>>1033713
>Wait patiently for the doctor... or someone.

>>1033713
>>Wait patiently for the doctor... or someone.

>>1033713
>Drink the coffee. Then ram that door. Someone's gonna pay.

You wait for some time, glancing around the room, clutching your bag of supplied to your chest. It becomes apparent that no one is coming, but it was sort of a long shot considering hod destroyed this room is. Something must have happened here. Quite a while ago, too.

A distinct metal banging comes from the wall, loud enough to make you jump. The door opens up, slowly swinging inward. Looks like there was a time delay... Patience does pay off!

You peek outside to discover the desolation was not limited to your room. The halls are covered in dust and debris, open holes pepper the ceiling and floor, revealing other levels of the building. Doors to other rooms like your own line both walls of this hallway, some locked and others open. All the ones nearby seem as looted as yours at first glance.

At the end of the hall, a flickering terminal queries for a pass code. To the right of the console, the floor has collapsed, but across the hole there appears to be an exit. To the left, you see two doors, one marked 'GUARD BANK' and the other marked 'STAFF AND COMMUNICATIONS'.

>Jump the hole. Doesn't look too far across, and I'm light enough that it probably won't collapse. Nothing for me here...
>Mess with the terminal. I can't make the jump, but maybe I can use my tech skill to find the most efficient path.
>That bank is probably looted to hell, but fuck it. I need something to crush some skulls with, and my hands won't do this time.
>Maybe there is more information in the staff room? Maybe some medical supplies, maybe a phone... I'm not tough enough to make it out of here on my own.

>>1033904
>That bank is probably looted to hell, but fuck it. I need something to crush some skulls with, and my hands won't do this time.

>>1033904
>>Mess with the terminal. I can't make the jump, but maybe I can use my tech skill to find the most efficient path.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

1=Tough guy
2=Hackerman

>>1033904
>>Mess with the terminal. I can't make the jump, but maybe I can use my tech skill to find the most efficient path.

>>1033917
This

Ah, a terminal. Good thing you spent most of your time back home messing with tech like this... Well, beside the part where it landed you with a sentence here.

While brushing off the dust on the interface, you find the thing is fully functional. You're glad to see the terminals here are as tough as the ones you're used to. Still, this is a prison, so it's likely there'll be ironclad defenses and safeguards in place.

>User?
>Admin
>Pass?
>admin
>Connecting...

Really? Well, you're not complaining.

The terminal stresses at each keystroke, attempting to connect to a stubborn network. Still, a network means people, and that's good. Probably. After a few minutes searching for anything useful, an interface pops up. At first, you're worried that security finally locked you out. Instead, you get a message.

>If this is who I think it is, give me the password.

You pause for a moment, tapping your fingers on the sides of the console. There's only one person who could track you down that fast, and you know exactly what password they want.

>Berlin. It's my pal Patriot. Ran with him since we were first started out. I was the tech, he was the muscle. Not the brightest, but damn reliable.
>Dullbean. That has to be Jockey. I knew her a long time before I went rogue. She didn't like it back then, but I dragged her into it anyway.
>Big Bog. Wingman, it's gotta be. That sly son of a bitch has always had my back, no matter what. Good thing too, he's usually the one who fucked up.

>>1034123
>Big Bog. Wingman, it's gotta be. That sly son of a bitch has always had my back, no matter what. Good thing too, he's usually the one who fucked up.

>>1034123
>Dullbean. That has to be Jockey. I knew her a long time before I went rogue. She didn't like it back then, but I dragged her into it anyway.

>>1034123
>Big Bog. Wingman, it's gotta be. That sly son of a bitch has always had my back, no matter what. Good thing too, he's usually the one who fucked up.

>Dullbean. That has to be Jockey. I knew her a long time before I went rogue. She didn't like it back then, but I dragged her into it anyway.

>>1034123
>Big Bog. Wingman, it's gotta be. That sly son of a bitch has always had my back, no matter what. Good thing too, he's usually the one who fucked up.

This guy we can trust, Dullbean could have issues with us.

>Admin: Big Bog?

The terminal hums mildly as you wait for a response. Gripping the sides, you can't help but look over your shoulder at the dank blackness of the hallway you came from, then to the gaping hole nearby. Sun shone through the ruptured ceiling, but only a faint whisper of wind. Keeping your eyes on the screen, your mind repeatedly wandered to paranoia. What if this is a trap set up by security? Someone else? Are they on there way here? The screen continued to flicker, but no activity in the chat box.

Maybe you were too hasty. How could you be so sure it's someone you know, let alone the specific person who would understand this message? Sweat beaded on your brow, your fingers tapping on the console erratically.

>Anon: yo hey! u still there? mama bird sending out signals

You let out a hefty sigh of relief. That slippery bastard is somehow contacting you!

>default: Wingman, is it you?
>Anon: hell yes, i cant believe u picked up holy shit
>default: I'm here, in some medical facility. Where are you?
>Anon: ya one sec. i need to get my thing to find which bank ur at
>default: What the fuck is going on, I'm stuck in some prison? PR-R?

You're not used to being so in the dark. You can't even remember being sent to this colony. It doesn't help that Wingman takes so long to respond back.

>Anon: wheres ur house at?
>default: What? I don't understand?
>Anon: where u live??
>default: The safehouse in NY? Or the ship?
>Anon: o fuck, did u just wake up?
>default: I was in a pod thing, it said I was dead. What's going on?
>Anon: ok ok just STAY THERE!!!
>Anon: i got ur coords so just hide out and dont talk to anyone. i'll be there like literaly 20 mins
>default: What's going on???
>default: Wingman
>default: Wingman
>Comm Ended - link 2

You gape at the chat log for a few moments before it automatically terminates, sending you into a flurry of action. You try everything you can to reestablish the link, find any useful programs, anything. There's nothing, though. The terminal is threadbare.

You hop off and look around for an alternative, paranoia and fear mounting. The staff room seems like the best bet.

The room is as barren as the others, and even the terminals haven't been spared. There are dark marks on the walls and the furniture is obliterated, peppered with metallic shrapnel. Before you can search the room more thoroughly, you hear something. Echoes of machinery, engines outside. It's a vehicle. You hug the wall near the door to the staff room, straining your ears for further activity.

After a long silence, you hear footsteps and chatter. You have a dire feeling these folks aren't friendly.

>Stay put, stay out of sight, stay absolutely silent.
>Run over to the terminal from before. There has to be something you can do!
>Grab anything you can use as a weapon in this room and get ready to defend yourself if necessary.
>Run into the guard bank and look for a weapon, then find a good place you can get the jump on them.

>>1034640
>Stay put, stay out of sight, stay absolutely silent.

>>1034640
>Run into the guard bank and look for a weapon, then find a good place you can get the jump on them.
Something shank like

Rolled 41 (1d100)

>>1034640
>Stay put, stay out of sight, stay absolutely silent.

>>1034640
>>Stay put, stay out of sight, stay absolutely silent.

>>1034640
>Run into the guard bank and look for a weapon, then find a good place you can get the jump on them.
I vote for reach
>>1034952
Something with a large swing for maximum effort

Possibilities run through your head, but most of them end... unfavorably. You don't know who these people are or what they want, so you figure staying put is best. Keeping as still as possible, you continue to listen to the strangers, biding your time until you know exactly what you're dealing with.

You hear metal scraping against concrete. Heavy footsteps echo down the hall. The chattering continues. "... not my fault. Figure I got two more inna' bank, but Crass don't care." A second voice mumbles a response, but it's hard to make out. They're getting closer. "She inn't so tough, I think. Maybe Morto an his boys got somm'n more." The other voice growls another low response. They're definitely coming towards you. As quietly as you can, you slink behind a destroyed desk nearby. They won't be able to see you, so long as they don't enter the room.

The conversation continues, punctuated by intermittent metallic scrapes on the walls. "That's the prol'm with you boys, no balls... They don't like what I gotta say? Lettem' prove something! It's-- uh, we gotta go down there, the newbie's gonna wake up soon. Anyways, all I'm sayin' is her time's up soon." It sounds like there's only two of them. They're just outside now, you think. The scraping turns into distinct thunks, one of them is hitting the wall every few seconds. Using the sound to place them, you wait until they're around the corner heading down the hall with all the medical rooms before you peek your head out.

You begin to consider your next move when one of them curses loudly. "Goddamit! Crass'll have my ass if we don't get this guy! Fuck, he can't be too far." You have to think fast.

>Stay here. Hope they don't look in this room.
>Move quickly but quietly. Grab something-- anything on the way down the hall.
>Get into the guard bank pronto, if you're lucky there's something left there.
>Run. They might hear you, but maybe you're faster than them.
>(Write-in)

>>1039114
>>Get into the guard bank pronto, if you're lucky there's something left there.

The guard bank. You don't know who these guys are or why they want you, but you're not about to find out without some kind of weapon. You rush to the door and across the hallway to the bank as quietly as you can manage, but the dead silence of this abandoned building does little to mask your steps.

A cursory glance tell you this place, like all the others, has been looted to hell. Cabinets and lockers cover the walls and stand in columns down the middle of the room. Plenty hang open limply, but a select few are shut. Some have locks dangling from their handles, a tantalizing find if you can manage to break one open.

Before you start looting, the thought that they've heard you sticks out in your mind. You have no time to gauge, only to act.

>I've gotta hope they didn't hear me. I'm better in the shadows than a straight up fight.
>Can't pussyfoot now. Slam that fucking door and push a locker in front of it.

Then I have to...

>Go for volume. Search all the unlocked lockers I can. Scissors, a paperweight, anything will do.
>Go for broke. I might be able to force one of these locks.

>>1039726
>I've gotta hope they didn't hear me. I'm better in the shadows than a straight up fight.
>Go for broke. I might be able to force one of these locks.

You stick to what you're good at: staying quiet and stealing shit. If they heard you, you're royally screwed, but no time to think like that.

With all the grace you can muster, you slink to the back of the room. Gathering what little knowledge you have about cop storage policies, and your wealth of knowledge on where people hide their nicest stuff, you pick out a large locker in the back corner. The lock looks a bit scuffed, life someone already tried to break it.

The sound of slamming doors shatters the previous silence, jabbing your nerves with panic every few seconds. "C'mon, meat, you know how this goes!" His shrill voice stills your hands. "Hidin' just makes it worse!" More doors slam open. Every time it sounds closer.

You shake off your paralysis, pacing your breathing evenly. You don't have a tool, but you do have these syringes. Quickly, you break off the tip of one syringe. The contents spill over your hands and onto the floor as you remove the tab from the top of the iced coffee. Bending the malleable aluminum over one end of the needle, you make a very brittle utensil to prod the lock with. With the improvised needle in one hand and the syringe plunger in the other, you poke at the lock as gingerly as possible.

The intermittent clash of doors and outbursts of your pursuers attack your concentration. Every few seconds, another slight fumble sets you back. Every threat echoes in your mind, stilling your breath and throwing your delicate hand movements off. This vicious cycle continues, only worsening as the men come closer to the bank. A horrible, subtle clink of metal tells you that your improvised tool was not good enough, the delicate needle broken and jammed in the lock.

Panic threatens to overwhelm you, but another option jumps into your mind. A thick piece of twisted metal lay at your feet. Not good enough for a weapon, but sharp enough to pierce the lock. If it jams poorly, the lock will be sealed for good. The metal cuts into your palms, but that's the least of your concerns at the moment. You stab at the lock, attempting to keep as quiet as you can. However, the scrap isn't nearly sharp enough... You have to put your full strength behind the thrust.

The slamming is almost overwhelming now. Just what you need.

You thrust the scrap into the lock at full force just as the next door slams. A small hole for your efforts. Steeling yourself for another thrust, you wait for just a few moments until the next slam invites a strike. A sharp pain tears through you as the scrap widens the hole in the locker door, pushing further into your palm in the process. You grit your teeth and stab one last time, jamming the piece of metal firmly into the door.

It swings open.

>A combat knife! Better than a gun... With my aim, at least.
>There're only two frag grenades in here. Good thing I know how to use them.
>A magnum dangling from a lone holster. Let's hope its in good enough condition to fire.

>>1040421
>>A magnum dangling from a lone holster. Let's hope its in good enough condition to fire.

You promptly grab the magnum, flicking open the drum deftly. Fully loaded, you have six shots. It's good to have a gun in your hands again.

You sneak around to the edge of the lockers, just far enough to get line of sight on the men in the adjacent hallway. They're approaching the junction with the terminal, maybe fifteen feet away from the door to the bank. Now you're sure there's two of them: a slender man with a shoddy looking pistol in one hand backs up a much larger brute. The bigger one is slamming the doors open with a section of pipe while the other yells threats. Both of them bear dozens of jagged scars and bruises all over their bodies, only slightly masked by tattered cloth and leather. Their skin, where not blemished or marred, bear signs of burns and prolonged exposure to the sun. You've never seen such destitute, disgusting thugs in your whole life, even when you started out in the slums of New York.

>Try to intimidate them. Command them to drop their weapons, shoot at once if they don't listen.
>Level your weapon and take a shot at the big guy.
>Level your weapon and take a shot at the man armed with the pistol.
>Rush out and find a better position. They might see you, but you need a better angle on them.
>(Write-in)

>>1041165
>>Level your weapon and take a shot at the big guy.

>>1041165
>Level your weapon and take a shot at the big guy.

>>1041165
>Level your weapon and take a shot at the man armed with the pistol.

That big guy only has a pipe, he's going nowhere fast