Chapter 2

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week 2, Day 5 - Week 4, Day 6
Summary: Chapter 2 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
Westies
True Leithians
Leith
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine: Poisoned Well

With the heir delivered and Lady Derrish returning to health, balance has been maintained amongst the Nine. Swift and efficient - and, some would say, unbelievable - medical attention administered may have steadied the Lady's life, but for those in the ruling houses, the atmosphere of tenuous peace only grows thicker. Land Kendry has launched an investigation - with particular focus on Land Hyponia - into the source of the 'attack' on Lady Derrish's health. Of course, that is only the surface, and some suggest, with hushed voices, that there may be more to Land Kendry's goals than to weed out an assailant. Land Hyponia has long since been in support of maintaining the Seventh Generation Accords, which it defends staunchly against any opposition. One of the most agitated among those in disagreement with the Accords is Land Kendry. Now is the perfect opportunity for them to rearrange the pieces in their favor, and with the information they've fabricated, they'll be able to replace the head of Land Hyponia with someone who is - at least hopefully - more pliable to their agenda. The Derrish have their own suspicions, the cure surfacing all too conveniently timed to have been a coincidence. When Land Kendry's investigation procures evidence pointing to Land Hyponia as the culprits, inflaming the crime with implied - yet vague - ties to the resistance, the Derrish publically accept the accusation. Behind closed doors, the solution seemed to have come as uncannily easily as the cure, and suspicions only rise. But for now, the two houses remain allied - ready to use one another for their own interests. For those among the nobility, it's the time to reevaluate alliances, assuring the old and gathering the new. The more support you have, the safer you are - unless, of course, you chose the wrong friend. Some turn to other members of the nobility, some to the RAC for hired guards, some to the Company to mandate investigations unsuitable for Killjoys, and some may even turn to the underbelly of society to accomplish anything necessary to stay on top. Or to simply stay alive.

The Company: Cleaning House

There will be no accolades, and no rest, for the hard working Company officials following the response to the True Leithan attacks. Assignments shift from one thing to the next, moving from bureaucratic nightmare to bureaucratic nightmare. While there’s always busy work to distract from the intrigue behind the scenes, it’s not liable to be any safer. Some officials will be charged with maintaining peace and order on Leith, as the outbreak of a pandemic slowly spreads over the moon. From helping the afflicted find their way to a place of treatment, to safe and efficient body disposal—burning corpses by the hundreds—to attempting to track down the source of the virus, it's best anyone assigned here take heed ‘lest they find themselves falling ill as well. Westerley, on the other hand, is a different kind of headache. With Harvest Week in swing, most company officials will be reaching for a drink of their own at the end of their shifts. Rowdy workers celebrating their time off, spending their hard earned Joy frivolously, and citizens whisked away by the atmosphere of celebration all mingle throughout Old Town. Property damage, fighting, less than subtle illegal activity, and crowding all become more of an issue than they usually are during this time. It's the perfect setting to lay down the law, or to not be noticed by it. On top of it all, each and every member of the Company's workforce can expect to have their documents double and triple-checked. Those with any suspected ties to Leith are likely to undergo a more serious investigation. One-on-one interrogations become common practice, and whether you're trusted or suspect, you may come face to face with a companion in your duties. True Leithan sympathizers are what the Company review is after, but anything else unturned will surely not be ignored. Cover your bases.

Westies: Harvest Week

Harvest week is in full swing throughout Westerley - visa workers have been shuttled back in droves from their time on Leithian farms, many of whom were willing to take some of their observations to information brokers for a price. Most had superficial information to sell (the state of unease on the average farm due to the impending Accords, the increased suspicion that the migrant workers were forced to endure, the fear of retaliation by the rebellion for the True Leithian attacks), others with reports of increased security and weapons caches on the farms of those whose sympathies lie with the “heroes” of the attack in Old Town. Old Town, however, is even more of a chaotic mesh of humanity with the mass influx of returning bodies. Bars stay busy day and night, the hokk and ale flow almost faster than most can keep up, and many Enforcers and Killjoys alike can make a good bit of extra joy (or free drinks) by moonlighting as security at the more popular locations. Despite all of the fun to be had, there is still the undercurrent of unrest, because Company checks have increased even more and Intake has become a revolving door of petty criminals being held for the smallest infractions. Everyone is on edge as the Resistance grumbles and the Nine search the shadows for something or perhaps someone. The unrest only worsens once Leith is placed under quarantine. And through it all, criminal activity is on the rise. Somehow, despite the strict regulation and transport of migrant workers, there is an increased access to Jakk and Bliss. Norn has an ever growing market, and weapons dealers are in high demand both in Eulogy and by private buyers alike. Something is brewing beneath the revelry, and no one wants to be caught unable to defend themselves, it seems. Not that any amount of firepower can defend against disease when P43X shows up on W3D7--but it can certainly make the symptoms worse.

True Leithians: Second Stage

Wounded and pressed to a corner, the beast rears its head and bares a maw of teeth and ruthless pursuit. The True Leithian organization does not take pause to mend wounds left in the wake of last week’s retaliation, no. They do not seek the comfort of safe haven and recovery. Instead they turn their anger and fear inward, sacrificing their own for what they believe to be the greater good. On Week 2, Day 6, three individuals slip into the crowds of Leith, mingling with the revelers and the families celebrating Harvest Week. They share smiles and laughter, they share conversation and drinks, but most importantly, they share infection. Each of the three is responsible for disseminating P43X, a viral bioweapon designed by Zan Nikora on behalf of the military in years past. During its conception, the aim of P43X was simple: to create a weapon which could demoralize and destabilize an entire population within a matter of days. To create madness that builds in the blood and eats into the brain, spreading through every tier of society. And though its use has long been out of commission, its engineer has lingered. Zan Nikora, kidnapped and held under threat of death not to himself but to those he holds dearest, is made to choose between the lives of his family on Westerley or the strangers on Leith. His choice is obvious, though far from easy. Reassembling the buried curse takes time, supplies, and testing. He is provided amply with the last two but scarcely with the first. But still he complies. When his madness maker is complete and his existence becomes a potential loose end, it’s not freedom that Zan Nikora tastes, but the poison of his own medicine. Only once the voices in his head have risen above whispers and turned to screams, when his mind can no longer hold secrets worth sharing, does he see his family again. It takes six days*. Six days and Zan Nikora stumbles through Old Town, eyes unseeing, mind riddled with disease—infection spreading. Mod Note: *W3D6. Cure and vaccines will be developed and disseminated beginning on W4D3, but will not be fully administered to all locations until W4D5.

Leith: Pocket Posies

Harvest Week in Leith marks a period of joy and relief. Bazaars are open longer, the ordinary bustle of the business day replaced with celebration and festivities throughout the evening hours. Vendors offer games for adults and children alike, the sky is a constant wash of soft pinks, purples, and greens from holographic firework shows, and music fills the air from different stages. All walks of life are welcome to join in the merriment, just so long as they have the right to be there. Anyone suspected of an invalid visa or citizenship papers are dealt with harshly, but quietly. Tucked away into the darkness of a holding cell like all of Leith’s more problematic elements. It is a time of peace and relief, this week, and they will not abide disruption. But within the hallowed days of celebration, a sickness grows, incubating. Spreading. First, it begins with an ache deep within the muscles. The body tires too quickly, the flesh burns with a blanket of rising fever. Whispers skirt at the edge of hearing, unintelligible but audible, filling the audio cortex with illusions and lies. Food loses its appeal, though the body yearns dearly for energy it cannot hold, and breathing becomes tighter, harder. Next the tide of high fevers, of lethargy. The brain devolves into paranoia and mania, the mind races with delusions and hallucinations. Pain follows, a pain that seems to emanate from every nerve without relief or pause, seeping through the muscles and aching within the very bones of a person. Some may wish for death, and for many, that wish will be granted in an unending sleep when the fatigue pulls darkness across the mind, plunges the last thoughts of a person into static slumber. But not all will succumb so readily, and therein is the weakness that ultimately shelved P43X during its initial creation. Its impacts are not uniform—while much of the population suffers dearly, most are sustained with timely medical interventions, and many others recover with the prowess of their own immune system. For Leith, bountiful in money and supplies, most of P43X’s more fatal properties are circumvented or delayed. But even in this lush world of affluence and peace, there are the poor, the underprivileged, and the weak. They are not afforded the same haste of care, the same salvation. Instead, they’re given graves of sanitizing fires, and their bodies turn to ash.

Resistance: Sleeping Dogs

The chaos of the festivities that go along with Harvest Week provides the perfect cover for the Resistance to begin moving once again. New cells need to be formed in the wake of so many executions and new members need to be recruited. Info brokers with Resistance-leaning sympathies have an opportunity to make a little extra joy by putting the disconnected sympathizers in contact with one another, aiding the vetting of Company insiders that need new handlers within the organization. For Resistance members already embedded within, they need to work now to find new locations to store what supplies remain and to begin rebuilding the stockpiles of weapons and supplies re-confiscated by the Company. Some may have heard of abandoned mines or facilities that can be retrofitted out in the Badlands while others are needed to track down rumors of Company made fallout shelters located within the under-city tunnels. For this, Company moles are essential - the only hope of accessing these shelters is with long forgotten Company passcodes. And the Scarbacks, well. Everyone’s heard rumors that there are many within their ranks willing to help with recruitment and contraband transportation, though there’s little the Company can do to restrict their movements at this time. Because of this, Scarbacks may also be the only ones that have a chance of getting into Leith once the quarantines go into effect. Those already aligned with the rebellion will be tasked with coordinating supply movements, making a deal or three with the devil on behalf of those unwilling to back down from the promises of the Accords. Caution and purpose should drive their movements because if the True Leithian attack is any indication… those nationalists are not going to let go of their precious land and status without a long, bloody fight.

The RAC: Holding Pattern

Warrants still flow in with a regular consistency - enough to keep the average team or agent quite busy. Every harvest season there are visa jumpers that need to be caught and low-level warrants claiming petty theft from farms by Westie migrants. The increasing number of disturbances and crimes in Old Town guarantee a plethora of local warrants to capture criminals across the moon or those that managed to escape an Enforcer’s arrest. Some, however, have either been requested by Seyah Kendry herself or volentold by their seniors within the RAC to conduct investigations into the attack on the Nine. And not all of these investigations are on the Lady’s behest. Some of the Nine aren’t quite willing to take Land Kendry’s word as law and have quietly requested their own investigations into the attack in Old Town and the Land Derrish misfortunes. (MOD NOTE: There will be a comment thread for teams to sign up for the specialized plot related warrants on the monthly warrant post, located HERE. Once teams have posted for a plot warrant, the mods will give them a location and focused assignment.)

Comments

IA.

[ofobedience]

[This kind of thing-- it isn't really what he does. Drunken brawls and uncouth violence, the kind that spills out of unruly yet regular citizens when plied with too much cheap booze and high spirits, it's fairly low on the scale. Hardly the kind of thing the Dogs were designed for. And yet here he is all the same-- Harvest Week is a rule unto itself, breaches of the peace coming too thick and fast for regular enforces to keep up with, and so it's one of those times when the Cerberus Unit is given a little more free reign, a slight loosening of the leash so to speak.

More space to get out and play.

Still, when he happens to be passing the Company employee (someone he recognises, knows a little about, someone he's worked with before) at the moment that wayward punch is thrown, he glances off into the crowd to catch the eye of his Handler, looking for permission to join in the fray. His look is met with a terse nod and as such Unit 68's smile spreads wide.]

Gladly.

[eleutheron]

[ Thanks to the holiday, the bar is nearly full. Hostility spreads like falling dominoes; the first punch leads to someone punching somebody else, and then a blind return swing that catches a passer by, and so on. Within a few minutes, nearly the whole population of the bar is at each other's throats.

Fenris pulls apart two men battering wildly at each other's chests, grabbing each one by the scruff of his thick neck. These were laborers, big guys with hard muscles, and they flailed in confusion under Fenris's curiously strong grip.

He hasn't even begun to scowl at them when another big guy charges at him from the fray, teeth bared, eyes wild with cheap beer and adrenaline. ]

Damn--

[ofobedience]

[It's petty and raw and ugly, the way they feed off each other, one punch leading into the next and before they know it the whole bar is at one another's throats. Petty and raw and ugly, yet even this has a certain simplistic appeal, something that gets Giovanni's heart pumping faster his blood running hotter and already he feels the swift ascending animal joy begin to rise up in him, threaten to take over.

For the moment at least, his external appearance remains cool and calm and collected, and when the large brute of a man rushes in towards his Company associate with a feral look and his skin giving off the sour stink of booze and adrenaline, Giovanni steps between them with quick precise movements. His arm flows upward, the heel of his palm slamming into the brute's nose and it breaks with a crack that sends shivers through him, a bone-deep pleasure he can't ignore. Blood splatters from the wound and the man falls back as Giovanni turns towards Fenris with all the casual ease of someone intending to inquire about the weather.]

What we ought to do is make an example of one or two of them. Shut the whole thing down in one fell swoop.

[There's a pause as he slams his leg out behind him without bothering to turn around, the scent of the man intending to smash a glass over his head enough of a tell to have him acting without the use of his sight. The man stumbles back, falls, surprised.]

What say we have a little fun?

[It'd mean breaking cover, exposing what he is to the crowd, but it'd put a stop to it all. It'd be satisfying. They only need to kill one or two...]

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris is familiar enough with Gio to know what his idea of 'fun' might entail, and just like that, he's got another problem on his hands. He watches the meathead collapse like a ragdoll, hears him groan in pain as he struggles to get back up and fails--he's probably got at least one broken rib, and his mouth is already flecked with blood. Fenris drops the two laborers unceremoniously, and they're sufficiently intimidated by both him and Giovanni that they don't look to renew their quarrel.

It's a big bar, though, and the sight and scent of blood doesn't deter everyone. A few of them react like sharks: they know these two are Company men, and they have plenty of frustrations to vent. Fenris makes an agitated noise in his throat as a few unsteady--but well-muscled--drunks push past the shouting crowd, obviously spoiling for a go at both of them. ]

We're here to control, not eradicate. Do not kill them.

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni rolls his eyes, tongue clicking sharp against pointed teeth and whilst his attention appears to be focused on Fenris, he has the circling men in the periphery of his vision, sharpened senses honed in on their scent, the sounds they make. Beneath the casual black of his 'undercover' clothes, his muscles jump, pull taut. Ready for further violence.]

Spoilsport.

[He says the word just as one of the oncoming drunks steps in a little too close, and catching the swinging fist in his hand, he tightens his grip until the bones shatter and break-- the feel of it, it makes his smile spread wide. The man collapses to his knees with a strangled cry of pain, but Giovanni doesn't release him, keeps his broken fist trapped tight in his hand.

The fact is, he's not best suited to this kind of work. Eradication is is what he does best.]

Come on, now. How about just this one? If I rip out his heart with my hands I'm betting the others will back down soon enough.

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris doesn't entirely begrudge Giovanni's position. He has a calm facade; an intense reserve that belies only a little of what constantly roils beneath. He doesn't know where Giovanni's bloodlust comes from, whether it was bred or cultivated or some mix of the two. He doesn't know how Giovanni feels about his position in the Company, his status as an experiment.

But Fenris, for all his orderly obedience, feels nothing in him but bitterness. Bitterness, and a poisonous, secret hatred that grows by the day. He's beholden to the Company: without them, he has literally nothing, not even a memory to nurse in the night. But they made him into a monster, and because of that, he sometimes wants to be monstrous.

So: would he weep for the deaths of these men? No. But he wouldn't enjoy killing them, either. Scum though they may be. ]

We have enough of an effect as it stands. Drop him.

[ And that is true, at least--the combination of Gio's brutality and Fenris's steely (glowing) determination has quieted most of the bar by this point. ]

[ofobedience]

[Bitterness-- it's something he knows, something he feels like a rush along the Spine in quiet moments when he's given the time to think, though the direction it takes isn't towards the Company. No, it's channeled through other things, smaller in some ways. His own personal failures, Heine's defection and absorption into the RAC, out of his reach, the closest thing to affection and friendship he's ever known having deserted him and left him to this.

But this is what he is, now, and whilst there's nothing but a blank space in his memory before the moment he opened his eyes in that cold white Facility to find Her standing over them and commanding them to violence, he doesn't think there's anything to remember. Suspects (rightly) that he was created or bred for this, that he'd never been anything else. As such, there's nothing to miss or to battle against, only the metaphorical leash that sits so close to his skin that it seems a part of him, and without it what would he be?

Nothing.

Which is why, when the words come like a command from Fenris, he releases the trapped and broken hand with a put-upon sigh, but releases it all the same. The man who'd been caught in his crushing grip scuttles backwards, stuttering out apologies and words of thanks to Fenris for sparing him the darker fate that Giovanni had voiced aloud, and Unit 68 pays him no more mind at all, as though he'd never been there to begin with.]

You're no fun.

[But he says it with an amiable smile, with a steady kind of composure as the bar around them quietens in a restless sort of way, their violence subdued by the greater threat in their midst.]

[eleutheron]

Fun is not our purpose here.

[ It's not generally Fenris's purpose anywhere, to be frank. He looks satisfied enough when Giovanni drops his prey, though, his posture relaxing just slightly. There's a hush in the bar now, a sense of tension restrained. Fenris's gaze sweeps over the lot, his eyebrows furrowed. The problem is by no means solved--it's likely these people will start up again as soon as either he or Giovanni leave--but it's been delayed, at least.

He takes a seat at the bar, raps his knuckles on the counter. Might as well have a drink. He glances back at Giovanni. ]

I expect it might be wise to stay put for a while. Of course, what you do now is up to you.

[ofobedience]

[Fenris takes a seat and Giovanni moves closer, stands beside him with his back pressed to the bar, leaning loose and boneless. He, too, scans the crowd, red eyes flashing with their own restrained tension, the desire for more than this, for something worse. For the moment it's enough to keep the violence at bay, and the other patrons give the two Company men as wide a berth as the push of the crowd will allow.

Brightly, Giovanni laughs.]

Up to me, hahah.

[His voice is a sardonic drawl, the implication clear-- it's never up to him. He does as he's told, and for the moment his orders are to remain here.

He glances up at Fenris, then. Flashes his teeth.]

But you really ought to lighten up. It is what we make of it.

[eleutheron]

[ The irony isn't lost on Fenris; he's not quite so controlled as to have an assigned handler, but then, the Company knows that isn't necessary. He belongs to them, and he has nowhere else to go. Nowhere else to even think of going. The collar is figurative, but its effects are literal enough.

The bartender brings him a glass of hokk--the rich red stuff, the kind he prefers--and he takes a sip with a shrug. ]

This is what I make of it. We are in a filthy place with worse people, restrained only by their own fear. It is not to be celebrated. Only endured.

[ He taps his glass. ]

But the drinks suffice.

[ofobedience]

[Leashed dogs, the both of them, in ways that are only slightly divergent. The Handler-- he's less here to ensure Giovanni doesn't slip the leash - much like Fenris, where would he go? He's always belonged to the Company, there's nothing else for him to run to - and more to keep him reigned in should the heat of the moment overtake him, bloodlust turning from something focused to the more general, attacking anyone who comes close. No matter that Giovanni's track record is impeccable-- it happens sometimes, with the Cerberus Unit, animalistic impulses overriding their conditioned obedience.

For now, at least, he's settled enough with the feel of breaking bones still singing through his insides, and he watches as the other man taps his glass, makes it clear what gets him through the day. Giovanni shrugs, smiles wryly.]

Good for you, I suppose. But that stuff is meaningless to me-- I could drink anyone in here under the table and still feel nothing. In that respect, if you're so inclined, you could say my modifications have their disadvantages.

[Immunity to all poisons and pathogens mean that alcohol can't touch him, he may as well be consuming water for all it'd do to him.]

But one can't miss what one doesn't know. The eradication of unsavoury elements on the other hand...now there's something to get one's teeth into.

[And again, he laughs.]

[eleutheron]

[ Can't get drunk, huh? That's rough, buddy. Or so Fenris thinks, because hokk is absolutely how he gets through his days. ]

Truly upsetting.

[ It's dryly stated, but genuine nevertheless. ]

But there is meat enough for you on most days, I expect.

[ofobedience]

[Perhaps so, but it's not like he knows how it feels to sink into that kind of soft-edged oblivion. He doesn't know what he's missing out on, and perhaps that's just as well-- if alcohol could impact him the way it does most others, he'd probably sink all too willingly into its embrace. Or perhaps not. Chances are it would be forbidden to him under those circumstances, and he's never been one for breaking the rules.

As such, he shrugs.]

I'll take your word for it. And I suppose you're right-- most days I get plenty of fun.

[He stretches then, almost languid.]

But it doesn't make days like this any less of a bore.