“Yeah,” Ripley lifted himself onto one of the desks still standing upright, “I don’t think Zeph’s got any ties with the rest of us here. At most, he’s just pulling our strings. Just listen real close to his announcements; you’ll see what he’s up to. He’s trying his hardest to turn us against each other, because if he doesn’t we’ll realize that our choices aren't just kill or be killed.” He leaned over, let the tip of the AK-47 touch the floor, and scowled. “But, damn, it’s working.”
He’d experienced it firsthand, after all. Finger on the trigger, life or death in his hands, being pushed ever closer to the point of no return. He pulled himself back, sure, but only because he’d already seen two corpses by then. Two lives, one snuffed out before he arrived, the other smashed to pieces right before his eyes. Futures, families, friends, and faces broken. If he hadn’t seen them, hadn’t felt his stomach hollow out or his heart stop at the sight of death, if he hadn’t known how horrible, how stupid it was to kill someone… his name would have been lauded along with Ilya’s last announcement.
Speaking of names, Ángel’s wasn’t particularly well-regarded by Gabby. According to her, he was (A) blustering about a plan he apparently didn’t have, (B) waving his gun around recklessly, and (C) acting weird overall. Weird enough that Gabby was grimacing and grumbling about it. And, honestly? Ripley wasn’t confident about Ángel either. Ripley had mentioned his name since he knew him and he hadn’t been announced as a killer, but a lack of results didn’t necessarily prove a lack of intent—see Paris for reference.
“No, I get it,” replied Ripley, “Ángel’s got as many red flags as he does uses—I mean, first thing I saw him do here was pull a gun on Jill. While she was unarmed. And injured. And buried under a mountain of Cheez-its.” He scratched the back of his head nervously as he recalled every increasingly condemning detail of the situation. “Like it or not, though, we need someone like him. He knows programming. We don't. So as long as he's willing to cooperate and not kill anyone, we'll take him. And if he doesn’t, well, there’s more than one programmer in our class, so no sweat. ‘Someone like him’ means it doesn’t have to be him. He’s just the only CR-savvy guy I’ve met so far. Well, other than Zorin, but…”
Ripley’s gaze drifted to the floor as Gabby brought up a second, more ominous issue. The administrant in the room: Zeph.
“Yeah, he’s a bit of an issue, isn’t he?” Ripley carefully leaned against the pile of chairs and table behind him, glaring at the ceiling as if someone was there. “Good news, we haven’t spilled too much. Right now, all he knows is our general strategy. Get people. Break game. Leave. In other words, we move, talk, and investigate stuff—he can’t stop us from doing that. But we can’t speak vague forever. Once we figure out exactly what to do, we need a way to tell each other without him finding out through his see-all-hear-all-know-all-no-balls system.”
Ripley thought for a bit, really racking his mind for some sort of way to talk without being heard. To speak without words—easier said than done. He brought up his free hand to rest his cheek on it, but as it made contact, his eyes lit up and he flashed a grin at Raj and Gabby.
“He can hear us,” Ripley began, “and he can see us. But that’s gotta be where it ends, right? Like, he’s not with us, and he’s not us. He doesn’t smell, taste, or feel things the way we do.
“So,” Ripley set his AK-47 beside him, raised his left hand, and brought his right to it, tracing letters on his palm with his index finger. “If we did something like this…”
G-E-T I-T-?, he wrote.
“Obviously, we’re gonna write on each other’s hands instead of our own, and we’ll have to shorthand a whole lot so it doesn’t take forever, and we’ll need to stick to uppercase letters to keep things unconfusing, and we’ll have to make sure we keep it out of view, but it- it should work, right?”
He looked at Raj and Gabby excitedly, dangling legs beginning to kick and flutter.
Uncharitable Circumstances
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Moderator: SOTF: Cyber Staff
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MonteCristo
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Raj stopped his pacing, pausing to pay close attention to what Ripley was spelling out on his palm. Surely it would be easier once they got into the swing of it and actually started to make contact with each other's hands to communicate, but in the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to be extra attentive so that the other boy wouldn't have to repeat himself — especially in such crucial circumstances.
S-M-A-R-T, he remarked in the same fashion, fingers tracing the outlines of the letters he wanted to convey. Only, unlike Ripley, he decided to press ever-so-slightly with the tip of his fingernail, just enough so that it left faint white marks in the shapes of messily scrawled letters. It probably wouldn't be noticeable enough for anyone watching through cameras, or whatever strange simulation version of those they had spying on them, to see properly, but it still helped with the clarity of his message. Of course, it wasn't forceful enough to do any real damage, or even hurt in the slightest, so he could just as quickly rub it away.
"Zeph's not gonna know what hit him," he declared. True, when thinking big picture, it would be considerably more difficult to communicate in situations with larger groups, but he had a feeling that was a sacrifice they were going to have to make. Better to have an easily fixed moment of unclarity than to risk revealing specific private details that completely gave away their plans. That would be... not ideal.
Okay, well, to be honest, Raj wasn't completely sure that even with such a discreet method of communication that they would be completely out of the clear. Like, at the end of the day, there wasn't too much that could be done to stop them from plotting (other than killing them, which they'd proven to have the power to do in real life, but he chose not to think about that), but that didn't mean they could remain completely mysterious about their plot. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if, through some sort of messed up technology (which somehow made the situation worse, so props to speculation), their minds could be read, or some other freaky and invasive thing. In Cyberspace, the sky was the limit, and that didn't work too well in their favor.
Whatever. Pessimism was for suckers.
Ripley seemed pretty damn excited, and Gabby didn't seem too opposed, so Raj would be as optimistic as he wanted. Obviously, blind optimism wasn't a good option, but a little bit of hope — a regular, healthy dose of hope — went a long way. And so what if they sounded a little bit delusional? Was it better to let conflict tear you down until you become either the hunter or the hunted, or to have high hopes for change? He thought that would be a super obvious answer, but given what he'd heard (luckily, he hadn't actually come across any psycho killers yet, which he realized was pretty lucky, looking at the other two in the room), some people had given in.
He could spent the whole day debating internally whether he was a fool or a revolutionary (or both?) for believing that they had a shot, but that monologue was far too tired and he wasn't really in the mood to talk himself out of something he'd already gotten so hyped up about.
Raj began to pace again, a personal indicator that he was going deeper into thought. They didn't have much time before they were expected to get all murder-y with each other, so they had to plan fast (not only that, but when people could be actively dying, it was kind of an urgent thing).
"So, we pretty much have two options now, because I think we should make a move," he said, verbalizing his thoughts as they came to him. "We could split up to cover more ground — which will help us find more people, but we risk losing each other, and we'll be more vulnerable if attacked individually. Or, alternatively, we could go together, which, while not being able to reach as far, would guarantee us a lot more safety."
It was kind of obvious (to Raj, at least) which option sounded better, but he didn't want to risk sounding less leader-like by backtracking on his words. He looked at Ripley, and then at Gabby, seemingly gauging their opinions.
S-M-A-R-T, he remarked in the same fashion, fingers tracing the outlines of the letters he wanted to convey. Only, unlike Ripley, he decided to press ever-so-slightly with the tip of his fingernail, just enough so that it left faint white marks in the shapes of messily scrawled letters. It probably wouldn't be noticeable enough for anyone watching through cameras, or whatever strange simulation version of those they had spying on them, to see properly, but it still helped with the clarity of his message. Of course, it wasn't forceful enough to do any real damage, or even hurt in the slightest, so he could just as quickly rub it away.
"Zeph's not gonna know what hit him," he declared. True, when thinking big picture, it would be considerably more difficult to communicate in situations with larger groups, but he had a feeling that was a sacrifice they were going to have to make. Better to have an easily fixed moment of unclarity than to risk revealing specific private details that completely gave away their plans. That would be... not ideal.
Okay, well, to be honest, Raj wasn't completely sure that even with such a discreet method of communication that they would be completely out of the clear. Like, at the end of the day, there wasn't too much that could be done to stop them from plotting (other than killing them, which they'd proven to have the power to do in real life, but he chose not to think about that), but that didn't mean they could remain completely mysterious about their plot. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if, through some sort of messed up technology (which somehow made the situation worse, so props to speculation), their minds could be read, or some other freaky and invasive thing. In Cyberspace, the sky was the limit, and that didn't work too well in their favor.
Whatever. Pessimism was for suckers.
Ripley seemed pretty damn excited, and Gabby didn't seem too opposed, so Raj would be as optimistic as he wanted. Obviously, blind optimism wasn't a good option, but a little bit of hope — a regular, healthy dose of hope — went a long way. And so what if they sounded a little bit delusional? Was it better to let conflict tear you down until you become either the hunter or the hunted, or to have high hopes for change? He thought that would be a super obvious answer, but given what he'd heard (luckily, he hadn't actually come across any psycho killers yet, which he realized was pretty lucky, looking at the other two in the room), some people had given in.
He could spent the whole day debating internally whether he was a fool or a revolutionary (or both?) for believing that they had a shot, but that monologue was far too tired and he wasn't really in the mood to talk himself out of something he'd already gotten so hyped up about.
Raj began to pace again, a personal indicator that he was going deeper into thought. They didn't have much time before they were expected to get all murder-y with each other, so they had to plan fast (not only that, but when people could be actively dying, it was kind of an urgent thing).
"So, we pretty much have two options now, because I think we should make a move," he said, verbalizing his thoughts as they came to him. "We could split up to cover more ground — which will help us find more people, but we risk losing each other, and we'll be more vulnerable if attacked individually. Or, alternatively, we could go together, which, while not being able to reach as far, would guarantee us a lot more safety."
It was kind of obvious (to Raj, at least) which option sounded better, but he didn't want to risk sounding less leader-like by backtracking on his words. He looked at Ripley, and then at Gabby, seemingly gauging their opinions.
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MonteCristo
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((Skipped with Permission))
Alright, it seemed like Ripley’s little tracing method was a hit. He’d been a bit worried that it’d be seen as kind of dumb and cumbersome, but it wasn’t. So hell yeah.
But he couldn’t get too excited—his legs slowed to a stop accordingly—because all this strategizing and discussing meant nothing if they didn’t take a single step outside. Outside, where there was more to worry about than faulty chairs and a lack of color. Outside, where people were fighting, dying, needing their help. If they really wanted to pull one over Zeph, they’d have to do more than write letters on their hands.
“I say we stick together,” he answered Raj, “Safety in numbers. Pretty sure all the killers in our class are going solo, so they aren’t gonna risk taking down three of us at once. Not unless they can catch us off guard, anyway, so stay alert. Once we get at least one more person on our side, we can start splitting up—but even then, no one gets left alone.”
Ripley let out a breath. Safety in numbers, huh? There was a bit more to it than that. The way he saw it, if either Raj or Gabby ran into any of their more trigger-happy classmates by themselves, they were dead. Yeah, they had guns, but they’d already said they wouldn’t use them. And holding back against people who were trying to kill them would, well, kill them. So Ripley had to stay with them for now. If anyone dared to point a gun or blade or katana at them, it would be Ripley’s job to fire off the warning shots. And he’d make sure his message hit its target.
“So, if that’s all settled, what are we waiting for? You guys said it yourselves, we gotta find out exactly what we need to do to break the system. But we can't move, talk, and investigate stuff if we aren't moving. Plus, if we want more help, we gotta find it ourselves. I don’t think our fourth’s gonna come by and knock on our door anytime soon.”
Ripley hopped off the desk and grabbed the AK-47.
“After you.”
Alright, it seemed like Ripley’s little tracing method was a hit. He’d been a bit worried that it’d be seen as kind of dumb and cumbersome, but it wasn’t. So hell yeah.
But he couldn’t get too excited—his legs slowed to a stop accordingly—because all this strategizing and discussing meant nothing if they didn’t take a single step outside. Outside, where there was more to worry about than faulty chairs and a lack of color. Outside, where people were fighting, dying, needing their help. If they really wanted to pull one over Zeph, they’d have to do more than write letters on their hands.
“I say we stick together,” he answered Raj, “Safety in numbers. Pretty sure all the killers in our class are going solo, so they aren’t gonna risk taking down three of us at once. Not unless they can catch us off guard, anyway, so stay alert. Once we get at least one more person on our side, we can start splitting up—but even then, no one gets left alone.”
Ripley let out a breath. Safety in numbers, huh? There was a bit more to it than that. The way he saw it, if either Raj or Gabby ran into any of their more trigger-happy classmates by themselves, they were dead. Yeah, they had guns, but they’d already said they wouldn’t use them. And holding back against people who were trying to kill them would, well, kill them. So Ripley had to stay with them for now. If anyone dared to point a gun or blade or katana at them, it would be Ripley’s job to fire off the warning shots. And he’d make sure his message hit its target.
“So, if that’s all settled, what are we waiting for? You guys said it yourselves, we gotta find out exactly what we need to do to break the system. But we can't move, talk, and investigate stuff if we aren't moving. Plus, if we want more help, we gotta find it ourselves. I don’t think our fourth’s gonna come by and knock on our door anytime soon.”
Ripley hopped off the desk and grabbed the AK-47.
“After you.”
Okay, okay, so things were actually starting to come together. And considering Zeph hadn't, like, absolutely obliterated them yet, they were already making the smallest bit of progress, which was promising.
Raj, once again, ceased his pacing. Now it was time to really get their game faces on. When they stepped out, they were once again players. They were once again in the prime of the battlefield, but now they had allies. And that would be under the assumption someone would be foolish enough to take on a group of three when they would be outnumbered. The most successful killers weren't stupid; they'd know when a fight would be unwinnable. So, presumably, they'd at least have an advantage if it came to that.
"It's us against the world. No big deal," he huffed, somewhat to himself. He stepped over to the door, opening it and stepping out.
He could see colours again. Cool.
Raj leaned against the now-opened door, holding it that way for the other two. Nobody could blame him, but he was nonetheless doing his best to hide his uncertainty of what was to come in the future. They had a chance to recruit people and end the unnecessary bloodshed, but none of that would matter if someone just happened to pop up and demolish them with a machine gun or whatever. He kept repeating in his mind that an attacker would be outnumbered, convincing himself to stay calm with a sort of mantra.
All the while, of course. He kept a faint smile, working to stay externally unbothered. There were plenty of other times to be nervous out of his mind, but he had to be present and alert for his allies. He crossed his arms.
"Alright, so... I'm gonna go grab the powerwasher, in case we need it for something, and then we're good to start scouting. Sound good?" He took one deep breath in. It was time to take a stand.
No pressure.
[Raj continued in Time to overthrow the Galactic Empire.]
Raj, once again, ceased his pacing. Now it was time to really get their game faces on. When they stepped out, they were once again players. They were once again in the prime of the battlefield, but now they had allies. And that would be under the assumption someone would be foolish enough to take on a group of three when they would be outnumbered. The most successful killers weren't stupid; they'd know when a fight would be unwinnable. So, presumably, they'd at least have an advantage if it came to that.
"It's us against the world. No big deal," he huffed, somewhat to himself. He stepped over to the door, opening it and stepping out.
He could see colours again. Cool.
Raj leaned against the now-opened door, holding it that way for the other two. Nobody could blame him, but he was nonetheless doing his best to hide his uncertainty of what was to come in the future. They had a chance to recruit people and end the unnecessary bloodshed, but none of that would matter if someone just happened to pop up and demolish them with a machine gun or whatever. He kept repeating in his mind that an attacker would be outnumbered, convincing himself to stay calm with a sort of mantra.
All the while, of course. He kept a faint smile, working to stay externally unbothered. There were plenty of other times to be nervous out of his mind, but he had to be present and alert for his allies. He crossed his arms.
"Alright, so... I'm gonna go grab the powerwasher, in case we need it for something, and then we're good to start scouting. Sound good?" He took one deep breath in. It was time to take a stand.
No pressure.
[Raj continued in Time to overthrow the Galactic Empire.]
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MonteCristo
- Posts: 75
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As he stepped through the door, Ripley returned Raj’s smile.
“Sounds good, yeah.”
He glanced left and right in the hallway; no one was around, so he loosened his grip on the AK-47.
Nerves were expected. Fear, understandable. But Ripley couldn't let them get the better of him.
Maybe he'd end up a hero. Maybe he was just an idiot.
But he wouldn't be a coward.
((Ripley Klein and Gabby McLeod continued elsewhere))
“Sounds good, yeah.”
He glanced left and right in the hallway; no one was around, so he loosened his grip on the AK-47.
Nerves were expected. Fear, understandable. But Ripley couldn't let them get the better of him.
Maybe he'd end up a hero. Maybe he was just an idiot.
But he wouldn't be a coward.
((Ripley Klein and Gabby McLeod continued elsewhere))