File: Gnawing Void.jpg (14 KB, 500x500)

14 KB JPG

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>5760806
That's where you come in. You and five top-agents, handpicked from the finest the United States Secret Forces and Mutually-Assured Security Bloc of Earthworld, or USSF and MASBE for short, can afford to risk. For an asset as unique and at-risk as you, the budget is considerable. Sitting in the back compartment of the jet, you cradle the AA-12 shotgun in your hands, stare at the wall in front of you, and think long and deep about what matters. America, land of the free, home of the brave. You have a family that you care about, yeah, but as a born-and-bred American, every true patriot is a part of that family. You may have your disagreements from time-to-time but at the end of the day, you’re all American and as an All-American, that’s what matters. You would do anything for America. You’re going to do anything for America. That’s why you’re here instead of somewhere in Tojo-land or France, about to embark on a mission you don’t know the details of for reasons you don’t understand.

Your commander-in-chief, Major Marshal, told you that this Atlantean ruin needs finding and looting, so that’s what you’ll do. There’s no doubt, no hesitation. You would do it alone and unarmed, unclothed if need be, but Uncle Sam is generous and you’re loaded for bear. It won’t be long now. Four, maybe eight hours at the speed you’re flying. Enough time to get some shut-eye and make sure you’re well-rested and ready to start hitting paydirt on landing. Your time in the labs has conditioned you in more ways than just nanomechanical. Once you decide to sleep and shift into a comfortable posture, just like that, you’re out like a light.

>1d100 to sleep, Bo3 for dimensional distance

>(2/2)

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>5760808
Are we getting forcibly astral projected?
Also welcome back Chronicler

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>5760808
IT RETURNS

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>5760808

I just want to say I'm sorry I was this late in posting the second thread. I said it would be a week, then it was two weeks, and then it went on and morphed into two solid months without a word out of me. I don't want to make any excuses for it or blame anything or anyone else. The curse gave my mother a cancer scare, struck me with plague, distracted me with a curveball win at a casino, pulled the tendons in my shoulder, and has had me slammed at work every damned day, but at any point I could've put my foot down and posted. I'm tired of sitting around and waiting for the gnawing disgust in the back of my head to sink any deeper than it has, and I'm tired of flaking on quests I love because the curse pulls the rug out from under me and I can't force myself to look (You) in the eyes after turning my back on them. Enough is enough.

I just hope this thread will be as fun as the last one.

File: God Bless.jpg (53 KB, 612x408)

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We're so fucking back, Hail to the Chief and God Bless America!

>>5760808
>>5760816
>>5760821
>>5760827
You sleep like a stone dropped in the ocean, and are just as hard to reach from the shore. Amid your dreams of hotdogs and fireworks, a flicker of malice reaches for you, and you dismiss it without a care in the world. By the time you snap awake, you've already forgotten. You sense that the jet has touched down on solid land somewhere. Part of you suspects that's because you've awakened suddenly and part of you suspects that's because the side-door of the jet is open and you're staring out at scrub grass. A ping from the ceiling confirms your suspicions. You get your gear and leave, then turn around to see the jet's door's already sealed and it's about to take flight. You stagger back and cover your head in anticipation of the deafening boom, only to hear a rumbling murmur. When you open your eyes, the stealth jet is gone and you're left out in the cold.

The terrain isn't what you expected from Brazil. It's rocky and vegetation's sparse, but it's damned humid. You almost feel like you're already swimming in the air. Good. That must mean you're close to the ocean, and that's where Atlantis sank, and that's where you need to be! It's some time after sundown but not too late. The moon's half-full and you can see something about the stars isn't right. You mull it over for a minute, then realize the constellations are different. Of course they are, you're in a different hemisphere. You don't notice much. You search your surroundings and see a campfire off in the distance, with a couple of tents, a handful of people in military clothes, and a humvee nearby. That must be your squad. They don't seem to be on the alert, which must mean that the stealth jet flew, landed, and took off again within two-hundred yards of them without tripping the alarm... Huh. You take a second to pride yourself in American engineering, and then decide how you're going to approach your new coworkers.

>Loud: Run straight for them, shout you're here, and leave no room for misinterpretation.
>Quiet: Calmly walk over, tip them off to your presence, and professionally introduce yourself.
>Silent: These men need to be on the alert, so you'll sneak in and spook one of them.

>>5760853
>Quiet: Calmly walk over, tip them off to your presence, and professionally introduce yourself.

>>5760853
>>Loud: Run straight for them, shout you're here, and leave no room for misinterpretation.
AMERICAN ENGINEERING KNOWS NO EQUAL

>>5760853
>Quiet: Calmly walk over, tip them off to your presence, and professionally introduce yourself.

>>5760853
>Quiet: Calmly walk over, tip them off to your presence, and professionally introduce yourself.
No need to be loud yet, we'll have time for that later when we beat the shit out of any locals in our path.

>>5760853
>Quiet: Calmly walk over, tip them off to your presence, and professionally introduce yourself
If you want a job just walk up to em with a firm handshake and refuse to leave

>>5760835

All is forgiven, chroniclerQM!

Welcome back, and God bless the USA!

>>5760853

>Quiet: Calmly walk over, tip them off to your presence, and professionally introduce yourself.

No need to be dickish

>>5760855
>>5760857
>>5760861
>>5760870
>>5760972
>>5761109
These men are, for the most part, trained professionals in hostile territory. If you charge or sneak in, it's likely they'll professionally try to kill you before the circumstances are clear. They probably wouldn't succeed but it would be a waste of ammunition. Then again, they might. Most of them are Americans, after all. You don't want to take any unnecessary risks with a matter of national security.

You hold up your hands, approach the edge of the campsite, and speak clearly. Given that you don't have a formal rank and aren't entirely sure which organization you're responsible toward, you improvise. "George Armstrong, experimental asset to the United States of America." The men near the campfire immediately reach for their rifles, with the exception of the largest, who stiffly turns and raises his arms. You feel a sudden intrusion in your mind but you sense its patriotism so you consciously lower your defenses. You can feel it crudely skimming through your thoughts so you bring up some patriotic memories. The first time you helped score a touchdown, the last hamburger you ate, the sense of pride you get every time you see the stars and stripes...

After half a minute, it stops and one of the men, with a wiry frame and tired eyes, lets his guard down. "It's him, we're in the clear." The rest visibly relax and the tension in the air disappears. The psychic gives you a nervous salute. "Henry Phillips, property of the... Department of Defense." Ah, that's right, you probably shouldn't mention the Exceptional Solutions Providers, or ESP, around most of these people. Their clearances are high but you don't know if they're that high. They start introducing themselves and you pay close attention. A man in glasses who looks uncomfortable in his fatigues goes next, you'd pin him for an egghead if he didn't have a subtle edge to him. "Agent Hickman, cyberwarfare and erm, occult specialist under the CIA."

>(1/2)

>>5761183
You turn to see none other than Sauteur, stretching his limbs. He grins. "You should already know me, mon ami." You smile back and the largest of them, even bigger than you, steps forward to clasp your wrist in a handshake. This close, you can see he's not made of flesh, but tinted chrome and there's a pair of sensors where his eyes should be. His voice is broken by static and if your bones weren't steel, his grip would be crushing. "Unit #1501, property of the Department of Defense." You return the gesture, do a quick roll call in your head, and pause. "... where's Agent Pearson?" Henry explains. "Asleep. Dreaming of... forget I said anything." That makes sense, he's old. You'll get to know him soon enough. You suppose that means you won't be embarking right away, which gives you a bit of time to make their acquaintance.

>Talk to Sauteur and see what he's been up to for the last half a year.
>Talk to Henry and share your personal experiences with the ESP.
>Talk to Unit #1501 and determine if your cybernetics are in any way similar.
>Talk to Agent Hickman and find out if he really is a nerd or if that's just appearances.
>Wake up Agent Pearson and probably get a talking-to.
>Do push-ups and crunches until you feel the need to sleep. You'll rendezvous in the morning.

>(2/2)

>>5761184

>Talk to Sauteur and see what he's been up to for the last half a year.

Gotta grind bro-rep here.

>Talk to Unit #1501 and determine if your cybernetics are in any way similar.

IIRC, we know the least about “the Unit”, so maybe we should build a metalman rapport?

>>5761184
>Talk to Unit #1501 and determine if your cybernetics are in any way similar.
Patriots have to stick together.

>>5761184
>Talk to Unit #1501 and determine if your cybernetics are in any way similar.
Gotta get accounted with robocop
>Talk to Sauteur and see what he's been up to for the last half a year.
Get those social links

>>5761187
>>5761201
>>5761208
You want to get back in touch with Sauteur but Unit #1501 is both a fellow patriot and walking example of American engineering. You decide to strike up a conversation with the cyborg while the Frenchman does his nightly exercises off in the dark. Meanwhile, near as you can tell, Henry and Hickman talk about the differences between their disciplines without elaborating on what those are in a way the other can understand.

You lean in and clap him on the back. "So you're a cyborg, huh? I know how it is." The mechanical once-man buzzes in a monotone. "That is classified information." A sense of hostility fills the air and you're starting to tense when there's a crackle of static. "Hah hah. Gets them every time. Yes, I am a cyborg. Closer to pure 'borg, now. It gets old not having skin but I am proud that I can continue to serve a nation as great as the United States of America." You grin and feel a sense of camaraderie. "Friend, I couldn't have said it better myself." The two of you take a seat by the campfire and have a deep discussion on what it means to be a posthuman patriot in today's society.

>1d100+10 to see if he's willing to divulge his past, +10 for common ground

Rolled 100 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5761262
>1d100+10 to see if he's willing to divulge his past, +10 for common ground
My condolences for your inability to consume a good ol' American burger anymore, unless you can still eat somehow?

File: 'MERICA2.jpg (139 KB, 1000x667)

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>>5761267
HOLY SHIT LET'S FUCKING GO

>>5761267

Fuck YEAH robo BROTHER

Wait, we’re not roll-under in this quest, right?

>>5761273
No, George has been surpsingly good with people for a top secret superweapon. One might say we're a TRUE american patriot.

>>5761274

It’s because of George’s tenuous grasp of American history, he really DOES believe it all.

>>5761267
American tranhumanist patriot brotherhood!

>>5761267
"My condolences for your inability to consume a good ol' American burger anymore, unless you can still eat somehow?" Your word must have struck a chord, as Unit #1501 goes rigid, holds it for a minute, then slackens. "I can't. The joys of good American food, the best there is, are gone to me." The cyborg turns his sensors down to his hands, bulky and huge, and you can barely make the words out of the static. "It's all gone to me. There's no touch, no taste, no smell. All I have left are video and audio feedback. They aren't vivid, it isn't real. My family doesn't know I still exist. They gave me a closed-casket funeral with full honors. Even let me watch the footage once it was done."

"They were all there. Ma... Pa... my old sweetheart. I saw them bury what they couldn't salvage. I reckon that was my funeral, George." The cyborg reflexively raises a finger to his lenses and stops when he remembers he isn't capable of making tears to wipe. You stay silent and he continues. "It all started in Desert Storm. I was proud to enlist and fight for our country, but by the time I got there, the fighting was already over. The war wasn't, so I stayed. They had us out patrolling in a convoy. I was in the lead when-" Unit #1501 clenches his fist and continues. "It was an I.E.D. All I remember was the bang, then darkness."

>(1/4)

>>5761338
"Vertebrae, gone. Face, gone. Vital organs, gone. Only my brain and part of my circulatory system remained. Our operatives reached the scene and stabilized me with cutting-edge technology, but it was too late. They told me I would never be able to live a normal life again. They gave me a choice. They could pull the plug and give me a dignified death or I could get a second chance to fight for Old Glory. I didn't hesitate." You listen with rapt attention. "My brain was wired into an experimental combat chassis and they applied psi-surgery to remove most of the memories and trauma. I opted out of total erasure but sometimes, I think back to home and wish I hadn't. That was over three decades ago."

"I've been a cyborg longer than I was ever human. I've been around long enough that most of those- like me- are gone and more aren't being made. I've been on dozens of missions in dozens of places, and I can't remember the details of any of it. DARPA has my memories removed after each to prevent a security risk and I'm grateful for it. America knows and that is enough. It lets me focus on the mission. This is the next. It might be my last, it might not. I try not to think about it. Or the burgers." You sit in silence for a minute, taking in all in, and give him a firm salute. "Thank you for your service." The cyborg, Eric, opens his palm and releases a gout of flame on the campfire.

>(2/4)

>>5761339
"Thank you for asking, George." You talk for a while longer and learn that he used to be into baseball before the incident, but he never had the chance to go pro or play at a higher level. It's a respectable sport. You tell him about your college football career and go over the broad strokes of your time in the lab. A few hours later, you have a much deeper respect and understanding for each other, and there was already plenty to begin with. You leave the cyborg to his thoughts and intercept Sauteur on his way to one of the tents. "Hey Frenchie! Tell me, how it's been?" The foreigner smiles. "Oh, parfait! That money you given me, I've invested it in software and construction companies, and I'm already seeing returns. Madame is pleased, la vie a été belle!"

You nod your head. "That's great to hear, Sauteur." The Frenchman turns the tables. "What have you been doing, American? I notice the veins on your arms are swollen. You've been juicing, have you?" You laugh it off and tell him how you've gotten much stronger and learned a good deal of American Kenpo, without mentioning the nanobot adaptations. That takes a minute and when you finish, Sauteur whistles. "If we were near a trauma hospital, I'd offer a rematch but out here, it may be for the best we restrain ourselves." You laugh. "You said it, pal. G'night." He nods. "Sleep well mon ami, we'll have work tomorrow."

>(3/4)

File: Gonzo Character Sheets.pdf (81 KB, PDF)

81 KB PDF

>>5761340
You lay next to the humvee and let yourself drift into a nap. You awaken before the crack of dawn and get up to see your squad is already packing camp. Like any good American, you pitch in, although you aren't able to do much with your total lack of wilderness survival skills. You see someone new, an old man in spectacles, with leathery skin, calloused hands, and a mottled-green windbreaker. He shuffles over to introduce himself and shakes your hand with surprising vigor. "Agent Pearson, at your service." You reply. "George Armstrong, at yours." He looks you over and strokes his chin.

"Most of the men the FBI has me working with are in some way exceptional, but I suspect you are a sight more contemporary." You nod. "That would be right." He rolls up his sleeping bag and titters. "Fascinating. Well, you're in charge here boy, so I'll be following your lead. Preferably not into gunfire but I'm not picky." Once camp has been taken care of and evidence disposed, you gather everyone and make an assessment of your collective abilities.

>Are there any questions you want to ask before you get started?

>(4/4)

>>5761345

Do the locals know about the ruins?

Is there any expectation of hostile forces?

>>5761346
>>5761345
Add on to this, do we have a known route to the target (is it here in a mountain cave or do we have to brave the jungle at some point) or will we have to do some scouting to figure out it's exact location?

>>5761345
What's our supplies status?
What can we expect to meet once we get into the main area?
Anything we should NOT do?
Optional Objectives?

>>5761346
>>5761356
>>5761444
"Do the locals know about the ruins?"

Hickman shakes his head. "No, as far as my agenc-, er, as we know and uh, we know a lot, Brazilian authorities aren't aware of the specifics." You ask him to specify. "Do they know there's something?" He fidgets with his hands. "Possibly. There's been an increased state police presence in the area, which is unusual as it's rather isolated." You think on that for a second. "What about the non-authorities?" The IT specialist is quick to reply. "The indigenous natives have been more agitated and hostile to outsiders than usual according to reports, and some of our asse- I mean, local criminals that we've been keeping tabs on, have gone AWOL- er, I mean, are currently active in the region." You nod. "I see. Maybe they know something we don't."

"Is there any expectation of hostile forces?"

The agent's response is immediate. "Almost certainly. Tech this valuable won't be undefended and we probably aren't the only ones looking for it." You'll need him to elaborate. "Anything specific?" You already know what he's about to say by the look on his face. "No. By, uh, usual operational standards we're pretty much blind. It's important that we get there first." You suspect it'll take more than intermittent small arms fire to put you down but you can't say the same for your squad.

>(1/3)

>>5761736
"Adding onto that, do we have a known route to the target or will we have to do some scouting to figure out its location?"

The sorcerer (and fellow patriot, you remind yourself, black magic doesn't curse people, people curse people) smiles. "We do have a known route, courtesy of orbital surveillance. If this goes off without a hitch, we shouldn't have any problems." You think of the implications. "What are the odds of a hitch happening?" Sauteur interjects. "C'est inévitable." Hickman mutters. "Non-zero. If something does happen, we'll have to uh, improvise." That hits you with a wave of nostalgia. "Ahh, we did that all the time back on the turf. Played college ball, you know." The agent starts to speak. "I was br-" You ask another question, driven by enthusiasm.

"Is it here in a mountain cave or do we have to brave the jungle at some point?"

"It's fairly deep in the rainforest, in very underdeveloped terrain but the bulk of the structure is-" Henry interrupts. "Underground. Buried deep." "-like he said. We'll be navigating the jungle for one stretch of the trip, but that shouldn't be too difficult with the all-terrain-" "AMERICAN ENGINEERING KNOWS NO EQUAL!" The CIA agent is awed into silence by your raw patriotism.

"What's our supply status?"

The psychic takes over. "I don't know what's in your rucksack but there's 30 cans of Hypercompact Nutriment™ in the back of that jeep and enough MREs to last a month-long siege." You size it up in approval. "And ammunition?" Henry twitches, slightly. "Likewise." All of this good news has you getting into a good mood. "Alright! How 'bout rope and all of that? Medicine, fuel, and tires?" The psychic's voice is a near-monotone, every syllable enunciated clearly. "Our reserves are redundant." Good.

>(2/3)

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>>5761738
"What can we expect to meet once we get into the main area?"

"Automated defenses. Traps and alarms, possibly semi-autonomous machines or any variety of on-site defenders." You expected as much. "Understood."

"Anything we should NOT do?"

"Our first priority is to disable its defenses and prime the site for applied archeology. Looting needs to be kept to a minimum and raising public awareness is unacceptable." Stay quiet and don't get greedy, yeah, that makes sense.

"Optional objectives?"

Hickman resumes. "Breaking your curse is second on the list. We can't let your, umm, "stuff," fall into an uncontrolled and hostile wizard's hands." You agree, that is important. "Anything else?" The agent repeats a canned line. "Improving the situation for the CIA on extranational soil is critical to maintaining national security." That's also important. You break your current line of questioning. "Absolutely."

That's everything you care to know for now, so you file into the humvee. Sauteur is the most competent driver by a steep margin so he takes the wheel while Hickman monitors and reads coordinates. You choose to ride-

>Shotgun, so you'll be in the best position to bail out of the humvee and retaliate if and when it comes under fire.
>In the back, so Hickman will have a somewhat better vantage point and you can focus on how great America is, from sea to shining sea.

Once your seating arrangement is taken care of, Sauteur starts the ignition and you're sent rolling through the mountains.

>1d100+10 to navigate, +10 for Sauteur's driving experience, Bo3 for real-time satellite imagery

>(3/3)

Rolled 49 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5761740
>Shotgun, so you'll be in the best position to bail out of the humvee and retaliate if and when it comes under fire.

Rolled 80 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5761740
Will glorious AMERICAN made GPS data bring us where we need to be?

Rolled 7 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5761740
>Shotgun, so you'll be in the best position to bail out of the humvee and retaliate if and when it comes under fire.

>>5761740

>Shotgun, so you'll be in the best position to bail out of the humvee and retaliate if and when it comes under fire.

We are the tank of the party and thus should be ready for tanking

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>5761750
>>5761787
>>5761788
>>5761829
You don't hesitate to ride shotgun while holding your shotgun. You barely know how to operate this piece of American craftsmanship but the amazing thing is that it barely matters. With this type of gun, all you've really got to do is get as close as possible and pull the trigger while pointing in their general direction. You think. It doesn't seem too complicated and it's your sacred constitutional right, so you're entitled to learn how it works but you've had more pressing concerns so far. Like how to win a martial arts tournament and break an evil wizard's curse. Now that you think of it...

Couldn't you just shoot him? Maybe call in some artillery. Yeah, that would probably work. Only problem is finding the bastard and he's probably hidden in some other dimension so you're most likely going to need to do this the hard way. That's fine. You live for the struggle. It makes you feel alive. The humvee drives at a steady pace through what seems to be total wilderness, while Agent Pearson plays I spy with Unit #1501 and to a lesser degree Henry. Agent Hickman's busy reading numbers and directions by rote from a bulky tablet and Sauteur's eyes are glued to the outside. Eventually, you stop to stretch, eat, (the Hypercompact Nutriment™ tastes like sweet American apple pie, without the apple or the pie) and sleep while taking an alternating watch.

This goes on for the next couple of days as the terrain starts to change from mountainous to more flat, and then to damp forest. Nothing much breaks the routine but on the third day, Hickman hisses. "Armed campsite three miles northeast. Detour advised." Sauteur groans. "You Americans and your Imperial measurements." The agent sighs. "Would you prefer measurements in kilometers?" The Frenchman doesn't even think on it. "Oui." This annoys you profoundly but you remember that he's a European, so you let it slide. Hickman corrects himself. "Armed campsite four *kilometers* northeast. Detour advised." Sauteur adjusts the steering wheel and continues. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

The humvee continues in silence. Later that night, Hickman informs you that you're roughly a quarter of the way to the ruin's location and have yet to run into any problems. It won't be much longer before you're in the amazon proper. You do your best to keep your head on a swivel. The journey continues.

>1d100+10 to navigate, +10 for Sauteur's driving experience, Bo3 for real-time satellite imagery

Rolled 75 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5761928
God bless the American SatNav system.

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>5761928

Rolled 38 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5761928

>>5761932

Nice

Rolled 52, 38 = 90 (2d100)

>>5761928
>>5761932
>>5761955
>>5761957
The humvee continues as the elevation lowers, the air gets thicker, and the humidity worsens. It isn't longer before you end up on the outskirts of the amazon proper and from there, you penetrate deeper into choking vegetation nigh-untouched by man. If the vehicle could go at its maximum speed you'd reach your destination in short order but there are no straight lines in the jungle and navigation is an ordeal. Between Sauteur's experience dealing with Parisian traffic and Hickman's memorization of where you need to be, you're confident you'd be able to get by without satellite imagery but it damned sure helps. The next three sweaty days are uneventful, though at one point, Sauteur evades an armed patrol by half a mile. Could be anything from a local militia to part of a cartel securing its operations. Intel is scant and there's no way to know, and no reason to risk.

You're getting deep into the rainforest now and there's only so much info the satellites can pick up through the canopy. GPS is still a lifesaver and you're still bored out of your mind. Part of you hopes you'll reach the site without any issues and part of you hopes you hopes you get ambushed so you can put this new muscular integration to field use. You're sure the eggheads back at the ESP would love to see some hands-on test results. Just like you would love to get out of this confounded, and amazing piece of American engineering, jeep and do something. Eventually, the boredom runs so deep Henry has the rest of the squad thinking of numbers so he can guess them. To your slight surprise, he has the hardest time with Pearson. Apparently, most of Hickman's mental wards aren't useful against direct telepathy because they're designed to counter specific forms of sorcery. The differences are opaque to you but it's clear there's a fundamentally divide. You wonder, what happens if a sorcerer is psychic, or a psychic learns sorcery? Do they stack on each other or are they completely different skill sets? In any event, you continue at a measured pace.

>1d100+10 to navigate, +10 for Sauteur's driving experience, Bo2 for precise GPS data

Rolled 98 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5762047
It might be boring, but only because we are living up to American perfection by inserting ourselves cleanly into the A.O. Just a little bit longer now and we can get to the meat of the operation.

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>5762047

Rolled 70, 25, 89 = 184 (3d100)

>>5762047
>>5762052
>>5762068
You remind yourself that you are a living weapon with the duty and privilege of fighting those threats whose goals and actions are opposed to the United States of America. Like any weapon, you require maintenance and as you are alive, you must maintain yourself. Maintenance requires discipline, and as you are responsible for your maintenance, you must have discipline. Having discipline is more than a willingness to exercise and train regularly, it is patience. You are bored now, yes, but soon you’ll be in pitched combat to recover the forgotten secrets of Atlantis, and that will be worth the wait. If you’re unlucky, you might even get to fight sooner than that.

All there is to do is wait. You clear your mind and let time slide by. Through the CIA’s cutting-edge geomapping technology and your driver’s honed instincts, your squad is able to take the routes least likely to be intercepted by hostiles. It takes you far out of your way and lengthens the trip even more, but you have an abundance of supplies and have barely gotten through half a dozen cans of Hypercompact Nutriment™ and as many jerry cans of a classified experimental compound you’re reasonably sure is some kind of souped-up fuel. After a few more days of the same old, same old, navigating through dense jungle undergrowth where you can hardly see six yards ahead of yourself, let alone drive a humvee, Hickman speaks up in a more nervous tone than usual. “There’s, uh, been a disruption with the SatNav. All I’m getting is static. Either we’re being jammed, or-”

The psychic scratches the back of his head. “Solar flare. Global catastrophe. Millions dead.” Pearson butts in, excited. “Or we’re getting close and we’ll have to get there the hard way! Give me that brick of yours, will you?” Hickman tries to talk him out of it. “This is, er, CIA property, you can’t just-” The old man shrugs it off. “And I’ve been with the FBI for years. Satellites are shot, no need for hoopla.” The CIA agent reluctantly hands it over. “Fine, but I’ll be filing a report-” “And I’ll be getting results! Don’t worry about it, boy. Now, how’s this map of yours work? Ooh, it has a zoom function!” You hear them arguing in the back, and Sauteur stays parked until Pearson’s worked out the tablet’s functionality.

Before long, his (believed) familiarity with digitally traversing unexplored terrain manifests itself and your squad is moving again at much the same pace. It won’t be much longer until it all comes to a head. When it does, you plan to be ready.

>1d100+10 to navigate, +10 for Sauteur's driving experience, Bo1 for manual navigation.

Rolled 40 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5762157
CR20 encounter incoming

>>5762157
>>5762162
The humvee travels deeper through the undergrowth. Without satellite imagery or GPS tracking to rely on, your squad's forced to navigate manually and none of you are analog professionals suitable for this type of terrain. You are, however, competent enough to get by and so you do. The chatter drops to a bare minimum as Hickman and Pearson cooperate to relay precise coordinates and angles for Sauteur at the wheel. For your part, you sit and wait. A day drags on, you eat half a can of Hypercompact Nutriment™, you sleep. Another day drags on, you finish a can of Hypercompact Nutriment™, you sleep.

The nerve-wracking monotony of traversing the jungle and never knowing if you're seconds or hours from life-threatening danger weighs on your psyche. Almost makes you wish you spent your time in Atsumaru learning to meditate like their monks do, but you're an American patriot, you can do better than that. In lieu of eastern mysticism you recite the Declaration of Independence to yourself, cover-to-cover, as many times as you can, not missing a single stanza or syllable. This continues for tens of hours. You're just finishing your latest recitation when everything falls, there's a sudden *BANG* and someone in the back screams in terror! FINALLY! You grab your shotgun and go to fling open the door but it catches on mud!

You scramble up through the top hatch, barely fitting, and shout- "WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF-EVIDENT!" An arrow flies and bounces off of the armor-plating just next to your shoulder. You instantly take in the situation. The jeep's fallen into a makeshift pit trap and there's over a dozen painted men in loincloths nearby and likely more hidden, brandishing bows and in a few cases, rusted assault rifles. You climb up out of the humvee and rise to your full height. One of these men, these must be locals, speaks to you in a fast, babbling language you can't begin to understand. His tone sounds belligerent and alarmed, though not hostile and far from afraid. If these men wanted you dead, they would've opened fire immediately.

You make a snap decision.

>Get Pearson up here to talk it out.
>Hipfire the AA-12 and initiate combat.

>>5762700
>Hipfire the AA-12 and initiate combat.

>>5762700
>Get Pearson up here to talk it out.
As much as I want to fight these guys don't seem hostile just yet, so get the old man to talk to them first.

>>5762700
>Hipfire the AA-12 and initiate combat.
Out of the way, savages! It's America time.

>>5762700
>>Get Pearson up here to talk it out.
Besides, they can't even hurt us. Just be prepared to bodyblock any shots they make.

>>5762700
>Get Pearson up here to talk it out.
These poor souls have probably never even heard of America. The idea of living a life like that is almost enough to make me shed a tear.

>>5762700
> Get Pearson up here to talk it out.

Ah, native guides. Excellent.

>>5762732
>>5762934
>>5762943
>>5762949
>>5762952
>>5762979
You put your finger on the trigger, raise the shotgun in one hand, and... lower the barrel. These men may have trapped the humvee and threatened your squad, but they've never heard of America and you can't hold their ignorance against them. You sling the AA-12 over your shoulder, hold up the palm of your hand in a mostly-universal gesture of non-hostility, and lean down to grab Pearson by the shoulder of his windbreaker and pull him up. He's somewhat disoriented by the impact but the second he sees the tribals, he relaxes and knows what to do. You pat him on the back and smile at them. They've started to lower their weapons a little. You hope that's a good sign. "See what they've stopped us for." Pearson nods, spreads out his arms, and starts babbling.

>1d100+20 to decipher their tongue, Bo3 for Cultural Specialist

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>5762981

Rolled 45 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5762981

Rolled 2 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5762981
Speak American, damn you!

>>5762986
>>5762990
>>5762992
Pearson's babbling catches the natives by surprise, and the one who first spoke to you repeats himself at a fast-pitch. The cultural expert listens for a moment, then says a word, which gets an angry stream of gibberish. The agent tries this several times and begins to sweat as they become increasingly agitated. Finally, he speaks a sentence in a completely different language. "...Você fala português?"

There's a moment of suspense, then a collective sigh of relief as one speaks back. "Sim, alguns de nós falam português." Pearson visibly relaxes. "Isso é bom de ouvir. Você pode explicar por que nos emboscou?" The tribal's voice is wary and firm. "É lamentável, mas tivemos que fazê-lo. O demônio que está com você não pode ir mais longe. Há um mal nele e ele espalharia a mácula do cofre."

The old man frowns and considers his next words carefully. "Devemos continuar. Ele não é um demônio, um bruxo malvado o amaldiçoou e devemos quebrar o feitiço." The native's response is clipped and causes some rustling in the rest. "Não podemos confiar em você. Não podemos correr o risco." Pearson is unshaken and you get the impression this situation isn't a first for him. "Somos boas pessoas. Existe alguma maneira de convencê-lo de nossas intenções?" The locals confer with each other, babbling for a minute, then reply. "Se você quiser ir mais longe, seu demônio deverá lutar contra nosso campeão. Se ele for mau, a pantera irá despedaçá-lo. Caso contrário, os espíritos mostrarão seu favor e ele poderá passar. Sinto muito, mas é assim que a selva funciona."

Pearson takes this in and speaks slowly. "Eu entendo. Eu vou falar com ele." There's some silence, then a native talks back. "Isso é bom. Sem pressa. Ele não irá a lugar nenhum." You have no idea what the hell they've just said. "What the hell did they just say?" The agent steps back, closer to the center of the humvee, and explains. "Their dialog was obscure and I couldn't quite pin it down on short notice but, as luck would have it, it turns out they speak portuguese. That French friend of yours likely could've handled it. We now know we're close to the vault. The dilemma here is that they're convinced you're a demon and don't want you spreading the... hmm, corrupting, the vault." You think on this for a second and spread your weight around so it isn't too concentrated on any one spot of the roof.

>(1/2)

>>5763007
"Why would they think-" You remember the curse and scowl. "Aaagh, I'll kill that damned wizard! Is there any way we can get by them?" Pearson speaks in a clinical, matter-of-fact tone. "Well, you could use your gun." You ask. "Is there any way besides that? I don't want to waste anymore American taxpayer dollars than necessary." He rubs his hand on the back of his neck. "They offered a trial by combat against their champion. If you win, we go on. If you lose, we leave and presumably never return. That's a non-starter, so we'd have to sneak past them or fight their entire tribe if you were beaten. No surprises there, that's usually how these things are done. I did however, bring chocolate and beads in anticipation of something like this. You're in charge boy. It's your call to make."

>Accept their challenge and enter an honorable trial by combat with their champion.
>Attempt to bribe the natives and convince them you don't have hostile intentions.

>(2/2)

>>5763008
>Accept their challenge and enter an honorable trial by combat with their champion
Let's test out our new skills, we didn't get tortured and run through hell for six months time to not put those augmentations to use.

>>5763008
>Accept their challenge and enter an honorable trial by combat with their champion
If we can't beat a random native we might as well go home

>>5763008
>Accept their challenge and enter an honorable trial by combat with their champion

>>5763012
>>5763013
>>5763025
You don't hesitate. "I'll do it. If we can't beat a random native we might as well go home." The old man shrugs. "I thought you were going to say that." He steps forward, turns back to the locals, and shouts. "Ele fará isso!" They immediately lower their weapons and twice as many reveal themselves from their hiding places. Good thing you didn't fight outright. That might've taken a while. A few come closer and Pearson ambles over to talk with them some more. He comes back. "They say you'll have to fight him at a sacred site of theirs. The spirits aren't thick enough here."

Hmm... "Fair enough." You help the rest of your squad climb out of the humvee, and Eric's condition gets a side-eye but doesn't prompt open aggression. Before you go, Hickman slaps a tracking device on the inside of the cab so the squad can triangulate the location if you get lost on the way back from the native's choice of arena. You follow them through the jungle as they give you a wide berth and a couple of hours through winding paths later, you've reached it. You're standing at the base of a small waterfall that splashes against the rocks to form a crisp, clear stream. The shallow basin goes up to your ankles and is a decent circle, around one-sixth the size of a football field. Surrounding you from all angles is towering jungle in full bloom, with a rainbow of exotic flowers and tropical birds.

You can see why the natives think this place is sacred. On one side of the arena stands your squad, waiting with varying levels of discipline. On the other side of the arena stand dozens of native men, women, and children, at least fifty of them. All armed and very serious. You don't have to wait long before your opponent steps forward. He's somewhere in his 30s and clearly athletic, with a lean frame but every inch of it is ripcord muscle, and you note several scars. Your foe is naked apart from a panther's pelt over his head and shoulders and a dozen tribal charms and pieces of scrimshawed bone. You hope those aren't real magic but after everything that's happened, you suspect they are.

While you watch, he pulls out a flint knife, slashes his palm, and spills his blood into the waters. He watches you intently. The meaning is obvious and transcends language. Everyone here waits with baited breath.

>You'll respond in kind and spill your own blood into the water.
>You won't stoop to his superstition, and step forward to fight.
>You'll nail him with a steel football and get an advantage!

>>5763054
>You'll respond in kind and spill your own blood into the water.

>>5763054
Do we even have something on our person that would be able to pierce our nanobot infused skin?

>>5763077
You have a sharp survival knife and machete for clearing brush on you. They aren't experimental tech, just well forged and maintained high-carbon steel, but the force you can output with your muscular integration is immense. It would take several seconds of effort and dull the chosen blade severely but you can, with effort, pierce yourself.

>>5763054
>You'll respond in kind and spill your own blood into the water.
Use our TEETH if need be

>>5763054
>You'll respond in kind and spill your own blood into the water.

Knives can be sharpened. And nothing intimidates like cutting your skin to the sound of grinding metal.

>>5763054

>You'll respond in kind and spill your own blood into the water.

Not only is this the right choice by 80s action movie logic, it’s badass

Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>5763063
>>5763077
>>5763121
>>5763127
>>5763129
You recognize a challenge when you see it, and you never back down! You pull the knife from its sheath at your waist and press it into the palm of your hand. The nanobots keep your epidermis together and you can barely feel the tip so you have to go deeper, harder. You grit your teeth, flex the wirewrapped muscles in your wrist, and feel the blade scrape, then cut just shy of the metallic bone and bend almost backwards as it does. The champion stares at the ruined knife and flow of thick, shimmering blood with visceral disgust, and a trace of respect. You slip the knife in your pocket, it's useless now.

He reaches for a loop of beads around his neck and as you make eye-contact, you feel his mind brush against yours. You put up your guard but this is different to Henry's telepathy, it's less a direct intrusion into your psyche, more of a handshake happening all around you. You're hit by a wave of contempt and babbling, but this time the meaning to it is somehow clear.
>"I do not want to take your shrunken head, outsider, but you cannot be allowed to spread the evils of the vault. Leave now, and we will have peace."
You focus and pour back the defiance America was founded on.
>"I can't let my country down, pal."
The champion sighs.
>"Then we must FIGHT!"

The mystic connection breaks and you see his eyes ripple, shifting into a wildcat's! He takes on a wide and loping, nigh-bestial stance! You shift into your own, half-football crouch, half-wrestling pose, and get ready to kill!

The battle is on!

>Hit him with a running tackle!
>Charge and catch him in a grapple!
>Pelt him from afar with a steel football!

As always, write-ins are highly encouraged. Don't mind this roll here, it's not for your foe.

>>5763160
>Pelt him from afar with a steel football!

>>5763160
>Throw a steel football, mainly to distract him. Then feint to the left and grab the shaman by scruff of the neck in a vice grip

>>5763160
>Write in
Wait and hit him with a grapple once he gets close, it's clear he is trying to use his advantage of speed and manoeuvrability against us

>>5763233
+1

>>5763160

> CHANNEL THE ALL AMERICAN MAN OF STEEL AND BREAK HIS STRIKE ON YOUR CHEST

>>5763233
Or this if you need some consensus and stuff

File: T A C T I C S.png (64 KB, 1495x289)

64 KB PNG

>>5763160
Just for anons who didn't read the last thread, don't be afraid to go wild with the tactics, since that's exactly what QM encourages.

We'll get bonuses for being slightly smarter about fighting.

Rolled 74, 57 + 10 = 141 (2d100 + 10)

>>5763162
>>5763167
>>5763233
>>5763282
>>5763351
You think of reaching into your pack and flinging a ball but opt against it. This champion’s clad in a panther pelt and visibly transforming. Odds are he’s faster than you and you can’t match him there, so you won’t try. You’ll wait for him to reach you, then go for a grapple and force a win! This tactical analysis takes place in a fraction of a second. By the time it’s done, he’s visibly warped to take on a four-legged panther’s shape and is pouncing at the speed of a superbowl football!

>1d100+5 to deflect the blow!
>1d100+10 to get a grip on him!

Rolled 53 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>5763394

Rolled 29 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>5763394
Rolling to deflect

Rolled 99 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5763394
>>5763395
Oh well rolling to grab

>>5763395
>>5763397
You instinctively throw your left arm over your face, in the nick of time, as the panther’s claws slash from wrist to elbow! You’re made of sterner stuff than most, and instead of the ruined limb he was hoping for he barely gets a bleed going. The cut is deep near the joint but the pain doesn’t register, you’re a machine, built to last, made in the USA. In a fraction of a second you step back to leave the wildcat falling in mid-air, then snap your arm forward to catch him by the neck! Lifting a +200 pound panther by the neck at shoulder-height like this shouldn’t be possible but here you are, and now he’s at your mercy! He panics and swings to pry your fingers but all he can do with his paws is bludgeon and slash! You can’t hear yourself think, only the sound of freedom leaving your lips! “USA! USA! USA!”

>BREAK HIS LEG!
>THUMB, MEET EYE!
>SNAP HIS SPINE IN TWO!
>THROW HIM INTO THE CROWD!
>DASH HIM ON THE ROCKS!

>>5763402
>CHOKE HIM OUT
I want his only recollection of this event to be us screaming USA USA USA USA USA USA USA In his ear as he fades from consciousness

>>5763402
>>DASH HIM ON THE ROCKS!
Just like we did with Sauteur

>>5763402
>Call for his surrender.
Caught as he is, he cannot possibly hope to stand against our (and by extension, the USA's) might.

>>5763402
>BREAK HIS LEG!

TELL ME HOW BADLY YOU WANT THIS

>>5763412
Or the rocks, you know, for consensus

>>5763402
>DASH HIM ON THE ROCKS!
SLEM

>>5763402
>>5763405
Seconding this one
We've got a chance to prove the USA's superiority and what better way than to show them their champion is helpless like a meeting kitten in our hands?

>>5763405

Backing this - if we totally hose him here then maybe the locals will realize we can handle whatever bullshit is lurking in the ruins

>>5763402
>CHOKE HIM OUT
Make him.humble

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>5763405
>>5763406
>>5763407
>>5763412
>>5763415
>>5763417
>>5763607
>>5763611
>>5763660
You go to dash him on the rocks but standing here, you realize that if you can defeat him without a fatality, you'll have proven America's superiority beyond all doubt. You bring the panther closer to your chest and wrap your other hand around his thrashing throat! Now, you dig in your fingers of steel and throttle the windpipe! "USA! USA! USA!"

>1d100+40 to CHOKE, +20 for muscular integration, +10 for offensive grappling, +5 for off-guard opponent, +5 for size advantage

Rolled 86 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>5763678

>>5763680

The crushing vise of FREEDOM is applied to the manjaguar with critical effect!

Rolled 76 - 20 (1d100 - 20)

>>5763678
>>5763680
You grip the champion's neck with crude form, but enough strength and tenacity that it makes no difference. "USA! USA! USA!" His four legs lacerate your arm and chest but between his flailing stance and your nanomachines, hardly leave a scratch. "USA! USA! USA!" You drink in the fear of his eyes as he starts to shift back and bring his half-formed hand to the knucklebones on his wrist. Then, you feel something give and he stops struggling. Your foe reverts to his human form, gasping and feeble, and you know what to do. "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!" Before he can brace himself, you throw him twenty feet from you to crash into the stones! You scream at the top of your lungs, veins bursting from your skull. "RAAAAAGH! FREEDOM! LIBERTY! DEATH!"

>He's rolling to keep the will to fight

>>5763704
Your foe crashes into the water and skips like a bloody stone. You stare as he rises to his feet, bruised and ragged, and mutters something in his tongue. He's battered and gasping for air but unbeaten. You on the other hand, are almost in peak condition. You shift back into your stance and shout. "YOU BETTER SAY YOUR PRAYERS!"

>Nail him with a steel football!
>Hit him with a running tackle!
>Wrestle him and drive his skull to the stone!

>>5763708
>Hit him with a running tackle!
He's in no condition to dodge now

>>5763708
>GRAB HIM AGAIN
We wanna prove TRUE AMERICAN SUPERIORITY without killing him, and if we do any of those we'll probably turn him to paste.

File: Wobbuffet used Taunt.gif (99 KB, 256x192)

99 KB GIF

>>5763728
>>5763708
This, hit him with the taunt too to rile him up.

>>5763728

Go in for a second grapple, I agree

All that durability training has paid off, he can’t really hurt us

Rolled 92 (1d100)

>>5763713
>>5763728
>>5763743
>>5763749
Your instincts tell you to tackle but you're more than just a linebacker. You're an AMERICAN linebacker and you need to prove AMERICAN superiority! You rush in to grab the champion and subdue him until there is no hope but surrender!

>1d100+20 to GRAPPLE! +10 for offensive grappling, +10 for dazed opponent

Rolled 60 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5763755

Rolling

Rolled 58 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5763755

>>5763755
>>5763760
You barrel in and grab him by shoulders with vicious force but he touches his wrist charm, vanishes into a cloud of smoke and flower petals, and reappears behind you! Before you can react you feel a panther's claws rake down your back, but it is a shallow cut and you are unmoved. You turn to see his arm shifting from a bestial claw to a human hand, and his other arm draws his flint knife! Now he's bleeding, tired, and desperate and there's no telling what he'll do. You notice, though, that there's white ash where his charm used to be. He may have more tricks up his metaphorical sleeve but that's one more spent.

You seize the momentum!

>Grapple him!
>Tackle him!
>Strike him down!
>Draw your machete!
>Demand he yield!

>>5763762
>Tackle him!
Stop playing softball lads. He's a warrior, let's treat him like one.

>>5763762

>Tackle him!

Time to bring the hurt!

>>5763762
>Tackle him!
Never should have come here

>>5763765
>Support
Do a feint first, try to get that bonus on our side. We may be really durable but he could get lucky

>>5763728
+1

>>5763762
>Grapple him!
Wait till he goes for us, *then* grab him. We're best at defensive grappling, IIRC, let's use it.

Rolled 80, 43 = 123 (2d100)

>>5763765
>>5763766
>>5763769
>>5763770
>>5763771
>>5763783
This man is a warrior, you need to stop playing softball and treat him like it! Time to bring the hurt! You howl- "NEVER SHOULD HAVE COME HERE!" -intimidating the locals and confusing your squad as you burst into violent motion!

>1d100 to TACKLE! +10 for signature move, +5 for off-guard opponent

Rolled 90 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>5763787

>>5763789
Football never fails

Rolled 94 - 30 (1d100 - 30)

>>5763787
>>5763789
"U-S-A-" Your calves explode into 400 pounds of American momentum, sweat, and fury! The champion shifts into a panther and meets you head-on but you're an unstoppable force, with a heart of steel and a skeleton to match! He yowls in pain as you crash into his ribcage and smash him down! "-TODAY AND FOREVER!"

>He's rolling to keep the will to fight

>94 on the will to continue fighting
It's our match against Sauteur all over again, except somehow more hairy

>>5763798
>Relative normalfag can't throw hands with American Engineering
I love this script

>>5763795
You feel his bones crack, bend, and snap under your onslaught! You drive him into the mud and dash him on the rocks! You stand tall, a patriotic juggernaut, and stare with a smoldering intensity as your foe shifts back into human shape... and continues to stand! Now, he walks with a limp and misses some of his teeth, but he meets your gaze with feral intensity. The man touches a set of beads by his shoulder and as they turn to white ash, he inhales black smoke and eyes go bloodshot! He hisses one word- "Não..." -and the meaning is clear. The fight continues.

>Grapple and force him to yield!
>Hit him with another running tackle!
>Draw your machete and hack him down!

>>5763801
>Wait for him to strike, then grapple him and FUCKING SUPLEX THE SHIT OUT OF HIM

>>5763801
>Grapple and force him to yield!

>>5763801
>Wait for him to pounce again, then catch him in midair and swing him right back down into the rocks.
FINISH HIM

>>5763801
>Wait for him to strike, then grapple him and FUCKING SUPLEX THE SHIT OUT OF HIM

YESSSS

Rolled 22, 82 = 104 (2d100)

>>5763803
>>5763810
>>5763814
>>5763819
You know what to do. You'll let him strike at you and then you'll lose his moment of immobility to seize and suplex him like you've never suplexed before! You have, a few times in training, but never like this! Never with so much to win and so much to lose! His knife moves in a blur and you can't tell if the howling is yours or his!

>1d100+5 to deflect the blow! +5 for defense.
>1d100+40 to SUPLEX! +10 for defensive grappling, +10 for reckless opponent, +20 for battered opponent. If your defense is higher than his first attack roll, you'll have an additional +10.
>His first roll is at a net +0, his skill and recklessness negating the damage penalty. His second roll is at -20, -10 more if you successfully counter his strike.

Rolled 62 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>5763830

Rolled 72 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>5763830
Rolling to SUPLEX!

>>5763834
>>5763841
Poor guy, he just got pasted

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>5763830
>>5763834
>>5763841
He lunges to slash your throat and you intercept with the bones of your wrist, slamming the flint from his fingers with a deafening *CLAAAANG*! As he tries to recover you advance on him like rolling thunder, snatch your foe by the waist as he tries to leap, and execute a vicious backward suplex slam on the rocks! You hear a *CRUNCH* and the mostly-human body goes limp. You instantly roll to the side, stand, and expect to see a corpse, but he yet lives. His arm has shattered, the blood is gone from his eyes, and he groans in pain. At the sight of you though, he grits his teeth and begins to stand to keep on the fight even now, only to stop and lower his defenses completely.

You're expecting this to be a trick but seeing your squad staring over your shoulder, you turn to see an ancient, withered man has stepped out of the native crowd. He hobbles on a staff and is so covered in primitive charms, tribal fetishes, and shrunken heads you have a hard time seeing the skin beneath. From what you can, though, you can tell the champion's his spitting image. This must be your foe's father. He touches one of his necklaces and his mind brushes against yours. Even with your lack of expertise, you can tell the presence is old. The only one more ancient you've felt is Yomon Zobon. You hear the babbling in your head and understand perfectly.
>"You fought well, outsider. My son's courage brought honor to our people... but the empty spirit in your veins cannot be beaten by the might of man and beast alone. The spirits have chosen. There is no sense in continuing."
You feel your adrenaline lower and push your thoughts in his general direction, which he seems to understand.
>"Is he gonna live?"
The shaman strokes his chin.
>"In shame. Knowing him, he will not see the honor in defeat for many years to come. With my medicine, he will recover. You've given him new scars on this day."
He hobbles over to you in the center of the basin, and lays a gnarled palm on your chest, over your heart. The shaman mumbles in forgotten tongues and grips several of the charms hanging from his chest with feeble strength, and a will of iron. The suspense is incredible.
>"..."

>>5763865
Finally, he draws back his hand and shudders.
>"The emptiness in your veins is an abomination and the darkness that stains your soul is beyond description. You approach the vault of ancient evils with careless greed and blind zeal. It disgusts the spirits."
You take the shaman's portents in stride.
>"Is that all, gramps?"
He stamps his staff on the rocks.
>"There is nothing more for you here, outsider. You have won your trial. If the spirits show mercy, you will meet your end trapped in the vaults where your soul cannot escape. If you do not, may they help us all. Go now."
The connection is broken and the shaman walks past you to tend to his son. The tribals look at you in fear but your squad is impressed, and that's what counts. You walk out of the arena with your head held high, wounds already healing on a microscopic level. Before you leave, most likely forever, you shout- "AMERICA!" -at the top of your lungs and the jungle all around you falls silent.

>George Armstrong's Fight Record: 5 wins, 1 loss.

>(1/2)

>>5763888
Your squad returns to the humvee using Hickman's tracking beacon, and between you, Eric, and clever use of that steel wire in an intricate pulley system, courtesy of Agent Pearson, you're able to get it out of the pit just enough for Sauteur to get traction on the wheels and escape. The squad piles back in the vehicle and before you know it, you're back on the nonexistent road to the legacy of Atlantis. You're all quiet again, and you aren't bored anymore. You're thinking about that fight and what the champion's father said, or transmitted into your head. How could you disgust the spirits when between your nanomachines and years of conditioning, you're a pillar of American engineering?

Unless the spirits are anti-American. Does that mean the amazon is evil? Or maybe it's not that. Maybe they're scared of American technology and the greatest country on Earth is going to have to drag them, kicking and screaming, into the future? No matter what, you're behind the USA, every step of the way. You wrestle with these thoughts as you make camp for the night. Hickman and Pearson are both confident you're getting close to the ruin. They're certain this'll be the last night before you reach the outskirts. The last night to let your nanobots work to mend your scrapes and enjoy the constant ambience of the rainforest.

Before it gets too late, you decide to talk to-
>Sauteur
>Agent Hickman
>Henry Phillips
>Agent Pearson
>Unit #1501
>Nobody, you have push-ups to do (Ignore the next choice)

About-
>The trial by combat
>The implications of the curse
>The shaman's portents of doom
>The dilemma of being part machine
>The monotony of Hypercompact Nutriment™
>The things you'll probably find in the vault

>(2/2)

>>5763888
>We're a complete abomination to the native shaman
God bless America, we'll bring our enlightened civilization to these savages someday

>>5763891
>Henry Phillips
>The shaman's portents of doom
Is he getting any spooky psychic vibes?

>>5763891
>Henry Phillips
>About: Patriotism
The psyker doubts his own AMERICAN beliefs(on the character sheet), we must broadcast our GLORIOUS PATRIOTIC THOUGHTS straight into his brain.

>>5763898
support

>>5763892
This POOR FOOL is merely distracted by the great heaping pile of bad sorcerer juju piled on our soul

>>5763897

Backing this - there’s clearly a spiritual element to all this that we aren’t getting -time to get smart

>>5763897
>>5763898
>>5763938
>>5763968
You walk over to the psychic and take a seat by him. He's busy staring into nothing and doesn't react until you pat him on the back and snap him out of it. That startles him and he jumps, spins around, and touches the surface of your thoughts- "Huh? What- Oh, it's just you." -then sits back down. "Sorry about that. Class III unauthorized psychic intrusion. I'll need to file a report for debrief-" You stare him right in his protective eye lenses. "You and me need to talk."

The man's stance is wary. "About the indigenous shaman? I sensed a disturbance nearby, twice, but it's all foreign to my training." You think on that for a second. "Yeah, that's important too, but I really want to talk to you about America." You see his gloved hands clench into a fist. "America?" You nod your head. "That's right. America. I read your file, you know... It's not that bad, don't worry 'bout it. You just need someone to talk to. Someone you can trust. We'll be searching that vault together soon and I want to be sure you know you can trust me like I know I can trust the USA. Like we know we can trust the USA." You don't have to be a mind-reader to see that he's been having doubts. Maybe you can help him work through this.

>1d100+20 to rekindle Henry's patriotism. +10 for True American Patriot (due to telepathy), +10 for shared origins in the ESP
>1d100+5 for Henry's knowledge of George's circumstances. +5 for Fledgling Telepath. As he's a member of your party, you'll be rolling for him in most situations. This also goes for the rest of your squad.

Rolled 9 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5764003
God bless the flag, Henry! We're the greatest nation on Earth, you just need a reminder.

Rolled 53 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>5764003

>>5764008
Oof, looks like he's not drinking the kool aid right now

Sorry for the lack of an update or any posts yesterday, three things came up at once and I was S L A M M E D. I'm about to go unconscious for 3-4 hours before work but I'll be posting an update as soon as I can.

>>5764008
>>5764023
You try to explain the unrivaled, absolute, and undeniable superiority of America in all things to the psychic, but something about it just doesn't seem to be getting through. "I know... I know America is great, but what about us?" You grin and spread your hands to encompass the campsite. "What about us? We are honored and privileged to fight for the greatest country on Earth!" Henry listens and fidgets. "Yeah, I... I get that but... when was the last time we got paid?" You laugh. "Ha! Patriotism in the line of fire is its own reward, and the meals are free!"

The psychic is nervous. "When was the last time we saw our families?" You pause for a second, thinking of how to explain this. "Listen. If we were to expose ourselves for EVEN A MOMENT, those godless anti-American interdimensional communist gangster mafia bastards would put our loved ones in danger. I know it's hard to make the necessary sacrifices sometimes but you know as well as I do, it's for their own safety." He thinks it over. "I get it, but... I never volunteered. I was, oh, the memory is vague... I was drafted when they detected my subconscious telepathy... That's right. I was drafted and then they used me for experiments. I... I don't think I ever signed a waiver."

>(1/3)

>>5765407
You put a reassuring hand on his knee. "Son, the United States of America drafted you into its Secret Forces because the United States of America saw your potential and knew they needed you. I know how those lab experiments are. Sometimes they hurt and it's hard to see the reason for 'em, but the end results are amazing and they help Americans everywhere! It's a small price to pay for freedom." Henry sighs and his voice cracks a little. "I know that, man, I know... I just... I just... how can I know America wants to do what's best for me?" You have an answer for that in a split-second. "If America didn't want to do what was best for you, it wouldn't be America. And trust me when I say this Henry, it is America." That revelation drives him to silence. Five minutes later, he replies.

"Okay. Let's talk about your condition." You nod vigorously. "Yeah. They say the nanomachines are evolving. Imagine that- American engineering, engineering itself! America is the greatest country there is!" The psychic doesn't contradict you. "I meant the shaman." You think back to the trial by combat. "Yeah, that was a good fight. Hope he can make a recovery without world-class American healthcare. The US Marine Corps could use someone like him." Henry touches your mind in the subtle telepathic equivalent of a head-shake.

"No, I meant what the shaman said, about the "emptiness in your veins." I think he was talking about the nanomachines." You stroke your chin. "Yeah, of course he was. Could probably sense 'em but his voodoo magic couldn't tell what he was looking at. Besides, that's classified information. We can't be explaining it to local non-citizens." His tone is concerned. "Everything has a life-force, right?" You nod. "The Atsumaru call it Ki." The psychic continues. "I've been thinking. Ki is created by the body, isn't it? And nature has to be full of it, so it makes sense a shaman would be able to sense it." Hmm... "Go on..."

>(2/3)

>>5765411
He does. "If he says you're full of emptiness, that must mean he couldn't sense a normal amount of Ki. Since it's life energy and the nanomachines that are starting to replace your organs aren't technically alive, are they slowly killing you?" You mull over it for a second. "Of course not, I'm in perfect health!" The psychic insists. "What happens when the nanomachines replace everything and you don't have any Ki left? Are you just... gone?" You shake your head. "American science is infallible. It would never kill me, and besides, even if it did, it would be an honor to die for our country." He stops talking and thinks about your words. You (relatively gently) pat him on the back. "I'm glad we had this talk. Get some rest, we're gonna need it."

You go crash on the jungle floor and dream of your discoveries helping some egghead win a Nobel Prize. With your name on it. If only every American understood how important their work is to America. When you awaken at the crack of dawn, you get back in the jeep and continue like you have been for the last two weeks. A few hours of precise coordinates and cautious manuevers later, the humvee finally stops in front of a seemingly ordinary cave in the side of an overgrown hill. Agent Hickman breathes heavily and puts his tablet away. "This is, uh, this is it." You grin. "This is it?" He adjusts his sweaty uniform collar. "No doubt. It must be erm, hidden underground."

"Makes sense. Satellites haven't been any help lately. Maybe it camouflaged itself as we came closer." You analyze the situation. There's an obvious entrance but you know that not everything is always as it seems. The squad is waiting for your say so.

>The entire squad is going to enter the cave and search its contents in-force.
>You and Unit #1501 are going to scout ahead. Everyone else can stay back.
>The brains will search for any hidden entrances while the rest of you keep guard.

>(3/3)

>>5765414
>You and Unit #1501 are going to scout ahead. Everyone else can stay back.

Barbarian trap finding technique!

>>5765421

Backing, this is just common sense to send the most durable guys in first

>>5765414
>You and Unit #1501 are going to scout ahead. Everyone else can stay back.

>>5765421
>Support

>>5765421
>>5765430
>>5765433
>>5765454
You scratch your chin and make a decision. "Me and Unit #1501 will scout ahead. You all stay back, cover our rear, and make sure nothing else comes out." The cyborg's voice crackles. "Sir, yes sir!" Sauteur retrieves his MAT-49 and holds it at rest. "Compris." While he watches your six, the two of you spread out at and venture into the cave, at the ready. You aren't a geologist and can't tell the composition of the stone but you do know it's dark a few steps in are about to mention it, when- *CLICK* -Eric turns on a wrist-mounted flashlight. Excellent.

It Illuminates your surroundings almost like it were aboveground. More than enough to suit your needs. You advance out of view from the cave mouth and into the darkness itself. The shadows are held at bay by the light but the stillness remains and has you on edge. The AA-12 in your hands doesn't make you feel better. It makes you want to fight but you bury the edge. You stay quiet as you creep deeper inside. Your eyes are peeled.

>3d100 to scout ahead, for George.
>3d100 to scout ahead, for Unit #1501.
I recommend you roll 2d100 apiece, the first for George, the second for Eric. This isn't a Bo3 for either, there's a lot to notice.

Rolled 20, 89 = 109 (2d100)

>>5765488
What do you see, Eric?

Rolled 7, 25, 91 = 123 (3d100)

>>5765488
Activating PATRIOT SIGHT

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>5765488
This makes six

Rolled 12, 21 = 33 (2d100)

>>5765496
>>5765524
>>5765529
You go deeper into the cave until you hit what appears to be a shallow dead-end. You know better, though. Playing football for years taught you to notice fast-moving details in a violent, tactical environment. Here, everything is still and calm but that only gives you more room to take in the space. You clear your thoughts and methodically sweep the cave wall. Moments later, you see a micro-divet in the center, near shoulder height and approach. Unit #1501 stands and draws his semiautomatic .450 bushmaster pistol with military discipline... and mechanical awareness.

As you touch the wall, it slides in and out comes a tinted-glass lens that focuses a harmless laser on your eye! This must be a retina scanner! You stagger back just as the wall slides to the stone, then open to reveal an interlocked barricade of chrome and silver, flashing with golden runes! You're stunned at the sight and don't react as part of the ceiling slides down to reveal an automated turret, but your squadmate does! It swivels for you just as he aims! Behind both of you, a pair of sleek projectors slide from the cave-sides and begin to assemble a flashing hologram! It all happens in the span of seconds!

>1d100+10 to SHOOT for Eric! +10 for spotting the trap! He's rolling against the first for neutralizing the turret!
>1d100 to REACT for George! He's rolling against the second to beat the hologram to the punch!

Rolled 28 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5765600

Rolled 82 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5765600
Shows us your aim robocop!

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>5765600
American punch!

>>5765600
>>5765602
>>5765604
Through a rugged suite of sensors, Unit #1501 anticipated the turret's exact location and was already in motion before its activation. His handcannon makes a deafening *BOOOOOM* and shatters the turret's swivel just as you spin and react to the light! It's taking on a featureless, humanoid shape!

>Tackle the hologram!
>Shatter the projectors!
>Force open the door!

>>5765620
>>Shatter the projectors!
Throw a steel football at it!

>>5765620
>Shatter the projectors!
I played Dead Money

>>5765623
>>5765641

Throw football, smash projectors as these anons suggest!

>>5765623
>>5765641
>>5765666
In one fluid motion you reach in your rucksack, pull out a steel football and throw it into the left projector! The next second you've done it again with the right! These are static, bulky, well-lit targets within ten yards and you played ball at a college level. You never ran quarterback but you damned sure know your way around the ol' pigskin. Hitting them was never in question, only where at and how hard.

>1d100+10 to SHATTER the right projector!
>1d100+10 to SHATTER the left projector!

Rolled 100 (1d100)

>>5765709

Rolled 51 (1d100)

I think that 100 should be good enough to knock them both dead.

>>5765716
George could throw a football over goddamn mountains

>>5765732
George could probably catch his own throws for a touchdown

>>5765738
Ten thousand years ago the technician who set up the projector just died of internal bleeding.

>>5765716
>>5765721
The first football flies with such a perfect arc and parabola that if your coach could see it, he would weep with gnashing teeth knowing you'll never see open turf again. In every way, accuracy, speed, force, it is nothing short of flawless and would've dented the chrome if it were leather. As is, the science of the ancients has no hope. You watch it play-by-play, burning the action into memory.

The impact is like a hot bullet through cold silk-
The right projector explodes into a miniature cloud of shrapnel and glass-
The steel ball spikes on the ground and bounces across-
The rugged icon of American simplicity's angle curves and strikes the opposite-
The left projector is sundered in half just as the second steel ball comes in-
The angle of the first falling deflects the tip and it ricochets-
The wild throw shatters the hologram like a hunk of balsa wood-
The ball comes to rest at the site of the initial impact-
Then the best throw of your life, thus far, is over.

All in span of two seconds. You close your eyes and grit your teeth. You breathe in, you breathe out. If you focus on that throw, you'll crave it again for the rest of your days. You need to stay calm- "I caught it on footage." What. You turn to Eric, who's somehow managed to look visibly impressed without a face. "You, what?" Your fellow cyborg and patriot turns to you and beeps in affirmation. "I caught it on *high-definition* footage." You're stricken delirious with gratitude and he comes at you with an open-palm.

To you, it is the single greatest high-five of this century. To this Atlantean ruin, it is a promise of imminent destruction millennia in the making. You struggle to return to your senses and collect your balls while Unit #1501 stands in silence, rewatching the video feed on repeat. There's no more danger here and the runes have stopped flashing on the wall.

>Rush back to the humvee and get Hickman's tablet. The squad needs to see this immediately.
>Force yourself to calm down, continue scouting, and examine the barricade.

>>5765793

>Force yourself to calm down, continue scouting, and examine the barricade.

Kek, what a great update

>>5765793
>Force yourself to calm down, continue scouting, and examine the barricade.
We'll have time to see this epic throw later

>>5765793
>Force yourself to calm down, continue scouting, and examine the barricade.
Focus. Somehow. For America.

>>5765793
>Force yourself to calm down, continue scouting, and examine the barricade.
Secure the location first

>>5765796
>>5765811
>>5765888
>>5765959
You breathe heavily, repeatedly, and try to force the triumph of your post-college football career from your mind. It doesn't work. It keeps coming back into your head. You groan at the mere memory, close your eyes, and strike the cave with enough force that some of the stone cracks and flakes away. You wring your hand, the skin on your knuckles is bruised but that's nothing new. The undirected aggression helps you come back down from the clouds. You mutter to yourself, beat your hand on your chest, and think. "Focus. Somehow. For America." You're doing this for America, and can't let yourself get distracted from your duty by personal success.

Unit #1501 reloads his handcannon and shines his flashlight over the barricade. You walk over and take a look. There's no visible indication the runes were ever there and on closer inspection, this chrome is like no steel you've ever seen. You touch it and feel a dim warmth, like the ash of a campfire left to smolder. Looking over the barricade, you realize it isn't a whole structure but several geometric shapes linked together into a reinforcing pattern. To do this and fill the gaps between so seamlessly, the Atlanteans must have had an incredible grasp of metallurgy. As you're holding your hand on the barricade, you notice it shift slightly upward. Further pressure causes it to slide, almost like a garage door.

>(1/2)

>>5765962
Unit #1501 comes in to help you pull it up, starting at the bottom, but the two of you soon realize something is wrong. The bottom is shifting downward, to the left. You move and try it at a different angle. This time it's shifting again, to the right. You realize that this is a secure door, or some kind of airlock, and that it consists of five triangular structures laid over a wider, underlying circle that's a single piece. It's interesting but now that you know how it works, the two of you have it opened in no time.

Behind the door is a perfectly cylindrical tunnel walled with the same chrome material and you don't hesitate to enter. There's no automated defenses or signs of erosion on the walls, which are incredibly smooth and share the same subtle warmth. You advance deeper into the tunnel and soon find a dead-end, and what appears to be a blank control panel on a podium-like platform of silvered chrome. When you reach the control panel, it's suddenly covered with golden runes similar to those you saw on the entrance. Unit #1501 speculates. "We might be standing in an elevator. Those symbols aren't like anything I've seen. Probably shouldn't press 'em."

You look at it for a minute and notice that there are ten distinct runes. They almost remind you of abstract hieroglyphs but you don't have the cultural context to know what they mean. There aren't any buttons underneath to press, which makes you suspect it works like a touch-screen or responds to vocal commands. Just standing here, there's no way to confirm anything. You consider the situation carefully.

>Search the area for traps, then go get the squad, most importantly Pearson, when you've confirmed it's safe.
>Experiment with the control panel and see if you can either figure out how it works or what it does.

>(2/2)

>>5765965
>>Search the area for traps, then go get the squad, most importantly Pearson, when you've confirmed it's safe.
We brought him for exactly this sort of stuff, we can't even read anything here.

>>5765965
>Search the area for traps, then go get the squad, most importantly Pearson, when you've confirmed it's safe.

>>5765990

Backing this, we brought the cultural attaché for this exact reason

>>5765965
>Search the area for traps, then go get the squad, most importantly Pearson, when you've confirmed it's safe.

>>5765965
>>Search the area for traps, then go get the squad, most importantly Pearson, when you've confirmed it's safe.
Show them The Throw.

>>5765990
>>5765992
>>5765994
>>5765996
>>5766058
You’ve spent years in high-sensitivity labs and you saw your fair share of American cinematography before that. You know better than to mess with things you don’t understand, especially when you have a qualified and experienced expert on the scene. First though, you need to verify there’s no further risk to less resilient personnel. You look at Unit #1501 and using your PATRIOTIC bond, wordlessly lay down your verdict. His mechanical neck is too thick to easily nod but he beeps. “Affirmative. I’ll check the ceilings and floor.”

“I’ll get the walls.” The two of you are a well-oiled machine and take half an hour to comb over every inch of the space for traps. You don’t find anything but Unit #1501 detects another impression in the wall like that of the turret. His wrist-mounted drill isn’t able to pierce the chrome but it does trigger its activation. The cyborg is already prepared- *BOOOOOOM* -and the turret is broken. Once you’ve verified it’s out of commission, you get back to searching the tunnel. By the end of it, you’ve found nothing else of interest. Both of you exit the cave and return to the humvee. The others are curious and on the alert, particularly Sauteur, as he’s the only one with combat experience. He belts out in French- “J'ai entendu des-” then realizes his audience and finishes in English. “-I heard gunfire. Any hostiles?”

You shake your head. “Not anymore. We've confirmed we're on the vault. Got some film you have to see, too, but that can wait.” Agent Pearson perks up. “Have you seen anything yet?” You think of how to explain it, then decide not to waste any more time. “You’ll have to see it for yourself.” The old man doesn't respond, and sprints with the energy of an athlete one-third of his age. Everyone else scrambles to keep up before your translator gets himself killed!

>1d100+20 to decipher the runes, Bo3

Rolled 54 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5766504

Rolled 52 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5766504
Get it done, Pearson!

Rolled 59 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5766504

>>5766508
>>5766509
>>5766555
You go back in the tunnel and find that the door's sealed back shut. The golden runes appear again and Pearson skims them as they flicker. He squints and sketches on a notepad. "Not an Indo-European dialect. Interesting. A few loan words from the Levant... an ancestor dialect?" You have little idea of what he's talking about but you get the gist. "So you can read the writing?" The scholar is in the zone and busy cross-referencing his notes and the text. "...In part. I recognize some of this- it's legible, if archaic script, but the grammar is opaque and there's no discerning the context. Much like the Voynich Manuscript."

You mull over his words. "Can you read it?" He frowns and holds the cap of the pen to his lips, deep in thought. "Yes and no. With the resources of my study I might be able to crack the code, perhaps in a fortnight, but in the field like this? The best I can do is relay the gist." You wait and he continues. "This door greets us as guests and rebukes us as... the phrasing is odd. It's rather hostile but by the formality, I suspect this is a default presentation." Interesting.

You and Unit #1501 step over to the door and start opening it again. Sliding the triangles, then rolling the disc. Doing it manually is a good two minutes of work but with your augmentations, neither of you break a sweat. You, because you're incredibly strong and in prime condition. Eric, because he's not physically capable of producing sweat or tiring out. When the tunnel is revealed, Hickman scrolls through his tablet and remarks. "This is huge. Forensics will be going over this for years..."

>(1/2)

>>5766642
Sauteur holds his MAT-49 at his shoulder and muzzle-sweeps the darkness before taking a step inside. The psychic rubs his temples and speaks in a brief, military diction. "No signs of mental activity in our proximity. Defenders, if present, are automated or concealed." You have a steel football in your hands, ready to throw with lethal precision, while the AA-12 shotgun sits slung over your shoulder.

The only one of you who isn't taking precautions is Agent Pearson and he's poring over the podium with feverish determination. You all stand and wait patiently while he mumbles to himself, sketches notes, and uses the pen to make counting motions in the air for fifteen minutes. Finally, he stops. "This is a touch-screen naming what I'm assuming are sections of the vault. There's no description to go on for them, so we'll have to trust our guts." You all crowd around the podium as Pearson explains the context. Everyone stands back slightly as you crouch over.

You'll need to choose a button.

>[1] Undeciphered
>[2] Alcove
>[3] Undeciphered
>[4] Drones
>[5] Navigation
>[6] Rejuvenants
>[7] Undeciphered
>[8] Arsenal
>[9] Undeciphered
>[10] Undeciphered

>(2/2)

>>5766644
>[5]Nav

>>5766644
>Navigation
Maybe we'll find something to better move around this maze.

>>5766644

>Navigation

This seems least likely to kill us

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>5766648
>>5766664
>>5766669
You don’t hesitate and click [Navigation]. An instant later, you’re surrounded by a field of particulate light. It obscures your vision for an instant, then disperses to reveal you’re still standing at the podium, but now you’re looking at a completely different room. This one is circular and huge, like the underside of a dome, but there’s only any floor around the edges. The center of the room is hollow and appears to lead into another featureless half-sphere to match the top. Surrounding the emptiness, at each of what you’re assuming are the four cardinal points are podiums like yours, and interspersed throughout the entire structure are nested lines of silver segmenting them into smooth, linear patterns. You realize that your podium is sitting in its own cube, with a seam like it were part of a separate structure.

A moment after you’ve caught your bearings, Henry breaks the ice. “Did we just-” The sorcerer interrupts him. “-Teleport, yes. Don’t be concerned by pop-philosophy… Continuity of the soul supersedes transition of location. The agency knows we’ve, erm, tested it.” Sauteur analyzes the room while Pearson is stunned into silence by the ambience. You step out of the teleporter cube and…

>>5766712
Nothing happens. You aren't sure if that's good or bad but at least you aren't under ambush. The squad fans out behind you and as far as you can tell, this room is empty. The squad waits for your verdict, as the USSF trusted you to be in charge of this operation.

>Search it in its entirety for traps. This will take a while.
>Investigate the podiums and see what this place is all about.
>Go back to the teleporter and punch in another number.

>>5766714
>Investigate the podiums and see what this place is all about.

>>5766714

>Search it in its entirety for traps. This will take a while.

Can’t be too careful and I’m not sure we’re on a timer just yet

>>5766714
>Go back to the teleporter and punch in another number.
Drones. Go disable any active defenders this place might have.

My theory is that room links to other facilities entirely, ie it's cross site navigation.

>>5766714
>>Search it in its entirety for traps. This will take a while.
Gotta make sure we don't get our head exploded by drones or robots

>>5766717
>>5766719
>>5766740
>>5766749
You’re on a mission that could advance the USA’s understanding of… whatever this is, by centuries. You can’t afford to take any risks, so you’ll search the area for traps. Sauteur and Hickman both agree with your reasoning and Unit #1501 is already scanning the perimeter. You start searching for anomalies on the perfectly smooth walls, Henry moves to help, and Pearson stands clutching his notes, probably thinking about his findings.

>1d100 to search the room. Once each for George, Sauteur, Hickman, Henry, and Unit #1501. Be sure to specify who you’re rolling for, you can roll twice but try not to overdo it.
>1d100 for Pearson to keep his composure.

>>5766814

Rolling for Pearson to not freak out

>>5766820

Weird 4chan ate my roll

>>5766821
Did you capitalize the d in dice+? That prevents it from working, I think.

Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>5766814

>>5766834
Oops, sorry. Let that be for George please

Rolled 97 (1d100)

>>5766814
Rolling for George searching

>>5766835
Damnit anon
>>5766836
Make this for Sauteur then

I should clarify how the rolls work. It isn't at all a big deal if you guys don't mention who you're rolling for, but with lots of rolls it makes it a bit easier to parse. By default I take the dice rolled in order of names listed and am first-come, first-serve for these. You can roll more than once as long as you're not rolling for the same character as well, but there's a lot of posters and I don't want anyone to miss out on the dice because they weren't on for the minute after an update was posted. It's awesome to be running Gonzo Bullshit Fighting Quest again, and means a lot to me to see (You) all posting.

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>5766814
1501

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>5766821
>>5766814
I'll roll for Pearson since anon failed to do it

>>5766876
Oh god oh fuck

>>5766814
dice+1d100
Right then, Hickman
You got this

>>5766900
"dice+1d100"
fcuk

>>5766901
That without the quotation marks in the options line anon

Rolled 100 (1d100)

sorry guys im new
>>5766901

>>5766900
>>5766901
the options field, anon

>>5766904
YOU'RE A WINNER IS WHAT YOU ARE NEWFAG

>>5766904
>Sorry I'm new
>Proceeds to crit
Good fucking job anon

We need only a roll for Henry now

Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>5766814
It’s Henry time

File: 'MERICA FUCK YEAH.jpg (589 KB, 2560x1680)

589 KB JPG

>several incredibly close calls on search
>George do incredibly well
>newfag critrolls
GOD BLESS AMERICA, GOD BLESS NEWFAGS WHO CAN'T ROLL!

>>5766834
>>5766836
>>5766854
>>5766876
>>5766904
>>5766916
As you start searching, the psychic appears to think too hard and leans against the wall to calm himself down. You aren't sure how you can help him but you know he's been trained by qualified American instructors, so you're sure he'll be fine. You step forward into the room and navigate, looking around for anything of interest. Apart from the segmented patterns on the walls and the huge, spherical expanse of emptiness dominating the center, you can't find anything obvious. You start looking more cautiously, then realize the precious metals embedded in the walls are covered in a translucent lacquer.

You're about to announce this to the squad when the lines of silver shine gold! This illuminates the room and you turn to see Sauteur standing at one of the terminals. "I found l'interrupteur!" His shouting catches Unit #1501 by surprise and the cyborg trips, falling backward into the pit! An instant before he would've been lost, his wrist-mounted tongs catch the edge! You sprint at a breakneck pace to help him before he falls under his own weight!

Sauteur's too far away to assist and seeing you in motion, opts to stay out of collision range. At the same moment, Hickman's eyes bug out of his head in a sudden epiphany, he pulls out his tablet, and rushes for the terminal! Meanwhile, Pearson's face has flushed deep red, veins are throbbing everywhere visible, and he's actively digging a chisel out of his windbreaker! "...NOUVEAU RICHE FUCKS!" You stop to stare as he starts to hammering and chipping at the wall with demented zeal! "TASTELESS! OSTENTATIOUS! MOTHERLESS, BASTARD SONS OF THE GILDED AGE!"

When the old man realizes his tools are incapable of damaging the ancient wall, he staggers back, grimaces, and begins physically shaking with rage. In the corner of your eye, you can see Henry trying to crawl away from the old man as fast as he can. Unit #1501 has managed to cling on and as he beeps, you snap out of the distraction then rush to help him up!

>1d100+20 to LIFT! +20 for Muscular Integration.
>1d100+0 for Pearson to recover.

Rolled 44 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5767378
>1d100+20 to LIFT!
No Patriot left behind!

Rolled 59 (1d100)

>>5767378
C'mon old fart

Rolled 1 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>5767378
COME ON ERIC AAAAH

Both rolls above average, hopefully that's good enough. The critfail was too late (God Bless) to damn George and Eric to a double drop in to the unknown portal.

>>5767382
>>5767383
You reach Unit #1501 in the nick of time, grab him by the shoulders and pull! His weight is immense and you're at a poor angle but the prowess of American engineering knows no weakness! Microscopic nanomachines woven through your muscle fibers tense, your sinews strain, and you manage to lift and drop your fellow cyborg back on solid ground. "No Patriot left behind!" You both stand. You can see the bottom of the pit from here and between the rounded slope and Eric's durability, you doubt he would've died but it would've been time-consuming to get him back out. Time the American taxpayer is funding.

Back by the origin terminal, Pearson pops a couple of small blue pills from a little bottle in his pocket and visibly calms down. He's still irate and the chisel in his hand is twitching with deconstructive intent, but he's stabilized for now. The psychic seems to recover and gets some distance from the scholar. As you're situating yourselves, Hickman reaches the terminal and starts scrambling over it. A minute later, the center of the room goes black, then ripples to reveal a lifelike field of stars and diagram of the planet Saturn. The squad crowds around him and watches as he touches the blank podium, and moving his fingers, zooms-in on the gas giant. The images contained in the sphere, what must be holograms, stop short of the surface but show the rolling clouds in incredible detail.

He tries to shift the angle but only manages to change the position of the stars and obscure Saturn from view. The sorcerer scratches himself and with some experimentation, leads it to display a completely different, much larger sphere of gas. You watch as he shifts the angle to view Saturn and the other sphere, which you realize must be Titan, simultaneously. Hickman breaks into a grin and mutters. "Guys, I uh, I think this is a real-time satellite feed, orbiting one of Saturn's moons..." You ask a question as he messes with it some more. "Does that mean the Atlanteans were up in space?"

The sorcerer pauses. "I believe so." You ask. "How's it work?" He looks down at the sudden, glowing runes for a long second, then doesn't have an answer. "...I don't know." That's unacceptable. "We've got Pearson here, figure it out. This could be critical to national security." There's no hesitation. Both of them start analyzing the podium, Pearson translating the runes and deciphering their context while Hickman handles the technical user-interface aspect and theorizes how the wording fits into its operation. You stand back and resist the urge to recite the national anthem.

>1d100+30 to comprehend the podium. +20 for Pearson's Cultural Specialist, +10 for Hickman's Cyberwarfare Specialist. Bo2 as Pearson is unfamiliar with most modern technology.

Rolled 48 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>5767489

Well, that’s interesting. Are there living Atlanteans in space???

Rolled 38 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>5767489

>>5767494
>>5767497
They're only able to understand fragments of the language and the ancient Atlanteans had a completely different conception of app functionality to today's Apple corporation, but through meticulous trial and error, they manage to discover several key details.

>The view isn't limited to Saturn and can be shifted to the orbits of Jupiter's Ganymede, several points in the asteroid belt, two different perspectives of Mars, and Venus. Earth has five separate views, but two are nonfunctional and one requests *something* to access that neither can intuit and don't dare risk guessing. The other two are in orbit of Earth and the moon, respectively.
>The view of Earth shows substantial ice-sheets, noticeably larger deserts, and less urbanization, though what's there is denser than normal. This disappoints Hickman and leads him to conclude this isn't real-time satellite footage as he believed, but simulated imagery of the planets during the height of Atlantean civilization. This does confirm they were at one point in space and may, however, have used satellites to gather the imagery.
>By pressing a specific rune, the visual shifts to reveal dozens of varying golden geometric shapes interspersed at key points across the Earth. Circles are the most numerous, followed by triangles, and a few rare diamonds. A hexagon sits in the center of the largest urban concentration, which is off the coast of Europe on a substantial island that doesn't exist in our era. They theorize that the shapes are the location of sites similar to this, with the number of sides denoting importance.
>Going through the views of the other planets with this enabled reveals a handful of sites in orbit, on their moons, and in several cases, on the surfaces of each. Here, these mostly consist of triangles and diamonds, though there are many circles over Venus and Mars. All of these sites, when painstakingly counted, number 144.
>Pressing another rune causes one of the only diamond sites in South America, in what is now Brazil, to highlight. There's a moment of silence as it registers that you're viewing your current location. They conclude this is a system-spanning map of Atlantean sites, possibly a teleportation chamber itself, but there's no way to know what condition these sites are in millennia later, and even if they were intact and it does double as a teleportation chamber, as suspected, it would be incredibly dangerous to experiment without preparation.

All of this takes half an hour as you watch in silence. What could this mean for the future of American space exploration? You watch as the view shifts to the moon and to several sites there.

>(1/2)

>>5767544
...

You freeze.

Everything slows to a crawl as your mind races at lightning speed. The implications hit you like a ton of bricks and you stagger, as if struck a mortal blow. "...America wasn't the first on the moon!?" Everyone nearby steps away from the terminal and backs off while you wrestle with your thoughts. It takes you seconds to reach a logical conclusion, but it feels like an eternity.

>Denial. America was the first to put a man on the moon in human history, therefore, this imagery must be false.
>Anger. This is clearly deep-cover time-traveling communist propoganda, and it is your patriotic duty to destroy it immediately!
>Bargaining. Maybe the Atlanteans did have a small lunar presence, but it must've been completely artificial.
>Depression. This can only mean one of America's greatest achievements was walking in the footsteps of the ancients.
>Acceptance. So what if the Atlanteans were kicking up moon-dust? They're dead and gone, while the USA is here to stay!

>(2/2)

>>5767549
>Acceptance. So what if the Atlanteans were kicking up moon-dust? They're dead and gone, while the USA is here to stay!
The Soviets were first to put a satellite in orbit and where are they now?

>>5767552
Ignore this, in retrospect the last additional three words are unnecessary and don't fit how the quest has been written so far.

>>5767557
Just delete the post my man

>>5767559
That's what I'm trying to do but /qst/ isn't deleting it. I'm still under the same IP though, it'll work soon enough I'm sure.

>>5767561
I got it, just had to switch from mobile to desktop view. Don't want to be cluttering the archive for (You), reading this from the archive in the future. Nothing to worry about.

>>5767559
Thank you for the advice anon.

>>5767549
>Acceptance. So what if the Atlanteans were kicking up moon-dust? They're dead and gone, while the USA is here to stay!

For all their achievements, they lacked the true American spirit and it was clearly their undoing.

>>5767549

>Acceptance. So what if the Atlanteans were kicking up moon-dust? They're dead and gone, while the USA is here to stay!

>>5767574

This anon’s thought is correct, George is too practical to descend into delusion. America will succeed where Atlantis failed!

>>5767549
>Acceptance. So what if the Atlanteans were kicking up moon-dust? They're dead and gone, while the USA is here to stay!
Or atlanteans were american before they knew it

>>5767551
>>5767574
>>5767583
>>5767619
You remember the sight of the flag on the moon. The heartstopping dread disappears as quickly as it came, and you stand proud. The Atlanteans may have been first on the moon but the Soviets were first in orbit, and where are they now? Gone! Where is America? Here, and now, and stronger than ever before! America isn't defined by what it's done, it's defined by the glorious American spirit, with liberty and justice for all! "The Atlanteans may have been great once, but America is great today and is going to be even greater tomorrow! Ten thousand years from now, Atlantis will still be dead and forgotten and American children will still be pledging allegiance to the flag, from sea to shining sea." Your squad is reassured by your words. "Besides, we still beat the commies..." Now that the crisis of patriotism is out of the way, you can get to back to focusing on your mission.

>Experiment with the Navigation chamber further. Hickman and Pearson both say it's reckless and likely dangerous, but America needs to know what's here.
>Note your findings for the eggheads and press another number on the podium. You're on a mission to disarm the Vault's defenses. By resistance so far, you're guessing those aren't focused in the entry tunnel. (Choose a number)

>>5767681
>>Note your findings for the eggheads and press another number on the podium. You're on a mission to disarm the Vault's defenses. By resistance so far, you're guessing those aren't focused in the entry tunnel. (Choose a number)
>[4] Drones
Let's start with murdering or if possible disabling the drones for study by our patriotic american(possibly first-born immigrant) scientists

>>5767685
I'd also support this, since it's sensible enough.

>>5767681

>Note your findings for the eggheads and press another number on the podium. You're on a mission to disarm the Vault's defenses. By resistance so far, you're guessing those aren't focused in the entry tunnel. (Choose a number)

Let’s leave this alone for now, messing with the teleported sounds like a bad idea.

I choose 6 - Rejuvenants - next. Basically I want to level up our Atlantean language experience before we go to Drones or Weapons.

>>5767688

I deleted my original post and reposted, thanks for your support anon

>>5767681
>Note your findings for the eggheads and press another number on the podium. You're on a mission to disarm the Vault's defenses. By resistance so far, you're guessing those aren't focused in the entry tunnel. (6)

>>5767696
+1

>>5767686
>>5767688
>>5767696
>>5767704
>>5768573
You’ve learned everything there is to know about a place like this on a mission like this. You know what the Navigation room does and wrote it down for the patriotic geniuses in the USSF’s R&D to take a crack at, with manpower, funding, and time you simply do not have. The squad goes back to the origin podium and presses [Rejuvenants]. You’re surrounded by another field of particulate light, which disperses an instant later to reveal you’re at the intersection of four doors. The door to your north is sealed shut, the east and south are open, but the west is dented to the point it’s incapable of fully closing and on closer inspection, has several scorch marks coming from the inside. You look through to see a tunnel, with what looks like several empty slots for doors on either side of the wall.

Instead of opening the northern door immediately, you peek through the eastern and southern entrances to see they lead to symmetrical tunnels, each with an identical view to the western tunnel. You move to open the north door but find it refuses to budge, and then notice it’s been sealed with some kind of molten silver. A quick check finds that the western door was also sealed but seems to have been less thorough. Maybe they lacked material? Why would it need to be sealed in the first place? You consider carefully what has the best chance of a return on investment for DARPA, and more specifically the ESP.

>Have Unit #1501 apply his tools to breaking through the northern door.
>Pry open the western door and cautiously investigate the openings behind it.
>Leave the two dangerous-seeming doors for now and search one of the others.

>>5768905
>Leave the two dangerous-seeming doors for now and search one of the others.
>Area most likely to have biological life is sealed off
Nope nope nope nope

>>5768905
I'd go as far as to say this entire floor is too dangerous to investigate. Something here broke lose, and the Atlanteans failed to properly quarantine it. The floor is labled "Rejuvenants" so who knows if whatever broke out of here is still alive and kicking, and if it is it could be too dangerous to engage with it.

>>5768905
>>Have Unit #1501 apply his tools to breaking through the northern door.
Whatever is there needs to be taken care of, that's why they sent us. Are we a team of living superweapons or not?

>>5768953
We are a team of two superweapons and four physically normal humans

>>5768957
Well...true but we're still heavily combat specced at the end of the day. Apparently very skilled mundane people actually fare alright against huge inhuman things as our fight with Sauteur showcased, he nearly knocked us out. And Henry is indeed a living weapon, just not a fully realised one I wager, gets Bo3 if he wins a telepathy check in combat.

>>5768962
I just don't want Sauteur to get infected with an ancient Atlantean bioweapon/medicine-gone-wrong mang

>>5768966
But what if we get ancient Atlantean nanomachines to upgrade our own nanomachines?

>>5768967
>wanting to infect our America made superior nanomachines with stupid outlander technology
This is treasonous behavior.

>>5768973
Well, we ARE going here to enhance the USA's knowledge of misunderstood highly advanced theoretical concepts. America has always been able to innovate on foreign designs to make them better. Think of it this way, anything we grab within this vault becomes property of the USSF, and is therefore american. Ergo, those ''Atlantean'' and ''Outlander'' nanomachines will become AMERICAN nanomachines once they are exposed to our pure unadulterated PATRIOTIC blood. There is flaw in this logic anon you know it

>>5768980
I'm not going to risk releasing Atlantean Super AIDS because you can't keep your boner for their tech under control. If DARPA wants whatever is down on this floor they can go in afterwards with proper force and quarantine protocols to not unleash potentially deadly pathogens on the whole world.

>>5768988
Eh, I wouldn't worry too much about that, I honestly think whatever is here is some sort of psycho cyborg thing instead of a super pathogen given the door is dented. I just don't want to skip interesting stuff in the quest because we're literally too paranoid. Here's my proposition then:

>Ask team mates what they think about this

We have a team, let's see what they have to say.

>>5768905
Can Henry sense if there's any minds nearby?

>>5768905

>Have Unit #1501 apply his tools to breaking through the northern door.

Here’s my logic - the Atlantean scientists would have sealed their own hatch first and so the securely locked door is least likely to contain monstrosities

>>5768907
>>5768910
>>5768953
>>5769004
>>5769256
>>5769290
Every one of your instincts is telling you something's wrong. This placed is called "Rejuvenants" and at some point, something broke out and needed to be sealed. That something could still be here. You're tempted to hunt down and fight whatever it is, if there still is anything, but you're not on a Search and Destroy mission and you aren't alone. Most of your squad are at a human baseline. You don't want to risk their death or mutilation if you don't have to. "Something's not right. What do you think?" The rest of your squad's on edge.

Hickman stammers. "I've seen Alien... we need to get out of here as soon as possible." Sauteur scoffs. "Se détendre. It's been centuries. If there ever was a danger, it's starved by now." You see Pearson has clenched his eyes shut, shoved his hands in his coat pockets, and is sweating from the tension of restraining himself but manages to mutter. "It'll be fine. If we don't see any more of those CONFOUNDED angle motifs..." Unit #1501 is busy examining the northern door. "There could be some danger. We should send the others back to the Navigation room while we search ourselves."

You look to the psychic and see he's deep in thought. "Can you sense anything, Henry?" He frowns. "...No. No conscious minds but something isn't right." Hmm... "What isn't right?" You see him struggling to put this into terms the squad can understand. "It feels like there should be. There's a "closed emptiness" where there should be thoughts, feelings, but there's nothing. It's not just one- I'm getting over a dozen." "Where?" "Mostly north, some west. Locations are static. My telepathy isn't fine enough to narrow it down any further."

>You've heard enough. The squad will leave for another room immediately.
>You'll take Unit #1501's suggestion. Everyone that isn't a walking tank will leave while the two of you search.
>You aren't afraid of any Atlantean terrors. The squad will proceed to search the tunnels.

>>5769312
>You'll take Unit #1501's suggestion. Everyone that isn't a walking tank will leave while the two of you search.
We'll go west to see what kind of horrors these are.

>No consciousness
Fuck