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/qst/ - Quests

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Now it’s true that you have supplied war criminals, regular criminals, communists, capitalists, Americans and anarchists. Hell you’re even married to that last one, meanwhile you love governments, they start all the best wars!You digress however, the important thing about all of that is it doesn’t change the simple, undeniable fact, that you are a business man, in fact you are a good businessman, and good businessmen roll with the punches, and jump on their opportunities.

So that’s why, when your French supervisor took a potshot at you, and when an overweight russian put a bullet in your gut, you held only a profitable amount of ill will. It’s also why you conveniently became illiterate upon reading a “Classified” stamp on a manilla folder atop a stack of papers, and then became literate once more upon seeing the insides of the folder, specifically the location of the briefcase.

And since you’re a businessman, it’s also the reason why you’re currently force-feeding soft-serve ice-cream to a french man… but you’re getting ahead of yourself, you ought to explain how you got there, specifically, first.

Watching as the Demoman saunters towards the mall’s once grand but decrepit, now grander and more decrepit, entrance, you quickly begin to drag the spy, elbow wrapped around his neck and hand over his mouth as he tries to fight back, reaching for rocks to throw against the many nearby cars that you have to wrestle out of his quick hands. If he were allowed to throw one, the sound just may attract the human intercontinental ballistic missile that’s currently downing a bottle of cheap scrumpy on the other side of the parking lot. “Hold his arms, hold his arms!” You shout to The Representative, who’s currently distracted, peeking towards the drunkard. “Mann! Hold his arms, don’t let him make any noise. We’re going for Mr. Whippy, alright with that?”

“The ice cream van?” Representative Mann whispers back.

“Yeah, gotta plan to get answers from this guy, gonna need you to drive.” You reply. “Can you hotwire?”

“Of course not! I’m no car thief.” Representative Mann says offended. “I have men for that.”

“Alright, I’ll hotwire it for you, but you have to drive.” You explain, yanking him across the parking lot’s asphalt. “I need to get answers here, and I know how to get them.”

“Heerrgh hhriffereee hivveder... “ The Spy Mutters, your hand still covering his mouth.

“Save, it,” You mutter, turning to Mann. “Move.”

Mann however, is not particularly eager to bolt, at least not without a quarry of secret service agents or private security to drag him away looking confused. “Rep!” You shout, smacking the side of The Spy’s head as he continues to struggle. “Stick close and keep your head down.”

“WHAT was tha-” You hear the demo shout out across the parking lot, before a bottle smashes against a car’s mirror. “Get over ‘ear ye lactating nyaff.”

“C’mon, c’mon, go!” You whisper to The Representative, as the both of you begin to move like a fire was lit under your ass, dragging The Spy together as he squirms and swipes at you, quickly moving towards the ice cream van with speed now. The both of you throw the spy into the back, the frenchy loudly bouncing off the van’s floor, smacking his head against the soft-serve machine hard enough to disorient him, giving Mann time to grab his mouth while you jump up front, kicking open the steering collum and tearing touching the wires together until the large engine ignites, accompanied by a loud, inviting chime that rings through the entire parking lot, turning the heads of children- and The Demo, everywhere.
“Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!” You hear yelled out as you hop back over the seat, shouting at Mann to drive.

A second later however, you hear the sound of kids shouting and yelping as they’re knocked over by the (questionably) one and only Black Scottish Cyclops, screaming “Aye’s gonna make yeugh scream for ice cream ye lanky scrotes! Get back here.” After knocking a charging crowd of ten year olds over, leaving them with scraped elbows and knees, the Demoman stops, and starts holding down the trigger.

“That gun’ll make us look like Sierra Leone school children if you don’t hit the gas, Mann.”
You respond, grabbing the Spy by his neck as The Representative slowly pulls out of the Van’s parking spot. The Spy begins grabbing at the truck, first grasping at the utensils behind him until he finds ice cream cones, crawling with ants and caked in mold. Even as he grips the top one, the cone starts to fall apart at the touch, but he can still hold it just enough to slam it into your face, the pointed end skillfully slipped under your sunglasses, poking you in the eye only to crumble across your face, leaving a small colony of ants and fungus scattered across your face.

You quickly wipe at your face as The Spy reaches into his jacket, only to look confused, then shocked when he looks back at you after having swiped the muck off your face. He begins glancing around at his environment, and you do the same, fearing some new element to the fight, only to see nothing but the regular interior of the Ice Cream van.

Outside, the Demo’s gun is shaking as he continues to hold the trigger, the guns rivets buckling under the increased pressure until- thunk he fires the sticky, flying across the parking lot, beeping in the air, and sticking to some poor bastard’s truck. An instant later it detonates an instant too late, sending shrapnel flying as car alarms alight across the parking lot. Chunks of destroyed car pelt the Ice Cream van, but none penetrate the metal and soft serve, although a few slice through the rear-left tire, deflating it instantly, slowing the already sluggish van.

Back in the van, you quickly reach within your own suit, and The Spy’s own Colt Python, quickly pointing it at him… only to see nothing where you clearly feel your arm holding the ornate grip. The Spy doesn’t seem to see it either, so in order to make him fear god for a second, and confirm that you do indeed exist, you pull the trigger, and send a round busting out the eye of a cartoon hotdog. “Freeze spook!”
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Immediately, The Spy gives you the french salute, both hands high in the air where they can be easily seen, both unarmed. One hand still on your gun, you reach forwards- just as your invisibility fades with a loud sound like rushing air, and grab his collar once again, slamming his head back into the soft-serve machine, then jamming it underneath the spigot.

“We could hammer out a deal right now, spook.” You begin, “You’re a mercenary, a businessman. Everyone’s negotiable and I know you’re smart enough to take your opportunities You have information I want, and I have your life, I could give it back to you, all you have to do is talk.”

“My silence guarantees my survival, you fugazi hollow-head.” The Spy replies, only for you to press the button on the Ice-Cream machine, immediately splashing him with the stuff. At first, he simply closes his eyes, but you grab at his jaw, and the stuff begins falling down his throat. As cheap, factory made american food flows down his throat, you see genuine fear in The Spy’s eyes for a moment.

Three players roll a 1d6. The three rolls will be added into a 3d6 for the interrogation. As per your abilities as the salesman, you can also write in a sales pitch for anything that could be sold to children as cheap food that would also double as a torture method, such as ice cream flavors or hot dog condiments. The more creative and well pitched, the more points will be added to your roll. The better the overall roll, the better the answers you’ll get from the spy. As well, feel free to write in more questions other than the ones already agreed on in the last thread.
Rolled 6 (1d6)

I find it hard to stop laughing at this update
>”Alright, Tommy, it’s your birthday today, so what do you want? Pizza, Cake, or Ice Cream?” “What do you mean or? I want ‘em all!”
Well now you can have them all, thanks to the Pepperoni Rocky Road Icecream Cakezza! You can have it frozen for that genuine creamy texture, or hot for a deliciously chewy pizzalike experience - the dough soaks up everything that melts, and the frosting turns into a glaze! Once you try it, you’ll never want ordinary Pizza, Cake, or Ice Cream again!
Alright, cut! How did we get this past the FDA? Is this even safe for dogs to eat? What do you mean we’re still rolling?
Rolled 8 (1d10)

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Yo guys, due to some unforseen consequences involving a bike crash, I ended up spending most of my day in the hospital waiting for a CAT scan. Won't be able to put out an update today, while I'm out now and will be alright I feel like shit, and won't be able to put out anything of quality today, sorry. I'll let you know how likely the update is tomorrow as well based on how I feel. \
Glad you're enjoying man, thanks. [Love your torture method as well, gonna throw a +5 to the roll for that. /spoiler]
1d6 was what's needed for the roll, you've rolled a d10. Also, to everyone, feel free to roll twice, since it's been a while.
Rolled 2 (1d6)

Oh shit, hope it’s all ok, brother
Rolled 2 (1d6)

oh fuck i was half awake when i rolled that
Yeah I'm sorry guys, I'm way too in the shit to write at the moment. I'm gonna be out for a bit until I'm not nauseous all the time. With classes right now I have to spend the bit of energy I have on class. Sorry for leaving you guys out to dry after a week long break but circumstances have screwed me.
I''ll be okay, I got some internal damage in the gut where the handlebars hit me, but it will heal on it's own without surgery or anything thankfully, I'm just gonna feel like absolute shit over the next few days, which makes it difficult to focus on writing.
Rolled 3 (1d6)

get well soon, boss
i'll be layed up on the vaccine myself, so cheers bro
also here's a third roll from me to make the fourth roll, feel free to immediately ignore it if other rollers come along
I had only asked for three rolls this time. I figured it was unnecessary with the bonuses from sales pitches and stuff. Good luck with the vaccine man.

With a grinding whir, an off-smelling ice-cream with the texture of ground up spam and soggy bread, chocolate chips dotted throughout the snake of wretched desert. The Spy begins to shout, and struggle as the stuff slowly flows out, but he can’t get a word out with your hand on his jaw, and only a second later does a glob of the vile looking stuff break off from the main body, and fall like JDAM on a civilian village.

Immediately, The Spy begins to choke, the disgusting flavor of ice cream with the appearance of a melted calzone dipped in hot fudge. “You know you are a lucky man. Nothing like some authentic american cuisine and...” One hand still on The Spy’s throat, letting him close his mouth and cough for a moment, you check your watch. “Just in time for lunch too! I’m glad we can be on schedule, feels like today’s been nothing but delay-”

Crash! All of a sudden, both you and the spy are thrown towards the front of the van, slamming against the back of the driver's seat. The Colt Python nearly slips loose from your hands while you slide across the ground. Meanwhile, the spy slams chest first into the driver seat, giving Mann an unintended kick in the butt on your behalf for crashing into something.

Running on the same adrenaline that got you away from a group of angry serbians in ‘89, you immediately grab The Spy by the scruff of his neck, even as you feel a bit of blood run down the side of your head, and shout, “where’d the second sniper come from!” even as he’s still choking on a glob of warm, congealed clusterfuck of ice cream flavors

“You…” He stops to cough for a moment, “you didn’t really think MannCo would break the mold for some... “ he coughs again, this time spitting out a ball of bread, meat-paste, and marshmallow “...ambitious vulgarian.”

“Then who ARE they sending after us!” You shout over the sounds of Mann frantically starting up the engine. With each turn of the key, the engine whines and groans. “And how are they finding me?”

“I hope you enjoyed your…” The Spy hacks up another glop of Ice-cream, this one including a small finger that once belonged to a pepperoni-blending-technician in malaysia. “...caffeinated dishwater.”

You kick the Spy in the chest after pulling yourself up by the passenger seat, knocking the last chunk of vile ice cream from his throat, only giving you room to shove him right back underneath, with the gun still under his throat. “Tasted like shit. Now who are they ACTUALLY sending after us? Looked like the sniper, shot like the sniper… was a little less patient than the sniper, but wasn’t the only sniper who shot at us. I know you like to hold onto your trade secrets at MannCo, mostly because they all involve war crimes, but I think a deal can be made here considering how much nicer lead tastes than this ice-cream.”
“Do you think me some simple con-”

Before The Spy can finish his next monologue, you grab him by the scruff of his shirt, cutting him off. The Van starts to reverse beneath you with a loud beeping that breaks up the inviting ice cream melody. “No, Spy, I think you’re no ordinary man, you’re a mercenary, like I said, you’re a businessman like me. The deal’s still on the table.”

With that, you slam him back off his feet, revolver against his neck with his head under the ice-cream spigot. “Who was the second sniper?”

“I do not know where we come from!” The Spy shouts, in an uncharacteristic moment of weakness.

“What was that?” You shout, taking your hand off the pouring lever.

“Your mother calling me over for dinner.” The frenchman spits back, right before you press down on the spigot once again, the disgusting ice-cream flavor likely invented by a board of marketing executives and approved by the prince of darkness himself in order to better synergize the tears of children slowly begins to pour into the mouth of The Spy as you hold his mouth open. Instantly, he’s gagging and choking on it.

“Dinner’s served. Mom said let them eat cakezza.” You respond, before letting go of the button, and pushing the spy’s mouth closed once again. “Chew and swallow. Then you’re gonna finish what you were talking about earlier.”

The Spy chokes on his dessert for a moment, before you smack him on the chest and knock some of it out of his windpipe, “i…” cough “I am not...”cough cough… “not the original. I have… seen-” cough cough “...the scout… older.”

“Older?” Mann says as he pulls onto the freeway entrance with cars honking at him. “What about the Australium treatments? They do prevent aging indefinitely, correct? I’ve made specific campaign promises to my constituents about the socialization of your treatments. Who will vote for a president without the fountain of youth?”

“I’m afraid that australium may not be as inexhaustible as you’ve promised.” The Spy explains, spitting a final chunk of doughy fudge from his mouth. “I have yet to see an ounce, and I have seen the graves of men whom MannCo calls immortal. I do not understand how, but I fear I may not be the first spy, I’ve struggled with lapses of my own will and cunning.”

“We all get nostalgic, sometimes I miss that car chick I dated in high school before I remember she wasn’t near as hot as the lass at home.” You respond. “You said you don’t remember where you come from. Think you might remember a little more after a warm meal?” You say, reaching into a soup that was once hotdogs kept warm by the water.
“I assure you, MannCo would not bother providing their secrets to a copier.” The Spy explains. “I am not the man you should be interrogation. That burden would fall upon the original, an old man who must have gained such skill in deception in trickery that he could be anywhere in the world… he could be driving this very van. He could certainly fool some despondent call center whore that your Mann provided his speech to. For all I know, he could be you… or perhaps even...”

“I think I get the point.” You respond. “We can discuss this later, for now I need you to really answer how the hell are you people always watching me?”

“I believe I already told you.” The spy explains. “That shifting in your bowels is not the typical laxative effects of the humble coffee bean. Rather, it is carefully converting your natural chemicals that would fade in but mere moments into amplified cocktails to be traceable by those with the correct equipment.”

Damn, all this time you could’ve avoided so much trouble just by laying off the coffee for a few days.

“So why exactly are you people so desperate to stop my... Illegal deals?” You explain. “I did this stuff openly every week?”

“Did you believe that we didn’t know the documents were stolen?” The Spy explains. “A sports car exploded during your escape. The loss of my vehicle would be in the news without the aid of MannCo.”

“All right, two more. Where’s MannCo keeping the big bombs these days. The good payloads you mercs used to use in the old days.”

“You know where they are. You sell them.” The spy explains.

Shit, that’s right, you do know where MannCo keeps all of it’s incredibly dangerous weapons. Switzerland. Europe’s texas.

“That’s right I do, it’s good to know people know your name in business, keeps you sane and keeps your confidence up for the hard sell.” You explain. “So who is doing the hard selling these days? Whos calling the shots around here?”

“Pauling is my direct manager, yet she is currently employed by your own employer, Hale, at least as far as I am aware.” The spy says confused. “This is public knowledge.”
Thanks for waiting guys, and sorry for how long I was out.
“You can’t live on the surface in business, pal. You gotta dive deep. You sure that’s true?”

The Spy nods, and before you can ask any more questions, Mann asks, “Mr. Bout, where do you suggest we take him?”

>Take him to your place. Locked behind your landlord's anti-doomsday defenses. Of course, you best hope no one finds where he his, because you like your house more when it’s not being raided.
>Take him to Valentini’s diner, and throw him in the walk in fridge. The boss still owes you a few favors, and you’re sure his boys are down to pull a few teeth from the guy, along with having the guns to keep him there. (This will cost you a favor from valientini.
>Take him to some of The Mann cousin’s friends in the United States Federal government, who are your… associates as well, and also friends of MannCo, and Gray Gravel Co, and anyone with money really.
>You suggest he be taken nowhere. Shoot him in the head and be done with the french fugazi.
>Right here seems fine. Open the van doors, and throw him out on the freeway.
>Write in.
>"You were right, your silence guaranteed your life. But now that you've spilled the beans to me, you don't have that anymore. You won't be able to hide, so I'll make a suggestion - run."
>Right here seems fine. Open the van doors, and throw him out on the freeway.

My logic here is that if, as I suspect, they'll be aiming to kill Spy...he'll at least divert some of their attention for a while. Who knows, maybe Spy knows how fucked he is and might stab a few backs to try to keep himself safe.
The next update will be out tomorrow, apologies, things might be slow for a little while due to college.
Hey, boss, is it true the Respawn system sometimes has glitches, and instead of bringing people back identical in mind and body, it creates new entities, some hideously mutated? Because I heard there was a sighting of something that resembles Dell Conagher, but with a fuckin' cunt for a mouth, and it rips people apart and eats them.
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You're askin' some dangerous questions. Fuhget about it...
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>"You were right, your silence guaranteed your life. But now that you've spilled the beans to me, you don't have that anymore. You won't be able to hide, so I'll make a suggestion - run."
>Right here seems fine. Open the van doors, and throw him out on the freeway.

You glance out the side shutters of the van, watching as it slowly chugs along the freeway, occasionally getting honks from those behind it, or middle fingers from passing vehicles. “You know right here seems fine.”

“Don’t be idiotic.” The Spy responds. “What would you gain from leaving me at some polluted roadway?

“A distraction.” You respond, with both Mann and the frenchman furrowing their brow. “You were right, Spy, your silence guaranteed your survival. But you’ve played your hand now- you spilled the beans to the big bad businessman, you don’t have that protection anymore. You sure as shit won’t be able to hide now that I’ve got your gear, so I’ll give you a suggestion. Run.”

“Mr. Bout, are you sure this is the best idea?” Mr. Mann responds. “What if they interrogate the man, and find out more about our own plans?”

“MannCo’s a bunch of bumbling idiots. Don’t worry, they’ll just blow his brains out first chance they get.” You explain as you open up the rear doors. “Good luck!” You shout to the enraged spy, motioning into the center mirror for Mann to stop the van.

For a moment, a man in a slightly wrinkled suit is gesturing in annoyance as the brake lights of the ice-cream truck glow red, however it’s only seconds later when his look of impatient irritation turns into shock and horror, seeing you point your Colt Python at The Spy.

“This is your stop Spy. The deal is done. I won’t kill you, but unfortunately me and my associates cannot guarantee quality service from any third parties, so I hope you’re a fast runner.”

“I have associates of my own.” The Spy mutters, udjusting his tie as he hops out of the slowly moving car.

“Mr. Bout, I have associates that coul-” You don’t let him finish, knowing that the Spy can’t even hear the man from back there. At this point, you don’t need any more involvement from The Feds, you need some time to think, and some time to plank.

“No, Tom Jones has associates, and so does MannCo.” You reply, waving to him as the Van begins to speed up. “Good luck out there, it’s a who-you-know world these days.”

The Spy stares at you silently as The Van “Speeds” away, the flat tires flopping against the asphalt each time they spin, until eventually one of them tears and slips off the wheel entirely, nearly knocking you to the van’s floor while a loud metallicsshhkrkrrrreesheesheeshee.
“Mr. Bout, you’re actions could pose a serious threat to national security…” Mann begins, “-worse still,” he continues, as you watch The ever distant Spy speak with the man in the confused scuffed suit behind you. The random commuter seems confused as any civilian, until The Spy suddenly slaps him across the face with what you would imagine would be an audible smack, if you weren’t so distant as to lose sight of him right after. Manns ramble almost blurs into the background as you focus on him. “-your actions could put a serious dampener on my ratings in the polls.”

“Tell the news not to talk about it, you’ll be fine.” You retort as you climb into the passenger seat. “Remember, The Senators in on this too. You don’t have to worry about the other side smearing you cause they’d smear themselves too.”

“Have you ever seen that stop them before?” The representative mutters with a sigh.

“Look, you’re a smart guy Rus-Brandon, mind if I call you Brandon? We’ve been shot at together, you oughta be calling me Tim, ya know? Just not in public. See, you’ve got experience… good experience, in The United States Federal Government, and they love their charts, their order, their intelligence, sprinkle a few conspiracies in here and there.” As you speak, you pull out the pack of Cigars you stole off the soldier’s unconscious body earlier in the day, and light one up. “Smoke?” You ask, seeing The Representative nod his head no. “See, MannCo doesn’t operate like that. They brute force their problems. Okay… they used to brute force their problems. Those were the days the old guys told stories about while I was out in the balkans making bank over Marx’s grave. If there wasn’t a war, they’d start one. Nowadays, they got all the foreign wars anyone could ever need so that’s all a bit redundant but-” You shake the cigar out the window, letting the ashes fly back in the wind, “-the point is, I know MannCo. I know they don’t have the patience for intelligence. Hale’s gonna tear the Spy’s spine out cause it’s the only way he can feel anything anymore what with all the paperwork he does these days. You oughta trust me on this. You hired me because you’re a smart man, and you pick your friends wisely, you gonna deny that?”

“No Mr. Bout, I will not.” Mann responds with a sigh. “Where are we headed?”
>”My place, I need to get ready to plan the heist and rest up, still got a bullet or two in my gut.”
>”I’ll give you directions, sent the wife out to collect some debts, wanna make sure she didn’t get blown up.”
>”Drive back to your campaign team. You’ll be able to get a new chauffeur and you can show me those weapons you promised.”
>”Drive us to The Senator’s campaign team. Gotta make sure the bastard’s gonna make good on his deal, and he promised me some help from the feds.”
>”Take us to Valentini’s, I got some favors I wanna cash in on. Guy could get us a better ride, some help, whatever.”
>”You know I’m feeling like taking a gamble. You know Gray Gravel Co? Let’s see if we can make some new allies, Brandon.”
>”Write in.
The senator. Politicians are known to go back on their word unless held sccountable.
>”Drive us to The Senator’s campaign team. Gotta make sure the bastard’s gonna make good on his deal, and he promised me some help from the feds.”
Next update is probably gonna be out tomorrow, sorry guys. I had hoped to have it out today but my college seems to disagree at the moment.
>>”Drive us to The Senator’s campaign team. Gotta make sure the bastard’s gonna make good on his deal, and he promised me some help from the feds.”
I'm really sorry guys, I know I said things will be out today, but I don't think I'm gonna be able to do that. I've been feeling sick as a dog all day for some reason. II really want to keep writing for you guys, but with how much time assignments and college life, I've been wondering if it might be better to put a bookmark in the quest and pick it back up when I'm on winter break, especially since this quest was originally supposed to be a quickie. What do you guys think? Sorry for how slow things are.
Totally understandable if you do bro, it was meant to be a quickie after all. When life starts shitting on you, it’s always ok to put less important things on hold, and only autists would argue that this is more important than real life shit
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I've given it some more thought and yeah, I'm gonna put the quest on hold for a while, at the most until the end of the semester, in december, though I might pick it back up if I find myself missing having something "scheduled" to write. If this quest never starts up again, than I've probably died or been sent to KOTH_Brazil, because I do want to finish it, I just don't think it's possible right now. Thanks to everyone who's played so far, I'll see you guys. Both this quest and Black Mesa before it are a load of fun to write, so I appreciate all you guys who played. Again, sorry for leaving you guys out to dry.
Thanks for the support man. If you're who I think you are, you've been with it since Black Mesa, which I really appreciate.
I’ll always be there to read, my man. You write some good shit. I’ll buy you a beer when this is all over.
Thread is archived. Since I'll be gone for a while, free free to spam the email I used for the black mesa pastebin if you guys ever wanna ask me anything about the quest or future quests. lazloqm@gmail.com
I appreciate it man, but none of you guys owe me a damn thing. It just feels nice to create things that people enjoy enough to read. I know that sounds kinda gay, but writing this and Black Mesa was probably what kept me sane over the last year or so of insanity, and its been a hell of a lot more fulfilling than I ever thought it would be.

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