megaman
mush - Thursday, August 31, 2000, 10:20 PM
--------------------------------------------------
Sub-Level
2 Hallway
The Sub-Level 2 Hallway is exactly like the Sub-Level 1 Hallway. It’s
long and wide, with a high ceiling. The walls are metallic, just like the floor.
Other then that, there's nothing but doors and glowing yellow lights on the
ceiling.
Ten
[RF]
Chi
[RF]
Cryogen
Bison [RF]
Sketch
Mouse [RF]
Obvious
exits:
Southeast
<SE> leads to Teleport Chamber--Repliforce Base.
<TF>
leads to Training Facility - RHQ.
<HB>
leads to Hangar Bay - RHQ.
<DC>
leads to Detention Center - RHQ.
<TL>
leads to Turbolift - RHQ.
Cryogen
Bison takes Sketch's tail and shakes, "Nice to meet you Sketch Mouse."
He smiles and lets go then eyes what the little fella's doing. "What're you
doing there? Twiddling your thumbs?" He quirks an optic ridge
questioningly.
Broadcast
Ocelot stalks into the area on all fours. Looking very catlike. He walks in from
the turbolift and notices a group of fellow Repliforcers ahead. He moves
gracefully and fluidly towards them.
Ten
wanders into the section of hall almost skipping. Good mood? Perhaps. Cheerful
expression? Definitely. She pauses at seeing the group. Blinks. She finally
asks, "Heeeeey. What's the party?"
Sketch
Mouse nods at Cryogen Bison. "Precisely. Why, if you knew about half the
times twiddling my thumbs had saved me from certain---" He peers at the new
arrival, and this time, no mental checks are required, as Sketch Mouse is quite
familiar with all things feline. "EEP!" he says, ceasing his very
important activities, and leaping to his feet. "Stand back, you're dealing
with a Soldier of Repliforce!"
Broadcast
Ocelot suddenly realises that next to the Bison is a relatively, tastety
looking, plump, juicy mouse. How delightful. As he approaches he gets the
desired effect upon the mouse reploid. He lets out a toothy grin in the
direction of Bison first and then to Sketch, "Soldier of Repliforce?
You?"
Chi
arrives several moments after anyone else might of from the turbolift. His step
is careful, quiet, despite his frame. He might of heard the exchange between
Broadcast and Sketch but he does not comment on it. He scans about for a moment,
nodding lightly to Ten.
Sketch
Mouse wrinkles his nose at Cryogen Bison. "If it's all the same to you,
I’d rather panic, run, and live to see tomorrow. And probably draw a picture
of it."
Broadcast
Ocelot plops his aft down on the ground as he sits quite feline-like. He
continues to glare hungrily at Sketch as his tail swishes from side to side. He
then idly notes, "Hmmm, feelin' quite hungry. Ah wonder where ah could get
sometin' tuh eat."
Ten
just watches the smaller pair of reploids with curiosity. Is there gonna be a
fight? She notices Chi's entrance, turning to beam at the big guy. "Hey!
CHI! Whassup?!"
Cryogen
Bison opens up a compartment on his utility belt and produces dehydrated food
capsules. "Here, put a little H2O on these and you'll have an instant
meal." He hands over the seven or eight capsules to BO. He then looks at
Sketch, "You need anything?" He notes Ten and Chi, "I greet thee
with the most felicitous of salutations."
Ten
turns away from Chi to eye Cryogen with a frown. "Yeah, whatever, you too,
bub."
Chi
shrugs lightly, looking about. He replies to Ten, "Very little, sister.
Around here at least." The 'discussion' between Sketch and Broadcast seems
to attract his attention momentarily, but at Cryogen's greeting, he replies,
"Good evening to you." Simple, but direct and sincere.
Sketch
Mouse blinks at Cryogen Bison. "Life Insurance might be good."
Broadcast
Ocelot just blinkblinks at the tablets Cryogen holds out to him. He does this
for about a few seconds, "Uh, I don't think so. I was looking for something
a little more," he looks to Sketch with another toothy grin,
"substantial."
And
lo! For the herald of justice has been born anew, and she beth armed with the
greatest weapons of law that exist! A thermos of bad coffee and twenty pages of
frame-by-frame microfishe photos. Anthem, stunning as always with her incredible
ability to look just *slightly* pissed off at everything, is on the warpath and
not looking where she's walking. With that coffee in one hand (thermos strapped
to her hip) and one of the many pages of transparent film in the other, she's
apparently On A Mission From God, as the great Jake 'Joliet' Blues would say.
Chi
sighs lightly. Regardless of his feelings for Sketch Mouse (Which include
'Incompetent' 'Should be used as a messenger only, if that' and other stuff),
he's got a duty to other Repliforce personnel. He looks over at Broadcast,
stating very simply, very firmly, "You could eat him. But no one would be
pleased with that. Perhaps you should find a non-metallic mouse instead?"
That said, he notices Anthem show up, and asks, "All-nighter?"
Cryogen
Bison hrms and shrugs, he slips the capsules away, except for one.
"Whatever." A droplet of condensation appears on the hand holding the
capsule, it encases the capsule and suddenly a huge head of lettuce appears. He
looks at Sketch, "Uh...Not my thing man. Sorry." He shrugs and bites
into his lettuce. "What my fellow reploid of minotaurian proportions and
phenotypical status said."
Sketch
Mouse eeps, and slowly backs away... "Don't eat my, I'm too high in fat!
Eat Cryogen Bison's big words instead!"
Broadcast
Ocelot just grins at Sketch. He then turns to face Chi as he speaks, "Eat
him? Who said anything about eating him? I never said anything about eating him.
Although, now that you bring it up..." He puts on a innocent face for the
first part and then a thoughtful look for the second part. He then notices
Anthem and nods to her, "Evenin'" He then turns back to peer at
Sketch.
Anthem
smirks at Chi, without even looking away from the film. The mirror image of it
that faces the rest of the group is one of the Live News shots of Teisel Bonne,
with Bon Bonne throwing some explosives in the background. "All weeker,
more like. This is going to be quite a case..." Her eyes drift from the
film to Broadcast, locking onto him with an uncanny radar. The radar of Doom(tm).
"Broadcast Ocelot?", she calmly questions.
Broadcast
Ocelot turns back to Anthem and peers at her as he hears his name, "Yeah,
that's me. And you are?" His tail swishes. For the moment now he focuses on
Anthem and not Sketch Mouse. Not until he poses anyways.
Cryogen
Bison notes Anthem as well. "Felicitous felicitations. I am Cryogen Bison,
and you are, ma'am?" He smiles and extends a cyan hand in greeting. Oh
yeah, and he's still munching on that head of lettuce.
Sketch
Mouse goes back to twiddling his thumbs, the immediate threat being removed.
Twiddling one's thumbs will do that.
Anthem
carefully places the film slide back with the rest in a manila packet, drinks
the coffee and reattaches the lid/cup to the thermos. "Officer 54, at your
service. More commonly known as Cpl. Anthem, Repliforce Office of Fugitive
Retrieval." Her eyes move from Cryogen to lock onto the Ocelot. "And
your boss, so smile when you speak, rookie, or I'll render you into something
more useful, like a singing toaster."
Ten
turns to Anthem, and beams. "HIYA! Hear ya gotta new 'ssignment. Congrats!
Have fun."
Cryogen
Bison salutes to Anthem, "Pleased to meet you Cpl. Anthem." He smiles
and finishes off the lettuce. "Is there anything I can do?" He idly
brushes a few 'crumbs' off and watches Anthem closely. "After all, I am
crisis response and have quite a bit of experience on many matters."
Broadcast
Ocelot raises a brow at Anthem as she orders him to smile (O.o) Wasn't he always
smiling? Oh well. He does as he is told(?) And on top of that he stands up to
his full height of 5'8" and crisply salutes his 'boss', "Yes
ma'am."
**Editor's
Note: I made a mistake there with my height. Broadcast Ocelot is really
5'5" and not 5'8".**
Anthem,
being only five-seven, nods upwards to Ocelot. She's smiling - or more
accurately smirking with the intent to render somebody's life into a Hell.
"Good. I assume you'll be acting on your latest orders post-haste, then. I
expect every one under my command to work at least half as hard as I do."
Her demeanour changes as she looks over and nods to both Cryogen and Ten.
"Thanks, and I'm going to have a blast with this one.. as for your
assistance, it's not needed at this time. I didn't really require the extra
hands I've gotten, as it is."
Broadcast
Ocelot gets that bad feeling. Maybe his Spider-Sense is tingling. Well it would
be tingling if he had one. Anyways he simply sweatdrops as he looks down to his
superior, "Well ah would be if I checked as yet. An' as soon as I do ah
will."
Cryogen
Bison nods and shrugs, "I see...Well, keep me in mind if you do need any
help." He smiles and clip-clops down the hallway, headed for the turbolift...Slowly.
Anthem
nods to the Bison curtly. He has his own job ahead of him - Crisis Response is
more suited to dealing with Master and Maverick attacks than the low-entropy
Bonnes. These new pirates have a much smaller tendency to level city blocks and
blow up hydrodams for fun. Her gaze turns to BO again. "I suggest you do,
Corporal. Of all the extras shuffled off onto me for this, your abilities are
probably the most needed. The job I've assigned you is important, and I want it
done *yesterday*. Understood?"
Broadcast
Ocelot executes another crisp salute to the green haired, one-handed, scary
reploid woman, "Yes ma'am." He then inquires to her, "Is that
all?" Tail swishes from side to side.
Anthem
smirks slightly, and nods. "That's all for now, Broadcast. I just thought
I'd personally bring this to your attention, since you were so lucky enough to
run into me here." She reaches down and unscrews her thermos again. Pouring
out the coffee, it dribbles like watery molasses. "Want some? I'm not
adverse to sharing with squad mates. After all, you don't do me any good when
you're asleep." The replicop cackles a bit as the cup sloooowly fills with
what might be toxic waste.
Ten
eyes the .. colloid. She refuses to think of it as a liquid, and it's apparently
not solid to be .. moving. She asks Anthem, "Your system can tolerate
that.. stuff..?"
Cryogen
Bison's sensors suddenly pick up something unusual..."What is that?"
He snorts a few times and twists, turning backwards...He eyes the coffee and
moves over, "What're you drinking toxic waste for?"
Broadcast
Ocelot eyes the...substance, then Anthem, substance, and finally Anthem,
"Uh, no thanks. I don't drink coffee." He then turns around to look
for Sketch Mouse but for some reason he's not there. BO then snaps his fingers o
O (Damn, he got away. Oh well, next time for sure."
Anthem
snorts in contempt. "Tasteless heathens. This is the finest blend of
Columbian beans you can get these days. Specially brewed for drinking
pleasure." She slams the cup back, audibly sucking the Jell-o like
substance down, before bringing the cup back into place to catch the next thick
drop that comes out of the thermos. "And after eight times through the
machine, it's specially brewed enough that it'll cause most humans to have a
spontaneous aneurism just by smelling it." She laughs and re-attaches the
lid. "Kept 'em out of my supply for half a decade."
Cryogen
Bison eyes the liquid, "I used to handle toxic waste all the fraggin' time
and I'm telling you that's a toxic substance."
Ten
asks, "Isn't coffee supposed t'have /water/ in it'r somethin'? I don't
think there's much water'n there.."
Broadcast
Ocelot turns back to Anthem, "Although, if you do have some milk, I'll be
more than happy to relieve you of it." He gets a hopeful look in his eye.
Come'on he has to look forward to something, after all Sketch just ran away so
he didn't get to have any fun.
Ten
idly comments, "I'd rather take a bath than drink that crap." She's
feeling blunt. That sludge scares her.
Broadcast
Ocelot's head drops down as Anthem tells him off. He then thinks to himself o O
(She should switch to decaf.) His head raises again as he once again looks at
Anthem hopefully, "How about some catnip? And have you ever thought about
switchin' to decaf?"
Cryogen
Bison eyes it still, "I'm telling you, that's a toxic waste of some
sort...Maybe a biotoxin."
Anthem
shrugs, and calmly licks a bit of the goo off the back of her hand. You can
almost *swear* there's a discoloration of the armored synthetic skin, even
though that stuff is supposed to stand up to most acids and low-end gunfire.
"Alright, I get the point. Just more coffee for me. Full-system caffeine,
just like I've been drinking for the last seven years." She chuckles deeply
- if it's a biotoxin, it's sure not affecting her much. "And no, no
catnip."
Cryogen
Bison shrugs, "Your funeral..." He hrms, "Mind if I take a
sample?" He busts out his Batman style sample-taking jar from his utility
belt and looks at Anthem, "Please?"
Broadcast
Ocelot damns and lowers his head again, "Oh well, that's life." He
then sites back down in a more comfortable position for him. He then just sits
there looking very cat-like. Looking even more so as he raises up his left paw
and starts licking/cleaning himself. He stops to look up at Anthem for a few
short seconds o O (She should really switch to decaf.) He then continues his
bath.
Ten
just eyes Anthem. She asks, "Is this some kinda long-term suicide thing or
somethin'? You work more hours'n yer system can tolerate, an' y'fill yerself
with that.. stuff..."
Ten
looks a cross between curiosity and concern.
Anthem
unscrews the lid/cup again, and offers it over to Cryogen. There's a few 'drops'
here and there in it for sampling, and her non-verbal consent seems to be given
by the offer. "Ten, I'm not sure I can really explain it to you. You're
young. I work all those hours because I need to so the job gets done. I drink
this stuff because... well, I admit the coffee is a bad habit. Just like the
drinking. And the lack of sleep. But it's what life demands to do the job
properly. I've survived this long - if it was gonna do any serious damage, it
would have already."
Ten
crosses her arms as she asks defiantly, "How d'I know it has'n done any
perm'nent damage? After all, yer s'posed t'be a girl, an' y'don' know how t'go
shoppin'."
Broadcast
Ocelot has finished licking whatever paw he was licking and moves on to the
other paw. While he does this he emits a purring sound. He looks quite peaceful.
But why does he have to do it in the middle of the hallway? Good question.
Cryogen
Bison carefully collects the samples. He puts them in the jar and puts it away.
"Thank you...I'll have the lab results for you in the morning." He
smiles, "Oh, and I'd suggest taking a nice long nap. You look exhausted.
Can't be any good for staying on your toes."
Ten
comments dryly to Cryogen, "Don't touch it, whatever y'do."
"Hah
hah. Funny." Anthem shakes her head a bit. "I swear, 'ploids these
days.. hanging around with humans too often. You're forgetting some minor but
important points." She lightly bangs on her cannon-arm with the cup, before
reattaching it (yet again) to her thermos. "I might look like a human girl,
but I'm a robot. We don't really need sleep. We don't really need to eat. We
just need the occasional power recharge to keep going. I certainly don't pretend
to have any 'female' instincts about shopping or any of that pointless hooey. I
barely understand humans - or reploids for that matter - outside of what I need
to understand to do my job. I'll sleep when I feel like it, when there's time to
spare, and in the meantime I'll do whatever's needed to my chassis to complete
what's required. Maybe I'll have to get a few new wires installed to replace
some I've burnt out, but the fact remains that I, just like the rest of you, are
not bound by human limitations. It's why we exist, after all."
Broadcast
Ocelot blinkblinks at Anthem as she makes her rant. He finishes cleaning off
himself for now. He then looks up to somebody so that they can pet him, "Mrowr?"
Ten
looks at Anthem blankly. She takes in the incredibly long monologue silently,
eyes wide, mouth slightly open. She finally complains, "Shopping is *NOT*
pointless!" She pouts.
Cryogen
Bison nods, "True. However, we were programmed to respond to certain human
stimuli and needs. Such as artificial respiration and hunger. We were built to
seem human and yet not." He shrugs, "And besides, sleep helps your
internal batteries recharge." He raises an optic ridge, "Besides, what
harm can come of a 15 minute nap?"
Anthem
clicks off a series of statistics to Cryogen with practiced precision. "In
any given 15 minute span, there are approximately 14 homicides, 82 armed
robberies, 68 sexual assaults, 3 cases of embezzlement, and nearly eight dozen
'petty' crimes committed globally. Twice that span is the average interval
between incidents involving the Big Four - Robot Master, Maverick, Yakuza and
Cult of Human Purity. Human stimuli and needs are weaknesses to be overcome and
placed aside, or we become just human." She casts a 'let's not go there'
glare at Ten, and a similar one at Broadcast. She is *not* petting the kitty.
Cryogen
Bison eyes Anthem, "Touché." He smirks, "However, how much of
that has anything to do with retrieval? Especially when you can only be in one
place at any given time...Less you've managed to find a way to clone a synthetic
life form such as yourself...."
Ten
crosses her arms, still pouting. "You just do'know how t'have fun, is
all."
Broadcast
Ocelot looks from reploid to reploid as they speak amongst themselves. He thinks
to himself o O (Maybe they didn't understand me. I'll try again.) He sits and
stares and mews, "Mrowr?"
The
replicop shakes her head again. "I'm a cop. I might have a fancy title, but
I'm still a beat cop. In any form, my job is to stop criminal activity from
happening or to bring in those who have committed it previously. I can only be
in one place at a time, but if I can be in that one place, I can stop something
from happening there. As for my fun - that's my job. Shopping is one thing. Your
fun. My fun is something else. Bad coffee, long hours, and watching a suspect
twitch when he hears the phrase 'Police, hands in the air'."
She
also continues to refuse to pet the kitty.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [2401]: So.. ... ...
the ... guys?
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [24*0]: Isn't it
obvious? Blow ... ...
As
Broadcast sits there waiting for someone to pet him. The antenna on his back
suddenly extends upward as he automatically starts intercepting radio
transmissions. This may be a bit of a surprise to those who don't know about
this skill he has.
Cryogen
Bison smirks, "Yeah, that's a satisfying feeling, I must admit." He
shrugs, "Though a quick nap every now and then might make it a lot
easier...After all, the short time with your systems off will allow for a
recharge, maybe enough to give you an extra edge over some creep."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Maverick frequency [1785]: Vile to all
Mavericks. Proceed to my coordinates in ... ... bring weaponry.
Cryogen
Bison notes Broadcast and picks him up. He strokes him behind the ears and looks
around, "Where is our honoured guest? Mr. Bond?" he says that in a
Goldfinger kind of voice.
Anthem
starts to respond to Cryogen... and is forced to facepalm as he does his
Goldfinger impression. She probably doesn't get it, of course, but the player
does, and is forcing her to facepalm at such a corny line.
Broadcast
Ocelot is at first surprised as Cryogen picks him up. But as soon has he starts
getting scratched behind the ears he starts to purr. All in the meanwhile
attempting to crack the Maverick and Robot Master frequencies that the
transmissions are going over.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Maverick frequency: Vile ... all ... ... ...
... ... ... ... and bring weaponry. -Now-.
The
antenna extends outward to its full length which is right about equal to BO's
cheek. He continues to purr contentedly as Cryogen continues to pet him.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Maverick frequency [*578]: ... ... all ...
... to my ... in ... and ... ... -Now-.
Cryogen
Bison acks as the antenna slams into his hand. "Whoa there...What's
this?" He eyes it and puts BO down, continuing to pet. "So, what's on
the airwaves? Not the latest singing sensation I take it." He pulls out a
rag and carefully shines his arm cannon up.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: So ... going on?
Broadcast
Ocelot just takes in the petting like a good kitty. In between purrs however he
answers Cryogen's question, not wanting to be rude, "Ah not sure. So far
I've been picking up garbled messages. Sounds like somethin's goin' on between
the Mavericks and Masters." He continues to listen in, "Now a little
to the left. That's the spot."
Anthem
raises an eyebrow curiously. "Really? Can you generalize a location of the
broadcasts from what you're intercepting? If they're fighting each other, it
makes our jobs a lot easier."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [41*0]: ... what's
going on?
Cryogen
Bison nods, he continues to scritch and hrms..."Definitely a major
crisis." He stashes the rag and checks his ammo. Then pushes the Repliforce
insignia on his chest. His armor adjusts its color scheme slightly and a helmet
phases into existence on his head. "General area and magnitude of danger to
civilian lives." He says icily.
Ten
yawns. She glances towards the training room. Apparently she's bored.
Broadcast
Ocelot oohs and aahs as he is petted. He seems irritated however as Anthem
disturbs him, "Hold on, ooh, that felt good. Now what was I sayin'? Oh
yeah, well some Maverick just ordered that the others bring in all their
weaponry now. So I'm assuming that they are indeed fighting amongst themselves.
I'm not sure where as yet."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ... respond. The ...
commands ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [20*4]: Shut ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: Yeah ... ... care of
... ...
Ten
perks up at realizing that the cat is talking about a fight. She listens much
more intently, now, crossing her arms as she leans against a wall in a fashion
that might have been cool if Ten didn't have a tendency towards over exuberance
instead of personal style.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: No ... to ... Man.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [0214]: ... taken.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1024]: Guardsman ...
... ... ... the ... ... ... his ... ... ... mad?
Anthem
scratches her chin in thought, thinking about this development. "I wonder
why. They don't tend to waste their resources on each other for frivolous
things. Then again, there are Robot Masters involved."
Ten
nodnods as she chirps, "They're nuts."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [4021]:
Uh...Whatever.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1204]: ... clangs*
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: Hmmm?
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ... ... shut up!
Don't ... me come there and ... you in ... coffin ... ... ...
Broadcast
Ocelot continues to be petted, "Hold on. Now it seems that the Masters are
arguing amongst themselves." He then chuckles at something he overhears.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ... ... him ... a
... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: I ... ... gonna
stick his locker ... the torpedo ... and ... him ... deep ... ... they ... to
that ... human ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [0214]: ... ... shall
... ... you upon ... return ... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1240]: ... Mr. ...
we don't /care/ ... ... have to ... ... can't ... me ... Guts ... so SHUT ...
... ... ... I ... ... ... and ... ... can ... whupass ... you!
Cryogen
Bison nods, solemn as a glacier. He continues to pet, but it's more of a payoff
kind. He waits patiently, ready to go. "They might be fighting over
territory...Could be somewhere they both have interests..." He shrugs,
"Like...Florida, might want some fuel or something."
Broadcast
Ocelot moves away from Cryogen now. It seems that he has had enough. He then
laughs again as he hears another comment. He then states, "Hold on. Almost
got it...."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1240]: ... ... ...
with ... a sssnake ... ... ... ... ... the ... one on ... ... Heh ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [012*]: C'mon guys.
We ... ... ... ... our ... ... If we can't ... ... where it hurts we ought to
regroup ... try ...
Anthem
shakes her head. "Not Florida. They'd have the DURAC on their heads before
they could figure out what was going on. Too risky."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1402]: Guardsman
Metal?! The Pharaoh is ... and ... ... your insolence. You shall ... also ...
...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1024]: We'll get
Robo-robo-robotropolis back from him... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1042]: But ... need
my insolence. It's on prescription!
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1024]: Metal Man do
... ... have that ... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ...
Broadcast
Ocelot jumps for joy, "I've done it. I've found out where they are. They're
in Robotropolis. They're fighting the Mavericks for Robotropolis."
Anthem
snarls. Very audibly and with a whole lot of malice in her tone.
Cryogen
Bison's optics narrow, "Robotropolis...Now why does that sound
familiar?" He hrms, thinking..."Oh yeah, I know." He shakes his
head. "Shall we go, Anthem?"
Anthem
shakes her head vigorously. "No. We are *not* going to Robotropolis. Under
any circumstances whatsoever."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [2410]: Here Pharaoh
Pharaoh Pharaoh...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [*410]: Do you think
... could ... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1024]: You dare ...
the ... ... ... ... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [2*01]: Yeah sure.
... ask ... ... ... to ... ya ...
Cryogen
Bison quirks his optic ridge, again, "How come?"
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: Ooooh ... ... ...
Broadcast
Ocelot hmms, "It seems that the Masters are having their fun with one of
their own. Pharaoh Man ah believe." He then continues to listen in.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [0*24]: ... ... ...
Guardsman ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ... ... bad I'm ...
Anthem
ticks off the reasons on her hand quickly. "It's 'dead' territory and
outside of Repliforce jurisdiction. It's a semiradioactive wasteland with
several tons worth of unexploded weaponry laying around. It's population, such
as it is, consists of the meanest and most ruthless reploid criminals in the
world. The last group of us to go there barely made it out alive, *AND*, beyond
all that and the Robot Master/Maverick brawl currently going on, it's the
personal stomping ground of Vile, who takes very unkindly to visitors."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1420]: Now ... ...
you hiding ... little twerp?!
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ... ... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ... ... ... ...
twerp? Your ... shall ... him greatly. ... ... Pharaoh doubts ... ... ... see
... wise that you be ... Therefore ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ... prob. Anything
... ... fellow ... who ... have his ... ... ... ass.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [*204]: ... ... ...
and ... ... already. ... room ... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: Doesss ... elssse
... ... ... of ... ... Gutsss ... ... ...
Cryogen
Bison hrms, "Ah...I see...So the outside of Repliforce jurisdiction is the
only hang-up on the plans. Well, that and the lack of innocent civilians."
He shrugs and nods, "I see."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: I would say yes but
I'd be ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ... seems ...
ridiculous.
Broadcast
Ocelot is oblivious to the conversation between Anthem and Cryogen Bison.
Instead he concentrates on breaking that frequency. His tail swishes as he
works.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [1204]: ... wish ...
... with ... ... ... ... no ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [2*14]: No you ...
... ... ... no doot aboot it!
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [0241]: Can ... ...
Anthem
glances at her cannon for a moment. .oO(It's tempting. I haven't seen Vile since
he blew up the bar. But it would interfere with work, wouldn't it? There's jobs
to be done. Seeing him can wait until later.)Oo. "It's just not an
advisable idea. But them beating each other up is pretty amusing."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [42*1]: ... ...
remove ... rather large ... I shall ... ... a ... ... for Guts ... and Pharaoh
Man...I ... the ... ... Ring ... accommodate both parties.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [*420]: ... ... Guts
to ... ... ... ... ... ... ... me ... ... The ... shall accept ... ... ... ...
... ... ... shortly.
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ... ... ... how's
the ... ... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [4021]: ... Give me
... ... to *POP* ... everything ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency: ... I ... ... Drone
... ... ... the ... ... ... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [142*]: ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Robot Master frequency [014*]: ... I've ...
sssee
Cryogen
Bison shrugs, "I guess..." He taps the insignia again, the helmet
fades away and the armor returns to normal. "So, other than biotoxins, what
do you enjoy eating?" He smiles, trying to make small talk.
Anthem
shrugs limply, lacking any real answer to that. "Depends. Fast food,
mostly. Stuff that doesn't taste funky after sitting in a squad car for ten
hours. But not donuts. Never donuts." She winks, trying to buck the ancient
stereotype.
Broadcast
Ocelot continues to listen for a while. He then sighs, "Damn, they've
stopped communicating via radio. Well broadband at least." The antenna
begins to retract back into it's place and he starts licking himself again.
Cryogen
Bison nods and shrugs, "I see...You ever try Freddy's Fast Food Emporium?
They got some of the best fast food, made perfect for stake outs."
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Maverick frequency [8751]: ... ... ...
You
pick up a garbled transmission on a Maverick frequency: Aww shucks. ... nothin'.
Anthem
shakes her head at Cryogen. "Nah. I'm not very picky about where I get it
from, though. Grease tastes like grease." Broadcast's announcement draws a
frown, however. An end to the entertainment.
Broadcast
Ocelot gives his input into the conversation as he stops licking for a while,
"How about sushi? Yuh ever eat sushi?" He then goes back to his bath
as he reaches the lower areas. O.o
Stepping
out the turbolift, General looks down the long hallway before him. Repliforcers
scurry hither and yon, and he nods to most of those that give greeting,
occasionally offering a 'Carry on', when some overzealous soul skits to halt in
order to salute. The way the Repliforce Command sees it, there are times for
ceremony, and there are times when efficiency rules.
Anthem
shakes her head again, but much faster this time, at Broadcast. "No, I
don't eat seafood anymore. Bad memories." General's approach, while noted,
doesn't turn her attention. This *is* his base, after all. He has the tendency
to appear from time to time.
Cryogen
Bison shrugs, "Your loss Anthem. You know anywhere that serves a good
western omelette?" He smirks, "Cause I've been looking for somewhere
like that for a while." Suddenly he notes tremors in the ground. He twists,
facing General. He quickly stands tall and proud, then he salutes, "Most
felicitous felicitations, General, sir."
Broadcast
Ocelot stops licking himself upon hearing the footfalls of Repliforce's CO, the
General. He gracefully leaps up into a standing position and executes one of
those crisp military salutes, "Evenin' sir."
General
nods to each in turn, coming to a halt next to Anthem, "As you were."
Looking over the small group to nod to a few others, then ask, "How are we
doing this evening? I hope Repliforce's newest Special Squad is getting along
well?"
Cryogen
Bison eases a bit...He isn't a part of said Special Squad, so he remains utterly
silent. He just stands there, waiting patiently like a glacier. He keeps from
doing anything even slightly disrespectful...And also puts a little extra pride
into his 14 feet of height...Not counting the foot and a half long horns
sticking out his head.
Anthem
smirks, turning to face General but indicating the ocelot who had just
previously been licking places best left unlicked in public. "I have yet to
do serious physical harm to any member of the new team, Sir. Though I find the
general lack of taste in drink choice disturbing." She calmly pats her hip
thermos, which in is held the deadly mixture.
Broadcast
Ocelot lets Anthem do all the talking at first and then when she's finished he
speaks up, "I'm doin' aight." He then places his left hand towards his
face and uses it as a screen as he uses the other hand to point at Anthem behind
said screen. He then whispers to General.
You
whisper 'I think she should switch to decaf.' to General.
General
regards Broadcast Ocelot calmly for a few heartbeats, and just shakes his head
with a smile, "Well, we don't all share your...'refined' taste in
beverages, Anthem." He chuckles, then comments, "I'm glad you haven't
sent anyone to the Medical Unit yet. I was momentarily worried when I heard some
crashes from the Hanger earlier. I half expected it to be you and the Squad
disassembling a shuttle."
Anthem
laughs deeply, and just as darkly as her choice in coffee. "I don't know
about some of these new team members, but I'm not quite that destructive. I
leave the wanton chaos and smashing of useful objects to the professionals, and
settle for occasionally breaking a few bones from time to time."
Cryogen
Bison starts to laugh, but quickly covers with a well timed cough. He then goes
silent again, until he is addressed. He wishes he had his helmet on still, that
way he could lower a visor down and just watch and listen to some sci-fi sim-flicks.
But alas, he doesn't so he just patiently waits it out.
Broadcast
Ocelot then drops back down as he remembers General's as-you-were order. And he
promptly does so. Going back to cleaning himself. But not the same regions as
before. He now cleans his face in the typical feline way by licking his paws and
then passing it over his visage. He does this for a while.
General
nods, "It turns out someone -was- disassembling a transport, but not
forcibly. It would appear that several of them are overdue from proper
maintenance, and the drives were shot."
Cryogen
Bison nods and slowly his optics seem to glaze over. Why? Well, the main reason
being that he's starting to loose interest in just standing around. So, he's
just shutting a few systems down, letting his batteries recharge. The equivalent
of a reploid nap.
Anthem
shakes her head, knowing the implications of that. "Techies. Pft. Eh, a bit
eccentric, but who isn't around here?" She glances up and down the hallway
- narry a 'normal' individual to be seen. "Unless we run out of
transportation at a critical time, no matter."
Broadcast
Ocelot stops his face wash and lets out a yawn/roar before smacking his lips
together a couple of times. He then stretches, but not in the traditional
manner. Not the traditional manner of humans however. He stands on all fours and
first stretches his front paws, then his back paws, and finally arches his back.
He looks up from his current position to all the larger reploids, except Anthem
;), cause she's shorter than him when he stands at full height, and says,
"Well, night all. Ah must be headin' off to sleep. Gotta get an early start
in the morning."
Broadcast
Ocelot then heads off into the Rec Room to sleep on one of those comfortable
couches. Laters.
=================================
Repliforce =================================
Message:
13/20
Posted
Author
Pirate
Hunting
Thu Aug 31 Anthem
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Alright,
you heard General's announcement. You six new people are going to be working
with me and my squad. I don't want any gruff about what you jobs you're going to
get, who you have to work with, or anything else. I don't give a wingnut about
your personal problems, and I don't expect you to care about mine. If that isn't
clear, feel free to mention it to me, so I can box your ears until the concept
works it's way into your over-armored heads.
"I've already assigned the members of Retrieval 2 on several of the
jobs - Wave Dingo and Geek Gecko are doing some digging into the supplies
required for construction and maintenance of Ride Armors, while Watchman and
Dodger Hamster are looking up an old friend of ours to 'chat' on the subject. My
orders to the rest of you are as follows: Broadcast, I want you to find me the
radio encryption that the Bonnes are using for long-range communication. They
have to have something, even if it's just to call out for pizza. Skyblade,
coordinate with Air Control and find that airship of theirs. It's the size of a
building - you can't just hide that. Silver Mane, I'm going to have a special
use for your abilities once we find where they're getting their equipment from.
The same goes for you, Beryl. For now, you two are to predict the locations of
future attacks by these pirates. I want all the information possible on their
activities - movement patterns, technical specs, personality traits, the works.
Deluge, Cryo, you two get the same job as me. It's time to shake down a few old
friends to find some background on these people.
"These aren't the most glamorous jobs in the 'force. Welcome to
actual police work, people. I want a clean operation, so no maiming or killing.
These are petty criminals, not a military organization. Once you complete your
activities, report your findings to me, and I'll find something to do with you.
Officer 54, out."
==============================================================================