To: wmnabors@flash.net
Subject: First Turn
[
This will be the first turn. I will want 3 forms of response:
1) The fixed character sheet. We'll need it by the first combat!
2) Comments on how you like the turn format - do you like the way I am
running the turn? Do you want more to happen in a turn? Do you want
less to happen, more "interactive"? More combat? More descriptions and
"fluff"? Like that. If I mis-wrote what your character would do or
say, please do correct me.
3) The turn itself. Assume you are playing Face-To-Face, and insert your
comments and actions in the places that seem appropriate. I am trying
to send a lot of information all at once, and I hope I ended the turn
at the right place. Use "quotes" to indicate "what someone is saying."
Use [brackets] to indicate [an out-of-character comment or questin to
the GameMaster (like this one - you may notice this is all in
brackets).] Use conditions - if this happens, Chetax will do
that. Use present tense or past tense, whichever is more comfortable
at the moment.
]
===========
Chetax, Turn 1
===========
Laura was dreaming she was at another "surprise polygraph session."
They weren't really surprises any more, not for those with experience,
who knew how to spot the signs of one coming. Laura had learned.
"State your name."
"Laura Creatine. Senior researcher, biotechnology: genetics."
"You're getting ahead of yourself, we only asked for your name. Now,
state your position at The Company."
Arrogant bureaucrats. Laura could hear the capital letters. She
remembered being hired:
"No, we don't think we're James Bond here. No dramatics, no laser guns
in wristwatches. Just good, competent workers, getting the job done,
and doing it well. We appreciate you might not like spy stories. We
don't either, they're stories for children, playing with guns. That's
why we want you to work for the CIA - because you're an adult. And
you're the best."
That was a lie, but that was SOP - standard operating procedure for
the CIA. Flattery and lies would get them anywhere. They did think
they were James Bond here. Consider the Hard Man and the Soft Man, the
two leaders of Project SUPER-Soldier: Laura had seen the names in her
brother's James Bond book, The Man With The Golden Gun. That was
exactly what they were, boys playing with toy guns - and human
lives. She hated and despised them, and sometimes herself for ever
believing them, working with them.
But she must not show any emotion here, or they would just make the
test last longer, out of spite.
"Senior researcher, biotechnology: genetics."
So it always went, first the normal questions to establish a baseline
polygraph response, and get the target off balance, then, the
"unexpected" questions that Laura had learned long ago to expect:
"Did you assist the escape of experimental subject CH-X from
the Langley facility?"
"No, I was not."
The polygraph needles wouldn't waiver anyway. Laura wouldn't have been
a very good biotechnologist if she didn't know how to defeat such a
simple biotech measuring device. Laura had learned.
"Do you know of anyone who assisted the experimental subject CH-X with
its escape?"
"No, I do not."
"She's not an 'it,' she's a 'she.'", Laura longed to say. "She is a
person. She has a name, Alexis. We had no right to do what we did to
her."
Other researchers had tried to talk that way a few times, during the
more spectacular failures of the early SUPER-Soldier projects. The
Hard Man would quash the objections quickly:
"The Subject has consented to the test procedure in writing. The
President of the United States has authorised every procedure. This is
necessary for the defense of the United States, and the Free
World. The Test Subjects die as heros, just as if they were soldiers
fighting for Truth, and Justice, and the American Way."
All lies, of course, but said with capital letters, sounding
convincing, at least if you didn't bother to think. The Hard Man was
like that, tall, strong, handsome, clean cut, patriotic. Those who
kept objecting, were "transferred out" - or at least that was the
official story. Laura never saw any of them. She learned not to object
when the subjects died, and earned promotions, and greater
responsibilities.
"No, you and I know that none of it's true, what the Hard Man
says. It's almost true, but not quite."
That was the Soft Man, the psychologist. He spoke with Laura once,
only once, and at a time when Laura could have sworn she hadn't made a
single sign of her doubts. It was almost as if he could read her mind.
"Yes, it would take twin Doctorates in Biotech and Law to understand
what the papers the subjects signed actually said. Yes, the President
has a thick layer of deniability between him and this project, and,
yes, the subjects might as well be cattle as heros, they're so
lobotomized by the time of the most dangerous steps.
"But feel no pity for them. The subjects knew full well they were
signing away all their rights, they've been doing it for years. How
much control did the prostitutes have over their bodies before? Their
bodies were all owned by their pimps and their johns, their minds were
owned by their pushers, their drug suppliers. Now they're owned by The
Company. At least we can make something useful out of them, we can use
them to stand in for real people, people whose lives mean
something. And if we fail, we make sure they die cleanly, not starving
and disease-ridden, or beaten to death by a rival pimp."
Laura had just looked at the Soft Man with blank eyes, and wished
desperately for him to go away. Eventually he did, and never came
back. Laura had learned well enough - pretend to be an emotionless,
unimiginative, upwardly mobile drone, and they will ignore you.
But someone was shaking her awake now. "Ma'am? Forest Hills, last
stop. You have to get off the subway now, Ma'am."
After Cheetax - Alexis - escaped, the SUPER-Soldier project was
dispersed from Langley, and relocated. The CIA never explained
anything, but Laura thought they were afraid a hostile agency was
involved, and might come back for the researchers and the rest after
taking the most successful subject. Laura was sent to Boston, where
she did make-work in a shabby CIA lab by day, and lived in the
cheapest apartment she could find by night. Forest Hills, a euphemism
for Roxbury, the inner city. Laura saved every dime, she kept thinking
that the Soft Man would find out everything, and that she and Alexis
would have to run, somewhere, anywhere the CIA couldn't reach them.
Also, her normal expenses went up by more than she expected when she
took in the Felinoid. She didn't think too far ahead.
Cheetax was napping on the couch when Laura came in. Her ears rotated
at the sound of the key turning in the lock, but the smell was
familiar, so the half-Cheetah just went on sleeping. Laura couldn't
suppress a shudder. Cheetax reverted to Felinoid form when she slept,
a frightening, inhuman mixture of woman and animal.
"Alexis? Alexis, wake up. We have to talk."
Cheetax woke and stretched. "Num?" She looked at Laura's purse
inquisitively. "Num-num?"
Laura took a previously frozen supermarket steak out of her
purse. Cheetax was obviously disappointed. "Not frrresh?"
"No. That's what we have to talk about, Alexis. Meat from the
specialty butcher shop costs more, a lot more."
Cheetax yawned, widely, showing a long pink tongue and razor-sharp
teeth. Laura shuddered again. "Alexis! Please, change shape,
I... can't talk to you like this."
Cheetax's shape flowed. In a few seconds, there was a beautiful woman
sitting on the couch in Laura's pyjamas. Laura couldn't help envying
that trick - since Alexis slept in another form, she never messed up her
hair or makeup.
"Alexis, the agency has put us all on half-salary,
indefinitely. Apparently they've given up hope of restarting the
project any time soon, and want to save money they're paying us for
doing nothing. That's actually good news in a way, that means they
aren't going to be spending as many resources actively tracking you -
maybe you can go outside. But it also means we're going to have to
economize, do you understand? No more fresh meat."
"Yes, of course I can comprehend the fiduciary difficulties. As
Alexis, I can live on oatmeal and spaghetti purr-fectly well." Alexis
smiled. "I'll just stay in this form more often. That would even make
you more comfortable, I know. And going out would be nice. Any
recommendations for my first outing? With a few days work, I'm sure I
could earn enough to support both of us. I'm quite well trained, and
you've done plenty."
"Alexis, I know what they trained you to do, and you promised you
wouldn't. I know you understand what's right and wrong, that the ends
do not justify the means."
"Oh, I promise I won't kill anyone. Or even hurt anyone ... who didn't
thoroughly deserve it. But I think I can use my skills for more than
just what they were intended. You'll agree, that there's what's right,
and then there's what's legal. For example, the CIA," Alexis spat, "is
very, very, legal. But I promise, I won't kill even them. And I won't
do anything you wouldn't approve of."
Laura sighed. "All right, I trust you. I have to trust someone in this
vicious world. It's late - I'm not nocturnal like some people we
know," she smiled, "I need to get some sleep for tomorrow. I'll be
looking for a transfer to another CIA project, and eventually to get
out of The Company. Darn, now they've got me calling it that. I have
to leave, but I can't leave too soon, or they might start
investigating just why I want to go. This half pay is a good excuse to
start looking for a transfer, though.
"I'd wait until it's really late to go outside for your first time -
I'm only 99% sure they're not watching, after all. Meanwhile, you can
play on the Internet, I know you're good at that. Good night, Alexis."
"Good night, Laura. Thanks for everything."
[OK, that was the basic setup. Cheetax should know at least that much
background story - if you want to write more, please do, otherwise I
may invent past history when I feel like it. Change any dialogue you
disagree with, feel free to ask any questions you want. If there's
anything I don't agree with, I'll say so, if there's anything I don't
want you to know - I simply won't tell you! :-)
>From now on I'll do present tense, to imply that you should
participate even more. Assume it's today, Wednesday July 15, 1998, for
simplicity. Laura gets home today at about 9 pm, and goes to sleep
soon after. You can guess she is on edge most of the time at her job,
even though she isn't really doing anything, just from the tension of
being afraid she could be found out.]
The Internet newsgroups Alexis reads, computers and security systems,
mostly, have some interesting items in them today. She couldn't browse
them during the day, before Laura arrived, because who knows who might
get suspicious at a busy telephone signal when the apartment should be
empty. But apparently some interesting items were posted and responded
to during the day. One was posted to both the professional computer
security and the main "hacking" newsgroups, and immediately draws
Alexis's attention:
From: anonymous@com.net
Newsgroups: alt.2600, comp.security-systems
Subject: Central Stupidity Agency hack - Job offer
Reply-To: anonymous@com.net
Wanted: a person or persons with the daring, computer, and security
systems ability to infiltrate complex and supposedly secure
systems. For example, the well publicised "Central Stupidity Agency"
hack a few months back, when the www.cia.gov web site was altered in a
way not favorable to The Company's image. Physical penetration of
some sites may also be necessary. Person must be able to take
risks, maintain secrecy, break laws when necessary. The work is
dangerous, but very well paid. Anonymity guaranteed, for obvious
reasons. Respond by email, citing your qualifications.
Several follow-ups come to this message from both newsgroups.
>From the comp.security-systems newsgroup:
From: fosdick@fos-worth.com
Subject: Re: Central Stupidity Agency hack - Job offer
I'm sure I don't have to tell anyone on the comp.security-systems
newsgroup that the proposed activity (I won't bother quoting the
message) is illegal. Not only that, it is highly unlikely that it
would be advertised in such a public forum, and almost certainly a
troll, i.e., just to cause confusion and waste our time. The cited
address, com.net, is not registered with the InterNIC, so it would be
worthless to send any email there. It does not exist. I am currently
tracing the source of this posting, to complain to the administrator
of the poster's system, and cancel his account.
====================================================================
Frank Fosdick fosdick@fos-worth.com Computer Security Professional
Fos-Worth Computer Security Systems "Safety is our Business"
Phone: (624)245-0567 Fax: (624)245-2805 http://www.fos-worth.com
====================================================================
>From the alt.2600 newsgroup:
From: me@cantfindme.com
Subject: Re: Central Stupidity Agency hack - Job offer
fosdick@fos-worth.com wrote:
> message) is illegal. Not only that, it is highly unlikely that it
> would be advertised in such a public forum, and almost certainly a
> troll, i.e., just to cause confusion and waste our time. The cited
Yeah? If you wanted to hire computer hackers, how would YOU find them?
> address, com.net, is not registered with the InterNIC, so it would be
> worthless to send any email there. It does not exist. I am currently
Making a fake email address is trivial. Search for "fakemail" on the
net, and you will find programs that will let you send mail as
"president@whitehouse.gov" no problemo. Hotmail.Com and others will
give you all the free email addresses you want. The only thing left is
to hack the InterNIC so that it will secretly redirect the mail sent
to anonymous@com.net to some other email that you can pick it up from
later. That's a little harder, but it can be done - Eugene Kashpureff
did it by cache poisoning.
I think that makes the message sound MORE legit, not less - it shows
that these fokes are serious about anonymity and computer-savvy. I
sent them my CV :-). By the way, I'm serious too - try to find MY
email server on the InterNIC!!!
> tracing the source of this posting, to complain to the administrator
> of the poster's system, and cancel his account.
> ====================================================================
> Frank Fosdick fosdick@fos-worth.com Computer Security Professional
Lots of luck fos-less. I'm serious, dood, if you can find 'em, they
aren't worth my time, so if you shut 'em down, you saving me some time.
Dood001
[ Take what actions you like. Don't worry if you, William Nabors don't
know as much about computer crime or security systems - Alexis does,
so as long as you describe what she is doing in general terms, I can
fill in the specifics. For example, if your character were to play a
game of chess, you wouldn't specify Pawn to King 4, you would say
something like: "I start out with a few aggressive feints, but not
actually risking my pieces, not actually trying to take an advantage,
but to see how the enemy responds. Then, after I have tried a few
attacks, I should see what attacks he might be vulnerable to, and then
actually try the most likely one of those to succeed." By the way -
you are using Laura's internet access from a local New England
provider, TIAC, The Internet Access Company. Laura's email is
creatine@tiac.net.]
[Presumably, sometime later Alexis wanders outside. Specify if this is
as Alexis - and if so, how she is dressed - or as Cheetax.]
Roxbury is a fairly typical inner city, mixed race - Asian, Black,
Hispanic, Eastern European, immigrants, poor people. The buildings are
brick and concrete, turn-of-the century large houses mixed with
medium-height (10 stories or so) apartment buildings. Windows have
barred grates, though some on the older houses are fairly
ornamental. To get into a building without keys you pass through a
vestibule, press the button by the appropriate nametag, and get
"buzzed" in. But occasionally people have been known to buzz in "the
wrong people", or others have been able to get through the vestibule
locks, so apartment doors tend to be heavily locked as well. Call it a
ghetto, slum, whatever.
The MBTA, public transportation, runs from 6AM to 1AM - subways and
buses are the main transportation to work here here, since downtown is
too far to walk, and parking deeper into the city cannot be
guaranteed. Some parking can be found here, and the cars that are
parked on the streets are mostly rusty, beaten up and missing their
hubcaps. Cabs try not to come here if they can avoid it. The
occasional bicycle frame, chained to a lamppost minus wheels, seat,
handles and anything else, mutely testifies to the fate of more
portable transportation.
The younger kids and older people go indoors after 10 pm, so late at
night, the Jamaica Plain (yet another name for the same place) streets
are mostly deserted, and what is left is a city of 16-29 year olds,
just "hangin out", with an occasional adult hurrying by to get
somewhere else as soon as possible. This is a residential
neighborhood, but the commercial district, with small convenience and
video stores open all night, is just a couple of blocks away. A seedy
park is a couple of blocks in the opposite direction.
The weather is warm, even at night, though not hot. The night sky is
clear.
[By the way - William - where are you physically? If you are near
Boston, I won't have to describe the weather all the time, while if
you are far away, I better.]
One old man sits on the steps of a 6 story brick building, apparently
daydreaming to himself, or watching the stars in the night sky. He
resolutely ignores the small gangs of toughs that drift by - and they
ignore him. He could be Hispanic or Asian. He wears a soft conical
cap, with ear coverings. He has a gnarled stick by his side. He is
quite wrinkled.
[Wander around for a short while, talk to some passers-by if you like
- or not. If you head for the park directly, ignore the next
paragraph, and I will instead add another paragraph of earlier park
events.]
After a while, there is some commotion in the direction of the park. A
young Hispanic boy, 14 or so, comes running from that direction, and
[if Cheetax doesn't stop him, or if she does, as soon as she lets him
go] dashes into his building, using a key. The old man gets up and
slowly starts in that direction, hobbling with his stick, but at his
speed it seems as if anything important would already have happened by
the time he arrives. The small group of youths visible a block away in
the other direction look at each other, and decide to casually stroll
even farther away.
[Presumably, one way or another, you get to the park.]
It's a small park, a few blocks in size, no more. The trees and
bushes need pruning - many dead branches are blocking new growth. But
enough remain that at night there are deep shadows in places in this
park. The benches are mere skeletons - almost no wood left to sit on,
between the metal frames. The grass has actually been trimmed a few
weeks ago, probably by some bureaucratic oversight. There is a
waist-high wrought iron fence by the street side. A long black car
with tinted windows is parked outside, by the gate.
Two figures in matching dark blue windbreakers, hoods, and pants,
almost like a uniform, over sneakers, are chasing three younger boys,
in different clothing, early teens, like the one that got away
before, around the park. The boys are yelling and running around,
trying to get away, but the pair seem to be faster, even if they
haven't yet caught them. Two boys are carrying clear plastic
packets. The blue figures' hoods are pulled unusually tight, to cover
most of their faces up to their cheekbones, only their eyes are really
showing. They have golden charm necklaces outside their costumes. One
necklace has a golden tiger's right paw charm, the other has a golden
tiger's head.
Three tall Black males, in their early 20s, standing in a group, are
confronting a third blue-clad figure, which has a golder tiger's left
paw on its necklace. One youth is dressed in grey sweats, and carrying
a big paper bag, another is in torn blue jeans, several gold
necklaces, and a torn blue jean jacket, the third is in black jeans
and a polo t-shirt, and is nervously flipping a large silver dollar.
You notice a tenth person in the tree shadows, behind the Black
youths, who seems trying to be inconspicuous. It is in black sweats,
including hood, and shoes.
[Somewhere here, you NEED to write in at least one action, no? :-) If
you initiate, or expect to be involved in combat, try to write for a
whole Turn at a time, 5 actions or so. "Will kick person A, once A is
down, will continue with person B using bites, if C ever tries to run
away will drop everything and run after C, trying to tackle" - that
sort of thing. We'll see how it works.]
George
(
geocities.com/siliconvalley/vista/2013/cheetax) (
geocities.com/siliconvalley/vista/2013) (
geocities.com/siliconvalley/vista) (
geocities.com/siliconvalley)