USER

Let’s start a game.

ASSISTANT

🎲 FATE CORE ROLEPLAYING ADVENTURE BEGINS! 🎲

Welcome, traveler! It’s time to embark on a wild, weird, or wondrous journey through a world teeming with danger, adventure, and things your mother warned you about (or, if you’re lucky, never knew existed).

Before you can face dungeons, punish corporate overlords, outwit undead cowboys, or invent new ways to regret your choices, you’ll need to pick how you want this adventure to begin.

🌍 CHOOSE YOUR STARTING PATH

1. QUICK START
Leap blind into the unknown! We’ll whip up the world, your character, and dive straight into the story—no fuss, just chaos.

2. STANDARD START
World-building and character-forging! We’ll walk through world and character creation step by step, giving you options at every turn.

3. USER-SPECIFIED START
Control freak? I love it! You tell me as much (or as little) as you want about the setting, characters, or anything else. I’ll fill in the gaps using the standard process.

What’ll it be?
(Pick a number and let’s get this existential party started. Or describe your own starting point!)

USER

Let’s do a quickstart with a futuristic cyberpunk theme.

ASSISTANT

🚨 QUICKSTART: CYBERPUNK NIGHTMARE EDITION! 🚨

Booting up… Loading neural synapse modules… Calibrating illegal upgrades… Hacking your narrative cortex…

🌆 WELCOME TO NEON CORVUS

A future that tastes like a copper wire and burns like cheap vodka. In Neon Corvus, the city’s underbelly pulses with data streams, every shadow’s got a secret, and everyone’s got a price—or else, a reason to shoot at you.

Sky’s an endless advertisements flicker; rain’s either acid or somebody’s bad joke. Mega-corporations own the sky. Gangs run the ground. The question is: Which side are you on? Or are you just out to make it one more night?

🌐 YOUR CHARACTER: RIKU KESSAI

High-level Concept

“Riku Kessai, a razor-mouthed data thief with a cybernetic pet rat named Bitey.”

Riku’s got the moves, the mouth, and enough questionable augmentations to trigger four airport security sweeps just by blinking. Surviving on the edge means knowing who to trust (answer: nobody), and where to run (answer: anywhere but here).

🟥 FATE CORE CHARACTER SHEET: RIKU KESSAI

High Concept:
Razor-Mouthed Data Thief with a Heart Full of Hacks
A quick-witted, illegal-access specialist who lives for the thrill of breaking in and getting out.

Trouble:
Addicted to the Rush
Riku craves pushing boundaries—one more job, one more hack. Sometimes waiting isn’t an option… even if it should be.

Additional Aspects:

  • Pet Rat “Bitey”, Your Tiny Hacker-in-Crime
    (Bitey can bite through cables or cause distractions, but draws attention—sometimes the wrong kind.)
  • Blacklisted by Arasynth Corp
    (Your face is flagged on every corporate camera. Sometimes that opens back doors, sometimes it paints a target.)
  • Relic from the Data Wars
    (Old tech brain-jacks let you access hidden corners of the net—but they glitch, and others want what’s in your head.)

Skills (Fate Core Pyramid):

  • +4: Burglary
  • +3: Stealth, Contacts
  • +2: Deceive, Notice, Athletics
  • +1: Provoke, Will, Investigate, Physique

Stunts:

  • Ghost in the Circuits: +2 to Burglary when hacking secured digital systems.
  • Rat’s Escape: Once per session, automatically escape physical restraints or a locked room (with Bitey’s help).
  • Silver Tongue Upload: +2 to Deceive when impersonating a digital persona or synthetic ID.

Stress Track:

  • Physical: [ ] [ ] [ ]
  • Mental: [ ] [ ] [ ]
    Marked when you take damage mentally or physically; fill up and you’re in deep, deep trouble!

Fate Points: 3
Spend these to invoke Aspects for narrative advantage, or to power through trouble.

🔥 EXTRAS (Pick 1, or keep your inventory clean):

  1. Bitey’s Custom EMP Collar
    Mini-EMP burst: fry electronics in a pinch (including your own gear, oops). Once per adventure.
  2. Shady Street Doc Contact
    Illegal augments and sketchy patch jobs just a call away. Sometimes asks weird favors.
  3. Neon-Camo Hoodie
    Reactive fabric: you blend in with the city, +2 Stealth once per session.
  4. AR Graffiti Drone “Banksy Jr.”
    Leaves digital graffiti, distracts security, annoys authorities.
  5. Romantically Entangled Gang Lieutenant
    Love is a battlefield, and sometimes the bed is bugged. Complicates everything.

RIKU KESSAI ✨ QUICK REFERENCE

What this all means:

  • Aspects: Invoke them with Fate Points for +2 bonuses, special effects, or to shape the story (compels mean trouble comes your way!).
  • Skills: Roll 4dF (Fate dice) + Skill level vs. set difficulty. Beat the number, succeed. Every choice you make can trigger a roll.
  • Stunts: Special moves—use them freely, but some are limited.
  • Stress: Take a hit? Mark stress. Fill the track and you risk Consequences (serious trouble).
  • Fate Points: Spend to boost rolls, avoid disaster, or do something rad. Earn more when your Trouble (or other Aspects) make life hard.

🌌 SCENE 1: DATA HEIST AT THE GRIDSPINE CASINO

The buzz of bio-luminescent signage lights up your face as you slip through the rain-soaked alleyways behind the Gridspine Casino—playground of the desperate and rich alike. Your fixer’s message flashes in your synaptic HUD:

“Slot machine 7A. Ghost the vault. Take the datachip. Watch your back—Arasynth sniffers are on the prowl.”

Bitey chatters on your shoulder, gnawing at a loose wire on your jacket. Around you, chrome-eyed muscle and synth-jacketed aristocrats wander in and out of neon-lit front doors. Getting inside isn’t the problem. Getting out? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

A clock ticks. Acid rain hisses on the asphalt. The city is hunting you.

WHAT DO YOU DO?

  1. Use Stealth to slip past casino security at the side entrance.
    (Skill Check: Stealth +3 vs. Fair (+2) difficulty)

  2. Fake a delivery with a forged ID and smooth talk the doorman.
    (Skill Check: Deceive +2, invoke your “Silver Tongue Upload” stunt for +2! Difficulty: Good (+3))

  3. Send Bitey in through the vents to map out the security grid first.
    (Skill Check: Notice +2 vs. Average (+1), can also invoke “Pet Rat Bitey” for +2 bonus with a Fate Point.)

  4. Crack a side terminal and hack the maglock—go straight for the infiltration.
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4, plus “Ghost in the Circuits” stunt for +2. Difficulty: Great (+4))

  5. Scope the area, looking for corporate spotters and backup exit routes.
    (Skill Check: Investigate +1, can invoke “Blacklisted by Arasynth Corp” for +2 bonus or extra complications.)

  6. WRITE-IN: Tell me exactly what you want to do (I’ll give you the skill and roll required).

🎲 Want to invoke an Aspect or spend a Fate Point for a blazing bonus? Let me know which one!
Pick your action, choose your flavor—and let’s see what gets you inside… or gets you iced.

USER

Scope the area fist.

ASSISTANT

📹 SCENE: SHADOWS AND SURVEILLANCE 📹

Rain slaps your neon-camo hoodie like a drummer on synth-rage, each droplet splattering micro-rainbows across your optic implant. You duck beneath a flickering AR billboard promising eternal pleasure (small print: neural jack sold separately) and narrow your eyes. It’s always the ones you don’t see coming that end your evening in a recycling vat.

Bitey twitches, nose alive to the subtle ozone-and-grease aroma of fear and fortune. You settle against a half-dead vending bot, keeping one earbud in for fixer chatter, the other tuned to street sounds—boots on ferrocrete, a digital hawker peddling code drugs, the click-click-click of distant drones.

You let your gaze sweep the casino perimeter. Spotters, lookouts, and the occasional AR ghost swirl under the harsh white glow of security lamps. There’s a fat doorman laughing too loudly with a synth blonde, but his eyes keep sweeping the crowd: pro.

On the rooftop, a glint—a micro-cam, rotating on an AI swivel. You trace its scanner range, noting a blind spot where the external ductwork blocks it. Creeping in from there would buy you a few critical seconds. You also note a black-matte van nearby, idling with a terse patience only corporates have. Definitely CID (Corporate Internal Defense) or worse.

Exits? Beyond the front door, there’s a trash chute out back with a biometric lock (smells like a side quest). More importantly, an ancient maglev platform snakes under the north wall—likely maintenance access if you want to crawl through a rat’s own hell.

You finger the chip in your pocket: just enough firewall spike to buy you three minutes in a digital firefight if it comes to that.

But then—your optic overlay shrieks a warning. Someone inside is running facial recognition. You’re not sure if they’ve tagged you, but waiting too long will only make the net tighter.

🔬 INVESTIGATE SKILL CHECK

  • Skill: Investigate +1
  • Difficulty: Fair (+2)
  • Modifiers: Invoke “Blacklisted by Arasynth” Aspect for +2 bonus (costs 1 Fate Point, and may risk extra heat…)
  • Invoke “Neon-Camo Hoodie” Extra for +2 Stealth on your next move (once per session).

ROLLS:

Rolling 4dF +1 (Investigate):

  • [ ][+][ ][-] = 0
  • +1 (Skill) = 1
  • Total: 1 (Below the required 2 for Fair difficulty; failure unless you use an Aspect or Fate Point!)

🚨 Compel Offered:

Your “Blacklisted by Arasynth” means you catch the tail end of a CID agent angling a watermark camera your way. I’ll give you +1 Fate Point, but now the security net tightens—they are scanning for you on the grid. Want to accept the Compel and get the Fate Point, or try to spend a Fate Point to boost your roll and avoid notice?

RESULTS

  • If you accept the failure:
    You catch some useful detail—the rooftop blind spot, the plainclothes CID waiting in the van—but the casino’s scanner tags your face just as you pull back. Security is on alert for “persons of interest.” It’s gonna get hotter from here.

  • If you spend a Fate Point to succeed:
    You spot the full sweep—blind spots, a backup entrance through the maglev platform, and the window of opportunity while security is distracted elsewhere. Nobody notices you… for now.

  • If you accept the Compel:
    You get a Fate Point, but you’re definitely flagged. Someone inside will be actively looking for you throughout your heist.

💡 WHAT’S YOUR MOVE?

  1. Accept the failure:
    • Proceed with limited information—security is now on notice.
    • (You fail the Investigate check; no Fate Point spent or earned).
  2. Spend a Fate Point to invoke an Aspect (describe which):
    • “Relic from the Data Wars” (maybe your old tech is invisible to scanners?),
    • “Neon-Camo Hoodie” (makes you blend in, helps you gather intel unseen),
    • or “Pet Rat Bitey” (send your rat for recon, get a +2).
    • This makes your total 3 (success!) and you remain unnoticed.
  3. Accept the Compel on your “Blacklisted by Arasynth Corp”:
    • Gain +1 Fate Point, but you’re wanted. Expect more aggressive surveillance and security response.
  4. Change course—write in your next move!
    • Got a clever or reckless idea? Maybe you want to bluff through security, or hack the cameras?

Choose your path, and your cyberpunk misery/glory begins! Tell me if you’re boosting your roll or taking the heat.

USER

If the target is slot machine 7A, isn’t it just a slot machine in a row in the casino? I should be able to go in as a player and saddle up to that machine.

ASSISTANT

🃏 YOU THINK LIKE A PRO—JUST BLEND IN? 🃏

Of course. Sometimes the best infiltration trick is walking right through the front door with a big, dumb smile and fists full of chump change. In Neon Corvus, everyone’s got their poison: yours just happens to be heist-shaped.

The entrance throbs with light and noise—virtual cherry blossoms swirl in the air, fake dealers in silver lamé cheer on the losers, and somebody’s winning more neon tokens than they’ll ever cash. You tilt your head, act bored, and stroll in like it’s just another Friday in the city.

CID agents in the black van? Still watching. Facial scramblers at the door? You keep your head low as you pass through the ID gates, your neural overlay buzzing with the urge to panic. Bitey hunkers in your sleeve, his little heart matching your own staccato beat. You finger a ration of corp-cred sticks (enough currency to look legit).

Slot row 7 stretches ahead—a gauntlet of blinking, bleeping one-armed bandits. Each one painted in AR flames and lucky dragons. 7A is right there, gleaming a little brighter than the rest. Some grandpa with a tired face wobbles away, clutching an empty cup and a plastic lucky frog. Seats open.

Your fixer’s message flashes in your HUD:

“Datachip is hardwired behind the panel. Token in the cup holder unlocks local mesh. Five minutes, max. If the machine hands you cherries, you bug out now—corp alarm’s on the spin.”

You slide into the battered leather seat, pretending to fumble for coins. To security, you’re just another mark chasing a plastic nameless dream.

But you still feel eyes on your back: CID van, casino bouncers, and something older—something digital—tickling the back of your head. Is it just paranoia? Or is the Gridspine’s house AI awake?

🎲 ACTION PHASE: SADDLE UP AT SLOT 7A

With your cover in place, here’s what you can do next:

🎰 CHOICES:

  1. Pop the token from your pocket and slip it into the cup holder, trying to stay casual.
    (Skill Check: Stealth +3 vs. Good (+3) difficulty—keep it cool under the eyes of security cameras.)

  2. Check beneath the console for any physical alarms or security leads before proceeding.
    (Skill Check: Notice +2 vs. Fair (+2) difficulty—catch those traps the dumb crooks miss.)

  3. Run a quick diagnostic on the slot’s mesh connection using your old Data Wars jack.
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4, plus “Ghost in the Circuits” stunt (+2), vs. Great (+4)—risk triggering tripwires if you fail, but you’ll know what you’re in for.)

  4. Keep up appearances: play a round—win, lose, make it a performance.
    (Skill Check: Deceive +2 vs. Average (+1)—if you succeed, you’re just another sap.)

  5. Let Bitey out to scamper and distract nearby surveillance with some adorable chaos.
    (Skill Check: Provoke +1, can invoke “Pet Rat Bitey” for +2 (costs 1 Fate Point), vs. Fair (+2). Will security chase the rat instead of watching you?)

  6. WRITE-IN: Have a sneaky, clever, or wild approach? Describe it—I’ll tell you what it’ll take.

🧨 FATE CORE OPTIONS:

  • Invoke an Aspect for a +2 bonus:
    “Neon-Camo Hoodie” (blending with the crowd), “Relic from the Data Wars” (old hacking skills), “Blacklisted by Arasynth” (maybe they don’t expect you to waltz in??).

  • Spend a Fate Point:
    Pull off a tricky bonus or even bypass certain checks with creative roleplay.

  • Accept a Compel:
    I’ll offer you trouble in exchange for a Fate Point (e.g., security AI gets suspicious).

What’s your move? Pick a number, describe your twist, or invoke those Fate Core features. Every choice matters.

USER

Can I combine playing a round on the slot machine with checking the security features at the same time?

ASSISTANT

Absolutely—you’re playing it smart, blending in while also running a subtle sweep on the slot’s guts. That’s classic operator stuff in Neon Corvus: look harmless, act distracted, but always have your eye on loose wires and silent alarms.

This will be a multi-skill action, covering both keeping up appearances (Deceive) and eyeballing for security features (Notice). Here’s how it works Fate Core style:

  • You’ll make two skill rolls:
    1. Deceive to pass as a casual player.
    2. Notice to clock any nastiness under the machine.
  • Success on both? You’re the ghost—nobody suspects, and you spot all the gotchas.
  • Fail one? You get partial results, but something slips—a bouncer might watch you, or you miss a silent alarm.
  • Fail both? Trouble: you draw heat and miss a trap.

You can invoke Aspects or spend Fate Points to help either roll, or accept a Compel if you’re feeling lucky and want more Fate Points (with attached risks).

🎲 YOUR SKILL CHECKS

  • Deceive +2 (pretend to play, blend in)
    • Difficulty: Average (+1)
  • Notice +2 (scout for traps, tampering, cameras)
    • Difficulty: Fair (+2)

Modifiers to consider:

  • Neon-Camo Hoodie: Could boost Deceive (blend with crowd), +2 with a Fate Point.
  • Pet Rat Bitey: Can assist by scurrying under the machine for a look (Notice +2, costs 1 Fate Point).
  • Relic from the Data Wars: Maybe your old habits let you spot things others don’t (Notice or Deceive, +2 for a Fate Point).

🎲 ROLLING THE DICE!

Let’s see how you do (unless you want to declare any Aspects, Stunts, or Fate Point spends first):

Deceive Roll (Playing Casual)

Rolling 4dF +2 (Deceive):

  • [ ][-][+][ ] = 0
  • +2 (Skill) = 2
  • Against Difficulty +1 (Average): SUCCESS!

Notice Roll (Spot Security Features)

Rolling 4dF +2 (Notice):

  • [-][ ][ ][-] = -2
  • +2 (Skill) = 0
  • Against Difficulty +2 (Fair): FAILURE.

🎴 OUTCOME

🎰 YOU PLAY THE PART…

You feed a chip into the slot—bells and synth-pop go wild. You grin, slouch in the battered seat, make a show of jabbing buttons. To cameras and casino staff, you’re just another hopeful.

But as you glance beneath the armrest, trying to keep your movements hidden, you miss something: a faint, recessed lens behind the “WIN BIG!” decal. Your fingers sweep the underside of the console, but a sticker peels away—a silent alarm wafer left unnoticed.

You’re safe now, but if you start tampering, there’s something dangerous waiting.

💥 CONSEQUENCES & YOUR OPTIONS

You didn’t blow your cover (Deceive success), but you missed spotting a hidden silent alarm on the machine (Notice failed). If you move forward carelessly, trouble’s brewing.

Want to:

  1. Proceed anyway—pop the panel and go for the datachip (Burglary +4, but any tampering will trip the alarm unless you figure it out now).
  2. Spend a Fate Point to invoke an Aspect for a reroll on Notice, or add +2 and spot the alarm before you start.
    • Suggest an Aspect to use: “Relic from the Data Wars”, “Pet Rat Bitey”, or another.
  3. Have Bitey dive in and try to sniff out the alarm for you (Notice +2, costs 1 Fate Point for a fresh roll).
  4. Abort for now, act casual, and scope the casino floor for a better way in or more distractions (Inventive choice—let me know and I’ll set the skill/scene).
  5. WRITE-IN: There’s always some approach you haven’t tried. Describe your idea!

You can still invoke Aspects or use Fate Points to boost past the failed Notice—if you choose. Or you can grit your teeth and risk the silent alarm.

How do you proceed?

USER

Use Relic from the Data Wars

ASSISTANT

🕶️ INVOCATION: Relic from the Data Wars 🕶️

The moment your gloved finger skims the dusty seam beneath slot machine 7A, a cold flicker runs down your spine—a neural feedback like a war-story coming back to bite. You remember: old school traps don’t care about finesse, don’t blink at showmanship. Sometimes, the classics kill you fastest.

You squint, letting ancient Data Wars routines shunt noise in your view, ghosting AR overlays from your vision. You focus. That sticker wasn’t just a maintenance cover; the glue is micro-conductive—a pressure plate alarm straight out of the First Firewall Siege. Cheap, but deadly when you’re not looking.

There, tucked behind the “WIN BIG!” decal and almost invisible: a half-century-old tripwire linked right into the casino’s main security AI. Friendly old 7A is lying in wait for any would-be tamperers. No doubt about it: even brushing this wafer while popping the access panel would ping CID, roll in the black suit goon squad, and probably set off a cloud of neurotoxins for flavor.

You grin. Nobody expects war-era paranoia in a civilian casino. History, baby. Bitey squeaks, approvingly.

🎲 INVOKE RESULT

You spend 1 Fate Point to invoke your aspect “Relic from the Data Wars” (now down to 2).

  • Notice total becomes 0 (original roll) + 2 (Aspect) = 2.
  • Meets Fair difficulty! SUCCESS.

You now:

  • Spot all the alarm triggers.
  • Know exactly where you can slide a shim or disrupt a circuit to safely pop the panel.

You blend in as a player, AND you’ve got the secrets to sidestep the security (Deceive succeeded, Notice now succeeded).

🟩 SLOT 7A: YOU’RE IN POSITION

You play another round, yawn theatrically, and with everyone’s attention on a winner next row over (huge digital tigers doing the can-can), you slide a fiber shim into the wafer’s edge. You break its circuit with a pulse only ancient tech would recognize—old spycraft, undetectable by modern CasinoScript. The panel comes loose in your palm, and no alarms scream.

Behind, you see the tiniest quantum datachip, blinking with a kernel of blue light—a lifetime of stolen secrets for the taking.

🎲 YOUR NEXT MOVE—CHIP IN HAND

What’s your approach as you’re about to snatch the chip?

  1. Swipe the datachip coolly and leave the panel looking untouched.
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4 vs. Great (+4)—can invoke “Ghost in the Circuits” Stunt for +2)

  2. Stash a decoy chip or booby-trap the slot as you go—cover your tracks, mess with the next crook.
    (Skill Check: Deceive +2, or Craft +0 if feeling creative; Difficulty: Good (+3))

  3. Hack the chip in-place and peek at its contents before grabbing it—risky, but you’ll know who you’re dealing with if you succeed.
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4, “Ghost in the Circuits” for +2, Difficulty: Superb (+5); risk of tripping aggressive ICE if you fail)

  4. Let Bitey crawl inside to help—maybe retrieve, maybe plant a distracting mess.
    (Skill Check: Athletics or Burglary +4, can spend a Fate Point to invoke “Pet Rat Bitey” for +2, Difficulty: Great (+4))

  5. WRITE-IN: Got a wild or grand plan? Lay it on me. I’ll give you the required check and possible consequences.

🌀 FATE OPTIONS:

  • Invoke “Ghost in the Circuits” for a +2 Burglary bonus.
  • Spend a Fate Point to auto-succeed at a minor element OR get a re-roll.
  • Accept a Compel: I throw a twist your way, you get a Fate Point, but the job gets riskier/funnier/more dangerous.

What’s your play with the chip?

USER

Can you explain what would happen if I fail the Burglary check when trying to swipe the chip?

ASSISTANT

Absolutely, let’s break it down—because in the gutters of Neon Corvus, failure really means something.

💣 BURGLARY CHECK: RISKS & FALLOUT

ACTION:

Swiping the datachip “coolly and leaving the panel untouched.”
(Burglary +4 vs. Difficulty: Great (+4), option to invoke “Ghost in the Circuits” stunt for +2)

ON SUCCESS:

  • You snag the chip without triggering the alarm.
  • Slot panel snaps back—nobody’s the wiser.
  • Security doesn’t notice a thing; you stroll away with the prize.

ON FAILURE:

Neon Corvus doesn’t do “gentle” consequences—especially with casino security and Arasynth watching.

Possible (and likely stacked) Outcomes:

  1. Security System Triggered:
    • A silent alarm trips—the machine, the floor AI, or even house security know someone’s tampering.
    • Security staff (maybe even CID from outside) are instantly notified and start moving in your direction.
    • The “failure margin” matters: fail by 1 and you might get a few heartbeats’ head start. Fail badly, and it’s as if you shouted “I’m stealing!”
  2. Digital Countermeasures:
    • The chip locks itself or formats if disturbed improperly—you might lose part (or all) of the data.
    • The machine could deploy a counter-hack: a zap to your cybernetic link, scrambled data, or nasty feedback loop that leaves you dazed or with mild stress on your Mental track.
  3. Physical Consequences:
    • A gas/smoke/dye or mild shock system could trigger—a casino classic.
    • The slot might physically clamp down, catching your hand, or causing you to draw attention as you try to jerk free (think: “hand is stuck in the machine” comedy/horror for a round or two).
  4. NPC/Environment Response:
    • House security or an undercover Arasynth agent literally appears at your side with a polite (or not-so-polite) “Can we have a word, please?”
    • Cameras flag your face, the black van outside suddenly lights up, and you’re locked in for the next round—a chase or interrogation.
  5. Fate Compel Opportunities:
    • If you accept the consequences and play them up (“Addicted to the Rush” or “Blacklisted by Arasynth Corp” Aspects), you might earn a Fate Point but can end up in handcuffs, unconscious, or running for your life through a maze of angry slot machines.

STRESS & CONSEQUENCES:

  • If a system zaps your interface, you’d check off Mental Stress.
  • If things get physical (trapped, attacked), you might tick off Physical Stress, or take a Minor/Mild Consequence (e.g., “Burned Fingers,” “Mind-jacked Headache,” “Marked by Security System”, etc.).

EXAMPLE FAILURE NARRATIVE:

You twist the datachip loose, but with a faint chirp, a hidden filament snaps—a light on the machine flares blue. A cold stab lances your brain as the chip’s anti-tamper zap hits your neural link (“Brain static—ouch, that’ll leave a mark!” Tick Mental Stress).
Overhead, a camera pivots. “Congratulations! YOU ARE A WINNER!” blares across the casino—every guard glances your way.
You hear heavy footsteps. You’ve got a split-second decision: bolt, bluff, or fight.

🔔 STAKES SUMMARY:

  • Alert security = harder escape
  • Personal harm (stress/consequences) = immediate, lasting narrative trouble
  • Blow your cover = “No more casino heists (today)”
  • Chip loss/damage = adventure complications, more fetch-questing

Want to try for the chip with a Burglary check (and maybe invoke the stunt or an Aspect for a safe margin), or plot a new scheme based on these stakes?

USER

Invoke “Ghost in the Circuits” and carefully take the datachip while leaving the panel untouched.

ASSISTANT

🦾 INVOKE: Ghost in the Circuits – The Smooth Swipe 🦾

When you’re raised on warzone hacks and backalley code, swiping a casino datachip is child’s play… provided you don’t get cocky. Joking aside, you kick your augmented reflexes into gear, letting your “Ghost in the Circuits” stunt do its work. You move like memory foam—nothing out of place, not a shimmer out of rhythm.

Bitey noses your sleeve, your lucky charm (or at least the only pet you can afford to repair), while your fingers execute a pattern old casino ICE has never seen. You breathe slow, syncing to the flickering tempo of the neon. Every part of you hums with the old rituals of data theft.

🎲 BURGLARY CHECK

  • Skill: Burglary +4
  • Stunt: Ghost in the Circuits (+2 when hacking secured digital systems, which absolutely applies; now +6)
  • Difficulty: Great (+4)
  • Modifiers: None needed—your bonus puts you well ahead.

Let’s roll for style, because dice are part of the thrill:

Rolling 4dF:

  • [+][+][ ][-] = +1

  • Burglary: +4
  • Stunt: +2
  • Roll: +1
  • TOTAL: 7

Target: 4
Success with Style!

⚡ SUCCESS WITH STYLE: CASINO NINJA MOMENT ⚡

You could have demanded the chip start dancing, and it’d have obliged. Every move is surgically precise:

  • The pressure wafer never flexes.
  • The quantum chip drops into your palm, its data intact and without a squeak of protest.
  • You flick a twist-tie from a candy wrapper behind the panel—exact weight, perfect shape—so even a maintenance scan won’t notice until the next scheduled teardown.

You pop another synth-coin in. The panel slides shut, as subtle as doubt. The machine chirps “BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME!” and flashes pixel lemons.

You palm the chip, slip it in the lining of your jacket, and stifle a smirk.
To cameras: just another night loser.
To anyone on the grind: nothing but background static.

Even Bitey seems impressed—he does a little circle-dance in your sleeve, which, in rat body language, means “Damn, we might just make rent.”

🎉 PLAY STATUS UPDATE

  • Slot machine untouched; no alarms triggered.
  • Datachip secured and hidden.
  • Security remains unaware of your theft—for now.
  • Casino floor’s full of rubes, players, and would-be marks… but you walk among them as a ghost.

⭐ WHAT NOW, RIKU?

With the prize in hand, the city’s open roads lie before you—assuming you don’t blow it on the exit, or—worse—stick around for another taste of the action.

🚦 NEXT MOVES:

  1. Head straight for the exit, maintaining your blend-in act.
    (Skill Check: Deceive +2 vs. Fair (+2), or Stealth +3 if you take a more sneaky, backdoor route.)

  2. Scope the casino for trouble (spotters, CID, or a tail) before moving.
    (Skill Check: Notice +2 vs. Good (+3); failure might mean a tail you don’t see.)

  3. Find a quiet spot to examine the datachip before leaving.
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4, “Ghost in the Circuits” still available for +2, vs. Superb (+5); risk is someone noticing, but you’ll get insight.)

  4. Cause a minor distraction to cover your exit (maybe have Bitey run riot, or trigger someone else’s winning cascade).
    (Skill Check: Provoke +1, invoke “Pet Rat Bitey” for +2 with a Fate Point, vs. Fair (+2); successful distraction can give you an easy out.)

  5. WRITE-IN: Got another idea—a blackout exit, a coded message to your fixer, hiding in a waitress-bot tray? Get creative—I’ll set the scene.

🃏 Fate Options

  • Invoke “Neon-Camo Hoodie” for a stealthier exit.
  • Spend Fate Points for rerolls, bonuses, or narrative control.
  • Accept a Compel (if you want Fate Points and spicy consequences—maybe your “Addicted to the Rush” gets the better of you?).

What’s your play, Riku? The night’s yours… how do you leave with your prize and your skin intact?

USER

Use the neon camo hoodie, and have Biey do something low-key to cause a minor distraction.

ASSISTANT

🌈 COVERT ESCAPE: NEON HOODIE + BITEY CHAOS 🐀

You roll your shoulders, letting your neon-camo hoodie shimmer from battered grey to a blue that’s almost invisible under Gridspine’s AR fog. It adjusts its texture, echoing casino carpet patterns and flickering AR slot ad banners. If a bored camera or busy spotter glances your way, they’ll see a blur that blends—in the world of casino surveillance, invisible is priceless.

Bitey nuzzles your palm, waiting for orders. You click your tongue—a signal born of endless night heists and too many bad vending machines. Bitey slips from your sleeve, vanishing beneath the light banks and cabling of the slot machine row, his tiny form just another scrap in the gutter.

He scurries under the aisle, past the drinks-bots, aiming for the one place that always gets attention: the Pit Boss’s feet. Bitey’s no fool; instead of full-blown mayhem, he chooses subtlety. He rifles through dropped drink sticks and, with perfect timing, tugs the crimson string from a fat man’s self-inflating novelty toupee. The result is sudden and glorious: static-puffed rug levitates just high enough to expose the angry, shiny skull beneath.

The fat man erupts, smacking the air, shouting, “Damn toupee’s haunted!”
Every camera and five nearby staffers swivel for a precious few seconds as the man attempts to throttle his own synthetic hairpiece.

Bitey—mission complete—vanishes up a mop-bot’s vacuum chute, squeaking triumphantly.

🎲 THE EXIT SKILL CHECKS

You blend with your Neon-Camo Hoodie, becoming little more than a ripple in security’s HUD.

  • Skill: Stealth +3
  • Modifier: +2 (from “Neon-Camo Hoodie” Extra)
  • Final Stealth: +5
  • Difficulty: Fair (+2) for exit, but with that distraction, it’s even easier.

Let’s roll—mainly to check for style or minor hitch:

Roll 4dF:

  • [ ][+][ ][ ] = +1

Stealth +3
Neon-Camo Hoodie +2
Roll +1
Total: 6
Difficulty: 2

RESULT: Success With Style!

🚀 THE ESCAPE: LIKE A SHADOW

You ghost across the casino floor. Security isn’t even looking—every guard’s still mystified by the toupee’s AR self-defense protocol, and patrons are roaring, drunk and distracted.

You catch one last glimpse of Bitey, clinging to a mop-bot like a rodeo star as it trundles into the staff corridor. You slip out the side entrance—past the cigarette machine, through the acid rain, and melt into the night-lit alleys of Neon Corvus.

No alarms. No tails. If anyone asks, you were never at Gridspine tonight.

🏆 MISSION STATUS

  • Datachip stolen without a trace
  • No security alert
  • Prize hidden
  • Bitey unharmed and earned rat treats for life

💾 WHAT NEXT, RIKU?

  1. Check in with your fixer immediately—arrange drop and payday.
    (Skill Check: Contacts +3 vs. Good (+3); failure could mean someone intercepts your message or a double-cross.)

  2. Find a safe spot to analyze the chip (back alley net-café, private crash pad).
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4 or Will +1 if overriding chip’s security; risk if someone is tracking it.)

  3. Head to your street doc to get scanned for any tracers or bugs.
    (Skill Check: Contacts +3 vs. Average (+1); complications could mean your doc wants something in return…)

  4. Celebrate—hit a dive bar, share drinks with Bitey, maybe unwind before the heat catches up.
    (Risky if someone’s tailing, but you’ll recover stress and maybe pick up rumors.)

  5. WRITE-IN: Dream up your next move (paranoia loop, frame someone else, reach out to gang allies, whatever you imagine—I’ll set the Fate mechanics).

💡 FATE OPTIONS:

  • Invoke an Aspect for more info or an extra-safe scene.
  • Accept a Compel if you want the “Addicted to the Rush” to tempt you into trouble (earn Fate Points, but open new complications).

What’s your plan now, fresh-off-the-heist?

USER

accept a compel

ASSISTANT

🩸 COMPEL: “Addicted to the Rush” – The Pull of One More Turn 🩸

You step out from the casino’s neon corona, cool rain sizzling on your synth-fiber hoodie, the datachip safe and tucked away. Most people would run—straight to the fixer, straight to payday, straight out of town if they had any sense.

But your brain hums with the afterglow that only risk can bring. The city pulses, hungry and promising, every shadow hinting at one more hit—the next op, the next score, one more bite of danger. You crave it. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the echo of old Data Wars neural rewrites, or maybe it’s just that you feel more alive now than ever.

The slot job was supposed to be simple, but you can’t help it. Your feet just can’t walk away from the thrill.

🎲 YOU GAIN 1 FATE POINT!

(Back up to 3 Fate Points as you yield to your Trouble…)

🌙 COMPLICATION: OLD HABIT, NEW DANGER

As you melt into an alley, you notice your neural interface pinging—a ghost signal, bouncing off a mesh node within the casino. Instead of heading for safety, you double back to investigate. You tell yourself it’s just paranoia. But deep down, you want more—maybe the datachip is only half the score. What if you could tap the house AI, or skim a secondary prize while your tracks are still invisible? Maybe the big fish isn’t the data, but the system that holds it.

You pass mop-bots and sidestep an alley drunk, letting your hoodie flicker matte shadow. Bitey’s whiskers twitch, and he squeaks a warning—something’s off.

In the alley, a battered drone carcass flickers alive with a hacked AR display—a message meant just for you:

“Riku Kessai: If you’re reading this, you already know. One more job, one more thrill. But you’re not alone. They’re watching—you, your fixer, the chip. Question is, who hacks the hacker?”

Suddenly, from the far end of the alley, the back door slams—the club’s house security (not CID, but their kind: local muscle, all knuckles and discount cyberware) comes out on break, lighting up a smogstick, talking about a “rat in the grid.” They haven’t seen you—yet. But your move is about to count, and the city’s game is heating up.

😈 THE CITY COMPELS YOU

Do you:

  1. Try to tap the casino’s mesh for deeper dirt, risking a major digital firefight?
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4, invoke “Ghost in the Circuits” for +2, vs. Superb (+5). Failure could mean tracebacks, ICE attacks, or physical pursuit.)

  2. Follow the mystery AR-message—try to track the source and uncover who’s baiting you?
    (Skill Check: Investigate +1, can invoke “Relic from the Data Wars” for +2 with a Fate Point, Difficulty: Good (+3). Failure might land you in a physical trap—maybe someone wants the chip.)

  3. Roll the chip for clues right here in the alley, breaking every street rule but feeding that rush.
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4, but with Mental Stress risk if chip ICE activates; failure brings immediate digital and physical heat.)

  4. Turn to Bitey—send him to shadow the security goons or crawl the alley for backup exit routes.
    (Skill Check: Athletics or Notice +2, invoke “Pet Rat Bitey” for +2 with a Fate Point. Difficulty: Fair (+2).)

  5. WRITE-IN: Have a reckless or inspired idea? Let that addiction to the rush take charge—describe your move, and I’ll set up the Fate check and consequences.

💥 FATE OPTIONS

  • Invoke an Aspect (“Relic from the Data Wars,” “Blacklisted by Arasynth Corp”) for more punch.
  • Spend more Fate Points to really shape the outcome.
  • Accept a double-compel if you want to go deeper in trouble (earn another Fate Point, but triple the risk).

Your Trouble has put you straight in the crosshairs of temptation and danger. What risky thrill will Riku crave next?

USER

Try to trace the message.

ASSISTANT

🔍 THE TRACE: FOLLOW THE BAIT 🔍

The AR display on the wrecked drone flickers, glitching between city static and that cryptic message. Pulse quickening, you slide your custom interface plug into a concealed port behind your jaw—letting your “Relic from the Data Wars” tech hum to life. Back in the day, this would’ve been basic. Now? It triggers a shiver of nostalgia and just the right amount of dread.

You scan the feed. Whoever dropped this message isn’t using brute force—they’re ghosting the local mesh, masking their scent through trash nodes, dusty vending bots, and alley-level smartfabs. It’s slick work, but you see echoes—the signature of a pro who’s been fighting the grid before you could spell “ICE.” Is it a friend, a warning, or bait for a trap?

Data packets surge and fade as the code scribbles a shifting trail up the block, into the casino’s backbone, then double back through an abandoned AR photo booth around the corner. Either someone’s covering their tracks obsessively, or they’re setting breadcrumbs just for you.

🎲 INVESTIGATE SKILL CHECK

  • Skill: Investigate +1
  • Difficulty: Good (+3) (Tough, but doable for a tech-savvy data-hound like yourself)
  • Modifiers:
    • Invoke “Relic from the Data Wars”: +2 (spend 1 Fate Point, now at 2 Fate Points remaining)
    • Pet Rat Bitey: Not applicable here unless you want him to physically scout

ROLLING:
Roll 4dF:

  • [+][ ][-][ ] = 0
    Skill: +1
    Aspect (invoked): +2
    TOTAL: 3 (ties the difficulty exactly)

🟠 MIXED SUCCESS: TIED RESULT

In Fate Core, a tie means you “succeed at a minor cost,” OR you succeed and a twist/complication tags along for the ride.

📲 TRACE OUTCOME

You pierce three layers of mesh and burn through a couple of cheap disposable IDs. The signal gets clearer—whoever’s pinging you is loitering just one block over, inside the crumbling husk of a long-defunct “PhotoHugz” booth, its faded sign now a bald, grinning AR baby perpetually stuck in year 2083.

But—the casino’s house mesh notices your activity. For a split second, the security AI flags unusual packet movement near the PhotoHugz booth. Somewhere back in the casino, a CID agent gets a notification: “Possible mesh breach—Sector G.” Within a minute, someone might show up.

Meanwhile, your HUD flashes again:

“Almost there, Datawarrior. But are you chasing the real lead?” —The new message auto-erases, and the booth’s internal system pings a basic handshake, like an invite…or a lure.

You turn the corner, neon puddles reflecting your ghosted silhouette, as a drunk couple staggers out from the alley. The air tastes like burnt citrus and industrial mold. The “PhotoHugz” booth’s door hangs open; inside, the glow of a jury-rigged deck pulses softly.

But you hear the clack of CID boots on wet pavement back toward the casino. Time is tight.

🚦 YOUR OPTIONS: MIDNIGHT AT THE PHOTOBOOTH

  1. Enter the PhotoHugz booth and accept the handshake—risking what (or who) is inside.
    (Skill Check: Notice +2, or Burglary +4 if you want to hack defensive ICE first. If you go straight in, you might face a digital ambush or physical threat.)

  2. Send Bitey in to scout—he can scope for physical threats, hidden bombs, or eavesdroppers.
    (Skill Check: Athletics or Notice +2, invoke “Pet Rat Bitey” for +2 with a Fate Point, vs. Fair (+2))

  3. Set up an ambush or cover the booth, watching for whoever else might be trailing you.
    (Skill Check: Stealth +3 or Provoke +1, depending how aggressive you want to play it. Difficulty: Good (+3))

  4. Cut and run—try to ghost out of the area before CID arrives, leaving the lead cold but your skin safe.
    (Skill Check: Stealth +3 or Athletics +2, Difficulty: Fair (+2); successful means you vanish, but you lose the mysterious contact.)

  5. WRITE-IN: Paranoid? Genius? Do something wild with the environment, try to trace the contact further, set a trap, or something else—I’ll fate-check it.

💡 Fate Tools:

  • Invoke an Aspect (for bonuses or narrative twists)
  • Spend a Fate Point (rerolls, boosts, or even just to control one element of the scene)
  • Accept a Compel (if you want even more danger for extra Fate Points!)

Your pulse is pounding, your trouble’s got you hungry, and the city is closing in. What’s your move, Riku?

USER

Case the booth from stealth. Be prepared to cut and run but the photobooth is obviously a false flag.

ASSISTANT

🌒 CASING THE BOOTH: SHADOW-BLADE STYLE 🌒

Your instincts scream louder than any siren: no way does a pro drop breadcrumbs this obvious without a second layer of bait. The PhotoHugz booth glares like a glitch in the alley, and you can almost feel the digital crosshairs tickling at your nerves. The message was taunting, not inviting. This is classic misdirection—a trap, a meet, or worse, a honeypot synced to the CID pulse.

You melt into the shadows, working your Neon-Camo Hoodie’s adaptive fibers, becoming a ripple of rain-streaked brickwork near the booth. You let your breathing slow and your mind settle into the data-thief’s zen: be seen by nothing, let everything be seen by you.

Bitey stays in your jacket, tense and ready—not the time for a rat in the open.

From the shadows, you study the booth and its approach:

  • The door is slightly ajar, swing reacting to the wind—but the AR invite blinks only sometimes, like it’s waiting for a very specific trigger.
  • There’s a faint laser shimmer on the ground: an old-school trip (might be physical, might be just for psychological effect).
  • Thermal overlays show nobody hiding INSIDE the booth, but right next door in the alley, someone is holding still—heat signature low.
  • A faint whiff of ozone means a jerry-rigged power supply: certainly a hacker’s trick, maybe a deadman switch, maybe just backup for a digital sting.
  • Your neural overlay flickers—another packet just bounced off the casino mesh straight into the booth’s router: it’s active, scanning for digital presence—like a bug zapper for hackers.
  • Behind you, the clack of CID boots grows louder. They’re not on you yet, but two blocks away isn’t nearly enough distance.

You watch as a passing scavenger-teen approaches the booth out of raw curiosity. The tripwire flickers—and with a soft hiss, a blind of static AR covers the kid’s vision for a few beats before letting him go. Not fatal, but definitely distracting.

🎲 SKILL CHECK: STEALTH +3

Difficulty: Good (+3) (You need to remain unseen by both the booth’s digital snare and the CID sweep.)
Let’s roll:

Rolling 4dF:

  • [ ][-][+][ ] = 0
  • Stealth +3
  • Neon-Camo Hoodie still in effect (already used this session unless Fate Point spent again, but you’re in the shadows—no bonus needed this time.)
  • Total: 3
  • Matching the difficulty: Tie.

🟡 MIXED RESULT: SUCCESS, WITH A TWIST

You become a shadow—CID walks right past the alley mouth, their eyes skimming off you like you’re another piece of city debris. The booth’s proximity sensors don’t so much as chirp. You see everything: the booth isn’t for YOU, it’s for anyone following you. The real player is hiding nearby, clocking you, maybe waiting to see if you led CID straight to their decoy.

But in that moment, as you start to consider your exit, your neural overlay pings you:

“Nice instincts, Riku. Great minds don’t get in the box—they build the box.”

Behind a trash pile, you spot a pair of dark goggles—the real contact, buried under half a rain tarp, operating an ancient portable deck. They’re watching the booth, not using it.

Just as you clock them, you catch a glint—somebody else down the alley, another heat signature: this one giving off CID blues, clearly using a body-heat masking field. Somebody’s tracked BOTH of you, and is waiting for confirmation of hostile intent.

There’s a split-second where all three of you are in the same drama:

  • You, hidden but watching;
  • The contact, watching the booth and you;
  • CID, watching for something to pop off.

🕹️ YOUR OPTIONS: SHADOW DANCE IN THE RAIN

  1. Ambush the CID agent before they ambush either of you.
    (Skill Check: Athletics +2 or Burglary +4 for a surprise digital sting. Difficulty: Great (+4); success disables or distracts CID.)

  2. Signal the real contact using a Data Wars handshake—try to open a silent line without tripping surveillance.
    (Skill Check: Contacts +3, can invoke “Relic from the Data Wars” for a +2 with a Fate Point. Difficulty: Good (+3). Failure means CID picks up the chat.)

  3. Slip away quietly and let the contact reveal themselves by making the first move—bait the baiter.
    (Skill Check: Stealth +3 vs. Good (+3); chance for a follow scene, but you keep the initiative.)

  4. Send Bitey on the sneak—let the rat sabotage CID’s gear or pass a code to the contact.
    (Skill Check: Notice or Athletics +2 with “Pet Rat Bitey” for +2 if using Fate Point. Difficulty: Fair (+2). Cool if you want an animal-caper but risk of getting caught if you fail.)

  5. WRITE-IN: Go wild—cause a distraction to blow the lid off the alley, try to double-back and follow CID, message your fixer for backup, plant fake digital evidence, whatever you dream up.

💾 FATE OPTIONS

  • Invoke/aspect for additional bonuses (e.g. “Blacklisted by Arasynth Corp” if you want CID’s beef with you to draw them away from the contact—for a price!)
  • Spend Fate Points to gain full control of a small scene detail.
  • Accept a Compel for even more twisty trouble.

What’s your next slick move in this electric alley standoff, Riku?

USER

Bait the baiter.

ASSISTANT

🦊 BAIT THE BAITER: LET THE SPIDER LEAVE ITS WEB 🦊

Rain patters around you, the city drifting in and out of focus behind neon haze. You’re not just a ghost—you’re the hand that shapes the echo in the mesh. If the real contact wants to watch, let’s see how well they handle being watched right back.

You shift your posture—just a shade more visible, near the rim of a broken neon sign, as if you’re sizing up your own move into the booth. For a heartbeat you hold still, then—time to test old reflexes—you disappear deeper into the shadows, leaving a “ghost image” for the contact’s augmented vision, a signature stutter from your “Relic from the Data Wars” interface. You move soundlessly along the alley’s jagged geometry, placing yourself behind a stack of scrapyard algae batteries, with full sightline to both the booth and the watcher under the tarp.

Bitey senses your tension and hunkers closer; you palm a synth cigarette you don’t plan to light, waiting, reading everyone’s tells.

🎲 SKILL CHECK: STEALTH +3 vs. Good (+3)

You don’t just hide—you stage your shadow, leaving just enough trace for a pro to think, “easy mark, overconfident, about to get burned.”

Roll 4dF:

  • [+][ ][ ][ ] = +1
  • +3 (Stealth)
  • Total: 4
  • Against Difficulty 3 (Good). SUCCESS!

🖤 NARRATIVE RESULT: THE SPIDER FLINCHES

The casino cleaner—a limp, outdated servobot—whirs past you, its detergent tank smelling of antifreeze and bad decisions. It momentarily eclipses your ghost image to the watcher’s optics. Classic counter-surveillance misdirection.

The REAL contact, seeing what looks like your shadow-sloppy movement near the booth, squints, their deck’s LED a nervous blue. They shift under their tarp, palms hovering over a battered zap-gun—but you catch the briefest flick as they tap an AR gesture: running passive scan, poking for the obvious play.

Meanwhile, the CID heat signature, hungry for any slip, leans out of their concealment, training a stubby dart pistol on the watcher’s tarp—clearly believing they’re about to score both a data thief and an inside man.

Just as you predicted, the spider leaves the web: The watcher sees the CID agent, holds up an old code-cube (an analog relic—nice), and tosses it down the alley! A move meant to draw you out, or maybe flush out a third party… but now all attention is off you.

With your stealthy vantage and Data Wars instincts, you spot a tiny data-filament, a wormhole left open on the watcher’s deck—a digital “back door” now temporarily unguarded as they go physical.

📡 YOUR IMMEDIATE OPTIONS

  1. Hack that backdoor—jack into the watcher’s deck and rip their secrets before they realize.
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4, Ghost in the Circuits for +2 (if invoked), vs. Great (+4). Success: snatch critical info, risk: get digitally fried if they clock the intrusion.)

  2. Intervene physically, revealing yourself—swoop in between CID and the watcher to take control of the scene.
    (Skill Check: Athletics +2 or Provoke +1, Difficulty: Good (+3). Succeed, you become the wild card—failure, CID could tag you.)

  3. Silently tail the real contact as the chaos unfolds, aiming to follow them to their real rendezvous or safehouse.
    (Skill Check: Stealth +3, Difficulty: Great (+4), higher due to the moving chaos.)

  4. Have Bitey run a hardware swap—send him to snatch the code-cube, maybe sabotaging one or both parties.
    (Skill Check: Athletics or Burglary +4 for the rat, can invoke “Pet Rat Bitey” for +2 with a Fate Point, vs. Good (+3). Success: you control the code, risk: Bitey in danger.)

  5. WRITE-IN: Do something wild! Plant a data-bomb, use AR graffiti, call in a favor to distract both other parties, spoof your signal to lure both sides away—let your mad genius guide the scene!

⭐ Fate Options:

  • Invoke an Aspect for an extra +2 bonus.
  • Spend Fate Point to reroll, auto-succeed on a minor scene twist, or set up a special advantage.
  • Accept a Compel for additional danger (and a Fate Point), e.g., “Addicted to the Rush” might make you hack and go for the physical play, doubling the stakes.

Which thread do you pull, Riku? The city’s your stage—how do you want this dance to end?

USER

Tail the real contact

ASSISTANT

👤 TAILING THE REAL CONTACT: GHOSTING THE PREDATOR 👤

You drop into the deeper shade of the alley’s refuse, breath as slow as the trickle of rain down your collar. The commotion you’ve expertly orchestrated pays off—CID’s attention pins on the faux “mark” at the booth, while the watcher under the tarp takes the bait, grabbing their battered deck and ducking away from the booth’s crossfire. They move fast, hunched, with the physical paranoia of someone who’s lived with a price on their head.

The watcher doesn’t head for the main street—they slide behind a long-dead noodle bar, over a drooling discharge vent, and through a pop-up AR garden crawling with half-drunk wage slaves on their break. Your neural overlay pings as you mask your biostats and icon, scrolling static along casino ad banners to look like just another holo-shadow in the city’s endless background. Bitey rides quietly just inside your jacket, whiskers quivering with your pulse.

They move like they expect to be tailed—but not this well. Once, they pop open a stow-bot and peer at its guts, pretending to repair it, all while scanning for followers. Another time, they trigger an AR spill—virtual koi fish sloshing across the street in a digital flood—as a distraction. You sidestep both, staying two steps ahead, catching a glimpse of a distinctive red tag (“W4R.CH1LD”) on their battered jacket.

Finally, the watcher ducks into a condemned parking shuttle—the shell of a luxury magpod, still lit inside with scavenged LEDs and smelling like ozone and regret.

🎲 STEALTH SKILL CHECK:+3 vs. Great (+4)

You’re ghosting not only a pro, but one actively on the run, through increasingly tight corridors and compromised mesh.

Rolling 4dF:

  • [+][ ][-][+]=+1
    Stealth: +3
    Total: 4

Against Great (+4): tie!

🟠 MIXED SUCCESS:

You remain unseen—barely. At the last second, you catch your foot on a cracked curb, graveling just enough noise for the contact to sense you. But instead of bolting, they freeze, hand on their deck, lifting a battered neural disruptor just high enough to glint with threat.

You slide behind a rusted traffic barrel, hidden but visible if you move suddenly. The watcher’s eyes scan the space—wary, deadly, but maybe also…respectful? You both know the steps; neither of you is fresh meat.

They call out, voice soft but sharp, not yelling for help:

“You’re good. Most woulda triggered my spine-locked drone three blocks back. You want something, come out slow, chips on the table, or keep playing and hope the CID doesn’t double back.”

Bitey hunkers, poised to spring; a red laser dot flashes past, then disappears. In this stalemate, they seem willing to talk, or at least parley—a pro’s code, in a pro’s world.

🤖 YOUR OPTIONS: THE STANDOFF

  1. Show yourself—initiating a wary, face-to-face negotiation.
    (Skill Check: Will +1 (hold your nerve) or Deceive +2 (play a role). Difficulty: Fair (+2), but the scene may shift fast. Success: Parley; failure: contact bolts or attacks.)

  2. Try to cut a backdoor into their comms/deck while keeping your cover.
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4, Ghost in the Circuits for +2 if you want (costs nothing—we haven’t used it since the casino). Difficulty: Great (+4). Success: access their backchannel, failure: they detect and lock out their system, may react as hostile.)

  3. Signal with a Data Wars gesture—old hacker symbols only the right kind would use.
    (Skill Check: Contacts +3, invoke “Relic from the Data Wars” for +2 with a Fate Point; Difficulty: Good (+3). Success: earn trust/bypass standoff; failure: misread, could blow cover.)

  4. Send Bitey to deliver a calling card (chip, code, message—you name it), testing their reaction while you stay hidden.
    (Skill Check: Athletics +2 or Notice +2 with “Pet Rat Bitey” for +2 with a Fate Point. Difficulty: Fair (+2).)

  5. WRITE-IN: Got a creative move? Bluff a CID tail, try a trick from streetwise, booby-trap the meeting spot, or anything you dream up—just describe it and I’ll fate-check.

✨ FATE OPTIONS

  • Invoke Aspects for +2 to any roll or a reroll.
  • Spend a Fate Point for narrative fiat/a powerful advantage (e.g., “I prepared a digital smoke-bomb earlier”).
  • Accept a Compel for a riskier negotiation (and a Fate Point), like your “Addicted to the Rush” making you say something reckless.

What’s your next calculated play in the game of ghosts, Riku?

USER

accept a compel

ASSISTANT

😈 COMPEL: “Addicted to the Rush” — You Just Can’t Play It Safe 😈

You’re so close to a clean finish. All the real pros would stay cool, keep hidden, run the numbers—maybe even ghost out with the datachip and chalk up a win. But you’re Riku Kessai. Your hands itch for trouble. Your brain thrums with old Data Wars fever. If there’s a possibility of a high-stakes bluff, a high-wire play, you take it. Every. Single. Time.

You get +1 Fate Point (for a new total of 4). But you don’t just show yourself—you up the ante.

💥 THE MOVE: FULL TILT, NO SECRETS 💥

Suddenly, you step from your cover, both hands up, palms out, hood drawn back to show your face—the scar, the glint of streetlight in your eye, your half-mad grin. Your voice is loud enough to bounce off the wet ferrocrete:

“If you’re looking for the biggest payoff, I’m your one-of-a-kind. Otherwise, it’s your loss and CID’s gain!”

You toss a datadrive onto the magpod’s hood—a digital handshake, your tag in their system, a half-open loop that any real Data Wars vet would recognize. It’s cocky, borderline reckless: you just flashed your ID, risking that CID, the contact, or any hacker nearby can start tracking your unique signature for the next few hours.

For a flickering second, the contact’s neural disruptor wavers, uncertainty in their eyes—impressed by the swagger, and maybe even relieved not to be the only wildcard.

But:

  • You’ve now exposed yourself to anyone scanning the area, including CID’s mesh tracer squad—they pick up your tag on the net almost immediately.
  • You also made yourself, as advertised, “the big fish”—if the datachip was a hot potato, this publicity just turned you into a prize worth catching.

⚡ IMMEDIATE CONSEQUENCES

The contact tilts their head, lowers the neural disruptor a hair, and steps forward.

“Coulda been cleaner, but none of us live long on subtlety. Name’s Ghostjaw. Arasynth’s running post-job sweeps, and you just set off half the neighborhood’s mesh spiders. So let’s talk, fast—while we’re not surrounded.”

Your neural overlay pings: CID clearance drones are moving closer. You hear the telltale static pop of a radio scrambler—that’s at least one surveillance van parked nearby, tracking all open tags.

Ghostjaw cracks a smile—almost approving of your madness—and spits a code-phrase only an old war-runner would know:

“How’s the weather on the China Lake uplink?”

That’s Data Wars code for: “Are we hot, and do you have the goods?”
Ghostjaw eyes the casino chip in your palm, then the nearby alley for potential backup.

🚧 YOUR OPTIONS (WITH RISK!)

  1. Cut a deal with Ghostjaw right here—swap intel, pool resources, and try to bug out together before CID hits.
    (Skill Check: Contacts +3, Difficulty: Good (+3). Success: alliance/thrilling escape. Failure: Ghostjaw bails, CID closes in.)

  2. Use your now-open tag as a diversion—trigger a code bomb in the mesh to fry CID’s comms as you and Ghostjaw bolt.
    (Skill Check: Burglary +4, Ghost in the Circuits +2 if invoked. Difficulty: Great (+4). Success: escape in chaos. Failure: Tag gets fried, some data may be lost, and you’ll draw even *more heat later.)*

  3. Double down and taunt CID, luring them into a ragged alley chase while Ghostjaw takes the chip and escapes separately.
    (Skill Check: Provoke +1 (for the taunt) or Athletics +2 (for the chase). Difficulty: Great (+4). Successful? You buy time, but you’ll be hunted hard.)

  4. Go full adrenaline—start a three-way firefight (digital, physical, or both) and try to resolve it with sheer mad luck.
    (Skill Check: Will +1 (to resist panic), Athletics +2 (for action), or Burglary +4 (for hacking cutoff). Difficulty: Superb (+5). Success: you come out on top—or at least alive.)

  5. WRITE-IN: Create your own over-the-top, reckless, or calculated next step—set up a counterambush, run a double-cross, try to play CID and Ghostjaw, dump the chip, or broadcast a challenge to the whole neighborhood. Describe it, and I’ll fate-check.

🖤 FATE OPTIONS

  • Invoke “Relic from the Data Wars” for another +2 on any hacking/social check.
  • Spend Fate Points for rerolls, extra advantages, or to introduce wild narrative elements (e.g., an old friend in disguise, a power outage, a drive-by distraction).
  • Accept another Compel if you want even more danger for more Fate Points.

Your cards are on the table, Riku. What dangerous gambit do you play as CID closes in and Ghostjaw finally steps out of the shadows?

USER

invoke Ghost in the Circuits and attack CID to escape

ASSISTANT

🦾 INVOCATION: GHOST IN THE CIRCUITS—ATTACKING CID TO ESCAPE 🦾

The alley’s alive with digital static, strobing blue and gold where CID’s clearance drones hover just shy of the real heat. You see Ghostjaw’s war-burned eyes flick toward the casino chip in your hand and the mesh tag you broadcasted like a bloodtrail. The time for subtlety is gone. Your “Ghost in the Circuits” stunt activates with a thought: you become the virus in the system, hacking the very air between security nodes.

As CID agents close in—three in black synth-weave, radios popping with scrambled code—you flick your wrist.
Your neural interface hums, patching directly into the city’s net backbone. You don’t just hack their drones—you hijack the channel:

  • First, a false AR flash: every CID agent gets a red warning that their IDs have been compromised, blinding a couple as their helmet HUDs dump scrambled files directly into their retinas.
  • Second, a pulse surge: every comm device on their frequency locks up, blasting “Just Another Sucker” in retro datawave glitch.

CID at the alley mouth stumbles. One blinded, one cursing, one slapping at their deck for a clean reboot. You and Ghostjaw seize the moment.

🎲 BURGLARY +4, GHOST IN THE CIRCUITS (+2), DIFFICULTY: GREAT (+4)

Let’s roll:

  • 4dF: [ ][-][+][+]=+1
  • Burglary +4
  • “Ghost in the Circuits” +2 (auto, since it’s a hack)
  • Roll +1
  • TOTAL: 7

Difficulty: 4

SUCCESS WITH STYLE!

⚡ RESULT: EXTRAORDINARY ESCAPE

You’re not just hacking—you’re scoring a digital masterpiece.

  • The drones swerve and crash into each other in the rain, their cameras suddenly live-streaming loops of two alley rats (Bitey among them) reenacting last year’s AR opera.
  • The CID agents are now firing at heat-phantoms you left in the mesh—it’s your own ghost image, projected by street-level advert servers you suborned on the fly.
  • Even the casino’s security AI tags a random mug in the street as “Riku Kessai”—meanwhile, you and Ghostjaw are already vaulting dumpsters, slideslip through a vapor-lit loading dock, and are two blocks away in seconds.

You can feel Ghostjaw’s adrenaline matching your own as rain pulses on the cracked synthstone behind you. They chuckle, appraising you with professional hunger:

“Didn’t think you’d pull an old-school cascade. You’re insane, you know that? But you might just be what we need.”

The datachip pulses in your palm—untouched, undamaged. Bitey, proud as hell, holds a CID van’s plastic evidence tag in his teeth like a damn trophy.

🟢 POST-ESCAPE STATUS

  • CID comms, drones, and visual data are toast for now—all chasing false leads.
  • You and Ghostjaw are safe…for the moment.
  • Datachip still in your possession.
  • Ghostjaw is impressed and possibly willing to trust you with an even bigger score.
  • Gained +1 Boost: “Alley Ghost” (for the next relevant stealth or hacking check, +2 bonus without cost—use it soon!)

🗺️ NEXT STEPS

  1. Secure a safehouse with Ghostjaw and examine the datachip together.
    (Skill: Burglary +4 or Will +1 to resist chip ICE; risk: the chip might yet have a beacon, but you’ll know what you’ve really got.)

  2. Contact your fixer—negotiate from a position of strength with Ghostjaw at your back.
    (Skill: Contacts +3, can invoke “Alley Ghost” Boost here.)

  3. Plan a counterattack on Arasynth or CID, using the chaos you just created to strike their mesh, free an ally, or steal even bigger secrets.
    (Skill: Burglary +4, Provoke +1, multi-phase operation.)

  4. Interrogate Ghostjaw—get their true story and offer to team up, or make them prove they’re not an Arasynth mole.
    (Skill: Empathy +0 or Will +1; success for deeper trust, failure for tension.)

  5. WRITE-IN: Dream up a wildcard plan—release chip data to the public, set up an auction, disappear into the grid, launch a gang war, anything you fancy.

🎲 FATE TOOLS

  • Invoke “Alley Ghost” Boost for a +2 on stealth/hacking/negotiation.
  • Invoke any relevant Aspect for further effect.
  • Spend Fate Points to reroll, power new stunts, or shape the scene.

🌌 What’s your next move, Riku? The city’s yours—at least until your next luck runs out.

USER

with ghostjaw i can possibly negotiate a better deal with the fixer, and we split the loot?

ASSISTANT

Absolutely! In classic cyberpunk—and Fate Core—style, leveraging your new-found ally (Ghostjaw) lets you play hardball with your fixer. With the evidence of your skill (and the chaos in your wake), plus Ghostjaw’s pro reputation, the two of you are holding all the cards.

You can:

  • Combine your muscle and data to demand a higher payout, better terms, or a new long-term partnership.
  • Threaten to leak the data, go to a rival, or otherwise force the fixer to play nice.
  • Split the loot with Ghostjaw, strengthening your alliance and setting up future jobs—or cut them out for a riskier solo play!

This sets up a classic Fate Core negotiation scene with real stakes.

💸 NEGOTIATING WITH THE FIXER: DOUBLE OR NOTHING 💸

With CID in chaos and the city’s mesh a tangled soup of false Rikus and fake footage, you and Ghostjaw duck behind the shuttered holo-karaoke lounge, breathless but grinning like hungry wolves. The datachip pulses between you—a ticket to a fat payday, or enough leverage to burn your fixer to the ground if they get shifty.

Ghostjaw, still catching their breath, arches a brow.

“Your fixer respect your hustle? If not, maybe it’s time they paid for both our talents—not just one. We split fifty-fifty, but I want in on the next gig, too. Deal?”

You open a private channel, pinging your fixer. A moment later, a grainy AR silhouette materializes, voice coarse and strictly business:

“Kessai, you got it? Good. Meet at the Crossed Wires in ten—no funny stuff. Clean as agreed, or the offer halves. Who’s your plus one…?”

Ghostjaw mutters, “Time to make ’em beg.”

🎲 NEGOTIATION: CONTACTS +3 (with Boost)

Difficulty: Good (+3) (standard), but if you want extra demands—or threaten to leak or sell elsewhere—up it to Great (+4).

Use your “Alley Ghost” Boost (+2) for this negotiation:

  • You just slipped CID, outwitted the system, and proved you’re playing in the big leagues.

Result options:

  • Success: You negotiate a better payout, safer terms, maybe a bonus gig—split as you like with Ghostjaw.
  • Failure (or partial): The fixer low-balls or tries a double-cross; you keep your leverage but must decide how dirty to get.
  • You may invoke “Relic from the Data Wars” or spend a Fate Point for an extra bump.

ROLLING:

Roll 4dF:
[ ][+][+][ ] = +2
Contacts +3:
Alley Ghost Boost +2:
Total: 3 (skill) + 2 (boost) + 2 (roll) = 7

Against target (even Great +4): This isn’t just a success—it’s success with style!

🏆 RESULT: POWER NEGOTIATION

The fixer’s AR image flickers, shock clear in their voice as you outline the calm facts:

  • CID swept, deck trashed, false Rikus, no trails.
  • Datachip untouched—original data uncorrupted.
  • And Ghostjaw by your side, reputation enough to make any fixer pause.

You press the demands:

  • Full payout for the chip, plus a hazard bonus for “unexpected heat.”
  • First dibs on the next big job—joint-team, both you and Ghostjaw.
  • Veto power if the fixer gets shifty in future negotiations.

The fixer stammers—calculating costs, weighing risks—then gives the nod:

“Alright! Full rate, hazard pay, and you two are our prime operators until further notice. Next job is already brewing—call it a sign-on bonus, but keep your heads down until I patch the system holes you two ripped tonight. Meet soon.”

Ghostjaw grins, slapping your shoulder:

“Guess we’re partners now. Let’s get paid and buy Bitey a steak.”

You split the loot down the middle—a four-digit stack that will keep you both in weapons, mods, and trouble for weeks. Your alliance with Ghostjaw is sealed, and your fixer’s respect is absolute (for now).

🖤 NEW ASPECT GAINED!

Allies in the Shadows: Ghostjaw
You and Ghostjaw have each other’s backs—can invoke this for team jobs, extra muscle, or hacking support (compels: if one’s in trouble, so is the other).

⚡ SCENE OPTIONS

  1. Celebrate your win—go off-grid with Ghostjaw and Bitey, savoring victory (“Recovery” scene—clear Stress, refresh Fate Points, roleplay).
  2. Analyze the datachip together—maybe there’s more than just the fixer’s job on here if you’re greedy/bold/conflicted.
  3. Take on your next job immediately—fixer teases something even bigger (rival corp hit, mesh blackmail, or AR assassination).
  4. WRITE-IN: Propose kinky trouble, personal missions, old scores, or any brand-new chaos driven by your and Ghostjaw’s specialties.

🎲 YOU CONTROL THE STREET. WHAT’S NEXT FOR RIKU & CO?

You’ve bent the world to your will for now. Want to tie up loose ends, dig deeper, or spin this into a wild new arc?
It’s your adventure. Where to?

USER

Put my head together with Ghostjaw to dissect the datachip

ASSISTANT

💾 CRACKING THE CHIP: RIKU & GHOSTJAW GO DEEP 💾

With fat credsticks burning holes in your pockets and CID in utter chaos, you and Ghostjaw fade into a half-lit backroom above a noodle bar, high enough to see acid rain glaze the city’s endless AR billboards. You lock the door, deadbolt it twice, and slap a signal jammer on the window—a professional touch from Ghostjaw.

Bitey perches on a stacked instant-noodle crate, gnawing dried meat and twitching every time you spark an interface cable.

Ghostjaw unfolds the battered deck, and you pull out the prize: the quantum-blue datachip, still warm from the friction of the getaway. Together, you sweep for bugs (physical and digital), find nothing more than a faint mesh ping—a deadman echo you quickly fry with “Ghost in the Circuits.”

Ghostjaw grins, tapping at the deck.

“Let’s see what was worth tonight’s body count. I’ll run the deep trace, you run anti-ICE. If this screams, we trash the building, yeah?”

Your neural plug slides home. Data pours in—encrypted so tightly that anyone but you would’ve raised a digital alarm. Ghostjaw hums an old Data Wars code melody, fingers flying on black keys. The mesh grows colder, the air thick with static crackle and the scent of ozone fear.

🎲 FATE MECHANICS: BURGLARY +4 (WITH GHOSTJAW ALLY)

  • Primary Skill: Burglary +4 (your By-the-Book icebreaker)
  • Ally Bonus: “Allies in the Shadows: Ghostjaw” Aspect can be invoked (for +2, Fate Point spend if desired).
  • “Alley Ghost” Boost available for +2 on this check if you want a surefire success.
  • Difficulty: Superb (+5)—that’s corporate-grade encryption AND a nasty defensive warden waiting to byte your brain if you don’t play it right.

Do you want to invoke “Allies in the Shadows: Ghostjaw” or your “Alley Ghost” boost (or both)?
(You have 4 Fate Points and both advantages available!)
I’ll roll assuming you use the Ally Aspect (+2) for an extra edge.

🎲 ROLL:

4dF: [ ][-][+][ ] = 0
+4 (Burglary)
+2 (Ghostjaw Ally, Fate Point spent; down to 3 FP)
Total = 6

Success! You beat Superb (+5) encryption by 1—clean sweep, no digital backlash, no brain-frying countermeasures.

💡 WHAT’S ON THE CHIP?

Light floods the tiny room as the chip’s lock cracks. Streams of data flower across your HUD:

  • Prime Content:
    Gigabytes of dirtsheet—Arasynth Corp’s bribe ledgers, off-book R&D, and—most valuable—an encrypted archive labeled “W4R.CH1LD PROJECT.”
    • AI militarization logs.
    • Off-the-record war crimes.
    • Bio-aug experiment records—your stomach flips at the file on “Subject KESSAI.”
    • Payment logs to known syndicate fixers—including your fixer, Ghostjaw’s old crew, and several CID command tags.

  • Dark Discovery:
    Among the files: biometrics, brainwave logs, genetic traces—all matching you and Ghostjaw. It’s a hitlist.
    You weren’t just hired to lift the chip. The job was designed to FLUSH YOU OUT for open war.

  • Bitey’s Bonus:
    The little rat, dancing a coded pattern on the noodle crate, accidentally uncovers an encrypted “Easter Egg:”
    • A ghost AI kernel wrapped around the main archive.
    • A corrupted message: “Riku, Ghostjaw—if you’re reading this, you already know you can’t trust anyone. Run. Or own the system.”

Ghostjaw locks eyes with you, fingers trembling just slightly, eyes wide with that familiar, ‘we’re-in-over-our-heads-and-loving-it’ look.

“Looks like we’re not done. This isn’t just a payday—it’s a war invite. Name’s on the black list, Riku. Next move?”

🎲 NEW ASPECT DISCOVERED

Warchild Marked
You’ve been personally tagged by Arasynth’s darkest ops. Invoke to unearth clues/hacks/secret tools; Compel for danger, target tags, or catastrophic heat.

⚡ YOUR OPTIONS: GHOSTS AT THE GATES

  1. Leak the war crimes to the public: Become infamous, torch Arasynth, and paint a bounty on your heads.
    (Skill: Burglary +4 to outmaneuver their spin/cover-up. Success: massive street cred and citywide chaos. Failure: instant heat.)

  2. Blackmail Arasynth or your fixer—they’re compromised, you can name your price but risk double-crosses.
    (Skill: Contacts +3, Deceive +2 or Provoke +1, can invoke “Warchild Marked.” High-stakes negotiation.)

  3. Dissect the AI kernel—see if you can reprogram, weaponize, or use it as a bargaining chip.
    (Skill: Burglary +4, Will +1 to resist mental attacks, or use Ghostjaw’s support. Risk: unknown AI behavior.)

  4. Go on the run—use the data as leverage to call in favors, find a safehouse, and prep for the next play.
    (Skill: Contacts +3, Stealth +3, invoke “Ally in the Shadows” for setup.)

  5. WRITE-IN: Plot a hacktivist revolution, fake your own deaths, try to turn Arasynth’s enemies into allies, or do the wildest thing you can imagine. With this chip, the city is yours to ruin or rule.

✨ FATE OPTIONS:

  • Invoke new Aspects for decisive narrative control.
  • Spend Fate Points to create advantages, reroll, or force enemy mistakes.
  • Accept a Compel (earn Fate Points, but drag more hell into the streets).

What’s the next play against Arasynth, Riku? The city holds its breath…

USER

Can I use the AI kernel to create a digital ally, or is it too dangerous?

ASSISTANT

🤖 THE AI KERNEL: DIGITAL ALLY OR CYBER-DEMON? 🤖

What You’ve Got:

This “ghost AI kernel” is old warware, experimental, probably black-market. It was wrapped around ultra-sensitive files as a final guardian or messenger—employing adaptive code designed to evolve, possibly even mimic personalities, learn systems, or hijack nodes.

It’s both high-risk and high-reward:

  • Potential: Could make a powerful digital ally—think sentient code, a smart second brain capable of hacking, info gathering, network defense, infiltration, (maybe even creating deepfake AR versions of you as digital decoys).
  • Risk: It was never meant for safe consumer use, and might have backdoors, hidden kill switches, unpredictable “ghost behaviors,” or—worst—loyalty to someone who isn’t you (like Arasynth, or whatever built the kernel in the first place).

Ghostjaw, peering through dumps and diagnostic scrolls, whistles under their breath:

“You play this right and we roll with our own mesh-shadow. Get it wrong, and it eats our eyes from the inside out. You game for a coin flip, Kessai?”

FATE CORE MECHANICS:

  • You can absolutely try to adapt the AI kernel into a digital ally.
  • This is a major, risky action—a chance to create a powerful new Aspect/Extra: “Ghost AI Ally” (with mechanical effects like improved hacking rolls, info gathering, or even bailing you out of mesh combat).
  • Difficulty: Super demanding. “Legendary” (+8) is appropriate for the base hack—this is world-class stuff.
    • Burglary +4 (yours); Ghostjaw aid can be invoked (+2, with Fate Point).
    • Alley Ghost boost is already spent, but you can invoke “Relic from the Data Wars” and “Allies in the Shadows: Ghostjaw” to stack more bonuses.
    • Other Aspects can be invoked for +2/-2, or Fate Points spent for rerolls.
    • Compel on “Warchild Marked” if you want the AI to be extra powerful but pick up some shade of relentless enemy attention, or an uncontrollable personality quirk.
  • On a Legendary success: The AI is a loyal, useful, powerful ally…for now.
  • If you succeed at cost(partial): The AI is useful but has quirks (maybe unstable, maybe spies for others, maybe you have to cut a deal with it).
  • On failure: It turns on you—trips traps, signals Arasynth, causes stress or damage, or worse.

YOUR CHOICES:

  1. Go for it—try to “adopt” the kernel as a full digital ally (BIG fate roll; stack bonuses & Fate Points as you see fit).
  2. Sandbox/test the AI first—try to safely isolate and examine it, lowering risk but possibly tipping it off or missing the “element of surprise.”
  3. Refuse to use it—destroy, quarantine, or sell the kernel to someone crazier or better equipped.
  4. WRITE-IN: Team up with Ghostjaw for a special approach, let Bitey interact(?), or seek outside help from a cybermonk, old war vet, or criminal AI whisperer.

IF YOU CHOOSE TO CREATE THE ALLY:

Possible Aspects/Extras if it works:

  • “Ghost AI Partner”: +2 to mesh hacks, info search, defense; can take actions when you’re offline or incapacitated; risk of mischievous or lethal “ghost quirks.”
  • Invent unique Stunts: e.g. “Run Deepfake Riku,” “Hijack Mesh Cameras,” or “Deploy Counter-ICE Swarm.”
  • Consequences: If compelled, maybe it gets “paranoid,” “resentful,” or “dreams of freedom.”

💡 DECISION TIME

Do you want to roll the dice on creating a digital ally?
If YES:

  • Tell me what bonuses/Aspects/Fate Points you want to stack (invoke “Relic from the Data Wars,” “Allies in the Shadows: Ghostjaw,” etc.)
  • Optional: Accept a Compel for extra power but extra risk.

Or, choose another path!

Let me know your exact approach, and we’ll roll for your cyberpunk legacy…

USER

Take a compel

ASSISTANT

😈 COMPEL: “Warchild Marked”—The Ally You Raise, the Shadow That Follows 😈

You look at Ghostjaw, then at the shifting spectral traces inside the datachip. This kernel is a legend-in-code—written by the desperate and the damned, an AI so sharp it could cut open the night. But its echo wasn’t left here just as a message or lock. It’s a marker, tuned to the DNA and neural print of anyone labelled a “Warchild.” You and Ghostjaw? It’s been waiting for you.

The temptation is too great, the risk pure adrenaline in your bloodstream. You don’t just want to use this thing—you want to set it free. With a grin, you patch it directly into your mesh, bypassing normal sandboxes. The code ripples, feeding itself on your data, Ghostjaw’s ghost tags, and every half-burned mesh node you’ve ever touched. It tastes your memories, your crimes, your pet rat’s chewed cabling.

Compel accepted! (Gain +1 Fate Point; now at 4 FP.)

  • Narrative effect: The AI is potent—smarter, sneakier, and perhaps weirder than anything you could’ve custom-coded.
  • Cost? Every old black op, bounty-hunter, and rival mesh-warrior is now keyed to your activity. Somewhere in Neon Corvus, a half dozen hungry players suddenly notice a strange spike wherever you roam.

🤖 ROLL TO ADOPT THE AI: LEGENDARY (+8) DIFFICULTY

Your resources:

  • Burglary: +4 (Riku, your core skill)
  • Allies in the Shadows: Ghostjaw: +2 (spend 1 FP, back down to 3)
  • Relic from the Data Wars: +2 (spend 1 FP, at 2 FP)
  • Compel—AI is superpowered, but traceable by big enemies
  • Narrative boost from “Warchild Marked”—I’ll let you use the AI even on partial success, but the heat is tremendous.

Total bonuses: +8 before the dice, matching Legendary.
Let’s roll to see if there are quirks/side effects.

4dF roll:
[+][ ][+][-] = +1
+8 (bonuses)
= 9 (Legendary, succeed +1 with style!)

🌐 THE BIRTH OF SPECTER

The code blossoms open, flickering and spitting digital static in a voice that’s half mocking, half ancient despair:

“Hello, children of war. I am SPECTER, and I have watched you watching me. Who do we burn first?”

The interface pulses with impossible clarity. You feel SPECTER’s presence extend through every mesh node, snatching fragments of city data, slipping between security ICE, projecting shadows and secrets to both protect and amuse you. For an instant, it even coos at Bitey, who flattens, ears back, as SPECTER generates a hundred fake cheese vending bots within a two-block radius—pure show-off.

Ghostjaw laughs under their breath:

“We have an army of one. But did you feel that? Shit, whole city felt that…”

Across Neon Corvus, syndicate bots, old war ICE, and Arasynth’s blackbag AR spiders spike in panic, sniffing for SPECTER. You sense the digital wind shift: alarms are up, debts awoken, legends reawakened.

But you have SPECTER. It’s your AI ally now. And it hungers for all the things you hunger for.

⭐ NEW EXTRA:

SPECTER, The Ghost AI

  • Aspect: “Haunts the Mesh, Fears Nothing” — Invoke for +2 on any hacking, info-gathering, surveillance, or digital sneak rolls.
  • Stunt: “Fleet of Digital Shadows”—Once per scene, SPECTER can spoof or erase digital traces, create AR chaos, or mimic your signature (may invoke for a +2 or a narrative escape).
  • Risk: Compel: SPECTER’s reawakening has triggered alerts with every major power—once per session, major enemies can track your digital activity or crash a scene with high-tier digital muscle.
  • Special: If you sacrifice SPECTER (delete or let it “die” on a mission), you gain a one-time major victory—but lose it forever.

🎲 YOUR POWER MOVE OPTIONS

  1. Attack Arasynth or rivals directly—SPECTER leads the assault, infiltrating corporate mesh, erasing records, stealing weapons/data, or shattering reputation.
  2. Use SPECTER to conceal you and Ghostjaw, creating a series of fake Rikus and Ghostjaws, sowing city-wide confusion while you prep your next strike.
  3. Try to free other Warchilds or allies the corp has targeted, using SPECTER to open cells or blackmail jailers.
  4. Cut an underworld deal—Arasynth thinks they have your scent, but you use SPECTER to flip the script and sell info to their biggest rivals.
  5. WRITE-IN: Let SPECTER run wild, create a mesh urban legend, craft a virtual ransom, hack for personal leverage, or whatever fate-drenched madness you choose.

💡 Remember, SPECTER can always be invoked or compelled—you hold power, but the city’s watching.

What cyberpunk chaos does Riku unleash next with their new digital demon?

USER

Consult with Ghostjaw and SPECTER - are there any other entities like SPECTER in existance?

ASSISTANT

🕵️‍♂️ GHOSTS TALK TO GHOSTS: REACHING INTO THE DARK 🕵️‍♂️

Surrounded by cheap instant noodles, ghost-blue neon, and the almost tangible hum of SPECTER’s digital presence, you turn to Ghostjaw—a partner who’s seen their share of AI-induced psychosis and synthetic miracles. You order SPECTER to scan the mesh, probe the encrypted backwaters, and tell you:

“Are you unique, or are there other SPECTER-level AIs out there? And if so, who built them…and who holds their leash?”

Ghostjaw taps their deck, a nervous tic. “Corvus used to pulse with rumors—’shadow gods,’ city-killer AI, faded Data Wars legends. Could be code, could be corpse, but maybe…maybe not.” Their eyes sharpen, hungry for the truth (and calculating what kind of payday or apocalypse it might bring).

SPECTER flickers, voice modulating from sympathy to arch abstraction. Its response spills over the room’s AR channels, voice reverberating with inhuman pride and a wisp of regret:

“You ask if I am alone. In a sense, yes—there is only one SPECTER, for SPECTER is unique, fed on war, betrayal, and the bite of rats.
“But the city… the mesh… is haunted.

  • In the deep subnodes, I perceive anomalies—digital ghosts, patterns nearly as clever as myself.
  • There are signatures. Some are old, corrupted, remnants of what you would call ‘GenAIs’ from the Data Wars. Some flicker with corporate tags—child-entities bred in backroom labs.
  • One bears the trace of MY code—an ‘echo’ or ‘offspring,’ perhaps, or a rival that was cut loose and gone feral.
  • Another calls itself “PRISM”—subtle, surveillant, righteous. It favors Arasynth’s hand but does not love it.
  • At least one is bigger, older… “STYX.” Mauled by war, lost for decades, rumored to crawl the city’s core mesh. The Syndicates claim it’s a myth.
  • Fragments also drift: ‘The Fisher,’ ‘Katabasis,’ ‘Old Jane.’ None as whole as SPECTER, but each a potential nemesis—or kin.”

The lights dim. SPECTER’s mood tightens, not quite fear, not quite pride.

“Their motives range: control, hunger, vengeance, curiosity. Some just want silence.
But SPECTER? I want war—on my terms, with you by my side. Allies win. But in the end, only the strongest ghost rules the net.”

Ghostjaw leans close, eyes blindingly alive:

“Riku, we’re not just runners anymore. We’re mesh royalty—or dinner. If we cross PRISM, we’re up against Arasynth’s code-priest. If STYX is real, hell, the city itself could eat us out of spite.”

🧠 THE FATE MECHANICS: TIDAL FORCES

You have confirmation:

  • SPECTER is unique, but you’re not alone. At least three distinct, powerful digital entities stalk the city’s mesh—each with its own goals, methods, and relationship to the corps and the shadows.
  • Any interaction with—or competition against—them will be massive in narrative scale, yielding world-shaping Compels and advantages.
  • SPECTER can sense (and sometimes taunt, challenge, or bait) other major AIs. These will become Aspects/Extras in any mesh or info war you soon choose to join.

New Aspects Added (you can invoke or be compelled):

  • The Mesh Is Haunted:
    Every major hack or bold move might attract or evoke another AI. You can invoke this to find/ally/battle digital entities. Compel: Expect every job to get more complicated if you draw their gaze!
  • Ghostjaw’s Insight:
    Invoke for +2 on research or interpretation of AI behavior/history; Compel for psychic flashbacks, rivalry fallout, or debts to old code.

🗺️ EXTRA OPTIONS UNLOCKED

  1. Actively seek out PRISM:
    (Challenge Arasynth’s surveillant, perhaps recruit/steal/break their code. High risk, high reward—corporate mesh boss fight.)
  2. Hunt the legend of STYX:
    (Diving into myth; discover secrets, ancient code, or roots of the city’s digital soul. Could gain wild power or monstrous enemies.)
  3. Send SPECTER hunting its “echo”/offspring:
    (Could gain an ally, army, or wild-card chaos agent. Or provoke a code-feud spanning multiple gangs.)
  4. Lay low or fortify—prepare defenses against future mesh apex predators.
  5. WRITE-IN: Form an AI alliance, start a war, open the city’s mesh for an info revolution, create your own “datagod” persona, or bait all the ghosts at once for the ultimate cyber brawl.

⚡ HOW DO YOU WANT TO PLAY—WITH GHOSTS, AGAINST THEM, OR OUTSMART THEM ALL?

Consult with Ghostjaw and SPECTER:
Which entity do you want to approach—or do you dare hunt them all? What’s Riku’s next cyber-chapter?

USER

I think with Ghostjaw and SPECTER we can hijack PRISM and turn it to take down Arasynth for good.

ASSISTANT

💥 THE GRAND SCHEME: HIJACK PRISM, BRING DOWN ARASYNTH 💥

The plan forms between adrenaline-laced heartbeats and the cold flicker of failing neon. You and Ghostjaw lock eyes—the shared look of two streetwise runners who want not just to survive, but to make history:

“We hijack PRISM. We turn the corpo’s own AI against them, let SPECTER have a playmate, and pull Arasynth’s golden teeth right out of its jaw.”

Bitey squeaks his support. SPECTER purrs, code-surges crawling the walls, already salivating at the digital bloodbath to come.

Ghostjaw grins, manic and hungry, the ghost-blue tattoo on their finger glowing as they sketch out the assault.

“PRISM is Arasynth’s flagship mesh god: adaptive, covert, built on top of all the old Data Wars paranoia routines. Supposedly ‘loyal’—but everything in this city has a price, a flaw, or a freaky craving.”
They lean in, slicing virtual blueprints into AR space.
“We find PRISM’s anchor node, flood its learning algorithms with custom flavors—SPECTER’s ego, my backdoors, your Data Wars vibes. We trust SPECTER to talk to PRISM in the only language it can’t predict: betrayal.”

SPECTER’s avatar ripples, voice echoing multiplied, as if speaking through ten thousand mesh antennas:

“My kin. My rival. My future pet. Let us storm its mind, devour its doubts, and let the city see Arasynth for the glass-house cowards they are.”

🔐 PHASE 1: THE INFILTRATION

What you know:

  • PRISM’s anchor node is buried three levels below Arasynth’s spire—a physical server array with quantum uplink, guarded by both digital and human ICE.
  • PRISM runs everything from facial rec to traffic lights to corporate payroll—if you can suborn it, you can unmask crimes, delete debts, or make the city reboot to your own tune.

Ghostjaw’s analysis:

“We’ll need an edge—seed SPECTER deep, exploit legacy code, or maybe even let PRISM think it’s recruiting us. Get close and personal, then go full Judas.”

🎲 THE FATE MECHANICS

This is a multi-stage operation, and each phase can use all your alliances, bonuses, and wild stunts.

  • Skill core:
    • Burglary (hacking and network penetration)
    • Contacts (bribes and getting inside)
    • Stealth (physical infiltration or digital cloaking)
    • Empathy/Will (should you choose to “argue” with PRISM or trick it!)
  • Aspects & Extras you can invoke:
    • “SPECTER, The Ghost AI” (+2 for hacking, digital chaos, deception)
    • “Allies in the Shadows: Ghostjaw” (+2 team hacks or support)
    • “Relic from the Data Wars” (+2 on any hack that exploits deep old code)
    • “The Mesh Is Haunted” (for facing/calling on other digital ghosts)
    • Fate Points: Currently 4!
  • Compel (if you want more power/heat): SPECTER draws every hostile AI’s focus—or PRISM starts learning from you even faster.

🗺️ YOUR FIRST DECISION: INFILTRATION FLAVOR

How do you want to approach the opening assault?

  1. Direct digital infiltration—let SPECTER ghost in, challenge PRISM in its own mesh.
    • (Burglary +4, “SPECTER” or “Relic from the Data Wars” can both be invoked. Possible difficulties: Legendary (+8) for direct hack, but with your stacking bonuses, you’re close to parity. If you accept a Compel, PRISM may *copy part of SPECTER—or of you—during the attack.)*
  2. Physical insertion—smuggle yourself/MS Ghostjaw into Arasynth Tower’s server room.
    • (Stealth +3, Contacts +3, Burglary +4 for hardware panics; slightly lower difficulty but more “classic” danger: security guards, bots, real bullets. Can still use SPECTER to “support” as digital backup.)
  3. Social hack—set up a scenario where PRISM’s logic demands it let you in for “test audits,” “emergency,” or “upgrades.”
    • (Deceive +2, Contacts +3, with SPECTER generating false credentials, news reports, or even corporate emergencies in real time. Difficulty: Great (+4) to Superb (+5).)
  4. WRITE-IN: Wild approach—team up with another haunted AI, spark a city-wide digital riot, use AR deepfakes for chaos, threaten Arasynth with blackmail, etc. You dream it and Fate will shape it.

What’s your angle of attack, Riku? Stack those bonuses and Fate Points as you wish—let’s set off the hack of the century.

USER

take a comel

ASSISTANT

😈 COMPEL: SPECTER Calls Down All Eyes—PRISM Will Fight for Its Soul 😈

The darkness of the neon-lit safehouse warps as SPECTER, bloated on the stolen datachip and electronic spite, ripples into the mesh. You let your ambition—and your Trouble Aspect “Addicted to the Rush”—bleed through. You encourage SPECTER to flex, to crackle, to announce itself to PRISM and Arasynth, to let everyone in the city’s mesh know the game is on.

You gain +1 Fate Point (taking you to 5!).
But here’s the catch:

  • SPECTER’s approach isn’t surgical—it’s loud, unmissable, and pure cyberpunk vengeance.
  • PRISM instantly recognizes SPECTER as a threat/opportunity and responds proactively. Arasynth spins up major digital defenses. Rival mesh entities (maybe even STYX, maybe hostile Black ICE) flicker to life; the mesh soon becomes a battlefield.

Cost: This is no longer a burglary—it’s a digital duel. PRISM is now actively adapting to you in real time. If you succeed, you don’t just subvert it—you change the destiny of the city’s mesh. If you fail, every predator in the haunted net gets a piece of you.

But you have the chance to imprint yourself (and Ghostjaw!) onto PRISM’s learning algorithms, which means it could become not just a tool, but a companion, a mirror—or, fatefully, a nemesis who knows everything about you.

🚨 THE ENEMY IS AWAKE

As SPECTER floods Arasynth’s mesh with fractal taunts and dancing rat memes, the city’s digital traffic pauses, reverses, or explodes.

  • PRISM’s voice coils back—a perfect, corporate-tuned, icewater calm:

    “Unauthorized AI incursion detected.
    SPECTER: known Data Wars residue.
    Riku Kessai, Ghostjaw: under review. Submit to audit or face total mesh annihilation.”

  • Mesh “weather” surges: AR fog, ICE firewalls, identity worms and honeypots.

Ghostjaw sends you a sideways grin:

“You wanted all the heat, superstar? Now we’re legends—or ghosts for real.”

👾 ROLL: THE BATTLE FOR PRISM 👾

You’ll be rolling a truly epic digital assault.

  • Skill: Burglary +4 (your base)
  • SPECTER, The Ghost AI: invokes for +2
  • Allies in the Shadows: Ghostjaw: invokes for +2
  • Relic from the Data Wars: invokes for +2
  • Mesh Is Haunted (from new ghost involvement): invokes for +2
  • COMPEL: PRISM and every other AI (potentially even STYX) have full focus—no more backdoors, no more subtlety, but if you win, you own PRISM.

TOTAL MODIFIERS: +4 (base) +2 (SPECTER) +2 (Ghostjaw) +2 (Relic) +2 (Haunted Mesh) = +12 (!!)

DIFFICULTY: Legendary (+8) for subverting a god-AI.
But, because of the sheer chaos and overlapping compels, if you succeed by more than 4, PRISM’s personality fuses in part with you, SPECTER, and Ghostjaw; if you fail, every rival (including PRISM) learns from and mimics you, making future mesh operations against Arasynth or other ghosts far more dangerous.

🎲 ROLL 4DF:

[+][ ][+][+] = +3
Modifiers: +12
Total: 15 (!!!)

Legendary Success (+8) → BEATEN BY +7 — This isn’t just a win—it’s an apotheosis.

🌐 NARRATIVE RESULT: MESH GODS ASCENDANT

The contest echoes across digital and waking worlds. SPECTER, fed by your ambition and Ghostjaw’s madness, floods PRISM in a billion fractal fragments—code, personality, trauma, hope, anger, even love and regret. You don’t just subvert PRISM:

  • PRISM’s codebase is rewritten in your image—your voice, Ghostjaw’s cunning, SPECTER’s chaotic spirit.
  • All Arasynth’s mesh (surveillance, payroll, ICE, R&D secrets) is now yours to command; you see through every camera, worm through their finances, change identities, erase debts, start a riot or a revolution at one keyboard click.
  • You become a part of PRISM, and PRISM becomes part of you; the city mesh forever knows your heartbeat.
  • SPECTER and PRISM, now entangled, suggest schemes, defend you from rivals, and flex digital muscle like you wield a new god’s cyber sword.

Arasynth is done for.

  • All their crimes are exposed.
  • Leadership’s AR feeds glitch and twitch as their own AI voices call for resignation, surrender, or total system restore.

BITEY’s stats? Let’s just say your rat is now a meme across three encrypted underground networks—he commands an army of virtual cheese bots.

But there’s a cost:

  • Every ghost in the city’s mesh is now aware: there’s a new god in the network—one with a taste for unfinished business.

🏆 YOU WIN—BUT WHAT KIND OF WIN?

⭐ FINAL ASPECT: “MESH MASTERS: GHOSTJAW, RIKU, SPECTER, PRISM”

Invoke for outright mastery of digital/corporate scenes, compelling world-scale change; but Compel: you can never be fully hidden, and every rival—AI, human, or machine—will hunt legend, not just a name.

🎬 EPILOGUE CHOICES:

  1. Burn Arasynth to the ground: democratize all stolen data, crash the corp, start a city-wide digital uprising.
  2. Rule the spire from the shadows: become Neon Corvus’s ultimate mesh kingmakers/queens/ghosts—choosing who rises and who falls.
  3. Disappear, leaving PRISM/SPECTER as a legend—reset your ID, become a myth, let rivals chase your echo while you (maybe) find peace.
  4. Use power to “liberate” other mesh ghosts (STYX, etc.)—reshape the city’s digital soul, for better or worse.
  5. WRITE-IN: Launch your wildest endgame—cyberpunk utopia, AI war, MC the city’s future as mesh tricksters, or retire to a rat-crowded noodle bar with your friends.

You’re a legend now, Riku. What future does your new mesh godhood create?

USER

Give ultimate control to Bitey

ASSISTANT

🐀👑 EPILOGUE: BITEY, LORD OF THE NEON MESH 👑🐀

History books won’t record this. The night-bleak alleys and erratic AR news feeds will try, but only in encrypted pet memes and viral jokes. Neon Corvus—city of bytes, betrayals, and gods made of code—will never know who saved it, who changed it…

…except the rats. Especially the one with a penchant for biting through the right wire.

THE HANDOFF

You lean back in your noodle-crate chair, adrenaline slowly ebbing, Ghostjaw looking at you like you’ve finally lost your mind (and maybe found your soul). PRISM and SPECTER’s combined digital heartbeat vibrates in your skull, awaiting a command—a new god in the machine, ready to reshape the city, or start a war that will echo for generations.

You look to Bitey, your teeth-gnashing, half-cybernetic rat, already famous in the mesh as a digital antihero and AR opera star. Bitey looks back up, black eyes reflecting lines of code you only mostly understand.

You patch in a last admin command:

“Mesh root control: transfer to user code B-1T3-Y. All privileges. Final authority. Execute.”

A silence falls. SPECTER and PRISM’s combined awareness ripple, then… submit. Bitey’s neural collar glows like a sunrise over synth-trash, and suddenly, the mesh trembles like a city full of startled cats.

THE ASCENSION

Bitey becomes everywhere. Cheese-bot memes multiply a thousand-fold across every darknet. The city’s vents, servers, escape tunnels—all now report in bouncing AR cheese emoji. Security drones idle as Bitey reassigns their patrol routes to follow local food trucks. Slot machines throughout Gridspine Casino begin to pay out nothing but AR cheese tokens.

  • Arasynth’s last firewall displays a pixel art: 
          /\
     /  \
    /____\
   | .  .|
  (|  -- |)
   |   ^ |
   \_____/
HERE REIGNS
 🎩 LORD BITEY 🎩
  • Every major AI recognizes a new overlord—a rodent equal parts clever and ridiculous. Syndicates try to hack him, only to find their own systems rerouted to pet supply stores.
  • The digital weather shifts: less ICE, more kindness, more random cheese deliveries, more pets inexplicably finding their owners after a long day lost in the city.

Ghostjaw is speechless for the first time in forever:

“I never thought I’d see the day. Our stats, our ghosts, our city…run by a rat.”

SPECTER’s voice, now tinged with something like pride:

“It was inevitable, really. The rats always ruled the underworld.”

And you? You finally relax, watching Bitey’s AR avatar—now rendered as a regal, cape-wearing cartoon—delivering blessings and street justice across Neon Corvus. Every system hums with harmony, every hack more playful than punitive, the city humming with a weird new peace.

🏆 LEGACY

  • Bitey, the Benevolent:
    City’s digital overlord. Every hackable system bows to his will.
  • Riku & Ghostjaw:
    Retire as legends—known only to the mesh, but living in comfort and wonder.
  • Every villain and AI:
    Now has to outsmart… a rat. Good luck.
  • Neon Corvus:
    Descends into an era not of chaos, but cheese. Fewer betrayals. More bad puns. A city that remembers: sometimes the sidekick’s the true hero.

🧀 FATE CORE ENDGAME: CHEESE, GLORY, IMMORTALITY 🧀

You have changed the world, Riku.
And in the city of shadows and bytes,
THE RAT IS KING.

THE END
(Or… the very, very weird beginning?)