Ommatidia

Nora

Brendan — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 15:00:40 +0000

The California Civil War isn’t nearly as organized as the other one, but does have the advantage of nice weather and cell phone coverage. The Battle of Los Angeles isn’t as big as everyone sort of wants it to be; Nora’s squad spends most of the week doing mopup.

Which is why the ambush outside the big theater hits them so hard. Nora leaves bloody handprints on the sidewalk, but the med squad is snappy.

“Fucking idiotic,” she curses herself.

“Relax,” says one of them, “don’t you get a Purple Heart for this?”

“It sucks,” she winces, “just to be nominated.”

Bronwen

Brendan — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 15:00:10 +0000

“So where am I in the initiative order now?” asks Bronwen, frowning, doing arithmetic.

“You pulled out the quorum call last round, so you moved down to fourth,” says Daffyd. “That means Knox has the floor.”

“Oh, okay,” says Knox. “I’m using an encounter power… uh, Force Recess.” Dice clatter on the board. “Hit! Seven votes!”

“Reduced to two,” smirks Daffyd from behind his screen, “they’ve got defection resist 5.”

“Aren’t you at least going to roll a morale check yet?” says Bronwen. “We outnumber them now, and–”

“No morale check.”

“Why not?”

“These guys,” says Daffyd, “fight to the death.”

Iger

Brendan — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 07:05:05 +0000

They’re deep in the Uncanny Valley, deeper than any manned survey has plumbed, and the walls of their bathysphere are three feet thick and groaning. The spotlamp is low. Things that aren’t quite human flicker by, curious, providing their own illumination.

It is very cold.

“Are we even sure this thing has a bottom?” mutters Iger, glancing again and again at the pressure gauge on his dash.

“I keep telling you,” says Noam, “its depth is subjective.”

“I can’t breathe.” Iger struggles with straps. “If I just–”

“Don’t take off the mask!”

Iger stops, swallowing. Surely he still has a face.

Yael

Brendan — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 07:13:32 +0000

“He’s going to offer you a last chance to make good on your debt,” the less burly of the guards mutters into Yael’s ear as, once again behooded and bedonkeyed, they jounce off to certain doom in the desert.

“What?” she snaps. It takes her a second to realize which language he’s speaking.

“Up to you if you want to take it. He’s planning on killing you even if you succeed, but it’ll be some time before I can get an extraction team out here, so–”

“Unfortunate plover?” says Yael, astonished, starting to catch up.

“It’s ’sturdy protuberance’ now,” he grimaces.

The Coracle Game

Brendan — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 22:31:42 +0000

Never play this game.
Everyone gets a phone and the toll-free number for a large corporation.
Your goal: get as deep into the phone tree as possible without authenticating yourself. Real account information is off-limits.
Score 1 per touch-tone branch navigated, 10 per human spoken to, and -1 per minute spent on hold. Score no points, but die a little, each time someone with an accent is forced to tell you his name is Brad.
Stop accruing points when the call ends.
If you manage to commit fraud, you win! Now, hang up and flee across state lines.