Paranoia: My Name is Troubleshooter

[BlueBard]

The New Recruits:

ArrMatee-IR-RRR: (Viking)  The pale PLC clerk who says 'Arr!'
Sink-IR-SWM:      (Alaric)  The ever fussy CPU clerk.
Spam-IR-LOT:      (Spam)  The nervous, accident-prone R&D tech.
Spyd-IR-MAN:      (GDaybloke)  The perpetually-drowsy PR guy from HPD&MC.
Numb-IR-ONE:    (The Phantom Eyebrow)  The numerically obsessive CPU clerk.
Blo-IR-UPP:         (Panther Gunn) The oddly-eccentric R&D tech.

This game starts sometime around June 18... Stay Tuned!

[BlueBard]

GM:  We're getting a late start, but we're on.  If Alaric is able to rejoin us, he can do so at any time.  Please use the Paranoia-By-Post thread for out-of-game conversations.  Violators will be shot.  Repeatedly.   ;)

[BlueBard]

Everyone:  (You each experience the same thing at the start of the game, but not together)

You are rudely awakened from your sleepcycle by a stabbing pain in your arm.  You sit up suddenly and bang your head on the bottom of the upper bunk.  A blinding light shines in your face.

"Wake up, Citizen," a low voice growls.  "You've just been volunteered."

You hastily clamber out of your bunk and struggle into your ill-fitting black jumpsuit.  Your eyes gradually adjust to the dim light in the dormitory and you realize that there are two Red-level male citizens wearing Armed Forces insignia standing nearby next to a Secbot (Security Robot).  One of the men is holding a laser pistol pointed vaguely in your direction, while the other one is holding a hypodermic needle.  The Secbot is fairly bristling with non-lethal weapons, but the built-in blaster is what gets your attention.

Everyone else in the dorm is still asleep and the only lights on are the dim emergency lights that remain on during the nightcycle and the Secbot's built-in flashlights.

"Come with us," the man with the laser pistol growls.

Everyone: Do you go with the men without saying anything, or do you do something?  Remember to PM me if you're doing anything you don't want the other players to know about.

[Viking]

ArrMatee-IR-RRR slaps his hand to his forehead in a salute to his higher-ups.

"Certainly, Citizen!" he responds in a loud whisper, so as not to wake the other Infrareds.  "Always happy to volunteer!  Serve the Computer!"

And with that, he will follow the instructions that the Red citizens give him.

[gdaybloke]

Spyd-IR-MAN pats himself down, making sure he hasn't forgotten anything - the latest version of  of "Songs About The Computer" on audioloop, for example. A quick visual scan of my bunk should point out anything I'd forgotten...

Once that's done he groggilly stands to attention and blinks.

"Lead on, loyal citizens."

[The Phantom Eyebrow]

"Always happy to serve the Computer, fellow citizens" exclaims Numb-IR-one somewhat groggily as he wakes from his slumber.  As the two figures resolve themselves into view a slightly pained looks crosses his face.  "Er... I'm delighted to follow you wherever you may lead me, but really... it doesn't need two of you to do this.  Why don't one of you take a well-earned break while the other takes me where I need to go?", he continues, the note of strained bonhomie barely discernable. 

[BlueBard]

Sink, Spam, and Blo:
Your lack of alacrity in getting yourself ready to go has not gone unnoticed.

"Zap him," says the other clone in a bored tone of voice.  The Secbot trundles forward, unlimbering a crackling neurowhip.

"I'm going! I'm going!" you shout, quickly fastening up your jumpsuit to avoid getting a nasty shock.

"Stop," the clone tells the Secbot.  It obediently stops short.

"I think you should have let it zap him," grumbles the other.

"Nothing doing.  I'm not going to be responsible for cooking his nervous system right before an engram copy."

"It didn't affect me, did it?  I'm perfectly kayo.  Uh, what were we talking about again?"

"Nevermind," the clone rolls his eyes.  Then he looks at you.  "Get moving, unless you want to end up like him."

"Like who?"

Everyone:
You are escorted to the local transtube station with orders to report to Troubleshooter Mission Control in DTH sector.  You suddenly realize that all of your hard work and groveling has finally paid off!  You're being promoted!  You're going to be a Troubleshooter!

Your enthusiasm ebbs a little when you recall that Commie Mutant Traitors have a habit of shooting back.

The trip is uneventful.  Being crammed into a transtube like algae paste in a canister doesn't leave a whole lot of room for movement anyway.  You reach your destination... Troubleshooter Mission Control!  You are soon ushered into a Briefing Room to await orders.  Five other clones are herded into the room with you.

[Please describe yourself to the others.]

[gdaybloke]

Spyd-IR-MAN looks groggily around the room. Barely stifling a yawn, he runs his fingers through an unkempt mop of brown, tousseled hair. At first he appears to be due a shave, and then you realise it's an attempt to look manly and sprout a beard - one that fails so miserably, that he really should shave, but the way he scratches it makes you wonder if it's a vague attempt to impress ladies, or a last-dotch effort to hide his near-lack of a discernable chin.

Thin limbs betray an apparent lack of any sort of physical prowess, though his wiry frame looks like he'd make a swift swimmer, or at least that he'd be able to hide in a small cupboard if he scrunched himself up enough.

He also appears to be scanning the other members of the room with a lazilly cocked eyebrow. He sniffles. Twice.

[Viking]

ArrMatee-IR-RRR is nervously fidgeting, drumming the fingers of his right hand at a rapid-fire pace on his left forearm.  His head twitches from side to side at random intervals.  Whether all of this is due to natural tendencies, the drugs that were used to rouse him from slumber, or simple overindulgence in the latest flavor of Bouncy Bubble Beverage is unclear.

This particular Citizen is thin and lanky, and much more pale-skinned than the average member of Beta Complex.

He's keeping a tight-lipped, almost manic grin plastered on his face as he looks around at the assorted would-be Troubleshooters.

[Panther_Gunn]

Your lack of alacrity in getting yourself ready to go has not gone unnoticed.

"Zap him," says the other clone in a bored tone of voice.  The Secbot trundles forward, unlimbering a crackling neurowhip.

"I'm going! I'm going!" you shout, quickly fastening up your jumpsuit to avoid getting a nasty shock.

"Stop," the clone tells the Secbot.  It obediently stops short.

"I think you should have let it zap him," grumbles the other.

"Nothing doing.  I'm not going to be responsible for cooking his nervous system right before an engram copy."

"It didn't affect me, did it?  I'm perfectly kayo.  Uh, what were we talking about again?"

"Nevermind," the clone rolls his eyes.  Then he looks at you.  "Get moving, unless you want to end up like him."

"Like who?"

"Of course, Citizen!  My most humblest apologies to the Great Computer.  I was up late in diligent service to the Computer, and was momentarily surprised at being called back to service so quickly.  Another day in service to the Glorious Computer!  Hail the Computer!" 

With that, he flops out of the bunk (because jumping out would earn him another crack on the noggin' from the bunk above.....and that would be damaging Computer property), hastily dresses & "fixes" his hair, and then smilingly follows the Red Level Citizens.

You are escorted to the local transtube station with orders to report to Troubleshooter Mission Control in DTH sector.  You suddenly realize that all of your hard work and groveling has finally paid off!  You're being promoted!  You're going to be a Troubleshooter!

Your enthusiasm ebbs a little when you recall that Commie Mutant Traitors have a habit of shooting back.

The trip is uneventful.  Being crammed into a transtube like algae paste in a canister doesn't leave a whole lot of room for movement anyway.  You reach your destination... Troubleshooter Mission Control!  You are soon ushered into a Briefing Room to await orders.  Five other clones are herded into the room with you.

*mental image*: algae......green algae......  A look of naseua accompanied by a shiver briefly passes over the loyal citizen during the trip

Upon being thrust into the company of new Citizens, Blo-IR-UPP gives them all a brief once-over, to better remember the team who may depend upon him.  Under their scrutiny, they see a bright-eyed citizen, alert & aware of his surroundings, with short-cropped black hair.....*very black* hair.  While his lack of physical conditioning is just as evident as everyone else's, the yellow stripe on his jumpsuit does catch the eye.

[gdaybloke]

Spyd-IR-MAN blinks upon catching sight of the newest citizen to step forward.

"Um... excuse me, citizen," he says to the nearest Armed Forces trooper.

"I couldn't help but notice that citizen over there is wearing yellow, a colour clearly above his security clearance. I just thought I'd mention that I'd be honoured to assist you in whatever punitive action you're currently planning against this subversive citizen - unless, of course, he's been granted special dispensation by the glorious Computer to wear the stripe, in which case he would clearly be a remarkable clone indeed."

[Spam]

"What a wonderful daycycle for us all. Good citizens, lead me to where you may."

[Viking]

ArrMatee-IR-RRR becomes visibly agitated at the appearance of Blo-IR-UPP, and scoots as far away as he can without leaving the designated waiting area.

"AAAAAAHHHHH!!!  Registered Mutant!" he exclaims, pointing a trembling finger at the yellow stripe.

If possible, he ducks behind any other clone, so that there's at least someone between him and Blo-IR-UPP. 

[BlueBard]

Spyd-IR-MAN looks groggily around the room. Barely stifling a yawn, he runs his fingers through an unkempt mop of brown, tousseled hair. At first he appears to be due a shave, and then you realise it's an attempt to look manly and sprout a beard - one that fails so miserably, that he really should shave, but the way he scratches it makes you wonder if it's a vague attempt to impress ladies, or a last-dotch effort to hide his near-lack of a discernable chin.

[Obviously didn't have time to use the mandatory depilatory cream this morning.  And for what reason might he want to impress the ladies?  Or has he been skipping his mandatory hormone suppressors too?  Hmm?]

[BlueBard]

Spyd-IR-MAN blinks upon catching sight of the newest citizen to step forward.

"Um... excuse me, citizen," he says to the nearest Armed Forces trooper.

"I couldn't help but notice that citizen over there is wearing yellow, a colour clearly above his security clearance. I just thought I'd mention that I'd be honoured to assist you in whatever punitive action you're currently planning against this subversive citizen - unless, of course, he's been granted special dispensation by the glorious Computer to wear the stripe, in which case he would clearly be a remarkable clone indeed."

The Red-level administrative assistant that showed you to the room favors you with a humorless gaze.

"Infrareds," she mutters, then turns and walks out, leaving you alone in the room with the others and the [gasp!] mutant.

[GM Note: In Beta Complex, Registered Mutants are required to wear clothing with a thin yellow stripe running down their chests and backs.  If you think this is some kind of genophobic slur, you might be correct.]

Spam and Numbe, you need to describe yourselves to the others.  There was another clone here, but he got yanked out of the room.  You don't know why or what happened to him.

[gdaybloke]

[Obviously didn't have time to use the mandatory depilatory cream this morning.  And for what reason might he want to impress the ladies?  Or has he been skipping his mandatory hormone suppressors too?  Hmm?]

[Considering we were forcibly awakened and ejected from our creches at gunpoint without preparation time, I'd say it's a pretty fair bet that personal grooming wasn't on the to-do list ;)]

[gdaybloke]

The light of realisation dawns in Spyd's eyes as it clicks that Blo is a registered mutant, and thus clearly ALREADY admitting to be a treasonous scumbag, so the fact that he has a yellow stripe is a not as surprising as one might otherwise imagine.

[The Phantom Eyebrow]

Numb-IR-One seems slightly disconcerted to be part of this motley gathering of six troubleshooters.  With his tall, skinny frame and his long greasy black hair he cuts every bit as impressive a figure as his fellows, although he does sport a rather nice pair of glasses.  He takes no part in the recent exchanges but the more keenly eyed might notice a slight movement of the lips as if he was reciting a mantra or counting off something.  This seems to help him deal with this trying situation.

[Spam]

Whenever there is a supposedly bit of light in the dank room of the dorm, we can see that Spam is just like everybody else... Or at least, he thinks he is. Or maybe everyone else is a bit like him...? Anyway, his blonde hair that looks like it just got woken up is very exubrently... considering he got woken up very, very abruptly. His face is covered in sweat and dirt, as he didn't get a very good sleep, dreaming about... things... His clothes seem to be a bit ragged then everyone elses,  maybe because he isn't the most non-clumsy person in Beta-Complex. Oh, and he can also do this cool thing with his thumb... but he doesn't think that the Computer would like that.

[BlueBard]

Spam and Blo:
[spoiler]You recognize each other from R&D.  Not that you really know each other, but you've at least seen each other and know each other from that Service Group.
[/spoiler]
Spam and Numbe:
[spoiler]Be sure to check for a PM titled 'secrets' from me.[/spoiler]

Everyone:

Two Citizens you've never seen before enter the briefing room.  One is Orange-level and one is Yellow-level.  The Orange-level is a short clone with thin brown hair and a scowl permanently affixed to his face.  The Yellow-level is of average height, with dark hair and an arrogant expression on his face.  Both wear Armed Forces insignia (crossed force swords) and Troubleshooter insignia (crossed smoking laser pistols).  They are both armed and both wearing Reflec armor of the appropriate security level.  The Orange-level has -two- holstered pistols.

"STAND AT ATTENTION, YOU MISBEGOTTEN SLUGS!" shouts the Orange-level.  Startled, you snap to attention without thinking about it.

"Now listen up, Vat Slime!  My name is Shoot-O-LOT and the Mission Control Officer standing next to me is Watch-Y-BAK.  You have been assigned to me for Troubleshooter Indoctrination Training.  That's right; if you pass the Training you'll be permanently promoted and assigned duties as a Troubleshooter in the service of The Computer.  If you don't pass training, well, we'll find some -appropriate- assignment for you.  My advice is, you better pass."

"Officer Watch and I will be watching each of you closely.  If we see something we don't like, you get demerits.  Pile on enough demerits, and a termination voucher will be issued.  You will each be temporarily promoted to Red security level for the duration of your training.  If you manage to pass training, you keep the security clearance.  Fail it and I'll personally bust you down to something below Infrared."

"Before I assign you with Mandatory Bonus Duties and give you your first assignment, do any of you thumb-sucking troglodytes have anything you wanna say?  And don't bother trying to kiss my boots... I just shined 'em this morning and I don't want your tongue marks all over 'em.  WELL?  YOU GOT SOMETHING TO SAY?"

[Spam]

I just stand at attention, and give no signs to say anything that could possibly be offensive to either of the two officers.

I look over at Numbe, and then glance over at Blo, thinking that I remember them from some places that shouldn't be discussed... Not yet.

[BlueBard]

GM: Correction.  The clone heretofore referred to as Numbe is actually named Numb.  Sorry.  Clerical error.  The traitorous clerk responsible has been terminated.  Have a nice daycycle.

[BlueBard]

Spyd:
[spoiler]You feel yourself start to nod off, but manage to stay awake... this time.[/spoiler]

[Viking]

ArrMatee-IR-RRR stands at attention, whacking himself in the face as he attempts to fire off a salute.

"Ready to begin Troubleshooter Indoctrination Training, Citizen Shoot-O-LOT!!!" he calls out as enthusiastically as possible.

[BlueBard]

"Act-ually," sneers Watch-Y, "it iss Troubleshooter Indoctrination Program Training, Citizen. Ze Computer hass determined zat the acronym for ze other term iss verboten.  Zerefore you vill all refer to it as TIPT from now on."

[gdaybloke]

Rubbing his eyes, Spyd stands at the closest approximation to attention he can manage in his weary state, though he keeps glancing out of the corner of his eye at that filthy mutant.

[BlueBard]

"Alright, you no-account frag baits," Shoot-O says loudly, almost a yell, "Time to assign your Mandatory Bonus Duties!"

"Citizen Numb!  You are the Loyalty Officer!  You make sure the rest of these dust-crawlers aren't getting away with any treasonous activities or attitudes, understand?"

"Citizen Spam!  You will be the Communications and Recording Officer!  You will requisition and maintain the Com units and the Multicorder!  You will insure that EVERYTHING relating to this mission gets recorded!  You will maintain radio silence as required!  You will keep in constant contact with Troubleshooter Dispatch!  You read me, recruit?"

"Citizen ArrMatee!  You are the Equipment Guy!  You will insure that ALL equipment assigned to this team is kept in perfect working order, or I'll have you doing extra duty as reactor shielding!"

"Citizen Blo!  You are the Hygiene Officer!  You are responsible to make sure this team is neat and respectable at all times!  If anybody busts my chops because you goons are out of order, I'll make sure you spend the rest of your short, miserable life cleaning transtubes!  And I won't be checking to see if the tube is out of service first, either!"

"Citizen Spyd!  You are the Happiness Officer!  You will insure that EVERYONE gets their mandatory medications as required and you will insure that EVERYONE on this team has the right attitude, that morale is high, and that EVERYONE is happy.  And you better make sure I don't get UN-HAPPY with your performance!"

"Now, unless someone would like to object to their new duties, I suggest you get a move on to the DTH sector PLC outlet to receive your assigned gear.  Don't forget to requisition anything you need for your Bonus Duty.  ArrMatee!  Take these authorization forms with you!"

Shoot-O points at a large stack of forms sitting on the conference table.  Then he looks around the room.

"YOU DIPWADS STILL HERE?!  MOVE IT!!!"

Everyone:

On your way to the PLC Outlet, each of you takes a short detour.  You'll each be getting secret orders via PM.

[gdaybloke]

Nodding to himself as he enters the PLC outlet, Spyd goes through the small pile of requisition forms he's gathered.

"Lessee... standard issue reflec and red laser pistol... Sturdy pack... A week's worth of happiness pills for a team of five, assorted grades, flavours, and mandatory side effects... dispensing apparatus for same... backpack with lots of small pockets to keep them all sorted and compartmentalised... six-pack of bouncy bubble beverage, ultra-mega-happy flavour...   personal issue multicorder for vid-recording happiness progress and capturing moments that show the glorious heroism of the computer's designated troubleshooters for HPD&MC PR editting... notebook, writing implement... length of string with shiny thing on end...

...
... why the heck do I need that? Oh well, the computer's will be done..."

He flicks through a few more forms in his pile and then looks up, trying to spot a PLC clerk who can fulfil his requisitions.

[BlueBard]

Shoot-O appears just as the last of you straggles in to the PLC Outlet.

ArrMatee is in line waiting his turn to present the team's authorization forms to the bored Red-level clerk behind the counter.  He's fifth in line behind four Reds.  Everyone else is just sort of standing around.

If anyone wants something besides the standard issue, they'd better grab a requisition form and figure out what they need.  Or figure out how to steal it.  But that won't be a simple prospect... there's a fussy Orange-level supervisor hovering around keeping a watchful eye, and if that isn't enough deterrent there are a pair of lethal-looking Secbots just inside the door.

If anyone is doing anything underhanded, better PM me.  Otherwise, post your requisition requests along with your justification for each item here in this thread.  Alas, I cannot properly simulate the torture of filling out Beta Complex paperwork in a Posting Game... you'll just have to use your imagination.  Pretend you're doing your Federal Income Taxes by hand.  Itemized.  In triplicate.  Without help or a copy of the tax code.  With a stubby pencil with no eraser.  (For you students, substitute Federal Student Loan paperwork.)  While simultaneously balancing your checking account.  Using double-ledger accounting.  Rounding to the nearest $0.000001.  And convert that to Yen.  Get the idea?

[BlueBard]

Nodding to himself as he enters the PLC outlet, Spyd goes through the small pile of requisition forms he's gathered.

"Lessee... standard issue reflec and red laser pistol... Sturdy pack... A week's worth of happiness pills for a team of five, assorted grades, flavours, and mandatory side effects... dispensing apparatus for same... backpack with lots of small pockets to keep them all sorted and compartmentalised... six-pack of bouncy bubble beverage, ultra-mega-happy flavour...   personal issue multicorder for vid-recording happiness progress and capturing moments that show the glorious heroism of the computer's designated troubleshooters for HPD&MC PR editting... notebook, writing implement... length of string with shiny thing on end...

...
... why the heck do I need that? Oh well, the computer's will be done..."

He flicks through a few more forms in his pile and then looks up, trying to spot a PLC clerk who can fulfil his requisitions.

Uh-huh.  Better get in line behind ArrMatee, then, Citizen.