In a largely-ignored corner of the First Galaxy, there is a planet of incredible geographic mediocrity. Coupled with its boring physical features, it has a fantastic lack of ecological diversity. There was talk about naming the planet "New Nebraska", but since the human portion of the population was less than 5%, most settlers on the blandly geo-modulated planet had no idea why that was supposed to be funny. So they called it planet Dull. As it happens, the star of the system isn't all that bright either, but that's not as amusing an explanation.
The majority of the planet's population are scientists, technicians, medics, and artists. And despite the influence of some performance artists, planet Dull has been a utopian planet for a long time. Even the fall of the protective Confederation influence didn't dissuade the people of planet Dull to be non-violent. Of course, the fact that they made a planet-sized etheric cloaking device and independently developed Mentally Based Abilities also helped them to stay in their backwards utopian ways.
Not everybody on planet Dull is a pacifist, though. Some beings just aren't suited for peace. These beings typically become reclusive, hiding away from the awful bland pleasantness of the environmentally-conscientious cities and survive as free-range combatants in the wilds of planet Dull. Where, annoyingly, they only have each other to fight, because the animals are all slow, defenseless, and taste like tofu. These frustrated free-range self-styled combatants are left alone - just so long as they don't threaten any of the peaceful city denizens or contrive to make anything that could be used as a weapon.
When the sensibly-appointed officers temporarily honoured with the duty to serve planet Dull detect threats, these threats are humanely gathered (elaborate theatrics contrived by high-stage mathematicians, biologists, physicists, technicians and medics are sometimes needed in order to compensate for the complete lack of combat skills, but usually a tranquilizer-doped cheeseburger strategically deployed is sufficient). These gathered threats to utopia are then transported carefully to a resettlement facility (known by rumour as "Buttzark").
Your character is in a transport ship bound for Buttzark, having been collected and deported for being determined to be insufficiently peaceful. The particulars aren't important - but if you have an intelligence less than 4, they got you with a cheeseburger. You have the standard 30 being creation points to make whatever you like. You can be a maximum of third stage, but a maximum of two stages of combatant (professional combatants just don't happen on planet Dull).
Conversing with the ship and with your fellow captives, who are also as possessionless as you are, the plan is for the ship to dump you in a random spot in the jungle of Buttzark.
Character is ready... I am a 20 kg Crustacean who looks like a pill-bug. 10 of the creation points were used for extra stamina. :)
Plot Infliction 00 - Descent
It occurs to Bard that if he were to kill the other 7 hostiles aboard this shuttle, the stupid "Shrimpy" nickname might die with them...
First I'm going to be annoyingly friendly and chatty. I want to find out if any of them are scouts or medics. I'm also going to try and determine which are carnivores and casually complain about the lack of food where we're going. I'm going to try and seem dumber than I am by saying I was fooled by the cheeseburger trick.
The other seven are surly and withdrawn. Life on planet Dull was not kind to their mingling skills, and they have little ability for interpersonal interactions. You end up having to drag each of them reluctantly into conversation. You think that most of them are either first or second stage guerrilla/infantry, but can't be sure, and none of them demonstrate significant capacities outside of "survivalism". All of them are probably omnivores; even the equidon has some suspiciously pointy eye teeth.
Detecting an unusual glimmer of not-quite-so-antisocial behaviour, the ship chimes in on the conversation. "Actually, I think I've seen a large variety of flora and fauna on the resettlement planet, so there should be an abundance of interesting things for you to eat! And, if I'm not mistaken, one of me previous runs to deposit, um, re-settlers, there was a reptiloid renowned for his cooking prowess. If he's still alive, I'm sure that he's discovered some intriguing local spices to develop unique flavours!"
The equidon looks up and around the featureless bay with a bleakly flat expression. "I hate this ship."
I exclaim loudly to the ship: "Buttzark is on another planet? That sucks. So, on your other trips, has there been any kind of, um, hostile welcome when you dropped off other prisoners?"
After it answers, I'm going to continue babbling away about random stupid stuff until someone tells me to shut up. I set the mental dial on 'maximum annoyance'.
Ship: "There have occasionally been ships near the resettlement planet, and the resettlers have made some permanent structures. I avoid both during the uncloaked phase of my depositing of new resettlers. So, there haven't technically been any hostilities, but that's sort of our modus operandi."
The other hostiles have been giving distinct non-verbal "shut the zark up" cues the whole time. It doesn't take much overt annoyance for them to clamour explicitly indicating not only for you to be quiet, but also un-subtle suggestions about what would happen if you don't.
I pretend to lose it. I scream at the top of my lungs, yell "We're all going to die!" and start running as fast as I can around the ship like I'm trying to find an exit. I pretend the other hostiles don't exist. I try to determine which of the others is most annoyed and I try to occasionally bump into them during my run.
Even though they might be considered antisocial hostiles by the people of planet Dull, and they may be drawn to consider violence as a necessary possibility such that they trained to practice it, they all turn out to also be somewhat products of a civilized society. So even though most of them display varying indications of wanting to commit acts of violence upon your person, nobody actually lashes out. Five of the seven hostiles all seem extremely annoyed, though, and it's hard to distinguish if any is particularly so because they congeal into a mini-mob complete with groupthink. The equidon is not pleased, and tells you menacingly that you're being annoying, but makes no other overt threat like the others. There's also a halamite that just regards you coldly, but it's hard to read it's black eyes.
The ship tightbeams you. "Why are you pretending to be a douche?"
I abruptly stop, sigh, and have a seat. I respond to the ship: "Boredom mostly... was hoping to start a brawl. Guess that explains why I'm on this ship in the first place."
I tight-beam the Halamite and Equidon. "Sorry bout that... wanted to see who most had their wits about them. I can actually be quite personable when I try. So, I'm kind of a tough little bug, but I'm positively anti-sneaky... and I have a feeling being able to keep out of sight is going to be a required skill on Buttzark. So, either of you want a tiny bodyguard in exchange for letting me ride on you? I promise to be very, very quiet."
Ship: "Ah. OK." It closes the comm connection.
The halamite continues to just stare at you coldly. If its chest didn't divulge that it was actively respirating, you'd wonder if perhaps it wasn't the product of taxidermy. As it is, Occams's Razor suggests that it has sand in its vagina.
The flash mob are similarly afflicted with bunched panties, but are more vocal and gesticulating about it.
The equidon snorts (its hard to tell what emotional significance that might have - equidons snort a lot with those big flappy nostrils of theirs). He responds in tightbeam: "What do you think I'm going to need my body guarded from? And I'd like to point out the racist overtones of riding an equidon; fortunately you're not a smug human. Sorry Shrimpy, I'm looking to earn some real skill like the rest of us - it's the only perk of getting kicked out of our home. I have a non-rhetorical question, though... What made you stop? It might have worked eventually."
Well, I cut the communication to the Halamite. Still talking to the Equidon.
"I find it ironic that you complain about racist overtones, and then soon after call me Shrimpy. I stopped cause I felt like chatting again... I'm a slave to my impulses."
I hail the ship again: "So, like, what would you do, hypothetically speaking, if one of the passengers started killing the others?"
Back to the Equidon: "So, skill earning you say... I think we could earn some skill right here before we even land... want to beat up some fellow passengers?"
Equidon (that you think might be called Charlemane): "Heh. Dude. Anybody talking up racism to an insectizoid is totally talking shit. You need to lighten up a notch, Shrimpy. Well, except now the rest of the guys are discussing the merits of taking you out."
Ship: "Hypothetically speaking, I'd interface with your modified neural networks and make you all unconscious ahead of schedule."
Ship: "Wow, can you really do that? Make the Halamite unconscious. She's totally creeping me out. Don't worry, I won't touch her while she's out, and you can wake her up a few moments later. I just wanna see her fall down. It'll be fuuuuuuuuuun."
You wake up in a jungle (or, at least it's what your personal Dullopedia pings as "jungle", because you've never been in one before). Around you are the rousing forms of the other ex-Dulls, a small pile of equipment, and the distinct question-mark-sound of a large ship-scale force drive leaving.
I immediately head towards the equipment and see what my pathetically weak body can carry.
Being the fastest being of the ex-Dull group, you are the first to arrive at the pile.
- 1 med kit
- 1 med pack
- 1 tool kit
- 1 tool pack
- 8 patches
- 1 hover platform (1500 kg capacity, simple lift, 10m height)
You are far from being alone, though, as the 7 others quickly gather around.
I try to grab the patches before anyone else does. If I get them, I then try to grab the med kit. I then prepare to defend myself and tight-beam the Equidon. "If you help me fight the rest of these losers, we can share all the booty, otherwise, I'm making a run for it."
You manage to grab up three of the patches before you get a text-burst from the Halamite. "Looks like there's one patch per person, take no more. Take the med kit with you too, and leave. Do anything else, and we'll hunt you down and kill you."
Charlemane: "You're going to poach the whole survival kit on an unknown hostile planet? Get zarked, assface."
Well, I grab the med kit....
...but do you put down the 2 extra patches you've grabbed so far?
Worth mentioning is that the other 5 ex-Dulls are also growling/yelling/shouting in a demi-mob manner, but with no significant salient bits to contribute other than that they are picking up rocks. They appear to be inclined to be lead by the Halamite.
Charlemane is not as overtly aggressive, but the tendons standing out indicate that it's bracing for immediate action.
Hmmmmm... 6 (maybe 7) to 1 odds. If I were tactically smart, I would make a run for it now.
It seems I'm not tactically smart.
I wink at Charlemane, then jump at the Halamite and try to rip out it's eyes.
As the ship loses line of sight, its philosophical guilt about abandoning people on a planet full of monsters is greatly eased by a visceral sense that his home is made safer - and better - by this excision.
(Then it gets sheared in half by a surprise-opening of a 1-variable fold space - either because of a staggering fluke, or because god hates smug hippies.)