In reply to Hawkins (msg # 640):

The man laughed. He replied, "In town, yes and yes. This region is more of a territory than a real part of the Federation. Just keep your troubles to yourself and avoid starting any fights in town."

 The thought that someone could mistake Jen of all people for a Kill Kitty serves to underscore just how freaky-weird this world actually is for Killian. To him, aside from her slightly feline scent she's pretty uncanny valley - like one of the 'burb gangers who 'mod up with cheap, cosmetic cybernetics to run with a theme. There's a reason for that of course, and it's that the Coalition genetic programs weren't interested in subverting or emulating humanity, but rather creating soldiers to support it.

 Making them look human would undermine that.

 Still, the relatively comfortable way that the soldier addresses him causes an ear flick and a slight reduction in tension before he eyes the admitted traitor and tilts his head, curiously.

 "I wasn't here for that. Seems like I missed a whole lot." he answers, carefully non-committal about where he was and what he was up to during this apparently well publicized period of recent history.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:04, Sun 28 Nov 2021.

The man pulled out a portable card printer and cred-pay scanner. He turned to Killian's words and nodded with a somber look on his face, "Yeah, doggo, that was too bad. The release of Strain X to kill all those turncoat mutant animals near Lone Star killed about as many loyal mutants as it did rebels. Sad, really, lost the whole breeding facility. Now, most of the Deadboys are issued a single Strain X hand grenade and have orders to gas every mutant animal, especially kill cats, they come across."

He stepped over to Killian, "Press a trigger paw here and state your name clearly for the printer." He punched a few keys and held the scanner out for Killian to touch. "Yeah, Doggo, you watch your ass. There is bounty on any Dog Boys caught outside the Coalition these days. Ten thousand Coalition credits payable to anyone bringing in a legitimate turncoat head. Take care and keep your head."

The other got the gist of it. Get scanned, get a card, pay a little money, and viola, now you're a 'good citizen' of the region. Same old game, new players.

Several lines of banter and more than one person into the process Theresa rouses briefly from her meditative state to see what is going on, fortunately it is so simple that watching one or two is all she needs to understand how to mimic their actions.  Placing her hand on the scanner when it becomes her turn she still seems to be in a relaxed middle step between meditation and fully conscious.

"Sorry, ma'am, but as undeclared ecto-plasmic entity, technically classified as a class four free roaming extra-dimensional vapor by the sensor here, I regret to inform that the usual registration fee is actually going to five hundred FedMag instead of the norm. This is because there is a special cataloguing fee associated with your registration." The man explained. He sounded board, it made all of the wonder just how many times something similar had occurred along this route.

Theresa offers the man a similarly bored smile, likely augmented by her inactive state.  Offers him a gesture back up to the front of the vehicle in the direction of the big friendly cyborg.
”He has all the local currency, there should be plenty.”

Jen Dutifully follows instructions and gets the ID sorted.

 The Coalition loves Dog Boys.

 Not just the guys in charge, who have themselves a resource they can expend in place of human soldiers, but the rank and file and the folks at home... Dog Boys are popular, an extension of the age-old relationship between humans and canines and the thought that a functional genocide wiped them out by the tens of thousands?

 For a moment, Killian can well believe that the result was the loss of Lone Star, given what effects that would have had on morale and unit cohesion, let alone recon forces and police units.

 Well, fuck.

 Still, an order is an order is an order and he had plenty of training to cover doing things while his head is very much elsewhere, and Killian extends his hand, "Kilo-One-Alpha-Lima-Lima-One-Alpha-November, Killian... And strain what the fuck now?"

The man laughed and told them, "You think that is bad, just wait. The Coalition isn't using Cyborgs anymore either. Big bounty on former Coalition borgs working on what they see as the wrong side now. Low bounty on turncoats like myself, but there are plenty enough who would kill us on sight. I need the mask off of the crazy man, for his photo on the ID card." He turned to face Nutball. "That alright by you, there, champ?"

Nutball looks at the man, cocking his head as the face of the mask takes a quizzical look.  I would like to do this somewhere private.  Yhe showing of my face is not something I do for just anyone.  Only when I must, or only for someone I trust.  Hence, the mask.
The Kingsdale ID card he had shown the inspector is old, the photo of a young man with wavy green hair and blue and red markings on his pale face that appear to be those of a clown's make-up.  Once they are in the privacy of the cargo bay, he pulls away the stretch mask to reveal his burn-scarred face, all trace of the clown-face having been scorched away by fire.  There are also no apparent cylinders and boxes sticking from his head, his implants being button-sized and hidden within the burn scars.
Why do you assume that I am a Crazy man?

In reply to Nutball (msg # 650):

"Scanner on this rifle here." The man nodded. "After leaving the Coalition Special Forces I wondered for a bit and fell in with a group of mercenary techno-wizards. Seems that I had a knack for it myself. I made this sight. I lets me see auras. What people really are. And you my friend are a crazy. But, that's not a problem. The Federation is fine with that so long as you obey its laws."

He held up a small box. It was a collection of what looked like little pans of grease paint. In some sort of weird, multi-wired box. Techno-wizardry again no less.

"Want to paint your face up for the picture." He asked earnestly. "It should be damned fun. Can imagine a better way to start off a new ID card."

He shakes his head in the negative.  I am no longer the circus clown that I once was.  This is who I am now.  He looks thoughtfully a moment.  Is there  a way to photgraph me both with the mask and without?  Then, with a pass of my thumb, I could remove the mask in the photo, to reveal my true face?

"Sure, Champ, It'll cost a little extra, say one hundred more." The trooper replied. He set the makeup kit aside and retrieved the handheld unit to take Nutball's ID pics. "When you're ready."

He whips out a small, plain dark gray credit card, with a magnetic reader stripe on the back, and a small chip on the front.  Can you take Black market pay-card?

Scowling Jen ran her fingers over the new ID card, instinctively reaching out with her mind to see if there were any active processing chips embedded in it, just looking to be friendly and say 'hello' to distract herself from the rude man.

(OOC: Activate Technomind)
This message was last edited by the player at 19:11, Wed 01 Dec 2021.

Hawkins stepped in front of Jen and he put the card into a pocket on his left chest.

  Douglas keeps his big friendly smile on the whole time, cooperating with the troopers.  He makes no attempt to hide his surprise then relief at what they say about the Coalition, Dogboys, & everything else.  When he gets a chance, he asks the lead trooper about Princess:  "I don't suppose there's any card or license or what not for animals, is there?  I wouldn't want any trouble later over my girl here."  as he indicates his canine partner beside him.

With nothing to 'talk' to on the card Jen slipped it away.  Looking up as Hawkins moved in front of her and she offered the Borg a slight smile.  Reaching up to touch his arm just slightly.


Relaxing a bit under the lea of the cyborg combat machine Jen remained quiet.

"You will find that the dog is no problem. Just don't let it get into any mischief." The trooper said. "You'll find the FedMag more lenient than the Coalition on many things."

He tapped Hawkins on the chest, "Even on unlicensed cyborg soldiers."

He finished the pictures with Willy, even going so far as to cite his name simply as 'Willy Book' on the id card.

"Great, now, that is six people, a double id for one. Weapons, hunter, tracker, bounty, and free enterprise endorsements so you can conduct business. clear bill of health. and no threat of exposure to communicable diseases for all." He said. "The total bill will come to five thousand, four hundred FedMag bucks. Or a comparable currency. I can take an electronic transfer as well."

Hawkins transferred the very helpful man 6000cr off the credstick of Coalition Currency.

"Thanks again. Enjoy your lunch."

The trooper exited the Mountaineer without a word. He caught with the others.

"Smart crew that one." He said. "Paid us a generous tip and didn't waste time on piddly crap."

"That kind of money, the probably got some booty on that beat up old Mountaineer." A man replied.

"Who cares." A woman chimed in. "He inspected it. We scanned it. And I'm sure one of those Battle Magi slinking around in the shadows was paying its particular brand of attention to the vehicle. If there had been any reason to doubt them, a battle magi would just step in and do whatever it wanted to."

"True that." The man who had inspected the Mountaineer said. "So, I'm think Fat Franky's Fabulous Dino Steaks. Can I get a second."

"Second." The woman said immediately.

"Second." Said two of the others in unison.

"Oh, hells yeah." Called the third. "I want one of those big steins of beer too."

The conversation faded away as the road crew resumed their positions at the barricade. Once there the man who had came aboard waved to the Mountaineer as the lift gate was raised to let them pass.

The Mountaineer dwarfed the little barricade and its two man blockhouse as it rolled past. The troops looked bored. Working such a detail was the death of seasoned troops. It dulled them. It was shame really. People of skill and initiative were the best for such work, but the monotony of the work often created boredom that would wear the edge of even the saltiest of veterans.

A sign read 'Huntsville..........6 miles'. Soon enough the Mountaineer was pulling into a line of traffic of trucks, wagons, hover craft, robot power armors, and mounted riders. The city was alive with traders, street vendors, and store fronts. Everything was advertised from Armaments to Zeno-prostitutes. The town smelled of machines, cooking food, smoke from wood and coal fires, and the effluence of sort-of-clean humanity.

  The resident cowboy juicer gave a long whistle as he looked out the windows.  "Civilization again.  No matter where you go, people make cities, an' they's always the same.  I wonder if we can get some decent maps."  He looked positively excited, as his head turned in different directions, as one distraction after another caught his attention.  "I know we have a right long list of things to do, but I for one sure am hoping some fresh cooked food is somewhere soon.  So, who thinks what should be done first?"  He paused for a brief moment as something shiny caught his eye.  Anyone looking close enough would notice his pupils dilating & contracting as his eyes darted about.  His grin said he was excited, but the almost unnoticeable signs told the truth:  he knew cities could be dangerous, & he was as alert as ever.  "Ya reckon they have parking for a rig this big somewhere close?  Maybe with security?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:46, Wed 08 Dec 2021.

Still reviewing the odd little card she was given in considerable detail Theresa hasn't yet returned to her meditative state when they get moving again.
”We should probably make arrangements to have the vehicle repaired, that is likely to take more time than we need for any other tasks before we are ready to decide what our new objectives are, and we may need to leave in a hurry again.”

After a few moments with a hand on the borg Jen let it drop, seeming to be a little more at ease. _{Thank you} She whispered


I think your right, I think we could use food first. Jen spoke up. Then an armourer to get body armour sorted out a very close second.  Once we see what we have left getting the mountaineer's damage sorted, as she still runs ok but the compromised hull is an issue. Letting out a sigh as she thinks, Then we split what's left and get shopping, that means we get the priority stuff done first as Theresa says incase we have to get moving.  While we eat we can ask about getting a map of this place, or see if it has public network terminals, if that's the case then I can get us maps and stuff off that easy enough. Pausing for a moment to look around and offering a light smile, Any one object if I brighten up the interior of this thing a little?  Nice star scape on the ceiling and flowering vines on some of the edging might make it a little more homely.

"That works fine as long as we add a bath in there somewhere. I'd like to switch my sense of smell back on at some point and those of you who don't have a nano-tech cleaning crew are plenty ripe post swamp."

"In any case it sounds like we're all on the same page."

"For the time being all expenditures will go through me and group needs come first."

"I DO encourage everyone to find out if the currency we brought with us will spend here and as far as that goes what's yours is yours."

"We seem to have landed in a pretty good situation here. I really would appreciate if no one would do anything to f*** that up."

"Once we get sat down somewhere we need to talk about where we're headed and if we mean to head there together."