A (different) secondary simulation within the matrix, Friday
So. After spending nearly an entire day either brawling with Kahlan's blonde double or fending off her advances, Cara had finally made it back this fake version of the island just in time to hear Zinyak's second announcement. Very shortly thereafter, she felt a familiar sting when resting a hand on her agiels.
Needless to say, she wasn't on the fake version of the island very long.
On the bright side, she wasn't tied to a chair again, but she didn't recognise anything around her. Her leathers had been replaced with a uniform of some kind, and everything was gleaming metal and glowing lights.
"Commander Mason." Cara didn't realise the deep, authoritative, yet also warm, voice was directed at her until a hand clapped her on the shoulder with far too much familiarity. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Commander, but as you know, things have been pretty hectic around here lately."
Cara didn't know, but nodded anyway, hoping he'd keeping talking long enough that she could fake it.
"The conclave are sceptical of your reports about the robot space zombies, but I'm going to make sure you can go after them anyway."
She kept nodding, even if he wasn't real, he was a voice of reason.
"You'll assemble a crew of ragtag misfits for your ship, but I'm sure you'll find a way to win their loyalty and make them into a crack team, Then comes the most important part."
Killing the robot space zombies. Great, Cara had a lot of aggression to work off.
"Figuring out which of them you're going to romance."
"...what?"
~*~*~*~
Barely able to stand, Cara staggered forward, stumbling over her own feet. She wasn't sure how long she'd been in here, and frankly she didn't care anymore. She'd been over half the galaxy, trying to stop the robot space zombies, in between solving the other half of the galaxy's problems (just like Richard would expect her too), and oh yes, trying to figure out who to romance, which involved a ridiculous amount of talking, despite the fact that most of the people she'd be inclined to pick weren't even interested in women.
Not that it mattered, because everyone kept dying on her. Every single person she halfway liked in here, who she was finding herself caring about despite herself, were killing themselves committing stupid, useless acts of heroism, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Even Admiral Wingman, who'd been providing support and advice, all in that incredibly soothing voice of his, had just bled out.
And now there was some weird child blathering at her about choices of grave importance, and the fate of all life, and she wished there was just some way she could make them skip ahead.
"Now, you must make your decision, which of these three colours do you want to paint the robot space zombies?"
"...what?"
[open, if you don't mind some SP]
Needless to say, she wasn't on the fake version of the island very long.
On the bright side, she wasn't tied to a chair again, but she didn't recognise anything around her. Her leathers had been replaced with a uniform of some kind, and everything was gleaming metal and glowing lights.
"Commander Mason." Cara didn't realise the deep, authoritative, yet also warm, voice was directed at her until a hand clapped her on the shoulder with far too much familiarity. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Commander, but as you know, things have been pretty hectic around here lately."
Cara didn't know, but nodded anyway, hoping he'd keeping talking long enough that she could fake it.
"The conclave are sceptical of your reports about the robot space zombies, but I'm going to make sure you can go after them anyway."
She kept nodding, even if he wasn't real, he was a voice of reason.
"You'll assemble a crew of ragtag misfits for your ship, but I'm sure you'll find a way to win their loyalty and make them into a crack team, Then comes the most important part."
Killing the robot space zombies. Great, Cara had a lot of aggression to work off.
"Figuring out which of them you're going to romance."
"...what?"
~*~*~*~
Barely able to stand, Cara staggered forward, stumbling over her own feet. She wasn't sure how long she'd been in here, and frankly she didn't care anymore. She'd been over half the galaxy, trying to stop the robot space zombies, in between solving the other half of the galaxy's problems (just like Richard would expect her too), and oh yes, trying to figure out who to romance, which involved a ridiculous amount of talking, despite the fact that most of the people she'd be inclined to pick weren't even interested in women.
Not that it mattered, because everyone kept dying on her. Every single person she halfway liked in here, who she was finding herself caring about despite herself, were killing themselves committing stupid, useless acts of heroism, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Even Admiral Wingman, who'd been providing support and advice, all in that incredibly soothing voice of his, had just bled out.
And now there was some weird child blathering at her about choices of grave importance, and the fate of all life, and she wished there was just some way she could make them skip ahead.
"Now, you must make your decision, which of these three colours do you want to paint the robot space zombies?"
"...what?"
[open, if you don't mind some SP]