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

[eggplanting]

[For the last year, Steph has prided herself on being self-sufficient, on keeping her secrets, not needing to rely on or trust anyone else. But it's such a relief to trust someone, and having them tell her that they'll figure it out.

If she looks a little overwhelmed for a second, it's because she is.]

Thank you, Rhys.

[It's not a whole lot of words, but there's a lot of feeling in them.]

[eggplanting]

[Steph isn't bothered by the disagreement; she expects it, and anyway, people are allowed to disagree with her viewpoint.]

I don't think anyone's better than anyone else. Not you or me or someone like Rhys, we're all just people, some of us just got luckier than others, doesn't make us worth less.

[valr]

[There's a thought there, something about knights and armor that sticks in Kara's mind for a second before she dismisses it, not sure what it means.

Anyway, there are more important things to worry about, like the corpse.]

Probably better to get rid of it.

[The prospect isn't a fun one, but there's less trouble for a missing person than there is for a dead one.]

I can handle it if you got places to be.

[She isn't going to make Hawke more complicit than she already is.]

[ofobedience]

[He wants to disagree. Wants to remind her that perhaps that's the case between people, but he isn't a person, he's a tool, a weapon, he's a Dog. Such sentiments don't apply to thinks such as himself. His lips part around the words, but then he closes them again-- he's already aware of her stance on that, that she'd only disagree with him.

And so he says nothing.]

[slotted]

[ he can only imagine what corrin drinks at home. actually, this guy doesn't even seem to be the type to drink alcohol. a lot different from leo, that's for sure. ]

Don't drink it all at once.

[ ... but, okay. maybe he does feel a little—very little—pride for surprising corrin?! better than his drink being called weird! ]

[slotted]

You don't know how to let things go.

[ which... is weird, okay!! or at least be subtle about your salt or something, rhys?! ]

Kind of like everybody in this place, really.

[slotted]

[ nobody can call leo weird after seeing how vaughn takes his coffee. ]

Why not make the entertainment?

[rhygret]

[ And Rhys shrugs casually, but there's something more fond in the faint quirk of his lips than usual. Steph brings that out in him. ]

We're friends. I've got your back okay? [ No matter what. ]

[eggplanting]

I know, same goes for you.

[She'd have his back no matter what, even if he hadn't been so eager to help with this, so it feels important to say.

And then she smiles, letting out a breath with a quiet laugh.]

God, I am so glad I don't have to lie about this anymore.

[rhygret]

That's pretty normal for Qreshi, I'm surprised you don't know that if you as many as it looks like you do. [ Since...nice establishment, lots of Qreshi here, etc. THIS PERSONALITY TRAIT IS UNIVERSAL a.k.a they are all petty and hold grudges. ]

[oneirism]

But I want to.

[So that's that! Let's see... Maybe she can make an omelette or something? She kinda knows how to make those, so that could work.]

Maybe an omelette then... If you want, can you find some stuff you want to put in it and chop it?

[Luckily her skills with baking means she can crack eggs without getting bits of shell everywhere.]

[rhygret]

[ Is it weird that in that moment the thought of how nice that sounds hits Rhys? Just...seeing her smile, hearing her laugh. It's nice. He'd like to see her like that more often. ]

Yeah...real weight off your shoulders when you don't have to hide stuff all the time.

[ Says the guy constantly hiding the fact that he's a) being blackmailed by the Resistance and b) hiding illegal hackmods. ]

[eggplanting]

[And with that, her smile turns a little cheeky, as she decides they've had enough of Big Secrets and Feelings for the day.]

Oh, I'm still totally hiding stuff. Just like... a whole bunch of bodies buried in my backyard, that kinda thing.

[It's probably good she doesn't have a backyard.]

[rhygret]

[ It's a sad thing she doesn't have a backyard you mean, Rhys has an entire orchard and vineyard in his, and that's not counting the extra properties. ]

Oh really, a whole bunch huh. You. With your, what? Three square feet of space in that tiny place of yours?

[eggplanting]

The trick is to dig a really deep hole, just stack 'em up like a really fucked up game of jenga.

[Steph that's gross!!]

[slotted]

Just because it's normal doesn't mean it's... likable.

[ his voice gets a bit softer towards the end of his sentence, almost as if he doesn't want rhys to hear what he says. ]

[tirejacked]

Gosh, I'm hurt.

[He's not. Anyway, as they rapidly start to thin the ranks around them—]

That answers one question.

[Gonna give the second a go, or does he get to live in suspense?]

[eggplanting]

[He seems like the type to not actually give a shit about whether people remember him, so she highly doubts that.

As she dodges another couple of punches, going low to avoid the attacks, she adds:]

Thought I could use the extra money.

[For why she's here, although it's a straight up lie. She's not going to tell him she's trying to figure out why she can fight so easily.]

[tousei]

[ Eggciting... ]

Then, please take half as well.

[ His fridge is kind of empty though so there isn't much to pick out of. ]

I can make tea?

askdfl thank u ;3; rhys is great, clearly we should make up for this by doing all the threads

[oneirism]

[That's... a rather specific thing to focus on. She didn't think the methods of filtering out toxins in the Badlands would be anything worthwhile to someone that lives on Leith.

So she's quiet for a moment, gold eyes still focused on him before they close in thought. Humming once more as she keeps flicking through her internal files, and then her eyes open again, watching him almost curiously as she answers.]

That's right. So it's things like air filters, purifiers, face masks, protective goggles and clothing. Only really temporary measures, and the stuff the outlaws have isn't always in the best shape either. They would need repairing and to be updated often. Some would've gotten their hands on materials like seals for doors and windows, too.

[Pause. She really can't resist being a liiiittle bit curious.] Are you thinking of heading out there?

[rhygret]

[ HAHAA OH MY GOD seriously that is gross and Rhys obviously wasn't expecting that from her because he literally just stares at her for several seconds.

He has very suddenly lost his desire for lunch. ]

Ohhhh my god, I'm never going to be able to play that game again without picturing that.

[oneirism]

[Lapis is totally full of eggcellent ideas...

And she looks like she's about to argue for a moment, since he's the one that needs to eat! But then she pauses, sighing softly as she concedes, for once.]

Alright, as long as you eat all of your half. [Maybe she should quietly nag him for a food list and fill up his fridge too, before he goes... But at least there's some things to put into the omelette.

And at his offer to make tea, she nods and peeks over at him with a soft smile.]

Oh, yes please, that would be great.

CLOSED | Lavi, W5D6

[sunderings]

[ Old Town burns.

A Company vehicle once the forefront of a barricade now lays overturned, dented and smoldering at the hands of civilians desperate for recognition, their passions as incendiary and as turbulent as the wind which whisks residual flames, the fumes of gasoline, into high pillars, feeding them until the residential block is a forest painted in scorching red, fire blooming across rooftops of ramshackle homes which take to the heat of the blaze as easily as kindling to a spark.

Many have been drawn out, into the streets, by the commotion, but more remain indoors, seeking safehaven away from the protests which had swelled into something bigger, more frightening, and uncontrollable, behind firmly-closed shutters.

Old Town burns, but the Director refuses to let it end in tragedy.

Begin an evacuation! is his command to those Enforcers assigned to him for something so very different (oppression and control), these people are not our enemies, it is our duty to protect them!, he rallies, demanding of those men and women not yet mobilized: the public would look to us and see little more than faceless antagonists, but you are more. Let us move, now, to prove that there is heart beneath our uniform!

And move they do, whether it is out of a will to protect or fear of answering to the Director himself, a man who is either ethereal (or monstrous) in the way the smoldering chaos of the fire seems not to touch him at all—dauntless, he ventures into building after building as flames twist skyward, accompanied by thick plumes of ash, emerging from each with fretful, fearful tenants in escort before flames have chance enough to devour the structures until--...

He doesn't.

In the last building threatened by the swift encroachment of flame, Sion has affixed himself in a collapsing entryway, maintaining the last of its structural integrity by way of becoming a pillar with which to hold it open and up. Above his raised arm: a summons of programmable matter (solidified light) to support the beams overhead in tandem with his own means of (in)human strength.

Imminent, the threat of the building caving in (but there are those, yet, who remain inside), and no chance at all of a single man (altered or otherwise) staying (surviving) the collapse of three stories of housing. Already, Sion can feel the barrier of programmable matter at his palm fissuring like glass, but he does not abandon his station—instead, he reaches toward someone (who is it?) on the other side of the entryway, determined to see them safely out, into the street, even as the construct above seems to groan and heave, wood splintering above...!

Before coming crashing down in a massive denouement fit to kill a King. ]

[affinities]

'Just' security still means that you're allowed to have an opinion on food, surely.

[It was one thing to not want to step foot into political matters, but even the most devoted RAC agent was allowed to have feelings on something that simple, right? He can't imagine that there's anything in their rules about what you could and couldn't enjoy with chips.

He perks up when it seems something confidential is about to be discussed, then settles back with an amused look on his face. He really has been lucky to find someone with a good sense of humor.]

So that's the trick, is it? I'll be known far and wide as Corrin, the hero who brought everyone the kind of condiments they like.

[He bobs his head, shaking it a little ruefully.] What a start to my legend.

[ofobedience]

[And he allows it, doesn't try to snatch his hand away or react with startled violence, sees the movement coming before it connects and as such is ready for it. Then the feel of Sion's hand over his, light but firm, and there's a vague sense of relief in him, to know that he's not quite doing this alone. That there is a certain level of guidance.

That Sion is stronger than he looks is something Giovanni already knows, and even here, like this, demonstrated in this small way, it leaves him wondering why such a man left the thick of it for what amounts to a desk job. It's a hard thing to understand, for something like him.

No matter.

For now he focuses all of his attention on the task at hand, and beneath the pass of Sion's fingers there is the unsteady beating of his own pulse, a quickness there, a small indication of his own concern over getting this right. And then comes that moment when everything finds realignment, the sound of it, the bone-thrum felt beneath the press of his palm and there's a hot twinge of excitement in him, something unsteady and feral, something that wants more than this, to break and tear and shatter and--

--he pushes it back. Holds on to it, even as once again his blood-coloured eyes search the lines of Sion's expression, as he tries to hone down his attention to the thing he's being asked to do. To mend, not to break.

Sion gives the command (calm as a request) for him to hold the position, and Giovanni does exactly that as the other man's hand slides away, as he reaches for the splint. And it's done, almost. He didn't ruin this, didn't mess it up or lose himself to the urge for something altogether darker.

Almost imperceptibly, he lets out a quiet breath.

Still, when he speaks, it's with the same old wryness.]

Only because you're holding the leash.