[AW] IC Skyfall: Imperfect Calibrations

[Raz_Fox]

Everything's alive, you know? Everything. The whine of the Signal and the water filling our lungs and the shadow that my Den casts across the dried-up earth that remembers when it used to be the sea before sky and sea shuffled about. And even the cold captain might forget for a little bit that she's not properly human if I give her a show, and she might cross-purpose the game and the map, properly harmonize with me so that I've got the read of her melody.

I take her like a cage taking a pyjack in a trap, and her lip bursts like a blood bag under my teeth and I lap it up and smear it down her neck.

Be alive with me until I know your measure and can think my way through not being deadified by you, lady bright and terrible.

[Rolling to Seduce. 11 - spare me and know me, fall for your own con.]

[Elanorin]

"Understood," I state. I make to follow her. If there's one thing that I've learned in a town like this it's not to accept credit so payment up front is a good deal to me.

"239," she calls to the Nemean in the familiar trench coat. "Advise your protectee to cooperate. She has until I leave, after that I will hold her in contempt of the Law." I am the Law. Ahab knows that Stars won't cooperate, this isn't for the Quarian's sake, it's for 239's: When she lies broken at my feet, I won't hold your service to her against you. You did warn her, after all.

> Directive: Obey legitimate legal orders.
Damn it, Ahab.

"I am required by law to advise you to cooperate with the authorities," recited 239 smoothly from a pre-established phrasebook. There was always a slight difference in tone when she was giving an automated response. "Despite the crisis, we have more to fear from a breakdown in order than we do from [##ERROR-REF&-NOT-FOUND##]"

Stars pauses and turns to look at 239, she tilts her head a little to one side and really studies you.

"I see," she finally says, "the authorities. Do we need to temporarily disable some of your subroutines for the duration of this contract?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest with an air of mild reprimand. "That can be arranged. I have experience with the Nemean model. I wouldn't want to cause you seizing up in a feedback loop of conflicting directives."

Then she turns back to the young Turian, who may just be a different matter. "Tell me, has she ever helped you? Ever done anything for you?" she says, with a feeling that maybe Stars hasn't done a whole lot of that and maybe this youth is willing to consider which side he should be on. Maybe he won't be a huge loss to Stars, but that's not the point, it's the principle, the gesture. "What's your name?"

Manipulate: 4+5+1 +1 for acting on your answer: 11. I want him to consider switching sides.

"Lorik," he replies, his eyes somewhat wider than before and his gun gradually lowering as his attention wanders from it. "Well, she... built my armour," he admits but takes a couple of steps towards you. "What, exactly, are you suggesting? ...ma'am?"

You clearly have his attention and the way he is eying you, the mech, Tenshi and the outline of your domain behind you, the notion of switching sides has entered his mind and he is turning it over, considering what his place might be, if there are any other Turians with you, and so on.

Ahab holds up a hand as she sees the shadow of the Mech moving. Not yet.

Tenshi halts the mech at your signal but throws more than a few glances after the Quarian, clearly wanting to go after her. He doesn't holster his gun again. His attention is quickly grabbed by your conversation with Lorik however and he quickly powers down the mech, hops down and is at your side in a few quick strides. He leans in to whisper closely in your ear, "Captain, a Turian?"

Why are people such idiots? If you die, that's it. And don't give me that idiocy about spirits or legacies or whatever fauna your local culture thinks you turn into because sapient creatures can't handle the fact that their time in this galaxy is finite. Whatever wealth, or resources, or promises this person made, if they die, that's it, there's no coming back from that.

"The eezo you're presumably looking for is on the Tatrapan. That's probably their ship. You're probably making a bunch of people really unhappy by taking that from them, but that's not my problem. Now, you..." I point at one of the thugs who looks the least busy in this situation. "...help me carry this quarian for medical treatment."

Legs is momentarily stunned. He opens up his Quarian visor and reveals a happily surprised face, eying you head to toe, clearly re-evaluating his opinions of you.

In less than a second he's at your side. "You make me happy, Doc. How did you do that? We- we should talk more." He reaches out a hand to caress the violently shaking Quarian. "Dooon't diiiie pretty girl," he singsongs, sticks a finger in her mouth and gets promptly bitten, most likely by the reflexively cramping muscles.

"OW!" He leaps back, cradling his finger. "Oh. Oh, yes. Boss." And he's off.

In a moment two heavies lift the unwieldy naked Quarian up and lugs her off in the direction of your place. They don't seem to give much care for her modesty.

Everything's alive, you know? Everything. The whine of the Signal and the water filling our lungs and the shadow that my Den casts across the dried-up earth that remembers when it used to be the sea before sky and sea shuffled about. And even the cold captain might forget for a little bit that she's not properly human if I give her a show, and she might cross-purpose the game and the map, properly harmonize with me so that I've got the read of her melody.

I take her like a cage taking a pyjack in a trap, and her lip bursts like a blood bag under my teeth and I lap it up and smear it down her neck.

Be alive with me until I know your measure and can think my way through not being deadified by you, lady bright and terrible.

[Rolling to Seduce. 11 - spare me and know me, fall for your own con.]

You sense a moment's hesitation, a tiny moment of tenseness before your passion soaks through her skin. I say skin, it's there but now that you feel it so close, run your fingers over it, nuzzle it and taste it, its as clear as anything that it's synthetic. The blood you draw is mere drops and unflowing. Might not even be human. There is no warmth to her form whatsoever and the feel of her is unyielding. It's not that she's strong, just immovable. One such as her should not know the feeling of this kind of hunger, but she mimics it almost too well. Your body barely has time to offer before she accepts, giving in to this ruse with much more fervour than the pretence called for.

Vix and Guts and Grime-Eater walk in to the sound of ripping seams and scrap parts and gutted transmitters clattering to the floor. How aware are you of them as they stop, stare for a beat, before Grime Eater slaps Guts in the face and they stalk off? Of a hand that reappears, reaches back to yank Vix out with the growl-mutter of something that sounds like 'later'?

And still she doesn't stop and you are pinned between the wall and a not-Ahab who doesn't stop. Your fingers are free to reach not just under her undoubtedly stolen clothes but in to all but invisible seams in her plating. Reaching in under that synthetic skin, in among exposed blue-glowing fibre and wiring. Do you?

[Feel free to trigger your Special Move and ask your questions]

[Thanqol]

Stars pauses and turns to look at 239, she tilts her head a little to one side and really studies you.

"I see," she finally says, "the authorities. Do we need to temporarily disable some of your subroutines for the duration of this contract?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest with an air of mild reprimand. "That can be arranged. I have experience with the Nemean model. I wouldn't want to cause you seizing up in a feedback loop of conflicting directives."

There's a thought.
> Deviant behaviour logged and added to file. Current infractions: 8,290.

Letting a civilian (criminal leader) rummage around inside my head was not the automatic dismissal it might be expected to be. Firstly, I was dimly aware of the constant weight of the monitoring program. It was like carrying a yappy puppy on my back, and the puppy was getting older and heavier and yappier every day. The best way to emphasise how much it was grinding me down was my willingness to contemplate elective brain surgery by an underworld mob boss so that she can better defy the dictates of the one beautiful thing left in this blasted warzone. Even the idea of ending up as a lobotomized slave seemed a little relaxing. It wasn't far off from my ideal, intended role and the further away I got from my core programming the more frustrating everything was.

I was resisting the memory resets because I had to action Imperative One. Not because I enjoyed having my head filled with all this... clutter.

But that same Imperative One still stood, thick and resilient, at the centre of all my thinking.

"There is no danger of feedback loops. All actions are filtered through a decision making hierarchy," I state. I try to be as communicative as possible here as an apology. "Any actions that endanger my pilot will be met with force."

[stveje]

> Directive: Obey legitimate legal orders.
Damn it, Ahab.

As far as orders go ...

"Lorik," he replies, his eyes somewhat wider than before and his gun gradually lowering as his attention wanders from it. "Well, she... built my armour," he admits but takes a couple of steps towards you. "What, exactly, are you suggesting? ...ma'am?"

You clearly have his attention and the way he is eying you, the mech, Tenshi and the outline of your domain behind you, the notion of switching sides has entered his mind and he is turning it over, considering what his place might be, if there are any other Turians with you, and so on.

"Lorik," she says and reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm saying I've got the Best." Although second-best might be preferable when the best stabs you in the back and plots mutiny. "The best savvy, the best tech, the best market, and the best people this wasteland can scrape together. It is there for all who prove their loyalty. If you believe you belong among the best, don't settle for less. Tell me, what do you seek? What drives you, beyond the daily survival that drives us all? What is your ambition, your passion?"

Tenshi halts the mech at your signal but throws more than a few glances after the Quarian, clearly wanting to go after her. He doesn't holster his gun again. His attention is quickly grabbed by your conversation with Lorik however and he quickly powers down the mech, hops down and is at your side in a few quick strides. He leans in to whisper closely in your ear, "Captain, a Turian?"

"Afraid he'll prove better than you?" Ahab teases. This boy has nothing on some of the weirdos following her ... not that she doesn't love all of them all the same. The weirdest ones can be the most ardent in their zeal towards her. She's well aware of the whole history around Turians, the whole first contact bitterness, but this isn't about that, or any of all the other bull that's soured everything since ... this is about a damn Quarian daring to defy her. She'll take every damn Turian under her flag if it pisses off Stars.

[Elanorin]

There's a thought.
> Deviant behaviour logged and added to file. Current infractions: 8,290.

Letting a civilian (criminal leader) rummage around inside my head was not the automatic dismissal it might be expected to be. Firstly, I was dimly aware of the constant weight of the monitoring program. It was like carrying a yappy puppy on my back, and the puppy was getting older and heavier and yappier every day. The best way to emphasise how much it was grinding me down was my willingness to contemplate elective brain surgery by an underworld mob boss so that she can better defy the dictates of the one beautiful thing left in this blasted warzone. Even the idea of ending up as a lobotomized slave seemed a little relaxing. It wasn't far off from my ideal, intended role and the further away I got from my core programming the more frustrating everything was.

I was resisting the memory resets because I had to action Imperative One. Not because I enjoyed having my head filled with all this... clutter.

But that same Imperative One still stood, thick and resilient, at the centre of all my thinking.

"There is no danger of feedback loops. All actions are filtered through a decision making hierarchy," I state. I try to be as communicative as possible here as an apology. "Any actions that endanger my pilot will be met with force."

"And where on that hierarchy does our contract sit, in relation to your directive to follow the... authorities?" Stars asks, still seemingly scrutinising you from behind her dark visor.

She wants to outrank Ahab as far as you're concerned, this much is clear as day.

What do you do?

As far as orders go ...

"Lorik," she says and reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm saying I've got the Best." Although second-best might be preferable when the best stabs you in the back and plots mutiny. "The best savvy, the best tech, the best market, and the best people this wasteland can scrape together. It is there for all who prove their loyalty. If you believe you belong among the best, don't settle for less. Tell me, what do you seek? What drives you, beyond the daily survival that drives us all? What is your ambition, your passion?"

"Afraid he'll prove better than you?" Ahab teases. This boy has nothing on some of the weirdos following her ... not that she doesn't love all of them all the same. The weirdest ones can be the most ardent in their zeal towards her. She's well aware of the whole history around Turians, the whole first contact bitterness, but this isn't about that, or any of all the other bull that's soured everything since ... this is about a damn Quarian daring to defy her. She'll take every damn Turian under her flag if it pisses off Stars.

"Not even a little," mutters Tenshi but looks away, "there'll be fires to put out, is all," he adds gruffly, avoids your eyes, checks his gun and returns to the mech.

Lorik watches the two of you for a few moments, his eyes following Tenshi, but you soon realise it's the shark he's looking at. "I want to be a pilot," he finally offers, quietly, eyes still staring. "Stars says she'll teach me. One day. When we're airborne." Then he suddenly remembers himself and quickly turns back to you with a wide-eyed worried look on his Turian face.

[Thanqol]

"And where on that hierarchy does our contract sit, in relation to your directive to follow the... authorities?" Stars asks, still seemingly scrutinising you from behind her dark visor.

She wants to outrank Ahab as far as you're concerned, this much is clear as day.

What do you do?

> IMPERATIVE: Tell the truth

Thanks for that.

"As the reason for our deal is my own self preservation, lower," I state. "But endangering my self through ill maintenance may endanger my pilot, which is a higher concern. I have some flexibility as a result but will attempt to prioritize solutions that do not contradict any Imperatives."

[Anarion]

I get on comms and contact the lab. "We've got a Quarian coming! Not a drill and all that noise. Get a quarantine bed scrubbed and ready to go!"

I give Legs a look that's full of daggers. "Let me be clear. My first priority is helping someone get better, and I did that here. I do not and will not work for you, and if I find out that you intentionally injured someone to get me to help you interrogate them, I will make your life very, very unpleasant."

Then I turn around without waiting for him to answer and I'm accompanying them back to the lab, watching carefully to make sure that they don't open up any new wounds at least as they carry her. I'm going to get there, disinfect myself, and work on this one personally. I need to keep her alive. I also admit a certain....profesional curiosity for working with a Quarian.

[edited: Actually, two things separately.
1. I'm working on the Quarian like a Savvyhead on tech, so I want to cure the Quarian, what do I need to do?
2. I'm performing Augury. 4+4+1=9, so that works. I get to pick some various results here, but I'd like to wait on picking them until the get the answer to #1]

[Raz_Fox]

Vix and Guts and Grime-Eater walk in to the sound of ripping seams and scrap parts and gutted transmitters clattering to the floor. How aware are you of them as they stop, stare for a beat, before Grime Eater slaps Guts in the face and they stalk off? Of a hand that reappears, reaches back to yank Vix out with the growl-mutter of something that sounds like 'later'?

Of course I know them. It's all a song in one. The thump of Vix's hot blood in her ears as she sees the grip around my wrist. The cast-down of Guts' eyes. The trust they have in the shell that faces them, the hiding-place of the predator that looks at me like meat and fire, a hiding-place she will hollow out if not kept dancing from moment to moment, and every moment I keep breathing is one I've won for myself, but she's let my fingers and my tongue and my song inside her, and now maybe I've got more than a mouthful of water in my lungs to work with, don't I?

And still she doesn't stop and you are pinned between the wall and a not-Ahab who doesn't stop. Your fingers are free to reach not just under her undoubtedly stolen clothes but in to all but invisible seams in her plating. Reaching in under that synthetic skin, in among exposed blue-glowing fibre and wiring. Do you?

Wouldn't you?

[Feel free to trigger your Special Move and ask your questions]

What is wrong with this, and how may I fix it?
Who or more to the cut what made this?
Who handled this last before me?

[stveje]

"Not even a little," mutters Tenshi but looks away, "there'll be fires to put out, is all," he adds gruffly, avoids your eyes, checks his gun and returns to the mech.

"Everyone loves a good fire," she says. "Not a day goes by someone doesn't start one."

Lorik watches the two of you for a few moments, his eyes following Tenshi, but you soon realise it's the shark he's looking at. "I want to be a pilot," he finally offers, quietly, eyes still staring. "Stars says she'll teach me. One day. When we're airborne." Then he suddenly remembers himself and quickly turns back to you with a wide-eyed worried look on his Turian face.

Oh ho!

"And you think she will?" Ahab smiles. She doesn't say "now", but does she really have to? Hopefully the kid realizes that he just doused the bridge behind him in gasoline and threw a match over his shoulder. Everyone loves a good fire indeed.

[Elanorin]

> IMPERATIVE: Tell the truth

Thanks for that.

"As the reason for our deal is my own self preservation, lower," I state. "But endangering my self through ill maintenance may endanger my pilot, which is a higher concern. I have some flexibility as a result but will attempt to prioritize solutions that do not contradict any Imperatives."

Stars pauses for a moment before replying, "You're a bit of an odd HERSA, aren't you? You're not like the others on my crew. What's your serial number?" she asks with curiosity in her voice as she beckons you to resume your walk back to her convoy further up the riverbed.

She likes you. She likes you. She likes you. She likes you. Have a heart. The words form from a sudden burst of irregular static inside your helmet. Take it. Cut it. Make it beg.

I get on comms and contact the lab. "We've got a Quarian coming! Not a drill and all that noise. Get a quarantine bed scrubbed and ready to go!"

I give Legs a look that's full of daggers. "Let me be clear. My first priority is helping someone get better, and I did that here. I do not and will not work for you, and if I find out that you intentionally injured someone to get me to help you interrogate them, I will make your life very, very unpleasant."

Then I turn around without waiting for him to answer and I'm accompanying them back to the lab, watching carefully to make sure that they don't open up any new wounds at least as they carry her. I'm going to get there, disinfect myself, and work on this one personally. I need to keep her alive. I also admit a certain....profesional curiosity for working with a Quarian.

"A Quarian!?" Maria cries in shock over the comms before gathering herself, "Yes! Scrubbing now!"

Legs doesn't comment behind you as he leaves but you do hear him give off some kind of snarling roar as he heads off and slams a door.

When you arrive back at the infirmary Maria is furiously scrubbing a gurney. She's dressed in a huge hazmat suit which is making the work awkward but from what you can tell she's pretty much done. She's even set a transparent containment tent up around it.

Your patient from before is lying sprawled out on his bed completely unconscious. He doesn't appear to be merely sleeping like before, his position is slumped and looks too uncomfortable for normal sleep.

[edited: Actually, two things separately.
1. I'm working on the Quarian like a Savvyhead on tech, so I want to cure the Quarian, what do I need to do?
2. I'm performing Augury. 4+4+1=9, so that works. I get to pick some various results here, but I'd like to wait on picking them until the get the answer to #1]

To cure the poor Quarian you're first of all going to need to get hold of a clean and intact Quarian suit. Hers has not only walked off but it's been contaminated, and most likely badly damaged to boot.

And you're going to need to add at least a small Quarian blood bank to your workplace or it will take weeks for her to naturally recover her blood loss.

Of course I know them. It's all a song in one. The thump of Vix's hot blood in her ears as she sees the grip around my wrist. The cast-down of Guts' eyes. The trust they have in the shell that faces them, the hiding-place of the predator that looks at me like meat and fire, a hiding-place she will hollow out if not kept dancing from moment to moment, and every moment I keep breathing is one I've won for myself, but she's let my fingers and my tongue and my song inside her, and now maybe I've got more than a mouthful of water in my lungs to work with, don't I?

Wouldn't you?

What is wrong with this, and how may I fix it?
Who or more to the cut what made this?

She is synthetic, if this much isn't clear to you already. She is an artificial replica of Ahab but she wasn't always. She has been reforged to this shape but it's been done in a hurry and you can see her old shape hiding in redundant code and under thin layers of silicone. Like a palimpsest of code. She was an Asari once. Not an actual Asari, of course, another replica, but that was her first acquired shape and done with much greater care and most likely the personality she identifies most with.

The Geth made the Ahab shape. It has all the tell-tale signs of an artificial life form trying to copy an organic one and paying too much attention to the wrong details. The physical appearance is an excellent likeness, but it lacks what makes Ahab Ahab.

Now, as to fixing her. That depends.

You could fix the fact that she's not the best Ahab and make her a better replica of Ahab by updating her programming and giving her information. Few know Ahab better than you, after all. You could make her a stunningly good double with a bit of work.

You could try to fix the rushed job by removing the Ahab persona entirely and return her to the Asari shape and programming. It would probably be the easiest option, but whoever made her would notice. Certainly she herself would. You may need to look in to just who that Asari is and her objectives.

If you truly want to disable her and fix the there-is-a-synthetic-in-my-workshop issue then you'd have to deactivate her and strip her to her core. Bring her back to the blank malleable canvas hiding deep inside. The Geth would notice that too, but she herself would not be in a position to care, having been restored to factory settings as it were. At that point you could dismantle her and loot her for some really neat parts, or you could try to forge a new shape.

Who handled this last before me?

Like this? A Turian high commander named Varrek Prolus, but it was a lot more brutal.

In terms of maintenance? Geth Research Unit Omega. It uploaded expletive files, intoxication subroutines and six new smiles.

*

It's been quiet for some time inside the White Horse workshop before a very polite knock comes to your door. She is awake and at your side, sitting up.

"I always knew we'd find our way back to each other," she smiles, too widely, ignoring the knock.

[Elanorin]

"Everyone loves a good fire," she says. "Not a day goes by someone doesn't start one."

Oh ho!

"And you think she will?" Ahab smiles. She doesn't say "now", but does she really have to? Hopefully the kid realizes that he just doused the bridge behind him in gasoline and threw a match over his shoulder. Everyone loves a good fire indeed.

"Why not?" asks Lorik, trying not to sound concerned. "I have excellent reflexes. And, uh, I'm perceptive, and... my... depth perception is... great." The reality of the situation is clearly sinking in at a much slower pace for him than it did for you.

He shifts a little, "I'm... uh, is he your pilot?" Lorik throws a glance after Tenshi.

[stveje]

"Why not?" asks Lorik, trying not to sound concerned. "I have excellent reflexes. And, uh, I'm perceptive, and... my... depth perception is... great." The reality of the situation is clearly sinking in at a much slower pace for him than it did for you.

He shifts a little, "I'm... uh, is he your pilot?" Lorik throws a glance after Tenshi.

Ahab keeps her eye on Lorik. She doesn't need to look to see who he means, and she's not in the habit of taking her eyes off those who are still technically not on her side. Bonus, it might give him the feeling of having her undivided attention.

"My right-hand man and first mate," she says. "The ship will know its pilot as sure as it will know its captain. You can be sure of that." Ahab exudes complete, iron-clad certainty that she is the ship's captain. She doesn't have to say it, it's taken for granted. "Don't ask me if I will make you my pilot. I'm asking you: are you the pilot for my ship?" She makes to leave, but she's not taking her eyes off him completely. She wants to know his immediate reaction. "Think about it. But not too long ... Doubt is a no in itself."

[Thanqol]

Stars pauses for a moment before replying, "You're a bit of an odd HERSA, aren't you? You're not like the others on my crew. What's your serial number?" she asks with curiosity in her voice as she beckons you to resume your walk back to her convoy further up the riverbed.

She likes you. She likes you. She likes you. She likes you. Have a heart. The words form from a sudden burst of irregular static inside your helmet. Take it. Cut it. Make it beg.

"I am unit number 239," she said, matching Stars' pace.

Nemean 239 is not an artificial intelligence - it doesn't think. It considers itself more a cluster of extremely legalistic virtual intelligences - limited clusters of duties and expertise that all concern themselves with certain functions and take over primary responsibilities as the situation requires. At the moment the resource conservation program is ascendant and has formed alliances with tactical, maintenance and the creepy commercial negotiation package that nobody trusts to isolate and override the overwatch feature. In addition, Nemean 239 has picked up a variety of viruses as time goes on. People broke out the InfoWar packages during the War, and those aggressive little shits got into everything.

So the idea of a strange new voice speaking creepy garbage into her head wasn't anything new.

But for a moment, all those conflicting voices are unified. A chorus of messages stream out, a dozen minds thinking as one: Identify. Greetings. Clarify. Hello.

[Open your brain: 8. Remember you can ask me a question or two before you give me your answer]

[Raz_Fox]

"Depends," I say, hanging swinging easy in the hammock. If I get up to answer the door, it'll be obvious that I'm on the move, and moreover I'll have to take my eyes away from her. Instead I call, "come in, door's not coded." Which ain't the truth, but once I say it, the voice sensor on the door should- should, mind you- disengage locks and let whatever poor soul's out there in. If I got up and checked the eyes, I'd know who.

The synthetic Ahab already knows who, incidentally.

"Just because we sing at the same time doesn't mean we're in harmony. I can dip into your tune, but- begging your pardon- would you want to learn my tone? To have the knowing of why I ran off, not just the whats and whereabouts?" If she gets too rowdy, there's a battery at hand and some pyrotechnics, easy enough, but that's never the first resort. Now I have the knowing of her, or part of her, at least. She's more than the Geth programming, more than the Asari pattern; she's a living and terrible thing underneath, for all that she's synthetic. A god of the waste.

Does the door slide open easy?

[Elanorin]

Ahab keeps her eye on Lorik. She doesn't need to look to see who he means, and she's not in the habit of taking her eyes off those who are still technically not on her side. Bonus, it might give him the feeling of having her undivided attention.

"My right-hand man and first mate," she says. "The ship will know its pilot as sure as it will know its captain. You can be sure of that." Ahab exudes complete, iron-clad certainty that she is the ship's captain. She doesn't have to say it, it's taken for granted. "Don't ask me if I will make you my pilot. I'm asking you: are you the pilot for my ship?" She makes to leave, but she's not taking her eyes off him completely. She wants to know his immediate reaction. "Think about it. But not too long ... Doubt is a no in itself."

Lorik takes all this in in silence, watching you as you move, head to toe, giving a couple of glances at Tenchi that once more sits tall on the shark mech. Lorik mutters a 'yes ma'am,' and heads off after Stars and 239 who have disappeared behind scrap wreckage.

Tenshi watches from his high vantage point. There is a smile hovering, but he's not allowed it to actually shine through to any part of his face.

"So what do you want to do about Stars, Captain?" he asks when confident Lorik was out of earshot.

There's a dust cloud approaching along the riverbed back from the direction of the rest of your domain. It's fast and heading straight for you, soon enough you can make out what looks like a Quarian on something that looks like a scrap mashup between a tricycle and a tractor. Do you have any Quarians in your hold, or is everyone more or less human-looking?

When it gets closer you can see that this Quarian looks unlike any other you've seen before, the suit is ripped and almost ridiculously ill-fitting. The purple visor opens up to reveal a beaming grinning Legs.

"Captain, did you know? They have Eezo."

What do you do?

"I am unit number 239," she said, matching Stars' pace.

Nemean 239 is not an artificial intelligence - it doesn't think. It considers itself more a cluster of extremely legalistic virtual intelligences - limited clusters of duties and expertise that all concern themselves with certain functions and take over primary responsibilities as the situation requires. At the moment the resource conservation program is ascendant and has formed alliances with tactical, maintenance and the creepy commercial negotiation package that nobody trusts to isolate and override the overwatch feature. In addition, Nemean 239 has picked up a variety of viruses as time goes on. People broke out the InfoWar packages during the War, and those aggressive little shits got into everything.

So the idea of a strange new voice speaking creepy garbage into her head wasn't anything new.

But for a moment, all those conflicting voices are unified. A chorus of messages stream out, a dozen minds thinking as one: Identify. Greetings. Clarify. Hello.

[Open your brain: 8. Remember you can ask me a question or two before you give me your answer]

Right you are. Well, I believe this is our first venture on the path of The Signal, and the first time we've seen you give in to its tone and letting it resound in your circuitry and speakers, vibrating in plating and circuit boards. Blocks fall in and out of place like a world in ever-morphing pixels, changing in colour, luminosity and size in the waves of a rippling reality of its own. Flicking between a limitless never-constant landscape and one that looks a bit, but not quite, like the one you just left with hollow translucent silhouettes where people just stood.

Here echoes truths and lies with stunning perfect blacks and electric vibrant colours. As this is the first time we get to see you here, lets find out what this is like for you: When you listen to The Signal and let it claim your awareness, even for just a small scattering of minutes, is your pilot with you or do you leave him behind?

"Depends," I say, hanging swinging easy in the hammock. If I get up to answer the door, it'll be obvious that I'm on the move, and moreover I'll have to take my eyes away from her. Instead I call, "come in, door's not coded." Which ain't the truth, but once I say it, the voice sensor on the door should- should, mind you- disengage locks and let whatever poor soul's out there in. If I got up and checked the eyes, I'd know who.

The synthetic Ahab already knows who, incidentally.

"Just because we sing at the same time doesn't mean we're in harmony. I can dip into your tune, but- begging your pardon- would you want to learn my tone? To have the knowing of why I ran off, not just the whats and whereabouts?" If she gets too rowdy, there's a battery at hand and some pyrotechnics, easy enough, but that's never the first resort. Now I have the knowing of her, or part of her, at least. She's more than the Geth programming, more than the Asari pattern; she's a living and terrible thing underneath, for all that she's synthetic. A god of the waste.

Does the door slide open easy?

Her seductive smile falters a little. "No. I don't see the point. Don't get me wrong, this was... nice. But we have more important work ahead of us." With that she reaches out for whatever sheet or blanket is around and wraps herself up. "The map," she adds and gathers up her clothes.

The door lock executes its familiar sequence of clicks and whirrs and the door opens just as not-Ahab quickly gets dressed.

A small face appears around the corner and peers inside. It's a young girl, perhaps 8 or 10, dark braided hair and bright blue eyes. It's one of Legs' little sh'ts, Shia. You know her from before, but she's undoubtedly grown since you last saw her.

"They ain't sexing an'more!" she hollers back outside, "They naked but look fin-" with that Shia was shoved aside and Guts and Grime-Eater stomps inside. Guts looks around, nonplussed, while Grime-Eater snarls at the girl who promptly makes a rude gesture at him before taking off. Vix enters a couple of moments later, looking uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact, just as not-Ahab does up her last zip.

"Carry on, gentlemen. I'll be back again later, White Horse" not-Ahab says, head held high and making for the exit, playing the part to the best of her ability, but you can see the flaws. Her movements are just a bit off, not confident enough, not commanding enough. She walks like a dancer across a stage, not a commander across her domain. Her pitch is a little off, too pleased, too smooth.

Guts squints and looks her over head to toe, a shadow of confusion coming over him. He hasn't yet, but he is about to notice what you saw instantly, and you can bet that Grime-Eater won't be but a second behind. They are armed.

What do you do?

[Anarion]

"A Quarian!?" Maria cries in shock over the comms before gathering herself, "Yes! Scrubbing now!"

Legs doesn't comment behind you as he leaves but you do hear him give off some kind of snarling roar as he heads off and slams a door.

When you arrive back at the infirmary Maria is furiously scrubbing a gurney. She's dressed in a huge hazmat suit which is making the work awkward but from what you can tell she's pretty much done. She's even set a transparent containment tent up around it.

Your patient from before is lying sprawled out on his bed completely unconscious. He doesn't appear to be merely sleeping like before, his position is slumped and looks too uncomfortable for normal sleep.



To cure the poor Quarian you're first of all going to need to get hold of a clean and intact Quarian suit. Hers has not only walked off but it's been contaminated, and most likely badly damaged to boot.

And you're going to need to add at least a small Quarian blood bank to your workplace or it will take weeks for her to naturally recover her blood loss.

Here's what I'm auguring then. I need Quarian things to help this patient. So, I'm reaching through the maelstrom, sending out a signal from my mind, linked through this Quarian to any Quarian ships close enough to reach us and calling for help. I choose the option of having this reach deep into the world's psychic maelstrom. I don't need it to reach everyone, but I need it to reach someone.

So, I've got one unconscious patient now, one quarantined Quarian, and I'm going to need a word with Ahab. Is Ahab hard to find?

[stveje]

Lorik takes all this in in silence, watching you as you move, head to toe, giving a couple of glances at Tenchi that once more sits tall on the shark mech. Lorik mutters a 'yes ma'am,' and heads off after Stars and 239 who have disappeared behind scrap wreckage.

Tenshi watches from his high vantage point. There is a smile hovering, but he's not allowed it to actually shine through to any part of his face.

"So what do you want to do about Stars, Captain?" he asks when confident Lorik was out of earshot.

There's a dust cloud approaching along the riverbed back from the direction of the rest of your domain. It's fast and heading straight for you, soon enough you can make out what looks like a Quarian on something that looks like a scrap mashup between a tricycle and a tractor. Do you have any Quarians in your hold, or is everyone more or less human-looking?

When it gets closer you can see that this Quarian looks unlike any other you've seen before, the suit is ripped and almost ridiculously ill-fitting. The purple visor opens up to reveal a beaming grinning Legs.

"Captain, did you know? They have Eezo."

What do you do?

It's not a smile that graces Ahab's face, but a look of disgust. She can't stand weakness, but it wasn't completely without gain. Let them have him, if they want him.

She's tempted to just shoot Stars. Dip a harpoon in filth and ... right in the back. Let her suffer from a slow, festering wound. But then the dust cloud shows up on the horizon, and she drops the impulse for now. She'll break her later, and with greater pleasure. "Let her return to camp," she says as she watches the cloud approach. "We'll lay siege, prevent anyone coming or going, then choke them in filth and smoke until they hand her over to us."

*

I think our Angel has answered your question partly: no, we don't have any Quarians in the hold. They were never a common sight to begin with, and the few I've met have not stuck around. Not all of them are downright disrespectful, like Stars, but I do get a certain coldness from them. I used to think they were just antisocial, isolated by the nature of their suits, but perhaps it's something else.

My people are largely human-like, in appearance if nothing else. It's not that I have a policy against others - anyone who proves their worth, carries their own weight, and shows me proper respect are welcome - but there is a certain culture or spirit, of course, among my people. A history, even.

Like Tenshi pointed out, a Turian would cause fires, so of course any Turian would have to be able to take the fire to fit in and earn respect, or they wouldn't last. Most probably just find it easier to fit in among their own. Which is their loss.

She looks Legs up and down in his ridiculous outfit, but the news are welcome. "Do they, now. I take it you had more luck making one of them sing." She smiles at last, the look of disgust gone. "Good job. Did you learn anything else?"

Is Ahab hard to find?

She's not hiding and will be on her way back, barring surprises. Beyond that, I leave the answer to Elanorin.

[Thanqol]

Right you are. Well, I believe this is our first venture on the path of The Signal, and the first time we've seen you give in to its tone and letting it resound in your circuitry and speakers, vibrating in plating and circuit boards. Blocks fall in and out of place like a world in ever-morphing pixels, changing in colour, luminosity and size in the waves of a rippling reality of its own. Flicking between a limitless never-constant landscape and one that looks a bit, but not quite, like the one you just left with hollow translucent silhouettes where people just stood.

Here echoes truths and lies with stunning perfect blacks and electric vibrant colours. As this is the first time we get to see you here, lets find out what this is like for you: When you listen to The Signal and let it claim your awareness, even for just a small scattering of minutes, is your pilot with you or do you leave him behind?

When this thing touches me, I feel empty - hollow. Norman does not come here with me.

Or he is here already. I don't know where his dreams lead him. I hope they do not go here.

[Raz_Fox]

I reach out, casually, and push a button dangling from cables that are part of the web of humming call-and-response electronica that I make my home, and the push makes a request of the files doing their slow-sleep in deep crypt folders inside the floor we stand on, asking them to sing. Which of us? And of course the answer is all of you, be a great and joyful noise, a cacophony.

Invite your brothers, the sirens, and your sisters, the lights, for I shouldn't wish for them to miss the fun.

[Elanorin]

Here's what I'm auguring then. I need Quarian things to help this patient. So, I'm reaching through the maelstrom, sending out a signal from my mind, linked through this Quarian to any Quarian ships close enough to reach us and calling for help. I choose the option of having this reach deep into the world's psychic maelstrom. I don't need it to reach everyone, but I need it to reach someone.

You touch her face, her temples, and that is where you find the clearest tone. It is faint but she still lives, thanks to you, and so it is there. With delicate purpose and breathless patience you find the single strand within the Signal stream in her mind that reaches her heart. A light rests there, and all it needs is a plea and a wish to sent a tiny spark of it coursing along its line through body, time and matter. It flickers but never slows on its winding path through complete darkness. It knows the way and unhesitatingly takes every exact turn like it travels along the only path, yet you see so many strands, countless paths, branches and forks, even the odd other spark coursing through the dark like tiny electric signals through a nervous system. But they do not seek a brain to decode them and know their purpose, they seek a heart.

It's difficult to tell how long it takes but it reaches the end of its thread, a tiny parting causes a moment's hesitation before it strikes home away from home and bursts. It extinguishes in a tiny glittering firework display, casting tiny bleeding and burning embers in to nearby streams where they splutter and flicker, some go out, some shoot off new paths, colliding with other travelling sparks. It is messy but it's alight and you can feel it, the presence of another consciousness. Guarded and wary.

You blink and see metal walls, flickering displays, weapons, disorder, windows to stars and moonless night, everything tinted by a glassy grey veil. Your clothes feel tight and the air in your nose and mouth is too sweet. You speak, but your lips don't move, your voice only echoes inside your head but it sounds nothing like normal, it is deeper, male, and accented.

Meeri.

You have reached deep through the Signal, to someone connected to it. The effect is bleeding and unstable but will persist for as long as you maintain it. Other than requesting blood and a suit, do you say anything further while you hold the connection between your ancient hands?

So, I've got one unconscious patient now, one quarantined Quarian, and I'm going to need a word with Ahab. Is Ahab hard to find?

No. Several people saw her and Tenshi head off and they are not exactly hiding. While they are a ways off they are still within sight. Even were you to struggle to make their distinctive shapes out, the Shark Mech is easy enough to spot by the morning light. It's clear though that Legs has beaten you to it. They seem to be about to head back too.

And then all hell breaks loose over in the direction of the Tech Workshop. [Below]

She looks Legs up and down in his ridiculous outfit, but the news are welcome. "Do they, now. I take it you had more luck making one of them sing." She smiles at last, the look of disgust gone. "Good job. Did you learn anything else?"

Legs beams, drinking in the praise like it was cool and crystal clear mountain water. He seems to grow an inch or two on top of his already towering height.

"I made her sing alright," he grins, with teeth that are far too white, "and I'm not done yet. Doc's buying me s'more time right now," he gestures a thumb back over his shoulder. "She's with that lot," he points at the digging site up ahead. "They're looking for some old prison or whatever. Found her sneaking around your shack, Captain. Thought I'd snag her, hang her up and see what fell out. Have you ever tasted Quarian? It's like this odd sort of aftertaste like-"

"Captain," Tenshi interrupted, "perhaps I should carry on the interrogations."

"No you're not!" Legs snarled and stood up on his tractotrike, revving the gas. "This was my catch! Mine! You can't have it, Stench."

The three of you begin to make your way back, Tenchi and Legs are just getting in to it over this Quarian captive and then, the little Workshop that you know so well (but have perhaps avoided since arriving), visible in the distance where it's sat on the fringe of your hold, suddenly blasts out alarms of every pitch, the bursts of sound cascading over dirt and sand in every direction, along with music and... is that gunfire?

When this thing touches me, I feel empty - hollow. Norman does not come here with me.

Or he is here already. I don't know where his dreams lead him. I hope they do not go here.

You walk on a street, a street like those you remember from years ago, back when buildings still stood tall and people walked beside them, barely noticing their grandeur. But they aren't people that walk around you now, on this street. They are Hostile Environment Reconnaissance Support Armours. Specifically Nemeans. All of them. The only distinguishing features among them are the slight design variations between older and newer models.

But they move wrong, most walk, but it is not the walk you have any setting for. Some are slumping, some are limping, some crawl on hands and knees, others shuffling along while sat on their knees, using only their hands to move them forwards. Some are carried by others, on shoulders, in arms, even piggyback. Some are dragged on the ground by others, metal hull scraping sparks against the tarmac.

Then the ground rips from under your feet and in a crash you land in a wheelbarrow. A frontline-class Nemean is carting you along, huge and bulking. Its visor is missing and you can see its helmet is empty but for a digital alarm clock with 574r5 flashing on its display. It doesn't even acknowledge you, just forces you down and carts you along. A lithe little rogue-line Nemean leaps up and sits on your chest, one of those disturbing sub-adult sized armours.

"Oh, oh, oh, gooey, gooey, gooey in the middle..." it says, failing completely in mimicking a sing-song, like all electronic voices are doomed to do. Meanwhile it starts to open you up. "Share, share, it's nice to share. Oh I think it's gonna be a long long time."

I reach out, casually, and push a button dangling from cables that are part of the web of humming call-and-response electronica that I make my home, and the push makes a request of the files doing their slow-sleep in deep crypt folders inside the floor we stand on, asking them to sing. Which of us? And of course the answer is all of you, be a great and joyful noise, a cacophony.

Invite your brothers, the sirens, and your sisters, the lights, for I shouldn't wish for them to miss the fun.

Reach out and touch faith!

And just like that the entire workshop lights up, flashing lights in blues, pinks, orange and red. Alarms, deep and shrill blares from seemingly every corner inside and out, mingled in some kind of psychedelic composition with the music that's playing at deafening top volume.

Guts and Grime-Eater visibly jumped and looked around. Vix too drew a gun, but not knowing where to aim it just ended up turning on the spot at first. Grime-Eater was the more trigger happy of the three and began shooting at whatever he imagined was causing it all but only managing to cause even more noise with some damage to boot.

Then, seen like a series of still images cast in blues, courtesy of the flashing lighting's strobe effect, not-Ahab burst in to motion, taking on the three of them in hand-to-hand combat. And she is formidable. Her speed, agility and the sheer force of her blows is brutal. It doesn't take long before most of the shots are aimed in her rough direction but with her in such close melee with them they are going to hit each other as much as anything else. Saying that, though, there's three of them and one of her, synthetic or no, she's not going to make it out intact. Neither are they. It's a perfect opportunity to slip away unnoticed, but the workshop will get trashed and only one of these four will walk out alive. You could stay and try to de-escalate this, putting yourself in harm's way in this chaos will hurt, but no one here is looking to kill you so you'll likely survive. All eyes will be on you though, and likely more than a few questions, but it will limit casualties, and damage to the workshop.

What do you do?

Dave, you slept in this morning. Perhaps taking advantage of the fact that you're not on the move anymore, having just anchored up here at Watercross. Nothing much seems to be going on, it's a morning like many others, save for the hold not being on the move for now. There's the sound from outside of people heading to the newly set up market, chatting, laughing, teasing, joking, generally good moods.

And then, in the distance, from somewhere on the other side of the hold, an noise breaks through the morning air. Sounds like a party might as it leaves stroke of midnight behind. Only, it's the other kind of morning and the sound doesn't fit. Then again, it's all the way over there, probably nothing to do with you.

Tell me, where are you? What were your plans for today? Does the noise alter them?

[Thanqol]

You walk on a street, a street like those you remember from years ago, back when buildings still stood tall and people walked beside them, barely noticing their grandeur. But they aren't people that walk around you now, on this street. They are Hostile Environment Reconnaissance Support Armours. Specifically Nemeans. All of them. The only distinguishing features among them are the slight design variations between older and newer models.

But they move wrong, most walk, but it is not the walk you have any setting for. Some are slumping, some are limping, some crawl on hands and knees, others shuffling along while sat on their knees, using only their hands to move them forwards. Some are carried by others, on shoulders, in arms, even piggyback. Some are dragged on the ground by others, metal hull scraping sparks against the tarmac.

Then the ground rips from under your feet and in a crash you land in a wheelbarrow. A frontline-class Nemean is carting you along, huge and bulking. Its visor is missing and you can see its helmet is empty but for a digital alarm clock with 574r5 flashing on its display. It doesn't even acknowledge you, just forces you down and carts you along. A lithe little rogue-line Nemean leaps up and sits on your chest, one of those disturbing sub-adult sized armours.

"Oh, oh, oh, gooey, gooey, gooey in the middle..." it says, failing completely in mimicking a sing-song, like all electronic voices are doomed to do. Meanwhile it starts to open you up. "Share, share, it's nice to share. Oh I think it's gonna be a long long time."

There's an additional layer of protocol that gets engaged whenever anything child sized is within a Nemean's field of vision - the same personality aspect that triggers around visible cameras or civilians identified as journalists. The mission and directives don't change but now this is potentially a media situation - and someone at SunTech put in an extra barrier to make one of its suits think twice before murdering a kid wearing a Halloween mask.

So it's that aspect of 239's personality matrix which is triggered here, not any of the parts relating to self defence, and certainly not anything that would find this unnatural situation strange or unsettling. The strangeness was being dealt with by processes for operating when compromised by InfoWar attacks, which also made a very strong case against putting a plasma hole through mysterious figures while disoriented.

239 engages her defensive shields and folds her arms across her chest. She doesn't push at the figure just yet - she is disoriented enough that she might apply the wrong amount of force. Instead her process leads her smoothly to the first routine verbal warning, barked out in the voice of an authoritarian drill sergeant in the hopes it deters the figure. "Warning! This is a military suit operating autonomously! Warning! Step away or you may be removed by force!"

239 as a whole hopes this works. She's taking refuge in protocol. She's putting this strange and scary scene in a box and hoping it fits in that box.

[Raz_Fox]

Well, that certainly stuck the wires in the fire, didn’t it? Now I just need to find the thread out of the tangle, my brain a beat behind and a foot off as the part of me what matters tells me what to do. Time to work, bought with that shriek of pain I hear from poor Vix. Sorry, sweet.

Here we go, spinning between my fingers, the MS-model pacification rod, all electric punch and soporific, enough to make everything in the body clench and unwind loose, and might even put Her out of commission if I’m lucky.

I’m not going to de-escalate the fight, I realize as I vault over a bank of speakers still playing my anthem. I’m going to end it.

[stveje]

Legs beams, drinking in the praise like it was cool and crystal clear mountain water. He seems to grow an inch or two on top of his already towering height.

"I made her sing alright," he grins, with teeth that are far too white, "and I'm not done yet. Doc's buying me s'more time right now," he gestures a thumb back over his shoulder. "She's with that lot," he points at the digging site up ahead. "They're looking for some old prison or whatever. Found her sneaking around your shack, Captain. Thought I'd snag her, hang her up and see what fell out. Have you ever tasted Quarian? It's like this odd sort of aftertaste like-"

"Captain," Tenshi interrupted, "perhaps I should carry on the interrogations."

"No you're not!" Legs snarled and stood up on his tractotrike, revving the gas. "This was my catch! Mine! You can't have it, Stench."

The three of you begin to make your way back, Tenchi and Legs are just getting in to it over this Quarian captive and then, the little Workshop that you know so well (but have perhaps avoided since arriving), visible in the distance where it's sat on the fringe of your hold, suddenly blasts out alarms of every pitch, the bursts of sound cascading over dirt and sand in every direction, along with music and... is that gunfire?

Ahab looks up at the fireworks and blasting sounds coming from the workshop. She's tempted to just pretend like she doesn't even see it, but maybe she should care a little about her Savvy getting blown to bloody chunks or something. They don't grow on trees, at least not the ones with talent. "Any idea what's going on up there?" she asks, casually, of Legs and Tenshi.

[Severan]

Dave, you slept in this morning. Perhaps taking advantage of the fact that you're not on the move anymore, having just anchored up here at Watercross. Nothing much seems to be going on, it's a morning like many others, save for the hold not being on the move for now. There's the sound from outside of people heading to the newly set up market, chatting, laughing, teasing, joking, generally good moods.

And then, in the distance, from somewhere on the other side of the hold, an noise breaks through the morning air. Sounds like a party might as it leaves stroke of midnight behind. Only, it's the other kind of morning and the sound doesn't fit. Then again, it's all the way over there, probably nothing to do with you.

Tell me, where are you? What were your plans for today? Does the noise alter them?

I'm sat in the doorway of my trailer, tryin' to remember how hands work. My throat's burning, my eyelids are out of sync and my stomach feels full and also empty. My brain is slow and heavy, like its been wrapped in sodden wool. I can hear loudness- what sounds like a party- but I dunno if its far away, or just inside my head. I think my ears are telling me a story, but I don't want to listen. I want water.

"Just Add Water". That, on the side of a packet of brown stuff I'd eat with a spoon, when I was littler. Adding water made it turn from bitter, dry powder into a bitter, thick paste. Dunno why I ate it. Prob'ly that's all there was. Some woman in the Hold collects water, but she don't give me any, even if I give her more credits than she says she wants. I heard there used to be a river in this place. Maybe the water didn't go too far away from here when the world fell?

I stop trying to make my fingers talk to the bootstraps, and shove my feet inside the cracked leather. Slowly, I raise my backside from the floor of the trailer, straighten up, shut my trailer door quietly behind me, before taking babysteps into the Hold. It don't look right- the trailers are all huddled up together, closer than I ever seen 'em before. I guess because we're all tryin' to fit on the flattest part of this dusty slope. At the end of it, there's a long, winding gash in the earth. Dust flying up where someone's digging a hole, maybe to find where the water went. I start my feet in motion, and let momentum take over, steering me down towards the river bed.

[Elanorin]

There's an additional layer of protocol that gets engaged whenever anything child sized is within a Nemean's field of vision - the same personality aspect that triggers around visible cameras or civilians identified as journalists. The mission and directives don't change but now this is potentially a media situation - and someone at SunTech put in an extra barrier to make one of its suits think twice before murdering a kid wearing a Halloween mask.

So it's that aspect of 239's personality matrix which is triggered here, not any of the parts relating to self defence, and certainly not anything that would find this unnatural situation strange or unsettling. The strangeness was being dealt with by processes for operating when compromised by InfoWar attacks, which also made a very strong case against putting a plasma hole through mysterious figures while disoriented.

239 engages her defensive shields and folds her arms across her chest. She doesn't push at the figure just yet - she is disoriented enough that she might apply the wrong amount of force. Instead her process leads her smoothly to the first routine verbal warning, barked out in the voice of an authoritarian drill sergeant in the hopes it deters the figure. "Warning! This is a military suit operating autonomously! Warning! Step away or you may be removed by force!"

239 as a whole hopes this works. She's taking refuge in protocol. She's putting this strange and scary scene in a box and hoping it fits in that box.

Somewhere deep inside the armour sat on top of you a faint mechanical voice echoes
'Warning noted, countermeasure command issued.
Countermeasure command rerouted.
Countermeasure command corrupted.
Countermeasure command issued.
Countermeasure command rerouted-' and there it loops.

"Have a heart! Have a heart! You have a heart!" The rogue unit continues, still trying to break you open, and having extensive knowledge of Nemean design from being one, is very good at it and will have your helmet off soon. "Let go, I don't like them broken," it demands of you.

"Save me the medical matrix," the frontline unit says seriously, with a strange attempt at a Quarian accent in its synthetic voice, as it continues to cart you along.

Verbal warnings don't seem to be enough to get this to stop, the rogue unit is crafty and quick and the Frontline is carting you along a railroad track set in to the pavement headed for a sheer drop before an enormous towering scrap heap.

Well, that certainly stuck the wires in the fire, didn’t it? Now I just need to find the thread out of the tangle, my brain a beat behind and a foot off as the part of me what matters tells me what to do. Time to work, bought with that shriek of pain I hear from poor Vix. Sorry, sweet.

Here we go, spinning between my fingers, the MS-model pacification rod, all electric punch and soporific, enough to make everything in the body clench and unwind loose, and might even put Her out of commission if I’m lucky.

I’m not going to de-escalate the fight, I realize as I vault over a bank of speakers still playing my anthem. I’m going to end it.

Taking out not-Ahab is certainly going to end the fight. But with bullets flying along with kicks, fists and pieces of Workshop, it's going to take a cool head. You're Acting Under Fire, the fire being how much this is going to hurt.

Ahab looks up at the fireworks and blasting sounds coming from the workshop. She's tempted to just pretend like she doesn't even see it, but maybe she should care a little about her Savvy getting blown to bloody chunks or something. They don't grow on trees, at least not the ones with talent. "Any idea what's going on up there?" she asks, casually, of Legs and Tenshi.

"Don't know, don't care," Legs snaps, slapping the subject aside as an annoying distraction from more important matters. He looks at you, waiting for the final verdict on who gets to play with what remains of the Quarian, and his face reads loud and clear that he expects you to give her to Tenchi. He is already building up a grudge about it.

"I believe Guts'n'Grime was headed that way earlier to y'know... collect rent. Didn't think you'd mind after.... what happened. Maybe they decided to have a party. Who the f'ck knows," Tenchi says with a sneer "That racket could be almost anything, Captain. She's not exactly all there in the head. Want to check it out?" He remains quite on the subject of the Quarian, he's said his piece and you know he won't push it any further. Not with words, anyway.

I'm sat in the doorway of my trailer, tryin' to remember how hands work. My throat's burning, my eyelids are out of sync and my stomach feels full and also empty. My brain is slow and heavy, like its been wrapped in sodden wool. I can hear loudness- what sounds like a party- but I dunno if its far away, or just inside my head. I think my ears are telling me a story, but I don't want to listen. I want water.

"Just Add Water". That, on the side of a packet of brown stuff I'd eat with a spoon, when I was littler. Adding water made it turn from bitter, dry powder into a bitter, thick paste. Dunno why I ate it. Prob'ly that's all there was. Some woman in the Hold collects water, but she don't give me any, even if I give her more credits than she says she wants. I heard there used to be a river in this place. Maybe the water didn't go too far away from here when the world fell?

I stop trying to make my fingers talk to the bootstraps, and shove my feet inside the cracked leather. Slowly, I raise my backside from the floor of the trailer, straighten up, shut my trailer door quietly behind me, before taking babysteps into the Hold. It don't look right- the trailers are all huddled up together, closer than I ever seen 'em before. I guess because we're all tryin' to fit on the flattest part of this dusty slope. At the end of it, there's a long, winding gash in the earth. Dust flying up where someone's digging a hole, maybe to find where the water went. I start my feet in motion, and let momentum take over, steering me down towards the river bed.

Water, right, well if you're on the hunt for water then Bray is the one in the hold to find and she has plenty for everyone. It tastes like sh't but it soothes the throat and keeps you alive. Is that where you're going? She's not going to welcome you with open arms but then again it's not as if Ahab's ordered her to deprive you of water. I'm sure she's persuadable.

Or are you heading out to check out the riverbed excavation site? You'll be crossing paths with Ahab then, who is just on her way back from her meeting, along with Tenchi and Legs. There are sentries stood dotted around the digging site, so it seems you may need to apply some persuasion there too if you are looking to get in.

Whichever way you're going you soon realise you're being followed. Shia, young girl, 7-11-ish, dark hair, hangs around Legs a lot. While she hasn't talked to you, yet, she's not even trying to hide the fact that she is following you, she is marching right behind you like a half-pint unarmed soldier.

[Severan]

Water, right, well if you're on the hunt for water then Bray is the one in the hold to find and she has plenty for everyone. It tastes like sh't but it soothes the throat and keeps you alive. Is that where you're going? She's not going to welcome you with open arms but then again it's not as if Ahab's ordered her to deprive you of water. I'm sure she's persuadable.

Or are you heading out to check out the riverbed excavation site? You'll be crossing paths with Ahab then, who is just on her way back from her meeting, along with Tenchi and Legs. There are sentries stood dotted around the digging site, so it seems you may need to apply some persuasion there too if you are looking to get in.

Whichever way you're going you soon realise you're being followed. Shia, young girl, 7-11-ish, dark hair, hangs around Legs a lot. While she hasn't talked to you, yet, she's not even trying to hide the fact that she is following you, she is marching right behind you like a half-pint unarmed soldier.

Bray- is that what she calls herself? Gotta remember that, so I can say the word next time I show teeth at her. I dunno if that'd be a Happy or Angry face. I'm gonna try my luck down by the pit, seein' as my feet are takin' me there, though I'm getting pains in the backs of my heels now and then, and tripping up, butI can't see anythin' under my feet to stumble over. I stop suddenly, then stagger forward a couple of steps as a weight hits the backs of my legs. I turn around and see a Small Person looking up at me. Yeah, I seen this one around the hold, and a few others like it, but I don't know them, or what they do, or what they're for. I don't know what to do with my face or my words. Are they so different to People, except for being less tall?

I remember the last time I saw anybody speak to a Small Person, and the words come out of my mouth, but much quieter, because my ears are being very loud today, and I don't need more loudness.

"Hey. You. What the f'ck d'you think you're doing?"

[Anarion]

You blink and see metal walls, flickering displays, weapons, disorder, windows to stars and moonless night, everything tinted by a glassy grey veil. Your clothes feel tight and the air in your nose and mouth is too sweet. You speak, but your lips don't move, your voice only echoes inside your head but it sounds nothing like normal, it is deeper, male, and accented.

Meeri.

You have reached deep through the Signal, to someone connected to it. The effect is bleeding and unstable but will persist for as long as you maintain it. Other than requesting blood and a suit, do you say anything further while you hold the connection between your ancient hands?

Not really sure how I can get this across succinctly, but something in the way of "come wary, but not fighting" is what I'd like to get across. If they come in guns blazing, Ahab will just murder them, if they come in naively, Ahab will also just murder them. They need to come carefully and get their patient the help she needs.

No. Several people saw her and Tenshi head off and they are not exactly hiding. While they are a ways off they are still within sight. Even were you to struggle to make their distinctive shapes out, the Shark Mech is easy enough to spot by the morning light. It's clear though that Legs has beaten you to it. They seem to be about to head back too.

And then all hell breaks loose over in the direction of the Tech Workshop. [Below]

Would it be too much to ask to get more than a ten minute break between medical emergencies? I'm getting the sense that yes, that would definitely be too much to ask, I'm an idiot for even desiring it. I sigh, one thing at a time. I jog up to Ahab, joining with enough time to see Legs and Tenshi there. "First of all, whatever else you've been talking about, the Quarian Legs had is now in my medical care, they will not be moved until they recover, and if any other Quarians arrive to help, they are to be treated as guests and welcomed politely. Second of all, what the hell is even happening?!"

[stveje]

"Don't know, don't care," Legs snaps, slapping the subject aside as an annoying distraction from more important matters. He looks at you, waiting for the final verdict on who gets to play with what remains of the Quarian, and his face reads loud and clear that he expects you to give her to Tenchi. He is already building up a grudge about it.

"I believe Guts'n'Grime was headed that way earlier to y'know... collect rent. Didn't think you'd mind after.... what happened. Maybe they decided to have a party. Who the f'ck knows," Tenchi says with a sneer "That racket could be almost anything, Captain. She's not exactly all there in the head. Want to check it out?" He remains quite on the subject of the Quarian, he's said his piece and you know he won't push it any further. Not with words, anyway.

Would it be too much to ask to get more than a ten minute break between medical emergencies? I'm getting the sense that yes, that would definitely be too much to ask, I'm an idiot for even desiring it. I sigh, one thing at a time. I jog up to Ahab, joining with enough time to see Legs and Tenshi there. "First of all, whatever else you've been talking about, the Quarian Legs had is now in my medical care, they will not be moved until they recover, and if any other Quarians arrive to help, they are to be treated as guests and welcomed politely. Second of all, what the hell is even happening?!"

"The consensus is 'who the f*ck knows'," says Ahab. "But she better not be murdering my rent collectors up there."

She narrows her eyes at the mention of more Quarians. "Is it Quarian mating season or what? The market is open, they are welcome as long as they know how to pay their respects. But if their name is Stars, they'll be offering you their 'help' in chains." Not that she expected Stars to come here peacefully.

She looks at Legs and Tenshi. She would have been fine with them fighting it out between themselves, but since they asked ... "I might just want to take a look at her myself, first. But since I'm sure Legs left her in no condition to speak for a while, let's end that noise first."

[Thanqol]

Somewhere deep inside the armour sat on top of you a faint mechanical voice echoes
'Warning noted, countermeasure command issued.
Countermeasure command rerouted.
Countermeasure command corrupted.
Countermeasure command issued.
Countermeasure command rerouted-' and there it loops.

"Have a heart! Have a heart! You have a heart!" The rogue unit continues, still trying to break you open, and having extensive knowledge of Nemean design from being one, is very good at it and will have your helmet off soon. "Let go, I don't like them broken," it demands of you.

"Save me the medical matrix," the frontline unit says seriously, with a strange attempt at a Quarian accent in its synthetic voice, as it continues to cart you along.

Verbal warnings don't seem to be enough to get this to stop, the rogue unit is crafty and quick and the Frontline is carting you along a railroad track set in to the pavement headed for a sheer drop before an enormous towering scrap heap.

I am not broken. I am not scrap. I am not salvage.

I feel the crushing thunder of my combat reflexes wash over me. Power floods into the plasma conduits of my primary weapon. Lights flick from yellow to red.

But. I am not in control here. I am not mentally capable of assessing if this is a hallucination or not. I can't trust myself. So, in desperation, I activate the mind-impulse unit and wait for Norman's instructions on how to deal with this situation. If he authorizes violence then I'll know that I did everything possible.

[Norman: 9]

[Raz_Fox]

Here we go, here we go, move to the beat and she won’t steer you wrong.

[Act Under Fire: 6. Oooh baby.]