You think being unstuck in time is bad? Let's play Marathon ∞

[chiasaur11]

Seems Thoth is as disoriented as I am from what Durandal's saying. Well, either that or he's just being his standard incomprehensible self. And considering how little time Durandal has left before Tfear comes calling, it looks like this world is probably doomed. Still, work to be done, and a little delay might mean more time to find a solution to the problem. Might even be enough, although the odds of that are pretty bad.


A couple of higher ranked guards were talking in the hallway. No idea what about, and I killed them before they could finish the discussion, but they sounded panicked. Like to think it was just the usual results of running one of Durandal's errands, but there might have been something else going on. No way to know now.


Juggernauts. Great. Worse, they were active and looking for intruders. How did a tenth rate holding team on a world with no action for centuries get these?

Right, right. The universe hates me and wants me to suffer as much as it has.






I really wish I could laugh this off as the rantings of a lunatic trying to decipher incomprehensible babble as a prophecy. I would like to, but I'm counting on Thoth, an AI who once told me to keep bleating goats away from the planet, to figure out why the universe was being destroyed by something where the closest analogies for its existence come from Lovecraft. I was in no position to be skeptical of anything on offer here.


A dive into the sewage got me a little distance from the sentries, and access to the systems Durandal mentioned.



Well, I'm not exactly surprised. These things never come easy. I headed back down the corridor.


I passed the corpse of the Garrison commander on the way. Almost mentioned Durandal's compliment, which more or less confirms I'm circling madness.

Well, look on the bright side. With what's probably coming, killing someone before the chaos gets to them is the closest thing to an act of charity available to me. Think of it as a tribute to an unrecognized genius.


Before too much longer, I managed to find the stuff Durandal said to break. The Pfhor really should have better security, but I'm not complaining.


I spoke too soon, as usual. The local commander had placed Juggernaut patrol patterns to ensure no intruders would be able to get at the switch. As I'm rather low on ammunition, that group includes me to an even greater extent than normal.


Sadly, Durandal was still being unreasonable about the whole thing. All I could do now was wait for the fleet to come, or try to make my one roket launcher round left count.


Well, with what remained of my fusion batteries it managed the job, barely. Which meant I could rip apart what remained of the flooding controls and run before the next Juggernaut came around. Durandal better be happy with this bit of work, because I don't have the resources for anything fancier.



Here we go again. Same pattern as before, but with the end coming sooner and sooner.

A faster march towards oblivion's all we're getting, Durandal. So much for escape.

[chiasaur11]

Doomed world. I'd been thinking it wasn't in the best position, but getting booted back to wherever here is seems to indicate continued presence back in reality? Not going to do much good.

Staying here won't improve things either


Our own death foretold...

Why am I not surprised? Don't know how I even made it this far. Everyone and everything else dead, I keep moving. It's happened more than once. And I still don't have an explanation for the latest case. All I got is survivor's guilt.


And I fall deeper. Here's hoping something resembling reality surfaces before things get too weird.


Floating incomprehensible objects that fade in and out of existence seem to qualify as too weird, but...

they weren't whatever was waiting in the dark last time. Still, I heard something coming. Joy.


Whatever it was, it had made a mistake. It had physical form, or whatever passed for it here. And I had a desperate need to vent some aggressions. Fight or flight, and it was dumb enough to block the path to flight.






What is this? And why does it feel somehow familiar?

Don't want to know. I just want out.


And then the screaming starts. No way out until I set this right. I don't think I can set this right.

[chiasaur11]

And then I wind up back on the orbital station. A last chance, I suppose.

Well, I have to try. Not that it'll do much good. I just wish the Pfhor troops would have the sense to realize this thing is bigger than them or us.


They didn't, and given my severe distaste for my own death, I ran for the elevator. And the Hunters followed. Joy.


Emptying the shotgun, firing every fusion round...

And I barely made it through the fight alive. Still, no sign of the looming chaos yet...

Well, Durandal's the only guy who might have a plan for this thing. Hell, he almost figured out what was going on earlier. If I'm able to fill him in on what I've seen...

Well, this whole thing might have a solution.


Oh. Oh no.

It was coming. Whatever it was, it was sweeping through everything. And that everything somehow included the S'pht hive mind.

Mindless? I know now that isn't the case. Of course, part of me feels like it has know this little tidbit forever. Five eternities...

And then it comes to the station, looking for me. And I desperately try to flee and then I'm gone.




The pattern repeats and repeats and repeats.



I've seen every way there is to kill or die. I've seen everything consumed so many times. And without Durandal I never get anywhere near success, and without Tycho winning, the gun gets fired and the sun goes boom.

Which means the next world with Durandal alive, well, it's my last chance. No matter what I have to do...

I can't let a world burn again.

[chiasaur11]

Another day, another doomed world. Well, it looked like Durandal had some of the advanced troopers he'd mentioned done. Might as well meet and greet.

And then they start unloading fusion rounds into me. What's going on here?


I didn't like my options. But...

I'd seen too many worlds die to give up now. Didn't take much, a couple of shotgun rounds. I needed to find Durandal if anyone was going to see the tail end of this mess, and I couldn't do that dead.



And the Pfhor troopers continue the work. Don't focus on every horrible thing you've done to get this far, Jones. Just don't let it go to waste.


Tycho had further instructions, of course. A fusion round to the monitor wasn't the most civil of responses, but it did make my opinion clear. And then all I had left was running and hoping that I could get to Durandal before the fact everything with a pulse on this ship was out for my blood caught up to me.


I managed to corner a guard. The standard "cooperate and I won't blow your brains out" treatment worked wonders. Honestly, it's the first time I've been able to use something other than direct violence to solve problems in a while.


I took the poor schmuck down with a quick punch to the back of the head and ran for the nearest term.

Teleport when ready. Well, it's a chance, and Durandal has placed any enemy of Tycho as a friend of his in previous meetings. Here's to hope.

[chiasaur11]

Well, on the upside, I didn't get sent into the depths of space, so Durandal's giving me a chance.

On the downside, compilers were still trying to kill me.


The upside was the Bobs weren't. No idea what was going on (and how is that different from the way things go normally?). Might as well find a coms terminal.



Tycho.

Well, I'm sure my betrayal hurt him deeply, as he's never even considered treachery at any point in his long and loyal history. Well, keep moving Jones. He might get a lock on you otherwise.


A steady string of pops behind me confirm the suspicion. Tycho was pretty much sending whatever was where I'd been out into the vacuum of space. Not my idea of a good time. He seemed to have either lost me or given up by the time I reached the central chamber, which gave me enough time to check another term.


Paydirt. Friend of a friend?

Seems Durandal has some idea of what's going on. Unfortunately, it looks like he's not in a position to capitalize on it. Well, you do what you can. And I'll be damned if I'll let another world fall.


A little work and some Pfhor hunters trying to kill me later, I get another message. And everything repeats, it looks like.

Some patterns in my life have a good deal more durability than I'd like.

[Starbuck_II]

Wait, we double agented Tycho?

[chiasaur11]

Wait, we double agented Tycho?

Well, sort of.

In the immortal words of The Spy:

"I never really was on your side."

[chiasaur11]

Okay. Durandal wants me to kill him. Fine, done this before, so I can just enjoy the moment and not be surprised by the end result. Compiler at the terminal wasn't going after me yet for some reason. Might as well check that the routine is the same for this ship as it was for Boomer.



Wait. Tycho wants the exact same thing as Durandal this time?

Well, he's learned something. Not enough, given that he's not assuming Durandal has a plan for this, but compared to the "watch the deadliest AI in the universe squirm" plan, it's almost intelligent.


I managed to get a clean shot at some of the central conduits. Still a lot of stuff left to break, but it's a start.


I even managed to find some of the crew Durandal mentioned down here. Mostly dead, but some were still breathing.

What does it say about my life that a handful of survivors make this an unqualified success?


Things moved back to the normal standards of quality in my life soon enough. Turns out Pfhor troopers weren't informed of Tycho's little plan, casting doubts on his ability to pardon anyone. Well, needs must.


A few rockets and a lot of frantic running later, I managed to get to the last bit of Durandal's systems. And something on the ground. System interface chip. Odd.


Well, no reason to forget what I'm here for. I unloaded a fusion round into the core...

And then text starts scrolling aross my visor, a voice in my head says something about durability...



And then the whole world starts to fade. I thought I'd done it right this time. Guess not.

[chiasaur11]

And here we are again. The junction between worlds. (Why did I use "we" there?)

Well, nothing to do but the standard run. Bit harder this time, though. Thinking when running for your life isn't usually easy, but there's a kind of background humming making the job harder than the standard.



Thoth still isn't exactly coherent, but something clicked this time, for some reason. Well, as much as any comments from an ancient AI with a penchant for insane metaphor can make sense. Geriatric circuits, can't use 'em.



Well, this bit's new.

Still, there's a little voice at the back of my head bugging me about, well, everything. I mean, this sort of thing never feels right, but... well, it's a new kind of not right.

Focus on destruction. It's what you're good at. Leave the big picture questions to those of us better suited for it.

Okay. I'm pretty sure that wasn't my typical thought process. What's going on here?

[Artanis]

Hehe, "Focus on destruction. It's what you're good at."

[chiasaur11]

I woke up in a Pfhor prison cell. Thing is, this time there wasn't the standard devouring of all reality prelude. In fact, although I wouldn't bet money on it, it felt like the logical consequence of what happened just before I left.

Well, whatever the reason, I was getting out.



And busting out any other prisoners still breathing.

As gratifying as this must be to your overdeveloped sense of heroics, it brings us no closer to the salvation of the entire universe, which I assumed was your goal in this endeavor.

And I get another bit of thinking that doesn't match up. I don't like where this is going.



The drones that should have been going after me weren't, at least. Seems I have an unseen benefactor.

So far, that kind of thing has never turned out well.



And my old Magnum 44 mega class is sitting right there. Someone has a job for me, it looks like.

Given that Durandal's dead and Blake wouldn't have reason to assume I'm still alive...

Dead? I thought you would have learned how this goes by now. Roland couldn't break me. I doubt Tycho could come any closer to success.

Well, that explains things I was hoping to be able to ignore. Still, my current benefactor remained a mystery.






I've told you before not to ask questions when you already know you won't like the answer. It seems Tycho's folly has caught up with him. A shame we need him to distract the Pfhor while I find a mechanism to delay the Trih Xeem.

And now I'm getting orders from two mad AIs at once. Well, better Durandal than the chaos from the heart of the sun.


Of course, neither of the guys giving orders made any effort to make my job easier. Security for Tycho's core consisted of at least ten heavily armed cyborgs, a number of drones, most of which still weren't under Tycho's command, and a garrison's worth of Pfhor troopers. Not easy to break out of.

This level of security would make it difficult for Tycho to escape, but Tycho never has been very clever. If this was the trap they had planned for me, I greatly overestimated the risk posed by the Pfhor.



Explodo-bobs. Another excuse to make my life miserable, I suppose.

At least these ones were tagged as hostiles by the motion tracker. Made it easier to be sure.



More of our host's imbecilic brutality. Cells designed to crush prisoners at the slightest movement. You will note that this system could easily be triggered by accident, destroying the potentially useful prisoner with no benefit other than briefly amusing any trooper on duty at the time.

The Pfhor devotion to cruelty over efficiency never ceases to amaze.



Well, here we are. Tycho's prison. A few quick bursts and the system should be shut down.

It never ceases to be a joy to watch you work. Too often humans waste their energies attempting to rise above their level and comprehend problems meant for their betters. But you avoid their folly and concentrate on things your destructive impulses can understand. You break even the complex problems into simply killing or being killed, destroy or be destroyed. And it seems that simple form is enough to sustain you through trials you were never designed for.

Gee. Thanks.





Treachery from Tycho?

Why am I not surprised?

[chiasaur11]

So...

Probably stupid question.

Am I writing Durandal tolerably? I mean, it's something I've wanted to try since the beginning of this thing, but I also have been kinda living in fear RE: mucking it up.

Any advice on the matter would be appreciated.

[Redpieper]

Well let's see, we got arrogance (however justified it may be), style, snark, humour and an overal mocking of everyone else.

I'd say that's a success

Edit: Oh and I'm really enjoying your Let's Play's

[Poison_Fish]

Good jorb!

[Starbuck_II]

Treachery from Tycho?

Why am I not surprised?

Technically, he was never your ally so he never betrayed you.

[chiasaur11]

Tycho had a job for me? Well he could just...

As satisfying as it would be for all involved to reduce Tycho to his component atoms, our current plans require that he not suspect that we are actively plotting the downfall of the entire Pfhor empire. Some problems, despite a certain cyborg's opinions to the contrary, can't be solved with direct force. A little subtlety is required if you're planning to have a universe to exist in when this is all over.



It's just another infiltration mission, really. Go in, disable defenses, get out. I ignore the details, and I'll be a lot happier.



Of course, it's harder to ignore the details when they cover your hands in blood. Tried my best to go for non-lethal, but it's hard when you haven't had reason to do anything but go for the kill in a fight for years. Harder when the target is shooting at you the whole while.

Even if I save the whole universe, there's blood on my hands that won't come off.

It seems I underestimated your skill at self pity when I called destruction your most notable trait. You've been made and trained for mass slaughter. A slight change of species involved, and suddenly you care that some of your victims would be on the same side as you, given the choice? You've killed countless S'pht and Drinnol before now. You and I both have done things we would have avoided had there been a choice. Unfortunately, there wasn't. And if you want this to be anything other than a chain of random atrocities, I suggest you finish the task you came here for.




Unfortunately, there was still more to come. Well, Durandal said he had a plan. And I guess I had to trust him on it. Not that I had any other choices.

[Errant_Polearm]

Actually, something seemed a bit off with Durandal's thoughts/speech last post, and this one made me realize what: he sounds like a caring person (in a way). Given universes exploding and not being exactly the same Durandal, though, this might be appropriate.

[chiasaur11]

Actually, something seemed a bit off with Durandal's thoughts/speech last post, and this one made me realize what: he sounds like a caring person (in a way). Given universes exploding and not being exactly the same Durandal, though, this might be appropriate.

Noted.

This is the Durandal that called the player "old friend" and all, but I'll try to do better on that front in the future.

[Artanis]

Does the "function of intelligence" thing remind anybody else of Dr. Breen in Half-Life 2?

[chiasaur11]

More work from Tycho. Joy of joys.

And the pay wasn't exactly great. Durandal, for all his faults, supplied everything I absolutely needed for a job.

Tycho gives me... a fusion pistol.


Blake's last stand. I should be helping. Instead, I'm letting Tycho walk all over the last people on what should be my side. I can't decide who I hate more. Tycho, or the crawling chaos that brought me into this mess.



Tycho interrupted my cataloging of how horrible my life is with more specific instructions. 30 activation sites? Well, not my primary skillset, but it'll delay having to murder more Bobs, and maybe buy them enough time to evacuate.
30 activation sites? Tycho's idiocy continues to astound. I would hope, however, he wouldn't assume that I had sunken beneath his intellectual level.



If Tycho had the intellectual acumen of a human, let alone the bare minimum one would expect from an artificial intelligence, he should have found my little back door system. It wouldn't have done him any good, of course, but I expected a little better from anyone supposedly created in my image. The defenses should be disabled now. Time for you to get to work.


Well, no sense in stalling longer. The automated defenses may be down, but it seems Blake still had guards posted.



They didn't take long. I managed to make my way to the central chamber without too much in the way of followup incidents. Tycho wanted the whole place flooded with lava. I almost went through with it. But...

I could stop this. I might be able to turn this fight back to the way it was intended to go.

You also would ensure the destruction of an entire reality for a slight balm to your conscience. Normally, your idiocy would be entirely your concern, but in the current situation, I am unfortunately dependent on your decisions to escape the apparently inevitable demise of this reality. Which means that you need to slaughter a few hapless former allies (less, in all likelyhood, than would die if you insisted on attempting to repeat your former victories without any of your former advantages). In exchange, I'll try to pretend to care about their deaths.


Durandal, as much as I hate to admit it, was probably right. This bit of nastiness might be the only way to prevent the Pfhor from deploying the early nova. And it'd put the survivors relatively safe in cryo sleep.

Not the plan I'd want, but better than nothing.



I may have been mistaken. So much for Durandal's planning.

I assumed you knew me better than that. Tycho may fail to account for others defying him, but, as you may have noticed, I was not idle in the moments leading up to my "death". The forgotten sons of this world should return soon, and with them, salvation for their brothers. More importantly, however, they should provide enough of a distraction for the Pfhor that capturing you would become the least of their concerns.


Thoth? I have to admit, I wasn't expecting him yet.

And then the sun started to glow. So much for that plan.

[chiasaur11]

The station. The last glimpse of a world I get before it all dies. Some Sph't on the station this time. Not that they did any good for anyone. All it did was make sure someone was shooting even when I wasn't in the room.

I'd be a witness to another world dying.

Even Durandal seemed quiet. Anything that make him shut up reaches the upper echelons of worrisome.



The last recording I could find from anyone wasn't any more comforting. In spite of everything, the last survivors were counting on me. And died knowing I failed them.

Which means trying again is right out. I need to set this right.

And then the chaos reaches the station.

Before it all my genius is nothing. I see now what I was trying to warn myself of, why you were so quick to doubt your own little codes and ethical limits for even a chance to delay it. I gave my central codes a cozy little niche in your cerebral core because it seemed you were the only being to escape this nightmare's previous rampages. It would be for the best for both of us if you avoided making this another cause for disappointment at your capabilities.

[I_Got_This_Name]

I was wondering where that level had gotten off to.

How did that timeline's Durandal know about the W'rkncacnter before you went to its ending, anyway?

[chiasaur11]

I was wondering where that level had gotten off to.

How did that timeline's Durandal know about the W'rkncacnter before you went to its ending, anyway?

Durandal seemed to have tipped himself off to some of the details of what was going on (presumably using the security officer) judging from the terminal in Foe Hammer. The "friend of a friend" bit seemed to be referring to other Durandals, and our favorite rampant AI seems more likely to be on top of things than anyone else.

[chiasaur11]

And now we're between worlds again. And it seems a whole lot of things I very much didn't want to do were for nothing.



Well, just press on. Gotta say, this last stop? It wrecked what little hope I had of eventual success. Durandal couldn't do a thing to stop whatever it was in the heart of the sun.

Don't confuse a lack of success in one incident with a lack of overall ability. I managed to find out something about the orbital station you've grown so familiar with that might be of some aid in our mutual efforts towards escape from this doomed cycle. I understand you've been preoccupied on your visits with concerns of mere survival, but I would have hoped you would have made some guess as towards the purpose of the orbital emplacement. It could be a solution to our problem.

Right. And that is?

The legacy of the Jjaro. A weapon system built to restrain something called a W'rkncacnter that fits the description of the nightmare we just escaped. Unfortunately, the system is exclusively under the control of Thoth, who hardly seems cooperative at most junctures.



I figured that Durandal might have some idea what was going on. Good to be proved right.

Then I noticed something. Every step behind us was leaking back into something that was starting to look like our starspawned nemesis. I picked up the pace. It looked like every method to save reality was com8ing a little late.


Odd little octopus things meandered about. Echoes of the thing consuming all of reality, and most things that aren't.

Keep moving. If there's a path, follow it. If there ain't, make one. Otherwise, you'll go down like everyone else.



I had assumed that the S'pht collective consciousness would manifest itself in some form here, given their references to places outside of space. I had, however, hoped they would be capable of aiding us. It seems that the influence of the w'rkncacner is more pervasive than I had thought.

It seems your talent for slaughter is useful once again. Try not to let it slow you down.

So that's what that one compiler meant by "My last thoughts my own." And here I thought it couldn't get any worse.



A... switch.

Seems this place is influenced by my thought processes.

Which pretty much means I'm going mad.



As if I needed more proof, more of the odd narrative assailing me every visit to this little corner of unreality shows up. Durability. Not much of that. Everything breaks, gets rebuilt, breaks faster and worse.



And it gets stranger and stranger. Flashes of realities, mazes of text,hints of things I'm missing.















And every time it ends with the death of everything. I leave reality to a preset course...

And I fail. Every time.

So, I can't take the path to the finish. And no deeds of mine, good or bad seem to do anything in the end. There's got to be a way to set things right.





Eat the path?

Okay. That's the end of attempting to reach deep revelations through introspection.

Here's hoping desperate heroics can compensate.



Thoth?

It seems we're near our goal. Slide another clip in your assault rifle. You have work to do.

[Terraoblivion]

The white text narrative is very...odd. I mean it is not too strange as a narrative through the eyes of someone stark raving mad, but its placement is odd.

[Johnny Blade]

This Let's Play is great to read later in the evening.
Not only is it well-written, you can also try to fully understand what's going on, which means your head will hurt sooner or later, which in turn means you'll get tired sooner or later, which finally means you don't risk oversleeping the next day.
Splendid!

[chiasaur11]

Okay. Reality seems to be reasserting itself. The little hopping thing in front of me seems solid enough, even if there's a faint feeling of dread about it. Of course, knowing you're on a planet and knowing where you are and what you're meant to be doing?

Different things.

We seem to be exactly where I meant you to go. The central activation site for the S'pht AI in charge of the Jjaro defense satellite. As the name given him is tediously long, confusing, and apostrophe filled even by S'pht standards, I feel it would be best if we persisted in the precedent set by my predecessors and refer to him as Thoth. If I can gain access to the systems he's guarding, we might be able to hold back our current nemesis.



And there's the AI we're looking for. Just hit the sites and we're done.

If only your goals could be accomplished so simply. Thoth might have once been capable of maintaining the defenses against his ancient foe on his own, but recent events indicate that he is helpless against the W'rkncacnter as the rest of the inhabitants of this sphere. If we are going to save anything from chaos, it will require a better mind than a geriatric program incapable of comprehending degrees of gray. I'll need to work in the system myself, even if it means enduring more incomprehensible gibberish from the last caretaker the Jjaro left the S'pht.


Great. The floating octopus things are leaking into reality.

Which means the W'rkncacnter (or whatever it's called) is probably nearer release than any other visit I've had to reality.

Which means this falls under the category of a last chance.



Well, here we are. Central site found, uplink chip in hand, Durandal ready to vacate my skull...

Well, here goes nothing.

For what little it's worth, if this all fails...

You were a reasonably capable aide. I may not hold with Leela's sentimentality towards allies, but I hope that you will manage some kind of survival.

And then, he's gone. Well, no idea what happens now.


And then a passageway lights up, and at the end, I see a monitor. Well, best check if there's anyone who has some idea on what's going on.


Okay, this is new.

Well, it sounded like something was being done. I just hope it'll do at least a little good.

[chiasaur11]

The S'pht'kr? I thought calling them had been, well, a bad idea the previous times we'd tried this. Well, I'll just add that to the list of things I don't understand about this whole mess and hope it works out.

Well, not much I do understand about this. Durandal was almost a constant for a bit, and now he's gone. Pretty much all I know now:

All of reality is counting on me.
This involves killing a whole lot of people, aliens, and robots.
The odds of success? Really, really bad.




Well, those little facts and Tycho being the most hateable being in existence. It looks like he found out what's coming...

And is just sitting there and letting it happen. And then, like an idiot, I stand still long enough for Tycho to get a signal lock. The fate of everything on the line, and I let a single fatalistic AI sabotage what little chance I had left.

Smooth, Jones. Real smooth.

[Starbuck_II]

He says you are going to a party. Bring some drinks when you go.

[chiasaur11]

So this is Tycho's little party. A gladiatorial deathmatch, me against the best systems the Pfhor have to offer. I've pulled similar bits before, but those times I tended to have backup and full loads of ammo. Here?

Less so.



And then it gets worse on alevel I was hoping not to need to deal with. Wherever I was when I was hopping between timelines, I ran into some kinda nasty entities, Pfhor with a twist of chaos and pure evil. Nasty, but when you're halfway between oblivion and reality, nastiness is to be expected. They weren't supposed to show up when I have my feet firmly planted in reality.

And yet, here we are. And the crowd doesn't realize that they're as doomed as I am.





Well, Durandal, or whatever I should be alling him now, seems to be able to get in, but it isn't doing me any good. Well, slap a clip in...


And watch as your problem gets worse. Now they got troopers. Which means I'm not just dealing with entities infected by nightmares beyond the imagination of all sapient races, I'm dealing with the aforementioned entities armed with automatic weapons.

I unloaded into them with everything I had. And, oddly, it seemed to be hurting the things.

Well, might as well make the most of it.



No sooner are the troopers down then I get hunters. And this time they came with a gut wrenching feeling of dread. Well, I managed to get this far. Might as well keep fighting.



Success?

Well, for the moment. Still, this sort of thing? Not what I expected. I shouldn't be alive, let alone able to get in touch with an AI that's sounding more and more like Durandal with every message.

And then the crowd starts objecting to me escaping the arena. I deal with that quickly enough. (I just somehow killed the best warriors the Pfhor had infused with the essence of some kind of nightmarish creature from the edge of reality. I figure a few drunken spectators shouldn't pose an issue.


And then they call for security. Which, joy of joys, is "just" a heavily armed flying tank. I mean, it looks ready to kill me, and past experience indicates it should be able to pull it off if I get at all unlucky, but...

It's not the chaos from the heart of the star, and I guess that makes a lot of difference in these things.




Ammo? Well, whatever I'm going to have to do for my second least favorite AI next, it looks like it'll be a nasty bit of work. Well, I might have a chance at success. Been a while since I had that.


Man. Lot of ammo here. Well, it's the last chance we have, I guess holding back now would be a bit suicidal. Which means, if it makes the mission a success, everyone's expendable.

Well, I've been expecting death for years now. Can't say I'll be going unprepared.




Back to the station?

Been there before. More than once. And every single time it ends badly.