Chapter 4

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week VI, Day VII - Week IX, Day I
Summary: Chapter 4 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
Leith
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine: Ballroom Politics

Delle Seyah Kendry herself has sent a message to all with Qreshi citizenship. She calls them to a gathering of her own inception, a gala for the affluent few to spend a leisurely three days adrift in orbit. The invitation includes the ship's parameters, sure to comfort or entice any member of the nobility with expected and lavish accommodations, as well as a personal note of interest. It's been too long since everyone was together to discuss their pursuits, their thoughts, their projects… Invitations sent to: Crowley, Rhys, Sui Feng, Hanzo, Hanbei, & Royce On the surface, the event is a extravagant social soiree, but the undercurrent is clear. With the Peace Summit concluded, it's time to find an actual solution to the unrest in the streets. What house Kendry seeks is a move that benefits all members of the Nine, something that solidifies their position and ensures more years of prosperity. House Simms agrees, their pandering to the powerful Kendry family only intensifying. While there are some - perhaps land Hyponia - who disagree, their voices are hushed, few willing to lose life or estate for the common man. The cruiser hosting the event has three levels. The highest houses an opulently decorated hall, repurposed throughout the day for banquets, entertainment, and mingling. Only the finest food and hokk will be served, and those attending may also sample delicacies from the reaches of the J as they converse. As days drift into nights the lights will dim, long dining table replaced with smaller stands on which the elite can amuse themselves with the newest tech, including a gambling interface. The middle floor houses personal rooms, each containing a king sized bed with too many pillows, a walk in shower, a full kitchen, a stocked minibar, and a fully equipped entertainment room. Communication between rooms has been installed as full-scale holograms, and a mere voice command activates all tech within. The lower deck, housing the bridge of the ship and all workers’ quarters, is not advertised for visitation. Heirs and family heads alike will be in attendance, mingling through the ambling guests to speak with the most important, or the most concerning, individuals. Such a party would be woefully unenjoyable without proper security, and several warrants requesting RAC agent service have been placed. A high-paying position, any Killjoy who attends will need to dress formally and keep their gaze narrow. Some among the aristocracy may wish to speak with them - to ask for favors - but any conversations will be carried out with utmost secrecy. For the spaces warrants could not fill, Company enforcers have been summoned to bolster the event's protective forces. The higher within the Company, the less surreptitious one needs to be to chat with the Qreshi. However, having a distinguished Company pedigree doesn't guarantee any contact aside from being asked to dispose of something (or someone) for the good of the Nine.

The Company: Training Day

A divide has begun to form within Company ranks, and those at the top are loathe to see such cracks being driven into their foundation. Though the riots are growing more subdued, the lack of a 'unified' approach to street patrol has inspired action. Model Company officials will receive either a promotion or higher clearance for access to equipment. There is no mention of violence or brutality in the messages each receives to alert them of their bonus, the expectations of continued service acting as implicit reinforcement. Company officials who approached the malcontent populace with what have been officially labeled "high risk" methods - plainly stated, with mercy - will be notified of a different sort of reinforcement. Those who require acclimation training will be paired with an officer the Company can trust to exercise appropriately severe punishments, and sent to a volatile area. The location differs by assignment, but each has in common the hostility of its community. Spitting, jeering, and sudden attacks are to be expected by anyone wearing Company issued gear. All patrol, arrest, or recon missions in these areas will prove to be a battle against the Westie citizens who reside there. Not intending to lose members of their workforce, the Company does expect success and will not set any team up for deadly failure, but kindness on the part of any officers in the area will likely be met with suspicion or revulsion by the people, and possibly a report to upper by their partner. In a completely different sphere, officers who caused the Company figures of damage - or just a financial headache - will be assigned to stress training. The process is available to any employee, should they wish to opt in and kiss ass have something nice to put on their resume. A debriefing outlines that those participating in the training will board a vessel with a partner and be launched into orbit. The ship will have several interface and mechanical failures - all carefully monitored by the Company control below, of course - over the course of the simulation. Officers are required to land the ship despite these errors, and will be evaluated on their technique, teamwork, and attitude. Unbeknownst to all participants, the small ship will also contain three spider-type bots that will activate once in orbit and scatter over the framework of the vessel. They will trip alarms, project voices, and interface with the system to cut communication. The last any participant will hear from ground control is, "What's happening up there!?", an urgent final message sent before the true observation begins. Characters granted higher weapons clearance: Giovanni, Jack, Sui Feng, Hijikata, Hanzo, Juvia, Fenris Characters assigned acclimation training: Julius, Nyx, Shiro, Sion, Rhys Characters assigned stress training: Giovanni, Hijikata, Shiro Aside from the Company's inner workings, the world has not stopped spiraling deeper into chaos. Some enforcers may be requested as security at the Qreshi convocation, serving both abroad the actual pleasure ship and patrolling around it. Others may find their battle with the streets of Westerley dragging on as organized crime rises alongside the Resistance cells. Gangs threaten Company officials and average citizens alike, looting bars, sacking shops, and carrying out their own executions. Agree with the Company's blame of the Resistance, or see the gangs for the opportunists they are - either way, one thing is clear: The streets of Westerley are unsafe.

Westies: Karma Police

Cries for justice have distorted, shouts becoming incomprehensible as the dawn breaks on an otherwise calm Westerley morning. The riots that had become almost commonplace have dwindled, crowds thinning as the days drag on. Yet the violence that accompanied such frenzied backlash continues. It's not unusual to see a beaten and broken man lying motionless on the sidewalk as one makes their way throughout their day, bloodstains on the street coloring nearly every path through Old Town. The disenchanted have splintered. Some have returned to work, looking to keep their heads down and their necks safe from trouble. Some have taken a more subversive approach, fading into the shadows as the Resistance receives a new wave of sympathizers and participants. Some bask in the chaos, taking advantage of the upheaval to assert themselves, and their gangs, as a new authority on the street. Company enforcers remain pervasive, their patrols constant and their responses brutal, but they are no longer the only danger. Every abandoned safehouse, every street corner, and every back alley has become someone's territory. Lines drawn in the gravel are frequently contested, skirmishes between rival groups a common but insular backdrop to the violence teeming in the city. Though all gangs have different expectations, different eccentricities, they share a brash hatred for the Company. With growing frequency, establishments that serve Company officials will find themselves ransacked. Windows broken and goods stolen in the night, or the owner run out and beaten on the street, no venue can guarantee its safety without turning away those in Company attire. For some, even that is not enough. Speak too gently of the Company and one may find themselves labeled a sympathizer, subject to jeering or beating with little provocation. The question, How do you feel about the Company, asked by both enforcers and crime rings alike, is impossible to answer without earning at least one enemy.

Leith: Changing Winds

The winds of change howl across the Leithian landscape. The actions of the True Leithians have set events into motion that start to propel the usually relatively peaceful moon into the kind of unrest that's more common to its neighbors. As land reallocation continues, the upper classes of Leith start to resist the pull of charity. Where Leithians were content enough to provide aid to Westerley before, it's more difficult for that generosity to continue as their own coffers start to diminish. The relief efforts that the poorest of Westerley had relied on come nearly to a halt, because Leith is drawing away to protect themselves in the chaos. After all, chaos is starting to seep into Leith too. As donations slow, the Westerlen workers start to show their own unrest as their families and friends at home suffer for the slowed aid and the decreasing prospects of their own work. Leith's relationship with its Westie workers has always been tense, but it's never bubbled to the surface so much as this. The Resistance is quiet, but growing louder even on Leith. The market is often surrounded by workers striking, and Leith struggles to contain the protests. While a few unruly workers could be dealt with by a farm alone, hundreds of them forces those same farms to listen. Without their Westerlen labor, there's no one to tend to the farms and harvest the valuable crops that Leith provides to the Quad. The Leithian farmers may have to listen to the protests of their workers, but they wait, cutting off pay for those that refuse to work in a tactic to try and force them back to work. However, where some return to the farms reluctantly, it only makes the anger burn hotter for others. A massive field belonging to one of the biggest producers of Hokk in the Quad is torched, and the fire and smoke can be seen for miles. Ash falls on nearby towns like rain, and while the Qreshi fret over a shortage of their favorite Hokk, the people of Leith and Westerley both know that this is the start of something more dangerous on Leith. Rumor has it that the fires may have been started not by a Westie, but a rival Leithian, and with no one to conclusively blame, everyone bears the suspicion and distrust. Those disappearances that had effected only a select few associated with the True Leithians increase, but Leith itself doesn't complain too loudly. In the streets, Leithians seem oblivious or ignorant to what's coming, but they know. They only hope that so long as they pretend in public that everything is fine, maybe peace will return to their home.

Resistance: Power Vacuum

Hyperion becomes a whisper, a phantom looming in the background noise of discontent conversations and secrets kept. Some say it's a single person, a man of strong pedigree and polished cuticles, while others speak of a woman clothed in midnight black with a piercing stare that strikes through the heart of a man. Others yet suggest that it's not a person but many, a group of shadow puppeteers who offer direction.. but at what price? While rumors swirl and build into the myth of the Hyperion groups, rival factions rise to fill the empty spaces. For some, it's an ideological clash: whoever Hyperion is, they're too well-funded and connected to truly be of the people, too secretive and selective to warrant the trust of those who risk life and limb for sedition. For others--most, really--it's a matter of power hunger, groups forming and striking out to take control of the scattered members of the Resistance while the mysterious Hyperion remains an intangible figure. Unity, they say, in this time of division. They say it in town meetings and raids, in private conversations and public--albeit careful--demonstrations, using the cover of Westerley's rising gangs to cast shadow on their movements. As is often the case with politics, what they say and what they mean are quite different. While these different groups call for togetherness, they seek subordination and compliance to their respective ideas and goals going forward. Some call for violent uprisings, others aim for organized strikes and legislative pressure, and others still seek a peaceful but complete abolition of the current monarchy class. Each spreads their own propaganda in coded pamphlets and messages sent across the Meshwork, and though they agree on little, they are, indeed, unified on at least one common goal: The Nine must fall. In the meantime, though the focus of those outside of Hyperion's reach drifts, Hyperion teams continue to receive missions and intel, each cell working on a singular component for some great machination of change. Hyperion cites its compartmentalization as a means of protection--should one cell fall, the loss can be contained to those secrets and plans alone--but a closer look at each division's missions will offer a slightly more tarnished future than the one Hyperion claims to build. It's a war, even if the people on the streets don't realize they're fighting in it just yet, and in war... there are always acceptable losses. Collateral damage to be tallied and disregarded for the greater good. The Nine will fall, broken bone by broken bone.

The RAC: Level Grinding

As always, agents will have their hands full as the juggling jesters of the Quad's court, tasked with keeping the various factions served and satisfied with their contracted work. Between acting as guards for the Qreshi envoy, cleaning the streets of the detritus corpses left in the wake of the riots, and the monthly warrants, there's no shortage of work for the killjoy who's looking. And there's more killjoys than ever, at that. Following the lower level evaluations, a new score of Level 4 agents arrives on the scene, eligible--and potentially willing--to form new teams. With this advancement in rank comes new opportunities that span beyond the potential for awesome buddy-cop movies: higher level warrants that pay better and offer increased access to otherwise off-the-books missions. Will you band with your graduating class to knit powerful units and make your mark on the J star cluster? Or do you prefer to remain the lone wolf figure in this otherwise disparate organization? Maybe you have you sights set higher than that. Maybe you want to go for the top tier of the RAC and make yourself a Level 5. While it's generally thought that only those agents who have proven themselves as Level 4s are afforded the opportunity to advance, it's not strictly a requirement. Whether that fourth notch in your killing belt is fresh or well-worn, the Level 5 evaluations are open season, but not unfettered. Indeed, while any Level 4 is elgible to try their hand at the highest ranks, those who hold the most tenure will have a far easier curve to ascend than their less experienced counterparts. Competition will be fierce and the opportunity for advancement strictly regulated based on not mere skill, but psychological stability and past performances. Any mark left in the records of an agent can and will become leverage against them when they enter Level 5 evaluations. The evaluations, at least, are similar in construction to the lower-level missions, albeit with far greater danger. The evaluating agent must carry out a Level 5 warrant--with his or her team, if applicable--but rather than having the guidance of a senior agent to shape their path, they'll be monitored and observed with real time telemetry from RAC HQ. The results will thereafter be analyzed by the RAC's top brass and released for viewing in Chapter 5. With competition fierce and the test itself a life or death scenario, agents will need to utilize any advantage they can in order to come out ahead. Cultivating their contacts and gathering the necessary resources isn't just a strong recommendation for these killjoys but an implicit requirement for a successful promotion. That's not the only unspoken requirement. Whispers begin to circulate throughout HQ that certain palms have opened for greasing and can facilitate a smoother evaluation for the right price. Open discussion of the rumors is strictly prohibited and strongly punished, but for the cunning and sly.. ...any attempt to bribe those palms will be met with an automatic failure and subsequent investigation into the killjoy's past endeavors. Those individuals rumored to offer grace in exchange for joy are among the RAC's most loyal and stalwart class of senior agents, purposefully placing themselves within the public eye in order to draw out the rats of the organization. The warrant is all.

Comments

[sunderings]

[ The color of the sun changes.

As though imbrued with blood, the plateau upon which they stand is no longer a hallowed place (the site of a burial, of a bittersweet goodbye, where the corpse of a creature felled in the name of purpose and of good became enshrined, blessed by the kiss and warmth of sunlight), but instead the maw of some great beast which had seen Julius' three sentinels dismantled though not yet devoured.

(Something about this plain... it is familiar to him. Where Julius had said where I will be has no place for you, the Director feels only resoundingly—perturbingly—safe.) ]

Suffer? [ The hand which once obstructed Julius' path now reaches out, clasping Julius' shoulder with a gentle shake (snap out of it, already), a reassuring curl and squeeze of fingers. ] Were I to part from you now, I would surely suffer then.

Leaving a friend behind... it would be a regret impossible to bear.

[ (So you see, Julius, I am only selfish in the end.) ]

Regardless of what may come to pass, or what seems intent upon finding you here— [ The howls, the deep guttural roars of fiends which remain yet unseen grow ever-louder, but--... Sion is only calm, steadfast, sure: ] —I am with you, Julius.

Do not forget it.

[tousei]

[ Is this how his teammates would feel, even with his reassurance? Surely, he's done too many horrible things to be redeemed by anything but exile. And they will be in good hands, a youth with the ability to draw out the hidden potential in others, someone whose heart was yet still untainted. This is.... a better life.

And yet, there's a part of him that wants to disagree. Surely, this is only his weakness. He will be fine alone... so why then won't Sion leave? ]

Why...


[ He looks down at his hands, grey eyes starting to glaze over into gold as his tears begin to fall onto his hands. As soon as they touch him, the clear liquid turns to blood. ]

I've hurt so many people in pursuit of a futile hope... I was a fool, Sion. A fool! I was played for my whole life... it was too late. The end is nigh...

[ Even now the light of this darkened world grows dim. ]

I am a monster.... you will stay with me even so?

[sunderings]

Whatever it is that you have done, Julius— [ Tears. Tears, and for all their many meetings (their cavort through the meadowland, their walk beneath the stars) it is the very first time they are not the Director's own. Instead, it is Julius' eyes which are overbright, grey gone glassy and shining with gold as tears fall (turning red as blood) atop hands which are no study in monstrosity, but simply what it means to be human. The need for atonement which Julius so desperately seeks is proof enough of that. ] —and whatever it is that you will do now, it is a good man that does it.

[ No more and no less, even if Julius should find he agrees with Sion's too-candid assessment of before (calling himself a fool for something which the Director would now contest), and unravels in such a sad (heartrending, that it should only happen here, at the end of all things), beautiful (Julius' intensity, the way he so passionately feels, he should have always had the freedom to express it) denouement that the Director finds himself blinking back moisture from his own eyes.

Difficult for him, not be moved by his friend, but Sion does not allow his own tears to fall, instead-... He reaches to clasp Julius' hands within his own, leaning to rest forehead against forehead, nose just brushing nose as a thumb sweeps across the back of Julius' hand in a gentle, tender caress to wipe away the streaks of tears-turned-blood. ]

There is hope, yet. If nothing else, believe in this. For all the people you have lost and all those you would protect now, you must keep believing.

[ For their sake, even if Sion's deepest and truest wish that Julius would take up that belief for himself. ]

We will walk away from this place, and I will have my dear friend at my side, he who... [ His withdraw is slow, seeing the barest brush of lips against Julius' temple in a measure of fondness which the Director can think to convey in no other way, for Julius always, always seems to be in need of convincing, and Sion only wishes to say this once: ] ...is foolish enough to call himself a monster when he is the most noble person I know.

[ Of course he will stay, even so. ]

i'm screaming

[tousei]

[ It's still hard to believe, when the darkness encroaches on the both of them and he feels his grip on reality slackening by the second. But it's not so bad, with someone else... how his resolve is strengthened further by having physical proof rather than just a thought. ]

This is... this is no place on the world we know, my friend. This is the realm where the restless gods dwell. [ Their inhuman cries grow louder in the distance. Soon they will come. ] I was fated to become one of their number... which is why I am here. I cannot leave until every last one of them is dead.

[ His expression settles, calmer, and his eyes shine completely gold. A soft light illuminates his body from within. ]

Will you help me?

see what happens when you finally listen, julius...!

[sunderings]

[ This is the realm where the restless gods dwell, Julius says, and it is another voice entirely which echoes in Sion's head: "ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ sʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀʟʟ, ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ sʏsᴛᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴍɪɴɪsʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Gᴏᴅᴅᴇssᴇs ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀᴇᴄᴋʟᴇss ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴ."

Beyond familiar, this is a place kindred to where «Asruld» had been made, overrun with frenzied creatures and their voracious cries which echo through the cimmerian dark. Suddenly, Sion is struck with so pervasive a knowing that he forgets to breathe, his fingers curling about Julius' own in involuntary reflex— ]

I will. I know how to. It was what I was made to do.

[ —feathery and light, the words fall from the Director's lips in quick succession, because it is true: if for no other purpose, slaying the Gods themselves (every last one) is the function he «Asruld» had been created to fulfill. ]

Regardless of their number--...

[ It matters little, in the end. As though forming a veil about them both, swords comprised of shadow coalesce in the dark, the blades made visible to the eye by their pulsating, red as blood aura. Each is a manifestation of Sion's own will (to protect his friend), and each functions as such, forming a barrier to ward against that which swiftly approaches.

"ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋʏ, ᴅɪssᴏʟᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴜᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Gᴏᴅᴅᴇssᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ." ]

...I can erase them.

[ And then together they will stand, two lights in the dark. Julius, who has light which effuses throughout the whole of him, and Sion whose body has been written with the fate of thousands of worlds—

—except for this one, this instance where he and Julius will be the ones to decide what happens now and what happens next. ]

smh

[tousei]

[ Julius closes his eyes, a white cocoon rising from the ground beneath to envelop him, shell seemingly paper-thin and translucent to give only a faint suggestion to what lay within. A few seconds later the cocoon bursts open, its skin crumbling in what now proves to be an iron-laced breeze. He has changed, by his own will rewriting the will of the gods that he had become - a being glowing lucent white, gold patterns on his skin not spell-lines but the lines of circuitry, vines and branches growing from his back.

For the Singularity is fated to become the most powerful of them all. ]

Then, let us begin.

[sunderings]

[ They fight like the Gods they are, filling the dark of the void with the rushing rhythms of violence; of justice which falls upon the horde of descending fiends in deadly veils of swords, each blade ephemeral and spectre in its phantasmal forging. Though not yet awakened (not at Julius has, borne as something beautiful and new and so very full of life from a silk-cocoon), Sion acts upon the destruction at his core, that primordial something (the equation which had been written) that began at the start of the universe and would envelop all else until the end of time.

He is old where Julius is new, and together they cull creatures for what seems hours (days, years) until there is no sound, no movement left, save for the plaintive cries of a single beast with wings shattered at their joints, pinned to the earth beneath it by way of several of Sion's blades. ]

… You should lay it to rest, Julius.

[ Let them be done with this place. ]

[tousei]

[ The time matters not, only the number of foes that still remain to be crushed. Julius appears to gain strength with each monster slain, his branches fanning out behind him as wings would, sprouting vines and arcs of light to decimate their foes. At last... it is over. ]

I will. Thank you... my friend.

[ He raises one hand, and thousands of light spears appear in the air over his head, to rain down upon it as a shower of falling stars. ]

[sunderings]

[ There is nothing left in the wake of Julius' starfall, the body of the beast run through by the lights of the heavens as they came crashing down, its remains swiftly devoured by Sion's primeval dark, his void-forged blades thrumming with a deeper, more vivid aura of red as if to say: we are thankful for the meal.

Julius, too, seems restored, somehow both more of and beyond himself in the way he says thank you, my friend, his awakened form alien but beautiful, breathtaking and flourishing before the eyes. The other man is a new beginning, sowing seeds for the future with each burst of verdure from his back, and Sion--...

(Is Julius' antithesis, but this Sion does not say. Instead, his heart sinks, his blades of shadow returning to their place inside of him—baleful though they are, they are his will, his soul manifest—now that the battle is overwith and done.)

Somehow, Sion's hands find their way back to Julius' own, his fingers holding fast to his friend like a lifeline. ]

Thank me by venturing back, to the people who love you dearly. [ Sion's smile is a soft, gentle, pleading, thing. ] It is quiet, now. The danger is gone.

[tousei]

[ Perhaps it is fated that he will wake without remembering any of this, only a distinct presence of light. He will feel better than he has been in weeks, perhaps even months, but the curse inside him only grows. ]

Then, I will try my best.

[ He closes his eyes and light spreads from within his form, leaves and branches loosing luminescent pinpoints much like fireflies or glowing wisps, brightening the darkness of the landscape. The blood and soiled corpses of monsters underfoot are overgrown with waves of grass and trees - no sun, only a soft golden glow with him at the centre, purifying the realm of the Singularity.

It is time for them to wake. Perhaps not now, but soon. ]