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

no one smiles like that ❁ lavi

[shikomizue]

[If he has to listen to the babbling of petty criminals, it's always more entertaining to listen to the batshit crazy ones. Tales of rising pyres and phantom storms that sounded like broken readings of folk stories entertained him over the open line to Eulogy.

He wouldn't have time to stop for a drink, or for any business opportunities - the most crucial of his contacts could be maintained over a secure network.

When those very men - some shrewd and some off in their own rights - echoed the mystification of the addled, Takasugi himself considers that the legends might be true.

Cursory plucking at the web of information leads him to a description of two familiar characters. A cowardly Company idiot and an affable eye patch wearing redhead - one would have been enough to catch his interest, and two are cause enough for a detour.

Neither would see Takasugi upon their rescue, their location gleaned from the broken sentences of brain rotted residents of the badlands. Lavi has been ushered to his room by a scantily clad blonde, who shoots him a dirty look the entire way. She seems to think this is nothing but an inconvenience, which she mutters with intentional volume as she deposits the 'cargo' in his quarters.

Little more than an hour later, the door will open after a short series of lazy knocks. Takasugi comes bearing nothing but his pipe, bowl half smoked.] Yo. [Casual, almost friendly, Takasugi leans against the wall.] I've heard the ending to an interesting story...

Perhaps you know the beginning. How do we come upon our heroes stranded in the badlands, fatefully spared by storms that brew in the blink of an eye and pyres that rise to burn the sky?

[inksplashes]

[ His spirits accordingly lifted by the prospect of not dying in the Badlands with the whiny prince in tow--and then further elevated by the wonderfully ill-dressed woman who leads him to his "room"--Lavi spends that hour between pick up and meeting the ship's owner in rest and reprieve.

He does not, however, accept more than the offer of passage. Neither food nor water has been granted, though it was certainly offered, and his state of dehydration would show, no doubt, were he not so otherwise mired in the grime and blood of the desert.

Still, he was gracious when he declined, knowing full well not to cross a would-be savior lest he transfigure them into a potential enemy too soon. Gratitude he gives freely, trust he hoards.

(Not that he ever trusts in others, as a general rule. That burden is one Yu alone bears, and its weight is mighty despite its fractured core.)

When Takasugi comes knocking, Lavi is against the wall of the room, placing himself at the best vantage point to see vectors of approach. Settled on the floor, he looks--and truly well is--tired, darkness beneath his eyes and a faint tremor in his hands.

This he conceals with a press of fingers into fist, knee drawn up carefully in front of him despite the newly inflicted--and some reopened--lacerations along his ribs. Lifting his head, he regards the figure perched against the wall with an even stare, an easy smile.

An enemy after all, he thinks for a moment, but that's not quite right. That was another life. Another persona. How many people has he been since they last met? Aki was not a long-lived character, fading out of view as so many things in early childhood seem to do. What didn't fade, what burns in his memories now, are the flames of that night, the screams of it.

But even this now seems like a pale moment of time, just one of many that the gaze of adulthood strips of its romanticism and makes plain. ]

Guess someone just got real lucky and made a pact with Mother Nature. Or maybe it was a pact with too much Bliss?

[ He laughs, the sound warm and rich and well despite the pain the convulsions cause him. ]

I imagine the first makes for a better story, and the second more realistic.

[ A beat, a smooth transition, seemingly casual. ]

Appreciate the assist though. When will we be touching down to Old Town?

[shikomizue]

[Food growing cold and congealed sits on the small circular table of Lavi's quarters. It doesn't go unnoticed as a sign, along the glass of water unmarked by dirtied fingerprints, of their passenger's delirious - and distrustful - state.

Apprehension isn't unexpected - Takasugi has come armed out of his own caution - though the degree to which it's painted on the redhead's body is dully amusing.

An intricate game of showing obvious suspicion to wipe away any veneer of lies, their sheen already pierced... or a simple case of exhaustion. Either way, Takasugi sees nothing but a creature forcing poise through pain.

He doesn't need a conclusion - his agenda doesn't hinge on the knots their communication may tie. Takasugi has come to confirm what he'd seen through the feed of the rescued party's boarding - a familiar boy surrounded by fire.

Though now, he supposes, those flames have long been extinguished.]

Heh. [Takasugi echoes Lavi's laugh, his voice stretched thin. From their cadence, one would assume their roles reversed - Lavi content among familiar holdings and Takasugi only narrowly slipping from the grip of death.] Three hours or so... [His confirmation is accompanied by a finger tapping idly on the stem of his pipe.] While we wait, I'd like to hear the story of Mother Nature's promise.

Unless you have something better for me. [He lets his body sink into a ledge on the wall, seated and sprawled. Running checks on the redhead had revealed am unfamiliar name - Lavi - and a particularly interesting association with a certain rough-spoken agent.

There are quite a few stories he wants to hear, and he has time enough to coax forth whichever threads he can twine his fingers in.]

[inksplashes]

Sorry, buddy.

[ He almost puts enough effort in that to make it sound sincerely apologetic, but not quite--either too exhausted or too impetuous to bother. Lavi reaches for the back of his neck, a common tick he's manufactured to make himself seem more anxious than he really is.

(His heart beat, in fact, is steadier than it has been in hours, cool and calm. Wariness and paranoia are old friends to him and he falls in line with them easily.)

Thus rubbing at his nape, his smile widens a little more in an artificial plead for forgiveness. ]

RAC business and such. We're not paid to be talkative about our warrants.

[ Not that he thinks it was really a request so much as a thinly veiled demand, but even at the mercy of another's charity, he can rely on technicalities and statutes to get him out of unnecessary conversations.

Especially with the likes of you, he thinks. ]

But if the warrant holder wants to tell you about it, I won't stop ya. You picked him up with me.

As for something better..

[ It's not, he knows, the wisest move. It is not a move of caution or calculated intent--it's exhausted youth showing itself in brash colors. An unwillingness to leave an itch alone despite knowing it'll surely bleed and scab if he scratches too hard. ]

You ever hear of Sugar Point? Place not too far from where you got us. Nasty business, what happened.

[shikomizue]

[His name may have changed, but the redhead's disregard for gravity remains consistent. The right words spoken in a tone that all but condemns them sounds childish - they're a display of security rather than a show of aggression.

Takasugi notices his own stillness as Lavi shifts to bring a fidgeting hand scrawling battered nails over the ridges of his spine. Fatigue suppresses all motion but the necessary, though the purpose of the redhead's display is vague.

So be it.

He lets his focus shift, the appeasement guiding his head to tilt away from the other. The room is untouched - it's the space between them that settles in Takasugi's view.

When the first layer of their caution is breached - a mention of the setting for their shared history breaching the formality of acting as strangers - he doesn't move. Only his countenance changes, lips cutting into a smile.] A great loss.

Shame that it's such a common story. [Distance lingers in his voice.] Though hearing you weave it may not be so dull.

[inksplashes]

More common than you know.

[ A sharp note there, weary and worn down in a way that doesn't fully fit with his state of physical exhaustion. It's a voice instead of an experience lived too many times to spark emotion, something rote and redundant however secretive it might be.

(Every story of humanity ends in the fireworks that had blistered the sky that night. Every word and action devolves into the rubble and detritus of war.

It's just the nature of the species, so far as this historian can tell.) ]

You know how it goes, yeah?

[ Casual, lilting--his expression subtly shifting into something a little slier. It's probably a rhetorical question. ]

People get up in arms about workin' conditions. They rebel. They're crushed.

'Cept..

[ He hums, shaking his head lightly and ignoring the involuntary wince that results. ]

Nah, just conspiracy theories. I'm sure you've got better things to do than listen to somethin' like that.

[ Besides, it seems to him that this ship's captain would be far better suited to expanding on those theories than Lavi. ]

[shikomizue]

[His smile wanes - corners tugging downwards and eye dulling for only a moment before his focus swims from the vacuum between them to bore into Lavi's fatigued, dark eye. Tragedies are so common they're constant - he knows this well.

The comment was clearly meant as a segue, but it digs into him regardless, eliciting reminders of the pyre licking at his ribs, always burning with the raging flames that still consume him.

They'll envelop all else as well, he knows because he'll see to it himself.

Such a thought guides his face back to a sharp grin.] Conspiracy theories... or wishful thinking?

Blame the Company and be burned with the rest of them, or blame your neighbor and spit in the ashes of their memory. Wouldn't it be easier to give responsibility for such a terror to another force entirely?

[He shrugs - apparently having better things to do than elaborate on ravings of confused reports but not too busy to spin vague questions they both know aren't quite relevant.]