> ProtO-Model Leaper: With the power of the miraculous technology of Arthropeudics, brilliants minds succeeded in the first lines of Orthopteran-Hominid bio-engineering. Enhanced leg strength, the brain's ability to calculate and coordinate: these has been produced to grant inhuman jumping ability and agility.
> F-inal Drone mk.IV: Arthropeudics had outdone themselves once again when researching the true potential of a human body. Formicidaean-Hominid bio-engineering unlocks many of man's physical limits. Muscle fibers and skeletal integrity are strengthened, allowing a soldier to lift weights heavier than his own.
> L-ine v.Sleuth: A tool for our province of the world to gain the upper-hand over our competitors. Keep that a secret, though~! Keratin on the skin has been changed to a drastic degree, inspired by Lepidopteran traits. Far removed from the original structure, organic dust particles reflects light, acting as a form of advanced camouflage.

>He
>She

>>5156275
>> F-inal Drone mk.IV: Arthropeudics had outdone themselves once again when researching the true potential of a human body. Formicidaean-Hominid bio-engineering unlocks many of man's physical limits. Muscle fibers and skeletal integrity are strengthened, allowing a soldier to lift weights heavier than his own.
>She

>>5156275
> ProtO-Model Leaper: With the power of the miraculous technology of Arthropeudics, brilliants minds succeeded in the first lines of Orthopteran-Hominid bio-engineering. Enhanced leg strength, the brain's ability to calculate and coordinate: these has been produced to grant inhuman jumping ability and agility.
>She

>>5156274
>F-inal Drone mk.IV: Arthropeudics had outdone themselves once again when researching the true potential of a human body. Formicidaean-Hominid bio-engineering unlocks many of man's physical limits. Muscle fibers and skeletal integrity are strengthened, allowing a soldier to lift weights heavier than his own.

>She

>>5156275
> ProtO-Model Leaper: With the power of the miraculous technology of Arthropeudics, brilliants minds succeeded in the first lines of Orthopteran-Hominid bio-engineering. Enhanced leg strength, the brain's ability to calculate and coordinate: these has been produced to grant inhuman jumping ability and agility.
>She

>>5156275
>> F-inal Drone mk.IV: Arthropeudics had outdone themselves once again when researching the true potential of a human body. Formicidaean-Hominid bio-engineering unlocks many of man's physical limits. Muscle fibers and skeletal integrity are strengthened, allowing a soldier to lift weights heavier than his own.
>She

For those who are too lazy to Google, the choices are between grasshoppers (leaper), ants (drone) or butterflies (sleuth).

>>5156279
>>5156288
>>5156313
>Drone
>>5156285
>>5156296
>Leaper

"She" is unanimous. Drone locked in. Writing.

>>5156328
The Arthropeudics Corporation had risen from the rubble of an old world, one ravaged by creatures from the ocean deep. The current fabric of civilization then was damaged; and if it was not for the technological powerhouse's innovations, society as we knew it would have fallen apart with the Pelagiohms victorious. Old nations and names are under the corporation's jurisdiction, having transformed into more than just a magnificent laboratory building. Naturally, one entity cannot control the world all alone and there had to be some rebellion. Parties within its inner-circles broke and split off. Previously a part of a revolutionary body, these factions had more than enough power to seize territory for themselves.

Still, Arthropeudics is the greatest among its international competitors. Pollexa is but one of its longest reaching arms into the public sphere, practically a propagandist more than your average reporter.

She is a perfect cut for the job nonetheless. Your profile is on full display, huge video screens making full use of its space to dump picture after picture of your appearance. At least, the handful of them. In spite of being lab-grade photographs, no hesitancy was met when the moment to make you a scape-goat cropped up. The greatest deviation in the images are your faded-green clothes, pre-explosion. Going through that mess obviously would not let the cheap garments escape untarnished...

...And the more you think back just an hour or so ago, you find an easy realization: dirtied clothes is a small price to pay for your freedom. Actual facts that aren't altered and spoken by the woman on the screen portrays a different story. That facility presently half-engulfed in flame had a heavy lock on it. Attempts at orchestrating your leave would have you end up dead, the best cases deeming it too risky to act out. The destruction had to originate outside the base– a detail too confusing to interpret on such a short notice, and one you couldn't care about. You were free! Free with a lifetime of dangerous knowledge.

Pollexa picks your looks, going so far to bring out a stick as if to teach kindergarten. Under her continuous commentary, you dash into the unchecked corners of the led-lit urban sprawl. Where to go... Where to go....!

Exposed to her incessant speech, it is a wonder how people can bear her.
>Pollexa speaks, "Boring black hair… How can she be this tall and lanky? Someone hasn't been visiting the barber too… Seriously, folks, take good care of yourselves. I have seen our police's canines looking better than this danger at large."
>Pollexa speaks, "Anybody can spot a stop sign. Especially a suspicious one in hospital clothes, sticking out like a sore thumb. I mean, just look at that red mane! I do admit that it goes nicely with that tanned-skin, but it is a shame."
> Pollexa speaks, "Be on the lookout for a blondie, guys. Extra caution is advised with those razor sharp teeth— She looks like she can bite!"

>>5156394
>>Pollexa speaks, "Anybody can spot a stop sign. Especially a suspicious one in hospital clothes, sticking out like a sore thumb. I mean, just look at that red mane! I do admit that it goes nicely with that tanned-skin, but it is a shame."

>>5156394
>Pollexa speaks, "Anybody can spot a stop sign. Especially a suspicious one in hospital clothes, sticking out like a sore thumb. I mean, just look at that red mane! I do admit that it goes nicely with that tanned-skin, but it is a shame."

>>5156407
>>5156447
Pollexa speaks, "Anybody can spot a stop sign. Especially a suspicious one in hospital clothes, sticking out like a sore thumb. I mean, just look at that red mane! I do admit that it goes nicely with that tanned-skin, but it is a shame." You are not too sure to take that as an insult or compliment. That voice of hers melts into an echoing, confusing sound too vague to listen to. You get to denser cover beneath the surrounding cement terraces, proving to be good-enough protection from the reporter's electronic medium. Between two bulky trashcans you fall to your knees, relying on the narrowness of the alley you are in. Purple rays of light from the open street ahead glows up your darker hide in spots. The instinct to conceal yourself reels back your body into the rubbish bins' harsh shadows as much as you can, until eventually you only have to spare your toes. The crimson color of your disheveled hair turns into a deeper shade as it is hit by the same illuminating source. There is a subtle sensation tickling its ends, reminiscent of footsteps in pursuit-- the hasty movement of the air. The police are around, and you can sense them converging on your point.

You have a sneaking suspicion that the men searching for you are near. Their faces are distinct: helmet, masked. Yellow goggles where their eye-sockets are do not thin in brightness in both darkness and the city's luxurious lighting. The bulky gauntlets on a drone is not for fashion, supplementing them with superb strength. Strength they need to mimic you.

Picturing it in your mind for too long may fool you into seeing what isn't there. It is a wishful thought to just stay where you are, undeniably useless to put the situation to rest. Afar, the crackle of a portable transmitter and the gargled set of words coming from it gives off a hostile's position.

>Show yourself. Come in contact with the drone head-on.
>Test your aim and fling the dumpster you're behind of at him.
>Make a run for it, down the street and hopefully shake him off.
>Write-in

>>5156394
>Pollexa speaks, "Boring black hair… How can she be this tall and lanky? Someone hasn't been visiting the barber too… Seriously, folks, take good care of yourselves. I have seen our police's canines looking better than this danger at large."

Well, being strong is probably the most generally useful, though probably not as good for escaping with.

>>5156498
>Test your aim and fling the dumpster you're behind of at him.

Direct contact is more efficient than throwing heavy objects, but with super strength it is probably quicker to throw the dumpster than it is to try and run forward to hit the drone.

>>5156498
>>Test your aim and fling the dumpster you're behind of at him.

Hitting the hay for now! Will be back around 23:00 UTC.

>>5156498
>>Test your aim and fling the dumpster you're behind of at him.

>>5156501
>>5156514
>>5156656
Roll 2d20s. Best sum out of three.

Rolled 15, 17 = 32 (2d20)

>>5157253

>>5157260
Not too shabby if I do say so.

Rolled 5, 18 = 23 (2d20)

>>5157253

Rolled 18, 10 = 28 (2d20)

>>5157253

Rolled 3, 14 = 17 (2d20)

>>5157253

>>5157260
>>5157264
>>5157300
>>5157301
>32: 15, 17

It is best to try neutralizing the drone as cleanly as possible. Putting one hand over the other and squeezing, your knuckles crack to get yourself warmed up. Not for a second do you stray away from your target, the soldier unaware of the presence hiding behind the next inconspicuous corner. Fear if you do translates into fear for your upcoming footwork. Having assurance on your dangerous stunt is paramount to remove your current obstacle.

Beside the dumpster, you squat down. No one has a chance to lift the whole damn thing, but for a superpowered experiment, it weighs as much as a papier-mache replica. The greatest hint of a struggle is a soundless grunt, mostly from the elementary strain of picking yourself up from the quadriceps. Could not be said about the soon-to-be projectile, worryingly. Its rusty hinges clutching the thin doors on top squeak sharply; the garbage inside shift and shake, a crude present for the man a ways in front of you. And was that a rat chattering? The ruckus you hear in your pocket of the street does not tell the him of your location anyway. Pretty sure that if the rust on the trash can's corners and joints been a bit louder to pierce large-scale broadcast volume, he would be able to keep an additional couple of seconds of his life. Maybe to chance at dodging this bullet.

The drone in sight, and the hunk of metal on your shoulder, you quit waiting; your attack starts and ends in a short span of time. Energy sustaining the muscles in your body is the spark to propel the dumpster at him. Its bottom rolls off your palm like a baseball after dashing out of the alleyway shadows, heading squarely at the center of the patrol's body. A "secured" is cut short talking into his transmitter, interrupted by a startled mutter that did not assess his future damage fast enough to warn. One moment he was whole. The next, he is gory splat on a wall.

The common force does not share your resilience. The rectangular stinking box has his feet and fingers sticking out of its sides, sprouting from a violent splash of blood. Snapping persists while electric signals fizzle out in their dying cells, contorting limbs into a final position. Your murder is a success without alarming anything else. This guy had to be either unlucky to scout this way or dumb to do so.

Overhead there is a cheer. The charming voice gladly lets the masses in on the "development."

"As per the irreparable damage taken place and for the safety of the public, special operatives have been dispatched...!"

>Risky to spend so much time, but pillage the drone's body for his clothes.
>Evacuate the location immediately. "Special" is special for a reason, going by you.
>Write-in

>>5157378
>>Evacuate the location immediately. "Special" is special for a reason, going by you.
His clothing would be ruined by all that gore.

>>5157378
>Evacuate the location immediately. "Special" is special for a reason, going by you.
Yeah, let's get out of here before any other enhanced agents arrive.

File: 1629148247825.jpg (89 KB, 600x600)

89 KB JPG

>>5157393
>>5157414
You waste no time getting the hell away from the murder scene you created. "Special" is special for a reason. Drone officers are the bottom rung of the ladder; the prestigious products - more so living weapons - higher up on the power-scale are better equipped to catch your half-ton pitches. The reporter on the screen is likely to be one of those special creations Arthropeudics have brought to the table. Hopefully, for the only purpose of talking, since she's so good at it that it's an art for her.

The spectacular, borderline magical designs of the corporation's forces and its projects is what the public only sees. Under its outer shell are things like you. Things that range from the astonishing to the heretical. The fact that you are a roaming entity instead of one safely guarded in a cell is a complete liability for them. From their point-of-view, the order to snuff you out and exterminate future break-outs like yours is a reasonable justification: you pose as a threat to their hegemony. Arthropeudics, from there, can dress it up however they will want in a game that isn't considered rhetoric anymore. The final revision of the Drones after four tries is the interface for their footmen. The advantages and innovation they are armed with are the achievements to be fully published, not the base model preceding the discovery of the century; a model perceived as volatile and obsolete for their liking.

Now, grabbing the reins of destiny yourself, you are being chased. An event that your holding facility never thought of. And why would they? State of the art hardware is developed where you were captive. It took an unanticipated explosion that must have been God's doing for them to face those odds-- so slim that it can splice the space between atoms. To keep benefiting from your liberation, slipping through the clutches of Arthropeudics is the key. Phasing back into your previous mode of running, the neck sinks between your shoulders in an escalating jog. Your path is stiff yet you rapidly look towards your approaching environment.

The small street assimilates into wider roads. Congestion of cramped alleys and geometric buildings fade away. Urbanization lessens up the farther out you move. City blocks are not as filled up, some sparsely occupied by a local drugstore or a plaza. Between the transition point of the metropolitan and the suburbs, you sprint at the side of the road. It's not as active here than hubub central. However, there are lights on in a few windows. A glance up, the evening clouds are not visible; the struggle of exploiting the momentum of events is that it took place in the night.

>There is a construction site. Looks pretty abandoned, girders and tubes vandalized. Head there and recuperate.
> Find a highway bridge to hide under. If the homeless go unnoticed there, so should you. Hunker down.
> Keep moving as far as you can. Until catching your breath becomes a chore.
> Write-in

>>5157846
>>There is a construction site. Looks pretty abandoned, girders and tubes vandalized. Head there and recuperate.
Nice art

>>5157846
>There is a construction site. Looks pretty abandoned, girders and tubes vandalized. Head there and recuperate.

>>5157846
> Find a highway bridge to hide under. If the homeless go unnoticed there, so should you. Hunker down.

>>5157846
>There is a construction site. Looks pretty abandoned, girders and tubes vandalized. Head there and recuperate

>>5157994
>>5158102
>>5158381

Nobody is going to bat an eye at a desolate construction site. Although big, it is invisible to those around it. Vandals and punks rendered its purpose down to a pathetic role. The untouched surfaces, over the months - years…or how long this place became dead - turned into estate for their wildly-colored spray paints. Leftover metals are oxidizing, caked in layers of rust. Figuratively exiled from memory or notice, this site is a yard for unused girders, beams and rebar like a pack of lepers, spotted with rotting red and brown spots.

Evidently abandoned, you go up to the lot and climb its fence. The wiring rattles when supporting your weight, the individual iron strands that constitutes it thin and bending. It begins to bow the closer you pull yourself to the top. Neglect has weakened the fence, and you coming around to inflict stress during the state it's in, it looks to almost topple. A jerk and a jump off into the other side releases your burden, springing it back into shape.

The threat of getting spotted, caught or worse looms less over you within the, supposed, safe area. You prevented yourself from encountering a member of special operatives sooner than you would like; who will no less put you in a messier condition had you not. The construction site should provide you an opportunity to recuperate from tonight's pace--- If not, for a little bit...

>Take your chances. Rest for tonight and renew yourself for the day. The concrete tubes here are inviting.
>Exercise caution and explore the unfinished building's skeleton.
>Decide to refurbish one of the corners and make a hut as subtly as you can. No one's using the materials here anyway.
>Write-In

>>5158792
>Take your chances. Rest for tonight and renew yourself for the day. The concrete tubes here are inviting.

>>5158792
>>Take your chances. Rest for tonight and renew yourself for the day. The concrete tubes here are inviting.

>>5158792
>>Exercise caution and explore the unfinished building's skeleton.

>>5158792
>>Exercise caution and explore the unfinished building's skeleton.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Flipping a coin.
>>5158831
>>5158906
>1
>>5158908
>>5158939
>2

>>5159206

The Solenopsis genus in the family of ants are well known for their ferocity. Not one species could perform in a more similar manner to their flying cousins than them. Children learn of the generic bug through the Formicidaean structure. Cartoon illustrations are introduced in elementary that it makes it all too easy for kids to spot the real subject in the wild. The ant is transcendent: it is recognized at a young age, persists in fame inside the human memory, and thrives in accordance to the evolving world. A reason for this universal truth could be that us humans see something in them. Ants are laborers, social, building communities out of their species; just like us. In that is a spiritual connection and scientific precedence for Homo Sapiens behavior. Ants are one of, if not the, defining archetype of the world-dominating phylum they are in. Invertebrates are prevalent, somehow or in someway seeding life in the most barren of environments. Invertebrates are the ultimate ancestor that stands the test of time to this very day; and which gave the human race the means to start a new era. Earth is indebted to these spineless creatures, the progenitors of life and the omen of pestilence. An existence without their existence is not valid in the laws of living.

Populations of ants only bite. Populations of ants only sting. Some ants take down their aggressors in a blaze of glory, killing themselves and their enemies for the sake of their colony. Fire ants have the gall to bite and sting/i]; the Solenopsis genus passionately assert themselves in life and death situations, using whatever they have at their disposal. Perhaps, putting themselves in those circumstances is what gives them power, their strength. Not a single hint of docility in their carapace is present to pull their punches. A ruthless toxicity in their hundreds-thousands make them a force to be reckoned with.

Hostile and painful as a species they seem, it is a misconception that this is their best trait. To endeavor through thick and thin is the foremost principle of Solenopsis. The fire ant is pervades all continents--- excluding Antarctica, expectedly; the arids, the tropics, they fight the unforgiving lands equally all the same yet live. Probing deeper into these mechanical minds suggests, not savagery, but desperation instead...

However it is, that burning spirit is in you. You won't finish anything unless the premises is clear of danger. Caution is exercised to its fullest upon deciding to explore the building's half-constructed skeleton.

>>5159313
>>5159313

At its highest, the top is sixty feet off the ground, give or take. A serious injury can definitely happen to a man if he isn't careful traversing the naked architecture. Beams shoot up from the very bottom, forming its vaguely rectangular shape in parallel to the other apartments and offices. Their size varies: the thinner supports show your arms and shoulders, insufficiently wide to cover for your whole body; the larger ones do with a little extra room to spare but fewer. Half of the front-facing side is boarded with plywood, covered in plastic sheets to protect the lumber from the elements. They're torn off for the most part. At every level, there are cavities where windows are supposed to be. The rest of the side welcomes in a great draft as it isn't filled in. In place for stairs, there are ramps.

You had to watch your step while you poked around. Portions of the floor are just big holes outlined by more beams. What "stable" ground you do come across on each vertical section are the bare minimum. Wooden boards are put together in patches right next to the unfilled gaps. Materials are irresponsibly strewn about the solid walkways, the majority of which are additional pillars that were planned to pad out the poorly designed floors. The heavier kinds are a particular concern, you wondering if it's okay to lay their loads on a rickety system...

Familiarizing yourself with the lazy construction is therapeutic. The higher you climb it, the howling of the wind becomes distinctive. Pollexa and sirens in the distance are mixed in; thankfully, the flute-like sound of the wind drowns them out. Stopping at a floor and gazing out the window into the city, your eyes set themselves on the shining modern bubble left in your tracks. The tails of smoke in the horizon are thick, embers floating in and out of their cloudy forms. Seeing the death of confinement dispels the exhaustion in your muscles. From where you stand, you could calmly stare at the hysteria forever.

In all things in life, the good doesn't work like that. Depressing to accept. Your elevated point enables you spy on a figure positioned on a roof, right across where you are...

>Wave at it with your left hand.
>Duck below the window and pray to God that it isn't what you think it is.
>That is definitely not good. Send the figure off by chucking an unused pillar at it.
>Write-In

>>5159314
>Duck below the window and pray to God that it isn't what you think it is.

>>5159314
>>Duck below the window and pray to God that it isn't what you think it is.

>>5159314
>Duck below the window and pray to God that it isn't what you think it is.

File: 1634631023675.jpg (127 KB, 600x600)

127 KB JPG

>>5159362
>>5159365
>>5159574

Instantly, your stomach turns. You duck below the window opening to deny the figure from looking back at you for a duration. Spying it shortly is enough for its appearance to linger in your brain. A crown of eight spectacles wraps around its head; the best you can conclude from the little information you have is that it's a modified visor of some type? Regardless, you are not so sure. It blended in with the dull grain of the rooftops, and there wasn't moonlight to clarify the body. The gear worn on the head is the most you could see from across the distance. Abruptly pulling your vision down past the window seal caught it standing on the roof's edge and turn its shoulder to you.

There is sound on the levels below you seconds later, a series of slow footsteps following thereafter. What you know is thick-soled boots causes the flismy floorboards and ramps to creak. "Drone proto...contact---..." you hear as well below you, albeit incredibly deafened, "...ngagin…orders to…pture or terminate...? ...Roger."

>Face the threat immediately and meet it on a lower floor.
>Find a place that can conceal you. One of those beams should buy you time.
>Ambush; smash the floor beneath you and unto the incoming entity.
>Write-In

>>5160018
>>Ambush; smash the floor beneath you and unto the incoming entity.

>>5160018
>Ambush; smash the floor beneath you and unto the incoming entity.

>>5160018
>Ambush; smash the floor beneath you and unto the incoming entity.

>>5160018
>>Find a place that can conceal you. One of those beams should buy you time.

>>5160103
>>5160116
>>5160117
>Ambush; smash the floor beneath you and unto the incoming entity.
Roll 1d20. Best of three.

Rolled 43 (1d100)

>>5160148

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>5160148

>>5160152
Sure you got the right dice, anon?

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>5160148

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>5160162
>>5160148

>>5160161
>>5160170
>>5160178
>16
Writing

File: 1623928120373.jpg (103 KB, 600x600)

103 KB JPG

>>5160180

Take the figure by surprise. That is your mode of action. To your advantage, you are on a higher floor; thus you have access to the element of surprise. Your interpretation of the tools on hand urged you to utilize your strength to deliver a descending blow to the unsuspecting agent. You put your ears against the floor, concentrating hard to become receptive to the vibrations of someone's boots. One side of your auditory senses is isolated against the old boards, paranoia and attentiveness working together to comb through the data resting within sound.

Its careful gait walking up the ramps increases in palpability; your singular ear is tickled so frequently that it temporarily turns into an eleventh finger attached to the side of your head. Your sensitivity gradually grows to the point your brain feels that the floor just under has been breached, the slightest move in that zone getting transmitted straight into the meat of your cranium. You wholeheartedly believe it has arrived where you wanted it; and that it is awfully unaware of its prey's strategy. The ear stuck on the rotting fibers of the floor lifts up, restoring the other half of the area's ambience. The need to drop down flat isn't required anymore with its footsteps plain.

You gather your mass, squatting low and winding your arms back. The steps edge closer...

Closer..

And…Perfect.

A vibration taps at the ball of your feet: the signal to bring yourself down to the agent's level. Launching your mass up into the air, you jump, arm swinging up as if to punch a taller opponent. Reaching the highest point in your hop plummets the force of your body into the ground. Assisted by the power in your muscles, the firmness of the wood is nothing but styrofoam.

Feet first, you are mid-dive when the mysterious figure is visible. A Shower of splinters - plus dust as you pierce through a layer of concrete - ornament your unannounced entrance. "Damn---!!!" It reflexively spoke; the feminine talk infected with exhaustion is the identifying feature behind its mask. She couldn't say anything else after you land a heavy kick into her.

Debris and a thin cloud surrounds both of you. The agent is composing herself while keeping a safe distance from your person. "Dirty fighter, you! Now I won't be hard-pressed to end this job with a termination!" she yells.

"Tch. Well, I'm more in the right to be pulling a sucker-punch if that's why you're here!" you reply.

>Rush her down.
>Maintain the distance as well.
>Rupture this floor as well.
>Write-In

>>5160252
>Rupture this floor as well.

We are prepared for it beforehand, it is a shocking move, and the enemy is injured.

>>5160252
>>Rupture this floor as well.

>>5160252
>Rush her down.
Strength is our advantage and she could be easily downed now.

>>5160278
>>5160332

Arachnids are meticulous things. They develop complicated methods and instruments to facilitate their survival in the wild. A caterpillar spins silk to advance into the next stage of life; however, the spider does it for a crueler purpose. Intricate webbing is a signature characteristic of the spider, a stationary trap upheld by multiple points to snag ignorant prey. The web itself is difficult to see without the help of a strong light or the dew of the morning, which is fitting for these hunters that unnerve us to the core. Arachnids do not go out to hunt, choosing to sit and wait to witness the own downfall of their victims. Humans have a tremendous fear of them. Their eight legs and eyes are "far from nature," how they seem frozen in time on an invisible platform: a mistaken presumption that is warped by our primal, psychological chills. The gathering of humans has tagged a stigma on the spider and its unconventional ways. Whether you are afraid of spiders or not, it cannot be refuted that within us is an ancient terror evoked whenever we encounter them.

Probably worse to know are the arachnids that actively mobilize themselves, abandoning web-making entirely. The described faction seeks their prey on the ground, emphasizing the astonishing speed that all of their kind inherents--- yet on a completely different level. The athletic Salticideaens, the maternal Lycosids…

And ultimately, the Sparassids who attribute "hunt" to their name...

If the agent is giving you this much of a comfortable distance as she recovers, you might as well take the next move. Her crown glows an electronic green in the shadows; compact but ardent, as if a collection of miniature stars. Turning her face at your end of the floor - you not needing any evidence to know she's scowling underneath that mask - is a menacing countenance as the robotic eyes pours out animosity. She has been wronged, her vindication expressed through the trembling grip in on her pistol. Between its parts and the joint of its silencing modification, the portable arm emits a lightly metallic clatter.

Raising a leg, you plunge the bottom face of your foot into the floor, decimating another level. "Idiot!" the agent grumbles, hand clutching her side. The impact you managed to land on her broke a bone or few, no doubt-- and the trauma bursting open the supple flesh. "You just like to make huge messes, do you?!"

A wrinkle forms betwixt the brows and you let out a groan of frustration. "The first one wasn't my fault. You guys only pin the blame on me for the whole explosion happening. Personally, I don't take too kindly to getting villanized!"

"Oh, but it will," she scoffs.

BOOM. Rupturing the second layer of wood for tonight, you cause both of you to drop into the third. It's a steel-gridded plane, no wide space whatsoever other than the thin paths of beams. The agent powers through the pain of her injury as she fell; though, involuntarily coughs and whimpers at the end of her descent. Farther below is junk. Sharp tools and machines hazardously scattered; bundled rubar spears pointed upwards alongside heavy-gauge wiring.

The agent gets up on her feet, her on one intersection and you on the opposite.

Sideways, she dashes through the outlines of empty squares. You couldn't keep your eyes on her, zipping horizontally and vertically up the solid columns until you lose sight. You are left with your instinct to pin-point where she is--- Crying out loud to you when the click of a gun comes from behind. As fast you can, you swipe at your rear. The agent, as you would've guessed, is there. Pelting her away, the muffled BANG and flash of her pistol misses you by an inch. She jumps back, restoring her original placement at an intersection.

>Punch the beam out of the grid. Reduce as many paths as you can handle.
>Guard up, arms raised. Stay where you are and counteract whenever.
>Traverse the grids and pursue the agent. You have to keep moving.
>Write-In

>>5160778
>>Punch the beam out of the grid. Reduce as many paths as you can handle.

>>5160778
>Punch the beam out of the grid. Reduce as many paths as you can handle.

...?

Is she some sort of spider-enhanced person? I'd hate to run into her webs by running randomly then.

>>5160778
>>Punch the beam out of the grid. Reduce as many paths as you can handle.
Closing would probably get us webbed

>>5160778
>Guard up, arms raised. Stay where you are and counteract whenever.
A spider-woman can probably web-sling, removing the paths won't keep her from getting to us.

File: 1630346490853.jpg (84 KB, 600x600)

84 KB JPG

>>5160867
>>5160948
>>5161259
>Punch the beam out of the grid. Reduce as many paths as you can handle.
Roll 3d20s. Best of three; for each of the three values.

Rolled 15, 8, 18 = 41 (3d20)

>>5161308

Rolled 17, 5, 17 = 39 (3d20)

>>5161308

Rolled 14, 16, 7 = 37 (3d20)

>>5161308

>>5161314
>>5161335
>>5161514
>17, 16, 18
Writing...

>>5161519

Sparrasids incorporates the thrilling huntsmans. They are incredibly optimized for blinding speed and a fast kill, skittering along the shapes of the environment unpredictably. Or…that they are simply too fast for the mind to compute. Losing sight of the enemy is defeat within of itself. It strikes us scared, vulnerable, to their unknown whereabouts. For what the fool can comprehend, an attack can be launched at every angle and direction. He has but the option to shuffle around in one spot uselessly, the sky his only comrade from a surprise. Humans need control of their area to feel safe. We build walls, fences; make packs and manifest tools for our advantage. Take that all away by - not disarming them - but forcing and whittling down their options to respond. Shooting at a target you can't point out is as worth it as not shooting. The capability of dancing around the battle into the opponent's blind spots, seeding doubt, rebuilds him into the easiest game: the uninformed. Through that, the hunter might as well become an omnipresent spirit.

Non-traditionally, huntsmans hardly use webs to capture pray. They do not need to. Akin to a wolf or a jumping spider, their eight eyes are mostly oriented forwards-- to an extent, calling back to their elder members, the primitive Mygalomorphs, with them additionally being clustered. Superb vision, coupled with spectacular agility, makes a remarkable predator that is sure to catch whatever they set their sights to. They have specifically evolved to track, chase and pounce in one fell swoop than hanging up in a web.

However, there is one peculiarity they have...

The resounding pop of gunshots do not reach out past the construction site. Best guess is that this is a discreet job since the end of her pistol is lengthened by a silencer; although, you really thrown away the agent's game-plan when you loudly destroyed two levels in succession. Due to that, you both have to balance yourselves on this precarious arena. Somewhere out there, someone probably reported the noise of a crumbling building already to the same police seeking you out. Chances are that them and her are in touch; and that the ensuing fight currently will be a trace when they ease that citizen's concern in the morning.

The agent's firing becomes deliberate. Attached to the radiating tails of her cloak are clips of ammo, naked bullets hiding behind each arm. So far, it has been necessary to spend one after she attempted to assassinate you in the beginning of this sequence. Dissimilar to that close exchange, the magazine still jingles half-empty while its owner speeds, body parallel to the steel beams' directions. Back, right, left, at an angle upside-down via gymnastics, you think hard as you fend her off all the while. It then hits you! The agent's path can likely be manipulated by reducing the number of available routes. Getting burnt by dodging blazing bullets by a hair's breadth, your mind is busy choosing which row or column to dislodge. You conceive of those that are the most important, hurrying yourself to pound your fists onto your selection...

The agent presses on. You meet, the close proximity commencing a brief scuffle of grazing punches and clashing kicks. "I wasn't so sure about this assignment. My usual are the mundane and arrogant: those that threaten the corp... Feels gratifying to see that command was so fucking wrong. You are a damn pest if I ever saw one! Drop dead!"

You huff, "Who are you calling a pest? Get off my tail already--- With you alive depends, lady!"

With a push, the soles of her boots make her skid backwards. Your eyes shrink. You duck down realizing the flourish of her left arm, adjusting the head of her gun. Unloading, she cleans out the magazine and fills it back up, drawing a hot line of air above your head in the middle of her drift. The mark of her boots have been repeated hundred of times over throughout this intense period, staining the rusted red of the steel. This instance just happens to be caused by your deflection. Looking to where she is, her figure vanishes again when you punch the beam in front of you according to your theories.

Two more times, this repeats at different intersections. Three horizontal beams had fell into the floor below amidst the process, the nuts and bolts that secured them dropped as hail on the rebar pikes. The both of you are now isolated by the remaining ladder of the grid, her position better to track with your south side safe, yet still irritatingly swift. Where you're at, you face three straight, possible paths she'll take: your north, east and west.

Her disappearing into an after-image on the, now, furthermost ledge, your vigilant instinct contorted you to a side. Front, left or right? On demand-- when you pull your body's tissues to an extreme to cop a punch on your right.

The agent grunts, flying to the end of the hollow rectangle. A crack is formed on her mask; no arm to spare as her right grasps a bleeding side. "Grr... I'm obligated to take you down. You know what that means, right? They don't want an artificial Gu structure acting independent from their control. That--- You! You are just a danger to our province if we let you do as you please. It will be a disgrace to my reputation and that of Arthropeudics if you get away tonight scot-free. A blunder of responsibility. Of justice."

>Interject! Would you like to say something?

>Keep up the pressure and advance. Move to get in another punch.
>Is it safe? You don't know. Narrow down the grid again.
>Focus on your guard and receive her next attack. Defense seems to be the game.
>Write-In

Heading to bed. Will try to update as soon as I can tomorrow!

>>5161675
>>Interject! Would you like to say something?
"I'd rather die than be another drone"

>>Keep up the pressure and advance. Move to get in another punch.

>>5161675
>>Is it safe? You don't know. Narrow down the grid again.

>>5161675
>Interject! Would you like to say something?
"You seem more focused on talking rather than on taking me out."

>Keep up the pressure and advance. Move to get in another punch.

>>5161746
>>5161848
Roll 1d20. Best of three.

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>5162272

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>5162272

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>5162272

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>5162272

>>5162315
>>5162334
>>5162356
>>5162379
>8
Writing...

"I'd rather die than be another drone," you interject, rebelling against Arthropeudics' verdict on your life.

"It is in our right. You have been created from our resources; you are of our design. Safe to say that you're our property, and we can dispose of you to our discretion. Refuse it with all your heart, but the fact is that you have no reign over yourself with us around. Terminating the inspiring revision of the Drones instead of keeping you for future references causes dismay amongst our engineering departments. It is something that has to be done-- a notion that I wholeheartedly agree with." The agent winces when pain flares up in her wound. Blood seeps into the synthetic material of her uniform, dying its color into that of mud. "I don't voice my opinions while others are around. You, though, won't have the breath for my superiors to catch wind of them. You will be spending it in gasps as I squish you like a bug."

Her tone grows cold and cruel, "You're twice of an abomination. I wasn't around then; but Arthropeudics can act like madmen sometimes. I'm grateful that my blood isn't the like of yours, Mk.IV. Joined them at just the right time where they didn't need to infest me."

Squinting at her, you express your disinterest. "You seem more focused on talking rather than taking me out."

"Like I said, I keep my mouth shut when my superiors aren't around. I operate on a strict code!" grumbling. "Continue being how I am, they will reward me. Graduating their program was smooth sailing and I know they look forward to my progress. You want less talk? Then I'll give it to you, brat!"

The normal anatomy of a spider is comprised of the cephalothorax, where the head and thorax are of one part, and the abdomen. Physically diverging from the body structures of most common invertebrates makes them stand out, and widespread recognition boosts their silhouette into a universal icon. Secondly, the number of legs they possess is unique. Two pairs of two can be found on each side of the cephalothorax, summing up to a strange eight… Other groups of organisms have eight legs as well. It is one of the central perks that categorizes arachnids. The spider, with all its infamy, is delegated by the human race as the best representative for its class. Hell, lest the person has gone the extra step to know more, the laymans of the world do not know that the scorpion is also an arachnid.

The huntsman is constructed a little differently. A common spider has their eight legs fan out, radiating from the center of the cephalothorax. This placement is versatile, and just about adopted by all. It allows for their inhuman heads to undergo multiple tasks in one moment alone. For example, the Deinopsis genus that houses members colloquially named net-casters or ogre-faced spiders, hang by their hind pair while holding a spun net with their front two. The sheer flexibility of their limbs' allocation could be said to have primed them for prevalence, interpreted differently by each individual so that they may be the fittest within their habitat.

Getting to the point, the legs of the huntsman are positioned in another manner. Its legs are parallel to the cephalothorax; than being jointed into a gradually perpendicular angle relative to the body. This appearance is the foundation why they're also called giant crab spiders. Due to the way of their limbs, how they maneuver is reminiscent of a crab-- zig-zag, sideways in cases.

Ought to silence the conversation, she resumes the violence with the pull of the trigger. Muttering, "It had to be the left today..." behind the muzzle inflames disappointment. She clearly hates long jobs, or she's right-handed. In reaction, you dash under the fire to close yourself towards the agent's damaged frame, ready to fit another punch. Still having wits about her, however, she strains herself to jet to the side.

The inertia of the brief slip swings her to the other side of the ladder. "You think you figured me out? That's cute… The cream of the crop aren't just refined in skill, they are creative. Say hello to steel--- Or fall to death--- Whichever! Tonight, you really made me hate working!"

The huntsman jumps, striking a ballerina-like pose midair. Her arms are sprawled out, both, as she ignores her wounds for the sake of this act. The folded leg unwinds, stretched out.

Pulling a roundhouse into nothing to kickstart a motion, the agent spins. The conditional speed she has transforms her into a living top as long as she's in the air. From the tails of her cloak, the clips seemingly concealed under for easy access reveals their true purpose--- The circular action hurls them out from their respective wings, unleashing a deadly wave.

Dropping so far as to hug the beams, her attack misses your oppressed stance. She has not given up yet, enacting another musical pose. This time, with her feet on the ground.

>Stop her movement at all cost. Rush her down.
>You'd hate to do it, but hang upside-down the beams.
>Bring down the remaining grid, even if you get yourself hurt.
>Write-In

>>5162532
>>Stop her movement at all cost. Rush her down.

>>5162532

>Stop her movement at all cost. Rush her down.

>>5162532
>>Stop her movement at all cost. Rush her down.

>>5162532
>Stop her movement at all cost. Rush her down.

>>5162640
>>5162702
>>5162804
>>5163198
Roll 1d20, best of three.

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>5163432

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>5163432

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>5163432

>>5163476
>>5163477
>>5163480
>16
Writing...

File: 1627897108223.jpg (178 KB, 600x600)

178 KB JPG

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you steal a breath before rushing the agent down. You have to stop her movement at all costs or else you'll be paying a big cost. The blossoming waves of bullets emphasize the amount of room you lack, no other way to save yourself from her technique than to curl up again. It's do or die, the contending challenge testing your acrobatics at its fullest.

"SHRED!" Pointing her foot upwards, it is brought down by the agent to fling a wheel of ammunition. The subsequent cast cartwheels and spreads into the lane you took, pressuring a split-second decision to lunge yourself onto another beam. Recomposed, your assault persists even after that close call; your masked foe is willing to whip herself around again for you to dance on this balancing act.

A heel's measure, you meet under her chin. The flesh is your firearm, chucking dense knuckles at the projected punching bag. As if a long, stalky reed in the wind, she leans to right--- committed to a frenzy boiling the spirit in your belly, you cut short her elegance with a hook to her weaker left. The fist reignites the nerves into the bloody point, warping the fragmented bone underneath. The agent yells, swiping her wrist at your neck. Seeing herself failing such a simple-minded behavior reminds the expertise in her footwork; she springs to a corner to gather vigor.

Wherever she will go, though, you'll be sure to follow. Your plan in the first place was to confine her, the opportunity ripe to fulfill it. Feeling daring, you slide under her barreling. Ricocheting lead tailing your trail explode into bits of shrapnel, flavoring your advance in the taste of gunpowder and sparks. Descending from her twirl, she sees the face of her prey on her landing.

Sticking out a leg to kick up her metallic storm on a short notice, you catch it.

SLAM

File: 1625333941872.jpg (83 KB, 600x600)

83 KB JPG

A transmitter crackles. "Vitals--- Emergency contact--- Sydney -- -- you -- -- copy?"

"... Gk! Wha?!"

She couldn't see anything. It is either blackness or shimmering in her vision. Regaining her senses is a sluggish trial, relying on her arm to support the rest of her abdomen. The scene opens up again like a theater, overdramatically lifting up the curtains on her predicament. The first thing she sees upon shaking out the fuzziness in her mind is her shattered headgear.

Immediately after is the weight of a second person and bludgeoning on her cheekbones.

>(Talk, Optional) Get as much information out of her as you can? Physical trauma can persuade her.

>Kill the agent.
>Be generous, that's the end of it. Her superiors will take care of her.
>Beat her to a bloody pulp, then leave her.
>Write-in

>>5163617
>(Talk, Optional)
>"How many other agents are tracking me right now?"

well, if she hates working so much how's about we make sure she won't be able to work?
>write-in
>>break her legs

>>5163617
Supporting >>5163634

>>5163634
>>5163617

Support.

>>5163634
+1

>>5163634
>>5164068
>>5164253
>>5164255
>Writing...

POV - Sydney Heter

I don't understand their struggle. People talk about tragedy and turmoil as if it's right in front of their doorstep. They whine and complain; the complications of life is all they spout on and on about. Clearly, they could do something about their woes. I'm pretty sure it is possible, if for once they apply themselves. I say this not that I'm blind to the world and its roughness… I mean, personally, don't know a damn thing about the tenth annoying prick mouthing off his shortcomings... But it's a knack of mine to know they're not doing enough.

It shocks me to the very core because I got where I am without a sweat. Humble as to admit my mundanity in the overall complexity of Arthropeudics. Telling you, what right to lament over circumstances do they have when me of all people achieved so high without losing a night's rest? I call it laziness--- A poor work-ethic that deserves to be their curse. To think the race to success was won by someone just as common; and now I got stuck with the job disposing of the very same scum. Traitors, competitive sellouts, those whom are lacking in simple diligence to keep their heads low and deciding to lose it for… Reasons? The moral duty to put trash in the compactor is the only motivation that helps me tolerate this monotonous - yet… insightful - position. Turnover rates don't count corporation-assisted coverups.

So when I got a call from Vespa's team about that foundational prototype going on the loose, I thought nothing of it. The same old. Honestly, I thought it was about time to get rid of the antiquated GU project now the Pelagiohm threat has turned into a chore for the world. But still, they keep pushing it even if it's starting to be put on life support.

The morality of it isn't hard to understand.

Moral intellectualism and effort isn't hard to attain.

so… So… SO why. The. Fuck didn't we destroy this abomi---
There are cases where spiders get tangled up in their own legs, useless and trapped by their own body, rotting in the corner...

PC POV

CRACK

"HAAAAAAAA---!" She screams, an indescribable torment penetrating her legs...


The agent was stunned for more than a minute. You almost thought that she had smashed into the dense surface of the girder too hard, accidentally killed before you could've gotten any information out of her. Boy was it a jolt then when she returned conscious, intensity stressing you into a battle stance. You couldn't be blamed, the violence and hostility so far training you to treat uncertainty with your own aggression.

It wasn't wise to let her do as she please in her struggling state anyhow. It's a less impressive epilogue to the fight you had; your feet pinned her down, the resistance against your heel as strong as a stack of papers. Then and there, she's flipped over by a punt on her cheek.

First things first. "How many other agents are tracking me right now?" you said, looming over her shriveled disposition. You needed to repeat yourself to get through her daze. "How many other agents are tracking me right now?"

"..." silent, the defeated huntsman uselessly stared up at you.

You eyed her femur. Dragging itself down to one of them, your foot applied an uncomfortable amount of pressure on the bone. A track of dust from your sole taints the professional cloth of her divided cloak. "Something from you or a 'snap'. Cough up what I want to hear!" a command more potent.

There was reception. The repercussions of refusing to cooperate was communicated in the demand, her fading pupils shrinking into dots. She didn't had to say anything that didn't pertain to your inquiry--- She didn't want to talk at all. But panic flapped the agent's trembling lips for her at that moment. "T-Top priority--- You're top priority! As many as Arthropeudics deems fit to get what they want!"

You squinted at the shivering mouth, wondering if you can unveil its reliability. The agent could've been talking jack so she can get away with her skin. Noticing your skepticism, she unloaded, "That's all I know! R-Really. Vespa is the one that told me this! Who will be coming though? Uh… Uh..." The eyes in her sockets passed on you and this suspended dimension, the symptom of nervousness in display while she searches her mind for names. "Arthropeudics security head Matilda Mygahlo has her eyes on you… Guh!.. Maybe S-Saline Dipta?! Anise Teron too?! Us agents are classified projects as well, so my information - participation, whereabouts - is limited!"

At the corner of her distressed expression, something lit up in the agent's face. A desperate grin formed as if to laugh off everything that had happened. Her hands splayed out its fingers and gave a pleading signal to your prevailing angle, almost to weep. "Vespa did mentioned that I was to be the first to intercept you! I didn't think all this would play out for crying out loud!" she muttered, having confused hope and fear in her aim to keep a competent attitude. "hey... Hey, look, I already told you my thoughts on Arthropeudics. Some of the stuff they do is shady. Bio-engineering, cruel experiments like you, it's all fucking crazy.

"I'm a victim to you know?! I realize it. I was the dummy schmuck so that you could be explored for data---!"

That was the moment she let out her gut-wrenching howl.For how malleable and squishy the body is, breaking the leg in twain resembles the snapping of a brittle rod.

It brings tears to her eyes, fluid pouring from the ducts like a waterfall. The confidence in her previous appearance cannot be found on her disgraced condition. Pathetically whimpering and humming a tortured hum of a little girl is the language she speaks. This is what she gets for sucking up to you. The offense has yet to be dismissed, verifying your justice to make a matching pair. Hovering over the remaining leg, she cries out, dreading the inescapable fate you'll be giving her. A hand reaching up to you, it would have grabbed the edge of your shirt if she can jerk a thigh. "no... No! N---"

CRACK

You smash the other leg. Agony is amplified by "missing" the center, wedging your heel almost near the hip. She can't move, she cannot articulate her suffering by the help of intelligible words; all she can do is look at herself in horror, two limbs distorted and losing the ability to walk. That's just considering if her brain hasn't dummed down yet from the acute shock. The once masked expression is unmasked and battered into a powerless dame, emotions purged but for one warping her expressions. "H-haaa---H-haaaa Stop i-it...! STOP IT! PLEASE!" she begs, sobbing uncontrollably, "HELP! PLEASE!"

>(Talk. Optional, but roll required [1d20].) Attempt to retrieve a bit more information while how she is...

>You've had enough of this sad-sack. End her suffering.
>You got what you wanted, victorious and possessing some information. Leave the premises.
>GU Authorization: Play
>Write-In

>>5164668
>GU Authorization: Play

Mystery box.

>>5164668
>>You got what you wanted, victorious and possessing some information. Leave the premises.

>>5164775
+1 mystery

>>5164668
>You got what you wanted, victorious and possessing some information. Leave the pre
I figure her screaming will draw in some of the other agents to her and off our back. Time to get out of dodge

>>5164775
>>5164788
>GU Authorization: Play
>>5164787
>>5165132
>You got what you wanted, victorious and possessing some information. Leave the premises.

It's a tie so far. Will wait a bit more for a breaker.

>>5164668
>>You got what you wanted, victorious and possessing some information. Leave the premises.

>You got what you wanted, victorious and possessing some information. Leave the premises.
Writing!

You got what you wanted, victorious and and possessing some information on Arthropeudics. While you still can, you should get the hell out of dodge before the ear-plucking racket of Sydney draws in backup. But an unspeakable temptation wriggles in your bosom. Casting your uncaring gaze on her provokes its excitement, as if to say, "Let met have it." It whispers so softly as to be part of the air, lawyering justification for its aspired deed. So when you contain it within yourself and spare the enemy agent, it is upset; you cannot help feeling the difficulty of a mother saying no to their child, seated deeply in the core of your person.

The internal debate excludes the teary-eyed, choking woman. Crying so much has caused her cheeks to look flushed and hiccup from a constant wail. She is in suspense, anticipating a worse treatment than the last during your inactivity. Although you twitched not a finger towards her mangled body, she is caught coerced by your engulfing shadow. Sydney would jerk back, forgetting that her legs are out of commission. She will dearly mourn the premature reaction; grievous wounds reigniting and swelling to punish her further.

"Guuu… It hurts… It hurts...! h-help… someone…" The ends of her lips bow and makes an arch out of her mouth. There is nothing to ease the physical sorrow. Clenching her molars hard, she would happily damage her teeth instead of bearing crushed femurs. Sydney grumbled and foamed, scratching the suspended platform by a possessing tremor. Babbling, "Stop… Stop it..." for as long as she is plagued by this reminding mortality, her head nodded no to a metronome's anxious rhythm.

You finally depart from her presence. Eventually, if Arthropeudics really cares for her livelihood, she is to be extracted by the temporary limbo of this skeletal building.
Fruition is near. The pot is filled. We only need to put the lid on...

Geneticae Ultima progress log: 1/?? Ingredients defeated.

<<<<<<<<<<

F-Inal Drone mk.IV: The foundational concept for Arthropeudics' prevalent Drone force in the Security and Public Safety Department. The ant is mighty, for it is not only a soldier. The human species is endowed by the systematic community of their ancestral colonies, walking the same path towards the enlightenment of civilization. Growing stronger with it. Being able to lift 50x its own body weight is reflected in the engineering of a super-soldier capable of monstrous strength and durability. The skeleton is modified to have the number of spongy cavities of its tissue multiplied and densely packed; in addition to increased respiratory efficiency, and the optimization of muscle fiber formation. But there may be more undocumented observations hidden in Arthropeudics' database, sinister facts of both them and her...

Arthropeudics Discretional Power Sector; Aranea Program #4 - Sparrasid, Syney Heter: The twitching reaction in her legs have been maximized to overcome the burden of accelerating the body. However, it could only be accomplished by reshaping the grain of certain muscles to pull in a parallel manner. A specialized headpiece in the form of a visor has been distributed, supplementing her ability with an enhanced range of vision; with it, she may correctly orient herself when needed. A windbreaking-cloak accompanies the package, aerodynamically built for sideways motion in mind. The agent decided to holster ammunition under the tails independent of advisors. Burns through a lot of boots.

>>>>>>>>>>

File: 1617557273903.jpg (88 KB, 600x600)

88 KB JPG

"Hey there, your favorite patriot Pollexa Vespa is here~! Sydney got herself handed over, huh? Everyone knows that sort of selfish, last-minute attitude will land her in the world of hurt she's in right now. And telling you the truth, this took me by surprise! She's never that excited whenever we go together for coffee. All that reservation - and that whack prejudice of hers, don't get me started - vanished without. A. Trace. That's a humbling if I ever saw one!

Our little escapee here has a long road ahead of her after running off under the cover of an unexpected explosion. She can throw a punch, but the world is a whole meaner foe to go up against than our speedy friend a minute ago. What is Arthropeudics plotting? What spineless soldier will Mk.IV go up against next? What the fuck is a Pelgiohm, and what kind of nasty name is 'Gu'?'

Find out next time as she first looks for breakfast, maybe a change of clothes too, on: Spineless Quest Episode 2 - To Eat Or Be Eaten. Toodles!"

(This will be the end of the first quest as per what I have planned. Thank you all for entertaining my attempt at what I have been stewing for a bit. Since it's still a long way for the thread to fall off, I'll be available to answer any questions you guys may have.)

>>5165886
Curious what picking the mystery box would havw revealed

>>5165886
cute

Thanks for running QM, no questions as of right now.

>>5165886
Actually, nevermind, I do have a question.

Why is the quest called Spineless quest?

>>5165958
A different outcome than what you guys got; but that is a given.

>>5166470
Had quite a hard time what to name this quest. Resorted to something simple. "Spineless" as in no vertebrae, for that is one of the defining traits of inverts by which this story is based around. By no means will this strictly limited to Insecta and its allies. The other contenders were Coleoptagrammaton, and GU.

Also, what are appropriate tags for eventual archiving? As well as general feedback.

>>5165886
2 things
First, I love the art but sometimes they look too abstract to me and I'm unable to comprehend what they are supposed to be showing. Example, this >>5163611 I cannot decipher what it shows
Second, when is the next part planned?

>>5166890
Quest name, QM name, mutants, dystopia, genetic enhancements, female MC, anthropods

>>5166977
>Quest name, QM name, mutants, dystopia, genetic enhancements, female MC, anthropods
Duly noted.

I'll keep in mind producing more easily comprehensive depictions. As you can see, I'm not the greatest at illustrating-- and there's a lot left to be desired in the range of illustrating movement, responding to the referred picture you provided. To give clarification, it's supposed to be the agent spinning. Would it be better sticking to character frames, like >>5160252 ? I'm happy that you like the little sketches, anyhow. Brings to me much fun!

>>5167018
Almost forgot to say: Perhaps this Saturday? Due to the nature of the board, I fear clogging it with threads. I hear QMs make use out of Twitter, but I'm pending; I don't normally use such media.

>>5167023
You should be forewarned that I'm pretty sure there is some rule or something where you can only make 3 threads per IP or something before you can no longer make any more until they fall off the board. So if you continue making threads at this rate you'll not be able to make any more until one falls off. Normally we just stick with one thread until it falls off the board. If you need to take a break or hiatus just say so and say you'll return by approximately "X" date.

And yes, QMs who are serious do tend to make a twitter to alert anons for when a new thread is coming up or to warn anons if they aren't going to be able to make a new thread when they initially said the next one would be or something. It isn't necessary to make one, but if you don't make one and then fail to make a new thread by the next date you gave at an end of a thread or go months without making a thread then people will assume you've died and lose interest and your next thread may not get as much attendance as it otherwise would have.

>>5167281
I did plan to take the week off and start up back again at the aforementioned day. If I do deliver by then, I'll have to commit to the new one for a longer time than this here, which is perfectly okay of a decision for me. Feel lame now for tying a bow this early. As for Twitter -- going by what you said -- I'll hold off on it then. Thank you!

>>5165886
Really like your quest and art style! Good stuff!