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

SITS IN HERE westerley day 1-4 or before scott goes clubbing at eulogy

[nightchild]

[there are a lot of sketchy dives and clinics that Itsuki knows, a side-effect from his own occupation, but there's only really one that he himself actually goes to. if asked, he'd immediately say "because betty and veronica are there okay have you seen them they're beautiful??" but at the end of the day, it's just that feeling he has when he's there. the one that convinces him to let down his guard and put his health in their (scott's mostly tbh) hands!!! without having to worry about getting knocked out and getting his organs harvested for the black market. places that don't do that are rare okay!!!]

Hey -- I need some help over here!

[but today's visit isn't for him, not this time. Even as he shouts, he has an arm curled protectively over the shoulders of a smaller girl (young, barely into her teens) wHICH ISN'T ILLEGAL hE DOES NOT HAVE THOSE INTENTIONS!! not when the girl's clutching at her own arm, clearly burned from the elbow down]

I said hey -- wait not you, where's Scott?

[Itsuki says, simultaneously waving over and dismissing another nurse. okay but with good reason, nurse Bob is a bad nurse and he needs a competent one!! LIKE SCOTT!!!]

[snuggies]

[ Itsuki is the most ridiculous and entitled hero that's ever walked through the clinic doors. Probably. It's not like Scott's doing nothing when he hears the familiar voice. He's working, setting about changing the dressing for one of their burn victims, but he opts to call over another nurse to cover him as he turns to head down the stairs, his sensitive ears having heard Itsuki from the second floor. (Maybe he's a little more willing to hear the voices that he likes.)

When he finally arrives at the entrance, his attention goes swiftly away from the man toward the girl in his arms instead. ]

Here. I'll take her. [ They don't have an abundance of wheelchairs or gurneys, so if her legs are working, then she'll have to walk to one of the chairs in the emergency with his help alone.

He takes her pain as soon as his skin touches hers. Burns throb and sear without reprieve, and the nanites make his blood go black as he does, but he's barely flinching, and does say anything about it as he helps her along with a single-minded focus. ]

How long was she outside? And what were you doing out there anyway?

[ Well, maybe double-minded focus. ]

[nightchild]

[Look it's most definitely not entitlement if he just prefers working with the people he trusts!! Okay, it probably is, especially in this situation and Itsuki would understand if Nurse Bob or Scott told him to tone down the pickiness and get his ass in line, but that doesn't stop the relief that he feels when Scott totally pulls through.]

I don't know.

[he admits, releasing her once Scott takes charge. Her arm's hurt badly, but otherwise she's fine. Just skinny and underfed, with that same tired cast to her face all Westie children seem to have. She immediately relaxes when Scott helps her to the chair, though Itsuki figures that the relief on her face is from having such a hunk help her to a seat!! (no itsuki) and not because of any pain-taking shenanigans.]

And we weren't technically outside. Some company asshole was holding her arm out in the rain -- said that she tried to pick his pocket. Which she obviously didn't do. I mean, what kid from Old Town would rob from the Company when they're all foaming at the mouth?

[Most of the Company folks Itsuki's run into seemed decent, Riza (and maybe Jasck too, to a degree) coming to mind, but he's been hassled enough by others to know that a lot of them really did believe they were better than others. And with tensions running high, the jerks had more breathing room.]

She could have been there for hours before I found them.

[He doesn't actually know what the symptoms would look like if someone was out in the rain for hours, but he's sure Scott would know. anyway, more importantly, it gives good reason for Scott to totally focus on the girl!! And not Itsuki, who is fine. Even if the corner of his mouth is cut, from the punch thrown at him by that very same company asshole.]

[snuggies]

[ The explanation gets Scott's jaw to clench, but he keeps tight reins on his emotions despite the irritation that wells in him. It's getting harder and harder nowadays, but nothing helps him keep focused like work. He can't tend to the girl if he has claws for hands.

Even as he lets her, grabbing one of the trays lining one of the counters. They've got kits ready to treat the burns from the rain at this point. ]

Doubt he held her there for that long. Enforcers don't have that kind of attention span. [ He mutters, lifting the girl's hand to douse her wounds with water and wash out any remaining rainwater, cotton pads stroking over her skin to catch anything that dribbles down her skin.

He also doesn't think it could've been that long from looking at her injuries: they're widespread, but not deep. ]

And then? How'd you get her away? [ He asks, his gaze not moving from the girl's arm. ] Do you need to be patched up too?

[nightchild]

Ain't that the truth.

[It's a throwaway comment, but Itsuki's relief is clear. As much as he was angry before, now he's anxious to know if she's going to be okay. And hearing that it might have just been a second or two before he stumbled upon them helps ease some of his nerves. Now that he doesn't have to internally sweat anymore, he sighs.]

[And then Scott goes into Nurse Scott mode and Itsuki starts sweating internally again.]

Hey, I'm fine. You've got your hands full, anyway. [He very surreptitiously wipes at the corner of his mouth, deciding that as long as Scott isn't looking he might as well do some SPEEDY FIRST-AID of his own. Then he grimaces because he's got blood on his sleeve, nice.] Really. For a situation as rough as that, I got out of it pretty easily. Just some joy to replace his so-called missing wallet, and he let us go right away.

[why does this sound like a panicky stream of excuses, IT DOESN'T!!]

[snuggies]

People don't get out of situations easily with Enforcers.

[ He's trying to keep his voice even, gaze moving between the girl's face and her arm, trying to gauge her pain. Once he's washed out her wound, he sets about asking her some questions, speaking softly and quietly, able to imagine that she's probably had enough of strange men carting her around and putting their hands on her, so he does his best to keep his touch as light as he can.

The emergency room is noisy, as always, but he manages to catch her name, said in a voice that seems so scared to escape her, and he gets some more information: where she lives, that she has family, and how bad her pain is. There's not a lot he can do with burns like this, it just needs time to heal; for the dead skin to give way to new tissue. But he can get her some painkillers, at least. ]

I'm going to get her something to help with the pain, but otherwise it doesn't look like there's much we can do. The burn'll have to heal on it's own. We'll keep her here for a while anyway though. [ He straightens up, and fixes Itsuki with a serious look. ] Did you get any of the rain on you? You're probably going to need to help her back, so it's better than you're not walking around with any injuries.

[nightchild]

[Not the serious look... A better man than Itsuki would quail under that gaze. But NOT TODAY because he's acid-free, as Itsuki demonstrates by rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to show off totally safe-looking arm. if not a little squishy-looking.]

See? Like I said, Scott, I'm fine. I wasn't totally stupid, you know. You can walk all over Old Town easy without getting rained on if you know where to go.

[He smells of truth and innocence right now, okay scott. Besides also smelling of gross Old Tunnels of course. And blood from his cut lip. But enough about him!! What's more important is the fragile girl at Scott's side!! At least Itsuki doesn't try to touch her like a creepo, instead he just like flips his hair or something as he very gallantly states]

Which means I can definitely escort the cute little lady home -- whenever you think she's ready.

[HE'S NOT HITTING ON HER!!! SHE'S UNDERAGE!!!]

[snuggies]

[ Settling his hands on his hips, Scott's eyes narrow as he gives Itsuki an assessing glance, firm in his stance and unabashed in the way his eyes trail over the other man's body, his nose working to sniff out anything that might belie Itsuki's account.

But he checks out. There is the scent of blood, but it's small enough that he hard even notices, and there doesn't seem to be any instances of strain in Itsuki's posture, so it's unlikely that he's hiding an injury that Scott can't spot. It's a relief at least, and he lets his shoulders down slightly. ]

She's not going to be going anywhere for a while. [ He smiles a little, small and leading. ] But if you're in perfect health, then I guess you wouldn't mind helping out around the clinic for a bit.

[ He couldn't perform any medicine, but they could use a gopher. ]

[nightchild]

[Look at Itsuki's face, look at that 'I am perfectly pleased with myself' slide off into 'Why do I set myself up for these falls, falls made by people like Scott, who I should have never trusted.' He's all set to whine away a million reasons why he absolutely cannot volunteer his services even though he already volunteered them, but instead -- his mouth twists to the side as he shakes down his sleeve, and he sighs.]

Man... Just when I thought I could trust you... [He would have whined, but he takes a look at the young Westie who's probably judging him, and he sighs. Again.] Fiiiine. I guess I can help. What do you need me to do?

[he looks around hopefully, about to edge his way over to Nurse Angela, who makes a slicing motion under her chin at Scott which is clearly just her over-dramatic way of saying she doesn't need Itsuki's help.]

[snuggies]

You can trust me. [ He shoots back easily, stepping forward to set a hand on Itsuki's shoulder and squeeze. ] And I trust you too.

[ Because yeah, if you thought the young girl is the only who's going to Judge Itsuki into doing the right thing, you've underestimated Scott McCall.

To spare Angela however, Scott just pulls Itsuki along with the grip he has on his shoulder, the other man's weight barely being a thing that registers in his mind as he manhandles him out of the emergency room and down the hall, toward the supply closet.

He lets go to open the door and step inside, pulling together packs of supplies and jugs of clean, distilled water and handing them to Itsuki without any regard to how much the other man can actually carry. ]

First, take these upstairs and make sure each of the rooms is stocked. The nurses will let you know. And don't hit on any of them.

[nightchild]

[Itsuki lets out several extremely undignified squawks as Scott manhandles him up, up, and away. He barely has enough time to protest when he's already in the closet, hands immediately trying to balance all the medical supplies Scott's pushing his way???]

Woah, wait -- [he leans sharply to the left to accommodate a precariously balanced bandage, then more stridently] wait, why can't I -- I don't hit on people! I say hey and compliment them, especially if they're cute. There's a difference!

[there is no difference.]

Geez, how much stuff do I have to carry? [despite having noodle arms, Itsuki sits still and obediently waits as Scott makes him into a mini-Cinderella, all the while scrutinizing Scott....'s arms....]

And just how often do you work out?

[because Itsuki's no lightweight, and that kind of strength is impressive for a YOUNG'UN]