RPGnet - User contributions [en]

Talk:Future Imperfect

2007-03-27T02:41:18Z

Randomgirl: /* Lori Priebe */

As with [[Heaven's Mandate]], this page will be used to keep track of who's contributed what to the wiki, if you feel inclined to track your writings.

==Hans Andersen==

(3/6) Future Imperfect, Present Tensions.

# New: Stub page for [[C-Port]]
# New: [[Upperlevel Security Enforcement]].

(3/18) Pleas wait, loading...

# New: [[Yevgeniy Garcia]]
# New: [[Detective Garcia's private log]]

==Jesse Cox==

==David Drake==

==Jason Kalivas==

==Lesley McKeever==

==Lukas Myhan==

==Lori Priebe==

3/24 - Mike's bio has been removed and replaced with [http://wiki.rpg.net/index.php/Mike_Forester Mike's first story].

3/26 -- [http://wiki.rpg.net/index.php/Mike%27s_Personal_Blog Mike's Personal Blog Entries 410 and 411]

[[Future Imperfect]]

Entry 410

2007-03-27T02:22:16Z

Randomgirl:

Charlotte called again. Charlotte is not her real name. It took a lot of walking, but eventually I found an archology Institution that knows that face and then was able to cross reference for the name and her data. Her actual name is Robin...I've stored her registration number and codes. Robin is set up as a member of Upper Level security Enforcement...she is actually a recruiter, though.

Robin used to scrape between paychecks. Since she started being my "friend" (I doubt the Agency has really hired anyone else to babysit any of the others like they have me), Robin now floats at least four figures between paychecks. Apparently, my friendship is a lucrative place to be.

This is just evidence to me that the Agency--I'm pretty sure whatever we're called is a blind, hello--may not know what actually happened to me, but has a real good guess. I'm pretty sure the others have been threatened to comply. I was more than happy to come on board and use the facillities for my research, and to try to do some good in the world. Those were the best lures you could use on me, and confirming the overly-friendly recruiter is being paid to worry about me supports that.

There are things I won't admit to myself; I know that. I also know there are parts of me I can't even access. I also know that a great deal of curiosity exists in the world about those parts of my brain. I'm fairly certain that at least one megacorp's profits for the next twenty years might hinge on what can be recovered. Although, if the Agency were working with the Corp, then I am pretty sure I wouldn't be walking around and free to stalk my recruiter.

But it does explain why I haven't been threatened. That would work for some people, and not so much for me. I have so little and, at the same time, so much to lose.

Anyway, Robin--well, I guess I should call her Charlotte--tried to reach me again. I screen my calls. So far I haven't answered her's. She wants to go out and do something "fun." Her voice goes up on the end of the word in what seems an unnatural way. I haven't mentioned my true fun, but I have dissapeared for a few days at a time pursuing the scroungers in the lower levels, which seems to make her really nervous.

Anyway. I'm going to have to return a call or she will show up at my place. She doesn't like my artifact collection nor my reading collection. She thinks its junk. We're probably both right. But its mine, and I like it. I don't like that she knows where I live, but that can't be avoided. I don't think her job is so much to watch me--that's way more Scratch's job at work, which he is happy to crow about to anyone who feels anything when he says it. It's more to make sure that I don't, you know, pull the fire alarm on the archology on a larger level. I'm certain the fact I spend so much time to myself has not gone unnoticed by the powers-that-be, and everyone is concerned what a mind like mine might do if not tempered with the influence of other now and again.

I think that's just evidence, more, really, of how little they know about me.

I think about people all the time. How what happened to me should never happen to anyone else. I like to make strangers smile. I like to make bad people stop hurting non bad people. It's a simplistic philosophy, but it works for me. I'm not as...developed...in certain ways as the rest of the team. So my philosophy isn't, either. But these people are so used to double blinds and fakes that when someone tries to be simple, they look for complex.

==[[Entry_411]]==

Entry

2007-03-27T02:19:54Z

Randomgirl:

Entry 411

2007-03-27T02:19:27Z

Randomgirl:

Figured out what to do with Charlotte. I waited until she dropped by the apartment. Then I dragged her under the scanner in the bathroom (I keep a scanner in the bathroom, ok?); mine is set up to scramble, which happens sometimes in poorly insulated areas like the one I've chosen as my home. Shoved her under the shower head where I indicated in a mock simulation of her voice "Let's have some fun!"

So there we are, both fully clothed, getting completely soaked. I have the water on cold because yeah, it bugs me, but it will bug her even more. Then I tell her I know her name, her address, her cred numbers...the works. She makes a small gasping noise. I don't smile because I'm not happy I've scared her, but since my face is expressionless I'm pretty sure she doesn't know how much I'm not enjoying this. Then I say that she needs to stop calling and stop visiting. She needs to tell her uppers that I am ok on my own, that the cop and the crazy guy can watch me just fine. That if I had wanted to do something catastrophic I would have done so by now, and that I prefer being alone to being with someone paid to be my friend. Also, that I will check out every single person every sent to me. No matter how good they are, I will be better. Because to be who I am, I have to be. To get the world I want with actual friendship, love, and attention, I have to at least believe it's possible that people befriend me because they aren't afraid of what I might do.

Then I let her go. She stammers a minute and I see pity. I know what pity looks like. My lips become a thin white line and she shuts up. I tell her if she says anything--tries to make me feel like she's doing this herself, or that she took the money as a bonus and being my friend is so gosh darned fun that she can't contain herself, that she should take the stairs for the rest of her life, which won't be long. Because I have access to food processors, vehicle controls, the works. I don't tell her I will kill her, because I am not sure that I will. I let her imagination drive her, though, and she turns white, shivering more now than she was when she noticed the cold water.

I call her a bitch, something that seems to piss women off when Scratch says it, and then I exit the bathroom. She slowly follows. She asks if I have a towel. I tell her no. It's my apartment. I turn up the heat normally when I'm done until things are dry or I use my blanket. I tell her she needn't stay to get dry, though, and, soaking, she walks out of my apartment with a curious look on her face.

I'm certain she's wondering if I always shower in my clothes.

Entry 410

2007-03-27T02:19:06Z

Randomgirl:

Mike's Personal Blog

2007-03-27T02:18:46Z

Randomgirl: /* Entry#411 */

==[[Entry_410]]==

==[[Entry_411]]==

Mike's Personal Blog

2007-03-27T02:18:36Z

Randomgirl: /* Entry#410 */

==[[Entry_410]]==

==[[Entry#411]]==

Mike's Personal Blog

2007-03-27T02:18:15Z

Randomgirl: /* Entry #411 */

==[[Entry#410]]==

==[[Entry#411]]==

Mike's Personal Blog

2007-03-27T02:18:07Z

Randomgirl: /* Entry #410 */

==[[Entry#410]]==

==[[Entry #411]]==

Entry

2007-03-27T02:17:13Z

Randomgirl:

Mike's Personal Blog

2007-03-27T02:16:48Z

Randomgirl:

==[[Entry #410]]==
==[[Entry #411]]==

Talk:Future Imperfect

2007-03-27T02:13:43Z

Randomgirl: /* Lori Priebe */

As with [[Heaven's Mandate]], this page will be used to keep track of who's contributed what to the wiki, if you feel inclined to track your writings.

==Hans Andersen==

(3/6) Future Imperfect, Present Tensions.

# New: Stub page for [[C-Port]]
# New: [[Upperlevel Security Enforcement]].

(3/18) Pleas wait, loading...

# New: [[Yevgeniy Garcia]]
# New: [[Detective Garcia's private log]]

==Jesse Cox==

==David Drake==

==Jason Kalivas==

==Lesley McKeever==

==Lukas Myhan==

==Lori Priebe==

3/24 - Mike's bio has been removed and replaced with [http://wiki.rpg.net/index.php/Mike_Forester Mike's first story].
-----
3/26 -- [http://wiki.rpg.net/index.php/Mike%27s_Personal_Blog Mike's Personal Blog Entries 410 and 411]

[[Future Imperfect]]

Mike's Personal Blog

2007-03-27T02:12:46Z

Randomgirl:

----
'''Entry #410'''
----

Charlotte called again. Charlotte is not her real name. It took a lot of walking, but eventually I found an archology Institution that knows that face and then was able to cross reference for the name and her data. Her actual name is Robin...I've stored her registration number and codes. Robin is set up as a member of Upper Level security Enforcement...she is actually a recruiter, though.

Robin used to scrape between paychecks. Since she started being my "friend" (I doubt the Agency has really hired anyone else to babysit any of the others like they have me), Robin now floats at least four figures between paychecks. Apparently, my friendship is a lucrative place to be.

This is just evidence to me that the Agency--I'm pretty sure whatever we're called is a blind, hello--may not know what actually happened to me, but has a real good guess. I'm pretty sure the others have been threatened to comply. I was more than happy to come on board and use the facillities for my research, and to try to do some good in the world. Those were the best lures you could use on me, and confirming the overly-friendly recruiter is being paid to worry about me supports that.

There are things I won't admit to myself; I know that. I also know there are parts of me I can't even access. I also know that a great deal of curiosity exists in the world about those parts of my brain. I'm fairly certain that at least one megacorp's profits for the next twenty years might hinge on what can be recovered. Although, if the Agency were working with the Corp, then I am pretty sure I wouldn't be walking around and free to stalk my recruiter.

But it does explain why I haven't been threatened. That would work for some people, and not so much for me. I have so little and, at the same time, so much to lose.

Anyway, Robin--well, I guess I should call her Charlotte--tried to reach me again. I screen my calls. So far I haven't answered her's. She wants to go out and do something "fun." Her voice goes up on the end of the word in what seems an unnatural way. I haven't mentioned my true fun, but I have dissapeared for a few days at a time pursuing the scroungers in the lower levels, which seems to make her really nervous.

Anyway. I'm going to have to return a call or she will show up at my place. She doesn't like my artifact collection nor my reading collection. She thinks its junk. We're probably both right. But its mine, and I like it. I don't like that she knows where I live, but that can't be avoided. I don't think her job is so much to watch me--that's way more Scratch's job at work, which he is happy to crow about to anyone who feels anything when he says it. It's more to make sure that I don't, you know, pull the fire alarm on the archology on a larger level. I'm certain the fact I spend so much time to myself has not gone unnoticed by the powers-that-be, and everyone is concerned what a mind like mine might do if not tempered with the influence of other now and again.

I think that's just evidence, more, really, of how little they know about me.

I think about people all the time. How what happened to me should never happen to anyone else. I like to make strangers smile. I like to make bad people stop hurting non bad people. It's a simplistic philosophy, but it works for me. I'm not as...developed...in certain ways as the rest of the team. So my philosophy isn't, either. But these people are so used to double blinds and fakes that when someone tries to be simple, they look for complex.

----
'''Entry #411'''
----

Figured out what to do with Charlotte. I waited until she dropped by the apartment. Then I dragged her under the scanner in the bathroom (I keep a scanner in the bathroom, ok?); mine is set up to scramble, which happens sometimes in poorly insulated areas like the one I've chosen as my home. Shoved her under the shower head where I indicated in a mock simulation of her voice "Let's have some fun!"

So there we are, both fully clothed, getting completely soaked. I have the water on cold because yeah, it bugs me, but it will bug her even more. Then I tell her I know her name, her address, her cred numbers...the works. She makes a small gasping noise. I don't smile because I'm not happy I've scared her, but since my face is expressionless I'm pretty sure she doesn't know how much I'm not enjoying this. Then I say that she needs to stop calling and stop visiting. She needs to tell her uppers that I am ok on my own, that the cop and the crazy guy can watch me just fine. That if I had wanted to do something catastrophic I would have done so by now, and that I prefer being alone to being with someone paid to be my friend. Also, that I will check out every single person every sent to me. No matter how good they are, I will be better. Because to be who I am, I have to be. To get the world I want with actual friendship, love, and attention, I have to at least believe it's possible that people befriend me because they aren't afraid of what I might do.

Then I let her go. She stammers a minute and I see pity. I know what pity looks like. My lips become a thin white line and she shuts up. I tell her if she says anything--tries to make me feel like she's doing this herself, or that she took the money as a bonus and being my friend is so gosh darned fun that she can't contain herself, that she should take the stairs for the rest of her life, which won't be long. Because I have access to food processors, vehicle controls, the works. I don't tell her I will kill her, because I am not sure that I will. I let her imagination drive her, though, and she turns white, shivering more now than she was when she noticed the cold water.

I call her a bitch, something that seems to piss women off when Scratch says it, and then I exit the bathroom. She slowly follows. She asks if I have a towel. I tell her no. It's my apartment. I turn up the heat normally when I'm done until things are dry or I use my blanket. I tell her she needn't stay to get dry, though, and, soaking, she walks out of my apartment with a curious look on her face.

I'm certain she's wondering if I always shower in my clothes.

Mike's Personal Blog

2007-03-27T02:11:34Z

Randomgirl:

----
'''Entry #410'''
----

Charlotte called again. Charlotte is not her real name. It took a lot of walking, but eventually I found an archology Institution that knows that face and then was able to cross reference for the name and her data. Her actual name is Robin...I've stored her registration number and codes. Robin is set up as a member of Upper Level security Enforcement...she is actually a recruiter, though.

Robin used to scrape between paychecks. Since she started being my "friend" (I doubt the Agency has really hired anyone else to babysit any of the others like they have me), Robin now floats at least four figures between paychecks. Apparently, my friendship is a lucrative place to be.

This is just evidence to me that the Agency--I'm pretty sure whatever we're called is a blind, hello--may not know what actually happened to me, but has a real good guess. I'm pretty sure the others have been threatened to comply. I was more than happy to come on board and use the facillities for my research, and to try to do some good in the world. Those were the best lures you could use on me, and confirming the overly-friendly recruiter is being paid to worry about me supports that.

There are things I won't admit to myself; I know that. I also know there are parts of me I can't even access. I also know that a great deal of curiosity exists in the world about those parts of my brain. I'm fairly certain that at least one megacorp's profits for the next twenty years might hinge on what can be recovered. Although, if the Agency were working with the Corp, then I am pretty sure I wouldn't be walking around and free to stalk my recruiter.

But it does explain why I haven't been threatened. That would work for some people, and not so much for me. I have so little and, at the same time, so much to lose.

Anyway, Robin--well, I guess I could call her Charlotte--tried to reach me again. I screen my calls. So far I haven't answered her's. She wants to go out and do something "fun." Her voice goes up on the end of the word in what seems an unnatural way. I haven't mentioned my true fun, but I have dissapeared for a few days at a time pursuing the scroungers in the lower levels, which seems to make her really nervous.

Anyway. I'm going to have to return a call or she will show up at my place. She doesn't like my artifact collection nor my reading collection. She thinks its junk. We're probably both right. But its mine, and I like it. I don't like that she knows where I live, but that can't be avoided. I don't think her job is so much to watch me--that's way more Scratch's job at work, which he is happy to crow about to anyone who feels anything when he says it. It's more to make sure that I don't, you know, pull the fire alarm on the archology on a larger level. I'm certain the fact I spend so much time to myself has not gone unnoticed by the powers-that-be, and everyone is concerned what a mind like mine might do if not tempered with the influence of other now and again.

I think that's just evidence, more, really, of how little they know about me.

I think about people all the time. How what happened to me should never happen to anyone else. I like to make strangers smile. I like to make bad people stop hurting non bad people. It's a simplistic philosophy, but it works for me. I'm not as...developed...in certain ways as the rest of the team. So my philosophy isn't, either. But these people are so used to double blinds and fakes that when someone tries to be simple, they look for complex.

----
'''Entry #411'''
----

Figured out what to do with Charlotte. I waited until she dropped by the apartment. Then I dragged her under the scanner in the bathroom (I keep a scanner in the bathroom, ok?); mine is set up to scramble, which happens sometimes in poorly insulated areas like the one I've chosen as my home. Shoved her under the shower head where I indicated in a mock simulation of her voice "Let's have some fun!"

So there we are, both fully clothed, getting completely soaked. I have the water on cold because yeah, it bugs me, but it will bug her even more. Then I tell her I know her name, her address, her cred numbers...the works. She makes a small gasping noise. I don't smile because I'm not happy I've scared her, but since my face is expressionless I'm pretty sure she doesn't know how much I'm not enjoying this. Then I say that she needs to stop calling and stop visiting. She needs to tell her uppers that I am ok on my own, that the cop and the crazy guy can watch me just fine. That if I had wanted to do something catastrophic I would have done so by now, and that I prefer being alone to being with someone paid to be my friend. Also, that I will check out every single person every sent to me. No matter how good they are, I will be better. Because to be who I am, I have to be. To get the world I want with actual friendship, love, and attention, I have to at least believe it's possible that people befriend me because they aren't afraid of what I might do.

Then I let her go. She stammers a minute and I see pity. I know what pity looks like. My lips become a thin white line and she shuts up. I tell her if she says anything--tries to make me feel like she's doing this herself, or that she took the money as a bonus and being my friend is so gosh darned fun that she can't contain herself, that she should take the stairs for the rest of her life, which won't be long. Because I have access to food processors, vehicle controls, the works. I don't tell her I will kill her, because I am not sure that I will. I let her imagination drive her, though, and she turns white, shivering more now than she was when she noticed the cold water.

I call her a bitch, something that seems to piss women off when Scratch says it, and then I exit the bathroom. She slowly follows. She asks if I have a towel. I tell her no. It's my apartment. I turn up the heat normally when I'm done until things are dry or I use my blanket. I tell her she needn't stay to get dry, though, and, soaking, she walks out of my apartment with a curious look on her face.

I'm certain she's wondering if I always shower in my clothes.

Talk:Future Imperfect

2007-03-25T19:20:54Z

Randomgirl: /* Lori Priebe */

Talk:Future Imperfect

2007-03-25T19:19:15Z

Randomgirl: /* Lori Priebe */

Mike Forester

2007-03-25T05:01:27Z

Randomgirl:

[[Image:Mike.JPG]] 
 
"Hey, Danzer, I'm here for my fix," Mike said cheerfully, opening the small door into the dark, musty room. This place used to overpower her; she was sensitive to smells and tastes and sounds and this place had them in spades. But she was getting used to it.

"Mike!" Danzer bounded from behind a stack of--well, whatever it was he'd scrounged this week. He approached her, and she held out her hands as she did every time she came by. He swept them up in his clan's recognition of friend, and she answered it, although, as usual she did it just a second too soon and just a fraction wrong, nervous as always. This business of clan interaction among families in the lower levels fascinated and confused her; she found dodging people on the walkways of the upper levels daunting enough without having to know how to say hello properly.

Danzer laughed, corrected her hand position, kissed her hands, and then bounded back around his pile of prizes. A few short seconds later, items began to fly in different direction as he dug into the pile.

"Here, here!" he said. A crate, far nicer than the rest of the sad items in the unused warehouse office, was brought forward. Mike smiled. Danzer, she knew, had saved the crate and used it for her deliveries five times now. She paid well, his family ate, and she was nice to his kids. So she got her pick of his stuff and a relatively shiny box in which to see it.

Plunking down amongst the various items she reached into the box like a child with a holiday gift. Danzer chuckled, and then shouted "Kids, Mike's here!"

Two little girls, a blonde and a brunette squealed and Mike could hear them approach, followed by Danzer's wife, Lishia.

"I got a new supplier, Mike," Danzer said proudly. "Everyone knows I pay for the stuff you want now, so they bring anything back that you might like."

"Oh, Danzer," she said, looking up, "You don't have to pay for stuff I don't buy..."

"Oh, don't worry, he doesn't," said Lishia, somehow getting in front of Kay and Meg and offering a tray of warm drinks. Mike waved it away, suddenly bent on her treasure again having missed the normal cue that most people wait for in terms of meeting Lishia's eyes. Lishia looked at Danzer to explain. Danzer shrugged. Lishia went on, "He marks them and returns them if you don't buy them," slightly miffed and uncomfortable about the failure in common human curtesy.

Meg and Kay were familiar with the pattern and waited patiently. It didn't take long before Mike was pulling some of the damaged collections of papers together into a pile and then handing over a cred chip to Danzer, barely taking her eyes off. Danzer cleared his throat, grabbed the arm with the money and shook it, startling her from her information trance. Mike smiled feebly.

"Hello, ladies," she said, standing up and dusting off her gray slacks and a decortated v neck shirt. It had been a special service from Danzer to have it made by one of the clothiers down here, but it had a picture of a large round rock with pock marks in it. Mike had told him it was the moon, and he had smiled indulgently, much like he did when his girls introduced him to an imaginary friend. Danzer noted she was also wearing the thread and bead necklace Lishia had helped her to make when she first visited his little business.

Mike reached into her pockets and produced treats from the upper level, which she then handed to each girl in turn--small stacks of candies that slowly changed color. This time Kay could not contain herself and threw her arms around Mike's legs, nearly toppling them both. Mike looked pleased and confused, and then Kay and Meg were ushered out by Lishia.

"These are great, Danzer," Mike said, picking up her stack. Some were old food boxes, some were actual books printed on fabricated paper so artificial it would never truly degenerate down here.

Danzer could see he'd nearly lost her to the precious items she collected again. Tall and gawky, Mike folded in on herself in the presence of other people. Her sea green eyes were already in another place.

"Mike," Danzer said. She focused on him, back from wherever she'd gone, at least for a few minutes, her hands absently stroking her treasure. "Russel's gang hasn't forgotten about what happened..."

"Oh yes," Mike said. "On the way in I noticed that several of the passages out had been artificially blocked and that a lot of the people were perspiring and speaking too quickly. I suspect the idea is to drive me back out the only way in and then waylay me with any new weapons they've managed to acquire since a few weeks ago."

Danzer's eyes widened.

"Don't worry," Mike said, shaking her head. "I'm not going out that way. My statistical odds of winning are still in the 78.8% range, but I strongly suspect that if I sneak out as I intend to do, it will be assumed that either a) I was too cowardly to take on Russell which would improve his reputation ending his immediate need to harm me or b) that my reputation has grown for being able to sneak away from a near perfect trap." She punctuated "perfect" with her fingers and laughed.

"When will I see you again, Mike?" Danzer asked, and there was worry in his voice.

"Not sure," Mike said absently. "I try to keep my movements down here random in case people like Russell are paying attention."

She turned, and headed for the door, remembered something, and turned around.

"Thanks, Danzer. See you in a bit. Stay safe."

Danzer nodded. Only a month ago they'd gone over that it is generally considered appropriate to say something rather than abruptly departing. If nothing else, she certainly learned quickly and at least this time it wasn't something like "Goodbye, Danzer, hope you don't die before I see you next."

Mike stepped out of the safety of the shop and ran along in the darkness for a while. She lifted one of the items from her pile and began to scan it as her feet took her to the route she'd selected on her way in, her body conforming to tight spots and climbing through windows without paying much attention.

It was only the fact that the data pouring into her brain shouted that something was not quite right which caught her attention. A flash of the data put together showed her that Russell and four guys--a different four, as the first set would not be walking anywhere of their own accord for the rest of their lives unless they suddenly became rich and moved to the upper levels--were headed this way, wielding armament that would made things difficult if she was to keep her evening bounty safe. Backing up, she slipped into a crevice between buildings and drew back into the shadows.

The men she'd noticed coming never saw her, venting off their frustrations on the surrounding buildings. Their sounds took a long time to die out, time that Mike used to read her materials...when she looked up, she realized that she had been standing in this crevice for four hours using the fading light from the alley to read.

Shaking her head, she picked her way back to the lifts, where one, like a friendly puppy, was already waiting for her. She stepped inside, and took it to the top, the moving sidewalks guiding her, as if they were programmed just for her, back to her place.

Just thinking about it, her com activated her door and she walked in to her place. It was a multi room apartment, though she'd never thought of anything to do with the other rooms. The largest one had debris from the lower levels--concrete and crates--as crude shelves, stacked among them all the various items of interest she'd picked up over the years. One wall was free of these shelves, and projected onto it were various art displays...whatever she found interesting this week. Facing the wall was the most comfortable chair that she had ever found. Leather and cloth, it had a soft blanket folded beside it. She spent more than half her life in that chair. It was likely her favorite place on earth.

The other rooms in the apartment were empty, just as they had been when she'd taken the job with the agency. Well, except the kitchen. There she did her experiments with various food products. Oh, the recruiter had discussed having a decorator come in and add some--what had she said? Personality. That was it. Personality to the place. But Mike just didn't see the point. She hoped, some day, a boy might sleep over, but she was fairly certain, after trying that after one of the parties in the lower levels that she had observed, that it was far better not to take them to your own home.

She changed her display. She sat in her chair, she set the chrono in her com and then she read. Two hours before she needed to rise for work, the alarm went off, she put her things down, curled up with her blanket, and slept, exhaustion leading to dreamless sleep...just the way she liked it.

Mike Forester

2007-03-25T04:53:52Z

Randomgirl:

[[Image:Mike.JPG]] 
 
"Hey, Danzer, I'm here for my fix," Mike said cheerfully, opening the small door into the dark, musty room. This place used to overpower her; she was sensitive to smells and tastes and sounds and this place had them in spades. But she was getting used to it.

"Mike!" Danzer bounded from behind a stack of--well, whatever it was he'd scrounged this week. He approached her, and she held out her hands as she did every time she came by. He swept them up in his clan's recognition of friend, and she answered it, although, as usual she did it just a second too soon and just a fraction wrong, nervous as always. This business of clan interaction among families in the lower levels fascinated and confused her; she found dodging people on the walkways of the upper levels daunting enough without having to know how to say hello properly.

Danzer laughed, corrected her hand position, kissed her hands, and then bounded back around his pile of prizes. A few short seconds later, items began to fly in different direction as he dug into the pile.

"Here, here!" he said. A crate, far nicer than the rest of the sad items in the unused warehouse office, was brought forward. Mike smiled. Danzer, she knew, had saved the crate and used it for her deliveries five times now. She paid well, his family ate, and she was nice to his kids. So she got her pick of his stuff and a relatively shiny box in which to see it.

Plunking down amongst the various items she reached into the box like a child with a holiday gift. Danzer chuckled, and then shouted "Kids, Mike's here!"

Two little girls, a blonde and a brunette squealed and Mike could hear them approach, followed by Danzer's wife, Lishia.

"I got a new supplier, Mike," Danzer said proudly. "Everyone knows I pay for the stuff you want now, so they bring anything back that you might like."

"Oh, Danzer," she said, looking up, "You don't have to pay for stuff I don't buy..."

"Oh, don't worry, he doesn't," said Lishia, somehow getting in front of Kay and Meg and offering a tray of warm drinks. Mike waved it away, suddenly bent on her treasure again having missed the normal cue that most people wait for in terms of meeting Lishia's eyes. Lishia looked at Danzer to explain. Danzer shrugged. Lishia went on, "He marks them and returns them if you don't buy them," slightly miffed and uncomfortable about the failure in common human curtesy.

Meg and Kay were familiar with the pattern and waited patiently. It didn't take long before Mike was pulling some of the damaged collections of papers together into a pile and then handing over a cred chip to Danzer, barely taking her eyes off. Danzer cleared his throat, grabbed the arm with the money and shook it, startling her from her information trance. Mike smiled feebly.

"Hello, ladies," she said, standing up and dusting off her gray slacks and a decortated v neck shirt. It had been a special service from Danzer to have it made by one of the clothiers down here, but it had a picture of a large round rock with pock marks in it. Mike had told him it was the moon, and he had smiled indulgently, much like he did when his girls introduced him to an imaginary friend. Danzer noted she was also wearing the thread and bead necklace Lishia had helped her to make when she first visited his little business.

Mike reached into her pockets and produced treats from the upper level, which she then handed to each girl in turn--small stacks of candies that slowly changed color. This time Kay could not contain herself and threw her arms around Mike's legs, nearly toppling them both. Mike looked pleased and confused, and then Kay and Meg were ushered out by Lishia.

"These are great, Danzer," Mike said, picking up her stack. Some were old food boxes, some were actual books printed on fabricated paper so artificial it would never truly degenerate down here.

Danzer could see he'd nearly lost her to the precious items she collected again. Tall and gawky, Mike folded in on herself in the presence of other people. Her sea green eyes were already in another place.

"Mike," Danzer said. She focused on him, back from wherever she'd gone, at least for a few minutes, her hands absently stroking her treasure. "Russel's gang hasn't forgotten about what happened..."

"Oh yes," Mike said. "On the way in I noticed that several of the passages out had been artificially blocked and that a lot of the people were perspiring and speaking too quickly. I suspect the idea is to drive me back out the only way in and then waylay me with any new weapons they've managed to acquire since a few weeks ago."

Danzer's eyes widened.

"Don't worry," Mike said, shaking her head. "I'm not going out that way. My statistical odds of winning are still in the 78.8% range, but I strongly suspect that if I sneak out as I intend to do, it will be assumed that either a) I was too cowardly to take on Russell which would improve his reputation ending his immediate need to harm me or b) that my reputation has grown for being able to sneak away from a near perfect trap." She punctuated "perfect" with her fingers and laughed.

"When will I see you again, Mike?" Danzer asked, and there was worry in his voice.

"Not sure," Mike said absently. "I try to keep my movements down here random in case people like Russell are paying attention."

She turned, and headed for the door, remembered something, and turned around.

"Thanks, Danzer. See you in a bit. Stay safe."

Danzer nodded. Only a month ago they'd gone over that it is generally considered appropriate to say something rather than abruptly departing. If nothing else, she certainly learned quickly and at least this time it wasn't something like "Goodbye, Danzer, hope you don't die before I see you next."

Mike stepped out of the safety of the shop and ran along in the darkness for a while. She lifted one of the items from her pile and began to scan it as her feet took her to the route she'd selected on her way in, her body conforming to tight spots and climbing through windows without paying much attention.

It was only the fact that the data pouring into her brain shouted that something was not quite right which caught her attention. A flash of the data put together showed her that Russell and four guys--a different four, as the first set would not be walking anywhere of their own accord for the rest of their lives unless they suddenly became rich and moved to the upper levels--were headed this way, wielding armament that would made things difficult if she was to keep her evening bounty safe. Backing up, she slipped into a crevice between buildings and drew back into the shadows.

"Hey, JC said she came this way," said one of the men.

"JC is usually hopped up on stims," said Russell.

"She couldn't just vanish, nimrod," another said.

"Let's go."

The men moved off, shuffling off their frustration by using their clubs and other devices (one actually whirred with moving blades--Mike was impressed) across the buldings and the various containment units along the way. Their sounds took a long time to die out, time that Mike used to read her materials...when she looked up, she realized that she had been standing in this crevice for four hours using the fading light from the alley to read.

Shaking her head, she picked her way back to the lifts, where one, like a friendly puppy, was already waiting for her. She stepped inside, and took it to the top, the moving sidewalks guiding her, as if they were programmed just for her, back to her place.

Just thinking about it, her com activated her door and she walked in to her place. It was a multi room apartment, though she'd never thought of anything to do with the other rooms. The largest one had debris from the lower levels--concrete and crates--as crude shelves, stacked among them all the various items of interest she'd picked up over the years. One wall was free of these shelves, and projected onto it were various art displays...whatever she found interesting this week. Facing the wall was the most comfortable chair that she had ever found. Leather and cloth, it had a soft blanket folded beside it. She spent more than half her life in that chair. It was likely her favorite place on earth.

The other rooms in the apartment were empty, just as they had been when she'd taken the job with the agency. Well, except the kitchen. There she did her experiments with various food products. Oh, the recruiter had discussed having a decorator come in and add some--what had she said? Personality. That was it. Personality to the place. But Mike just didn't see the point. She hoped, some day, a boy might sleep over, but she was fairly certain, after trying that after one of the parties in the lower levels that she had observed, that it was far better not to take them to your own home.

She changed her display. She sat in her chair, she set the chrono in her com and then she read. Two hours before she needed to rise for work, the alarm went off, she put her things down, curled up with her blanket, and slept, exhaustion leading to dreamless sleep...just the way she liked it.

Mike Forester

2007-03-25T04:52:50Z

Randomgirl:

[[Image:Mike.JPG]] 
 
"Hey, Danzer, I'm here for my fix," Mike said cheerfully, opening the small door into the dark, musty room. This place used to overpower her; she was sensitive to smells and tastes and sounds and this place had them in spades. But she was getting used to it.

"Mike!" Danzer bounded from behind a stack of--well, whatever it was he'd scrounged this week. He approached her, and she held out her hands as she did every time she came by. He swept them up in his clan's recognition of friend, and she answered it, although, as usual she did it just a second too soon and just a fraction wrong, nervous as always. This business of clan interaction among families in the lower levels fascinated and confused her; she found dodging people on the walkways of the upper levels daunting enough without having to know how to say hello properly.

Danzer laughed, corrected her hand position, kissed her hands, and then bounded back around his pile of prizes. A few short seconds later, items began to fly in different direction as he dug into the pile.

"Here, here!" he said. A crate, far nicer than the rest of the sad items in the unused warehouse office, was brought forward. Mike smiled. Danzer, she knew, had saved the crate and used it for her deliveries five times now. She paid well, his family ate, and she was nice to his kids. So she got her pick of his stuff and a relatively shiny box in which to see it.

Plunking down amongst the various items she reached into the box like a child with a holiday gift. Danzer chuckled, and then shouted "Kids, Mike's here!"

Two little girls, a blonde and a brunette squealed and Mike could hear them approach, followed by Danzer's wife, Lishia.

"I got a new supplier, Mike," Danzer said proudly. "Everyone knows I pay for the stuff you want now, so they bring anything back that you might like."

"Oh, Danzer," she said, looking up, "You don't have to pay for stuff I don't buy..."

"Oh, don't worry, he doesn't," said Lishia, somehow getting in front of Kay and Meg and offering a tray of warm drinks. Mike waved it away, suddenly bent on her treasure again having missed the normal cue that most people wait for in terms of meeting Lishia's eyes. Lishia looked at Danzer to explain. Danzer shrugged. Lishia went on, "He marks them and returns them if you don't buy them," slightly miffed and uncomfortable about the failure in common human curtesy.

Meg and Kay were familiar with the pattern and waited patiently. It didn't take long before Mike was pulling some of the damaged collections of papers together into a pile and then handing over a cred chip to Danzer, barely taking her eyes off. Danzer cleared his throat, grabbed the arm with the money and shook it, startling her from her information trance. Mike smiled feebly.

"Hello, ladies," she said, standing up and dusting off her gray slacks and a decortated v neck shirt. It had been a special service from Danzer to have it made by one of the clothiers down here, but it had a picture of a large round rock with pock marks in it. Mike had told him it was the moon, and he had smiled indulgently, much like he did when his girls introduced him to an imaginary friend. Danzer noted she was also wearing the thread and bead necklace Lishia had helped her to make when she first visited his little business.

Mike reached into her pockets and produced treats from the upper level, which she then handed to each girl in turn--small stacks of candies that slowly changed color. This time Kay could not contain herself and threw her arms around Mike's legs, nearly toppling them both. Mike looked pleased and confused, and then Kay and Meg were ushered out by Lishia.

"These are great, Danzer," Mike said, picking up her stack. Some were old food boxes, some were actual books printed on fabricated paper so artificial it would never truly degenerate down here.

Danzer could see he'd nearly lost her to the precious items she collected again. Tall and gawky, Mike folded in on herself in the presence of other people. Her sea green eyes were already in another place.

"Mike," Danzer said. She focused on him, back from wherever she'd gone, at least for a few minutes, her hands absently stroking her treasure. "Russel's gang hasn't forgotten about what happened..."

"Oh yes," Mike said. "On the way in I noticed that several of the passages out had been artificially blocked and that a lot of the people were perspiring and speaking too quickly. I suspect the idea is to drive me back out the only way in and then waylay me with any new weapons they've managed to acquire since a few weeks ago."

Danzer's eyes widened.

"Don't worry," Mike said, shaking her head. "I'm not going out that way. My statistical odds of winning are still in the 78.8% range, but I strongly suspect that if I sneak out as I intend to do, it will be assumed that either a) I was too cowardly to take on Russell which would improve his reputation ending his immediate need to harm me or b) that my reputation has grown for being able to sneak away from a near perfect trap." She punctuated "perfect" with her fingers and laughed.

"When will I see you again, Mike?" Danzer asked, and there was worry in his voice.

"Not sure," Mike said absently. "I try to keep my movements down here random in case people like Russell are paying attention."

She turned, and headed for the door, remembered something, and turned around.

"Thanks, Danzer. See you in a bit. Stay safe."

Danzer nodded. Only a month ago they'd gone over that it is generally considered appropriate to say something rather than abruptly departing. If nothing else, she certainly learned quickly.

Mike stepped out of the safety of the shop and ran along in the darkness for a while. She lifted one of the items from her pile and began to scan it as her feet took her to the route she'd selected on her way in, her body conforming to tight spots and climbing through windows without paying much attention.

It was only the fact that the data pouring into her brain shouted that something was not quite right which caught her attention. A flash of the data put together showed her that Russell and four guys--a different four, as the first set would not be walking anywhere of their own accord for the rest of their lives unless they suddenly became rich and moved to the upper levels--were headed this way, wielding armament that would made things difficult if she was to keep her evening bounty safe. Backing up, she slipped into a crevice between buildings and drew back into the shadows.

"Hey, JC said she came this way," said one of the men.

"JC is usually hopped up on stims," said Russell.

"She couldn't just vanish, nimrod," another said.

"Let's go."

The men moved off, shuffling off their frustration by using their clubs and other devices (one actually whirred with moving blades--Mike was impressed) across the buldings and the various containment units along the way. Their sounds took a long time to die out, time that Mike used to read her materials...when she looked up, she realized that she had been standing in this crevice for four hours using the fading light from the alley to read.

Shaking her head, she picked her way back to the lifts, where one, like a friendly puppy, was already waiting for her. She stepped inside, and took it to the top, the moving sidewalks guiding her, as if they were programmed just for her, back to her place.

Just thinking about it, her com activated her door and she walked in to her place. It was a multi room apartment, though she'd never thought of anything to do with the other rooms. The largest one had debris from the lower levels--concrete and crates--as crude shelves, stacked among them all the various items of interest she'd picked up over the years. One wall was free of these shelves, and projected onto it were various art displays...whatever she found interesting this week. Facing the wall was the most comfortable chair that she had ever found. Leather and cloth, it had a soft blanket folded beside it. She spent more than half her life in that chair. It was likely her favorite place on earth.

The other rooms in the apartment were empty, just as they had been when she'd taken the job with the agency. Well, except the kitchen. There she did her experiments with various food products. Oh, the recruiter had discussed having a decorator come in and add some--what had she said? Personality. That was it. Personality to the place. But Mike just didn't see the point. She hoped, some day, a boy might sleep over, but she was fairly certain, after trying that after one of the parties in the lower levels that she had observed, that it was far better not to take them to your own home.

She changed her display. She sat in her chair, she set the chrono in her com and then she read. Two hours before she needed to rise for work, the alarm went off, she put her things down, curled up with her blanket, and slept, exhaustion leading to dreamless sleep...just the way she liked it.

Mike Forester

2007-03-25T04:31:02Z

Randomgirl:

[[Image:Mike.JPG]] 
 
"Hey, Danzer, I'm here for my fix," Mike said cheerfully, opening the small door into the dark, musty room. This place used to overpower her; she was sensitive to smells and tastes and sounds and this place had them in spades. But she was getting used to it.

"Mike!" Danzer bounded from behind a stack of--well, whatever it was he'd scrounged this week. He approached her, and she held out her hands as she did every time she came by. He swept them up in his clan's recognition of friend, and she answered it, although, as usual she did it just a second too soon and just a fraction wrong, nervous as always. This business of clan interaction among families in the lower levels fascinated and confused her; she found dodging people on the walkways of the upper levels daunting enough without having to know how to say hello properly.

Danzer laughed, corrected her hand position, kissed her hands, and then bounded back around his pile of prizes. A few short seconds later, items began to fly in different direction as he dug into the pile.

"Here, here!" he said. A crate, far nicer than the rest of the sad items in the unused warehouse office, was brought forward. Mike smiled. Danzer, she knew, had saved the crate and used it for her deliveries five times now. She paid well, his family ate, and she was nice to his kids. So she got her pick of his stuff and a relatively shiny box in which to see it.

Plunking down amongst the various items she reached into the box like a child with a holiday gift. Danzer chuckled, and then shouted "Kids, Mike's here!"

Two little girls, a blonde and a brunette squealed and Mike could hear them approach, followed by Danzer's wife, Lishia.

"I got a new supplier, Mike," Danzer said proudly. "Everyone knows I pay for the stuff you want now, so they bring anything back that you might like."

"Oh, Danzer," she said, looking up, "You don't have to pay for stuff I don't buy..."

"Oh, don't worry, he doesn't," said Lishia, somehow getting in front of Kay and Meg and offering a tray of warm drinks. Mike waved it away, suddenly bent on her treasure again having missed the normal cue that most people wait for in terms of meeting Lishia's eyes. Lishia looked at Danzer to explain. Danzer shrugged. Lishia went on, "He marks them and returns them if you don't buy them," slightly miffed and uncomfortable about the failure in common human curtesy.

Meg and Kay were familiar with the pattern and waited patiently. It didn't take long before Mike was pulling some of the damaged collections of papers together into a pile and then handing over a cred chip to Danzer, barely taking her eyes off. Danzer cleared his throat, grabbed the arm with the money and shook it, startling her from her information trance. Mike smiled feebly.

"Hello, ladies," she said, standing up and dusting off her gray slacks and a decortated v neck shirt. It had been a special service from Danzer to have it made by one of the clothiers down here, but it had a picture of a large round rock with pock marks in it. Mike had told him it was the moon, and he had smiled indulgently, much like he did when his girls introduced him to an imaginary friend. Danzer noted she was also wearing the thread and bead necklace Lishia had helped her to make when she first visited his little business.

Mike reached into her pockets and produced treats from the upper level, which she then handed to each girl in turn--small stacks of candies that slowly changed color. This time Kay could not contain herself and threw her arms around Mike's legs, nearly toppling them both. Mike looked pleased and confused, and then Kay and Meg were ushered out by Lishia.

"These are great, Danzer," Mike said, picking up her stack. Some were old food boxes, some were actual books printed on fabricated paper so artificial it would never truly degenerate down here.

Danzer could see he'd nearly lost her to the precious items she collected again. Tall and gawky, Mike folded in on herself in the presence of other people. Her sea green eyes were already in another place.

"Mike," Danzer said. She focused on him, back from wherever she'd gone, at least for a few minutes, her hands absently stroking her treasure. "Russel's gang hasn't forgotten about what happened..."

"Oh yes," Mike said. "On the way in I noticed that several of the passages out had been artificially blocked and that a lot of the people were perspiring and speaking too quickly. I suspect the idea is to drive me back out the only way in and then waylay me with any new weapons they've managed to acquire since a few weeks ago."

Danzer's eyes widened.

"Don't worry," Mike said, shaking her head. "I'm not going out that way. My statistical odds of winning are still in the 78.8% range, but I strongly suspect that if I sneak out as I intend to do, it will be assumed that either a) I was too cowardly to take on Russell which would improve his reputation ending his immediate need to harm me or b) that my reputation has grown for being able to sneak away from a near perfect trap." She punctuated "perfect" with her fingers and laughed.

"When will I see you again, Mike?" Danzer asked, and there was worry in his voice.

"Not sure," Mike said absently. "I try to keep my movements down here random in case people like Russell are paying attention."

She turned, and headed for the door, remembered something, and turned around.

"Thanks, Danzer. See you in a bit. Stay safe."

Danzer nodded. Only a month ago they'd gone over that it is generally considered appropriate to say something rather than abruptly departing. If nothing else, she certainly learned quickly.

Mike stepped out of the safety of the shop and ran along in the darkness for a while. She lifted one of the items from her pile and began to scan it as her feet took her to the route she'd selected on her way in, her body conforming to tight spots and climbing through windows without paying much attention.

It was only the fact that the data pouring into her brain shouted that something was not quite right which caught her attention. A flash of the data put together showed her that Russell and four guys--a different four, as the first set would not be walking anywhere of their own accord for the rest of their lives unless they suddenly became rich and moved to the upper levels--were headed this way, wielding armament that would made things difficult if she was to keep her evening bounty safe. Backing up, she slipped into a crevice between buildings and drew back into the shadows.

"Hey, JC said she came this way," said one of the men.

"JC is usually hopped up on stims," said Russell.

"She couldn't just vanish, nimrod," another said.

"Let's go."

The men moved off, shuffling off their frustration by using their clubs and other devices (one actually whirred with moving blades--Mike was impressed) across the buldings and the various containment units along the way. Their sounds took a long time to die out, time that Mike used to read her materials...when she looked up, she realized that she had been standing in this crevice for four hours using the fading light from the alley to read.

Shaking her head, she picked her way back to the lifts, where one, like a friendly puppy, was already waiting for her. She stepped inside, and took it to the top, the moving sidewalks guiding her, as if they were programmed just for her, back to her place.

Just thinking about it, her com activated her door and she walked in to her place. It was a multi room apartment, though she'd never thought of anything to do with the other rooms. The largest one had debris from the lower levels--concrete and crates--as crude shelves, stacked among them all the various items of interest she'd picked up over the years. One wall was free of these shelves, and projected onto it were various art displays...whatever she found interesting this week. Facing the wall was the most comfortable chair that she had ever found. Leather and cloth, it had a soft blanket folded beside it. She spent more than half her life in that chair. It was likely her favorite place on earth.

The other rooms in the apartment were empty, just as they had been when she'd taken the job with the agency. Oh, the recruiter had discussed having a decorator come in and add some--what had she said? Personality. That was it. Personality to the place. But Mike just didn't see the point. She hoped, some day, a boy might sleep over, but she was fairly certain, after trying that after one of the parties in the lower levels that she had observed, that it was far better not to take them to your own home.

She changed her display. She sat in her chair, she set the chrono in her com and then she read. Two hours before she needed to rise for work, the alarm went off, she put her things down, curled up with her blanket, and slept, exhaustion leading to dreamless sleep...just the way she liked it.

Player Characters

2007-03-08T05:52:42Z

Randomgirl:

{| border="3"
! Character Name !! Brief Description !! Player Name
|-
! [http://wiki.rpg.net/index.php/Mike_Forester Mike Forester]
| Hacker || Lori Priebe
|-
!
|
|
|}

Mike Forester

2007-03-08T05:51:33Z

Randomgirl:

[[Image:Mike.JPG]] 
 
'''Mike Forester''' is 21 years old, gangly, pretty, awkward and completely involved with helping other people and learning things, in that order. She spends a lot of time outside the 'net despite her primary profession which usually involves infiltrating and compromising network security.

She has brown hair, sea-green colored eyes, and reads telephone directories for fun. She also likes actual reading materials when she can find them, shuns simulations where possible and has a noted fear of water--she prefers not to go anywhere near large bodies of water.

Those who know her think of her as sweet and just a little bit off; kind of unusual in perceptiveness, and then easily distracted by something bright and shiney.

Mike Forester

2007-03-08T05:51:22Z

Randomgirl:

[[Image:Mike.JPG]] 
 
''Mike Forester'' is 21 years old, gangly, pretty, awkward and completely involved with helping other people and learning things, in that order. She spends a lot of time outside the 'net despite her primary profession which usually involves infiltrating and compromising network security.

She has brown hair, sea-green colored eyes, and reads telephone directories for fun. She also likes actual reading materials when she can find them, shuns simulations where possible and has a noted fear of water--she prefers not to go anywhere near large bodies of water.

Those who know her think of her as sweet and just a little bit off; kind of unusual in perceptiveness, and then easily distracted by something bright and shiney.

Mike Forester

2007-03-08T05:50:55Z

Randomgirl:

[[Image:Mike.JPG]] 
 
Mike Forester is 21 years old, gangly, pretty, awkward and completely involved with helping other people and learning things, in that order. She spends a lot of time outside the 'net despite her primary profession which usually involves infiltrating and compromising network security.

She has brown hair, sea-green colored eyes, and reads telephone directories for fun. She also likes actual reading materials when she can find them, shuns simulations where possible and has a noted fear of water--she prefers not to go anywhere near large bodies of water.

Those who know her think of her as sweet and just a little bit off; kind of unusual in perceptiveness, and then easily distracted by something bright and shiney.

Mike Forester

2007-03-08T05:49:37Z

Randomgirl:

[[Image:Mike.JPG]]
Mike Forester is 21 years old, gangly, pretty, awkward and completely involved with helping other people and learning things, in that order. She spends a lot of time outside the 'net despite her primary profession which usually involves infiltrating and compromising network security.

She has brown hair, sea-green colored eyes, and reads telephone directories for fun. She also likes actual reading materials when she can find them, shuns simulations where possible and has a noted fear of water--she prefers not to go anywhere near large bodies of water.

Those who know her think of her as sweet and just a little bit off; kind of unusual in perceptiveness, and then easily distracted by something bright and shiney.

File:Mike.JPG

2007-03-08T05:43:12Z

Randomgirl: