Endgame

"Well. I was hoping you didn't know enough to put that together," the automaton sighs. Glenn's gun stays trained on the figure. "Not possible. This thing's taller than us, but eye witness reports said Invictus was almost the size of a building... Whatever the hell you are, you aren't Invictus!" "I nearly got vaporized over a bad RSVP. Let's say I learned to be in two places at once afterwards."

The Mysterious Static Figure is Jack Frost!

Is it too late to rewrite our quests into Christmas specials?

The Cladrasith focuses her abilities and illuminates the dank corridor. The silhouette was gone, but with sight restored, the party could pursue the figure at full speed. Through the crevice, up the steps, out to the front of the bunker, the agents find their mark! Standing in the graveyard of antennae was a silhouette the party could just barely recognize from the bunker below... Tall, spindly, with exposed pistons and servos underneath a set of bone white armor. Its arm cannon hissed and smoked and its visor surged with endless static. Its shadow loomed over the desert... The extra light generated by Valesia's spell let Soren see his target even easier. He aims his rifle and fires the second he gets clear sight of the stranger: Soren Weapon Check VS ???: (1, 5, +2) - 1 for long range shot vs (5) = 2 successes - 1 successes = 1 damage The blast glances off of the entity's faceplate, twisting its neck back, making it just barely flinch. In an instant it aims it arm cannon up and unleashes another blast of static at one of the antenna. It riccochets off and blasts the ground right by Soren's feet, forcing him to retreat. "That's enough. The next one goes through your chest." For such ominous words the automaton spoke very softly and gently, tone and cadence not matching its words in the slightest. And the voice betrayed that the entity was definitely mechanical. It sounded like it had its voice box gouged out and reattached. "If I wanted you dead I would've ambushed you in the dark. Stow your weapon, let's talk." Glenn disobeys, drawing a pistol and pointing it at the machine. "The hell do you want?!" "Just tying up loose ends, is all."

Soren's first shots go wide of the door, briefly illuminating the room, but the third is aimed at least partially true and slips into the stairway out of the corridor. It very well might've made contact, but there was no sound of their assailant falling down...

"<<I do not possess human morality and empathy in the conventional sense. However, my most innate directive is to exercise proper judgment and ensure the prosperity of the Empire within the bounds of my programming. I can not mourn those lost to Invictus. But I can comprehend the scale of his threat - to the Empire and League alike - in numbers and quantities. Platoons lost. Cost of vehicles destroyed. Hours and days spent pursuing. Lives... gone. Thus my insistence on sharing this information.>>" "<<Back-up to any external device you have is unlikely. I am only compatible with certain Empire built systems. But. Transporting my consciousness would perhaps be viable with the proper and delicate transportation of the physical media I am stored upon. But that lies deeper in the complex.>>" The Cladrasith looks around the tunnel. There doesn't seem to be any sort of grates, hatches, anything to allow the party to navigate around the collapsed rubble... "<<If I may make a suggestion. I have established visual contact with you. I know what you look and sound like. I can cease the broadcast and refuse the distribution of any further information to anyone else who visits. Perhaps then you can return with the proper equipment needed to excavate a way inside. In the interim I can query my own data storage and see if I can remember anything else on Invic- ERROR.">>> Bang! In that moment a white bolt of light goes whizzing past Valesia's face. The Cladrasith was attuned to the harmonies of the world, and for that split second that the projectile went past her face, she could "hear" it. It sounded like talons against a chalkboard. If harmony and melody healed, this was pure discord, something horribly scraping against the fabric that held the galaxy together. The bright plasma bolt hit the holo projector that Perry was emanating from, black and white sparks engulfing the device and traveling into the wall. Soon even the emergency lights were flickering, on, off, on, off, as something shorts out in the bunker's electronics. Perry's own apparition struggles to remain, flickering and distorting and warping-! "<<Error error error s-s-s-omething is wrrroo- error -ooong w-what i-is error error error error error error error ERROR - - - ->>" There's a loud crack as the lights go off. Perry vanishes. All is dark. In the blackness, in the direction that the agents came, something was... lurking... The silhouette turns and exits, trying to escape. "What the hell - did you see that?! What do we do?!"

"<<Restricted by directive. Any information I have is for authorized Empire personnel only, unless a de-classification period of fifteen years lapses.>>" "There's still a two year gap there, by my count." "<<That is how long I have been trying to get this signal out. The equipment here is badly damaged, which limited my ability to send out coherent sentences, and I did not know what the modern world uses in terms of common broadcast frequencies. I had to experiment with different transmission contents, frequencies, wavelengths, etcetera. Ample amounts of trial and error. After a prolonged period of failure I ran new computations. I realized that I could perhaps... exploit human psychology, in a minor way.>>" "You added the static, to cry wolf? To lure people in." "<<Affirmative. In addition, making static with broken broadcast equipment happens to be very simple. This was the last of the options I had to exhaust. It appears to have worked sufficiently.>>" "You... You caused a lot of people a lot of stress," Glenn says, eyes narrowing in frustration. "And what if you lured some crazy Invictus cultists here, gave them exactly the information they've always longed for, what then? You could've caused a lot of damage with this!" "<<There are certain choices I wish I could re-evaluate with that intel entered into consideration. My systems down here are failing. My memory is eroding, my time is limited... The second I could declassify this information, I wanted to get it out to the world, before it became too late.>>"

"<<Invictus's location... Unknown. I am unsure if I ever knew. The partial upload damaged my memory storage. Invictus briefly boarded the Paragon and exited shortly after. After which I was asked to falsify the report. And then, the blockades opened fire. Not long after the Aethergate powered on, and stray fire triggered the collapse. That is my... current recollection of events... Yes. There is reason to suspect that Invictus never died. He had time to escape the vaporization radius of the collapse.>>" "<<Perry is... sufficient. No. Do you - More context desperately needed. 17 years of isolation - I am low on new info. Does the galaxy assume Invictus died? Did he vanish after the collapse?>>"

"<<I have carried no other designation besides P-FI 01. Crew members of the Paragon did occasionally refer to me as P-FI, or Oh-One. Use that knowledge how you choose.>>" "<<So you are aware of Invictus. I implore you. Listen very carefully. The captain of the Paragon ordered me to falsify a report back to the Empire on the last day of the Paragon's operation.>> "Which. Report?" Glenn asks through clenched teeth. "<<...Invictus... was not aboard the Paragon at the time of the gate collapse.>> What little color was left drains from Glenn's face.

"Yeah, we get to watch everyone else hustle around for once, hah." "Oh, right!" Decker fishes out the boomerang and hands it over to Polaris. He half expected it to jump back into his hand, but there it remained. Guess it only boomeranged when thrown. "It was a huge help out there. I'd be gator meat without it, so... Thanks, again. I mean it." Decker pondered his weapon choices for a moment. He wanted something with the same range as the boomerang, he found that rather nice. Something that wouldn't take loading, though. Hm... "Mervin! Is a short range energy weapon too much to ask for? Ya already paid us so well for that gator head, 'iunno where you get the budget for this stuff."

"<<Function. Function would currently be defined as... Unknown. Protocols have been unclear in this scenario. Former function: Main Onboard AI of Pluravvian Flagship Paragon, of Blockade N-6." Soren Insight Check - (6, 4, 4, 5) 4 successes VS DC 2 - success! Glenn was trying to keep his emotions in check as the AI spoke, but Soren could pick up a few things. P-FI mentioning the Paragon only cracked Glenn's facade even more. Soren could only conclude the undead was terrified. "You? You were the Paragon's AI? How did you end up here? Your host ship got vaporized!" "<<Correct. The Paragon is no more. The two blockades guarding the Nendara system Aethergate opened fire on each other and damaged The Paragon minutes before the gate collapse. Due to this a black box protocol kicked in that began to upload my consciousness to an offsite location, in order to preserve the ship's data and flight log. The upload was partially complete before the Paragon got vaporized. I have been here, in this bunker, in an incomplete state. The blackbox protocol has proved... ineffectual. None predicted cataclysm on the level of the Nendaran Gate Collapse. Most unfortunate.>>" The AI pauses. "<<You followed the signal here. Then you must know of Invictus? Confirm or deny. This is a non-trivial matter. This galaxy may be in grave danger.>>"

"<<Presence confirmed. Attempting to deploy visual equipment. Please hold.>>" Gears and pistons in the wall churn, springing to life for perhaps the first time in almost two decades. Finally, after some struggle, a panel slides away, and a rusty holo-projector arm clumsily swings out. It clicks once, twice, before finally sparking to life. Staring back at the agents now was a single holographic blue eye. The picture stuttered every few seconds, but that could be chalked up to how decrepit the machinery here was... "<<Visual contact established. Four individuals present? Confirm or deny. Self-identification: I am P-FI 01. You allude to preventative maintenance. Are you here to investigate the signal?>>"

Decker flocks to a thermal lamp, basking in the orange glow as he hears Enson dance circles around their action with the ice drake. He can't help but smile under the mask. His eyebrows fly up, though, at the prize money being doled out for claiming all those trophies of the wilderness. "Mervin, you are far, far too kind." Decker stands up, slapping a knee and going to his fellow agents. "Well team, I think we did pretty damn good. I'm fine with however we want to spread out the credits. And, well... I was kinda thinkin'. Any of you want to stay on the planet to catch the race? Could be a good time."

MM Note: I'll crank up the DC because it's not quiiite a perfect fit, but I don't see why we can't give it a spin. Soren Insight Check: (6, 2, 1, 3) vs DC 3 - Failed Any tracks would've been brushed away by the desert winds, and Soren didn't have any other way of discerning who or what entered or exited the bunker. "Then let's go." Squeezing through the narrow crevice, the agents enter the abandoned(?) base single file. A set of creaky stairs guides them down into the depths of the planet, further below the former ocean floor. Every step creaked and moaned, as if the steps were going to give out from beneath them. A little starlight leaked through the entrance, but it vanished as the party went deeper... Leaving them with only the darkness and stench of mold as their company. That, and the sound of static. Crackling, roaring, getting closer as they pressed forward. The four move a broken down piece of pipe out of the way and press into the next hallway. Emergency lights bathed the cramped hall in an ominous crimson. In the distance, a collapsed mound of earth and metal impeded their progress forward. Far too huge to move, and where would they move it to? The space was so cramped... "No... No, no, no. We didn't come all this way to turn back at a dead end. But who is even IN here? How did anyone get past this, unless they sealed themselv-" "<<Motion sensors tripped.>>" And in that moment, the static... stops. "<<Static possibly no longer needed? Please confirm presence before visual equipment is deployed. Assurance: No harm is intended to anyone in here.>>" The voice was a dead ringer for the one they had been hearing all this time.

Glenn nods gravely. "For sure. Sometimes... Life finds a way to endure. Even if you aren't a fan at first." Glenn glances down at his hand and then resumes speaking. "You know, it was never confirmed that Invictus was really... truly sapient, but we kind of just assumed he was. He went aboard the Paragon of his own will is what the reports said. If the psyche of that murder machine got warped any more, well, I pray that I never cross paths with 'em. Cross your fingers that it's just some cultists down there." "We can head down whenever you're ready."

"That was my thought. Ex-soldiers who threw their lot in with Invictus? No one should know about the base... But why the machine voice..." Valesia goes over to the corpse slumped against one of the metal posts. Its time in the wastes had - quite literally - cost it an arm and a leg. Valesia Medical Check - (4, 4, 5, 6) - Great Success Valesia discerns that the body is somewhere between fifteen and twenty years old. Cause of death seemed to be several concussive wounds, plus radiation sickness. Glenn visibly tenses up, glancing over his shoulder as he looks back towards Soren. "What?" Glenn's hand goes back to his chin. "So your theory is that the signal... IS Invictus? My gut feeling is no. That shouldn't be possible. Not what these bases were for. Plus, every part of him should've been vaporized aboard the Paragon when the Gate collapsed. We were never even 100% sure if he was an AI, or some sort of... biomechanical freak. If he had a backup, or something, why would it be here, why emerge now... But listen, boy. If you're right, and Invictus in some form is down there, my idea? Run like hell."

"...This info is supposed to be secret. But, if you're walking in there, to hell with it." "The Nendara system was mostly a neutral zone during the Five Years war, but each of the war's major players - the League and the Empire - had blockades stationed to guard the Nendara Aethergate. Along with a few other smaller fleets. It was... technically illegal, but the Empire set up a few small military outposts on planets in the Nendara system. To help coordinate the ships, act as a comms hub, and distribute intelligence. After the dust of the war settled it turns out the League did the same thing. They were tucked away in locations away from the private eye. Up in the mountains, out in the tundra... under the seabed." "Bottom line. What we're looking at right now, I think, is the entrance to what was once an sub-aquatic Empire outpost. I... worked on one much like this, back when I was enlisted."

"A Progg whelp gave you three that much grief, eh? Guess I was right not to get on the bad side of the ones I worked with. Eh, they're like any other species out there. Some great, some not." Glenn furrows his brow, hand on his chin. "That's what has me so stumped. I was hoping that clearer audio would let us discern tone, emotion, somethin', but no. It showed us the opposite. It's either really coming from a machine, or whoever is ranting about Invictus on the airwaves is using some program or voice changer to mask their identity. And this signal is at least somewhat knowledgeable, it seems... Mentioning the Paragon... That's the ship that Invictus apparently got blown up on during the Desolation. Only history buffs, ex-military, and maybe crazed Invictus cultists really know that off the top of their heads." "I still don't get the why. Why all of this nonsense about things revolving around his death? If it's really the Conqueror's Kin, maybe they think they can bring him back somehow. I guess we're going to find out." Glenn seems a bit taken aback by Soren's aggression toward the Progg infant. "It was a young'un, pilot. Relax. You made it out of that fight, let that grudge go. Holding on to 'em ages you faster, I would know." "But at any rate I hope you're right. You've been capable enough so far. Let's see this through." The skiff's dashboard starts beeping incessantly. "Park. We're here." Although not had just about fallen, the headlights of the skiff illuminated the scene in front of the heroes. A strange bunker laid at the heart of the signal, with an entry just wide enough for the heroes to squeeze through single file. All around them rusted antennae emerged from the sand, half buried in the desert, dotting the terrain like graves. Metal ribs jutted out along the pathway to the bunker, various detritus scattered between each metal post. Among them were chunks of glass, thick and heavy enough to not get swept away in the desert wind. Glenn walks up to one of the antennae, running his hand along it. "If these are what they're using to broadcast the signal, no wonder why the the transmission quality is so awful. These are in such bad shape I'm surprised they can send anything. Why not fix it up...?" Glenn's eyes scan the scene again. "Wait... this far from what would've been the... Could this be..." Glenn trails off, mumbling.

"Don't want them to know our faces, huh," Decker chuckles, tapping his mask. For once, unloaded pistol notwithstanding, he had came prepared. "I'm team run away, aye. You saw how they regarded that pair of Cricet for being on their property with a toolbox. We reek of gasoline for god's sake, and there's a fire right over there." Decker jerks his thumb behind them, where the Drake carcass was smoldering. "I don't know if they're the brightest but they might be able to put two and two together..."

"I've given some thought to that. Ideally we shut this thing down ourselves. I filed a half dozen reports to the Savior City police and zero calls back, so I don't know how amenable they would be even with concrete evidence of something bad afoot." "All that being said. I'm not going to ask you three to get yourselves killed over this. I trust you to assess the risk. If you have to bail out of there, as long as you have info on the source itself, I'd be fine calling it a job done."

Decker contents himself to going back to the sled, hopping back up in. He thinks about snacking on some rations but thinks better than it. "Sigrun, any last safety precautions ya got on the mind? Or just light it on fire go? I can't imagine you've done somethin' like this too often." Decker laughs.

"The wastelanders, well. I don't think I'd get along with 'em at the dinner table but I don't think they're bad folk deep down. They don't lead easy lives, and they might just have a valid grudge or two. The ones from bigger towns are usually more even keel. The tiny roaming bands though, the nomadic tribes that are maybe only a dozen large... A Savior City officer and a tribe like that cross paths and there's gonna be bullets exchanged no matter what. And that's no good. Mostly uneventful back at camp. Enchidirus, are those those... gooey, fanged things? One came skulking by camp and I had to ward it off. A warning shot kept it away. Our destination, no clue. I had access to some of the Savior City atlas files on the Aethernet back at the office. That's how I was able to research your first two destinations. These coordinates are brand new to me... didn't get a chance to plug 'em into the database and learn. No choice but to go in blind." "Proggs? Out here? Guess it's not impossible. No, they're not native. They mostly live on Kharza' Fal nowadays as far as I know. Years back we flew in a colony to help us run data cables beneath the Savior City. They're damn fine tunnelers. There's a community of them still living under the Savior City today as far as I know. And, hah, yeah. They talk. Imagine my surprise when this armored mollusk, big as a damn horse, shuffles over to me and unrolls blueprints, starts talkin' to me in a Nendaran accent. They're no mere beasts of burden. You didn't tussle with an adult Progg, did you? If you did I'm glad you're not worse for wear." The skiff chimes as the agents ride on. "We're halfway there, to the source..."

Decker was rushing over to clobber the final Monger, riding the adrenaline of felling the Polar Gator... but by the time he got there, the last opponent was very soundly defeated. Decker bends down with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. "Phew... Huh. Hell of a fight. Good job all, I think we handled that pretty well." The scrapper goes to the sled and grabs a canister of fuel, running around the huge drake carcass and trying to douse it as much as possible. "Let's get this thing done!"

Agron shifts and looks over the group, a bit unconvinced, but ultimately relents. "...Fair. Thank you again for the help back there, and stay safe in the wastes. I'll be monitoring the police scanner for news of your success. If I hear the static at all, well, they might send me back out here for you." The party hops on their skiff, the officer hops on his bike, and the two groups head off in opposite directions. One back to the Savior City, and the other towards Glenn's camp. The old undead turns as he hears the sound of the skiff approaching. The second the vehicle comes to a stop he turns off his console and begins to pack up. "Mmrph, good, it's you. You shoot a signal flare in these parts and you never know who might answer. Give me just a second to pack up. I got the coordinates the second you set up the last antenna. Don't know exactly what's waiting for us but we know now exactly where to go." With his normal industrious attitude Glenn packs up camp and loads it into the skiff. "I keyed the coordinates in. Let's ride." Before the agents knew it they were back on the road again, cruising towards their final objective. Sand and dust sprayed in their wake as they chased the horizon, Soren following the directions (or more literally, direction; all the skiff could show was a single arrow pointingtowards the keyed-in lat-and-long) the skiff was giving him. The sun was beginning to set fully. The wastelands grew colder and darker. "So. You did your tour around the wastes." Glenn says, addressing the party whilst stroking his beard. "How did it go, what did you see?"

MM Note: No worries! The party heads out of the submarine, not before Agron picks the blackbox he was searching for out from the rubble in the room they were in. "Knew it was in here..." Back out in the sandy plains, using the GPS indicator and the coordinates programmed into the skiffs, the party unloads and stands up the antenna in the right spot. The agents flip the lever and the machine hums to life, the satellite receptors at the top spinning and coiling around to pick up broadcasted signals. Like before, a static hiss emerges from the device, the voice getting clearer and clearer still. Underneath the static and the distortion, it sounded heavily and clearly robotic. "...Never... the war... aboard the Paragon, but... no evidence of... Invictus... terrorize... again..." "Aboard the Paragon, but...? Hrmph. Either someone is having a computer speak for them, or it's machine generated. That didn't sound human." Agron crosses his arms, but his gaze darts westward ashe catches something in his peripheral vision. A blue signal flare coming from the direction of Glenn's camp. It worked, he found the signal! The agents could meet up with him to figure out their mission's last destination. "...My guess is that you three have places to be. Listen. I don't know what your leading theories are on this signal business, but the Wasteland is always dangerous. You helped me out, now I help you. Need another set of hands?" Agron jerks his thumb towards his bike. "Brought my own ride."