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Cloud is Dead (Final Fantasy VII CYOA)
- Thread starter Random
- Start date
B>D
H>E
H>E
- Joined
- Sep 25, 2012
- Messages
- 29,891
Pretty much.
Since at least the start of roll tracking in this quest, the biggest all around impact has been through intelligence, not strength. Furthermore, I think that 4 has him above average; the terrorist goons usually have been having stats of 3 or so, and he's proven capable of picking up moving around the ridiculous slab of metal that is the Buster Sword. It seems passable enough for now.
Here's a list of every stat a roll has relied on since Random began tracking those in Chapter 1: The Hero Returns, Part VII.
Discipline: Tenacity
Athletics: Strength
Examination of the Nurse and her motives: Intelligence
Charm the nurse to go on a jog with you: Intelligence (Failure)
To Bat at the Cages: Strength
Observation to find the relevant information in time: Intelligence (Failure)
Bluff to lure the terrorist closer: Intelligence
Hand-to-Hand to steal the gun: Strength
Marksmanship to kill terrorist: Unclear stat (Auto success due to outclassing foe, probably due to agility as that's used for some later marksmanship rolls)
Bluff to intimidate terrorists: No stat
Easy Marksmanship to blow away the terrorists: No stat
Intelligence check: Passed
Discipline to calm down John: Intelligence
Intelligence to improvise blocking the doors: Intelligence
Marksmanship to take out terrorists in killzone: Agility
Terrorist Forces fire at Marcus: Agility (Terrorist Failure)
Discipline to stay cool under pressure: Tenacity
Athletics to throw the first frag: Strength
Terrorists fire back!: Agility (Terrorist Success)
Grenade throw 2: Agility (Failure)
Athletics: Strength
Examination of the Nurse and her motives: Intelligence
Charm the nurse to go on a jog with you: Intelligence (Failure)
To Bat at the Cages: Strength
Observation to find the relevant information in time: Intelligence (Failure)
Bluff to lure the terrorist closer: Intelligence
Hand-to-Hand to steal the gun: Strength
Marksmanship to kill terrorist: Unclear stat (Auto success due to outclassing foe, probably due to agility as that's used for some later marksmanship rolls)
Bluff to intimidate terrorists: No stat
Easy Marksmanship to blow away the terrorists: No stat
Intelligence check: Passed
Discipline to calm down John: Intelligence
Intelligence to improvise blocking the doors: Intelligence
Marksmanship to take out terrorists in killzone: Agility
Terrorist Forces fire at Marcus: Agility (Terrorist Failure)
Discipline to stay cool under pressure: Tenacity
Athletics to throw the first frag: Strength
Terrorists fire back!: Agility (Terrorist Success)
Grenade throw 2: Agility (Failure)
Tenacity: 2
Strength: 4
Intelligence: 7 (2 were Failures)
Agility: 4 (2 were Failure/Terrorist Success)
Stat unclear/No associated stat: 3
Intelligence is thus looking like our primary stat at the moment, but it should be noted that Agility has been the most prominent stat when we're in combat for both offense and defense. Strength and Intelligence are important in setting up the situation, but when we cock up and have a hail of bullets coming our way whether or not we cheat death seems to be relying mostly on agility.
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2008
- Messages
- 2,812
Yeah those ones where no stat was associated would have had stats added but the exact value was irrelevant to the outcome: Marksmanship to kill terrorist would be Agi, Bluff to intimidate terrorists would have been Intelligence, Easy Marksmanship to blow away the terrorists would've been Agi. Strength as a stat will be used in nearly all athletics, melee combat, and other such rolls. Tenacity would have come up more often if Marcus had been wounded earlier, as it would have been necessary to roll it to accomplish certain otherwise basic tasks. Agility is for ranged combat and determines actual defense TN against enemy attacks as well as who gets to act first in encounters. I think I mentioned this before but 3 is the human average for a given stat and 9 is the peak of human potential in a given stat (Olympic tier). It's possible to go beyond 9 via levelups or things like Mako injections. With Strength 4, Marcus isn't weak compared to the totality of humanity; he meets the bare requirements of ShinRa troops in terms of physical strength, but could easily go much further with his body than he's currently at.
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2008
- Messages
- 2,812
Essentially, yeah. They're not just in-game abilities, they're also going to color Marcus as an individual. This puts B and F in the lead, by the way. Will update tomorrowish.
Nope.
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2008
- Messages
- 2,812
Chapter 2: Changing Times Part I
"In other news, Major Westford is expected to make a full recovery in the hospital despite the grueling wounds suffered during the attack. For his heroism, the good people rescued from the AVALANCHE attack owe him their lives, and truly every citizen of the world owes him thanks. He is a model soldier, and if ShinRa Department of Public Safety had more men like him, the common people might never have to fear monster attacks or terrorist threats ever again. This is ShinRa News, signing off."
The pretty female anchor who's just a bit too plastic-y for your tastes neatly stacks her papers together, and the show slowly fades to black. The official ShinRa channel doesn't air back to back content, only the occasional broadcast of ShinRa News, the PR Department's almost entirely transparent propaganda program. For the past week or so, you've watched the same episode of ShinRa News every time it comes on at morning, lunch, and evening, since they've been re-airing it over and over. They feature footage captured of the attack, conveniently edited to leave out anything inconvenient to the narrative ShinRa is pushing. As usual, they're claiming that the attack was easily repelled and defeated before anything worse than a few civilian deaths could occur. You're glad they're giving you due credit for saving so many hostages, but on the other hand, you can't help but worry that they might be pushing you as a hero a bit too hard. It feels wrong. You don't feel like you did anything totally incredible, just what you could manage to do given the circumstances.
In the week since the attack, you've been fed all kinds of potions and medicines and that cure materia specialist visited you again to accelerate your recovery quite considerably. It's no vacation, but you aren't complaining about the chance just to get some rest after the shitshow in that studio. Now that you've had some proper R&R, you feel much better, much more prepared to take on the world.
Earlier today, the doctor informed you that he was discharging you. This time, unlike before, you haven't had mysterious cellphones appearing in your room nor have you been getting calls from ShinRa PR agents. No word from Heidegger or anyone else in the Department of Public Safety. You wonder what exactly is next in the Company's plans for you. At least you're pretty sure it doesn't involve more TV interviews, so that's nice. Since you've received no orders, only general sick leave for an unspecified length of time, you decide to just go back to your apartment. No, wait, better yet, you could go to a bar and get some real food, not like the hospital crap, and something to drink.
As you don your civilian attire (still a bit torn up) and receive your belongings - the same ones you had on you that fateful day at ShinRa HQ, your wallet (with all your gil in it, phew), your own PHS and not the one ShinRa gave you, your gum, your pocket knife, and all that - you step out of the hospital room hopefully for the last time in a long time. You glance around and see the two ShinRa grunts standing guard outside your room in the standard blue battle dress, their eyes covered up by their advanced combat helmets. They salute you, and you nod at them stiffly, then stroll out. As you're waiting at the elevators down the hall, you hear one of them say into their helmet radio: "Westmore heading to the lobby." So they're not just there to guard you, but also to keep an eye on you. How great.
One short ride on the elevator later, you step out into the lobby, passing by the construction workers as they busily repair all the damage caused by the attack, you step out into the warm afternoon air. Cars drive past the HQ, limos picking up and dropping off all sorts of sharp-suited executives and agents of the Company, and opt to walk to your favorite bar instead of taking a taxi. You mingle into the crowds of pedestrians briskly headed here and there, most on their cellphones and talking business, only a few of them talking to each other. The HQ is surrounded for miles by various Company subsidiary buildings, so you're essentially in the beating heart of the business capital of the entire planet. Most of the dining establishments in the area are both enormously expensive and way too classy for your tastes, but you know a good dive in Sector 2 that is a little rougher than the usual fare in the Upper City without being a complete shithole like the joints in the Slums below the plates.
As you're walking the couple miles, you realize you feel a bit uneasy. The faces around you aren't staring at you, but there are a lot of surprised looks. They must be recognizing your face. It's an eerie sensation, like you're being watched. But none of the strangers on the street try to talk to you, thankfully, and as you go deeper into the metal landscape of Sector 2 the crowds thin out and the feeling goes away.
You feel pretty good after the long walk and fresh air (or as fresh as Midgar's air can ever get). When you finally get to the bar, the Wheezy Marlboro, the cigarette smoke that flies out when you pull the front door open gives you that pleasant, crisp, nicotine-y scent that makes your mouth water for hard liquor. You go straight in and sit down right at the bar itself, trying to keep your head down just in case someone happens to recognize you. You don't need to be a freaking celebrity here.
"What'll ya have?" the bartender asks, glancing around as he recognizes you as a regular.
It's a tough choice. There's a lot of good booze on the menu, but also they serve some hearty and surprisingly tasty meals.
What'll ya have?
To Drink:
A) ShinRa Light Beer (6 gil each)
B) Wutai Sake (25 gil for a bottle)
C) Gin and Tonic (12 gil each)
D) [Coward] Just the Tonic (0 gil)
E) Shell out for that GOOD shit: Gysahl Brandy (200 gil per bottle)
F) Fuck it, buy everyone in the bar a drink (600 gil)
To Eat:
G) Hot wings with fries (26 gil)
H) Chili dogs, all the way (15 gil)
I) Pizza (28 gil)
J) Chocobo Sirloin with fries (120 gil)
K) Just some crackers (0 gil)
L) Fuck it, you're on vacation, you're starving, and that money's burning a hole in your wallet, order one of everything and feast like a viking (300 gil)
Roll Results
Character Sheet
"In other news, Major Westford is expected to make a full recovery in the hospital despite the grueling wounds suffered during the attack. For his heroism, the good people rescued from the AVALANCHE attack owe him their lives, and truly every citizen of the world owes him thanks. He is a model soldier, and if ShinRa Department of Public Safety had more men like him, the common people might never have to fear monster attacks or terrorist threats ever again. This is ShinRa News, signing off."
The pretty female anchor who's just a bit too plastic-y for your tastes neatly stacks her papers together, and the show slowly fades to black. The official ShinRa channel doesn't air back to back content, only the occasional broadcast of ShinRa News, the PR Department's almost entirely transparent propaganda program. For the past week or so, you've watched the same episode of ShinRa News every time it comes on at morning, lunch, and evening, since they've been re-airing it over and over. They feature footage captured of the attack, conveniently edited to leave out anything inconvenient to the narrative ShinRa is pushing. As usual, they're claiming that the attack was easily repelled and defeated before anything worse than a few civilian deaths could occur. You're glad they're giving you due credit for saving so many hostages, but on the other hand, you can't help but worry that they might be pushing you as a hero a bit too hard. It feels wrong. You don't feel like you did anything totally incredible, just what you could manage to do given the circumstances.
In the week since the attack, you've been fed all kinds of potions and medicines and that cure materia specialist visited you again to accelerate your recovery quite considerably. It's no vacation, but you aren't complaining about the chance just to get some rest after the shitshow in that studio. Now that you've had some proper R&R, you feel much better, much more prepared to take on the world.
Earlier today, the doctor informed you that he was discharging you. This time, unlike before, you haven't had mysterious cellphones appearing in your room nor have you been getting calls from ShinRa PR agents. No word from Heidegger or anyone else in the Department of Public Safety. You wonder what exactly is next in the Company's plans for you. At least you're pretty sure it doesn't involve more TV interviews, so that's nice. Since you've received no orders, only general sick leave for an unspecified length of time, you decide to just go back to your apartment. No, wait, better yet, you could go to a bar and get some real food, not like the hospital crap, and something to drink.
As you don your civilian attire (still a bit torn up) and receive your belongings - the same ones you had on you that fateful day at ShinRa HQ, your wallet (with all your gil in it, phew), your own PHS and not the one ShinRa gave you, your gum, your pocket knife, and all that - you step out of the hospital room hopefully for the last time in a long time. You glance around and see the two ShinRa grunts standing guard outside your room in the standard blue battle dress, their eyes covered up by their advanced combat helmets. They salute you, and you nod at them stiffly, then stroll out. As you're waiting at the elevators down the hall, you hear one of them say into their helmet radio: "Westmore heading to the lobby." So they're not just there to guard you, but also to keep an eye on you. How great.
One short ride on the elevator later, you step out into the lobby, passing by the construction workers as they busily repair all the damage caused by the attack, you step out into the warm afternoon air. Cars drive past the HQ, limos picking up and dropping off all sorts of sharp-suited executives and agents of the Company, and opt to walk to your favorite bar instead of taking a taxi. You mingle into the crowds of pedestrians briskly headed here and there, most on their cellphones and talking business, only a few of them talking to each other. The HQ is surrounded for miles by various Company subsidiary buildings, so you're essentially in the beating heart of the business capital of the entire planet. Most of the dining establishments in the area are both enormously expensive and way too classy for your tastes, but you know a good dive in Sector 2 that is a little rougher than the usual fare in the Upper City without being a complete shithole like the joints in the Slums below the plates.
As you're walking the couple miles, you realize you feel a bit uneasy. The faces around you aren't staring at you, but there are a lot of surprised looks. They must be recognizing your face. It's an eerie sensation, like you're being watched. But none of the strangers on the street try to talk to you, thankfully, and as you go deeper into the metal landscape of Sector 2 the crowds thin out and the feeling goes away.
You feel pretty good after the long walk and fresh air (or as fresh as Midgar's air can ever get). When you finally get to the bar, the Wheezy Marlboro, the cigarette smoke that flies out when you pull the front door open gives you that pleasant, crisp, nicotine-y scent that makes your mouth water for hard liquor. You go straight in and sit down right at the bar itself, trying to keep your head down just in case someone happens to recognize you. You don't need to be a freaking celebrity here.
"What'll ya have?" the bartender asks, glancing around as he recognizes you as a regular.
It's a tough choice. There's a lot of good booze on the menu, but also they serve some hearty and surprisingly tasty meals.
What'll ya have?
To Drink:
A) ShinRa Light Beer (6 gil each)
B) Wutai Sake (25 gil for a bottle)
C) Gin and Tonic (12 gil each)
D) [Coward] Just the Tonic (0 gil)
E) Shell out for that GOOD shit: Gysahl Brandy (200 gil per bottle)
F) Fuck it, buy everyone in the bar a drink (600 gil)
To Eat:
G) Hot wings with fries (26 gil)
H) Chili dogs, all the way (15 gil)
I) Pizza (28 gil)
J) Chocobo Sirloin with fries (120 gil)
K) Just some crackers (0 gil)
L) Fuck it, you're on vacation, you're starving, and that money's burning a hole in your wallet, order one of everything and feast like a viking (300 gil)
Roll Results
Observation roll:
1d20 + Observation Lvl. 1 + Intelligence 7 = 10 + 2 + 7 = 19
TN: Hidden
Results Hidden
1d20 + Observation Lvl. 1 + Intelligence 7 = 10 + 2 + 7 = 19
TN: Hidden
Results Hidden
Character Sheet
Name: Marcus "Steelwall" Westford
Class: Ranger
Level: 2
Profession: Major of the ShinRa Co. Peacekeeping Corps, Department of Public Safety, Military Police Division
Age: 23
Inner Nature: X
Dominant Inner Nature: None
Health: [Pristine - Fine - Poor - Severe - Critical - Dead]
Status: None
Characteristics:
Strength 4 Agility 8
Tenacity 6 Intelligence 7
Skills:
Discipline Lvl. 3
Marksmanship Lvl. 2, Athletics Lvl. 2, Bluff Lvl. 2
Hand-to-Hand Lvl. 1, Fieldcraft Lvl. 1, Stealth Lvl. 1, Academics Lvl. 1, Observation Lvl. 1, Electronics Lvl. 1, Computer Use Lvl. 1
Perks:
Tough Guy ("Love the suck." The penalty for all mundane negative status effects is reduced by 1)
Inventory: Civilian casual clothes, Shinra Employee ID Card, Jupiter Energy Bar, Pocket Knife, Spearmint Gum, Portable Handheld System, Wallet w/ 20,000 Gil, Note from Janice, Tom's business card (blood-stained)
Gear:
Class: Ranger
Level: 2
Profession: Major of the ShinRa Co. Peacekeeping Corps, Department of Public Safety, Military Police Division
Age: 23
Inner Nature: X
Dominant Inner Nature: None
Health: [Pristine - Fine - Poor - Severe - Critical - Dead]
Status: None
Characteristics:
Strength 4 Agility 8
Tenacity 6 Intelligence 7
Skills:
Discipline Lvl. 3
Marksmanship Lvl. 2, Athletics Lvl. 2, Bluff Lvl. 2
Hand-to-Hand Lvl. 1, Fieldcraft Lvl. 1, Stealth Lvl. 1, Academics Lvl. 1, Observation Lvl. 1, Electronics Lvl. 1, Computer Use Lvl. 1
Perks:
Tough Guy ("Love the suck." The penalty for all mundane negative status effects is reduced by 1)
Inventory: Civilian casual clothes, Shinra Employee ID Card, Jupiter Energy Bar, Pocket Knife, Spearmint Gum, Portable Handheld System, Wallet w/ 20,000 Gil, Note from Janice, Tom's business card (blood-stained)
Gear:
Last edited:
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
Guys, let's not get carried away. I think something big is about to happen.
ShinRa shelled out for a quick recovery, assigned people to monitor us, and we definitely have a tail on us.
And, of course:
I have a feeling we're about to get thrown into some sort of selection process, possibly for the Turks.
With that in mind, some wings and beer will suffice: AG.
ShinRa shelled out for a quick recovery, assigned people to monitor us, and we definitely have a tail on us.
And, of course:
I have a feeling we're about to get thrown into some sort of selection process, possibly for the Turks.
With that in mind, some wings and beer will suffice: AG.
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
I have an idea: order the brandy and glasses for two, and sit like this to assert dominance
I have an idea: order the brandy and glasses for two, and sit like this to assert dominance
+1
Kalin
Unwanted
EJ that's what I'd have.
skaraher
Prophet
F) L)
skaraher
Prophet
F is the only true option, we fight communism with trickledown economics
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2008
- Messages
- 2,812
Changing Times Part II
"Bartender, give me a bottle of that Gysahl Brandy," you say, gesturing up at his top shelf. He grunts and grabs the bottle and a shot glass, slamming them both down by you, but not letting go of them and staring you hard in the eye.
"That'll be 200 gil. Right now. No tabs for this."
You nod and whip out your wallet, taking out 200 gil worth of bills and slamming them down in a fat wad with a smug smile. He snatches the bills, counts them, and then releases the bottle, a happy little grin on his scarred face.
"Thank ya kindly."
You immediately pop the cap off the translucent bottle and tip it over into the shotglass, pouring a big one for yourself. You take the glass in hand and immediately toss it back, and you're amazed at the strong, burning, bittersweet flavor as you swallow it down and slam your fist into the counter. It's an acquired taste from what you hear, like the Gysahl greens from which it's made, but maybe since you're so alcohol-deprived lately, this stuff just tastes like nectar of the gods. You feel the warm buzz kick in almost immediately due to your empty gut, and you waste no time pouring another shot and downing that as well. Damn, that's good.
"Here's that sirloin you ordered," the bartender says after he strolls out of the kitchen, sliding a huge plate with a massive, juicy steak on it and some fries on the side. You almost don't even wait for him to hand you silverware before you tear into the meal like a ravenous dog. God, it's not even that good of a steak, but you're just so glad to have real food again that you don't care and you rip through the chewy tendons and gristle with your teeth regardless. You're halfway through the meal when the TV, which had been playing some tunes, suddenly is interrupted by the blue-and-red of an obnoxious ShinRa News report, with the same middle-aged woman as the last news report that you saw in the hospital.
"Good afternoon, people of the world. It is our great delight to bring you live feed of the execution of the diabolical leader of AVALANCHE, Barret Wallace. We ask that you explain to your children why this event is taking place, and impress upon them the values of loyalty, civility, and peacekeeping. Remind them that ShinRa only does this because of the hundreds of innocent lives the AVALANCHE terrorist organization has taken by bombing two of our mako reactors. ShinRa values peace above all, and there cannot be peace while terrorists continue to act in our world." She sets her papers down and nods, and the camera cuts to a totally different room that you recognize as the execution chamber in Shinra HQ.
Sitting in the execution chair, locked in by metal restraints, Barret sits with a look on his face that you can only call absolute defeat. Even though he's a bear of a man, all that muscle and his gun arm are totally useless if his will is broken. He looks like he's gone through beating after beating, his face swollen up, one eye a shiny purple, disgusting bruises, cuts, and burn marks all over his arms and exposed torso. The bandages he used to have for his gunshot wounds were torn off at some point, and the wounds reopened by force. The bullet wounds you shot into him.
"Holy shit," you hear someone else at the bar gasp under his breath.
"Barret Wallace," a voice says over the room's intercom. "You sit before the world now. Have you any last words?"
The terrorist opens his quivering mouth, his voice hoarse like he's been screaming for the entire week and a half since you last saw him, his one good eye watering up and dripping tears down his face. "I-I just wanted t' save the Planet." His words are stuttering, his tone broken and morose.
"Then why did you kill innocent people?" asks the disembodied voice. "You have created nothing but destruction. You are not a savior. You are a monster."
"I-I'm sorry," Barret groans, shifting around in his seat, blood running out from his broken nose. "I was wrong."
"Any other last words?"
"I'm, I'm sorry, Marlene. Please, baby, i-if you're watchin', d-don't look baby... Elmyra, Elmyra, please, don't let her see this... ohh, God... have mercy..."
"Anything else?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'd take it all back if I could... Dyne, buddy, I'm sorry I couldn't take care of Marlene... I'm comin' to see ya, pal. Ohhh, I'm so sorry, Marlene..."
You set the bite of steak you were about to shove in your mouth down, pulling it off the fork with your knife, and then setting both utencils on the plate. Suddenly, your appetite has vanished. In place of more steak, you instead fill your mouth with a tall shot of brandy.
"Oh fuck, shut it off, bartender," one of the customers shouts from the pool table, a counter-culture punk with sunglasses and a black mohawk. "I don't want to see this!"
"No, let it play," yells another guy, a man with neatly combed blonde hair and a red tie, looking somewhat like a lawyer or an office worker.
They start arguing with each other, and others join in, but before it can turn into a brawl, the announcer says, "It is now time. Barret Wallace, for your high crimes of terrorism and mass murder, you are sentenced to death by electric chair, the most severe punishment that ShinRa Electric Power Company can inflict."
And then, you watch his body suddenly seize up and flop, writhe against the restraints, every muscle in his body tensing simultaneously as lethal volts course through his nervous system, frying the poor bastard from the inside out as his eyes roll back and all his wounds start to bleed afresh. It only takes a few seconds, but watching the horrific agony of the man as he dies, wailing in pain, seems like an eternity. And then, he stops moving, the current is gone, and they cut away back to the news anchorwoman who smiles at the camera.
"And that's that, folks. Another terrorist pays for his crimes. But there's still more out there. There are always more out there. If you see or hear of any insurgent activity, or even suspect it, please notify the ShinRa Department of Public Safety at the following toll-free number. Thank you, and tune in for the ShinRa Evening News at 6:00."
The short fanfare for ShinRa News plays as it cuts to the logo, and then the TV returns to its original programming, the jazz music. Unlike the healthy chatter the bar had before, it is now completely dead silent. You grab the bottle of brandy and just chug straight from it, no glass necessary.
"Fuck ShinRa! Fuck them!" the mohawk-sporting punk from before bellows, swinging his pool cue down and breaking it over the pool table. "Fucking totalitarian bastards!"
"Hey! You don't get to say that, punk!" yells the lawyer-looking guy, storming up to the biker and jamming a finger in his face. "ShinRa does what it has to do to keep the world safe. You better not be sympathizing with that son-of-a-bitch terrorist who just fried!"
"Screw you, asshole! They tortured him! You saw how he looked!" the rebel youth roars, smacking the lawyer in the face with the broken pool cue and drawing blood from his cheek with the sharp broken end. The moment the blow collides, five more men of various stripes but all looking like dutiful ShinRa employees have jumped up from their booth seats and rounded on the punk guy, but a buddy of his steps up to back him up, too. Two versus six, the punks looking much more the better fighters and armed with improvised weapons. Do you even care? The bartender should probably be the guy to break it up, but he's currently in the kitchen, and you can hear awful gut-heaving noises coming from in there. He must be throwing up. Not a bad idea, you think absentmindedly.
What do you do?
A) [Charm: Hard] Intervene in the fight and try to convince both sides to calm down through charisma and persuasion
B) [Bluff: Hard] Intimidate the fighters of both sides to break it up by threatening to beat them all down if you have to
C) [Hand to Hand] Join the punks and beat up the executive-looking guys; you hate asslicking office chumps like them
D) [Hand to Hand] Join the pencil pushers and beat up the punks; they're the scum of Midgar
E) [Hand to Hand] Don't fuck around; fight dirty with your knife, a broken bottle, anything (must be combined with C or D for targeting purposes)
F) Do nothing and keep drinking; let things play out as they will.
G) Leave the bar; better not to stick around for whatever this is gonna end up being.
H) Alternative
Character Sheet
"Bartender, give me a bottle of that Gysahl Brandy," you say, gesturing up at his top shelf. He grunts and grabs the bottle and a shot glass, slamming them both down by you, but not letting go of them and staring you hard in the eye.
"That'll be 200 gil. Right now. No tabs for this."
You nod and whip out your wallet, taking out 200 gil worth of bills and slamming them down in a fat wad with a smug smile. He snatches the bills, counts them, and then releases the bottle, a happy little grin on his scarred face.
"Thank ya kindly."
You immediately pop the cap off the translucent bottle and tip it over into the shotglass, pouring a big one for yourself. You take the glass in hand and immediately toss it back, and you're amazed at the strong, burning, bittersweet flavor as you swallow it down and slam your fist into the counter. It's an acquired taste from what you hear, like the Gysahl greens from which it's made, but maybe since you're so alcohol-deprived lately, this stuff just tastes like nectar of the gods. You feel the warm buzz kick in almost immediately due to your empty gut, and you waste no time pouring another shot and downing that as well. Damn, that's good.
"Here's that sirloin you ordered," the bartender says after he strolls out of the kitchen, sliding a huge plate with a massive, juicy steak on it and some fries on the side. You almost don't even wait for him to hand you silverware before you tear into the meal like a ravenous dog. God, it's not even that good of a steak, but you're just so glad to have real food again that you don't care and you rip through the chewy tendons and gristle with your teeth regardless. You're halfway through the meal when the TV, which had been playing some tunes, suddenly is interrupted by the blue-and-red of an obnoxious ShinRa News report, with the same middle-aged woman as the last news report that you saw in the hospital.
"Good afternoon, people of the world. It is our great delight to bring you live feed of the execution of the diabolical leader of AVALANCHE, Barret Wallace. We ask that you explain to your children why this event is taking place, and impress upon them the values of loyalty, civility, and peacekeeping. Remind them that ShinRa only does this because of the hundreds of innocent lives the AVALANCHE terrorist organization has taken by bombing two of our mako reactors. ShinRa values peace above all, and there cannot be peace while terrorists continue to act in our world." She sets her papers down and nods, and the camera cuts to a totally different room that you recognize as the execution chamber in Shinra HQ.
Sitting in the execution chair, locked in by metal restraints, Barret sits with a look on his face that you can only call absolute defeat. Even though he's a bear of a man, all that muscle and his gun arm are totally useless if his will is broken. He looks like he's gone through beating after beating, his face swollen up, one eye a shiny purple, disgusting bruises, cuts, and burn marks all over his arms and exposed torso. The bandages he used to have for his gunshot wounds were torn off at some point, and the wounds reopened by force. The bullet wounds you shot into him.
"Holy shit," you hear someone else at the bar gasp under his breath.
"Barret Wallace," a voice says over the room's intercom. "You sit before the world now. Have you any last words?"
The terrorist opens his quivering mouth, his voice hoarse like he's been screaming for the entire week and a half since you last saw him, his one good eye watering up and dripping tears down his face. "I-I just wanted t' save the Planet." His words are stuttering, his tone broken and morose.
"Then why did you kill innocent people?" asks the disembodied voice. "You have created nothing but destruction. You are not a savior. You are a monster."
"I-I'm sorry," Barret groans, shifting around in his seat, blood running out from his broken nose. "I was wrong."
"Any other last words?"
"I'm, I'm sorry, Marlene. Please, baby, i-if you're watchin', d-don't look baby... Elmyra, Elmyra, please, don't let her see this... ohh, God... have mercy..."
"Anything else?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'd take it all back if I could... Dyne, buddy, I'm sorry I couldn't take care of Marlene... I'm comin' to see ya, pal. Ohhh, I'm so sorry, Marlene..."
You set the bite of steak you were about to shove in your mouth down, pulling it off the fork with your knife, and then setting both utencils on the plate. Suddenly, your appetite has vanished. In place of more steak, you instead fill your mouth with a tall shot of brandy.
"Oh fuck, shut it off, bartender," one of the customers shouts from the pool table, a counter-culture punk with sunglasses and a black mohawk. "I don't want to see this!"
"No, let it play," yells another guy, a man with neatly combed blonde hair and a red tie, looking somewhat like a lawyer or an office worker.
They start arguing with each other, and others join in, but before it can turn into a brawl, the announcer says, "It is now time. Barret Wallace, for your high crimes of terrorism and mass murder, you are sentenced to death by electric chair, the most severe punishment that ShinRa Electric Power Company can inflict."
And then, you watch his body suddenly seize up and flop, writhe against the restraints, every muscle in his body tensing simultaneously as lethal volts course through his nervous system, frying the poor bastard from the inside out as his eyes roll back and all his wounds start to bleed afresh. It only takes a few seconds, but watching the horrific agony of the man as he dies, wailing in pain, seems like an eternity. And then, he stops moving, the current is gone, and they cut away back to the news anchorwoman who smiles at the camera.
"And that's that, folks. Another terrorist pays for his crimes. But there's still more out there. There are always more out there. If you see or hear of any insurgent activity, or even suspect it, please notify the ShinRa Department of Public Safety at the following toll-free number. Thank you, and tune in for the ShinRa Evening News at 6:00."
The short fanfare for ShinRa News plays as it cuts to the logo, and then the TV returns to its original programming, the jazz music. Unlike the healthy chatter the bar had before, it is now completely dead silent. You grab the bottle of brandy and just chug straight from it, no glass necessary.
"Fuck ShinRa! Fuck them!" the mohawk-sporting punk from before bellows, swinging his pool cue down and breaking it over the pool table. "Fucking totalitarian bastards!"
"Hey! You don't get to say that, punk!" yells the lawyer-looking guy, storming up to the biker and jamming a finger in his face. "ShinRa does what it has to do to keep the world safe. You better not be sympathizing with that son-of-a-bitch terrorist who just fried!"
"Screw you, asshole! They tortured him! You saw how he looked!" the rebel youth roars, smacking the lawyer in the face with the broken pool cue and drawing blood from his cheek with the sharp broken end. The moment the blow collides, five more men of various stripes but all looking like dutiful ShinRa employees have jumped up from their booth seats and rounded on the punk guy, but a buddy of his steps up to back him up, too. Two versus six, the punks looking much more the better fighters and armed with improvised weapons. Do you even care? The bartender should probably be the guy to break it up, but he's currently in the kitchen, and you can hear awful gut-heaving noises coming from in there. He must be throwing up. Not a bad idea, you think absentmindedly.
What do you do?
A) [Charm: Hard] Intervene in the fight and try to convince both sides to calm down through charisma and persuasion
B) [Bluff: Hard] Intimidate the fighters of both sides to break it up by threatening to beat them all down if you have to
C) [Hand to Hand] Join the punks and beat up the executive-looking guys; you hate asslicking office chumps like them
D) [Hand to Hand] Join the pencil pushers and beat up the punks; they're the scum of Midgar
E) [Hand to Hand] Don't fuck around; fight dirty with your knife, a broken bottle, anything (must be combined with C or D for targeting purposes)
F) Do nothing and keep drinking; let things play out as they will.
G) Leave the bar; better not to stick around for whatever this is gonna end up being.
H) Alternative
Character Sheet
Name: Marcus "Steelwall" Westford
Class: Ranger
Level: 2
Profession: Major of the ShinRa Co. Peacekeeping Corps, Department of Public Safety, Military Police Division
Age: 23
Inner Nature: X
Dominant Inner Nature: None
Health: [Pristine - Fine - Poor - Severe - Critical - Dead]
Status: Inebriated
Characteristics:
Strength 4 Agility 8
Tenacity 6 Intelligence 7
Skills:
Discipline Lvl. 3
Marksmanship Lvl. 2, Athletics Lvl. 2, Bluff Lvl. 2
Hand-to-Hand Lvl. 1, Fieldcraft Lvl. 1, Stealth Lvl. 1, Academics Lvl. 1, Observation Lvl. 1, Electronics Lvl. 1, Computer Use Lvl. 1
Perks:
Tough Guy ("Love the suck." The penalty for all mundane negative status effects is reduced by 1)
Inventory: Civilian casual clothes, Shinra Employee ID Card, Jupiter Energy Bar, Pocket Knife, Spearmint Gum, Portable Handheld System, Wallet w/ 19,680 Gil, Note from Janice, Tom's business card (blood-stained)
Gear:
Class: Ranger
Level: 2
Profession: Major of the ShinRa Co. Peacekeeping Corps, Department of Public Safety, Military Police Division
Age: 23
Inner Nature: X
Dominant Inner Nature: None
Health: [Pristine - Fine - Poor - Severe - Critical - Dead]
Status: Inebriated
Characteristics:
Strength 4 Agility 8
Tenacity 6 Intelligence 7
Skills:
Discipline Lvl. 3
Marksmanship Lvl. 2, Athletics Lvl. 2, Bluff Lvl. 2
Hand-to-Hand Lvl. 1, Fieldcraft Lvl. 1, Stealth Lvl. 1, Academics Lvl. 1, Observation Lvl. 1, Electronics Lvl. 1, Computer Use Lvl. 1
Perks:
Tough Guy ("Love the suck." The penalty for all mundane negative status effects is reduced by 1)
Inventory: Civilian casual clothes, Shinra Employee ID Card, Jupiter Energy Bar, Pocket Knife, Spearmint Gum, Portable Handheld System, Wallet w/ 19,680 Gil, Note from Janice, Tom's business card (blood-stained)
Gear:
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