dreadweaver

Heroin is much more important, code it first so I can truly be the worst useless junkie ever.

Why not add a Bulma hallucination instead? :^) Imagine five naked blamos wrecking you and yelling shit lik- man I'm not even getting into that.

epic meme xDDD

Actually I forgot about all that since I wasn't directly involved, but it just makes the remark more amusing about Security not keeping its shit together, which flows well with the theme. It's actually a lot better this way.

Human decency. But I thought the lack of that was a requirement to be the captain...

The fun part of being a mute, in my opinion, was always writing custom emotes and trying to communicate through elaborate body movements and mimicry instead of 'me signs, "clown is traitor"'.

I burned her still living body in the crematorium myself.

What exactly stops you from stealing the pair from the NT rep's locker? :V

>- Security can never keep its shit together (they wanted to issue guns because of the singularity) For the record, I played the HoS that shift and weapons were issued for the antimovved AI, the rogue borgs and the traitors running rampant on the station, but I guess you were way too busy keeping your shit together to notice that.

Because gloves actually serve a purpose: hiding fingerprints.

What a cool bird.

I find female characters very masculine on Para. Probably because most of them are played by men :^)

Valid Hunting - the job

The very end of my first round in Nations 2.0.

ERP? What? He just squeezed the shampoo bottle too hard.

Translate THIS :^) it's just shampoo

My tsundere senpai desu~ Adr-kun you make my heart go doki doki~

Adr x Dread is the only true pairing :^) it's okay we can pretend I'm bulma

bully

On goonstation, there is a public medicine machine you can buy stuff like bandages, pills, syringes and the like for money. Since money here doesn't really have much of an use, this could be considered as a legit idea.

Like it or not, you were a big influence of her.

I like playing civilian because: 1. no responsibilities 2. no head of staff to bother you 3. you can do whatever you want 4. you can get a job any time you want anyways 5. blamo briffs

If we're importing lifeweb mechanics, I have a good idea which ones to port :^)

>being a mentor is truly suffering ahhahhahhahhahha jesus christ man stop making me laugh

"Are you ready, Miss Briefs?" The sharp, male voice hit her like a slap across the face. The somewhat short, blonde woman sniffed, bringing a napkin to her mouth to stifle a cough. She wasn't feeling okay. At all. Her medical record was likely the longest among the Cyberiad's crew. A long list of mental illnesses, drug addictions, alcoholism and god knows what else. All she got from the doctors was more drugs, sedatives - the goooood stuff. The most they did before writing the prescription was to scratch their heads in confusion. She got used to it. She just went back to her empty home and took them in with a martini. "Miss Briefs?" Another slap. Another sniff. She couldn't even say hi to N'ildrask. All they allowed was a letter of goodbye. Three lines. The moment this thought crept back to her consciousness, it was if someone grabbed her heart and squeezed it. She quickly chased it out of her mind and used all her willpower to keep herself from bursting into tears. She brought the napkin to wipe one from her left eye. "Excuse me... Miss Briefs? Can you hear me?" She didn't even pay attention any more. She got used to crying. It's what she mostly did when she wasn't on the station - there, she could control herself. Mostly due to the two 100 mg Paroxetine tablets she took beforehand. Almost enough for two hours. Probably won't control her outbursts. Whatever, she thought, every time. And every time she boarded, things just got worse. Memories of nostalgia flooded her mind. She got carried away, so much that she didn't even notice the uniformed man slowly shepherding her towards the shuttle. This was her last day here. She wasn't even allowed to take the transfer shuttle. She got a private one, paid by herself, of course. Most people would've never thought that such a psychotic character would actually be a multi-billionaire with a huge corporation behind her back. How? Her father died. That was the last straw in multiple ways. First off, she hit her fourth, final strike by practically committing mutiny against the corporation and being caught. Secondly, she had to go home. It was her corporation now. She didn't care. Not even when the pilot strapped her into a chair and lit the engine. She slowly turned her head and opened her bloodshot eyes wide, staring at the arrivals hallway for the final time. A deep sigh. She closes her eyes for a moment. Memories again. Suddenly, she saw a cheerful young woman with a cyan ponytail on her head and a wide grin on her face, a small pAI device attached to her jumpsuit. Working in a large toxins mixing room happily. The airlock closed. Engines burning. The shuttle began its departure. A shuttle's cockpit. Surrounded by many computers. A man with short, brown hair and a green beret asks her out for dinner. The ponytail girl says yes with a huge blush on her face. Undocking. They slowly begin to drift away. A horrific image. The same girl with a glass shard in her hands makes a slow cut on the underside on her arm - the cheerfulness from before is long gone. Her eyes are fixed on the blood, her lips parted as she watches what she's doing in awe. In the background, a slime person claps at her with a wide grin stretched across his face. She unbuckles and stands up, facing the station. She's going home now, she thinks for a split of a second. The girl with the ponytail is standing with the brown-haired man in a straight jacket before an altar - the girl was grinning, genuinely happily - the man isn't quite in the same mood. The priest announces the marriage. A young woman with black hair and a man with slightly dark skin can be seen in the background. The station is in full view now. She raises both his hands and presses her palms on the shuttle's window. The same girl from before - but instead of her ponytail, she is wearing a larger bun behind her head. She is curled up in a grassy area, crying all her losses and fears to a crab - who actually listens. Divorce, she cries. I loved him. She sighs. The station begins to become smaller and smaller. Another scene. The girl with the bun is sitting on a chair, a server machine next to her in its glass cage. She looks happier than ever. A tajara kneels before her and asks her out for a date. She joyfully obliges. Dates. Romance. Marriage. Friends. Enemies. Adventure. Drama. Great deeds. Epic chases. Heroic sacrifices. Life and death. She was not a good person. Jealousy, greed, hatred and anger clouded her mind too often. As much as she tried to fight them, all of her attempts just made it worse. She eventually succumbed. And when she put down drugs and alcohol in one night, she knew there way no way back. No way to set things right. She knew her brain was producing enough harmful chemicals on its own to forever keep her busy - she didn't need outside influences any more. She could now hold the station in her hands. She sniffs again. Her expression portrays great sorrow, sighing deeply as she can't keep her eyes off of what's in front of her. She does not want to do that either. Home...? No. She is not going home. A marriage. Face-to-face with her husband, her blonde hair flowing free behind her as she tilts her head for a kiss. Laughing and talking to a brown furred tajara in a small officer - she felt love. Not just for one person any more - and it proved too much in the end. Standing butt naked in a cell, all the status display screens flashing red to signify the alert level. A bald man in a black uniform slowly closes in towards her. The setting is a small, wooden floored room. A man and a woman sit in front of each other next to a table. His freshly shaven face is painted by a smile as she looks at the girl before him, light blue hair and a mask covering her face. She communicates in nothing but gestures - a mute. And so much more. She can't hold it back for much longer. And then it finally disappears into the unending darkness of space. And she breaks. Tear after tear until the well is dry. Every night, somewhere they used to call Europe, there is a girl lying in the grass in front of a huge mansion. She is watching the stars, longing and lamenting. The past lingers within her forever, yet she looks into the future. When is she going home? the end