[The Hulk] VERONICA ... into the future! [Ve1.1]

edited January 2011 in In-Game
as the moments run together

It is dark, and it is cold, and you know neither where you are nor where you are going.

Somewhere behind you (far, far behind you) is the place where you awoke, but you had to abandon that after Tammy's death. Maybe that wasn't entirely rational, maybe you should have waited for ... for command to send assistance or to otherwise contact you, but you couldn't just sit there alone with her corpse.

At first, with your flashlight playing over glass walls and cyclopean gulfs, it seemed reasonable. You could only remember bits and pieces, but you thought that you at least knew the way to open sky. The trucks were useless, with no gasoline in the tanks or the cans (how could that have been allowed to happen?), but you had a light and you had food, and you didn't think it was more than a couple days' easy march.

But your flashlight died before the first day was out - your batteries all seemed old and weak, and they didn't last nearly as long as they should have. You've been walking with one hand on the cold glass wall, skipping openings and staying to the main passage ... if your memory can be trusted (can it?), that's the right thing to do.

Your fingers slide along glass, smooth and endless, and you can feel the vastness of the passage like a brooding pressure, stretching out above, behind, ahead. You are cold enough for gradual misery, if not cold enough to freeze and eventually die of it. And the darkness plays tricks on you. You think you see things, and ghost sounds come to you out of imagination and memory.

Memory blurs with fantasy, in the dark. Is there really a light somewhere up ahead? Did you really wake hours (days?) ago in an alien spaceship? Is Tammy Jackson, your friend, really dead? When you sleep, you dream of walking through darkness, and when you walk, you seem to dream. You might be going mad, Ronnie.

Roll+cool to act under fire, with the fire being near-total sensory deprivation. On a 10+, you keep it together just long enough to reach light. On a 7-9, you freak out a bit, and you misplace something important to you in the darkness (what?). On a miss, you cannot trust any your memories of anything since waking from stasis, and you take psi-harm as soon as you see non-imaginary light (roll the psi-harm).

Also, roll+sharp for your beginning of session move, as your memories blur together with hallucinations.


  • Beginning of Session Move


    Acting under fire to keep it together


    xp = 1
  • ouch.

    And psi-harm for the miss.

  • Coulda been worse. Ask me a question from your list, then.
  • My question from the Past. "What did we try that failed?"

    (Is psi-harm tracked like harm? Or put on the regular harm track? I have no idea.)

    I stumble through the cold dark. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm alive at all. Maybe I'm in hell, or at least purgatory? Did I do so badly? My cold fingers are tracking back the hard beads of the Rosary mom gave me when I was 16. I can't see them. Surely I can't be in hell and pray the rosary? Am I on the 3rd glorious mystery or the fourth? Wait, maybe I'm on the Luminous mysteries. Did I do the Our Father? I don't know what day it is anyway. I'm lost again. Tammy's dead? Is she? I remember her face. And the blood. My blood? I'm a murderer. Of course I'm here. It's like being blind and deaf. Only touch is real. But it's so cold, that even that seems distant.

    The light and pain come at the same time, my head fills up with every sense at once, overwhelming. I sink to the floor whimpering covering my face.
  • (Psi-harm just happens. There's no countdown clock, like with ordinary harm.)
  • edited January 2011
    You remember the fine, cold dust of the no-man's-lands in Illinois and Indiana, blowing in the air as the containment crews poured tons and tons of concrete over each of the ground-zero blast zones, trying to cap some of the radiation in the ground.

    In America, the Midwest was the first region to be hit by the little seed pods, infecting the landscape with ... something. You don't remember what, or maybe we never figured it out. And when the animals started to die and the vegetation started to twist and rebel, we tried almost everything to kill the infection. But none of that worked.

    So we nuked it, and that at least kind of worked. It burnt out the bugs, at any rate, and for a time the spread seemed to have halted, but we soon found that it was too late, that the infection had already spread in the air and in the water.

    Near the end, you think someone told you even the bomb, maybe, was just a setback for the infection. Something about radiation levels dropping off, like the bugs were gradually eating the shit right up. Give it twenty years, they said, and all sign of the Midwestern United States Tactical Decontamination would be gone. Gone, except for blasted cities and concrete plugs.


    Stars explode behind your eyes as something strikes you across the side of your face, and you realize you're struggling, fighting crazily against, who? Some people ... five or six, or maybe more. Your eyes are tearing up and reflexively screwing shut against actinic yellow light, so you're not really certain. They're trying to take hold of you, you think, and you are suddenly surrounded by grasping hands.

    Ahead, you glimpse someone falling away from you, clutching at her nose, blood dripping between her fingers.

    What do you do?
  • I don't even know if these people are fucking real or not. Am I too fucked up to read the sitch?
  • No, not at all. Go for it.
  • #DiceRoller(2d6+1)
  • edited January 2011
    Oh ... kay.

    Well, at this point you kind of have to go with your gut. This feels real, but a sufficiently vivid hallucination might seem pretty true to life. And as your eyes painfully adjust to the light, what you begin to make out is like something out of a strange, black-glass hell.

    Intense yellowish light bathes the scene, splashing off dark glass and diffusing through drifting clouds of black dust. The glass of this vast passage seem to have come alive, with huge pillar-like arms swinging down out of the darkness above, their lower extremities splitting and flexing with compound agility like a nest of giant, shiny-black spiders spilling into sudden existence.

    Men and women scuttle about carrying burdens, indistinct through the clouds of black glass. Others sit above the mess of ant-like activity, sitting on elevated thrones, each throne utterly unique and elaborate. Many wear masks, like gas masks and respirators. Even as you look up, more of them stop what they're doing and look your way.

    Right around you is just a handful of people, all but a couple of them masked. The one is still staggering back, unmasked ... you think, yes, she had been leaning over you, reaching for you, and you broke her nose for her when she touched you. The others are rushing at you now, about to try to subdue you.

    There's a weird keening and whining in the air, very loud, a sound like a cross between a band saw warming up and nails being drawn across a chalkboard.
  • My rifle is slung, I got tired of carrying it in the endless dark. Stupid. I won't be able to get it around in time. So I whip the 9 mil from my hip, locked and loaded, pointing it at them two-handed, my rosary beads still wrapped around my left hand, the little crucifix dangling below. I'm swinging the nose of the pistol in a wide arc, trying to cover the people coming at me. Even if this is a hallucination, I seem to be able to hurt them.

    "Get away! Back off or I'll fucking shoot."

    I really will too.

    Going Aggro I want them to back off and keep away from me.
  • #DiceRoller(2d6)
  • The delusions, if they are that, seem to believe you. At least, when the gun comes into play, they stop short just like that.

    But you're jumpy as hell, and you don't really have control of the situation. They're all around you, and now all the scuttling denizens are looking your way - all the ones you see out across the floor of black dust and animated glass. Some got behind you, and you swing around to cover them as well ... you meet their eyes through dirty lenses in all varieties of baroque gas masks.

    You catch motion out of the corner of your eye, and turn to see someone edging toward you. You pull the trigger reflexively, and it all turns wild after that. You've hit someone, though you don't think it was the man who'd moved, and now they're rushing you.

    Someone's hand is on your forearm, forcing your gun up, uselessly waving in the air. You get hit a few times, battered around, though your armor stops most of it. A piece of something like a black pipe clips you on the jaw, and you take 1-harm (accounting for gang and armor), staggering.
  • I feel a little bad, but ... the harm move:

    #DiceRoller( 2d6+1 )
  • Ok! You break free of the press for a moment. You still have your weapons and your rosary, and you've regained your footing. Your assailants back off, hesitating now that your pistol is free again.

    And then you register something large moving, and you look over. The wide passage is populated by these columns of living glass reaching down out of darkness above, like square pillars four or five feet across, their descending tips splitting apart into intricate, clattering limbs.

    One of these, nearby, is lifting up out of the glass pit it seemed to have been working in, and it begins to jerk toward you, black dust shedding off of it as it moves.
  • (I have 1-harm then?)

    Well. I can't intimidate that thing. My first instinct is to run, to get away. And I follow it. I bolt, shoving the people in my way out of it as hard as I can. Not really paying attention to direction so much, I haven't got the lay of the land. Just away from that thing, these things.

    Acting Under Fire?
  • #DiceRoller(2d6+2)

    xp= 2
  • edited January 2011
    There's these guys who were just swarming you a second ago, and they look kinda ready to fight, despite a bit of hesitation at that gun. Unfortunately (?), they're also between you and the dark passage back into the bowels of the ship.

    The other way, though, you see other men and women, even some children, and that bunch looks more like cautious spectators. If you charge in there, that big pillar-limb probably won't be able to get at you. That'll buy you a few moments, but it won't get you any real room to breathe.

    But you're charging into those onlookers, and they're mostly scattering, and there's this skinny-looking woman in a paper respirator mask. She just freezes up as you're bearing down on her. You could easily just grab her, take her as a hostage ... not civilized, but you'd at least have a chance get a grip on your situation.
  • I'm not thrilled with the hostage idea. But I'm outnumbered and certainly outclassed by those pillar things. I grab her around the neck flipping us both around and pulling her against my chest. I'm pointing the pistol at her head. Making my threat clear.

    "How do I get out of here?" I hiss in her ear.

    (I guess that's a manipulate with the threat of killing this lady right?)
  • If you're actually willing to shoot her, it's going aggro. Are you?
  • edited January 2011
    Now that I've got her like this, I'm not sure she's a hallucination. And I'm having these terrible images of Tammy and what I did there going through my head. I don't think I can kill her all helpless like this, even if I'm in danger. If she was coming at me with intent, that's another thing. So no, it's manipulate. I want them to back off, or I threaten to shoot this woman in the head.
  • #DiceRoller(2d6+1)

    xp = 3
  • Well, you get your breathing room. The woman in your grip there, she's just too fucking terrified to really hear you, much less give you directions out of here. The others around you, they back off again, but you're getting these stony, ugly looks. Not too promising.

    The giant, keening pillar-things are settling down, though. One by one, they still themselves, fold up into simple, seamless, square-cornered columns, and go quiet. And then two more people come out of the crowd, pushing a little but mostly having way made for them.

    One's a big pale Nordic bruiser with a swollen black eye, and the other is a scrawny-looking little woman with swarthy, vaguely-Asian features. They each look very serious, and they carry a very serious gun. You don't at all recognize the make or model, but they're these glossy black smgs, and they're being handled quite professionally.

    To your left, three more emerge from the press and fan out a bit to force you to cover more angles. A couple of them are carrying odd-looking combat shotguns, and one of these is a middle-aged man with a bit of a paunch. He's got the stock of his shotgun up against his shoulder, ready to shoot.

    He tells you: "Let her go, young lady. Right this minute."
  • Too many guns. Scary guns. Too close and I'm alone. And they'll get behind me. Even if I can prevent that, If they're smart they'll get a sniper in somewhere. And I can't scare this woman any more. That was stupid. I'm not entirely sure if this is real or not, but that's no excuse. And I'm so... overloaded. My head is still hurting from the stimulation and I'm suddenly very tired.

    I let her go. I put my sidearm on safety and slowly set it on the ground, then stand back up with my hands up where they can see them. My rosary still dangles from my left hand.

    "I'm sorry. I just... Who are you people? I'm on the...the ETV right?"
  • Your hostage flees, darting away from you crabwise and merging into the crowd. Some of the others are patting her on the back, whispering things, but she's soon lost to sight.

    "Right, I have no idea what you're talking about, young lady. You just shot one of our workers. Give me one reason we shouldn't put you down right now."
  • I want to read the guy.

  • How could I get him to not have me shot?
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