Dec 16, 2025 12:54 am
DAY TWO — RANGE DAY
IISS Base, Pautho — Ironhand Compound
The Ironhand compound is already awake when Day Two begins.
Outside, pale morning light filters through high cloud cover, casting soft shadows across the compound. Systems cycle smoothly from night posture to day operations. Doors unlock on schedule. Security grids settle into routine patterns.
The range schedule for the morning is set. The plan is intact.
0600 — LAST CHANCE GRILL
The first thing anyone notices when entering the Ironhand galley is the smell.
Coffee. Real coffee.
Not shipboard concentrate. Not ration slurry. Actual brewed coffee—rich, sharp, unmistakable.
Then bacon.
Real bacon. Thick-cut, sizzling on the griddle. Not synth strips. Not marine-issue substitutes. The smell alone is enough to stop people mid-step.
A compact service robot glides near the entry.
Robot Barista:
"Good morning. Real coffee, grown in the hills of Pautho."
Behind the counter, two local Pautho nationals oversee the cooking robots.
One is a broad-shouldered man in his forties with close-cropped dark hair and a starport apron worn thin from years of use. He watches the griddle feeds with quiet confidence, stepping in only when needed. Beside him, a younger woman with her hair tied back and sleeves rolled to the elbow monitors incoming orders, checking displays and occasionally cracking eggs by hand. She looks at Ruiha smiles and gives her a wink. She see J.E.E.M. and frowns.
The eggs are fresh. Their shells are grey and slightly larger than Terran standards. Bread and rolls sit under a heat veil. Sliced meats, cheeses, and local jams—distinctly Pauthoan—are arranged with care.
Orders are taken by a hovering service unit. Once placed, diners are directed to take a seat. When ready, plates are delivered directly to the table—hot, efficient, precise.
Along one wall, a dispenser unit provides coffee and a thick green energy-protein drink with a sharp, vegetal scent. The barista robot monitors both.
Tsoukfaeks is already present.
She sits alone at a table at exactly 0600, eating a plate of grilled protein—something real, something local, something that once had legs. A ceramic mug of coffee rests within reach.
She watches the room as people enter.
As each Ironhand contractor comes through the door, Tsoukfaeks gestures them over briefly and hands them a wrist-mounted device—sleek, matte, Ironhand issue.
Tsoukfaeks:
"Ironhand standard issue. You might want to put it on."
Once secured, she explains evenly:
"It’s keyed to this building, the armory, the security gates, the IISS facilities, and the JCC. It also gives you unrestricted access to the grav tube network across the starport and the city. You can load your own applications."
She takes a sip of coffee.
"It’s a pain in the ass to re-key the whole system if one goes missing, so don’t lose it."
No further comment. She returns to her meal.
The galley fills steadily. Plates arrive. Coffee pours freely. The atmosphere is calm, efficient, professional.
Midway through breakfast, Tsoukfaeks rises and walks over to where J.E.E. Montgomery is seated.
She stops beside the table.
Tsoukfaeks:
"Montgomery. You’re running the range today."
That’s it.
No elaboration. No emphasis. Montgomery understands exactly what that means.
Tsoukfaeks moves on.
As breakfast winds down and people begin to stand, Tsoukfaeks pauses near the exit of the Last Chance Grill.
Tsoukfaeks:
"For today’s range activity, we need one person to self-identify as the medic."
She waits just long enough for that role to be claimed.
GM: Who volunteers?
Then she steps outside.
ARMORY — PREPARATION
The armory opens via Ironhand credentials—wrist comms or Ironhand tablets.
Inside, the racks lock every weapon and commo and optical equipment. The Ironhand wrist cmm device unlocks the weapon from the rack with a click. The person removing the weapon from it's rack location will see at the rack a time stamp indicating when the weapon rack lock was opened and by who.
Weapons are clean, inspected, and ready:
Standard Ironhand optics and radios are stacked neatly. The IH-VisionPak sunglasses stand out immediately—military style sunglasses in appearance, clearly high-end, seamlessly linking to wrist comms, comm dots, and tablets.
As someone passes the plate carrier, helmet, and optics racks, a holographic message projects softly:
"All training today takes place with eye protection and plate carriers."
Five minutes after the first person enters the armory, a second holographic notice appears:
"Ensure the Advanced Medic Kit is brought. One individual must self-identify as medic for range control."
Ammunition is already staged on the floor. Above it floats a simple label:
"Ammo for today’s training. Secure in the Ironhand grav truck outside after 0700."
Tsoukfaeks is not present.
She does not supervise.
She does not prompt.
She does not correct.
All roll task/attribute check: 8+ using the character's INT score and RECON as DM notice something.
MOVEMENT TO RANGE
Outside, the vehicles are ready.
A four-seat armored G-Carrier lifts smoothly. Tsoukfaeks indicates that Chaala and the medic go with her to the smaller four seater G-carrier. Tsoukfaeks takes the front seat. Chaala rides beside her. The selected medic takes a rear seat.
Tsoukfaeks indicates that Montgomery is charge of the grav truck. The grav truck carrying weapons, ammunition, and the rest of the team lifts behind them, hovering steadily.
As the G-Carrier clears the compound perimeter, Tsoukfaeks keys her comm.
Tsoukfaeks (over comm):
"TRC Control, this is Ironhand niner two. Requesting permission to depart the IISS compound and transit to the TRC range complex. Two vehicles, nine pax, departing time now."
There’s a brief pause.
Clearance follows.
The convoy moves out.
As they travel, Tsoukfaeks speaks to Chaala over the headset—not formally, not casually.
She outlines the intent of the day: fundamentals, confirmation of competence, controlled observation. No pressure. No theatrics.
Then she adds:
"I have initial observations of the team. I want yours. Strengths. Weaknesses. Dynamics."
(Response?)
Her tone makes one thing clear: she expects honesty.
The vehicles glide onward toward the range.
Day Two is fully underway.
IISS Base, Pautho — Ironhand Compound
The Ironhand compound is already awake when Day Two begins.
Outside, pale morning light filters through high cloud cover, casting soft shadows across the compound. Systems cycle smoothly from night posture to day operations. Doors unlock on schedule. Security grids settle into routine patterns.
The range schedule for the morning is set. The plan is intact.
0600 — LAST CHANCE GRILL
The first thing anyone notices when entering the Ironhand galley is the smell.
Coffee. Real coffee.
Not shipboard concentrate. Not ration slurry. Actual brewed coffee—rich, sharp, unmistakable.
Then bacon.
Real bacon. Thick-cut, sizzling on the griddle. Not synth strips. Not marine-issue substitutes. The smell alone is enough to stop people mid-step.
A compact service robot glides near the entry.
Robot Barista:
"Good morning. Real coffee, grown in the hills of Pautho."
Behind the counter, two local Pautho nationals oversee the cooking robots.
One is a broad-shouldered man in his forties with close-cropped dark hair and a starport apron worn thin from years of use. He watches the griddle feeds with quiet confidence, stepping in only when needed. Beside him, a younger woman with her hair tied back and sleeves rolled to the elbow monitors incoming orders, checking displays and occasionally cracking eggs by hand. She looks at Ruiha smiles and gives her a wink. She see J.E.E.M. and frowns.
The eggs are fresh. Their shells are grey and slightly larger than Terran standards. Bread and rolls sit under a heat veil. Sliced meats, cheeses, and local jams—distinctly Pauthoan—are arranged with care.
Orders are taken by a hovering service unit. Once placed, diners are directed to take a seat. When ready, plates are delivered directly to the table—hot, efficient, precise.
Along one wall, a dispenser unit provides coffee and a thick green energy-protein drink with a sharp, vegetal scent. The barista robot monitors both.
Tsoukfaeks is already present.
She sits alone at a table at exactly 0600, eating a plate of grilled protein—something real, something local, something that once had legs. A ceramic mug of coffee rests within reach.
She watches the room as people enter.
As each Ironhand contractor comes through the door, Tsoukfaeks gestures them over briefly and hands them a wrist-mounted device—sleek, matte, Ironhand issue.
Tsoukfaeks:
"Ironhand standard issue. You might want to put it on."
Once secured, she explains evenly:
"It’s keyed to this building, the armory, the security gates, the IISS facilities, and the JCC. It also gives you unrestricted access to the grav tube network across the starport and the city. You can load your own applications."
She takes a sip of coffee.
"It’s a pain in the ass to re-key the whole system if one goes missing, so don’t lose it."
No further comment. She returns to her meal.
The galley fills steadily. Plates arrive. Coffee pours freely. The atmosphere is calm, efficient, professional.
Midway through breakfast, Tsoukfaeks rises and walks over to where J.E.E. Montgomery is seated.
She stops beside the table.
Tsoukfaeks:
"Montgomery. You’re running the range today."
That’s it.
No elaboration. No emphasis. Montgomery understands exactly what that means.
Tsoukfaeks moves on.
As breakfast winds down and people begin to stand, Tsoukfaeks pauses near the exit of the Last Chance Grill.
Tsoukfaeks:
"For today’s range activity, we need one person to self-identify as the medic."
She waits just long enough for that role to be claimed.
GM: Who volunteers?
Then she steps outside.
ARMORY — PREPARATION
The armory opens via Ironhand credentials—wrist comms or Ironhand tablets.
Inside, the racks lock every weapon and commo and optical equipment. The Ironhand wrist cmm device unlocks the weapon from the rack with a click. The person removing the weapon from it's rack location will see at the rack a time stamp indicating when the weapon rack lock was opened and by who.
Weapons are clean, inspected, and ready:
- []13× IH-4 Carbines (TL10)
[]50× IH-18 Compact Carbines
[]3× IH-15 LMGs
[]9× IH-7 Rifles
[]9× IH-10 Pistols
[]4× IH-GL40 Standalone 40mm Launchers
Standard Ironhand optics and radios are stacked neatly. The IH-VisionPak sunglasses stand out immediately—military style sunglasses in appearance, clearly high-end, seamlessly linking to wrist comms, comm dots, and tablets.
As someone passes the plate carrier, helmet, and optics racks, a holographic message projects softly:
"All training today takes place with eye protection and plate carriers."
Five minutes after the first person enters the armory, a second holographic notice appears:
"Ensure the Advanced Medic Kit is brought. One individual must self-identify as medic for range control."
Ammunition is already staged on the floor. Above it floats a simple label:
"Ammo for today’s training. Secure in the Ironhand grav truck outside after 0700."
Tsoukfaeks is not present.
She does not supervise.
She does not prompt.
She does not correct.
All roll task/attribute check: 8+ using the character's INT score and RECON as DM notice something.
MOVEMENT TO RANGE
Outside, the vehicles are ready.
A four-seat armored G-Carrier lifts smoothly. Tsoukfaeks indicates that Chaala and the medic go with her to the smaller four seater G-carrier. Tsoukfaeks takes the front seat. Chaala rides beside her. The selected medic takes a rear seat.
Tsoukfaeks indicates that Montgomery is charge of the grav truck. The grav truck carrying weapons, ammunition, and the rest of the team lifts behind them, hovering steadily.
As the G-Carrier clears the compound perimeter, Tsoukfaeks keys her comm.
Tsoukfaeks (over comm):
"TRC Control, this is Ironhand niner two. Requesting permission to depart the IISS compound and transit to the TRC range complex. Two vehicles, nine pax, departing time now."
There’s a brief pause.
Clearance follows.
The convoy moves out.
As they travel, Tsoukfaeks speaks to Chaala over the headset—not formally, not casually.
She outlines the intent of the day: fundamentals, confirmation of competence, controlled observation. No pressure. No theatrics.
Then she adds:
"I have initial observations of the team. I want yours. Strengths. Weaknesses. Dynamics."
(Response?)
Her tone makes one thing clear: she expects honesty.
The vehicles glide onward toward the range.
Day Two is fully underway.
, and 
. 