Chapter 1:
I woke up to a raging hangover and a constant ringing in my ears. It took me a hot minute to realise that the ringing was a phone on the nightstand beside the bed and that, given how long it had been going on, I should probably answer it. Now, I am not the best at anything when I first wake up. Normally, that is a full 30-minute process involving coffee and long hot showers, but this goes doubly so when I apparently decided to imbibe an entire bar's worth of liquor the night before. So it took a hot minute for my hand to actually grab the receiver and another for me to get more than a groan out of my mouth. "Mhg, ugh, yeah, hello, what is it?" I basically mumble into the handset as I slowly get myself sitting up in bed.
"Ms Wylde, my name is Gunther Schobert, calling from Schobert and Sons. I regret to inform you that your father has died recently and that you are now needed for the reading of the will and dispersal of his estate. Please can you make yourself available at our offices by Noon." Came the heavily German voice over the phone. It was definitely upper-crust old-money posh in tone, and the apparent disdain from either my tone, my audible state or maybe just several other factors I was unaware of set me on edge. That said, apparently I was not as much of an Orphan as I had thought, well, except the old man is apparently dead, so Yay me back to Orphanhood.
"Sure, I assume that you are located in Tharkad City then and not on the other side of the planet?" I retort back as my brain is slowly waking up and starting to catch things that make no sense, like the fact that I am speaking German, or Lyrian Commonwealth German, and that I just asked if someone calling me on an old phone is based out of a fictional city like Tharkad.
"That would be a correct assumption. Please be present and presentable at our offices at noon precisely, there is much to do in regards to the will." He replies before the line goes dead. I pull the handset away from my ear and sort of stare at it for a moment, baffled at the sheer audacity of the guy. Then my brain realises what has just happened and adrenaline dumps into my system.
Suddenly, I am very wide awake and taking in my surroundings as my brain tries to parse what is going on. First, this is not the bedroom I fell asleep in; that one was back on Earth, and in the year 2025, during the first week of October. This one was a cheap motel room, located on the outskirts of Tharkad, in the Lyrian Commonwealth, in the year 3000. The new year had ticked over last night, and I had apparently been celebrating far too hard.
I was almost doubled over as the memories of this life slammed into me full force, not a gradual thing but a full twenty years jammed into a scant minute of mind-bending agony. The pain was such that I could not even scream, though my lungs had at some stage emptied themselves, as the gasp as I grew desperate for air brought me back from the deluge of the lifetime I had apparently lived here.
Standing from the bed, I stumbled my way into the small bathroom, and put myself under the shower, ignoring the initial blast of cold water that rapidly warmed up to my preferred near scalding. I simply stood beneath the shower for the next ten minutes, trying to make sense of things. How did this happen? Who or what had done this to me? I recalled the setup; I had played with the CYOA for Battletech enough times. But seriously, I never wanted to actually end up here. This is some next-level bullshit right here. Sure, I may not have had the cushiest life, but I enjoyed it and loved my family. Shit, my family. Mum and Bubs, they were either going to wake up in a house with me vanished, or find my corpse at my PC.
My following string of profanity was as harsh and expletive-filled as any enlisted or mariner had ever spat, and still I thought up a bunch more creative things to call whatever had dropped me here. Stepping out of the shower, though, did reveal one thing about this transition that shocked me: I was short, no, not just short, I was full-on Loli childlike. If I hit five feet, it was barely, and I could at best be classified as an athletic teenage girl. Except I had kept the family's arse, hips and legs. Apparently, the family curse of a small chest carried over as I was near washboard status.
My hair was now also snow white, with slight golden streaks, which, looking closely, was entirely natural. That freaked me out a little cause that meant some form of gene editing at some stage in my life, which is not freaky at all, no sir. The other thing was my eyes, completely and utterly non-standard, an electric violet that looked like someone had stuck neon lights behind them. Not fake, that much was apparent, but definitely and unequivocally not natural. Shit, that was not great. That sort of stuff stands out, and standing out is about the last thing I want to do right now.
Towled off and wrapped up, I step back into the room and pause as I see an envelope lying on the bed. One I know for sure was not there prior, as I would have been lying on it, and it is entirely uncrumpled. Standard white letter envelope, neat, elegant and flowing scripted calligraphy addressing it to me, or the name that I have in this universe at least. Figuring this is ROB or whatever other force dropped me here, I head over and snatch it up, flipping it over to reveal an embossed wax seal with a slot machine on it.
Breaking the seal reveals the same flowing script, elegant, neat, artistic and beautiful in ways that I am sure would take days and days to do for a mortal hand as well as lifetimes of cumulative experience. The letter, such as it is, breaks down my situation. This is not my first time here, not even my third, but this time to make things more interesting for the ROB, they are throwing me here without all my memories and experiences from the last times, as well as all the knowledge that I had gained throughout the 2000 YEARS I had apparently lived in alternate lifetimes.
Instead, as a consolation and to make things far more interesting for themself, I was given a CYOA start and the Chaos Gacha. Now, the normal start for the Gacha would be tediously boring for them, so instead, they had hit me with some random bad things and also given me a chance to use directed choices for my accumulated tickets. As I got to that point, the envelope that I was still holding got heavier, and I found a bundle of tickets. Eight, to be exact, all gold and shiny like the one from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Five were labelled as Gold Pulls from my choice, and three were labelled Advantage Gold Pulls of Choice.
Now, I figure that I know the start of the CYOA is going to give me a bunch of stuff. In fact, it could honestly give me more than I could ever need; just selling it off and living on the proceeds would be a comfortable life. But I can hundred percent guarantee that the ROB has made that impossible in the will, I would be the will on it, so I was going to have to do something with it and actually run a company that uses the Metal. The second part, the tickets, the Gacha, had me on edge, as I was never one for the games that used the mechanic. I was also aware that some of the stuff I read with the chaos gacha had a whole bunch of magic and Ki, and other non-scientific things that would end with me having to fight off the entirety of humanity if I received them. No, these were choice tickets, so hopefully I could limit things, or ROB had to simply prevent me from becoming way too OP.
I took the tickets and letter and put them back in the envelope for the moment, turning and looking at the digital clock. It read at a quarter past eight, so I had time to get myself sorted with some food before I had to head over. I could also plan out what I wanted to do with the tickets, not that they were going to be leaving me ever. The letter had mentioned that unless I physically and with intent gave someone the tickets, they would always reappear on my person, would not be usable and would basically be ignored by all and sundry. Which I thanked baby Jesus for, cause I did not need folks picking these up and suddenly being able to fly, or shoot lasers from their eyes or some other absolutely mad things.
Two hours later found myself in a taxi cab, fed and with a to-go coffee in hand, with a hit of whiskey, cause hair of the dog and caffeine is my hangover fix, and still seems to work, even though I had to provide three separate IDs to the wait staff and manager of the cafe to get it. Seriously, being this small was a dream come true, but also immensely annoying if I was going to be treated like a child all the time.
I had gone over what I knew could be potentially coming; I had even gone over a bunch of other things that could potentially help me with what was to come, knowledge-wise, not that I planned to even hint at some of that stuff anywhere that had any chance of signal interception. Now, did I have all the knowledge of all the little hidden gems? Not even close. Did I have enough to utterly flip the board and through numerous flapping wings into the future as hurricanes of disruption, oh yes indeed. That was the thing, however, did I even want to? Did I want to throw a metric shit ton of info at people and leave it to Murphy whether it was made into something or backfired spectacularly? Honestly, still not sure, but what I do know is that I definitely wanted to use the few tickets I had, and I even had plans for how to split them all. That should hopefully help me out and give me the needed kickstart to things, but I still had to wait and see what exactly I was working with.
The cab took me an hour and forty minutes to get to the Lawyers' offices, which, when I walked in, matched the tone of voice used to speak to me. Old money, understated wealth, efficient displays that only showed off if you knew their value. Now I was always going to stand out, but in this case, it was like a sore thumb, between the melting snow that fell from my thick winterised Duster, to the way my boots tracked wet prints and squeaked on the marble floor. I was out of place and definitely looked too young and badly dressed to be here, as was evidenced by the hulking security guard who was beelining my way with a frown on their face.
"That is far enough, little miss. This is not a place for lost children. Please head back outside and down the street to the police precinct." He says not unkindly but definitely with a no-nonsense tone of voice. Sighing, I lifted my left hand with my index finger raised, and slowly slipped my right under my duster jacket, pulling out my comms unit before redialing the number I had saved for Gunther Schobert. He picked up on the third ring just as the security guard made it next to me, his voice pulling the man up short briefly as it came through the unit's speakers. "Schobert here, who is this?" he asks, clearly not having the number for my personal communicator saved or even remembered.
"This is Ms Wylde, Mr Schobert. I am currently in the lobby and would like to get down to business. Please be so kind as to inform your security to escort me up." I respond, my deadpan tone of voice and blank face unchanging with the situation surrounding me. The security guard had apparently gotten close enough to me for a better look, and the curse of Menace that I was under had kicked in as his hand firmly rested on the sidearm he was carrying.
"Ah, yes, I will have them escort you up. I am glad that you were so prompt to arrive," he responds, his tone still smarmy and dripping with the same old money arrogance I had heard earlier. I was hoping that this would be Schobert Junior and that his father or grandfather were of better moral fibre, but I was not holding my breath.
"Not to worry, Mr Schobert, one of them is close enough to me that he can hear you just fine. I should be with you shortly." I reply before cutting the call and turning to the Guard, "Well?" I ask with a raised eyebrow and slight tilt of my head. He is obviously torn between taking this whole thing at face value, escorting me up and waiting for orders. Thankfully, his earpiece chirps and not five seconds later, he nods and indicates for me to follow him. I fall in behind him, noticing that he remains tense and his hand has still not left his sidearm, but that bothers me little at the moment. Given the fact that three of my curses resulted in social impediments, I have to assume that ROB thought it would be a laugh for me to always be on the back foot in social situations.
I follow along and, after a brief and blessedly silent elevator trip, arrive at the door to the offices of Gunther Schobert. Nodding my thanks to the Security Guard, I wrap my knuckles once on the door and wait. Thankfully it does not take more than a few seconds before the man inside calls me in. Stepping into the office, I am immediately sure that this is one of the Junior Schoberts; the room is awash in gaudy displays of wealth and tasteless extravagance. Where the rest of the offices and the building itself were understated and clean, this is an assault on the eyes.
My curse thankfully keeps my face and body from showing my disdain and revulsion at the display, and as such, I walk over and settle myself into one of the ridiculously gaudy couches around a coffee table. Folding my hands in my lap after crossing my legs, I lean back and wait for the young man, and looking at him, he can't be more than five years my senior, to join me.
Gunther Schobert stands from whatever he was doing on his terminal, gathering files before looking up from the desk and seeing me for the first time, and is stuck like a deer in headlights. The deadpan look on my face and the relaxed posture I have taken, matched with what clearly looks like the clothes of a ruffian or merc, have immediately set him on edge, especially with the added bit of Menace from my curse. I can tell he is also double-talking as I look for all the world like a young girl and not the twenty-year-old my file probably says.
He shuffles over warily and takes the opposite couch, putting a stack of papers down on the coffee table between us before settling nervously in his seat. He nervously looks to me again before quickly glancing down at the stack of papers, "Ahem, yes, well, thank you for coming on such short notice, Ms Wylde." The throat clear and slightly higher pitch to his voice has changed the tone from Hoity toity holier than thou to Shit fuck get me out of the room, this is way beyond my wheelhouse.
"You specified noon, and as such I made myself available, now I would like to know what the man who apparently abandoned me and my mother had to say about me in his will so that I can go back about my day, there is work that I need to get back to Mr Schobert, and you claimed this would take some significant amount of time so let us be on with it," I reply, my voice still a stoic, unflappable deadpan.
"Yes, quite, I feel that we can probably get this done in short order then." He says, pushing half the stack of papers across the table to me and grabbing his own stack. "In summary, the late Lord Mortimer of has left you in bequeathment, a sum of $400,000,000 C-Bills, and the sole ownership and control over the Black Cats PMC." As he reads that out, he realises that this is not some small wave the poor off out the door after telling them that they have inherited their deadbeat father's debts, or become the scapegoat for something. Instead, he was now dealing with an individual of extensive wealth and means.
"The breakdown which you will find on pages fifty through seventy-five, will list out details for the individual assets, in summary, you will find that you now have total ownership and control of two Tramp-class jumpships," That causes his eyes to widen and his eyebrows to disappear, " Four dropships, a battalion of mechs, two mixed battalions of Combat vehicles, an ASF wing, and a Logistics battalion." By the end of his summary, Gunthar Schobert is looking decidedly green around the gills while also being white as a sheet.
I was not all that surprised. I was expecting something of around this size from the way the day had started, either this or a small team that was part of a Salvage and Prospecting company, with the addition of maybe a verigraphed set of notes leading to some juicy find that I did not already know about. What does surprise me, however, as I read through the detailed briefs on each item of the company, is the fact that I have a very decent amount of firepower, some very expensive and rare mechs and two dropships that most of the Inner Spheres' Great houses would love to requisition from me indefinitely. I am also not surprised at his reactions, as the listing of my assets has just placed me comfortably in the multibillionaire position without including the 400,000,000 C-bills in liquid capital.
"The caveat to receiving the inheritance, however, is that you must successfully run the Black Cats for a period of no less than five years. You are, however, being given a year before that to gather and train ground and ASF crews, as you currently do not have anywhere near enough to do more than support a barebones company of mechs and some supporting elements," he continues in a far more subservient tone with the flattery kicking in and the snark from our phone calls absent.
"Well, let's get the paperwork squared away, and then I can look into meeting the senior crews and seeing what's what. Give me a half hour to read through everything, and then I can sign and get out of your hair." I reply, flipping back to the start of the will and also the rest of the legal packet and beginning to read it all through. I would love to just find another law firm to handle this and ensure I am not getting legally shafted, but I am actually down to my last thousand Kroner right now and would massively prefer not to spend it all before that cool 400,000,000 C-bills clears.
Forty-five minutes later, I am escorted to the door by Gunthor Schobert, as well as his Father and Grandfather. Apparently, while I was reading things through, Mr Schobert, the youngest, had slipped out to contact them and let them know about the massive amount of stuff and things, and they had both inserted themselves immediately afterwards, I assume to ensure that I thought about using them in the future for legal needs. I shake hands with each of them, firm but not overbearing and wish them a pleasant rest of their day with promises that if I require any further legal aid, I will think of them first. I even would, as the two elder Schoberts seemed to be the right sorts, even if only in a professional sense.
Checking the time and noticing it was close to one, I hailed a cab and headed for the spaceport, and a known grill that served amazing steaks, and even had some craft alcohols on sale, including mead, my poison of choice. While the cab travelled, I put in a call from my communicator and organised a meeting with the senior members of my father's old crew. I asked them to bring through whichever captains were on the ground from the Drop and Jump ships, as well as the head of my Mektechs, the leader for the armed forces, and whichever of the mechjocks was in charge.
The drive was pleasant enough, and honestly, not having to hoof it from station platform to station platform, as well as stand out in the freezing cold, was a true godsend. The cab stopped outside of the restaurant that I had chosen, a small hole-in-the-wall pub that served spacers good food and drink for a fair price, which in Lyran space is hilarious as an idea, especially in the capital. I hit the bar first and grab myself a Stein of Mead, and then head for a large reserved booth table in the less busy area in the back.
I wanted to get through these meetings fast, but also in a setting that would let me get a read on my new employees. Everyone currently employed is older than me by a minimum of a decade. All of them have training and skills, and experience in the Merc game. While I can run a business just fine, and my previous life's memories let me know the bare bones of what is going to be happening, I still will have to do this successfully for five years, which, considering when I am, is not going to be all that difficult, hopefully.
I have managed to start on the finger food board that I ordered and polish a third of my drink by the time I see the group of people from the dossier packet I received walk in. I had not yet dug into my tickets, as I felt that greeting everyone and getting a feel for them first would be better for me. See, I want to see what they do and how they act when they think that they are about to be taken over by a rookie. Someone without training or skin in the game. See, I did not yet have any of the needed training, but I knew for a fact that it was possible to end up with it from the gacha. All I needed to do was get things on the road, and hopefully everything would go right.
They all approached the bar and gave the bartender the reservation name. As I watched, he nodded over my way, and as they turned to look, I just held up the stein with my drink in it. That seemed to signal to all of them to grab drinks as they spent another five minutes all getting their chosen poison before heading my way. I finished the sip I was taking before standing to greet them all.
"Good to meet you all, Samantha Wylde, apparently the new owner and proprietor of the Black Cats," I say, holding my hands out to the woman I had identified as the captain of the Lee-class dropship, Cats Meow, Captain Janine Taylor. She stood far taller than my diminutive 5ft, easily hitting 6'4" if not taller. Built lithe and trim, she cut a dashing figure in a pantsuit, with a close-cropped cut for her Violet hair. Yup, Violet, apparently, there were no uniform regs for that sort of thing in the company, as I noticed that there were a few more unnatural and outlandish colours among the group, as well as the distinct presence of both animal ears and a tail in one case.
The double take on their faces when they finally saw me and heard me, cause even when I try to be chipper and enthusiastic, my face and voice may as well be blank. That, and also for hardened Mercs, they had all been in the biz for at least a decade, if not two or three in some cases. They were all registering threats from me, even though I was just standing there with my hand out. I hate having social debuffs; they massively increase difficulties with this sort of crap.
"Janine Taylor, Captain of one of the Dropships, with me are my fellow Captains, Marcy Bals, Velma DeLouche and Lady Rachel Montgomery." She says, introducing three of the four women with her. One of whom, Lady Montgomery, just so happened to be a Black Cat Girl, in the full Anthro sense, while Velma Delouche had the ears and tail of what seemed to be a snow leopard. I step forward and shake hands with them all before turning to the ground pounder and tek side of my new company.
The man who makes the introductions is definitely older than the rest, probably in his late forties to early fifties in appearance. I know he is 49 from his dossier, but you would be hard-pressed to call that right, "James Bond, I lead the PBI contingent in the company. With me are Mark Templeton, our lead for the Mech Warriors that we have, as well as Maine Rogers, our lead head and finally the lovely Victoria Ferrous, the person that keeps all our shit from falling apart and making sure we can take the fight wherever we need to go." As he goes through the list, I shake hands and get everyone's measure. Honestly, Vikki Ferrous had me hard pausing and rereading things when I first saw the name, cause I sure as heck did not want to be in a Seras universe. Vikki is way too much of a gremlin chaos magnet to handle. Thankfully, in this case, I seemed to have lucked out and just landed with someone with the same name.
Once introductions were done, I waved for everyone to take a seat and flagged down a server to get another five finger-food platters. Then turned back to everyone as I noticed them all watching me carefully and with just a little bit on edge. I could feel the uncertainty that they were suddenly feeling. It was almost like my curses made me increasingly aware of how bad and on edge I made people just to make things more difficult. I sigh before taking a sip from my mead and snagging another chicken wing from the platter in front of me.
Done with all the stalling, I can look back at the group of people who still have yet to touch their drinks and who are still apparently weighing me and judging what exactly is going on here. "So I called you all here to discuss what exactly we would be doing going forward. Now I know that the two Captains of the Jumpships would probably like to be here, but I would honestly like to be off planet and away from here right quick, considering the amount of metal currently sitting around on those pads." I start causing them all to start slightly and start paying more attention to what I am saying and less to what I am doing.
"First stop is Solaris, then we move on to Galatea, and from there onto whatever world gives us a contract. The contract will preferably be a defensive garrison, and I will be putting in that contract that we will not be going on any raids, defensive actions on the planet only, with militia cross-training added in. I do not mind if our training is as large as we can get it to be. But everyone should be cross-trained from PBI to Tanker to Mech Warrior to artillery. I do not expect folks to be able to fly ASFs; that is a whole other ball game and is entirely up to the individuals you want to learn, speak to whoever ends up running that section of our company." I lay out, causing raised eyebrows from everyone. The dropship captains are frowning, Mark is as well, though I can see some respect there, and James and Maine both look like they expect to have a good time of things.
"You expect everyone to do this? I don't think the techs or my crews are going to be happy, let alone the ASF and Mech Pilots? Why would you make everyone cross-train? What's the point?" Asks Captain Janine.
"First up, yes. Everyone, myself included, will be doing at the very least boot with the PBI and one other team among us. If that means mechs and they have the capabilities, then on mechs they will train. If that means with the Mech Techs, then down in the grease pits. But I expect a minimum of infantry training for everyone. Mechs and Tankers will cross-train where applicable, and also in the use and calling of Artillery. ASF pilots will do the same, this is because if you know how to do all the jobs, even just basically, then you can work together better. I should not need to tell you that if every part of the whole knows what every other part is doing, and can trust them to do it right, we can do more." I reply, looking over all the people at the table. Victoria is now scowling. I can imagine having to train folks in what to do and not to do as a Tech is going to annoy the hell out of her. But I need folks to understand how to do as much as possible. It will also hammer home exactly what needs to happen and show me where all the holes in our training are.
"That is going to cost us time and money to start with, until we figure out what works and what doesn't," James says, stroking his chin as he leans back in his seat and takes the first sip of a drink among the crew.
"I have the liquid capital for us to run through for ten years. After that, we need to make money, but if we can get training garrisons and defensive garrisons to start with, I will take them and be happy. The Tramps will take jump jobs within 60 light-years or 120 light-years at maximum. Meaning that we will always have lift within four weeks," I notice the slight shift among the group as I list that number and pause for a moment, looking them over before continuing. I have theories, but they can be confirmed when off planet.
"We are probably going to be burning through a good, cool five to ten million in the first two to three years just in training costs. Not including normal maintenance and upkeep. So I expect that yes, everyone will participate. I would rather take on board a few veteran crews, preferably ex-military, that can form a training cadre centred on the old hands that have stayed on, with a whole bunch of fresh meat that we can train up to satisfaction. But I figure that we will probably get a mix of various levels of skill and teamwork that will need bad habits broken and a bunch worked on." At the mention of how much I was looking to spend on just the training, I got raised eyebrows. The fact that I am going to try and work on having a solid training cadre and only take garrison contracts to start with obviously has them all feeling slightly better disposed towards me. I am not going to be throwing them into a meat grinder to start and hope things work.
"You really plan to spend that much for so long just to get us to full strength? What about keeping some in reserve to ensure we can pay if something goes wrong?" Asks Lady Montgomery.
"I figure I can run almost ten years at that pace before I dip into the nest egg that I will be setting aside to continue building more funds for us, independent of the work the company itself does. I also did some of my own digging and have some things I want us to look into eventually, but that can be discussed later. For now, I need to know exactly what we need to get back to full strength and also to square us away and start looking into contracts." I reply, looking around the table as they all start to relax a little and mull over what I am asking for.
The conversation lasts for a few hours as I get to know my senior staff and their thoughts about the needs of the company. The Ship captains all want to get their hands on better rations, the military arm wants more people desperately and like the idea of training, though they are leery of cross-training. Vikki, don't call me Victoria, says we need more and better techs and also to look into a bunch more stock of ammo, armour, parts and such. They also really don't want to have to train jarheads on fixing stuff, and I should not expect to get them back in one piece if I send them to her. That gets me smiling on the inside with a promise that people will only be sent her way as needed.
Eventually, we wrap everything up and go our separate ways. I head back to the short-stay rental that I am in currently. I will be packing up and moving out to one of the Dropships tomorrow, but first, I have several tickets to tear and see what the Chaos Gacha has for me. When I get home, I take a seat on the cheap, lumpy couch and pull the envelope from my inner jacket pocket.
Taking the roll of tickets out, I am surprised to see that I have additional tickets present, one silver skills ticket, one gold familiar ticket, one platinum Item ticket, and finally one bronze trait ticket.
Deciding to just say screw it, I take all of the new tickets and tear them at the same time. The result is both over and underwhelming. The skill ticket makes me an adept markswoman; any ranged weapon is now a near-surgical tool in my hands. The trait makes me a natural-born hacker, giving me a natural idea of how to get into and around networks. Neither of these blows me away, and honestly, I expected more from the gacha.
The next two, however, do make up for it; the familiar ticket gives me a five-pack of KX Executor Droids from Star Wars. These guys are perfect as shock troops and guards for my ships; the numbers should also increase as I get more gacha rolls, if I am reading things right. The Item ticket, which I had the most hopes for being a platinum ticket, unfortunately rolled low, not that I will complain about having a highly advanced AutoDoc that just needs to be plugged into power to be able to do almost any form of medical procedure.
Both the item and the familiar are currently in a subspace waiting for me to summon them out and get them installed wherever I need. I will probably have to wait on that for a little while, maybe fake out finding them when I go and grab the Argo, yes, I am grabbing the super large drop ship. The thing is exceedingly useful as a mobile base and central repair point. And having the AutoDoc and KX on board when we find it should make things much easier to justify.
Next up, I have the starting tickets. That is eight pulls of choice with three having an advantage. Meaning I technically get eleven pulls and eight choices, so knowing what I want to get, I set four of them aside for skills and tear three of them for abilities. The results are impressive and also not.
[Tinker - Vehicles()]
|Elite Ability|
Allows you to build technological constructs or contraptions related to vehicles or methods of transportation, like giant cars with laser canons and cloaking technology, a ship that goes at the speed of sound and does not get affected by waves. If it involves vehicles, you can build it.
[Tinker - Construction]
|Rare Ability|
Allows you to build technological constructs or contraptions related to construction, such as super cement, reinforced steel structures, and incredibly efficient building schematics.
[Tinker - Games]
|Uncommon Ability|
Allows you to build technological constructs or contraptions related to games or entertainment programs. You are over 100 times more efficient than the average experienced full development team when it comes to making games and entertainment programs.
Three tinker abilities, which make sense; this is not a universe that runs on magic bullshit as much as it seems to creep into the lore on occasion. That said, having the knowledge and abilities of three separate tinker specialities downloaded into my brain knocks me back into the couch to just veg for a minute. It feels like I just had someone download the schematics and knowledge to create the schematics for three entirely divergent disciplines directly into my head. Think getting a complete PhD in every related field, all simultaneously experienced in an instant. Not pleasant in the least and definitely uncomfortable.
Eventually, I make it past the pain and disorientation, checking the time and noticing that it is just before seven in the evening local time. Stumbling up and off the couch, I make my way to the kitchen and grab a soda from my little fridge. I also put a bunch of coffee on, as I am going to need it, I feel, for the coming tickets. Cold soda drank, some pills from the small medicine cabinet taken and coffee in hand, I returned to the couch and the remaining five tickets. The next ticket I want to try and get something from is the traits section. I am assuming that it is the place that might give me things that make me inherently more capable, so, grabbing the ticket, I tear it while thinking about traits that should help out in this universe.
The result is that the ticket dissolves into nothing, and a simple purple ticket takes its place.
[Biodroid]
|Epic Trait|
Race Change - You are the seamless merging of technology and flesh, making you an incredibly effective Bio Android. Granting you increased physical abilities and increased energy reserves, as well as a natural healing factor. You have an increased affinity with Tinker abilities and machines, as well as being able to converse and interface with machines.
Well, that is one I will have to sleep on. As I am weighing the benefits against the costs, I pull the remaining tickets towards me. These are going to be used on skills, one straight gold skill pull, and three advantage pulls. I start with the straight pull as it is the one that is going to be the most direct and require the least thought. I tear the ticket and am once again kicked into the back of the couch by the influx of new knowledge. I know Kung Fu, well, more of a complete overview of martial arts in general. I am now an expert in the art of hand-to-hand fighting, and should learn any martial art related to using the body very rapidly. This makes the Biodroid race change seem better, as the enhanced strength will make up for my small stature.
I veg out for a moment before finally sitting up and looking at the final three tickets. Deciding that I may as well do them all at once, and figuring that it may well knock me the hell out, I run through my evening routine and get everything except a change of clothes for the next day packed up and put away in the bags that I travel with. Thankfully, none of the furniture is mine, and I have never been big on things. My life fits in two duffels and a footlocker. Sad, I know. Finally, I lie down in bed and tear the last three tickets, thinking of skills and hoping that I get good pulls. I am greeted by a mental table of six skills.
[Adept Management]
|Rare Skill|
You are skilled at management tasks, you know how to distribute tasks, handle them efficiently, handle employees or minions, multitask efficiently and deal with financial problems efficiently. You could easily run your own company or be an excellent financial advisor.
[King of All Trades]
|Epic Skill|
You have Adept-level expertise in all basic trades (Adept Blacksmithing, Medicine, Mechanics, Cooking, Interfacing) with competence comparable to an actual veteran of the trade and are greatly talented in those fields.
[Adept Blunt Weapon Mastery]
|Rare Skill|
You are very talented at wielding blunt weapons such as hammers and clubs. When you are holding any blunt weapon, you can exert almost supernatural levels of strength with it.
[Master Driving]
|Epic Skill|
You are a true master at driving any kind of vehicle; if it has steering, you can ride any vehicle or mount as if they were extensions of your body. Ranging from rollerblades to star-sized spacecraft.
[Expert Stealth]
|Elite Skill|
You are an expert in the way of stealth, you know how to move like a ghost, silently, blend into your surroundings and swim with the shadows. You could sneak into a military base, and no soul would know you were there. You could stalk an owl through a forest while wearing a high-visibility jacket. You are up there with the greatest assassins.
[Krav Maga]
|Uncommon Skill|
You are an apprentice of Krav Maga, a brutally efficient martial art made for military use. It emphasises instinctive movements, rapid strikes, and efficient takedowns to neutralise threats as quickly as possible. Krav Maga incorporates techniques from boxing, wrestling, judo, and street fighting. With sufficient mastery, you can enhance your strikes with your internal energy.
Now reading through that list, I immediately ignored management and the two martial arts. I was never going to be fighting with blunt weapons, and my Expert Hand-to-Hand combat already meant that I could learn Krav Maga to a higher level than the skill gave, in little time. That and the other three skills were just too enticing not to grab.
King of all trades was just straight up broken, granting me Adept status in five separate skills is just a no-brainer pick. I yoinked that right away. Same with the Master Driving, see the Gacha does not separate the different types of controlling vehicles, if it is controllable as a means of transport, it falls under this skill, and what is a Battlemech except a means of transport. Same with ASF, Dropships, Jumpships and basically everything else that I might need for travel in the future. Water, land, sky and space, this skill covers it all and makes me one of the best there is.
With the Martial arts removed from the choices, it also means that I default to Expert Stealth, and honestly, I like being sneaky; one of my favourite game mechanics is being the sneaky rogue. I loved the original Thief games, and the stealth archer was a meme build that never truly went away for a reason. So that was a non-starter. When my choices were locked in, I was thankful that I was already lying down and that I had planned to pass out right away, as that was exactly the result of my choice to do three tickets at once.
As the darkness claimed me, I could almost hear laughter on the edges of my consciousness. Apparently, ROB was getting a kick out of my pain or just my weird broken start. I never did manage to tell, as I lost consciousness soon after.