#protorp

[zaelvoxel]

Have my girl Terri alongside in rare “not with guns visible and wearing civvies/10″

Maybe they got some sleep

Maybe they ate a meal today

Who knows not them that’s for sure

[zaelvoxel]

Look it’s @witapipe‘s Heath nerd

The OG one maybe

debatably

somewhat

Have some colours too

[cellobuster]

I miss RPing. We got a few new people on the board I used to write on, and it made me wish I could still participate; but I know from past experience that I'm too easily distracted to do anything other than hinder if I got involved. I just don't have the motivation to follow through on anything I would start.

[metalmagnetcowboys-blog]

(FF:MM) Fire Man, The Lawman

In the Protomen RP I occasionally participate in, Fire Man is probably one of my favourite Robot Masters. The persona we've created for him is one of a logical, law-driven machine of justice. Unlike some of his 'brothers', he seems to have the best interests of his citizens at heart, without emotions or ego to get in the way of his work. He can still be ruthless, and will execute people when neccicary, but it's never personal. He genuinely believes he works for the greater good, and never falters in his journey. Plus, the poor guy doesn't have hands. Or a mouth. Song/lyrics are from Fire, by Kasabian. Mega Man and Fire Man are registered trademarks of Capcom. The Protomen belongs to, well, The Protomen.

------------------------------------------------------- Take me into the night and I’m an easy lover Take me into the fight and I’m an easy brother And I’m on fire..... Atuanya Gwandoya didn’t understand all the words, but he sang along as best he could in broken English to the music blasting from the CD player tied onto the back of his motorbike. The bike rattled with age and made a rasping roar as he rode through the plains of dry grass, bouncing over rocks and hills. With one hand, he reached into the bag hanging from his handlebars and pulled out a prepared Molotov cocktail, a simple glass bottle filled with petrol and stuffed with a rag. Burn my sweet effigy, I’m a road runner Spill my guts on a wheel, I wanna taste uh-huh And I’m on fire, and I’m on fire I'm on fire- He held it between his legs and pulled out a Zippo from his pocket, quickly lighting the rag while he was still moving. With a few swift movements, he pocketed the Zippo, picked up the burning bottle and hurled it wildly from his motorbike. It crashed into a savannah tree in front of him, and he laughed wildly as the burning liquid fell into the dry grass. He looked over his shoulder as he kept riding away, watching in satisfaction as the flames quickly consumed the grass around the base of the tree and started to spread. He reached into his bag again and lit another bottle, hurling it off into the grass in the distance, not really caring where it landed. The summer winds would carry it all towards the cities, towns and villages soon enough. He'd spread enough to burn them all.

(I'm coming, you coming, no hiding, my feeling) Another sound caught his ears, something louder than both the music and his bike. He looked around, behind, to the side, searching as the chopping, thumping sound got louder and louder. Then he looked up. As if from nowhere, a big, black twin-rotor helicopter descended from the sky behind him, whipping up the grass beneath it as it pursued him. “You are in violation of the law!” A voice called out in English through the helicopter’s broadcast system. “Dismount from your vehicle and place your hands on your head!” “Fuck!” Atuanya cried, one of the few English words he knew. He gunned the motor and whipped the bike around in a tight circle, and took off underneath the aircraft back in the direction he’d come from. He started lighting his Molotovs quickly, lobbing them haphazardly around him as he raced to get around the flames he’d already made and their rising plumes of black smoke. Wire me up to machines, I’ll be your prisoner Find it hard to believe, you are my murderer I’m on fire Look behind you There's a falling sky “Sir, we can’t keep close to him with these flames,” said the pilot to his passenger as he turned the aircraft around to follow the man and pulled up on the throttle, making the chopper rise up into the air away from the flames and smoke. “If we don’t stay close, we’ll lose him in the smoke,” the passenger pointed out. “Lawbreakers cannot be allowed to escape justice.” “Yessir,” the pilot replied automatically, trying not to look at the big metal limb that should have ended with a hand, but instead ended as an open pipe that leant against his chair. “But us crashing and burning would also not be conductive to an arrest, I’m sure you’ll agree. Sir.” “Duly noted,” the machine said, staring at the man on the ground as he lobbed another Molotov into the grass. A splash of flame burst forth and started spreading. The pilot glanced out of the corner of his eye at the silver metal face inches from his own. The thing looked awkward hunched over in the cockpit, and he briefly wondered if it felt uncomfortable not being able to stand up straight. “I’m going to board my motorcycle. Land as close as you can to the criminal, allow my JOEs and I to disembark, then retreat to a safe height to keep me informed if I lose track of him.” “Yessir,” the pilot said, relieved as the Robot Master retreated from the cockpit. He moved his microphone closer to his mouth as he manoeuvred the vehicle in front of the criminal. “Making descent to ground level. Prepare to disembark.” >ACTIVATE JOE UNITS 1-15 As the Robot Master walked through the cargo bay towards his custom-built motorcycle his Extreme-Temperature Operations JOES came to life around him, unfolding themselves from their cargo hold wall mounts and stepping out onto the floor, making their way to the rear of the aircraft as the landing hatch lowered. >JOE UNITS 1-5 MOUNT VEHICLES The Robot Master swung his leg over his motorcycle, slotting his limbs into the specially designed control mechanism, and the JOEs scrambled to do the same. The rest lined up on either side of the landing hatch as it clicked into place. In front of them, the machines could see the pyromaniac struggle to turn his bike around again before he ran into the helicopter, kicking up dust and dirt as he roared away, back into the inferno he’d created. “Landing hatch lowered. Disembark at will,” the pilot’s voice crackled through the comms system. >COMMAND: Ignite head flame >”Joe units, roll out!” >UNITS 1-5>FOLLOW >UNITS 6-15>EXTINGUISH GRASS FIRES Fire Man’s sleek black motorcycle roared as it leapt from the helicopter in pursuit of the criminal. The JOEs with vehicles followed him quickly, while the remaining units jumped from the aircraft and started heading quickly towards the fires. Move on, you got to move on You got to hit 'em to the hip And get your shake on Atuanya veered wildly back and forth on his bike as he tried to aim his Molotovs at the Elite, but Fire Man ignored them, driving in a direct line towards him. Quickly realizing the robot’s bike had far more power than his own, he span into another sharp turn and drove directly at the robot. “Neem dit, moeder fucker!” he cried, raising a Molotov over his head and throwing it directly at Fire Man before veering away. The bottle caught Fire Man directly in the chest and burst all over him, covering him in flaming liquid. Atuanya cackled, veering between the smaller JOE units, dodging their firey blasts as they tried to scorch him as he slipped through their formation. Fire Man wheeled his motorcycle around, ignoring the flames completely as they licked at his chestplate, whipping up around his face. >You have chosen the wrong Elite to face down. Were Ice Man here in my place, your attack would have been devastating. He accelerated, ignoring the arsonist’s attempts to slow him down by dropping more Molotovs. The area was almost completely ablaze now, and the chase was now mostly veering around huge, burning patches of grassland as Fire Man tried to slow him down. >However, Ice Man’s presence here would have been a grave tactical error, one the Good Doctor does not make. Fire Man engaged his personal voice amplification device, and called out to the rider. “Surrender! You are in violation of the law, and will be brought to justice! Submitting yourself to justice will prevent any more unnecessary damage and violence!” The rider didn’t hesitate at all, instead appearing to accelerate. Fire man wasn’t surprised. It was quite likely the young man didn’t understand much if any English, and Fire Man had no way of communicating with him in his own language. He set his JOES around in an arc to try and cut the pyromaniac off, accelerating behind him, trying to herd him in. And I’m on fire- Move on, you got to move on You got to hit 'em to the hip And get your shake on Atuanya looked over his shoulder. The demon was starting to close the distance, the pillar of flame coming from its head whipping back in the wind. Even with the mortal danger he was in, he was transfixed by the sight, watching it flicker in the slipstream, with the grass fires burning wildly all around them black pillars of smoke rising into the sky. The sound of other bikes brought his attention back around as the smaller machines veered in from his left, trying to cut him off. He grinned, knowing he had one last trick up his sleeve as he reached into his bag and pulled out a new toy, his last resort. >>FIREARM ALERT WARNING! The alarm came in through the JOE closest to the criminal as it closed the gap. The man awkwardly drew an automatic weapon with his right hand, cradling the stock against his upper arm as he turned it on the nearest JOE. The first volley missed completely and the recoil almost threw the man from his bike, but he quickly recovered and leant into the second shot, which hit square on its mark. The armour penetrating rounds tore through the JOE’s less armoured casing easily. Something inside ignited its liquid fuel tanks and the whole robot exploded in a cloud of hot, sharp metal, sending its vehicle skidding wildly out of control. The man had to veer out of the way of the careening bike, almost plunging him into the flames of the inferno that was closing in around them, putting the ruined bike careening in front of Fire Man, who simply drove through the flames. The fire raged around him, blocking off all sight and sound. In the middle of the inferno, he was blind and deaf. But thanks to his JOEs and the signals they transmitted to him, he could see himself as a shadowy figure in the flames. Using those images as a guide, he corrected his path and safely escaped the fire. If he had a face that could mimic facial expressions and the programming to use them like his younger DWN brethren, he would have blinked as he conceptualized a plan. >COMMAND: Display GPS overlay >COMMAND: Link helicopter visual feed >COMMAND: Link JOE visual feed >JOE COMMAND: Continue pursuit With careful movements, Fire Man steered his bike back into the wall of flames, vanishing inside them, letting them swallow him whole. There was no more music. The CD player had rattled loose, fallen off somewhere far behind. Now, there was only the roar of fire and the rush of the wind mixed with the thundering growl of the motorcycles as they tore through the inferno, flames whipping up around them. The fire singed his hair and the heat scorched his skin, but ahead he could see the flames openening up into untouched grasslands. If only he could shake off the robots behind him, he might be able to slip out and away through the confusion... He shifted the gun from his right hand to his left as another robot came close, arm outstretched as it tried to set him alight. He took careful aim, not flinching as flames rolled out of its empty arm, knowing he was too far out of its range for it to harm him. With a squeeze of the trigger, the second machine exploded just before the gun clicked empty. He glanced behind himself at the three remaining motorcycles that were following him in close formation, laughing in triumph as two of them were unable to get out of the way of the ruined motorcycle. They collided violently, both of them rolling over and over, fuel and metal parts flying in all directions. One left. Throwing the empty gun carelessly over his shoulder, letting it fly past his final pursuer, he dug into his bag for one of his few remaining Molotovs. The fire wouldn’t stop it, but if he could blind it, slow it down long enough, he could slip out around into the smoke without being seen and get away. He held the bottle between his knees, and started digging around in his pocket for his lighter, warily watching as the tunnel of flame started opening up. If he got too far out into the open, the machine would just veer around his trick and he’d be trapped. It was now or never. Freeing his zippo from his jacket, he flicked it open-then looked up in alarm as a huge shadow grew out of the flames beside him. Fire Man roared out of the flames as they passed out into the open away from the burning grass, his arm extended as fire shot forth to engulf the man bike and all. Wild, high pitched screams wailed from inside the tiny inferno along with the sound of shattering glass as bottles exploded. Fire Man cut off his flames, lifting his arm to assess the damage, and the pyromaniac's bike careened wildly out of control, twisting back and forth before falling over and sliding to a stop, spreading burning petrol the whole way. The man, now on fire, cried out in pain as he struggled to free himself from the bike and the flames. Fire Man came to a stop, calling the remaining JOE to halt with a quick command as he assessed the situation. The man freed himself and managed to put himself out, rolling around in the grass, spreading the flames around him more. The man was trapped. The wind was blowing the worst of the fires away from him, but the new trail he’d made was being pushed toward him. Fire Man stood in his only clear way out. Fire Man dismounted as the man backed up, looking around, trying to find some way out as the flames advancing on him grew higher and higher. As the walls of flame closed the circle around the man, Fire Man advanced towards him. “Surrender,” he said simply. “There is no way out for you.” The man glowered at him, his blistered and burnt arms raised to ward off the heat. “Die dinge wat ek kon doen met jou mag,” the man spat in his native tounge. “Wat 'n Asita Ek sou met nog' n tiende van jou krag nie!” Fire Man stood impassively, the flames reflected off his silver and red body. >COMMAND: Save audio recording. >Despite numerous requests to the City for additional language packs to facilitate better communication with the native population, I have yet to receive an update related to this. Some of my requests have been returned, deemed non-viable or of low priority; many of them have not been returned at all. >On completion of my mission here I will submit this audio recording for translation, along with another request for language packs. This man may have simply insulted me, or may be offering information in return for his life. It would do him no good, of course, but intelligence is valuable nonetheless. >However, due to my own translation attempts during my time here, trying to build up my own reference resource, I do recognise one word. Asita. It was the name of a mythical sun deity worshipped here long ago, but I have found it is a moniker the natives have adopted for me, despite my best efforts to discourage its use. I believe some of the less educated communities have taken to a form of worship of me, coming out in crowds and following me around when I am in their sector. They even root out dissidents in their own communities, presenting them to me in an almost ritualistic manner. It makes my work easier, and I am pleased by their law-abiding nature, but I am concerned about its origins and their understanding of those events. I am no deity, simply an advanced intelligence machine built by the Good Doctor to bring peace and stability to these people. Yet another reason my ability to communicate with them is necessary. >Observation: The criminal continues looking for a way out. >It would be easy to leave him, and let him burn. It would conserve valuable resources, and be a fitting end to the man who has plagued these people and the land with his pyromania for too long. >However, it would not be justice. >COMMAND: Seize criminal. >As I approach him, he tries to turn and run, but his burnt legs fold underneath him and he falls to the ground, coughing and choking from smoke inhalation. I seize him with one arm, scooping him up as he tries to stand to escape, holding him against me as I walk out through the flames, ignoring his cries of pain. >”You will be escorted to the closest prison facility, where you will be interrogated and executed for crimes against the sector,” I inform him as I drop him by my bike, away from the fires as they blow away from us. The man coughs and chokes, gasping for air. Even if he did understand English it is unlikely he would have heard me over his coughing, but it is irrelevant. He does not need to understand my words for justice to be served, though others may disagree. >A few weeks ago, I received a private satellite transmission from one of my brothers, DWN-013. Crash Man. Communications directly between Elites are rare. As we are self-sufficient, each with our own tasks across the globe, we have no need to communicate with each other. In the past year, the only messages I had received had been communiqués from the Good Doctor’s office and two requests from DWN-016, Wood Man, to travel with him to Australia and assist with a specific type of native tree that requires forest fires to germinate. However these were short, one way messages. Crash Man called and spoke to me on several occasions for some time about pre-Unitization legal processes, information that he neglected to reveal how he had discovered. He tried to build my interest in a system called “due process” wherein criminals are “read their rights” and given a chance to defend themselves in a court of law. Upon further questioning, he was forced to admit that the system had been flawed and many criminals had been set free, a concept I deemed unacceptable. He continued trying on several occasions to convince me without success until he gave up last week. I haven’t heard from him since. >In the case of this man, I have proof he is guilty. I have seen the evidence with my own eyes. He has ruined communities and destroyed lives both literally and figuratively with his fires. Once it is determined he knows nothing more of value he will be summarily executed, and justice will have been served. >COMMAND: Contact helicopter pilot. >This is DRN-007, requesting pickup. We have the criminal in custody. “Roger that, DRN-007. What are your orders regarding the fires?” >Processing... > Processing.. > Processing. >Mobilise air support with water drops. My JOEs and I will be dropped off just ahead of the fires to begin establishing a firebreak. “Affirmitive. Descending for pickup.”

[metalmagnetcowboys-blog]

(FF: MM) Ice Man's State

My friends and I came up with a concept for a fanfiction roleplay story based on the work of The Protomen, a rock-opera band set in a dysotopian future based on the Mega Man games: A world in which the evil Dr Wily actually managed to conquer the planet and subjugate its people. We discussed what life might be like in these places of the world that the Robot Masters ruled over. Would they, presumably, be stationed in places that related to their elements or powers? How would the people try and fight back against the near-invincible machines? We decided that the Robot Masters would be artificially intelligent machines with distinct personalities that ruled on Wily's behalf. Ice Man became the military strategist, Quick Man a proud, over-confident egotist, and Fire Man a cold, calculating machine, adhering strictly to the law, to mention a few. The Masters would be assisted by JOEs - basic humanoid robots that were modified to suit the conditions of the Robot Masters they worked under. JOEs were decided to not have individual intelligences, and would more be used as tools by the Masters, able to be remote controlled directly or be given commands to carry out. The events of our roleplay centred mostly around "the City", a nameless setting in which Wily's home base of operations resided. The rebellion is in full swing, and many of the Robot Masters have been recalled to protect their creator. I wondered, though. In the early days of the rebellion, how might the Masters have behaved? How might the rebellion fought back? These are the stories I wrote about those times.

Ice Man and Mega Man are registered trademarks of Capcom.

----

The wind howled in the grips of a gale, whipping ice and snow around in ravaging flurries. It was winter here. It was always winter here, suspended eternally by the oppressive machines that spewed the cold winds forth, creating snow, sleet and hail on command to batter, repress and depress the city and its citizens. "It was kind of okay, at first," one of the men reflected, having to raise his voice to be heard through his many layers of clothing and above the howling winds. "They'd turn it up at night, keeping the troublemakers indoors, and down again during the day. You'd get a kind of light snowing throughout the day. It was kinda nice. At first." The man he'd been talking to nodded, his head fully covered by goggles and makeshift cloth wrappings. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, also having to shout to be heard. "That's the way they got everyone at first. It was made out to be all "for the greater good", and all that." "Hey!" a third man said, turning to face them. "You wanna cut it out? You want someone to catch us out here?" The first man laughed and gestured with his AK-47 to the snowstorm. "You can barely see from one side of the street to the other. I don't think we'll have any worries about people catching us. Anyone sensible would be in bed by now." "Yeah, sensible," the second man snorted almost to himself. "...Wish I was in bed right now. How much longer do you think we have to wait for him to get here?" "I don't know. Maybe he just wants us to freeze to death out here," the first man said, and shivered in the cold despite his many layers of clothing. The first man turned and looked to the fourth and final member of their group who stood silently with his back to them, scanning their surroundings with his weapon at the ready. "See anything?" he asked, but the man just shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. Nervously, the man looked around; the four of them were standing still, waiting in the middle of an old street in an abandoned neighborhood. The wind whipped around, obscuring his vision momentarily before blowing away again. It's a cold night in hell, and we're waiting for the devil. ----------------------------------------------------------- >Fools. >My infrared optics light them up up clearly in oranges and whites against the deep blue background of the snowstorm all around them. Their clothes stop little of the heat from escaping, showing up in shades of light blue and red and has in fact made the heat build up underneath, causing it to escape through the few exits it can around their faces and sleeves, making them glow even brighter. The necessity to maintain a constant inner temperature is an inherent disadvantage for endothermic creatures in these conditions... Though I am certainly not going to object to their ignorance making my job easier. >I stand at attention, proud and fearless as I watch the homo sapiens below me wander aimlessly in the middle of the road. I am in no hurry. From my position I can stop them should they decide to do anything, and with my enhanced hearing I can filter out background noises to listen in on their conversation with a small amount of difficulty. Some of their words are swallowed completely in the gale, but I enjoy the challenge presented, using my inbuilt programming to extrapolate the most likely missing words. >I watch and listen. I am in no danger. Aside from the cover of the storm, my vents are open to allow my internal processes to discharge more snow and ice to visually confuse my presence and completely disguise me from IR technology, should they posses it, but they do not appear to. >OBSERVATION: My outer temperature is below freezing; ice and snow have crusted along the surface of my armour. I do not object or wipe it away. It feels like a badge of honour, a literal representation of the element I embody and control. >We had received reports of the rebel's increasing activity lately, yet we have managed to apprehend and interrogate few of them. When one of the many cameras we have scattered around the city picked up shapes moving purposefully after curfew towards an abandoned shopping strip, there was no doubt as to their allegiance, and I decided to take a few of the subzero optimized JOEs and attempt to apprehend them myself. Whilst the usefulness of the JOEs could not be understated when organized by a highly skilled operator with the capability of coordinating and processing the myriad of commands and information transmitted and received by multiple units simultaneously thousands of times per second, it would be necessary for me to watch and react through all their systems at once to prevent their basic AI from asserting itself in... unhelpful ways, should I bring them into close proximity with the humans. For that reason, I had spread them out in a perimeter around the area, carefully hidden beneath the falling snow to observe for incoming rebels, but for the last half hour there had been no sign of unusual activity. >I grow tired of waiting. I had hoped to capture whoever had come to meet these men, but perhaps leaving a corpse or two would make a more lasting impression on the rebel community. Demoralization is a powerful tool when carefully cultivated. >To quote Sun Tzu's Art of War, "To subdue the enemy without fighting is the supreme excellence." >Perhaps I can take a step in that direction tonight. >I jump from the roof onto the roof of a ruined car, its surface piled high with snow. The loud crash is easily heard even within the muffling blaze of the storm and the rebels all turn alerted to face in my approximate direction, their automatic weapons raised. Their blue-black rectangles contrast against the lighter hues of their clothing, glowing hands and blazing faces. The mechanical, regular shapes of their guns are framed by the people's organic, fluid shapes and movements, which is in turn framed and partially obscured by the black-blue tempest all around them. It makes a curious visual confliction. >Command: Record still images and video. >UmViZWwvZ3VuIGNvbXBhcmlzb24x.jpg saved. >UmViZWwvZ3VuIGNvbXBhcmlzb24y.jpg saved. >UmViZWwvZ3VuIGNvbXBhcmlzb24z.jpg saved. >TW90aW9uIGNvbXBhcmlzb24=.mpeg saved. >Dr. Wily had been oddly fascinated when I expressed my recognition of similar contrasts in the replications of art works he keeps in his citadel. It is apparently yet another quality that sets me apart from my brethren. I would like to show him these images and question him at a later date to see if these contain a similar "artistic" element. >COMMAND: Stand and shut off external vents. Reroute cooling systems to lower internal temperatures. >I move towards the rebels. To them, as the last of the frozen airs blow from my vents, I likely appear to be walking in out of thin air. >"Your presence here is in violation of a statewide curfew. Your weapons are in violation of personal arms laws. Your demonstration without permit is in violation of antiterrorism laws. Lower your weapons and-" >There really is no point in talking to them. I had not even made it that far before they had opened fire on me. I stand, calmly recording each impact as they shatter against my external surfaces. My weight and armour render their weaponry useless. I am not even slightly unbalanced by the combined kinetic impact of their bullets striking me at speeds in excess of 700 meters per second. >I watch as they back up slowly, still firing, watching as their gun barrels quickly glow white-hot in my infrared vision. I had expected no less. The rebels preferred to run and fight than surrender. >Very well. I had anticipated such a reaction, and in part had been looking forward to it. It has been some time since I had participated in active duty. It is refreshing to test my skills against another independently-thinking creature. >Command: Form liquid nitrogen projectiles. >Though I cannot physically feel it the way an organic creature might, my sensors give me feedback on the growth of the solid spear in my arm cavities. When they are completed, as they quickly are, I raise first one arm and then the other, using my superior targeting systems to place each spear in nonvital sections of two rebels. >They land perfectly, of course, their momentum carefully calculated to embed them inside their bodies rather than fully penetrating them, making them more cumbersome to move. Cries of pain are swallowed by the winds and the two men drop their weapons reflexively. The others reach out to catch them as they fall, trying to hold and aim their weapons at me as they help drag their allies backwards urgently. >Pathetic, really. It shouldn't be too hard to take them alive, at least. I'll enjoy disseminating the data they provide. >Warning! Danger detected! >My audio sensors have picked up the sound of a chemically propelled object being fired and rapidly approaching my position! I do not even have to give the command; my body moves on its own following an 'instinct' encoded into my software, but it is too late, the weapon too close. I can only minimize the potential damage by throwing myself towards the ground to increase the probability of it striking me at an angle. >Warning! Impact detected! >The explosion of impact would be deafening were I organic, not to mention the damage the explosion would have caused, but I am more concerned about the flammable liquid the projectile has discharged. It seems to have had a secondary function beyond the initial impact, and has covered me in an adhesive flammable substance. >OBSERVATION: I am on fire. >Even as I stumble from the burning napalm that has covered the ground around me to fall on my front in an attempt to rob the fire of oxygen and extinguish it, I am building another pair of nitrogen spears in my arms. Though my internal alarms are clamoring for my attention, warning me about the potential hazards of my growing surface temperature, I am certain I can rid myself of the danger quickly, and I do not wish to rise defenseless. >A moment later and I am standing again, select vents opening and expelling cooled air and liquids to put out the last of the fires on my surface. Damage avoided. >I raise my arms, one in the direction of the fleeing rebels even as they stagger out of immediate visual contact around a corner, and the other in the direction towards the abandoned store fronts that the missile had come from. >Nothing? >I alert the JOEs to inform me if they sight the fleeing rebels, and stare at the spot my audio sensors had pinpointed as the origin of the projectile. There is nothing there. If there had been a mounted weapon put there to trap me, it would still be glowing with heat. Similarly, if there had been a human carrying a weapon... There was nowhere in the street for a warm-blooded creature to hide from my superhuman sight. >I look back and forth over the shopfront windows and the street around the location the weapon had to have come from, confused. All blacks and blues throughout the street. Nothing warmer than ice in sight. >Warning! Danger detected! >Another chemically propelled projectile, this time from the other side of the street behind me! I throw myself forward the moment I hear the projectile being fired from its launcher and successfully avoid being struck by it. The moment it passes over my body I rise again, not bothering to watch it complete its existence, striking the glass window in front of me and exploding, shattering the glass and spreading napalm over the ground. >I have already turned, looking in the direction it had came from. Again nothing! Twice I am attacked from no apparent source! >I look back and forth from the two locations the weapons were meant to have been fired, my hands now raised and pointed in each direction. Should I try and examine one more closely, I can assume that I will be fired upon again from another source. It would be logical to assume there are more than two sources out there. >What... What do I do? Do I call in JOEs from the perimeter to assist me? Do I pull back and wait for them to reveal themselves? Firing wildly would do me no good. Despite the necessary time to construct my weapons I have no idea who or what my targets are. The icicles could have no effect on armoured mechanical devices, and I would reveal that I am somewhat shaken by the invisible attackers. >Invisible... >COMMAND: Observe the snow covered ground. Should the attackers have found a way to visually hide themselves from my infrared sight, they would have left imprints in the ground. The snow is falling heavily, but I should be able to make out footprints or tracks left behind very recently. >OBSERVATION: The snow around the doors of the store fronts appears to be disturbed. Could they be hiding inside the buildings? But how would they be able to coordinate when to attack me? Someone able to observe me must be giving them commands or... >COMMAND: Switch visual input to the "visible" light spectrum. >!!! >There, inside one of the glass fronted stores, is a pair of human rebels dressed similarly to the others in the street quickly reloading a rocket launcher. They keep an eye on me, carefully completing their work as if I were not even here. How... How had I managed to miss them there? Without my infrared vision to aid me I am partially visually impaired by the storm, but they are right there, in plain sight! >I look over to the other side of the road and inside there there is another pair of rebels at the ready. They have reloaded their weapons and they crouch poised near the store's door, watching me carefully. How did I not see them before now? >COMMAND: Switch between infrared and visible light optics. >Incredible. Through my infrared optics the storefront windows appear opaque. Because they are the same temperature as the environment around them, they appear as a black-blue. The body heat of the rebels beyond has no effect on the surface temperature of the glass, making them invisible to my infrared optics. >I am shocked. All this time they have been able to observe me, and I have been unaware of their presence. No wonder they managed to catch me off guard so easily. By relying on my infrared sensors-something that had always proven to be beneficial in the past-I had in fact been preventing myself from seeing the trap they had carefully laid for me. >'All warfare is based on deception.' Sun Tzu. >They had made me think they were fewer than they really were, that they were under armed and unprepared for my presence and I had walked right into their trap like a fool. >How had they discovered this weakness in my infrared technology? I will take great pleasure in finding out personally... >COMMAND: Re-aim arms. Carefully. >I do not want to alert them to the fact that I am aware of their presence just yet. They will still think that I am blind to them, yet their advantage is now mine. >I look back and forth, up and down the street as if I am still confused. I take two steps backwards slowly as if unsure, gaining a better firing angle. >Both rockets are loaded now, and they both kneel ready by their doors, ready to fire. Well, so am I. >Command: Fire on one, then the other. >The first icicle is a direct hit. It shatters the glass window and strikes the rocketeer in the chest. He is either dead or will be soon. I turn my head to observe the second rocketeer for a split second and see him start to throw down his weapon and rise, just as I expected him to. I adjust my aim imperceptibly, and the projectile follows my calculations to catch him in the torso, meeting him as he rises in accordance with my exact calculations. I flick quickly to infrared and back again, pleased to see their heat now visible through the shattered windows. >The rocketeer's companions start running. I alert the JOEs to fire on any rebels they acquire as my spears are replenished, but my pride in myself is quickly squashed as pandemonium breaks loose throughout the street. >The smile that had been forming on my face is wiped away as I realize the rebels had been even more organized than I had believed. Blurry shapes and bright lights flare in the darkness of the storm as multiple rockets are fired at me and I move instinctively calculating safe angles and trajectories. Snapping back into infrared mode, multiple figures become apparent behind makeshift barriers, which they quickly hide behind again. I am forced to keep switching between my IR and visible light optics in an attempt to keep track of the quickly moving figures as they slip in and out of what I can now see is preplanned cover, much of which is designed to block my IR sight while still providing them with a line of sight on me. >Damn them! >Warning! Danger detected! >I dodge one rocket, then another. >Small arms fire detected. >They are shooting at me again with their automatic weapons. The few bullets that actually hit me as I dash back and forth in the storm do nothing. Why do they persist? >Warning! Danger detect- >Warning! Impact detected! >I am on fire again and is starting to infuriate me. >COMMAND: Order the JOEs to rise and move in, with orders to open fire. >I leap behind a ruined structure and open my vents again to extinguish the flames. This time they remain open, concealing me further while I stop and think. I cannot allow them to continue forcing me into action without thinking first. >The sound of automatic weapons fire is concealing the telltale sounds of approaching missiles. Their ingenuity must be applauded. So far, they are doing an excellent job at neutralizing my defenses, though I should be able to disable them soon enough. >Caution. JOE temperature quickly reaching critical levels. Visual receptors obscured. >So they have found and fired on one of the JOEs? They do not have my ability to cool their internal temperatures or as efficient means to extinguish the flames.. It will not last long. >JOE signal lost. >As I said. Still, the more missiles they waste on the JOEs, the fewer they will have to combat me with. >COMMAND: Move self. View JOE visual feed. >I cannot remain where I am for long, or they will be upon me while I languish. I pick the visual feed of a JOE approaching combat distance with a pair of rebels, one of whom has a rocket launcher. >Shouts are raised as my shadowy figure slips from my hiding place and shots are fired in my direction, but now that I have my guard up they will not catch me so easily. This time I head away from the combat, intending to catch them in their flank. >I am viewing both my own the the JOE's visuals at the same time, a feat literally impossible for a human. Even were they both on screens in front of them, they would not be able to comprehend and process the information from both views as exactly as I can. As I move, scaling a dumpster to the rooftops again, I watch as a passive observer as the JOE is spotted by the rebels. I see the JOE's weapon raised in its viewscreen as it fires, watching the rebels scramble for cover. There is a bright orange glow from one of the rebels' positions. The JOE unit is programmed to view in infrared during extreme low temperature conditions, as at night, and use its normal vision during the day. A motion from the JOE's view. An object is physically hurled at the JOE. The end is on fire, and it directly strikes the JOE. Liquid inside covers the robot and the flaming end ignites it. >Again, they were more prepared than I expected. Missiles for me, and improvised incendiary grenades for the JOEs. >However, I think I have finally gained the upper hand. I am approaching two rebels on the rooftop with their backs to me as they look onto the streets below. Checking all around me with both infrared and "normal" vision has not revealed any hidden foes, either. >Perhaps a small diversion is in order to assure my safety? >I quickly contact several JOEs somewhere on the other side of the buildings in the same direction the rebels are looking. With a thought, I command them to all fire simultaneously and the resulting racket is loud enough to be heard through the storm. >Using their own tactic against them worked. Their heads raise sharply as they peer into the whiteness towards the sound, probably trying to try and find me fighting their allies somewhere out there. Sadly for them, I am right behind them. >I simply grab the first by the head and fling him over my shoulder. I could hear his neck snap as I twisted my wrist and jerked hard just before I released him. The other rebel barely has time to turn before I place one hand on his neck, the other on his leg as I pick him up. My thermal vision picks out a likely target in the street, and I hurl the frightened rebel at his comrade, ignoring his pained cries. >Before I can be targeted again I duck out of sight, doubling back and around again to assess the situation carefully. >My shock and awe tactics appear to have worked. They seem to be retreating en mass, their hot figures sliding in and out of cover, but I am not about to move as boldly as I did last time. >I take the time to aim and fire my icicle projectiles carefully into two more retreating rebels. I duck out of sight once more, blending into my element again to slowly shadow and follow them, observing them through the JOE's eyes. >They are all drawing back to a central point. One JOE has a direct line of sight on them, and I move swiftly to try and meet them even as it fires on them, though it is not within its optimal firing range yet. >They appear to be vanishing down a manhole cover they had pre-cleared for this purpose. >COMMAND: Request sewer schematics. >I do not keep blueprints of everything on my personal hard drive of course, but my constant contact with the so-called "castle" database will provide me with what I need. >Should I need to pursue them into the sewers, and it seems likely I shall as the last few of them vanish inside and pull the cover over them, showing great bravery in the face of incoming JOE fire, I will need more JOEs to cover as many access points as possible. >Organizing additional JOE uni- >Explosion detected! >The boom of detonation seems to flatten even the gale for just a moment before it is whipping up again in full force, and I am powerless to do anything but observe as the rebels detonate explosives inside a large office structure next to their escape route. The building appears to have key structural positions carefully targeted, and the whole building slowly topples over to land with a monumental crash over their escape route, covering it in tonnes of immovable rubble. >Schematics received. >And with that, it appears it would be foolish to attempt a pursuit. The sewer systems are too complex to be able to enter in from another location and hope to catch them now. The JOEs would be spread out too thin to be effective. >This encounter is over. The rebels have escaped. >A disappointing result. Ordering the JOEs to scout the areas quickly for any stragglers who may not have had time to escape, I pause to calculate the gains and losses. >I failed to apprehend the rebels, who were amazingly too well organized for me. Thankfully, they had not succeeded in their aim of killing me either, and they had shown a part of their true strength, losing their greatest strength in the process. I knew, now, how smart and well armed they could be, and I would not be underestimating them quite so easily again. >Had I not regained my natural caution towards the end of the engagement, I could easily have been crushed underneath the falling building. The weight would have killed even me. >Several rebels lay dead, as do several JOEs. JOEs are replaceable, built in a fraction of the time of a fully grown human, are innately fearless and I do not have to convince them to turn their loyalty to my cause. The rebels have lost living beings that may not be replaced as easily. For that, I think I can call this a "victory", though the term is admittedly used loosely.... >A signal from one of the JOE units. There is still one warm blooded figure limping though the snow leaking hot fluids. >My lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile. There is still a chance there was more than one left behind and they are planning to get one last shot at me before their deaths, but I will not fall into that trap again so easily. >COMMAND: Increase particle generator. >My vents gush ice and snow around me, completely obscuring me within my own storm as I walk towards the human's location. I am invisible again within the greater storm of the city. I will watch, and not be seen. I will act, and not be known to act. I will be like the fictional wraith in the night, unseen and untouchable. From now on, I will be prepared, and they will not catch me off guard again... >Time to retrieve this man and find out what he knows. --Log ends-

[cellobuster]

killfetvs replied to your photo: killfetvs replied to your photo: Coconut milk...

D’aww, little chibi-me with a shotgun to Quick Man’s back! :3 … He’s dead now.

But on our backs, and in our hearts he lives on. Whenever we listen to Rock Soldier, we'll think of Steven and his brave sacrifice and decapitation at the hands of the second stupidest idea for a Robot Master.

[cellobuster]

[cellobuster]