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

[sunderings]

"Who's a bean pole?" Sion scoffs, largely in play and with a puff of his cheeks as he sips, again, at the poor imitation of a 'vanilla' flavored drink. "You've no right to disparage me so, and you forget that for all you loafed through the training which you did not sleep away, there were those who held affection for the gentle man who remained a fool, unchanged by his time in the military."

That gentle man who holds to the Director's wrist with care, the sensation of touch a spark—one electron, one proton, two neutrons: a balanced equation, spinning like a top—which grants Sion more energy by far than the supplement which is set aside (the bottle emptied by half) and forgotten in favor of something which can be so keenly felt. Were it anyone else, the hand about his wrist would have only been perceived as pressure and the faintest warmth beyond the ever-present pain his body is in, but with Ryner... it has always been like this. What they had endured together had tethered them to one another in more ways than one, in both the physical and not so—for two designed to complement each other down to the marrow, of course it would be natural for them to miss one another.

Of course, it would be natural for Ryner to worry when Sion silenced the connection between them, wanting for his friend to know nothing of the internal audit and its proceedings (the Company agents who the Director himself had interrogated and disposed of), or the tragedy upon Leith (there had been so, so much death, and Sion could only weep with the bereaved as the bodies of their loved ones were burned), making the decision on his own—as he always did—to shut the Enforcer out.

"I..." Fingers curling against Ryner's hand, golden eyes catch with bleary brown. Innately, he knows what it is that the other man asks of him, but it is difficult for Sion to speak of himself. "...wanted only to protect you, Ryner."

Ryner, who has known such hardship in his life for reasons he could not help; for that which Ryner himself could not control.

"Please understand." So softly do the two words fall that it seems Sion had been afraid to speak them—what he has asked for is too much (were Ryner ever to ask that his welfare be disregarded by the Director himself, Sion knows what his own answer would be), and yet this is how it must be. Ryner, in his ignorance, will not be swept up into Company matters, and Sion...

...Sion will find solace in shifting to lie beside his friend upon the couch, forehead touching to forehead, and the long fall of his hair spilling over the cushions and onto the flooring below.

"When we've the chance, we'll go to a bistro on Leith. You'll grumble, because I've woken you up much too early to account for travel-time between moons, and I will order..." Laying down had been a bad idea, hadn't it? Already, sleep has begun its descent upon him, so swiftly that Sion finds himself blinking it back from his eyes. "...pancakes with cinnamon syrup, walnuts, and brie."

A twitch of his lips, a slow (teasing) smile.

"It will be just like date, don't you think?"

And of course I only notice typos in my last tag now, whoops

[somnusrex]

"Affection, huh? Those people were idiots, then."

But it was fond. How could it be anything but? For all that Sion was teasing him as usual, the two of them were far too close and connected not to care about one another. Probably more than they should have, really, but being raised as weapons had the tendency to cause those weapons to cling to whatever they could. Especially when kept so very isolated. Sion had easily garnered the favor of all his superiors, but even so, Ryner had dedicated himself to protecting him.

So Sion's declaration that he'd only meant to protect Ryner made him scoff. It wasn't that he held it against him. Far from it; he understood all too well. But it still seemed so utterly ridiculous that he had to turn away so as not to laugh in Sion's face at how absurd it sounded.

"Of course I understand. Have you forgotten what I said when they first brought you to R&D? You don't have to go through everything on your own. I'm not so fragile that I can't share the load a little. It just pisses me off when you hide things from me, since you should know by now that you never have to."

Because he knew. Not the details, obviously, but for as much as Sion wanted to protect him, Ryner had always had a very strong tendency to seek out information and had wanted to know about what was happening. The tragedy on Leith...knowing Sion, he'd been there, right in the thick of it. It had to have hurt, especially since there would have been absolutely nothing to be done to ease the people's suffering. He put gentle pressure on the hand in his own. Not squeezing, really, but hopefully somewhat reassuring all the same. He wasn't angry. Never really had been, just worried. And he knew what he'd said on arrival had hurt.

"Hey. What I said when I came in. I didn't mean to call you a martyr. I mean, you act like you want to be, sometimes, but the mods were never your fault. I just don't want you to be in pain. I hate seeing what it does to you."

The blood that wasn't even blood anymore, the pain Sion was constantly in that he so rarely showed to anyone...well. That had all been done to him, and Ryner still carried the guilt of not being able to stop it in the slightest. Sure, he'd had a lot done to himself too, but seeing it happen to someone else was worse. Especially Sion, who actually wanted to be good for the Company. Ryner had never given a damn.

He closed his eyes when Sion finally lay beside him, happy to have won that small battle. Getting Sion Astal to lie down at all, ever, was quite the feat, and he was glad the idiot had listened for once. Up close, he was more than obviously exhausted, the bags under his eyes pronounced.

He laughed a little when Sion sleepily smiled at him and rambled on about pancakes and travel and Ryner being grumpy.

"A date, huh? With some grumpy loser who's mad you woke him up to drag him to Leith when we could just make pancakes here? You really need to set the bar higher for yourself. I'll go, though. Fancy pancakes sound pretty good."

And with that, he pulled the blanket he always insisted Sion keep on the back of the couch - a luxurious, thick thing that was huge enough to cover both of them with room to spare - over them, sighing in happiness at the warmth and the comfort of the couch. Sleeping on the ground sucked, no matter how used to it he was.

"Go to sleep."

He didn't really need to say it; Sion was obviously close to drifting off anyway. But it was as much a command for himself as it was his boss.

[sunderings]

"But you've only just returned." Drifting off or otherwise, it is still in Sion to childishly give protest to any authority not his own; to contest Ryner, a subordinate both audacious enough to command his superior, and utterly foolhardy to believe that his word might ever be heeded by a man notorious for defying the limitations of the physical body on so regular a basis.

Despite how expertly the blanket had been draped across them both, or how relieved the Director felt to simply be in close proximity to the other man (though Sion had been the one to silence the link between them, he'd missed Ryner; missed this), Sion pulls back, propping his head up, upon bent elbow and the open palm of his hand.

"What's more, I'm quite certain that you intend to sleep enough for the both of us." And wake up sleep-muzzled and groggy, likely after Sion himself had taken leave of his office. "After all, are you not Ryner Lute, King of the thousand-years' nap? Truly, if you had any heart at all, you'd not have coaxed me to the sofa, but instead joined me at my desk to assist with collecting data on the areas hit hardest by the P43X attacks."

For those were the districts where, come tomorrow, Sion would send teams of Enforcers to distribute aid and offer their hands in burying the fallen of Westerley. And were his own condition to improve, the Director would see fit to join them, but not before assigning Ryner to another mission, perhaps upon Leith. Because... despite what Ryner had said to him, now and all those years ago, between them, there is a debt still owed. Ryner had sacrificed too much protect them him, when they'd been young, when--...

"You're... also wrong, you know." About many things, about even Sion himself. Sion, who is so reluctant to admit to his own weaknesses in front of his friend. "When I received news that I was an excellent candidate for research, I went willingly." Or, at least, believing as much had been how he coped; a mechanism created by the mind to maintain some desperate illusion of control. The thought that he had been able to consent to all that had been done to him... it kept him stable, mentally stalwart when all else seemed to crumble around him. "I... we are in better positions, now, able to help those who are truly in need, and for that I do not regret being compliant with that which the Company asked of me."

But perhaps, still, Sion confuses the word 'asked' with 'demanded'; 'choice' with being 'controlled'.

Something stings at his eyes, acrid as the Director manages the air of the Badlands to have been, and it is a chore to blink it back, contesting not only the call of sleep, but a foreign emotion in his chest.

(It hurts, in a way the ever-present pain coursing through his body never had.)

"You have a lot to make up for on our date, I--..." Why... why does it feel as though he cannot breathe? His body tenses, even though his voice remains relaxed, "If a bistro should not be adventurous enough, you will surprise me."

[somnusrex]

"Yeah, and I'm tired. So are you, so quit trying to stay awake until you hurt yourself."

Ryner was a little grumpy about it, but not terribly so. Sion had always protested against any sort of orders, but Ryner had never really cared. He just wanted to help as much as he could. It had nothing to do with trying to be in power, he just wanted to take care of the Director since there was really no way he'd take care of himself.

"I'm going to sleep, but quit being so stubborn. You need to rest too. I'll join you at the desk if you get some sleep. We're both exhausted, and trying to do paperwork isn't going to do much for either of us when we're both so tired. Quit being so dumb, you know as well as I do that you can't be at your best when you refuse to take care of yourself. I'll help when we wake up."

He was fine with collecting data, but it was frustrating that Sion always seemed to keep him from going to a place that could cause him harm. He decided to wait to see what happened, although he wasn't expecting anything different than usual.

He sighed. "I know you don't regret it. But it doesn't mean you deserved it. just because you went willingly doesn't mean you should have experienced the things they did to you."

And with that, he put his arm around Sion. He felt his body tense, and worried about him. Probably too much.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll surprise you. You okay? We can go to the med bay if you need to..."

Feeling Sion tense had him worried.

[sunderings]

"A trip to the med bay will not be necessary," Sion sighs the words out, forcing a laugh.

What a strange thing, it had been, which seized him: tension, accompanied by the too-pervasive notion that the world had somehow drifted off its axis; that the sight before his eyes (Ryner, thoroughly vexed and resisting each and every one of Sion's gentle attempts at coaxing him into banter and into play) could not possibly be true. But... it is Ryner's arm which is around him now, holding him steady and perhaps a touch too protectively. It is Ryner who has always served as his counterweight, pulling him back, and Sion finds that his resolve to remain upright has dissolved away—soon, his head rests atop the couch-cushions once again, his thoughts turning to that which Ryner would attest to even now:

(Just because you went willingly doesn't mean you should have experienced the things they did to you.)

"I am always all right with you beside me, Ryner." Had Ryner already forgotten the reason why he'd been so cross with Sion to begin with? Now that they've been reunited, there is precious little which might bring harm to the Director, especially now that he's within the clutches of a great, sleepy dragon who would surely incinerate anyone who happened upon him in his response with a single, great breath of flame. "Go to sleep, then. I'll still be here when you wake."

And in a bid to provide reassurance, he curls in closer to his friend, murmuring with a (sleepy) amused loft of brow:

"This way... if I move to leave, you'll know."