>Begin observing, no idea what roundtype
>Ausops cannot fight their button-addiction and wants to summon an inspector with deathsquad escort
>although very tired (fuck you winter) I hit yes on the prompt in hopes of becoming DS
>become inspector instead
>oh fuck, roleplaying
>go dress up only to lament over the scarcity of nice MUH AUTHORITAH hats
>centcomm update:
NO DEATHSQUAD FOR YOU, GOOD DAY SIR!
>I'm like 'B-but..'
>
'I SAID GOOD DAY, SIR!'
>knowing full well that nobody gives a shit about a centcomm official without some muscle behind them, I ask for at least a deathsquid
>enter Churgle, prince of plusesquidistan, bearer of the six pulse tentacles!
>my face literally awesome.jpg
>we embark on our journey to the station
>an angry mob already awaits us in arrivals
>blood everywhere, and as soon as the airlock opens, IEDs come flying my way
>Churgle with their itchy trigger tentacles doesn't think twice and blasts some fools
>make a feeble RP attempt by noting the state of the arrivals section with an eloquent 'WHAT THE FUCK' on my clipboard paper
>I have no idea what is going on on the station and the acting-captain HoP is about as friendly and forthcoming as Hitler on a bad monday morning in 1945
>Churgle and I agree to ignore the heads of staff for now and to start our inspection in the science wing
>Cherry-on-Top, the science clown, greets me in the lab
>after a while of Churgle being the absolute centre of attention for the entire science staff, the clown wants to officially welcome me to the station with a custom
>whips out a pen
>YOU ARE NOW A MEMBER OF THE CLANDESTINE GANG
>'What the fuck, I didn't come implanted?'
>sadly, Churgle cannot be recruited
>Clown, the now VERY sceptical Churgle, and I merrily walk around the station, recruiting people
>recruit acting comdom and HoS on bridge
>reassure Churgle that people are simply slipping near the clown
>Centcomm keeps bugging me to write up a situation report
>I'm too busy plotting centcomms downfall
>they threaten to send internal affairs
>hastily come up with a reassuring 'EVERYTHING IS FINE' kinda story and send it to centcomm
>they don't buy it
>Commander Anna Avery and two ERTs show up and order me to come to the brig
>ohshitohfuckohshit
>drop my LT device, keep pen in PDA
>grab a sechud to see if Anna is implanted or not
>she isn't!
>clandestine will rule the world!
>engage full RP mode, talking about a huge conspiracy going on here
>it's still shit, but I at least get Anna with her two implanted ERT goons into the interrogation room
>I NEED MORE POWER TO THE RP, SCOTTY
>say I am in deep cover and that I have sensitive information that threatens the whole of nanotrasen
>the goons just won't leave
>they begin whispering
>they know
>begin sweating like in a finish sauna
>Churgle's tentacles seem to be itching again
>suddenly: DOMINATOR IN RD'S OFFICE
>saved by the fucking bell
>the goons smell the valids and rush out
>this is it!
>pen Anna
>CENTCOMM IS MINE, ALL MINE
>she explodes
>
>despite his many brains, Churgle is obviously very confused at this point
>although disappointed about Avery's... accident, we head to science to help defend our dominator
>gold slime mobs EVERYWHERE
>Welcome to the Jungle
>spider webs as far as the eye can see
>spiders go after Churgle and six pulse tentacles are not enough to save him from being overwhelmed
>queue platoon dafoe-moment music
>Churgle goes down, his body returning to the extra dimensional plane of squids
>turns out the spiders are friendly to the gang?
>dominator ticks down without much of a fight
It was a spider round with only one gang. We won, but at what cost!