Rolled 1, 13 = 14 (2d20)
>>6054436>>6054484>>6054501>>6054820>>6055113>>6055517You refuse to be paralysed by indecision; facing your fears you recline in the pod and carefully reach for the slim artech data jack. You carefully prise up the fake flesh at your temple and brace yourself. The jack slides home, shocking your nervous system as connections are reestablished and the implant powers back up.
<span class="mu-b">’COMMIMP-02’ ONLINE.
ENTERING SIMULATION: ‘2v2_legacy_AS-24_bossmod_final2.sim’</span>
You blink and your senses black out for a moment, leaving you feeling adrift as the ship's computer loads the scenario. In that timeless moment the sensations you associated with your ‘implant sickness’ return, almost welcome in their familiarity. You hadn't really noticed their absence but now the claustrophobic feeling of being constricted and bound returns in full force, contrasting incongruously with the agoraphobic sensation of a vast and endless void all around you. Unusually, your left toes are also experiencing a dull throbbing sensation, which is a new one.
Before you can process much more than that, light blooms before your eyes and you find yourself strapped into the cockpit of an AS-24 ‘Foxbat’. The essential indicators and readouts are already lit and a slight vibration rumbles through you — the only g-forces able to make it through the banking fighter’s inertial dampener. As the last of your senses finish attuning to the very immersive simulation, a furred hand enters your field view and adjusts the trim settings alerting you to the presence of the vessel’s other occupant.
“You took your sweet time loading in, Ell-Cee.” A sweet, alto voice comments, backed up by the Ulvengs's deep, predatory growl and toothy grin. “Did you get your headset stuck in the pod door, or something?”
“Or something...” You give her a meaningful look and tap your temple twice.
“Ah, I see.” Your Navigation officer’s wolfish smile fades slightly, but quickly morphs into a determined snarl as she wrenches the fighter’s controls in a new direction.
“Well, you’ve got no excuse to be missing any of your shots then, eh? I fully intend to ice these stuck up Betas, so don’t drag me down!” She growls.
“So we can win the ‘bet’ right?” You ask, careful to avoid specifics.
“Hrr? Ah, yeah. That too I guess.” She huffs a laugh.
You shake your head, and double-check your fighter’s status, rattling off what should really be the pre-flight checklist but certain concessions have to be made for the simulation, you suppose.
“Systems appear green across the board, voidplate micro-coating reports no anomalies. LASER capacitors are charged and holding steady and a full ordnance complement of four variable yield missiles are ready in the racks.” You report professionally.
