[The Grid] Chatper 1: Hardwired

Kase


"Well, that's a start. We may have to remedy that, however. You'll never survive if you're only familiar with lower tier weapon systems like guns," Athena tells you, then pauses. "You are familiar with projectile combat, though? Guns, common explosives, low end rockets and missiles, ballistic knives? Duck."


She hits the ground, pulling you after her, and darts between two parked cars. She peaks underneath and looks around before glancing around the side. Being careful you see that the one handed man has emerged with the two others you saw waiting in the lobby. They're standing by the hospital doors, yelling at each other in a guttural tongue, full of hard consonants. The unharmed two seem to be upset that the first failed, and the first is pretty upset he's missing a hand. There is a lot of mutual discontent, and based on invective, you're willing to bet about half the foreign words used are profanity. A few moments later a large van with blacked out windows pulls up. It's the type of vehicle that gets the cops called when it's parked too near a school. All three of the men pile in, and it drives off.


The whole time you and Athena are crouched down, hiding. Her hands leave bloody fingerprints on the car, and every time she moves she twists her hands in a certain way, a way you will later learn effectively destroys the print for identification purposes. She smells of lilacs and blood.


Shortly after the van departs, Bob arrives driving the S Class. He pulls directly next to you two and throws the doors open. Both of you pile into the back seat, and put the hospital in your rear view mirror.


"What now?" Bob asks.


"The safehouse," Athena replies as if it's a stupid question.


"With him?" Bob points out. "Awake?"


"Oh." Athena glances at you, and goes silent. By this point the two of you have gotten situated in seats and have belted in.


"Not that I'm arguing, but only because don't know what else to do with him," Bob replies.


"I don't think we should be doing anything with him anyway," Athena replies after thinking. Then she turns to face you. "There's no reason to make his choices for him. Kase, pay attention. I have a few important things to tell you, and there will be a test later."


"You want to explain it now? Let's just drug him!" Bob exclaims.
 
Robert Maudeville


"Dude, I don't even know. I've been drunk since...what day is it?" Frank sometimes has problems with those little details. Yes, he works in the kitchen of a restaurant. He makes a mean bisque.


"You came back, told us a mirror tried to eat you, and then did tequila shots until you tried snorting lines of sea salt, which, I might add, did not work," supplies Tom as he enters the kitchen. He probably heard you talking while he was upstairs, which isn't surprising. Tom has amazing hearing, but he's always hearing stuff that doesn't actually happen. Footsteps, flowing water, movement in empty rooms, that sort of thing. He also claimed that your two hundred dollar bottle of vodka told him it was going to murder him in his sleep if he didn't drink it one night. "Anyway, after we decided you were done with the tequila you ran upstairs and locked yourself in a closet with the last bottle of Kahlua because, and I quote, 'The dark bottle has no reflection. He'll never find me now.' Somehow you managed to pass out in your bed. Who bought all the booze? And how's your foot?"
 
Kase was totally confused by this point.


"I've gone from bored college student to hospital patient to target for a gang operation on the other side of the country. If what you're going to tell me will somehow tie all of this together, I'll gladly take it. And to answer your last question, I did shoot a couple .22's with my bro and younger sister once. My grandpa worked at a shooting range and wanted to show us the place.
 
Patrick

Miashara said:
Patrick
Without a moment's hesitation she replies, "We use it to keep ahead of competition. After all, there can be only one." Then she looks up and smirks at you.


"You had the '74? What're you running in that, the 360 or the 318? And what did you do to it? No, don't tell me. I'll see soon enough. Let's go look, shall we?" Still smiling she steps around the counter and indicates you should show her to the car. You head out the grimy glass doors of the lobby and into the parking lot, where the beast sits in noisy stillness. With much of the internal cooling systems tanked, it ran very hot on the drive over, and now, even with everything off, it rattles to itself as the components cool.


Lace stares at it for several seconds, observing the exterior dents and minor bumper damage, before making a slow circuit of the machine. By the time she's finished her walk has turned into something of a sidle, and when she finally approaches the car itself she's blatantly sauntering. "Would you pop the hood? I need to see what he's got under there."


You have the oddest feeling the mechanic is about to seduce your car.
"That'd be the 360. Yes, it's got a Hemi," Patrick quips, glad not to have to explain what exactly had happened. If nothing else, it's rather embarassing.


His eyebrows raise a bit as he notices Lace's demeanor as she looks the car over. He's used to this kind of thing with men treating their cars like ladies, but not a woman wanting to see what the car's Charisma translates to under the hood. But he can't help but chuckle. "Alright then. At least the hood latch still works." And he slips into the door to pull the hood release, then popping out and hurrying around (just a little hurry, honest!) to do the honors of lifting the hood himself.
 
Erin Hagens


Erin accepts the card with an inclination of the head that resembles a half-bow.


"I know what you mean about the difficulty of finding good sparring partners - it's only in the last couple of days I discovered there were more than one or two experienced fencers here myself! While I'd never presume to call myself 'high-level', I'd be delighted to try my skill against yours some time soon. A pleasure to have met you, Ms. Whitfield..." and with that, she heads for the car.
 
Kase


Athena replies, "It will. Sort of. Kase, I want to show you the reality that underlies-"


"You're boring him," Bob interrupts. Bob, you've noticed, isn't the most genial of individuals.


"Would you let me finish?" she snaps at him.


"Would you get to the point?" he retorts.


"Would you rather do this?"


These two seem to like answering questions with questions.


"Yes, actually," Bob finally answers definitively. "If we're not going to just drug him, I'd rather get to the point quickly. Kase, everything you know is a lie. The world isn't real, and the underlying pins of Creation hate you."


"Oh, good," Athena mutters, so low that if you weren't sitting right next to her you wouldn't be able to hear. "I'm sure that's just what he wants to hear."


"That isn't really a problem though. Long story short, we're trying to save the real world by ending this one. It's us, Athena, I, and our allies, who saved your life, you may remember, vs them, who're basically responsible for every bad thing that's ever happened. Come with us and we'll ruin or end your current life and everything you know. Stay, and you will die. On the plus side, I'll teach you to punch holes through cars, and Athena makes an intense White Russian. We'll also teach you to be a better artist than Van Gogh without all that madness and ear slicing nonsense. We will ruin your life though, so don't come whining later if you're slogging through sewage with Azbecki hit teams chasing you. So, in or out?"


As he says this he comes to a red light and stops the Mercedes. With a flick of his finger, your door unlocks. Athena, who looks to be choking on the blatant, tactless manner in which her partner has placed the choice before you, looks over with curiosity and a terrible need to see which way you decide.
 
Patrick


When you loft the hood and prop it open, the small mechanic climbs up next to you and perches on the grill. Not for the last time you are suddenly confronted by how small the woman is. There's an almost childlike quality about her that is completely incongruous with the fact that she's clearly a mature adult. You'd estimate she's in her mid twenties. Yet as she crouches on her heels on the grill with the hood at least a foot above her head, it takes a moment to look past her diminutive size. Then she literally climbs into the engine compartment.


When you run a car without internal cooling, the block itself generates a great deal of heat but there's nothing to disseminate it through the engine. That's what causes all the problems. You learned that in Pennsylvania one year when a formula car you were driving decided it didn't need it's cooling system either. It was a short lap race and you finished with the block, no shit, on fire. Afterward your pit crew had two hours to rebuild the engine before the next heat or else you'd be administratively disqualified. What you learned then, and what she's taking advantage of now, is that there's a good deal of componentry inside that really isn't that hot, while there's a good deal that is. The mark of someone who really knows their cars is knowing which points are which without hesitation. You seem to have found such a person.


Now Lace is within, exploring the ducting with her fingers and a flashlight, and murmurs, "Oh, yes, you do, sexy. Yes, you do. So, Mr O'Connell, (or do you prefer Patrick?), how did you acquire this handsome, handsome machine? Do all the serial numbers match? He needs rebuilt ducting and radiator work. Is the interior original or have you redone the upholstery? It's going to be moderately expensive, but somewhat time consuming. Ooooh, they rebuilt your manifold. Lacey like. Lacey like indeed. What're your turn around requirements, Pat?"


Lace doesn't seem to be overly concerned with following conversational threads, nor staying on topic. Her small, oil stained hands work quickly, exploring the engine while her expression oscillates between an intent, thoughtful frown and a delighted grin of joy. The whole time she never stops shooting questions and comments at you.
 
This was not at all what Kase was expecting. At first, it sounded like Bob was only trying to get him on this gig because he'd saved his life...which wasn't completely false, but still. For a moment, he puts his hand on the door's handle.


And then he stops, just as he's about to open the door. What was the point of leaving, anyway? He was all alone on the other side of the country with a hit squad out for his head for whatever reason. He couldn't go back to the hospital to wait for his parents to sort out why a bunch of goons tore up his hospital room.


And he had to admit, what Bob had been talking about did sound rather tempting. Didn't he want any of that, anyway? Isn't that what he asked for back home?


Athena was looking at him rather intently. Was she hoping that he'd say yes?


He blew out a long sigh. He knew leaving was suicide now. And it seemed like Athena and Bob weren't pulling a fast one...


The crucial moment passed. Kase removed his hand, turned to face them, and said only three words with a smile on his face.


"Count me in."
 
Erin Hagens


As you get in your vehicle and drive away the form of Ms Whitfield is barely visible through the reflection on the glass door. She stands there, watching, until you leave the driveway and head onto the beach access road. Though the partial image of sand and beach grass, she looks like a ghost, holding silent sentinel at the front of an empty house. Then you're gone, and she's little more than a name on a contract.


The court house is bundled into a series of government buildings. The recorder's office is in the basement, and Taxation and Fines has most of the second floor. You head in, find a clerk, and go through the paperwork. It isn't terribly complicated, and you've got everything signs and stamped well ahead of the deadline. The trickiest part is getting your parking validated so you don't have to pay $4.50 an hour at the garage.


At a light outside you catch a red, and sit and idle for a bit. Monkeying with the stereo finally cracks a wall of obfuscating technology and you get a commercial from something calling itself the Council on Religious Freedom. Something about "...because you don't have to believe in some imaginary, invisible sun spirit. Believe in what you can see. Believe in now. What do you want in this world?"


Then you get some music. Across the intersection traffic builds up. The light turns green, and the left turn lanes go.

Perception + Awareness, diff 2 please
 
Erin would happily believe in an invisible sun spirit -- or any god, for that matter -- if he would just give one sign that he actually cared.


What do I want? Erin thinks. I want a job that does more than just pay enough to keep me alive. I want to do something that matters. She swallows. I want --


The light turns green, forcing her to banish thoughts of green eyes. She blinks hard, trying to focus.

5d10.hits(7) → [6,10,8,5,8] = (3)


http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2705128/
 
Kase, Patrick


Athena breathes a sigh of relief, and smiles a little as she settles back into her seat. She makes a slight motion to take your hand and squeeze it once before she turns her attention to her leg. The gesture would be almost romantic if it hadn't left bloody fingerprints on your wrist. Bob, oblivious to everything, asks, "It was punching holes through cars, wasn't it? I knew it. Everyone wants to be able to punch holes through cars. It's mandatory."


He drives along, staying unobtrusive as he slips through traffic, and eventually turns off the main road onto an access way. You pass between several dilapidated strip malls and a rusting gas station before coming around a coroner to a small garage and wrap around parking lot. Bob parks around the side and calls back, "Looks like she's got a client. Kase, the girl is with us, but I don't know who the guy is. Stay normal, okay?"


Your two new...Friends? Accomplices? Conspirators? step out onto asphaplt and lead you around. The situation seems mundane enough, if peculiar. This is clearly an autoshop, and there are a couple of bays with hydraulic lifts. The building itself is marqueed 'Sunshine Motors' and there's a weathered painting of a sun shining down on a race car. In the parking lot out front there's a beat up old car, and a guy is leaning on the side with his head under the hood. Bob goes directly for him, and coughs loudly.


At once a smaller head pops out from underneath the hood. Kase realizes immediately that the girl was actually bodily inside the engine compartment. She's short, relatively attractive, but really, really, really greasy. She opens her mouth to greet you, but Bob forestalls her, like he did Athena before.


"Morning Lace. God to see you working like a grease monkey again, though that hardly has the damage necessary to require your skills. Just little tinks, really." Then he turns to the other man and nods. "Nice to meet you. I'm Bob. I work in the back." He offers his hand to shake.


Lace, the mechanic, responds, "Hey Bob. This is Pat. He brought me a Challenger with a 360 Hemi. Isn't he wonderful?" as if that had been what she was going to say all the time.


"Who's wonderful, Pat or the Challenger?" asks Bob wryly. Behind Patrick, Athena slips into the building unobtrusively.

Bushranger, since you don't mind me perceptioning for you, you succeeded and noticed Athena head inside. You don't notice her limp. You wound up with a negative dice pool to notice Bob's 'Oh so subtle' derailment of Lace though, so it all seemed natural. (These are totally legit rolls, with no secret mental influence, I assure you. [/lies]) LotS, you're more or less aware of what's going on, so no rolling for you.
 
Patrick


As Patrick comes back from his mental memories of his Formula Ford 2000 days at Nazareth, he eyes Lace a bit as she clambers into the engine compartment. Part of his mind does indeed say 'she's kinda cute, and a mechanic to boot', but the rest of him is concentrating on her abilities, ready to move in if she burns herself - but she proves adept, and he relaxes. She's pretty good, he muses mentally, deciding to put up with her...peculiarities...torwards the machine. After all, virtually everyone who's the best in their field is a little teched in the head one way or another.


"Glad to hear you like it," he chuckles dryly, "and Pat's fine, don't worry. I've had the car about seven years now, got it in a trade actually when I sold off my FF2000 stuff awhile back, I was going into Atlantics so I didn't need the Ford, and the guy I sold it to had the Challenger. An equivilant exchange was quickly negiotiated." He grins, wondering if the dimunitive mechanic will catch the reference. "The numbers match on the body and engine, but I put a new transmission in a couple years ago - decided to upgrade from the original to a six-speed, yeah it's not quite original but it's not like I'm planning on selling anytime soon, y'know? Value's just numbers on a sheet of paper. Interior was redone sometime before I got it but using original patterns.


"As for turnaround time...well, a good job isn't rushed. As long as I don't have to wait 'till the next Ice Age, there's no hurry. I might be looking to swing an exchange deal if I can, if the folks in charge would be interested anyway - I run one of the fishing boats. Perhaps you've seen it?
Dawn of Creation?"


Hearing the cough from behind him, he looks up and around in surprise, then nods as the man speaks, chuckling softly and taking Bob's hand in a firm handshake. "Yup, I'm Pat - Patrick O'Connell." He pauses for a moment to see if the man might have the name ring a bell in case he used to follow the Indy circuit, then continues. "And I must say that whichever's meant, I'm a bit flattered."


He notices the woman heading inside the building, but brushes it off - after all, she probably went for the vending machine. Or the 'necessary room'.
 
Edit: Erin


Cars on your left roll past, through the intersection, as you stare at the light. You're still stuck behind a red, and it stares down at you. Next to you the green shines over moving traffic through a dirty lense, turned vaguely tannish. Those art classes pay off because you can recognize most of the individual tones. The green itself is the overtone, but the dirt is mostly blue and red. The result is typical, but reminds you of leaves sprouting through soft soil, bearing the traces of dirt with them. The dirt would be soft, more loamish then topsoil, but laces with golden streaks and veins of silver that sparkle in the sunlight.


That doesn't make any sense at all. You're jarred out of reverie and into the world of self doubt with the sound of a horn. You're sitting at a green light, and some short-haired guy is having an aneurysm into his horn behind you. You fumble with the petals and get going. In your daze you never noticed the identical black mercedes pass you, and take a hard right, nor the van that came along after it. With the jackass behind you, you're too distracted to notice the driver searching for the car that isn't even on this road any more. But the driver isn't too distracted to see you.


He tries to get directly behind you, but the jackass is tailgating like you're at a football game. Every time the van tries to move around, the yahoo swerves as well, now yelling at you behind the closed windows of his car. He's one of those tough guys who likes to shriek at people when they can't say anything back. To ignore him, you glance up in your rear-view mirror mirror, and see the van's driver. He's talking into his phone, but his lips are easy to read.


"Yes, I've found the car. There's a woman driving, young." Pause. "No, the windows are tinted. I can't confirm passengers." Pause. "Better safe then sorry. I'll take care of it." He hangs up.


You temporarily forget the van as the jackass passes you on the right, in the shoulder, and makes a gesture as he shoots by. Distracted, you watch him shoot off ahead and weave through traffic.


Then you spot the van again. It's on your left, in the oncoming traffic lane, directly beside you. The sliding side door is open, and there are two men, slavs, with very big guns. They open fire, and the muzzle gas shatters every window the bullets don't. That's hardly a concern though, as they start very effectively destroying your car.

Perception was to read lips. Join Battle now is encouraged.


They're shooting at you.


And shooting.


Some notes. Contrary to pop culture, car doors do not stop bullets very well. At least not on modern, high gas mileage cars. The old fifties tanks did, but your boss lent you a company Mercedes. That isn't to say these things are made of tinfoil, because with all the modern electronics in the doors they will provide some decent soak. But I wouldn't bet my life on it. The other thing is while cheap glass will, when shattered, go flying, high quality tempered glass will not. You're driving a Mercedes with the latter. So you've got that going for you.


Of course, they have fully automatic weapons. That's bad.


Were one to be so inclined, Dexterity + Ride + Essence /2 would give you your vehicular dodge. Willpower, stunts, and virtue channels can always be used to enhance this. Just a reminder.


Oh, and if you want to do anything crazy, you're probably going to need to make a Dex + ride roll. CV of 1 for the luxury car though, with a free bonus success from the driver's assistance systems.
 
As the two mooks open fire, all Erin can think is I knew I should have taken the goddamn taxi!


Join Battle!


Frantically she stares ahead of her, looking for an exit, a break in the traffic she can cut into, a barrier to put between her and Vincent and Jules over there -- anything!
 
Kase took a general look around. You'd almost think that their hideout was meant to be some abandoned room in New York City. With green walls overlooking the rainy streets below...


It'd sound almost cinematic if he wasn't concerned over the events of recent days.


He had to admit, Lace was...cute. While Athena had this kind of natural charisma about her (perhaps the reason why he saved her in the hospital? Maybe...) Lace's attractiveness was focused around her.


"Gotta admit," he said, looking around. "Nice setup you got going here."
 
Erin

Their Join Battle.
Recall they have 4 and 2 successes and 5 and 1 on their attack rolls. Their coordinated attack roll failed, so you don't get that penalty.


Because they initiated, they go on tick zero. Their Join Battle rolls are just to establish when you act, which will be on tick 1. That being said, you probably want to post your absolute vehicular dodge, as well as any stunts that might effect it first. On your action, you can do whatever you want. Either get away or ram them to your heart's content. Just post an active Perception + Awareness roll if you want to scrutinize their weaponry/setup. Also, there's an equivalent of a vehicular dash. You can't shoot back because you're focusing on driving, but since Erin isn't armed, it might be a good choice.


Oh, and one thing. You probably noticed this and just didn't comment, but if not: Compare the driver's looks and description to the dialogue. Food for thought.


Tick 0: Bad Guys


Tick 1: Erin


Tick 6: Bad Guys


Erin is just north of downtown Nags Head. You passed the OBX hospital a half mile back, and coming up a half mile to a mile ahead on your left is Jockey's Ridge, a giant sand dune of a state park. You're heading away from where Officer Brennick and Kase apprehended the car thief last night but on the same road, Rt 158, Croatan. Now Croatan is back to being five lanes, two in each direction with a turning lane in the middle. There are various low interest strip malls on either side. Directly to your left is a row of cheap stores, mostly closed until tourist season starts. On your immediate right is a Brew Thru, a drive in liquor store, which does decent business year round. There ain't much to do in the OBX during winter but drink. Regularly parking lots open onto Croatan on either side, but they are small things that sit right next to the highway.


Traffic wise, afternoon travel is light. Erin is in the left northbound lane, with the van to her left in the turning lane. Right now it is for oncoming traffic to access the Brew Thru she just passed. To her right is a pickup with an attached mobile home, the kind that rests over the bed and hangs down off the back. It's an old clunker, and doesn't seem to be moving too quickly. Ahead of her there is perhaps fifty yards of open road before a Corolla, while on the right is the jackass who was having the hissy fit earlier. He's speeding off at a good clip. Ahead of him is more open road, but there is a semi cruising down the left lane. Behind are several minivans liberally spaced, and more compacts and pickups. Dispersion in the oncoming lanes is pretty similar.


Off the highway there is a wide drainage ditch that separates Croatan from the parking lots. It is bridged by the little access ramps. Ahead it mounds up nearly ten feet to be crested with a 'Southern Sun Steak House' sign. Beyond that you can see some small scrub pines and beach grasses. Further ahead on the left is the entrance to Jockey's Ridge.
 
Patrick, Kase


Lace looks at Patrick a second time, suddenly confronted with memories of her own. "You! You drafted Carson Murphy at Watkins Glen to pass him in the final hundred yards! I had just rebuilt his drive box a week ago! He gunned to try to shut you out but blew two valves and I rebuilt those too! You, you, I remember you." She scowls at you from underneath your hood. The expression should be menacing, but actually only succeeds in making her somewhat adorable. (Her version of the events is true, but there are several points she ignored. Like Carson trying to put you into a wall at one point, but I digress.)


Bob, who just as clearly has no idea what you're talking about, nods politely. "Well, this is Kase Wilder. Lace, he's that young man with that situation in that thing I was telling you about earlier."


This stops the diminutive mechanic from her glaring, and she turns to look Kase over seriously. For almost the first time since Patrick's met her she stops smiling. Even just now when she was pretending to be scary you could see the hint of a grin lurking at the corners of her mouth and eyes. But now she's very focused, and sizes Kase up thoroughly. "Pleased to meet you, Kase Wilder. Welcome to our shop. Thank you for the compliment." She shakes Kase's hand with an air of formality that transcends her dirty condition. She adds, "I didn't expect to meet you for quite some time. In fact," she turns to Bob. "Quite some time. Why did you bring him here?"


"It became necessary," Bob replies flatly.


"Oh." She murmurs.


"Well, we're going to head inside and get to work. Mr. O'Connell, your vehicle is in excellent hands. Good day," he says.


Lace pipes up, "Pat's also telling me about his boat. The Dawn of Creation."


Bob stops, on the verge of shifting his weight in preparation to step, and turns back to look at the ex-racer. He keeps his weight uncentered through, without wavering or letting his balance waver. "A good name, Mr. O'Connell. A very good name. Good luck with it." Then he finishes the motion and glides into movement as he walks towards the building. He doesn't glance over a shoulder to see if Kase is following, but the younger man can feel the tangible pressure of the old man's attention on him.
 
Patrick


"...guilty as charged?" Patrick admits with a slightly sheepish, yet bemused, expression, his own lips twitching a little. "That was the best run I'd got offa Fifteen all day, there. I think when I sold the car it still had the dent in the rear casing he put there, too."


Chuckling, he nods to Kase as he's introduced, and noticing the turn of conversation, quirks an eyebrow. But, he figures, it's probably personal business (although, he hopes in his mind which tends to have such random thoughts, hopefully not Family business), and so he half-listens and half looks back under the hood of his Challenger, looking back up when Bob speaks again. Starting to answer, but with Lace's interjection and the man's response, pausing, his other eyebrow quirking just a little.


Curious folk. "Thanks. I certainly hope it brings luck. Hasn't been the best of bites out there lately."

"Sense Motive": (Perception + Awareness) =

3d10 → [3, 6, 6] (0 successes)
Also: the Glen? Good choice of track. I approve. :D
 
Ya' got nothing. Except that Bob is kind of a jerk, but you already knew that. You don't think he's a bad guy, mind you. He's just a jerk.


And responding to your posts always takes longer than everybody else's because I have to do research. But I like it. It adds color.
 
And as Erin is frantically scanning the road, the radio, which has been babbling some vapid advertisement, begins blaring “another uninterrupted hour of favorites.â€


I don’t want to spend the rest of my life


Looking at the barrel of an Armalite



Remembering the words of religious commercial a moment ago she almost giggles hysterically. Apollo, Ra, Lugh, if you’re up there, help me, please! I’ll give you fucking sacrifices if you help me now! Frey, Manco Capac, Sol Invictus…


I don’t want to spend the rest of my days


Keeping out of trouble like the soldiers say



And suddenly, everything changes. In a moment of time, Erin becomes still and deadly cool. The panic that was making her unable to think clearly subsides, and her mind flows as smoothly as water, as brightly as sunbeams.


I don’t want to spend my time in hell


Looking at the walls of a prison cell



“Traffic is fast moving. The fact that a slot is open for you doesn’t mean it’ll be open two seconds later. Aim for parts of traffic that are dangerous in general but that you can maneuver in fine -- for a second or two -- and hope the bastards crash following you.â€


I don’t ever want to play the part


Of a statistic on a government chart



“The semi. The oncoming traffic. Maneuver through turns that passing lanes of traffic then block. Hell. Take an exit once you think they can’t follow you. Just put pedal to the metal now!â€


And she does, calmly as a child learning to ride her new tricylcle under her father’s guidance.


There has to be an invisible sun


It gives its heat to everyone



There has to be an invisible sun



That gives us hope when the whole day’s done.


The roll is Dexterity + Drive/Ride, at a difficulty of 7...the same difficulty as making a successful prayer to the Unconquered Sun. Erin is channeling Willpower through her Temperance to keep focused as she coolly steers the car into oncoming traffic, in front of trucks, etc. while being shot at, without breaking a sweat. Her Vehicular Dodge is 2, so she had better roll really well.


And she does!


7d10.hits(7) → [10,10,8,10,9,7,2]


Um...OK, I think I should start worshipping an invisible sun spirit myself. :shock:
 
Erin

Your penalty worked out to be a -6? I applied that to the bad guys attacks, and they all missed.


Without any direct transition, Erin finds herself flying through oncoming traffic, close enough to the semi that she makes eye contact with the truck driver. He looks down at you through your untinted windshield, and there's a moment of connection. Then he's gone at 150 miles an hour; his 45 and your 105. The Mercedes hums like a dream.


Behind you, the driver slams down on the gas, but there's no way the Ram can keep up. For a moment he rushes through along before swerving way to his left, skipping across to the far lane. Then, driving in the very left-most lane, the two hoodlums in the back finally have an angle at you car. They lean out and draw sights on you. The semi driver, who lost concentration on the road and was looking over his shoulder after you, turns around just in time to see the Dodge swerve directly into his way.


The semi wins.


As the van's bumper crumples into the massive truck's grill, the engine block comes to a full stop and sticks. Fifty thousand pounds of tractor trailer encourage the enginee block to go from 60 to full reverse in half a second, and it crashes backwards through the van's dash. Your pursuer's car basically peals open around it, turning inside out as bits of Dodge go in every direction and armed gunmen follow. Fluids crash and spark, and the mechanical explosion sends vehicular wreckage everywhere.


You see everything in your mirrors, and are quite confident the pursuit has dropped.





There's no way he's contesting your -6, so you make it halfway away.


Instead, he takes a difficult 4 to get into the far lane. Rolls a two which is not so good. The consequences can be serious.


Difficulty 4 to make it back into the right lanes where you should be.
 
Erin remains strangely serene, even as her pursuers meet the horrible fate she orchestrated. She feels like one who has done what a god wills for her -- free, shining, and full of luck.


Now there is just the small matter of getting back into her proper lane…


(On the other hand, she now owes an ancient Roman Sun God a chicken and a goat. Or possibly a prize bull. She isn’t sure.)

Do I still have that bonus success? *crosses fingers*
 
Kase scratched the back of his head.


"Yeah...Athena mentioned something along those lines earlier today. When exactly did I become flavor of the month imported from SoCal?"
 
Erin

Do I still have that bonus success? *crosses fingers*





Yes, you do. So you make it perfectly. Don't be afraid to burn wp though.


You slide back into your lane. Underneath you the vehicle bobs once before stabilizing, and then you swing through a turn, braking rapidly, and come out on a side road. And it is done.


There are a few people around, but they're concentrating on what they're doing. No one reacts to you, and since you never crossed an intersection, there were no cameras to record your actions. Driving away well within the speed limit, it's like it never happened. A few miles later you pull back onto Croatan. More strip malls appear, and little stores old enough to stand alone. As you go you pass the atheist billboard, and it's sign of, "The world is enough. Believe what you see."


There's graffitti on the base that says, "<expletive> the world. Give me the invisible sun spirit."


The road is very peaceful, and whichever dead Roman god lives in the sun, he's filling the Nags Head spring with peace, and the smell of burned rubber.


Though that is probably you.
 
The road is very peaceful, and whichever dead Roman god lives in the sun, he's filling the Nags Head spring with peace, and the smell of burned rubber.
Though that is probably you.
But as Erin steers the Mercedes back towards Gadman Law Firm, she finds she is growing angry. This anger rises in her slowly at first, faintly, and then with a roar; and she is, despite it or around it, as puzzled by it as everything else that had happened to her today. It feels like anger, hot yellow anger, and it feels dangerous, and it is far worse than anything she is used to. It seems to have nothing to do with losing her temper, with being specifically upset about anything; she doesn’t understand its origin or its purpose, and even as her head aches with it she herself feels disassociated from it.


Pulling over with a screech across the street from the office, Erin clambers out of the driver’s side and slams the door shut behind her. As she stares at the building, at the job she was so desperate to have and eager to get, she hears herself say, “---- the world.â€
 

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