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General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« Last post by RedVulnus on July 18, 2021, 11:26:25 pm »
don't mind me, cleaning the cobwebs
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« Last post by saltmummy626 on June 03, 2021, 01:57:14 am »
I will devastate you all!
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« Last post by Chaosvolt on April 17, 2021, 03:49:58 pm »
Celebratory Sixpost after logging onto the forum from new PC.
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« Last post by RedVulnus on April 04, 2021, 11:51:33 pm »
zzzzz*snore* wha? whose been knocking on the crypts again?
Rec Room / Re: A History of Time to Come
« Last post by RedVulnus on March 25, 2021, 03:21:30 pm »
Sokolov walked with a dozen loyal couriers. They weren’t loyal to the company nor Alice, but to the middle aged russian that had given them their new life. His old contacts from his past life had left him with a catalogue of locations and now he’d made his way to one of them. His men followed him into the building and found themselves in an old house, a picturesque living situation for a family of five underneath all the damage.

Walking to the living room Sokolov held his hand out and waited. After a moment one of the men put the sledgehammer in his hands. Twenty minutes later and the men, Sokolov’s Sparrows, pulled the wooden crate free of what remained of the concrete. After a nod from their leader the men opened it and stared at the contents in surprise. Pulling out one of the rifles the first man examined the AK, thankful for his gloves so the old wood didn’t leave splinters. “Soviet?”

Sokolov nodded as he lit his cigarette and walked “Dah, Soviet era. Remnants from ancient plans made by men long dead. Now they will serve us as they once served the men of the red star.”

Carrying the crate out one of the men pointed out the gear needed to be fixed. Sokolov shrugged as he said “That will be taken care of in time. First we get the rest and then we go to the Church for Agmen’s blessing.”

Within the next three hours the men had crates of AKs, Dragunovs, PKMs, SKSs, and a crate of RPG launchers and a large supply of attachments for the guns. From there they made their drive towards the church. Sokolov sat and smoked, smiling as he put together the pieces of his plan. He’d protect his other self’s daughter, and from there he’d do what he could to make things better.

The pair of old military trucks pulled up to the church and stopped. Their thirteen passengers jumped out wearing tan combat gear, a rifle hanging from each man’s sling. Two of them approached the church entrance as the others pulled the cloth off of the back of the trucks revealing the old crates. Sokolov put his cigarette out as he neared the door of the church. He wanted to make a good first impression after all.

The nun that came out of the church wasn’t quite what he’d expected. She wore a habit like those he’d grown up around but hers was stained with grease and machine oil. A belt of tools wrapped around her waist and a bandoleer that looped over her shoulder held parts for machines that she’d been charged to care for. Giving Sokolov a smile she asked “What brings you to the church of Agmen?”

Sokolov returned the smile as he said “I need my weapons blessed, and repaired if possible. I also come with gifts for the church.” As he says this two of his men bring a crate of the old AKs up behind them.

The nun stared for a moment before saying “Oh my. I think I need to go find someone more important than myself to handle this.”

A few minutes later and a trio of nuns were following a man out to the truck. He rushed over and stared at the array of crates as one of Sokolovs men said “We got ten crates of AKs, packed em tight so we got about fifteen per crate. Two crates Dragunovs, three crates PKMs, five  crates SKSs. I’d say we could give the church a crate of AKs, one crate of SKSs, and three Dragunovs and PKMs.”

Sokolov looked at the man, whom he presumed to be a bishop of some sort, and said “I assume the nun told you what I want. My friend just told you what I have to offer.” Picking up one of the old AKs Sokolov examined it “They could function with little work I imagine, but I want to be sure. I know your people value these things as well. I also have offer but that would be for higher ups of the church. For now I assume you can make decision on repairing my weapons.”

After some discussion the Sparrows moved the crates into the church proper and left them for repair. As they walked back to the trucks Sokolov gave out the orders “We’ll start getting questions, unhappy comments, all of it. I want the rest of the postal service moving faster than normal, three day trips are two day right now. I want the Sparrows to split up, take some bikes out and get in touch with some of our friends. Alice has been absorbed in her project too much, and right now we need to keep an eye on the new arrivals. I don’t like hearing my mail trucks are getting pulled over by armored humvees.”

One of the Sparrows asked “And what about our other problem? The fucking hordes of zombies we keep dodging?”

Sokolov shook his head “Solution is in church right now, we’ll do our best to deal with that once we have gear for it.”

The men voiced understanding as they mounted the trucks. The sun was setting as they drove out of Walkerville and back to the Postal Station.  Sokolov had a feeling something was coming and he wanted to be prepared.

Meanwhile three dirt bikes tore through the abandoned highway. The bikes were custom jobs, not the standardized bikes the postal service issued. The rider in the back pulled the Uzi from his jacket and fired at the sprinting zombies chasing them. “One. Two. THREE!” he said as he took out the closest of the zombies.

The trio were in charge of getting a special package back to Walkerville. The run had been fine until they’d run into a horde that had migrated ahead of schedule. “You know I thought the crews were trying to keep this one corralled in that old city a few miles north!”

The second biker tossed a pipe bomb over his shoulder as he responded “Crew must have bit the dust then cause these fuckers sure are hungry!”

The explosion had taken care of a few but the biker bringing up the rear still fired on target after target. As he reloaded the Uzi he added “Well I don’t exactly care about the crew right now. I care about us getting back home with all our limbs!”

The lead turned them off the highway and tossed a bit of bait off to the side as he told them “Shut up you two! We’re Sparrows, we’re gonna make it just fine!”

Thankfully most of the zombies ran after the bait as the trio tore down the road and out into the countryside. The few that were left the man in the rear took out with his Uzi as the lead took them onto a trail in the woods the Sparrows had mapped out and rigged with a few surprises for anyone following them. The trio rode fast through it and out the other side to find more zombies waiting. Coming to a halt they looked at each other. “Guess it’s gotta be the hard way then.”
Rec Room / Re: CDDA: Adventures in Cataclysm
« Last post by Chaosvolt on March 19, 2021, 06:21:13 pm »
(( Written with Salt. ))

Dr. Chelsea watched the tank roar to life as he had watched so many other vehicles do over the last several years. The Hell's Raiders, God's Army, and numerous small savvy survivor groups had come and gone before these. Never before though had a group gone dragging Dr. Chelsea's apprehension like this before. Medeina hadn't meant to be malicious back then, but even now it was hard to see it that way. Hard to see her as anything but a soulless butcher when he'd watched or been forced to watch as she set the creatures kept within her labs onto his colleagues and co-workers for the sake of research. It was an event in his life he couldn't reconcile, and watching the man in armor and the young lady with him go with the machine who he felt had arbitrated the collapse of the Tabula Rasa Project gave him the same sense of needless loss that the previous gangs of salvagers and thugs had not.

Charles Chelsea watched until the sound of the tank faded into the background hum of New Eden's pleasant drone and sighed. Then, he turned away back to the small apartment where he sequestered himself away from the worlds new more dangerous wildlife.

"So!" Minx chimed enthusiastically scooping up the papers Hector had placed casually on one of the siege towers seats on the way to his accustomed place in the driver's seat, "Where to first?" Medeina scrabbled fitfully at one of the other seats before Minx set aside the sheaf of documents and hoisted the small robot up next to her.

"I recommend as Dr. Chelsea suggested. My lab, the central hub. It is likely that it will be the safest and most productive of the five. We will of course need to take a stop at the tenjin lab, which will be safer but not nearly as well stocked." Medeina said.

Hector had given thought to Dr. Chelsea's hesitation, internalizing it and thinking it over as they drove on, deciding to humor Medeina's suggestion that they stop by her original lab station first. "We might as well go there first then, get through the hard part first." he added.

As they went along however, he took time to give his equipment a once-over, as best as he could while driving. Sword and shield, obviously. M4 was hung by its strap nearby, he recalled it had a fresh magazine in but wasn't chambered, with two spares among his gear. And then there were his bionics, checking briefly that he was still at full power and that his EMP bionic reported normal. Still only got that one power cell...

At least it was still working, that much was a relief to him. Given the circumstance, as much as he tried to focus on the task at hand and use that equipment check as a means to keep himself busy, there was that faint worry that he might need that EMP projector again, sooner or later.

The Paved road of the small town had given way to a more roughly paved backroad, and before long even that gave way to an even rougher dirt road that Hector had to slow down on. The Siege Tower had a good suspension, but even Catnip's improved shocks couldn't keep the tank from jostling around and threatening to bite a tongue or jam ones tailbone up into ones skull. Hector glanced again back at the woman and the robot, those two hardly noticing the hard ride the road was providing, and looked back just in time to see something dart out of the swamp on the right in front of the tank.

Even ten years on, the impulse to slam on the brakes was still strong and Hector did so with the preternatural speed of a man who often had to make snap judgements while driving. Still, something disappeared beneath the treads of the tank. Hector hoped that the two in the back wouldn't notice. In fact, he knew for a fact they wouldn't notice just another bump among all the others, but immediately the reality of his "fact" was shattered.

"What was that?" Minx asked, startled. Hector sighed, of course they'd noticed.

"Rolled over some kind of animal with the tank." He explained.

"What? Stop the tank!" Minx ordered, more than a little alarmed. Hector craned his neck around and saw what Quinn had seen before leaving, the womans depth of concern for life in general. Only a few seconds had gone by, but they hadn't got much further than the point of impact.

Minx was the first one out of the tank, bounding to see exactly what Hector had smashed. "Looks like you mashed some poor fella's dog, Sarge." Minx intoned, blandly bemused. Hector crawled out behind her and saw why. Whatever he'd hit, it wasn't a dog. It looked like a slug, but covered in mud colored chitin and bearing a pair of long bladed claws on either side of a long broad beak with a series of what he guessed to be eyes going up it near the center. The tank had rolled over it's middle, neatly crushing it in half.

Hector was out of the tank almost immediately after her, looking around warily just in case the noise and their sudden halt were to attract attraction, not even having the presence of mind to make a remark about being called sarge. "Well, if that's what passes for a dog in this area, I'd hate to see what its owner looks like." he offered in response.

Movement caught their attention and Hector had stepped forward, instinctively putting Minx and Medeina between himself and the tank. The thing emerging from the brush from the side of the road was far less imposing than the motorcycle sized monstrosity laying crushed in the road. In fact, to Minx, it was a very welcome sight.

"It's a coyote!" She whispered sharply, "But it's so small!"

It was small. Almost as small as a large house cat, but at the same time, it appeared to be proportional normal giving it the appearance of a full sized example of it's kind. The thing that he'd seen run in front of the tank had now made it's appearance, he recognized it now that it had come back to see what had become of the monster pursuing it, and only Hectors unintended intervention had saved it. It warily sniffed at the monster, then darted back into the brush to escape the attention of the newcomers.

"Wow, was it a pup?" Minx asked, a little out of breath. Again, Hector was amused at the girls reverence for something so common.

"No." Medeina said. "They are not often seen, but there is a growing breed of coyote adapted to be smaller than their normal cousins." Minx flinched at the last word, but said nothing while Medeina began to delve into the specifics.

Hector for his part remained alert and wary, mainly wanting to ensure they weren't caught off guard by anything while they were stopped out in the open, giving a little gesture towards the tank. "We should get moving. There are likely scavengers that will be attracted to what we hit, and no telling what they might be like." he said.

Minx looked around remembering just where she was. "Oh, yeah, you're right. I'm sure miss robot here would be all too happy to see whatever that was, but it's probably better to skee-daddle. This ain't normal New England after all. Come on Medi, lets follow the nice knight." Medeina trundled back into the tank with no complaint while Minx gave the tiny canid a little wave. "Driver, carry on!"

With the hatch shut behind them, the treads soon rumbled to life once more, to leave the peculiar encounter behind them and continue on their way, towards the aging facilities that loomed ahead in the distance...
Rec Room / Re: A History of Time to Come
« Last post by saltmummy626 on February 20, 2021, 01:43:37 am »
"Right, that's thirty Chapel Repeaters for New Paris, forty-three refurb jobs on pre-cataclysm arms, and the three of the prototype seeders we put together." Listed off a foreman of the Chapel of Agmen. The litany of fresh outgoing and incoming orders was an oddly calming influence over Rosia. It always came at the end of the work day for her. A simple pleasure that most people wouldn't understand. The other chosen had left long before her, and sitting to listen also gave her time to put space between herself and them. Especially Tom and Patricia. Mean spirited and vile tempered bullies that they were, Rosia had been their target even before being chosen by Catnip. So when she finally left the chapel, she was not surprised to find them waiting for her.

"What's up rat?" Patricia snarked from behind her as she slipped out the chapels small side door, the woman sliding up behind her along with Tommy, looking like he'd lost a game of chicken with heavy traffic. They followed close behind and Rosia could feel the tension of what she knew was coming at the back of her neck. As she predicted, once they were out of the sight of eyes that would be certain to help, Patricia grabbed Rosia by the scruff of the neck and shoved her to the ground. The woman stood over her menacingly and looking less like the bitchy college chick and more like the wicked witch. "So that little cunt across the river beat seven shades of shit out of Tommy here and on top of that, seems to think YOU'RE going to be the next Artifex. YOU of all people. Well, that doesn't suit us at all."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Rosia said, trying to get back up and dust herself off. Her next words and attempt were cut off rather crudely by Patricia's casual slap across Rosia's mousey face.

"Don't talk back to me, rat. Don't you dare. I'm in no mood for your whining. I swear, the gall of Catnip for even considering you..."

"Don't talk about Catnip that way..." Came another voice from nowhere. There was a quick flash of something red and angry, and then a jar collided with the side of Tom's head and filled the air with the smell of strawberry jam. Rosia saw an odd shimmer in the air a mere ten or so feet away, but only for a second.

"OOOOWW! Holy fuck, what-" Tom began before another jar painfully collided with his hip, bouncing harmlessly aside to land safely in the grass.

"Who's there!?" Patricia cried in a screamy voice that belied her fright at being suddenly assaulted by something she couldn't see. A second later, Mona appeared for a split second and a third and final jar arched out and slammed squarely into Patricia's left breast. "OW! WHAT THE FUCK!"

"Why don't you get lost you two, stop harassing your betters."

"Is that Mona? Little bitch, we know where you live." Patricia screamed at the invisible girl.

"And I know where you live, Patricia Baines. I know where you live and now you can't even see me. Get lost."

Patricia sneered and didn't move for a moment, not until a stiff breeze that was not the wind passed too close by and she flinched away from it. "We aren't done!" She shot at Rosia, "Next time you won't have some invisible daddyless cunt to protect you! Come on Tommy!"

Once they were gone, a firm unseen hand grasped her by the elbow and helped hoist Rosia to her feet. The cloak slipped down, turning into a scintillating blanket like thing hung around Mona's neck. Her skin had turned the stark red of anger and Rosia had to take a step back for fear of being bludgeoned with a jam jar. Red faded to a lighter shade of pink, and then the sandy tan of Mona's usual skin color.

"I um, wanted to come by and thank you for keeping me company. I saw those two hanging around and figured something was up, so I went to find help. Took me too long, so I grabbed some jars and... Sorry I was a bit late." Mona said, becoming a bit more self conscious as she explained.

"You could have just gone inside..." Rosia suggested. Mona turned red again, but only for a moment.

"Yeah... Sorry... Um, would you mind coming by again? I don't have many friends, and I'd like to show somebody I can trust the stuff my aunt gave me."
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« Last post by saltmummy626 on February 20, 2021, 12:46:36 am »
Sixpost powers activate!
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« Last post by Caconym on February 01, 2021, 04:14:20 pm »
Rec Room / Re: A History of Time to Come
« Last post by RedVulnus on November 03, 2020, 01:04:53 am »
The trio of armed humvees continued to creep forward with the armored plates covering the windows. The drivers saw the terrain ahead through their helmets visors connected to the armored cameras on the hood. The gunners wore armor so heavy it required the exoskeletons they wore to be able to stand and maneuver the guns.

The humvees were numbered 11, 12, and 13. The Wolves may have borrowed the cars but they came with their own operators. It was tradition among the Bears, who were the New Vermont Military’s armored vehicle operators and heavy infantry, for the gunner and driver to name their vehicle which they would crew together until joint promotion or the vehicle was rendered permanently non functional. 11 was named Rover, 12 was Shock, and 13 was Lucky.

Lucky’s gunner was Akuma, her driver was Tenshi. As they creeped over the terrain Tenshi heard Akuma over the headset “Suppressing.” in response to the calls of ‘bounding!’ from the Wolves. She was also acutely aware of the rifle rounds pinging off the armor plating of the humvee. The low growl of the engine punctuated by the pinging and the ‘thud thud thud’ of the machine gun up top filled her ears.

She was about to push forward to the next position so they could continue to cover the wolves when she heard Akuma scream.Switching the visor off Tenshi turned to see Akuma trying to pull his helmet off. “Shit fucking shit fuck!” Akuma yelled as he ripped the bullet out of the visor of his helmet as Tenshi started checking his vitals.

“Suit says you're good, maybe a concussion Akuma.” Tenshi hesitated a moment as she read the vital signs a bit better “Green light?”

Akuma pushed himself back to his feet as he said “Green light, I’m still good Tenshi.” before standing back up and opening fire with the machine gun again. The staccato of gunfire blurred as Akuma pulled the trigger and didn’t let go as Tenshi rushed to get them caught up with the others.

Switching to the auxiliary Akuma poured high explosive grenades into the building’s third floor silencing the DSHK that had been firing on the infantry.  A few minutes later and the infantry were in.

Gambler was in the lead with a custom made UMP chambered in 5.45.  The exosuit he was wearing was designed to be light, offering little additional protection to his vest, but aided in movement and weapon handling. Even with the suit he either fired in short bursts or single shots as he moved through the building.

The majority of these raiders were ill equipped to handle the co-ordinated teams pushing through the building.As Alpha team pushed into the second floor ‘public’ area, an old room where the former tenants of the building could congregate for social events, they opened fire on a group of raiders that was running from Bravo team.

The raider in the lead managed to get the words “In front!” out before a spray of .45 acp tore into his unarmored chest. The next few were still surprised by the men now in front of them and failed to respond when more gunfire ripped through them. The rest managed a few shots before the expert soldiers slaughtered them. Gambler reloaded as he looked to Bravo’s leader and said “Good work Joker, time for the last floor.”

Joker shrugged as the pair walked together towards the next stairwell. “Aye but that’s assuming Akuma leaves a third floor for us to clear. They shot him in the visor and unlike you if it had gone through he wouldn’t have gotten back up. Think they might have poked the bear.”

Climbing the stairs they found what they’d expected. The third floor had been mostly decimated by gunfire. Gambler and Joker both walked through the wrecked third floor executing any surviving raiders. The voice of Akuma came over the radio “Lucky 13 here, you boys done inside?”

Joker gave Gambler a nod and he said “Yeah, they’re all dead.”

Elsewhere TJ and Drifter walked through the bazaar looking at differing items and shops. TJ was rather excited to be looking around as Drifter quietly watched the crowds. He recognized the old troublemakers, who for the most part were still making trouble, and some other old faces from when he left.

He wasn’t surprised to hear Heinric’s voice as his friend said “I got the package you left me. It’s safe.”

Drifter looked over his shoulder to see TJ talking with one of the merchants, doing a surprisingly good job of haggling. “And the other thing we’ve talked about?”

“Mila is agreeable so long as she’s not at the bottom of the ladder. I know where to procure some of the hardware we’ll need. But building the ‘crawler’ is going to take more man power and resources then I know how to get.”

“I don’t care Heinric. We’ll find a way. For now we’ll get the armor, vehicles, and weapons together. Tomorrow the painful part begins.” Drifter said and started to walk.

In truth Drifter didn’t know quite what they’d be doing. But what he’d recovered, the data specifically, was something he could finally use to start trying to build something. The data specified a successful way to connect the human brain to an advanced computer system. Whoever had built 23 had been a madman.

He’d be the first subject of it’s new implementation. But first he’d finish his shopping trip with TJ. Retrieving his wallet Drifter handed the merchant TJ had been haggling with his money and the pair went to the next stall.

Two hours later

Drifter walked into the building that Heinric and his men lived in. A three story affair with a basement the front room of which acted as a bar for the now former mercenaries. It was the basement where Heinric’s men had assembled the necessary facility and gear. As he entered Drifter removed his right forearm and disconnected Ava from his earpiece. A robotic body was being constructed for her.

Laying down on the table he felt the doctor strap him down and attach several devices to him. The automatic surgery machines in the room had been programmed appropriately, and the specialty gear that was required for the process was ready to go. Closing his eyes Drifter let the world fade as the anesthetics kicked in.
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