‘If we don’t get comms up, then—’

‘We can’t get comms up,’ Muller cries out, raising his arms as if to embrace the world. ‘What do you think we’ve been doing the last—’

‘We have to try something,’ you cut right in, feeling your own temper rise. ‘We’re already outnumbered and on the defensive. If you’re suggesting that I just hop in my Mech and play the jock to an early grave, you—’

‘Ensign.’

Wray’s voice is like a crack of thunder. You lean back, realizing that you were practically hunched over the display. You give a small nod, biting your bottom lip as you, once again, return to your options, limited as they are. You look from Muller to Wray before resting on the engineers and mechanics, feeling … helpless. You don’t know what else to say. Did you overstep, you wonder? Had Wray overestimated you in this instance? What were you even—

‘Comms are a priority,’ Wray sounds out, much to your surprise, ‘but re-establishing any channels outside of a public, general cast … we don’t know how they’re jamming us or what they’ve thrown up. The only thing that we know for sure is that their channels are clear, and ours aren’t. Blind or not, we’re going to have to wade in and feel our way through this. Until the engineers and mechanics can figure out just what’s going on, we hold the line. All there is to it.’

Wray’s manner of address is devoid of emotion. Resignation, fear, reluctance … none of it is there. The man speaks with a tone akin to an automated drone reply. There is a strange calmness about him; an aura of experience and … exasperation, if there was any emotion that you could truly deem present. He is correct, of course. As much as you wanted for there to at least be some manner of communication present, you couldn’t truly expect there to be some sort of miracle to just pop up and make everything the way you wished it to be.

Maybe it was just your ego, but there was something that you really wished that you could—

‘Instructor,’ you start, before realizing your mistake. ‘I mean, sir, I mean … I think that … I think I know how we can get our comms up and running again.’

Muller doesn’t interrupt or comment, much to your surprise.

‘Continue, Ensign,’ Wray prompts, crossing his arms. ‘If you really think you have one.’

You really hope you did.

‘Their channels … you said that they weren’t jammed. If we can piggyback on their frequency, then we can use the—’

‘This isn’t a serial,’ Muller jumps right in, vexed. ‘Even if we’re able to hop onto their channels, how do we reconcile the software configurations between, by a conservative estimate, three different set-ups. That’s not even mentioning how you expect to hook up to their comms in the first place. Or do you have a plan for that, too?'

>>4081911
>'Actually, I do.' (Press on with your plan)
>'No, I ... I don't.' (Concede the floor)

>>4081913
>'Actually, I do.' (Press on with your plan)

>>4081913
>>'Actually, I do.' (Press on with your plan)

>>4081911
>'Actually, I do.' (Press on with your plan)

>>4081913
>>'Actually, I do.' (Press on with your plan)

I dont even know what plan we have

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>>4082326
Hang on, I'm getting to that. Also, sorry. Had to go out and buy kitty litter for my cat. She's getting big.

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A breath escapes you. You feel your shoulders slump as you notice a curious look from Wray and the sudden arrival of an expectant air all around the tactical display. You take in another whiff of air, hoping that what you say wasn’t about to throw you off what modicum of reverence you’d earned in the last few hours as a pilot. You’d really hate it if that happened.
‘Actually, I do.’
Wray doesn’t say a word in response, but the tightened lips and dead-straight glance that he throws Muller tells it all.
‘Well, let’s hear it, then.’

>‘The Whitestorm is keyed in to their channels. We can use it as a hub; a beacon to open up a channel.’
>‘We can try and call in one of the corporations with a link. They might be able to help us work it out.’
>‘Your engineers can at least scour the frequencies and lock in on a key point of entry.’

>>4082355
>‘The Whitestorm is keyed in to their channels. We can use it as a hub; a beacon to open up a channel.’

>>4082355
>>‘The Whitestorm is keyed in to their channels. We can use it as a hub; a beacon to open up a channel.’

>>4082355
>>‘The Whitestorm is keyed in to their channels. We can use it as a hub; a beacon to open up a channel.’

Posting in five minutes.

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You let out another breath, glancing up at the kneeling behemoth of metal and war, hoping you weren’t about to blurt out nonsense to the ears of an expectant audience. Your right hand raises stiffly, pointing at the offending titan—Wray’s Whitestorm—as you arrange the words into sentences.

‘The Whitestorm,’ you indicate, feeling your confidence build. ‘The Whitestorm should be keyed in to any and all channels that the Battlegroup uses. We can use it as a comm hub or entry point to inject ourselves into their system and jam them right back if we’re able to scramble and reverse whatever program they’re running to lock us out in the best case scenario. At the bare minimum, we should be able to ride whatever their frequencies are to get communications back up so we can rally a proper defense.’

Muller stares at you, incredulous. ‘You’ve been watching one serial too many.’

‘The principles are the same when it comes to running the network,’ you throw right back, setting your hand down to your side. ‘There shouldn’t be more than half a dozen injection points for the blackout if there’s only one Battlegroup in orbit. If we can scan and identify those entry points using the Whitestorm’s signature to clear the network and enable—’

Muller makes a noise, cutting you off with a snap of his fingers.

‘Again, in what dimension of space do you think that this is a sane suggestion at all? It’s right out of a show on a system network!’

‘I—’

‘Hacking a system and piggybacking on the enemy’s network is all nice and neat and orderly in a fictional world,’ he starts again, gaining traction with every sentence and resembling a saber-toothed tiger with every tick of the clock. ‘Did you even think about the compatibility of accessing the system with an OS that doesn’t even remotely recognize the entry points for access? It’s not like that there’s some universal access point that any of us can just shove our connections in to rout the new-age jamming tech of a Battlegroup. Do you see any common attribute on that side? Because I don’t. We might as well ask that Mech for the injection points. It’ll give us as much intel as it would me trying to make the KD and RW slots reversible!’

You’re not quite sure if you were meant to get those terms, but you decide not to comment on them, lest you prove your ignorance. While you did have a passing grade in Memphis’s elective, you couldn’t exactly argue other—

No. No, you could.

‘Actually …’

At least, you hope you can.

‘What?’

As high-tension as the situation was, you really felt like cocking your arm back and swinging it into the man’s face.

‘Actually …’

>>4086519
>‘We have someone. Instructor Memphis has worked in tech her whole life. If we’re able to contact her, I’m sure she can manage a workaround.’
>‘What about a Spacer, then? If you can open a general channel to one of the convoys, we should be able to contact her. She’s worked in every branch of tech salvage. If there’s anyone that can splice together an access point, it should be her.’
>‘Get your engineers to work on it.’
>‘No, you’re right. It wouldn’t work.’
>[Punch him]
>Write-In

>>4086519
>>‘We have someone. Instructor Memphis has worked in tech her whole life. If we’re able to contact her, I’m sure she can manage a workaround.’

Gotta head to prayers now, but emphasis on "foreign tech".

>>4086524
>‘What about a Spacer, then? If you can open a general channel to one of the convoys, we should be able to contact her. She’s worked in every branch of tech salvage. If there’s anyone that can splice together an access point, it should be her.’

She should have our answer to foreign tech incapability.

>>4086524
>>‘What about a Spacer, then? If you can open a general channel to one of the convoys, we should be able to contact her. She’s worked in every branch of tech salvage. If there’s anyone that can splice together an access point, it should be her.’

"Hell, SHES the one who gave us a headsup the battlegroup was coming in. If she could do that, I'm sure she can manage this."

>>4086524
>>‘What about a Spacer, then? If you can open a general channel to one of the convoys, we should be able to contact her. She’s worked in every branch of tech salvage. If there’s anyone that can splice together an access point, it should be her.’

>>4086572
>This

>>4086524
>>‘What about a Spacer, then? If you can open a general channel to one of the convoys, we should be able to contact her. She’s worked in every branch of tech salvage. If there’s anyone that can splice together an access point, it should be her.’

>>4086524
>‘What about a Spacer, then? If you can open a general channel to one of the convoys, we should be able to contact her. She’s worked in every branch of tech salvage. If there’s anyone that can splice together an access point, it should be her.’

>>4086524
>>‘What about a Spacer, then? If you can open a general channel to one of the convoys, we should be able to contact her. She’s worked in every branch of tech salvage. If there’s anyone that can splice together an access point, it should be her.’
stayed up way too late reading through the archives, good to see this quest running again

I will be running in a few hours. Had to babysit my baby cousins for a bit. Watched the Sonic movie twice. It's pretty good, all things considered.

Holy shit, I forgot to upload before going to bed? Hang on.

Been sitting on my throne. Hang tight. Had like 3 bottles of carbonated drinks.

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‘What about a Spacer, then?’

You’re greeted by two incredulous looks for your suggestion.

‘Spacer?’

‘I’m not particularly specialized in the nuances of software and patch incompatibilities, but if we’re talking about patching an ad-hoc line through two otherwise incompatible interfaces, then a Colony Fleet Inhabitant would be the best choice reconciling the both of them into a workable platform for a common user, wouldn’t it? If there’s anyone who can splice together an access point, then—’

‘Hate to break it to you, but, you know, building on this wild and rather incredible assumption,’ Muller interjects, raising a palm to your face, ‘and without even questioning the rarity of such a specific skill-set, I’d like to just point out that the last Colony Fleet to make dock in the system made their trails a few days ago and is probably crossing some nebula with some bone-headed directive in mind. How in the world do you expect us to call out when we can’t even get our own network back? Is there some logic matrix loop that you’re not—’

‘We have a Colony Fleet technician’—it’s a red-faced lie, but she’d made her qualifications as stark as anyone you’d seen—‘right here. On Rhysode. She was able to figure out the problem with the orbital security net before. I have no doubt that she’d be able to assist us further regarding our current predicament.’

Wray raises his head, staring straight at the stone-faced engineer.

‘Muller?’

‘Where is she?’

You take a sharp intake of breath … remembering just where you’d left her. In hindsight, it was probably a more prudent decision to have taken her with you, regardless of the cramped cockpit. What was done was done, however … and the only move that mattered now was the next move.

‘She was … I left her with the evacuation convoy back at the array.’

Wray rubs his chin thoughtfully. Muller clicks his tongue in a show of frustration.

‘The array evacuation convoy … that’d mean that even if we did follow through on this, then … if we were to … ’

‘The only way to get comms off the ground would be through the general channels … the general frequency. They’d get a bead on us within minutes. Assuming that the ODF holds, that’d give us at best a 20 minute window from the time the channel opens to contact.’

‘Also assuming that they recognize the transmission as an attempt at organizing a counterattack, I’d say … 30 minutes? Doesn’t stop it from being a gamble, though … we don’t even know if she’d be able to write up the code in that span to patch the interface through for us. Even a master of the discipline would take at least an hour … I’d say even two, at best. Distributing the patch across the network’s going to be another knock.’

‘Our window’s very small. It’s a huge risk.’

‘We’re gambling on not being noticed and holding off an intercept course. Huge is an understatement and the window is microscopic.'

Wray raises his head, his expression solemn.

‘Your call, Ensign.’

>‘Mine? I’m … shouldn’t it be yours, sir?’
>‘Let’s hope I’m not wrong, then.’ (Execute)
>‘Too big a risk.’ (Backtrack)
>Write-In

>>4092079
>‘Let’s hope I’m not wrong, then.’ (Execute)

>>4092079
>>‘Let’s hope I’m not wrong, then.’ (Execute)

>>4092079
>>‘Let’s hope I’m not wrong, then.’ (Execute)

>>4092079
>>‘Let’s hope I’m not wrong, then.’ (Execute)

>>4092079
>>‘Let’s hope I’m not wrong, then.’ (Execute)

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‘Let’s hope I’m not wrong, then.’

It was almost impossible to believe that barely a minute had gone by since you’d uttered those words. The camp had exploded in a flurry of activity as satellite dishes and compact comm ports readied the vox channels for reception and delivery. Muller had pulled you to one side, spitting out jargon as cables and connector bolts fastened themselves to the public band broadcast consoles, prepping them for transmission. One of the engineers hands you a tablet, listing the active transports that your new friend had boarded in an attempt at narrowing the search scope down to its bare minimum. It doesn’t help much. You hadn’t bothered to check in with any identification prior to leaving her at the array; back then, you were more concerned with—

‘None of these match?’

‘No,’ you declare, firmly. ‘None of those units are … I don’t recognize any of them.’

‘Do we have any identification on her, then?’

‘No,’ you answer, trying to remember the circumstances of her arrival. ‘She’s not in the system just yet; outside of her name, Rosaria hasn’t been fully integrated under the AEGIS’s banner.’

The man gives you an accusatory glare.

‘She’s sponsored,’ you clarify, unwilling to drop into a war of words. ‘Besides, even if she wasn’t, she’s hardly illegal by the visitation and trade pact.’

‘Spacers,’ the man mumbles. You don’t comment.

‘Rosaria el Moldavor Spirance,’ you announce, scribbling her name onto the screen. ‘That’s all there is to it. No identification, but if you name Professor Fisk from the AEGIS, she’ll probably—’

‘We can take it from here, thank you.’

The man slots the input device back in its place, leaving you with a fussy-looking Muller … who doesn’t pay much attention to—

‘I give us a two minutes before their trace locks in on us.’

It seems that there is a bounty of sorts on the constant interrupting of your thoughts.

‘No enemies in sight and calculating average cruising speed and scouting range, we’re looking at a twenty-five minute window to back-hack and write up a compatible program … and restoring communications. That’s not even counting that with what we’re playing on the I/O’s, we’ll be down a Mech and a pilot.’

‘What?’

‘Commander Wray’s the only one who even remotely knows how to operate the Whitestorm’s control scheme,’ he explains further. ‘I can’t, you can’t … and it needs to be active for us to use it as the comm hub. Can’t send it into combat, either, because the wrong hit’ll just prompt the VI back for a hard lock. Or didn’t you take the possibility into consideration when you threw up this absurd plan of yours for us to execute?’

‘I …’

>>4092606
>‘I better get started establishing that parameter, then. Keep short range bands open.’ (Professional)
>‘I … did not think of that, no.’ (Nervous)
>‘Oh, you needn’t worry. Playing the moving target’s my specialty.’ (Special: VANGUARD)
>‘Well, it’s not as if things can get any worse.’ (Dry)
>Write-In

>>4092609
>‘Oh, you needn’t worry. Playing the moving target’s my specialty.’ (Special: VANGUARD)

>>4092609
>>‘Oh, you needn’t worry. Playing the moving target’s my specialty.’ (Special: VANGUARD)

>>4092609
>>‘Oh, you needn’t worry. Playing the moving target’s my specialty.’ (Special: VANGUARD)

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It’s weird to think that you’re smack dab in the middle of an active war zone. Then again … it probably shouldn’t be. Regardless of the five hundred feet of serenity, the fact that you were in a fully-equipped and tuned Hellion was probably the best indicator that you were in dire straits. A feasible situation wouldn’t have allowed for the likes of you to be even kissing the tertiary console of a Mech, let a lone a fully armed one. The old crone groans with every step as you flick switches, prepping for any possible encounters. The sensors, hooked to short range scanners scattered all about by the engineering drones and the camps’ arrays, provide you with a better look for possible breaches … better than the static that you had back near Kerensky, anyway.

The short-range active comm signals a tentative reception. You give the switch a flick as you step out from the parameter.

It’s, predictably, Muller.

‘All right, listen, if this crazy plan of your gets off the ground at all, we’re going to be playing the deck a few aces short. Like I said before, we have, at best … a twenty-five minute window before the enemy Squadrons zero in on us; when they get here … and they will, you’re going to be out-numbered about five to one. Keep them off our asses long enough so we can backhack and re-establish the network.’

‘That goes without saying,’ you reply, watching the stability indicators. They’d shored those up, but another clean hit could tear them right back to where they were before. The Hellion wasn’t meant to be swift. The girl was built to take punishment; not avoid it.

‘Ensign, this is Wray.’

No. Really?

‘Sir.’

‘I’d be right out there with you if I could, but the Whitestorm’s operating systems and control schemes aren’t known to the average engineer,’ your Commander sounds out, almost in apology. I’ll be operating the Whitestorm from the camp. Once they make contact, draw their fire away from us the best you can. I don’t know how many shots this one’ll take, but I’d rather not risk playing pinprick dolls in the middle of an op. This isn’t an elimination tournament. You’re out there to buy us time. Don’t escalate the encounter unless absolutely necessary.’

That wasn’t exactly fair. If you made corpses of them, wouldn’t that be technically deescalating the situation?

If you could in the first place, that is.

‘Sir.’

Silence.

‘Not too late, you know,’ Muller’s voice crackles. ‘This is a big ask for a lot of us. If you want to stand down, I won’t give you scrap for it.’

>‘Connect to the general channel and broadcast the search. I’ll hold ‘em off.’ (Operation Start)
>‘Abort.’ (Cancel)

>>4092690
>>‘Connect to the general channel and broadcast the search. I’ll hold ‘em off.’ (Operation Start)

>>4092690
>>‘Connect to the general channel and broadcast the search. I’ll hold ‘em off.’ (Operation Start)

>>4092690
>>‘Connect to the general channel and broadcast the search. I’ll hold ‘em off.’ (Operation Start)

Game plan, defend and hold until we can kill off one or two units at a time? Slowly reduce incoming fire towards us?

>>4092690
>‘Connect to the general channel and broadcast the search. I’ll hold ‘em off.’ (Operation Start)

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‘Connect to the general channel and broadcast. I’ll keep them at bay.’

>Broadcast Intercept (1d100, DC: 76)

Rolled 78 (1d100)

>>4095769
>Broadcast Intercept (1d100, DC: 76)

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>4095769

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>4095769

>>4095775
>>4095783
>>4095789
You guys finish 0.7 short on average rules, but the merciful GM in me says:
>"Cut them some slack, you dick. You run this sporadically enough that you should be thankful they're here at all."

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You lean back against your seat, feeling the dig into your back for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes. The neutral hum of your instruments indicates no immediate response required of you. The nozzle of your machine rifle is almost lazy in the hands of your Mech, dipping below the horizon as the VI enters a sort-of sleep mode, ready to jump at the chance, but otherwise feeding you with the odd diagnostic of your Mech’s current output. The twenty-five minute window should extend at the current rate of things … but it’s a hope you dare not entertain. Preliminary alerts may not have sounded off as preludes to engagement just yet … and the paranoia wouldn’t allow you to relinquish the ominous nature of that specific yet. Vigilance cost nothing and meant everything in the theater of war; from the higher echelons dining on Erudian Lobsters to the lower grunts kissing sludge.

The patch indicator on your console goes off. You reach over, giving the switch a flick.

‘Muller?’

‘Senpai?’

You almost lurch your prone Mech forward in shock.

‘R-Rosaria?’

‘Senpai, you’re … you’re alive!’

‘I …’

You trail off, strangely thoughtful.

‘I suppose I am.’

‘There’s … they said that … they said they were looking for me and … they said that you … that you need my help?’

>‘More than ever.’ (Progress/Urgently)
>‘Are you with Fisher? Where are you?’
>‘What’s your status?’
>Write-In

>>4095851
>‘More than ever.’ (Progress/Urgently)

>>4095851
>>‘More than ever.’ (Progress/Urgently)

>>4095851
>‘More than ever.’ (Progress/Urgently)

>>4095851
>>‘More than ever.’ (Progress/Urgently)

>>4095851
>>‘More than ever.’ (Progress/Urgently

>>4095851
>>‘More than ever.’ (Progress/Urgently)

>>4095851
>>‘More than ever.’ (Progress/Urgently)

>>4095851
>‘Are you with Fisher? Where are you?’
>‘What’s your status?’

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‘More than I ever expected to ask of you.’

The channel was public. You couldn’t waste time lamenting mutual inconveniences. It was a miracle that they hadn’t traced the connection. You weren’t about to ask more than what the fates had kindly dealt. The scanners and sensors indicate no breach of engagement quarters. That meant that the window, as Muller had put it, would be extended. However he had chosen to scour the inhabited continent for your new friend, it had managed to coax itself from any form of notice.

‘Muller, you take it from here.’

The man doesn’t bother to answer.

The hands of the clock move as you ready your machine rifle, scanning the horizon.

Never had you been so paranoid over empty plains.

The hum of your instruments is your only comfort as you make your rounds, your hands twitchier than the time Ryosuke tried his luck at hand-fishing. You can’t help but think of your friends as you adjust the servos and the locks of your Hellion, wondering if they’d made it to the shelters in time. You hadn’t bothered asking about Rhysode Alpha’s status beyond what had spilled willingly from the mouth of those in the know … but it wasn’t as though you weren’t worried, as alien as the concept once seemed. You just hadn’t had the time to actually set aside the frame of mind for such a consideration.

When enemy Mechs were keen on making you an all-purpose grater, it would have been suicide.

You could do that once this whole thing was … over.

One way or another.

‘Ensign,’ the voice of one Darton Wray crackles, shaking you from your thoughts.

‘Sir,’ you reply, almost reflexively throwing up a salute.

‘Muller and the girl are attempting to patch the interface right now. They can’t give an exact time frame until it’s fully assembled, but Muller estimates anywhere between a half a year and never.’

If that was an attempt at humor, your appreciation for it had been filed down to the bone by the second syllable.

‘That’s very comforting to know.’

‘Regardless, it’s all we have to go by right now,’ he goes on, his voice, even through the crackle of the short range comm, taking a rather … sharp quality. ‘You already know what’s expected of you.’

‘Yes, sir.’

You raise the muzzle of the machine rifle slightly, scanning the horizon once more.

You’d never thought patrol duty would come with stakes this high.

A breath escapes you as the mission timer hits its eighteenth minute. The dark horizon yields no foes and the skies don’t give. Fortune, you muse, had really weighed the dice in your favor tonight, twisted as the lotto may have been.

[WARNING]

Your hand grips the throttle.

>False Positive? (1d100, DC:70)

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>4103084
>False Positive? (1d100, DC:70)

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>4103084
>>False Positive? (1d100, DC:70)

>>4103084
>>False Positive? (1d100, DC:70)

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>4103084
>>False Positive? (1d100, DC:70)
Had a derp moment

Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>4103084
>>False Positive? (1d100, DC:70)

No such luck.

‘We have contact!’

‘Ensign?’

There is still some distance between you and the encroaching Squadron. The instruments may not have had a proper bead on them due to the jamming still in place, but you’re able to count, at the very least, the foursome that made the attacking force. Judging by the fact that you hadn’t attempted to plug you just yet, you can safely assume that this particular force lacked any … opportunistic shooters.

All the better then, you darkly muse. You did better in straight-up firefights without having to worry about pot-shots to the temple, anyway. Four to one was more manageable without that concern breaking the course of your own offensive.

‘Don’t let them get in range of the Whitestorm!’

As if you needed telling twice.

You jump the throttle, eager to engage.

The distance closes rapidly. They are as eager to eliminate you as you are to meet them, you wager.

The short-range frequency flickers into activity again, Muller’s desperate voice crackling from the other end.

‘You need to keep that Mech Squadron busy until we can get the interface patched into the Whitestorm systems! Do whatever you can to take the fight away from us!’

Again, as if you needed telling twice.

‘They’re closing in,’ you declare, reading your instruments. ‘Engaging in approximately five minutes. Shutting all comms.’

‘Emperor be with you, Ensign.’

The Hellion whines as you accelerate.

Five minutes.

It seemed like you were already making a business of jumping into odds that only a madman would take.

‘Engaging!’

The serials make it look more enticing than it really is.

>Write-In

Just to clarify the circumstances before you write-in (as there are MANY actions you may take before combat is truly undertaken)

>You know that there is a Squadron and the fact that you're not at the brunt end of a pot-shot tells you that there is no sniper, at the very least
>You do not know the make of the Mechs on the other side. Your RADAR didn't have enough time to ID them proper as they're on the edge of your scopes, for one ... and the jamming is still affecting your RADAR
>You are a VANGUARD, so staying alive and keeping attention is your specialty. You can't really do damage without being attacked, though. Reference: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/3951775/ for the mechanics of your "combat style"
>Your objective is as the red text has said. Keep them away from the Whitestorm/Camp.

>>4103178
>Broadcast that the enemies should power down and surrender while getting into combat range
At the very least we may be able to get the squad leader to respond to us, ain't no harm in trying

>>4103229
You can't lock and open their comms unless they do it to you first.

>>4103241
oh yea thats what the other squad did, then
>get ready to fight
cant think of anything else at the moment, getting stuff into the car to head back down to school for the week

>>4103250
All right, bud. Drive safe.

>>4103184
>>4103250
Let's try to find some high ground so we can bait them into attacking us and figure out what we're up against.

>>4103229
>>4103184
Find high ground or a choke point so they have to come to you.

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>>4103388
>>4103401
It's just flat plains for miles. There is no high ground.

>>4103184
Start walking in the direction of the contact. ForceRecon the enemy while making ourselves as visible as possible. If we can engage them as far away as possible, they'll not be able to bypass us for fear that we flank them in the rear. Furthermore we're just a single mech. No reason why the commander would not just wipe us out on the way to the weird signal.

>>4103725
Could we force ourself into their flank where they would HAVE to respond or risk bad things?

>>4103856
That is a viable choice.
>>4103838
This is, too, a viable choice, if you wish to lock it in.

>>4103178
I'd vote for >>4103856 then.

It effectively is mine. Force them to have to respond to us instead of marching on to the target.

>>4103856
Sounds good

>>4103856
i too will also choose this

Running a session in 15-20 minutes.

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The Hellion isn’t built for speed.

In fact, it really isn’t built for anything except low-maintenance attrition-minded engagements with a mind on cut supply chains. Bringing her to throttle, however, that didn’t mean that she couldn’t be pushed. The hydraulics and suspension of the old girl whines as you give it to her, hoping that you’d be able to bluff them into countering your flank instead of continuing their march towards the camp. You don’t know how long Rosaria and the others would take to undo the Alliance Military’s crippling of the world’s comm network … but you know that they’d have an easier time doing it without having to worry about Bartholomew blowing them to kingdom—

WARNING! WARNING!

A beam fires off wide right.

A warning shot?

The interface lights up as an unfamiliar registration sequence blinks before you.

‘Warning shot,’ you mutter to yourself.

>Answer it
>Ignore it
>Write-In

>>4106034
>Answer it

>>4106034
>>Answer it

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‘Power down and exit your Mech. You have thirty seconds to comply. Resistance will be understood to be a hostile action.’

The voice is gruff, direct.

A glance at your sensors has you registering two Mechs keying in your coordinates. You surmise that the other two had either broken off from the formation on powered on towards the base. Neither assumption spelled glad tidings.

You hand tightens on the joystick, time seemingly slowing down as you consider every possible response.

>‘Alliance Pilot, state your business on Rhysode.’ (Try to negotiate with them/Stall)
>Power down
>Cut the frequency and engage
>‘What coincidence. I was about to say the same thing.’ (Sarcastic insult, followed by engagement)
>Write-In

>>4106068
>>Cut the frequency and engage
>>‘What coincidence. I was about to say the same thing.’ (Sarcastic insult, followed by engagement)
We need to whack them fast

>>4106068
>>‘What coincidence. I was about to say the same thing.’ (Sarcastic insult, followed by engagement)

>>4106068
>‘What coincidence. I was about to say the same thing.’ (Sarcastic insult, followed by engagement)

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'What a coincidence,' you muse, flicking the frequency shut. 'I was about to say the same thing.'

>PARTY:
ALLY 01: HELLION 01
-Machine Rifle, Heat Axe, Shield (Vs Kinetic)

>ENEMY INTEL:
FOE 01: UNKNOWN
Data Unavailable
FOE 02: UNKNOWN
Data Unavailable
FOE 03: UNKNOWN
Data Unavailable
FOE 04: UNKNOWN
Data Unavailable

The sensors measured them at least two minutes out at your current vector. You sum up that you had a bead on two with the other two with a vector that didn't coincide with yours ... which meant that they were either continuing on their current course towards the camp or were getting a proper lock on you. Neither prospect seemed acceptable.

Then again, nothing in the last few hours had been, anyway.

'Once more into the breach.'

>[Engage in Melee]
>[Engage in Mid-Range]
>[Engage in Long-Range]
>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence

>>4106105
>>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence

>>4106105
>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence

>>4106105
>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence

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Assuming a defensive stance isn’t easy without the ability to properly judge your opponents’ formation … especially when you were out-numbered four to one. You hold up the Hellion’s shield as you ease on the throttle, keeping an eye on the console and sensor interface to ensure your intentions met with your expectations. The blips give you a shabby bead on the two-some headed right for you, but you’re thus far unable to find the other half of the attacking squadron. Muttering obscenities, you can only hope they hadn’t breached the inner parameter.

WARNING! WARNING!

The identification matrix finally finds the match.

ENEMY INTEL UPDATE
FOE 01: STARKWOLF
-Status: Normal (8 AP)
-Skirmish Configuration, Energy Weaponry, Group Fire, Consecutive Fire, Mid-range
FOE 02: KENSINGTON
-Status: Normal (8 AP)
-Skirmish Configuration, Energy Weaponry, Pulse Weaponry, Group Fire, Single Fire, Mid-range

‘Oh, bother.’

You’re greeted by a light-show of beams and lightning. Pulse weaponry. It had pulse weaponry. One direct hit and you’d be a sitting duck. The shield soaks the damage, but the presence of an accursed pulse cannon … you raise it again, pushing the throttle. It was better not to get hit at all. It wouldn’t have normally been a worry, but the disruptor shielding on the Hellion wasn’t nearly enough to accommodate the combined firepower of two mechs decked out with the intent of cutting its foes to ribbons with energy weaponry. The Hellion’s top speed is slower, but the maneuverability allows you to make more agile cuts, especially in regards to the Kensington’s accursed pulse cannon.

What you wouldn’t give for a more defensive configuration for the Hellion.

The Starkwolf has at you, peeling away into the night as you move gears faster than you had believed your were capable of. You mutter assurances to yourself, zig-zagging and hitting the Mech’s booster when needed. You keep an eye out for the Kensington’s pot-shots. The only saving grace was that the pulse cannon had an effective range … and playing keep-up with the Starkwolf enabled you to at least downplay the advantage of numbers. The turning radius of the Starkwolf hampers it from fully peppering you, but it was only a matter of time before the pilot found a—

A white beam shoots across your field of vision, bringing you to a halt. You hit the jets on instinct, raising your shield and …

Fall right into the range of the Kensington.

Time seems to stand still.

The hum and shiver of your Mech runs through your body as the former charges its weapons …

TARGET LOCK! EVASIVE MANEUVERS!

Could you make it in time?

>[DODGE] (DC: 55)
>[SHIELD] (DC: 20)

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By the way, forgot. This is the Starkwolf.

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>4106161
>[SHIELD] (DC: 20)

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This is the Kensington.

Rolled 55 (1d100)

>>4106161
>>[SHIELD] (DC: 20)

I'll continue this at approximately 1200 (+8 GMT). Sorry about having to post and run.

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>4106161
>>[SHIELD] (DC: 20)

I'm sorry. Had to go to the bank and sort some business out.

>>4106870
Did the bank take the quest as payment? I know it's pretty valuable

>>4115075
I had to do some stock-taking on my grandmother's jewelry. Safety Deposit Withdrawals are a lot more tedious than what the movies would have you believe.