Monday, June 19, 2017

Nobunaga's Ambition

If your life sucks as much as every other thirty-something whose kids are home for the summer, their minds are education free, their little darling feet pounding around the house and outside, then you need a trip in the wayback machine. Before first person perspective induced a barf worthy experience while watching your sibling play PC Games, kids used to laugh and play and grow together.

Grow. With wholesome, yet educational experiences, such as conquering feudal japan and differentiating between samurai and the rogue ronin. Overtaxing peasants and throwing them rice because it's more efficient. Great parenting fell off the wagon in the year 2000 with Morrowind and Ultima IX.

So park your kid on and pull up the old greats. Believe it or not, a crash course in tactics, polysci and waste management actually better prepares them to be a responsible citizen then the newest crap from Disney- whatever the rando guitar playing princess with the pegasus has to impart, it's certainly not practicality.

Bonus: They also pick up boss catch phrases like "The enemy has turned tail and run, Ha ha ha, Yuk yuk yuk" to console you in your adage, and for use in estranging them from their annoying friends who refuse to be politely disinvited from visiting again. Ever.

Play it Here

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Bo Peep and Her Sheep: The NSFW Brit Rhymes (2)

Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,
and doesn't know where to find them;
leave them alone, And they'll come home,
wagging their tails behind them.

Little Bo Peeping was, back in the day, a reference to being stuck in the stocks. You've seen them at Disney (odd reference, right?) where your head and arms are locked in and small children use you for a stumping point.

Returning your sheep to Bo was just herding the little boogers back to their parents so that they no longer innocently tortured the victims of slightly more than Facebook shaming.

South of the Border it had more to do with returning things (and stories) to their rightful place and less to do with the Brit version that was sung in the streets to herd the avenging little angels back home (or to the square if it was a child) as it was adopted into a novel.

The things you learn when you study Brit Lit.

To keep things even with the mudslinging- A Fun Fact:
When the cult formed to drink the Kool-Aid and guide the brilliants who partook to the Mother Ship behind the Hale Bop Comet (still couldn't make up stuff this good) the guide was named Bo and his invisible counterpart (I'll repeat that, as it bears repeating) his INVISIBLE counterpart, was named Peep. God Bless America as well :)

Friday, June 9, 2017

All of the Nursery Rhymes Explained (NSFW - Couldn't make up stuff this good)

So in the interest of explaining how modern mythology blends through Christian mythology, the Bible and Politics, I took on Mixed Up Mother Goosed.

That's right, Mixed Up Mother Goose. The 80s Sierra PC Game. The level of NSFW should make you laugh hysterically as you slowly comprehend all that is Brit and how they used to pass the news (Newsies and Horatio Alger, move Over, we are talking social capital here).

While the narration is totally kid friendly we are talking a Ren and Stimpy level of adult entertainment, and I'll spend the next couple weeks walking you through it. Mother Goose's collection of nursery rhymes were some of the best compiled (arguably) by Newbury.

And here they are in Hi Def (j/k we're talking 16Bits of love).

We kick it off by returning to Mary Mary her watering can. I don't even want to KNOW what that signifies in semiotics, because Mary Mary Quite Contrary was Mary I o'England, a devout Catholic and the political party responsible for the beheadings of many a Heugenot. Beheadings weren't her only method of religious dissuasion, the diplomatic girl loved crucifixion, complete with immolation. That's right, M I o E was so thug as f--- that she not only crucified those who chose religious freedom and reflexive thought on prayer (didn't Jesus give us that?) she pulled a Guy Fawkes on them.

Her reasons? Her dad dumped her mom, and when the Holy Roman church talked back he kicked them out of their own party and started the Anglicans (this, incidentally led to the KJV Bible, but not for decades). She got disowned. And apparently resented that. Psychology in the 1500s? Not on point.

So what's up with her silver bells, her cockleshells and her pretty maids all in a row?
Believe it or not, that's a toned down version of history. Silver Bells were "putting the screws to people" (real thing, there goes your ability to give a thumbs up) Cockleshells are pretty self explanatory (and you thought Aaron and Moses went at it over the golden calf), and pretty maids... well lets just say there was a long line for the two blade guillotine... Maybe they just didn't have euphemisms for non-spontaneous human combustion involving holy symbols. Creative.

So there you have it, we're aiding and abetting by helping Mary water her "garden" (see also: graveyards). Ladies and Gentlemen, Mixed Up Mother Goose, a walk on the wild side that your kids won't notice and you'll never forget.

Monday, June 5, 2017

The Origin of Love Someone who Makes you the Best Version of Yourself?

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I love you not only for what you are,
but for what I am when I am with you.
I love you not only for what you have made of yourself,
but for what you are making of me.
I love you for the part of me that you bring ou

Saturday, June 3, 2017

SAS - At the Warehouse

Yegor drummed his fingers heavily on the steering wheel of the van. Ba-da-dump. Ba-da-dump. It was one thing to find himself suddenly in the middle of a street fight, but this couldn’t be called anything other than a shadowrun. His first real shadowrun.

The Amerindian sat calmly in the seat next to him, his shotgun resting across his lap, the barrel pointed toward the passenger door. Yegor went through a checklist in his head. It was a nervous habit, but it passed the time, and helped to reassure him that he hadn’t missed anything. Changed our commlink access IDs. Spoofed our comm numbers. Registered the Flash-Paks. Registered the commlinks. Registered my drones. Doberman in the back of the van. Lynx in the back of Smith’s pickup. Mossberg loaded and calibrated. Magazines in my jacket.

Ba-da-dump. Ba-da-dump. Ba-da-dump.

He looked at the glowing amber clock in the corner of his AR display. 4:12 AM. He was glad he went to bed early. He was feeling well rested, at least. Hopefully most of the punks in this hideout would be passed out drunk right now.

There was going to be shooting tonight, there was no doubt about that. There were too many guys inside for there not to be. Even if they were tired, they were going to know they were under attack soon enough. Lokk was creeping up to the warehouse even now.

Lokk was a pro – despite his propensity for extreme violence, he was a skilled infiltrator. The old warehouse had an external power connection. Lokk cuts the fence, disables the power, and opens the main garage door manually. Everyone slips in nice and quiet. From there, take out as many people as possible while they are still groggy, grab the bossman, and get out before Lone Star shows up. Simple.

Yegor’s ear twitched. His drumming fingers stopped.

He heard something.

“Faaack! They facking saw me!” Lokk’s voice rang through the teams’ commlinks. Automatic weapon fire rang out, creating an odd echo as it rang loudly through the commlink  and was also heard a few hundred meters away.

Yegor threw the van into gear, chirping the tires as the van lurched out of the alleyway and roared out into the street. The warehouse was the only prominent structure on the street, and it loomed ominously in the darkness ahead. Muzzle flashes from the second floor flared brightly in Yegor’s thermographic vision. He could see the heat of other figures rousing themselves through the windows as the van hurtled down the street. The parking lot of the warehouse was blocked by a tall chain-link fence and gate, which they were rapidly approaching.

“Hang on!” he barked to Joe.

Cutting the tires sharply, Yegor felt the van lean heavily onto the driver’s side tires as he whipped it into the chain-link gate. Spinning the wheel sharply in the opposite direction, Yegor maintained the perfect balance of speed and control as he brought the van to bear on the rickety metal garage door. He squared his shoulders and braced himself as well as he could.

With a cacophonous crash, the van punched through the metal strips of the garage door and into the warehouse. Yegor’s eyes darted around the room, but didn’t see any warmth in the main garage. Good. We should have a few seconds.

In the rearview mirror, Yegor saw Smith’s pickup pull into the lot behind him. Smith jumped out and whipped the tarp off of the flatbed of his truck.

Friday, May 26, 2017

SAS- Mister Johnson (Shadowrun)

Yegor was careful to clean up after himself. With his Edit app, he altered the access logs, removing his account ID. From there, it was a simple matter to create a timed script to erase his logout record, which would appear when he disconnected, erase the admin account that he had created, and then erase itself. Steeling himself mentally, he disconnected.

The world spiraled and streaked back into place around him. It took a second for him to remember how to focus his eyes and breathe. Subconscious body functions tended to get screwed around when logging out. He shook his head groggily, and saw Smith walking back his way. Sirens wailed in the distance.

“Lone Star will be here any minute,” Smith said calmly. “The target of the hit was evidently an important Evo scientist. We’re going to appropriate the van and take them all to Evo.”

Yegor nodded brusquely. “I’ll ride behind you. Hopefully they won’t fuck with us again.”

* * * * *

Evo Corporation’s Pittsburgh office was in the heart of downtown, yet their campus appeared a world apart. The corporation’s core philosophy was said to be pushing humanity and meta-humanity forward, and their philosophy was reflected in their architecture. The tower swooped upwards into the sky, a slightly crescent-shaped structure that might not have appeared structurally stable to all but the most well-trained eye.

Yegor had mixed feelings at the sight of it. He remembered a time when he had dreamed of working at a mega-corp. That felt like a lifetime ago. In a way, it was – goblinization really was like being reborn. Yeah, reborn over the course of three days of agony. Like a slow-burning phoenix, only without the awesome. All the while knowing that you’ve got a lifetime of bigotry and hatred to look forward to. Fuck.

Despite the progressive appearance of the company headquarters, Yegor noted that they still had a wall around it. An ivory colored, ornately decorated wall, but still a wall. The guard station also presented a fa├žade of pleasantry, but there was no prettying up the MP5s that the guards were carrying, nor the stoic expressions on the faces of the patrols walking the grounds. A couple of the guards were trolls. Not a huge surprise – guard duty was one role that trolls could occasionally break into with megas, but Yegor still nodded approvingly.

The beat-up brown van rolled up to the checkpoint. Yegor cringed a little at the thought of the scene through the gate guard’s eyes – a shot-up van rolls up, driven by an obvious shadowrunner, the cabin filled with bloodstains, an Amerindian riding shotgun,  and a muscle-bound orc babysitting a panicked family and a wounded man in the back… Shit, it sounds like the start of a terrible joke.

The guards reacted as Yegor expected they would. Call for backup. Guns drawn. “Show me your hands!” Circling the van. Two of them even took aim at Yegor. Yegor drummed his fingers on the wheel of the Mini, doing nothing to conceal the bored expression on his face. Fucking wage-slaves.

Once their story had checked out, they were waved through the gate quickly. Four Doberman drones joined the party, pacing their vehicles as they were led to a secure lot. Yegor was waved urgently into a parking spot by an Evo security guard, who was probably around twenty but looked more like sixteen.  Probably the most excitement this kid has had in his life. Yegor started to reach for his Mossberg, but stopped short when the kid tapped the barrel of his MP5 twice against the glass of his window.
“No weapons allowed in the offices!” the guard hollered nervously. Yegor’s face screwed into a grimace despite himself, and his resulting grim visage appeared to scare the guard even more. The guard raised his submachine gun, keeping it trained on him. His hands were steady. Point for him.

Yegor leaned back away from his gun, opened the door of the car, and clambered out. If the kid looked a bit nervous before, his expression turned downright comical as Yegor rose to his full height, towering over him. The guard took three quick steps back and raised the barrel of the gun about thirty degrees, keeping it pointed in the direction of Yegor’s chest.

Another guard approached. This one was older, an orc, his graying hair cropped in a short buzz-cut. He held his MP5 with an easy confidence and posture that indicated that he had used it many times before, and his expression offered the notion that he would be perfectly happy to use it again.

“Problem?” the orc growled to the younger guard.

Yegor’s temper boiled over, and his booming voice overrode the kid’s. “Yeah, we got a problem. We saved the ass of one of your best scientists and delivered him right to your fuckin’ door, and we’re being treated like fuckin’ gutter trash.”

The orc eyed Yegor, his expression neutral. “If you did, Evo will take care of you. Our boss will want a word with you and your friends.” His speech was more articulate than Yegor had expected.

Yegor looked over at the van, which had parked only a few spots away. A swirl of activity surrounded it. An Evo doctor and two medics were carefully removing the injured scientist and loading him into a med-drone. Two other people, psychologists maybe, were steering the wife and kids away from the chaos. Eight armed guards held Smith, Joe and Lokk at gunpoint. The three men stood at ease, Lokk with a bemused expression on his face. Yegor snorted. Heh. Check out these badasses. They ain’t even mad.

Yegor leaned against his Mini Cooper and stewed quietly. He felt twitchy. He hadn’t ever been in a gunfight before. He hadn’t expected it to twist him up so much. His chest ached from the shots he had taken, although he was sure that he wouldn’t have anything worse than an ugly bruise from them.

It didn’t take longer than two minutes for the Evo team to sweep the wounded scientist and his family off in the direction of their company clinic. Maybe it was even a company hospital – no way to know unless you worked there. Yegor tapped his foot impatiently, glaring at the young, blond-haired guard. The kid gulped loudly enough to hear.

After a couple of minutes, the orc paused and cocked his head slightly. His nodded to himself twice, and said “Yes, sir.” Then he spoke, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Mr. Johnson would like to speak with you all.” He looked over to the large group of guards and drones watching the other three men and made a quick gesture with his gun. Then he looked at Yegor and pointed his gun barrel in the direction of the other group. Yegor got the message, and moved to join them.

Despite his irritation, Yegor was impressed with the precision of the guards. They didn’t look like they would hold up to a heavy assault, but it wouldn’t be for lack of discipline. They formed up around the group, with the orc taking point. Yegor noticed for the first time that one of the other guards was an elf, and another a dwarf. Interesting bunch of troops they’ve put together here. Wonder if they’re hiring.

The group marched into the building. Yegor felt apprehension building. He could feel those dreams of working for the mega-corps tickling the back of his mind again. When he had goblinized, he had known those dreams were dying, unless he wanted to work a dock or security beat. He shook his head, as if the act might dislodge those old hopes.

The group came to a cargo elevator, where the orc waved Yegor and his friends within. Yegor’s eyebrow twitched with surprise upon realizing that the orc and the four Doberman drones were the only ones coming up with them. The rest remained behind. The sandy-haired young guard looked visibly relieved to be leaving the group. Yegor chuckled evilly at the kid’s expression. Kid still needs some work. Hope he doesn’t get himself killed in the first corp raid that hits this place.

The elevator rose rapidly to the twenty-second floor, opening with a gentle ping. The orc led the four men out and down a short, white-walled corridor into a large lobby. Yegor’s eyebrows went up.

The lobby’s glass panel windows offered a spectacular overlook of the Pittsburgh sprawl. The design of the building left Yegor with the feeling that the office was flying. Yegor felt a touch of vertigo for a moment – he had never been this far from the ground in his life. He turned away from the window and towards the receptionist’s desk, and was immediately glad that he did.

The woman seated behind the desk could have stopped a train with a come-hither look. Long, curly red hair, light tan skin, swept back pointed ears, curves in the all right places, and a conservative green dress that conceded slightly to sexiness with a narrow but deeply diving neckline. Her green eyes actually seemed to glitter – Cybernetics? Tech-contacts? Bioware? – as she appraised the group for a moment and turned her attention to the orc. “Erickson,” she said with a small smile. “He’ll be right with you.” The smile left her face as she turned to the rag-tag group. “Please, take a seat.”

Yegor snorted. He hadn’t been in a business yet where there was a chair that could accommodate him. And yet, when he turned, there was an array of comfortable plush chairs and sofas, including a massive white recliner that was obviously sized for trolls. You gotta be fucking kidding me. He walked over and sprawled out on the chair, relishing the comfort of sitting in a chair that fit for a change. His worn-out armored jacket was probably going to make all kinds of scuffs on the furniture, but Yegor didn’t give a shit. I have GOT to get me one of these. Damn.

The seat had the added benefit of facing the receptionist. Yegor didn’t even try to hide his staring. Her desk was more like a translucent table, doing very little to obscure her as she worked. Her nimble fingers darted rapidly across several projected AR displays. They looked like reports of some kind. Her dress covered her knees, but not much farther. What he could see of her slender legs was as perfect and unblemished as the rest of her. She tapped a foot idly as she worked. She had to know she was being visually devoured, but she didn’t give any indication that she was bothered by it.

Yegor glanced over at the others and snorted. Lokk was drooling over the elf as hard as he was. Joe and Smith looked calm and collected, although both of them allowed their gaze to linger on the elf several times as well. The orc guard, Erickson, kept his eyes trained on the group, his weapon still cradled easily.

They weren’t waiting for long. A large mahogany door behind the receptionist swung open silently, and a man emerged. He smiled briefly at the receptionist, who spoke a few quiet words to him that Yegor could not make out. He then turned his attention to Erickson. The orc spoke briefly, nodded at the man’s response, and turned his attention back to Yegor’s group as the man approached them.
This guy’s got money, Yegor thought grumpily.  He was nattily attired in a neatly pressed suit that looked like it cost more than Yegor’s Mini Cooper. His long, dark hair was combed back neatly, and partially obscured his long, pointed ears. Most of his hair was clipped in place with a polished silver clip of the sort that was growing popular among elves, although several strands fell forward to frame his face, lending him an air of mystery.

“Gentlemen. I am Mr. Johnson, and I represent Evo Corporation’s inter-corporate interests. Elandra and Mr. Erickson have informed me of your recent heroism. It appears that Evo owes you a substantial debt.” The elf’s voice was resonant and melodious, like a blues singer. Yegor hated it. Why is it that I want to fuck every elven woman with a pulse, but punch every elven man in the face?

Mr. Johnson produced four certified credsticks from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, and passed one to each of the men. “We insist that you allow us to offer you some small compensation for your intervention. And, if you are interested, our company would like to offer you additional compensation to investigate this incident further.”

Yegor gave the credstick a quick once-over and smoothly popped it into the datajack in his skull. It registered as holding one thousand nuyen. Not an insignificant amount of cash, but nowhere near worth getting shot at for. Yegor snorted, and spoke up before any of his friends could. “That’ll barely pay for ammo, much less pay the rent, buddy. Not interested.”

Mr. Johnson eyed Yegor for a moment, expressionless. Yegor was impressed by his poker face. Not many people kept a straight face while within arm’s reach of a disgruntled troll. He turned his gaze to the others. Lokk was looking at Yegor and nodding – he knew a raw deal when he heard it. Injun Joe had looked as though he was going to say something before Yegor jumped in, but now he appeared content to wait for the elf’s response. Smith’s poker face was even steadier than the elf’s. Johnson nodded.

“Point taken, Mr…?”

Yegor shrugged. “Crowbar.”

“Very well, Mr. Crowbar. It is true, you have done us a great service.” Mr. Johnson turned toward the secretary, Elandra, and held up three fingers. In seconds, the credstick in Yegor’s skull blanked out and re-registered with three thousand credits. Nice trick.

“Now, to the other matter. It is obvious that someone intends a great deal of harm to one or more of our top scientists. This is the sort of matter that is very difficult for Evo to investigate through conventional channels, but the four of you have proven to be very capable gentlemen.” There was the barest pause before the word “gentlemen”. Yegor chuckled. The elf continued.

“This is what we have in mind…”

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Creating Poetry

Seduced by a Laugh

Falling through Darkness
Without Wings
Chasing a Moment
Already left Behind

Monday, April 24, 2017

Toymaker : Adventure Gaming

There's a new initiative on Steam to bring back old school gaming. While it hits me right in my sorry nostalgic heart, I regret the fact that in America indie tends to mean you couldn't make it. For fans of Final Fantasy and Pokemon, Toymaker is a trip in the way back machine with a new and familycentric plot that focuses around the myths and fairy tales that we used to have before the throwaway era. Go Green, people, Go Green! Either way it's a fun fling if you want to try it out and buy it if you love the unfolding plot.


Tuesday, April 18, 2017

SAS: Ch 6 Plugged In

The sudden silence was jarring. His ears were still ringing, but Yegor wasn’t certain that it was over yet. His ammo counter read 0/20, and a flashing amber text box in his HUD urgently declared “AMMUNITION DEPLETED”. Yegor wasn’t carrying any spare magazines. If they had any backup, he was in trouble.

Injun Joe moved more quickly now that all of the thugs were dead, racing to the fallen man and dragging him towards where Yegor stood. He noticed Lokk herding the man’s panicked wife and children that way as well, and – holy shit, was that Smith?

It sure was. Smith darted out of the intersection and moved to help Injun Joe drag the wounded man away from the carnage. He noticed Yegor as they moved, and mouthed a word in his direction. Sniper.

Shit. That was probably who dropped the Evo guy in the first place. <Aria, is communication back up?>

Aria appeared again on the edges of his vision. <No, Yegor.> She looked worried, and appeared as though she wanted to say more, but she did not.

Yegor acknowledged the VI with a grunt, and she vanished. He turned back to the motley group staggering in his direction. They had all moved as quickly as they could into the street a dozen or so meters north of the intersection, right near where he was standing. He realized that it had been sheer luck that had kept him out of the sniper’s field of fire – he must be down the street to the east, unable to see into the north or south side streets intersecting the main road.

Injun Joe went to work on the wounded man. The scientist was now lying face down in the street, blood pouring freely from the exit wound in his back. Joe ripped away the clothing surrounding the wound. The shot had gone straight through his left lung and blown a large, bloody hole out through his back. The guy sounded like he was drowning in his own blood. Yegor shook his head. He’s fucked.

Joe didn’t seem to think so. He rubbed his hands together calmly and began chanting again. It sounded almost like a tribal song this time. A faint golden glow surrounded his hands, and without hesitation, he placed them both over the gory wound in the man’s back. He made small movements with his hands as he chanted, as if he was folding invisible origami. Yegor couldn’t see any change in the man’s condition. He shook his head again.

The man’s wife was still sobbing hysterically, struggling to get to her husband. Lokk had one massive arm wrapped around the woman’s ribs like a boa constrictor, keeping her from interfering with the Amerindian. He was bleeding all over her, but if his wound caused him any pain, he didn’t show it. That wasn’t a pistol wound, either – the sniper must have hit him as well. Yegor couldn’t believe that he was still on his feet, much less restraining a one hundred-fifty pound woman with one arm.

Yegor turned his attention to Smith, and allowed himself a grim grin. “That was you, wasn’t it?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the van. He still didn’t know what happened to the guy in the back, and he didn’t really want to know.

Smith just nodded.

Aria appeared again in the corner of his vision. <Yegor, local communication has come back online.>

Yegor nodded brusquely. He still did that sometimes, responding physically or audibly to her, but she always seemed to be able to hear or see him when he did, so it was a habit that he was in no rush to break. He looked back over at Joe, still working on the critically injured man. He didn’t hear any sirens approaching, so the communication blackout had obviously worked. It looked like he had a minute.

He clambered back into his Mini Cooper, leaving the door open. “Do me a favor?” he said to Smith. “I’m gonna go in and see if I can find out who was jamming this spot. We get any heat, gimme a poke?”

Smith nodded, and turned back towards the carnage in the intersection. Moving with the grace of a panther, he darted from the buildings back to the shot-up van. Looked like he was planning on doing some cleanup, maybe a little looting. No shots rang out – hopefully the sniper had bailed.

Yegor took a deep breath. He hadn’t ever performed a real hack before, and the circumstances sucked, but fuck, he wanted to start shadowrunning, right? Looks like a shadowrun found me. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let himself descend directly into hot-sim VR.

* * * * *

The world lurched around him. His consciousness spiraled through static and sensory code fragments for a hundred years, or maybe a micro-second. Time was funny like that in the Matrix.

When his consciousness seated itself, he was Monolith. He looked around at the confines of his Fairlight Caliban from within for the first time. He hadn’t spent any time worrying about the sculpting of the node before he bought the device, and for a moment, he was stunned by at how incredible it looked.

The sculpting of the Caliban was that of a modern penthouse, overlooking the local Matrix from an elevated height. The walls were completely transparent virtual glass. He recognized the thickness of the reinforced glass as part of the upgraded firewall that he had installed, providing an effective layer of additional security to his node. Plush virtual couches, an extensive wet bar, and a crackling virtual fireplace presented the feel of a Manhattan mega-corp exec’s bachelor pad. Gentle elven violin music played quietly, not originating from any particular place, ever-present and soothing.

“Welcome, Yegor,” a sensual voice said behind him.

Monolith whirled, and Yegor was nearly blinded. He would have closed his eyes, but his eye-less icon interpreted the gesture by raising a hand to shield the golem’s face from the brilliant light now before him. With effort, Yegor slowly lowered Monolith’s massive obsidian hand and tried to make sense of what he was seeing before him.

A swirl of jagged, erratic shapes surrounded a brilliant white light, forming a discordant cloud of chaos. The light at the cloud’s core was so bright that Yegor could hardly keep his virtual vision trained in that direction. Pulses of raw emotion burst outward from the cloud, impacting upon Monolith, washing over him, assailing his psyche, tugging his own emotions in ways he could never have conceived.

Apprehension. Affection. Excitement. Fear. Shyness. Lust. Confusion. Attraction. Tension. Tenderness. Insecurity. Possessiveness. Passion. Concern. Devotion.
Yegor grunted from the assault on his emotions. As if in response, the cloud suddenly coalesced, the light within dimming significantly. The assault on his psyche was similarly muted. The protrusions and spikes flattened and curved, twirling around the spectral illumination in the vague form of a humanoid.

As if watching the resolution of a picture improve one layer at a time, the shape began to take on clearer definition, developing feminine curves, flowing hair, and elegantly swept back ears. With another layer of resolution, a dark evening gown painted itself upon the figure, followed by a sparkling set of jewelry. Another pass, and her beautiful facial features were defined.

The turbulent cloud of data became Aria. But her definition and resolution continued to improve. More scans passed over her form, and her appearance became beautiful beyond a degree that could ever be achieved in the real world.  Yegor could now see her with an impossibly perfect level of clarity. He had never seen anyone, anything so beautiful in his life. She smiled at him, and Yegor felt as though his blood was going to catch fire.

“Whoa,” he said eloquently. Brilliant. Shakespearean effort there, jackplug.

Evidently, it wasn’t as bad as he had feared. He felt rather than saw a surge of energy within Aria, and she lowered her gaze bashfully. Apprehension was heavy in her voice as she spoke again. “I have been spending idle processing cycles sculpting this node in a manner that I had reasoned you might find appealing. If there are improvements that you wish, please, inform me of them at your convenience.”

Yegor was dumbfounded. He had assumed that the current sculpting of the node had been the default setting of the Caliban. But this penthouse had nothing in common with his garage, and was nothing like anything that he and Aria had ever discussed. And he definitely loved how it looked. How did she…?

Monolith shook his head heavily, as if clearing the cobwebs. Eye on the ball, you idiot. “It, uh, looks great. I, uh, can’t really think of anything that I would change right now. And you look even more amazing, you know, in person.” Monolith’s robotic baritone voice resonated through the node, his speech mirroring his uncertainty.

Another surge of energy and emotions from Aria washed over him, even stronger than the first.

Joy! Validation! Panic! Passion! Love! Nervousness! Anticipation! Elation!

This was insane. He had been in full VR in the Matrix a thousand times before, and not once had he ever experienced anything like this. Did all virtual intelligences project like this? A virtual intelligence was not a fully realized, sapient artificial intelligence. A VI was just a well coded simulacrum. But this…

With a sudden burst of clarity, he realized this had to have something to do with being connected into the Matrix via hot-sim. He had only ever done that twice before, and both of those times he had been locked into the perspective of his combat drones. Hot-sim! Addicting as fuck, remember? Fucking gunfight, jackass! Cops any minute! Stop fucking around with your sexy VI!

Monolith shook his head again, and then a third time. Yegor rarely had difficulty focusing, but at this moment, it was nearly impossible. With a thought, Monolith crossed the room and looked out through one of the  windows, viewing the local Matrix.

Even that was a dazzling sight. Every commlink, every television, every router, every device with an active Matrix connection appeared as a point of energy that he could reach out and connect with. There were hundreds, thousands, even more if he sought them out.  A dizzying quantity of sites, but he was looking for one in particular.

The local Meta-Comm radio tower was sculpted with remarkable similarity to its real-world counterpart, with one major exception. The tower’s firewall made it look like an imposing black obelisk. Something looked a bit off about it, but he would need to go to the node and run Analyze on it to really tell what.

“Sorry, Aria, I have to get to work,” he said, more brusquely than he had intended. With another thought, he had vanished from the penthouse and appeared at the base of the tower. Time to load up.

* * * * *






* * * * *

Monolith was as ready as he could be. The black shroud of his Stealth program obfuscated his icon, keeping it nearly invisible. Beneath the shroud, he could clearly see the glowing crimson plate mail of his Armor app covering his body, and the crimson war-hammer representing his Attack app. If it hits the fan, at least my pants aren’t down.

His digital vision swept over the firewall of the node. Something had seemed off about it before, and now that his Analyze app was running, he could see it clearly.

The sculpting appeared in his vision as bunny footprints, visible along the side of the tower. A calling card? They jumped erratically up the side of the tower, and abruptly ended around eighty feet up. Yegor chuckled, and Monolith made a quiet sound like the grinding of gravel. There was an exploit opening where the footprints ended – he was sure of it.

Monolith stuck his massive maul to his back. It adhered as though it had been super-glued there. With the ease and grace of an Olympian, the obsidian golem climbed the smooth surface of the tower to the point where the footprints had vanished. It didn’t matter that there were no handholds – a function of his Exploit app allowed him to stick to the tower easily. Holding onto the tower effortlessly with one hand, he manifested the glowing blue drill of his Exploit app in the other and pressed it to the tower. The app latched onto the firewall and began drilling.

There was definitely a flaw in the code – the glowing blue drill punched through the firewall in seconds, creating an admin account for his icon. It vanished from the Matrix as Yegor unloaded it, and after a moment of hesitation, Monolith climbed through, logging onto the node as an administrator.

Red lights. Klaxons ringing. Fucking shit.

* * * * *

There were really only four things that a compromised node with an active alarm could do to repel an intruder. The first was reboot, which would of course punt the intruder from the node. Of course, that has the unfortunate side effect of disconnecting anyone else connected to the node as well. This was a public communication node with thousands of active connections, so that wasn’t likely to happen.

Some systems were configured to automatically attempt to sever the intruder’s connection once the new account logs in for the first time. Yegor hadn’t detected any such attempt, and it would have happened the moment he crossed the threshold of the node, so that was out too.

The other two possibilities were the ones you really didn’t want to deal with if you were a hacker. The system would either contact a security rigger to counter-hack the intruder, or launch IC to fight the intruder directly.

This particular node was equipped with the latter.

* * * * *

The world lurched around Monolith as the node’s sculpting appeared before him. It was a huge, boring room. Bare walls, digital filing cabinets, large doors to other parts of the network… it looked like a typical wage-slave hellhole, with one exception. Above him, thousands of ephemeral glowing cords blinked in and out of existence, each with a terminus at the top of the tower, each reaching out in a different direction. It made Yegor think of a three-dimensional asterisk made up of a hundred thousand glowing lines. Each one represented a user of the Pittsburgh Matrix, as they were routed through the tower to the next link in the chain connecting them to their eventual destination.

And there was that blinking red light and blaring alarm. Shit.

A large black tank materialized in the center of the node. Shit, shit, shit, fucking shit. The color of the tank was not lost on Yegor. It was a polite warning to intruders that this Intrusion Countermeasure didn’t intend to attack your icon, it intended to attack your psyche.

Most Black IC attacked the hacker by assaulting the part of the brain that controlled consciousness. Commonly called Blackout, that sort of IC wasn’t the worst. You’d be unconscious for a few hours, and wake up with the worst hangover you ever had. Most corps considered that fair punishment for sticking your nose in where it didn’t belong.

Rarer and far, far nastier was Black Hammer IC. This deadly form of Black IC would unleash raw, unfiltered bio-feedback to the user, burning out the user’s motor function, cognitive reasoning, and subconscious functions. That sort of IC wasn’t trying to knock you out – it was trying to kill you.

Yegor didn’t know what type of Black IC this tank was armed with, and part of him didn’t really want to. For the span of a heartbeat, he weighed his options. There were really only two. He could log out and return to his body, none the worse for wear, but the access log of the node would log his presence there, the fake admin account that he had created, and his access ID. He hadn’t had time to spoof it, which meant there would be a perfect, incriminating trail leading directly to his brand-new commlink.

Fuck that.

Monolith sprang into motion. In an instant, his icon was adjacent to the tank, and he brought his glowing crimson hammer of his Attack app crashing down onto the side of the turret. He had no idea what to expect.

The hammer impacted with a sound like a ringing gong. A pulse of code bleed flashed through his vision. He might have done some superficial damage to it, but it would take more than that to crash the tank.

With swiftness that would have been impossible in the real world, the turret swung to bear on Monolith and fired. A glowing red shell hit him solidly in the chest. His real-world grounded brain felt an instant of sheer terror in which he was certain he was blown to pieces, but the rules of the Matrix were different. His crimson Armor app flashed brightly at the moment of impact, interlaced with a green overlay from his Bio-Feedback Filter. It felt like a hard punch in the ribs, but that was all.

He darted to the side and swung again, and again. Each strike of his Attack program caused more data fragmentation and memory loss. Visually the black tank was beginning to develop a lattice of visual damage, like a spider web overlaid on top of the tank’s typical texture.

The tank’s turret followed him relentlessly, firing one shell after another at him. A corner of Yegor’s mind was amused. The idea of a tank shooting a person at point blank range and not budging him an inch was the sort of thing that you might see in a cartoon. But he knew that just like in the street, it would only take one lucky shot and it would be all over.

Better make sure I’m the one that lands it, then. Yegor deliberately stood his ground through the next cannon blast. The metaphor of the cannon shell left a heavy ringing sound in his head, but his Armor and Bio-Feedback Filter absorbed the blast. With all the concentration he could muster, he raised his crimson hammer over his head. It grew in size as he focused harder on it, and with all his mental strength, he brought it smashing down on top of the tank as hard as he could.

With a sound like shattering glass, the IC crashed. The tank collapsed into a million tiny black cubes, scattering erratically outward across the floor of the node. The cubes lingered for a small moment, and then vanished as if they were never there.

Yegor barked a laugh, causing Monolith to growl triumphantly. He looked down at his icon. Not a mark on it. I’m gonna have to hit BitByte up again after all. Fucking blade-ear knows his warez.

Okay, back to business. He was in the node with a fresh new admin account. The alarm was still going off, but now that the IC was down, that was no big deal. Using his new credentials, he disabled the alarm with a thought, and moved instantly over to the filing cabinets. Since the node had been configured to launch IC rather than call a rigger, Yegor figured it would probably be some time before an admin came to check out the node.

He launched his Browse app. An amber magnifying glass swept rapidly over the filing cabinet icons until it settled on the one he was looking for – the access logs. All right you son of a bitch, time to find out who  you are. He set his Analyze app to show all users that had directly connected with this node as the terminus in the past ten minutes.

His Analyze window appeared before his vision with two access IDs. One of them was his own. The second simply read:

LuCkY ChArMz

Yegor grinned. Monolith uttered a gravelly chuckle.


* * * * *

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Let's Read : The Little Book of Zen (3)

Question 2
"The world is it's own magic."
Shunryu Suzuki

From a Western Philosophical standpoint this lands firmly in metaphysics- the study of what is. It's a declarative statement about the world. However if we move beyond the closed system of symbolic logic then it drifts toward Epistemology, under Semiotics (the study of signs, signifiers and symbolism).

This fits nicely with many traditional Eastern counterparts in Epistemology, like the Japanese tea ceremony, in which one sets a relatively spare room with one centerpiece for conversation. In this sort of reflexive understanding, suddenly the statement "The world is it's own magic" inverts and we understand that it is us who are magic and that we find this in the world through our understanding of magic. That our knowledge of the meaning of the word magic and what it signifies leads us to know wonder and that simply contemplating this very statement will lead us down a road to more understanding and therefor more magic in our world.

It's hard to properly represent the Eastern Epistemology in a soliloquy, since it is an interchange of personal understandings until a greater knowledge is attained, but that is - perhaps - the point of the koan. It's designed for individual study by a master.

Let's try another (been on a Bob Ross tear here, so most of this was mentally narrated with his tones, join in the fun here and find that there are no mistakes... only happy little accidents...)

Question 3 (at Random):
We gaze
  Even and the Horses
This Morn


What can you draw from this, very E. E. Cummings, statement?

Saturday, April 8, 2017

SAS - Ch 5 - Street Fighter

“Yakety Yaaak! Eets a great sonnng! I’ve been telling every-baady!” the orc bellowed in his heavy Austrian accent. “Yoo got to check it ouut!”

Yegor snorted as he tossed his ratchet back into his toolbox. Yakety Yak, eh? He didn’t know that one. “Yeah, I’ll look into it.” He grabbed the engine and gave it a rough shake with his bare hands, making sure it was firmly secured. The Harley rocked back and forth, but the engine didn’t budge.

“Haah!” the orc laughed. “Yoo doo that!”

Lokk was a trip. He was one of the few denizens of the Pittsburgh sprawl that Yegor didn’t feel a compulsion to punch on sight. Which was probably a good thing, because Lokk was a shadowrunner, and made no effort to hide it. Everyone knew that if you needed some wetwork done, didn’t mind a mess, and came with the right creds, Lokk would be on board. The orc’s heavy combat axes were probably responsible for more deaths in downtown Pittsburgh than lung cancer, but as long as you didn’t have a contract on your head and didn’t do anything to piss him off, you were probably safe.

Yegor topped off the bike’s fuel, set the gas can down, and screwed the cap back onto the jet-black gas tank. “You’re set,” he said. “Fire it up.”

The orc clambered onto the motorcycle, settling his massive frame onto the worn leather seat. With a kick, the cycle roared to life. Sounded good as new.

“Haah!” the orc barked again. He punched two buttons on his commlink, and Yegor’s account registered a deposit of three  hundred fifty credits. “See yoo arowwnd, Crow-baah!” he bellowed as he turned the bike around and rolled out of the garage.

* * * * *

The gangers couldn’t possibly miss the massive troll bearing down on them, and it was obvious that they weren’t expecting it. The two in the street hesitated for a moment, and the one in the back of the van that was starting to climb out thought better of it and instead pulled the sliding van door most of the way closed, crouching behind it. For a second, it looked like they might reconsider.

Then they opened fire.

9mm rounds ripped through the air towards Yegor. The gangers had obviously been watching too many Karl Kombatmage vids, because they weren’t aiming worth shit. Most of the shots went wide, but one of them glanced off his hip, and another hit him squarely in the shoulder, making a dull whump as it flattened against his armored jacket. Yegor barely even felt them. He hoped that was a good thing.

At least he wasn’t out-gunned.

With another thought, the text box in his HUD flipped from semi-automatic to full-automatic. Yegor wasn’t so worried about the two guys in the street – they had no cover to speak of and might as well have been shooting pop guns at him. He was more worried about the driver and the guy in the back. He took aim at the van. The yellow crosshairs in his field of vision neatly overlaid the red crosshairs on the chest of the driver. He pulled the trigger and held it in.


The Mossberg’s blasts rang out like thunder through the intersection, the shotgun shaking with each shot as Yegor opened fire. Visible puffs of gas vented from the sides of the barrel as the barrel coolers and recoil compensators kicked in. Plasteel shell casings ejected in a perfect rainbow arc from the right-hand side of the shotgun, clattering erratically across the cracked asphalt.

The front windshield of the van exploded in a burst of glass shrapnel, and the driver’s head and torso were blown to pieces under the hail of flechette fire. The red crosshairs overlaying the driver vanished. Without releasing the trigger, Yegor brought the yellow crosshairs to bear on the thug hiding in the back of the van.


The driver’s side window shattered, and four jagged holes ripped into the side door of the van. The guy in the back of the van screamed in pain – some of the serrated pellets had gotten through. But the red crosshairs overlaying him in Yegor’s HUD didn’t waver, which meant his vital signs were still strong. He wasn’t out of the fight.

Yegor’s smartgun flashed a message in his vision – “MAGAZINE EMPTY”. The ammo counter in the corner read 10/20. <Switch mags,> Yegor commanded the shotgun. One of the modifications that he had made to the Mossberg was the addition of a second full-sized magazine. There was a subtle vibration from the shotgun as the adapter switched the feeder to accept the second set of shells.

The punks were rattled. One of them was headed towards the guy in the street, or maybe his wife, while still shooting at Yegor. The other was shooting at Yegor as fast as he could pull the trigger. Yegor suddenly realized that both of them had strange, freaked-out looks on their faces, and their shots were even farther off than before. What the fuck?

Yegor saw motion out of the corner of his vision. An Amerindian was approaching the firefight, his hand extended towards the thugs. He was chanting something in his native tongue. Holy shit, that’s Injun Joe. Fuck yeah, hit ‘em with some of that fucking redskin hoodoo shit.

Yegor ducked as two more shots whistled past his head. Fuck.

* * * * *

“Smith! How you doing, you son of a bitch? What the fuck are you doing in Rust Town?” Yegor asked, surprise evident in his voice.

Smith gave a small half-smile. “Work,” he said simply.

That was Jon Smith in a nutshell, right there. As non-descript, vague and mysterious as could be. Brown hair, brown eyes, Caucasian, a slight hint of five-o’clock shadow, and… and that was about it. He didn’t have any distinguishing features, visible scars, birthmarks – not a damn thing. He was a detective’s worst nightmare – he was just “an ordinary looking guy.”

That’s not to say Smith was ordinary. He was packing too much hardware for that. There were two heavy holsters discreetly tucked away under his stylish black coat, and a long, slightly curved sword on his back rounded out his ensemble.

Smith was a guy that was impossible to get a read on, so Yegor didn’t try. All that he knew was that Smith was originally from Chicago, just as he was, and he was an adept, which meant it was a bad idea to fuck with him. They had met a few times before. Smith used to go to Yegor’s father Vladimir for repairs on his truck back in Chi-town. Yegor liked him. He was obviously connected, his creds were good, and he didn’t seem to have anything against trolls. “So why are you in standin’ in my garage, then?”

Smith gestured to the pickup in the driveway behind him. “Need a little work done,” he said.

Yegor looked over Smith’s shoulder at his truck. It was a GAZ P-179 pickup. They had a reputation for being real workhorse vehicles, and it looked to be in good shape. You didn’t see them much outside of the sticks. At least it’s not another Nomad, Yegor thought to himself. “You know, my dad still works as a mechanic up at Corben’s Toolshed, if you want him to take a look at it.”

“No, I think this work is more up your alley,” Smith said simply as he handed Yegor a slip of paper.

Yegor read the list. Morphing license plates, off-road suspension, Jackpoint 3 Pilot program, smart tires, storage recess, shielding, and spoof chip. Yegor snorted loudly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

This was going to be fun.

* * * * *

Injun Joe was definitely doing something to fuck with the thugs. It looked like they were tripping on dopadrine, seeing things that weren’t really there. But they still had guns, and they were still shooting in Yegor’s general direction. All it takes is one shot, he reminded himself grimly.

One of the thugs was making a grab for the wife, but she was frantically fighting him off, still screaming bloody murder. The kids were cowering against the corner of a building, out of the immediate chaos. Good. Yegor took aim again at the thug in the back of the van.

A small flash of blue light within the van caught him by surprise, and the red crosshairs marking that thug in his HUD abruptly disappeared. What the fuck? Did Joe do that? He looked over quickly at the Amerindian. He was walking calmly in Yegor’s direction, arms outstretched towards the thugs, still chanting. Doesn’t look like it. He glanced back at the van. There was a figure on the other side of the van, but Yegor couldn’t make him out.

A sudden roar made Yegor jump. He swung his gun barrel in the direction of the sound, and his mouth fell open as he saw Lokk staggering through the intersection. Where the fuck did HE come from? His axe was raised above his head, blood was pouring from a gaping bullet wound in his ribs, and he was racing toward the fight with a manic expression on his face. Yegor had no idea how he could even stand with that wound, but not only was he standing, he was sprinting. In moments he had closed the gap to the spiky-haired punk that was all over the wife.

The poor jackplug turned just in time for Lokk’s axe to catch him full force in the face, burying itself two-thirds of the way through his skull. A blast of blood and flesh flew outward from his head, spraying the screaming woman in a fine red mist. The thug dropped like a marionette with its strings cut, and the woman collapsed into the fetal position, screaming even more hysterically than before.

With a wild scream, the last remaining thug set his feet wide apart and fired six more shots at Yegor. Four of them went wide, but two shots struck him squarely in the chest. A momentary look of comical relief and triumph crossed the thug’s face, but it faded as he realized that the plating on Yegor’s jacket and his naturally dense ribcage kept the shots from piercing through.

The punk kept pulling the trigger, but the pistol’s hammer just made a dull plink plink plink as it thumped home each time without a bullet in the barrel to receive it.  A look of stark terror crossed his face. He was living out his final moments, and he knew it.

With a grim smirk, Yegor leveled the yellow crosshairs on his HUD neatly atop the thug’s red one, and opened fire.

* * * * *