>>204794
>Run suit and weapon diagnostics, prepare for explicit orders.

>>204962
Writing.

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>>204962
>>204962
>Run suit and weapon diagnostics, prepare for explicit orders.

The BELLATOR knew one thing, even if vaguely, and it was that he needed his suit and weapons to be at top form. Mentally interfacing with the suit, he ran through a diagnostic. Outlines and cross sections filled his view, the tactical visor of his helmet providing a screen for his HUD. It all came back green, reading full operational capability.

Optimal Run Speed: 50mph
Lifting Capacity: 10^4 kg
DIAGNOSTIC SUBSYSTEMS: GREEN
POWER SUPPLY STABILITY: GREEN
MUNITION ASSEMBLY: GREEN
SMARTLINK SCOPE: GREEN
CYCLONIC DEFENSIVE SHIELD SYSTEM: CHARGED

The BELLATOR were monsters, capable of maintaining themselves with maintenance drones stored in the suit’s specialized compartments. Should a BELLATOR’s suit ever need the repairs, that is. The shielding was designed to activate in such a way that it would deflect precisely the bullet that could do harm. Tank rounds, explosives, and environmental hazards would all proc the shielding and save the layers of armor plating from having to attempt deflection. The armor plating itself being some of the strongest stuff the Republic could afford. Considering their deep coffers, the armor was solid.

DIAGNOSTIC of X-002 “CLAYMORE” RECOILLESS ASSAULT RIFLE
SMART DRIFT CONTROL: ACTIVE.
ATTACHMENTS: NONE FOUND.
SMARTMATTER MUNITION PRODUCTION: ACTIVE.

The magazine of the X-002 was a specialized tool, technology that took every egghead the Republic could pay for to manufacture. Theoretically, it could run a single rifle several months, only needing to reload for maintenance purposes. In practice, it was a heatsink that needed to have careful management of bursts. If one fired a stream of bullets for too long, the entire magazine would overheat and the suit’s backup systems would have to manufacture a brand new clip, which took an hour. BELLATOR were given weaponry that would seem to never end. Infinite ammo lent itself to the BELLATOR way exceptionally well.

”BELLATOR,” the voice on the overhead spoke, ”I hope you’re running a diagnostic because we’re desperately needing your input on this mat-” A resounding crack tore through the speaker

Moving through crowds of people scrambling to prepare for boarding craft, you find the bridge filled with marines in cover, firing on Plague monstrosities. Serpentine creatures with human faces slithering into the entrenched marines, thick and mutated Plague troopers offering suppressing fire, and a Plague troop wearing elaborate garb charging the CO.

Roll your choice and 1d100. Higher is better.
>Save the CO
>Prevent the serpent from slaughtering marines
>Charge the supressing fire

>>205097
>Sav the CO

>>205107
Roll me a d100, senpai

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>205097
>>Save the CO

>>205166
Writing.

>>205174
are w eroll for high numbers or low? ether way im sure we will end up beening the sorta leader durning war anyways. im too sure on the lore

>>205193
Higher rolls are better.

>>205204
guse the co is fucked then, hope the low rolls are out of my sytem now

>>205166
>Rolled 1 (1d100)
>>Save the CO

This was a tough scenario for any regular soldier to be in. Luckily, the BELLATOR was no regular soldier. Rather than shooting the Plague leader that was assaulting the CO, the BELLATOR charged. Slamming his massive armor’s shoulder into the creature, he slammed it to the ground. Rolling over to face it, the Plague form was hammered into a fine paste by the gauntlet that his hand controlled. Gunfire echoed overhead, but the BELLATOR went to great lengths to save the CO. He was stuck momentarily, much akin to a turtle.

“BELLATOR! The others!” the man shouted, jumping behind cover as a spray of bullets decorated the command consoles with voids of warped metal. There was a shout, and it was apparent the CO was hit with something. Struggling to regain a fighting posture, the BELLATOR saw the marines suppressed into cover and engaged by the serpentine creature. A Viper, comprised of two corpses and armed with scythes of bone, had impaled one Marine and held his body into the air to be riddled with bullets from its compatriots. The marine’s arms fell limp, and the Viper turned to face the marines in other pieces of cover with a snarl, and split lower mandibles. A small, three-inch-long fin on the top of its head extended as it slithered toward the second of three groups of Marines.

Roll d100, add the bonus that coincides with your vote.
>RIP AND TEAR! TWO BODIES MEANS TWO GUTS! [Attack the Viper in a morale-boosting melee attack, +10]
>Counter-suppress the Plague troopers in order to let the marines deal with the Viper safely [+15]
>Begin Operation: RIP AND TEAR on the Plague troopers, risking they suppress the marines long enough. [+10]

Rolled 76 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>205235
um can i put in a differnt one?
shot at the viper well walking forth towrds it/in the line of fire from the plague troopers to stop the surppression of the marines(as we are now takeing the fire)

>>205235
>>RIP AND TEAR! TWO BODIES MEANS TWO GUTS!

Rolled 36 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>205253
I forgot to roll

>>205247
Normally I'll include a write-in option, but it can be blended with >>205253 so I can make some magic happen.

Writing.

>>205267
ausome thanks

>>205247
>>205253
>RIP AND TEAR, while taking the suppressing fire
>76 to be the wall, 36 to RIP AND TEAR

The BELLATOR drew his weapon, firing shots to get the Viper’s attention. Doing so caused the Plague Troopers to stop, the seven Footsoldier strains readjusting their aim as the massive suit of armor basically screamed. “Hey, fucker!” the BELLATOR shouted through his suit’s speakers. The Viper took three rounds to its back, and spun around. They were intentional grazing shots, to piss it off and set up for a kill befitting the BELLATOR name. It screeched in reply, spittle flying from its split lower jaw and the crystalline covering being the only thing discerning its face from a human skull. The fin stretched, and its scythes were drawn. The BELLATOR dismissed his weapon to a nanopack, which digitized the weapon in storage. Coiling briefly, the monster leaped.

The towering supersoldier caught the creature from the air, spinning to his left to put its back to the Footsoldiers. He heard the sounds of gunfire peppering his armor, and his HUD indicated several impacts. Were there more Footsoldiers, he would have cause for concern, but this was a simple matter. He shoved a fist into the creature’s mouth, grabbing at its right mandible as his right arm was being coiled around. A bubbling ooze of green liquid was forming in the Viper’s throat, only to spill out as the servos in the suit operated to tear the side of the monster’s head off. The chunk of flesh tore away like a hangnail, decreasing in size until it was but a thin strip of meat. The Viper uncoiled from the armor, and with a resounding whir of machinery followed by a bulkhead denting clang! the right boot of the BELLATOR crushed the Viper’s skull. Drawing his weapon once more in a flash of light, the X-002 “Claymore” Recoilless Assault Rifle sputtered bursts that drew fire into the BELLATOR’s armor systems. The marines in cover replied with their own rifles, making short work of the small squad afterward.

Coughing was heard from the CO’s location, “BELLATOR,”

>Order the Marines to tend to the CO while you access the tactical maps
>Personally see to the CO’s aid

>>205329
stand gurds as the men tend to the co, cant have people backstabing

>>205329
>>Order the Marines to tend to the CO while you access the tactical maps

>>205362
>>205391
Writing.

>>205362
>>205391

The BELLATOR reaches a hand over the command consoles, the suit interfacing with the network and tapping into the station’s battle networks. Feeds of information pour over, and he sifts through it with relative ease. He makes a rough count of the Plague forces, standing by the CO as the Marines beckon a medic. The medic comes in, administering painkillers and judicial application of biofoam. The CO coughs up blood, a bullet wound in his leg soiling his white dress uniform.

“BELLATOR,” he coughs, “It’s bad out there. Our fighters are getting mopped up. We weren’t prepared for an invasion like this, nobody is.”
“Don’t worry,” the BELLATOR leans down, still sifting through the information, “I am. Do you have orders?”
“Admiralty Board ordered we fight them in the sky. We need the planet to hold off on its own.”
“The planet couldn’t hold off this, if our seventeen defense platforms couldn’t.”
“Exactly the problem,”
“Listen to the medic, try to organize the crew and assist any evacuation teams. There’s a fleet engaging the Plague forces. Assist as needed, take firing solutions, and-”
“You’re taking charge of this pretty well,” the CO laughed, “Want my job?”
“No. I have to do something.”

INCOMING COMMUNICATION… ADMIRALTY BOARD.
”BELLATOR, you are desperately needed to assist in fleet-based boarding actions. The Plague are putting up an even match for the defensive fleet, an-”
A wave of static interrupts the communication.

COMMUNICATION FAILED. ATTEMPT AGAIN?

As the BELLATOR trudges through the halls, back to the deployment bay his suit has dedicated to it, he contemplates. His daughter is on the planet’s surface. He can assist there, maybe stop the fleet, but he saw the reports. That fleet is doomed. Three cruisers cannot keep up with six, especially considering how the Plague suicide troops into flak artillery and missile-based point-defenses and take over the cruisers. Even if he could tear a hole in the Plague ships with a thought, the sheer number of creatures that would come out would overwhelm him. He had a choice now, and he had to make it.

“Suit, designate self: PRAESES PATER.” It was fitting, “Protecting Father.” That was his name now. That was who he was. He determined that. Eyeing over the lockers one final time, he saw a few loadouts to choose from. They were kits that assembled themselves in his armor’s storage, and as sirens sounded off in his deployment bay it was clear that the Admiralty Board was trying to stop him from dropping to the planet’s surface.

CONNECTION TO ADMIRALTY BOARD TERMINATED, SUIT-SIDE.

They didn’t know how pissed off he was.

>HEAVY: 1x “Bertha” Heavy Machine Gun, 1x Grenade Launcher attachment for X-002
>CQC: 1x “Street Sweeper” Riot Shotgun, 3x Smoke Grenades
>SIEGE: 1x “Tesla’s Bird” BELLATOR-Portable Railgun, 3x Anti-Armor Grenades

>>205520
>>HEAVY: 1x “Bertha” Heavy Machine Gun, 1x Grenade Launcher attachment for X-002
sorry i had passed out

>>206274
Sorry, been distracted w/ dinner and family stuff and anime. Writing.

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>>206274
>HEAVY: 1x “Bertha” Heavy Machine Gun, 1x Grenade Launcher attachment for X-002

Taking the Heavy loadout, Praeses checked the diagnostics. Everything was green, beyond the explanation that he had voided several protocols. He was accosted by several small drones, each of them forming a path to prevent his entry to the drop tube. He swatted them away, dismissing the heavy machine gun into the nanopack. He punched a locker apart, and produced a specialized sidearm, built uniquely for the BELLATOR Squadron.

SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC: COMPLETE
X-046 “BLACK TAPE” PAYLOAD DELIVERY DEVICE ACTIVE
3x ANTIMATTER CHARGES EQUIPPED, DEPLOY SPARINGLY BELLATOR.

The drop-tube’s doors were sealed, airtight. With a stomp, they were dented. Interfacing with a panel, he began a manual override. Praeses would do one job: save his daughter. He just had to find her in the mess. It was a larger terrestrial planet, but thankfully all the pre-attack activity was condensed into one main district, with the rest of the colony devoted to semi-automated mining operations and residential districts. It was about noon local time, so his daughter was likely in the school-proper. He locked coordinates in, only to be interrupted by a speaker in the room itself.

”PRAESES PATER, we order you to stand down! If you continue on this course of action, we cannot guarantee the safety of anyone in this system. You are to cancel this drop immediately, and await further ord-”

Praeses slammed his armored fist through the speakers, and hooked himself in to drop.

MANUAL OVERRIDE ENGAGED.

As the sirens ceased, Praeses inhaled sharply as the tube opened mostly of habit. Various pieces of metal sucked through the tube, the vacuum of space reaching around his suit. In seconds, he was plummeting to the surface. Approaching terminal velocity, his shielding went into overdrive to form a blade around him. The envelope of energy shielding provided ample coverage from the forces of atmospheric entry.

ACTIVATING INERTIAL DAMPENERS… DONE.

Thrusters activated, and the shield flared out at the bottom to take most of the impact, expanding a crater several meters about him. Taking the three-point-stance that the suit was designed to form, Praeses was deposited into a small squad of Plague footsoldiers. Before looking up, he noticed his fist was directly on the bloodstain that was formerly a mutated human corpse. The other Footsoldiers around him were stunned by the shockwave of his impact, staggering about.

>They are brutal, but you are worse. Rip and tear, until it is done.
>Draw assault rifle, begin the epic walk-and-shoot.
>Hold the pose, see what comes.

>>206494
>>They are brutal, but you are worse. Rip and tear, until it is done.

I'm cool with playing Doomquest

>>206494
>>They are brutal, but you are worse. Rip and tear, until it is done.

>>206614
>>206565
Writing. Someone go ahead and roll me 1d100.

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>206625

File: tumblr_o6pvzfCY8b1qjztgpo1_400.gif (1.85 MB, 400x214)

1.85 MB GIF

>>206565
>>206614
>They are brutal, but you are worse. Rip and tear, until it is done.

Praeses was trained for this. He knew exactly how to capitalize on the entry, as dynamic as it was, because that was what the suit’s systems were designed to do. Whether they be rebels or mutant zombies with enough motor function to serve as an equivalent to standard marines, Praeses was trained to do one thing.

And that thing was war.

He charged from the three-point stance, grabbing one of the Footsoldiers by its skull and slamming it into the dirt. With a rev of his boot, he stomped its torso apart. Spinning to the one on his left, he grabbed its arms and pressed his knee through its torso. Using the left arm of the monster, he launched it into the third Footsoldier’s face with enough force to pierce the flesh. He punched the stubby fist of the dismembered arm as it stuck from the third Footsoldier, pressing the gauntlet into it and creating a hole in the target’s chest as the dismembered arm was shoved through said ribcage. Praeses took a second to process it, and realized he had more or less fist-bumped a Footsoldier’s arm into another, separate Footsoldier to make a kill.

That was pretty bad ass.

Focusing on what was at hand, however, he surveyed the area immediately around him. There were three communication towers, each one flashing sirens in its interior. A few clicks of his suit’s onboard communication system later, and each comm-line was being spammed with white noise. Basic jamming technique, very crude. It was playing havoc with any suit that wasn’t nearly as advanced as Praeses.

>ROLL RESULT: 42

Sifting through the noise, it was clear that the jamming was coming from the communication towers. Searching through security feeds that weren’t open, there was a plain transmission at one of the towers: a woman was holding off Plague forces and attempting to breach their barricade. She couldn’t have been much older than 20, if that old at all. There was a distance between the present location and Tower 2, however. It would take some time, and that time could be time much more efficiently used with a break in ECM giving a better picture of what was happening. If he intended to save his daughter, there needed to be a concerted effort to clear the airwaves.

>Search nearest tower, clearing it out for immediate tactical overlay
>Rush to aid of Survivor at second nearest tower, risking going in completely blind.
>Start at farthest tower, working way back to first tower to clear as much chatter before moving to another objective.

>>206696
>>Search nearest tower, clearing it out for immediate tactical overlay

>>206696
>Rush to aid of Survivor at second nearest tower, risking going in completely blind.

Cannot tell if Starcraft quest or Doom Quest...

>>206696
>Rush to aid of Survivor at second nearest tower, risking going in completely blind.

Getting people away from them AND us is a priority. Praeses is built to go in blind anyways.

>>206704
>>206705
Roll off. 1d100, higher roll wins.

Rolled 62 (1d100)

>>206728

Rolled 20 (1d100)

>>206728

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>206728
Pew! Pew!

>>206731
The second tower is decided; just noticed the seconding posts. Writing.

>>206494
dude thats fine i had to run away to work, good to see its still up

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>206696
>>Rush to aid of Survivor at second nearest tower, risking going in completely blind.
also guys we have a mingun and unlitmed ammo well at lest for the ar start blasting fools
and puks the more fighers we have the better chance the little girl will be saved

>>206738
>>206705
>>206726
>>Rush to aid of Survivor at second nearest tower, risking going in completely blind.

The top priority here was making sure people survived. The more survivors, the better chances Rinoa was saved. Weird, Praeses thought, First time I’ve even thought her name. Just been ‘my daughter’ all this time…

ENGAGING SPRINT OVERDRIVE MECHANISMS.

Taking a full sprint, it only took a span of seconds for maximum speed to be clocked. Tickling 50 miles an hour with the speedometer, the BELLATOR calling himself Praeses Pater was clearing a large distance to the second tower. Easily a couple of kilometers, it took several minutes to end up in the entrance to a communications array. Seventeen Footsoldiers, two Copperhead soldiers, a Zealot, and four Vipers all were writhing about the area.

Footsoldiers and their “related strains” were pretty easy to rank: Footsoldier is less than Copperhead which is less than Zealot and is finally less than Overlord. Nothing exceptional at the end of the day, just a pecking order determined by stuff like kills, who they were in life, and sheer tenacity. There was a staccato of gunfire, and the young woman fighting off the Plague was suppressed by the Footsoldiers, and the Copperheads were led by the Zealot. The golden armor of the Zealot moved to reflect an order to flank, and the Zealot turned to face Praeses.

”FACE ME!” it howled, charging the fourteen meter distance.

>Face it head on, fist-to-face.
>Pop its ass from here with the Claymore.
>Ignore it, rushing straight to the woman’s aide.
Roll 1d100 with choice for success rate. Higher is better, I will go with the first roll of the most voted upon choice.

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>206774
>>Pop its ass from here with the Claymore.
we are not here todule we are here to do war and kill all that face us

>>206774
>>Pop its ass from here with the Claymore.

>>206797
>>206785
>Pop its ass from here with the Claymore.
>Roll Result: 40

Praeses fired a burst into the Zealot, peppering its chest. He continued firing bursts as it charged, crumpling its gold-plated armor and being sprayed with its own assault rifle. As it drew closer, closing from six meters to three, the creature drew a shotgun and blasted into the center of Praeses’ mass. The blast procced shielding, reducing the cyclonic modulator capacity by ten percent. The buckshot came again, shaving another ten percent off the shield’s capacity.

It slowed the pace, opting to walk the shotgun into Praeses’ torso. At two meters out, the Claymore’s burst-fire put the monster down. Or so it seemed. The creature dropped to a knee, before throwing its gun down and immediately leaping on top of its foe. As the gun was knocked from the BELLATOR’s hand, it immediately dismissed into his nanopack.

AUTOMATIC WEAPON RETRIEVAL COMPLETE.

Vipers slithered around, hissing as gunfire went off near the girl. There was screaming, and Praeses was too occupied to determine it as the redundant adrenal glands kicked in and the world became pure noise. The BELLATOR’s gauntlets reached into the Zealot’s attire, and clutched tightly. He slammed the monster into the pavement below him, a resounding crunch echoing through the walkway as its body crumpled. A Viper leaped onto his chest, wrapping its tail around his waist and threatening to press scythes of sharpened bone through his visor. They scraped, creating ungodly noise.

>Uncoil the tail
>Wrestle control of the scythes
>Drop to the ground, letting the weight of the suit crush the Viper

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>206824
>>Drop to the ground, letting the weight of the suit crush the Viper
drop and roll then thow it at a difffernt emamy, the footsloders

Rolled 57 (1d100)

>>206774
>Pop its ass from here with the Claymore

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>206824
>>Wrestle control of the scythes
They are the immediate danger here. Can't save the people if you have scrambled brains.

>>206797
also y you not roll? for teh shotting>>206841
bit late mate

>>206841
>>206847
Roll off, 1d100.

Higher wins the choice.

>>206861
Roll again? Really?

>>206824
>Uncoil the tail

>>206867
It's a tie, with nobody coming to break the tie. It's not a roll for success more than it is a call of who wins. Winner take all here.

Considering >>206869 however, I'll probably just write up something to progress if a break in the tie can't be resolved.

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>206875
Ok then. I roll for>>206847

>>206875
Also, I tagged the wrong post in the "roll off" call. I meant to point to the "drop to the ground" and "wrestle the scythes" options. My b

>>206879
As a note, its usual to call the vote, and then ask for rolls

>>206911
I am seeing that is notably less... Bothersome.

Thanks for the tip!

>>206915
No problem

>>206878
Considering only roll for the contested vote, and my inability to let this get stuck on a stalemate so early, writing based on
>Uncoil the tail

>>206923
durr "scythes."

I'm clicking the wrong options and hitting the wrong reply chains every time I make a decision. Fuck me.

>>206927
It fine so long as you understand your blunders. You're doing good so far and what errors you may have made so far aren't egregious in themselves.

>>206847
>Wrestle control of the scythes
>Roll result: 85

Making a quick decision, Praeses snatches at the blades pointed to his face. If they penetrate his visor, or more likely just force it open, he runs a high risk of being compromised. Effortlessly grasping the joints that would be wrists on any normal human, he twists as if revving the throttle of a motorcycle. The bones crack, and the Viper howls. It takes a good tug, and the hands come off. The creature fires an acid spine from its throat, which is vaporized on the cyclonic shielding. Wrestling it put it just far enough to where the shield was able to activate in time. The serpent is stabbed with one blade, and it falls limp as the bone effectively opens up an orifice in its abdomen.

The second Viper unfurls itself and tries to leap again, only to catch the second blade in its face. The blade went end-over-end, momentum cancelling out and the composite Plague form skidding into its once-potent compatriot. Praeses walks over the two corpses just in time to see the young woman standing out of cover, spraying an SMG into one Copperhead’s torso as it struggles to deflect bullets with its hands. The second one jumps on her back, delivering a punch to her head, and a helmet is seen on the first Copperhead’s left hand, having been removed just now. He realized she was wearing much more fitting power armor, probably an engineering suit, designed to keep basic environmental protection and augment strength to hold plates together for welding. It impressed Praeses, however, as she demonstrated the reflexes to reload the SMG while being wrestled to the ground.

Rushing to her aid, he picked the Copperhead up and heard her armored body drop as it lost control of the situation. It tried to free itself from his clutches, only to feel the weight of a BELLATOR’s fist meet its spine. It fell limp, snarling in defiance as it was quickly slung into the wall. With one last screech, it gave in.

The woman jumped up, patting herself down and snatching the helmet off the ground. It disassembles for a moment before putting itself back together, making sure it had her head measured properly.

“Thanks for the help,” she spat into the audio speakers, “Didn’t expect the Republic would drop a BELLATOR. Figured they would fling you at the fleet up there. Good to know it didn’t work that way.”

>”They didn’t.” [Tell the truth, exclude details]
>”Reinforcements are inbound, I’m needed to keep civilians safe.” [Lie]
>”I have a separate goal.” [Tell the truth, reveal daughter]
>Remain silent.

>>206962
>>”They didn’t.” [Tell the truth, exclude details]
ask if there are any more fighters with us and dose she know where some are? and how to get ride e of the jaming

>>206962
>”I have a separate goal.” [Tell the truth, reveal daughter]

Might as well tell her, Doomguy doesn't pussyfoot around.

>>206968
>>206975
Luckily, this scenario sorta has an out for this. No rolls needed, writing.

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>>206968
>”They didn’t.” [Tell the truth, exclude details]

“They didn’t drop a BELLATOR. I dropped myself.”
“Really?” she asked, “Well, what is your self designation?”
“Excuse me?”
“BELLATOR designate names based on their role and operational objectives.”
“How do you kno-”
“I have a friend,” she tapped to her ear’s approximate location.
“I see.” Praeses inhaled, deciding to quickly change subjects: “Do you know of any other survivors? People fighting like you are?”

There is a moment of silence as she walks toward the entrance to the communications tower, and began interfacing with a number pad. Praeses tried to speak up, only to have her free hand move into the air, palm facing him. She was concentrating on hacking the entry, bypassing a few security protocols. After a few resounding beeps, there was a hiss and pop. Air was sucked into the building as a door opened, and it was clear that the contamination protocols were activated.

“One wrong button press, and this whole building would’ve been sectioned off and shot into space,” the girl remarked, “And no, I don’t know of any survivors. Just kind of watched my boyfriend die to an orbital strike. Y’know the blast wave? That’s the last I’ve got of him. That bit of warmth that washed over me as the shockwave launched me away.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,”
“You broke Republic protocols, which I can gather from what little I know of BELLATOR means you told the Admiralty Board to eat shit. Nobody does that lightly.”
“If the cause is good enough,”
“Don’t pussy-foot with me.”
“What?”
“I’m fighting because I have the voice of an old friend telling me things, keeping me rooted in reality. She’s speaking nonsense half the time, but the bits and pieces of value are there. You’re burning bridges with Republic leadership for what purpose? What is your designation?”
“Well, you probably already know the answer, but might as well: Praeses Pater.”
“Latin. Not entirely accurate translation, but I can figure out enough to extrapolate its meaning. Protecting Father.”
“You know Latin?”
“Any Republic soldier does, and anyone who peeks into Republic records does too.”
“You’re barely even twenty, who has you on their payroll enough to teach you Latin?”
“Not relevant. Your daughter, what’s her name?”

>Fess up, she already seems to know enough about you.
>Press who her friend is, how they’re talking to her through all this static.
>”You probably already know, so you tell me.”

Gonna get some snooze, 2am here. Will get writing virtually as soon as I wake up, and run for a good while after.

Rolled 15 (1d100)

>>207031
>>Press who her friend is, how they’re talking to her through all this static.
all you need to know is that that well im around im killing anything the we do us harm so ether help me or piss off and die alone.
cheers mate

>>207031
>Press who her friend is, how they’re talking to her through all this static.

>>207903
>>207089
Writan' - did some yardwork and will be roped into social activities soon so I'll push out a few updates

>>207903
>>207089
>Press who her friend is, how they’re talking to her through all this static.

Praeses wasn’t about to give all to someone who wasn’t saying it all. He hadn’t told her about his daughter, barely even revealed to her that he was a parent. There was all sorts of fishy shit going on here, and Praeses was going to get to the bottom of it.

“My daughter’s existence as such is so classified only four people in the galaxy could have known about it. Fess up, who is your friend?”
“The Matryoshka.”
“What? You know her?”
“Most musicians do, she’s like a patron saint.”
“I don’t think most musicians know her in the way that bypasses ECM.”
“She is a nesting doll of personalities, personas, and ideas. I’ve got one of those in my head, nudging me along.”
“Of all the utterly ridiculous shit,”
“It’s not. It’s how she knows things.”
“Is she a threat to the safety of others here?”
“As far as you and I are concerned? No. She’s just trying to help me survive.”
“Doesn’t she require psionics for that?”
The girl froze, only for a moment, but with the enhanced perceptions Praeses detected a mild halt in breathing.
“Who do you really know?”
“Not important. Your daughter, what’s her name?”
“Look,” Praeses lifted his rifle up, lowering its barrel to the ground to signify its existence more than intimidate, “You just need to know that when I’m here, things die. Stick with me, you’ll live. I’m not happy that you know so much about me, but there are more pressing concerns. Do you know how to clear the ECM?”
“Easy, the Plague were setting up shop here pretty fast. I was in the towers when they landed, scurried off and tried to find Leo. He’s dead, so I came back. They’ve probably covered the consoles in their biomass, pushing buttons and just spamming airwaves.”
“Well, how do we fix that?”
Martina produced a bottle from a nanopack, albeit a much slower one than Praeses’ nanopack, and it had a rag stuffed into the lip.
“I see, good method. Black Scribes MO, burn it all.”
“It cleared several colonies, figure it’ll work here.” She shrugged. “You cause a distraction, I’ll chuck this on some biomass, we’ll see what cooks.”

>Follow her plan, leading a charge into building with her closely behind
>Contest this: What if it breaks the communication relays?
>Tell her to hang back, only entering when it’s clear.

>>208702
>>Follow her plan, leading a charge into building with her closely behind

>>208786
>Follow her plan, leading a charge into building with her closely behind
writin

>>208702
>>Tell her to hang back, only entering when it’s clear.
Move in from room to room behind us

>>208702
>Follow her plan, leading a charge into building with her closely behind

>>208786
>Follow her plan, leading a charge into building with her closely behind

“You stay behind me, okay?” Praeses ordered.
“I’ll keep my distance. Not too far, though. SMG is short range.”

Praeses waited for the door to pop open, and it jammed as it tried to. There was a cacophony of howling and snarling. Charging through the door, Praeses sent suppressing fire downrange. The bursts took out several Footsoldiers, and a few Copperheads bolted to cover. Nothing major. A quick sprint, Praeses turned to fire at one Copperhead to use his momentum to slam the target of his charge into the wall. Firing a short burst, he cleaned number two.

The list of creatures was pretty extensive in here, and they were beginning to take some extra effort to deal with. Praeses punched with the butt of his rifle to delete a Footsoldier’s skull, easily ending a blitz. He heard the staccato of SMG fire, and watched a Copperhead go down. A Viper jumped to the girl, and she went down underneath it. There was a screech, and in a second the Viper was thrown limply off her.

“Lucky stab, keep fighting!” she screamed, standing up and suppressing a Footsoldier that was hiding behind the tower’s front reception desk. Praeses did the simple thing, walking around the desk and curb-stomping the unfortunate monster into a computer terminal. The screen shattered, but as long as a skull did as well everything worked out. Looking beyond, there was a simple corridor with several rooms.

“Where the control panels exist for this room is at the end of the hallway. If I remember right, one of these rooms had a small 3D printer in it where they manufactured replacement parts as needed. I imagine if we check that out, we could find something useful. Maybe,” she shrugged, “Maybe not exceptionally useful for you but good enough for me to use. If there’s any kind of way I can fashion up something, I might be able to use some blueprints in this suit’s databanks to jury-rig some kind of improvised weapon.”
“Why are we talking like that’s an option? Of course we’re gonna get you something better than a submachine gun.”
“Well, it’s also running the risk that whatever is guarding the console will try to flank us, and also that we don’t know what’s in the rooms. Plague have been infesting rooms much more than I’ve read is normal, caking them with biomass and such. Still not sure what that’s about.”

That’s worrying.

>Search each room individually, hunting for this printer
>Clear Comm Tower first, search rooms after if possible

>>208967
>>Search each room individually, hunting for this printer

Best we get her armed first, we did spend time saving her after all.

>>209205
Writan

>>209205
>Search each room individually, hunting for this printer

“If anything gets you armed better than that SMG, we’ll get it. No sense putting you closer to harm than you need to be,” Praeses affirmed. Trudging to the hallway’s entrance. He heard the click of the SMG reloading, and readied his Claymore. Simple: break doors down, search rooms, and get the comm-relay active again.

Searching the first room, Praeses swept over his weapons and found nothing of any note. The girl dove in, and he watched the exterior.

“So,” he asked aloud, “You know my name. I need something to call you, should it come to it.”
“Martina.”
“Martina?”
“Yes, Martina Ferrara. I was a music major, ended up here after winning a contest. Figured I’d get stuck in this mess.”
“Who taught you to shoot like that?”
“Boyfriend had an unhealthy obsession with firearms,”
“Kind of edgy?”
“A little. He was a good kid, though.”
“I imagine, especially if he taught you to be quick on your feet like that,”
“That’s… From something else.”

It was in the brief moment of conversation that it almost seemed like this was normal. Like there wasn’t a war breaking out overhead, and that it wasn’t an eight foot tall killing machine working with a twenty-something kid to save a planet.

To save a daughter.

“How do you know Rinoa?”
“That… There’s nothing in this room. We need to move on.” She drew the SMG again, and patted the back of Praeses’ suit.

Moving into the next room, he kicked the door open to reveal it was covered in bloody biomass. It seemed to be pulsating, growing. One wall was covered in green pustules, some twitching in reaction to the door’s opening. The biomass began to creep out along the floor, investigating Praeses’ boots before he lifted them and stepped down on the goop. After he moved, it stopped trying to climb up his feet.

“That was what I was talking about. Before the networks went down, I did some research on the Plague. They have courses on how to survive incursions, because there are some pockets of the monsters left. Mostly feral, though. This stuff isn’t in any of them. You’re the expert, what do you suggest?”

>Chuck the Molotov in here, we can’t take chances
>Investigate the room, see if there’s something to be salvaged
>Fire at the pustules, see if it reacts

>>209305
>>Investigate the room, see if there’s something to be salvaged
Secret get!

>>209345
gonna get some writan, even got a funny maymay to go with it

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1.98 MB GIF

>>209345
>Investigate the room, see if there’s something to be salvaged

“Let’s check this out. Keep your suit locked as if for EVA, don’t want whatever this junk is infesting you.”
“Copy,” Martina replies.

Praeses ambles into the room, and there is a hiss of compressed air as Martina’s suit locks in its oxygen. He guess she has about ninety minutes of recyclable air in there, more if it’s been upgraded at all. Shouldn’t be a rough time.

“Check this out,” Martina shouts, “The printer.”
“Kickass, can you make anything with it?”
“Not in this state. Let me…” She rambles on for a moment, where Praeses moves to the end of the room. He looks down, finding the goo on the walls gnawing on a corpse. In this poor kid’s hands are a strange collection of parts, mostly seeming to have been broken apart by brute force. On the shoulder is a small keycard, hanging from a lanyard.
“Hey, got a… Something?”
“Oh, no shit?” Martina says, slapping a drone onto the printer that lifts it up from the floor with a zero-point energy field, “That’s… Here, let’s get this out of here. I’ll be able to torch the room with the printer activated outside. Oh, nice keycard. Will be useful, as I shouldn’t need to hack the doors this kid had clearance to.”

She takes the parts, and there is a bubbling noise. Praeses turns his torso to spectate the pustules morphing, growing in size and shape as they react to the motion in the room. The gnawed corpse begins convulsing, which he answers by stomping the legs off.

“SHIT!” Praeses barks, and Martina leaps out the door with the drone buzzing behind her. Firing into the pustules, small insectoids burst out at various stages of development. Delivering a few swift kicks, Praeses backs out of the door inside to see the bottle, now with a flaming cloth, arc into the room and burst on the opposite wall. The chemicals spray about, narrowly missing Praeses’ suit but coating all of the insectoids as they scatter around the room. The flesh on the walls begins to convulse, and the corpse lets out a roar as an insectoid collapses on it.

Firing into the last of the movement, Martina collapses against the drone’s containment field.

“That… Could’ve gone better,” She says with an exasperated tone as her heartrate begins to lower.
“Definitely, definitely.”

Combine one of these:
>Assemble printer in first room
>Assemble printer right here
With one of these:
>Ask about the device she confiscated and our new keycard
>Let Martina surprise us, watching the “incubator” room and letting the suit analyze the card

>>209503
>Assemble printer in first room
>Ask about the device she confiscated and our new keycard

short AFK, getting called into something. Will return ASAP

>>209503
>Assemble printer in first room
>Ask about the device she confiscated and our new keycard

I'm loving the doom/halo/deadspace vibe from this.

>>210303
>>209515
Okay sorry I got called away for much longer than anticipated. Gonna squeeze out an update, get some snooze, then be back full swing for a day that doesn't have anything planned.

Thanks for sticking around, sincerely!

>>210303
>>209515
>Assemble printer in first room
>Ask about the device she confiscated and our new keycard

“Fall back to the first room, we’ll use that to get this printer ready.”

Martina commanded the drone backward into the primary room, rearranging some of the furniture with Praeses’ help to create ample space for manufacturing. She placed the shattered device into the machine, and began tapping away at the various holographic consoles. Whirring with life and purpose, the printer began taking parts and filling in gaps with various materials. Clicking and buzzing, there was a gentle hum as the device was assembled.

“So, uh, what is that, and where’s this keycard good for?” Praeses asked, “I mean, considering how we almost didn’t find it surely there’s something useful for it.”
“The keycard I can answer right away: clearance codes.”
“I figured that much, question was where does it get us instead of what it does.”
“I’m not sure. When I’m done finishing this device, I’ll know. My guess? This kind of toy doesn’t get made by anyone. This is a Weapon Designer’s card, probably. Get us into all sorts of lockers, mostly armaments made by would-be members of a Manufacturer.”
“You mean kids wanting to be gunsmiths for people like Avanguardia?”
“Precisely. I don’t know if any of it would be useful to you, but I and maybe some other survivors could definitely benefit from a kid’s knock-off Avanguardia design, or maybe we’ll find suits of power armor to cannibalize.”
“Me? Cannibalizing armor?”
“You never know. Maybe some kid has a solid suit of Emperor Arms-brand power armor, and a subsystem or two you could loot. I mean, flexibility is something Duke Firearms and Accessories boasts, but Emperor’s armor is super upgradeable.”
“I don’t know enough about powered armor to say otherwise, I just do the killing in a good suit.”
“Fair. And… Done.”
“With?”
“This device was a blowtorch. It was likely broken apart by a Plague form that tossed him into that room to serve as a first meal for those… Bugs. Are those the bugs that grow on Shrimp?”
“Focus.”
“Basically, I fixed it up. It’ll make the perfect thing to burn tissue from consoles, ease up infestation, and probably even stop those screaming monsters. It won’t have much munition, though.”

There was a slight rumble in the ground, and Martina stopped.

“That’s not good. My money rides on an orbital strike, but considering the fleet images I saw? I’m not betting much.” Praeses checked his clip’s durability: still optimal.

>Let Martina craft more, standing guard. [Spends time talking, potentially gets another tool for her to use]
>Press for the objective: Clearing the tower’s jamming. [Praeses will tell her to stay with him]
>Leave Martina behind, let her decide to follow while you get some work done. [Press forward, Martina decides for herself to follow or not]

>>210401
>>Let Martina craft more, standing guard. [Spends time talking, potentially gets another tool for her to use]

>>210455
>Let Martina craft more, standing guard. [Spends time talking, potentially gets another tool for her to use]
Aaaaand up. Writing.

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>>210455
>Let Martina craft more, standing guard. [Spends time talking, potentially gets another tool for her to use]

“I’ll stand guard, if you want to get something else fabricated real quick.”
“Sure thing.”

There’s the revving of machinery, a brief refrain in conversation, all moving with a relative quickness before the silence was interrupted by a howl further into the building. Martina replies with a remark, breaking her silence.

“Done. Last thing I can craft with the materials here, salvaged half the furniture and crafted this bad boy.” There was a series of clicks, and Praeses turned slightly to see she had crafted attachments to her SMG. It was a previously a stock Avanguardia SMG, which normally didn’t allow heavy modification, but it appeared she knew what she was doing. There was an added accelerator attachment to the barrel, and the stock was upgraded to be a full rifle stock. It looked like a pipe rifle, with a sports car for a firing mechanism.

“That… Is pretty inventive.”
“Yea, it’ll let me keep more distance. Was a little hard to make, not sure if I’ll be able to do this twice, to be honest. Let’s go.”

Praeses walked out, realizing they had only gone through two of the seven rooms before the main control room. There were blurs of motion inside, and his suit’s short-range motion scanners pointed some pretty distinct combat forms. Mostly stuff like Footsoldiers, but the ranks he couldn’t easily tell without direct visual confirmation. He also had readings below? He knew, from the time on a previous mission that earned him BELLATOR Honors, that Vipers could burrow in sands and loose earth. But concrete and other similar materials? He wasn’t entirely sure.

>Explore the other rooms
>Go straight into the Control Room
>Ask for Martina’s input

>>211107
>>Go straight into the Control Room

>>211107
>>Go straight into the Control Room

>>211107
>>Explore the other rooms
dont want people to come runing at us from behaind

>>211704
>>211606
Writing.

>>211606
>>211704
>Go straight into the Control Room

“Let’s push in. We take the control room, whatever comes out of these other rooms will be inconsequential.”
“Good call; fight our way in and get stuck like a popcorn kernel. Considering they want to eat us, it’s my preferred strategy. We gonna check the other rooms, maybe?”
“No. We’ve got you armed a little better, and you hold your own. If there are things waiting for us, we will be able to fend them off. It’s why I’m here.”

Trudging to the control room, there was one security lock stopping Praeses’ entry. His suit mimicked the card’s coding, and produced a small simulacrum of light over the gate. It silently popped open, and Praeses was able to get a good peek of what was going on. It appeared that, while they were on high alert, they were watching other entryways: vents, windows, anything. It would appear that they were expecting a BELLATOR to break the door, rather than just open it without much fuss.

Subtlety wasn’t a BELLATOR’s strong-suit, but it had perks.

The Plague were in here full-force. Four Zealots flanking an ornately dressed Overlord as it tended to the growth of organic tissue on the consoles. Shouldn’t be too concerning. Three Vipers, a smattering of Footsoldiers and Copperheads on top, what could go wrong? Praeses ordered Martina to set up in cover by the door, gesturing to a knocked over desk that would serve admirably. She quietly set up, her arms darting about to equip the weapon. She held the flamethrower momentarily, looking up with a quizzical tilt of her head.

>Order her to open up with flamethrower on the mooks, capitalize on the moment to rush the Overlord. [Rushing past Vipers, could go south]
>Start shooting first, let her deal with the troops as they funnel down through her own rifle fire [Eschews flamethrower, strict gunfire]
>Use grenade launcher on back of Overlord’s head, Martina left to freestyle [Risks damaging control panels, chance of needing flame fuel]
>Grenade mooks, pepper Overlord with rifle fire to pull Zealot and Overlord aggro, let Martina deal with Vipers as they try to flank. [Martina ambushes after attacking, high chance of not needing flame fuel]

>>212137
>>Grenade mooks, pepper Overlord with rifle fire to pull Zealot and Overlord aggro, let Martina deal with Vipers as they try to flank. [Martina ambushes after attacking, high chance of not needing flame fuel]

>>212396
Roll me 1d100, if you please.

Caught family aggro. Election years. Ugh.

Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>212411

>>212418
Writing out.

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>>212396
>Grenade mooks, pepper Overlord with rifle fire to pull Zealot and Overlord aggro, let Martina deal with Vipers as they try to flank.
>Roll Result: 67

Praeses entered with the maximum amount of force needed for the precise problem he was in. One grenade to the clusters of mooks in what appeared to be a sort of common area for all the levels of communication control, and the rest was significantly easier. It all turned back to ash after a BELLATOR was done. That wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t something to write home about, but it was awe-inspiring.

At the end of the day, Praeses pondered as he began the sprint, The shock and awe is more important.

He fired a few sprays at the Overlord, catching it cleanly unaware. It fell over the console and ceased moving. Sensors indicated it was still alive, just not by much. Four Zealots, four problems. Praeses swung a gun around, catching one in its face. There was a staccato of gunfire. Vipers squealed immediately behind him, scraping scythes off his back as they died, but he had a singular goal: Zealots.

LOADING UNITARY STRAIN PROFILE OF UNITARY-003 “ZEALOT”… DONE.

Zealots were given their name from a unique ability to seemingly raise from death and go berzerk. In doing so, they would often run until their body hard-shut down. This could be as simple as severing the head, but sometimes the nature of the Plague contagion fucked that up. Every cell in a Plague strain’s body was semi-sapient, capable of commanding the rest of it to work as the overall body needs, all of it connected to a centralized intelligence. They defended key structures with their lives, directed lesser troops, and served as lieutenants to Overlords. Overlords were directors, guiding figures, religious masterminds. Zealots were the ones that beat heretics into dust.

”DIE!” one screeched, before its abdomen was punctured with a fist. Praeses spun it around, taking a spray of assault rifle fire with it. The third Zealot was then given his compatriot by a casual chuck of the second one, squelching noise indicating they wouldn’t be getting up. Fourth one leaped on Praeses, and there was a staccato of gunfire. It fell limp, and Praeses grabbed it over his head and threw it out the viewing window of the Communication Center. Praeses reached a hand out to the Overlord, the creature flailed its arm at the BELLATOR in reply. Caught unaware, he dented a wall. Reorienting himself, he watched the Overlord recover and its eyes take a sinister glow.

”BELLATOR, a new warrior for the Plague to kill. It will be a pleasure.”

A desk lifted up according to hand gestures of the gravely wounded Overlord, and as it prepared to launch the adrenal glands kicked in. This thing was a psionic, and that was… New.

>Fire grenade launcher at desk, hopefully breaking it apart
>Brace for impact
>Catch it, try to fling it back with equal force

>>212587
>>Brace for impact

>>212606
Writing out. Roll me 1d100.

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>212636

>>212606
>Brace for impact
>Roll result: 70

Praeses was trained, roughly, on how to deal with psionics. He was trained extensively on how to deal with Plague. Psionic Plague? That was new. Entirely new. He brought his arms in front of his face, bracing for the impact. He processed the moment at about a fourth of the speed it happened, and the desk fractured around him. Falling to pieces at his side, he brought himself up. The creature threw more debris, and he braced into each chunk. Every slab of metal, every broken desk, even a few chairs. The leader’s hands danced, his arms tracing elaborate gestures through the air.

“What’s the matter?” Praeses asked as he walked, “Not enough tricks?”

The Overlord howled in defiance, lifting the palms of its hands up to the ceiling as the BELLATOR lifted from the ground. He kept bearings, but it was pretty apparent where he was going. The creature strained, its psionics barely maintaining enough force to keep the suit of armor above ground. The creature shuddered and spun on one foot, as if intoxicated, to fling Praeses through a wall. Inertia stabilizers activated, and he caught himself with his feet to the ground. The creature pulsed its power and landed ten meters away from Praeses in an open courtyard. Flashes of gunfire lit up the interior of the building, and Martina’s battlecry indicated at least one Zealot was struggling to get back up. She could handle the crippled messes of Zealot he left, right?

The monstrous screamed in his face, and he sure fucking hoped she could.

SEPARATOR

Breaking character for a bit. I’m gonna call for three rolls (ideally from three players), best one takes it against the Overlord. This is equal parts test of the mechanic and tutorial, as more fights will come to this as the quest progresses. Bonuses to certain rolls can be earned throughout the Quest and will be maintained in the Inventory pastebin.

I don't know if there's two more people in here OP

Rolled 22 (1d100)

>>212766

>>212774
I'd prefer three separate IDs, but if it comes down to it, we'll just roll with three rolls. A few minutes between rolls, give anyone a chance to roll before doing a second roll if double-rolling is needed.

Rolled 23 (1d100)

>>212766

>>212774
>>213196
One more roll and we'll be golden.

Rolled 11 (1d100)

>>213315

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We are so fucked

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>212766
and this is what happens when i leave

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>>213390
Maybe.

I'm still stunned.

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>>213196
>Rolled 23 (1d100)
>>213390
>We are so fucked

Praeses charged. He knew one thing would work on Overlords, and it was running right at them and punching their shit in. He had one idea with this once, and hauled full-speed. What he found very quickly was that there was a simple problem with this idea: psionics.

The Overlord lifted him up, slamming him into the pavement. It jumped up, charging a stomp with its own kinetic psionic force. Blasting into his armor, the shielding failed as the boot made impact. The force transferred, bouncing around his innards and leaving what would surely be a massive bruise. It gestured madly, lifting him up and slamming his body around like a ragdoll. His organic implants and subsystems of his suit were maintaining his balance, but he heard shouting from the communication deck. He didn’t know what the shouting was, his body kicking into overdrive. This was something he hadn’t trained for: getting his ass kicked.

Praeses watched the creature slowly walk up to him, picking him up by the arm and trying to get a tug. The systems in the suit worked in overdrive to avoid dismemberment: any flaw in the BELLATOR armor was a PR nightmare. Suit was designed to be indestructible, take tank rounds and not care. Psionic flinging? That was a little different.

”I was worried, great warrior, you would injure me further. Come. Try again.” It dropped him, walking away slowly.

I’m gonna kick his ass, Praeses thought.

Moar dice! Probably just 1d100, in the interest of updating soon.

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>213520
let a very loud yell from you speaker to try to stun him

>>213537
>Rolled 46 (1d100)
>let a very loud yell from you speaker to try to stun him
Writan'

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Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>213520
aww

>>213569
i think you might have been a little too late noo epic fisting for us

>>213537
>Rolled 46 (1d100)
>let a very loud yell from you speaker to try to stun him
>tfw finally broke the target number

Praeses needed to think. He was standing up, and the creature was just waiting. It was convinced of something, and that “something” was the fact that Praeses wasn’t very bright. The adrenaline pumped, and the world slowed. Extra systems of bloodflow worked in concert, more adrenaline than a normal man could contain mixed with the plasma of his body’s fluids, and it all mixed. The world grew slower, calmer, more still.

It was a silent kind of world, one that brought the BELLATOR back to his training. It was brought to his attention that a BELLATOR’s suit has a speaker system that could be adjusted, to where simple speech could be amplified into earth-shaking roars of hatred. Booming shouts that would overpower the gunfire, a choir from angels of death sang with a tone of fury.

”And remember, BELLATOR. They hear you coming. They are terrified.”

“Hey, FUCKSTICK!” the BELLATOR’s speakers peaked out, bouncing audio waves along a circuit of copper wiring and ripping from the external chambers. The audio clearly did something, as the Overlord seemed momentarily stunned: its arms flailed outward and it staggered forward. Praeses jumped, pulling his fist back.

>>213569
>Rolled 77 (1d100)

It slammed onto the Overlord’s neck, dropping directly where its psi-node was. The organ that connected its nervous system and willpower to reality? It just ruptured, Praeses wagered. He spun after connecting the swing, backhanding the creature’s temple. It fell to the ground, and he picked it up by its collar.

“How’s this,” he slammed its face into the concrete, dropped it on its back, and twisted the leg around so it would stomp itself in the face, “How is that for injury? Huh?” Praeses laughed, letting the adrenaline simmer a moment. He stopped, and let it all loose. There was a pain throughout his body, everything in it was screaming at Praeses. He dropped to a knee, putting his hand on the ground to stabilize and staring at the spattered remains of the Plague monster that dared fling a BELLATOR around.

The Plague now knew that Praeses was there. They didn’t know why he was there, just that he was. Recovering, he half-limped as his suit began applying rudimentary first-aid and filling his brain’s pain receptors with painkillers. He was built to have experienced that kind of trauma at the end of an operation, not the beginning. He returned to Martina, who was standing over a dead Viper and covered in blood. Her helmet was off, and as soon as he entered the room she vomited.

“You uh, you alright?”
“Yea, just… Not used to the smell.”
“You didn’t watch that, did you?”
“I did.”
“Oh.”

>Console Martina, gently get her to focus.
>Snap her out of it; she's with a BELLATOR.
>Wait for her to recover on her own.

>>213635
>>Snap her out of it; she's with a BELLATOR.
tell her shes got a job to do so hurry the fuck up a your wlaking around double taping the bodis to make sure they dont rise up

>>213635
>>Snap her out of it; she's with a BELLATOR.

>>213900
>>213814
>Snap her out of it; she's with a BELLATOR.

“Hey, Martina. Focus. You’re with me, and that means you’re going to get through this.” Praeses marched around the room, capping skulls and stomping the corpses.

Martina finished hurling, and began laughing, “Yea, the same BELLATOR that just got flung around like he was nothing. You’re supposed to be unstoppable, something that stands up to the horrors of shit like Plague and keeps going!”
“And you’re telling me I didn’t?”
“Look at that! It gave you a hard time, and that’s being conservative! What kind of scenario is this?!”
“Martina.”
“Praeses, there’s a lot of stuff going on here. If a psionic Overlord gave you a hard time, there’s much more happening here. First there was the “Aeternum Interfectorum,” and now this? Psionic Overlords, and they’re growing more forms in rooms, banking bodies to build?!”
“MARTINA.” Praeses kicked the audio in his speakers loud enough to startle her, and she froze in fear, “Look, you are with me. If anything on this planet has a chance to survive, it’s me. You just experienced what I was made to deal with: war. THe PR says this, and the PR says that, but at the end of the day I am engineered to fight and win. It’s not always going to be a cakewalk.”
“You’re… You’re right, Praeses.”
“Now, you have the flamer. Cook this console.”
“Yea,” Martina’s eyes seemed a little vacant, like she was thinking of something else entirely, or just not there.

Praeses hoped that, if anyone else was watching, they handled this as well as she did. BELLATOR having any trouble with anything at all is not common, they were built to be so overwhelmingly powerful that nothing that ever decided to hurt Mankind would ever be able to. All things considered, Praeses was a little scared. An Overlord that was also a psionic was extremely concerning, as the Plague had not been able to manage the whole “psionic” business beyond their centralized hive intelligence. Them being able to use stuff like telekinetics was extremely concerning. Praeses watched as Martina cooked the console, and it appeared it would take a few minutes at worst.

There was a [i]brief[/i] respite.

>Inquire about “Aeternum Interfectorum”
>Run diagnostics
>Check bodies for something lootable

>>215661
I am on a friend's wifi, but I assure you it's me the QM for this quest.

>>215661
>>Inquire about “Aeternum Interfectorum”

>>215661
>>>Inquire about “Aeternum Interfectorum”

She wouldn't doubt us if we hadn't rolled 3 shit rolls :(

>>215768
>>216524
>Inquire about “Aeternum Interfectorum”

Writan'. Should I do a new thread, or should I go until this one just stops replies outright?

>>216566
keep going untill you find yourself in a good place to stop the thread, with the threads staying alive that long you could spend days on one

>>215768
>>216524
>Inquire about “Aeternum Interfectorum”

“Wait, Aeternum Interfectorum? Eternal Killer? What the Hell kind of name?”
“You weren’t aware of that?”
“Now I’m even more concerned.”
As the flamer progressively climbed in volume, she switched to a short-range communication. Using some wireless signals that opened up as she torched the organic matter, she was able to continue.

“Basically, there was a radiation leak. Normally, this would not be a problem. There was also a research experiment funded by a few pharmaceutical firms to try making a vaccine from Plague viral tissue. The radiation got through, and the experimental samples of Plague biomass were drastically altered. Long story short, a Plague creature came out and kicked the dogshit out of the engineer that was sent to fix the radiation leak, and a quarantine was placed.”
“Why did they not drop me?”
“The engineer was stubborn.”
“Figures.”
“I imagine that’s what the Plague is here for, honestly. It was a psionic, and a pretty damn potent one. The concern was that if it managed to consume enough biomass, it would create a sect of Plague that would rival the main horde.”
“What traits did this thing have, besides psionics?”
“Extreme regenerative abilities, outright consumption and recycling of all biomass, and the ability to reshape its body to suit whatever challenges were presented.”
“What the fuck do you mean the Engineer was stubborn?! I would have needed a squad of me to kill that.”
“He… Was good at what he did. Dropped it into a fusion reactor, where no organic remains of that individual survived. A portion of the faculty buildings were destroyed, but overall Domus was saved. Samples of the ‘Murder’ as it was called were sent to the Black Scribes almost immediately.”
“Progenitor’s armor,” Praeses shook his head, “I hope all of that was taken as far away from here as possible. Now isn’t the time for the Plague to get that... Thing.”
“Yea,” Martina said, her voice trailing, “Most of the samples made it,”

As the last of the biomass cleared, the scoring marking the walls black, the communication lines opened up. Republic vessels were entering the system, and groups of survivors were scattered about the district trying desperately to call for help. The comm-lines were clearing, but there needed to be more channels open. Praeses’ suit marked several “SOS” transmissions, the closest one being equidistant to the first communications tower.

”BELLATOR? Man alive, are we glad to see you. This is Foxtrot Seven-Six-Seven, I’ve got one run in me but I need a clear LZ.”
”There’s a BELLATOR on the planet?! Progenitor’s gun, we’re saved!”
”REQUESTING IMMEDIATE EVAC AT THESE COORDINATES: MESSAGE REPEATS!”

>Rush to the first pocket of survivors immediately
>Clear First Communications Tower
>Contact FLEETCOMM, try to get additional aid

>>218451
>Contact FLEETCOMM, try to get additional aid
then
>Rush to the first pocket of survivors immediately

>>218886
Writing out.

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>>218886
>>Contact FLEETCOMM, try to get additional aid
>then
>>Rush to the first pocket of survivors immediately
>Post Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0YoKzsjE-0

“FLEETCOMM, this is BELLATOR “Praeses Pater.” Situation on the ground is dire, deploy all available assets. Civilians are on the ground, evac required immediately.”
”BELLATOR, what clearance do you have to issue these orders?”
“BELLATOR Squadron Order 516, Subsection 6. This is a disaster area, and the Admiralty Board are the only people who can contest my declaration of such.”
”BELLATOR,” the familiar voice of the Admiralty Board tapped the lowest points of the bass in Praeses’ ear, ”We have reviewed your… Circumstances. If you believe in all honesty that ground operations are the more successful course of action, we will cede to your judgment. We will handle this… Disagreement, once the current crisis is resolved. You are designated as Field Commander of Domus. This is being transmitted to all ECMF and Black Scribe assets en route.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
”Do not mistake us: you disobeyed a direct order. Do not think yourself immune to consequences.”
“Just keep me in the loop, I’ll save this planet.”
”For your sake? We hope you do.”

Praeses had easily pissed off the most powerful men and women in the Republic. The only people that could tell him to quit (and would have the balls to actually do that) just vaguely implied he’ll face consequences. As long as Rinoa makes it? Praeses couldn’t care.

He turned to Martina, and transmitted the coordinates of the nearest survivor holdout.

“Meet me there, but stay low. I have some PR stunts to pull.”
ENGAGING SPRINT OVERDRIVE MECHANISMS

Praeses entered a mad dash to the first evac zone. A cluster of students, none old enough to qualify as adults quite yet, were panicking into the airwaves. Something was on top of them, and it was pissed. They were trapped in a courtyard of a small block of office buildings, near a ruined fountain of some sort a few stories below the ground. There was a concrete barrier that served as a guard rail, but the BELLATOR didn’t need to worry.

Praeses had inertia dampeners.

Slamming into the ground, the tank stood in a cloud of rubble. Quickly observing the scenario, there were various Footsoldiers laying dead, ripped apart and thrown about at random. It slammed fists to its chest like a gorilla, seeing the challenger approach. Praeses drew his gun, put his right foot up onto a knocked over chunk of concrete, and pointed the gun straight into the air. There was a crowd: several heat signatures hiding on the other side of a crashed truck.

"The BELLATOR has arrived."

>Open up with the BELLATOR Special [Grenade launcher into Claymore fire]
>Employ “Bertha” [Switch to Minigun and try to kite]
>Get straight to the punching.

>>219167
>Quickly observing the scenario, there were various Footsoldiers laying dead, ripped apart and thrown about at random

should be

>thrown about at random around a grossly muscular Plague form, roughly as tall as Praeses was.

>>219167
>Employ “Bertha” [Switch to Minigun and try to kite]

>>219167
>>Employ “Bertha” [Switch to Minigun and try to kite]

>>219355
>>219353
Both of ya, roll me 1d100. Highest result is taken for the writin'

Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>219377
Rollin

>>219385
I am not good at rolling in this quest.

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>>219385

>>219404
Yep pretty much sums up my rolls in most quests, roll high in roll under quests and roll low in high roll quests.

>>219427
I believe in you. You'll roll the game-saving success when it matters most.

I believe in you.
>prepares for uncountable failures

>>219440
I've done it before, just don't happen very often.

Rolled 44 (1d100)

>>219440
What could possibly happen?
>No ammo
>Weapon jams
>Accuracy problem
>Spec Ops: the Line plot twist

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>>219562
Did I do it right? Is this good?

>>219562
>Roll result: 44
>>219571
You probably just salvaged it enough to where the colossal failure doesn't happen. Good!

>>219571
You mighta dun gud, I hope so.

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>>219562
>Roll result: 44

Praeses switched weapons, the machine gun unfolding into its multi-barrel design. Effectively a minigun, the “Bertha” was designed to take down massive, armored but organic targets. Stuff just like this creature.

The mechanisms clicked, and ammunition was fed into the chambers. Bullets poured at the creature, it staggering as the rounds started to make impact. After a few bullets, the creature jumped to the side. Praeses twisted to keep bullets on it, backing up as he did so. It kept an orbital, Praeses filling the area with bullets to try keeping it running. If nothing else, he’d tire it out.

It jumped over him, landing on his shoulders and trying to wrestle Praeses on the ground.

UNIDENTIFIED PLAGUE STRAIN. SCANNING. DONE.
PLAGUE STRAIN CLASSIFICATION: COMPOSITE STRAIN.
ADDITIONAL BIOMASS CONCENTRATED TO MUSCULAR TISSUE.
BE ADVISED: MELEE COMBAT UNADVISED.

Praeses dismissed the minigun, punching at the creature’s back. It slammed him to the dirt, and they grappled one another. There was a trade of fists, Praeses unable to fully see anything beyond the creature’s blood-soaked abdomen. It wrapped legs around his abdomen, and just wailed. It punched, scraped, and tore at whatever it could grasp. The Plague creature was on top of the grapple, and Praeses was just trying to make it flinch.

DESIGNATION???
Not fucking now!

Praeses felt it get off of him, only to feel his form spin somewhat and get thrown into the fountain. He stood up, water muddling his visor, and braced as it charged him. Crossing his arms in front, he dug his feet into the stone and broke its grappling attempt. The brawling monster was stunned momentarily, and Praeses knew he had a short span of time to react. A brief moment of choice, one that might turn this fight.

>Overclock arm servos, punch into its torso
>Place Claymore to its ribs and clean up
>Grab an arm, try to rip. Tearing comes next.

>>219629
>Place Claymore to its ribs and clean up

>>219782
1d100+20 senpai

It's point blank, let's see if modifiers help. Up to three rolls, highest takes it.

Rolled 69 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>219796
You might want to get a twitter so you can announce when you start doin posts again to get more people coming back. This is a neat quest I'd hate to see it fall apart.

Rolled 30 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>219796
>>219629
>Place Claymore to its ribs and clean up
Let's save shock trooping for later

>>219818
I do have a Twitter actually. @BlackScribeQM is me.

Writin' up

>>220013
Oh cool, didn't see it on the op.

>>219782
>Place Claymore to its ribs and clean up
>Roll result: 89
>Fuck yea, 89!

Praeses summoned the Claymore, getting the jump on the creature. He slammed it into its chest, blood coming out of a wound. The weapon sent back some red alerts about impact warnings, but Praeses didn’t care. The creature put its hands on the barrel, but Praeses was firing.

The monster let go if only for a second. It grabbed at Praeses, who was charging forward as if the creature was a bayonet. He heard Martina’s voice over the local channel, and it was her comforting the survivors and trying to size up what they knew of the scenario. He listened to the voices that replied, firing the weapon with the fiery hatred only a warrior could rightly summon. None of them were Rinoa. Damn. However, these Plague dared threaten her. Praeses would fight to his last breath to try saving her. He'd kill everything that meant ill-will to humanity.

That’s what BELLATOR did.

His rifle fragmented its torso, blasting it apart. As it dropped to the ground, he dismissed the weapon and suplexed the creature, just to carry the momentum forward. Eyeing the remnants of the creature, he turned around slowly to face the group of survivors. They were scared, horrified somewhat, but their fear was mostly the shock of how Praeses handled that creature. Confused, he realized his throat was somewhat raw.

He’d been screaming.

“All in a day’s work,” he scoffed, “Foxtrot Seven-Six-Seven, this is Praeses. Do you read, over?”
”Praeses, this is Foxtrot Seven-Six-Seven. I hear you loud and clear, tagging your transponder and making a beeline. I’m reading a mostly cleared airspace, how many survivors, over?”
“Counting. Twelve, mostly kids.”
”I’ll pack them in as tight as I can. The fleet battle’s getting intense, but there’s at least a few people working evac from the system. Keep it up, and we’ll save a lot of people.”
“That’s the goal,” Praeses looked to one of the kids, who couldn’t have been older than seventeen, “That’s the goal. Over.”

That girl walked up to Praeses, who turned to face her. She traced her hand along a gash in the metal, shallow but long, and she looked up into the visor. She wasn’t able to see through it, as part of the design, but there was a clear search for eyes. She settled on the center of the visor, before standing a little straighter.

“Good luck, BELLATOR. And thank you.” She quickly ran to the dropship, which sealed its bulkhead and vanished into the sky.

“Praeses,” Martina reloaded her weapon, and marked a location nearby, “One of the kids pointed out some kid’s engineering project, some kind of experimental upgrade to a top-end heavy assault suit. Not your suit, but maybe a subsystem could be salvaged for you to use.”

>Investigate the supply cache
>Disregard upgrades, find survivors
>Clear the other communication towers

>>218451
>>Rush to the first pocket of survivors immediately
gonna be a bitch to check every few hours for an update.
This Engineer sounds awfully like Isaac

>>220119
>Investigate the supply cache

>>220195
>>220165
which one you voting on, though?

>>220238
the cache, the 1st post linked to a choice that was 6h old that I didn't refresh

>>220333
Alrighty I'll get an update between errands tomorrow; it'll be an exceptionally slow day though.

I'm beat right now, been dozing in and out.

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>>220195
>Investigate the supply cache

Praeses nodded, lifting his Claymore up and sighting it in for a second as if to confirm it worked. Silently, he trudged to the supply cache.

“So,” Martina inquired, “What was that thing? I only came in after it pushed you into the fountain. It seemed nasty.”
“I think I’ll call it a Knight? No, ‘Brawler’ will fit better. Makes the creature’s adaptations much more apparent, easier to point out in combat.”
“Good call,” she reloaded her weapon mostly out of habit, and began interfacing with a device on her arm. As she did so, Praeses saw a rough approximation of her health condition and a small snippet of text that read out her name.
“Wait, your suit has one of those?” Praeses said, indicating the IFF Tag that also gave out biometrics.
“Yea,” she gestured into one of the buildings before running to it. She turned back to Praeses, whose HUD indicated his keycard would pop open the cache in seconds.
“That’s normally reserved for higher end suits, ones that the operator intends to take damage in.”
“It’s a higher end suit from a higher end student,”
“The Engineer you were talking about earlier?”
“Yes.”
“You know him?”
“Somewhat. We’re estranged, used to date. Kid stuff, really.”
“Estranged, but he gave you one of his better suits?”
“Well,”
“You stole it?”
“I mean, he has his personal suit. Doesn’t need two.”
“What if he had someone he wanted to save?”
Martina froze for a moment, looking away from Praeses and into the smoking district.
“He did have a spare suit after that one, right?”
“Look, I… May have not been in the best mental state after Leo died.”
“What did you do?”
“We don’t have time to talk about it.”

Opening the small storage shed, Praeses saw a suit about a head shorter than his hooked to the wall via a maintenance bay. The front was leaning down, and the back panels were exposing a jury-rigged nightmare of several different brands of armor technology being forced to cooperate. For a suit as heavily engineered as Praeses’, anything that could be salvaged would be a small miracle. Doubly so if it was an improvement, but a surprise could happen. His HUD outlined it, indicating there was in fact a valuable subsystem to salvage. An automated drone buzzed to life nearby, scanning over Praeses, and moving to the suit on the wall.

“Huh, that’s a salvager. It would explain where the suit’s hodge-podge parts came from. The guy who owned it probably had the drone set to search the local scrapyard, just pulling parts together to make something that sorta functioned.” She rifled through a desk, laughing, “He even intended to paint flames on it.”
“Probably good we got here as soon as we did, honestly. Kid would’ve tried to use this mess to save the rest of the kids, and gotten himself killed.”

Roll 1d6, for random salvage. First roll determines the loot.

Rolled 1 (1d6)

>>226844

>>226859
>Roll result: 1

The drone buzzed about the suit, finding a series of augmentations and tweaks to the mock-muscular systems of the BELLATOR suit. These were solid tweaks, made by someone who at least understood the mathematics involved in such systems. Well, that was Praeses’ best guess. He wasn’t the ideal person to understand his suit: he was aware enough to guide a maintenance drone to the location of subsystems and if absolutely necessary could eject from it and attempt field-repairs himself.

He watched the salvager go to work, and it held some of the cannibalized machinery from the jury-rigged suit after briefly using a cutting tool to sever it. The drone looked quizzically at him, before he dismissed his weapon and stretched his arms out. There was buzzing, and mild stimuli of pain as machine interfaced with nerve. Praeses winced at some points, feeling the torch as if it were against his own skin. Minor pain, dulled by how many different receptors it had to transmit through. As the drone finished up its work, Praeses moved his hands in front of his face to eye up the work. Several extra layers of armor were added to conceal enhanced servos along the arm and joints.

UPGRADE IDENTIFIED. AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED TO ACCESS.
Acquiring… DONE.
Augmentations applied to muscular subsystems. Enhanced strength capabilities. Increased torque and operational efficiency in “ARM” modules.
New Lifting Capacity: 2.5x10^4 kg
Striking Strength Improved.

This upgrade provides a flat benefit of +20 to any tests involving strength, including melee attacks of all varieties.

“Oh,” Praeses said, moving to the now defunct suit of power armor and lifting it by its hips with ease, “This is good.”
“What did you get?”
“I could comfortably lift a truck now. Wouldn’t be the easiest task in a combat scenario, but I’ve got that lifting capacity. Could probably punch one of those Brawlers in half, with a good swing.”
“That seems like a stretch considering how determined they were to fling you around.”
“I can go toe-to-toe now. Much easier. Definitely excited about that. Now, what’s next?”
“We have the option to search for more survivors, respond to calls from military assets in the district, or clear more communication towers.”
“How many beacons for assistance do we have?”
“Quite a few. We also have a few calls from military assets a few minutes’ sprint to the east of here - for you anyway. But, clearing the other two communication towers would probably open up the airwaves fully and allow more cohesion between disparate groups.”
“Our one tower isn’t clearing up enough?”
“It’s cleared one subsector of three. Not bad, but there’s still ECM filling the waves.”

>Clear the other two towers
>Clear nearest SOS Beacons
>Aid nearest military assets

>>227583
>>Aid nearest military assets
So they can clear the SOS beacons while we do the towers, or the other

>>229337
Writing. I'm off through like Thursday, so I will be much more open to updating now. Fucking busy ass weekend.

>>229337
>Aid nearest military assets

Praeses nodded, “We’ll help the military assets nearby. If they can be freed from whatever’s pinning them down, they can help ensure recovery efforts.” Martina seemed to agree, checking a locker for some supplies. Rifling through it and pulling out a shining rectangle, she then removed her helmet to open the plastic wrapping to reveal a granola bar. Taking a sizeable bite, she nodded.
“I’ll be a little behind you, as usual. I have to check something in the nearby buildings, see if I can’t find something useful in there to use. I doubt I’d be much use in a straight up firefight.”
“You’ve held your own so far,”
“Yea, that’s because you draw all the fire and I pick off what I can. With more than just you in a firefight, I don’t know I’d be as useful. Especially with a jury-rigged rifle like mine.”
“Your call. Keep your ear on the airwaves; if the ECM acts up again we’ll meet here to scope out the problem. I’ll bring a few of the uniforms, so we have an even better chance.”
“If you think they’re necessary at your flank, then they are.”

With that, Martina finished the rest of the granola bar and tugged the helmet over her head. She drew her own weapon, and trudged into the late afternoon. Night was starting to creep into the sky, the oranges deepening as if to match the flames of several buildings. The blue of a terrestrial sky was accentuated by the light show of the fleet battling overhead. It was a sight, Praeses beheld it for a moment as he pulled up an overlay of the district. Before him were three zones of military activity:

DEPLOYED TROOP DETAILS: Earth’s Celestial Marine Corps 462nd Armor Division
8 Drop Troopers, 2 “Machiavellian” Artillery Vehicles, 1 “Warden” Mainline Battle Tank
The Droop Troopers of the 462nd were trained on larger gravity wells, easily making them capable of handling large weaponry and were especially good at fortifying a position behind enemy lines.

DEPLOYED TROOP DETAILS: Black Scribes Cell F-7
4 Black Scribe Operatives
The Black Scribes were a PMC-type organization, one that Praeses didn’t particularly care for. However, their Operatives were entirely trained for asymmetrical warfare. Having a great track record of fighting the Plague since the start of the initial Plague War, it had been proven time and again that a handful of Scribes could put out the work of a squad of hardened Marines. F-7 was a potent Cell, and Praeses recognized the name from the news reports of Migrant Fleet Eagle, which saw a complete retrieval of civilian assets from an infested planet six years ago.

> Post 1 / 2

>>231272

DEPLOYED TROOP DETAILS: Earth’s Celestial Air Force 1101st Terrestrial Flier Squadron
4 Transport-capable “Albatross” Gunships
3 Crew on each ship
The 1101st was a relatively new squadron, built with close air support in mind. Having combat-capable transports would undoubtedly be a boon to any evacuation efforts happening on Domus. Albatross gunships were exceptionally crafted vehicles, built to withstand whatever a hot LZ could withstand.

Praeses watched reports come in, feeling in his gut that saving all of these military assets might not be possible. It sank through him, warming the back of his neck with the anxiety of bearing lives on his shoulders.

>Go for the Gunships first, ordering the Battalion to defend and spare a few artillery strikes on Cell F-7’s targets
>Save the Battalion, ordering the Cell to cover the Gunships
>Aid the Cell, ordering the Gunships to land as close to the Battalion as possible and defend as long as possible.

>>231275
>>Aid the Cell, ordering the Gunships to land as close to the Battalion as possible and defend as long as possible.

>>231283
Writing up. I feel like you're gonna like this bunch.

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>>231283
>Aid the Cell

“All units,” Praeses announced into his suit: the systems patching him to the three posts of military activity, “This is your Field Commander. I’m going to make the rounds and provide assistance. First up, Cell F-7. 1101st Flier Squadron, I want you to move as close to the 462nd Armor Division as you safely can. I’ll swing by to bail you and the 462nd out as soon as I free up F-7.”

”Understood, Commander. 1101st moving out.”
”You won’t hear us complain, BELLATOR! The 462nd will try to take out AA guns between us and the 1101st, try to keep the skies clear for them.”

CELL F-7 DISTANCE: 12km

Praeses charged, overseeing his subordinates. Things were going well enough, with the 1101st making solid progress to the 462nd as planned. They dodged a heavy anti-air fortification, and knocked over a Banshee. The screaming beetle-like Plague form would have done a number on the 462nd, had it gone undetected. So far, so good.

As Praeses drew closer to the Cell, he began to notice the wreckage of a fight hard-won. A collapsing building, the charred viscera of Plague cooked alive, and a few scraps of the larger Plague strains scattered about. Praeses imagined it was an incendiary round, or perhaps specialized explosives. Scribes were particularly fond of employing flames. Plague weren’t really weak to it, but the flames often rendered flesh inert as far as Plague consumption was concerned. Like cauterizing a wound, it slowed the advance of Plague forces in the longer run by a single-digit percentage. That was all that mattered, as far as Black Scribes were concerned.

There was a blur of motion, and Praeses almost didn’t fully process the scorched Overlord launched into a wall. Rubble fell on top of it, and the creature’s death gurgle was drowned in an explosion. Praeses instinctively drew his gun, spinning to his right to see the source. What he saw amazed and confused him all at the same time. There was a cheer of victory from a man with a shoulder-mounted cannon, flames licking its barrel. He spun to face another target, and streaks of flame slammed into a Viper immediately. Praeses’ eyes traced its path through the air, and directly into a garbage truck. The truck rocked again as the explosive projectile detonated, punching a hole in the metal and obliterating the Viper.

“Haha! I could do this all day! Marilyn, how are you doing?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” a woman’s voice echoed. Her arms were glowing, a psionic energy forming hard-light armor around her torso as she poked out of cover to suppress a sniper. She followed with a flail of her arms that caused her target to launch from a rift on the side of the building to its death. A Zealot rushed to her with a chunk of rebar.

>Rush to Marilyn’s aid, try to finish this fight quickly.
>Engage with Claymore, ready for anything new that comes
>Overwatch the area with the Bertha

>>231597
1-800-TRIPFAG, for when someone forgets to do it!

Thank fuck for post IDs man

>>231597
>>Engage with Claymore, ready for anything new that comes
They have things in hand, ask them where they'd want us to make the most damage so they can clear out.
Thread is in auto-sage because it didn't get bumped or something.

>>231614
I'm unfamiliar with the specifics; would auto-sage mean "time for new thread" or?

>>231617
>"time for new thread"
On a fast paced board it would mean, better get ready for that new thread. /qst/ is rather slow so that doesn't means much.