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

[eusford]

Ha? So you're saying that somewhere it's documented?

[ Not like he could get it if he wanted, and if it's not a secret for her "line of work" then it's something she must not mind being out in the open. The opposite of his little secret; nothing would be said about his illness from himself or anyone else here. ]

What is your name, by the way?

he looks like a kitten akfjadkf

[eusford]

Possibly, but you're still terrible. [ But something does catch his attention, something he latches onto and it's evident in the way that he stares with a half-lidded, curious gaze. ] Neither of us? So I'll be included if this ends up successful... or if it fails.

[ Of course he can't leave the last part unsaid. As curious as he is Crowley can't help but be a little pessimistic despite allowing himself to be roped into this mess--or, rather, not roped in but leaning in with the curiosity similar to that of a cat on the counter. Leaning over, anticipation and excitement building in his stomach, it's so much more fun than going day by day under the careful watch of his family. ]

Then I guess you can depend on me for that for now. But try not to get us into any deep shit, alright?

[brickinthewall]

[It's not that she doesn't mind.

It's that there's not a choice in the matter.

Irrelevant when she can make it, a secret until it matters. No one needs to know she can't burn, and no one needs to know how she got there.]

King.

[She doesn't answer the first question, and not quite the second either.]

You?

[eusford]

Hm...

[ He has all the reason to explain how difficult it is for him to "drop all the bullshit", and for a moment he envies Rin's ignorance. It's not like he told him his life story nor is he even familiar of what life is like as a member of the Nine, especially someone who hasn't been kicked from Qresh and settled with their own land.

Of course why he was still given that privilege when he could have been kicked into Westerly by his own blood was still a mystery. Whether or not they intend to use his illness for something or throw him under the bus when things get bad didn't matter, he's completely left in the dark. ]

I'll explain to you how difficult it is to do that when you're able to complete one book.

[stressors]

[ what else can they really do at this point.

their world is overthrown by hate, by hope crumbling to pieces all around them, and the people's foundations are shaking with all the broken promises that there could've ever been a better life than this. the dirt-water sloshes under their military-grade boots, and the smell of blood clots thick in the air, and nothing makes sense in those crowded instants where screams curdle the stagnant atmosphere, where triggers are pulled, and sion's barrier shines like the only bright thing in all this darkness.

sion tells him all the right words to say to the audience. shiro's a military man. he's been bred to follow orders. whatever grievances he might have with the company do not belong in this moment, with his blood running hot on adrenaline, a split-second decision charging every nerve-ending to action. he doesn't have the proper authority to order an immediate withdraw, but it doesn't matter, he could care less.

companymen and citizens alike have fallen in the mayhem. if it means he could prevent another unnecessary death, another goddamn bloodbath, a city burned down by bombs, then overstepping his bounds is worth it. ]

Under the authority of Director Sion Astal -

[ there's volume enough in his lungs to shout above the angry voices, and he's booming over the screech of the crowd, the people pushing through their lines and pounding their fists against sion's screen, the shields that their men are holding. his tone is steady, so loud it rips his throat to shreds, but -- sion is right, at least, that shiro's likable enough, that his speech doesn't earn the dismissal of his peers. or perhaps this faction has been looking for an excuse to withdraw from the very start. it's insane. ]

We're pulling back, right now. Men! Regroup at the Old Town checkpoint.

[ the rush is strange, the split-second pause of hesitation. there are black armored bodies already turning around at his order, driven by the authority in his voice, the credentials that come with the name, sion astal.

but he's reaching out for sion in the end. come on, he says -- and doesn't quite realize that his hand's grabbed for the nearest part of him, that his knuckles are grazing something sickeningly warm, grotesquely familiar, blood, his mind frantically puts two and two together.

. . .

what the fuck, it's not fucking red, or even blood orange, what the actual fuck - ]

[eggplanting]

[Steph, meanwhile, is just amused at her great joke.]

I managed to make jenga exciting, you're welcome!

[eggplanting]

[She just smiles, a little sad and a little fond.]

Don't agree with me on that one, huh?

[eggplanting]

[This is get dangerously close to "too many feelings" and there are two ways that Steph could play it, but right now she doesn't feel like covering up with a joke.

So she braces a hand on his waist, then leans up on her tip toes to press a quick kiss to Rhys' cheek.]

You're a good friend, Rhys. Thanks.

[rhygret]

Jenga was fine just the way it is before you added dead bodies!

[ Jenga is r u i n e d ]

[eggplanting]

There is nothing fine about jenga.

[She's just.

She's just really fucking good at jenga so it's boring.]

[valr]

Shit.

[The word is quiet, almost something sad in there as the reality of it sinks in, Kanda's words striking a chord. He's a weapon, not a monster.

It's only the tap of his chopsticks against her bowl that makes her eat, though she's a little grateful for the time it buys her to put her thoughts together. The noodles are good, but she's kind of zoned out.]

You know how many there are?

rhys's favourite

[rhygret]

Don't worry about it, I'm being careful. Besides, technically I haven't even done anything to get any of us in trouble. It's all planning and research at this phase. [ Rhys smirks with the sort of confidence that normally accompanies any of his "plans," baseless but present all the same. This is going to work, he just knows it. ]

If anything goes down I'll handle it.

[rhygret]

What?? Jenga is an awesome game, there is literally nothing wrong with it. You can play it alone or with people and it's still just as good.

[ aka Rhys is Not Great At Jenga ]

[ofobedience]

[He dips his head a little, smiles just slightly.]

My apologies. But I think, perhaps, you don't fully understand my situation.

[eggplanting]

It's so boring, there's no challenge.

[She's not even bragging she just assumes everyone finds jenga as easy as she does.]

[ofobedience]

[Some hit home all the same, thud into fast-healing flesh and Giovanni barks out a laugh that suggests he's enjoying this just fine, that he'd like to stay right here and play. Again though, he moves wide, creates distance, pulls the trigger.

Stands back and watches with his face split wide on a smile.]

[rhygret]

[ It's probably literally the first time anyone has ever done that to him, and it leaves Rhys stunned for a moment in her wake. Maybe in some fantasy book or novel this would be where his heart speeds up or he hears his pulse pounding in his ears, maybe even catches up to the moment and leans down to try and kiss her back.

But this is Rhys, and this isn't a story. Steph leans in and pecks his cheek, and by the time he lifts his cybernetic hand to his cheek to feel over the area she's pulled back. It's over just like that, and Rhys feels like...like he should've somehow done something with that. He almost wants to throw his arms around her in a tight hug. ]

You're...you're welcome, Steph. Really, I... Y, you're welcome.

[rhygret]

Of course it's challenging, do you know how hard they get to stack near the end?? Anything topples it when you get to that point. You need cunning and strategy to hold out until your opponent loses.

[ Jenga is Not This Complicated. Rhys is just that loserly and nerdy about it. ]

excellent

[oneirism]

['Something like that', he says. Cue her brows just raising in response, but she doesn't press for now. Instead she'll just focus on that question, since it is a pretty good question.]

The toxins are mostly concentrated within the Badlands, so don't worry. Plus I imagine the Company does at least some filtering, considering they have employees based here.

[She would hope so, anyway. Maybe she could ask Sion about this...]

Though we're still at risk to the rain, so it's not really completely safe.

[slotted]

Actually. It's not my loss.

[ his mouth curves into a small smile at that, totally finding himself funny right now. ]

[inksplashes]

[ He smiles sheepishly, a short giggle chuckle at his lips as he studies the scanner in Rhys's hands. He doesn't recognize most of the information on it outside of some of the topographic information, piquing his curiosity all the more.

Just what is he scanning then?? A good place to put hot virgins? Or just hot people in general. Lavi isn't that picky. ]

Huh? Oh, yeah.

[ Lavi drops an arm to wave his hand casually as if being shred by burning buildings is just par for the course in his daily life.

(And for the most part, it is.) ]

There was more stabbing than crushing, though.

[ He begins to laugh again before falling short, the mirth draining off his face and expression hardening as he turns his head towards the east. Eye narrowed, he focuses on the sound of the wind as it billows through..

Something's off, but he can't narrow down just what it is. Maybe it's the way the wind howls, or maybe it's just the toxic haze skewing his line of sight, but there's an almost primordial surge of anxiety in his gut. His muscles tighten and tense, battle-ready.

Softer than before, some of the joviality lacking: ]

How long do ya think that'll take you?

[inksplashes]

[ Lavi leans in, voice low like a conspirator's whisper. ]

....

.......

Carrot cake.

[ It's a rabbit thing. ]

[inksplashes]

Oh yeah? Whatcha planning?

[ Even if there had been time to counter her disparaging remark about his description, Lavi wouldn't have bothered. He doesn't think she meant it as a personal insult, and really.. she's right.

His talent lies in describing events without the weight of personal bias. To describe relationships which hinge on emotion and attachment?

Lavi would fail his tenets if he ever did that well.

(Even here and now, when that pang of sympathy rises in his chest at her clear confusion and emptiness over the concept of friendship.. he pushes that aside, away, down.) ]

[inksplashes]

[ Sweet embrace of death translates more as 'rank and redolent with ash' for him, nose scrunching up in a combination of disgust and.. nostalgia.

(That's weird, isn't it? He doesn't know anyone who smokes, but there's something strangely familiar, and in itself, almost comfortable about the aroma.

Still, his task as chauffer seems to be coming to a close and there's more refugrees that need his aid. Hands in pockets, he takes a quick scan around the area--flames here and there, the rise of screams in the distance--before turning his attention back to Nailchu. ]

Geeze, I want a shower. Think you'll be okay from here on?

[lacuscular]

Juvia thought she could distract people with her water.. In the end, it didn't even get past someone like Rhys!

[ She's freaking out on the inside-- and the outside. ]

It's just so.. Embarrassing! I wish I could sink in a hole.