>>42706734
Retale was not an integral Confederate world, as it did not find itself on any major trade routes and was not the site of shipyards or other military installations. Under normal circumstances Retale was left to its own devices. The Deep Space Confederacy fielded two brigades planetside, and along with local planetary defence, military presence was limited to the cities of Gibson and Stronach.

The Retalan day was long, nearly fifty five universal standard hours. The phenomenon of mid-day napping had taken you some getting used to. A little less than half of the planet’s sixty million residents lived in the commercialized north, the rest of them working the farms, factories, and industrial centers in the south.

You've been laying low for the past week, never leaving your room and ordering food in to eat. The Space Wasp was stashed in a friendly farmer's field on the outskirts of town. The farmer was a trustworthy man, who you've known for years. He was out in the fields when you touched down, but maybe you'll see him next time you leave.

Well, you figure you've been disconnected from the world for long enough for at least some of the heat to die down. You've got a pile of Wheel-grade scrap metal in the Wasp's compartment that needs selling.

Yeah, along with a little black box that just might upset the balance of power in this part of the galaxy, depending on whose hands it falls into. You should definitely set up a meeting with Scrapyard Tom so you can give him the good news.

On the other hand, you've been cut off from the galaxy for an entire week. Maybe you should boot up your PC and read up on the news?

What do you do?
>Catch up on the News
>Call Scrapyard Tom
>Look out the window some more.

>>42706783
>>Catch up on the News

>>42706956
It’s not good to be too far disconnected from the world.

You sit down at your desk and start up your browser. Right now, you’re connected to the local ‘net, which, simply put, covers the entire planet. Retale is the only inhabited planet in this system, but if there were others, they’d be connected through the outer-net. Naturally, depending on where a specific site’s servers are located, there may be delays in communication. There’s also pangal, or the pangalactic net, which you never really bother dealing with as the major local sites tend to aggregate content from there, and it all tends to be from a couple of days to a week old, depending on how far away the other planet is and how often the dataships arrive. You’re fairly certain you’ll never have to access the pangal in the foreseeable future.

You click through some of the articles on the local net - two in particular catch your eye, however. The first has to do with unrest in the south that is apparently becoming a big deal. The southern magistrate, Paul Atter, has been raising cries about unfair taxation on Southern-produced goods imposed by the Confederacy. With the support of local union leaders, daily demonstrations have dominated Stronach for the past five days, with the most recent protests becoming increasingly violent. A blurb at the bottom noted that despite pleas from the governor, police presence has been increased across the planet’s major population centers.

>>42707584
Typical Confederate protocol; even though the unrest was in the south, the north got squeezed along with it. More cops on the street is just what you needed right now.

The second article was related to the first, and brought good news and bad news. Three Confederate ships; the Battlecruiser DSCS-Liverpool and the light frigates DSCS-Ganymede and Io, arrived in orbit at 5:00 AM today as part of a regularly scheduled patrol of the DSC’s outermost planets. The article’s author noted that their arrival is timely, as the additional manpower would be much appreciated in case the situation in the south went… further south. To you, this was of course bad news.

The good news was that a longtime friend and sometime coworker of yours, a man by the name of Weston Kerchow, was a Confederate engineer stationed on the Ganymede. If his ship was in orbit, maybe he could get shore leave?

After you’re done browsing the news, you decide to check your email. Nothing in particular catches your eye, except one from the municipal government of Gibson labeled “IMPORTANT – YOUR ATTENTION REQUIRED”. It’s a mass e-mail sent out to all the city’s citizens, reminding them of Confederate regulations to register civilian spacecraft.

As a smuggler, you find it quite convenient to own an unregistered spacecraft. The downside being of course, is that you can never use legitimate spaceports or points of entry when moving from planet to planet. Although it’s not something you do very often, maybe it’s time to register the Wasp? Who knows, maybe the windfall from selling the Battery will be enough for you to settle down?

What do you do?
Do you
1)
a) REGISTER THE WASP?
b) Or NOT?
And then do you
2) Call WESTON?
3) Call SCRAPYARD TOM?
4) Look out the Window?
5) Check your list of contacts?

>>42707605
1.
b, for now at least no counting chickens before they are hatched

4 and 5 then 3

>>42707605
whoops, just realized I wrote "smuggler" instead of "scavenger"
this is why I should proofread shit before i post it.

>>42707629
Why get more involved with the government than you need to?

It was probably best not to register the Wasp, at least for now. The less things you have tying you down, the better. You’ve already got that piece of plastic in the pocket of your jeans, anyway: the thing that irrevocably confirms your existence as far as the Confederacy is concerned.

All this news of police presence has made you a bit nervous. You move over to the larger window in your main room and pull up the blinds there.

Your apartment looks out onto a pretty nondescript city street. There’s another skyscraper across from it, and a ways down there’s a big park belonging to the local university. You live at the very edge of a big student neighbourhood, and the crowds get pretty dense during the day.

You immediately notice something that wasn’t there when you arrived a week ago:
An armoured car belonging to the Retalan Planetary Defence is parked on the corner of Joseph and Nicholas Streets. Other residents seem to barely noticing it, besides the cyclists who have to veer off in the street to avoid it. You suspect there’ll be a strongly worded editorial in the news on how ignorant the RPD is for blocking bike lanes.

You close the blinds and get to work. Flipping out your phone, you first check your recently called local contacts.

1) SCRAPYARD TOM – Operates a metal processing plant on the edge of town. Your main scrap fence for the past two years
2) KERCHOW, WESTON – Your friend since high school, way back when. Now a Confederate Engineer. Shares insider info when he can get his hands on it
3) GRAVES, ARTHUR – Another old friend. Now a farmer. He lets you park the Wasp in his barn, away from Confederate eyes.
4) JONAS – The owner of your apartment building. You send him a text message whenever you’re going to be away for a while

You don’t really need to call anyone but Tom or Weston right now, but it might be nice to talk to Arthur.
Who do you call?

>>42708099
3. Make sure he's ok and cool. Go from there.

>>42708099
3) GRAVES, ARTHUR – Another old friend. Now a farmer. He lets you park the Wasp in his barn, away from Confederate eyes.
See how he's doing, discuss recent events over a beer.

>>42708149
>>42708262
It’s good to keep in touch with old friends.

You’ve known Weston for longer, but you find it a bit rude to not at least say hi to Arthur after landing. You decide to give him a call. After a few rings, he picks up. Of course a farmer would be up this early.
“Hello?” You hear Arthur’s voice, a little heavy with sleep.
“Howdy, farmer Arkansas,” you say.

“Wh- damnit, is that you, Jay?” He says. You give a short laugh.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Now now, Jay,” he says. “We agreed on this, didn’t we? You call me Mr. Arthur Graves, and I call you Mr. Jay.., uh,” Arthur said. He remained silent for a moment.

“It’s just Jay, Arthur,” you say.

“Shoot, you’re right. Dumb of me to forget. Say, why ya callin’, anyhow?”

>”Just to see how you’re doing.”
>”Haven’t seen you in a while. Want to meet up later?”
> <Write In>

>>42708560
>”Just to see how you’re doing.”
And thank you for helping me out.

>>42708560
>>”Just to see how you’re doing.”
> <Write In>
How's th' wife?

>>42708583
Just to see how he’s doing.

“Just to see how you’re doing,” you say. “Haven’t had the chance to thank you, either.”

“Well gosh, Jay, I’m doin’ fine,” Arthur says, a little flustered. “Just about ready for the first shift. And there ain’t no need to thank me. I’m always keen on helpin’ an ‘ol friend. We were Union once, weren’t we, after all.”

Union – once. But they had left those days behind them – Weston; Wisconsin, Arthur: Arkansas, you, and, of course, her: the faraway, unreachable, Alaska.

Alask- you grimace, shutting your eyes. What was wrong with you? You’re the one who called him Arkansas to begin with, and then you feel like shit when it all comes back. Things like this make you feel like a huge hypocrite; maybe you are one.

“Jay?” Arthur asks after your silence stretches into the awkward. “Is-uh, are you still there?”

“Yeah,” you say, recovering from your brief foray into the past. “Yeah, I – sorry. I just wanted to say thanks again. You’re a big help. ”

“And again I’ll say not a problem.”

“Yeah,” you repeat. “So say, how’s the wife?”

>>42709039
>>42709271

“Funny you should mention it, Jay,” Arthur says. “She’s been gettin’ kinda prissy come recent times. Maybe it’s all the business in the south. Actually, it’s the whole reason I been wakin’ up earlier nowadays.”

“Really?”
“Yeah. She been getting’ all big into this fitness stuff, sayin’ I got too much goin’ on round the waistline. It’s a big headache, I tell ya what.”

“Oh… you don’t say.”

Pretty ironic, given that Arkansas was one of the major players at your old job. His hardy constitution was one of the reasons he decided to be a farmer in the first place.

“Hey, listen Jay, I gotta run. The missus is ‘bout to get woken up from all this racket, and ain’t no way she’s gonna let me put three sugars in my mornin’ coffee. Gimme a call ‘afore the noontime sleep, if you still wanna talk.”

You affirm the offer, and hang up. A brief, but overall pleasant talk – even if it did bring some potentially unwanted memories with it.

Now what? You could call up Weston, but you’ve already spent some time talking to Arthur. The Battery’s been still as a rock in the gym bag in the corner of your kitchen, and you feel it’s burning a hole so hard it’s going to fall straight through ten floors to ground level.

What do you do?

>1) Call Weston.
>2) Call Scrapyard Tom and tell him the news.

>>42709290
>>2) Call Scrapyard Tom and tell him the news.
Let's get it over with...

>>42709290
>>2) Call Scrapyard Tom and tell him the news.

>>42709290
>2) Call Scrapyard Tom and tell him the news.
Might as well find out how much dosh we have, especially since weston is a potentially good source of info, and we might want to know what we have at our disposal. That and if we get this outta the way first we can spend more time with weston.

>>42709407

Sound reasoning

>>42709320
>>42709360
>>42709407
No getting around it.

You should really call Tom. Not only have you got a ship’s worth of Wheel scrap back at Arthur’s farm, you’ve also got a transgalactic incident waiting to happen. You call Tom, checking the time as you do so. 07:15, local time. Tom’s usually in the shop around 06:30 every first morning- sometimes earlier if he slept in his office. Say what you will about the guy, but he’s dedicated to his industry.

The phone rings. It rings until the call ends, because Tom didn’t pick up and he’s too smart to put an answering machine on the phone he uses for “special” callers such as yourself. Strange. Tom’s not one to miss calls.

You decide to call him again, but get no response again. Maybe Tom’s coming in late today? Well, even if he was, he’d probably pick up his special phone. Did he finally get caught by the Confeds?

Either way, you’ve got a few choices going from here. You could just head down to the plant yourself to see what the deal is. If you leave now, you can get there before 09:00, which is when the majority of the workers come in. Or, if Tom’s just taken a sick day, you’d waste time and money for transport. You could also check your less frequently called contacts to see if there’s anyone else who knows what’s up with Tom – or that might turn out to be a waste of time as well.

You've got a decent amount of money left over from your last scrap redistribution outing - but that may change when you end up having to refuel the Wasp. If you're going to Tom's, you've got three ways to get there, which increase in both speed and cost.
What do you?
1) Bike to Tom’s. You’d get there around 08:00.
2) Bus to Tom’s. You’d get there around 07:45.
3) Taxi to Tom’s. You’d get there around 7:30.
4) Check your contacts.
5) Call Weston.
6) Do something else <Write In>.

>>42709674
2) Bus to Tom’s. You’d get there around 07:45.

>>42709674
>4) Check your contacts.

We need to check if he was nabbed first, we're trying to lay low for a reason and all this sounds out of character and suspicious for him

>>42709674
>2) Bus to Tom’s. You’d get there around 07:45.
Do the buses hover at least?

>>42709710
>>42709772
It bothers you. You should check up on him.

You grab your jacket and snap on your goggles, heading out your door and down the elevator. Out on the streets, the city is just starting to wake up in earnest. Students head out of their apartments, eager to reserve the best spots in the library. Tired looking businessmen huddle down the stairs to the subway, while the fitness-minded go for their first-morning jogs. It's a cool spring morning, and the sky is overcast.

Tom's plant is only a fifteen minute drive away, but the buses here are not so efficient. You've heard that on the core worlds, and even some of the richer planets in the middle shell, buses and cars can fly like spaceships. Out here, at the ass end of Confederate Space, ships are ships and cars are cars.

You recall a seperatist preacher, who, amidst his other near apocalyptic diatribes, shouted that the outer-rim was nearly a century behind the middle shell, and two centuries behind the core planets in terms of technological advancement. You've lived in the outer rim all your life, and have only briefly travelled to the middle shell, not under the best of circumstances. You have to way to confirm or deny the preacher's statements. The only thing that's clear is that he didn't last too long before the police took him off that corner.

The local bus terminal is a few streets down. You walk over there, buried in your jacket. Around you, shops and their keepers prepare for the first half of the long Retalan day. You get to the station at a fortunate time; a bus heading your direction is just arriving. You head on; the integrated sensor at the door detects the plastic card in your pocket and the appropriate fare is subtracted from your account.

The ride is short and uneventful. The bus is mostly empty, since it’s heading north and the majority of traffic right now is south, into the city for the start of the working day.

>>42710101
Tom’s plant is a boring, prefab panel structure, probably still standing from the day Retale was recolonized, set in an equally prefab industrial sector. Its chimneys aren’t spewing any smoke, so the workers aren’t here yet.

You step up to the security gate and knock on the window. The guard, half asleep, perks up.

“Oh, Mr. Jay,” he says, straightening his cap. “What brings you here so early?”

“Just here to see Tom, Felix,” you say to the night watchman. “Have you seen him today?”

“Not since I did my last rounds, a couple of hours ago,” Tom says. “Ran into him in the lunchroom. Guess he slept in his office again.”

“Mind if I go in, then?”

“Not at all. And just give me a call if you need anything. You have my number, right?”
You check your phone, confirming that you do have Felix’s number. Quite honestly, you can’t remember how you got it. With another nod, Felix opens the gate and you step inside the plant.
---
>And now, a break as I make myself some dinner. I'll be back in about an hour. If you guys have any questions, let me know and I'll answer them when I get back.

>>42710130
>Just kidding. I should probably give a choice before I go off to do something stupid like eat.
The halls of the plant are empty. Metalworking machinery sits cool, waiting for hands to put it to use. Somewhere, condensation drip-drip-drips into a puddle. Your steps echo off the cold floors and thin, metal walls. You can smell rust in the air.

You stop at the door to Tom’s office to find it slightly ajar. A slight draft comes out through the crack. You stop for a moment and listen, but hear nothing except the sound of the breeze and the dripping.

What do you do?

1) Walk into the office.
2) Kick open the door.
3) Push the door slightly further, and look inside.
4) Do something else <Write In>
---
>Ok, now I'm gone for real.

>>42710257
3

>>42710130

Exactly how illegal is the scavenging? Would we have some leeway with salvage laws or is everything in space owned by the DSC?

>>42710257
3) Push the door slightly further, and look inside.

>>42710257
>4) Do something else <Write In>

Suspicious as fuck, keep heading down the hall and circle back around to Felix, ask if anyone else has come in looking for Tom.

>>42710257
>>42710310
This

>>42710280
The junk metal not the issue

The tech we stole from the ship is why we would be arrested

>>42710257
>3) Push the door slightly further, and look inside.
Do we have anything we can defend ourself with?

>As Babushka's Perogies are boiling, I'll answer some questions
>>42710280
In general: Jay's (and others') salvage operations are illegal, but largely unenforced due to a lack of will and manpower by the DSC.
Of course, if a particular case is brought to their attention, they will shut it down.
In our case specifically, as
>>42710350
said, stealing Wheel technology (and not immediately returning it to the authorities, submitting for questioning, and being thoroughly investigated) would put us on the Confederacy's shitlist.

>>42710354
Jay has nothing but his fists, but his previous lines of work have made him fairly adept at hand-to-hand combat.

>And we're back folks.
--
>>42710270
>>42710292
>>42710354
How did that saying about curiousity go?

You push open the door, and stick your head inside.

The smell of rust becomes so thick you can taste it.

Scrapyard Tom's chair has been moved to the middle of his office. You recognize Tom himself sitting in it, even though his head is thrown backwards. Blood oozes from the corner of his mouth. He's wearing a white shirt, which makes it easy to see the red emanating from the stab wound in his stomach.

Your eyes pan further across the scene, stopping at Tom’s right arm, which lies severed below the elbow on the floor beside him. Blood drips from the stump into a puddle that’s formed on the steel floor.

Another draft blows in from the open window. You’ve seen things as bad as this in your time, but for some reason, you feel faint.

>Roll 1d20 to not faint (target > 14). Rolling will proceed for 10 minutes.

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>42710850

The fuck guys, what did I tell you

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>42710850

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>42710850
HWG

>>42710861
It was obvious a set up

This guys gets info on the location of the battery from someone

We need to leg it and get the fuck out of this system fast

>>42711003

I say we still make contact with our High school friend, but whether or not we do it in person is the question, how much has this guy helped us out in the past? how far can we throw him?

>>42711125
Hes a military engineer

If the commonwealth id us with him we are screwed

But he may be able useful

But time is running out

Tom may have sold us while being tortured

>>42711125
You’re a stronger man than this.

You lose your balance, dropping to your knees. Your vision briefly fades to black, and in that brief fade, you see a striking vision: an ivory white mask, with tears pouring from its eyes.

But you don’t faint.

Scrambling to your feet, you regain your composure. It’s time to get to work. Tom’s been murdered. Luckily, you haven’t entered the office, and the only fingerprints anyone would find would be yours on the door. The question is, what the hell do you do now?

You could take some time and investigate the scene. Maybe this’ll turn up some useful clues, but you’ll have to be careful not to incriminate yourself. Or, you could run back and tell Felix what you saw. You’re not a likely suspect, but you’ll probably have to stay behind and wait for the police to arrive. Furthermore, as the one who discovered the body, you’ll be detained and questioned, and an investigation might ensue. You could calmly leave out the front door, say your goodbyes to Felix, and move on. There’s also the open window, through which you could escape and hop the fence.

Checking your watch, you note that it’s 08:00. The workers start coming in around 09:00. Tom tends to stick around in his office, so it’d probably be several more hours until someone opens the door and discovers the body. What do you do?

>1) Investigate.
>2) Report the murder to Felix.
>3) Walk out. Pretend everything is fine.
>4) Escape through the window.
>5) Do something else (write in)

>>42711243
>2) Write Felix a note and leave, like a shadow.

>>42711243
>>1) Investigate.

>>42711243
>3) Walk out. Pretend everything is fine.

>>42711243
>>3) Walk out. Pretend everything is fine.

>>42711243
>>3) Walk out. Pretend everything is fine.

Barely any implication, plus we haven't been gone long enough to have the time for the murder in Felix's eyes

>>42711317
>>42711540
>>42711639
Yes, this is fine.

You gently close the door to Tom’s office, spin on your heels, and go on your way.

“This is fine,” you think to yourself. “Everything is fine.”

You met with Tom, had a quick chat, and went on your way.

You make it back to the security gate. Felix is standing outside his booth, smoking a cigarette. The time is 08:05. The night shift must have just ended.

“Oh, Jay,” he says upon your approach. “That was really quick. Did everything go ok?”

You take a second to think up a suitable response.

Roll 1d20 for bluff. Highest response will be counted. Rolling will last 10 minutes.

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>42711729
Yeah, it was odd. I've never seen Tom in such a bad mood. Was sweating and looking all over hell, then tells me to bugger off before I'm even through the door frame. Something happen lately? Anyway guess I'll have a beer and let him calm down. Things been going okay recently?

This explains our prints right up to the door, and makes it look like he got killed after we were there with the short timeframe. Also makes Felix want to stay out of the office for awhile for the boss to cool off- to room temperature.

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>42711729

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>42711729

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>If anyone wants an explanation of how I ran this segment, I'll provide it later
>>42711942
>>42711823
>>42711819
The words flow.

"Well, not exactly," you say.

"How so?"

"Tom was pissed. Never seen him angry like that. He was jittery as hell, and told me to fuck off before I got my foot in the door."

"Seriously?" Felix asks, scratching his head. "Jeez, he must've had a rough night or something."

"Yeah. I'm gonna head back downtown and grab some breakfast. Has everything been ok with him recently?"

Felix thinks for a moment, then crosses his arms and replies.

"It's strange, he seemed perfectly fine when I ran into him at night. Any idea what might've happened?"

Looks like you're not getting out of this that easily.

Roll 1d20 again for bluff (target >5). Rolling will last for 5 minutes.

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>42711983
felix stop being a menace

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>42711983
No, but then again I haven't spoken to him for almost a week, so I'm not sure what he'd have on his plate.

>>42712064
Just be honest.

You look Felix dead in the eyes.

“Nope,” you say. “I have no idea.”

He stares back at you, takes a drag from his cigarette, and breathes it out.

“Well,” he says, sighing. “Some people, huh.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Some people. I’ll see you later, Felix.”

“Later,” he says.

You walk out the gate and down the street to the bus stop. The stop’s screen tell you the next bus should be along in five minutes.

It’s you against the clock now. You could go back to your apartment and plan your next moves, or you could call up Weston. You’ve known Weston for fourteen years, and he was always a level-headed ally. He might be able to share some useful information on Confederate plans if he’s got any.

What do you do?

>1) Head home; plan your next move.
>2) Call Weston while you wait for the bus
>3) Do something else <Write In>

>>42712167
>2) Call Weston while you wait for the bus

>>42712167
>1) Head home; plan your next move.
Pack your shit and GTFO.

>>42712167
>2) Call Weston while you wait for the bus
We can chat him up and ask him if he's up to anything on our way home. Take all our possessions and get ready to haul them out to our ship, erase any data or media that could give an indication we were out scavenging in our apartment. If Weston wants to meet up we can always get our affairs in order before the meetup so we're ready to hightail it right after.
While not the first thing we should be doing I imagine we're also in a market for a weapon after seeing that.

>>42712231
>>42712192
Keep in touch.

You pull out your phone. The bus pulls up to the corner. You enter, scanner finds plastic.
The phone rings, rings, and Weston picks up.
“Jay!” He says. “How’s it going?” His voice is bright and coming in clear. Wherever he is, he’s probably planetside.

“Weston,” you say. “I’m doing great. Heard your ride’s parked nearby.”

“Yeah, man, yeah!” He says. “Finally doing the shore leave.”

“You in Gibson?” You ask.

“Heh, where else? Stronach? You been following the news recently?”

Just then, a siren blares out from somewhere behind you. You freeze, twisting around in your seat. The bus driver pulls over.

A Confederate armoured car speeds by, heading downtown. The driver lets out a few choice words, then gets back on the road. The crowds thicken as the bus heads further and further into the city center.

“Sorry about that,” you say to Weston. “Some of that ‘news’ just passed by.”

“I’ve been seeing it too, man,” Weston says. “But you know how the DSC is.”

“Oh, I know too well.” You sigh. “So where are you, anyway?”

“On a bus, actually,” he says. “Headed downtown from the spaceport. Should be there in around 10 minutes.”

“Really? That makes two of us.”

You think for a moment.

“Hey, Weston…” you say. “Do you have any good restaurants for me?”

“Hoho, oh Jay, oh Jay!” He says. “And here I thought this was just a friendly conversation.”

You can almost feel his dumbass smirk through your phone’s screen.

“I do have one you might like, Jay. Does your bus take you through Union?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ll wait for you there.”

>>42712470
The time is 08:25. Some stores are open and more people are heading out onto the streets. Not only citizens, though. You spot at least two groups of three Confederate Peacekeepers patrolling the streets.

The bus brings you to Union station, the downtown’s main terminal. A huge Confederate flag flies above it, flanked by smaller Retalan ones. A RPD armoured car stands just outside the main exit and just inside stands a familiar body.
“Oi, Pilot!” Weston shouts, waving. “You’re late.”

“Damnit, Weston, shut up,” you say, sticking out your hand. He grabs it and shakes.

“So,” he says. “I was gonna grab some breakfast. Whaddaya say?”

You could go along with Weston to the restaurant, where he’ll probably be able to discuss his ‘delicious food’ in greater detail. Or, you could ask him to give you the most delicious parts here, although he’d have to be a bit more candid.

What do you do?

>1) Have a full English breakfast.
>2) Settle for the quicker, but safer continental.

>>42712572
>2) Settle for the quicker, but safer continental.

>>42712572
>2) Settle for the quicker, but safer continental.

>>42712572
>2) Settle for the quicker, but safer continental.

>>42712572
>>2) Settle for the quicker, but safer continental.

File: RPD.png (5 KB, 324x216)

5 KB PNG

>Flag of the Retalan Planetary Defence. The Confederate Flag is in canton.
>>42712586
>>42712589
>>42712743
>>42712780
“Sounds great, Weston, but I’m in kind of a hurry today,” you say. “How about we make it a quick bite?”

Weston’s gaze narrows. He looks around, glancing at the various RPD and Confederate troops patrolling around Union.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “But there really aren’t any good places in the station. It’s all microwaved and overpriced.”

You nod in agreement and the two of you make for the exit.

The time is 8:30.

A group of Retalan Planetary Defence exit the armoured car outside, taking positions inside the station.
A small crowd forms, and complaints are voiced. You and Weston find yourselves in the center of it, becoming rapidly surrounded by tired and angry commuters. Checking around, you notice similar scenes at all the station’s exits. Soon afterwards, Confederate Peacekeepers arrive and set up a checkpoint at the exit. A queue begins to form and whispers travel up the crowd. Eventually, they reach a pair of ears nearby.

“Hey,” Weston asks the woman ahead of him. “What’s going on?”

“I think they’re looking for a criminal or something,” she says. “Hold on, I’ll ask.”

Your heartbeat slows and you find yourself staring off into the distance. The woman whispers something to the passenger ahead of her. You check your watch – 8:30. How… There’s no way this had anything to do with you. This must be a sick coincidence.

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>>42712968
“Oh, no,” the woman says. “Sorry, I don’t think it’s a criminal.”

“What’s up, then?” Weston asks.

“I think they’re looking for the pilot of some spaceship.”

“What ship?”

Suddenly, a voice rings out from the front of the queue: a Confederate Peacekeeper addresses the crowd.

“Okay, people!” He says. “You’re all busy, you’ve got places to be, so let’s move this along.”

He pauses, perhaps for dramatic effect, and then shouts:

“Does anyone here pilot a bunker-class fighter?”
----
>SCAVENGER QUEST: EPISODE 2: TENSIONS (PART I) END
That's it for tonight, folks!

I'll stick around for a bit to answer questions if there are any. As before, if anyone has any comments, suggestions, criticisms, or anything of that nature I really would appreciate it.

One thing in particular I'd like to hear your thoughts on is with rolls. So unlike rolls IRL where you only have one chance, in quests you get multiple chances for a favourable roll. I feel like this removes some of the tension so how would you guys feel if instead of just taking the highest roll, I instead took an average of all rolls for a specific check?

Or is there another system you would prefer?

I'll leave you with this incredible drawing of Jay and the Battery that I managed to schmooze off a kind /tg/ drawfag.

>>42713013
Oh, I should add, next thread will most likely be Saturday afternoon.

>>42713031
K
GG
See ya Saturday

>>42713031
Thanks for running. Average of three is usually a bad way to go because it almost never exceeds or goes below the mid range and DCs are usually set higher. A 3d10 system seems nice, especially if you put skill modifiers into it. Cool picture, and thanks for running. If you're worried about difficulty allow for multiple DCs of success and give some consequences for the lower ones.