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

itsuki | w1d3 | video | everyone just hates itsuki

[inksplashes]

[ Some secrets are like artifacts, pressed to the underside of the tongue. They hide behind a cage of teeth and stay locked away until that mouth draws it final breath and even then--

Even then, sometimes those secrets are lost to time.

This is the kind of trade Lavi deals in: truths preserved and lies minced, histories protected.

Itsuki, on the other hand? He deals in the opposite, in heresy. He trades in rumors and speculation, and every word off that man's tongue pollutes the air he breathes.

Fortunately, Lavi doesn't have to share that breath with him just now, a fair few moons between them. He prods at the video console in his room, toweling down his still wet hair. ]

Noah, call Itsuki. Encrypt the line and tell me if he doesn't.

[ Yes, Lavi, the ship AI responds. The screen before him turns black for a moment before an icon appears, spinning as it tries to make a connection. Once it does, Lavi paints on his plastic smile on cue, though there's a slight edge of irritation to it.

(Dealing with a high Qreshi all day has left a bitter taste in his mouth, even if he sounds as affable as ever.) ]

Hey. This a bad time?

this is very true

[nightchild]

[The call goes through, Itsuki's face flickering on the screen after a few rings. He's got nothing as fancy as ship comms, but his crappy phone can at least do voice and video and text. (even if it can't do emojis, one day he'll pay for the function of sending little heart emojis to people who'd get pissed off). He looks the same as always, waving his hand at the screen once he sees Lavi's face.]

Nah, it's fine. [He's in his hole in the wall, and the sound of rain beating the pavement outside is muffled.] Unless this is just a social call, then I'll have to hang up. No offense, I'd just rather make small talk with a cute girl.

[wouldn't they all. but the chances of Itsuki actually believing that Lavi called him to make small talk is less than zero, so he props a hand up underneath his head to wait for what he has to say.]

[inksplashes]

You and me both, pal. Get a better body or something.

[ Almost wistful, almost friendly, but not quite. Rubbing a hand down his face, Lavi considers his words carefully. Even if the lines are encrypted (and they are, Noah hasn't told him otherwise), he's not keen to discuss too much RAC business if he doesn't have to.

Though, he supposes, calculated misinformation has its purposes, too. In this sense, Itsuki is a useful resource to Lavi. Even if his existence is something the bookman is fundamentally opposed to, he can still be useful.

Besides, the chances of Lavi being the first killjoy to reach out to him are pretty slim, and if he is, he can work that angle to his advantage as well. ]

I assume you've already heard about the latest trouble brewing in Qresh? [ A little bit of laughter here, calculated but smoothly delivered. ] Eight and expecting? I need intel if you're not going to get prettier.

[nightchild]

[Itsuki chuckles right on cue.]

Hey, you're not exactly stunning yourself, pal. [Pal. Like they're friends or something, though Itsuki's exactly the type who'd use those words to needle.] But I guess I could you give you a break and not drag this out any longer than I have to.

[Then he cocks his head to the side.]

You in Leith?

[says 'I don't want to drag this out', does the exact opposite]

[inksplashes]

I'm better looking than you, at least.

[ Said with absolute sincerity and almost a touch of sympathy. Life must be so hard for guys who fell into a vat of purple dye but never bothered to wash it out (or themselves).

Snickering at that thought, Lavi raises an eyebrow when the next answer doesn't address the topic at hand, but affords Itsuki the benefit of the doubt. While he has some choice opinion about the other man's work ethic, he's willing to see where this line of questioning is going. ]

Yeah, or close enough. Why?

[nightchild]

[don't make him pull out an eye insult, MISTER!!! Itsuki dramatically rolls his eyes at this, clearly believing in none of that sincerity and even less so that sympathy. more importantly, he perks up to hear that half-confirmation. ]

Ohhh, must be your lucky day.

[It's the nature of an info broker to be curious, though it's more of the nature of the job than any real curiosity on Itsuki's part. He's only ever been in it for the joy. Still, that's not going to stop him from being a tad too dramatic, honestly.]

I've got something for you. That is, if whatever warrant you're on means you're after the Derrish surrogate, and not something else completely unrelated.

[inksplashes]

[ wow would you really go there itsuki, do you have no shame

Resisting the strong urge to roll his eyes at the overly dramatized delivery (even if he'd do the same thing), Lavi sighs in that long-suffering way, eyebrows knitting together. He's less concerned with the intel at the moment and more with the expected payoff.

Everything, after all, has a price. ]

Let's say it is. What's my luck gonna cost me? And no, I'm not going to convince Yu to stop punching you when you hit on him. I'm his partner, not a miracle worker.

[nightchild]

Ugh, I don't hit on him, okay? It's just a real shame that he's not a girl, especially with those looks.

[okay so like he technically hits on Kanda, how can he resist. Anyway, he waves a hand to dismiss that totally unnecessary comment as well as to acknowledge it like 'i know, i know, kanda is a force of nature who will hit anyone and everyone. it's known']

Anyway, I'm gonna have to charge a littler higher than usual. Considering the situation and all. So about -- [ARI I REALIZED I HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH JOY IS A LOT IN OVERJOYED... LMAO handwave that Itsuki's asking for something pricier than usual though but not too expensive I GUESS] -- that much's fair.

ROUGHLY... the same as rl.. USD... ??

[inksplashes]

[ Objectively, Lavi can agree. Kanda seems to have been given the gift of looks at the cost of any interpersonal skills whatsoever. In fact he's pretty sure the man is some kind of fairy tale -- the angrier he gets, the prettier he looks. But thinking about your partner that way is weird so we're gonna stop this train of thought here and just offer a mild shrug and sympathetic nod.

He feels you, bro. He feels you. Now stop trying to cop a feel on Yu and everything will be golden.

Considering the price for a moment, Lavi furrows his brow again, gazing into the feed with a largely inscrutable expression. Paying higher than normal is fine, but Itsuki isn't exactly well-known for his consistency, and a higher premium comes with the expectation of higher validity. ]

That's fine, then, but if it turns out to be a lie, I'm telling Yu you asked me to take pictures of him in the shower in exchange.

[ Smilesmile. ]

Agreed?

omfg I FIGURED i was just prepared in case it was gonna be like neopets level of inflation

[nightchild]

[But is it truly that weird to think of your partner like that mmmmmmm]

That's a terrible deal that I can't believe I have to agree to. [The tone of Itsuki's voice is short of 'The stakes are much higher for me now fck u lavi why are you doing this to me!!!'] But fine.

[This isn't the first time he's throwing his life in jeopardy, see koon please.]

The surrogate's on Leith. Word is, she's shacked up with Sveto McGillian, a mob boss. But not a big mob boss, more like a small fish -- medium fish -- type. In any case, he doesn't seem big on the physical, so he's more than likely to try and hire mercenaries to kick your asses, but... that's something you guys can handle, I'm sure.

idk neopets inflation?? what even

[inksplashes]

[ For a killjoy tasked with finding the heir, Lavi doesn't seem overly impressed with the information provided. It's not that Itsuki hasn't provided something valuable, it's just that he doesn't care.

All things considered, the sooner war descends upon the Quad, the sooner he moves on to his next assignment. His next name.

So it's with an impassive blink and easy smile he accepts the information, stows it for use, and then disregards much of it. ]

And is she carrying the only heir? Or do you know if someone else might be around to wear that crown?

okay look in neopets it cost 1000 neopoints to buy a virtual apple

[nightchild]

[Itsuki shrugs at that.]

Isn't there always someone else? You don't get to be rich and powerful if you don't have a dozen contingencies in place -- or in this case, babies. Who knows? The Nine are fucking weird.

[It's a good thing no one pays Itsuki to stay neutral in his line of work.]

But yeah, I've heard rumor of bastards. They're not as popular as the surrogate right now, but if whoever you're working for wants them ahead of time then I can sell you some stuff on them.

is the apple made of gold?! neo..gold?

[inksplashes]

[ Hn. That's quite a dilemma. He's not exactly flowing in joy to keep forking over, especially with the understanding that he won't, in fact, collect on the black warrant..

But it's important to Yu to keep that girl safe.

Forwarding the payment for the initial intel, Lavi mutters under his breath about bookmen and book-keeps not at all being the same thing. ]

Why bother going for the same targets everyone else is? Work smarter, not harder. You know of anyone like that I might turn over instead?