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Eclipse Phase (Private)

Gerlach - Breakout: Crisis Tournament Mesh Server​

[Congratulations on your hard-won victory, team! You have placed within the gold tier of all teams assigned to Outpost Sigma! Your performance was exemplary, not only completing your objective but demonstrating considerable resourcefulness in the process! For your exemplary performance, you have won a pot of 25,000 credits to split five ways among you, which for a team of five means 5,000 credits each! As well, you have earned exclusive fabber blueprints tailored to each of your respective talents and trades! Thank you for participating in the Breakout: Crisis Tournament!]

Removed from the simulation, you find yourself in the cyberspace of a Gerlach public mesh server, the processor-time paid for by the hypercorp sponsoring the tournament and good for several more hours before you will have to either start renting your own server-time or return home. While you are there, two messages arrive from over the public mesh to either your @-Rep or your C-rep handles.

[Thanks again for not murdering me in there: even simulspace murder isn’t a pleasant experience. Feel free to ring me if you ever come aboard Phelan’s Recourse, I’ll set you up with some Ma if you’re partial] - Aoife O’Halloran (C-Rep), aka Rose O’Saturn (@-Rep)

[A well-executed strategem. I underestimated your abilities - and your resolve. Well-played.] - Mehetan Noorzai (C-Rep), aka serpentine_gardener (@-rep)

Both profiles wink out of the active mesh soon after you receive the messages, suggesting that their egos have cast off for wherever they call home and leaving you on the bustling mesh of Venus’ primary orbital habitat to your own devices.
 
"Not fucking bad," Vidar said mostly to himself. The simulated brain scan still sat uneasily with him- the impression of how the infection had manifested itself as its own selfhood would stick with him. He mulled the thought around as he responded to his messages. he was also being pinged by multiple agencies and adds and banks who wanted him to open an account.

[Do any of you use credits?] He pinged the squad, [I sure do not.]
[No one likes to die in a videogame, see you around in that case!] Vidar sent back to Rose O'saturn.
[You were scarier than than the goo girl. kudos,] Vidar sent to serpentine_gardener. He wondered if they really gardened and was hopeful.

"Yo, Devin," Vidar yelled at him, despite that being so un-surreptitious and unnecessary in sim space, "You wanna be friends?"
 
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[Likewise if you're ever on the Peculiar Taste of Silence!] Devin sent back to Rose. [We'll throw a party.]

"Shit, man, I thought you'd never ask," Devin shouted back to Vidar.
 
Mach Infinity
Time off.
​
Mach liked sleeving Synths. But outside of playing video games, or the rare case of sleeving a luxury model that could feel, there wasn’t much to do in the way of relaxing. So Mach reskinned, pulled up an auto trade site, and ordered a cheap whiskey.

It would be understandable if someone thought Mach was replaced by a pod casually sipping a drink and reading something on a tablet. But it wasn’t a pod. The face wasn’t generic, and none of the obvious augmentations were made by the same company, and it was clear that none were there when this body was grown. No, this was a flat. Why did Mach use this body? Well, it was his, for one. And it sort of kept Mach grounded. Reminded him what he used to be, and why Synths were so much better than people. Still, it didn’t let him forget where a good kite fell short, either. You just couldn’t enjoy a good drink in one.

“Geez, what do people think classic cars are even worth? Ferraris can’t fly, they shouldn’t be a few mil, dummies. That buggy’s not too expensive, though... Actually a good deal if they’re honest about the aftermarket work...”

He said, not to anyone in particular. Of course, he didn’t have much reason to hang around. Unless cheesing off his master and getting some time away from home was a good reason.
 
"They're antiques," Devin protested to Mach, in a new simulmorph that was finally, comfortably, himself. "You don't drive a Ferrari except to show off. You collect it, because there aren't that many left, and they're not going to make more, and it's damned near impossible to smuggle them off Earth. I know. I've tried." Devin paused to take a sip of champagne and added, "A few mil is a danmed good deal. It must be needing restoration or they just want to move it fast, that low." He had a beer in the other hand, and raised it over his head and called, "Vidar, I got you a digital booze!"
 
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"An entire digital beer," He said taking it. Vidar's avatar was also a flat; white, wide shouldered and rugged. He had a messy tossle of black hair in a lazy side braid and good portion of his ears were scared up and peirced like it was still 2050. He looked somewhere in his forties though. It was a good cold digital IPA and he was about that. He needed to get back- but he supposed five minutes wouldn't matter, "I mean the 96 ferrari was trash. Rabbity as hell. Drove it right into a wall. It wasn't not pretty, though."

[Abbey do you want an entire digital beer? We appreciate you.]
 
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Rushing Jaws​

"This is more like it," Rushing Jaws declares, swimming through the simulspace in a neo-orca simulmorph despite floating there and flipping through objects as simulmorphs with way too much bulk tend to do in low-realism sim rooms. Having modeled this design off of his native morph, Rushing Jaws bears tattoos and scarification up and down his body evocative of Haida and Tlingit designs but with neo-cetacean twists on them - the designs all having been made by neo-cetacean artists. He enjoys the sidelong looks from the sapes that disapprove of his antics, propelling himself through air like water, corkscrewing and flipping and generally happy to be in a shape that feels like home. He considers ordering something for himself, but thinks better of it- opting to save his cred for the fork he's going home to, unless his comrades would be interested...

"Surprise!" Rushing Jaws declares in his native Mandarin to the squad, "I've been an orca this whole time. That was some real good operating back there, round of drinks on me for ya?"

Māzǔ, open a chat between Viddy, Devin and me on the Eye.

[You got it!]

Azathothwakes: [@Hara @PolytropusTrillobite what do we think of the prospective recruits? Sounds like y'all like Abby - she's an ace hacker, I'll agree - you think she'd be good for Firewall shit? What about Marcus, think he'd be a good fit for this kind of work? I'm gonna send a report to Starglass before I beam home so I figure I'd collect your input - you think these two are sentinel material?]
 
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Abby's avatar was almost exactly the same as it was in Breakout, with one major exception: She wore no shoes, largely because instead of feet she had another set of hands.
[Beer? Fuck yeah. I'll take some]
'Oh wait, drinks? Beers or, like... drink drinks? Cause if none of you are gonna by real drinks, the next round is on me and we're getting properly hammered. Also, doesn't Ferrari technically still exist? I thought some hypercorp bought them ages ago and was making luxury cars under the brand still? I was pretty sure one of my cousins had one..."
 
Knowing RJ was a neo orca was very different than seeing one clip through a bar at him in excitment so some of his momentary look of distress was real as was the half restrained startle, "Wow. Shit. Look at you big guy, have a damn beer," he said passing one to them .He was very very invested how that was going to play out in simulspace. He really did need to go though, his nerves were buzzing and being in a more regular environment just made it more noticable and less usefull now that the "game" was over. He had orchids to mount and a merge to do. And an limited mental thresh hold he could handle being an info morph. He wished the lobby was less full. But god damn they ranked gold in the hell simulator and he wanted his drinks.
"There she is!" He said as Abbey appeared. "Disney owns ferrari," Vidar added somberly like this he hated this fact and had burned it into his heart.

PT: Abbey was so good I don't think she ever got in a tight enough spot to see how she handled real heat- but if that aint half the battle I don't know what is. That outpost could have gone fucking south as hell fast without her. I'd give her a +1 when it comes to skills. Don't know shit all about her, and I got to jet here pretty soon, so I probably wont find out.
PT: Marcus is an absolute gremlin and I'm weirdly endeared. Thought I was gona punch him for a second, but that's the first step in some friendships. Devin you actually spent time with him? Thoughts?
PT: Honeslty they've been veted in this far this is probably just to make sure we didn't eat them alive.
 
Mach
Drinks on the whale.
​
Fuck, that was startling. If seeing a massive Orca just load in wasn’t a start, what was? Damn it, he was pretty sure he jumped so hard, he accidentally clicked on an ad for a zoomcar. It was a good one, but he wasn’t buying cars right now. Nerrix would get really pissy about renting a realspace garage to keep it in.

“Geez, you can’t hit the scale slider and not be huge and in my face? Jumped so hard I almost bid on the car I had in high school... ‘sides, it ain’t a surprise to me. Heard your whale song in the loading screen. I’m pretty sure Furies can’t get the pitch right...”

He said, starting to grumble as he continued flipping through. Damn, someone was selling a Gazelle-type F-zero. It was expensive, but for a machine that good, it was actually pretty reasonable. Eventually it registered that RJ had offered a round of drinks and Abby was offering to outdo him.

“Count me in on the drinks, whoever’s buying.”
 
"They still make Ferraris, but they don't make Ferraris anymore, you feel me?" Devin said. "The flying ones and the old Earth ground craft aren't the same at all."

[Hell yeah!] Devin said to Abby over chat.

He startled at the whale clipping through simulspace, and then waved his his beer at RJ. "How do you drink booze like that! You don't have a neck!"

[Abby's a gift,] he said to RJ and Vidar. [Marcus gets shit done, but he can never, ever be left unsupervised. He'll kill a man, or worse, make him cry.]
 
"Oh, real drinks she says," Rushing Jaws echoes with a cetacean laugh as he pulls up a drink menu on his entoptics. Hey Māzǔpó, what d'you think a sape from Venus likes to drink?

[Something involving fine liquor,] Māzǔpó answers. [Venus has some of its own local varieties, you should get a classic cocktail using newer ingredients]

Well okay, Rushing Jaws thinks back at his muse as he starts making selections, swimming and flipping through the air as he does. Vidar and Devin seem content with their IPAs, so Rushing Jaws queues up another two for them along with a Venusian whiskey for Mach; for Abby, Rushing Jaws springs for something called an 'Octavian,' a riff on the Manhattan devised in the bars of the Octavian aerostat. For himself, Rushing Jaws orders a rum and cola - served up neo-cetacean style.

"Drink up, me hearties!" Rushing Jaws proclaims as his 'drink' materializes from cyberspace just ahead of him; as though in his underwater home, Rushing Jaws chomps on a dense cake-like treat with a flavor indistinguishable from the rum and colas he's enjoyed in human morphs packaged in a form compatible with his neo-orca biology. The sharp sweetness of the rum and the bubbly sweetness of the cola play on his pallet, the burn of the alcohol taking the edge off of the post-action rush. It takes several bites to chomp the whole 'drink' down, which Rushing Jaws takes while swimming up to the cyberspace above the squad.

Just the one for me, Māzǔpó, don't wanna spend all the winnings in one place, Rushing Jaws thinks, the flavors on his tongue lingering well after he's consumed the rum and cola. We got places to be and an ego to merge with - don't wanna be out too long.

[Of course!]

Azathothwakes {PM to Starglass}: [Still drafting up the report but some initial impressions: Abby is a capable hacker - watched her nearly crack open a cyberbrain before her target got his morph wrecked - but it's hard to say how she'd fare in the shit just yet, she managed to keep away from most of it. Marcus is hot-headed and doesn't play well with others but he's resourceful and tricky in a fighting kite - not sure about him myself but hara and polytrilobite seem to like him, or at least get him. 'had my muse insert the ice cubes into their drinks, we'll see if they take 'em or not.]

"Enjoy your drinks y'all, this whale's gotta be swimming on home," Rushing Jaws announces, his muse already getting on queuing up for the egocast. "I got some bragging to do."

Swimming for the 'door,' Rushing Jaws' simulmorph vanishes shortly after exiting the simulated bar space. The narcoalgorithms of rum and cola still leaving a pleasant feeling in this fuzzy way to exist, Rushing Jaws rides datastreams toward one of Gerlach's egodromes, finding that the tournament has sponsored a first-class egocast out from Gerlach. It only takes a few moments of waiting in cyberspace, still enjoying the feel of the rum and cola before the egocast out to Ceres is queued up: Rushing Jaws offers a farewell in neo-cetacean to comrades new and old before his egodata is uploaded and everything vanishes.
 
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Mach
A short trip and a long way home.
​
Mach finished his one whiskey, and grabbed the new one RJ ordered, only to pause. What the hell was this data packet? Mach could tell it wouldn't do anything if he copied it to his stack, and probably didn't do anything unless decrypted, and even then it might not be a program. The hell was this? Why did the Orca want him to copy it? And now that he thought about it, was he the only one receiving? And... Well, he couldn't be sure, he hadn't caught any deliberate signs, but... Was Nerrix right to wonder who organized this? Well, no matter what, Nerrix was the only one he could list off the top of his head who had the processing power to unencrypt this aside from Abby, and as nice as she was, He wasn't sure if he could trust her with this. So he sipped at his whiskey, read more of the magazine, and copied the packet... He tried to reason that he didn't have to go back. That he didn't have to go to Nerrix immediately, that he could relax... But the damn packet kept scratching at his brain, making him wonder what it was. Fuck. He didn't want to go back. But his curiosity wouldn't let him relax. So, grudgingly, he finished his drink and said

"I gotta head back home. I'm just... I'm just not feeling this right now."

before he cast himself back home. Soon enough, he felt the familiar process of being combed through with a fine mesh sieve of binary, and knew Nerrix was looking at his Egodata. Then he felt the merging process start. Apparently Mach Prime had taken a break in the middle of coding a new F-zero-type vehicle for his sim practice, something Mach himself was trying to design based on a lot of parts from other, existing racers. They weren't just damned Legos, of course. He was doing some serious work trying to get this thing together and functional. And he'd been doing so for weeks. Actual weeks. He didn't do any time dilation stuff unless he really felt it was necessary. After the merging was done, Mach was about to say something to Nerrix when the File immediately sent off a message and self-deleted. It was damn tiny if it moved that fast, had to be a text file. But it still made Mach worried.

"Oh shit. Nerrix, did you manage to intercept that damn thing? I think I just got used as a damned stupid mule... You know what, just tell me if we have to move servers. I've got work to do."

He said, slurping down the rest of his simulated Hassy, and sitting back down at his desk, getting back to his work... He wanted to drive this thing. So he finished modeling out the parts, arranging them again, and setting up the sim... Only to have it explode again. No matter how he designed and redesigned it, he couldn't get the maneuvering thrusters or reverse thruster to play nice if too many were going off at once. He'd need more efficient thrusters, improved cooling, and possibly a more powerful main engine if he wanted to pull this off. And he didn't have nearly enough for all that. And that was before considering the fact that the additional weight might mean needing stronger maglevs and a better powerplant, both of which would weigh more in and of themselves. Fuuuck... He needed serious cash if he wanted to build anything like this.

"Nerrix... Any jobs on the line, right now?... You mentioned a race was coming up?"
 
Extropia
Nerrix Industries - Private Mesh Server​

[You acquired the data packet from the neo-orca's simulated whiskey on Gerlach, Marcus Speidwagon, in what is colloquially referred to as an 'ice cube,' an innocuous means of enclosing and transferring information.] Nerrix responds, in a simulated voice that makes no effort to sound human. Nerrix's avatar is an immense lattice like the geometric designs that adorn the roof of a mosque, featuring intricate fractal designs in black and gold that form an inverted triangle - dizzying to look at even in cyberspace.

[Analysis indicates it was a coded message intended for a recipient on a VPN here on Extropia - current destination unknown. Such means of communication are common among clandestine and criminal groups attempting to smuggle communications past official habitat security. Operational theory: this neo-orca or someone through them has a contact on Extropia, and you allowed yourself to be the one to carry the message across with you. I am analyzing your fork's experience playback presently; I advise you to exercise caution in future interactions - refrain from accepting more such data packets unless you have verified the source.]

A week goes by as Mach works on his F-zero design and as the anarcho-capitalist economy of Extropia churns on around him...

Upon asking Nerrix about his racing schedule: [Affirmative, Marcus Speidwagon - you have a race scheduled for six days, fourteen hours. Your ego will report to the Extropia Speedway Cylinder at 1400 hours, the race commencing at 1630 hours. Your time before then is your own, to do with as you see fit: I suggest you check your reputation networks for work in the mean time.]

Not long after Mach's response from Nerrix arrives, an encoded message pings Mach's Guanxi profile - this one with a decryption key that automatically begins decoding the message, a process that takes only a few seconds. Meter scans the message and finds no viruses or other hostile payloads, only a few simple lines of text.

"How would you like to be rid of Nerrix?"

Enclosed with the message is a timer counting down from twenty-four hours from the opening of the message along with an IP address that Meter quickly identifies as originating somewhere from the infamous Extropia neighborhood known as the Pits. The message also contains a set of coordinates in the same neighborhood, implying that Mach could choose to go there either sleeved or as infolife. As someone used to dealing with criminals and doing business in the Pits, Mach knows that most security contractors on Extropia do not extend their protections to the Pits, and that to go there is to go well-armed or with an escort in a morph or along trusted servers as infolife if one wishes to avoid trouble - or worse.
 
Mach Infinity
Crooked Neighborhood
​
Mach vaguely grumbled as Nerrix basically insulted him. Then he shrugged and said
"Hey, YOU'RE the one who wanted juicy info. Not my fault it did that."
Then came that week of failure...
Mach was about to lose his damn mind. He hated Nerrix's guts, but at least his suggestion meant that he could get out of the apartment for a while... And the message he got on the G-net was something he couldn't ignore, one way or another. So, smiling, he fired off a message to Shale, one of the few people he trusted on Extropia for guns. He needed a Pulser. And though it was a near thing, she did have one. It was a fair favor, but she'd have it for him in an hour. With armaments secure, he told Nerrix
"Hey, I got a job lined up. Taking out the 'Goyle. Could be rough, but I think it's worth it."
before sleeving up. He was used to having a gargoyle's not-face, and it still felt like him, but something felt off about the body itself. It felt like it was optimized wrong... Damn it, he'd just have to deal with that. So, no other options, he started walking out of the Sleevebank.

The hour went by pretty quick, and sure enough, waiting by the exit, was Shale's bigass Digger. She swapped most of the wrist tools out to be a lot more gunsmith-y, and Mach totally got why she used a pod like that one, but... Well, he never liked big bodies. He felt like he had to be quick, maneuverable, and slick.
"Mach, is that you? I've got your package."
"Sure is, Shale. Fully charged?"
"Yep, took that hour making sure I had one or two batteries."
"Good, good. So... I owe you one?"
"You owe me a few, yes. But... You're good for now. We'll talk another time. да свиданья!"
"да свиданья."
went their conversation, thankfully without Mach receiving one of her extra squeezy hugs. Then he pulled the gun out of its ComEx box, gave it a check, and walked into the transition to The Pit. Then he fell out, because microgravity. Mach took a mental breath, and hoped he wouldn't have to use that Pulser... But it was set to nonlethal already, just in case.
 
Extropia
The Pits​

The entrance to the Pits is not advertised as an entrance to one of Extropia's bustling districts: the tunnel entrance is large, but the only indications are of AR projections advising residents and tourists alike that the Pits are dangerous, unpoliced, and beyond most of the security contractor's willingness to cover without a heavy premium. Even from outside the entrance, the difference in money is stark: the sleek tunnels maintained by the fleet of contractors chartered with Extropy Now abruptly end at the yawning entrance, bare rock forming the walls with no heat and scant light. The tunnels go far into the depths of Nysa 44, and even rumble faintly with the work of distant mining equipment still coring out the immense asteroid in their slow pace.

The hand holds and pullways of the Pits are spread haphazardly and ill-maintained, and the doors into modules hewn from the asteroid rock are dented and worn. Notable is the scarcity of any spimes or sensors in the tunnels that comprise the Pits - intentionally kept as such by the residents, the case or borg morphs of which eye the Gargoyle that passes among them nervously. Keeping your G-rep profile broadcasting among the warrens of the Pits keeps many from raising a hand, few wanting to tangle with a notorious link in the trade of illegal technology and relics of the TITANs.

Passing among the cold, even septic tunnels of the Pits means freefalling among those who shun the glare of Extropia's light for any number of reasons, or who were otherwise abandoned by a system with no compassion or empathy for those who fall between the cracks - some of whom are wary of a morph designed to observe and record in fine detail, obscuring themselves or keeping their hands close to their weapons. There are a few doors with AR graphics that respond to Mach's Guanxi or @-List profiles, advertising black-market goods and services at rock-bottom prices aimed for the destitute that inhabit the Pits, but just as many are bare and as cold as the tunnels themselves.

Unlike the rest of Extropia - which still is difficult to navigate without a muse and AR graphics at the best of times - the lack of spimes inside the Pits makes navigating the labyrinth of tunnels even harder. The coordinates given to Mach specify a point deep within the Pits, but without spimes to trace the directions to, all Mach has is his intuition and familiarity with the poorly lit tunnels - and the castaways that inhabit them, hiding from the rest of Extropian society and watching him pass with focused, wary expressions - to go off of.
 
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Extropia - The Pits
Wherein Mach fights Pit Vipers and a mysterious stranger pitches in.

Mach hated this place already. It showed him just how horrible society was. It showed him everyone’s fear, hopelessness, and paranoia. But most of all, it showed that the Titans didn’t change mankind, not fundamentally. Aside from the low gravity and the asteroid walls, this felt just like the slums of earth. It sickened him. And he was lost here, just like earth. He saw routes to combat zones based on old scouting, ones that failed to account for debris and wreckage. He saw glowing eyes peering out of buildings. There were no lights in the sky, and there might not’ve been a sky anymore. It didn’t take long to snap back into the real, though. He felt something was off.
“Hey, gargoyle,” a synthetic voice called from off to Mach’s left: his 360-degree vision would let him catch sight of three synths, synthmorphs so basic in design as to be indistinguishable from one another and without identifying marks or decals on their chassis - all of which brandished improvised weapons. “You been wandering around here for a while now - you looking for someone?”
“Yeah. But something tells me you aren’t the direction-givin’ type. Do you really want to take those shitty morphs into the shop? Even if you win, it won’t be cheap.”
Said Mach, noting that their synths were likely low-cost, but high durability. Their weapons were improvised, too. He could’ve built something like that, maybe. But as is, he knew he was bluffing. These three weren’t going to go down easy, and replacement parts couldn’t be THAT expensive unless he cored them, right through the main power supply. As it was, he held his pulser at his hip. He didn’t know if they could tell it was set to non-lethal. But if they didn’t back off, they’d close in. And he’d have his way out.
“Don't gotta pay money for new parts when we can just pry ‘em out of that shiny of yours,” one of the synths quipped in reply. “That laser pulser’d be handy to have too - unless you got some cred you wanna pay out? Don't tell us you don't got it either - clearly you got it if you're floating around here in a gargoyle.”
“Half these parts wouldn’t be compatible. So, you’re not mechanics or techies. And you’re asking if I’d rather pay out. Huh. You guys… You ever play video games, prefall? Way different back then, am I right? New sims just don’t have the fun stuff. Like the big R-J.” He said, not referring to Rushing jaws. But the Orca probably could’ve pulled this off. He played the odds in his head. If he let them get close, he could do everything in one shot and surprise them much more. If he fired from here, it would be much safer, but they wouldn’t be as surprised, and he’d have to use two shots, wasting precious seconds. The blast wouldn’t propel anyone very far… But if he jumped off of his current handhold just right, it WOULD boost his jump a bit, and give him a slight lead. He’d do it. “I won’t pay, you guys aren’t sure you can win. Wouldn’t offer an out if you were, right? Or… Is it because you still think like Orgs? C’mon, rush if you’re gonna.”
“You heard ‘em, time to collect a payday!” One of the synths declares as they brace to leap for Mach.
No words from Mach, only preparation. Taking aim. Drawing a bead. Waiting. He had to time it perfectly.
The synth kicks off from the far wall, brandishing a length of pipe with one end converted into a handle. He swings for Mach-
-and mistimes his swing as he flies in, his swing going wide - the move more savage than graceful.
The other two synths cast for handholds on either side of Mach, grabbing hold with free hands while bracing to move on him the next - out of melee range and outflanking him.
Mach thought he had it perfect. His aim was dead on, he pushed off at the right time, pulled the trigger… And mistimed the shot. Shit, he was drifting in the wrong direction, going slowly out to dead air. Shitshitshit, he couldn’t do anything unless they lunged him, or he god close enough to something to try again. This was NOT good. He didn’t even phase the club thug! Mach should’ve just ran. But, here he was…
“You motherfucker!” The synth shouted, turning and swinging at Mach angrily after narrowly keeping their synth together under the blast: Unfortunately, those swings were just as wild as his first, and Mach could see in 360 degrees. 720, if you counted the vertical axis. So, Mach swung his legs out of the way easily, and continued floating away. “You wanted this fight, bitch!”
The next synth to kick off toward Mach had cyberclaws built into his morph, ready to swing and strike at Mach-
-only this attack goes wide as well, the synth sailing for and catching a handhold on the opposite wall before turning back to face Mach’s gargoyle.
The third synth brandishes a baton as they cast off for Mach, their swing wild and wide and sending them tumbling for the far side of the tunnel - which they just manage to catch to turn and face Mach for another go. -swap-
Mach wouldn’t do anything but drift. In a race, that would be fine. Here, it was life or death. So, evaluating his enemies, he decided it was time to open up lethally. And aim at the only one of his enemies who packed a sharp weapon. His shot hit dead on, but the shot didn’t break through the plating. At this point, Mach knew he couldn’t dodge forever, he’d hit a wall soon and be able to bug out… But this wasn’t gonna go well.
“You fuck-” The stricken synth started to curse, before a flat hollow boom shakes the corridor from off too Mach’s 5 o’clock: the same morph he just shot is perforated by flechette darts that pierce the synth’s plating like its old cloth. The synth reels, struggling to keep hold of the handhold on the wall and looking to the attacker - who aims a shredder at the synth menacing Mach with a club.
Another cloud of high-velocity flechettes rips toward the synth - who kicks off of Mach’s own morph to evade the shot, sending both synthmorphs toward the concave wall.
Looking to the newest entrant, Mach would see a transhuman-looking morph brandishing a shredder and a look of steeled determination, saying nothing but staying focused on the battle at hand.
“He fuckin got me!!” The damaged synth cries out.
“Who the fuck??” The club-bearing synth demands.
“Ger the fuck out of here,” the transhuman
responds - provoking a furious charging swing from Club-synth-
-that the transhuman evades with no difficulty.
Claw synth kicks off the wall, snarling as he braces for a swing on the new contender-
-with a vicious swing that is not only easily dodged but sends him tumbling into freefall with nothing to catch himself on, leaving him utterly helpless and swinging angrily.
The third synth is clearly fighting through the wound dealt to it, its pierced servos whining in protest as it makes a lunge for Mach’s gargoyle morph-
-and also swings wide, although not so wildly that they can't control their freefall to another side of the wall.
Mach wasn’t moving anymore, he just grabbed tight, watched as the mystery gunner tore through the synths, and fired on the wounded one when it charged him. Those flechettes left a big hole in it. Mach didn’t want that sort of hole in him, either. So he tried to force himself further into the indention he’d been pushed into, taking the only cover it could provide… And hoping that if the shotgunner wasn’t partial to him, he could get the first shot on them, too.
The shot lands in the gap torn open by the shredder, sending the synth further reeling and frying electronics inside the cheap synthmorph. With all the skill they can muster, they kept their morph together under the onslaught, correcting their trajectory but with far less certainty than they previously had.
The mysterious stranger aims for the clawed synth flailing wildly but fires too quickly and shoots wide - their second shot dead on target, the synth unable to defend against the flechettes that shred their
plating and bite into electronics.
“Fucking shitting fuck!!” The club-synth curses, taking a frenzied charging swing at Mach. Shaken by the appearance of the stranger, this synth’s swing going wide again and sending the synth slamming into the rock wall of the tunnel.
The clawed synth attempts to pull their limbs together and cast off, but the limbs fail to coordinate as they need too in order to swing its momentum properly and the synth continues to tumble in the microgravity of the Pits.
“Fu-cccck thiiiii ‘an, i’m gone-” the third synth declares, turning and kicking hard as much as they can get their morph to comply in order to flee down one of the tunnels with some of their synth left intact.
Mach had no idea what was going on. Who the fuck was that person? Why were they getting involved in this shootout? Was this RJ’s contact? Was it RJ himself? Did he just get caught up in a gangwar? Unfortunately, without any kind of identifying phrase or piece of incidental clothing, Mach just… Couldn’t know. Fuck. He just wasn’t that good with people. So, he just sort of stayed out of the way and hoped everyone forgot about him.
The stranger takes aim at the last intact synth and fires a shot that is dead on, shredding metal and electronic alike and sending the synth reeling. The second shot strikes plate more than gap, but the flechettes still punch through and bite into hardware. The synth catches the far wall with what function is left to them.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck” the synth swears a blue streak, kicking off for the opposite direction as hard as he can as fast as he can.
The last remaining synth struggles to get his morph to do what he needs it to do, but this time he is able to right himself in time to catch himself on a handhold; like his comrades, he turns and throws himself into the labyrinth that is the Pits, not about to junk his morph in a losing fight.
A few seconds pass with the stranger keeping their shredder out, listening for any signs that the synths might becoming back for another round: they pass, and the stranger lowers their weapon, turning to Mach and calling: “Speidwagon?”

“... Yep. You gonna shoot me? Because I know I’m gonna lose this one.”
“Why, you looking to get shot? No - c’mon, follow me,” the stranger beckons, grabbing on to a handhold and looking back to make sure Mach is following
Mach was hesitant to follow, but he did, in fact, follow along. “So, you with the people who invited me here?”
The stranger flashes him a wicked glare at the next handhold: “i don't know shit about fuck, now follow me and keep quiet until we get to where we’re going, got it?”
Mach stopped moving. This felt… Fishy. Mach started moving again soon, but… Well. He wasn’t going to let go of his pulser.
The trip through the variably wide or narrow tunnels of the Pits is a short one, the stranger taking point and making sure to keep his shredder out where where any pit vipers could see. The two of them arrive at a doorway to a module buried into the asteroid’s crust - the stranger going up to it and taking hold of a handhold. The door opens shortly afterward - presumably after interacting with some verification software in the door - and he casts himself in.
Meter informed Mach that a nearby spime was broadcasting a set of coordinates identical to those given to Mach in the earlier message.
Mach paused again… Well, this was where he was supposed to be… He still didn’t trust anyone. So he swapped his weapon to nonlethal and moved through the doorway, holding onto the frame. “So. Do I got any reason to trust you guys, or do I just come in and trust that this isn’t shady?”
The stranger twirled himself around and grabbed hold of a handhold to the module - hardly any larger than a hundred square foot storage container, dimly lit and with floatmess all over the space. “Course it’s shady, the fuck else are you here for? You wanna keep talking out there where Nerrix might hear you, or in here where they won't?”
“... If you’re worried about him listening, you wouldn’t have let me this far. This is HIS morph I’m borrowing. But… Fine. Sure.” Said Mach, actually coming in now, somewhat wishing he could frown at them all. But… Well. Maybe he was lucky and wasn’t going to get shot.
 
Extropia
The Pits - The Stranger's Module​

The door closes and locks behind Mach, and Mach's already tenuous mesh access is cut off to the Pits - a measure to ensure their anonymity and privacy. The mysterious stranger's demeanor changes almost instantly: the edge in his morph's body language - which upon closer inspection has the musculature of an olympian morph - eases up, his facial expression much easier than just a second before. With a single motion he flicks the safety of his shredder on and holsters it, taking a breath before speaking.

"Okay, now that we're off the mesh and where the pit vipers can't bother us, we can talk," the stranger says, his raspy voice softer with the pressure of combat off. "Dunno if you make a habit of talking business where people can hear it, but for all our sakes I thought it better to wait until we had some measure of privacy."

"My name's Grazie, and I represent interests that are paying very good credits to remain nameless. Now, it's our understanding that you're closer to Nerrix than you would like to be - a lamentable position, but one that could work out for both of us."

"See, Nerrix has been very aggressive in his recent business dealings, to the point where those aforementioned interests want him out of the picture. Thing is - and I don't know how well you know your master's business that well, but he's real sharp for an AGI, too sharp for people's comfort if you take my meaning. He's real good at counterespionage - which, Marcus, is where you come in."

"Your relationship with Nerrix gives you a degree of access that would be difficult to get any other way. Even if you're not in his inner circle, you still run jobs for him, flip the choice tech, and have the closest thing to insight on his operation that anyone else has. That is the kind of access we need to take Nerrix down, and so we're looking to deal with you."

"Here's the deal: taking down Nerrix is gonna be a long game, and what we need from you are two things - for you to start keeping lifelog recordings of your interactions with Nerrix and any info you can get us on whatever jobs he sends you on. I can even send you a grand-two fifty in creds right now, an advance payment and a little something to help your cover story, but I gotta know you're in. What do you say?"
 
Mach
Sell out.
​
This... Was a toughie. On the one hand, yes. He DID want to get away from Nerrix. Yes, he was okay with selling the damn thing out. Yes, he wanted to see the look on Nerrix's not-face when these guys took him down. But... Mach wasn't sure he could keep this excursion a secret, let alone a multi-year operation. So... He pondered, and ran the odds. Then he spoke up.

"He could comb my data the moment I get home, you guys. Keeping this secret over years, that's... That's crazy. How the hell you gonna do that? Like you guys said, he's a sharp-ass AGI. Not saying I don't want to do this. I do, I really fuckin' do. But... I dunno if I can do anything before he catches on. And if I can pull this off short-term, how do I get the lifelogs to you long-term? That VPN have enough bandwith to transmit them? If you guys can convince me, REALLY convince me, that you know what you're doing, and your employers won't fuck me over... I'll do it for Two Gees, up front."

He knew he was pushing his luck with the two grand, but he'd let 'em haggle it back down to fifteen-hundred or so if they convinced him. Right now, he had to make damn well certain they could actually pull this off before he did anything stupid, like swear he was in. These guys were definitely careful. Now, ironically, Mach was worried they weren't careful enough.
 
Grazie's head tilts to one side as he laughs to himself: "everybody's an entrepreneur here."

"I'd be worried if you weren't at least a little skeptical, so I'll let you in on how this is gonna go. You are a piece of the puzzle, Marcus; you're not the only piece of the puzzle. If we lean too hard on you, then obviously Nerrix is going to pick up on something fishy, reload you from a backup, and then send ego hunters after me - not something any of us wants. Nerrix is the puzzle, and we need you to supply us with the pieces to put it all together. As to how you're going to get those to us? By not breaking the pattern."

"This is not your first trip to the Pits: Nerrix sends you here to acquire goods and services for them, and you come here to look for technology that makes the fuckin' ancaps run for their private courts to try augmenting yourself with. I'm willing to bet that while Nerrix reserves the right to examine your egodata, they don't always feel the need to do so; they're a busy bot and have too much on their plate to keep a lidless eye on you at all times. You race for Nerrix, you run jobs for Nerrix of dubious legality, you work on your own projects, Extropia continues in its orbit around the Sun; the way we're going to keep off the radar is by respecting the patterns."

"What we're asking you to do is effectively be a double-agent. You're going to do the same shit you've been doing since you first signed the indenture contract, only you're going to make a side-trip to a dead drop in the Pits, jack in to an ecto with that gargoyle, copy over the lifelog segments with your details about Nerrix, and then go on your way. You're not gonna plant microbugs around their property, you're not gonna sprinkle smart dust, you're not gonna rig up a backdoor to their private servers or any of that - you are gonna make a quick stop while you make your rounds in the Pits, jack in via fiber-optic to an ecto already rigged up to copy your lifelogs and erase any trace of itself in your morph's own logs, and go about your business."

"You're not gonna do this on a routine, either: Nerrix will pick up on patterns, and we don't want them picking up on shit. We're gonna ping you on Guanxi like it's another job, you're gonna stop by and drop off the mail, and then go right on back to your life. Obviously there are gonna be times when you're away on a job - in which case you're gonna do what Nerrix says, record as much as you can, and report back to us the same way you otherwise would as soon as you can. The more detail you can get us, the better, but Nerrix might not let you keep everything and that's just an obstacle we'll have to navigate together."

"Now, I'm not at liberty to discuss my employers or their methods, but I can assure you they really want Nerrix gone and his assets broken up. I'll be honest, you're being asked to trust some enigmatic figures that could make any number of decisions without even telling me - they might even keep you in mind for future work of your own if you play your cards right and need an employer after Nerrix is gone. If nothing else, I'll forward you my Guanxi handle so you've at least got my rep to ding if you come out of this wanting to call someone a motherfucker. Way I see it though, you got two options: you either take a leap of faith and come out of this with ownership of your future for once, or you walk away trusting that Nerrix is gonna let you go out of the kindness of their cold, silicone heart some day."

"Also? Gotta say it takes some nerve to try bleeding the guys offering to kill your master and set you free. I'll spot you another two-fifty cred if you're that nervous - on top of your grand-two-fifty - and that's coming out of my pocket."

Grazie pauses for a moment, smirking as though he can read the expression on the face of Mach's gargoyle.

"So what'll it be, Mach Infinity? A long game or an indefinite indenture?"
 
Mach
A knife to the brain
​
More calculations. More to consider. And a conclusion.

“Nerrix has a processor and an ego. There’s no heart in there. Not even any real emotions. I’ll do it. And since your employer didn’t give you the cash for negotiating room, and you were up for it yourself... How about I take the Twelve-fifty, and you tell your boss that I think they’re an asshole? That’s worth two-fifty to me.”

He said, seeming far less serious than he perhaps should have. However, after a moment, he did say a little more.

“Also, I need multiple drop points and for you guys to walk me out. But that shouldn’t be too much to ask, yeah? Not if we make that bitcoin bastard bleed.”
 
Extropia
The Pits​

"You got yourself a deal, Speidwagon," Grazie proclaims, his demeanor shifting as one job ends and another begins. "Multiple drop points were part of the plan from the start, and i'll even get you out of here this time - although you oughta familiarize yourself with the Pits, I'm not always gonna be on hand to get pit vipers off your chassis."

Grazie unlocks and opens the door back out the Pits, and leads Mach through the winding tunnels, shredder out where everyone can see it. Relative to finding his hideout, the trip back to the entrance feels relatively short. Grazie stops short of the entrance, keeping hold of a handhold as he watches Mach pass the threshold.

"You should be getting that transfer right about-"

Meter notifies Mach that he has received 1,250 in credits over Guanxi from an anonymous source just as Grazie says "-now."

"I'll be sure to pass along your regards to my employers. Remember, nothing changes: do the same shit you always do - we'll ping you with coordinates for the drops when the time comes. And Mach? This is gonna be a long run for all of us: keep your eyes on the track."
 
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