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]

[ It's funny, isn't it, how the Director had always thought it to be beyond him, the future which he'd hoped to see; the light of hope which he wished to create with a joining of hands, the people of the Quad united by common cause and pursuit of a day when they each might be able to pursue their own happiness. Always, it had been something to fight for, an ideal he'd encouraged many others to rally behind for both themselves and all those they held dear, but in the here and now, it seems by far more tangible, marked by something which brings a smile to Sion's lips, the expression staving off tears which had welled at the corners of his eyes in the moment when that branch (when Julius) extends its (his) reach, twining about his fingers.

That something which he couldn't grasp for himself--...

It's funny and it's fitting, that it reached out to him instead.

Curling his fingers in reciprocal touch, he is quiet for a moment, perhaps two, wondering at what limited sensation he is able to feel and this thing called happiness. ]

And you saved me today, just now. [ —he murmurs, his gaze shifting back to Julius. ] I should like to think that we're even, going forward.

[ … ]

And that there might be room for me to recline beside you, as I keep you company.

[tousei]

Always.

[ Calling it even seems to be the best course of action, even if Julius wants to object. If he had been given so many chances at something he did not quite deserve, perhaps it was a sign that he could still change until he was worthy.

There's quiet now, peaceful silence filling the room. There isn't much to be said, so he sits in the lull and thinks. Reflex does not allow him to cave to weariness even if he knows there is allowance for it now: but at least he can devote time to his thoughts without his duties getting in the way.

He sits still as a statue (or perhaps as a tree), relaxed for the first time in months, branches unmoving and glowing very slightly in the warm light. ]

[sunderings]

[ Though the silence lasts (amicable as it is warm), the stillness does not, for the Director is quite keen upon ensuring that Julius takes all the rest needed for a proper recovery. And so: it is with slow, careful motions that Sion sees himself settled atop the mattress, beside his friend, his free hand touching lightly to Julius' shoulder with pressure enough to gently coax the other man down, to lay on his side, nose to nose and forehead to forehead in close proximity to him. ]

Is it not taxing, to maintain the physical structure of the cells for long? [ Even now, one of the branches remains twined about Sion's hand, a tether which he cannot say he truly minds, and yet-... ] Please, do not exert yourself.

[ A soft twitch of a smile, an ever-so-slightly wry curve of his lips: ] Doctor's orders, so do not even entertain the notion of protesting.

[tousei]

[ If it had been anyone else, Julius might have reacted badly to being touched - but he is at peace, so there is naught but a silent compliance on his part. ]

They are... unique, worry not. Once they assume a certain form, they stay that way without need for further cues. [ So it is not taxing, merely a small amount of initial effort is needed. Perhaps when he's better rested, they would be able to find more uses for it - but for now, this is enough. Resting without nightmares is enough.

Though... ]

When you looked for my records... how much did you find? Back then, I heard most of them were destroyed.

[ He's talking about his past. Given how much Sion has done for him, it feels only natural to give the full picture. ]

[sunderings]

What I unearthed... were the Company's logs from after.

[ After the woman known as Rachel Claudius had been eliminated for deviating from the Company's interests in pursuit of her own objectives, though whatever those ambitions had been, the Director could not say. As large as the Company is, its many divisions are oftentimes independent silos, autonomous until the moment when they are deemed ineffective, if not dangerous to the whole, and are brought before the attention of the Nine and the corporation's upper echelons. It is rare that that a project gone awry would not be completed stricken from the Company's records, but as Julius had been kept alive where Rachel Claudius had not been, some information had been retained, enough for Sion to formulate a solution for containing the cells which no suppressant could truly touch. ]

Data, which had been salvaged from the initial eugenics experiment, though I also studied the composition of my own body, and the cellular transformation which I underwent many years ago.

[ Lowering his eyes, he goes quiet for a moment, a pensive air enshrouding him when he speaks again: ]

But there was nothing from before your time as an Enforcer. Julius...

[ And then his eyes flick up, catching with grey, solemn and heavy with the question even before it falls from his lips— ]

What happened to you?

[tousei]

[ What, indeed, happened to him? ]

I can tell you.

[ Julius sighs, eyes closed for a few moments while he collects himself, unlocks the recollections that he has been intentionally ignoring for the past few years. The parts of his self-termed curse that he had chosen to pretend did not exist, for his own sanity and for the sake of organization.

But for a dear friend, he can make an exception. ]

I am from Leith. My family were killed when I was very young, I don't remember much of it. [ He wasn't even there at the murder, coming home to only his parents' corpses and no living relatives to explain to him why. And Rachel... ] She adopted me. She ran an orphanage, Magnolia Compass, but it was an orphanage only in name. I knew only after she died. Back then... I was taken and schooled alone, by her. She favoured me over all the other children, because of my genes. They were compatible with the transformation, so I was taken and she had the grant to do her work.

[ The rest of that is history. ]

All the procedures... I had thought they were all normal routines for children of my age. She was the only person I was allowed to see. And I obeyed her until the end, the only figure of stability [ mother ] I had... and this was the result.

[ As much as he tries to keep himself calm, his voice cracks a little at the end.

It should become understandable, his acceptance of this curse, his loathing for himself. All of it, a custom-tailored trap. Even after Rachel was killed, her influence still lingers. ]

[sunderings]

Julius Visconti, who is gentle, uncertain, and kind... [ —with all the ease of breathing, Sion bestows these heartfelt epithets upon his friend, golden eyes crinkling at their corners with a natural warmth, alight with something which burns only for the person he lays beside. ] ...who holds himself at a distance, for fear that if he should ever be too close to another, he might lose himself to all the compassion that he feels...

[ Against the branch wrapped, yet, about his hand, Sion's own fingers curl and flex, as though attracted to the pull of something magnetic, though what it is he cannot say. But if he were to reach out and to focus, perhaps he'd find his answer; but not now, not today, for the words he is about to say mean more than anything else: ]

...Julius the noble, good, and brave, who sought to comfort me mere moments after waking from a procedure which might have cost him his life...

[ And here, there is a fond twitch of his lips, a barely there whisper of his fingertips which sees the fringe of Julius' hair affectionately brushed aside— ]

...Julius, who by his own will, has fought to be only himself, and has succeeded...

[ Funny, how Sion can say such florid, lovely things, and yet they've no guile to them, his cadence dulcet, sweet, and resonant only with the truth he perceives; that which he'd known since the day they'd met, and Julius had been hesitant, once bitten, but had reached out to him with an offer of comfort all the same.

(That one thing which must have seemed so terribly small in the eyes of its beholder, how it changed the Director's life.) ]

You are no result of anyone's handiwork, you are beautiful, and I hope you might be able to believe in yourself one day.

[tousei]

[ For the next few moments, there is silence as Sion's words fades into the air. Julius closes his eyes again, the gesture accompanied by the slightest intake of breath, and the branches around Sion's hands curl just a little tighter. ]

I...

[ Usually, he would have just said nothing. But in this moment, he feels compelled to try making his feelings known, as difficult as they are. ]

... do not feel capable of that right now, but at least, I can believe in you.

[ Believe in me who believes in you, as it were. ]

You accepted me despite who I am. Only one other person did, without any ulterior motives, and he was killed in the end. [ Julius says a name that Sion no doubt has already heard, in that dream filled with blood. ] Since then, my curse became my reputation.

[ His voice remains even, but at such a close distance the tears in his eyes should be evident. ]

If I can ask just one thing of you: you must not die.

[ Please don't leave me alone. ]

[sunderings]

[ How onerous it must be, for Julius to speak of himself; of the sentiment which so often is buried deep within his chest, kept precious and safe and coveted for reasons which Sion has only just come to know. And for the Director, who has given so very much of himself away to others, to hear the words I can believe in you causes his heart to swell, his breath stolen from him for a second time because--... He is enough of a person to be trusted, to be believed in, to be cared for and held by branches which secure themselves about his hand, tethers which keep him centered, balanced as the moons of the Quad in orbit. After all this time, he's so very glad that someone (that Julius) is able to see him, the Sion that exists beyond an ever-present need to redefine himself so that he might better be able to aid and protect others.

But then there are tears in grey eyes which have never been cold, rather like flint-stone instead of hard marble, capable of sparking with all the emotion Julius endeavored to keep in close restraint.

You must not die, Julius says, and Sion can only shake his head, smiling still: ]

Do you not remember, Julius? [ —his laughter, after that, is something soft and delicate, a touch charmed by the other man's boldness, and a touch frightened by it as well. ] I said that I would always stand at your side.

[ Or, as it is in the here and now, lay at the side of his friend in companionable proximity; a warm sort of closeness. ]

I'll not be parted from you so easily. [ And it's perhaps fitting, that the statement is resonant as a vow before Sions' voice sobers, colored by solemn notes and traces of the loss which he'd glimpsed not only in Julius dream, but in the recent passing of a subordinate: ]

Though I am sorry to hear it, that you lost someone dear to your own heart. But--... you must think of him, and how he perceived you in his own eyes. This is what you must honor, not a curse.

[tousei]

[ Truly, two people who believe themselves to be lesser than they were, who could only believe in themselves because of the other. ]

I will.

[ Its an answer not only to Sion's advice but to all that he has said before, his voice level and composed once more with a dear friend's reassurance. He may not remember what had happened in those blood-filled dreams, but they did have an effect on him.

He can hope. For the first time. ]

I will live so that we may meet again.

[sunderings]

[ What a change there's been in the other man, his friend who had once embraced his shortened life, the curse of his blood, as inevitably. An eventuality, a fate which could not be escaped, but now--... Now, Julius has promised to live so that they might always meet again, and for the very first time, Sion finds that he does not worry for him. Like this, he and Julius might be content, untouchable and safe from the reality which awaits them outside of the medical ward in their almost-embrace as they recline beside one another, the steady sounds of the bedside vitals monitor lulling in their regularity. ]

We'll meet again and again until the day you tire of me, Julius. [ There it is, again, the gentle tease which is the quirk of the Director's lips, his eyes falling closed with a flutter of lashes as he makes a show of fully resting his head against Julius' pillow, for... it has been quite some time, since he's slept, between the preparations for Julius' surgery, and the anxiety of the wait afterward. ] And perhaps even long after that.

But for now, it is okay to rest.

[tousei]

[ For Julius, it came down to something perhaps deceptively simple. A second chance; a chance that was pressed into his hands despite his attempts to push it aside, a chance that was given in spite of knowing the risk that came to all those who associated with him. And yet, if Sion is able to turn his curse into something that he could control, then he could believe in the strength that the other brought to him.

A strength that could, just maybe, overturn the fate that sought for his end. ]

Of course.

[ With the knowledge that Sion has pre-arranged for his superior to be pacified, he can rest. ]

Thank you...

[ The branches remain where they are as he closes his eyes, and for the first time, feels he can be at peace. ]