GURPS Transhuman: 2060

My writing hand hurts, but that's because I've started writing my setting! The setting takes place after a nuclear war, where urbanization has caused a lot of issues, especially as governments start to melt into little more than securities commissions for the agricorps, techcorps, and realcorps that actually control things. The US is pretty much written, with three major urban areas (Astropolis, Version City, and the Coast), as well as some surprises, and plenty of open highway and corporate intrusion. I have some basic ideas for corporate stuff (see above), but the important parts about infrastructure and Grid are laid out rudimentarily. Grid is like the Net, but with a lot borrowed from Shockwave Rider, and most communications devices relying on the shared bandwidth of the Grid, either from the blanket wireless of the major cities or the cable line draws in the smaller areas. An-Grid areas are those which are run by autonomous groups choosing to stay unknown by not connecting to the Grid. Although I'm not going to do I-G or any bullshit like that, there is a software program called Gspace which allows a person to put the grid pathways and URL line paths onto a GUI. Not useful for the hacking itself, but has many other uses.
Anyhoo. The US is laid out, I have a rudimentary picture of Europe, with Nuevo Praha as a new capital on the Mediterranean, but little else. Asia is similarly rudimentary, having the massive city of Tokyo, and agro to grow crops for food and fuel (agro being the 2060 term for farmland). Africa and South America I have nothing, but I know they should play a role.
As for tech, I don't know. due to the whole "war" thing it won't be what you'd expect for 55 years of development, and certain things like space travel are out of the question due to priority. However, cybernetics has evolved, as has genetic engineering....it's why I'm saying it'll be GURPS transhuman...a lot of the changes will be subtle changes to the human body itself.
Here, I'm asking. Send me ideas for the lower continents, ideas for tech of any sort, and ideas for corporate fleshing out of. Remember the tech level I'm looking at: a lot has been improved,and a lot is out there, but it's still fairly grounded to near-future. And even if I go on the nutty with this, the players may never see it, due to that wonderful concept of stratification. Oh well.

Stealthy/Pious Fun Facts!

A few interesting statistics:

81% of Stealthy/Pious viewers use Windows XP.
15% of Stealthy/Pious viewers use OS X.
4% of Stealthy/Pious viewers use Windows 98 (?!?!?!?).

12% of Stealthy/Pious viewers are returning viewers.

33% of Stealthy/Pious page views originate in Pennsylvania.

And finally, the top search engine for referrals to Stealthy/Pious is MSN.

Have a happy new year, and enjoy this next year. More juicy statistics next December!

To apologize for my previous posts...

But more importantly, to tell you I can do something creative.
This is venting, both for the world breeding psychopaths (I can send you to some choice snippets from Livejournal, but I don't feel like losing readers to inexplicable emo), and for my high school gaming group being cads. The group I'm with now is pretty cool, and being exposed to all this "memory lane" high school shit helps me appreciate that.
Anyhoo. After some painful deliberation, I have decided that, unless my judgment of the hardcopy is different, I will not be buying Cyberpunk v3.0. Instead, I will purchase the GURPS basic set, either during the vacation or when I'm back at school (as scary as it is, Phantom of the Attic may be the best gaming shop I've set foot in, and I refuse to go to Danger Planet unless I know Jay won't be within 3 miles). I have, after some thought, decided to use my 3 city concepts (Nuevo Praha, Version City, and Astropolis), as well as a few of my plot ideas (Version City Mods, Syriana Intrigue and Oil Thirst, hell, maybe I'll bring back Cyberion and Prometheus for the hell of it) and make a unified world not based on either Gibson's or Pondsmith's ideas of Cyberpunk. I made the mistake of leaving my notebooks back in Pittsburgh, but I have my journal, so I'll start writing alternate history stuff and some outlines and shit. I'm afraid that a good amount of writing will take place after I buy sourcebooks, both because I think in game terms, and also, reading rules for an adaptable-setting system tends to give you some neat ideas. The world is not set in a lot of ways, so please, comment with things you think would be cool. I need coolness.

Jay, this song is dedicated to you...

The GMing Song
by Seanan McGuire (as inspired by the Story Arc, "PeeJee and Dragons")

Your characters are stupid --
Oh, wait, they're just like you!
You make these plans you think are grand,
But never think them through.
Kill the King, annoy the orcs,
Insult the druid's trees...
When you get disemboweled,
Don't you dare whine to me.

You think that it's inspired
To play the other sex;
You roll your dice but don't think twice
About what's coming next.
What part of 'consequences'
Can't burrow through your brain?
Well, after you've been slaughtered,
I'll just sing this refrain:

Rocks fall, everybody dies;
Death comes raining from the skies.
Whine whine whine, well, thank you all for sharing.
You say I'm not being fair --
Hey, wait, am I supposed to care?
Whine whine whine, look at me not caring!

Your motivation's lacking;
Your concept's uninspired.
Please go away, you shouldn't play
Once your brain's been retired.
Hack and slash and politics
Are bad things to combine.
You want to play things your way?
Well, tough, we're playing mine.

I want my players thinking.
I want your brain engaged.
You whine and cry then wonder why
I'm getting so enraged.
You're telling me I need you;
Well, moron, here's the thing.
The smart folks have umbrellas,
And all of us can sing:

Rocks fall, everybody dies;
Death comes raining from the skies.
Whine whine whine, well, thank you all for sharing.
You say I'm not being fair --
Hey, wait, am I supposed to care?
Whine whine whine, look at me not caring!

Yes, rocks fall, everybody dies,
I don't care how much you cry,
Whine whine whine, hey, moron, what's the matter?
Yes, I guess you'd better run --
Hey, I'm finally having fun!
Whine whine whine, watch the morons splatter!

somethingpositive.net

Webcomics remind me of how psychotic my high school gaming group was (is)

Something Positive: A take on Cyberpunk

Yeah, think I'm going to go with GURPS....

Read this storyline, but also go back and read Something Positive. Wonderful character development, and the author lives in Massachusetts.

Cyberpunk v3...it exists!

CPv3 is now out and kicking, available for instant gratification at DriveThruRPG and soon at many gaming stores. I have heard good things. I will be buying this book over break, and will post a full review of it in my next update. In the meanwhile, I am flying back to MA tomorrow, and have some packing to do. Happy Holidays, everyone!

Stream of Consciousness: Aqualung

This story is very different than any other one I've written. It was stream of consciousness, written while listening to Aqualung, by Jethro Tull. Do tell me what you think.

The park was barely illuminated, benches struck by arcs of lamplight cascading from the pillars by the short cobblestone path. Two friends walked away from the trail, meandering between the pines and shrubbery in the distance from the gate. They had known each other a good long time, and the evenings in the park had become a ritual for them. The wind was biting against exposed necks, and collars were brought up tightly. The conversation between them meandered from politics to romance, to cars and back to romance again. They were at the age of agitated men when one desires the one thing he will never comprehend to attain. Romance is a ballet of coincidences, borne from pure chance, and ending because pure chance is never really enough. Each wished to understand, but neither ever really would. They would walk home, knowing that in mutual frustration and in their own brand of empathy, friendship was sealed.

The next morning was a blinding flash of light, as they tended to be without an alarm. He woke up, and still unsatiated from the night before, took a walk down to his favorite café in the town center. The town was a small suburb, but close enough to a major city to have its own share of cafes and hipster “places”, zones in a warfare of retro t-shirts and ironic musical tastes. He passed by the local high school, seeing her once again. At 17, she was a good 6 years younger, firmly out of reach of logic. Remembering the commiseration of the night before, he knew man was not a logical creature, but he wasn’t going to push it anyway. He sat down at a wrought iron table outside the café with a bagel and a libertarian newspaper, sipping an Americano and listening to folk music on an iPod. It was Sunday, so work was off his mind, and he didn’t have another big assignment until Wednesday anyway. He took it slow, enjoying the crowd of emerging churchgoers, and realizing the oddity of seeing people at the school on a Sunday. To explain this thoroughly, she sat down at the table with him, gently removing the headphones from his ears. It was church services of course, another money-starved religious institution, meeting in the largest communal space available. Of course, she doesn’t really like church, or at least she said. It was why she was outside, listening to music and ignoring the sermon as actively as some tried to listen to it. He smiled, and explained the numerous coincidences. She knew. She enjoyed seeing him too. A small slip of paper with a phone number on it was left as she walked back to the school, now releasing the congregants from today’s indoctrination. The piece of paper made it into his wallet, and he walked back along the road playfully considering whether or not it was a good idea. Because in reality he already knew he was going to do this anyway.

They walked again that night, wandering aimlessly through pine and birch and oak. He told his friend of the interesting time, and his friend told him of his weekend, of his writing, of his thoughts, of his new job at a publishing company in the city. Maybe his book would be published this time, he said. They were both happy at their news, both of them felt like they were moving up in the world. They parted under a full moon, knowing where the years of friendship had emerged from.

He spent the next day writing, finishing his assignment days ahead of the deadline and sending it off to his editor straightaway. After the exultant reply, he curled up in a windowframe, breaking in his fourth leatherbound journal of that year. So many new thoughts, he felt that his creativity flowed. The phone rang at 3, and it was her. The day dallied into evening, and they got dinner at a small local place about two blocks down the road from the café they had met at the other day. Apparently her parents didn’t know. Apparently they shouldn’t, he joked. The dinner was good, and he hugged her goodnight at 9. He had good feelings about this, and wrote in bed until 11. Sleep was peaceful, and his dreams were filled with symbolism and bizarre images of clowns and daffodils.

He walked out again the next day, walking into the office for the morning, hearing another word of praise from his editor, and walking out at 2 after checking his mail. The day was as lazy as he, stratus pawing the cold sky as those below them pawed for scarves and mittens. As night fell, the sheet slowing the world cold was pulled taut, and he went walking again. The two friends walked through the woods, knowing their minds were full of secrets. He didn’t mention dinner. It seemed to fall out of the topics of worldly wisdom and worldly ignorance.

He wrote again. Curled within a ball of warmth from multitudinous sources, he passed the rest of the week in his own shell of creative zeal, not even knowing why. Friday emerged from the sepia-toned monotonies of the other weekdays, and he walked again. She was out by the café, cheeks streaked with tears. She was right not to tell her parents, apparently, as their independent decision was one involving being kept in the house for a number of weeks. And, she ran. So she couldn’t go back. He offered her a place to stay, though as they walked back together, it became increasingly unclear why he did that.

They woke up glowing, as he wasted no time, though neither did she. The intensity of feeling was there, though it was becoming less sure what this intensity was. They lay in bed together most of the morning, getting up to dine naked on old English muffins toasted with peanut butter. After lunch, they lay back down in his bed, making magnificent love until dinner, when they finally left the house and went out for sandwiches and beer. This happenstance confused him greatly, even as it revealed itself to be the source of his zeal. They went back home, falling asleep in his bed, cradling each other through the night.

The weekend continued in this way. He went walking Sunday night, slipping out after she had fallen asleep. They met in the park again, though his friend was feeling down today. Something wrong at home, from what he said. He was still happy with his successes, and had even met someone at the bar Saturday. But this cloud seemed to hold on him. These things happen, he knew. They had their brand of empathy, and he could still feel happy for his friend, even through his cloud. The cloud would lift. They always did.

She was not in school, it being that deep in winter. She talked of Christmas lights and holiday cheer, reminding him it was Friday. He would never have cared otherwise, but this was new and special, and he had to do something. She had haunts, places her parents did not know, and she spent time there, when she was not with him. He decided to get her a small gift, knowing he did not even put up a tree. It was a cute little bear, and he knew it was perfect. He ran home to wrap and hide it, and she was home a little later. They ate at home and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next night he went walking. His friend was distraught now. There was something very wrong at home. Someone was not going to be home for Christmas. He understood, offered him prayers for health and safety. They knew each other. It was their peculiar brand of empathy. They felt close because they held each other up. He hoped against hope neither of them would have grief in their holidays.

Friday came quickly, and they exchanged gifts under the light of a small menorah, mixing faiths like rum and coke. She squealed at the bear, and he adored the cable-knit sweater, which she confessed to having bought, as if it made a difference. They embraced, and slept in each others arms that night.

He walked on Christmas day. Walked with her, feeling at home with his cable-knit sweater and ironic tastes in music. They walked to his own sacred place, the park, together as he slowly started to open up his world. She knew the park, had taken walks here when she was young. So had he. It seemed so right. They felt brilliantly intimate, this illicit love that would not last, at least not in this way, past new years. It didn’t matter. She said this couldn’t have been a better Christmas, not at home, not anywhere.

He walked again that night, his friend near tears. It had not been a good Christmas for him. His parents were at home, distressed and fearful. His relatives were praying for them. It seemed that his sister was missing over Christmas.

Writing, Campaigns, and a General Roleplaying System

All righty. I have been considering my setting, and expanding it to a depth that would involve, essentially, me writing a good amount of the campaign from the ground up. As a result, I have decided to look in to buying a General Roleplaying System, where the rules are comprehensive enough for me to write my setting and world as I please, but without an established setting to limit either rules availability or my own creativity. Don't get me wrong, I still plan to buy v.3 when it comes out, but I'm kind of curious to see what sort of setting is there, and how well it works. Also, the two general systems can work well for all sorts of settings. The ones I'm thinking about are GURPS and Hero v.5. I've played a game based on Hero, Champions, and thought that the mechanics, though a bit complex, worked very well, and allowed for a great amount of flexibility in writing and running games. I have not played with GURPS before, but I have heard many good things, and it seems to be just what I want. I have not decided yet which to consider investing in, but as both seem to be good systems, outside input would help. As of yet, I have not met someone who has actually played both, but hopefully I will get some idea which works better for my purposes.

Street Level: Intro

This is the new idea I have for a cyberpunk campaign. More corps, new guns, vehicles, etc. will come out of this later...right now, a basic idea.

The world's population has been growing quickly, and as a result, the government has been buying up land to use to grow foodstuffs and corn for ethanol processing. On the east coast, 100,000,000 people live within 100 square miles....
Or rather...5000 cubic miles. The majority of people have been moved into Astropolis, a massive city 100 miles square, that extends 10 miles up and anchors 40 miles down. This megarcology is filled with bustling streets, highways, shops, office buildings...but the majority of the population lives at lower levels. Due to the high density and high demand for space, the city is almost entirely controlled by a massive architectural development firm called Street Level Developments, Ltd. SLD has so much clout in city politics that it has its own police force, and it's own city officials which interact with the government there. Due to the cozy relationship with local government, high level corporate and government officials get preferential treatment for housing, while everyone else pretty much gets screwed. SLD is not the only powerful corporation in the game, and in the long run, it isn't the most powerful, either. Its clout is restricted to within city limits, and once you leave Astropolis, three gigantic agricorps rule the land. Valdez Energy Consortium, Federated Land Holdings, and Agricultural Management all hold some portion of the massive fields and forests taken by eminent domain for cultivation. Nearly all farmable land is farmed as such.
Past the Rockies, the story is a little different. There are small communities on the California coast that exist for managing the farms. This is different because whil the cornfields of the midwest are there for ethanol and Hydrol production, the fields and vineyards on the West Coast are for growing food. About 10,000,000 people live in about 2,000 small corporate-subsidized communities along the California, Oregon, and Washington coasts.
The rest of the world, with the exception of Russia, is dependent on either the American corporations or the independent Russian agridomes for food. The Russian agridomes are huge sealed communities of 2,000,000 or so, often holding 20-50 square miles of cultivation land around the central dome, which occupies 10 square miles above ground, and usually has a huge complex underground as well. Each dome community acts as an independent city state, as most of them were built before the Soviet Union was nuked by the United States and Europe. The massive hyperelastic domes that had radii of nearly 20 miles have long since collapsed under their own weight, but they lasted long enough to keep the cultivated land safe from radioactive fallout.
Life in Astropolis is unique. Space is at a premium, unless you live in a corporate penthouse, 45-50 miles above the ground. You could have your own bedroom and common room, and even a bathroom and kitchen, an amazing luxury considering that the majority of workers live in a cube or a small studio with a communal bathroom. Communal bathrooms and even unisex bathrooms are ubiquitous in most living areas, which has made rape an issue in some poorer areas. Many women now carry small stilettos in sheathes on their thighs, weapons that, because of their common use in bathrooms and locker rooms, are now known as "dick-slitters". In general, the small corridors are cramped, uncomfortable, and dangerous, but the majority of people have access to open-air walkways and pavilions. In the underground levels, there's actually a bit more room, though for the most part, underground is not residential, but the majority of people work at a workshop, warehouse, or factory below ground.
Transportation occurs mostly by massive elevators integrated into the huge support columns. Also, grav transport is common, with the average gravbike costing only 30,000 credits, affordable to someone living comfortably, or outside the law. The edgerunner economy is bustling, as transactions that happen at ground level rarely are known of by any authorities even 2 miles up.
Because of the lack of living space outside of Astropolis, almost no one is allowed to leave unless they can prove intent to return to their domicile. Despite this, nomads live in the forests that could not be converted to farmland, mostly around the Appalachians and the Rockies. The human smuggling rate is high, and next to drugs, one of the only forms of organized crime the corps care about.
In reality, the corps are generally too busy worrying about European markets...with genetic engineering getting more bizarre, it's possible that the agricorps will lose their market dominance. Who knows what happens to Astropolis if globalization resumes...

D&D Campaign and autre shtuff

I believe I have fallen irrecoverably behind with doing session transcripting...but that's all right. I wasn't having too much fun forcing out one or two paragraphs, so I'm going to try something different. I'm going to write some fiction oriented around the campaign...there's a fair enough of stuff happening outside of the direct scope of the campaign...I'll see what I can do. In the meanwhile, I have cyberpunk stuff and a story that's nowhere near done. This week is busy, though...expect my next entry next week over Thanksgiving break.

Cyberpunk v3!

As I've told a few people now, R. Talsorian has announced that Cyberpunk v.3 is going to presses, and should be in stores within 6 weeks. Assuming that they mean it (which I think they do), this is very exciting.
Many Talsorian fans have simply given up on this product, either going back to 2020, using another product, or just deriding every snippet from v.3 they see. I am not one of these people. Well, actually, I am...I, after about 6 months of ambiguous announcements, simply shrugged, and went back to using 2020. But now, I see no reason not to buy the product. Having played Champions, I know Fuzion and its architecture are quite solid, and should be a blast to build a campaign with. People saw RTal's new sample on their site, and immediately started bitching. I think that the altcults listed, while definitely not the standard schema introduced in 2020, are just that: a schema. RTal has responded to popular response about 2020, which is that the universe is very narrow-minded, which hurted some of the very interesting possibilities with the system. To me, it sounds like Cyberpunk v.3 has the variety to become the benchmark dystopian system, beating out not only other cyberpunk-esque systems like Shadowrun, but also systems like Rifts, d20 Modern, and others which go for the modern angle. One might not understand this, but to put it simply: modern roleplaying either falls on story or blazing gunfights. Or both, but either way, setting can enrich this greatly, but is not intrinsic to the order of play.
I have not seen a "bad" Talsorian product. Some were redundant, some were too short (my biggest gripe), but the information contained within was always great, and every supplement I bought for 2020 gave me a new angle to look at my games, my characters, and my writing. I think that's a good thing.
I am buying the core system, regardless of what anyone says. I will post a review after I get it, and hope to encourage people to do the same and buy this product. If the fanbase expands to a certain point, we can be ensured to get great publisher support, and get more great supplements.
And Mr. Pondsmith, if you chance upon my blog, which happens to have been started centering around your roleplaying system, I have two suggestions for you:
1. Release a 2020 update. You did great things with 2020. Even if interlock and Fuzion are cross-compatible, people will much appreciate either a conversion booklet or something similar. As much as we love trying new systems, the idea of dropping a campaign for it is not a very nice one.
2. Let third-party publishers release Cyberpunk products. Icarus did this with 2020, and now that Fuzion can be licensed, you have no reason not to encourage this. We know Talsorian isn't a big company, but people love the system, and would be more than glad to write stuff for it.

Fuzion seems to be an easy system to write new shit for, so I'm going to try and be a little creative about updating a setting. I love my Triurban setting, and it's evolving, but if I can do something completely new, both players and myself will probably get into it a lot. Don't know where to start, but hey, another reason to buy the book!

Talsorian's Website

Session 13

Our heroes, continuing their odd venture through the Underdark, meet up with a member of the Order of the Talon. Surprisingly, this man is not hostile, instead, asking our heroes to aid him in destroying the mind flayer city. Despite this apparently being suicide, our heroes comply, realizing it may be the only way to retrieve the glowy stick. Several bloody deaths later, the glowy stick has been retrieved. To make things even odder, Sorvel's sister, one and the same as the psychotic desert witch, is down in the city as well, searching for an immensely powerful artifact. And...yes. This artifact is the glowy stick. Through some intrigue, and more bloody deaths, Enkanthu's ax is retrieved, making Enkanthu's journey back from the afterlife ready, as he prepares to continue along the path of the warrior. And, they manage to keep the glowy stick as well. And now, Rei, Sorvel's sister, is prepared to use her powerful sorcery to let our heroes out of the caves of the Underdark...

Project Symbiote, Part 4

More gene-splicing, defenestrating action. Comments!

It was June who found me in a small bar outside of Oakdale about two hours later. I had gotten in with a fake ID, and was sitting silently, watching some football game and drinking horrible Iron City Lager because I had only three bucks in my pocket at the time. June walked in, and was stopped by the bartender. I guess she was much more clearly underage than I was, but seeing her inside the building had the right effect anyway. I downed the rest of the piss-booze and headed outside, not even buzzed.

“Dare I ask why you came to get me?”

“Dr. Davidson actually asked Liz and I to let you cool off. But I thought I could probably talk to you.”

“Well, I suppose you understand why I’m on edge about this. Despite my thought that you’d be annoyed at me being ticked off for you. You probably don’t need that.”

“Well, yeah, I suppose. It’s not that terribly annoying, considering what I deal with on a daily basis. But I thought it was you being moralistic about the whole experiment…you worrying about me is a sweet gesture.”

“Well, I was being moralistic. I suppose that’s what got me started.”

“Don’t be modest. You can have feelings for people, it happens.”

“Hold the phone-“ She had wrapped her arms around me again. I couldn’t really argue with that. We held each other in the empty parking lot for about half an hour, until it started to get cold. She led me down the road, and we walked alone until we reached the turnoff. The night was clear, with the temperature almost like a silencer wrapped around thoughts and vocal cords. By the time we reached the lab again, I realized I was holding her hand. I headed back down the sterile corridors to my room, replaying the walk in my head. If anything, it was one more reminder that everything I knew had just been completely blown apart.

I was shaken out of bed by Liz the next morning.

“What’s up, loverboy?” Despite the playful comment, her facial expression made me fear for my life. I mumbled something about air temperature and tried futilely to put pants on. She relaxed a bit, and chuckled.

“Well. Dr. Davidson wants to see you. Apparently he wants to use your reflex coprocessors in some mission today.” I grinned meekly, and finally managed to pull on the rest of my clothes. I clambered down the corridor, as Liz rolled her eyes and walked in the opposite direction.

Dr. Davidson led me to a garage I had not seen before.

“Max, we’ve reconvened the subjects because of a severe aberration in this technology. We need you to bring the experiment back to its normal course. Or, at least, do some damage control.”

“Dare I even ask?”

“Well, there’s been a problem. Do you know of the black ops scandals?”

“A little. Corporations who flouted FTC regulations to import weapons and test illegal technology, stuff like that?”

“Kind of. More the use of government information for profit. So, there’s been an issue. Biovex was a company involved in the scandals. They bought nanite modules and thousands of lines of gene modification code from a mole inside this facility who was tried and convicted about 15 years ago. And, we thought we got them with everyone else.”

“So? What’s the issue?”

“Well, we think there’s been a leak. We want you to find out. How could are you at hiding from people?” In reality, my experience in hiding from people mostly involved vandalism and computer hacking in high school, but I’m sure it was worth something.

“Pretty good. Why?”

“Well, we want you to get to Philly and check out Biovex.”

“Uh…Philly is 6 hours away from here.”

Dr. Davidson went to a lump under a drab tarp, and slid the tarp off. The thing underneath looked like it had wheels and an engine. My interest was piqued.

“This is a Kawasaki Recumbent, modified for you to jack in directly. The steering controls are at your sides, though ideally, you shouldn’t need to touch them.”

“Uh…doc, how fast can this thing go?”

“If we told you that, you’d want to prove it, Max.” I suppose they knew me better than I thought.

“Anyways, we’re going to plug this in and teach you a reflexive routine for riding recumbent. I don’t assume you have before, but after the 6 hours you’ll log from Philly and back, you’ll be a master.” Dr. Davidson took what looked like a small USB drive and plugged into my arm module. He plugged the other module on my arm into a long cord extending from the sleek little bike, and took out my headphone jack.

“Hey!”

“We want you to be able to hear what’s going on. Dying won’t help you accomplish this mission, trust me.” The splitter plugged into my arm, my phones, and another plug connected to the bike. Dr. Davidson patted me on the back.

“You’re ready to go, Max. Do us proud. Make this up, and the lives of people like June will be innumerably improved.” The bastard knew where I bled. That was annoying.

“Wait. You said six hours both ways. That’s half the time it usually takes me.” Dr. Davidson grinned. Suddenly I was very scared of this bike. I had never rode before, let alone recumbent, and now this thing was, very clearly to me, not for beginners. Apparently my life lay in a small plastic thumb drive plugged into my arm. That was not the greatest confidence builder. I swallowed heavily, and then strapped into the bike. Sitting recumbent after the windshield was extended was like being in a jet fighter, though I could at least recognize the dials from my car experience. Shifter there, tach there, accelerator there…the reflexives were already downloading, and had shown me the instrument cluster, the physical controls, and even where the clutch point was. Dr. Davidson waved me off, and I slowly wheeled onto the road from the garage. I was doing 20, and balance was fine, even better than the dirt bikes I had occasionally ridden. I got onto the main road, and was feeling a little more comfortable. Being myself, I grinned, and dropped the clutch back to first. Letting it back in, I opened the throttle wide up. I was pushed back into my seat, as the tach roared to 6. Wait…it’s a motorcycle…that’s not right. Oh…the tach was at 13, about right for a 800cc engine going this fast. I clicked up to third gear, and had a realization. The tach didn’t peak at 6…that was the G-gauge. I was going to have a lot of fun with this demon-bike.

Version City: Intro

Here is my bit of MacGuffin for Cyberpunk: Version City. Let's see.


Version City is the anyplace of the Sprawl. It emerged as a cultural center of the Southern Sprawl to offset Boston's dominance in the north. It is hard to say exactly where it is, though somewhere between Virginia and where Washington once was is a good guess. After the rockings of Washington and New York, America's urban structure had to be completely retooled.
There's Boston in the North, Atlanta in the South, and Version City dead in the middle. Version City was never incorporated under such a name, but it was on the outskirts of the Washington crater, and as the density increased, the punks who lived there named it after the depressing old songs played over PA systems on the decrepit coastal transit trains.
I've gotten a lot of requests, lately, from people asking what happened to all of the old songs...
The obscure Clash tune struck a chord with the depressed commuters in BAMA's nowhere zone, and Version City was born. The corps moved in and tried to reincorporate, but they had no better name for the nowhere zone than the one it had already received. So Version City stuck.
The futility of renaming the city was seen as a clear message: Version City belonged to the punks. They didn't fight, they simply moved in. Graffiti art and thriving underground markets popped up, and suddenly nowhere zone looked more attractive than anywhere within 400 miles. The city sprung up in 10 years, and it didn't take long for it to show up on the map, incorporated, and officially named Version City.

2022 was the year of the edgerunner. Early in the year, New-Wave Pol Punk band The Kamikazes were broken up by the murder of the lead singer, Mike Jima, by the Russian Mob. Through the investigations of now-famous freelance PI Arthur St. Cloud, connections to major media labels competing for the band made headlines, and soon they wanted Arthur dead. This was easier said than done, as Arthur was well-protected both by corporate interests and a cadre of allies, including the "more than a little insane" solo Mike Walker. This caused Biotechnica, a company in competition with the Russian Mob's backers, SovOil, to hire Lars Blackpool to protect St. Cloud. Lars, a self-described "professional murderer", was hardly the most stable choice for the job, though in his 7 years as a mercenary, his record was impressive, and so violent it was disturbing. He wasn't without injuries, although he had cybered up significantly since a stint of work on the West Coast with famous Yakuza fixer Nori Takahashi. Lars was, most importantly, bribeable, and he turned on St. Cloud, leaving the job to find out why the Kamikazes were so important. By the time Arthur tracked Lars down, the surviving members of the Kamikazes were dead, and Arthur had lost his corporate support. Lars played tag with Arthur, but finally struck, using another rock star, the famous stoner DJ Ruff, as bait. The ambush was set, and Lars and two other mercs broke up the party, injuring Arthur significantly, and killing the two techs who accompanied Arthur and Mike. Mike, the only one who walked away, swore revenge on Lars, but Lars disappeared into the midwest. Within the past two weeks, Mike was found murdered, apparently caught asleep and beheaded with what appeared to be several shotgun blasts. Lars, with the shotgun in hand, was found dead in an airport bathroom in Version City, hundreds of miles away from the location of Mike's murder in Boston. Lars was considered the most dangerous assassin in the country for nearly a year during his manhunt, and now, someone in Version City killed him without even a lookover. The only leads in this case are Arthur St. Cloud, due to be released from the Mass. General Hospital Trauma Ward in a week's time, and DJ Ruff, currently in hiding in his "Grotto of Ganja" rumoured to be outside of Vancouver. In the meanwhile, Biotechnica, Arasaka, and ADC, Blackpool's former employers, have refused to comment on any knowledge of the identity of the assassin, or his methods or motives.

Session 12

Our heroes reached the one bastion of civilization they could find in the Underdark. For better or worse, it was a city of Derro, where everyone was insane. Very insane. However, the leader seemed sane and reasonable. That was, until he asked the adventurers to find his glowy-stick. Several random encounters later, our heroes are still looking for the glowy stick. Just then...darkness shrouds the entire cave (odd, isn't it?) and there is maniacal laughter from behind. Just when you thought it couldn't possibly get any worse...Locke has returned as a vampire. Great. Of course, after a pitched battle and lots of negative levels, he disappears into vapour. However, the mystery of how a previously dead man became a vampire is adding to the increasingly long list of odd happenings that could be linked to the end of the world as we know it...

Sessions 10 and 11

After much deliberation, our heroes decide to take on the ogres threatening the city of Daen. The battle starts well, with many ogres and monsters dying, but went south quickly. Our heroes then wake up, very sore and much lighter, in a prison cell, where they are soon transferred to a prison ship. After some quick planning, the heroes overtake the crew of mind flayers, ogres, and trolls upon reaching the ship's destination. This destination, unfortunately, is an underground river deep within the underdark. After soliciting some "assistance" from a lone drow, our heroes realize that the surface world could be a month's walk out....

Session 9

The reappearance of the Order of the Talon did not make anything simpler for our Heroes. Off to Barth in search of answers, Sorvel finds a fortune in his name, his sister gone, and a possible familial connection to the sand witch that had been seen before. After catching a senile wizard a fish, seeing Darvian make grown men cry with his music, and generally witnessing more mayhem, no one really knows what is going on. Apparently the order of the Talon appear at random points in history. And apparently there is a cult, the styled Cult of the Void, who wants to destroy the material plane and all life with it...

Project Symbiote, Part 3

Comments are welcome!

It had been about 3 days since our evening fiasco with June. After the initial tests and upgrades which were by now very familiar to me, June was released back to her parents, who were never even aware she was gone. I did understand what the man meant by diagnostics, so I was now assigned to go to Oakdale High every day and meet up with June. The first two times were relatively quick and quiet, with June slipping by the bench I sat by outside the school, and then just as easily slipping away. Today was Wednesday, and the third time I needed to do this. June slipped out and came toward the park bench, and I used the hand scanner over the concealed node in her neck. Everything was progressing normally, which I suppose was a good thing. Today, instead of just slipping back, she sat down next to me.

“Max, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been involved with these people?”

“About a week now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I made it half way through my freshman year of college without even knowing I had anything to do with this. Now that I know, so many things make sense, personally.”

“I dunno…I mean, some of the stuff fits, but most doesn’t really make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you and Liz were both at the top of your class, and had some odd, though not unnatural talents. All that happened to me was that my entire school class just turned their back on me.”

“Well, you were smart, right?”

“Well, yeah…but that didn’t help anything. I never seemed to make friends.”

“No one liked you?”

“Not even that…I just could never trust anyone. It seemed that everyone was either jealous or just seemed off…I never got it. I was always on the outside. For some reason…for some reason, you and Liz just seem trustworthy. I don’t know” My face blanched. I had a sudden realization, and suddenly, the little balding man seemed like a right bastard. I could only hope I was wrong…but in hoping, somehow I knew I wasn’t. June looked at me, and smiled.

“I’m glad you guys pulled me out. I have no idea what would’ve happened otherwise.” She put her arm around my shoulder, and drew closer. For one reason or another, I was very uncomfortable. The thought of what this project had done to her personality was worse than disturbing. And to make matters worse, I knew that I was the last person in the world who should be the only one to trust, for absolutely anyone. I couldn’t help but put my arm around her as well. But I really didn’t know what I was going to do.

I got back to the complex, fuming. I stormed into Dr. Davidson’s office, pushing aside a well-meaning nurse into a small bookshelf.

“What the hell did you do to June?”

“A lot. Same with you, same with Liz. What do you mean?”

“Well, who’s brilliant idea was it to have loyalty programming? That could’ve been seriously psychologically damaging.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. She was actually only supposed to distrust those who were modified by someone other than our project. The programming wasn’t complete for #55, so the last 5 subjects got the prototype, where they only trusted our agents.”

“You put untested tech…in children?! You’re sick.”

“Well, how else were we supposed to do it?”

“Why did you need this goddamn experiment anyway?”

“You will find out in due time. Just keep one thing in mind. June needs to be able to trust you. If that’s established, we can modify the code and rectify things.”

“I’m not terribly worried about what happens next…”

“Really?”

“I’m more worried about what’s already happened to the poor girl for the last 18 years.” I walked out of the office without waiting for a response, and plugged my player back into the headjack. Any pleas that Dr. Davidson made were immediately drowned out by synth guitars and guttural german. The last thing I needed to do was worry about what thing these people were going to have me do next. The only real comfort in this was that if Liz and I turned out ok, everyone before us was in a better position. So I guess only one full life had been ruined by this insanity.

Project Symbiote, Part 2

More Project Symbiote for your reading pleasure. Comments are Welcome!

I woke up, my head awash with a combination of throbbing pain and a good deal of light sensitivity. The room was just as dark as I left it when I passed out. Of course, I quickly realized that there really isn’t much sun underground. I groped the back of my neck, and indeed the metal protrusion had receded. The light in the room quickly went on, and I reached for the other Mountain Dew in my bag. My hand was slapped away, and I looked up to see Liz’s shock of red hair directly in my face.

“Caffeine isn’t going to help anything. It’s 5 in the afternoon.”

“I was asleep for 14 hours?”

“Well, yeah…you were processing huge sym uptake. It doesn’t happen instantly. Anyways, we’re going out tonight.”

“Huh? Where?” Liz was upfront, but this was odd.

“That’s not what I meant, dude. Us two need to go find another symbiote subject.” Oh. That made more sense.

“Oh. Well, why do we need to do that?”

“Because they’re telling us to.”

“Great reasoning there.” I finally got out of bed, and stumbled around, trying to get a shirt out of my bed. The zombie theatrics went on for about 3 minutes, until I realized that out of the corner of my eye, Liz was staring at my bare chest. I glared at her, she smiled sheepishly, and I finally managed to get a shirt on. On the table next to the bed, I noticed a pistol. It was larger than my Glock, but more importantly, it had a cord extending out of the butt from behind the magazine feed. The end of the cord plugged nicely into the third plug in my wrist, the one that was neither a USB port or a headphone jack. Headphone jack…I reached into the bag and plugged in the mp3 player. As the bass throbbed beautifully clearly through my mastoid, I realized with some chagrin that I could still perfectly hear things going on around me if the volume was low enough. Which would actually be a benefit, I suppose, but being shut out is nice too. Well, Liz had more to say, and despite what Mr. Leeb’s synthesizers were doing in my jaw, I could still hear her well.

“Max, they’ll tell us what’s going on when we brief. In the meantime, I got you some dinner.” Indeed, there was a tray of nondescript food on the desk at the other corner of the room. And Liz herself was still holding another tray of nondescript food. We got our nondescript food and sat down around the desk. Much quiet chewing ensued, until my curiosity finally defeated my fear of awkwardness.

“Liz, exactly who were the other guys in the car last night?”

“They were just other guys from the program. Just mercs.”

“So there aren’t any other Symbiotes at the University, right?”

“Yeah. There aren’t many others around the area, except for this girl we have to pick up, and she’s in high school.”

“I thought the scientist dude said they were all college students.”

“Well, yeah, most of them are. The very last subjects in the line tests would be high school seniors, though.”

“Oh, okay.” More quiet chewing ensued. The food was really nondescript in every way possible, including texture and taste, which, instead of being bland, made it kind of horrifying. But hey, I was hungry and tired, so it really didn’t make a huge difference. We both finished the remainder of the hospital food dinner in silence, and then picked up the trays. Liz headed toward where I assumed the kitchen or nearest equivalent was, so I followed. She did indeed lead us to some odd galley, and I put the tray in a pile of dirty trays there. We then left, and went back down the concrete hallway. About 300 feet down, she stopped, turned around, and startled me with a bear hug.

“I’m glad you’re here, Max. I really didn’t like being here with no one I knew.”

“Well, they distracted you with these missions, right?”

“Actually, no…they just brought me in here 3 times last year to run tests…it felt like being put in an institution. They treat you like an experiment…but Dr. Davidson seems to like you. You showed him that you were at least an experiment with a wit.” I chuckled.

“I guess I like him too. At least he has good taste in soda.” Liz rolled her eyes, and we walked back to the room in lifted spirits. Considering the situation, that was definitely saying a lot.

We were called to the briefing that Liz had mentioned about an hour later, after I figured out how to use the touchpad on my laptop without actually touching it. It was an amusing experiment, which Liz forwarded by changing all of my bookmarks to porn and taping the laptop to my hands. It only took me 47 minutes to change them back, impressive considering I didn’t actually have use of my hands. Typing would be a whole other thing, though. The briefing room was just like all of the other rooms, small, concrete, and filled with electronic gizmos that even I couldn’t identify. Dr. Davidson and one other small man I hadn’t seen before were at the front of the room. The small man adjusted his graying comb over, and began to speak.

“All right. Now, you too have more in common than your school and your neighborhood. Both of you were part of test line #55, one of the more influential lines, and also the second to last line to be used. What we need you to do, Subjects 563 and 578, is to retrieve subject 599, the last #55 subject, and probably the most influential subject that survived the experiment.”

“Uh, I’m hearing 563, 578, 599…how the hell did you number these things?” The small man glared at me, but Dr. Davidson calmed him down.

“Max, the numbering was odd, but we’re scientists, so that shouldn’t be surprising. The 12 lines were numbered up from #00 to #60. #05 was a control test, so there are only 12 lines, despite what math may tell you. All of the lines ran simultaneously, and we tested 50 subjects in every line. With the exception of #00 and #05, the number of genetic, nanomechanical and cybernetic modifications were increased. So, you three, including this woman you must retrieve, are the most genetically modified human beings on earth.” I fell out of my chair at that moment. Liz would have stared at me, but she had just crushed the plastic cup she was holding in between her fingers.

“What about #60? And what about the other #55s?”

“All dead. The reason #55 was successful was not only because it actually had survivors, but because you rejected the fewest modifications. Max, you and June…oh yes, the woman you will be rescuing is named June, are the only two human beings who didn’t reject direct cybernetic modification. Unfortunately, when we perfected our method of installation, all we could do was tactile support and the mastoidal implants. So, despite the nice reflexive targeting thingy you can do with the gun, your implant is essentially a glorified mouse and mp3 player.”

“Thingy, Dr. Davidson?”

“We had this chat, Max. Come on. Anyway. June’s modification was more subtle, but much more powerful. Her neural-stem processor was programmed to interface with a very complicated set of algorithms that tap into her hippocampal symbiotes. Essentially, she can do reflexive learning by downloading movie files off of a computer.”

“In other words, don’t let her see Enter The Dragon.”

“Well, that’s what we want to see. We don’t know if it worked, but there’s a chance that she can start reflex subroutines just from watching them, whereas you and Liz would need it either hardwired, or need some starting training to get it to take off.”

“And what does this reflexive learning do, exactly?” I was not following this. Dr. Davidson was still a master of the jargon.

“Max, did you ever wonder how learned how to fire a gun?”

“Yeah…I don’t really remember ever being taught, just going to ranges since I was about 8.”

“You were taught a reflexive subroutine in a programming test when you were 2. You’ve been a crack shot ever since.”

“Dude, that’s fucked up.”

“That’s kind of why we’re worried about June. You see, you two, until we juiced you, could never have done anything superhuman with your abilities. Maybe appear gifted, or shoot a gun really well, but those aren’t exactly extraordinary in and of themselves. We actually were never sure what all of the modifications June had did…since she was the last #55, we thought we’d test the full range in the #60 series. Unfortunately, no one in #60 series survived long enough for us to figure out what the long term implications were.”

“In English?” This time it was Liz who was a little ticked.

“We have no idea what has happened to June since we released her to her parents 15 years ago.” Liz and I looked at each other.

“But you know she’s alive?”

“Yes.”

“What have her parents said?”

“We, uh…haven’t actually been in contact with them since Liz was 13. She attempted suicide at that time, and her parents cut us out of the loop, blaming the experiments. They may not be completely wrong, either.” Liz piped up again.

“Did you ever consider there were ethical implications to this?” The small man butted in.

“Remember, we basically ended up killing 300 babies. One angsty teenager was probably the best we could have hoped for given the situation. Thank God the syms can be stepped down…none of the other survivors have had this issue, and they are all older than June at present. Anyway, before we can get further off track, we need you to understand that June’s parents want nothing to do with the experiment. I know that both of you were taken by surprise, but June’s parents do not want her involved. We do not know what they will do if you associate yourself with the NSA or Project Symbiote. So don’t. Use whatever methods necessary to succeed. And trust me, 60 billion dollars in funding says that you know what that is better than I do. Now, the car will take you into Oakdale in about 15 minutes. Good luck.” Liz looked at me, and I looked back. We were getting into some deep shit. That, at the very least, was immediately apparent.

Before we knew it, we were walking down Sunnyside Avenue in pristine Oakdale. Oakdale was a tract housing suburb, and despite the relative wealth of the region, it scared the living crap out of me. Actually, the relative wealth probably was what scared the crap out of me. We got to the address, and stood outside, pretending to admire the moon. There was some yelling from the house. It was mostly indistinguishable, but we both made out the words “makeup”, “slut”, and “Friday”.

“Uh-oh.” This looked like it would be interesting.

“So, how do we extract her if she’s grounded?” Liz was posing a very valid question, though one I did not particularly feel like actually considering. After about 5 minutes, the lights in the house went out, except for one light on the second floor. I surmised this was June’s room, though from what logic I was not immediately sure. The idea that popped into my head that very moment was brilliant.

“I have a plan.”

“Oh God. Fine, but only you are climbing into the window.” Damn. Liz knew me very, very well.

June was in her room, sitting at her laptop. As she wrote another mournful entry into her weblog, her eyes turned quickly to the pile of discarded razor blades on the other side of the desk. Fighting tears, she turned away from the desk, and lay down on the bed, her blue-streaked brown hair matted against her face.

“All I need is a guy and a way out of here,” she sniffled. She wrapped her big sweatshirt closer around her, and lay silent for a moment. Suddenly, there was a pop. June looked over, and noticed that the window lock had popped off its hinge again.

“Fucking house is falling apart…” What happened next was not expected, though. Namely, I happened next. The climb up the vertical wall was actually very easy, but squeezing through the window was interesting. So, I ended up on the floor, holding the knee that I had hit on the way up, and cursing as profanely and as quietly as possible. June was standing there, staring at me, eyes wide open. I got up, made sure everything was still attached, adjusted my coat, and looked at her.

“June, I know this seems very strange, but we don’t have much time. We need to get out of here. I’m sure that I can explain-“ The ensuing bearhug was very familiar, despite June being somewhat smaller in height than Liz.

“It’s like my dreams are coming true…”

“Don’t get too enthusiastic.” About then, the weight of June holding on to my midsection started to really affect my balance. In fact, it affected my balance all the way back out the window.

Now, if you’ve never fallen down stairs, or fallen on your back from height, I can explain what it does very succinctly. It knocks the wind out of you. So, as Liz copied my speech to June, I was rolling around on the ground, gasping for air, and swearing, as quietly but as profanely as possible. The car rounded the cul-de-sac, and the three of us started walking towards the car, though I was walking slightly more slowly, and a lot more dramatically. We piled into the backseat, and the car drove off. The driver once again looked through the rearview mirror.

“Damn, Max, you look like someone punched you in the gut. Whose plan was that?”

“M-M-Mine…”

“Oh. Figures. Well, I suppose it worked. Kind of.”

“Look. The fall was…*gasp*…not part of the plan. Not at all.” I was just about breathing normally again, which was a relief. A cell phone rang, and the man in the front passenger seat picked his up. After a brief word, he handed it to me. It was the same man who gave the briefing.

“I have secured you and Liz’s release from the university. We will provide for the remainder of your education, so don’t worry about that. We do have an issue, though, and this issue will be your next assignment. June’s 18^th birthday is in two weeks, and we cannot emancipate her from her parents until she is 18. Therefore, we will have to monitor the progress of her upgrades while she is in her parents’ custody. She is to meet you during the school day for the next two weeks, and you will perform a small diagnostic, which is easy and discreet. So, unfortunately, you are not yet rid of Oakdale. But, I promise, you will have plenty to do. More on that when you return.” He hung up the phone, which I handed back to the man in front. That small man sure didn’t make answers very well, but he was damn good at making new questions.

Project Symbiote, Part 1

This is a new story I am writing. Not sure how long it'll be. That'll happen as I write it. Please leave comments and suggestions!

The room had gotten very quiet since night had fallen. Rich was sitting at his computer, the screen shining back into his vacant eyes. I was sitting on the bed, eyeing my phone nervously and listening to Front 242 on a nondescript digital player. When the phone started vibrating, I essentially fell out of the bed. Rich looked over for a second, rolled his eyes, then got back to playing whatever game it was he was playing. I finally managed to fumble the phone to my ear.

“Wha-a?”

“We need to go. Get your stuff.” The caller hung up. I was kind of expecting Liz, but that was definitely a guy on the other end. Maybe this whole thing had gotten bigger than I thought. I slipped my laptop and the tangle of accompanying cables into my bag, along with a leather-bound journal and two mountain dews. Then, I reached under my mattress, and pulled out the Glock I had been saving. At this point, I wasn’t really sure if I’d need it, but one can never be too safe. The three clips hidden in my hollowed-out course catalog were full, of course, so I slipped them into the bag as well. Rich saw one of the ACP rounds, and screwed up his face accordingly.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll have the room to yourself tonight.” I put on my coat and left before he even got out another word.

It was the time of the year where it was getting cold outside, but that was hardly an issue. I walked down by the quad, and saw the small car parked in the turnaround. I approached cautiously, but Liz pulled me into the backseat before I even had a chance to see who else was there. By the time I looked around, we were speeding down the road, and already the surroundings were unfamiliar.

“So hang on. What is going on?”

“Something, I’ll say that much.” Liz was never much for talking, and when she did, you either wished she didn’t, or that she at least said something understandable.

“All right then…say, you never told me why the hell you wanted me involved in this. I would’ve kind of preferred to stay home and study. I have a physics exam tomorrow…” The driver looked through the rear-view mirror with dangerous eyes.

“Trust me. Physics is the last thing you have to worry about.” I looked up long enough to notice we were on the interstate. I had a sinking feeling no studying would occur this weekend.

The car slowed down, and pulled into a clearing on the side of the road. Everyone got out, and Liz pulled me out accordingly, despite my attempt to get out on my own. She was impatient…but I had known that. Three men carrying guns emerged from the woods, and looked us over. The one in the middle looked at me.

“You’re Max, right?” I nodded, though confused.

“All right. Come with us. The rest of you, wait here. We’ll be back in an hour.” The man grabbed me by the forearm, and led me quickly through the woods. We got to a small cabin about ten minutes later, though it looked very dark, and very quiet. One of the other men opened the door, and then motioned for us to follow. The cabin was completely unfurnished, though there was a sewer grate in the middle of the floor, which was very strange. The first man opened the grate, and the rest of us were beckoned downward.

About forty feet down, the ladder ended, and we were greeted by dim lighting, and a fairly dry sewer tunnel. The men walked down the tunnel, and I followed accordingly, having no idea what was going on. Finally, we approached a small room, where four other men in lab coats stood, looking bored.

“We have him.”

“Are you sure this is sample 563?”

“We do have to conduct the conduit testing.” I had no idea what they were talking about, which made me worried. The anxiety compounded when I saw one of the men in lab coats bring out a small cabinet covered in electrical equipment. One of the men handed me a pill and a glass of water. I looked at the pill, and then looked at him.

“You swallow it. It isn’t that hard.” I rolled my eyes and flipped him off, but decided to swallow the thing anyway. Almost immediately, my arms and legs felt very itchy. This was not cool. It got worse. By the time I knew what was going on, I woke back up. The pain throughout my body was evident, and judging by the dull body throb, I had a feeling it was worse when I was passed out. What made my anxiety worse was when I felt the metallic protrusion from the back of my neck. The men in lab coats were murmuring, and I could hear snippets of the conversation.

“…implant nodes….reflexive algorithms…maintenance amplification…” I was horribly confused. Well, that was an understatement.

“Max, are you awake?” I slowly nodded, still prodding the thing on my neck.

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll hook it up to the modules, but it will recede below your skin about three hours after we’re done. So will the nerve conduits.” I screwed up my face, and the man in the lab coat pointed to my wrist. Indeed, there were small protrusions on my wrist, similar to the one on my neck. The one on my left wrist, however, had a USB port.

“Okay, what the hell is this?” I was freaked out. I could hook my mp3 player into my wrist, which was not a pleasant idea.

“This, Max, is Project Symbiote. You were one of 600 children who were implanted with symbiotic nanoagents during your infancy.”

“600 kids? What the hell have you people been doing? Is there some secret army I’m about to join?”

“Hardly. Out of those 600, only about 75 survived past age 3. The rest died from immune complications resulting from the nanoagents. There were two lines that were particularly successful, and those were the initial #00 experiments and the block of #55, of which you are one.”

“Uh…cool?”

“Well, there’s an issue with this, which is why we’re now retrieving the Symbiote kids from college campuses.”

“Huh.” The researcher looked at me.

“You’re definitely taking this a little….easier than most of your colleagues. You and your other friend.”

“You mean Liz? She’s in this too?”

“Yes…we got her about a year ago, and she reacted very similarly.”

“That’s not too surprising. She’s a computer geek and I’m a gadget nerd. We’ve all read Gibson.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“What, you haven’t read Gibson?”

“No, but it’s odd only you two came out this way.”

“And it’s a coincidence we know each other. Well, looks like we settled the nature and nurture debate.” The researcher just stared at me. The pain had subsided, so I hopped off the operating table and reached for my bag. I pulled out a Mountain Dew, and began drinking. Something unpleasantly cold prodded my neck, but that didn’t keep me from my caffeine. I reflexively looked at my watch. 3 Am. No wonder the Dew felt so good.

“I’ve just hooked up your node to an extension module. Now that we need you, we need you to be topped up.”

“A what?”

“Extension module. Basically, we’re topping off what your syms have already done.”

“Syms?”

“Symbiotes.”

“Oh. What have they already done?”

“The symbiotes allow your hippocampus to emulate RNA-style learning. Essentially, they augment your ability to learn stuff.”

“Stuff? Very scientific.”

“We’re only human, Max.” I snickered. The man swiped my dew, took a swig, and then gave it back. I glared, but he just smiled. I suppose I knew who was a geek at heart here.

“So what are you plugging into me, if these sym things can already do that?”

“Some subroutines and a couple little cool things most of our other subjects have enjoyed.

“Uh…dare I ask?”

“Well, mostly just little modules that improve your reflexes, extend your vision threshold, and increase your sensitivity to reflexive learning.”

“Which means…?”

“They make you awesome.”

“You’re sounding less and less like a scientist, dude.”

“Well, yeah. But the other things are tactile and auditory hookups.”

“Tact- to what now?” This guy was confusing me.

“Well, you can use the USB port in your arm to use computers without keyboard and mouse, and use the other jack to listen to music.”

“In my head?”

“Yup.”

“Is there an equalizer?”

“Yup.”

“I love you.” Damn. This guy knew how to win me over. “So, why are we here, anyway?”

“You’ll see.”

“I’ll see?”

“You’ll see.” After another twenty minutes, he unplugged the probe, and led me to another small room, with a bed. They had taken my bag briefly after I got my dew, and it was sitting on the bed, apparently untampered with. I rifled through, but found my Glock was missing. I suppose being disarmed wasn’t so surprising. It had only been an hour since I had that dew, but the caffeine was already starting to wear off. Liz was standing at the door, something I didn’t notice before, probably because of the crash.

“So, we’re experiments. Cool, huh?”

“Uh…sure. Why are we here?”

“Beats the hell out of me, but after they picked me up, they told me this was going to happen. So I’m not terribly surprised.”

“Yeah. You certainly didn’t act it.”

“Well, yeah…but tomorrow we may be doing something crazy. So I’d get some sleep.” Liz moved out of the door way, and closed the door behind her. I fell on to the bed, and almost immediately started to fuzz out. I guess I had a little more to worry about than the physics at this point.

Version City: The Mills

Well, I'm finally going to do some writing on my Version City setting for CP2020. Chances are, I'm going to write outward as players explore the city, but I already have the neighborhood where they start out pretty much ready. Here goes...

The Mills district is somewhat inaccurately named, but it at least appears correct. The Mills is the neighborhhod surrounding the South River, And the river is indeed flanked on both sides by large brick buildings that, though they look like mills, were used mostly as warehousing after the city's fire scare, when the economy was still too unstable for the insurers to guarantee immediate compensation. Now, the buildings are filled with trendy clubs and bars on the north bank, and are either abandoned or occupied semi-legally on the south bank. As a result, the two bridges that lead to the south highways over the river are police patrolled 24 hours a day, and actually roadblocked between the hours of 10pm and 6am. Not surprisingly, The Mills are the southernmost portion of Downtown Version City, and the South End Combat Zone begins about 6 blocks south of the river.
There is one establishment on the south bank, the somewhat properly named bar, Firefight. The bar is a common gang meeting place, since generally the city police are too scared to cross the bridge, and the corporate cops have had no reason to come down that far yet. The gangs that exist are primarily neighborhood groups that are, unless provoked, not terribly troublesome, mostly selling small quantities of marijuana and amyl nitrate.
There is one exception, though an amusing one. The South Lords are a gang of kids, mostly lower-middle class to upper-middle class, who group together to slum in the South End. They harass the homeless, and the nomads who pass through the city will beat up virtually anyone they see with the Lords' trademark bleached hair as a matter of principle. The kids are all white, which makes them easy to spot in the South End, where the neighborhood is not only diverse, but also very poor. Spoiled white kids slumming, not suprisingly, are not terribly dangerous, though you will find them in large groups.
The Mills are a popular hangout for all sorts of kids, not just low-brow posers like the Lords. Juvers go to the North Bank for both the numerous hangouts, and the dangerous air it lends by its proximity to gang territory.
Locations of Note: 7th St Bridge, Firefight, North Bank Mall, Trier Tavern, Sushi-Aki Pan-Asian Restaurant

Session 8

After handily defeating the ogres, our heroes set down for the night. And, as all good campsites have, this one had an ambush lying in wait at around 1 in the morning. Fortunately, the ogres who attacked the party had vital information. The map the adventurers found led them right to the ogre's canyon hideout. Sort of. The point on the map turned out to be a big flat field, which was not just a little confusing. However, after some poking, prodding, and "detect magic", our heroes found their way down into the crevasse. At the entrance, the guards were not ogres. In fact, they were humans, wearing the same flaming talon insignia our heroes had seen many times before...

Session 7

Our heroes returned the artifact to Balinor, and the crisis of Helios was averted. Told there was little to do but wait, the adventurers left the city, not knowing what would happen next. However, something did happen next. Two orcs found Enkanthu, and informed him of a new crisis facing his tribe. Our heroes opted to aid their compatriot, and all headed through a portal to the Tropica jungle. Informed of the issue with ogres, our heroes followed Enkanthu, enthusiastically tracking the ogres through the jungle. Our heroes found said ogres, and Enkanthu planned a daring sneak attack. However, ignoring all reason and common sense, Darvian emerged to negotiate with the ogres. Even more surprisingly, he succeeded, unaware that a common show of newfound ogre companionship is...ermmm...unpleasant. Fortunately, Enkanthu and Sorvel took advantage of the ogre's stupidity, and handed their heads to them in mortal combat. The battle ensued, with all heroes killing with much jubilance, except for Galstaff, who pretty much stood and watched, and maybe cast one or two spells, and Darvian, who was busy being...."grappled". Standing in many juicy puddles of ogre blood, our heroes composed themselves and headed on their way, eager to find the ogre's mysterious ringleader...

Session 6

After descending into the depths below Helios, our heroes found many monsters and traps, leading into a labyrinth protecting the mysterious artifact after which they had sought. Finding the hidden treasure room, the artifact was found by the evil sand witch, in addition to our heroes. After a pitched battle, where Adun was stolen away by some mythical beast, the sand witch escaped. Adun then returned with apocalyptic visions of the future. Unsure what to make of it, our Heroes return to Balinor, only hoping they made the right decision...

Session 4,5 (condensed)

After returning from a strange trip in an alternate dimension, Sorvel rejoins our heroes to find them in a sticky situation. For reasons that were resolved in session 3, Gustaf, a f---ing insane cleric, wants to loose an undead army on the city of Helios! This will clearly not stand, and our heroes, along with mighty lieutenant Roy Mustang, go after Gustaf with gusto. Before the battle, confusions of identity and other things introduce a new mercenary to the group. Panjii, a gnomish fighter, astride her flowery pony (or at least named as such) and ready to add another lance to the collective box of doom our heroes prepare to unleash. Rather unfortunately, when our heroes do meet Gustaf, they also meet his 100 skeletal minions, which really is not cool. After a pitched battle and a lot of death, our heroes dispatch Gustaf, only to find a whole horde of skeletons escaped. Helios' magic barrier is compromised, and cultists and mercenaries pour into the outermost sections of the city. The prince of Helios which our heroes had escorted earlier has suspect ties with these cultists, making any chance of negotiating lost. Balinor, a Helian general who has helped our heroes before, has a daring plan: the artifact which keeps Helios aloft must be retrieved, and then the city can be saved. Our heroes descend into the depths below Helios, ready to face what will most likely be traps (DC25 to spot) and vile beasts (CR6)....

Session 2

Our heroes continued on with the caravan, entering a massive desert. The journey was slow and arduous, with the desert conditions being some of the worst in the century. After many days pushing through the desert, Sorvel's occasional visions of people moving through the desert culminated with a witch with evil eyes on the side of the road. To make matter worse, a sandworm had appeared and nearly swallowed one of the caravan platforms. Looking threatening, Sorvel approached the witch, and made for a "preemptive" strike. The resulting fight nearly killed the adventurers, but after killing the sandworm, a summoned sand golem, and nearly the witch as well, a large arcane discharge caused a mass blackout, and our heroes awoke in a mysterious ancient sanctuary. After seeing a hooded figure who spoke in questions and riddles, our heroes went to meet back up with the caravan, now certain that their travels and encounter with the prince have even more significance than they originally thought. With a contact in Helios, they resume their travel with renewed purpose...

Bio: Sorvel Hormalan

In the small southern city-state of Barth, the merchants and sea-captains exercise control over the trades and industries of the city. The Hormalan family has controlled a fair portion of two industries within the city: the textile industry, and the caravan industry. Carnen Hormalan was the most recent heir to the family's two mills and underwriting business, and was, like most of the family before him, ruthless and motivated. Carnen paid the dowry for a nobleman's daughter named Tila, who was a kind and gentle woman. Carnen was as cruel to his wife as he was to his employees, but Tila was able to escape Carnen's wrath by staying home and raising their two children, Sorvel and Rei. Sorvel was taught by the best tutors his father could afford, and soon became the resourceful, cunning, and quick-witted man his father wanted him to be. However, Sorvel resented his father. Sorvel resented him for being cruel to his employees, for striking his wife, and for favoring him over Sorvel's sister, who he loved. At around 12, Sorvel began skipping lessons to wander around Barth. It was at that time that he met the bard Feyn. Feyn was a halfling who wandered with his "family" of travelling minstrels, thiefs, and other miscreants. Feyn also took pity on orphans wandering the streets, though he was surprised that Sorvel was a merchant's son who hadn't been robbed blind on his first trip to the docks. So, Feyn took him under his wing, teaching him how to cut purses, open locks, and use a knife. Around the age of 14, Sorvel stole a rapier and set of travelling cloaks from his father and disappeared into Barth to travel with Feyn. The journey was only to a neighboring state, but the young Sorvel honed his skills, and learned how to use the sword that he stole. After 6 months, Sorvel returned to the Hormalan estate to confront his father. His father was ashamed at what he had become, but offered him the chance to become a shewd businessman. "A thief and a merchant are only different in how much the law likes them," his father said. This infuriated Sorvel, who denounced his father, his father's business, and pretty much everything having to do with the Hormalan name and business. His father clearly had no verbal response to this. Instead, he dragged out Rei, Sorvel's sister, and beat her viciously, forcing Sorvel to watch the assault on his beloved sister. Sorvel could not control his anger, and stabbed his father in the chest with a foot-long hunting knife. He later learned his father had survived, but not until he had stolen his father's bullion from the house, as well as a fortune worth of spices from the Underwriter's warehouse his father had stock in. He then went and, as a final act of emancipation, burned down the warehouse and his father's newly acquired textile mill. That night, he snuck his sister out of the house, and went to Feyn. Feyn told him that he was already wanted by the watch. Not wanting to risk the lives of his sister or his greatest mentor, he left Rei in Feyn's care, then started up north. By the time he had gotten to Dirg, he had spent almost all of his money on bribes and safe passage, and was left with only three bars of bullion. After staying in the town nearly a week, he decided to leave with an ore caravan to Helios, the floating city presumed to have the most infamous thieve's guild in the northern continent...

Session 1

Synopsis:
The characters are travelling with a large ore caravan from the mining city of Dirg. After roughly a day of travel, the caravan is attacked by an unknown assailant, who did little more than rifle through papers. Riled by the theatrics of the day, the five eclectic characters meet around a fire and share war stories. Sorvel is a human rogue with a history of dislike for the rich and a very slight streak of pyromania. Darvian is a talented bard with people skills and a knack for travelling. Galstaff is a gnomish wizard who takes advantage of his small stature to stay unnoticed. Enkanthu is a half-orc ranger who is out from his tribe, exploring the world with nothing but his wits and his axe to keep him alive. And Adul, at over 7 feet tall, is a benevolent cleric whose kind nature is hidden by his massive body.
After a few nights of anxiety, the attackers show themselves, trying to kill a man with the caravan. Adul desperately tries to keep the severely injured man alive, while Darvian and Galstaff prevent the invisible assailant from escaping. Meanwhile, Enkanthu, after being attacked from behind, enlists the help of Sorvel to track down his attacker. After finding two barely human forms, Sorvel manages to take one down with a well-planted rapier in the face (doesn't that sound painful?). The surviving figure, shot by Enkanthu, plants two poison daggers in Sorvel's chest. Before anyone knows what's going on, three strange humanoids are dead, and two men are severely injured and on the verge of death. Both recover, and find out what's going on. The man who was attacked explains that he is a prince of a southern region, travelling in cognito on the caravan. The assassins, all wearing the same crest, were presumably sent to kill him, to prevent a possible attempt of diplomatic unification of northern and southern human factions. He asks the five adventurers to protect him for the remainder of the journey, and pays them handsomely up front. No one quite knows what else is in store for this motley crew...

This session was a lot of fun. Dan is good at this...I can't wait to see what else he has in store.
Sorvel is my character, and I will probably post a bio sometime soon.

Campaign! Part...Deux

We met tonight to start planning for the campaign. All of the guys seem really into it, and even the one less experienced player has a good feel for roleplaying overall...Right now, it looks like we have a human bard and a human rogue (me), a half-orc ranger, and a goliath cleric, who is toned down to preserve play balance. There is also a wizard in the mix, though he hasn't finished enough character creation to be very fleshed out yet. We don't know how everything will start, but judging from the feel of everyone playing, I have very good expectations for this campaign. We may start playing as early as this weekend, and I will post synopses after every session. This should be sweet!

Campaign!

The one-shot was an awesome success...though a let-down when it was over.
Thusly, I'm joining a campaign starting...tomorrow.
Should be fun, and if it gets off the ground, I'll start posting synopses after sessions.
Wish us luck!

Dungeons and Dragons: A New Hope

I played D&D last night, and despite being only a one-shot, it was quite amazing. My gnomish bard was admittedly Glibdil toned down (Glibdil Stumbleduck Raenlig...ring a bell?) but I had fun and am now more dedicated to playing something cool, like a sorceror. I don't know. However it does indeed transpire, I now know very interesting and wonderful people to play D&D with. Several also played Cyberpunk, so that will also be a point of interest, to say the least. More info as it is available, I will try to get a group together in this coming week, to either play 3.5 again, or maybe even Cyberpunk. Should be fun.

Dice!

I bought some dice today! They're speckled green and gold. In other words, PRETTY.
I'm joining a meeting of the Camarilla club for D&D this Saturday. It should be awesome. I'm considering playing a bard (again) or a rogue...I really am not sure. Even a sorceror came to mind. Angsty and neurotic chaotic neutral sorceror...hmmm...I don't know.
Should be fun, either way. Will update after the session.

A little update

Well, I've found several gamers here, but I don't know if we'll start doing anything yet. Also, the Activities Fair is tomorrow, which means I finally get to find someone from the Gaming club.
The little hangout we did Sunday night was cool, both because I learned something new and found out I am not alone. We did spend fair amounts of time bitching about our high school gaming groups...these guys had different issues than I, but as severe in many instances. It also seems that 3 out of the 5 or so people I've talked to have GMed significantly. This is good.
One guy, Jonathan, suggested an interesting idea for creating a campaign world. He found pictures, assumedly fantasy pictures, and composed a story and more detailed timeline behind the pictures, until he had enough locations and ideas to create a cohesive campaign. He said it worked really well, and I'd love to try something like that.
Things are looking good. I may end up playing D&D, but it's just as well.

Another tiny update

I'm terribly sorry for the lack of real posts here, but I have yet to actually start playing CP...which is annoying, but considering everything going on here at CMU, completely expected.

Here's a thought. Cyberpunk talks about technology and its power for social change...this is cyberpunk in general, though mostly on the literary side of it.

By earning an engineering degree in the beginning of the 21st century, I am on the edge of joining the next real technocratic revolution.

I don't know if this will look anything like CP, but it's pretty freaking cool anyway.

Advice to all you college students out there: Go and see guest lecturers. They will broaden your mental horizon.

Update...

I haven't posted in a while, mostly because I've been making the transition to college. I am now settled into my CMU dorm, and ready to gleefully work my ass off and other assorted things. Oh well. On a cooler (and nerdier) note, I have found a few gamers, and there is a store in Pittsburgh which sells used sourcebooks, including (I believe) Eurosource and Media Front for Cybergeneration. This is good. I have not started any campaign, Cyberpunk or otherwise, but I hope to by the end of September. In the meanwhile, I plan to take full advantage of CMU and Pittsburgh. Much, much, much more interesting than CCHS and Carlisle.

Ab3

Horror Stories Like You've Never Heard Them Before

Go onto the site, then click on "Rants/Reviews".

I very much agree with his review of Perdido Street Station, but the rants are more interesting. Read the RPG.net rants, because you will realize, as I did, that they are scary because of both the content and the familiarity. Ab3 tells the story that we all know too well, even if we deny it. And, it's flipping hilarious, as long as you can be a bit self-deprecatory.

Book Review: The Traveller

The Traveller, by John Twelve Hawks

John Twelve Hawks is an author I had never heard of, so when I saw this book at Barnes and Noble, I thought it was a book based on the RPG Traveller, so I immediately picked it up (In Listen up you Primitive Screwheads, Craig Sheeley called Traveller the most over-weaponed RPG in circulation). It wasn't but I read it anyway, because there were "critical acclaim" blurbs all over the jacket, and if an author has both blurbs, and only one published book, it has to be worth something.
It is, despite my jabs at the way I came upon it, quite a good book. Towards the beginning, it seemed that Twelve Hawks' writing style was reminiscent of Garth Nix writing Shade's Children, that is, a bit too young adult. His descriptions are very straight-forward and no-nonsense, and while this is a relief to those of us accustomed to Gibson-esque flourish that leaves the plot miles away and the reader confused, it feels like the weight of the writing is lacking.
Before I go beyond the mere technicalities, let me say that this novel is not cyberpunk. It is what could be termed science fantasy, but the conceit of the novel is one that would appeal to any fan of Gibson, Stephenson, Sterling, or any other cyberpunk author. Twelve Hawks writes the book on the principle that society is built on a network of computers, cameras, and communications lines that make it possible to monitor almost any action one would choose to make. The extent of this network is dubbed by Twelve Hawks as The Grid (apparently, the Net was taken), and the two major players in the book have very different relationships with this Grid. The Tabula, the antagonists of the story, are a group who wish to control society in a way modeled on the Panopticon (the theory behind the Panopticon is described at length in the book, and while I don't recall the name of the man who came up with it, I can give a basic overview: the Panopticon was a planned model prison where cells were arranged around a guard tower where the guards could see the prisoners, but the prisoners couldn't see the guards. The theory was that as long as the prisoners believed they were being watched, it was unnecessary to watch them every waking minute). Now, the tenets of the Panopticon are fine for a prison, but quite scary for real life. Later in the book, the head honcho of the Tabula waxes Marxist about the concept, saying that people are unaware they're trapped, and as long as they're kept distracted, they'll never find out or even care that they're being monitored (if you don't know what I mean by "waxing Marxist", go read Marx's The Communist Manifesto. The analogy will make more sense). Anyhoo...basically, the Tabula want to control society. On the other side are two groups, the Harlequins and the Travellers. The Harlequins live a life of violence and randomness (The protagonist, a Harlequin, carries a five-digit random number generator with her, and uses it to determine her actions in certain situations) and live their lives solely to protect Travellers. Travellers are born with the mythic ability to "pass their bodily energy into other realms"...and, the book goes Buddhist and doesn't return. The concept is original, but during one scene where the main characters are staying with families living "Off the Grid", the Paid-Avoidance zones from Shockwave Rider kept on flashing into my mind.
The way Twelve Hawks develops the plotis the books key element that makes it interesting. Twelve Hawks is quite a good writer, and knows how to spin up tense conflicts and subconflicts that keep you reading page after page. Once I had really gotten into the meat of the story, I read 200 pages in one night just to see what was going to happen next. Although some of the characters are not subtle at all (The greedy land developer who *gasp* is actually a Traveler), Twelve Hawks still manages to throw them into an embroiled conflict. Though, if I was to tell you whether his choice was money or family, I'd be giving some of the plot away. Up until the very end, the conflict is gripping. And that's the part that got me. I will just say now, a once-published author has a lot of nerve to end his first-ever book with To be continued. I read those words, and wanted to scream and throw the book across the room. I thought I was finally going to see the resolution of the whole thing, and this crafty little romantic subplot that was actually done really well, but all I got was a nice stopping point and a f---ing Cliffhanger. Urgh. That being said, the fact that he built up so much emotion that I reacted as such to this abrupt and frustrating ending is a testament to how well the book had built up to that point. I'd recommend this to Cyberpunk fans, but you may want to wait until they announce a release date for his next book.