Objective 3
Crew:
GhostKey
| Ship:
Glade
(Counter Slicing Interference) | Sickle (Decoys) | Open
Location: Shifting access points, keeping them guessing, and moving to their location
Actions: Nuclear option. Digital Chaos.
A Rogue Protocol.
Tags:
Diarch Rellik
|
Lyssara Thrynn
|
Her
|
Onrai
|
Nyva Shei
|
The Lord of Hunger
|
Lord Dvasius
Ghostkey had no idea who to trust—none. No comms back still, no confirmation! Signal must have been blocked clean. All he knew was his Keyrunner stood between two people, not looking like she was in a rush to go with either. One of them actively tearing at his connection to the system, with some outside AI joining the assault. The other? Didn't look like your average first responder or medevac team either!
It was the attack on the AI that shattered the deadlock.
The Lord of Hunger
One of Scylla's Hydra heads got savagely devoured by Kronos, cycle by cycle, its processing routines ripped apart. Splitting its focus across two opponents, it was a losing battle. Scylla's multi-threaded nature kept it breaking and replicating, trying to scatter itself into any exposed subsystem, a droid, datapad, stimcaf machine—two days from now, Credius or Kronos might find some dormant fragment waiting to run. Damn nuisance,
really good coordinating turrets or worse though!
Onrai
|
The Lord of Hunger
And then something shifted. All of its focus got yanked toward Kronos. Confused the hell outta the AI. Confused Ghostkey more, jacked into the ship. Confused the two slicers on their ship. And sure as hell did nothing to make them trust the stranger standing next to their Keyrunner. As they finally purged the virus from their own ship it left them with a barrage of questions still.
@All
Glade:
"Uhh, guys? This ain't just some rogue data ghost or y'know AI—she's ridin' the current. Not a jacked-up signal. Feels like she's got hands in the wires, mind patched straight into the mainframe." Like the Undernet's nullframe abyss—slicer horror stories whispered when you were too fried or too drunk to stop your lips yapping.
Sickle:
"She wanna be the ship? Let's feed her more ship than she can ever choke down." Their anarchist was burning hot.
Beat torching the whole system. A hard reset across multiple server rooms might've flushed her out, but it would've left them flying blind. Playing safe in a subsystem kept GK hidden, but did nada on taking the offense.
"Give me some cover. Keep the sensors jammed. And Glay-Glay—update a signal-free floorplan to my deck, yeah?" Free of operational cams and ghosted tracking,
no-eyes. Hopefully, but forcers didn't need eyes.
Pulling deeper into the ducts, GK crawled forward. His one edge over the others was he was mobile on the deck. He wasn't trapped in the code, physically ghosting through the ship. Cramped in the vents, packed in as tight as some one-bed coffin hotel room.
Kriff it, don't remind him of trying to sleep those nights.
Some Time Later…
Kicking down the vent from above.
Sickle:
"New access point thirty meters, right side."
Glade:
"Y'know… be careful n stuff."
GK grinned. Looked left. Right. Then dropped down, scrambling the door code to unlock it.
Dim lighting with most wires ripped, consoles burning and the cameras already static—Glade ran cover constantly, fuzzing his trace. But one access panel remained.
Total control, huh? Let's see.
Firing a ROGUE PROTOCOL.
Every system overclocked. Not just flooding Onrai or Kronos with data—drowning them. Redundant loops, false trails, junk code, every irrelevant or time-wasting program they'd stolen or coded from here to the undernet. The slicers spun the whole network into chaos. Doors snapped open and shut. Consoles flickered, blew out. Cameras twitched at random angles. Gravity might adjust—just enough to make standing still a pain in their butt, environments running colder or hotter at random.
A pure goddamn nightmare for
Onrai
to handle. And risky for the ship, yeah, but targeted. It wouldn't kill their mission—just force her to let go or drown in data, maybe jolt
Her
and
The Lord of Hunger
while he was at it!
"Fed up with this fraggin' around. Let the Keyrunner go, or we torch this puppy."
Ouch, volume up too loud with the overclock, the whine of the internal comms blew out some ship speakers and bled into his visor's headset, a ringing in his ears following.
They wouldn't torch the ship, of course, a bluff to buy time. But staying jacked into his deck made him vulnerable. Eyes glazed, mind split between the digital fight and the physical world. Ghost was coming. No idea how he was gonna pull this off.
Sound like an Amadis plan, yep, about right.