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]

You will not.

[ He holds fast to his friend, Julius who is a man struggling to walk his own path; to live by all that is good and right before the end. And it is an end which the Director plainly refuses with a shake of his head, his arm securing about Julius' waist as they press on, traversing the road before them as a pair of shooting stars: Sion, who burns steady and bright, and Julius who flickers and flares, on the verge of collapse, but is so too resisting of the fact. ]

You are not a prisoner of fate. [ Of that which he'd endured alone for a decade, and more than that, if one were only to count present day. But... even though Sion cannot pretend to know what it is that Julius had been meant to become (he only sees the signs in tissues disgorged and dispelled, none too dissimilar from the way his own body makes room for the continued growth of biological circuitry within his system), he is unfailing sure that it may be delayed. It may be fought, and when Sion's speaks, his cadence falls upon the ears like a hymn sung before battle; his belief that everyone may be saved as strong as it has always been: ] Do you not know? Change is the universe's most fluid, most human form of power, and it is precisely what the Quad is most in need of.

[ A change. A light shining in the dark. A beacon to follow in times of hardship and despair. ]

Old ways and dated prophecies crumble into the dust when the future arrives, and it is always arriving. [ With a turn of his head, he makes to catch Julius' eyes, gold (over-bright with emotion, with passion for his friend) boring into grey as tears are staved off, kept at bay by way of a smile, heartbreaking and bittersweet.] Even here, even now, right beneath our feet.

You are only in need of something to hold you here, in this time and place. Constant change means confusion, a state of flux; we need only to figure out where your center is to keep you safe, Julius.

[ Alive and safe, whole and hale—if questioned, Sion will elaborate on this 'center', on how he might hope to stabilize someone with failing health, deterioration attributed to human experimentation. But until then--... ]

As I said before, I'll not let the power inside of you tear you apart, but...

[ Voice softening, gentling, he is undoubtedly respectful of Julius' wishes, even if he cannot abide by the thought of the other man dying and leaving his friends (his heart) behind. ]

I will help you prepare for the future which you wish to realize. [ Being the person that he is, Sion could do no less. ] Whatever materials may yet be in your name, I will see to it that they are transferred appropriately.

[tousei]

[ This acceptance and lack of pressure to push him to do something he was already set against is what reaches him in the end - people who were willing to let him take it at an own pace, a Rapunzel shit into a lab for the past ten years, someone whose view of the world was much more distorted than he lets on. Patience is something rarely affordable in the Quad, even for someone of highborn status like him. ]

I hope they can help others. I do have... one last living relative, not by blood but only by deed, she may have a say in this matter. But what I can give, I will give to you.

[ His mother's sister, the one who had ratted her out in the first place. Julius has not seen her for years. ]

Thank you... my friend.

[sunderings]

Julius...?

[ It isn't so often that the Director—a man known for the art he made of words, his speech woven into elegant tapestries of color and sound with which to hearten others, granting them safety and and all the strength to be found in his own convictions—finds himself speechless. And yet, in this moment, Sion finds no response for the way Julius entrusts himself to him, the other man unhesitant when he avows what I can give, I will give to you, and thinks to give the Director thanks.

(To call Sion friend, a sentiment which the Director hadn't expected to be returned.)

No, perhaps there is no response to be found in the here and now, only action which sees Sion's footfalls slow to a careful stop, the arm about Julius' waist remaining gentle-strong in its grip even as the Director turns to catch grey eyes with gold.

Gold which, for the second time in Julius' presence, is over-bright, hinting at tears which have yet to fall. ]

There is--... [ (There is no need to cry, Sion. Julius will be all right. Even if you must move the heavens themselves in order to save him, you will.) ] ...no need to thank me.

[ Leaning forward ever so slightly, Sion touches his forehead to Julius' own, lingering there for a moment as his eyes fall closed, silver lashes fanning against cheeks to stay his tears. Moisture, which dampens his cheeks because while it is an honor to be the acting vessel of another's wish, Sion would much prefer that Julius be able to see his own aispirations realized for himself.

(That Julius would one day know his heart is beautiful as it is human; that it is worth believing in.) ]

After all, I've only done as I promised. [ One breath, then two. Eyes open. A slow drawing away. ] I said I would stand by your side, did I not? Until the day when you find your light.

[ And even long after that. ]

I will do all that I can to ensure that your wish to help others is known, but before then—

[ There is one thing which he might offer to the other man, beyond the aid of an escort to his ship; something which will enable the Director to return to the Company labs in search of a way to help stave off the end which Julius had predicted for himself. ]

—will you allow me to help you?

[tousei]

[ This is a very emotional scene, which makes him all the more grateful towards Sion for being patient, and understanding. These are not two things that are easily afforded in this kind of times. There are very little words left. What has been said had already been said, the depths of kindness and empathy are not things he thinks he deserves - but if he works towards paying it forward, perhaps he will be able to earn his due one day.

He stays quiet and unmoving throughout, both as a sign of respect towards the other and out of his own weakness. ]

I will. Thank you, again.

[ He knows better than to hope for success, but he can respect the other man's wishes. ]

[sunderings]

[ How could the Director have ever hoped to be anything other than patient, offering his own equanimity to a friend in need? Though tears had fallen on Julius' behalf, they are surely no sign of weakness, but only of compassion; of quiet strength. Understanding is the very least he can give to a man who had struggled (and struggles still, walking forward and on, regardless of how he'd been hurt) to live and to find a way to leave something good behind in the wake of so, so very much pain.

The task Julius has entrusted to him is a blessing for others; a testament to the fact that no one is truly a product of another's design, that by will alone--...

Hope might always be created.

(Even if Julius has yet to find that hope for himself.) ]

You do not understand. [ —Sion murmurs with a shake of his head, his eyes flicking up, mirroring the starlight cast down from overhead. ] I wish to help you in another way.

[ His free hand gives rise, a fore and index finger tapping lightly against his own temple in a fluid gesture meant to draw Julius' eye. ]

Integrated here is a biometric scanning system. [ It is something he's never confessed to Julius before, for there had simply been no need. What had been done to the Director, how he'd been modified for the sake of the Company... it is inconsequential in comparison to so very many things. ] It is within my ability, to see that which people carry with them; to identify the structures of foreign modifications and genetics.

Should I be able to glimpse a clear enough picture, I will be able to work toward something to counteract your condition.

[ And not so simply suppress it. ]

But... [ Optimistic, the Director may be, but his smile is a flickering thing, somehow unreadable in this moment. ] ...only with your permission.

[tousei]

[ There is surprise in Julius' expression, very much so - a suspicion that perhaps this empathy had another root, now proven in the information so delicately offered. Sion speaks as if they were inconsequential, yet he knows that they are anything but - technology like this always bordered on illegal, and it speaks volumes - of how Sion is able to maintain his positive countenance.

There has to be something behind it, some will propping it up, but it's no place of his to ever question. ]

The data, and instructions - all the work of Rachel Claudius was destroyed upon her death, by her own prescient hand. I have little to offer beyond my consent.

[ So yes, go ahead. ]

[sunderings]

Then... If I should drift for too long during the process—

[ Admirable, the way Julius offers everything to him, the other man forthright where, were their positions only reversed, the Director isn't certain he would be. Tenuous, is Sion's willingness to place burden upon others, such that when Julius looks to him in surprise—expressive in a way the Director had never before glimpsed—his heart skips a beat, a pause passing between them like the nervous flick of a bird's wing.

Julius... you and I are by far more similar than you think.

Together, they are two fashioned by the hands of those men and women seeking to fulfill higher purposes, greater things.

And so too have they been built to deteriorate, their personhood threatened by the likes of the slow encroachment of madness, erosion brought about by pain, and flesh which only seems to cannibalize itself, resulting in--...

The weariness he glimpses, now, in Julius' face.

He will need to act swiftly, then: ]

—pull me back? [ Julius will realize the nature of Sion's request no sooner than the Director lapses into silence, golden eyes seeming to turn to lambent, liquid amber, streaking an after-image in the dark as all other functions of his body become limited (his breath going shallow; the arm about Julius' waist slackening, but not letting go) in order to provide energy enough for the scan. An analysis which takes visible shape (but only to the Director's eyes) as a holo-projection given life by a neural implant, the technology housed in the cortex of the brain.

Even when performing a basic scan, it an easy thing to become immersed in, the symphony of their data streams beautiful to Sion's (ever the romantic's) eyes. And so, when he focuses upon Julius--...

It feels a little like drowning (a beautiful death), because all that Julius is stretches before his eyes like a pane of stained glass, ornate and colored by both human and an organism which Sion cannot identify, its color (for which the Director hasn't a name) bleeding across h-shaped cames in elegant latticework to shade everything it touches in a different light.

Regenerative properties, cellular control...

The information is saved, stored away into Sion's neural database, to be called upon again on another day, but still, the Director hasn't surfaced back to himself.

(How much time has elapsed?)

'Pulling' Sion back, it seems, will be necessary. ]

avi coming to break my heart every day with fic tags

[tousei]

I will.

[ He complies in silence, willing his body to be still. There is little means by which he can discern what Sion is trying to do beyond observation, so he does - a careful mind with acuity unbending to his pain. A process that takes over most things, something not so alien to him. The Oracle Cells in his body show up as bright pinpoints of gold, much too vibrant to be anything but human, their desire to consume beyond the cage that Julius' own will boxes them into. Yet it is ultimately a losing battle.

Much time passes, and there comes a point where he has to reach out and gently shake the Director by one shoulder, wondering if it had taken too much out of him. ]

Sion?

[sunderings]

I--...

[ —still distant, Sion's voice falls flat (something which it never before has been, always vibrant, colored by an immense depth of compassion and bare-faced emotion), though it seems Julius' grasp upon (and subsequent shake of) the Director's shoulder has produced the desired effect: slowly, the glow fades from golden eyes, and a body gone still enlivens again as Sion takes a deep, shaky breath. ]

I am here.

[ Sorry, he seems to say, with a duck of his head, the images of what he'd glimpsed in holo-projection still playing behind his eyelids as they fall closed (resting, for a moment, perhaps two), and reopen to focus on the pathway beneath their feet, their destination—the hub of the Leithian docks, busy even now, as the hour draws late—within sight. ]

Are you tired? My apologies, it wasn't my intention to have you support me instead— [ Far from, but that is what happened, isn't it? They've lingered in embrace for quite some time, and yet... Sion will not part from Julius until he hears word that his friend wishes to tread forward on his own. ] —but I did not want for the opportunity to pass.

With the heightened intensity of your symptoms, it stood to reason that which was responsible for your condition would be all the more apparent to the eye.

[ The stipple of gold, like the dappling of gold upon meadowland grass, it--... Needed to be contained, before it spread further. ]

I was not wrong. [ A bow of his head, a slow step taken in the direction of the docks. ] But... I know now with certainty that I can help.

Whatever it is that my hands are capable of, I will see it done if it might aid you.

[tousei]

[ So he knows. If it was anyone else, Julius would have left - in uncertainty, in fear, in anxiousness that his blood would taint them, deepen the shadow that stalks him without letup. But he has learned to trust, after all those years in forced isolation, if only once. ]

Thank you.. truly.

[ It's hard to believe that he can be saved. ]

I will give my all to help you. You need only say how. [ Until he has nothing left. ]