Chapter 3

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week IV, Day VII - Week VI, Day VI
Summary: Chapter 3 prompts!
Restrictions/Warnings: Violence, blood, et cetera. For anything surpassing 'R' on a rating scale, please create your own log.
Notes: Please title your subject line in the following format -- Open / Closed | Date. OOC event information can be found here. Calendar information/dates can be found here.

Quick Navigation
The Nine
The Company
Westies
True Leithians
Leith
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine: Promises Unmade

Using the increase in unrest, as so many opportunists do, those within the Nine who seek to pursue their own agendas - whether that be family prestige, personal gain, or systematic upheaval - will find bountiful footholds to secure their positions. Land Kendry continues to assert itself as a leader in these troubling times, with Land Derrish falling in tow. Their first target, Land Hyponia, is shaken, careful not to make any mistakes that could crumble the already cracked mortar holding them together with the nobility. Aggressive though Land Derrish may have been, their sights have moved elsewhere, now focusing on driving forward oppressive legislation to replace the Seventh Generation Accords, rather than further eroding the power of Land Hyponia. Kendry is looking to control a functioning oligarchy, not cause a war over the territory that would be up for grabs should Land Hyponia fall. With the announcement of the Seventh Generation accords confirming already widespread rumors, those within the Nine are careful to place blame for the decision on the activities of the Resistance. For many, this is a believable conclusion, as the attacks by the True Leithans shook society at its core on both Westerley and Leith. Being a radical group, their intentions have been conflated with those of the Resistance in the eyes of many. Discourse on the subject isn't uncommon, but any within the Nine who seek a different target of blame best do so quietly, as dissent from within could quickly have one labeled a sympathizer of the unjust cause of the Resistance. On the surface a harmless placating measure taken by the Nine, the new PDDs being distributed through the Quad are touted as the pinnacle of communication technology. While some higher ranking Company officials and members of the nobility may already have access to quick and reliable network connection, these capabilities are now universal with the installation of the Meshwork. The Meshwork will enable all characters to interact in real time via text, video, or voice, but it isn't without side effects. For some reason, characters who frequently use their PDDs or who are in areas of heavily concentrated network use may suffer from headaches, nosebleeds, blurred vision, and/or dizziness, with more severe side effects including temporary blindness, loss of balance, short-term memory loss, and hallucinations. Connection of these symptoms to the PDDs is not the most common diagnosis, as many think the afflictions are a result of the aftershocks of P43X.

The Company: Balancing Act

With clean up from the P43X attack not yet completed, all Company officials should expect to have no singular responsibility, and little time for sleep, as they find the expectations levied upon them to only grow. Frayed nerves can create a hostile working environment, though anyone could be on the receiving end of any outbursts. The streets have returned from their throes of death with new life, but the city's usual clamor is being overtaken by the roar of protest. Some are peaceful demonstrations; some are violent riots, every display a reaction to the repeal of the Seventh Generation Accords. …At least, that’s what it says on paper, the docket that many Company officials receive outlining simple but brutal crowd control and suppression tasks. Whether a bar has been taken over as a hub of dissent, a street corner filled with unmoving protestors, or a Company affiliated storehouse raided, there's plenty to do for those tasked with keeping the peace. You may simply wish to make arrests, or you may welcome the chance to get your hands dirty - the law is on your side, and all voices daring to oppose the order of things need silenced. Those who don't take to the streets will likely find themselves on border control duty, checking the identification and supply dossiers of all incoming and outgoing ships. No one gets in, or out, without the proper clearance. Ship-wide searches have become standard practice, producing storerooms overflowing with contraband. Some may welcome the chance for banal organization, while others may take some 'bonus compensation' for themselves. With the tightening of rules comes the increase of bribery, and Company officials looking to line their pockets will find their opportunities in surplus. Get caught, however, and there's no second-chances. Although the Company audits have concluded, tensions only grow, and anyone found helping those with diverging agendas will be punished swiftly, cast in with the rest of the dissenters.

Westies: Tidal Force

Bereavement weighs heavy in the wake of the P43X attack on Westerley. Burdened by being both the last location of infection and the last to receive medicinal aid, Westies are entrenched in the solemn task of burying their fallen while the merciless machine of the economy marches on. Whether it’s the result of a lost loved one or the continued illness of primary caretakers, the end result is the same: families all across Old Town struggle to feed their children and make ends meet. It’s always been a guiding principle of Westerley—if you can’t work, you can’t eat—but with so many who can do neither, the situation in Old Town begins to grow dire. But there’s hope, albeit in the form of a double-edged blade: with the newly distributed PDDs and Meshwork installation, nonprofit organizations are able to conduct themselves on a wider scale, drawing in more donors from outside of Westerley. While their efforts are ultimately but a drop in the ocean, the renewed spirit of community and altruism provides relief—as well as nourishment—for many who might very well die without it. That same tool which allows the people to come together is also used to rend it; rumors begin to circulate through encrypted bulletins about the emergency meeting held on (Week IV, Day VII). Some of the rumors are wild speculation and fanciful daydreams, but in the mire of them, a grain of truth slips through. The Accords have fallen, they say. Be ready. Most people disregard the rumors, writing them off as the idle machinations of conspiracy theorists. They cling to their hope that soon their children will walk a planet that is bountiful in food and sunshine, that the land promised on Leith will deliver them from the hell they current endure. It’s those people who shout the loudest when the official announcement confirms the rumor. The Accords have been repealed. (Week V, Day III) At first, protestors gather in small, grumbling groups, little more than angry drunks. But as more and more people take to the Meshwork, the wrath of the few awakens the desperation of the many, and over the course of the night, the peaceful protest swells into an unruly riot. Workers strike, but without any legal protection, they swiftly find themselves rebuked by unemployment. Now with nothing to lose and everything to gain, the riots expand, filling the streets of Old Town with anger and tension. Company personnel become popular targets, and within the next day, all travel permits to and from Westerley are temporarily revoked. The moon closes its docks in an attempt to smother the flames of the rebellion. What starts as a movement for change shifts into a violent cataclysm, homes and businesses burned down, families torn apart by dissent within and outside of themselves. The Company seems content to let Old Town destroy itself, to let them “get it out of their system”, but all too soon that stance changes as well. With the death of a distant cousin of the Derrish, Company orders shift. Lethal force is authorized, and all too eagerly, used. Once the death toll begins to climb, the protests decline. The riots soften, though they do not disappear outright. Company and Westie optimists take to podiums in a desperate attempt to bid their fellow compatriots once more into peace. But something else awakens in the fires of those riots. Something far more dangerous than the chaos of anger: something controlled, methodical. They call themselves Hyperion, and they are the new faces of the Resistance.

True Leithians: Rested Laurels

For this faction, the time to scatter is nigh. Their work is complete: the Accords are no more, and the militant leaders order the reintegration of their soldiers into civilian life. Leith’s rightful owners retain the precious land that was once threatened, and although their methods were extreme, they are justified by the end result. But while the True Leithians see this as only a rested pause in their work, their benefactors—those who provided the resource and information that allowed their wicked deeds to see fruition—see this time as the closing of a chapter. Loose ends that might later lead to Qreshi officials or even potentially the Nine themselves are dealt with severely and harshly, albeit quietly. Several prominent figures of Leith’s highest echelon of society simply disappear, and curiously, those around them don’t seem to remember that they were ever there in the first place. Their benefactors are not the only group that would see the True Leithians burn. Among the first wave of missions delegated beneath the Resistance is the assassination of known True Leithian sympathizers. Unlike the Company, the members of Hyperion are ordered to perform their tasks loudly, to send a message written in the blood of the True Leithians. The citizens of Westerley will no longer be the gutless pawns of the Quad. They will strike back, and they will uncover the source of the True Leithian’s funding and information. If the True Leithians thought themselves ruthless, they’ll soon learn a new measure of savagery when Hyperion converges on their trail.

Leith: Olive Branch

The atmosphere of Leith is one of both hope and mourning. Recovery on Leith proceeds more efficiently than that on Westerley, their infrastructure and resources better able to accommodate those that were felled in the P43X attack. But although agency has the streets of Leith cleaner and the surfaces shining, the spirit of the moon itself suffers a devastating blow in the wake of the attack, the people of Leith unprepared and unseasoned to deal with the psychological ramifications of so much death. But they are not yet hardened by the experience, drawing together in the spirit of cooperation to restore not just the physical aspects of their homes, but the mental fortitude of their people. Charity drives and galas proceed in extravagant fashion, as if by the display of their assets they might rebel against the somber circumstances on which they’re hosted. For most on Leith, the fall of the Accords arrives as welcomed news, the citizens of the moon long since opposed to sharing their land with those of Westerley. But although the sense of satisfaction with the ends is high, there’s also an undercurrent of regret for the means which provided it. Unlike the True Leithians, most of the citizens of Leith are not radical or extreme, and they offer their sympathies—but only their sympathies—to those Westies in their midst. News of the riots results in tighter security around the Westies still stationed on the moon, and for the days that the violent storm on Westerley builds, Leith in turn becomes markedly quieter and more conscientious. Moderates come together over the Meshwork and propose a Peace Summit, a meeting of both delegation and charity, once the riots and dangers of traveling have passed. The summit is sanctioned by Leithian officials, as well as the allocation of surplus resources to aid their sister moon in her recovery. While many citizens of Leith eagerly await the news of lands once lost to their families for the Accords, many more donate their time and hands as part of the newly created Good Will Corps, a coalition of both political pundits and regular people devoted to strengthening the connection between the moons rather than sowing division. Volunteers—and some individuals who are voluntold, join the Good Will Corps on a trip to Old Town where the Peace Summit is scheduled (Week VI, Day III), lending their time, their labor, and their technology as a gesture of good faith. But whether or not that’s sufficient to see the Peace Summit garner any steps towards system stability is another matter altogether.

Resistance: Sacred Grove

The people of the Quad barely have time to remove the packaging from their new PDDs before a new voice of dissent begins to worm its way down the feed. Encrypted messages, quick flashes of imagery begin appearing at random on open networks and closed channels alike, pitting the harsh realities of the suffering, suffocating Westerley against the excess and decadence on display by both Leithians and the Nine, showcasing the disparity in the starkest of lights. All of it aimed at one purpose, to spread one solemn truth: the branches of the Mother Tree are burning… and the Nine seem to be holding the matches. The name whispered, the one goading dissent, echoes through the Quad - Hyperion - followed slowly with the murmur of hope. Of an intellect so profound that not even the Nine themselves will be able to stop it. With an artful ease, this new force begins to reach out, to commandeer the discordant efforts of the Resistance and reforge it into something stronger, faster. Deadlier. It starts with a select few receiving instructions directing them to safe houses already stocked with equipment and supplies, each with tech tailored to that cell's purpose and loaded with dossiers far too complete to have been compiled by the average citizen. Some of the background information appears to come directly from the records of the Company, or the Nine themselves, while still more from planets outside the Quad. Some even hint at records long since sealed by the RAC. Nothing points to one faction over another. Nothing reveals the how or why this Hyperion has decided to play these particular cards now, but one thing is quite clear. There's a deep laid plan being set into motion, and neither the Company or the Nine will see it coming. All these leaders have to do is gather their forces...

The RAC: New Grade

The citizens of the Quad were not the only ones affected by the P43X - the upper ranks of the RAC's field agents is notably thinner - and with tensions shifting yet again between the moons, they cannot afford to be ill-prepared and understaffed. In order to bolster their ranks, the decision comes down the pipe of a new assessment system: Peer Evaluations. Many of those that have been in their current ranks - those between Levels I - III - will be eligible to receive a two-part assessment of their capabilities to operate efficiently at the next level through successful completion of live warrants. These field evaluations can be conducted by any Level IV agent and turned into Central Command for compilation and rank change approval. Unlike the lower level agents, Level IV assessments will still be conducted by RAC's Central Command, once all of the subordinate assessments have been completed and processed. These agents should take note - part of their own evaluations for Level V will be the efficiency with which they're able to evaluate those below them. During this time, warrants will still flow in and agents sent to answer - especially once the travel bans go into effect on Westerley, as those agents alone bearing active warrants will be able to enter and leave the atmosphere, though their docking point will be limited to the Prisoner Intake facilities.

Comments

ota, any time, any place, any who

[brokeassgoing]

lol r u dtr (rebel)

[he's suspicious is as suspicious does or something when these things are passed out like hard candy. That doesn't stop him from being an absolute nerd about all this: coffee shops may not be as popular this century but bars do just fine and forums...holy shit. He's found his people, these conspiracy theorists. Mothman, make room for him, he's coming home.

Some more interesting stuff too. His attention is half between the new tech and half between all the not so subtle meetings taking place in the seedy bar, but he isn't spread thin. Should your rumbling tickle his ear he'll give you a scoff if what you said is particularly....hopeful.]

We're fucked, no matter how you look at it.

Time to get the fuck outta dodge

[If you're one of those hard working and lucky few he's definitely been trying to sneak or bribe his way onto your ship. The bloodshot eye almost seems like its permanent, the way he's been skulking around the dock for days while strings of tension stretch farther and further.

They say something about slackers, right?-- does that count for slack too?

If you're one of the luckier ones in charge of boarder patrol, you'll still find him skulking, but along with his papers he pushes under your nose, there's a picture too. It isn't flattering. If it isn't you you can bet it's someone a little higher up. But rest assured it's a familiar face up to no good in this beautiful photo.]

Yeah, so I know about that. If you don't wanna be airlocked starting with your junk by your humble bosses you should let me get out of here.

getting out

[tropism]

[ giorno purses his lips at the sight of his papers. as he's shorter than he is, he ends up shoving them right at his face. ]

You know the rules. Starve if you must, you're not getting out of here.

[brokeassgoing]

Starve if I-- the only thing that's gonna be starving is your asshole here, man! When your bosses stop kissing it for this little demerit!

[he shoves them right back, waving them animatedly as he does so]

[tropism]

[ giorno doesn't like repeating himself, so he stares at him impassively despite badou waving them right at him. he refuses to be moved despite his hysterics, his rather understandable hysterics. next time badou's hand comes close to him, he shoves it right back, papers and all. ]

[brokeassgoing]

[he takes one look at this smaller kid, the unreadable but clearly 'bitch move get out the way' look on his face, and shoves back again, with those long limbs of his]

Fuck off, I know my rights to blackmail YOU DON'T WANNA SCENE, DO YOU?! YOU HOLE HAIR.

[tropism]

[ (privately, giorno thought that if he had the power and fame of m*d*nn* he wouldn't have to suffer this kind of indignity. so he'll just have to stand his ground.)

maybe if he fought back, badou will calm down. but no, that way lies chaos - badou is clearly taller and more unhinged than he is -

diplomacy it is. that bitchface is staying. ]

My hair has more privileges than you do. Understand that you are in no position to threaten me, Bad Decisions Carrot Top.

[brokeassgoing]

YOUR HAIR IS A PERFECT NEST FOR A DAMN BIRD! At least mine's natural, by the way.

[flapping the papers around]

I'm in the perfect position and authority to do so!

[tropism]

Mine is natural as well, who are you to say it isn't? I wake up like this every day.

[ titanium hairspray is probably part of his genes at this point. ]

Keep your damn papers before you lose them. I can't predict what will happen to this place from hereon.

[brokeassgoing]

YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT! THERE ARE HOLES IN YOUR FUCKING HEAD-- THERE'S NO WAY YOU DON'T AT LEAST COMB THAT THING!

[teeth grit:]

I'm gonna shove em in your holes in a second.

[tropism]

If you give them to me, I'll keep them. And then you'll have to figure out a different way to beg, because I doubt they'd be willing to give you extra papers at this point.

[ giorno looks at him with a frown. ] Settle down and have a beer somewhere until things blow over.

[brokeassgoing]

FUCK NO! Only when I sell out-- and today ain't that day. You never know! Your guys can be pushovers.

[he's frowning right back]

Unless you're buying, I don't think so.

some nebulous time at the beginning of week 5

[ofobedience]

[He shouldn't really be in here. It's no place for something like him, and yet he's hardly in a position to argue with his Hander, incompetent and negligent as the man appears to be. He wants a drink, he says. You can wait, good Dog, don't maul anything.

Giovanni makes no promises.

Regardless, he's skulking about on the outskirts of the room, blending in and watching with an infinite kind of indifference when he sees a flash of orange hair, the dark shadow of an eyepatch, catches his scent as he turns his head and slowly, Giovanni smiles. It's not a pleasant expression, something knifey around its edges, and with smooth easy movements he cuts through the crowd until he's standing close to where Badou now sits, places both palms flat to the table. Leans in close.]

Fucked is certainly the word for it.

[Hullo, there.]

vibrates

[brokeassgoing]

[Later on, much, much later on when he Knows, Badou will ask himself why the fuck he didn't run the other way when he noticed someone with a goddamn bowl cut talking to him.

For now his eye flickers up but he doesn't lower the device in his hands.]

What would a suit like you know about it.

>3

[ofobedience]

[Unperturbed, Giovanni flashes a shark-toothed smile, leans in a little closer still and yes he's in Cerberus Unit uniform but perhaps that ought to be a warning sign already. A warning sign even to those who don't really know what it means, but to this someone, someone he's seen around with a certain stray (slinking in the shadows, observing, waiting it out) there's a little more to it than that.]

More than you, I'd wager.

[And with movements swift and precise he goes to snatch the device from his hands. Look at him when he's talking to you.]

[brokeassgoing]

[alright now he's got Badou's attention. Is he happy about this? His expression is unreadable as he watches Giovanni, hackles halfway to rising.]

You mean you look at these boards when you're not fucking people over? [he whistles] It's good to have a hobby. Keeps you well rounded.

[ofobedience]

[The words, they just make him smile all the wider, and this time there's something in it, something knifey and cold. The threat there, it's a palpable thing.]

Fucking people over. I wouldn't have thought that a concern of yours, considering the company you keep.

[Which may seem a strange statement coming from a guy Badou has likely never noticed before, but oh, he's noticed you.]

[brokeassgoing]

[he cocks a brow. what is WITH this guy. he's more than unnerved, more than irritated--]

You're acting like you know me which you don't so why don't you chill out. And fuck off.

[ofobedience]

[And Giovanni of course seems unperturbed, shows no sign of backing off or backing down and beneath the Company uniform his there's the jump of muscle beneath skin, small signifiers of violence barely restrained.]

Oh, I know who you are, Badou Nails.

[brokeassgoing]

[hmmm yeah that gets a bit more pause.]

Do you? You ain't a loan shark so its not like you know my bills and all. Think you're getting ahead of yourself.

[Badou doesn't like this one bit]

[ofobedience]

Am I, now.

[And perhaps he doesn't know too many details, the ins and outs of who this man is, but he knows the one thing that matters to him, the one that binds them tenuously together.

His voice drops low, and there's something in it, slick and predatory.]

I know you're fond of stray dogs.

[brokeassgoing]

[Badou squints at him. This guy is a slick contender, like a goddamn snake (will he offer the Apple though?) and it's enough to feel like bugs are crawling all over Badou's skin.]

Can't say I am. They're loud and they shit everywhere. Rumors are rampant out here.

lemme know if this isn't okay!

[ofobedience]

[Quickly, gratingly, Giovanni barks out a laugh, and then he's moving with smoothslick movements, drops the PDD he'd snatched from the other man's hands as he steps around the table, hands fastening on Badou's arm instead. He'll move to pull it up sharp behind the man's back, shove him face down against the table's alcohol-sticky surface. Lean in close to whisper against the other man's ear.]

Oh, come on now. Don't play games with me. Unequivocally, I'll win.

youre good

[brokeassgoing]

[he freezes as soon as his face hits that sticky surface, blood just as frozen in his veins-- you know when that sharp pain of his arm isn't in the way.]

I never wanted to play any goddamn games! Why don't you try monopoly?

[this is when he starts wiggling]

<3

[ofobedience]

[Badou wriggles, and there's something in the movement that pleases him, helpless prey caught up in the jaws of a wolf. With slow deliberation, he pulls his arm up further, listening for the strain in his bones, feeling it beneath his fingers. Not enough to break anything, not yet, but the threat of it, the fact that he's capable of it, it's all there in the slow steady pressure he applies.

Again, lips to ear, breath hot against pale skin--]

I'm talking about the white-haired mutt you're always running around with.

<3<3!!

[brokeassgoing]

[he shudders beneath Giovanni, certainly not finding appreciation for this entire goddamn moment. Too much like 'stay away from my boyfriend if you know what's good for you' for his liking.

Jaw clenched:]

Yeah, and? I'm no one's messenger boy. If you wanna send him a drunk let's-get-back-together then find out his number. I've got work to do.