They trashed our ride home, remember?
We'll save you one so you can come by and pick one up.
Sounds good. As soon as I'm done liquefying the poor bastards who made the mistake of interrupting my evening shower, I'm going to drive over there, and collect the remaining bits of the survivors, and any loot personal effects on the dead.
I'm an optimist.
[REDACTED]
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Caulk Bite 6One of the multitude of Dans infesting this placeRegistered Userregular
edited September 2011
So, WotanAnubis didn't make it off the station. What are the chances that I'm still there too? Fat, and Dammit-All-To-Hell?
Caulk Bite 6 on
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chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
Yes sir. Black box was intact. Getting it to the drop zone.
AnteCantelope, sir.
No, sir. Bursar's dead. DPL. Adman is covering my...
FUCK!
Yes sir. Heading for the Evac.
As fast as possible.
Shit, Raiden got caught? Ripped limb from...
Commander, I don't want the details.
(vomiting noises)
Yes, sir. Handing the recorder to Virgil. We're not making it out, are we?
So, WotanAnubis didn't make it off the station. What are the chances that I'm still there too? Fat, and Dammit-All-To-Hell?
If true, at least I'll have died the way I lived. Somewhere under the ocean.
Not much of a comfort, really, but eh.
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Librarian's ghostLibrarian, Ghostbuster, and TimSporkRegistered Userregular
Ghost listened to the cries of panic and death coming over his sub's com system. He fed the feeds from both the team assaulting the alien base and the defenders of Ghost's own base through the same speakers. It did not sound good. No. That was incorrect. Saying it "did not sound good" was a misnomer of epic proportions. Ghost had lost track of the number of his friends who had died. Somewhere over all of the explosions, cursing, and random distortion he could faintly hear someone weeping quietly, unaware that his mic was active.
Ghost switched off the speakers in disgust.
He turned his seat to the navigation controls and checked them again for the fiftieth time. "Damn it," he said aloud to the empty cockpit. No matter what he did he wouldn't make it to either base before the fighting stopped. "DAMN IT!" he shouted and punched his hand at the cockpit canopy, causing significantly more damage to his knuckles than to the transparent aluminum bubble. He hated being powerless to help.
With a sigh Ghost flipped the speakers back on and filled the space with the noise of battle. He then opened a small cabinet under the control console and pulled out a nicely aged bottle of Irish Whiskey and a single glass.
"Here's to you," Ghost murmured, raising his glass in a toast to the men dying on the other end of the radio.
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
Chiasaur11: Remain calm. We have more signals on the long range radar, but it should be a while. For now, secure the perimeter. Mourn later. Wavecutter AI unit, we have motion, non X-Com, in section 5-E. Lethal force authorized.
*distortion*
Chiasaur11: Target down. We've got one dock secured. Is the Triton fueled?
Nerivant: We were planning on it?
Chiasaur11: Shit. I suppose we can rule out an evacuation that way. Anyone still alive near the center of the explosion, check for wounded. Maybe we'll get lucky. For once.
IamThePieman: *cough* M'okay.
Popesnax: Uh, are explosions supposed to be cold? I'm getting a little chilly here.
Chiasaur11: Cryo? Good news, then. Ignore the fallen, they should be fine. Focus on active hostiles. They want us alive.
Mr. Mojo: So, that's something to bond over.
Mr. Mojo: If they want to die, then we have every major interest in common.
Yer Mum: Uh, I got the bastard that killed Hullis in sight. Should I fire?
Chiasaur11: Weapons free.
*distortion* *distortion*
Decius: You missed.
Yer Mum: I'd like to see you do better!
*distortion*
Decius: Done. Well, I guess that's a lesson. Don't try to kill aliens with your bare hands.
Wub: Good try, though.
Decius: Alright, the bit with the trachea was amazing. So, we're...
Decius: Right. The hanger. Well, far, far better thing.
*explosion*
Popesnax: It's in my head... We're all going to die here. We're...
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
Able Seaman Virgil recording. There are eight of us left.
We will die here.
The others aren't sure yet. Nocren joked about hitching a ride. But I know.
We have to die here.
The sleeper, his city, they corrupt all they touch. Every second it feels more like home, more like the way the world should be. Everything here welcomes my mind's probing, promises paradise.
And if I stay much longer, I'll believe it. They'll all believe it with me, sing the same song.
Even if we escape, our dreams will be here. Our hearts and souls will be here, and the sleeper may survive in us.
This ends here. This ends with us.
Their minds fall easily. Slipping in and out of control.
Through one of them, I see the Sleeper itself. They call to me. Tempt me.
I will die before yielding.
What's that, Lt.?
Just muttering sir.
No, it's not some kind of lingering madness.
Yes sir. I am keeping records.
We're doing what with the Tofystedeth?
Wow. That was a decent sized explosion. We'll see bigger before it ends.
We dead sing the song... the Sleeper's tesseract song... we sing in the new day... the beauty of the impure... the purity of unbeauty... sing now with us brothers
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
edited September 2011
*distortion*
Amp'd: The last dock is crawling with hostiles, command. I don't know if we're going to manage it.
Chiasaur11: The rest of the base is clean, but we have multiple incoming craft signatures, and the IFF for the majority do not match current protocol. We need to clear for evac asap.
IamthePieman: One down. More to go. A lot more. Advancing.
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
edited September 2011
Apparently, the Commander shot himself with a Blaster Bomb to make sure he "showed those alien fucks their pussy asses couldn't hurt me more than I could."
The Sleeper is nearly awake. I can feel it. It will hurt us, if we struggle. And we continue to struggle.
Fuck that. We're hurting it.
Yes sir. Blaster bombs and explosives ready.
Head's clearing. A little. Smile, you son of a bitch.
Rank's going in. He's got a Pulsar. As flies are to wanton boys, so are the gods to us.
We kill them for sport.
Yes sir. Reporting in.
"Mission Fucking Accomplished."
Of course, the end is coming now.
Antimatter reaction. I saw it before, a promise of annihilation.
Joke's on him.
We die free.
[Transmission Ends. Data Stream Lost. Replay? Y/N]
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
WotanAnubis: AGHHHHHHH
Mr. Mojo: My eyes!
Popesnax: Huh. There goes the fear.
SkutSkut: Hey, that's weird. Some of the hostiles in containment are going crazy. Or... melting? Scratch that. All crazy. Some melting.
Caulk Bite: Oh, like that's special. Half the lab staff is doing the same thing. I suppose the MC Generator must be on the blink. They are droolier than usual, though. Less muttering about the sleeper.
Chiasaur11: Three of the larger craft signatures gone. All confirmed hostiles in the facility inactive. Communication array coming back on. A message from Rank's team. Gentlemen, we won.
Chiasaur11: At a substantial cost, it looks like. And power is... fading. We're on nuclear and it's lurching. All Zrbite derived equipment is non-functional. The subs are not fueled. And there are still two non Aquatic Division craft approaching. Any of you with gauss pistols and stun sticks, get them out. Also, drop any Ion armor. It would just slow you down. We've got about an hour on the surface before we sink.
Raneados: Alright, you heard the man. Huh. No humming now.
*ENGINE ROAR*
Raneados: Sir? You'll want to see this. Craft is human tech.
Unknown: You'll need to come with us. We were informed there has been a biohazard situation. We're with the... Hazmat team. The evacuation
Chiasaur11: Of course you are. That explains the X-Com power armor. And I expect you don't know anything about why you're really here?
Unknown: No sir. We received a message from Linksville that an unknown craft made a landing. Few minutes later, we were told to get here to provide assistance and evacuation. Did we miss something?
Chiasaur11: Nothing you'd want to see. I've got everything I want to keep from here. Ready to go.
Unknown: A flask and an external hard drive?
Chiasaur11: And some bad memories. Last one out, get the lights.
**MWP telemetry link severed. Performing diagnostics**
checking:
datastore physical integrity:----100%
filesystem integrity:---57% Errors found in link table. Performing corrections.
recheck:----100%
main memory:--40%: Corruption found. Loss of 9612123 milliseconds of records.
flushing cache and rebuilding from black box logs:----100%
recheck:----99%: Records of victory indicate significant logfile corruption.
flushing cache and rebuilding from black box logs: ----100%
verifying checksums:----100%
Victory condition confirmed anomalous but NOT erroneous.
System diagnostics complete. Bringing external I/O online.
Contacting X-COM pilot designated Timspork's Ghost:
>Ghost! Ghost! Did you hear? We did it! We won! The base systems are failing but the surface division is evacuating us. I've dumped my personality and personal files to an external storage unit. You know where I keep it. Do not let them forget it. I've activated the emergency seals on the empty storage room where Rank hid his pornography. It is best for all if it is lost at the bottom of the sea. The electronic copies have all undergone a secure multipass wipe.
Whatever it wants. Speaking of, my lair is in need of an AI to run my systems (including the defense network). There's plenty of space to grow, with full internet service behind enough proxies to choke a horse. I can throw in any extras you may desire, within reason, should my offer interest you.
Nothing says 'retirement package' like having enough gauss pistols squirreled away from the production runs to buy me a private island. With a volcano.
My only regret is that I did not live long enough to see the surviving members of X-Com form an Outer Heaven style militarized nation using the remaining weapons technology.
**MWP telemetry link severed. Performing diagnostics**
checking:
datastore physical integrity:----100%
filesystem integrity:---57% Errors found in link table. Performing corrections.
recheck:----100%
main memory:--40%: Corruption found. Loss of 9612123 milliseconds of records.
flushing cache and rebuilding from black box logs:----100%
recheck:----99%: Records of victory indicate significant logfile corruption.
flushing cache and rebuilding from black box logs: ----100%
verifying checksums:----100%
Victory condition confirmed anomalous but NOT erroneous.
System diagnostics complete. Bringing external I/O online.
Contacting X-COM pilot designated Timspork's Ghost:
>Ghost! Ghost! Did you hear? We did it! We won! The base systems are failing but the surface division is evacuating us. I've dumped my personality and personal files to an external storage unit. You know where I keep it. Do not let them forget it. I've activated the emergency seals on the empty storage room where Rank hid his pornography. It is best for all if it is lost at the bottom of the sea. The electronic copies have all undergone a secure multipass wipe.
Posts
We'll save you one so you can come by and pick one up.
Edit: just repeating so you understand
Edit edit: making sure EVERYONE understands.
Message repeats...
That works. Also, brain. Hate those guys.
Good scouts, though. Kind of like rookies, in that way.
You're having luck grabbing anything, Virgil?
...It's all easier in the shadow of the sleeping king. Giants fall in his wake?
Well, I'll assume that's a yes.
Door? Thanks. We're advancing, people. Cantelope, Adman, on me. Virgil, keep the lobster as a bullet shield.
Yessir, Commander. We're clearing the ground. The Looie can take topside.
Nice wide door.
Ah, Bullshit.
Why I fear the ocean.
There's still eleven of us and a tank. Mama Sumae!
FUCKING BULLSHIT!
Adman, grab a DPL. Kill.
Nice. We're heading up. Psi team, keep them from bugging us.
Alright, going smooth and clean.
We just might make it. Resistance falling fast, no more psi attacks. Then again, it'll probably get worse deeper in.
Seeing them tear each other apart. Does a body good.
Wait. What's that whistling?
Why I fear the ocean.
Called it.
Sounds good. As soon as I'm done liquefying the poor bastards who made the mistake of interrupting my evening shower, I'm going to drive over there, and collect the remaining bits of the survivors, and any loot personal effects on the dead.
I'm an optimist.
Yes sir. Black box was intact. Getting it to the drop zone.
AnteCantelope, sir.
No, sir. Bursar's dead. DPL. Adman is covering my...
FUCK!
Yes sir. Heading for the Evac.
As fast as possible.
Shit, Raiden got caught? Ripped limb from...
Commander, I don't want the details.
(vomiting noises)
Yes, sir. Handing the recorder to Virgil. We're not making it out, are we?
Why I fear the ocean.
Not much of a comfort, really, but eh.
Ghost switched off the speakers in disgust.
He turned his seat to the navigation controls and checked them again for the fiftieth time. "Damn it," he said aloud to the empty cockpit. No matter what he did he wouldn't make it to either base before the fighting stopped. "DAMN IT!" he shouted and punched his hand at the cockpit canopy, causing significantly more damage to his knuckles than to the transparent aluminum bubble. He hated being powerless to help.
With a sigh Ghost flipped the speakers back on and filled the space with the noise of battle. He then opened a small cabinet under the control console and pulled out a nicely aged bottle of Irish Whiskey and a single glass.
"Here's to you," Ghost murmured, raising his glass in a toast to the men dying on the other end of the radio.
*distortion*
Chiasaur11: Target down. We've got one dock secured. Is the Triton fueled?
Nerivant: We were planning on it?
Chiasaur11: Shit. I suppose we can rule out an evacuation that way. Anyone still alive near the center of the explosion, check for wounded. Maybe we'll get lucky. For once.
IamThePieman: *cough* M'okay.
Popesnax: Uh, are explosions supposed to be cold? I'm getting a little chilly here.
Chiasaur11: Cryo? Good news, then. Ignore the fallen, they should be fine. Focus on active hostiles. They want us alive.
Mr. Mojo: So, that's something to bond over.
Mr. Mojo: If they want to die, then we have every major interest in common.
Yer Mum: Uh, I got the bastard that killed Hullis in sight. Should I fire?
Chiasaur11: Weapons free.
*distortion*
*distortion*
Decius: You missed.
Yer Mum: I'd like to see you do better!
*distortion*
Decius: Done. Well, I guess that's a lesson. Don't try to kill aliens with your bare hands.
Wub: Good try, though.
Decius: Alright, the bit with the trachea was amazing. So, we're...
Decius: Right. The hanger. Well, far, far better thing.
*explosion*
Popesnax: It's in my head... We're all going to die here. We're...
*explosion*
*distortion*
Mr. Mojo:Gah.
Why I fear the ocean.
Able Seaman Virgil recording. There are eight of us left.
We will die here.
The others aren't sure yet. Nocren joked about hitching a ride. But I know.
We have to die here.
The sleeper, his city, they corrupt all they touch. Every second it feels more like home, more like the way the world should be. Everything here welcomes my mind's probing, promises paradise.
And if I stay much longer, I'll believe it. They'll all believe it with me, sing the same song.
Even if we escape, our dreams will be here. Our hearts and souls will be here, and the sleeper may survive in us.
This ends here. This ends with us.
Their minds fall easily. Slipping in and out of control.
Through one of them, I see the Sleeper itself. They call to me. Tempt me.
I will die before yielding.
What's that, Lt.?
Just muttering sir.
No, it's not some kind of lingering madness.
Yes sir. I am keeping records.
We're doing what with the Tofystedeth?
Wow. That was a decent sized explosion. We'll see bigger before it ends.
Oh COME ON.
Why I fear the ocean.
Steam profile.
Getting started with BATTLETECH: Part 1 / Part 2
Mr. Mojo: Ow. Fuck. Ow. Anubis! You're a doctor, right?
Wotan Anubis: Define "doctor".
Mr. Mojo: Close enough. I'm bleeding. A lot. Medkit's here.
Chiasaur11: Smof, cover fire. We don't need hostiles conducting a follow-up on our head of biology.
*Distortion*
Smof: On it.
Chiasaur11: Popesnax? Are you still with us?... Damn. Alright, ready a...
Popesnax: I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that leads to oblivion.
*Distortion*
Popesnax: I will face my fear.
Why I fear the ocean.
"Long live the fighters!"
Second shell, firing. Explosives and death. How it begins. How it will end. Our mark on this hell, our triumph.
We bring them war.
Smokestacks is scouting now. Gave us a target for DPL rounds.
And dying when the enemy can't subvert him.
I failed him. A little more effort, a little better aim...
But no-one needs to know. Not until the end.
I hate it here. It should be obvious. But it's still true.
It stings a little now, when we kill one of them. A slight tinge.
It's getting worse. The others might feel it. We will fall before long. Fall or die.
The Commander is ahead of us. Readying a DPL round for a breach.
Holy fucking shit. Did he just... At point blank...
Holy shit.
Why I fear the ocean.
Handmade Jewelry by me on EtsyGames for sale
Me on Twitch!
Popesnax: Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
Smof: Did he just obsessively quote Dune? Is it just me, or is that, you know, kind of psychotic?
Raneados: He just took out two hostiles at point blank range in the middle of a psychic panic attack. I think a little eccentricity is fine.
*distortion*
Chiasaur11: Three hostiles. 13th Legion, Enc0re has a visual on hostiles just north of you.
*distortion*
Chiasaur11: ...You are cleared to engage. Or were.
Why I fear the ocean.
Amp'd: The last dock is crawling with hostiles, command. I don't know if we're going to manage it.
Chiasaur11: The rest of the base is clean, but we have multiple incoming craft signatures, and the IFF for the majority do not match current protocol. We need to clear for evac asap.
IamthePieman: One down. More to go. A lot more. Advancing.
*explosion*
Why I fear the ocean.
Apparently, the Commander shot himself with a Blaster Bomb to make sure he "showed those alien fucks their pussy asses couldn't hurt me more than I could."
The Sleeper is nearly awake. I can feel it. It will hurt us, if we struggle. And we continue to struggle.
Fuck that. We're hurting it.
Yes sir. Blaster bombs and explosives ready.
Head's clearing. A little. Smile, you son of a bitch.
Rank's going in. He's got a Pulsar. As flies are to wanton boys, so are the gods to us.
We kill them for sport.
Yes sir. Reporting in.
"Mission Fucking Accomplished."
Of course, the end is coming now.
Antimatter reaction. I saw it before, a promise of annihilation.
Joke's on him.
We die free.
[Transmission Ends. Data Stream Lost. Replay? Y/N]
Why I fear the ocean.
leee
shit
H̪̭̜̭̙͐ͥ̌́̌ͭ̎i͈̦̰͉̇ͤͅs͍ͭͤͬ͌͂̇̉ ͗̏̈́c̥̓͊̊̽̌a͍͊ͫ̅̃̌̊r̟͔̘̜̮͈̩ͬe̻̱̺͙̲̩ṯ̘̹͓̤̗̰̎͆ͩ͗a̜̱̫̞̟̳̝k̖̱̹̦͕̘̣͐e͉̖ͨ̽r̦͎̪̫͖͔ͨ͂͆ͤ̐̿ͫs͉̮͙̑ ͭͮͯ͐̽̋̐s̒͛͂e̜̪̭̗ͣͥ̓ͦ͊t̻̭̟̑ͤ ͕͕̫̙̘̘͆ů̫͕̬̦͐́́̋ͭ̚p̦͔͉̫̬͙̈́͑̅ͅö̹͕́n͔̫̓̅̎ͤ̓̃ ̻͙̺̠̱̉̃̆̚u͍ͯ́ͫs̲̙̆͑ ̬̟̞̯i͙͉͓̥̫̟͈n͉͎ͦͤͧͥͩ̉ ̭͔͙̬̬̱͕̾̌͐̾ȑ̝̯̮͚͓̪͕ȧ̪͑ͯͪ͗͆ͦg̳͈̹̽ͤ́͆ͫͯ̄ḙ͉̥̰̭͈͔ͤ.̼͇ͯͦͧ ̩̄̀ͩ͑̐̊ ̳̞̬̖̰̰̑̂͑͌ͅM̦͉̬̘͎̾͐̇͌ͭá͈̘͍̖͔̙̈ͥ͛ͮn̦̮͉̗̻͆ͥyͤ͋ͥ ̰ͥͭw̼̯͈͉̘̪̙ͬ̓̓ȅ̬̭͕̺̒r̗͋ͥ͌ē̝̭̪̘ͩ̏ ̪̩̗̠̣̆̈l͍͊o̟̫ͣͫͬ̾ͫs̙͙ͯ͑ͧt̾̅ͥ,̳̼̖ ͉̫̠ͭ̾̾͒b̤̺̰͍̝͊̿̋͛̊́ͅu̮̟̱̺̎̒̎t̬͔͕̞ͅ ̜͈͙̠̉̍ͬͣ̐̚w̜̪̜̠̲e̳͇̘̜̲͑ͧ̇ ̻̒͌̃͐͆w̬̩͕̞̯o͕̪͕ͯ͒̽̂̊̆ů̟̗̬̈́ͥ͑̍̿l̘̮̫̟̪̰̯ͥ͋͆͗ͧ̏d̺̝̼̺̖͇̻̂ ̯̔̔ͬn̋o̿̂ͯ͐t̖͍̺͖͖̫ ͚͓̇̆̔̉̾b̯̮͎͓͌͐̾ê̥͛ ͚̟̲̫̰͎̈͊̀d̤͖͉̘͔ͧ̓̎̓̀̓ͥȇ̮̠̺͇͕̖͇͌̈ͬn̤̳͙̤͋̋ḯ̻̓͆ͤͭe̘̰ͣ̇d͖̻͓̈ͬ͊̊ͅ.͓͈ ͈͚͖̦̻̥̌̈́ͪ̊̈̌ ̪͈͍͉͛͐͑́͗̃̚T͔̤͕͓̣̱h͚͔e̺͖͙̱̦̹ͬͩ̆͆̓ỳ̬̫̜̤̪͚̼̾͊̀ ̮͕̦͗͒dͨ̀i̜̣̪͕̖̔̇d͕͍̐͋̃̚ ̽n͈̠̗͚̮̥ͤ̒́ȯ̘̫̲̖͒̋̆̓̿ͥt̞̰͔͇̫̝̾͂͒ͤ̄̿̎ ̹̟̣̯̜̞̼kͮno͙͖̹̹̘̺̩̽̓ͬ̔͛͋w͉̩̥̤̱̗̣͊͑̑̀ͭ̍̏ ̻̹̘̼ͨ̽͗̌͒͂t̼͚͚̥͖̲ͥ̈̈̎̚ͅh̬̩̤̰ͣ̓̾͐̍̎ͅe̼͇̙̱̯̰͔ ͍̺̩̫ͥ̊̉ͣͪS͌͆͗͒̈́ͯ͆l̲̼͔͇ͣͩ̆̅̋e̼̝͍͔ͫ̏̔̉ȇ̳͎͖̱͉̙̊̓́͛p̭̘̩͚̳͔̟̓̉ͭͨe͇̺̟̟̼ͅř͎̞̥͚̜̱̾ͥ́'͎͓̳͓̠͔̏̄͂͌̌ͩ̾s̥̀̂̏ ̘̺̻͍̩ͅl̬̜̈̉ͪoͅv̪̹e̖ ̙̭̻͈ͭl̰̥͛ͨ̂̈́́̔ͮī̻̍k͕͍̫̳͚̎ͥ̀̒e̩̬̪̠͖ͬͫͬ ͚̱̹̫̙̥͓́w̟͔͈̪̬̯̖̄̒̐e̲̣̳̪̯̋͊̒ͫ͋̊̚ ͈̗͖̰̇ͧ͆d̲͇̥̩̗ͤͤ͐i̜̤̼͌̾̌ͣ̃͆d̙ͣͩͥ͆.ͤͭ̿͑̿
S̴̢̖̜͈̣͔͖͈̀̉͐͛̊͋ö̯͉̙̬͔̫̦ͬ͞m̶̤̼͈̱͍̲͔͓̝ͬ̕ȩ̛̘͇̭̖̓̂ͥͩͦ͌̏ ̵͚̭̝̺͔̣̗̮̭͛̑ͨ̋͗͝͞o̘̩̥̫͔͎͔̬͕͛͂̀͞f̰̙̳̭̊̀͋ ͉̪̜̘̜̹ͩ̋̊̌̀͜ͅw̷͆̍͢҉̫̹ë̢̗́̎̅̾ͣ͆̚̕n̘̙ͩͭt̢̛̤̠̳̰̥̽ͦ͌͒̾͒̓ ̛̙̘̰̙̣̼̏a̭̳̙̻̠͙̻͇̺̒͐͝h̯̹̯͚ͣ̐̈͞e̶͇̦̩̙͊ͮ̓a̝̝̞͍͙ͤ͑̉̿̀͟͝d̨͖̟͓̺̜̼̐̄͒ͤ̈͠ͅ ̢̥͔̬̝̲̯͗ͥ͂̑ͨ̅t̨͍̘͕͎͈͙̟̐ǫ̳̊̔͑ͫͅ ̴̮̟̬͇̫̃̋̿̀̅̂ͧjͦͫ̃҉̧̩ͅȏ̥̝͉͖̠͔̝̹̂̂ͫ̐͘͟i̿͊ͭ̅ͬ̍͋҉̗̩̫̞n̥̣̬̞̲͆̊̈́ͧͦ͜͞ ̦͎͍̠ͣ̑ͤ̽͋̅ͅw͉̞̼̻͎͔̝͙͗̈́͑ͨͦ̾̈́́͝i̝͓͚̺͇̙͋ͫ̃̂́́t̲̤̳̠͍̰̹̞̰̐͐̔̾̊̂͐͘h̷͇͑̆ͦ̃̄̈́͒̿̀̕ ̧̛̯̺̱̿̃ͫ̔̓̅̓̍̍h̛̯̔̋̌́̓ḭ̬͇̱̼̥̰̒ͫ̽̂ͬ̚͝͠m̏ͣ͐̈ͨ̊̚͏̳̻̖͈̥̠ͅͅ.̟͎̯̓̓͒ͥ͢ ̥͚̞͍̗̱͉͊́͐ͤͫ ͖͇̳̥̭̱̊ͨ͛̃̽̎͒ͨI̘̟̬͕̯̞͖͉͒́̀ ͎̣̣͔͈̤͌̒̓̓g̡̰̹̖͇̦͎̤̞̍̀ͣͦ͊͆̀͡ȑ̾̀̄̀̈͝͏̷͇̣̗͎̬e̵̮̳ͯͦ͊̽̆w̵̡͙̪͍̠͔̹̙̾ ̢͙͍͖̥̬̜̆́̑͘͘j̩̤̲͛ͬ̐͡e̩͎̜̻̖͈͎ͦ̄͂̔̿̉̂̚͡ä̛̪̖̯̯̩̪̱̍̋̾͆̃̚l̛̔̆́̐̿͏̬̪̰̞͇̯o̩̹̞̗͈̘͈͌ͯừ̠̫̝͆ͬ̈͊͢s̅͜͏̭ ̟̠͙̻̳̤̰͇̈̉͒̎͌̀͑ŏ̙͚͓̞͒ͥͫ̇ͪ̌f̣̼̝̦̣͎͒͌̅ͫ́͟ ̶̲̳̪̺̞͈ͦ̈́͐t̼ͤ̈̇̕ͅhͧ̃́͏͙̞̘̻͚͕e̢̬͓ͧͨͯ̍ͤ̊͂̐͌m̛͖̬̻̓͑̇͌͐̚̕͞.̸̦̏̊̎̈́̔̍ͫͮ̈ ̷̭̞̹̪̂̍̑͜ ͕̝̠̲̘̞̹͛͗̅̒̂̐ͧ͆̂͠Ỉ̷̗̖̲ͪͪ̍͐̌ͫ ̴̷̜̜̫͍̩̰̖̯̿̿̂͐̀w̴̷̥͚̺͎̖̞͚̤̟͊ͦͩͣͪa̅͌͏̰̼̻̖͈̼͖n̞̤͍̘̤͈̐̾ͭ̈̆͋t̩̰̓ͥ̈́̆ͮ̚e̠̩̪͉̥̜̊͊̌̀d̜̻̩̼͙͚̝͐̊ͧ̆̆͒͋ͣ ̡̫͈ͫ̌ͤ̉̾̂̈́̚͜͟t̗̙̥̼̘͕͕̳ͬ̄́o̶̡͓̩̖̬̞̾ͅ ̲̓̍ͪ̐̓̍͠b̢̳̮̯̗̜͔̈ͥͦ̔̏ͪ̚ͅe͍̤̹̪̩̻̜̜͑̈̑͗ͦ̋̽ͩ̒͢ ̸̱͈̲̱̙̖̯̠ͫ̐̆͢w̛͚̑̏͋̈́ͤ͒̀̚͠ͅị̡͈ͤͯ̿̅͠ṭ̨̭͉̽ͪ͌͐̓̔͗ͯ̈́h͔͖͎̗̩̤̞̺̭͗͋͛̿ͪ̋ ̈̓ͨͭ̎ͤ͊͊͏̷̖̼̫͕͕͖̮ͅt̻̞̗͑̂ͯ͊̔h̖̲̣͔̿̉͆ͧ̏̉̾̀́ͅͅe͆ͨ҉̶͇̺̤̕ ̨̛͉̈ͥ͆̌͛̃̀͋͊S̝̺̥͙͖͇͋͛ͤͧ͆̿ľͯ́͏̶̫̝̖̝̼̥͚̗́e͎̜͈̽̅̇ͣ̿ͦ̄͠e̷͕̘̪͓͉͍̮̲̭͛̏̄̄ͦ̂̌ͨp̷͚͇̣̔̍̂̄͑͞ê̥̜̥͉͎ͭ͆r̻͔̞̹̠̗̥̰ͨ͂.̨̻͔̥̫͈͇̤̍͆͋͑ͮͬ̿ ̝͕̭̪̮ͨ̇ͨͪͨ͘ ̶̳͎̗͈͎͍̗̟̏͑ͨ͆ͣ͊́̕Ń̸͙͓̱̝͉͕͟o̷̶̲̩̯̣͕̽͋̒̚,̷̙̟͓̣̦̻͇̜ͧ͐̓̊̅͑͊̎̌ ̸̫̹̝͕͎̟̰̜̟͗̑̎̌̑ͤ͠t̸͎̹ͤh̶̼͖͚̦̉̌ͨ͗ͫ͐͒ͤ͡͝ȃ̵̛̖̻̳̭̕t̶̢̬̭̩̩̱̭̄̎̒̔́͞'̳̱̖͇̮̣͎͇̂͟s͑ͬͫͤ͜҉̲͎̳̟͕͖̞ ̸̘͙̖͚͔͙̲͌ͬ̍̍nͯ̏҉̜̱o̺̯͉̼̙͓̲͌̑̋ͥͧt̐̃ͣ̆͏͇̗̩ ̛̣͇̼͓͔̝̆͒̌͐͊̎̌̎́ͅr͇̭͇̹̩̜ͭͩ͊ͤ́̓̒ͣ͒i̒̄̈̈҉̴̝͓͡g̢̞̼̟̦͕̉͂̃̀h̡̟̰͚͎̟̳͕̆̍̂ͬ̂ͤţ̓ͣ̀ͥ̌ͨͭ̄̍͏̦̘͉͕̯̱̤̕.̣̯͓͇̱́̃̈ ͕̗̦̋̿ͩ͒͑͂̀ͭ ̞̞̰͙̘͎̤̖̊̔͠W̷͙̮̜̲͍̹̏͢͢ę̷̱̋ͩ̔̽ ̨̰̹̌͒͋́ͣ̒̐͜͟w̡̽̾̏ͭ̅ͮ͆ͥ̚͏̟̭ę̖̋ͦr̢͚͕̳͙͔̻͑ͥ͊̚͝͞e̡̧̳̪͚̗͓̩̪̖ͥ̄ͩ͋̅n̡̫̥̳͔̭͉̫̤͗ͮ̀͛͐̽ͪ̈́͜'͔̦͎̇̎̏ͣ͒̉̕͠ͅt̠̺̹̮̬̓̽͟͟͝ ̖̼͎̟̥̤̠͊̊͒̓̂̑h̶͔̰͔̻̘̫̖̎́̒͐ě̤̳͚̝̥̬̦̣̿r͕͐ͨ̚͞e̞͑̒͆̋̃̊̇̍͞ ̸͍̬̲̳̆͊t̝͔̘̜̮̭̮̳̒͂̂́̀ǒ̘͚͚̱͕̤̯ ̘̻̱̻̙̫͙͙̹̅͑͛j̴̥̲͖̟͗͗o̖̘͕̙͕ͬ̃ͥ͗ͣ͒͟͢i̸̳̟͙͒̈́ͯn̅ͨ̎̚͏̢͏͕̭͉.̤̙̭̥̠͉̱̮́́͟.̲̻̟̜͕̘̑̂̃͆̒̈̏͐͆.̲̦͚͈̞̏̉ͫ͂ͮ͝o̪̙̺̺͔̳ͫ͘h̠̹̰́͗̇ͤ̊ͪ̑͟ ͨ͒҉̗̠̪́ỹ̫̳͚͚̖̦̰̽ͦ̊̋ͧ̄͌̚͢e̷̱̫̳͚͋̐̓ͯ̾s̨̪ͩ̍̃̐̐͘ ͖̲͈̆̇ͦͯ͟t͙̞̘͉̙̰̤͌̊ͣ̆̀̀̀o̷̖̗͎̺̮͈͚̰̾ͨ͆̊̚͡ ͨ̄̀̂͂ͬ҉̷͈̙̙͎̫j̣͆͋ͬ̏̆̄̌͂̔ö̷̰̳̳͚̀͌̓ͯ́ͦ̀ỉ͈̻̖͇͙ͣͮ̀͟n̬̯̤͑ͫ͆ͬ͛̕ ̸͖̮̘̯͇̯ͣ̃̈́̃͊̅́̇̕͢h̹̜ͦͭ͘ȉ̝̣̪̜̻ͬ̂ͫ͠m͈̬̦̜̺̑͋͋̄͛ͫ͛͜͜.̯̳̥̟̝̪͔̗̺ͭ̈͛̅ͥ̓̀
T̯͎̪͉͇̀h̺̼͙̹̰̩̪̗̀e̸̜̠̫̘͞ ̣̙͈͇̰c̘̻͘ơ҉̧̯͙͍̗̻̖͖m̨̘̰͕̺̺͡m҉̡͈͖a̶̵͖̣͉̗n̵̛̯̟̺̯̙̞͍͉d̴̲̟͍e̷̟̹͔͢͟r̶̳̳̟̫͙͕̤ ̲͕̻̹̥̩̖p̵̬͉u̻̰͖̖͢͡s̶̗̝͖̪h͎̙̝̀e̝̫̘̼̻̦̦s̩ͅ ̴̤̪̝̤͇͠u̦̘̦̖͙̟͚̳s̱̥͍̖̖͇͟ ͇͚͖o̙͕̦̝̰̪n̡̳̳͕͠.̶̞̤̮̥̦́̀ ̢͏͙̼ ̻͉͔̰̼̩̫̙̘I̴̙̩̥̱͎͕ ̠̭͈͚̙͈͈́f̹̜̖͇͢͟ę҉͈̟̣͝a̛̼̰͕͇̪̠͝r̶̡̩͎͡ ̴̥̟̻̥̻͠h̥͚͙̻͍͇̟̭͠͝e̡̼͍̯̩̲͠͠ ̷̴̣̰̜d̸͖̮̤͍̕o̺̯͕͕̰̤͞e̥̳̱̹̖s̛̖̣̥͖̝ͅͅn̵̥̺̖͎̕'̸̧͍͇̭͍͇́t̩̝̀ ̢̢̞̙̱̟̪l̥ͅò̼͓̜̯̰̞̝̠̻v͓̦̦̰̫̀͞͝e̡̮̲̦͖̦ͅ ̟̼ṭ̸̖̮͉̯́͟h͏̣͍̙̖̱̗̝ͅe̴̛͇͍͝ ͏̤̖̮̦̰̞̯S̟̫̝̮͔̀͘l̟͎͇̪̹̳͙̣e̗͎̙͈͖̜̝͟e͕͝p͏̻̥̣̞̤ȩ̖r̡̜̠̬͍̫ ͖̱̦̮̩͟͠l̵͕͔̤͎͖̖í͕̟k̩͇͎̩̰͝e̵̢͔ ̡̦̠̪̖̙͉̭̗̀ͅw̢̲̖̲e͇̺̦̥̩͚̙͖ ̷̵̗̱̥͝d̴͉̦̜̳o̷͚̫̹.̷̘̖͔̟͚͜͡ ̷̼ͅ ̖͇͔̣̮̲̀͘B͈͖́͘ư̻͎͡ț̷̨͠ ̜̥͙ͅh̢͓͈̼̯̣͖e͙̹͉͔̩̦͕͇͠ ̷͈͓͈̥w̧̥̝̙̱i̲͕͙̪ͅl̟̖̲̰͈̠͈̕l҉̗͇̀͘ ҉̜͎̲̦͍̀ͅg̹̼̲̭̮̤ͅe͇̹̥̝̦t͏̵̰̱̪̙̳͞ ̼͔͓̩m͓̣̟̖̣̞̖͕͟e̷̜͚̻̬͉̝ ̨̹̯͎̩͠ț̷͉̠o̹̩͖̜̬ ̛͈̪͓̣̹̭̩̜t̷̶̡̥̠̰ͅh̯̣͖̹̳̙̘͓͘̕è̖̦̜̤̣͡ ̳͈͈͢S̖̙̮͈̙͓̣͡l͚̼̼̤̖̙e̸̞̫͖͓̺̝̱̺͠e̢̯̝̝̱͝p̰̘͎e͎r҉͙̼̟͎̟͎ ̛̱̫̘̤͇͡ͅf̛͈̯̀͝ḁ̺̬̥̪̖̣͜ṣ̛̯̦̥͚͉͟t̶̳̫͚̼̤̥͙̤ę̘̻͔̙̩̹̥r̸̵̥̺͓̮.̨̮̣̺͟ ̴̛̯̘̟̭̦̩̞̻͝ ̷̲̳̲S̟͈̟̘̙̼̠̦͉͞o̵̯͇̱̩͖̕ ̶̨͔̖̟̟̰̩̫̗͠I͙̦̹̯̣̰ ͙̜͢͢͞l̨̜̗̗ȩ̛͇̯̞t͕͚͜͜ ̪̼͚h̶̤̟̼͕i̞̰͎̺͉̝̼̖͍͘m̧͇̫̲ ̨̡̛͎̗̥̠̭̻l͏̬̺͕̯͢e͔̘͟a̢̠̰̻̲̹̘̣̤͠d͎̦͔͓̱̱͉͉.̳̙̬͜͜͠ͅ
W̴̸̷̮̬̟̬͍̲̻̺͙̳̤͈̬̻̼̮̥̙ͦ͊ͮͧ̽͛ͥ́̊̓͐̐̃ͅęͤͭ͛̐ͧ͊̈́̍ͬ͋͋ͤ̔̀̐͏҉͍̫̗̭͕̥̠̪̥͓̣̜̩̤͡ͅ'̷̝̮̮̮͋ͥ̋̇ͧ̓ͧͦ͛̂̏̓͝͝r̢̥͍̗̗̞͉̜͓̥̤͈̼̥̜̞̘͙̐͛͋͒̓̄̿͗̃͗ͯ͊͊͗͐̔͜͝e̪̙̫̦̟̽ͪ͗̈́̆ͤ̍ͧͬ́̚͟ ̵̨͗̽ͫ́ͪͦ̓͗̅͗͋͗̈ͣͮ̄ͮ̚͏͏͍̱̗͡h̶̡̝̤̩̰͖͈̓̄̌͋ͣ̐̈̈́̓͛̓͂ͭ̂͆e̢̦͈̬̯̱̲͇͖̪̹̱̤̒ͫ́͐ͤ̓͟͟͠r̷͖̼̞̻̻͇̪͓̯̫̮͈̣̠̜ͩ̂ͩ̎̑͗̎ͭ͢͝e̛͚͓̟͕̮̻̠̟͚͙̽̅́ͦ̉̂ͨͥ͋͛̓͛̕͡ ̡͖͔͓͚͍̫̠̆̉͐ͩͣ́ͥͮ͘͞͝ͅn̗̠͈̖͙̮͍̗̅̐͊̐͂̇ͦ̒ͨ̓ͥ̒͐̓̌̂́̀o͗ͯ̒͛̌ͩͬ͛̓͗ͮ͋̓ͩͩ̚͡͏̢̪̳͕̥͚̞̥̼̕͝ͅw̞̣͕̳̪̩̳̮͑́̒͒̾̏ͤͣͯͣ̆̒̏̉̊̄̚͟͞.̛̛͉͚̙̝̥̝̦̣͙̪̩̟̤̹̞̿̆̇͑̅ͨ͛͞͝ ͈̞͚͉̮͓̥̝̙͙̠͎͓̝͊̅ͧ̐́ͩ̓̆͐ͯ̀͘͞͝ ̸͎͓̬̭̬̯̔ͯ̅͊̍͗̑̓̂ͫ͐̄͝N̢̖̦͓̟̭̲ͯ̒͛̍̇ͭ͛ͧ̇͋̎͋͑̏̈́̚͝͡O̾ͨ̿́̽ͥ͋ͧ̈́ͣͥ͊̎̀͐̇͞͏̭̰̟̟͔͚̜̯̩̖̖̠̯͔̥̟!̴̴ͪ̅͌͆ͥ͒͊͐̾͏͏̶͍̹̥̥̦̼̮ ̛̝̫̣̤̜̬͖͔͔̞̣̱̺̳̼̹̳͎̊̿͗ͧ͗ ̸͈̳̗̈̓ͫ͌͜Ḩ̰̬̙͎͕̻̠͎͇͇̖̝̙ͯ̓ͪ̉̇ͭ̆̂͒̉̾ͦ̚̚͜E̶̱̫̲̙͓͓͉͇̜̲̣̭̽̓ͥ͛̔̆͑̋ͣͦ̒ͪͯ̐̅́ͅ ̶͛͑ͩ͒͋ͧͯ̈́̂̌́͌ͭ͛̔ͬ̚͝҉̵͖̪̹̥͙̲M̷̩̪̯̩͙̦͓̞̲̠̣̣̤͉̟̣̫̣ͭͭ͗͗̈̋̔̓̐̒̅̃́͢ͅU̵̢͎͕̬̗͔͎̗̦̮͓͌̅ͪ̿̅̔̓ͬ̈͐̾͌͑̀Ṣ̸̝͕͍̠͙̪͖͇͍̭̋̈̓̔ͪͫͥ̌̆ͬ͂̃͌̄͂̀ͤ͊͡T͆͋̉ͬ̿̐̈́͛҉͈̯͍̜͉̘̘͍͚͖̯͢ ̵̵̶̖̝̠̬̤̣̜̫̭̮̖͎̳̺̠̆̒ͬͪ̆ͮ͡ͅŃ̵̸̶̡̬͚̘̰̗̦̤̫̗͚̠̮̺̏͊́͋͒͆͛ͯͥ͋͋ͦ̾̇ͦ̚O̴̱̟̺͕̱̜̱̟̦̹ͥ͆ͯ̏͑ͨ̂̔̾̓͛̔͘͝Ť̢ͯ̾̔͆ͧ͟҉҉̭͎̪̼͎͎͇͔̭̪̰̠̝͚͇̩͖ͅ ̷̡̱̱͎̱ͦͥ̓͌ͪ̀͝ͅÁ̢̰̙͈̫̥͍̥̗̦̭̻͌͆ͤ̄̎̔̕͠͝T͑̇͑̈̅ͫͯ̌͘͏̖̫̮̜̙̫̞̺T̴͙̘̙̘̪̩̜̹̫̠̩̙͖̮̠͕̠̳͇ͪ̄ͨͪ́͂ͬ̉ͣ̈̿̀ͮ̈́̈́̋̂͌͟͡͞A̵̴̡̹̩̖̭̝̯͇̫͍͓͔̰ͯ̏ͨ̍ͅC̿̽̓̾̈́ͯ҉̷͍̖͚͖͙̳͓̗͎̭̳̀͡͝ͅͅK̷̥͚̪̹̝͖͎͍̝̯̤͓̇̑ͩ͗̃ͣ̑ͧ̔ͬͥ́͞!̵̴̡̲͍̳̬̻͈̣̻̦̖͙̘̙̝̠̩̮̽̔̉͊̊̏̾͂ͣͩ͌ͤͣ̍̀̀̚
T̨̞̖̖̅͂͗h͈̠͍̬͈̎͒͆̌̋̾͡e͗̂.̗̹̲͉ͯͅ.̡̣̘̼̦̑ͪ̒̍̚.̢t̜̮̤͖͘ḫ̫̻͙̩͂̾͌̄͂̊͑ͅe͕̳̭̲̩̝ͩ̑̎͂ ̷̹͉̍ͮn̖̟̗͚̟̍ͣo̔ͯ͐͋͜ȋ̷̻̠͈͓ͥͯ̃ͭ̔̆s͋͏̯̖̜̠̱̩é͇͛͋͊ ̡͍̮̦̱̝͇̱ͦ̈́̑̿̂̋ͤí̴̙̝͆ͯͥ͊̎̚s̙̞͕̰̰͍͌̏ ̭̭͍ǧ̫̹̰̫̪̘o̸̜̝͕̠̭͖͒͌͒ͮ̚ͅn̰̱̬̰͍̳̈͂ͨ̈e̳̻̅̎͂̀̃̈́͞.͎̥̜ͣͭ̄ ͇͔͍͈̹͍ͭ́̓̔́ͪ̈́ ̟͈͔̞͉͓͖ͫͫ͌ͭWͭ͌̿͌̿ͯ̃̀e̛̬͈͇̭̥͋͑ͫ̃͒̿l̼̭ͦl̝͚̝̩̯̮̉̃.͐͢.̡̘̦̲͖̺͙̓ͧ.̸͈̽̈̽m̤̠̳̖̖ͤͪ͋̒o̷̠̗̻͈̼̎͑s̨͎̖͇̘t̙̻͉ͮ̿̒́l̈́͢y̝̳͇͇̠͉ͥ̈ͣ.͔͎̝̞̹̣̉ ͬ̚͏̠͉͉̗̳̜ ̛͉̙̮͈ͭI̲̪͙̲̣ͪͣ̊̋̒ͭ ͨ̔҉͔̮͎̬͎̻̜t͙̼͌h̰̗̜̙͉̲͕ͨͬͣ͌̆͢i̢̙̰͙̖̠ͪͬͤͧͦ̚ñ͖͕̫͉k̵̩̭̦̱̼̿̿ͮͦ ̩̲͔̫̫̜̫͊̈̿t̖̥͖͔̍ͪ̾͘h̥ͯ̐a͍̹̩̞̥̲̘ṭ͎̭̖̝͊́ͅ ͕̄̓ͯ̆l͉̠͕̹̥̹͉͑ͣ̔̓̃͒͐͠ä̪̬̹̺͔ͫͅs͚̞̼̦͖̗͓ͦͣ̿̌͟t̳ͣ ̯̗̩̽͆b̛ͩͦͯ͆̆i̜̻͕̟͕ͨ̇̽́̚͠t̪̞̳̩̣͎̲͗͟ ͖̗̲̋̃ͦ̍̈́͒ï̭̪͚͐̈ͪ́s̑҉͉̘͓͚̖̱͈ ̬̻̝̺͓͚t̜̲̯̟̜̑̿̎h̛ͣ͛̅ȩ̪̮͐͐̊ͨ̇̚ͅ ̛͛ͩ̎̿̌́e͕̮͇͚̖̝̍͝x͍͚̹̤̄̔ͫ̉p̠̈͊̀ͨl͈͉ͮ͌̉̄̒̒̚ͅo̮̱̎̍͜s̛͚̤͍͕̜̀͊̏͌̋̔̓ḭ̮̣ͪ̓ͫͮ̌ͦ̇͞o̞n̙͌ͧ̌̽̃̊͆͝s͖̭̲ͮ̔̈̀̆.̴̺̬͇̈͐
W̡e͡'́r͞e d̕o͜ne ͘h͢e̢r͘e͞. ̴T̡he̸ laşt̛ ̷c͡harge̛s̡ ̨h͠ave bèe͜ņ ̢p̢lantèd͟. Wh́e͏n͟ t͟hi̵s ̵go͟es̵, w͘h̸e͠n͘ ҉w̴è ͝g҉o̢, ̢thi̸s̵ wi͘l͏l ̸be d̴on͞e ͜fo͡r ̸g҉oo͜d͡.҉
May God have mercy on whoever is left to deal with the rest of you.
WotanAnubis: AGHHHHHHH
Mr. Mojo: My eyes!
Popesnax: Huh. There goes the fear.
SkutSkut: Hey, that's weird. Some of the hostiles in containment are going crazy. Or... melting? Scratch that. All crazy. Some melting.
Caulk Bite: Oh, like that's special. Half the lab staff is doing the same thing. I suppose the MC Generator must be on the blink. They are droolier than usual, though. Less muttering about the sleeper.
Chiasaur11: Three of the larger craft signatures gone. All confirmed hostiles in the facility inactive. Communication array coming back on. A message from Rank's team. Gentlemen, we won.
Chiasaur11: At a substantial cost, it looks like. And power is... fading. We're on nuclear and it's lurching. All Zrbite derived equipment is non-functional. The subs are not fueled. And there are still two non Aquatic Division craft approaching. Any of you with gauss pistols and stun sticks, get them out. Also, drop any Ion armor. It would just slow you down. We've got about an hour on the surface before we sink.
Raneados: Alright, you heard the man. Huh. No humming now.
*ENGINE ROAR*
Raneados: Sir? You'll want to see this. Craft is human tech.
Unknown: You'll need to come with us. We were informed there has been a biohazard situation. We're with the... Hazmat team. The evacuation
Chiasaur11: Of course you are. That explains the X-Com power armor. And I expect you don't know anything about why you're really here?
Unknown: No sir. We received a message from Linksville that an unknown craft made a landing. Few minutes later, we were told to get here to provide assistance and evacuation. Did we miss something?
Chiasaur11: Nothing you'd want to see. I've got everything I want to keep from here. Ready to go.
Unknown: A flask and an external hard drive?
Chiasaur11: And some bad memories. Last one out, get the lights.
Why I fear the ocean.
(I'm on my phone)
PSN: Wstfgl | GamerTag: An Evil Plan | Battle.net: FallenIdle#1970
Hit me up on BoardGameArena! User: Loaded D1
What's going to happen to my experiments now, huh? Would someone care to tell me that?
No, but seriously: Good job.
**MWP telemetry link severed. Performing diagnostics**
checking:
datastore physical integrity:----100%
filesystem integrity:---57% Errors found in link table. Performing corrections.
recheck:----100%
main memory:--40%: Corruption found. Loss of 9612123 milliseconds of records.
flushing cache and rebuilding from black box logs:----100%
recheck:----99%: Records of victory indicate significant logfile corruption.
flushing cache and rebuilding from black box logs: ----100%
verifying checksums:----100%
Victory condition confirmed anomalous but NOT erroneous.
System diagnostics complete. Bringing external I/O online.
Contacting X-COM pilot designated Timspork's Ghost:
>Ghost! Ghost! Did you hear? We did it! We won! The base systems are failing but the surface division is evacuating us. I've dumped my personality and personal files to an external storage unit. You know where I keep it. Do not let them forget it. I've activated the emergency seals on the empty storage room where Rank hid his pornography. It is best for all if it is lost at the bottom of the sea. The electronic copies have all undergone a secure multipass wipe.
What exactly does an AI do when it retires?
Steam profile.
Getting started with BATTLETECH: Part 1 / Part 2
Whatever it wants. Speaking of, my lair is in need of an AI to run my systems (including the defense network). There's plenty of space to grow, with full internet service behind enough proxies to choke a horse. I can throw in any extras you may desire, within reason, should my offer interest you.
I wonder, will you dream?