A baby wiki warrior lands in the Forever Winter world. Get out of there, stupid!
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A Randomizer in the Forever War (SI-OC in THE FOREVER WINTER; multi x-over later)
- Thread starter Trieze
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Statistics (5 threadmarks, 6.3k words)
User Total Trieze 5
1.1 - First Steps
New
Trieze
The man from Nowhere, next stop Anywhere.
- Joined
- May 24, 2018
- Messages
- 918
- Likes received
- 8,594
A Randomizer in the Forever War (SI-OC in THE FOREVER WINTER; multi x-over later)
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1.1 - First Steps
A violent headache snaps me awake, and that's how I found myself in what looked like some underground complex. Stabbing pains lanced behind my eyes, bright spots bursting in my vision as I gasped quietly, wincing as I tried to nurse this God-awful pain in my head. Finally, I managed to blink away the bright spots in time to notice a blinking dot of light in front of me.
Rolls? What is this, all of a sudden? For that matter, where in the Hell am I? Why is it so damn cold?
...looking down, I find myself relieved that I have my clothes on, plus the feel of the thermal underlayers under my shirt and jeans. Fortunate, considering that the last thing I remember was going to bed in my underwear as usual, and that there were ice-cold winds whipping up a bunch of SAND in my face at that very moment! Can't I get a break?!?
Just like that, a new window pops up, and the blurb read;
And with that, the beachfront seemed to ripple before taking on a distinctly tropical look, with coconut-bearing palm trees growing at accelerated time-lapse speeds until fully fruited. The sky was now bright and sunny, and the climate was pleasantly warm and balmy, but more than enough to get me to start sweating in my clothes. Summer clothing, they most certainly were not.
With that, another window appeared. With one glance, I could tell whatever was happening to me decided to add a feature that directly attacked my fragile self-esteem.
And so I ran. Into the underpass behind me, and on and on until I reached what was left of a parking lot. But I was never in any good shape, and it showed as I nursed a stitch in my side, wheezing as I found myself maybe twenty-five feet away from the transformed beach, and the weather was the piercing cold that I had initially experienced upon waking up.
I ended up taking in the stereotypical post-apocalyptic feature of burnt-out cars, with one or two of them even featuring a skeleton or two. More alarmingly, there were corpses that seemed fresher by comparison scattered all over the place. These bodies drew my gaze, considering they looked a lot like soldiers from two distinctly different polities.
I couldn't help but say the Simpsons line, "Jeez... what's with all the death?" (Hey, I love that show, sue me.) This, even though I had a pretty good idea of what had happened at some point in the past. But I didn't recognize the soldiers off-hand, and the strange-looking designs on the flag patches didn't twig my memory, either. It reminded me of that old Eighties movie with that terrible remake, but the bodies were numerous enough that I couldn't count them off-hand at a glance. Tropes being what they were, however, I reached down to pick up what looked like some random AK-type from one of the soldier corpses before reaching out to paw at the body itself, looking for supplies and extra ammo.
I got lucky, considering that the soldiers' combat webbing had specific pouches containing the AK's equally iconic sickle-curved mags and that my puffy jacket had some pockets big enough to hold them. I ended up stripping nine full mags from three different soldiers before the big pockets felt full to bursting, not counting the AK mag already loaded in place that I had filled up from other half-spent mags. I could be a bit obsessive about that sort of thing, even though I'd never shot a gun in all my life.
As I worked my way through the pockets of the other dead soldiers, I found a box of cookies that I scarfed down, followed quickly by two bags of potato chips and a half-full canteen that I quickly drained.
Then, as I was inspecting my new weapon, my head flared with another splitting headache, and that familiar text window opened up in my mind's eye. God help me, was the pain going to be a feature of this strange new power of mine?
True to the window blurb's word, a book suddenly popped into existence. It looked well-read, and the title on the cover was a long string of French that I couldn't translate, only recognizing the name "Châtillon" in it . But, having no use for the book, I simply slipped it into some random burnt-out car husk on a whim. I mean, what the Hell was I gonna do with some book that I couldn't even read?
This post-apocalyptic world that I'd been isekai'd was just raring to kick my teeth in, though. I hadn't gotten that much further away from the beach, and while it was nice to load up on supplies and a much-needed weapon and ammo, I really had to get moving.
So I squared my shoulders and started walking up the closest path. Ultimately to where, I still hadn't figured out yet...
**********************************************************************************
TBC...
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1.1 - First Steps
A violent headache snaps me awake, and that's how I found myself in what looked like some underground complex. Stabbing pains lanced behind my eyes, bright spots bursting in my vision as I gasped quietly, wincing as I tried to nurse this God-awful pain in my head. Finally, I managed to blink away the bright spots in time to notice a blinking dot of light in front of me.
Rolls? What is this, all of a sudden? For that matter, where in the Hell am I? Why is it so damn cold?
...looking down, I find myself relieved that I have my clothes on, plus the feel of the thermal underlayers under my shirt and jeans. Fortunate, considering that the last thing I remember was going to bed in my underwear as usual, and that there were ice-cold winds whipping up a bunch of SAND in my face at that very moment! Can't I get a break?!?
Just like that, a new window pops up, and the blurb read;
15 - 16
Roll for permanence: 1d20 (18)
The poisoned shoreline that was once beachfront property for the city of Lost Angels has now been transformed into the Emerald Hill Zone,
Because of this high roll, this effect stretches from Crystal Cove to Topanga Beach and will permanently be unaffected by any ecologically-devastating weaponry or industrial pollution from this point forward. Not that you know where exactly those specific locations are placed...
The offshore waters will remain eternally pure and uncontaminated, but a nat20 roll would've allowed the water-purification effect to eventually spread across the worlds' oceans.
Roll for permanence: 1d20 (18)
The poisoned shoreline that was once beachfront property for the city of Lost Angels has now been transformed into the Emerald Hill Zone,
Because of this high roll, this effect stretches from Crystal Cove to Topanga Beach and will permanently be unaffected by any ecologically-devastating weaponry or industrial pollution from this point forward. Not that you know where exactly those specific locations are placed...
The offshore waters will remain eternally pure and uncontaminated, but a nat20 roll would've allowed the water-purification effect to eventually spread across the worlds' oceans.
And with that, the beachfront seemed to ripple before taking on a distinctly tropical look, with coconut-bearing palm trees growing at accelerated time-lapse speeds until fully fruited. The sky was now bright and sunny, and the climate was pleasantly warm and balmy, but more than enough to get me to start sweating in my clothes. Summer clothing, they most certainly were not.
With that, another window appeared. With one glance, I could tell whatever was happening to me decided to add a feature that directly attacked my fragile self-esteem.
ATTENTION IN HIGH PLACES
Reward: one (1) roll series
Congratulations, dillweed, you've officially managed to get the attention of figures that no one with any brains wants to draw. Get out of there, stupid!
Reward: one (1) roll series
Congratulations, dillweed, you've officially managed to get the attention of figures that no one with any brains wants to draw. Get out of there, stupid!
And so I ran. Into the underpass behind me, and on and on until I reached what was left of a parking lot. But I was never in any good shape, and it showed as I nursed a stitch in my side, wheezing as I found myself maybe twenty-five feet away from the transformed beach, and the weather was the piercing cold that I had initially experienced upon waking up.
I ended up taking in the stereotypical post-apocalyptic feature of burnt-out cars, with one or two of them even featuring a skeleton or two. More alarmingly, there were corpses that seemed fresher by comparison scattered all over the place. These bodies drew my gaze, considering they looked a lot like soldiers from two distinctly different polities.
I couldn't help but say the Simpsons line, "Jeez... what's with all the death?" (Hey, I love that show, sue me.) This, even though I had a pretty good idea of what had happened at some point in the past. But I didn't recognize the soldiers off-hand, and the strange-looking designs on the flag patches didn't twig my memory, either. It reminded me of that old Eighties movie with that terrible remake, but the bodies were numerous enough that I couldn't count them off-hand at a glance. Tropes being what they were, however, I reached down to pick up what looked like some random AK-type from one of the soldier corpses before reaching out to paw at the body itself, looking for supplies and extra ammo.
I got lucky, considering that the soldiers' combat webbing had specific pouches containing the AK's equally iconic sickle-curved mags and that my puffy jacket had some pockets big enough to hold them. I ended up stripping nine full mags from three different soldiers before the big pockets felt full to bursting, not counting the AK mag already loaded in place that I had filled up from other half-spent mags. I could be a bit obsessive about that sort of thing, even though I'd never shot a gun in all my life.
As I worked my way through the pockets of the other dead soldiers, I found a box of cookies that I scarfed down, followed quickly by two bags of potato chips and a half-full canteen that I quickly drained.
Then, as I was inspecting my new weapon, my head flared with another splitting headache, and that familiar text window opened up in my mind's eye. God help me, was the pain going to be a feature of this strange new power of mine?
4 - 7
Roll for permanence: 1d20 (11)
A book written about the history and members of the long-extinct French noble House of Châtillon of Champagne. Because of the middling roll, it's in worn condition. Besides, you can't even read French!
Roll for permanence: 1d20 (11)
A book written about the history and members of the long-extinct French noble House of Châtillon of Champagne. Because of the middling roll, it's in worn condition. Besides, you can't even read French!
True to the window blurb's word, a book suddenly popped into existence. It looked well-read, and the title on the cover was a long string of French that I couldn't translate, only recognizing the name "Châtillon" in it . But, having no use for the book, I simply slipped it into some random burnt-out car husk on a whim. I mean, what the Hell was I gonna do with some book that I couldn't even read?
This post-apocalyptic world that I'd been isekai'd was just raring to kick my teeth in, though. I hadn't gotten that much further away from the beach, and while it was nice to load up on supplies and a much-needed weapon and ammo, I really had to get moving.
So I squared my shoulders and started walking up the closest path. Ultimately to where, I still hadn't figured out yet...
**********************************************************************************
TBC...
Last edited:
1.2 - Slow Moving
New
Trieze
The man from Nowhere, next stop Anywhere.
- Joined
- May 24, 2018
- Messages
- 918
- Likes received
- 8,594
1.2 - Slow Moving
Walking this path was a slog and a half. Snow crunched beneath my sneakers and I could only wonder how they'd last before they'd inevitably fall to pieces, especially since it didn't look like I could get my hands on another set anytime soon. Well, aside from stripping the boots off of some soldier corpse,, but there's still time before I have to go that far.
Heh. That far. It is to laugh. I liked to keep at least somewhat aware of myself, and whatever passed for my morality slide.
I'd already robbed a bunch of dead soldiers of a gun and ammo, plus food. What's stripping boots off bodies by comparison? As for eating them? As in cannibalism? God only knows when that would happen, or even how. But I recognized the trope as one of those dark cliches that tends to pop up in boilerplate post-apocalyptic stories as a sign of the species' degeneration into feral barbarism. Between that old saw about mankind was three meals away from anarchy, and the fact that this new world around me was some kind of fresh Hell on Earth... well,, I have no intention of dying.
Just like that, however, a familiar agonizing twinge in my head made me flinch, just as a new text box opened up in front of me, all augmented reality-style and everything.
Oh, brilliance. Even my cosmic patron, whoever the Hell that might be, was apparently feeling just enough buyer's remorse that I could twinge that skinflint's pity-bone.
And with that, what looked like a sheet of parchment slowly fell into my sight, like leaves falling off of a tree in autumn. Grabbing it for a closer look, letting my new AK rest on its sling for the moment, I frowned at the sight of faded colors blurring out whatever features of physical landmarks that might have lead to whatever mythical untapped oilfield that pop-up box had been going on about. Never mind finding it, but tapping it? Yeesh. I folded up that surprisingly solid-feeling sheet of vellum before stuffing the small square into an inner pocket.
Now for roll number two. Fingers crossed for a game-changer... hey! It's not hurt-!
...and just like that, a man of unremarkable looks suddenly appeared. He looked like he was in his sixties, and he was dressed as one would of a man his age looking to spend the night indoors at home - a comfortable robe over a set of pinstriped pajamas and thick slippers on his feet. Looking around him in bewilderment, he exclaimed, "What the Hell-?!?" When he noticed me, he made a beeline for me. "You!" he demanded. "Where am I? What am I doing here?"
I just shook my head. Another dud. My nonexistent experience with Dungeons and Dragons notwithstanding, I was on a fairly poor roll streak. "Relax, dude, you'll be back at... home, I'm guessing, given your outfit. After that, it'll just seem like a really weird dream."
He opened his mouth to say something, but then disappeared. I wish I could go back home the same way. I didn't even know what this cheat power of mine was even doing, because it was so random.
Wait. Maybe that was the point. The sheer randomness of it all. Neither good, nor bad, just chaos.
The fact that I was so hard up for a turn in my personal fortunes meant that I actually welcomed the sheer condescension of my illusive patron's generosity.
True to the blurb delivering my patron's word, a village just appeared out of nowhere. Doing a quiet Curly whoop to myself, I made a break to my left, climbing over the low barrier and scaling the bent and warped chain-link fence with some difficulty (owing to my weight) before jumping down to the other side. Knowing that the inhabitants would probably get killed as a result of what I'd just done was unfair to them, but I just couldn't trust myself to be able to help them. That, and I couldn't speak Spanish, either.
I finally stopped running after making a right behind one of the rundown buildings and let myself breathe for a few minutes.
...I might as well see what I've done to myself this time while I was at it.
So, effectively, a dud. Got it. Ignoring the unnerving sound of the wind that now sounded like bullets just barely keeping from grazing me that now kept whistling in my ears, I rolled again.
As if to accentuate the infobox's assertion, a loud shotgun blast can be heard. Followed by another, and then a third. The sound of people shouting, "¡Es un demonio!", which was obviously translated as, "It's a demon!" in English, could be heard amidst the additional shotgun blasts.
Needless to say, I left them to their fates, whatever it might be.
True to my patron's word, a pamphlet for something called "capy games" appeared in my hands. I leafed through it, found out that it was some small, independent game development studio in Canada who had made some title that I'd never heard of, and then tossed it.
Gee. thanks a lot for nothing, my cheat power.
That unhelpful summary heralded the town's Wikipedia article, sans reference, engraving itself into my memory with a searing-hot stabbing pain in my forehead that drove me to my knees from sheer agony. It took all I had just to keep from screaming at the pain, but by the time that fresh migraine had faded away, I was staring down the barrel of a gun.
***************************************************
TBC...
Walking this path was a slog and a half. Snow crunched beneath my sneakers and I could only wonder how they'd last before they'd inevitably fall to pieces, especially since it didn't look like I could get my hands on another set anytime soon. Well, aside from stripping the boots off of some soldier corpse,, but there's still time before I have to go that far.
Heh. That far. It is to laugh. I liked to keep at least somewhat aware of myself, and whatever passed for my morality slide.
I'd already robbed a bunch of dead soldiers of a gun and ammo, plus food. What's stripping boots off bodies by comparison? As for eating them? As in cannibalism? God only knows when that would happen, or even how. But I recognized the trope as one of those dark cliches that tends to pop up in boilerplate post-apocalyptic stories as a sign of the species' degeneration into feral barbarism. Between that old saw about mankind was three meals away from anarchy, and the fact that this new world around me was some kind of fresh Hell on Earth... well,, I have no intention of dying.
Just like that, however, a familiar agonizing twinge in my head made me flinch, just as a new text box opened up in front of me, all augmented reality-style and everything.
4 - N/A
This is the second time you've rolled a bad one. Might not be your last, but it certainly doesn't bode well for you, now does it?
Tell you what, you get two (2) pity rolls because I feel sorry for you.
This is the second time you've rolled a bad one. Might not be your last, but it certainly doesn't bode well for you, now does it?
Tell you what, you get two (2) pity rolls because I feel sorry for you.
Oh, brilliance. Even my cosmic patron, whoever the Hell that might be, was apparently feeling just enough buyer's remorse that I could twinge that skinflint's pity-bone.
And with that, what looked like a sheet of parchment slowly fell into my sight, like leaves falling off of a tree in autumn. Grabbing it for a closer look, letting my new AK rest on its sling for the moment, I frowned at the sight of faded colors blurring out whatever features of physical landmarks that might have lead to whatever mythical untapped oilfield that pop-up box had been going on about. Never mind finding it, but tapping it? Yeesh. I folded up that surprisingly solid-feeling sheet of vellum before stuffing the small square into an inner pocket.
Now for roll number two. Fingers crossed for a game-changer... hey! It's not hurt-!
5 - 1
Roll for permanence - 7
Andrew Parks, veteran actor of stage and screen but not of any particular celebrity, gets summoned here. Calm your man-boobs, dude, he'll go back in half a flash.
Roll for permanence - 7
Andrew Parks, veteran actor of stage and screen but not of any particular celebrity, gets summoned here. Calm your man-boobs, dude, he'll go back in half a flash.
...and just like that, a man of unremarkable looks suddenly appeared. He looked like he was in his sixties, and he was dressed as one would of a man his age looking to spend the night indoors at home - a comfortable robe over a set of pinstriped pajamas and thick slippers on his feet. Looking around him in bewilderment, he exclaimed, "What the Hell-?!?" When he noticed me, he made a beeline for me. "You!" he demanded. "Where am I? What am I doing here?"
I just shook my head. Another dud. My nonexistent experience with Dungeons and Dragons notwithstanding, I was on a fairly poor roll streak. "Relax, dude, you'll be back at... home, I'm guessing, given your outfit. After that, it'll just seem like a really weird dream."
He opened his mouth to say something, but then disappeared. I wish I could go back home the same way. I didn't even know what this cheat power of mine was even doing, because it was so random.
Wait. Maybe that was the point. The sheer randomness of it all. Neither good, nor bad, just chaos.
YOU'VE GAINED WIS!
Congratulations! You've learned something important about your very own isekai cheat!
You've now earned FIVE (5) free rolls! Yaaaa~~y!
Congratulations! You've learned something important about your very own isekai cheat!
You've now earned FIVE (5) free rolls! Yaaaa~~y!
The fact that I was so hard up for a turn in my personal fortunes meant that I actually welcomed the sheer condescension of my illusive patron's generosity.
15 - 20
Roll for permanence - 16
...how the Hell did you manage this particular combination? The Spanish village of Godán is unexpectedly ISOT'd to the Moro Campgrounds and now occupies two square miles of land along its upper trail. But there's no telling what'll happen to them in this grimdark world you've landed yourself in. But there's no fixing that, I'm afraid. Just be comforted that the people are all spontaneously-realized temporal uncertainties, i.e., space-time clones. What happens to them from now on won't have any impact on the people back in your world.
Roll for permanence - 16
...how the Hell did you manage this particular combination? The Spanish village of Godán is unexpectedly ISOT'd to the Moro Campgrounds and now occupies two square miles of land along its upper trail. But there's no telling what'll happen to them in this grimdark world you've landed yourself in. But there's no fixing that, I'm afraid. Just be comforted that the people are all spontaneously-realized temporal uncertainties, i.e., space-time clones. What happens to them from now on won't have any impact on the people back in your world.
True to the blurb delivering my patron's word, a village just appeared out of nowhere. Doing a quiet Curly whoop to myself, I made a break to my left, climbing over the low barrier and scaling the bent and warped chain-link fence with some difficulty (owing to my weight) before jumping down to the other side. Knowing that the inhabitants would probably get killed as a result of what I'd just done was unfair to them, but I just couldn't trust myself to be able to help them. That, and I couldn't speak Spanish, either.
I finally stopped running after making a right behind one of the rundown buildings and let myself breathe for a few minutes.
...I might as well see what I've done to myself this time while I was at it.
So, effectively, a dud. Got it. Ignoring the unnerving sound of the wind that now sounded like bullets just barely keeping from grazing me that now kept whistling in my ears, I rolled again.
5 - 3
Roll for permanence - 18
...okay, you've gotten some seriously bad luck on your part, don't you, boy? Your high roll means that this latest spectacle makes this sentient mutant tapeworm abomination is three feet tall and materializes right in the middle of Godán. Lucky you, though; had you rolled a nat20, that creature would've been invulnerable to shotgun fire.
Roll for permanence - 18
...okay, you've gotten some seriously bad luck on your part, don't you, boy? Your high roll means that this latest spectacle makes this sentient mutant tapeworm abomination is three feet tall and materializes right in the middle of Godán. Lucky you, though; had you rolled a nat20, that creature would've been invulnerable to shotgun fire.
As if to accentuate the infobox's assertion, a loud shotgun blast can be heard. Followed by another, and then a third. The sound of people shouting, "¡Es un demonio!", which was obviously translated as, "It's a demon!" in English, could be heard amidst the additional shotgun blasts.
Needless to say, I left them to their fates, whatever it might be.
True to my patron's word, a pamphlet for something called "capy games" appeared in my hands. I leafed through it, found out that it was some small, independent game development studio in Canada who had made some title that I'd never heard of, and then tossed it.
16 - 2
Roll for permanence - 7
Welp, you now know a little more about deformation stressing on physical objects than you did before all this started. But it won't last. You'll forget all about this in seven (7) hours.
Roll for permanence - 7
Welp, you now know a little more about deformation stressing on physical objects than you did before all this started. But it won't last. You'll forget all about this in seven (7) hours.
Gee. thanks a lot for nothing, my cheat power.
5 - 4
Roll for permanence - 20
Jaqué is only know as a tiny town near the mouth of its namesake river in Panama, on the Pacific coast of the Darién Gap.
Roll for permanence - 20
Jaqué is only know as a tiny town near the mouth of its namesake river in Panama, on the Pacific coast of the Darién Gap.
That unhelpful summary heralded the town's Wikipedia article, sans reference, engraving itself into my memory with a searing-hot stabbing pain in my forehead that drove me to my knees from sheer agony. It took all I had just to keep from screaming at the pain, but by the time that fresh migraine had faded away, I was staring down the barrel of a gun.
***************************************************
TBC...
Last edited:
1.3 - Finally, Some Conversation!
New
Trieze
The man from Nowhere, next stop Anywhere.
- Joined
- May 24, 2018
- Messages
- 918
- Likes received
- 8,594
1.3 - Finally, Some Conversation!
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The gun being pointed at me wasn't being held by some random raider, looking for a hapless mark as easy prey. No, I was being held up by a robot of some kind. Bipedal, even humanoid. If not for what looked like an upside-down AA-12 automatic shotgun that seemingly replaced the robot's head. That wasn't even taking into consideration the M4 in its arms, the actual weapon being leveled at me. Given that I didn't have my new AK in hand at the moment, I wasn't in a position to defend myself at the moment.
"I- ddd- denti -ti- ti-" and here, a fist rose up to actually hit what seemed to be a small speaker mounted just above where the sternum would be on a human. "Identify yourself," it then said, apparently none the worse for wear after that bit of percussive maintenance. The robot's voice was croaky, flat-toned, and just eerie in general.
"My name..." here, I hesitated, wondering if an emergency pull of my cheat power might work.
,,,yeah, this was definitely going to be a blow to my self-esteem, alright. Considering that any potential new and unexpected changes was probably going to get me killed by this robot, I decided to hold off on 'rolling' any more potential changes to the world around me. I was already dreading what seemed to me an inevitable cluster-migraine when I could finally get around to actually 'roll' for these new pity rolls. I then realized that I couldn't hold off much longer.
"My name is Thomas." Best to hold off full names. No idea what this 'bot could do with my full name, after all.
The fact that the shotgun-headed robot didn't bother asking for my full name said a lot, not a lot which were potentially good. But, hoping to get some answers, I forged ahead. "What's the date?"
The 'bot's response was spine-chilling in its matter-of-fact reply. "The twenty-fifth of December, twenty ninety-nine."
If I had been drinking anything at that very moment, i would've done a spectacular spittake at that response. How the Hell did I get flung seventy-five years into the future?!?
"What happened here?" I couldn't help but ask, expansively swinging my arm all around me at the post-apocalyptic landscape.
The robot just said, "Follow," before it turned on its heel and started walking. It was at this time that another window popped up.
Wow. I didn't need to have my self-esteem taken out back and shot dead like Old Yeller, but that had just happened. Shaking my head ruefully, I took my AK in hand, I broke into a jog in order to try and keep up with the robot. See, I now had fifteen rolls available for me to increase my chances of survival in my very own isekai adventure, if not potentially finding a better setting to live a better and potentially idyllic new life. But, so far, that seemed very far away indeed.
**********
I lost track of how far I walked with the robot, and for how long. Mostly because my phone wasn't on me, even though I was all inexplicably dressed up for a winter weather outing. Not that I would've gotten any bars or even a way to get updates on my watched fanfics, so...
As I kept up the robot's dogged pace, it started to talk. What little it knew all stemmed from the rise of the megastates, a not-so-pithy name for a trio of massive polities that had taken over planet Earth. As it turned out, I was on the outskirts of the southern border of the city of Lost Angels, which sounded suspiciously enough like Los Angeles to me. That is, if L.A. had been converted into some kind of massive open-air super-fortress arcology that was then promptly demolished in a nuclear exchange years back. Quite the descriptive phrase, really, to shorten the robot's tediously long and detailed explanation. I'd never been to California. But from the stories that I'd heard about L.A. in my last life? I probably wasn't missing anything, seeing it reduced to something straight out of that future war scene in "TERMINATOR 2: JUDGMENT DAY".
See, Lost Angels was part of Europa, which was described as "most of the Western Hemisphere, plus Western Europe" but with no way of feeding or caring for its people because of the devastated environments and polluted lands. In other words, 'MERICA was being invaded! But I felt nothing, in truth. Seeing the full extent of how far civilization had fallen only suceeded in disgusting me. And the other polities were no better.
Eurasia was said to control east Asia and parts of central Asia, as an isolationist polity with a stranglehold on the last bits of arable land on Earth and a rumored overpopulation problem. Basically, this megastate probably started in China, and was quick to scoop up Taiwan, then Korea, Japan, southeast Asia, the Oceania polities (which includes Australia), as well as what sounded like the Himalayas, the Indian subcontinent, and the whole eastern half of Russia as well. One shudders at the legacy the CCP would've left on Eurasia...
...and finally, Euruska. The name did not inspire hope. The gunhead robot described Euruska as "a federation of former slavic states and parts of Africa, home to dementedly creative artists of biomechanics", which sounded like these particular bastards were using their so-called "undesireables" as meat for their mass cyber-conversion projects that allowed for biomechanical shock troopers to be deployed en-masse to the battlefield. Especially when something like cyberpsychosis would not only go unrecognized, but also be embraced as a terror-tactic weapon.
So, yeah, one could probably understand why I had absolutely no interest in anything from this grimdark take on George Orwell's so-called "Eternal War" between the super-states. In the hopes of alleviating my despair over the potential of dying in this God-forsaken universe, I decided to roll the metaphorical dice.
So I did just that, managing to ignore the awful headache that was beginning to worsen.
But, the moment a middle-aged man in robes and a wig appeared before us, the robot shot him in the head with a precise burst that blew his skull apart in a spray of blood, brains and bone.
"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU KILL HIM FOR?!?" I shouted at the gunheaded bucket of bolts, pointing my AK at it but uncertain as to where I could shoot it that could kill it properly. The robot only offered a garbled grumble in response, but did not explain its actions.
Now much more wary of what seemed to me was some kind of killer robot, I decided to roll again, hoping for something useful.
Utterly useless. Another failed roll. But, true to the window's blurb, I could feel what felt like a solid, oversized audiocassette slip into my jacket's inner pocket and I found myself just shaking my head. These rolls only dulled the pain of the headache, like an icepack.
But I'd have to find a (relatively) safe place in which I could unload these remaining thirteen rolls off my metaphorical shoulders...
**********
TBC...
***********************************************************
The gun being pointed at me wasn't being held by some random raider, looking for a hapless mark as easy prey. No, I was being held up by a robot of some kind. Bipedal, even humanoid. If not for what looked like an upside-down AA-12 automatic shotgun that seemingly replaced the robot's head. That wasn't even taking into consideration the M4 in its arms, the actual weapon being leveled at me. Given that I didn't have my new AK in hand at the moment, I wasn't in a position to defend myself at the moment.
"I- ddd- denti -ti- ti-" and here, a fist rose up to actually hit what seemed to be a small speaker mounted just above where the sternum would be on a human. "Identify yourself," it then said, apparently none the worse for wear after that bit of percussive maintenance. The robot's voice was croaky, flat-toned, and just eerie in general.
"My name..." here, I hesitated, wondering if an emergency pull of my cheat power might work.
18 - N/A
...is this going to become a theme with you?!? At this point, your title should be, "Unlucky Randomizer", what with all your crappy pulls! Others like you have managed far greater results, far earlier than you have to date! That roll with the beach had so much promise...!
Oh, take your pity ten (10) rolls already.
...is this going to become a theme with you?!? At this point, your title should be, "Unlucky Randomizer", what with all your crappy pulls! Others like you have managed far greater results, far earlier than you have to date! That roll with the beach had so much promise...!
Oh, take your pity ten (10) rolls already.
,,,yeah, this was definitely going to be a blow to my self-esteem, alright. Considering that any potential new and unexpected changes was probably going to get me killed by this robot, I decided to hold off on 'rolling' any more potential changes to the world around me. I was already dreading what seemed to me an inevitable cluster-migraine when I could finally get around to actually 'roll' for these new pity rolls. I then realized that I couldn't hold off much longer.
"My name is Thomas." Best to hold off full names. No idea what this 'bot could do with my full name, after all.
The fact that the shotgun-headed robot didn't bother asking for my full name said a lot, not a lot which were potentially good. But, hoping to get some answers, I forged ahead. "What's the date?"
The 'bot's response was spine-chilling in its matter-of-fact reply. "The twenty-fifth of December, twenty ninety-nine."
If I had been drinking anything at that very moment, i would've done a spectacular spittake at that response. How the Hell did I get flung seventy-five years into the future?!?
"What happened here?" I couldn't help but ask, expansively swinging my arm all around me at the post-apocalyptic landscape.
The robot just said, "Follow," before it turned on its heel and started walking. It was at this time that another window popped up.
DESIGNATED EPITHET GIVEN!
Congratulations, you are now officially dubbed, "the Unlucky Randomizer"! If you keep getting crappy rolls, that title will become cemented and a matter of truth on your part~!
Take five (5) pity rolls for your achievement.
Congratulations, you are now officially dubbed, "the Unlucky Randomizer"! If you keep getting crappy rolls, that title will become cemented and a matter of truth on your part~!
Take five (5) pity rolls for your achievement.
Wow. I didn't need to have my self-esteem taken out back and shot dead like Old Yeller, but that had just happened. Shaking my head ruefully, I took my AK in hand, I broke into a jog in order to try and keep up with the robot. See, I now had fifteen rolls available for me to increase my chances of survival in my very own isekai adventure, if not potentially finding a better setting to live a better and potentially idyllic new life. But, so far, that seemed very far away indeed.
**********
I lost track of how far I walked with the robot, and for how long. Mostly because my phone wasn't on me, even though I was all inexplicably dressed up for a winter weather outing. Not that I would've gotten any bars or even a way to get updates on my watched fanfics, so...
As I kept up the robot's dogged pace, it started to talk. What little it knew all stemmed from the rise of the megastates, a not-so-pithy name for a trio of massive polities that had taken over planet Earth. As it turned out, I was on the outskirts of the southern border of the city of Lost Angels, which sounded suspiciously enough like Los Angeles to me. That is, if L.A. had been converted into some kind of massive open-air super-fortress arcology that was then promptly demolished in a nuclear exchange years back. Quite the descriptive phrase, really, to shorten the robot's tediously long and detailed explanation. I'd never been to California. But from the stories that I'd heard about L.A. in my last life? I probably wasn't missing anything, seeing it reduced to something straight out of that future war scene in "TERMINATOR 2: JUDGMENT DAY".
See, Lost Angels was part of Europa, which was described as "most of the Western Hemisphere, plus Western Europe" but with no way of feeding or caring for its people because of the devastated environments and polluted lands. In other words, 'MERICA was being invaded! But I felt nothing, in truth. Seeing the full extent of how far civilization had fallen only suceeded in disgusting me. And the other polities were no better.
Eurasia was said to control east Asia and parts of central Asia, as an isolationist polity with a stranglehold on the last bits of arable land on Earth and a rumored overpopulation problem. Basically, this megastate probably started in China, and was quick to scoop up Taiwan, then Korea, Japan, southeast Asia, the Oceania polities (which includes Australia), as well as what sounded like the Himalayas, the Indian subcontinent, and the whole eastern half of Russia as well. One shudders at the legacy the CCP would've left on Eurasia...
...and finally, Euruska. The name did not inspire hope. The gunhead robot described Euruska as "a federation of former slavic states and parts of Africa, home to dementedly creative artists of biomechanics", which sounded like these particular bastards were using their so-called "undesireables" as meat for their mass cyber-conversion projects that allowed for biomechanical shock troopers to be deployed en-masse to the battlefield. Especially when something like cyberpsychosis would not only go unrecognized, but also be embraced as a terror-tactic weapon.
So, yeah, one could probably understand why I had absolutely no interest in anything from this grimdark take on George Orwell's so-called "Eternal War" between the super-states. In the hopes of alleviating my despair over the potential of dying in this God-forsaken universe, I decided to roll the metaphorical dice.
So I did just that, managing to ignore the awful headache that was beginning to worsen.
13 - 14
Roll for permanence - 16
...again, your rolls are the stuff of tedium, astounding only in the sheer banality of its effects. Lord George Murray, a bishop of the Anglican Church best known for introducing the semaphore telegraph to England, is now at full health and full of as much vim and vigor for a man of forty-two and grew up in the days of England's Georgian era.
Roll for permanence - 16
...again, your rolls are the stuff of tedium, astounding only in the sheer banality of its effects. Lord George Murray, a bishop of the Anglican Church best known for introducing the semaphore telegraph to England, is now at full health and full of as much vim and vigor for a man of forty-two and grew up in the days of England's Georgian era.
But, the moment a middle-aged man in robes and a wig appeared before us, the robot shot him in the head with a precise burst that blew his skull apart in a spray of blood, brains and bone.
"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU KILL HIM FOR?!?" I shouted at the gunheaded bucket of bolts, pointing my AK at it but uncertain as to where I could shoot it that could kill it properly. The robot only offered a garbled grumble in response, but did not explain its actions.
Now much more wary of what seemed to me was some kind of killer robot, I decided to roll again, hoping for something useful.
3 - 11
Roll for permanance - 8
Wagyan Land is a Japanese-exclusive platformer game released in 1989 about a robotic dinosaur that shot syllables from its mouth in order to stun his enemies so that it could 'goomba-stomp' them to death. Given the low roll, you only get a used Famicom cartridge of the game and no way to play this terribly-niche antique. Maybe you can sell it.
Roll for permanance - 8
Wagyan Land is a Japanese-exclusive platformer game released in 1989 about a robotic dinosaur that shot syllables from its mouth in order to stun his enemies so that it could 'goomba-stomp' them to death. Given the low roll, you only get a used Famicom cartridge of the game and no way to play this terribly-niche antique. Maybe you can sell it.
Utterly useless. Another failed roll. But, true to the window's blurb, I could feel what felt like a solid, oversized audiocassette slip into my jacket's inner pocket and I found myself just shaking my head. These rolls only dulled the pain of the headache, like an icepack.
But I'd have to find a (relatively) safe place in which I could unload these remaining thirteen rolls off my metaphorical shoulders...
**********
TBC...
Last edited:
1.4 - Lost Souls Interlude
New
Trieze
The man from Nowhere, next stop Anywhere.
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1.4 - Lost Souls Interlude
**************************************
Sooner than I had realized, what passed for daytime in this grimdark Hellscape of a near-future had made way for nighttime. The only reason that I knew that was when the robot, which I was already calling Gunhead, abruptly turned on some kind of high-powered flashlight that was mounted just under the barrel of its shotgun "head" and I could see the beam light up the path ahead of us in the near-pitch black surroundings. I remember being somewhere without streetlights at night only once before, during some camping trip when I was a kid. I didn't remember much more than that, but I did remember the starry night sky. I looked up on a whim, and was dismayed to see only a few flickering lights, showing just how much particulates still lingered in the atmosphere even after all this time.
...maybe it was time to try my luck.
It looked like an oversized belt buckle to me, but its adjustable bearing strap could let me put it on my arm. Knowing that it was little more than a decoration at the moment, I shrugged my left arm out of my jacket and wrapped the shield unit around the upper arm, making sure that the strange-looking device could not be moved easily, before I put my arm back in the jacket sleeve. Then the blinding force of Gunhead's mini-spotlight caught me off-guard, prompting me to instinctively raise the AK at him- Jesus H. Christ, I anthropomorphized that glitchy 'bot already?!? How pathetic a human being am I?
"Question," Gunhead droned, its speaker crackling with only a slight amount of noise.
"Yeah?" came my deadpan response.
"Your p- p- p-" and here, it hit the speaker that served as its quote-unquote mouth. I'd noticed that "G" would do that every time its speaker glitched out and made it sound like it was stuttering. I remember seeing Derek Jacobi do something similar in 'I, CLAVIDVS" and found myself wondering if this was a stutterers' bad habit, using a touch of percussive maintenance to help themselves talk coherently.
"Your physical condition is anomalous." Gunhead noted aloud.
"What, you mean me being fat?" I shot back dryly. It seemed to be a real non-sequitur under the circumstances, but given the whole post-apocalyptic nature of the world around me, complete with dead trees, the blasted-out husks of houses I'd seen here and there, the burned out shells of cars and trucks of all stripes, and last but certainly not least... the skeletons. All that death, the planet beneath me in its ecological death throes... and here my fat ass was, schlepping around a wasteland like this without so much as a by-your-leave.
"Affirmative," said the gun-toting robot.
"Well..." I hedged my words, and then decided to 'roll' the dice on a lark.
True to the text window's blurb, muffled thumps could be heard and Gunhead immediately turned its "gaze" off to the side of the road before trudging off to investigate. When I caught up to him- it, dammit, it! - the robot was staring blankly down at the six gravestones I knew would be there, the inscriptions on them almost completely worn away by time and environmental weathering.
"I can do things like this." I said in an aside. "People, places, things, new universes..." it looked up at me when I mentioned 'new universes' but said nothing. "Now, I'm trying to pull something that will help me get out of this world. Ideally, I want to go home. To the planet Earth of my native universe. Which, if I'm honest, is probably well on its way to turning into exactly the kind of world like the one around us."
Gunhead didn't say a word, just looked at me. I wondered what kind of train of thought it was running at that very moment.
As if to make a pun on my train reference, a text window popped up. Was this roll done subconsciously, or was it just trolling me?
A loud and extended crashing noise behind them heralded the appearance of said railway station, with two broken lines of track intersecting the road and an elevated walkway bridging the gap left by the rail tracks.
Gunhead turned back to regard me, the luminosity of its "headlight" almost blinding me. "An element of r- r- r-" *THUNK* it hit its speaker again. "-andom chance appears to be the guiding principle behind these inexplicable events."
"You can say that again." I sighed, making a beeline for the staircase leading up to the walkway. "Like I said, I'm trying to find a way out of this universe, but if this effect is truly as absolutely random as it apparently is, then I have absolutely no idea when exactly I'll be able to leave, and I'll need to learn how to survive until then." Gunhead was quick to catch up, but instead pulled me off the staircase and into an alcove under it. My eyebrows quirked at the sight of the door leading to the unisex public toilet room it was pulling me towards.
"Why are we going there?" Gunhead only responded by shooting open the bathroom lock and opening its door to... pitch black, considering that it had no electricity. In truth, I'd have thought these public toilets be vandalized, if not outright wrecked. At least it only smelled musty, as opposed to the unflushed contents of broken toilets being left to molder over time. The very idea made me shudder.
"You need r- r- r- rest and r- recovery," the robot noted, crouching down and hitting some kind of latch on its shoulders, prompting the large rack rigged to its back to suddenly fall off and land with a soft thump. Then, it reached out and unlatched the bottom rig, prompting a small plastic blue barrel to fall out, right into its hands. "Water is a- a- a- necessity with your kind."
"That's right." I nodded. "A man could go about a week or two without food, but only three days without water." I felt compelled to add, "Well, I heard it's something like that, anyway."
Then the robot reached for a storage box and unlatched it, setting it on the ground.
The woman in question was a plain-faced woman with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, with a pair of thin-framed black glasses resting on a red clown nose, and a pair of small gold hoop earrings dangling from her earlobes barely drew attention away from her over-rouged cheeks. Her clothes were equally clownish, given that she wore an oversized red clown jacket with yellow-trimmed green lapels over a yellow button-down shirt with oversized teal buttons and a large teal bowtie with yellow polka-dots, as well as bright-green pants over floppy red clown shoes. All in all, exactly what she seemed to be - a part-time clown.
Remembering what happened the last time I'd somehow summoned a person, I shouted at Gunhead, "Don't kill her!" It made her jump in place from fear, the robot to turn its "headlight" back to me, and the door to swing open slightly. At both of their questioning gazes, I explained, "She'll go back in about five minutes, so don't waste the ammo." That was enough for the robot to stand down, but the part-time clown was not so ready.
"Kill me?" she echoed, her voice deadpan.
I just shrugged. "You've been temporarily teleported to another universe. You'll go back in about five minutes, but that'll take longer than you'd might expect."
"Riiight," she drawled. "So... where am I?"
"Somewhere on the outskirts of a post-apocalyptic version of greater Los Angeles." I noted, watching as Gunhead opened up the storage box and fished out what looked like several pocket dental floss boxes.
"In other words, I'm in Hell." Picarello noted dully. "Whoopee. Like I wasn't already having second thoughts about this clown-dentist thing."
I opened one of the small boxes and was surprised to find that they acted like Pez dispensers, automatically pushing up what looked like an chocolate-coated cube of... something, so I popped it into my mouth. It was nothing to write home about, so to speak, but it was food. Still, I felt compelled to ask, "What is this stuff?"
"E-Nuggets." Was the robot's succinct reply. At the Doctor's quirked eyebrow, I just offered one to her as well. She popped it into her mouth without comment, and then noted, "I can see why."
One of those bad rolls, those were always a pain in the ass, given my situation. I was too busy to notice the clown-dentist just disappear, but Gunhead didn't, focusing its "headlight" on the spot where she'd vanished for a long time.
Yeah, definitely worth another go, at the very least. I popped another E-Nugget into my mouth and tried again.
Sure enough, two pieces of A4 paper, all crumpled up into a ball, fell to the ground right in front of me. It had the text of the Connecticut Centrail Railroad's Wikipedia page printed on it, but was missing the reference section, and the toner cartridge had been running dry during that print job. Time to try again.
Huh. Wonder what that would- aargh! A sudden pain in my gut made me double over on the ground. But just as suddenly as the pain came, it also went away. Another window popped up.
I lurched to my feet, and quickly found my jeans starting to slacken. Hastily, I undid the belt and then pulled the tip of the strap back as far as it would go before securing the buckle again. Honestly, I'd like some good rolls ny now, please...!
Well, that wasn't alarming in the slightest.
...well, shit, my patron was getting really pissed off at this point. Better roll again.
...oh, no. Nothing good happens if something like that occurs.
True to the text-box's content, a young man of a distinctly Korean cast appeared. He had one of those "Smokey the Bear" hats on his head and was wearing blue traditional Korean clothing, which was going to make him really stand out in this Hellhole.
Shaking my head at my terrible luck, I tried again, ignoring the burst of surprised Korean behind me. See, I knew just enough of the language to recognize it.
A vinyl record, still in its jacket and wrapped up in plastic, suddenly landed on the ground in front of me. I stared down at it, seriously debating the merits of just breaking the damn thing so that no one in this miserable Hellhole could ever work to become a god.
By now, Gunhead had restrained "Coffee Smoothie Cookie" by pointing its shotgun "head" at him, prompting him to raise his hands in surrender. I turned back to this guy, wondering what exactly this random-effect power of mine will end up doing next.
***********************************************************************
TBC...
**************************************
Sooner than I had realized, what passed for daytime in this grimdark Hellscape of a near-future had made way for nighttime. The only reason that I knew that was when the robot, which I was already calling Gunhead, abruptly turned on some kind of high-powered flashlight that was mounted just under the barrel of its shotgun "head" and I could see the beam light up the path ahead of us in the near-pitch black surroundings. I remember being somewhere without streetlights at night only once before, during some camping trip when I was a kid. I didn't remember much more than that, but I did remember the starry night sky. I looked up on a whim, and was dismayed to see only a few flickering lights, showing just how much particulates still lingered in the atmosphere even after all this time.
...maybe it was time to try my luck.
It looked like an oversized belt buckle to me, but its adjustable bearing strap could let me put it on my arm. Knowing that it was little more than a decoration at the moment, I shrugged my left arm out of my jacket and wrapped the shield unit around the upper arm, making sure that the strange-looking device could not be moved easily, before I put my arm back in the jacket sleeve. Then the blinding force of Gunhead's mini-spotlight caught me off-guard, prompting me to instinctively raise the AK at him- Jesus H. Christ, I anthropomorphized that glitchy 'bot already?!? How pathetic a human being am I?
"Question," Gunhead droned, its speaker crackling with only a slight amount of noise.
"Yeah?" came my deadpan response.
"Your p- p- p-" and here, it hit the speaker that served as its quote-unquote mouth. I'd noticed that "G" would do that every time its speaker glitched out and made it sound like it was stuttering. I remember seeing Derek Jacobi do something similar in 'I, CLAVIDVS" and found myself wondering if this was a stutterers' bad habit, using a touch of percussive maintenance to help themselves talk coherently.
"Your physical condition is anomalous." Gunhead noted aloud.
"What, you mean me being fat?" I shot back dryly. It seemed to be a real non-sequitur under the circumstances, but given the whole post-apocalyptic nature of the world around me, complete with dead trees, the blasted-out husks of houses I'd seen here and there, the burned out shells of cars and trucks of all stripes, and last but certainly not least... the skeletons. All that death, the planet beneath me in its ecological death throes... and here my fat ass was, schlepping around a wasteland like this without so much as a by-your-leave.
"Affirmative," said the gun-toting robot.
"Well..." I hedged my words, and then decided to 'roll' the dice on a lark.
True to the text window's blurb, muffled thumps could be heard and Gunhead immediately turned its "gaze" off to the side of the road before trudging off to investigate. When I caught up to him- it, dammit, it! - the robot was staring blankly down at the six gravestones I knew would be there, the inscriptions on them almost completely worn away by time and environmental weathering.
"I can do things like this." I said in an aside. "People, places, things, new universes..." it looked up at me when I mentioned 'new universes' but said nothing. "Now, I'm trying to pull something that will help me get out of this world. Ideally, I want to go home. To the planet Earth of my native universe. Which, if I'm honest, is probably well on its way to turning into exactly the kind of world like the one around us."
Gunhead didn't say a word, just looked at me. I wondered what kind of train of thought it was running at that very moment.
As if to make a pun on my train reference, a text window popped up. Was this roll done subconsciously, or was it just trolling me?
4 - 17
Roll for permanence - 2
Here's something else! Normanhurst railway station, from Sydney, Australia, now intersects the road behind you. Due to the low permanence roll, it's an unusable wreck, barely suitable for passage.
Roll for permanence - 2
Here's something else! Normanhurst railway station, from Sydney, Australia, now intersects the road behind you. Due to the low permanence roll, it's an unusable wreck, barely suitable for passage.
A loud and extended crashing noise behind them heralded the appearance of said railway station, with two broken lines of track intersecting the road and an elevated walkway bridging the gap left by the rail tracks.
Gunhead turned back to regard me, the luminosity of its "headlight" almost blinding me. "An element of r- r- r-" *THUNK* it hit its speaker again. "-andom chance appears to be the guiding principle behind these inexplicable events."
"You can say that again." I sighed, making a beeline for the staircase leading up to the walkway. "Like I said, I'm trying to find a way out of this universe, but if this effect is truly as absolutely random as it apparently is, then I have absolutely no idea when exactly I'll be able to leave, and I'll need to learn how to survive until then." Gunhead was quick to catch up, but instead pulled me off the staircase and into an alcove under it. My eyebrows quirked at the sight of the door leading to the unisex public toilet room it was pulling me towards.
"Why are we going there?" Gunhead only responded by shooting open the bathroom lock and opening its door to... pitch black, considering that it had no electricity. In truth, I'd have thought these public toilets be vandalized, if not outright wrecked. At least it only smelled musty, as opposed to the unflushed contents of broken toilets being left to molder over time. The very idea made me shudder.
"You need r- r- r- rest and r- recovery," the robot noted, crouching down and hitting some kind of latch on its shoulders, prompting the large rack rigged to its back to suddenly fall off and land with a soft thump. Then, it reached out and unlatched the bottom rig, prompting a small plastic blue barrel to fall out, right into its hands. "Water is a- a- a- necessity with your kind."
"That's right." I nodded. "A man could go about a week or two without food, but only three days without water." I felt compelled to add, "Well, I heard it's something like that, anyway."
Then the robot reached for a storage box and unlatched it, setting it on the ground.
16 - 10
Permanence roll - 5
...this is new. Dr. Jennifer Picarello is a dentist who joined an initiative that had her dressing up like a clown in an attempt to make her actual profession less frightening to children. Considering that childhood coulrophobia is also a thing, why would she go along with such a ridiculous idea?!? Given the low permanence roll, however, she'll be sent back after five minutes.
Permanence roll - 5
...this is new. Dr. Jennifer Picarello is a dentist who joined an initiative that had her dressing up like a clown in an attempt to make her actual profession less frightening to children. Considering that childhood coulrophobia is also a thing, why would she go along with such a ridiculous idea?!? Given the low permanence roll, however, she'll be sent back after five minutes.
The woman in question was a plain-faced woman with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, with a pair of thin-framed black glasses resting on a red clown nose, and a pair of small gold hoop earrings dangling from her earlobes barely drew attention away from her over-rouged cheeks. Her clothes were equally clownish, given that she wore an oversized red clown jacket with yellow-trimmed green lapels over a yellow button-down shirt with oversized teal buttons and a large teal bowtie with yellow polka-dots, as well as bright-green pants over floppy red clown shoes. All in all, exactly what she seemed to be - a part-time clown.
Remembering what happened the last time I'd somehow summoned a person, I shouted at Gunhead, "Don't kill her!" It made her jump in place from fear, the robot to turn its "headlight" back to me, and the door to swing open slightly. At both of their questioning gazes, I explained, "She'll go back in about five minutes, so don't waste the ammo." That was enough for the robot to stand down, but the part-time clown was not so ready.
"Kill me?" she echoed, her voice deadpan.
I just shrugged. "You've been temporarily teleported to another universe. You'll go back in about five minutes, but that'll take longer than you'd might expect."
"Riiight," she drawled. "So... where am I?"
"Somewhere on the outskirts of a post-apocalyptic version of greater Los Angeles." I noted, watching as Gunhead opened up the storage box and fished out what looked like several pocket dental floss boxes.
"In other words, I'm in Hell." Picarello noted dully. "Whoopee. Like I wasn't already having second thoughts about this clown-dentist thing."
I opened one of the small boxes and was surprised to find that they acted like Pez dispensers, automatically pushing up what looked like an chocolate-coated cube of... something, so I popped it into my mouth. It was nothing to write home about, so to speak, but it was food. Still, I felt compelled to ask, "What is this stuff?"
"E-Nuggets." Was the robot's succinct reply. At the Doctor's quirked eyebrow, I just offered one to her as well. She popped it into her mouth without comment, and then noted, "I can see why."
One of those bad rolls, those were always a pain in the ass, given my situation. I was too busy to notice the clown-dentist just disappear, but Gunhead didn't, focusing its "headlight" on the spot where she'd vanished for a long time.
9 - N/A
Jesus, two bad rolls in a row? Now you get three (3) extras, for a total of twelve (12) in total. Keep rolling.
Jesus, two bad rolls in a row? Now you get three (3) extras, for a total of twelve (12) in total. Keep rolling.
Yeah, definitely worth another go, at the very least. I popped another E-Nugget into my mouth and tried again.
2 - 12
Roll for permanence - 1
...here's the Wiki article on the Connecticut Centrail Railroad on paper, but it's illegible.
Roll for permanence - 1
...here's the Wiki article on the Connecticut Centrail Railroad on paper, but it's illegible.
Sure enough, two pieces of A4 paper, all crumpled up into a ball, fell to the ground right in front of me. It had the text of the Connecticut Centrail Railroad's Wikipedia page printed on it, but was missing the reference section, and the toner cartridge had been running dry during that print job. Time to try again.
Huh. Wonder what that would- aargh! A sudden pain in my gut made me double over on the ground. But just as suddenly as the pain came, it also went away. Another window popped up.
YOUR FIRST-TUNE UP!
Your first STA point increase!
Congratulations, you've lost weight! Hopefully, it'll stay that way, so pull your pants up, fool!
Your first STA point increase!
Congratulations, you've lost weight! Hopefully, it'll stay that way, so pull your pants up, fool!
I lurched to my feet, and quickly found my jeans starting to slacken. Hastily, I undid the belt and then pulled the tip of the strap back as far as it would go before securing the buckle again. Honestly, I'd like some good rolls ny now, please...!
Well, that wasn't alarming in the slightest.
...well, shit, my patron was getting really pissed off at this point. Better roll again.
...oh, no. Nothing good happens if something like that occurs.
True to the text-box's content, a young man of a distinctly Korean cast appeared. He had one of those "Smokey the Bear" hats on his head and was wearing blue traditional Korean clothing, which was going to make him really stand out in this Hellhole.
Shaking my head at my terrible luck, I tried again, ignoring the burst of surprised Korean behind me. See, I knew just enough of the language to recognize it.
16 - 18
Roll for permanence - 4
You get a vinyl record of this album. On account of its name, anyone who listens to all ten tracks of this album will instinctively know how to Ascend into a Parabrahm, a supreme and righteous being, almighty, all-knowing, and all-doing. In short, a path to Godhood. Had you rolled a nat20, that Ascension would've been an immediate Apotheosis to Godhood. If your permanence roll had been better, then the vinyl record would not be warped into unplayability after being played four times. Or you could destroy it. The low permanence roll will allow you to do that.
Roll for permanence - 4
You get a vinyl record of this album. On account of its name, anyone who listens to all ten tracks of this album will instinctively know how to Ascend into a Parabrahm, a supreme and righteous being, almighty, all-knowing, and all-doing. In short, a path to Godhood. Had you rolled a nat20, that Ascension would've been an immediate Apotheosis to Godhood. If your permanence roll had been better, then the vinyl record would not be warped into unplayability after being played four times. Or you could destroy it. The low permanence roll will allow you to do that.
A vinyl record, still in its jacket and wrapped up in plastic, suddenly landed on the ground in front of me. I stared down at it, seriously debating the merits of just breaking the damn thing so that no one in this miserable Hellhole could ever work to become a god.
By now, Gunhead had restrained "Coffee Smoothie Cookie" by pointing its shotgun "head" at him, prompting him to raise his hands in surrender. I turned back to this guy, wondering what exactly this random-effect power of mine will end up doing next.
***********************************************************************
TBC...
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1.5 - Passing of the Sun
New
Trieze
The man from Nowhere, next stop Anywhere.
- Joined
- May 24, 2018
- Messages
- 918
- Likes received
- 8,594
1.5 - Passing of the Sun
************************************************
The guy known as "Coffee Smoothie Cookie" smelled like a mochaccino and was still wary of Gunhead. "So..." I broke the ice, prompting him to turn to me, no more than a silhouette in the light of the robot's flashlight darting about. "What's your name?"
Under his hat, his gaze was neutral but wary. "My name..." he began, his accent adding a familiar slight choppiness to his English, "...is Kim Bae-song. You can call me Barry."
"Barry?" I parroted, raising an eyebrow. "Sure, you can call me Thomas." Pointing at Gunhead, I added, "That's Gunhead. Guess why I call him that."
He just shook his head. "No need. I was on leave from my mandatory military service. I recognize Daewoo's automatic shotgun from when I saw American soldiers use them at Yongsan's firing range."
"Yongsan?" I asked, feeling lost.
"The American military garrison in Seoul, where they prepare themselves in case North Korea crosses the three-eighth and attack." Barry prompted.
"I'm sorry, the three-eighth?"
"The thirty-eighth parallel? Where the demilitarized zone dividing the DPRK and the ROK?" he prompted me.
Now it hit home. "Ohh, that three-eighth, I get it." I leaned back, before noticing Gunhead fussing over the blue water barrel.
When he followed my gaze, Barry commented, "I have never seen such fluidity of motion in a robot."
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when World War III erupts in the 2050s." I shrugged. "You get things like advanced robots able to use weapons, even house an AI by sheer accident."
"World War Three?" he demanded. "How did that happen?!?"
I just shrugged, jerking my head at Gunhead and saying, "I asked the same question earlier and only got 'no data available', so I don't know what to tell you."
Then Gunhead turned and lay down two MRE pouches, along with two canteens that sloshed faintly. "Di- d- d- di- dinner is served," it rumbled. Well, beggars can't be choosers and all that, so the two of us quietly prepared what probably passed for luxury food in this particular post-apocalyptic Hellhole, I ignored Barry asking Gunhead about what had happened to the world, mostly because I had already heard the whole damn story already. So I finished my impromptu meal, not really registering the flavors of its contents on my tongue, and then slugged back what was left from the canteen with a thirst that I hadn't realized had started to wear on me.
Gunhead's electronically-modulated voice, little more than a droning monotone in the best emulation of Ben Stein that it could manage, ended up lulling me to sleep.
**********************
My first full day in this ecologically-devastated Hellhole began with Barry shaking me awake, and just before I could snap at him, he just shoved a box of cookies at me. "The robot says that those who do not fight are scavengers. They scrounge for weapons, ammunition, cigarettes, food, and certain items for trade. Sometimes, they act as independent outside contractors in order to barter for extra reserves of drinking water."
Christ, I hadn't thought about that. Nor had I bothered to ask why it had those containers in that rig on its back. It all made sense, really. The local scavengers were pretty much persona-non-grata to whatever was left of the Europan government, and survival was a daily struggle, to say the least. If we didn't do as the proverbial local Romans did, we were fucked. At least until we could get the fuck outta town, anyway.
I moved to get up, and then flinched when my hand brushed up against that Parabrahm record, still in its vinyl jacket, that I'd rolled last night. Oh, what I wouldn't give for a distraction at this very min-
True to the window's word, a sizable box with the title "Steam Tug Wattle: 1/60-scale Steam-Powered Tugboat Model" printed on it. It wasn't the distraction I had hoped for, but it certainly drew Barry's attention.
"What just happened?" was his oh-so-eloquent question.
"Yeah~, that just happens sometimes." I shrugged, more interested in taking in the size of the box and the fact that it was more comfortable being held in both hands. "I'm hoping to draw something that'll get us out of this Hellish world and somewhere more... gentle. Ideally, I want to go home." I glanced over at Barry in his very traditional Korean clothing, modern colorization and all. "You, too, I'm guessing. If my home is the same as yours, anyways. Otherwise, multiversal and omniversal theory says that hitting your home dimension is like looking for a needle in an infinitely-sized haystack."
Barry dipped his head, Smokey Bear hat and all, as he tried to digest that ugly reality. I left him to it, quietly popping open the box of cookies that he'd gotten from Gunhead and pulling open the freshness seal of its bag, helping myself to its contents. Breakfast was thus meager, but I doubted that Gunhead had salvaged much in the way of human food before out of sheer lack of necessity.
"Hey, Gunhead?" I quietly tapped it on a shoulder. When it turned to face me, I asked, "How much extra room can you spare in your rig?"
"Enough," the robot said dispassionately. "State your request."
I just held up the Parabrahm record. "I don't have any room to carry this on me, but I also can't just let any old rando get his hands on it. Are you sure you can spare some room?" It just responded by setting down its rig and opening its largest container, revealing that it was crammed full of ammo boxes for 5.56x45mm NATO standard rounds. But I could also clearly see that the neatly-stacked ammo boxes left spaces where more ammo boxes simply could not be stacked and packed in any further. Smiling in spite of myself, I slipped the Parabrahm record in one of the larger spaces before stepping back and letting Gunhead close the box and latch it shut once more.
"Hey, Barry," I called out to the Coffee Smoothie boy. "We really should get going. Strength in numbers and all that. Maybe find those Scavengers you mentioned. Definitely gotta get you out of those clothes, though."
He nodded. "I was told about Europa, Eurasia and Euruska. This world is a nightmare that I will be all too eager to leave."
And with that, we left that unlit restroom at last.
*************************************************************************
Outside, the sky was the dusky red that I'd seen when that wildfire had kicked up so much smoke that it blocked out most of the sun for the better part of a week where I lived. No wonder all those nuclear post-apocalyptic settings always had blood-red skies; it wasn't just drama, it was science fact. And here we were, in the middle of a nuclear winter and on the edges of an eternal battlefield. Just as the three of us made our way over the walkway, I made another pull.
True to the text window, two large solid plastic balls appeared on the train tracks below. They had a big infinity symbol emblazoned on them, but were otherwise unremarkable.
Feeling daring, I decided to roll again.
Dammit, another bum roll. Hopefully, this wouldn't be as bad as last night. Honestly, what was up with that?
Man, RNGesus does NOT really like me, does he?
A fine bit of objet d'art, but fundamentally useless to me. Let's try again.
Loud rumbling could be heard, and the ground shook at length. It was my first big earthquake, or at least that's what it felt like.
Aw, Christ! This was the last thing I needed. Between that stunt at the beach and this, I didn't want to guess as to what kind of reception I was gonna get. Roll again, roll again!
...I didn't know where these Frozen Swamps were located, but I imagine that whatever fighting was already raging there, these Tuxtillan crops were going to make the combat there a whole lot worse.
...now I'm feeling lucky.
The girl in question was a pre-teen girl with vibrant ginger-red hair styled in twin buns, with locks of hair already slipping loose from the messy and self-applied hairstyle. She wore a pair of oversized glasses on her face, with a pink coat over a dark bodysuit and a pair of pink round-toed, chunky-heeled boots.
I just groaned when I realized that I was going to have to do the lecture all over again with a new face, and I now had twelve rolls to go through!
*****************************************************************
TBC...
************************************************
The guy known as "Coffee Smoothie Cookie" smelled like a mochaccino and was still wary of Gunhead. "So..." I broke the ice, prompting him to turn to me, no more than a silhouette in the light of the robot's flashlight darting about. "What's your name?"
Under his hat, his gaze was neutral but wary. "My name..." he began, his accent adding a familiar slight choppiness to his English, "...is Kim Bae-song. You can call me Barry."
"Barry?" I parroted, raising an eyebrow. "Sure, you can call me Thomas." Pointing at Gunhead, I added, "That's Gunhead. Guess why I call him that."
He just shook his head. "No need. I was on leave from my mandatory military service. I recognize Daewoo's automatic shotgun from when I saw American soldiers use them at Yongsan's firing range."
"Yongsan?" I asked, feeling lost.
"The American military garrison in Seoul, where they prepare themselves in case North Korea crosses the three-eighth and attack." Barry prompted.
"I'm sorry, the three-eighth?"
"The thirty-eighth parallel? Where the demilitarized zone dividing the DPRK and the ROK?" he prompted me.
Now it hit home. "Ohh, that three-eighth, I get it." I leaned back, before noticing Gunhead fussing over the blue water barrel.
When he followed my gaze, Barry commented, "I have never seen such fluidity of motion in a robot."
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when World War III erupts in the 2050s." I shrugged. "You get things like advanced robots able to use weapons, even house an AI by sheer accident."
"World War Three?" he demanded. "How did that happen?!?"
I just shrugged, jerking my head at Gunhead and saying, "I asked the same question earlier and only got 'no data available', so I don't know what to tell you."
Then Gunhead turned and lay down two MRE pouches, along with two canteens that sloshed faintly. "Di- d- d- di- dinner is served," it rumbled. Well, beggars can't be choosers and all that, so the two of us quietly prepared what probably passed for luxury food in this particular post-apocalyptic Hellhole, I ignored Barry asking Gunhead about what had happened to the world, mostly because I had already heard the whole damn story already. So I finished my impromptu meal, not really registering the flavors of its contents on my tongue, and then slugged back what was left from the canteen with a thirst that I hadn't realized had started to wear on me.
Gunhead's electronically-modulated voice, little more than a droning monotone in the best emulation of Ben Stein that it could manage, ended up lulling me to sleep.
**********************
My first full day in this ecologically-devastated Hellhole began with Barry shaking me awake, and just before I could snap at him, he just shoved a box of cookies at me. "The robot says that those who do not fight are scavengers. They scrounge for weapons, ammunition, cigarettes, food, and certain items for trade. Sometimes, they act as independent outside contractors in order to barter for extra reserves of drinking water."
Christ, I hadn't thought about that. Nor had I bothered to ask why it had those containers in that rig on its back. It all made sense, really. The local scavengers were pretty much persona-non-grata to whatever was left of the Europan government, and survival was a daily struggle, to say the least. If we didn't do as the proverbial local Romans did, we were fucked. At least until we could get the fuck outta town, anyway.
I moved to get up, and then flinched when my hand brushed up against that Parabrahm record, still in its vinyl jacket, that I'd rolled last night. Oh, what I wouldn't give for a distraction at this very min-
8 - 5
Roll for permanence - 9
A battered model kit of the steam-powered tugboat Wattle is now yours. It's never been opened, but the low permanence roll means that the plastic parts don't come pre-painted. Have fun with it. Or not.
Roll for permanence - 9
A battered model kit of the steam-powered tugboat Wattle is now yours. It's never been opened, but the low permanence roll means that the plastic parts don't come pre-painted. Have fun with it. Or not.
True to the window's word, a sizable box with the title "Steam Tug Wattle: 1/60-scale Steam-Powered Tugboat Model" printed on it. It wasn't the distraction I had hoped for, but it certainly drew Barry's attention.
"What just happened?" was his oh-so-eloquent question.
"Yeah~, that just happens sometimes." I shrugged, more interested in taking in the size of the box and the fact that it was more comfortable being held in both hands. "I'm hoping to draw something that'll get us out of this Hellish world and somewhere more... gentle. Ideally, I want to go home." I glanced over at Barry in his very traditional Korean clothing, modern colorization and all. "You, too, I'm guessing. If my home is the same as yours, anyways. Otherwise, multiversal and omniversal theory says that hitting your home dimension is like looking for a needle in an infinitely-sized haystack."
Barry dipped his head, Smokey Bear hat and all, as he tried to digest that ugly reality. I left him to it, quietly popping open the box of cookies that he'd gotten from Gunhead and pulling open the freshness seal of its bag, helping myself to its contents. Breakfast was thus meager, but I doubted that Gunhead had salvaged much in the way of human food before out of sheer lack of necessity.
"Hey, Gunhead?" I quietly tapped it on a shoulder. When it turned to face me, I asked, "How much extra room can you spare in your rig?"
"Enough," the robot said dispassionately. "State your request."
I just held up the Parabrahm record. "I don't have any room to carry this on me, but I also can't just let any old rando get his hands on it. Are you sure you can spare some room?" It just responded by setting down its rig and opening its largest container, revealing that it was crammed full of ammo boxes for 5.56x45mm NATO standard rounds. But I could also clearly see that the neatly-stacked ammo boxes left spaces where more ammo boxes simply could not be stacked and packed in any further. Smiling in spite of myself, I slipped the Parabrahm record in one of the larger spaces before stepping back and letting Gunhead close the box and latch it shut once more.
"Hey, Barry," I called out to the Coffee Smoothie boy. "We really should get going. Strength in numbers and all that. Maybe find those Scavengers you mentioned. Definitely gotta get you out of those clothes, though."
He nodded. "I was told about Europa, Eurasia and Euruska. This world is a nightmare that I will be all too eager to leave."
And with that, we left that unlit restroom at last.
*************************************************************************
Outside, the sky was the dusky red that I'd seen when that wildfire had kicked up so much smoke that it blocked out most of the sun for the better part of a week where I lived. No wonder all those nuclear post-apocalyptic settings always had blood-red skies; it wasn't just drama, it was science fact. And here we were, in the middle of a nuclear winter and on the edges of an eternal battlefield. Just as the three of us made our way over the walkway, I made another pull.
True to the text window, two large solid plastic balls appeared on the train tracks below. They had a big infinity symbol emblazoned on them, but were otherwise unremarkable.
Feeling daring, I decided to roll again.
2 - N/A
Roll for permanence - N/A
...well, back in the swing of things, are you? Take one (1) pity roll and go again.
Roll for permanence - N/A
...well, back in the swing of things, are you? Take one (1) pity roll and go again.
Dammit, another bum roll. Hopefully, this wouldn't be as bad as last night. Honestly, what was up with that?
Man, RNGesus does NOT really like me, does he?
A fine bit of objet d'art, but fundamentally useless to me. Let's try again.
16 - 13
Roll for permanence - 2
...the ruins of this private Christian college in Burma are now scattered willy-nilly beyond the boundaries of Lost Angels, but in relatively close proximity to each other.
Roll for permanence - 2
...the ruins of this private Christian college in Burma are now scattered willy-nilly beyond the boundaries of Lost Angels, but in relatively close proximity to each other.
Loud rumbling could be heard, and the ground shook at length. It was my first big earthquake, or at least that's what it felt like.
MASS MURDERER!
Congratulations, Randomizer! You've officially joined the ranks of your fellow chaos-factors! This worlds' version of the Myanmar Union Adventist Seminary are no more than ruins, but that last roll ISOT'd what was left of these buildings into dropping down atop random locations across what used to be the city of Lost Angels! Hundreds, if not thousands, of Europan, Eurasian and Euruskan soldiers have all been crushed to death by the sheer weight of these ruins!
Take ten (10) rolls for your trouble!
Congratulations, Randomizer! You've officially joined the ranks of your fellow chaos-factors! This worlds' version of the Myanmar Union Adventist Seminary are no more than ruins, but that last roll ISOT'd what was left of these buildings into dropping down atop random locations across what used to be the city of Lost Angels! Hundreds, if not thousands, of Europan, Eurasian and Euruskan soldiers have all been crushed to death by the sheer weight of these ruins!
Take ten (10) rolls for your trouble!
Aw, Christ! This was the last thing I needed. Between that stunt at the beach and this, I didn't want to guess as to what kind of reception I was gonna get. Roll again, roll again!
9 - 20
Roll for permanence - 19
...now we're cooking with gas! Tuxtilla's principle crops, namely wild beans, maize (cereal corn), mangoes and sugarcane, now spontaneously grow all across the Frozen Swamp. No amount of pollution, environmental damage, or even any attempt at "asset denial", will stop these crops from growing at an accelerated rate and be harvested in a matter of days, as opposed to months for a single crop field.
Roll for permanence - 19
...now we're cooking with gas! Tuxtilla's principle crops, namely wild beans, maize (cereal corn), mangoes and sugarcane, now spontaneously grow all across the Frozen Swamp. No amount of pollution, environmental damage, or even any attempt at "asset denial", will stop these crops from growing at an accelerated rate and be harvested in a matter of days, as opposed to months for a single crop field.
...I didn't know where these Frozen Swamps were located, but I imagine that whatever fighting was already raging there, these Tuxtillan crops were going to make the combat there a whole lot worse.
...now I'm feeling lucky.
The girl in question was a pre-teen girl with vibrant ginger-red hair styled in twin buns, with locks of hair already slipping loose from the messy and self-applied hairstyle. She wore a pair of oversized glasses on her face, with a pink coat over a dark bodysuit and a pair of pink round-toed, chunky-heeled boots.
I just groaned when I realized that I was going to have to do the lecture all over again with a new face, and I now had twelve rolls to go through!
*****************************************************************
TBC...
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