System in Play: The LEGO Roleplay (Playset)

Excellent, let’s get you out there. Now ju–

Hm? Me? Oh. No, I won’t be joining you, I’m not as brave. Besides, there are others that need preparing for the journeys ahead. Someone needs to help them.

Now, just close your eyes.

Play well.


A few months ago

A black armored man walked through the hall, arms behind his back. Agents pulled out their weapons and attempt fire, but froze when he pointed his hook at them. Their eyes hollowed, faces melting as they’re transformed before one fell through a portal and the other overwhelmed by robotic spiders.

Bursting into the control room, the others inside meet the same fate. Froze in time, mind and body mutating before getting taken away by forces unknown. The figure put an orb on the main computer and a surge of energy burst out, giving them full control.

“That was easy,” Ogel said as he lifted his visor. “It seems this LEGO Organization has grown weak.”

“Against us, such efforts are always futile.” AntiMatter said dismissively.

“They shouldn’t have retired all their heroes,” Dr. Inferno cackled.

“Don’t be so certain, they always find a way to ruin things.” Ogel said to them. “Now then, Monstrox.”

The green phantom chuckled as he left into the machine and empowered it with his magic.

“Oooh, I haven’t felt a system this good since my library days!” Monstrox joked and then activated the signal, spreading the orb’s power across the entire world.

“That thing really does rot their brains.” Monstrox added, his smile spread across every screen. “Not that I doubt your evilness Ogel, but how about some life insurance?”

Ogel just stared at Monstrox as one of his robotic servants came up with a sphere. The old mastermind looked at the crystal ball, but was unable to determine its use. The virus just continued to smile.

“You know me, we could always use more monsters.” Monstrux said as his phantom came out and ate the crystal ball.

In an explosion of power and green fog, a figure rose. A figure Ogel only recognized from paintings. Lord Vladek, his long lost ancestor. Only, the armor colors were wrong.

“Now we can secure our hold.” Said the ever smiling Monstrux from the screens.

The Other Today

“The mayor has agreed to Misunderstood Ogel’s proposal to make this day the official Ogel Appreciation Day. So be sure to get on out there and celebrate all the great things Ogel has done for our city.” The reporter said from the TV.

The figure was still asleep, face on his laptop’s keyboard, standing at his desk. The computer was also on, having a string connections and mad ramblings. He was tracking something, but what?

Figure Located. Figure Located.” It beeped at him.

He jerks awake, groggy before realizing what it said. He pulls the screen unnecessarily close, looking at the new popup.

“Yes! There are others! I hope they’ll help.” He says, rushing to make himself more presentable.


You open your eyes. Where are you? How would you like to start your day?



Darkness enveloped the surface of the lone asteroid. It was peaceful, quiet, and devoid of anything that would trouble its lone occupant. It was the perfect place to live for someone of her species.

The eyes of her spider body lit up from left all the way to right lighting up with a promethean orange mandibles clicking into place as tubes hissed and clicked detaching from her mechanical frame. The minifigure torso twisted and twitched as power reached its core, the eyes lighting up with a similar color as it did so. A long yawn, and then the spider moved.

Her mechanical legs scurried across the smooth cleaned out inside of the asteroid. Brick clattering on smooth plates as the spider X-podian moved down from her recharging station to her console room. Large chunky boxes lined the walls of this particular room lending itself to a plethora of carefully placed monitors that displayed different connections to various broadcasts from around the world.

The sound of the City’s broadcast was playing. The spider’s robotic minifigure head smiled, granted her smile was always there, but it was wider now. Such nonsense, it was clearly a bad joke…right? Well probably not, little minfigures so silly and impractical. Everyone had to be just right. She shrugged, probably her bias talking, the space astronauts had been kind so she shouldn’t complain that much.

She glanced at a black monitor with a her spider eyes blinking with an ominous orange glow. A message? All the way out here? Located specifically in that region? How strange, how fascinating, how absolutely delicious! She practically chittered in glee as she moved to read what the message delivered was, her attachment hands outstretching to begin a response.

“Hey networker! Networker! You have one new message.” Echo told her as she accessed the new message.

The message was simple and read as fellows:

The robotic lass chittered with excitement. How nice to get a response. Now what to say, what to say. Her mechanical hands reached over and quickly typed out her response with exuberant glee.


Khimon had fallen many times before. Piloting will do that to you, get you stuck in situations far above the ground where letting go of the controls will send you back to earth like a rogue asteroid. In space it was harder to “fall down” considering the dimensions…but equally easy to lose control of your ship to a gravitational anomaly, or stray into the orbit of a planetoid just big enough to send you spiraling into the nearest star.

Normally this would be fine. A few fancy maneuvers and they’d all be clear, rejoining the fleet or rising above whatever obstacle had been threatening them.

But Khimon was falling to Earth now, and not in a ship. The ship had been lost an hour ago, bombarded with a micrometeor swarm that had somehow not been detected on radar. Khimon had ran, ran ran ran through the ship and piled as much gear and material possible into the two remaining pods, before climbing into the third and launching all three.

The other two had veered off during entry. Finding them would be a chore now (though not impossible, provided they didn’t land in this world’s deeper ocean regions). The pilot’s last scanner was powered off and tucked away. If it was damaged during the crash it would be hard enough to get around the world, let alone find the other two pods.

Now though, the only thing Khimon could do was fall. And pray what was left of the pod’s auto-targeting systems landed somewhere soft.

A cylindrical, black and translucent lime green construct descends from the sky. It turns, turns, stands still, and finally crashes into the earth.

It lands a bit outside Newbury, far enough that the more provincial locals may assume it is a falling star.

The alien pod sits cooling in a small grove of trees, its cargo oblivious to the world outside.

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“So Bjerk, whaddya think it is?” Olivia Veraz pushes aside some underbrush, giving the duo a closer look at the mysterious pod. Bjerk leans forward in his suit, getting a better look at the thing before grunting ambiguously. Olivia nods along. “Yeah, yeah; I was hoping you’d know.”

She pulls her pistol from her belt, pointing it loosely at the ground as she steps out into the clearing. Before she can get far, a growl from Bjerk stops her; a question. “What do you think I’m doing, I’m going to look at it!” Her friend grunts in response, a lower tone. “Well, what else are we supposed to do with it?” Bjerk pauses, then his suit approximates a shrug. He adds a string of grunts. “Hey, you know me, I’m always careful.”

Olivia continues into the clearing, stepping slowly towards the strange pod. She raises her free hand in front of her, like comforting a wary animal. Probably wouldn’t affect the pod, but it made her feel better.

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The pod, not being a strange animal, does not reply to Olivia’s movements. A metallic bang sounds from the inside.

Inside, the pilot still falls. The harness preventing them from falling finally comes loose and Khimon collides harshly with the front of the pod. There’s a loud clang that sounds to them like all the world blowing up.

We were with you once.
We weren’t one.

Khimon tries to move a hand to brace their head, as if the huge helmet encircling their head isn’t there. It doesn’t move, predictably. The world is spinning around and around, too fast.
The pilot elects to lie on the ground for a long minute.

The pod’s barely-present exterior scanners give a warning beep that rogue objects have entered the vicinity. The warning is lost on Khimon, spinning away in the blur of noise and motion that the world has become.

Find who did this.
Undo it.

Khimon reaches out with their power, scraping blindly. Their body finally moves, rising not by physical power…but by telekinetic. A hand moves, swinging like a badly-controlled marionette. It slams into the side of the pod and misses the emergency release button.


Outside of the pod, the banging continues, moving in a repeating pattern around the left side of the pod.

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Olivia jumps. Her heart is suddenly racing. She brings the gun up. Bjerk growls something behind her. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!” The martian gurgles something else, but she elects to ignore him.

Instead, she begins to circle, following the banging around to the left of the pod. She angles her gun up to point at the sky, taking another experimental step closer.

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The banging continues, growing more frustrated, frantic.
Then it rings out once more. A low beep follows.

And the pod’s front side pops off and slams into the ground. If either of the pair hadn’t moved they’d have been pummeled unconscious or worse.

A humanoid figure stands crookedly in the doorway. They’re covered with silver armor, a small blue core pulsing softly in the middle of their chest, a torn mass of red fabric hanging loosely off the left shoulder.

A large Zotaxian helmet is perched unevenly atop the creature’s head, the front cover brimming with yellow and orange wire-masses. The eyes are lenses, black as a night sky.

It just stands there, unmoving, standing at an awkward angle. Both arms hang limply by its side.

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Olivia points her gun at the pod again, leaping back. She holds her fire, holds her breath, waiting for something else to happen.

Bjerk finally steps from the underbrush, grunting something to Olivia. “I… dunno.” The two of them step forward, Olivia tucking her gun away once more. The martian leans in close, looking for signs of life.

The suit-armored-person-thing lurches forward as if sensing Bjerk’s presence, though it’s far enough that it can’t reach him. Yet.

Khimon’s brain is on fire. A very distant part thinks the crash impact may have had a deleterious effect. Another part is going through all the childhood memories the pilot had, and another is screaming.
The screaming eventually drowns out everything else.

Both wanderers flinch away as the pilot lurches forward. “Okay, definitely still alive! Good to know, good to know.” Olivia takes a careful step forward, approaching from the side. “I mean, this is probably an alien, right? Do you recognize what kind?” Bjerk mumbles, he wasn’t sure. “Well, can you translate for it?” Another mumble, still unsure. “Well, get your vocalizer set up just in case; I’m not in a shooty mood today.”

Bjerk gurgles in agreement, taking a step back. With a gentle hiss his suit crouches down, the back opening and allowing him to step out. Olivia was always amused to see him outside the suit; he was barely taller than her this way, and certainly scrawnier. Of course, none of that mattered; he was probably the best builder she had ever met.

The martian pulls a strange brick from the back of his suit, covered in sparkling tiles, then his tools. He gets to work with the tools, adjusting and fine-tuning the tiles.

Olivia, meanwhile, turns her attention back to the stranger in the pod. She cocks her head, pushing the brim of her hat up to get a better look at them. “Hey. Stranger. You understand me?”

Another message comes back.

Hey. Stranger.
You understand-
Flashes of thought and sound leak through the noise. So much noise, so much noise. Too much noise to think in, too much noise to stand.
Khimon’s power acts half-autonomously, the suit and the frail thing within moving another tremulous step forward. The pilot attempts to say something. Somehow, through the noise, it manages to form words.


Khimon reaches toward Olivia with an open hand. The hand pauses halfway, the fingers moving and flexing as if they haven’t done that in eons. The hand turns and wiggles slightly, then pantomimes shooting.

The pilot wonders suddenly if that’ll be badly misinterpreted, and instead raises an index finger and wags it from side to side. A clear no.
Gun. Shoot. No. Understand?

Does it understand?
Does it know? Why are there two of them? Who…?

Khimon’s head jerks from side to side. A rusty shake of the head, the movement feeling painful rather than enlivening.

“Oh!” Olivia smiles, turning over her shoulder to Bjerk. “Hey, she just talked! I think she might-” She catches motion out of the corner of her eye. An outstretched finger. Pointed like a gun.

For a second everything feels like slow motion, one hand reaching behind her for her gun, her other reaching forward, as if to deflect the attack-

The stranger wags her finger. Oh. The breath escapes her in a bark of laughter. All of a sudden the laughter is bubbling out, unbidden, the tension leaving her body. Bjerk looks up, gurgles something, then goes back to his work.

“You,” she manages between laughter, “are a funny one, you know that? Read you loud and clear, no shooting.” Her hand drifts away from her gun. “Just don’t scare me like that again, okay?”

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Ha. Ha. Ha.

The hand shifts into another pose; a thumbs up. The noise is not gone, but focuses on the present is an anchor of sorts. Enough at least that there is some awareness.

Undo this.

The noise is still not gone. This is unwanted.

Khimon spends a moment of lucidity to look at the two lifeforms. One’s a human. Expected, they are on Earth after all. Garb’s unfamiliar, as is the hat, but the gun. That’s familiar. The navy still carried guns, although Khimon’s never carried anything larger than a pistol. Not in this reality.

Others carried larger ones. Others had rifles and shotguns and-and-

Khimon’s arm sags down to match the other. The helmet twists to the side, curiously almost. A bit more of their talent works on one of the valves inside the helmet, turning on the external comms. A rusty crackle issues from the helmet a moment later.

The head-cocked alien speaks, voice distorted by several layers of filtering and bad audio mastering. Whoever they are, they have definitely not set their vocoders correctly.


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“I’ll take that as a yes,” she mutters. She straightens, regaining her composure. “The name’s Olivia Veraz; don’t care what you call me, as long as it’s not an insult. You got a name, stranger?”

Bjerk looks up from his work, muttering gurgled curses under his breath. He makes one last adjustment, then moves to stand a pace back from Olivia, strange brick in hand.

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Name. Name. Name. Name. Name. Name.

What’s your name what’s
What’s her name
What’s his name
What’s our name

Overlord overlord overlord OVERLORD

The screaming is not quiet. The focus is not present.
Khimon’s world is back to whirling colors and unpleasant lights. They’re only vaguely aware of the rest of the world around them.

Khimon’s suit has admittedly, very little medical capacity to it. When they took it from the armory they barely knew what it did, or how to use it.
Need more power.

Chimon Chamon Khimon Khamon Overlord Overlord Overlord
Stop it. Stop it. I can’t hear ourselves think.
The talent slips, unable to bear the weight of all the thoughts on top of the armor itself.

The Zotaxian noticeably sways and falls backward into the pod. The ensuing clang is almost deafening.
A moment later they jerk upright, helmet pointed groundward, the orange-yellow brain wires staring back at Olivia. “Name,” the vocoder crackles in a distressed tone. “Name.”

One of the metal arms moves, weakly and slowly. It paws at the red cloth, tied roughly around the alien’s neck and hanging off the left shoulder like a weird little half-cape. The hand grips the cloth and turns it slightly.

From its newly turned position, Olivia can just make out some alien script written in black. A name, or title, or…something.

(If she or Bjerk can read other languages, they should be able to make out the phrase “Pilot, Rank V”. A single line below that reads “Khimon”, in Zotaxian.)

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She gave a mechanical sigh and a mild chitter of her robotic mandibles, “Ah, I see…just looking for parts to trade. Oh well, but business is lovely still.”


From: SpooderX

Earth… the LEGO World… the origin point of the Minifigure, and perhaps all Minifigure-based life. A beautiful world of emerald and azure, home to life in its many forms: Creationaries, Technicians, Microfigures… They all shared that beautiful, wide world. They breathed its fresh, nitrogen-rich air. They drank from the clean waters of its rivers. They fed on the naturally-abundant plants and wildlife from its lands and seas. They had the freedom to explore and build in peace.

Spyrius. A forgotten world in the remotest part of the galaxy. Home to no indigenous life. A barren, grey wasteland of resource-deficient rock, home to colonies of lost and desperate travelers flung far from home. When they first landed on Spyrius, they clung to the world for dear life as a drowning Minifigure clings to bobbing driftwood. Abandoned on Spyrius with no natural resources, no food, no water, the colonists fought to survive with only the things they brought from their distant homeland. On Spyrius they waited, patiently, for rescue. Rescue never came. Only threatening monsters from the blackest regions of space came for the colonists on Spyrius. The colonists were not well-armed: they were an exploratory mission with no knowledge of any life beyond Earth. They barely beat the alien aggressors with nothing but ingenuity and tenacity: the hallmarks of the Minifigure. The colonists eventually used captured alien technology to improve upon what they had, and before long the colonists of Spyrius were able to reach more hospitable planets with food and water that the people of Spyrius so desperately needed. What they could not bargain for from the native inhabitants of those planets, they took by force.

After even the second wave of colonists became stranded on Spyrius with no support, it became clear that Earth had no intention of even trying to rescue her wayward children. If Earth could not come for the Spyrians, the Spyrians would come for Earth. They began to expand their grasp on space, slowly but steadily, navigating the unfamiliar stars and gradually obtaining an understanding of where in the galaxy they were. Earth’s location soon became clear, and the descendants of the fateful Blacktron missions would soon return to Earth in triumph. They would stand over their neglectful parent-world and boast rightly of their accomplishments, of how against all odds, the Minifigures of Blacktron used their determination and Imagination to beat the inevitable and return to Earth.
Imagination conquers all. The motto of the Blacktron Empire.

Blacktron 6’s eyes open. He stares up at the ceiling, its whitewashed finish dyed red by his helmet’s HUD.

Another day begun, another day closer to Earth.

Blacktron 6 swings his legs over the side of his brick-built cot and stretches. Even a galactic emperor needs a good stretch to start his morning. Upon realizing that its wearer is awake, the HUD bombards its viewer with a barrage of missed messages that were received during the night. Simultaneously the HUD readout initializes, feeding Blacktron 6 the local time and weather, recent news from the outer colonies, and his personally-requested military force readiness update report. It may be an overload of information to the average Minifigure, but for Blacktron 6, this is the only way he sees the world.

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