>>5156274
Messed up linking.

<<<<<-<<<<<-<<<<<

The dark heavens of last night slowly lights up into a plane full of cotton-candy. The sun is rising at the break of dawn, showing a sprawling metropolis that was once ridden with artificial illumination. Its rays extend past the clouds like formless tendrils, casting out the city's nocturnal-grey tones. Arthropeudics's modern marvel of a skyscraper -- the Hive -- lies here, the efficiently named City Block 0: Jones. It resides near the Atlantic coast, the recent commerce of the age filling it with freighters and tracks of foam.

The sunshine inevitably arrives at a park square. The fountain in the middle is shined upon, its water glistening to the point of becoming a stream of pure light. Cotton-candy colors in the sky ease into a natural orange.

It wakes you up, who's stashed away under brush and bramble of the park. No one except you is there till later into the morning.

The sourness in your mouth disappears as you yawn, some fatigue from your battle lingering in your joints. You would listen to your body's warnings more if the grumbling of a stomach didn't prevent that. You're hungry. Exposed, hungry, and wearing a scrub that makes you look like you're from the hospital. Precisely from a lab, to interject.

>Dig through the trash.
>Find someone to mug of their food.
>Retreat into the park's thicker woods to forage.
>Something else? Write-In.

>>5170800
>Retreat into the park's thicker woods to forage.
Good to see you back QM.

>>5170800
>>Retreat into the park's thicker woods to forage.

>>5170800
>Retreat into the park's thicker woods to forage.

Welcome back QM.

>>5170812
>>5170896
>>5170906
>Retreat into the park's thicker woods to forage.
Writing...

You roll out from under the bushes. A slumber on the damp grass as well as a blanket of bramble and litter worsens your roughed up appearance. A splinter and a wooden finger of the plant sticks out of your hair. Shed leaves and blades from the park's turf hang on the ends of red locks, making a thin wreath out of your head. Cement dust, blood and dew are wiped on your laboratory scrub in varying crude strokes; it is a distinguishing state of cleanliness from when you were at the Arthropeudics facility, adding another mark to your separation from your creator. "Ugh... Smells like cut grass," commenting to yourself. Presentation isn't as important to you as it is for others. Simply, the strong aroma of damaged green is a cure to any remaining drowsiness in your system.

An outsider would probably see you as a total freak hobo who just got kicked out from their parents' house. The potential assumption by civilians is a preferred thought from strangers, yet of harsh thinking. It beats getting called out, though-- last night's mess still leaves you in the public conscious. A chance at support from anyone in the population is cleaved down to just the dusty homeless, who wouldn't care about your aims as much as their own brethren. It's either stay out of sight or blend in. It has been the former since a while.

Looking to appease your grumbling stomach, you decide to delve into the park's thicker wooded area. Posters of an underground idol having a show at some inside stage are taped onto the poles of lampposts and tacked onto trees. 2J (Ji-Ji) the top of the papers read, in obnoxious, red-yellow writing. The color combination almost gives you nausea before you even have breakfast. Managing to keep your stomach acid where it's supposed to belong, you just walk deeper into the woods until there's not a poster in the area.

In spite of heading so far than what anyone is comfortable hiking for, there are still signs of City Block 0. A bulky pipe stretches from the direction of the park square to the wood's inner-heart. It hums, fluid seemingly pumped inside the black cable.

Coinciding with your path, you treat it as an accompanying oddity on your journey for food. Sections of the tubing dips underground, and then up; it is swimming in the earth as you could see. Possibly the reason why you didn't see it in the park earlier-- that half was completely buried as it connected to somewhere.

It's a bit until you find the tube's end. It is pulled across a freshwater stream, the middle of the hanging portion sagging over the water. This half is connected to a drain, or sewer, muck being transported to a final gathering of muck. Hopefully to be treated than to be left to rot.

Along the stream are trees full of ripe nuts. The bases of the trunks have piles of them, either blown off from the branches or picked at by birds. Within the water are fish that might be too slippery to catch--- A meat dish, to imagine, would be delicious to have this morning! That is if you give yourself to the hardship of pinching the slimy shapes of guppies. Conjoined by different surrounding species, there are bushes as well, fruiting. The berries have a plastic-like gloss whilst plump.

>Taste the berries. Tempting
>Collect some of the hardwood fruit. It's already there to be snacked on.
>Work for your meal and get wet. Try to catch some fish.
>Something else? Write-In

>>5170977
>>Work for your meal and get wet. Try to catch some fish.

>>5170977

>Work for your meal and get wet. Try to catch some fish.

>>5170977
Wait, is waste being dumped into the freshwater pond or is the pipe just going through the area near a drain or something? I don't want any sewer fish.

We can hold the berries on our tongue for a few minutes to see if there is any reaction before trying one and waiting a bit to see if it harms us. Then we can have breakfast of nuts and berries.

>Taste the berries. Tempting
>Collect some of the hardwood fruit. It's already there to be snacked on.

>>5171024
The stream is uncontaminated. It's just that the pipe goes over it, to clarify.

>>5170977
>>Work for your meal and get wet. Try to catch some fish.

>>5170981
>>5170983
>>5171042
>Work for your meal and get wet. Try to catch some fish.
Roll2d20. Best cumulative value out of three.

Rolled 16, 6 = 22 (2d20)

>>5171071

Rolled 18, 8 = 26 (2d20)

>>5171071

Rolled 19, 17 = 36 (2d20)

>>5171071

>>5171075
>>5171124
>>5171323
>36: 19, 17

Although there are more easily accessible food items, the idea of meat is too appetizing to ignore for you. How your stomach stretches itself bitter for sustenance guilt the brain into humoring a most dexterous chore, nothing but fish on its mind. You don't even stop to consider the steps to preparing them once you do snatch some from the stream, as right now, you are determined to make yourself breakfast. It's by far the most gourmet you have sought after.

Rolling up the hem of your pants into turn-ups, just above the calf, you dip your toes into the chilly waterway. The rush of its flow and the gritty substrata massage the bottom of your feet as you get into position. It washes away the debris from above your ankle down, nature promising to convert the powder on your legs into silt somewhere further along. The immersive growth of wetland flags will enjoy its benefit as you are with fish, of which are undefined blotches resting against the current. A bear could learn a thing from your patience, mimicking the stillness of a tree's roots to fool your prey.

The fin of a sizable fish tickles you. Incorrectly identifying your limbs as a woody canopy that can protect it from danger above, it lounges around your feet. The idiocy of its mind could not discern the oddity of cover in this neat, open current; alas, not a moment to correct itself as well when you successful snatch it from the water.

It's not what you thought it'd be. Not its mass--- In fact, you got yourself a catch fitting for your wants. No, you thought that it would've been pungent, ugly, one that a person can equate to a fishmonger on the docks. Its pristine and clean scales tell of the stream's purity,sparking your curiosity which had been largely subdued. It glimmering with the liveliness of the woodland stream appeals to the uncultured brain floating around within your cranium. Could be that the fish and you are one in the same, stupid in your respective view-points.

The pretty thing thrashes in your hands, to which you bite into it.

By the time you're done consuming the first serving, you replace your attention on another fish. Practicing as you did before, you wait for a perfect opportunity to pick it from the fluid, rushing surface. However, your hope of second piece of protein is nearly dashed away by your next prey, better in wits than its previous kin. You are forced to violate your short-lived fishing technique as you choose to move yourself closer instead; it had just been probing at a foot's distance from your personal bubble. Born with a sensitivity to disturbance rather than engineered to process it, the aquatic animal dodges your graceless move and swims down the stream. You weren't going to allow that on your watch, following the bubbling ripples of its tail-fin.

Catching up, you must dive for it if you wanted a chance at success again. The grain of the stream is broken up by your splashing. Your disrupting footprints are dotted behind your watery jog. Only a bigger one is created when you plummet after this slippery type, drenching your clothes. Shaking off the stream's tears from your bangs presents to you your second catch of the day.

Delighted, you beam; this fish would soon not have a head smart enough to provoke you.

The nut-bearing trees grow dense here-- where you have chased after your meal. Like earlier, their fruit is scattered on the dirt and leaves. The round shells of those hard cherries gives off a bitter aroma if you get too close to them. You're not stirred to crack one open and give them a taste. Plus, you're full. So, this unpleasant defense mechanism of theirs is the last piece of persuasion not to eat them.

Ahead, the stream widens. You can hear the swatting of water during a struggle.

>Stay on the course of the stream and travel down.
>Collect some of the nuts either way.
>Call out to the noise.
>Something else? Write-In

>>5171494
>>Call out to the noise.

>>5171494
>Call out to the noise.

>>5171494

>Find a stick, I need a stick.

>>5171494
>>Collect some of the nuts either way.
>>Call out to the noise.

>>5171494
>Collect some of the nuts either way.

>>5171494
>>Collect some of the nuts either way.
>>Call out to the noise.

Something about the arm in the back in the OP image looks weird to me but it's hardly a big deal.

>>5171507
>>5171512
>>5172098
>>5172114
>>5172148
>>Collect some of the nuts either way.
>>Call out to the noise.
Writing...

File: 1616214730757.png (105 KB, 600x600)

105 KB PNG

Picking from the hundreds of piles, you stash some of the bitter nuts inside the pockets of your paper-textured trousers. It's immediate that their scent starts to attach itself to the manufactured polyester of the fabric; the handful you have gathered for yourself, in case their use shines in the future, basically makes a cheap fragrance satchel out of your pants. An item that would be bought at a dollar store. You bend your head at the mildly full cavity at the hip, uncertainty causing one side of your mouth to dip and an eye to scrunch in a doubtful - yet trusting - face. "Might as well take them..." scratching your crown. No body or ranger is going to chastise you for acquiring from the surplus. While you're at it, rubbing the top of your head, you flick the leaves out of your hair as well.

You call out to that dramatic sound in the background, which… stops the moment your "Hello?!" rings out in the vacant woods. Suspicious. Awfully a lot, and it messes with a sense of safety that has been forgiving to your private prancing. You catch something opaque behind a bend in the stream, a shape that doesn't know you are peeking through a tight cluster of branches from where you idle.

"Guuuurururu..."

It moans. A lean, organic life-form living in flesh too foreign for you to wrap your head around. A product of a creator's procrastination, as it carries only half a torso. The clumped orb of tendrils on its head - your best guess - does stiff, scanning motions to look at its surroundings, drawn by your innocent address.

<<<<<-<<<<<-<<<<<-<<<<<-<<<<<

Cnidaria. Jellyfish, anemones, coral… These are a group of animals as ancient as anything can be. Where they show up on the map of evolution, the brain is an unfamiliar concept for these mindless water balloons; howbeit, it can be argued that they are the beginning of everything. Born from the primordial sea, the arrival of Cnidarians establishes the framework for everything to have come. The first colonizers, coral, have built bustling reefs that our cities wish to imitate, reminding us that we all stem from the soothing abyss.

This colonization isn't isolated to the salty, dense tides. In a stunning work of nature, the Cnidarians are a cornerstone for both the inner lands and coast. The ocean, and the pure currents of the rivers.

<<<<<-<<<<<-<<<<<-<<<<<-<<<<<

>ASSAULT
>SNEAK BY
>RUN
>SUGGESTED MODE OF ACTION? [Write-In]

>>5172281
>>SNEAK BY

>>5172281
>>SNEAK BY

>>5172281
>>ASSAULT

>>5172281
>SNEAK BY
~Don't mind me, just passing through

>>5172757
>>5172781
>>5173040
>SNEAK BY
Roll 1d20. Best of three.

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>5173552

sneeki beeki

File: metal-gear-solid-mgs.gif (1.51 MB, 498x370)

1.51 MB GIF

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>5173552
Toggle stealth

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>5173552

>>5173553
>>5173743
>>5173934
>17
Writing...

Intermission - Sydney POV

Damn… It still…hurts…

I'm sapped of my exhaustion. The moment that she…

"----Ever since last night."

Ever since last night, I've felt nothing but exhaustion. From being picked up like a doll by Recovery to being dropped on the cold surface of a surgery table. This whole extra time to rest has done nothing good for me, dried, and fed up with this stuffy bed. So much for the corp's premium health plan, spotting me a room in Medical that had used too much alcohol. My nose stings every time I take a whiff of this air.

It really is exhausting. I'm telling you. I would knock myself out with more anesthesia if I had the chance; to at least get the sort of sleep that wasn't my last. A dream like that is… Well. Terrible. It brimmed with sweat and an ache in my hips that I want to forget about. As I recollect it now, an uncontrollable blush of humiliation nearly pushes me to tear. As much as I swear that it's due to the harsh white light in this ceiling, my mind pesters me with the truth of this embarrassment. Just terrible. You never remembers dreams. But why that one? With her fucking face in it...!

"Don't make yourself look so scary," a familiar voices says from the patient room entrance. My chest is upset in response, knowing the venom in those string of words.

Vespa pays me a visit, quietly walking through doors that hasn't gotten its hinges greased in a long time. The creaking that comes from it pokes at my eardrum.

That shitty brat rests her head at the bedside like she's visiting her grandma in the summer. "Silent treatment, huh~ Not even gonna nod like you usually do? Be a good sport about this, a dink in your record is bound to happen to everyone. I'm at that mercy of a failure occasionally too!"

"Go to hell. I know why I was the first."

"~? I have nooo idea what you're talking about, Ms.Heter."

So. Irritating. To think I tolerated this attitude of hers before. The depressed sinking of my heart has itself plopped into boiling anger. The corners of my eyes twist sullen. "You do. And when I'm back to health, I'll rip--- Gkk?!?!"

Pain shuts me up, molars grinding into each other. The bitch fidgets with one of the rods sticking out of my thigh!

"…Since last night, you have been showing a whole lot more emotions. Have you always been talking to yourself like that? It's very hurtful to know. At least other agents have the decency to speak like that aloud."

"Like you're any different!" I yell, prompting her to fiddle with the rods again. "S-Stop!"

Vespa giggles. A variety she reserves for these moments and which she refrains from during broadcasts: vile. "Is that how you sounded like when up against Mk.IV? 'Stop~! Stop~!' Maybe your fight will let us put recorders on our top soldiers, just for those clips. I could run a good reel every week or so for the public!"

My throat is stuck, parched and ashamed. Vespa gets another bout of silence. The vague eye contact between us begins to slide off as I turn my head away, a quiet attempt to hide my face. Everything now doesn't have an ounce of sense. I'm an elite hand of Arthropeudics; a member of one of its most successful engineering projects…! So why did I have to go through this shit? It has afflicted me with a distasteful feeling that I don't know how to approach…

"Look," Vespa says to the back of my head, leaning in to whisper as she's aware of the stubbornness of my front, "Jokes aside, we would love a first-hand account of your fight with her! Recovery is sweeping that construction site for any samples of her right now, so the sooner you help the sooner we can stomp out this pest. Plus, your condition is not so bad--- there has been worse in this medical center. I'd say that your femurs will be put back together in about a week with our beloved Athropeudics' help."

"You make me sick. Have you got your bones broken before?!" Almost pulled a muscle in my neck as I jerked towards her.

She shrugs her shoulders, uttering, "I dunno. Maybe when I was horsing around too much in the past? Now then---- I gotta make this snappy to catch an idol performance at noon! Did Mk.IV, by chance, have a reason why she didn't kill you on the spot? 'Cause the tippy-top weren't expecting you to still be 'kicking~' "

Mk.IV POV

At the start of the Pelagiohm threat, a huge rise of decreased wildlife activity was reported to be taken place by rivers, streams and different forms of freshwater sources. At that point, the world did not realize the scope of their incoming battle. Animals in the area, say for the birds perched in the tree tops, seemed to have vanished or started avoiding waterways. Rumors spread by children about monsters in lakes ensued, a phenomena that parents would brush off as something of their imaginations; however, it was a scale too large to be ignored by guardians, becoming similar in popularity as the Oklahoma Octopus. Conclusions at the time included: sweeping acts from a cult or mass hunting and poaching. Well within the range of the age's "normal".

The populace only panicked when an ambushed officer's dash-cam video of a tentacled beast went viral...

As quiet as you can, you sneak by the ghastly thing. On two legs and standing still, it sways like a willow, fishing for more stimuli to respond to. Its gurgling is nauseating and its illusion of fluid taken form tempts your stomach to let out the two fish from breakfast. The elementary assembly of its anatomy benefits your careful steps, the amount of feedback for it to sense nearby bodies in the area too demanding to pick up your presence.

You reach past it, meeting the thicket to conceal yourself from the stream's view. The monster listlessly stands.

>GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE AND LEAVE IT IN THE PARK WOODS.
>TRY TO TOPPLE A TREE OVER IT, BANISHING SUCH A THING FROM THE WORLD.
>PROVOKE: PITCH A TREE NUT AT WHERE YOU HIDE.
>SUGGESTED MODE OF ACTION [WRITE-IN]

>>5173980
>GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE AND LEAVE IT IN THE PARK WOODS.

>>5173980
>>PROVOKE: PITCH A TREE NUT AT WHERE YOU HIDE

>>5173980
>GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE AND LEAVE IT IN THE PARK WOODS.

>>5174196
>>5174504
>GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE AND LEAVE IT IN THE PARK WOODS.
Writing...

A chance at direct confrontation is avoided. The shambling monster, its mindlessness too primitive to realize that its future victim is nowhere to engage upon, wallows in the cool waters. You seem to be not much importance to it; the way it operates is not sophisticated enough to search for you. No, that will require higher brain-functions for it to diligently analyze its surroundings, instead pouncing on an unsuspecting animal when chance calls for it. It is just a robot encased in organic tissue, following procedures to carry out its life.

It proves it in front of you. A raccoon approaches the water's edge get a drink. The ripples sent by its dipped nose fires off every nerve in its suggested limbs, orders from electrified cells swinging itself at the critter.

Movement, as well, is alien. Without anything but a torso, it rushes the raccoon down in somersaults. Between the main head and its limbs, the three shift positions to simulate a semblance of a gait. Dawning on you, there is no difference from its three appendages: its the same pair of knotted, thin tendrils for hair circling a main face. The jolt of its advance is faster than the raccoon's reaction, helping to lassos its target in reach. The mammalian bandit struggles, then convulses, the touch of its squirming strands somehow inducing paralysis.

Preoccupied, it has no business with the previous presence that alerted it. A cavity opens up on one of its faces, pulling its fresh capture inside. The poor thing did not have a sliver of an opportunity to save itself.

Your sensibilities uses this scene to get yourself out of here. The repercussions of letting that thing be doesn't matter much as long as you're at a safe distance from such danger. Someone will make it their own problem to take care of, and you have priorities to address that isn't involved with fighting a freak of nature...

A species in the Cnidarian class of Hydrazoa lives in freshwater environments. Commonly named "Hydras," it is excluded from its marine-dwelling relatives as it thrives in just about any salt-free habitat. The only Cnidarian to pioneer the freshwater front. A single polyp is not extremely divergent in anatomy, though. It maintains the straightforward, orthodox stalk and oral cavity of its relatives; and, importantly, an array of tentacles loaded with venomous cnidocytes. These cells are microscopic harpoons that shoot out on contact, a Cnidarian's passive method of grabbing food.

As part of the first wave of creatures that are officially competent in design, basic of course, it is important to note the landmark of biological genius that is a miniature harpoon gun embedded into each arm. None has replicated the patented weapons of the Cnidarians--- Unless stealing counts, but we digress. An arms race has always been happening since the start of it all, jellyfish, coral and its allies, setting the trend of savagery across the competition. Weaponization is in our blood; in the fabric of existence that has us vie for genetic supremacy. It is not the makings of an intelligent animal, or the most fierce. All that needed to be done was for a brainless, watery mass that lived on the bare-minimum to fashion a loathsome device.

You return to the park square. "What has happened in the woods will stay there and not be mentioned again," your mind thinks until a later notice, hastily shoving those memories in the corner of your brain matter. Maybe you should tell someone of the lurking hazard making the far off stream its base. A maybe. To talk to a stranger about it rubs your guarded instinct the wrong way.

The place has populated itself with morning visitors since your absence. Not too many, but don't think that no one isn't going to ignore a mangy girl stepping from out of the woods. You station yourself on the outskirts, watching as men and women walk around the pouring fountain. A few children make a wish at the entertaining public work, wishing themselves a treat and dropping a coin into the fountain's reservoir. By now, there has got to be a pounds of metal at the floor of the spouting sculpture, crusting up in greens and blues.

This was not how you wanted the next day to go, but you can figure it out.

>TELL SOMEONE OF THE PELAGIOHM IN THE WOODS. YOU'D HATE FOR SOMEONE TO GET HURT.
>SCAVENGE THE FOUNTAIN FOR MONEY. RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE KIDS.
>DIG THROUGH THE TRASH FOR CLOTHES. SOMETHING TO AT LEAST COVER YOUR HEAD.
>SUGGEST MODE OF ACTION [WRITE-IN]

>>5174780
>DIG THROUGH THE TRASH FOR CLOTHES. SOMETHING TO AT LEAST COVER YOUR HEAD.
So long as we're not immediately recognizable we should be able to alert someone, I think.

>>5174780
>DIG THROUGH THE TRASH FOR CLOTHES. SOMETHING TO AT LEAST COVER YOUR HEAD.

>>5174780
>>DIG THROUGH THE TRASH FOR CLOTHES. SOMETHING TO AT LEAST COVER YOUR HEAD
Do we have a name?

File: 1640693025696.jpg (69 KB, 750x554)

69 KB JPG

>>5174799
>>5174945
>>5174972
You do not have a "proper" name. Arthropeudics addresses you as Mk.IV.

Writing...

File: 1614149599576.png (98 KB, 1000x1000)

98 KB PNG

You do your best to be as inconspicuous as possible when you walk out of the bushes. Keeping people from seeing your face is first and foremost, looking in the other direction as much as you can so that a passerby doesn't recognize the random red-head too clearly. Regardless, glances land on your shoulders and back during your passing: your clothes are drying from fishing shenanigans and scratched by the claws of the forest. It is.… uncomfortable. The ambient temperature is typical, yet you're sweltering. The hostile glare in your eyes is amplified, convincing a person to leave you alone if they cross your vision.

You're out yourself stranger as you find a trash can to rummage through; and then another, digging through the rubbish for discarded clothing to disguise yourself even a little.

A police officer -- a normal one, the times somehow preserving the archaic practice -- debated to come up to you and ask if everything is alright. In the end, he decided against it. "Kids these days are going downhill," you hear him say way off in the background. You ignore the comment; it is not worth it to deal with you anyhow, as the pay cannot endorse a conference with a shabby young woman. That patroller is more or less in the park to keep keep the general peace than heavily enforce it like the drones. Sounds to you that he would not be of use if you told him of the water monster.

Bounty comes to you, finding in the trash:

+ A zipper hoodie that smells of spilled soda.

+ A baseball cap.

Behind the park restrooms, suit yourself up. People still look at you weird. A mother make sure her child doesn't run up to you inquisitively.

>HEAD INTO THE CITY'S MAIN STREETS.
>MIGRATE TOWARDS THE JONE'S RESIDENTIAL AREA.
>LOUNGE AROUND THE PARK
>SUGGESTED MODE OF ACTION? [WRITE-IN]

>>5175116
>>MIGRATE TOWARDS THE JONE'S RESIDENTIAL AREA.
Food and better clothing

>>5175116
>MIGRATE TOWARDS THE JONE'S RESIDENTIAL AREA.
>Cute art!

File: 1641179036363.png (436 KB, 1000x1000)

436 KB PNG

It's about time you moved on from the park. There is little to do here that will help your situation.

Escaping the gazes of people whose curiosity lasted this long to keep an eye out for you, your next destination of choice is a residential area. The altitude here is comfortably low, empty of towers and skyscrapers. The electricity poles standing single-file are possibly the tallest objects here from what you can tell, buoys peering over the roofs of houses and small-scale shops. Its best competition are the blocky apartments that dot this map. You soak in the peaceful atmosphere of the suburb, devoid of maddening hubbub and the strenuous intervention of security. Entering the streets - the skinniest you have experienced walking through - kinda makes you feel a part of something cozy. Nobody eyes you as seriously as those from before.

Going down the lane, you see a spectacled school girl who seems to be skipping. She's crouched down behind a bus stop, enthralled by a book--- a volume picked from a bagful. She must not be too concerned about her truancy, contrary to her studious, and at the same time, boring appearance. She pays no mind to a trio sucking on boxes of tomato juice; natural enemies, powdered up with makeup and taking huge liberties with their outfits. At least one of them looked like they got into a couple of fights.

An officer is by a telephone stall, a case strapped over her shoulders. Swirling around the tip of her index is a wheel being played with. Her expression is wary when she spots you, bending a brow at your direction. A person was being spoken to through a transmitter, now receiving a taciturn message from the fellow enforcer.

>APPROACH THE SPECTACLED SKIPPER.
>PASS BY THE LESS-THAN-PLEASURABLE COMPANY.
>CONFRONT THE OFFICER.
>SUGGESTED MODE OF ACTION? [WRITE-IN]

>>5176474
>>APPROACH THE SPECTACLED SKIPPER.

>>5176474
>>APPROACH THE SPECTACLED SKIPPER.

>>5176605
>>5177190

You go up to the spectacled girl skipping school. The harsh shadow cast by the bus stop gives her shade from the brilliant sunshine of the day. From the looks of it -- a couple of books exhausted of their texts and are now set aside -- she is peculiarly good at combing through pages. Her current read is balanced at the tip of its spine, two hands unfolding the thick bunches of signatures; it as a whole stands on her crouched lap. It must be a taxing for her toes holding up the shape of her folded legs. She's either good at hiding the stress, or too focused on reading that ignoring it turns into forgetfulness. Noticing a capped stranger walking towards her supplies the motivation to close the book flat.

She dusts off her inexpensive dress, lint and debris on the drab pleats, and adjusts the round lenses of her glasses at the tip of the nose. "…Can I help you?" hesitant to speak first. The girl's head tips forwards while drawing out the last vowel in her sentence, which is hard to distinguish between sarcasm or genuine discomfort. Three voluminous tails tied up from her hair rustles behind and over her shoulders; you can't help yourself from conjuring an image of squash on a vine.

Her far hand reaches out to her schoolbag, hovering over it. It's on standby, however itching to go.

>TALK THE GIRL DOWN FROM WHATEVER SHE PLANS TO DO.
>PUNT THE GIRL'S BAG AWAY.
>RUN FROM HER.
>SUGGESTED MODE OF ACTION [WRITE-IN]

Ever wondered about the little bite marks in your books? Or what lurks under the house's heater? It's ancient, basic; yet it survives into the modern day.

>>5177631
>>TALK THE GIRL DOWN FROM WHATEVER SHE PLANS TO DO.

>>5177631
>TALK THE GIRL DOWN FROM WHATEVER SHE PLANS TO DO.
>Ask, where is the closest clothes shop? We live far away and had to borrow these from a friend.

Better split after this, that officer seems like trouble.

>>5177942
>>5178482
A can of pepper spray peeks out from within her bag. Its container gleams, flashing at you as a warning if the girl's posture was not one to begin with. The secret artillery that is in safe keeping until a vulnerable student's time of need sits by something more nefarious than what the owner lets on through her appearance. To spot a box cutter in that sack of hers too is overkill much, suggesting that she has to be a repeated offender of truancy to even conceive of the idea of stashing a sharp implement. That is the likely reason why; so carrying pepper spray is superfluous of a decision! This girl is disconcerting, from how she poises her digits and the toes of her feet, as if preparing to leap after you. Point is, she is armed.

The school girl is slightly relaxed when the random stranger that just approached -- you -- holds up her hands as a sign of nonaggression.

"The closest clothes shop! The clothes shop! Just asking if you know one around here," you rush to state, stammering. "I…live far away from here and I had to borrow these clothes from a friend."

The officer lady from back where you came from is in the distance. Who you're talking to must know her, as she abruptly waves at the woman--- trying to keep herself from being found out by looking over the shoulder of an electricity pole. She replies in a "Shush!" to prevent the student from ruining her position.

Her glasses are sliding off the ridge of her nose. She pushes it back up the wall of her forehead; and talks to herself, "That weird officer's at it again..."

It's not exactly true that you're oblivious of the stalking. "What now?" you interject.

"Nevermind it… A clothes shop, you said? There's a few around here." The school girl, not as tense, now keeps her hands at her lap. You huff into the collar of your hoodie, grateful that the you have diffused conflict before it happened in the first place; though, another might be forming as long as the silly police woman plays spy. Not any less unnerving to wonder why she's carry all that stuff along with her books. "A thrift store is down a couple blocks and a turn. It's where I usually get my clothes. Yet it sucks that the smell of, um, 'old' clings to them."

"That works," already staring at the sidewalk ahead for the store. You then mention, "Should you be carrying a blade around?"

"None of your beeswax, hobo girl."

"…'Hobo...' " you echo. She snickers, and becomes tired at watching you go past that she resumes her reading.

The voice of the officer going up to meet with her ends up with a similar outcome: she, as well, is visibly distraught after having a conversation with the flunker. It was broken to her that she isn't good at the laughable tracking job, your tail free from the snooping soldier till she gets back onto her objective--- realizing in that she let you out of her sight.

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Reaching the aforementioned thrift store, an antique gust hits you straight by the ringing of a door chime. An old man is by a counter congested in trinkets and books. "Good morning, young'un," he greets, awkwardly pausing in the middle. His old age is messing with his speech. "Look as long…as you would like!"

The amount of clothing racks cramps up the carpeted floor. You had entered a building at the end of the school girl's directions, which wasn't as wide as it is tall. Lifting your head above the frilly collars of dresses shows you the railing of a second level that oversees the first. "There's a draft in here," pointing out to yourself. A window is up there sucking in wind from outside that pokes your cheeks. The daylight shine leaking in from the glass supplements the weak lightbulbs of the store's lamps, causing the aged floating particles in the room to become visible.

You graze your pockets. All you have are tree nuts, and no cash.

>Try to shoplift. You have no other choice.
>Confess to the old man that you came without money. Hopefully he will be generous...
>Pay in nuts. The true practice of currency.
>Suggested Mode of Action [Write-In]

>>5178890
Say we are browsing, we don't have money on us.

I've been meaning to not buy anything, but actually check behind the store for discarded clothes, stuff that didn't sell you know? Seems like the best place for free clothes.

So, after getting clothes, what's our priority? We are still on the run. I guess escaping to another city where a competing megacorp has control, and figure things out from there? Probably will need some cash for public transport, clothes (duh), food and water for the journey would help.

Aside from that, we don't have much of a goal beside "Don't get caught" do we? And using our powers is a sure way to get found out, so we have to avoid it.

>>5178890
>>Suggested Mode of Action [Write-In]
Create a sob story of how we're a poor urchin girl who got robbed and attacked and no one helped us boo hoo hoo

>>5178890
>>5178916
+1 to this.

>>5178916
>>5179545

"I don't have the money to buy something," you say to the old man by the counter, "just browsing."

His hand fans downward; but his creaky bones are too rigid in the wrist that the gesture couldn't be translated very well to you. To anyone in your position. Curling his lips and politely rocking his freckled, bald skull politely, he pays your explanation no mind. "That's alright, young lady. It is good to have the discipline to only look. A regular here does the same here quite often." He taps his sunken cheek, trying his best to recollect the face of said person. In the end, he could not remember so well as to visualize it in his head. Sure can run his mouth about the customer, though-- "a girl"l he slips without himself noticing that his tongue speaks for him. "I did see her today not too long ago on her way from the nearby school…Time flies so fast that I can't keep up with it. Study ends so fast for the young'uns."

It was the student with the glasses that told you the way here, as well as mocked your overall dinginess, he was having trouble remembering. "Maybe because she decided to go out on her own way too early," the truth of the old man's understanding a hot, quiet breath on your lips...

You head into the bulk of the clothing racks. They stand in coordinated rows and columns; however, both their height and the volume of clothing is comparable to pushing through a crowd of real people. Your intention lies towards the thrift store's rear, where the goods that failed to sale -- after a great amount of time, as this is a business built on the vintage and donated -- are trashed in the alleyway corridor sandwiched by the neighboring buildings on the block. Luckily for you, it is a while since someone used the back door. The old store owner wouldn't think it optimal to install a chime at this exit when the scarcity of traffic has lasted so long.

There, what you aimed to find, is boxed up and stagnant in the small backstreet. Your exit was fitted with a piece of felt at its bottom, and the carpet floor of the store further dampened the sound of wood scraping against planks. So, the old man won't be going around to check for you, unless he can hear stronger volumes on the other side of brick walls...

The unsold are thrown into packages of cardboard by the building's retired AC unit. You rummage through them to salvage better clothes of any kind.

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What you struck are...

+ A discontinued military tunic from a long time ago. Its faded brown fabric are singed at a few areas.
+ A white shirt with missing buttons on its barrel cuffs.
+ Corduroy Shorts
+ A pair of thick-soled bluchers. One of them has a tiny hole at the side of the toe.
+ A deflated fisherman's hat that has its braided chinstrap frayed.

You roll the trash you scavenged from the park off your shoulders, shedding the temporary disguise. Your filthy laboratory scrub from the beginning joins alongside them in a bundled up ball, cast into a rusty trash can in a puddle of AC fluid. The tag on your arm is a pesky kind: annoying to rip off for a normal man due to its adhesive's irritating resilience. But it's tissue to you, the third piece of scrap to be discarded.
" {… DRONE DRAFT #4 // ARTHPDCS PROJECT NUM. : 107003 // G.U. Viable - AFFIRMATIVE // SOLDIER RELEASE DATE: N/A // CONTAINMENT PERIOD: INDEFINITE…} " it wrote, printed on its plastic sheen at the side of a barcode.

While getting comfortable in your new outfit, you hear a series of stomping. They're echoing from the turn of the corridor, where it opens up to the residential streets...

It's the officer lady that lost you.

She jumps out and into the strip of space you're in, blocking the end on her side of the alley. "There you are! I had to jog around here a couple of times until I finally found you. No way I'm letting you out of my sight again--- MediCo spy!" Her eyes shimmers an idiot's shine. "Arthropeudics Head Vespa is snuffing out your team leader as we speak! I'll be doing my part!"

You're dumbfounded, somehow concerned that she doesn't recognize you. "Medi-what?!"

>Persuade! You don't know a damn thing about Medico!
>Combat! A cure to a evidently dense head is a punch!
>Flee! Try to get her off your tail again!
>Suggested Mode of Action? [Write-In]

>>5179849
>Persuade! Claim to be a double agent under double secret cover and that she is a good citizen that needs to back off before your covers are blown
an idiot like this wont' back off with just anything sometimes you have to fight crazy with crazy

>>5179849
>>5179871
+1 to this!

>>5179871
Supporting

>>5179871
>>5179849

Support

>>5179871
+3

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>>5179871
>>5179891
>>5179970
>>5179993
>>5180033
Writing...

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Intermission #2

The crowd's roar and applause chase me to the backstage, transforming the venue into an altar of their love. They're a size that could propel me into the limelight; walking advertisements teeming with excitement in spite of the meaning of my exit. Their allegiance are formed in logos, stamped on each and every one of their shirts. In the dimness of the hall, salutes are made to their object of worship, a glowing baton in hand. 2J is branded on the people. Reminding themselves who they had came for, my name is distorted in an chant that sounds too coordinated of a ritual for their kind. "2J is for the people."

…Those suckers.

I had to scrap the show on such a short notice. A call that I cannot miss, and her being in the audience forced an impromptu transition out of all the hard-work of sustaining the hype. Why did I agree to doing this? How can people dream of doing this?! Thank the powers that be I'm not anymore popular, or my death will be televised on stage from the tiring responsibility of an entertainer. Just cause I know good footwork doesn't mean that I'm a cut for keeping up the act. Real idols who got a real determination to take this seriously got to be soulless witches. The worse part about all this is that MediCo actually hired a guy to fix my choreography! Spineless bastards actually investing in this! Why don't they push out someone with better forethought than lump all the singing and dancing on me then?!

A member of my crew jogs over to hand me a vibrating phone, notifying that it's coming from my overseer. "It's from your team manager, Fen," he discloses, splitting off thereafter to tend to other duties.

I was tempted to ignore this untimely chat; but duty calls, and reluctantly, I picked up my side of the phone. "Oi! You have no idea about the trouble I have to go through making up excuses! What is it?"

Fen's elegant tone doesn't heed to the aggravation in mine. "The plan last night was only half a success. We still don't know where the GU structure is. Did you find it?"

"Oh, it's about that. My guys said they secured nothing after setting off the explosives, and neither in the morning after. Hadn't gotten another report before my show, so the peeps you set me up with gotta be a couple of slackers."

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"MediCo sends us the best when technology, leading the world as we know it, is on the line. It is in our best interest to stay ahead of the competition, as it has always been; and our prerogative to reclaim GU," she elaborates, brushing off my complaint. "The problem may be that.…Arthropeudics had intercepted them? But that could not be, since their focus is centered on the structure---"

"---Yeah, and that they should have no idea about our operation. Doing whatever to recapture their escaped experiment, while getting nagged by our diplomats to avoid suspicion. I've been told that our doing is going to be chalked up as the structure's. It's exactly how we hoped it turned out, didn't it? With that huge broadcast."

"…Yes, I agree. It means nothing though if we can't get what you were sent for." Pausing in between, I can hear her flip through papers whose word is gospel to someone allergic to nonsense. "…And a waste of MediCo's sponsoring. *Ahem* Or 'Anonymous Funding' they want me to say."

"Hey, I'm not as pleased too pretending to be a musical buttercup. 'Just find it---' The point has been driven! Still, there's one big, BIG problem!

"What do I with Vespa being in my audience???"
One of the men taking care of the backstage stirs up a distraction, his audible confusion pulling my self away from Fen's electronic buzzing. He was telling off somebody, that she didn't have access here; yet so rude as to treat him invisible and walk in. The tiny bit of acknowledgment is recepted via knocking him into a wall, their violence a natural reflex within the bone. I, too, shared my crewmate's confusion, then frozen in fear when my words have summoned the person in question.

A heavily armored individual guards her, responsible for the man's injury.

"Too bad that I couldn't enjoy the performance for longer, but that is fine. I need to get down to business anyway." The green-haired gremlin hardly needed to introduce herself. She is entering the place with force, that alone sets the mood.

My feet reverses into the vicinity of a door, whether or not Vespa has every route in the venue secured. Fen continues to speak over the phone in order to get a grasp on the situation. However, she has to wait, her questions stuffed into my pocket. "What are you doing here?" Futile to ask, but anything to divert her concentration elsewhere helps.

"O~h, just on the account of a few spies-- who armed fireworks on one of Arthropeudics' facilities."

-<<<<<-<<<<<-<<<<<-
Mk.IV POV

Think quick! You point back at the officer, reprimanding her. "Y-You, um, idiot! You'll blow my cover!" Your fist is raised in the air, shaking back and forth. Channeling it in your voice, you assume a tone and an assertion of authority. The bosom underneath your newly claimed shirt puffs out: an animal's technique to make yourself look bigger. It cannot work on a stature such as hers, a good foot taller than the very top of your head; although, it achieves a potent influence on the lady's diligence instead of striking fear. "It's important to keep your mouth shut about me. For the sake of Arthropeudics! Better for a good citizen like you to back off before anything bad happens."

"Huh?" As quickly as her face turned zealous, she become puzzled in seconds. Numbers float around her; steam hovers about the naked forehead. If her brain was a computer, it would be a elementary calculator than a TI-84. The large case she brings wherever she goes and the wheel at her thigh are not as intimidating of items as they were. Alas, the curiosity to uncover their secrets do not dissipate.

"I'm a double agent," crossing over your lips with a finger. It's to emphasize the importance of silence, and refraining from reckless action spurred on by a thirst for battle.

She brightens up. Removing herself from the end of the corridor, she gives a friendly grasp on your shoulder. "I-I see! Obviously, you should know about the attack on MediCo operations this noon, as much as I, right? Eheh~ Any second later without telling me you're part of Arthropeudics would have ended in an ugly way. This close to staining my wheel with your flesh."

>"It's been a while since I last contacted.…'HQ'. Give me a rundown?"
>"Oooooof course. Why is someone like you out in this part of the city?"
>"Please don't touch me. I might overlook this blunder if you treat me to lunch."
>Suggest Mode of Action? [Write-In]

>>5180734
>"It's been a while since I last contacted.…'HQ'. Give me a rundown?"

>>5180776

"It's been a while since I last contacted.…'HQ'. Give me a rundown?" You nudge your elbow into the Arthropeudics officer. It is more of an awkward bump than anything; you couldn't do any better to portray what a believable ally may act like under the strain of piloting this facade. She takes it in stride, unable to sense fraudulence in your clumsy proclamation as a doube agent. This woman has respect to her fellow compatriots that she would have been an outstanding soldier for the mega company; howbeit, a potent trait in her character that this is what she amounts to-- foolhardiness which neutralizes her disposition for war. An officer like her is quite perfect for a neighborhood. No matter what strength she possesses you have yet to witness, what is any use of it when it is susceptible to lies -- as black and bold as yours -- that it does more harm than good? Arthropeudics' decision to station her here where there is considerably less action protects themselves against a liability. A true agent will not have operations in a useless suburb, therefore keeping this walking landmine safe from a foe just clever enough to manipulate her. Why, you are the very example of the harm Arthropeudics saw, and which why they did such a thing to their unwavering patriot.

She did not mind the amount of vintage dust you rub onto her uniform. She does not notice it much at all. The officer lets the brush of gray particles, less accentuated only by the color of beige on the tightly-weaved, heavy-duty twill, stay for as long as it would be until she requires herself to launder. Throughout the period of your brief interaction here and within the streets, the comedic sparkle built into juxtaposing, stern pupils heavily squashed a sense of fear in you. Her failure of a tracking mission imbued her with an impression of a curious child; or if you want to look at it in another angle, a fresh pup that takes itself too seriously. One or the other--- You aren't entirely sold on her front as an intimidating force, in terms of personality. The fact that she is down to rumble inside the grace of a few seconds is what everybody should be vigilant of. Hence the school girl calling her out.

[1/2]

[2/2]

Her name is introduced as Arilus Columbia, a formality spoken so rigidly that you wondered if she is reading off a script. "Gladly!" drumming on her chest twice, which is blindingly brilliant as her constituting tendencies, "We are intercepting the MediCo operatives responsible for attacking Research Facility Jericho, built by the meat of a Block 0 freeway. I heard it created tons of disruption for the surrounding community, as well as Arthropeudics." Arilus folds her arms, somber at the thought that she could not be called for duty at that moment. The shine on her forehead convinces you she is anything but, since her enthusiasm carries on. Being that she works in a residential area of Jones, the virulence of news is curbed by the general disinterest of normal people living out their daily lives. Information travels slower in the suburban patches of the city, preoccupied in matters insignificant to the towering giant in the heart of the metropolis. Apparently, the lone officer here is a fitting compliment to the stable environment of friends and families. "I only caught wind of the event during a briefing with the few other soldiers here; and that Vespa's launching a counter-attack on the Asia-based competitor right in our home. At an underground performance, if I say correctly. Their pyrotechnics last night was a plan to steal an important asset of company research. Amazingly, we managed to foil their schemes with it so sudden and all. It's a real bummer that we need to issue an order for all enhanced units: to be on the lookout for the whatchamacallit--- The thing that escaped us. Told that we were to recapture at all costs..."

That is a massive discrepancy.

" Hmm…To get that communicated to us, I thought that the others would have been as stoked as me! Surely you can understand right--- 'Cause you're a part of this! Vespa's been a huge inspiration to my sis and I since we were three, and she's still looking pretty damn young as a premiere senior," saluting while she comments, "I took it upon myself to snuff out anyone suspicious that could be employees of MediCo.

"Three delinquents, a drunkard--- Ooh, and I arrested two people squatting so far today. They're not exactly what we're looking for, but it's that they might be. The guys gotta be confessing now in the interrogation booth. But remembering it, my co-worker didn't sound so happy on our talk on the radio later. Something about my judgment---- Though, at least they were squatters. Now, if only I can pin-point that recent cat-killer! It would make my day if I reach a record of seven in a noon!"

>Double-down and build trust by offering assistance on her patrol. People will question you less if you are involved with an Arthropeudics solder.
>Convince her you need a new place of operations (home) to facilitate your duties as a spy. You could "put a good word in for her" if she helps.
>Try to get a free lunch out of her, payback for almost "ruining your cover."
>Suggested Mode of Action? [Write-In]

>>5181338
>Double-down and build trust by offering assistance on her patrol. People will question you less if you are involved with an Arthropeudics solder.
>Try to get a free lunch out of her, payback for almost "ruining your cover."

>>5181338

>Double-down and build trust by offering assistance on her patrol. People will question you less if you are involved with an Arthropeudics solder.
I want to do all of them but we should gain her trust first.

>>5181514
>>5181875

You are playing the part. You might as well commit to it, to prolong your chance at unleashed living.

By your own council: Arilus, too ignorant of the cogs turning at the core of the scene, is someone who you can piggyback off of to boost the longevity of your life. The ill-nurtured Id is uneasy, at odds with your enterprising self that seeks to grasp at any opportunity given the chance. For it to confide in schemes -- which it sees so distasteful that anything but the most sure choices are plain mistakes of the mind -- is to betray itself. Factoring in another party is scary. You don't completely know her, say for the evidence of your surmising thought, and the trust in Arthropeudics is something to beware. You have taken care of yourself thus far; "so logically, why do you need to prop up a friendly portrayal?" blares your hostilities. The accredited excuse critical to your charade is that of using her. She is going to be your human shield against scrutiny, an object to justify walking unafraid in the sweet sunlight. An ant is never an isolated insect, whose body is knit from a colony, a society.

Partnerships and hierarchies are so ingrained in the ant that they cannot be praised by a lone member. Cooperation is the program a worker must abide by at all costs. There are queens that go so far as to evolve into cuckoos; and drones of specific colonies converge on the commodification of others races and their service, hypnotizing, enslaving. It's never an "ant." It's "ants," a well-oiled machine assembled by the dirt and bolted together by a shell of chitin. A couple of steps down that path is to contend with Siphonophorian amalgamations and the interlocking bodies of algae. The United States, Great Britain, China, behemoths cast into antiquity or under the command of a new name; a perfect harmony is not to be earned by anyone, except ants.

The ravaging genera of legionaries are confounding contradictions that execute perfect harmony in the fearsomeness of combat and war. Glory is to be gained throughout their unstoppable marching. A never-ending campaign, plundering land, water and the arboreal in rigorous fashions befitting of composite, respiring weapons. The colony is mobile, modified to their liking; not anymore is it just a home to them, gaining another meaning as a thuggish vehicle of survival. Dictatorships would have go on to replicate this strain of harmony as well, however, honored by the same fate of the peacekeepers.

Inside you is the fight between a soldier and an engineer, overriding and compromising as they see fit in situations like this.

Your final say it to build trust.

[1/2]

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[2/2]

" *Cough* As someone working for Arthropeudics, as you know, I can lend a hand. You got a streak going."

Arilus is thrilled, shutting herself up for a second. She requests why, though, at least mature to be courteous to those around her. "I've guessed that you got responsibilities to get out of a way, dealing with MediCo! I would hate to hinder your progress."

"No, no, no--- It's fine! I can lend a helping hand with…what you got going on, as of this moment. A patrol or something like you just said. You shouldn't be too scared to accept," aiming to brush off doubt on her brow by any linguistic means. "It's gonna be extremely good for me. Really, really good! Buddying up with a comrade while I do.… espionage stuff... It'll be a breeze."

A great challenge comes to her believing your words…

As it's something too good to be true.

She hops, jabbing upwards into the air to vent her joy. Arilus moves up to you uncomfortably close to beam right in front of your face, the promise of camaraderie energizing her starry stare into supernovas of satisfaction. Puffing confidently, "You'll be in good hands! Ah, where to head to~ I can't leave a friend unimpressed...

"…By the way, I didn't catch your name!"

[Name]
>(Default) "F-Four? Four! 'Codename: Four!' "
>Another name? [Write-In]

+

>Following, Arilus thought it would be wonderful to go looking for youthful troublemakers normally around the area. [Sanguine Squad]
>Following, Arilus was determined to get any information on the neighborhood cat-killer. [Psycho Zygen]
>Following, Arilus goes to check around a nearby bridge due to multiple accounts of disturbances. [Porous Prowler

>>5182756
>Another name? [Write-In]
Idk why, but our character gives me Sierra vibes. So I’m going with that for a name. Going with Four just because it’s their model number feels a little weird.
> >Following, Arilus was determined to get any information on the neighborhood cat-killer. [Psycho Zygen]

>>5182756
>>Another name? [Write-In]
>Idk why, but our character gives me Sierra vibes. So I’m going with that for a name. Going with Four just because it’s their model number feels a little weird.
>> >Following, Arilus was determined to get any information on the neighborhood cat-killer. [Psycho Zygen]

>>5182756
>>Following, Arilus thought it would be wonderful to go looking for youthful troublemakers normally around the area. [Sanguine Squad]
The art is excellent

hey QM, what exactly is our character?
More bioengineering or literal engineering? Were they grown in a vat, a regular person who was modified genetically, or had robot parts put into them?

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>>5183416
The Drones sector in the SPS Department is very new in relation to every other governing tool of Arthropeudics. The sea exchange between rivaling corporation to corporation is escorted and guarded; the air traffic above is supplied their own forces; obviously, the presence of an internal, national enforcement has always been a priority since the official conception of the province. They defend the order Arthropeudics had worked hard to build, for better or worse. As the foremost organization that makes Arthropeudics what it is, SPS originally were the troopers distributed and employed to fend off the Pelagiohms. The focus on safeguarding the public sphere came after humanity's survival-- putting use to what's left in the aftermath, in other words. The Drones have yet to be provided a managing chief; Matilda Mygahlo, for the time being, directs them until further notice in the near future. Fresh from the board, authorized, trained, equipped, enhanced, they are the latest supplementation of the current police force.

Drones as a whole, and its arrival, depended on the research and information of an experimental subject. The fourth from a line of attempts, biologically altered by means of genetic modification and intrusive operations. The usage of orphaned children isn't done often: which is to be said by higher-ranking executives and to be debated of its true frequency by lower members. She didn't come from outside Arthropeudics, but inside from an established -- private -- resource.

>>5182874
>>5182893
>Sierra
>Following, Arilus was determined to get any information on the neighborhood cat-killer. [Psycho Zygen]
>>5183343
Thanks man!
>>Following, Arilus thought it would be wonderful to go looking for youthful troublemakers normally around the area. [Sanguine Squad]

Will wait a bit longer for voting.

>>5182874
+1

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>>5183895
>>5184675
>Sierra
>Following, Arilus was determined to get any information on the neighborhood cat-killer. [Psycho Zygen]
Writing...

Flipping through a mental copy of the alphabet, you bend your tongue into pretzels. Vowels, consonants, equally pronounced inside a mouth wide agape as you think of something on the spot. You perform of a full enunciation once settling on name that pleased you.

You are not Mk.IV. Not any longer.

"Sierra? Sierra!" you let the officer learn.

Entrusted with a name, Arilus scans you from top to bottom. You bear witness to the look of a faux scientist on her face, deriving contentment from phonics and uttered syllables. Playfulness emerges on her tender cheeks to imply that she isn't doing it for a particular reason. Other than humor, who this lass is three-fifths of; and the rest is an uncoordinated fraction, of juvenile fantasy intertwined with the theory of adulthood. There is no intention in her bone to spook you, preferring to convey her thoughts and emotions aloud than to solemnly contemplate. The body and person have their own agendas really when it comes to sending signals. As the specimen in this game of charades, you don't proceed to overreact in a way that will change her clowning into genuine interest. Your partner for now just does as she likes, chin inserted between the thumb and index, looking down from the immense difference in height. A pressure weighs on your procured cap; the bust that looms over like a moon in this backstreet applying its own gravity on a lesser body.

Happily, she tweets, "Mhmm! You sure do look like a Sierra to me. We'll get along nicely, I can tell!"

[1/2]

Afterward, you follow Arilus through her usual rounds in the neighborhood, believing the authenticity of your company. She has made it known her determination to unveil the local cat-killer. Or, at least, scrounge up information on the guy.

Arilus keeps her eyes sharp as she surveys the domestic habitat. A school bell rings somewhere in the distance, predicting the ensuing cries of teenagers. "This past few months, an elusive pet-abductor and murderer has been active in the district. The majority of victims are those who are owned by residing students, nonspecific to what campus they are tied to. The cuts into the body are amateur at best, crude--- So the culprit isn't of possession of something like a scalpel, or anything dedicated for precision incisions, that's for sure." She peeks around a bend. Two housewives are together, talking over the fence that divides their properties. Assuming that they have the best interests of their children in mind, word will go around from house to house about the gruesome tale. Married women, as it would appear, have a complex line of communication on par with the web of telephone lines or the internet. If you look farther into the linear road, there's a familiar looking group of students heading for lunch. Although the issue is local, pertaining rumors are most definitely tall and quick to spread; and judging by their talkative circle, they are masters of distasteful gossip. There, too, is a police man that had the same idea as Arilus to look around. A pen and notepad are in his hand as he strolls towards your location. Probably is a part of her station. He must have interviewed citizens in his own time, and shares insider knowledge about the feline slaughterer. The police department in this area could have updated details of the case if they're as vigilant as your new friend. "A lot of my folks says its the work of some boring goon, or a Pelagiohm. That's an okay theory easy to get behind…But I sense it's not as clear-cut. Might even be a member of a foreign company--- And it'll work out good for you if it is!"

>Ask the housewives for any information.
>Ask the group of girls for any information.
>Ask the police man for any information.
>Suggested Mode of Action [Write-In]

[2/2]

>>5184942
>>Ask the housewives for any information.
>>Ask the group of girls for any information.

>>5184942
>Ask the group of girls for any information.
Going to the policeman seems like a bad idea.

>>5184942
>Ask the group of girls for any information.

>>5184942
>>Ask the housewives for any information.

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>>5184955
>>5185093
>>5185104
>Group of girls

>>5184955
>>5185719
>Housewives

>Ask the group of girls for any information.
Writing...

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You go to the group of girls to ask for information.

Having a police officer and her companion jog towards you, it wouldn't be too uncommon of a response to go into high alert. The group of girls were about to bolt into the opposite direction, fearful for lunch's waning time frame; and other deeds that the trio must have done to become so apprehensive. You bet an intangible sum that it is more of the latter. These three students are not a new spectacle, way ahead in disobeying educational punctuality. You did catch a glance at them upon first entering the neighborhood, which attributes to the misty familiarity in your head as you follow Arilus' line of sight. You have preemptively registered them as class-skipping teenagers who's immaturity affects their judgment. Scratch what you thought earlier--- a span of time to get out of school and back is a rule to be broken by these young women.

It is in Arilus' hands to hinder their dash (of her own brutal accord and without your input) "So that the truth may come to light." Unstrapping the wheel on her thigh, she eyes the proper angles for its launch. The circular object in her grip has to be a part of a machine. It is a hunk of metal that she is planning to fire into the air, leaving its application up to your imagination. In general, the Arthropeudics officer is burdened by a multitude of items--- Someone will sweat if they consider handling the same amount of luggage for a whole day, every day.

"Not one step further! Freeze!" she hollers over to them. The wheel treated as a flying disk, it rolls off the palm of her hand to glide into the air. You assumed it to be way off its mark as it trails into the wrong direction; but that is the plan, ricocheting and bouncing from one structure to another. At the last stretch of its acrobatics, the projectile trips one of their members. Kicking their ankles into their friend, the rest falls over.

The first to be struck picks her head up towards your two-man party. A pair of goggles on her head scowls at you prior to her actual angered expression. A freckled thing with cartoonish, beady eyes. Rearing her fangs, "This is police brutality!" Her friends concur.

The trio consisted of Ito Mosk, Fea Flee, and Idaea Tiq, who you saw sucking on boxes of tomato juice. Arilus' co-workers complain about them every now and then.

It's a while before both of you can ease them down to a simmer. "That cat killing stuff?" Ito speaks again, "Yeah, the whole school has been talking about it nonstop. Getting tiring. But why should we tell you anything after you threw a cog at us, you crazy cop!"

>Arilus speaks
>Sierra speaks
+
>(Ensure) "We'll let you do as you like for a while, if you cooperate."
>(Threaten) "You have every reason to. Should we call up the school to tell them where you were in the morning?"
>(Bargain) "Do us a favor and we'll pay you back for it."

>>5186030
>>Arilus speaks

>(Ensure) "We'll let you do as you like for a while, if you cooperate."
>(Threaten) "You have every reason to. Should we call up the school to tell them where you were in the morning?"
Threathen then Ensure them

>>5186030
>>Arilus speaks
>>(Ensure) "We'll let you do as you like for a while, if you cooperate."
>>(Threaten) "You have every reason to. Should we call up the school to tell them where you were in the morning?"

>>5186646
Support

>>5186635
>>5186646
support
the lack of an update is… bugging me

>>5186646
>+1

QM's wordless disappearance is worrying me.

>>5192649
yeah, I hope they update with something at some point and don’t just fuck off

So this is dead then? What a shame.