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Re: Friendly Subject Help

Postby Friendlysociopath » Fri Nov 17, 2017 9:30 pm

More tech lists

Mythological Weapon:
Subject Series equivalent
Owner | Owner(s)

AKA Alter Hammer. Mechanical hammer that induces a powerful negative charge onto someone when it hits them- which makes lightning strike them.

Claymore that causes cell death on contact- eventually resulting in full-body cellular death. The process is two steps, the cells in contact spread the affliction and then the cells die.
Subject 000 - Re: Zero | Subject 277 - Vincent

Gae Bulg:
Spear that contains nanomachines- upon contact with blood they will flood the body and form spikes to pierce all manner of arteries and veins.

Miracle-fabric that resists any and all heat and forms a skintight suit.
Subject 007 - Meltdown

Damocles Rods:
Rods that tap into the magnetic field of the Earth to hold themselves in place when activated- otherwise they're weightless.

Anti-matter cannon- never live-fired but tests indicate it could blow through a mountain.
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Re: Friendly Subject Help

Postby Friendlysociopath » Mon Nov 27, 2017 3:44 am

Raven silently glared at the men and woman sitting around the back of the van with her. Tinted glass separated her from the outside world, she could see the dozens of cars likewise riding the highway, but they couldn't see in. Across from her sat the two men: one was an older fellow, with a dark brown beard that obscured his neck entirely, and a glare on his face that would suit a Viking berserker. The other was a younger fellow of Asian descent, his eyes were a dull black to match his cropped short hair; the same eyes were gazing just a bit too long at certain parts of Raven and darting away just when he thought she was looking at him. The woman, or perhaps 'girl' would be a better term, had neon pink hair and was babbling away about how Raven needed to come around to their way of thinking while drumming her jean-clad legs against the seat in a maddening frenzy of motion.

"You really should think of this as an opportunity. Think of all the lives you could save- or wait- all the research you could help finish. Studying Subjects has led to so many benefits: we know more about various genetic disorders, renewable energy types, fantastic materials that revolutionize armor- the potential is endless!" Raven glared at her, noting her pert little nose nestled between her eyes and the scattering of freckles across it. The babbling continued, "You got off on the wrong foot- fair enough. And we totally kidnapped you- fair enough again. But if you had the cure for cancer running away from you- you'd hunt it down and grab it too. That's what you are Miss Hofterin- you're the cure."

Raven sighed and looked at the bearded man. "Are you buying this?"

He shook his head, the beard waving from the motion. "No. You're resisting us, so you no longer get a say. It's too important that you be brought in- willing or not."

"We had a deal!" Raven scoffed, pulling at the handcuffs on her wrists in dismay. She shot a quick glance at the younger man, noting he again averted his eyes, which had been rooted rather firmly on her legs. A consistent little bastard. "We stay quiet- you leave us alone!"

The pink girl spoke up, "If it makes you feel better, we tried bringing in the others too."

Raven brought her face in close to the girl and spoke through clenched teeth, "Go- to- hell." She glared at the men (the quiet one again quickly looked away) and included them, "That goes for you too."

The bearded man's face grew red, "The only place we're going is back to the Facility. For someone trying to keep quiet, you've caused a lot of disorder."

"You guys lost a dragon! And Ripper! And God knows what else! How is that my fault?"

"Prior to you joining our ranks, rarely did any Subject escape, let alone wreak havoc on the surrounding areas!"

"Oh that is such bullshit!" Raven leaned forwards, aware that the young man's eyes were back on her, and her chest. "You let the Vamp go- and the Subject he was chasing. I know King and Cutter slipped out whenever they feel like it- and you want to tell me I'm the problem?"

His face now resembled a ripe tomato, "Because of you now we have to deal with-" his eyes widened, "what the?"

Raven acted instantly, looking at the younger man, who averted his eyes again. She took this opportunity to drive her elbow right into the pink-haired girl's cute little nose- slamming her head into the van window with a resounding THWACK. And I thought it would sound hollow. She then lunged forwards to catch the young man's returning face with a headbutt- bringing the top of her skull directly into the side of his head with a snapping motion. The old man, neglecting all rules of chivalry, brought his fist back and slugged Raven in the temple; knocking her back onto her seat before he half-stood to reach her with his hands. Raven kicked out at him, her legs landed two good strikes right between the legs- doubling him over and back into the seat.

With a screech of anger the girl lunged at Raven, clawing at her face with hooked fingers. Raven threw herself backwards; in such tight spaces she couldn't get much distance but she used what she had. She braced her legs against the door and kicked off it as hard as she could, bringing her shoulder into the girl and slamming her back against the window. Her breath expelled in a burst of air as the Asian boy tackled her in the abdomen, driving the air from her lungs. With her arms stuck over his head and in cuffs- there wasn't much she could do about it. The larger man had finally recovered his wits enough to stop holding himself and returned to his half-crouch. He pushed his male accomplice to the floor and grabbed Raven by her captured arms.

Unfortunately, while he seemed a simple man, he was aware of how to keep someone down- perhaps he had law enforcement training? He spun her around and brought her onto the seat before slamming her face against the back window; followed by him bracing his arms against the back of her neck in order to keep her still. At nearly double her weight, there was no way she'd be able to push him off. She did, however, have a good view of the traffic behind them- and the cluster of various cars, trucks, and vans that were exchanging gunfire. What?

A short while ago, about 1,000 feet and 85 mph behind Raven's van...
"You're sure it's that one?" Laura asked the newly reclaimed Subject 000.

"Yes. Go faster." He hasn't changed very much. Laura pressed the pedal to the floor, hearing and feeling the decrepit SUV slowly accelerate. She glanced over at his hands and looked back to the dark road before doing a double-take. He'd drawn a different pistol than the one he'd returned with, a normal one you might find in any gun store.

"What happened to your Subject Killer?"

"The ammunition it required won't be invented for another few years. I gave it to our resident weapons-expert in hopes that he could scavenge something useful from it."

Laura kept her eyes on the road in front of her, in particular the white van he'd insisted Rave was in. "Also- we're in the middle of the highway and a ton of people- why are you loading that?"

"It's necessary."

"Huh?" Laura turned to eye Zero, "Why?"

"Because we're being attacked." Laura didn't have time to process that fully before a dingy brown pickup truck pulled alongside them. The window was open and a man was holding a pistol out of it and pointing at the two of them.

The weapon fired and Zero acted, reaching out an arm across Laura's chest and pushing her back into her seat as the bullet whizzed through the cab, piercing through both side windows before exiting the opposite side of the vehicle. Zero savagely flung open his door, catching the man's arm just above the wrist and cracking it with an audible snapping noise before the Subject mutely closed his door. It took Laura a moment to realize he had seized the man's wrist in his other hand as well and was holding him outside of the SUV as they continued to accelerate. Laura had thought Zero was about to question him, but the theory was tossed out the window as Zero released his prisoner without a word- after he'd cleared his truck. And then the man was gone- his car slowly swerved off the road without the driver and Laura could only assume the man was severely injured or dead after being dropped onto the highway at such high speeds. Zero reached into the bag he'd placed in the backseat and withdrew a pistol.

"Zero," Laura yelled, alternating keeping her eyes basically everywhere: on the Subject, on the van Rave was in, on the road, on the surrounding cars, "what's the matter with you?!"

The Subject didn't respond, instead reaching forwards to pull Laura down as a semi-automatic weapon fired out several times from the driver-side, leaving holes in the doorframe where Laura had previously been positioned. Zero returned fire in an instant, emptying the newly acquired pistol as quickly as he'd gained it. Laura heard a cry of pain as at least one shot found a mark.

The civilians around them had definitely noted the gunfire by now. There were two responses to that: slowing and turning off the road, or hammering on the pedal to go faster and try getting away. Unfortunately, almost nobody seemed to be doing the former as every car in sight roared as everyone, friend or foe, hit the gas to try and gain speed. Laura's eyes darted around frantically as she tried to figure out if any of the nearby cars were going to pull a gun and fire at her.

Zero eyed Laura's side mirror before drawing a grenade from his pocket. Laura had the briefest moment to identify it as a stunner before Zero lightly tossed it out the window and moved to clap his hands over her ears before she could react. She felt her gaze forced down to the floor and, even as they rapidly pulled away from the grenade, heard and felt the blast behind them; along with the screeching of metal. She tore Zero's fingers from her head and yelled.

"You can't hurt innocents!"

"I didn't harm any innocent to my knowledge." Zero responded as he reached into the back for more guns. "The stunner only struck one vehicle and we already exchanged gunfire with them. I noted a crimson glow showing from the eyes of the driver. It appears there are Grunts chasing us alongside the humans."

"What?!" Laura suddenly felt far less secure and grabbed a smaller pistol out of his hand before inserting it into her leg-holster. It wasn't the easiest place to grab it from- but she didn't want it bouncing around in case things got rough. "How is that possible? They'll reveal themselves for sure!"

Zero continued eyeing the mirrors as he answered, "While I was away, I heard of something they can do, 'Blackout' they call it. Basically they can isolate a few square miles so that nothing can be sent or received: no radio, no cell phone, nothing."

Laura groaned, "How is that possible?"

Zero shrugged as he continued checking the weapons from his bag, Laura recognized the weapons from the SWAT van: a Remington shotgun, a pair of pistols, and what looked like a MP5 rifle, to check and load in the brief respite he'd bought them. All cars, civilian or enemy, had been taken aback by the stunner and slowed or stopped entirely. Laura saw a fleet of vehicles emerge from the deadlock, five of them in total, before they accelerated towards the junk car they'd taken. Laura's knuckles whitened as her grip intensified on the wheel.

"Zero- I really hope you have a plan for dealing with those."

The Subject cocked the final pistol and placed it back in the bag. Unlike Laura, he had no holsters. "I'll kill them- you drive faster."

Laura instinctively ducked down as she heard the ping of a bullet hitting the car. At such long range it wouldn't penetrate- but that wouldn't be the case for long. "That's your plan? Zero- if you can shoot them- they can shoot us! Find another way to slow them down before they get close!"

Zero gave her an unflinching stare, "I could shoot out the tires of the cars in front of us to form an obstacle-" His eyes widened and he clenched his skull between his hands, a high shriek emerging as the safeguards kicked in for him wanting to harm innocents. Not for the first time, Laura felt remorse for the mental conditioning her father had used on the Subject. Going against something she and Raven together ordered was painful, and she'd unintentionally led him right along the path to trigger it. He didn't have any options- either he could fight the enemy when they drew near or he could stop them from closing the gap.

"Zero- it's okay! I forgive you!"

The command words worked- stopping the mental and physical suffering he was forced to experience when going against their commands. The ragged panting that followed the shriek was perhaps worst Laura had ever seen Zero, barring the aftermath of his fight with Ripper. His eyes were bloodshot and red-tinged snot was running down his nose- she was fairly sure he'd bitten his lip or maybe even his tongue as well since twin strings of bloody saliva were hanging from the corners of his mouth.

The moment of calm was shattered as a series of gunshots worked their way through the SUV- cracking the windshield and obscuring Laura's vision. Zero leaned forwards and lashed out with either palm- breaking the window from the front of the SUV and off to the side. The hot wind of the highway streamed into the car and into Laura's face as the obstruction was abruptly no longer between her and the outside.

But heated air was the least of her worries, the organization cars were drawing close. Laura felt frustration building up in her from all the obstacles, all the enemies, all of the fucking problems that never seemed to end. Her ire escaped in the form of a screamed command, "Zero- kill them!" Her father likely would've been upset with this command, but he was dead and Laura would be too if Zero didn't work with a fatal frame of mind. The Subject's eyes gave a brief burst of red at the order.

Without a word, he drew the MP5 and did a weird sort of lunging crawl to the back of the SUV. Semiautomatic gunfire sounded off behind Laura as a flurry of bullets streamed from the MP5. She couldn't tell how many shots landed, even when looking through the side mirror, but Laura could tell that the five cars were spreading out to make sure Zero didn't take multiple vehicles out at once. It was a good move- Laura noted a crazed windshield on a small car that Zero had chosen as his target- likely for its speed. A few more barks and the vehicle lost control, the tires were shredded and it went careening off and turning on its side before flipping entirely.

The other four accelerated, Laura could see weapons emerging from the windows and hunkered down as they inevitably opened fire. Bullets pierced through the vehicle around her, but surprisingly not a single one hit her. Sparks jumped from the dashboard and she flinched away, briefly taking her hands from the wheel. One of the cars had pulled up on either side of the SUV. The one closest to Laura had rammed her vehicle and unleashed a burst of gunfire towards her. She heard the roar of a shotgun and knew Zero was returning fire- but they were screwed. It would take only a single bullet puncturing a tire to put Rave beyond Laura's grasp- maybe forever. The thought brought a rise of fury to Laura- she twisted and grabbed at her pistol, straightening in her seat to fire at the organization flunkies outside her door. Her first three shots were for the shooter, a single miss followed by two shots to the chest. The next three were for the tire, puncturing it. She never got off a seventh shot, her arm went numb as an enemy attack finally found her; leaving a neat hole in her shoulder and causing her to drop her gun. She shrank back in pain as the car briefly pulled away. Laura saw a pair of glowing red eyes and saw the Grunt emerge from the driver-side seat- he climbed onto the roof of the car and jumped towards her with his arms outstretched. His face exploded like a red water balloon as Laura was deafened by the blast of a shotgun behind her.

Zero was looking worse for wear. Laura spotted several new holes in him that hadn't been there seconds prior. The car abruptly gained a few new holes of its own as a pair of hands burst through the roof- scrabbling for a grip on Laura. While she'd been shooting- a Grunt had gained purchase on the SUV. Another set of hands broke through the back of the car- hinting at a second Grunt's entrance. Laura felt a gust of air and saw Zero holding the Alter Sword in his hands- just an instant prior they had been empty. His instruction was loud and clear, "Duck."

Laura flattened herself as a the blade accelerated, seemingly forming a solid circle of gleaming metal in the blink of an eye as the roof of the SUV was severed and hurled away- along with the Grunt riding atop it and the top half of the one coming from the back.
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Re: Friendly Subject Help

Postby Friendlysociopath » Sun Feb 11, 2018 4:53 am

Paul frowned, a deep look of concern marred his face as both his metallic arms remained firmly crossed across his chest, stolen technology that he would continue to reap the rewards from so long as he lived. The reluctant Oversight watched the enclosed system that currently was in use for the Subject known as Sparkles.

After her meeting with Raven, Sparkles had exhibited an alarming lack of control and a just as worrying growth in regards to her ability. Prior to her temporary disappearance, the girl could not do much more than make hot sparks. While staggering in their potential for energy- ultimately they lost power far too quickly for it to be harnessed effectively. To properly use something like heat- you needed it to last and be fairly constant.

Now? The girl had to be constantly sedated in order for her to not spontaneously melt the building around her with streams and rays of energy that stopped for nothing. Paul had immediately suggested for her to be put down and disposed of- it was only at the plea and behest of his fellow researcher that he had agreed to use Sparkles for his prototype aging machine.

Theoretically, it made sense. The Subjects were already genetically programmed to grow faster than a normal human- previously the issue when testing had been things like the aging not stopping at all or the body not growing to begin with. His new technique was basically attempting to invoke the effects of the earlier failures but to also control and minimize the side effects- typically death. To that end, it was more than just genetic tampering, he also was using the memory implanting tech in an attempt to advance the mentality of the Subject as well. Additionally, nutrients and all manner of required elements needed for a growing body would be pumped into the Subject continuously over the period of exactly 3.85 hours it was suggested the process would take for Sparkles.

If all goes well, we'll have a functional Sparkles that can be controlled and reasoned with. Paul ruminated to himself. As he understood it, the Limiter that Subjects were created with was as much for their own protection as it was the organization. It was similar to how the human body normally would restrain itself so a person wouldn't push their body far enough to do serious harm- not without adrenaline reducing their inhibitions anyways. Limiters instead kept the mysterious powers Subjects were born with in check- the better for them to be controlled. When the Limiter was suppressed or removed, it was possible for a Subject to harm themselves unless they were well practiced in pushing themselves.

Raven's blood, theoretically, advanced and accelerated the growth of a Subject's power; in spite of the Limiter. It was hoped by the staff that adored Sparkles that this new combination of technologies would result in the Limiter being improved with age- effectively allowing Sparkles to control the buffed ability Raven had given her. The organization could not increase the powers on their own nor restrict them- but it was hoped the Limiter itself was something that would be affected by this process. If nothing else, the increased mental faculties ought to assist in keeping the hellish energies under control.

Thus far, she wasn't dead and the readings insisted all was going well. Paul patiently waited in the observing room- well aware that failure meant Sparkles would likely burn a hole straight through the hundreds of feet of rock to the surface in an instant and most definitely expose this facility. The government had, obviously, noted the blast of light that had leveled over a block of cityscape; Paul knew as of yet they barely had any solid intelligence about the organization but the attention was still not something he needed to deal with in addition to his responsibilities already.

As usual, Cella and Dr. Crakton stood at his side. While Paul was ever wary of Crakton, Cella had become his closest ally, their mutual distrust of Subjects and desire to advance the human race through technology alone put them on the same path and Paul had desperately needed to create his own circle of loyal researchers. Crakton had said and done little since entering the room, a discreet glance at his dead-panned eyes would allow an observer to note Crakton was likely running simulations of some kind in his processors and not paying attention to the outside world. Cella however appeared to be thinking along similar lines to what Paul had been concentrating on.

"Surely if her control had failed it would've happened hours ago- when the drugs would've theoretically been flushed from her system?"

Paul nodded, "Theoretically, yes. It was a calculated risk- had she lost control during the first few minutes I would've ordered the entire room sterilized in an instant. But, as it stands now, we're nearly done. This is hardly going to be a routine procedure but I am indeed curious about the results."

Crakton's eyes flickered and his voice emerged from his mouth, he'd dedicated enough power to actually move the lips so his attention was fairly on-point it seemed. "Allen Trake is the man heading this scenario. His numbers all seem to add up correctly and he's run them again and again to be sure. The only hole he has is that most mysterious of all human parts- the mind."

"Subjects aren't human." Paul interjected, "But I see your point- we can't possibly predict the effect on her mentally?"

"Predict certainly." Crakton's voice took on a tint of good-natured humor, "We can predict all manner of things. However, if you mean predict correctly-" Paul rolled his eyes, "-then no. Even with our ability to implement memories, the mind evades our efforts to understand it perfectly. It's this exact reason that Subjects like King continue to frustrate you, is it not?"

Cella took over, well aware of Paul's discord with one of the most known Subjects, "Surely you have a theory then? You wouldn't be bringing this up just now if you thought it was dangerous."

"Indeed, I'll obviously want to examine her once she's released, but I suspect we'll see an alternate personality."

That snapped Paul out of his rising anger from the mention of King, "Why? All they did was make her older?"

"Indeed- but your own brain naturally progressed to that state. Even the Subjects with accelerated aging have naturally been able to 'fill in' as it were so that the growth resembles a gradual ramp. This," Crakton extended his hand to gesture through the glass at the monstrous combination of wires and cables that was plugged into a steel column with Sparkles sealed inside, "this is something else entirely. It's not a ramp- it's a jump. The changes in attitude, in knowledge and the ability to use one's body, these are likely in my opinion to form another 'self' for Sparkles. I could certainly be wrong- but we'll have an answer soon enough."

Paul grit his teeth, "And you didn't mention this before we started this escapade because?"

"Why would I? An alternate personality is not, in itself, any disadvantage or issue. If she makes a new persona to project to the world it may actually benefit us. Sparkles previously was quite obedient but lacked any significant willpower- she had no drive and possessed no ambition. Ask her to sit still and she would never move again until told."

Paul kept silent and continued counting down the time. I have no problem with Subjects that do as they're told...
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Re: Friendly Subject Help

Postby Friendlysociopath » Mon Feb 26, 2018 8:43 pm

Paul had very few personal pleasures, and he could count on one hand how many of them he'd been able to indulge since becoming Oversight. But... he felt that childish glee spread across his face as he watched two HAC suits carefully carry the tank into the training area- being able to blow things up in the name of science was probably his favorite pleasure no matter how many unfortunate things he had to deal with in the meantime. He beamed with delight as he ordered various sensors and cameras in place around the massive expanse of rock that this would take place in. It had taken years to carve out the cavern in secret but now, so far below the surface and having bought out the properties above to provide housing, they had an ideal testing ground that was large enough for even HAC suits to strut their stuff.

And that was what would happen today. The most advanced tank the US military had to offer, in top condition and operating at peak efficiency, against a single HAC suit with some of their newest creations. Obtaining a working tank was no easy thing, especially with Paul's complete refusal to involve Subjects such as King. It was regretful that the crew couldn't be preserved for the test but they had not seemed willing to cooperate. Paul had regretfully ordered them used for testing and that had been the last he saw of them. Paul clapped his hands as he received first one green light, then another and another as everyone reported in- they were good to go. Paul felt a bit like Christmas morning and he had run to the kitchen to find presents sitting on the table. He eagerly keyed the speakers and controlled his enthusiasm.

"Start and fire the small arms at-will."

The Abrams immediately revved up and took off laterally compared to the HAC suit to achieve the best angle for attack for a direct frontal hit. The three mounted guns opened fire with a mixture of 12.7 and 7.62mm rounds. Per the simulated rules the HAC suit did not dodge this part of the assault but stood still and trusted in the armor. Paul had not felt any need to involve the risk of a human pilot in the suit for this simulation and had insisted on remote control. Trust in armor was one thing, but depending on it was quite another.

Approximately 11,000 rounds later, the guns went silent as their munitions were entirely spent. The Abrams idled and pointed all weapons away from organization personnel as technicians crept forwards to examine the HAC suit, Paul's day improved significantly as he saw a crutch-bearing elite pacing forwards with his colleagues. Kreager's up and moving, good. A loyal and dedicated man who puts the organization and the safety of others before himself- I need an army of him. Paul sat still in his control area, relentlessly clasping his hands together to practice manipulating not one, but two artificial arms thanks to Subject 000. But even the thought of the renegade couldn't dim Paul's day as the reports came in. While there was a significant amount of scratching, (Kreager's particular assessment described it as a 'fuck-ton')- no bullet had pierced the armor in any meaningful way and the sensors all were still working perfectly. Paul had expected no real damage but the testing had to be done nonetheless. He nervously awaited for the area to clear before the next phase began.

This time, it was no small gun, but the 120mm main armament cannon. Paul worried enough that he ordered the test halted and an extra check be run on every system in the exercise, both in the tank, the HAC, and the recording devices around the arena. They had already double-checked as a matter of routine, but he wanted nothing left to chance. Normally tanks engaged one another at thousands of meters, not a hundred.

The HAC suit braced itself for impact but otherwise left itself wide open for a torso-shot- no attempt would be made to diminish the impact with its arms or to avoid the shot by moving. This was, by all accounts, an execution if the armor failed. Paul took a deep breath before keying his comm again, "Fire."

With a thunderous retort, the Abrams let fly its deadliest weapon. The impact on the HAC suit staggered it back a step and Paul worried for a moment it would fall- but the suit managed to keep its feet. The Abrams again turned its weapons away from HAC as all the technicians swarmed the organization machine. Paul once again found himself thinking about requesting a more durable chair as he clenched his hands on the arms in worry- and promptly shattered said arms between his metal fingers. Slowly, as the technicians thoroughly inspected the machine, the results came in- the suit was still live.

Though the HEAT round had struck dead-center of the suit- the technicians and sensors indicated the HAC was still functional. The assessment of whether the pilot would survive this hit seemed to be under some debate. There had been no compromise in the armor that would allow gasses to enter, and the impact reportedly had not caused enough pressure or force to consider the pilot 'killed' upon the hit, but the general consensus that the human inside would be damaged was not up for discussion; only whether he or she would still be capable of combat. Paul deeply wished Cella or Crakton had been on-hand for this but they had problems of their own to attend to- they couldn't be present for every test Paul wanted to observe. He was more than willing to step in for Cella's weapon-tests but Crakton ever since his breakthrough of moving his mind to an artificial body had studied little but the human brain. It was a useful but ultimately very boring field to observe- not to mention Paul himself couldn't begin to follow the raw genius that flowed from the man in his chosen field of excellence.

Luckily, it seemed a lower-tier of smarts was still available. Kreager called in and Paul keyed open a personal channel, "Yes?"

Kreager's voice sounded very tired, but the man had just faced down a Dragon to be fair, "The pilot would definitely feel the hit and might experience anything from a small concussion to fairly severe internal injuries."

"That's to be expected." Paul replied, "The pilot has always been the weak-link for HACs- that's why we have to chip them just so they can keep up."

"Agreed, but overall the suit held up. No munitions were destroyed, its mobility isn't compromised, and the sensors are all still performing; I think I know how to solve the pilot argument."

"I'm listening." Paul responded, keeping an eye on the technicians still poking and prodding at the suit in the distance all the while.

"That was a HEAT round so it wouldn't kill a real battle tank anyways- they have countermeasures that we haven't started adding yet. This was a pure armor test at point-blank range and it's passing with flying colors, regardless of the spooks complaining about the thing staggering. Follow it up and hit it again to see if the pilot would still be in this grey area of damage."

"And if the pilot or the HAC would be dead?" Paul was compelled to ask to see how Kreager would reply.

"You know HACs are fast- no Arbams will tag them at the normal firing range to begin with. This is an overly ideal scenario and you know it- it could only be worse by aiming directly at the back. If the pilot's dead then bring in new sensors and if the HAC dies then bring in another one and have it start dodging."

Paul nervously tapped the fingers of his hands together as he thought about the logistic and furthermore, the finances of that. HACs weren't cheap to make and computer-testing would only take them so far- at some point live-fire practice had to occur and it was more than expected they would be costly- but he very much didn't want multiple destroyed suits under his belt so soon into his career as Oversight. His inner struggle was lessened significantly when additional reports solidified into a more positive assertion that the pilot would live and still be functional, just rattled and bruised. Paul nodded to himself before relaying the orders to repeat the test.

Again the Abrams fired and again the HAC suit took the round like a champion, staggering back one step to distribute the hit but otherwise coming out on top; with the 'pilot' still living. Once more the technicians gathered around and once again they reported the machine was fully functional. Some staff noted the logistics of where the HAC suit was standing and how that might be interfering with how well it could stand against the shots. Paul humored them and ordered the HAC suit and Abrams to change positions- though he doubted anything as mundane as footing was interfering. The third shot still rocked the machine back a step and the technicians actually had a fist-fight out on the arena floor over why it was happening. Paul had a good chuckle as two of the thinnest men he'd seen in some time fell to the ground in a scuffle, surrounded by a ring of additional researchers in equal parts laughing themselves or trying to pull them apart. Later one of the members thought to check the computer that was commanding the suit and see whether the machine was stepping back because it was being forced to or because it was doing so by choice. A few minutes of code-checking later and it was determined that the HAC was taking the step back because that was the optimal method to distribute the force much like a human would step back when kicked.

After that code was disabled the suit and Abrams once again resumed positions and the Abrams fired yet another shot. This time the suit didn't stagger back at all- and the pilot was 100% confirmed dead without any doubt. As the pilot's sensors hadn't been repaired or reset during the initial tests, and the HAC suit was still going strong, Paul ordered a fresh 'pilot' and for the suit to take one more round without the code that caused the machine to step back. After half an hour of preparation, the final shot rang out from the Abrams and Paul had his answer. If the suit gave ground, the pilot would be damaged but still capable, though multiple hits would put the man inside in very dangerous territory. The suit itself had definitely begun taking damage after the repeated assaults, the sensors were temperately only at 30% efficiency and the machine's mobility had been compromised to less than 73% of its normal speed and maneuverability- though the latter was to be more thoroughly tested later in another area with the same model. However, no standard munitions nor fuel sources had been damaged by the repeated torso shots- a success that couldn't be dismissed. All the same, if the suit stood its ground for such a close-range shot then the pilot was dead and there would be no debate about it.

It's to be expected, we're the weak part of this, not the machines. Paul ruminated to himself. He was still thrilled to see the projected results for the HAC suit somewhat confirmed in a real-time practical combat simulation but he simply could not get over how it seemed the only viable future was of unmanned machines... Paul looked at his artificial limbs and thought deeply about this indeed as the HAC suit managed to walk out of the arena under its own power- though the smoothness had definitely left its stride.

Cella walked into his command center, the bright lights bouncing off her skull and white labcoat in a blinding flare for a moment before she fully reached Paul. "They're bringing in the armaments for the next HAC suit now. I heard the pilots won't survive a direct hit?"

Paul shook his head, "Blasted rumor-spreading Handsy- no the pilot will live so long as they don't face-tank the rounds at point-blank range. If only we didn't need pilots..."

"It's unfortunate love," Paul held no allusions of actual love from Cella, it was only her native way of speaking, "but even with computers being faster- there's times where a human mind needs to be at work making decisions. And the nature of the suits means a fleshy body needs to be linked to the suit so they can properly be as close as possible to the action and what the suit is being exposed to."

"Or perhaps," Paul eyed his artificial hands- each ending at just before his elbow, "perhaps it's time for man to start becoming more machine?" He was aware Cella disagreed with this particular ideology where Crakton did not, an obvious irony that was not lost on Paul, but at least she no longer actively insisted it wasn't the correct path to take. Progress indeed. "Will they be testing your weapon on the Arbams?"

"The Spider? Yes I expect it to be the first test. But why are you satisfied with only one test of the armor?"

"Simple," Paul held up one spread hand, "We only had five shots for the live-fire exercise. The Abrams we captured was sent out primarily with other kinds of ammunition on account of fighting in a city and we don't have the time to spend changing out a factory to make these specific HEAT rounds- at least-" he lazily looked up at Cella from his chair, "not without some of the weapons experts begging non-stop for a chance to test out against actual tank armor."

Cella didn't take the bait, "If there's one thing you can't be with weapons development- it's impatient. That's a good way to be blown up."

"Agreed," Paul dipped his head in what he hoped came across as a wise look, "and the practical results match the calculated ones so all things considered I'm fine with such a small test at the moment. We're not planning on going to war against the US military in any case- this is mostly insurance."

"We wouldn't win." Cella remarked, offering her second view that irked Paul. "Especially not without Subjects. But I see why you're doing this now- you're telling the enthusiasts to shut up."

"Those aren't the words I would choose, but yes, I'm showing that the HACs aren't as invincible as thought; if one Abrams can damage them with a few shots- imagine what the bigger guns would do."

"An admirable attempt at diplomacy- you seem to be learning."

"And I'll learn more." Paul eagerly leaned forwards yet again, "The weapons test is beginning."

The new HAC suit that faced the Abrams was armed with three weapons: the traditional missile launchers in either shoulder, the HAC minigun, and the peanut-shaped weapon that must be the Spider. Paul ordered another check on the Abrams to ensure it was indeed in pristine condition and, upon being confirmed, gave the command to start this new exercise.

The Abrams tore off, accelerating to the maximum speed it could as it tried to hide behind rock structures and outcroppings so the suit couldn't see it. The suit, manned this time, pointed the Spider at a planned structure and prepared to fire it directly over it when the Abrams was 100% hidden from the sight of the suit. Paul felt Cella's fingers dig into his shoulder as the pilot narrated his aiming and firing of the projectile. Their was a burst of flame from the end of the peanut and to Paul's eyes it looked like the bullet suddenly exploded over the top of the rock as it fired out a series of precise shots at the Abrams as it passed overhead.

Cella had her tablet out and was gleefully tapping away, Paul had his larger screens to look at but he imagined her personal tablet was recording as well. The Spider had located every sensory apparatus on the Abrams and had destroyed them all with a triple-round burst, each with a tracer as the second shot. The computer had perfectly analyzed the Abrams and found all the weak spots to fire on. If a human face had been in the camera it would've received a burst as well. In itself this had done nothing to the main part of the tank- but the crew couldn't see to fire the guns.

Paul looked at Cella and gave an encouraging smile. "They'd be helpless." Firepower kill.

He had spoken a moment too soon, as the HAC suit then launched the typical one-two pattern of missiles from its shoulders. Paul saw each missile squarely impact the treads of the tank- blowing each out in the entirety and stranding the vehicle completely to truly knock his statement home. Mobility kill. Cella took this moment to lean over his shoulder and whisper to him.

"Next up is the stuff they plan on using against Ripper now that he's growing that armor. Even I don't have clearance for it- it's fresh from the 1st Facility."

Paul had but a moment to gasp in surprise at this newest development before he watched in awe as the minigun activated, rolling up to speed as the HAC suit paced a couple dozen meters to properly return to the 100 meter designation against the Abrams. The sight of the gun in real-time slicing the entire tank in half lengthwise in 5.85 seconds of continuous fire brought a wide-eyed smile to his face and applause to his metal hands- war enthusiasts be-damned. Catastrophic kill.
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Re: Friendly Subject Help

Postby Friendlysociopath » Mon Feb 26, 2018 11:46 pm

Vincent growled to himself as he paced back and forth in the cell he'd been placed in. He'd been forced to abandon Pleasant for a very simple reason- a threat. The message that he'd found flashing in front of his face had been pretty straightforwards.

'If you don't want to see a repeat incident like New York, head to the intersection three miles North of your hotel. Come alone and bring the Alter weapon. You have three minutes.'

The glowing letters had existed for only a fraction of a second before vanishing. Pleasant looked up from his laptop- the mirrored glasses as always masking his eyes.

"Is something wrong Vincent?"

"No, nothing." His voice betrayed nothing, but the Subject's heart had begun beating faster. It wasn't like the organization to be so blunt and threatening. Vincent genuinely worried his knowledge of the group had become severely outdated. He closed his remaining eye and took a breath before speaking again. "I don't suppose there's more blood?"

Pleasant shook his head slowly. Vincent knew the man sympathized with him but facts were facts, blood might be a naturally occurring substance but it was scarce all the same. Millions of humans died in a year because blood wasn't available or so he'd been told. Vincent as an asset was worth maintaining at a livable dosage, but keeping him well-nourished simply wasn't doable without drawing attention. To make it worse, his worth as an asset was plummeting. While he'd for the most part recovered from his battle with Subject 000- his lost eye remained a constant reminder that he'd lost the fight. Even if he'd been winning, dominating, his foe right now was fine and what was Vincent? Half-blind, weak, and facing a ticking biological clock. Years prior Vincent never gave it much thought. Now he found it haunting him, jumping out when he least wanted to think about it.

He didn't know how old he was- few Subjects did. The artificial aging process used on them was not uniform, some Subjects aged faster or slower, some reached the final marker sooner rather than later, and that was without losing track of time locked underground in a world without light. It was around four years of enhanced growth until maturity, Vincent knew that, and about two years of slowed growth after, he knew that too. He'd been fully grown when he escaped, but for how long? And how long had it been since? He'd lost so much time locked in that hole... What would happen after six years without the organization there to check him?

He had to go. Not only was there a dire consequence for not obeying, he had no hope of being useful anymore outside. Either he could die inside, on his own terms and perhaps accomplishing something, or he could maybe drop dead outside at any moment. He didn't know- he didn't know. In an almost hypnotic state, Vincent blurred forwards and grabbed at the safe the room had installed in the closet. He didn't waste time on the code, he ripped the device from the floor with a single hand while the other beat a rapid rhythm through the wall and opened a hole into the street below.

Dropping a few stories to the ground hadn't been all that hard before. With his bones healed up it still wasn't difficult- but it wasn't as easy as it used to be. Vincent's worry was that it wasn't the lack of blood- but a sign of impending death. With his eye lost and the organization changing, it was like the world had become a larger place, the lines and edges Vincent had grown familiar with were fading away and he was being left behind; the only thing in focus.

He skidded to a stop a short time later at the intersection, frantically looking about for a sign of the organization. It turned out he didn't need to bother. He felt first one shock-stick hit his spine- then another. Of course they'd struck from his blind side- they knew what and who he was. Never even saw them coming. Oblivion soon followed.

Waking up from being shocked unconscious was not a pleasant experience, but it beat the alternative. Vincent hurt all over, for the briefest moment even his non-existent eye felt a surge of pain as he sat up and looked around. He'd not been given blood to drink nor replacement clothing, and his initial glance over the room didn't reveal anyone waiting for him to wake nor any obvious cameras or medical equipment to monitor him. Not good.

Of course the organization had reclaimed the Alter Dagger. He hadn't for a moment thought they'd let him keep it but it hurt to lose all the same. There were no windows in the room, only a single light in the ceiling and a heavy door in the far wall. The room didn't contain a bed so much as the wall bent outwards and made a large shelf that extended to the floor. Vincent rolled off the 'bed' and took the measure of the chamber. It wasn't large enough to have an interview in- you'd never fit a table and two chairs in here and if you by some miracle did, you'd never be able to keep enough distance between two human-sized beings to ensure they couldn't reach one another. This was a prison, pure and simple, and it was one for Subjects the organization didn't seem to care about.

That was fine. Vincent could break out and sneak about at his leisure- maybe even find a bite to eat. Even at his weakest he was still more than a match for any human. Vincent turned to the door and looked for the hinges to determine which side would best deserve his kick only to stop as a new detail made itself known to him. There were no hinges. It was a flat slab of metal. No matter- Vincent took a step back and kicked forwards with a generous amount of effort.


And he recoiled as his blow had no effect whatsoever on the door. Fear gripped him as Vincent assaulted the portal- punching, kicking, slamming his shoulder into it- all of these attacks and more bounced off the metal without leaving a mark. What the hell is it? It was a dark metal unknown to him- but he'd never found something so physically resistant to being damaged before. His heart well and truly sank as blood from his split knuckles dripped to the floor- he didn't know what the organization was capable of anymore. When he'd left, Vamps had been unstoppable and the organization had possessed no extremely effective way to contain them. That and who knew how much more had changed.

The door opening surprised him- instead of opening outwards it lifted straight up. First a pair of boots came into view, followed my a standard organization security uniform and culminating in glowing red eyes- a Grunt. The sneer beneath his eyes was impressive. Vincent noted a small metal tag on the outfit, 'Butch.'

"I thought you'd wake up sooner Vamp, we didn't shock you that badly."

"Watch your tone, dog." Vincent replied, in no mood for insults and well aware that fear and timid behavior would only make it more likely for him to be killed without further interaction, he also wasn't about to let a damn Grunt insult him like that. As always, the word was good for a rise. Butch's eyes narrowed and he brought his arms up and crossed them over his chest- the better position for starting a fight than in his pockets like they'd previously been.

"Keep it up- they want to talk to you at some point. You don't need working arms and legs for that." Vincent didn't particularly find much worth getting angry about that threat, but the one that followed had no such issue. "Or I could take your other eye- you won't be running away blind."

"Try it!" Vincent bared his teeth in a smile that gave the illusion of confidence. "In the meantime, tell them I'm awake, the company here is lacking." He hoped the Grunt would try to hurt him- it would be a tough fight in his weakened condition but if he could manage to get some blood it would bolster him no small bit. Butch knew this it seemed. He raised a hand and Vincent became aware of four other Grunts standing in the hallway, all patiently waiting for him to try something. A Vamp well-fed could probably take three Grunts on at the same time and win- Vincent wasn't well fed. His bravado faded and he felt his shoulders slump.

It was what Butch had been waiting for. A clean punch, right from Vincent's blind side, caught him in the face and sent him staggering backwards onto his bed. Butch took a moment to enter the room completely and nod at his companions, who shut the door behind him. The Grunt then grabbed Vincent's head and rammed it into the metal side of the bed- splitting the front of his face open.

Damned dog! Vincent snarled and reached deep within himself, finding his limiter and turning it off in order to feel the welcome flow of power and a surety of purpose that he could never explain to a human. He never would've thought he'd need his full strength against a Grunt- but times had changed. He surged to his feet and rammed his forehead sharply into Butch's nose, breaking it. Butch flinched but otherwise responded by bringing both hands forwards into a short-distance punch to Vincent's chest, knocking him back again. This time ready, Vincent didn't fall or stagger. He reached both hands out and grabbed Butch's arms- using the Grunt himself to halt his fall. Vincent smiled and pivoted- hurling Butch into the bed this time instead. Vincent struck his opponent in the skull twice more but his strength was so much weaker than it should be. A single blow should've caved in Butch's skull with ease- yet two swift punches had done no severe damage. Sure he bled- but Vincent needed more.

Butch was up and moving, he swept both of his legs around and caught Vincent upside his own head, producing a ringing in the ears and a blurriness to his vision. A dreadful thought reached Vincent- could he as weak as a Grunt? No... Vincent kept his arms around his head as Butch came at him from the sides, each blow packing enough strength to break a human jaw and send the pieces flying. Not as weak... He kicked out at Butch's groin. The Grunt twisted and took the hit to the side of the leg, he yelled in pain but didn't let up in his assault on Vincent. He felt the power, the purpose, the will to continue- it faded away. He felt the cold bands of his limiter encircle him again as Butch grabbed either arm and threw Vincent up against the door- kicking him in the center of the torso and breaking several ribs and perhaps more. Vincent fell to his knees and coughed up blood. Weaker... than a dog...

Butch called out to the other Grunts, "He's no problem at all, open the door." Vincent felt the air change behind him as the door rose up, revealing the other four organization dogs waiting patiently. Butch's condescension hurt more than any hit could, "This Vamp's too weak to fight us off."

Butch grabbed the downed Vincent's hair and hauled him to his feet. With a shove the Vamp was sent stumbling forwards. He felt a sharp point prick his back and knew by feel what it was- Butch had his Alter Dagger. If Vincent had even a portion of his strength he would've disarmed him before he could react-

Pain blossomed in Vincent's torso as he felt the tip of the Alter weapon pierce his body. Butch's methods were obvious, 'move.' And so Vincent stepped forwards and the Grunts boxed him in as he started talking down the hall.
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