2510, the Office of Naval intelligence reexamines the Carver Findings and the improved report building upon the prior findings by one civilian scientist, Catherine Elizabeth Halsey, then aged eighteen. Oni's projections matched the grim conclusions of Carver's report up to the year 2525. However, the independent research performed by Halsey predicted a far darker outcome of the projected conflict between the Inner and Outer Colonies of Mankind, that the inaction of the UNSC would spark a war that lasted at minimum for three decades and with the lowest estimated causalities surpassing five billion. The worse case scenario Dr Halsey predicted, the collapse of space fairing human civilization. Upon presenting her independent research to the Office of Naval Intelligence, Catherine Halsey accepted a position within Section III's Special projects division, to conceive a solution and counter to the anticipated interplanetary conflict.
2511, The second generation of the failed super solider project ORION, is initiated, and swiftly renamed by Halsey into the SPARTAN II Project to distance it from the deficiencies of the prior program and the radical shifts from the original project. The most controversial being the selection of the candidates, Young Children selected for their genetic disposition to superior physical and intellectual traits, raised from age six upon and taught warfare and militaristic values to achieve a supreme understanding of war and instill utter loyalty to the UNSC's interests. To screen for select suitable candidates for the program, a database was constructed through the Outer Colony Vaccination program. Initial funding allowed for three hundred candidates for the program, but budget cuts and relocation to other covert and top secret projects, reduced the candidate pool by half.
2517, One hundred a fifty children suitable for conscription into the SPARTAN II Program had been found through the Outer Colony Vaccination Program. However, before the collection of the subjects could begin, the funding available to Halsey and her project was further reduced. In another timeline, the initial suggested reduction of halving the Program's available resource again by half, may have gone through, reducing the tally of the first class of Spartans to a merely seventy five. However, coincidental factors, including the disappointing results of other blacksite projects and a certain high ranking official being caught suddenly ill when budgetary discussion were held, had reduced the loss of funding to the SPARTAN II program by one third instead, for a total of one hundred candidates. Children who would otherwise have lived their lives as civilians, ignorant of the horrors of war, both between the colonies and a threat yet to emerge, are in this version of events, instead chosen and taken from their homes to be trained and raised into SPARTAN super soldiers Cont
It was rather silent in the staff room where Mik had left all the girls, as the girls were all spending their time alone in ways they hoped would be meaningful. Chrysidus was busy reading some old brochures and newspapers from the facility, trying to improve her reading skills. Oreas was testing her powers on some metal wires to try and see if she could power electronics, hoping she could use her abilities to later help Lydia. Anofelis was curled up one of the beds, snoring softly as she was taking a little nap. Laura was double-checking all the rations and also preparing for Vinisha's arrival, having already set up a bed for her. Kamara was crawling on the ceiling, practicing her colour and shape shifting whilst actively on the move. And Morgan was busy playing chess with Ingmar. "Hmmmm, your last move was your unfortunate downfall!" Morgan would say proudly, Ingmar bumbling in response. "You're really good at this, Morgan."
The compliment would make Morgan chuckle heartily. "Well, I am a master tactician! Now, I suggest you think your next move through, lest your king ends up at the end of my blade!" Ingmar would look at the board, before playing a rather defensive move to protect his king. "How predictable. But you missed one important detail..." She'd make a single move which essentially gave her the checkmate. Ingmar kept thinking about his move, before responding calmly. "Well, uhhhh, I don't think I can really do anything? I can move this, but... then that frees up your knight, I think. I'm not sure. I'm not really that good at this chess stuff." Morgan would put her hand on his shoulder. "Nonsense! You're learning well! It is just that you are facing a tactical genius! I am certain that in no time, you will know all the tricks in the book to defeat your opponents!" Ingmar smiled, before speaking more softly. "I honestly prefer the whole... sword training thing we did earlier. Can we do that again?"
Having someone else interested in learning sword-combat was truly wonderful to Morgan. "Why, I'd love to, Ingmar! How about you put the chess pieces back in place?" As Ingmar did such, Morgan would form a smaller blade from some of her own metal armour. Though Chrys was quick to bud in, speaking softly as she looked up from her newspaper. "If you two are gonna play with your swords again, please do it in one of the rooms of the back, please. I really am not fond of all the noise... or the fact Ingmar accidentally threw his sword the last time you did this." Morgan nodded, as she signalled Ingmar to follow her to one of the storage rooms in the back. "Laura, Oreas, did you two know that... Roraima got a prize for being the first to have worked on at least 30 subjects?" Chrys would soon say, making Laura scoff. "With a guy like him holding that title, it's not even a surprise that this place went to hell." It made Oreas chuckle a little, before she'd put some energy into a lamp she had taken, actually making it glow again.
You are Uzumaki Naori, formerly a member of the mercenary organization Akatsuki, now the ‘great Sage’ of the Hidden Rain and of the ancient Shrike clan. After turning against that organization due to a difference in moral compasses – you had one and too many of the Akatsuki did not – you faced many strong enemies in the span of one extraordinary year. That year ended with you facing the awakened Ōtsutsuki Kaguya-hime alone, a duel in which a single misstep could cost your life and quite possibly the freedom of every single living person in the world.
Now, more than a decade after the end of the old Akatsuki largely at the edge of your blade, the top-level terrorist organization of the day is Kara. Divided into the ‘Inners’ off the organization proper and the ‘Outers’ who serve as their business associates, Kara has kept a far lower profile than Akatsuki ever intended to.
Your daughter Makoto has long been helping your village as it’s spearheaded the effort to deal with the Outers, dragging them out into the light for judgment, while your son Shiki almost seems like your favorite kind of ‘lucky idiot’. He played an outsized role in the defeat and capture of an Inner, the foul-tempered artificial woman named Delta, as well as securing the peaceful surrender of a former Inner going by the name Ōga. You should probably be teasing him more about the fact that he’s somehow managed to weasel his way into the good graces of the only two female members of Kara that you know of, but there will be plenty of time for that later. After all, it’s more important in your mind to finish cleaning up after your own generation’s messes while you’re still in your prime.
“Are there any other targets?” you press.
Kashin Koji, an enhanced clone of the legendary toad-sage Jiraiya, is apparently part of some kind of internal schism within the organization and therefore represents your best avenue for advancing against them. After besting him in a fight, he event seems to be cooperative.
“There are plenty of people who have been given advanced prosthetics,” Koji tells you. “If you wanted to go for some kind of ‘clean sweep’ you could target them. But aside from that… there are two. I’m not certain about them however.”
“Why not?” Fū asks.
“Because they were meant to be ‘decomissioned’ by Boro some time ago,” Koji clarifies with a slight frown. “I know I always suspected he could not do so the way Jigen intended.”
Your name is <span class="mu-s">Cheryl Elmore</span>. You are a Peace Keeper of <span class="mu-s">Panopolis</span>, stationed on <span class="mu-s">level 4</span>, the monetary and human-resource capital of the city, and currently you do not know what to do.
Before you, a man is using his body to keep an older woman cornered. He mentioned some money she owes his “organization”, and then using his straight razor, pantomiming shaving motions on his face, saying what a shame it would be if he slipped and cut her face.
<span class="mu-r">“It would be just like that- whoops! Whoops! Unless you got that money we talked about, maybe I'd be a bit more careful, <span class="mu-i">capisce</span>?”</span>
Is he attacking her? Is this a threat? He isn't directly causing harm but... that poor woman! Your training did not cover this, didn't cover most of the stuff you're dealing with on level 4. Criminal families, extortion, and organized violence. It's nothing like punk culture on Level 5...
You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. It's smudged, spattered with god knows what but you still recognize yourself despite all the blood.
Kyle Mercer. 25 years on your way to Hell. Naked, splattered with someone else's blood. Again.
You're trembling, a mixture of nerves and adrenaline. Why? You're sure you're going to find out whether you want to or not. You had been planning on making changes in your life and maybe others. That's why you were going home, right?
You stare into your own pale eyes and see…well, not much. Vitreous orbs, your fleshy windows to the world. You look down at your chest and see your tattoo, directly over your heart. You got it years ago and it meant the world to you but you can't remember when or why.
It was an Ouroboros, black on pale flesh but now streaked with red. You wet your hand in the sink and wash the blood away delicately. The cold water makes you break out in goosebumps. You see the blood on your body is dried. How long have you been standing here? Whose blood do you have on you this time?
You shake your head trying to clear it. "Fuck!" You didn't bother wondering why you couldn't remember anything. It was a consequence of what happened to you when you were younger. The same reason your arms were dotted with circular scars from cigarette burns and small, hard crosses carved into you years ago. It was the same reason the skin across the left side of your face, running down your neck to your shoulder and peck, was shiny and taut. A cruel burn that left those parts of you without feeling. Your long hair only partially conceals the scar tissue.
"You can't desecrate the temple," she'd said. "Only decorate it."
You inhale again, body trembling, and exhale. It's time for a change. You pick up the pill bottle from the sink, uncap it and dump the pills into the toilet. They rattle in with satisfying, porcelain clinks and plops. When you flush you watch a red-blue kaleidoscope of pharmaceuticals tumble to watery oblivion.
You didn't need those anyway. They only slowed you down. Confused you. You look back at yourself in the mirror. You lick your teeth, and taste iron. You feel better already. In fact, you feel Brand New.
What's changed?
>What doesn't kill you Wounds that incapacitate others don't stop you >Whispers in the wind You can catch glimpses into people's thoughts. >Right behind you You have a knack for showing up in places you shouldn't be able to get to
All that you have left is whatever is still in your hotel room and of course what's on the bathroom sink in front of you.
Presently, you're in your own home, though it's more broken-down than you remember it. Though you expect you've gone to hell for the inexplicable, unforgivable crime of murdering your own father, you have so far evaded the endless suffering you deserve. Instead, you've promised to help your imaginary younger self locate some keys, so she can follow said father through secret tunnels under your house. You have a bad feeling about all of this.
Lottie isn't ten steps into the neighboring room before she stops in her tracks, spinning on her heel to face you. "Wait!"
You haven't even reached the doorway. "What?"
"You need a weapon! What if the footsteps are a burglar? What if Daddy..." She doesn't finish. "You're tall enough, right?"
"To—"
"To reach?"
You sigh, duck under the cobwebby doorway, and enter the room. Yes, you know what she means: the neighboring room has a fireplace, and a mantel, and a sword hanging tantalizingly above it. You can reach it now, if you apply your tiptoes, but not then. (And if Aunt Ruby ever caught you moving the furniture, let alone handling something so dangerous, you'd be without breakfast for weeks.)
The Sword is not on your hip, even if it should be, even as you reach for it. It is back above the mantel. You don't like the thought of getting it down again— you don't deserve it. But Lottie's right about the footsteps. You wouldn't mind getting crowbarred by a would-be thief, but she doesn't deserve to die. She hasn't done anything evil yet. Having a weapon could protect her, and maybe you could ironically fall upon it later.
You might as well be carrying a bone, Lottie looks so much like a puppy: all big eyes and trembling anticipation. As you head toward the mantel and reach up, you're surprised she doesn't whimper. You were never allowed pets: your Aunt Ruby would say something about "mouths to feed" and shut down all conversation. As you grasp upon The Sword's hilt and feel a squeeze and glance down to find you're being hugged— again— you're starting to grasp what it might've been like.
"Propriety!" you say automatically, and brush her off you. "Also, I— I'm holding a sword! It's not safe!"
"You're not going to drop it. Since you're so good at it? Right?"
She so desperately wants you to say 'yes.' And the answer isn't 'no.' You're sure you're no master, but you've been trained, somewhere. At some point. You still can't remember. "Um... no matter what, you shouldn't..."
"Can I see it?"
"Only if you're careful." You're holding it above you still. "You're not going to grab it, right? I can't—"
"Who are you?" She folds her arms. "Aunt Ruby? I'm not <span class="mu-i">dumb.</span>"
You're not sure about that, but lower the sword reluctantly. Lottie's face drops at the same time yours does: The Sword is dust-covered and, worse, rust-covered. It's pitted with holes. It looks about as sharp as that prowler's probable crowbar.
We're back. Sorry for the long hiatus but life got a bit hectic there.
Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.
When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.
You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.
Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.
Last time, you caught a Mudkip, made it to the roadhouse and won a friendly one on one battle with Fie's dad.
Jail Quest: a text adventure occasionally illustrated.
A night of drinking and a failed attempt to cheat on cards had landed you the strangest job slash community service sentence you've ever had: ensuring Gongalla Gaol survives the reality storm called Singularity.
Now you travel around with your employer and a handpicked crew to survey the four Reality Anchors. Hey, beats being tarred and feathered, right?
You are Rosa Montagni, and you've had just returned from a successful raid on a cultist cave, only to find a commotion in the town of Pinewatch. A large autowagon came in, claiming from the north; their driver claimed to have had a shootout with bandits. And yet, there's no bullet marks, and while the passengers were wounded, the driver wasn't. Then there's this mysterious gunman camping the back of the clinic, as well as the mischievous goblin girl Rita from the brothel and the missing theatre troupe actor, Hammy. Just as you think things were getting simpler...
Last time, you tied up the final ribbon to the Prison Break mission, reunited people, talked to friends and allies, and left on a high note to rest at home with your bestie by your side. From that, one thing led to another and you find yourself with your friend visiting your favorite neighbor to relax with. As you were helping them get to know each other, an interesting undisclosed topic was brought up that changed the shape of the conversation. One, you weren’t aware hadn’t been discussed yet!
You mentioned that Ajna will be a vibrant trumpeter!
“Crossbill, you know this amazing girl over here is going to become an idol?” You place your hands on Ajna’s shoulders. “She’s part of the agency I’m building and all!”
“<span class="mu-i">…!!!</span>” Ajna looks surprised to be thrown into the spotlight.
“That sounds swell!” Crossbill is more optimistic than you give her credit for. “Why the hell do you have an idol agency…?”
“Woah, Ajna is going to do <span class="mu-s">WHAT?!</span>” Craig is flabbergasted.
“Play the trumpet.” You pantomime it.
“Ooh! I can tell. I bet she’s good.” Crossbill points at the trumpet decoration on Ajna’s blanket.
“Focus on the idol stuff, kid. You’re not pulling my hair, right?” Craig continues being dumbfounded.
“You gotta be careful, he doesn’t have much left.” Crossbill jokes around. Yeah, Craig is balding just as badly as Jesse… “Let’s step back, is this a social media thing that might get serious in the near future or what?”
“Oh, right. Kids get carried away like that...” Craig doesn’t know why he took it so seriously. “Sorry for losing my head there. I overreacted a lil’ bit.” The man scratches the back of his head.
“Doesn’t mean they can’t get a gig to perform somewhere though.” Crossbill is a shit stirrer.
Ajna doesn’t know how to react. As far as you know, her mother didn’t appreciate any of the hobbies she partook in. Maybe she needs some confidence to tell Craig herself, you know the guy, he’s going to be supportive. Or you should protect your talent and explain everything yourself, no need to stress her more than needed.
Either way, the decision is in your hands… Ajna is too busy increasing her vibrations…
<span class="mu-s">What do you do?</span>
>Encourage Ajna to explain it herself. >Explain everything about the agency to quell Craig’s worries and Crossbill’s curiosity. >Be vague about it, let Craig know that Ajna is part of a band, and once she feels comfortable sharing, she’s going to. For now, apologize to Ajna for bringing this up. >Let the music do the talking! Hand the trumpet to Ajna! It’s the only explanation needed. >Write In.
