Play@YSDC

This morningcycle, this warehouse was an Armed Forces bunker. Now, the large banner over the door declares it to be the DCODOAD. A grizzled veteran wearing a bright orange copy of an old time drill sergeants hat armed with a cone rifle stands watch outside. Behind him, through partially open blast doors you can see shelves stacked with all kinds of military tech and hardware.

The grizzled veteran’s name badge identifies him as CLINT-O as you approach he performs a complicated rifle drill, which ends with you looking down the barrel.

“Good morning girls!” he screams in a standard military voice, “I have orders to shoot to kill any unauthorized tresspassers. Where are your permits of authorization?” he releases the safety selector and switches the dial all the way to 11, “You look like goddamn commie terrorists come to make trouble. Well let me tell you no goddamn commie mutant is going to walk in here and steal what they want, no sir not on CLINT-O’s watch!”

Francine-B immediately takes out her PDC and reports this citizen for threatening BLUE clearance citizens without just cause. After which, she silently points to the badge on her RED jumpsuit indicating her promotion.

Ola-B takes her PDC and show it to Clint-O and then in a discreet manner, gets out of the way, in case any of her companions is actually a comunist/mutant/traitor.

"And a fine job you're doing soldier!" says Brannon-B. "I'm glad you're doing your duty for friend Computer. We hate commie mutant traitors just as much as you, and I'll be the first to join you in shooting them full of holes if you spot any! Here is our authorization." He shows Clint-O the appropriate clearance on his PDC.

"Just a moment there son, the weapons inside form a vital part of Complex defence therefore it is against orders for me to release them without the proper triple copy requisition orders" He eyes the various PDC's that are being held before him, "Those goddamn things don't mean squat, any half assed commie mutant traitor worth his salt can programme those things to say anything he likes" He takes a step back and points the muzzle of the rifle directly at the. inflated, chest of BRANNON-B, "Now you run along sonny before I you become little more than a distant memory in your next clones imagination. Either come back with the proper documentation or don't come back, your decision ladies"

There is a madness in his eyes that his old stlye aviator sunglasses don't quite hide. He lovingly pats the SynthiPlast stock of the cone rifle and starts chanting, "This is my rifle. There is no other rifle like it..."

Rob-B-RAE-1 remains at his spot in front of Clint-O while the dutiful guard strokes his gun.
Smugly, Rob-B-RAE-1 squint his left eye and says, " I demand that you let me in, I'm a rainbow above you in rank, Clinton. You better Lewinsky to the side or I'll report you to Summary Execution, orange scum!"

"Your belief that the Computer's equipment is faulty and easily hackable by any commie mutant traitor is being sent to IntSec for evaluation." Francine-B reports the citizen.

Brannon-B carefully steps back from the deadly barrel of the cone rifle. I've got to get me one of those once we get past this guy, he thinks. "Easy there, Citizen," he says, raising his hands. "We could go back and get the paper forms, but that would take precious time. There are commie mutant traitors that need killing, making their dastardly plots while we wait. Every minute you keep us from the guns is a minute more they have to do their dirty work. So, in effect, by delaying us you are helping them."

"Why you goddamn commie mutant traitorus SOBs" screams the soldier, his eyes now dancing the hoola behind the shades, "I'll teach you!!" incensed by the idea of him being labeled as a commie mutant traitor has not only his facial muscles leaping like a SynthiPopcicle in a MicroWave but also the muzzle of the cone rifle starts to waver like a SweepoBot in a turmoil.
Then suddenly his face relaxes for an instant and the rifle discharges, sending the slug hurtling toward...no not BRANNON-B despite his adoption of a supercillious 'shoot me then, see if I care' expression', but toward the face of the ususpecting OLA-B, whom it narrowly misses leaving a neat hole in a nearby wall.

OLA-B faints with a whimper of suprise, while the unlucky CLINT-O hits the reload switch and smiles as the metalic sound of another round being seated in the breech rings through the stunned silence, A silence only broken by the metallic voice of FRANCINE-B's/b] PDC confirming reception of her report, smll sobs from floor level, and the wail of a distant fire alarm.

Rob-B-RAE-1 seems not moved at all by the little incident, he only pulls the pin off from the fire extinguisher and sprays Ola-B's face with it. "Come on, toots. We're moving on." He takes a step towards Clint-O and says, "Move aside, soldier! Or I'll rip off your head and spray foam down tour neck! Orange scumbag! That would really, MAKE MY DAY!"

Brannon-B reacts quickly, unslinging his slug rifle and leveling it at Clint-O's face, his finger tense on the trigger. "You just fired at a member of my team!" he shouts. Only I'm allowed to do that! he thinks. "That is a violation of more regulations than I can count! You will lower your weapon and put it down slowly! I would hate for the Computer's property to get damaged."

CLINT-O's face now takes on an expression of pure joy - combat!
In a confused fashion he nows swings the still smoking barrel from BRANNON to ROB to FRANCINE in a frenzy of choice again the gun roars and a hot piece of SythiLead flies towards...

Not waiting for permission to pass, Rob-B-RAE-1 fires the extinguisher at Clint-O's face.

Rolling,[dice]0[/dice] Spends 1 p-point on quickly reaction speed...

Brannon-B instinctively squeezes the trigger...

OOC,Spending one Perversity Point. [dice]0[/dice] I'm not sure I did that right. Was I supposed to add a point, or subtract one?

Francine-B dives behind cover
[dice]0[/dice]

OOC: Can Ola act?

Once again CLINT-O's enthusiasm outmatches his aim and the slug hurtles forward toward BRANNON-B's expectant chest but rising fast all the time. By the time it reaches the smug DCOD official the PlastiSteel [sup]c[/sup] bullet has drifted high above BRANNON-B's head to strike the very top of the wall (more destruction of official property his list of crimes against the computer grows by the moment).
This time however our intrepid troubleshooters strike back. First a rather large hole appears in the centre of CLINT-O's chest, then his face is liberaly coated in EasyClean [sup]c[/sup] fire extinguishing foam. FRANCINE-B showing her ability to act in a crisis throws herself floorward where she immediately covers her head with her arms. From her PDC the mettalic voice speaks in that annoying sickly tone accompanied by a rather bland peice of music, "ATTENTION CITIZEN. YOUR REPORT HAS BEEN RECIEVED AND A TEAM HAS BEEN DISPATCHED TO YOUR LOCATION. PLEASE AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. HAVE A NICE DAY"

OOC:   Ola is free to act at any stage

OOC:   AWESOME

Rob-B-RAE-1 doesn't wait for an invitation, he walks into the ARMORY'R'US and looks for his correctly assigned equipment.

With a pained expression of suprise (it wasn't quite this way in the old vids) CLINT-O drops the cone rifle and falls to the floor, the soles of his highly polished military style boots mere inches from where OLA-B's foam covered head, face upward, lies. Spitting foam bubbles in all directions OLA-B says, "Spit, spit bubble, bubble, Spit &%£*" which roughly translated means,
"So, can we get now the weapons, commander?"

Meanwhile having finished his discharge with a flourish, ROB-B walks, nay skips, in child like wonder into the stocked DCODAD.
His eyes radiate pure joy, never has he seen so much equipment.

On the shelves there are;
Multiple suits of ArmourAll [sup]c[/sup] ballistic defence armour
Racks of Cone rifles
Boxes of HEAT cone rifle shells and napalm projectiles
At least 15 flamethrower units
Grenades (lots and lots of grenades)
A single (rare) force sword (of the humming variety)
One Secur-O-Mat [sup]c[/sup] Combot with stereo upgrade and wing mirrors