Nothing yet! We will have our share of blood and battle tonight. However...” she pauses, reaching into her kimono to pop something into her mouth. “...your monthly tributes have been more than satisfactory. Aniki was especially pleased with the last shipment of sake. He wishes to let Jack-san know that he wishes to exchange a portion of the women with more of the wine.”

Everyone hones in on the name like a hawk. With the way Ibaraki described the name, it’s a safe guess that this “Jack” is the leader of the human element in the Demonic Wastes. And they’ve been paying tribute to Kin-Ki and Ibaraki’s gang. “Protection money”, perhaps, like the myriad mobsters and yakuza of crime noir? You don’t know enough about motive, but if her words are true, then you’ve already got a list of crimes to nail to the man’s head.

“Treason and sedition against the human race, illegal collaboration with demons...” MacKay idly notes, shaking his head in disgust, “It really says something when human trafficking is the least noteworthy offense of this eponymous Jack.”

(cont.)

“Man, fuck Jacks.” At the hostile look you shoot towards the programmer, Brady snorts. “What? Just had some bad experiences with a pretty bastard named also named ‘Jack’. What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“My little brother’s name is Jack,” you reply, taciturn and low.

He has at least enough good grace to swallow the sudden foot in his mouth. “...shite, sorry.”

>>Different humans with an iron carriage?

“You must be new to his gang. That explains why you’ve all but forgotten my name! No matter, no matter...” Ibaraki’s finger shoots out, pointing towards the Valley of Bones towards the south of the Wastes. “Even the lowest in the gang can reach heights through acts of courage and valor. Distinguish yourselves in the coming battle, and you’ll surely distinguish yourselves in Jack-san’s eyes.

“Although...” she sniffs the air, and the tension in the cockpit skyrockets as she frowns. “...the carriage smells a little different. Smells like the blood of oni...”

>>Is Sui-Ki the target?

Ibaraki stares, incredulous at your words, before she falls back against the turret, laughing like a maniac. “Kill Sui-Ki? No, no! Our enemy is Fuu-ki! Sui-ki is a bastard, true enough, but we have no quarrel with him and leave each others’ territories alone. Fuu-ki has regularly raided our lands and stolen some of the tribute you brought, even though you already give him his fair share of tribute.”

“...I see,” you idly note, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“Aniki will be most pleased to see that Jack-san has finally decided to side with us. The balance of power has now shifted in our favor...”

>Roll 1d100 Encounter.
>Best out of three.

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>3442277

Rolled 97 (1d100)

>>3442277

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>3442277
Ah fuck, I was in a different dice roll mode

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>>3442311
...Perhaps I should've kept the the three dice instead.

>>3442322
Probably should've

>>3442311
...... really dude? Way to kill my 97

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>>3442334
>>3442335
Don't worry, I'll never roll again.

What the hell is with all the 1s we've had in this quest?

>>3442395
You sure this is the right quest? I don't remember many ones other than the very start of the quest

>>3442395
>>3442408
It's ALWAYS on encounter rolls too.

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>>3442287
>>3442296
>>3442311
Without any warning, the sensors on the display panel spike into the red zone. Alerts break out across panels, and an overhead klaxon blares out an alarm. Your demons go into overdrive as they scramble to battle stations, settling into turrets, manning systems posts and tracking the Whistler’s status.

“Brady-”

“Just came out of nowhere!” the programmer shouts back, “And unlike Ibaraki, this one isn’t trying to hide its power signature...it’s fucking huge!”

MacKay shoots back, “That tells us nothing!”

“Uh...shite, can’t be buggered to read this bloody text...up ahead, eight hundred meters off one o’clock...no, six hundred...five hundred...”

The rear trembles as Sarah brings the turret to bear. “I can’t see anything!”

But before he can angrily retort, a shadow comes over the entirety of the vehicle. The Whistler takes off as Vicky his the gas with a panicked shriek. Anyone not immediately strapped down goes flying, and Ibaraki squawks from her position atop the APC as you streak across the landscape.

That, however, seems to be enough to finally rouse Dante. The godslayer yawns, stretching and working his jaw. “...so, what’ve we got?”

The answer comes in the form of an earth-shattering impact from the ground. The vehicle tips precariously to the left, and Vicky has to fight with the controls to stabilize. Once all eight wheels hit the ground, she puts it into a drift, swinging the vehicle around to bring all guns bearing to the cloud and rain of dust and debris.

Dante blinks. “...huh.”

Even before the chaos settles, the high beams illuminate a gargantuan shadow within the cloud. It’s big, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen before. It’s easily the size of a two-story barnyard, even bigger than Arachne could reach on her hind legs.

“What have we here?” the (obvious) demon rumbles, not quite rearing up to its full height but nonetheless reaching an imposing figure. A prehensile tail whips back and forth, as long an Olympic swimming pool. A single blow from that could knock the Whislter completely over.

“Is that a fuckin’ dragon?!” Sarah demands over the channel.

“...worse, I fear,” MacKay idly notes as the dust settles, revealing the demon in its...glory. “And nowhere certainly as dignified.”

The first thing you’re aware of is its color. The headlights play off its lustrous hide - "gold” could be its most singular defining trait. But where Ibaraki’s kimono evokes a regal and otherwise dignified appearance, this demon holds nothing of the sort. Its color is ostentatious and gaudy, almost to the point of being gauche.

Idly, you note that Sarah hadn’t been off the mark with her first guess. It’s lower half could completely pass for a dragon. But that’s where the resemblance ends. Where the neck of the dragon might be, in its place is the upper torso of some humanoid abomination.

(cont.)

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The demon has the complete upper anatomy of a man, with the arms, pectorals...and the gargantuan, bloated head of a wild boar. And to cap it all off is a crown, scepter and a little cape that wouldn’t be out of place in some kind of LARP festival.

It’d all be so funny if the demon wasn’t the size of a small building.

“Caesar!” The demon roars, and the sheer power of its voice causes your bones to vibrate. “Foolish as you are, you have courage to return to the Brooding Mountains! It’s time to answer for what you and your whore have done!”

But before you can ask what the fuck he’s talking about, your passenger beats you to the punch. Angrily cursing in Japanese, the oni atop your APC rights herself, angrily shouting, “You have no power here, Horkos! Aniki only lets you stay on the mountain because you pay tithe and tribute. To strike at me is to invoke the wrath of the Kin-Ki gang-”

“My quarrel is not with you, demon child...” As Horkos lumbers towards the Whislter, everyone shifts into overdrive. Turrets spool to life, firing solutions are acquired, and everyone sits on a hair trigger as the gargantuan demon stops a hundred meters in front of the APC. “You...Sons of Adam...Daughters of Eve...Jack’s fetid crew...”

...oh great. It turns out the deception was so good, it ended up working on an unintended target. Worst thing is, you can’t even convince Horkos about not being Jack’s cronies without revealing yourself to Ibaraki. Talk about a rock and a hard place...

“...even if you return what you stole from me, there is still restitution to be given,” Horkos grumbles. “I’ve grown bored of the sweet and succulent flesh of fattened sacrifices...”

Ibarak bears her fangs, raising her bone sword towards Horkos’ head. “These are our honored guests! Lay one hand on their heads or even sneeze on their iron carriage, and aniki’s wrath will be swift and terrible. Least of all mine own..."

Flames race out from behind her back, enveloping her body, running up the length of her weapon. As the conflagration grows, the power scanner ticks even further up as the oni prepares for a fight. From the flames come two horned, laughing skulls, settling beside their master to leer at the foe.

"This is your last warning!" Ibaraki roars.

Idly, you notice that the demon’s smile is as large as a small car. You try not to giggle at that, because it’s either that, piss-your-pants terror. “Kin-Ki is not here right now...but in the time it will take for him to get here, I will have already had settled with these humans...stand down, Ibaraki...I will be sure to tithe you the difference should I, ah, lose control of myself...”

>>Horkos, the Limitless Hunger
>Firepower - 5
>Armor - 8
>Speed -1
>Engine - 2

>>Choose one:
>“Let’s not resort to our baser instincts...” [Initiate Diplomacy]
>“OPEN WIDE, MOTHERFUCKER!” [Initiate Combat]

>>3444661
well, this is between a rock and a huge demonic hard place (pun not intended)

well, if we beat that thing, we can infiltrate the group much better, find out where these fuckers even came from

if we manage to convince that huge bastard, we might be able to exterminate the whole group with its help

>>3444661
>>“OPEN WIDE, MOTHERFUCKER!” [Initiate Combat]

>>3444674
and then we have to terminate him too since he is clearly munching on people meat from the sacrifices

>>3444693
I mean, I'm pretty sure a lot of demons eat humans.

If you want to kill every demon that has dared munch on man meat out of righteousness then we'll be here for eternity

>>3444697
sounds like a Doomguy deal, bet he would love it

>>3444661
you know what, fuck it:

>“OPEN WIDE, MOTHERFUCKER!” [Initiate Combat]

>>3444713
Space Marine going Doomguy 64 is pretty much the ending of the Neutral path in SJ Redux

>>3444661
>“OPEN WIDE, MOTHERFUCKER!” [Initiate Combat]
Ibaraki having Fire is going to help here + whatever Dante brings to the table. I'm not sure how APC combat works but if we kill that 1 Speed we might be able to kite the fucker.

>>3444661
>>“OPEN WIDE, MOTHERFUCKER!” [Initiate Combat]

>>3444661
>>>“OPEN WIDE, MOTHERFUCKER!” [Initiate Combat]

Agi and Zio the fucker straight back to hell

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>>3444691
>>3444715
>>3444718
>>3444788
>>3444839
“...on my signal,” you hiss over the private channel, “...we’re gonna give this bastard a fat shell to suck on...so get yourselves ready, strap the fuck in, and be ready to throw down.”

They nod, and everyone sets to work. But even as you hear her hands pressing buttons and operating the turrets, you can hear the scowl in Sarah’s voice. “Yeah, great plan and all, but Ibaraki’s right in front of the turret.”

“Then don’t hit her.” A beat. “...I’ll give her plenty of time to duck or move out of the way.”
Brady whistles, low and uneasy. Then, he starts to hum what you suspect to be the melody of Panzerlied of all things. How typical...but not entirely unwelcome.

Snorting, Dante checks his guns, unhooking his sword from the wall before he heads down towards the deployment ramp. “I’ll be camping by the door,” he calls as he disappears behind an airlock. “If you’re really Alger’s rookies, then you’ve got this shit in the bag. But...I’ll be on standby. Just in case this guy is hitting way outside of your weight category.”

...at this point, you’re almost ready to otherwise write the godslayer off as someone who just bought the title. But you could’ve had worse, you suppose. Who knows? One of the other godslayers might have taken a more proactive approach in the mission operations, one that you would severely disagree on.

Still, it’s neither here nor there. And you’ve got a demon to deal with.

As Horkos hits the fifty meter mark, you hiss into the company channel, “Now!” And then to the external speakers you shout, “HEADS UP, IBARAKI! AND OPEN WIDE, MOTHERFUCKER!”

>>A brief overview of Kaz’s Armored Combat [Very much a Beta WIP]

>>Stats:
>Firepower – rough estimate of the most powerful gun on your vehicle.
>Armor – how much your vehicle is capable of shrugging off.
>Speed – rate of how quickly your vehicle can move or otherwise dodge.
>Engine – measure of how much is powering your vehicles systems.

>>Bringing a stat down to zero has severe consequences:
>Firepower – the vehicle is otherwise incapable of any offensive output.
>Armor – the soft insides of the vehicle have been completely exposed.
>Speed – the vehicle has been crippled and is incapable of moving.
>Engine – everything is dead. Life support, turret function, plasma shield, etc.

>Attack rolls determine whether or not an attack hits, and the accuracy is modified by the turret gunner’s Combat stat.

(cont.)

>>Each stat can take damage or otherwise be modified.
>For example, Horkos’ Armor Stat is 8, which means that in addition to the default 40 DC to penetrate his body, he receives a +80 for a total of 120 Armor DC to beat with a normal shot, not counting the +10 from the Speed should Horkos wish to dodge and not attack.
>To bypass this, you might try to make a Penetrating Shot. For this example, you would roll Combat and add the bonus of +30 for Firepower. To Shred armor, you only need to beat the default DC (40) plus half of the enemy’s armor stat, which would be 80 in this case.
>Beating 80 DC will reduce Horkos’ armor by one, and every roll higher than fifteen strips another point of armor, as well as lowering the DC to shred.
>For the sake of this argument, the DC of 80 would also need to be overcome in order to strip Speed.

>>The “HP” of a vehicle is calculated by the following formula ([Armor + Engine] x 3)
>Horkos has 24 vehicle HP while the Whistler has 9.

>>Armored Combat’s core mechanic revolves around “The Shot”.
>Before rolling for Accuracy Checks, you will vote on a type of Shot that you will take.
>Each kind of Shot has its own benefits and drawbacks, so proceed with caution.

>>Choose the type of shot you wish to perform:
>Crippling Shot – Below the belt where the treads lie. [Targets enemy’s Speed Stat with the intent to reduce mobility]
>Disabling Shot – Red without tooth or claw. [Target’s enemy’s Firepower Stat to render them weaponless on the battlefield.]
>Evasive Shot – Shootin’ and scootin’ on the run. [+50 to the DC made for both yours and the enemy’s Attack Rolls for one turn]
>Lethal Shot – A heart is a heart, whether it pumps oil or blood. [Targets the enemy’s Engine stat]
>Penetrating Shot – Goes right through armor like in the doujins you read. [Target’s enemy’s Armor stat with the intent to Shred. Multiple degrees of success strip more armor.]
>Scatter Shot – Just pull the trigger and hope it hits something. [Randomly targets enemy stats]
>Stationary Shot – As vanilla as mounted artillery gets. [+50 to Attack Roll targeting no specific stat]

>>And did you wish to let off anybody out of the vehicle for infantry support?
>>You have a maximum of two to send, including yourself.
>Adrian.
>Brady.
>Dante.
>MacKay.
>Sarah.
>Victoria.

>>For this two-part vote, please structure your votes like this:
>Crippling Shot.
>Adrian and Dante.

Wait, I’m about to fall asleep. That should be a 30 for Horkos’ vehicle HP. Bleah. Don’t do less than 5 hours of sleep, kids.

>>3446179
>Lethal Shot – A heart is a heart, whether it pumps oil or blood. [Targets the enemy’s Engine stat]

Engine's low

>dante

>>3446179
>Penetrating Shot

>Keep everyone on board.

>>3446220
Likely won't work because of his crazy armor of 8.

We need to roll a 90+ to do any damage. We need to Shred his armor to a point that we can actually damage anything else.

Shredding the first point of armor requires a roll of 50+ in comparison and will drop DCs of everything else by 10.

>>3446179
>Pen shot
>Dante and Adrian

>>3446179
>Penetrating Shot

>Can I just send demons, ie. Fitz's Leam Dearg to tank hits and apply Rakunda?

I was thinking of MacKay going out riding on Unicorn, but unfortunately unicorn is weak to dark and I'm pretty sure Horcus is Fire/Dark/Phys

>>3446262
I can go with dante and Leam

>>3446179
>Adrian and Dante
>Pen shot

>>3446220
>>3446245
>>3446255
>>3446262
>>3446324
>>3446479
Seems like we’re voting for a Penetrating Shot, and taking Dante and Adrian out to run infantry support. I’m at work, but can I get some rolls so I know what to type when I get back?

>Roll 1d100+70 (+40 Sarah Combat, +30 Firepower)
>Best out of three.

Rolled 51 + 70 (1d100 + 70)

>>3446711

>>3446711
You know I didn't really calculate how big our bonus is.

Could've gone for crippling, but if we get decent rolls we can get more than 1 armor off.