Chapter 3

[thenine]

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

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

The Nine: Promises Unmade

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

The Company: Balancing Act

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

Westies: Tidal Force

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

True Leithians: Rested Laurels

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

Leith: Olive Branch

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

Resistance: Sacred Grove

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

The RAC: New Grade

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

Comments

[brickinthewall]

[Hanna, though, is amused. She even quirks her lips at the sight of the scratched shoes. This entire affair is really, stupidly out of place, but hey, she used to be here once, right? A lavish gala for the poor?

Fuckin' bullshit.]

Who'd you dance with, a puppet?

[Funny, though. She used to be the overeager dancer.

Except she definitely didn't have two left feet.]

[iuramentum]

[ The noise startles Saber more than getting shot. It's a little like getting punched in the back, hard, the shunt of kinetic energy almost enough to knock her off her perch.
As it is she stumbles for a moment, rights herself, pivots to pin Giovanni with a stare so loaded with threat it's a miracle he doesn't go up in flames right then and there.

The hilt (and by extension, the sword itself) at her side blinks out of view as she draws in one fluid motion - thumbing the invisibility caplet nestled in the pommel - the motion punctuated by the hiss of metal on metal; an auditory clue practically drowned in the uproar of panicked civilians trying desperately to get out of the line of fire. ]

You again. [ Saber has to raise her voice to be heard over the din; resonant with steely command. She resolutely ignores the dull ache in her left shoulder and the sensation of her shirt sticking to the wound - if it's bleeding, it's not enough to be a priority. Not yet. ] You aren't authorized to be in this sector.

[ Not without his handler, at any rate, which they both know very well.

She hops down, placing herself directly between the bulk of the crowd still striving to escape and his guns, both hands fisted at her sides. It could be seen as practically painting a bullseye on her chest, of course, if he doesn't look too closely at her right hand, curled loosely around something that distorts the fingers around it ever so slightly.

"Self-defense" will be acceptable excuse for bloodying his nose a little when her superiors want an explanation. He doesn't need two legs and two arms, right? ]

[eusford]

[ He understands her humor and responds in a similar fashion: ]

If she were a little less talkative then I would have, but alas. [ Whether or not that's actually a good thing is put into consideration briefly. ] Can you do any better?

[ He could only imagine someone being worse. ]

[equerry]

[ He's injured and they have little between the two of them to help. Ignis is blind and can only see what his augment tells him, and Noctis— while he surely has enough know how to get by— isn't any kind of medic. If this man is shot and out enough to be dragged through the streets then his prospects are grim.

Ignis turns his eyes on the man, now propped against the wall, and crouches next to him. There is a blossom of heat across his chest, and putting two fingers to his throat makes his unsteady pulse clear. He isn't conscious. Ignis presses his lips together. ]

Did you spot any medics in the crowd?

[ He won't make it to a healer. The closets would have been Luna but her tent has been ransacked and Ignis hasn't been able to get a hold of her. ]

[iuramentum]

Oh? [ Her brow furrows a little at that little tidbit. Isn't that nice of him?
A decisive nod, apparently reaching a decision, and she gives Badou a worryingly pensive look. ]

I may need to contact you again if he isn't there, but I appreciate the help. If I left a message here with someone, would you be able to retrieve it safely?

[brokeassgoing]

[he's a nice guy. a wreck, hysterical-- all true. but nice. yeah, sure.

he returns the Look]

He's real good buddies with that guy so if he isn't there then he's gone underground. I've always got my ear to the ground so yeah, I'd get it.

[iuramentum]

Understood.

[ A polite nod, and she's off again - wow, such conversation, much eloquent - on her grand adventure for the dine and dash delinquent. Possibly ~*~never to be seen again~*~.

(Lmao not really... so much shit goes on in this neighbourhood she'll be back in like a week, tops)

B u t

A few hours later, if he deigns to check, one of the shopkeepers nearby has an unassuming little package for him wrapped in brown paper and twine. Inside are two items: a) a little tin of ointment, with a slip of paper that reads "for the bruises", and b) a few Joy - enough for a meal, or a few drinks, not much - with another slip that reads "for the information".
That's about as close to a thoughtful Thank You gesture that any living soul will get. ]

[uncrownings]

[He's never had much of an issue with the Company before now. Noctis understands it in the way that maybe only an outsider can- people have to find a way to survive. They have to find a way to make a living. Sometimes they have to do things they don't want to, but that doesn't mean they're exempt from their choices.

He thinks about the home he can't go back to and the decision that hadn't been his to make and the consequences he has to live with. He hadn't faulted members for the need to put food on the table and have a roof over their heads- but this. This is changing things. The riots had been intense, but that was a bunch of Westies on their own turf- those were people with their futures ripped out of their hands and nothing left waiting for them. This is the Nine killing because they didn't like the response.

The look Noctis shoots him is pure contempt- it's every punch he can't throw and the fight he can't start but desperately wants to.]

Yeah well, it's too late for you to start caring about her future, don't you think?

[He has to crouch down low to take the rest of her weight and even then, he knows he won't be able to bear her forever. If the shooting starts up again, or another wave of explosives go off, it'll mean the end for them both. Can only hope there's someone somewhere that can help her, but Noctis can't remember the last time he saw a medic in here, let alone a tent.

He doesn't look back at the guy, and instead turns into the crowd and starts moving.]

[uncrownings]

No- [The word is ground out with a short shake of his head.] I haven't been able to see anyone since- [Since the shooting started. It's a sentence he isn't able to finish, because even the relative safety of a narrow alley isn't going to last for long. Like water, people spill into every available inch of space trying to get away, trying to get distance, trying to find even a few seconds of safety.

A panicked scream hits the air somewhere on their right. Noctis' head isn't the only one that lifts in the direction of the sound. It's the only warning they get. An explosion goes off. It's impossibly loud. His arm jerks up, pure survival instinct in an attempt to cover his chest maybe, or to block the inevitable- it would do nothing if not for the band around his finger. A shield comes up around them, the barrier invisible to the naked eye everywhere except where contact occurs. Around them, debris flies- part of a building dissolves, and so do the people.]

[uncrownings]

Gimmie a little credit.

[It might sound like he's putting up a fight, but he isn't- it's just Noctis' perpetual need to remind her that he's not entirely useless. He has managed to survive this long, however much he seems to need her advice- but then, Noctis has never believed that he's managed it all alone. He's had to work hard, but he's had plenty of help too.

He follows in after her, shifting to keep himself bodily out of the way, to let her close the door and to let her dictate just how far they're heading inside. Though he shouldn't be surprised, Hanna's admission leaves his eyes widening. He's relieved to hear there are options, it's just that- sometimes he forgets just how live-or-die her world has been.]

It's not for me. [If she's putting her cards on the table, then he needs to ante up as well. Noctis squares his stance like he's expecting a fight, even if it's one he'd definitely lose.] It's my cargo.

[If she's going to say no, this'll be the time.]

[uncrownings]

I thought we agreed you were scrambled.

[The look he flicks in Badou's direction is playful if you squint at it. Can't blame him for the absence of confidence when the first impression had been drool and cheese.

One hand lifts, rubs briefly at the back of his neck only to drop back to his side.]

Guess you don't need a hand with anything, huh?

[uncrownings]

[Not nice he can deal with- at least it's honest. Noctis struggles in navigating conversation with others at the best of times, but it helps if they can both stop pretending to be something they aren't. The kid doesn't look like he's staring straight through him, but instead Noctis gets the feeling that he's being put on some kind of invisible scale- trying to measure his worth. It'd be disconcerting if he hadn't experienced it before, but Noctis' years before the Quad had been full of that kind of appraisal.]

Checkmates happen because someone's moving those pieces.

[The correction might seems small, but what the kid is trying to sell him is the idea of a team effort. All Noctis feels like he's seen since he got here was power and powerlessness.

Everything else he might think about how Nine "people" are ruling an entire Quad is something he needs to keep in his mouth. That commentary might be something he could get away with on Westerley, but he's not about to try his luck in a Leithian charity gala.]

No offense meant for your father, but if I was going to be a chess piece, I'd want to know who was playing me.

OW?????

[uncrownings]

[Fighting is not second nature to Noctis. He does what he needs to do to get by but he's never been particularly ambitious. He's never been particularly politically minded. He makes a living in the Quad and loosely considers it home (in the absence of anywhere else) but he never forgets that he doesn't belong there. These aren't his stakes, it isn't his future or his fortune or his family so by extension, it isn't his fight.

If he was asked, he'd say he was here by accident- the wrong place at the wrong time.

If he was asked, he'd say he couldn't just do nothing.

Noctis can't carry him, the guy is too heavy- but it doesn't keep him from trying. He's under the man's arm, bearing into the place beneath his shoulder in an attempt to keep him on his feet and drag him out of the way. There are four streaks in blood on Noctis' left bicep, where the man had been hanging on once, and where his grip has slipped and gone slack. His muscles are burning with strain, but in the space between one breath and the next, a person has materialized beside him. Adrenaline kicks through his body so fast he forgets he has legs at all. Between gun shots and explosions and a cacophony of voices Noctis has done his best to avoid anyone that looks even vaguely like a Company employee which leaves his heart in his throat before his brain can process the sight. No insignia, probably not an Enforcer. The words come as an afterthought because the next thing he sees is a sword. Between fight or flight, Noctis' body makes the decision on its own, reaching suddenly for the hilt of his own blade and snapping it into a defensive line between their bodies.]

If he wanted to just give up- he wouldn't have come here in the first place.

[oneirism]

[Lapis is content to work in silence, simply reaching for the kettle and setting it to boil. Though the awkward shuffling of him buttoning up his cardigan causes her to blink, peeking over at him with a slight tilt of her head.]

You don't have to worry about appearing presentable around me. [As she speaks, she reaches over for the now boiled kettle - pouring the water into the cups she snatched from the cupboard, before letting the tea steep for a little.]

tea is gonna be spilled everywhere

[oneirism]

[Lapis is tired and sore, having spent most of the time rushing around and checking on people - in between getting shoved around by the angry crowds of the riots. More than once, she stumbled across a body, a victim of the new 'lethal force allowed' rule, and she could feel a horrible mix of sadness, anger and disgust towards the Company.

But there's nothing she could do. Absolutely nothing, and that just made the ugly feelings swell inside her. So she forces herself to do something she can do, pushing herself to look for those still alive but injured, wanting to make sure they escape. The sound of a boot against the road snaps her out of her focus, turning towards the voice - her body sagging as relief rushes through her, the hard look in her eyes vanishing.]

I'm glad to see you too, Genji. [A familiar face is a relief, even if he's not someone she knows particularly well. But the lack of familiarity doesn't dampen the growing concern in her eyes when she sees his arm, not hesitating to step closer.]

Are you alright?

[tousei]

[ It's reassurance in a way, but it also leaves him slightly stranded as to how to respond. ]

Alright. I apologize, it's a habit.

[ Even on his off days he dresses formally. A hard habit to kick indeed... yet he still leaves his hair down. Hmm... ]

[oneirism]

[Lapis can tell that her words probably caught him off guard, and she glances over at him once more as she finishes up the tea.]

It's okay. Though I think this is the first time I've seen you dress rather casual.

[Now that the tea is done, she takes the cups into her hands and steps over to offer him one. Gold eyes then glancing at his hair once more.]

And this is the first time I've seen you with your hair down too.

[oneirism]

[Good, at least he can keep up. Even if his complaining just gets the calmest look ever, and she glances over her shoulder with a sigh. It's fine Badou, some people eat bugs!]

Then try closing your mouth. [Said flatly, luckily able to raise her voice enough as they keep fleeing. But eventually, she'll bring them into a stop in some alleyway, finally letting go of him as she catches her breath.]

[tousei]

[ Julius is never casual even when he's alone. It probably says something about himself. ]

Does it look strange?

[ It might be a little unusual for a guy to have shoulder-length hair. His hair is a dusky blonde and well-kept, with no split ends or a dry lack of lustre to it. He usually ties it up in a ponytail when he's out, so it's only during downtime that it ever gets let down.

Not that he often lets his hair down, in the figurative sense of the phrase. ]

[oneirism]

[Please learn to relax Julius...]

No, not at all. [She peers closer, a curious look in her eyes before she leans back once more. Taking a sip of her tea, before smiling softly once more.]

It's nice actually, to see you with your hair down. Especially since your hair looks pretty, too.

[tousei]

[ > julius
> relaxing ]

I see. Thank you.

[ He looks off into the middle distance - maybe trying to pass it off as a bit of absent-mindedness, but he's since lost his ability to hide his feelings well when he's with her. ]

I... didn't choose how to dress myself, from a young age. I suppose I kept these habits since then.

just getting noctis ready for chapter 9

[instalock]

[ After a moment, Genji lowers his sword.

That wild-eyed look of desperation. He knows it well; that doesn't mean it becomes any easier to behold as time goes on. ]

You are kind, but kindness will not save his life.

[ The sword is flicked back into its sheathe, but it's a temporary reprieve. The man hanging half-dead from the kid's shoulder won't last the hour, if that. He trembles with agony too great to be vocalized. Genji has known pain like that. He's known worse. Then, he'd believed the alternative to be preferable, too. ]

He'll bleed dry within the hour if he does not receive medical attention. Resistance resources have been triaged to those more likely to survive. Official hospitals will be watched by Enforcers. You've bandaged him with generous intent, but you've used cloth likely to introduce infection - even if he reaches a hospital, he'll die of painful sepsis.

[ Genji tilts his head, his visor masking the quiet downturn of his expression. This lesson is as difficult to teach as it is to learn. ]

I will do it, if you haven't the stomach for it. But - for his sake - you must decide quickly.

[instalock]

[ He'd been meaning to seek her out after his confrontation with his brother, but it had slipped his mind in the tumble of events following. He bows shortly, but he's already looking past her shoulder as he rises. The Enforcers have no conscience when it comes to attacking the unknowing; they cannot stay here. ]

Well enough.

[ Or he'll have to be, for now. He steps forward, motioning for her to join him. ]

We should move further past the perimeter — the Enforcers still roam the streets.

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris would not at all qualify this situation as 'fun'. He watches Giovanni work with an impassive expression on his face, even as his gut roils, even as his skin burns from the flaring circuitry.

A man lunges at him, gun drawn, and Fenris reacts swiftly--in one fluid movement, he grabs his attacker by the wrist, crushing the delicate bones with such force that he can't help but drop his weapon. As the gun clatters to the filthy, blood-and-grime soaked ground, Fenris throws the man down. He doesn't kill his attacker, but he does slam the sharp edge of his elbow into the man's ribcage, hard enough that the man coughs blood. A hot, red splatter coats Fenris's bare arm, and he stares across the fray at Giovanni, his lip curling. ]

We should not enjoy this.

[ And he doesn't. He tells himself so, anyway, even as the man's bones buckle under the pressure of Fenris's weight, even as a satisfying crack fills his sharp ears. ]

[sunderings]

[ If there is someone guilty of imposition in the here and now, surely it is the Director himself—Sion, who is willful (as ever and as always), protective (of his friend), and steadfast (easily fashioning himself into a crutch for the other man, his arm shifting to loop about Julius' waist, supportive and bearing as much weight as need be), all without saying a word. But as surely as they begin to walk forward with slow steps, an easy pace, something needs to be said; Julius cannot be left to mire beneath the weight of some baseless debt, the guilt which the Director glimpses in his eyes. True, such a sentiment would be Sion's own, were their situations reversed, but--...

There is no need to think on his own shortcomings, not when there is another in need.

Mindful of Julius' condition, Sion gives pause where it is necessary, is patient when there is a need to wait for the Enforcer's breath to return to him, and remains on alert in the event his friend should no longer be able to remain on his feet—no, the Director is not beyond sweeping the other man up, into his arms once again. Though it is the Leithian docks which they make for and not the lush greenery of meadowland or the vast stretch of mountainside, when would Sion ever allow for a friend to fall behind...? ]

Once, you told me that you were unworthy. [ Of pursuing true justice. Of taking up the mantle of change. Of having the Director stand at his side, just as Sion is in this moment. Of so, so very many things that Sion hadn't been able to grasp at the time, but now looked upon with all the clarity of day. ] But you must understand that you are no different, no more and certainly no less, than any other soul in the Quad.

You are deserving of kindness, something which you have offered so readily to both myself and others. [ In small, gentle ways, much like attending Lapis' party for the sake of her happiness; like joining a pair of rambunctious, thrill-seeking speed demons on a race through Leith despite being in pain. ] You should be able to lean upon another without fear and without regret, because--...

[ His voice tapers off, gentling by the time he speaks next, words formed with a fluting, airy tone which gives shape a statement so natural, so right, that the Director may have been stating a simple fact of the world: ]

The power within you isn't you, it is yours. It will not tear you apart, nor will it bring harm to those who you hold dear. [ They're... the same, aren't they? Fools, worried about the monsters they'd the potential to be, consumed by ghosts of those they'd failed in the past. ] You'll not let it, and I will not either.