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

[eusford]

[ Anyone familiar of Crowley knows that he's an individual who speaks without restraint, almost inconsiderate of the people around him, and his calm expression only strengthens the fact. It's not like anyone cared much for what he had to say, anyway, not when he skillfully avoids the obvious question of where he had been the past four years. ]

Killjoy? [ He asks, continuing to look forward as he puts some space between them and the group. ] Or perhaps you're from the RAC? [ He didn't even get his name first but that doesn't quite matter, not when he's only looking to have that huge space of boredom that's formed in the back of his head to be filled--at least partially.

He only stops to turn quickly, holding out the drink he's yet to take a sip from. ]

What do you think about these sort of events?

[ofobedience]

[He continues to follow with perfect obedience, and if he sees anything strange in the lack of request for a name, it certainly doesn't show. Few bother using the one he's been given anyway-- he's accustomed to responding to whatever term of address people choose to level at him. Or choose not to, in this case.

Still. The questions come, and there's a brief moment of hesitation in him as he considers how much to say. Not everyone knows of his Unit's existence, and those who do - particularly on Qresh - can get a little jumpy around the idea of having a volatile bioweapon thrown into their midst. He doesn't want to worry the gentleman.

He pauses when the man turns. Smiles vaguely.]

I'm with a special branch of the Company, Sir. Security detail, tonight.

[As for the rest--]

And in truth, I'm not often in attendance at these kinds of events. They're not quite what I'm...ah, trained for.

[eusford]

[ perfect obedience... i see what you did there ]

A special branch? Wow~ [ There's only a vague hint of amusement in his tone. ] It must feel like an off day for you. Nothing really goes on at these parties unless someone makes a mess.

[ Which is unlikely. The Qreshi, living up to their royal appearances, do any sort of dirty work in the dark... but then again that could explain the heavy security. But who would be of any risk here? Possibly someone from land Hyponia?

Honestly he's somewhat hoping that this trip becomes an unfortunate game of Clue™. ]

I'm sure it's not... killing is probably a lot easier for you, isn't it? [ He isn't teasing. What leaves his mouth is an honest question that is only half-expectant of an answer, because he knows by now that people of the Company can only say so much--at least to strangers out in the public. ]

[ofobedience]

[To be honest, if Giovanni was aware of what an unfortunate game of Clue™ might entail, he'd probably be longing for it himself. Give him something to get his teeth into beyond all this impossible blankness. These kinds of events-- they're not really for things like him.

And so yes this feels almost like a day off, if only he'd ever had a day off to compare it to-- something indolent and easy but for all that laced with an enduring kind of boredom. He's a product of his conditioning, of his creation, and as such the lack of volatility here leaves him itching, antsy, restless.

Still-- the shape of that last question still surprises him a little, has his eerie red eyes widening just enough to show it, even as the rest of his face remains a bland and perfect mask. Carefully, he flashes the member of the Nine a smile, filled with those too-sharp teeth, the points of which can just about be discerned.]

I do what I'm ordered to, Sir. The specifics of my assignments don't matter all that much to me.

[Because of course he sidesteps the real answer, here. As the man has predicted, he's not about to reveal exactly what it is he does or what he was designed to be, not in a place like this. Again, he mistakenly believes it might make the man uneasy, even afraid.]

[eusford]

[ It's a vague answer he expects but doesn't appear disappointed upon hearing it. In fact, by an offhand chance that the other man is paying attention, Crowley's eyes seem to spark; childish curiosity. You can't really blame him after being locked up in a mansion for four years and his interest in many things in everyday Qreshi live began dwindling by the day. ]

You didn't say yes or no, I like your answer.

[ Gives him another second to imagine. He's not completely blind to the company, not when he knows Rin and Juvia, so while not aware of every detail he's got a little bit more knowledge than what's just shown on the surface.

He wonders briefly, how many? Was it done in cold blood? Was he trained to feel anything?

That's a good question, actually. ]

Did they train you to be so emotionless?

[ofobedience]

[He sees it there, or thinks he does, the little spark of interest. Unexpected, maybe, but then, these rich people-- they have a tendency towards the eccentric. At least, it's how it seems to him. Their wants and desires seem a distant, alien thing to him, nothing he can fully comprehend. Living the kinds of lives they do, able to do whatever they please, he finds it a hard thing to imagine. Doesn't especially want to.

He asks another question, and Giovanni's smile is a small sharp thing. Wonders how much he should be saying here, how much he ought to reveal. But this is a comparatively small thing, and he supposes he can be truthful with it.]

Yes, I suppose they did. Although perhaps emotionless isn't quite the right word.

[It's more that they conditioned him towards a love of violence, to relish it, to let it wash over him in clear sharp waves, push him towards animal joy.

But he feels other things, too. Things he isn't supposed to feel. A fact he intends to keep entirely to himself.]

[eusford]

[ Ask someone else and they probably wouldn't care this much. Crowley's curiosity is eccentric just a degree higher, perhaps, because what he wants to know is in the direction of how these products of the Company felt towards their creators. It would possibly lead to a brick wall considering it seems many of these individuals have been conditioned into the refined machines they are today. ]

And are you proud of yourself?

[ Conversations with strangers shouldn't be this deep... yikes. ]

If you were given the chance, would you live the same life twice?

[ofobedience]

[Almost imperceptibly, Giovanni frowns, and there's the slight pull of tension around his shoulders as the man takes this particular line of questioning, as though he perceives some kind of trap. He doesn't know what it's all for, what the Nine could be aiming at with this, and so when he responds it's with a voice laden with quiet caution.]

I'm proud to fulfill the purpose I was designed for.

[Designed-- it's a little slip, something that comes automatically but which, perhaps, he ought not to have used. A small indication that he's something other than a trained soldier. Something worse than that.

But it's the second question he struggles with the most-- it's not as though he could choose a different life, his path would always be the same no matter how many times it started over, isn't that right? Something created in a lab, meant only as a weapon, there is no other path for him. Never mind the small quiet sickening whisper that says if he'd been given the choice, he'd have chosen not to live at all.

But he doesn't say that, of course. Only shrugs. Smiles his hard little smile.]

And my apologies, Sir, but I don't quite know how to answer your second question. I don't see how my life could ever have gone any differently.

[It doesn't belong to him, you see.]

[eusford]

[ Designed. That's a word that he hangs to for seconds after the sentence leaves the other man's mouth; attentive. The more he learns the more he finds himself wanting to know more, curious of the lives of someone who possibly wasn't blessed with the privileges as someone from Qresh. ]

Mm. [ He hums, taking advantage of the bar beside them and leaning against it. Elbow resting on the flat surface (probably mahogany lbr), cheek resting in the palm of his hand.

A life that wouldn't have gone any differently than what it is now... how boring. Or perhaps Crowley was too abnormal, having asked himself these questions before while wondering just how much of a contrast his life would be if he had not been born into the Simms. Or any family of the Nine.

But that answer isn't satisfying enough. ] Just imagine you were born on Westerly... or, I don't know, if you were born as a Qreshi instead. I can tell you now that this is pretty much all we do. [ He brings his free hand out, gesturing to the party. ] Unless we're trying to remind the rest of the Quad that they'll never be like us.

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni remains standing straight-backed and attentive, though that chord of visible tension is still present, deepens, if anything. His lips part around an answer, close again. Catching himself, this time. Prevents himself from saying that he suspects he'd never been born at all, only made, a specimen grown in some lab, a cold clinical place that has little to do with the lives of 'real' people, like this man.

But of course he can't say that. And it's not what he seems to be asking, besides. An act of imagination is required, one that seems - to him - like treachery. It's a dangerous thing, to imagine placing himself in the life of autonomy.]

With all due respect, it seems like an unproductive question. I am, of course, satisfied with the life I've been given. Again, without meaning to offend, I don't think I'd choose one like yours, even if I could. I think I would be be bored. Mine is...interesting, if nothing else. Hahah.

[Interesting, perhaps, but the truth is no, he wouldn't have chosen it if he could. Still--]

I am what I was supposed to be.

[eusford]

[ That hesitance is evident and Crowley catches it with ease. However this time there's no childlike curiosity or spark in his eyes, reverting to something a little more mundane. ]

Does it feel like I'm pushing you into a corner like this? [ Lips poised into a smile, his features remain warm as he tips his head to the side. ] Prying is rude, isn't it? My bad. [ That's probably the closes thing to apology someone has gotten from Crowley in a long time. At least a complete stranger. ]

But no offense taken, my life is boring with only really one big bump in the road that's changed it. [ And was that for better or for worse? He'll never know. ] So I'm a little envious!

[ He straightens up, one hand dropping to his side while the other extends out to the man before him. ]

Ah well, thanks for keeping up with me today. I'm Crowley from Simms.

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni shrugs, smiles, and yes it feels a little as though he's being pushed into a corner, spotlight trained too intently on him, but he's too well-trained to say anything of the sort to someone positioned so high above him. Instead--]

You're entitled to do whatever you like, I'm sure. And I suspect your envy may be misplaced.

[There's the extension of his hand, and for a few brief moments Giovanni does nothing, surprised at the gesture, something reserved - usually - for people on a more or less equal footing, rather than for things like himself. He's more accustomed to being ignored, or commanded, or spoken to the way one would a barely-domesticated animal. This level of courtesy, it's an unusual thing.

It'd be rude to ignore it, though, and so at last he'll take it, shake once, then let go.]

You're quite welcome, Sir. Unit 68, at your service. Or, if you like, Giovanni.

[And yes there's the vague prickle of curiosity in him over that one big bump in the road, but it doesn't seem quite his place to pry.]

[eusford]

Giovanni. [ He repeats.

Unit 68.

Not necessarily odd but different, albeit Crowley doesn't question it again and instead stores it somewhere in his brain. Possibly to be forgotten later on. ] It was short but it was interesting speaking with you, do try not to die of boredom.

[ And be careful of that lame ass Rhys oh wait too late. ]

[ofobedience]

[Look, Rhys may be a lame ass but he's a pretty decent friend okay. Especially for someone who hasn't got any.

But the words come, and to Giovanni's ears it sounds an awful lot like he's being dismissed. There's the soft sound of his laughter, and he shrugs.]

I shall endeavor not to.

[He won't turn and go unless explicitly asked to, instead waits to see if such orders are forthcoming or whether the man in front of him now will just take his leave instead, but his eyes do stray back in the direction of his master. Checking to ensure that he hasn't been missed.]

[eusford]

[ He honestly can('t) relate.

But Crowley is expecting Giovanni to just leave so he's... staring at him very briefly in confusion before quirking a brow in confusion. A little strange but he can easily brush that off... kinda... ]

You don't need my permission to leave.

[ofobedience]

[You're dealing with someone who's treated like little more than a living machine, or perhaps a slightly-above-averagely intelligent animal-- he's accustomed to following orders and commands, not to acting under his own volition. As such, waiting for permission is only expected, and the Dog seems as mildly confused by the other's reaction as Crowley is himself.]

Oh.

[But like the member of the Nine, he shrugs it off with relative ease-- this person is as good as royalty, but he's no Company employee. Is no doubt unaware of the protocol he usually follows. As such--]

My apologies, Sir. You'll have to forgive me, but being what I am, I'm accustomed to waiting for said permission. But if that's the case...enjoy the rest of your evening.

[And he will turn away this time, head back in the direction of his designated charge.]