Chapter 1

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week 1, Day 1 - Week 2, Day 1
Summary: Game launch 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.

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

The Nine

Hushed whispers and conversations behind sealed doors spread throughout Qresh, carrying with them rumor of the Lady Derrish's illness. Poisoned, some say, as they speak their quiet murmurs and the news travels like wildfire. It lights up the nobility with a new cause - there is no heir to the Derrish name. At least, none that is known. A surrogate mother carries the only Derrish child to be related by blood. She dwells on Leith, though her location is obscured to everyone who seeks her - both those who wish to help and those who would do harm. Some wish to procure the heir - whether following the warrant for his retrieval or hoping to gain favor with the Nine by gift or by blackmail. Some wish the heir dead, seeking to cause a power vacuum that could lead to a bloody war as families of the Nine scramble to gobble up Derrish land. All have backring that can be traced back to the nobility, each family pursuing their own agenda. 'False' heirs, those who claim to be related, or bastard children, either rise up in hopes of fortune or hide in fear of those who would stamp out the family name for good. On Leith there is said to be a hotel staffed by the most beautiful woman, run by a man who no one has ever seen. Only those with money or influence may stay the night at Blessed Branches, though anyone seeking fine wine and good company may occupy its lounge. Many come hoping to spend time with the hostesses, though the girls aren't known for taking bribes or slipping away for a 'good time'. It is here, in one of the premium guestrooms, that the surrogate heir and his mother are housed. The other women are unaware of her status - simply taking care of her as one of their own - and how much the owner knows is as difficult to pin down as he is. Any display of violence is sure to be noticed, as Company officials and RAC agents alike guard the building for significant pay. Getting in may be simple for some, but getting out is far more difficult. The mother's room is on the 10th story, with its few windows locked and curtains closed. As she approaches her delivery date, help comes and goes with frequency, but on no specific schedule. Criminals and RAC agents alike chatter in the streets of Westerley and Leith over just who, and where, this woman could be. Many assume she lodges with the surrogate clusters hidden on Westerley - heavily guarded by men and treacherous landscape alike. Others seek beyond the Quad, and some assume she's already dead. No matter the cause, no matter its difficulty, the rush to find the woman and unborn baby only grows. Some may consult information brokers, some may attempt to find their way into the genetic databases, some may rely on word of mouth, and some may lay in wait for others to do the sleuthing work before closing in on their target.

The Company

"We need to send a message," every Company employee receives the same directive, "Loud and clear." Rules are rules, and there is no room for disobedience - neither within nor outside of the Company. The citizens of Westerley have become more unruly than usual, taking out their frustrations with their lot in life on the Company and on society. Or so the directive says. It is for the good of the Company, and for those loyal citizens who keep their heads down and do their duty, to expunge the corrosive minds from society and extinguish the flames of a foolish rebellion. From prisoner guards to those selected to string criminals up for execution, to those who stand watch over the sizzling corpses (or soon to be corpses) belonging to symbols of the rebellion left out in the rain to die, to those in charge of door-to-door or man-to-man ID checks, every bit of available manpower in the Company is being used to secure the city. Some may begrudge their work, while others delight in the lax restriction on violence towards citizens. All should keep their heads down, lest they become yet another target for the efforts to 'increase security' in the city. A heatwave that brings with it Black Rain makes the job difficult and treacherous - stay out too long and you could get caught in a storm. Just the same as the local Westies, all of whom are more or less stranded in their homes - or the bars they passed out in the night before - everyone is scrimping by with whatever provisions remain. Only those Company officials lucky enough to live on Company property, a compound of barracks that provides middling levels of comfort, don't worry for their necessities. Travel through the tunnels may afford the few who know of their existence more mobility - the ability to help others, to stockpile what they need, or to make an impressive capture - but comes with its own dangers. From the culture that lives there to the increased presence of resistance groups making their safe-houses in the vast, winding network, some may decide that the potential dangers aren't worth the trip, and others may wish they had.

Leith

Every season brings a new batch of harvest workers—old, young, adventurous, desperate. But it doesn’t matter whether a worker has tended to the same hokk farm for ten years: when the limits of a work visa are reached, they must return to their planet of origin or face severe penalties. Sometimes, though, people slip through the cracks. Sometimes people change their genetic records altogether to make sure it happens. Whether it’s an individual who refuses to return to the cage of Westerley or a merchant willing to look the other way for off-the-books labor, visa law enforcement is critical to the Quad. Targets identified as “high risk”—those individuals who have a profile of criminal behavior or have given the Company reason to take a second look at their credentials in the past—are being routinely rounded up to ensure their genetic identities and visa information still coincide. Killjoys and Company enforcers are being deployed in equal measure to address this potential security concern in the days leading up to “harvest week”, the seasonal break where workers return home and a new batch of hopefuls arrives on Leith. For some, this can be a minor inconvenience, taking DNA samples and conversing with understandably irritable workers—for others, this could be a potentially fatal encounter and lead into Leith’s darker underbelly. For whatever reason a target has chosen to stay or change their identity, they have done so at great and calculated risk. They will fight without discrimination to stay hidden and maintain their secret--as, at times, will their employers. Maybe they've decided to pursue a more lucrative line of work, using Leith's fertile soils to grow illicit substances, or perhaps they've simply decided that their fate should be in their own hands, and not that of a visa agency. Either way, they won't go quietly.

True Leithians

Gunfire is lost under the sound of the rain. The pitter-patter of acidic water beats in tandem to Company rifles and shouts, the flash of grenades like fireflies in the distance. The Family Registry Bureau, well-guarded and set on the outskirts of Old Town, shakes and shudders with each successive boom, debris falling as the battle escalates. “For Leith!” A single voice rises above the commotion and for a moment, the night is still, the incessant rain seeming to take heed, as if the clouds themselves have paused to see what will unfold. The building collapses. Fire billows out in violent plumes, snaking through the twisted metal and broken glass. Survivors on both sides disperse like scattered marbles. By morning, the dead have been dissolved to bone by the rain, and Company enforcers are out to ensure that scavengers don’t take their pick of the remaining materials. Officials are tight-lipped about what, if anything, was taken during the attack, but word on the street spreads fast—there’s a man hunt and hundreds of genetic identities are up for grabs. Criminal activity in Eulogy sees an all-time spike as bartered goods come in, though not everyone in Eulogy or the criminal world takes kindly to stealing from their own. Nor do they care for the sudden attention drawn to their illicit little den, making it a hot bed of Killjoy and undercover Company activity. But Eulogy isn't the only place to see unwelcome guests. On and off Westerley, news of the attack spreads, and agents of each organization race to come out on top. Whether it’s a Killjoy tasked with locating the perpetrators, a True Leithian conspirator on the run, a Westie out for revenge and securing their future in the Seventh Generation accord, or a Company Enforcer on orders of execution off planet—everyone has someone’s number, and time is quickly running out for each of them.

Westies

The heat hangs over Westerley like a blanket laid down over a fever, suffocating and addling. Sign posts flicker erratically between Company propaganda and storm advisory warnings. Old Town’s streets, normally buzzing and bursting with life, are like a ghost town. The few stragglers that remain move like worms, slowly and carefully, their bodies bowed over the carts they push as if the sun has melted away their will to walk. In the square of the town, a group of well-clad Company men and women hurriedly work, bolting modern day stocks into the concrete. Prisoners, red jumpsuits and heads covered in black shrouds, are roughly shuffled between the soldiers as they’re chained and bound to the stakes. Only once they’re secured are they allowed to see the light of day—for the first and last time in years. The squadron commander, a stalwart woman, takes up the intercom on her truck, her voice booming through each sign post in Old Town when she speaks. “Westerlens, for high treason and threats to the public good, these prisoners are hereby brought to this place of execution where they shall be exposed to the elements until dead. By order of the Company, serving the Quad.” Seconds later, the sirens start. The soldiers finish their work with haste and pile into their vehicle. The sky, moments before overbearingly bright, disappears under inky shadow, bruised green and red as violent clouds spread out like reaching fingers. The storm rolls in without mercy or pause, enveloping the light of the day by visible inches. Acidic rainfall begins to pelt down, not lightly, not drifting, but in a hard, unrelenting stream. Anyone caught within it has but hours to survive, and moments to escape disfiguring injury. The storms will rage for three days with few breaks in between. But the environment is hardly the only, or even the worst, thing Westies have to worry about.

Resistance

The rebellion suffered a crushing blow. Of course, rebellions in Old Town are used to that--but with key leaders gone, Resistance members are scattered like grains of sand across glass, rolling further and further apart. Some individuals seek to take the power vacuum as their own chance at power, but they're met with staunch rebuttal, splitting this already fragile organization into smaller and smaller cells. Under the cover of the acidic storms, the remaining members of the Resistance take to the undercity, whispering into the ears of the discontent and angry. Follow the branch that's extended to you, they say, and you'll find a new place to grow roots. And so those roots do grow, down walls, on pieces of passed paper, across the hands of those who harbor dissent. It's a symbol, a living, growing map, of a new haven. Innocuous to those who don't know what it means, symbolic and religious, but to those who seek out its meaning? They'll delve to the very deepest parts of the undercity, a place manned only by those wearing the yellow and gold of the Scarbacks. There, a secure military bunker is hidden beneath the layers of Old Town, lost to all but the original blueprints of the city. Its concrete walls hold the barest bones of supplies, but there's potential, a skeleton upon which the rebellion can build its strength and muster the will to stand again. Finding the bunker, though arduous, isn't the hardest part. Getting in? That will take connections, charisma. Trust. The Resistance is in awful short supply of that last right about now.

The RAC

The RAC, as ever, maintains its neutrality and follows its singular mandate: the warrant is all. But that isn't to say that there can't be a little fun in the process--between serving out warrants issued on behalf of the other factions and singular individuals, the top teams within the Quad will receive a special directive. Black Warrant For all teams, whether temporarily formed for the sake of pursuit or permanently aligned, this presents a unique opportunity to compete against their fellow RAC agents. All manner of subterfuge is encouraged, although directly attacking your fellow Killjoys will receive at least one bad review on social networking apps. But while killing your competition isn't allowed, making their life impossibly difficult and taking the prize for yourself? That's the very definition of the game. This is a competitive warrant, open to all Killjoy teams with a level 4 agent or higher. Your task is simple in description but far from it in nature: find and secure an heir for Land Derrish before your opponents. The catch (there's always a catch, isn't there?) -- you'll be fighting off more than your compatriot Killjoys. Criminals and mercenaries will be gunning for the same targets, and there's a mountain of bureaucracy standing in your way to figuring out who is a legitimate heir, if one exists at all. Your time is short* and your competition is fierce. May the best team win. *Week 1, Day 2 - Week 1, Day 5

Comments

koon | ota | week 1

[deceptions]

DAYS 2-4.

[ Here's the deal: this black warrant surprisingly hits close to home.

Not for the right reasons — Koon was never supposed to be a heir, so that's a dream that he's given up long, long ago. But their possibly heir-less status is interesting. The fact that they're desperate enough to use the entire RAC force to find their precious surrogate mother? Especially so.

Which means this isn't an offer he can possibly refuse. Apparently, it's not an offer that anyone can possibly refuse either, because suddenly the entire Quad is involved. And when the entire Quad is involved, word gets around. It turns out that a fair number of people want information, or him ( hopefully alive, though assassins are a popular choice ). The days start with him smug and eager to share the wrong information, but the later into the warrant it gets, the more he's prone to snapping.

A. He jumps from the streets of Westerley to Leith, then back again, going where information leads him. Occasionally, he runs into people, some more familiar than others. ] This isn't your usual hangout. [ This is?? Sort of a greeting, right?

Or! B. Back to the people that want him dead. This time, it's multiple people, at least a good 5 or so; they currently have him and his company of choice ( that's you! ) in some shady alleyway in Westerley. ] Oops. Didn't mean to drag you into this. [ He's annoyed, yes, but he's not going to show anytime soon — also his not!apology seems so insincere?? What's up with that?? Maybe he planned to get stuck with someone so he didn't have to fight, who knows. He might feel a little bad if his partner has no idea why they're getting ambushed like this. Just a little. ] But it looks like they're not going let us [ Translation: me, but you're stuck here anyway. ] go any time soon.

BLACK WARRANT: HOTEL SHOWDOWN.

[ After days and days of tracking down a heir — from hunting down the wrong heir, to being chased because of his own background, Koon's got his own fair share of frustration and anger built up. He's careful about not showing it ( though his face shows exhaustion, his eyes equal parts angry and exasperated ), but this?

This mess in the hotel? This is the last straw. If he had to put this much work for a stupid thanks, he wouldn't have done it in the first place. But he's here now, and this would be a terrible failure on his record. ] God damn it—

[ In his right hand is a simple dagger; not exactly the most hi-tech weapon someone can own. Apparently no one seems to have noticed he's here, or realized who he is, because for the first time this week, he's getting a moment of peace despite walking with a weapon ( this fight is a disaster ). ]

Hey you. [ Friendly or not, you're getting stopped by a rather annoyed looking Killjoy. ] You're not here to take the princess away for yourself, are you? [ "Princess", as in the surrogate. ]

BONUS: PROMPT-O-MATIC.

[ koon's life will be consumed by the black warrant for the days it's active, and after that he'll be at the eulogy, probably. leave me a comment, blank or with a location, and i'll write you a starter! i also take wildcards, and plotting things out. c: ]

aaaaaaa

[riastraid]

[ Being a killjoy (a good killjoy, anyway) means being a tracker, and today it's about sniffing out a cold trail faster than the rest of the pack. But finding info at the best price isn't quite like finding a set of tracks, a scent, a trail of smashed twigs—it's the bleary-eyed leading the blind. Their informants only give what might be vaguely related to the truth, and all-in-all...?

It's a mess. But here he is, on some maybe, possible Derrish heir, long-lost to the name or whatever. Lancer's eyes flick up from where he's sitting next to some shitty Westerley beverage cart, trying to blend in with a watered-down coffee expy in hand. Way to blow his cover, Koon. ]

What can I say? [ He waves his (virgin) drink a bit. ] Sometimes I like to surprise my liver.

[ The Royale would be more fun right now, but he still pulls out a smile, more sly than friendly. ]

You're just here to enjoy a little Old Town atmosphere too, right—?

[deceptions]

[ How do you find someone who wants to stay hidden? A person without a physical description, or a name; it's a wild goose chase disguised as a respectable warrant — the longer these days go on, the more he sees that, now. Not that he's planning to quit, but things are definitely a lot more troublesome than they were supposed to be.

Sorry not sorry about the cover blown, Lancer. Pretend it's just two old friends ( """friends""" ) running into each other for a chat ( """chat""" ); most Westies don't think much more than that anyway. Not unless they're looking for either blue-haired folk — though once seems to be a lot more popular than the other. ]

I'm sure your liver thanks you. [ Said with furrowed eyebrows, because man, Koon expected Lancer to have better taste than whatever the hell it is he's drinking. But his expression smooths out quickly enough, when he's certain Lancer feels the judgement practically radiating off of Koon. ]

Absolutely. [ One (1) sly smile returned right back, easing into a nearby seat. ] Nothing like ... [ Ugh, there's only so much pretending he can do when he's sitting in a shitty beverage cart in the grimy streets of Westerley. The smile stays on his lips, but he's definitely groaning eternally. ] strolling around the streets here.

[riastraid]

[ Koon's first mistake was expecting Lancer to have any kind of taste in anything. But he glibly lets any Judgment roll like water off a duck's back, unfazed by his competition.

Or to a degree, anyway. Inwardly, he assesses, glancing Koon over before he takes a sip of his drink. ]

That might be true for me.

[ He enjoys this hellhole, for the most part, cheap coffee swill and all. ]

But you seem like a guy with a little more purpose. You got a lead?

[ Clearly Koon wants to share with his buddy (""buddy"") here. ]

[deceptions]

[ A terrible taste in fashion =/= a terrible taste in food — but then, it's probably Koon's fault for putting Lancer's general life choices in such high regard. ]

Let's just say... [ He lets out a long sigh, scanning the crowd; it's not much more than one faceless stranger beside the next, so on and so forth, but there's dramatic effect to be had here. ] If I did, I wouldn't be here. [ Or if he did, he'd be here, and he's not going to tell Lancer anything.

Either or. He has half a mind to close his eyes and let the tiredness catch up to him—

But he catches a pair of people looking very intently his way. Some distance from them, another pair. From the other direction? Yep. Those are some menacing looking figures straight for him. Fuck. ] Hey.

[ His voice drops down, eyes down cast as he catches a glance at whatever Lancer's drinking ( only to his regret ). ] Feel like going on a walk? [ The tone of his voice screams "it'd probably be a good idea if we left, now". ]

wings this insert kanye shrug here lemme know if this is no good!

[selfsatisfy]

[Things have kind of turned into a shitshow. Not that Midori minds. More people to fight and he can use lethal force? Sounds like a pretty good deal to him. Not that he enjoys killing people, but crippling them for life so they can't get back up to bother him...?

He doesn't lose any sleep over that, it must be said.]

You know, I do not think anyone here even knows who you are. This is kind of funny.

[Just saying. He has both his rifles drawn, his accuracy with them nothing less than perfect. With everyone running around like ants in the chaos it's kind of like shooting fish in a barrel, honestly...]

The surrogate's likely on one of the upper floors. How are we going to get up there.

[There's going to be security measures. And Midori himself is absolute shit with most machines; he can barely send emails on his phone.]

yolooooooo this is fine!!

[deceptions]

Good. [ The first word out of Koon's mouth is venomous, sick and tired of the attention he's received the last few days. And the worst part is he likes attention, especially the good kind, in healthy doses. The kind of attention he's been receiving has been none of the above.

At least the entirety of the RAC now knows he's been thrown out of the Qresh.

Nevermind that — Koon's fighting hand-to-hand today, dagger drawn, his floating armor piece behind him. ] Ask nicely, of course.

[ A small huff of annoyance, and a sweep of the room later. ] Find a hotel guard. We'll need them.

a, leading into b, just mashes your prompts together, try and stop me

[tirejacked]

[Jason's not very often on Leith—largely preferring to work on Westerley or pick up the occasional C&C out where he can get some peace and quiet in the black—so this is a pretty fair statement to make. But here he is, perched on a stack of crates at the black-market edges of the bazaar, waiting out the clock on a perfectly un-politically-related warrant regarding a jakk smuggler that had probably been half an excuse just to hop moons and check the temperature on the state of affairs here regarding the rat race. (Just because he's not participating doesn't mean he's not keeping himself updated.)

It also means he's less than convinced Koon's just here to say hello. Word gets around. Hardly comes as a shock that Koon was Derrish stock. (He doesn't exactly bother to hide the superior airs.) Lot of people with reason to have interest in that, all of a sudden.

He leans back, spreading his hands in a "what can you do" kind of way—]

Lets say I needed a change of scenery. Got to find something to do while the rest of you are off playing white knight.

[Rescuing princesses from towers, et cetera. How's that been going for you, bud.]

but why would i

[deceptions]

[ Insert bat references Koon doesn't know about because this is an AU, but it bears being said.

A single eyebrow raised at Jason's response — it's also hard to believe, for similar reasons that Jason has a hard time trusting Koon ( some apartment-mates they make ). His hands slip into his pockets, head angled upwards to face the other properly. It's a quiet night, but that's probably a "for now"; he's expecting things to go side ways pretty quickly, considering that's how it's been for the last few days, but...

Well, he's take the quiet for as long it exists. ] Could've always joined us.

[ Not really, he doesn't need the extra competition, but it's said out of courtesy. ] You might have had a shot, who knows.

spite, probably

[tirejacked]

[Don't infomod, Koon's meta! All bat-based jokes must come about organically.

Anyway. Familiarity, it seems, breeds distrust. Existing (technically) in the same general area a lot of the time and sharing a lot of key brokers mostly means he's seen enough of Koon to trust him to be a sharp and slippery motherfucker and...yeah, very little else. That's practically professional courtesy at this point.]

And lose out of a front row seat to the circus? Haven't seen this many dancing monkeys since the last time it was in town.

[Do they have circuses, I'm just going to blame all my potentially anachronistic dialogue on au deterioration. Anyway, system-wide politics aren't really his style. (Says the meta, while he continues to pry anyway.) Maybe he's not quite as ambitious as some of his coworkers. Certainly might seem that way. While this can (for all he cares) come off as a general carelessness for anything other than himself, if one doesn't know where to look, it's not exactly true. His focus tends to drift to different ends.]

Don't tell me you want my help that badly, hoss, I might start feeling all warm and fuzzy.

[Or maybe Koon's just wanting for the healthy competition. He goes for the former because it's more obnoxious. He doubts the latter very much, anyway. The Nine have plenty of enemies who might want to see their outdated games of succession topple. But they also have all the money and influence in the system to wave around to get what they want. And money talks.]

this is true

[deceptions]

[ "Kicks you over, I'll do what I want" - Koon's meta.

Koon probably takes pride in the complete lack of trust from his neighbors; it's fully reciprocated, after all, given their line of business. Handy enough to go and ask for some sugar in the event that he's run out, but more than willing to put a bullet through their heads should things go sideways. Neither of them — Jason or Lancer — are bad people, he supposes, but... well. ]

Good to know we're providing you some entertainment.

[ Let's pretend they have circuses, I'm too lazy to have Koon react like there's no circuses. He raises an eyebrow, before completing a small bow, complete with a flair of his hand. Interest from the entire RAC sphere is almost to be expected, anyway — after a Black Warrant like that, anyone feigning ignorance is either really stupid, or needs to get their priorities checked. ]

I'm alright, but if you want to feel warm and fuzzy keep thinking that — I'll take one for the team. [ Because he's just that self-sacrificial. Anyway. Apparently their chitchat has to unfortunately be cut short. He hears the footsteps first, before realizing that they might not be completely alone. ]

Were you expecting company? [ Please say yes. ]

[tirejacked]

[Whatever, he's the baddest of people, you don't know. A real down and dirty desperado. A cold blooded motherfucker who'll give you a cup of salt instead of sugar. Very dangerous.

He doesn't expect Koon to update him on the situation flat-out, but it's interesting enough to find him nosing around here. Keeping tabs on the changing climate of the Quad is as much professional priority as it is investigative reflex. He'll tell himself it isn't his problem, that he's not in this for grand attempts of revolution or retribution on some planet he'll skip for good in few months. When he's ready. (But here he is, anyway.)

He sharpens up just a little at the sound of footsteps, the figures moving through the shadows. Of course. While Jason is indeed expecting company, it's not from that direction, in these numbers, or for another half an hour or so. He doesn't hop down from his perch right away, but one of his hands drifts up toward his belt and his weapons.

As always, he'll have to be a disappointment.]

Oh no, I think they're with you.

[deceptions]

[ Wow, he'll take the salty cupcakes he baked and be sure to give a few to Jason ( spoilers: he probably doesn't bake ).

He'll note Jason's hands with a small frown — a frown that definitely grows the moment Jason answers. It takes real effort not to grown and stare up at the ceiling, but — ] Damn it. [ He does let out a huff of annoyance and knits his eyebrows.

The worst part about this warrant: the thugs that think they can sneak up on him. The fact that he has to actually fight this time around, but not because he chooses to. ] And here I was hoping you had friends in the area. [ Give him a moment to accept his fate, before he slowly moves to reach for his own weapon.

The "shadows" move closer and closer, as if they're still hidden. Banking on the element of surprise, from the looks of it. ]

[tirejacked]

[Please, you know better than to assume Jason has friends.

Now, circumstances permitting, he's got no reason not to sit back and wait this confrontation out. Because given Koon's reaction, these mooks are not here for him, and Koon can take care of his own problems.

But Jason didn't stay alive this long by assuming the best of people. He's nowhere near stupid enough to think that there's no chance of getting caught in the crossfire just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong company.

(Thanks for that, asshole.)

Hopping down to ground level (and better cover) from his perch—]

One way to find out.

[Since the shadows in question are trying so hard to be sneaky about their approach, he draws his pistol and fires it at the sky, raising his voice to break the silence before the crack of noise in the air even finishes fading. How about a direct approach.]

Come on out, boys! No need to be shy, I think there's someone here you've been looking for!

[#helping]

[deceptions]

[ And this is how Jason pissed off Koon in absolute record time — he'd been doing so well, maybe he could have even gotten out without fighting anyone ( unlikely )... and now he's found himself right in the middle of a brawl that he didn't initiate. Thanks for that, neighbor.

At least from here, it's straightforward. His dagger is drawn, and simultaneously blue cubes of light float into existence. The thugs seem keen on jumping them until there's tech they've never seen before; they hesitate, shake themselves out of it, then begin running for cover.

Oh great, now it's a gun fight. ]

Going to take that as a no. [ He spits out, complete with a glare that's sent over in the other Killjoy's direction because he's!! Going to get you back for this one, how dare you. ( But he also runs for cover, because that's probably a good idea ). ]

[tirejacked]

Sometimes all you've got to do is ask nicely.

[Sorry, not sorry at all, Koon. If you're going to rope him into your problems and make him bail your ass out in the process, he will make a point of doing so in the way that aggravates you the most. Since he actually has nothing to lose by causing a ruckus right now, it's worth it just to see the on Koon's smug face.

And hey, now you can get rid of them and it's self defense. Easy.

Koon runs for cover, but no point in taking the direct approach if you're going to draw things out. Jason breaks for the opposite direction and shoots out the supports for the heavy canopy of the bazaar storefront serving as their assailant's cover. They snap and the canopy drops, scattering goods and gunmen into the alley behind the building. Goon number one isn't fast enough on the recovery and ends up pinned down under the canvas with a boot to the back of his neck.

One down. Pull your weight, Koon.]

b

[eleutheron]

[ His partner has absolutely no idea what's going on -- or that they're even partners in this situation. He heard a commotion in the alley, and as he's more or less a police officer, he'd gone to investigate. And, as he's not that surprised to find, walked right into an ambush.

The light of his unusual circuitry flares, and that alone seems to make a few of their attackers uneasy. He scowls at them, then at Koon. What could these thugs want with him? Why do they seem so strangely organized, so intent? He does wonder if it's related to the briefing they'd just received about the Derrish heirs.

(If he had his memories, he'd know the situation immediately. But as it stands, Koon is a stranger to him. A stranger who does feel oddly familiar, but ... a stranger, nevertheless.)

Fenris has a gun strapped to his hip, and a stun baton besides, but he doesn't reach for either of them. He seems perfectly happy to punch it out. ]

Stand down. You will not like the consequences otherwise.

[deceptions]

[ If Koon's eyes widen when a certain individual walks into a shady alleyway, that's not anyone's imagination.

Reactions, as a whole, are hard to pull from him — he knows they can be easily turned against him, and purposely keeps from being overt about them. But there's things that come out of left field out of his control; this happens to be one of them. Of all the people to see here—

He takes a deep breath, exhales, eyebrows knitting together at the lack of a reaction. No recognition, nothing. ] What, no hello?

[ Not that... either of them have time to say hello, with a situation like this. When the uneasiness turns into hostility, sharp laughter and cocky gestures, Koon rules his eyes. A blue cube, made of hard light, flickers into view, followed by — please let this be over soon. ]

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris looks at Koon like he's a madman. ]

This is hardly the ti--

[ He's cut off, because Koon's new friends are tired of standing around. They make their moves, some going for Koon and some going to neutralize the sudden Company interference. Fenris growls low in his throat as he grabs the man lunging at him, then twists the man's arm behind his back. As his assailant grunts in pain, Fenris takes it a step further, slamming him hard against the alley wall. The audible, crunchy sound of bones breaking follows.

As the man slumps to the floor of the alley, Fenris turns to the men advancing on Koon. The weapons on his hips continue to go ignored; instead, he just leaps for the nearest one, his movement savage and swift. More like an animal than a man--albeit a very strong, very angry animal. ]

[deceptions]

[ Rude!! Considering who the mad man actually is here &mash; the surprise isn't evident on his face, but there's a puzzled look. A tilt of his head.

Following the blue cube is a dagger from his back, unsheathed as he lets out a long breath. Two steps forward — and suddenly Fenris is ... here? ] What—

[ Here's the thing — Koon, for how much he dislikes actually fighting, has a certain level of pride. Pride that gets shattered the moment his target is taken down by a man that was once his servant. It's ... convenient, sure, but also incredibly frustrating, and he closes his mouth shut, teeth gritting.

The men hesitate; they knew their target would be a force to be reckoned with, but does anyone ever appreciate Company interference? Luckily, the blue haired man recovers quickly enough to dart forward to one of the thugs, easily twisting an arm behind his back. ]

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris brings down the guy he charged at, kicking him solidly in the ribs once he's on the ground. More grisly crunching noises follow. Fenris is not a tall man, and he's of a wiry, slight build, but his strength is obviously far beyond normal. He turns back towards Koon, breathing hard, though it's hard to tell whether that's from exertion or rage. The circuitry cut into his body glows pale blue, seeming to shimmer in the darkness of the alley.

He looks from Koon to the thug in Koon's grip. ]

I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what's happening here?

[deceptions]

[ Everything's different — this isn't the Fenris he knows, or the one he recognizes, for that matter. The strength, the strange blue markings on his face, the violence — an unexpected variable from an unexpected face he thought he'd never see again. And then there's... ]

It should be obvious, shouldn't it? [ He remembers Fenris being a servant, yes, but also of a fair amount of intelligence. Surely they've told Company Enforcers ( since when? ) just what's going on around here, and with a background like his...

He knees the back of the man's head, watching him fall to the ground, unconscious. It was self-defense, it's fine. ] With the word going around— [ He stops himself, eyes narrowing.

... ] Do you recognize me?

[eleutheron]

[ While the details of his briefing do flit through his mind in response--there's something haughty about this man, something that suggestions a predisposition to giving orders--he doesn't draw the connection nearly so quickly as he should. He looks at Koon, his bright green eyes blank. The man is a stranger to him, and if they have some connection, Fenris cannot name it. As far as he knows, his life began--and will end--with the Company. ]

I do not.

[ He steps over the prone bodies of Koon's assailants, drawing in close for a better look. No. Nothing. Nothing aside from a strange sense of unease. ]

Should I?

[deceptions]

[ The blank stare gives him the answer he needs before he hears it from Fenris' mouth. Koon prides himself in his ability to make connections — to observe, understand, plan out how ever many steps ahead. But this is... new. Unforeseen. Annoying, because this is definitely Fenris, yet there's no recognition on the other end.

He doesn't like giving information out to strangers ( he doesn't like giving information out period ), but Fenris isn't exactly a stranger, sort of. ] Mm.

[ Koon hardly blinks when Fenris draws nearer, carefully plotting out his next set of responses. ] Thought people would.

Apparently if you have Derrish blood, you're a hot topic in the Quad right now. [ A glance at the thugs' bodies, then— ] Regardless of whether or not you've been kicked out. [ He's definitely lying, but if the lie is also technically true does it count? ]

[eleutheron]

[ It doesn't matter whether Koon's lying or preaching the solemn truth, because Fenris has no idea either way. He does know that Derrish heirs are a hot commodity right now, and Koon's response suggests all he needs to know about the little brawl they just finished. ]

I would ask why someone of your status is lurking in a filthy alley, but I suppose that's not such a strange thing for an exile.

[ He gestures back to the street. ]

I have a question.

[ Probably more than one. ]

But we should leave before your friends wake up.