A sense of warmth touches the edges of your consciousness, before growing and enveloping you wholly. Then comes the cold.
Upon instinct, your eyes open and you blink, feeling partially woozy and disoriented. A mixture of heat and sensation reminds you of your body as numbness recedes. The diluted mixture you see before you sharpens as you stay still: your mind makes out the glassy interior which you are in, your arms, hands and feet all drenched with some kind of transparent yet non-viscous fluid which would explain the change of temperature.
It only takes a while for your mind to catch up to what your body is sensing: You are on the Paracelsus Sword. Prison ship of the HMRC, now defunct in its role as a utility branch of the UWM. You remember your purpose and why you were sent here. To rot and spoil by crimes deemed judgemental enough to sentence your whole life by a past misdeed.
Looking around, you notice you are fully naked—quite a normal idea given the method of transportation in space—and see a bunch of clothes outside the cryo-pod you are in. A shirt and pants, lacking any underwear. You recall the idea of most ships being run or directly aided by an AI. A console blinks to your right. It's name is Steve.
>Welcome to the HMRC. Accidental nuclear detonations are the rule, not the exception. Now nut up, come to terms with the fact that the destination of your trip is now an irradiated crater, and calmly follow the robotic swordsman and his genetically modified cat girl in their search for the invisible assassins.
>Go down that hall, out the hanger door, hang a left and climb up onto the Cage structure until you find an elevator down to the ground level. Then look around for what looks like a 4 armed marble statue with an anthropomorphic cat riding on it's shoulder. He'll take you down into a physics defying flesh hell where you will learn the meaning of regret.
You get yourself dressed and your weapon locked and loaded, but when it comes to making a good impression you think that it may beyond your capacities. I mean... May and Faith just spent the last few minutes nudely screaming at each other, each presenting wildly different stories of whats going on; Stacy literally waved his junk in the Messengers face, and the eunuch just insulted their godking.
It's a good thing the messenger has the emotional range of an apathetic block of plastic, otherwise they'd probably just weld the shuttle door shut and push it off a cliff into the sea. Holy hell man, opening this shuttle was like opening pandora's box and finding it was filled entirely with sentient razor blades that have a taste for eyes and genital skin.
—Piecewise on HMRC Diplomacy
"You get a standard MK I suit. That's it. Your quarters has a bed and a complementary cyanide capsule. You've got 5 tokens to spend."
—The Armory Master
"You speak of humanity as a commodity which can easily be discarded, a bauble you can cast aside of your own volition. A rather egotistical idea, to be honest. Humanity is not something that can be done away with voluntarily anymore then it may be gained voluntarily. "
—VR!Jim to Jim
First there were nine
Then there were five
Now two remain
—A riddle about the Armory Master's true nature
Love: like picking the flavor of your Cyanide pill
—A thread title from Mission 6
You get out of the VR and are confronted with a scene of your teammates apparently trying to get a demon drunk at gunpoint.
You open your faceplate and watch the town burn as you eat a light lunch. This would go great with some fiddle music.
And he's got all the powers of zeus. Well, the lightning at least. Not the "Turning into a swan and fucking random ladies powers" though.
—Piecewise on a genetically modified inmate
Milno: "Could you guys also make a hamburger out of this arm when they cut it off? I wanted to eat it just for the sake of tasting it."
Steve: >That is horrible and disgusting. It will no doubt set you apart and create fear in your team mates. So of course.
"Hello. One time I fucked a tiger, but that was back when I was a man."
—May introducing herself to Lyra
Mesk: "I heard the Doc altered his brain to make him a robo-sexual, so I've been sneaking aphrodisiacs into his food to see if I can eventually get him to fuck a toaster."
Mesk: "What? It's ethical! Probably."
Cecil: "Dear general populace. I offer my sincere condolences and apologies regarding the recent acts of intimidation, disturbing the peace, arson, mass murder..."
May: "ALL YOU MOTHERFUCKERS BETTER GET THE FUCK OUT MY GRILL BEFORE I'M FORCED, I REPEAT, FORCED BY THE GREAT WEIGHT OF YOUR COLLECTIVE STUPIDITY TO TAKE THIS RIFLE AND FIRE RANDOMLY INTO THE CROWD." *opens fire after the crowd doesn't stop*
Cecil: "Mass murder(s)..."
May: "We are the 11th Regiment of the H.M.R.C. Conscripted Special Forces. I am High Commissioner May Elizas Roxine, taking charge of Diplomatic Relations for my posse. It is an honor to be greeted by those before me."
Xan: "Yes, we are here to protect the flesh puppet you call king."
May: "Please forgive Rearguard Sergeant Xan Jujubutt over here. He's a fine soldier, but his wife and children have recently been captured by space pirates, and it is quite hard on his psyche. So attribute any negativity of his speech as haberdashery on account of his PTSD."
Faith: "Pay her no mind, as you may have guessed, many of us are quite eccentric. She's unusual even by our own standards, and holds no particular rank or purpose."
May: "Don't listen to Team Chef and Bathroom Maintainer Faith Valentimos over there. She's been having delusions of grandeur ever since she lost her real human body a few missions ago. Poor thing, got sodomized by an Equestrian and all her internal organs were ruptured. She enjoyed it at least though, that's why her tribal name roughly translates into "Woman Who Spend Too Much Time With Horses.""
Charles: "I used to be a psychiatrist. In all my years of experiences, I have never seen anyone afflicted with such a severe mental disorder as she has, so please pardon her, well, psychotic ramblings."
May: "I'm pretty sure snorting 20 ounces of X-Cocaine and then railing on for hours about how everyone is in on the bovine conspiracy doesn't qualify you to be a psychiatrist. Yeah, they've been through a lot. Try to be easy on them, all right?"
Piecewise: The messenger in red watches with marked restraint as the naked albino argues with what appears to be a skinless sexbot about who is in charge, who is insane and what exactly is going on. The most expression he shows is a slight tilt of the head when, amongst much screaming and jabbering from everyone on the shuttle, the conversation becomes an argument of which is better, sodomy or cannibalism. And then people being declaring that some woman named Feyri is their leader. He seems very bemused by all this.
There is no problem caused by highly unstable experimental space magic being wielded by a crazy person that cannot be fixed by highly unstable experimental space magic being wielded by a crazy person.
—A summary of manipulator and amp overloads
Serious Concentrate: Well, by now, I think whatever Tiruin's original intentions where, Feyri has now been thoroughly declared Yandere for Jim by word of the GM, me, and everyone who has commented on the situation.
Piecewise: Unintended Consequences. Sometimes you shoot yourself in the foot, sometimes a crazy girl falls for your mutilated corpse. Life's crazy like that.
Gamerlord: Wait. Are you thinking about taking MORE 'evil eldritch being attractor' pills?
Empiricist: Of course not. "Taking" implies controlled dosage. "Overdosing on" is far more suited for this context.