SHIFTING THE PARADIGM - ADVERSE RIG EVENT

[goneawaymod]

SHIFTING THE PARADIGM

PLOT DESCRIPTION
To say that the New Hires are unlucky is something of an understatement. After all, they're here, aren't they? They were the unlucky ones swept out of their worlds, left unconscious for Jorgmund to find, "hired," implanted with shock collars. They were unlucky enough to get caught, and now they're being mega, double, septuple screwed by a casual backhand of fate.

The rig doesn't often face a full breach. It does today.

The announcements start with a tinny warning: "RED ALERT: SEVERE STUFF STORM COALESCING OFF STARBOARD SIDE. PREPARE FOR RIG TO COME TO FULL STOP."

Anyone near windows can see it on the side facing the Wilds, a roiling, thundering mass of gray clouds that look a little more liquid than normal clouds. Lightning crackles, illuminating it from within but the color of the lightning isn't just white or yellow. Each thundering crackle flashes in a prism of unnatural colors.

The rig comes to a stop. Since it was going so slow, there isn't much of a change in momentum but they can feel it in the vibration of the braking mechanisms and creaking and groaning of tons of metal suddenly facing some minor strain. The storm expands up to the top of the atmosphere, anvil-shaped, flattening against the tropopause.

"RED ALERT: SEVERE STUFF STORM COALESCING STARBOARD SIDE. PREPARE FOR POSSIBLE ADVERSE RIG EVENT. SHELTER IN QUARTERS AND OTHER SHIELDED AREAS. CHILD CARE STAFF, RELOCATE YOUR CHARGES TO NEAREST SHIELDED BUNKER. ALL STAFF, REPORT ANY UNREALITY EVENTS TO RIG COMMAND FROM THE NEAREST ALARM PHONE, AND FIND SHELTER UNTIL SECURITY TEAM IS DEPLOYED."

The Stuff storm slams into the rig, making it sway just slightly. The wind pouring through the gaps in the rig structure howls in a way that sounds like inhuman screams. Thanks to the Stuff visibility drops to a very gray 0%.

A prerecorded message now starts playing. Celeste Lillian, with her soothing voice, speaking mantras:

"Staff members and couriers of hope, in this stressful time, I remind you to pause, take a moment, and breathe so deeply your lungs cannot hold any more of our Mother Earth's air. Breathe in, breathe out. The act of breathing is so precious because it's both necessary and voluntary. It is a gift you give yourself. Value yourself enough to give yourself the gift of a full, honest, complete breath."

Super helpful, right?

"Clear your minds, let go of any thoughts. Remember: 'The ocean changes. I can float.'"

But all hell breaks loose and mantras won't do a thing to stop it. The rig's many ventilation shafts have filters and metal covers to help shield against stuff, but they aren't replaced as often as they should be. Inspections are thorough but some material resources are scarce.

Stuff breaks through the covers and ventilation filters, sweeps through the rig, and reality gets less real.

"RED ALERT: FULL BREACH. RED ALERT: FULL BREACH. RED ALERT: FULL BREACH..."

SCENARIO #1 - PRODUCTIVITY

The rig's staff instantly increases by several orders of magnitude. The new employees don't talk and for the most part they don't pay attention to anyone else. They mill through the hallways, gesturing to each other as if they're colleagues walking and talking about the last meeting as they move through the halls.

Most of them are in full professional dress, suits and ties. But sometimes this dress is from a variety of eras, hearkening back to the idea of business. That means a lot of power suits and shoulder pads, and even some old fashioned bow ties, top hats, and glittering gold pocketwatch chains. Here and there, sometimes there's even a glimpse of someone in older merchant's clothing, flashy in a way that suggests "people send me regular complaints on cuneiform tablets about how I sold them inferior copper ingots." The mystery executives despawn and respawn randomly, phasing in and out of existence. Sometimes two will spawn in the same spot, somehow superimposed, like a glitch in a video game, twitching helplessly until reality goes "whoops!" and phases them back out of existence.

They have no faces, but the way they sometimes randomly turn to face the New Hires, staring them down, body language wary, makes it clear they can somehow see or sense without eyes. They sometimes speak with no mouths but the sounds don't sound like real language, and are always muffled.

New office or meeting room doors start flickering in and out of existence. Each time one appears it draws the nearest New Hires in, warping the metal floor in front of them so every step draws them inexorably inward. Inside, the New Hires find themselves pinned by stares from nonexistent eyes, the drones expectant. Maybe even impatient.

They're late.

Each room has a different scenario that must be satisfied to make the room go away, all of them the subconscious corporate imaginings of rig executives and staff, fears and secret wishes and ambitious aspirations all rolled together. The drones watch the New Hires carefully to make sure they follow "corporate policy" and obey the rules of the scenario, their body language growing more and more aggressive and threatening the more they fight it. They will eventually attack if New Hires don't follow through. There's no such thing as simply reporting someone to HR in their (nonexistent) eyes.

When each scenario is forced to completion by the New Hires playing ball until conditions are satisfied, the drones...dissolve. Trees suddenly sprout through their clothes, then flower. The petals scatter through a sudden breeze that always smells of grass and leaves and wet plants and gentle rains.

Finally free.

PROMPTS

a) resource management
The room has a table and chairs at the front. It's stacked with piles of unsharpened pencils and several electric or manual pencil sharpeners. The table looks out on rows of chairs, filled with faceless drones.

Watching... waiting...

Every time you finish sharpening a pencil there's light applause. It's a big pile of pencils, but at least it's an easy task. The drones don't seem to mind if you talk to break up the monotony.

Like so much of corporate life? Thrilling.

b) flipping through the deck
Have you ever had a nightmare where you had to do an oral test in front of the class that you weren't prepared for? Now imagine one where your teacher and classmates will beat you senseless if you get it wrong.

The slideshow being shown on the smartboard is completely nonsensical. That means the presentation can be just as nonsensical. New Hires can work together to bullshit on any topic, or maybe even just spout total nonsense. Either way, the drones around the conference table occasionally offer light applause and then turn to each other to confab in their nonsense mutterings, before turning back to watch once more.

When the meeting is perceived to be over, the drones stand, lightly clap, and flower.

Sometimes in rooms like this the drones hand over a list of corporate buzzwords that must be included, but they don't seem to care if it's in context.

Buzzwords: Break down the silos, tee it up, paradigm shift, low-hanging fruit, move the needle, run it up the flagpole, on the bleeding edge, synergy, core competency, leverage.

c) on the spot improvisation
Similar to the other presentation rooms except...

Oh, these are actual Jorgmund executives. The door sucked you into a normal meeting that they're cheerfully having despite the Stuff breach. They ask you your opinions on improving rig operations and quality of life and expect you to give honest answers.

But not too honest.

d) you've got some splainin' to do
You're handed hair nets and aprons and glared at until you put them on. The room is a small room in a factory line, with a conveyor belt passing through. The drone that henpecked you into putting on the aprons holds up a chocolate, points to the aperture the chocolates go through at the end of the conveyor belt, and shakes her head furiously. Then she wraps the chocolate in one of the wrappers from a stack of them, points back to the aperture and nods.

The garbled nonsense she "says" doesn't communicate it, but the gestures do: Wrapped chocolates go through, unwrapped ones don't.

Once the New Hires are in place in the conveyor line, the drone smacks a hand twice against the wall and the conveyor belt starts. Fortunately the drone leaves, but now the New Hires have chocolates they have to wrap, and they have to wrap them quickly.

The line is fast but not impossible. It's still a scramble and chocolate might have to be shoved in their hats and clothes to keep the drone from coming back and getting angry. Fortunately, you only have to reach a quote of 100 (as stated by a helpful sign on the wall) before the room spits you back out - sticky and smeared with chocolate - and fades away.

One perk: the chocolate won't disappear, but it's definitely some waxy, cheap stuff and sometimes the filling is a flavor that doesn't really pair well with chocolate.

e) the it crowd
You're led to desk with computers that don't actually work. Only nonsense words and memes (and nonsense memes) show up on the screens. That's fine because the people calling in on the phones are real people on the rig, trying to work despite the Stuff storm because of Company Loyalty™, and that means their problems are real stupid. Even laymen might be able to guide them through it.

They may include questions about the "cupholder," them not realizing the monitor has to be turned on, and issues easily resolved by a restart. Since the calls are real, there's a chance you can use some good old fashioned psychological engineering to gain useful things like usernames an passwords.

The drones don't seem to care if you chat among yourselves between calls, confer with one another (or mock the caller) while the phone is on mute, or whether the advice is even good. They only care that it's given. After a seemingly random quota is met, the drones expire, and room spits you back out and disappears. You'll find you have a small rubber duck in your pocket after you're spit back out again.

The ducks seem to not do anything. Yet.

Players can request the mods come up with idiotic IT issues for their thread.

f) breaking the ice
What is with this place's obsession with never-ending icebreakers?

This time it's less optional. You're are forced to sit in chairs across from each other or in a ring if more than two of you are pulled in. A sign on a small table between you says "2 truths, 1 lie" or "Truth or truth" (The drones seem to have forgotten the dare part). But sometimes a different game (of players' choosing) is displayed. The drones can seemingly sense whenever New Hires are lying and their behavior starts to grow hostile if they do, relaxing when they tell the truth.

The room won't release New Hires until there's been enough growth or honesty equivalent to a life-changing field trip.

g) corporate (property) restructuring
The drones are based on the thoughts of employees and that means the things they dream of doing, like taking a bat and going ham on a printer-copier. When you're pulled into a nonexistent department you're handed baseball bats and pointed at various pieces of office equipment.

The hostile language of the suited drones - also with their own baseball bats - means it would be wise for you to direct your un-vented frustrations at the equipment. All of it.

Or the drones might vent their aggression - with bats - at you. At least smashing shit up with a buddy - old or new - is cathartic? And that baseball bat can maybe be tucked away in a hideyhole somewhere for later use.

h) staring at the camera like...
This room is a small office space with chairs against a wall that has a window with closed blinds. The drones have a professional looking camera set up, pointing at the chairs, like it's some kind of confessional. These drones look more like the crew of a documentary than the other office drones, but have the same blank faces.

They gesture for the New Hires to sit down and hold up a paper that says: "Tell us how you really feel about this place and your fellow employees."

It's not like the drones are Jorgmund employees so maybe it's a safe place to let loose and have a vent session with a fellow New Hire? Interacting with each other during the vent gets nods of approval from the directors and crew. Trashing Jorgmund? Gets even more approval. They're loving that chemistry, guys.

i) wild card
Have a scenario idea that we haven't thought of? Go crazy! Pick some weird corporate scenario to play around with. The Stuff has plenty to work with thanks to the anxieties of the real corporate drones working for Jorgmund, and also because of all the office-related TV and movies they consume.

SCENARIO #2 - VIOLENCE
Some beings created by Stuff are alive and/or sentient. These are the New, but the drones are not New. They don't think and are therefore unable to reify the occasional wisp of stuff around the rig. They're more like programs in the computer of reality or like animations set into motion by the minds animating them.

But even if they're not alive, they are dangerous. They have no brains, no vital organs, no easy way to kill them. Since you need a thick skin to survive corporate life, it's very hard to break through their skin. When this finally occurs they start bleeding odd substances and objects. Cyan, magenta, yellow, and black printer ink. Paper clips. Sometimes it's thumb tacks, which makes walking and fighting very fraught. Go down even once and you might have a butt or back full of them.

No matter how much they bleed, however, they don't deflate or bleed to death. Only total destruction or dismemberment can slow them down. Fortunately, how much it takes to damage them seems to always be magically scaled to what the New Hires in the room are capable of.

That means it's somewhat unwise to fight them but it's at least not impossible. New Hires that want to try will be given their weapons and gear if they manage to make their way down to the armory near the training room. While New Hires will be hunted down later if they don't return most weapons and specific gear items, the chaos means some of the more disposable items - grenades, arrows, throwing knives - might possibly be tucked away somewhere without notice. For later. Excuses can be made about their use or loss, after all.

Players that know ahead of a time they want a fight scenario can always list one of the other scenarios above and note their preference for combat.

Since New Hires will have to go to the armory to get equipped, they can also have some threads with weapons and others without, to suit player needs.

OOC DETAILS
➤ Finite threat: While the doors can open anywhere and suck anyone in, the total number of rooms that need to be eliminated is finite. This means the New Hires clearing them out can eventually shut them all to avoid permanent, perilous addition to the rig's reality. They'll notice the number of doors that flash in and out of existence decreasing the more they go through scenarios.

➤ Opt out: Players may opt out of the plot by having it so New Hires mysteriously find their room door locked and impossible to open, even by force. Or players can make use of the "alternate reality" mechanic, where the characters are shifted temporarily into a calmer, alternate version of the timeline where they have a normal, quiet rig day. That band of possible reality will collapse and fold them back into the main rig reality when the event is over. This means if players want to completely ignore the event and work on their old threads, they don't even have to come up with a handwave. Their character might just be a little confused and need to be filled in when the event is over and reality folds them back in.

➤ NPC request: If you'd like the mods to npc a stupid IT call in a thread, hit the thread below and link to where they should come in.

➤ Questions: If you have questions about the event, want to know what your characters can get away with during the chaos, want to know if your characters can squirrel away secure info or grenades etc., feel free to hit the questions comment below to make your requests.

Comments

[greyerrant]

Loken continues to churn through drones, until the immediate area around the landing is clear, but for splattered drone parts and the reek of fyceline charges. He looks at Saturday, almost like he is locking on to her as another target, but instead, clamps his boltgun to his leg plate, and offers a hand.

"Battle's not over yet. Can you still fight?"

[wheyoftheadept]

She takes it, unnecessarily, and hops down.

"Sure, but do ya really need me? You're pretty much a one-man army." Saturday looks around the gory starwell. It's splattered with thumbtacks and paper clips and printer ink. A wad of papers, scorched from bullets, floats gently from the ceiling. "Thanks for the save."

[greyerrant]

"If we're going to clear these things out swiftly, I need everyone who can wield a blade or a gun."

He retrieves his bolter swapping a fresh magazine into it while mag-clamping the half expended one to his belt.

As for swords, Loken has 3, including the chainblade, two carried in a makeshift rig at his waist.

[wheyoftheadept]

"If you can keep them coming at you, I can pick them off as they come." Saturday rolls her shoulders and cracks her neck. "I got some grenades, but blades and melee are my specialty. We have any idea where the source is?"

[greyerrant]

"Do you need a spare blade, or will what you're carrying suffice?" He thinks about the source of the drones and goes motionless, the armored figure almost pensive for a moment, then says.
" Yes. They seem to be coming from anomalous doors. So we should shut them. I believe explosives would do nicely."

He raises a hand, and points a single finger upwards. "Let's work our way topside, closing doors as we go."

[wheyoftheadept]

"All I need is 'Ni-chan, here." She raises her blade, to indicate that's what she's talking about. "Okay. Boom sounds good to me, if I can use you for cover. I've had some trouble getting the room doors open without getting stuck. Don't wanna turn myself into spackle."

It is worth nothing that the only armor she has on is a thin ballistic vest.

"This stairwell only lets you go down. The up stairs are on the other end of the hall. ...I got mixed up and went the wrong way." There's distinct irritation with herself. "You want point?"

[greyerrant]

"I've got more armor. Work around the flanks and hamstring them while I engage."

He nods, his gear all as ready as it will be, then heads down the stairs and heads towards the upstairs stairs, bolter roaring as soon as he spots drones.

"Let's make an end of this."

No loud battlecries in mixed company, just a cool, determined comment.

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday was thinking the same thing. She treats him like the mobile cover he is, darting out and finishing off what he softens with bolter fire. If a drone gets any clever ideas about flanking, she's there, grinning, and then the drone isn't. She takes some damage, but doesn't seem to notice it any more than she did in the stairwell.

They're about halfway when she points to the side. "Room! Left side. Can ya get the door open?"

Not really necessary to point it out, since the pulling effect has already kicked in, but habit is tough to break.

[greyerrant]

Loken thunders into the room, sensors playing over the drones instead. The chainsword roars. Loken bellows. The drones close in.

And Battle. Is. Joined.

[wheyoftheadept]

Well, Saturday had been thinking about softening them up with a grenade, but this works too. More to cache away for later.

She's getting the hang of how Loken operates: he charges, scattering them like so much wheat, but in a mob like this enough peel off the sides that she can stand in the lee and finish of the bruised remnants of his charge. Kinda like fighting with Guts; she's not used to being the backup muscle, but the sheer novelty is entertaining enough. And it's kinda nice, not having the whole damn combat hinge on her ability to not get hit. Almost relaxing, really, to have someone else drawing all the aggro so she can really line up her shots and make 'em hurt.

By the time the room is empty, she's having vague tactical ideas about converting the big guys into some kind of actual mobile platform. The mouse lady could launch her air support off Loken's helmet, god knows....

She checks the hall.

"Exit's clear. Get back outside and I'll throw a grenade in behind us, see if that seals the door."

[greyerrant]

"Do it." He complies and exits the room at Saturday's urging, swapping his bolter to a two-handed grip and mag-clamps his chainsword to his backpack, covering as many angles as he can, eyes scanning for any new drones to come and face them. He is glad to have a competent battle-partner, even if she is quite a bit smaller than his hulking brethren, and he approves of her tactical acumen.

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday follows him, pulling the pin and throwing as soon as her foot crosses the threshold. She slams the door shut; there's a muffled WHOMP, it bulges slightly - and then it disappears.

She whoops.

"Okay, one down!"

[greyerrant]

"Excellent. Let's proceed further in." He storms ahead, firing from the hip as they continue to climb the rig by stairs, disabling or damaging drones with an impressive degree of accuracy for someone firing on the move. He stops near another door, and looks back at Saturday.

"You ready?"

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday nods, and follows him in. This room has hazards; there's office gear scattered around, and the drones grab bats as soon as they realize the two fighters aren't gonna play.

"Hoi, chummer, fuck off!" She hollers an ancient Red Town war cry as a pack of them thinks to skirt the one-man tank show and plunge directly for her. Loken is busy with his own pile, covered in swarming drone limbs and entirely preoccupied. She plunges into the thick of it and rolls out the other side, drone limbs dropping in her wake. It's not enough. The mob, thinner but still kicking, reforms and lurches towards her. She dodges to one side -

But a drone hand grasps a handful of her too-large jumpsuit. She's arrested mid-motion, pulled off balance, and goes to one knee. Just for a moment, but that moment is all the drones needs. She's fast, not large; agile, not strong. They overwhelm her.

"Fuck," she mutters

[greyerrant]

Loken grunts, himself heavily occupied by drones, then whirls his chainsword around himself, carving a drone-gore (mostly printer ink and thumbtacks) mess out as he raises his bolter to free his erstwhile companion, then hesitates, realizing that a fragmentation blast from the shells might well kill her with shrapnel. Grimly, he wades into the heaving mass, left fist closed and moving like a hydraulic piston, mashing drones flat in an effort to free Saturday.

"Too many" He observes laconically.

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday bites at one drone, breaking whatever passes for a fingerbone. She's too busy to snark back: the drones with bats are busy trying and failing to break Loken, but the ones without are grabbing at her with hard fingers and ah, fuck, that was something metal slicing across her ribs - scissors, fuckitty fuck.

They sink into her side and she howls in pain, donkey-kicking back at whichever of the three holding her down she can reach. Something crunches behind her and a wave of boiling coffee pours over her ankle.

"Motherfuck - " But she feels one set of hands slip away and twists, digging her metal nails into a drone's arm until she feels its false skin pop. Green ink wells up, nice and slippery, and she's able to yank her hand free.

'Ni-chan had sunk inside her arm when she was grappled. Loken may have assumed she'd dropped her blade in all the chaos. But as she scampers back out of the crowd and resets herself, it's hard to miss that her sword grows from the palm of her hand. Organically, not mechanically; it's not stored in her arm, it's part of it.

Saturday stomps her burned foot once, to check that it's steady. Then she gets back to work.

[greyerrant]

Loken crushes another drone by bodily slamming it into the wall, leaving it shattered and oozing toner, slumped over onto the floor. He looks at Saturday. He sees the sword leave her hand. He assumes, perhaps wrongly, that it is some kind of implanted weapon like special operatives of the Sigilite sometimes use. He doesn't bother with such things, for he was forged as a weapon entirely long ago. And he puts that forging to good use, drawing his chainsword again and laying waste to two bat wielding drones, the chainsword exploding the bats into a cloud of sawdust and splinters before he tears it through their bodies.

"We're almost clear to the next one." He says, pointing in the direction of another door.

[wheyoftheadept]

"Yeah - gimme a sec." Saturday hisses and pokes at her side. Some blood is leaking out. "Dammit - don't suppose you got a painkiller or anything - "

She'd kept the spare cloth from turning her sleeves into grips. Now she uses them to bind the wound up as best she's able - not very well, but it keeps the blood inside, where it's supposed to be.

"Dangit, Maggie, the one time I get decently tagged and you're on the other side of the metaverse - fuck, ow."

[greyerrant]

"If you cannot fight efficiently, I advise you to turn back for now. I would not have your death on my conscience, should I be able to prevent it."

He says this without condemnation or condescension, instead, a slight edge of concern in his voice, looking hesitantly from Saturday to the door.

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday huffs in frustration.

"I can take one more good hit, then I'll be out. It makes sense to circle back, see if I can hit the medbay."

She doesn't want to be out this early in the game. Her mouth is fixed in an angry frown.

"Wish I had my gear. I had my own armor, custom fit, \ didn't come through with me - my atmo mask, my goggles, goddammit."

She pulls hard on her make shift bandage, tightening it.

"Yeah. I'll split off and look for medical. Can't be helped."

[greyerrant]

Loken nods, and turns back to the fray, "I will buy you some time." He hurls himself at the drones, chainsword shrieking and bolter firing full auto, throwing some degree of caution to the wind to buy Saturday enough time to get clear and then some.

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday goes, one hand on her ribs as she hurtles through Loken's wake to the thinnest part of the crowd and shears through. Hands reach after her, brushing her hair, her suit, and then she's free, retreating down the corridor through paths they've already cleared.

"Thanks!" she calls over her shoulder.