Slain by Elf

Eric-R wants revenge. He has just had his left forearm vaporised whilst trying to stop Betty-R from shooting High Programmer Stan-U. It seems he needn't have bothered, as Stan-U's body is protected by a force field, and with no ideas left of what to do in the secret base the pair start trudging back to nuclear missile silo 543.

As they climb the stairs, Eric-R stalks close behind Betty-R. Badly. Betty-R notices and turns to meet her would-be attacker.

'I draw my pistol', says Eric-R.

But Eric-R was left-handed up until ten minutes ago, right up to the point where his forearm was vaporised. That can easily slip a Troubleshooter's mind, and it is only when Eric-R reaches down to grab his pistol from its holster that he realises he has no hand to grab with.

As Eric-R fails to draw his pistol, Betty-R draws hers. It's quite easy when you still have hands.

'I still want to draw my pistol!' says Eric-R. He reaches across his body with his right hand to draw his pistol. But, of course, the pistol is holstered for the left-hand to grab its butt and draw the gun out. Reaching across with the right hand pulls the pistol in precisely the wrong direction to have a failed Agility roll make the gun fall from Eric-R's hand and skitter down the stairs.

Eric-R watches in panic as the gun falls away from him, which coincidentally gives Betty-R a great view of the back of Eric-R's head, at point blank range. At least, it does for as long as it takes for Betty-R to pull the trigger.

The headless body of Eric-R-CLS-3 slumps on the stairs of Stan-U's secret base, not quite enjoying the sweet taste of revenge he was after.

It was all a ruse. Betty-R wasn't looking for other ways in to the base all along, although she and Eric-R found one. It was one of the missile silo hatches, which George-R managed to work out how to open. Quite why both Eric-R and Betty-R had to fall through the newly discovered entrance is unclear, but at least Eric-R broke Betty-R's fall, and his neck in the process. The slime mould sofa is fed again.

Betty-R actually just wanted an excuse to leave the silo and search for Stan-U's secret base. So did Eric-R, but his clone replacement means he now trails Betty-R by a small amount. Enough for them both to bump in to each other on the way to the secret base, and both manage to convince each other that they are still following the mission of maintaining silo 543. The duplicity is heart-warming.

Once inside Stan-U's surprisingly easy-to-find secret base, the pair find Stan-U. Betty-R's plan is to shoot him. Eric-R's plan is to stop Betty-R from shooting Stan-U, and to do so physically. He succeeds, but by 'physically' Eric-R probably imagined himself wrestling Betty-R's gun free and not getting himself between Betty-R's laser pistol and Stan-U. Eric-R's left forearm is vaporised. Don't worry, Eric-R! The laser cauterises the wound.

'It's a good thing I wasn't left-handed.'

Make a roll.

'No. Being left-handed is treasonous. I wasn't left-handed.'

Make a roll.

'I get 19.'

You are left-handed. Were left-handed. Your treasonous nature has been corrected. All praise Friend Computer!

To complete the mission of securing and maintaing nuclear missile silo 543, Betty-R announces that 'I'm going outside to search for a way in'.

But you've already found a way in. You're inside.

'Alternative ways in.'

'Mutant commie ways in', adds Eric-R, inviting himself along for the task.

And how are you going to find these mutant commie ways in to the silo?

'I'm going to watch Eric-R', says Betty-R.

The leak in the nuclear reactor cooling system needs to be fixed. And it's more accurate to describe the leak as a major rupture in a critical pipe.

'Weld it with your laser pistol!' suggests George-R.

'You mean, shoot it with my laser pistol? Because shooting the pipe is kind of what made it rupture in the first place.' Thankfully, Betty-R, with her experience on fixing vehicles as a job, believes she can actually weld some spare lead in to place to seal the pipe, just not with her laser pistol. And if only there weren't so much scalding steam spewing from the pipe.

The steam needs to be bunged for the pipe to be mended. And although shoving Eric-R's annoying scrubbot in to the pipe sounds like a good idea, then welding it in place so that steam becomes permanently blocked seems almost as bad for the cooling system as the leak. No, what's needed is something that will block the steam for a short period, only to melt away once the weld is in place.

Where can the Troubleshooters find anything pliable enough to shove in to a pipe, that is also susceptible to radioactive steam? Betty-R knows just the thing. Quite how she knows just the thing is best left unasked, as she takes the sharpest object to hand—a crowbar—and hacks an arm off Eric-R's body, lying dead in the toxic water below.

Well, he seems dead. He was shot in the head and fell under the water a minute or so ago, so he's definitely not as perky as he was when he entered the facility. And lopping off an arm—with a crowbar—doesn't appear to have elicited much reaction beyond a few gurgles, which must be just residual noises a corpse makes.

Betty-R stuffs Eric-R's arm in to the pipe, slowing the leak of steam significantly. But not quite enough, apparently. It's a judgment call. She goes back down the spiral staircase with her crowbar and gets a second arm, which plugs the flow of steam enough to let her weld a section of lead in place. Job's a good 'un.

The rest of Eric-R, almost very probably dead now, is fed to the slime mould the Troubleshooters found that had wandered from D&D in to their living quarters. George-R found it, in fact. His previous clone, that is, mistaking the mould for a plush couch and dissolving when trying to get comfy. 'Do we really want to keep feeding the slime mould?'

'Would you rather have a hungry slime mould in here with us?'

As often happens when people are thrust together in confined spaces for extended periods of time, tempers flare in Nuclear Missile Silo 543. Except the Troubleshooters have only been here for about thirty minutes, and have inspected three of the six or so domes in the silo. And it's not just angry words being thrown around, but laser fire.

Eric-R is attempting to shoot the other Troubleshooters, suspecting them of being commies, but is having trouble aiming at someone trembling a few feet away. 'Change of plan. I want to shoot at the pipe that I recognise, thanks to my training in nuclear engineering, as part of the cooling system, so that the searing hot steam will burst out and engulf George-R instead.'

'You want to willingly destroy part of a nuclear facility's cooling system? Okay. Make a roll.'

It's a good hit. A really good hit. The pipe ruptures impressively, shooting hot steam at high pressure right in to the face of a now-screaming George-R. And Eric-R. Both are sent flying over the railing and in to the toxic water that has accumulated below.

Betty-R is only not hit by the steam because she is getting up from falling over the railing moments earlier, although she would swear that some unknown, probably mutant force knocked her. And this gives her a good vantage point, now a couple of steps back up the metal spiral staircase, to shoot the instigator of this violence.

She takes aim, and Betty-R's laser pistol sends a bolt of energy in to the side of Eric-R's head, right in the area of a pre-existing condition. Eric-R drops back in to the toxic water, not quite dead, but probably heading that way now that he is finding breathing difficult without any air.

One immediate threat is neutralised. Now if only the nuclear reactor's cooling system wasn't suffering from a major leak.

The mission to escort Herman-G down a short corridor was a miserable failure, albeit a partial success. Herman-G was executed at the Executionaganza on schedule, but in red reflec armour and apparently after a sex-change. Even so, the Troubleshooters have found themselves on punishment duty.

The Troubleshooters' punishment is to inspect and maintain the assets at a Nuclear Missile Silo 543, far outside Alpha Complex. Getting there is relatively problem free, with only two Troubleshooters parachuting out of the rapidly descending flybot, and the third managing to talk the bot in to a controlled crash instead of a wildly out-of-control crash.

Getting in to missile silo 543 presents no problems, at which point the Troubleshooters can open their mission orders. 'The first criteria is to ensure that the facility is secure', says Betty-R.

'Done', says George-R. 'It's secure. The door is closed.'

'Right. The multi-domed, many-tunnelled nuclear missile silo is obviously secure because the one door we entered through has closed behind us.

'This is going to be a long six months.'

The Troubleshooters have an easy mission: escort a prisoner down a short corridor. Simple. Even so, they need to be briefed, outfitted, and then actually complete the mission, otherwise they'd be commie mutants.

Outfitting is a little unusual in this case, as the citizen in charge of equipping the Troublershooters has gone for lunch. Or a brainscrubbing. Either way, he's left a credit card taped to a vending machine, and a list of items the Troubleshooters need.

A bit of finger trouble gets Basil-R some cone rifle flavour, Cone Rifle brand chewing gum instead of the prisoner transportation device, but the weird helmet with remote control on the list drops from the vending machine as required.

'What does the weird helmet do?', wonders Carmen-R aloud, slapping it on the head of Nigel-R in the spirit of experimentation. Helmet in place, Carmen-R presses the accompanying button on the remote control, and Nigel-R starts walking.

And Nigel-R keeps on walking. He tries to stop walking by walking in to a wall, but that just makes him continue walking in to the wall. He falls over to stop walking, only to walk whilst lying prone. 'Is there anything stopping me from taking this helmet off?'

'Common sense?'

Nothing suspicious is happening. No siree. It's just another day in 1920s Massachusetts, and five people are going about their business. Professor Cole Whitman is a bit odd, though, always with his studying and long conversations with private dick Richard Castle, otherwise known as Dirk Codpiece when he's not in earshot. But a quirky old professor is probably meant to be odd.

Matthew Clarkson, on the other hand, is a more dubious character. He claims to be an undertaker's assistant, but the ubiquitous spade, the forever-muddy clothes, and his appearances at a local pub at only the latest of hours makes me suspect he is actually a gravedigger. Or grave robber. My suspicions are further roused on learning of Madame Za Za, a fortune teller with a curiously keen insight in to the occult, particularly learning that she's been unconscious in the boot of Clarkson's car for the past couple of days.

Me, I'm Dmitri Sokolov, a writer emigrated from Russia, patron of the same pub as Clarkson. There's nothing odd about me, even if I claim to have written The Idiot and The Brothers Karamazov whilst having a dislike for titles starting with the definite article, and not being able to do a convincing Russian accent.

But odder still are the rumours about the Hermetic Order of the Silver Twilight, a secret society with a predilection towards having foreigners as members. It's probably nothing sinister, we suppose, but we are all vain enough to want to be invited to any kind of secret society, and try to use our connections to see what's behind those doors. Lucky professor even gets a direct invitation. I hope we're not about to be drawn in to some shady organisation.

The vampires are dead. ...er than they already were. Knocked down, staked through the heart, and exposed to sunlight. They're not coming back. Now we explore through the mighty doors knocked off their hinges, down a corridor where a tunnel has been started to one side. We see why soon enough, when getting past the tunnel provokes some magical attack, sending beams of searing light pulsating towards us.

Brennan braves the light to push further forwards, triggering a second effect that blinds him as well as damaging him. But before the light blinded him, Brennan saw gold treasure ahead, perhaps the source of this power. That's enough encouragement for our paladin to take a look too, and he moves close enough to trigger a second blinding flash.

Now Ganelon is also blind and hurt, and Brennan is knocked unconscious. 'Ganelon, heal Brennan! He's on the floor next to you! I would say to your right, but there's no facing!' But it's too late. Another beam of light shoots down the corridor, unfortunately along a line that includes Brennan, and our bard's unconscious body finds it too difficult to dodge out of the way. The magical damage kills him.

Ganelon reaches down, a few seconds too late, and pulls Brennan's corpse back with him out of the magical trap, and we try to work out a better plan than merely running head-first in to the deadly magical energy. We don't get very far, though, as evidenced by the GMs little outburst that 'why don't you just jam the wand of healing up his arse and assume it fires off once a round?'

'That's not a bad idea, actually', says Ganelon, thinking it over.

'...yes, it is.' But, apparently, still better than any of our ideas. We end up sending the already blind paladin back up the corridor, through the magical trap, healing himself as he goes, to cover the source of the energy with a winter blanket.

As if our plan wasn't bad enough, it actually works. That surely must be the wrong kind of encouragement to give. Still, the magical light dims, the trap is negated, and we have an artefact. And it only cost us the life of the bard and the paladin's eyesight. We're still claiming it a victory, as we drag Brennan's dead body out of Delvehaven and through the city, back to our base.

Two vampires down, and the third coffin makes us suspect there's another one nearby. First, we take stock of what we've gathered recently, Ganelon in charge of the pool of loot. 'Did anyone take the heavy repeating crossbow?'

'Yes, I did', comes a disembodied force, the GM pointing out that 'I'm sick of you lot getting all the loot'.

That does us no good, though, but Brennan has an idea. 'How about we sell it to you for half its listed price?', but he doesn't have to gold to hand, so the crossbow goes in to the bag of holding.

'I have the magical stakes from the second vampire', I say, having disarmed them from the monster and hoping to use them against the next.

'Why would a vampire be wielding stakes?' says Afutavere. 'What if he tripped? Wouldn't that be really dangerous?'

'You walk around with a scythe. What would happen if you tripped?' Well, he'd probably miss, as usual. Even so, a vampire could probably carry a less self-harmful weapon, and it seems that this vampire used to be a vampire hunter. A poor one, it would seem, but moving on.

'Who has the pre-Thrune Chelish bunnies?'

'The... what?'

'Pre-Thrune Chelish bunnies.'

'I thought that's what you said. Let me see. Yes, that certainly looks like pre-Thrune Chelish bunnies. I'm not quite sure what else it would be. Where did we get them from?'

Much head scratching follows, as we try to work out where we'd pick up some bunnies, and if we really had them or were under some weird illusion. 'Oh, banner. It's a pre-Thrune Chelish banner.'

'That makes more sense. Brennan has that.' So with the bunnies safely tucked away in our bard's backpack we scoot down the corridor to the third room in this basement, where without any kind of surprise we encounter a third vampire.

We charge in to combat, knowing that our ranger will do all the damage again but hoping to get some small glory out of the combat to salvage our individual dignity. I surge forwards wielding the stakes plucked from the vampiric vampire hunter, and try to plunge one in to the heart of the vampire before us.

It's a hit! But it seems that in order to actually thrust the stake through the vampire's heart I need the monster to be helpless so that I can perform a coup de grace attack. 'But at least I'll be doing full damage, right? Even if it's effectively little more than a dagger, it will actually hurt, right?'

But no. The stakes may be magical, bypassing one of the vampire's magic and silver damage reductions, but they are otherwise plain wooden stakes. 'I think we've found why the vampire hunter became a vampire.'

It's good we have Afutavere around to save the day, with his silvered arrows being imbued with magical energy when fired from his bow. 'Full attack!' he cries. 'No deadly aim!' I think we've also found why our ranger tends to miss a lot.