Chapter 1

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week 1, Day 1 - Week 2, Day 1
Summary: Game launch 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.

Quick Navigation
The Nine
The Company
Leith
True Leithians
Westies
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine

Hushed whispers and conversations behind sealed doors spread throughout Qresh, carrying with them rumor of the Lady Derrish's illness. Poisoned, some say, as they speak their quiet murmurs and the news travels like wildfire. It lights up the nobility with a new cause - there is no heir to the Derrish name. At least, none that is known. A surrogate mother carries the only Derrish child to be related by blood. She dwells on Leith, though her location is obscured to everyone who seeks her - both those who wish to help and those who would do harm. Some wish to procure the heir - whether following the warrant for his retrieval or hoping to gain favor with the Nine by gift or by blackmail. Some wish the heir dead, seeking to cause a power vacuum that could lead to a bloody war as families of the Nine scramble to gobble up Derrish land. All have backring that can be traced back to the nobility, each family pursuing their own agenda. 'False' heirs, those who claim to be related, or bastard children, either rise up in hopes of fortune or hide in fear of those who would stamp out the family name for good. On Leith there is said to be a hotel staffed by the most beautiful woman, run by a man who no one has ever seen. Only those with money or influence may stay the night at Blessed Branches, though anyone seeking fine wine and good company may occupy its lounge. Many come hoping to spend time with the hostesses, though the girls aren't known for taking bribes or slipping away for a 'good time'. It is here, in one of the premium guestrooms, that the surrogate heir and his mother are housed. The other women are unaware of her status - simply taking care of her as one of their own - and how much the owner knows is as difficult to pin down as he is. Any display of violence is sure to be noticed, as Company officials and RAC agents alike guard the building for significant pay. Getting in may be simple for some, but getting out is far more difficult. The mother's room is on the 10th story, with its few windows locked and curtains closed. As she approaches her delivery date, help comes and goes with frequency, but on no specific schedule. Criminals and RAC agents alike chatter in the streets of Westerley and Leith over just who, and where, this woman could be. Many assume she lodges with the surrogate clusters hidden on Westerley - heavily guarded by men and treacherous landscape alike. Others seek beyond the Quad, and some assume she's already dead. No matter the cause, no matter its difficulty, the rush to find the woman and unborn baby only grows. Some may consult information brokers, some may attempt to find their way into the genetic databases, some may rely on word of mouth, and some may lay in wait for others to do the sleuthing work before closing in on their target.

The Company

"We need to send a message," every Company employee receives the same directive, "Loud and clear." Rules are rules, and there is no room for disobedience - neither within nor outside of the Company. The citizens of Westerley have become more unruly than usual, taking out their frustrations with their lot in life on the Company and on society. Or so the directive says. It is for the good of the Company, and for those loyal citizens who keep their heads down and do their duty, to expunge the corrosive minds from society and extinguish the flames of a foolish rebellion. From prisoner guards to those selected to string criminals up for execution, to those who stand watch over the sizzling corpses (or soon to be corpses) belonging to symbols of the rebellion left out in the rain to die, to those in charge of door-to-door or man-to-man ID checks, every bit of available manpower in the Company is being used to secure the city. Some may begrudge their work, while others delight in the lax restriction on violence towards citizens. All should keep their heads down, lest they become yet another target for the efforts to 'increase security' in the city. A heatwave that brings with it Black Rain makes the job difficult and treacherous - stay out too long and you could get caught in a storm. Just the same as the local Westies, all of whom are more or less stranded in their homes - or the bars they passed out in the night before - everyone is scrimping by with whatever provisions remain. Only those Company officials lucky enough to live on Company property, a compound of barracks that provides middling levels of comfort, don't worry for their necessities. Travel through the tunnels may afford the few who know of their existence more mobility - the ability to help others, to stockpile what they need, or to make an impressive capture - but comes with its own dangers. From the culture that lives there to the increased presence of resistance groups making their safe-houses in the vast, winding network, some may decide that the potential dangers aren't worth the trip, and others may wish they had.

Leith

Every season brings a new batch of harvest workers—old, young, adventurous, desperate. But it doesn’t matter whether a worker has tended to the same hokk farm for ten years: when the limits of a work visa are reached, they must return to their planet of origin or face severe penalties. Sometimes, though, people slip through the cracks. Sometimes people change their genetic records altogether to make sure it happens. Whether it’s an individual who refuses to return to the cage of Westerley or a merchant willing to look the other way for off-the-books labor, visa law enforcement is critical to the Quad. Targets identified as “high risk”—those individuals who have a profile of criminal behavior or have given the Company reason to take a second look at their credentials in the past—are being routinely rounded up to ensure their genetic identities and visa information still coincide. Killjoys and Company enforcers are being deployed in equal measure to address this potential security concern in the days leading up to “harvest week”, the seasonal break where workers return home and a new batch of hopefuls arrives on Leith. For some, this can be a minor inconvenience, taking DNA samples and conversing with understandably irritable workers—for others, this could be a potentially fatal encounter and lead into Leith’s darker underbelly. For whatever reason a target has chosen to stay or change their identity, they have done so at great and calculated risk. They will fight without discrimination to stay hidden and maintain their secret--as, at times, will their employers. Maybe they've decided to pursue a more lucrative line of work, using Leith's fertile soils to grow illicit substances, or perhaps they've simply decided that their fate should be in their own hands, and not that of a visa agency. Either way, they won't go quietly.

True Leithians

Gunfire is lost under the sound of the rain. The pitter-patter of acidic water beats in tandem to Company rifles and shouts, the flash of grenades like fireflies in the distance. The Family Registry Bureau, well-guarded and set on the outskirts of Old Town, shakes and shudders with each successive boom, debris falling as the battle escalates. “For Leith!” A single voice rises above the commotion and for a moment, the night is still, the incessant rain seeming to take heed, as if the clouds themselves have paused to see what will unfold. The building collapses. Fire billows out in violent plumes, snaking through the twisted metal and broken glass. Survivors on both sides disperse like scattered marbles. By morning, the dead have been dissolved to bone by the rain, and Company enforcers are out to ensure that scavengers don’t take their pick of the remaining materials. Officials are tight-lipped about what, if anything, was taken during the attack, but word on the street spreads fast—there’s a man hunt and hundreds of genetic identities are up for grabs. Criminal activity in Eulogy sees an all-time spike as bartered goods come in, though not everyone in Eulogy or the criminal world takes kindly to stealing from their own. Nor do they care for the sudden attention drawn to their illicit little den, making it a hot bed of Killjoy and undercover Company activity. But Eulogy isn't the only place to see unwelcome guests. On and off Westerley, news of the attack spreads, and agents of each organization race to come out on top. Whether it’s a Killjoy tasked with locating the perpetrators, a True Leithian conspirator on the run, a Westie out for revenge and securing their future in the Seventh Generation accord, or a Company Enforcer on orders of execution off planet—everyone has someone’s number, and time is quickly running out for each of them.

Westies

The heat hangs over Westerley like a blanket laid down over a fever, suffocating and addling. Sign posts flicker erratically between Company propaganda and storm advisory warnings. Old Town’s streets, normally buzzing and bursting with life, are like a ghost town. The few stragglers that remain move like worms, slowly and carefully, their bodies bowed over the carts they push as if the sun has melted away their will to walk. In the square of the town, a group of well-clad Company men and women hurriedly work, bolting modern day stocks into the concrete. Prisoners, red jumpsuits and heads covered in black shrouds, are roughly shuffled between the soldiers as they’re chained and bound to the stakes. Only once they’re secured are they allowed to see the light of day—for the first and last time in years. The squadron commander, a stalwart woman, takes up the intercom on her truck, her voice booming through each sign post in Old Town when she speaks. “Westerlens, for high treason and threats to the public good, these prisoners are hereby brought to this place of execution where they shall be exposed to the elements until dead. By order of the Company, serving the Quad.” Seconds later, the sirens start. The soldiers finish their work with haste and pile into their vehicle. The sky, moments before overbearingly bright, disappears under inky shadow, bruised green and red as violent clouds spread out like reaching fingers. The storm rolls in without mercy or pause, enveloping the light of the day by visible inches. Acidic rainfall begins to pelt down, not lightly, not drifting, but in a hard, unrelenting stream. Anyone caught within it has but hours to survive, and moments to escape disfiguring injury. The storms will rage for three days with few breaks in between. But the environment is hardly the only, or even the worst, thing Westies have to worry about.

Resistance

The rebellion suffered a crushing blow. Of course, rebellions in Old Town are used to that--but with key leaders gone, Resistance members are scattered like grains of sand across glass, rolling further and further apart. Some individuals seek to take the power vacuum as their own chance at power, but they're met with staunch rebuttal, splitting this already fragile organization into smaller and smaller cells. Under the cover of the acidic storms, the remaining members of the Resistance take to the undercity, whispering into the ears of the discontent and angry. Follow the branch that's extended to you, they say, and you'll find a new place to grow roots. And so those roots do grow, down walls, on pieces of passed paper, across the hands of those who harbor dissent. It's a symbol, a living, growing map, of a new haven. Innocuous to those who don't know what it means, symbolic and religious, but to those who seek out its meaning? They'll delve to the very deepest parts of the undercity, a place manned only by those wearing the yellow and gold of the Scarbacks. There, a secure military bunker is hidden beneath the layers of Old Town, lost to all but the original blueprints of the city. Its concrete walls hold the barest bones of supplies, but there's potential, a skeleton upon which the rebellion can build its strength and muster the will to stand again. Finding the bunker, though arduous, isn't the hardest part. Getting in? That will take connections, charisma. Trust. The Resistance is in awful short supply of that last right about now.

The RAC

The RAC, as ever, maintains its neutrality and follows its singular mandate: the warrant is all. But that isn't to say that there can't be a little fun in the process--between serving out warrants issued on behalf of the other factions and singular individuals, the top teams within the Quad will receive a special directive. Black Warrant For all teams, whether temporarily formed for the sake of pursuit or permanently aligned, this presents a unique opportunity to compete against their fellow RAC agents. All manner of subterfuge is encouraged, although directly attacking your fellow Killjoys will receive at least one bad review on social networking apps. But while killing your competition isn't allowed, making their life impossibly difficult and taking the prize for yourself? That's the very definition of the game. This is a competitive warrant, open to all Killjoy teams with a level 4 agent or higher. Your task is simple in description but far from it in nature: find and secure an heir for Land Derrish before your opponents. The catch (there's always a catch, isn't there?) -- you'll be fighting off more than your compatriot Killjoys. Criminals and mercenaries will be gunning for the same targets, and there's a mountain of bureaucracy standing in your way to figuring out who is a legitimate heir, if one exists at all. Your time is short* and your competition is fierce. May the best team win. *Week 1, Day 2 - Week 1, Day 5

Comments

[snuggies]

[ Okay, first of all-- ]

You don't know that time travel isn't real. There's tons of things that are going on that we don't know about. [ The moment is gone, it's back to furrowed brows and frowning. ] And that's- that's not what I meant. I meant my genetic history. My claimant papers for getting land on Leith.

[impulsors]

[ a long and terrible silence. ]

. . . guess you're not wrong there. [ but before they can devolve into a Leithan Bigfoot Discussion - ] Didn't they let you file a report?

[snuggies]

[ He shakes his head, looking a little troubled. ]

No, they said they couldn't find any record that what I was saying was true. They won't do anything until I can bring them some evidence. That's why I'm here.

[impulsors]

. . . because you don't have the money.

[ just so's all cards are on the table. ]

[snuggies]

[ why you gotta call him out like that bro ]

Yes, I don't have the money. Would I be trying to sneak in if I could just get through using bribes?

[impulsors]

It'd save you some cash. And it means nobody'd be able to trace you later.

Can you even do anything?

[inksplashes]

I'm better looking than you, at least.

[ Said with absolute sincerity and almost a touch of sympathy. Life must be so hard for guys who fell into a vat of purple dye but never bothered to wash it out (or themselves).

Snickering at that thought, Lavi raises an eyebrow when the next answer doesn't address the topic at hand, but affords Itsuki the benefit of the doubt. While he has some choice opinion about the other man's work ethic, he's willing to see where this line of questioning is going. ]

Yeah, or close enough. Why?

[snuggies]

[ He needs to keep a handle on the situation, because when he loses his grip on his frustration, tight and coiled and itching for some kind of outlet, he doesn't tend to get angry in the way that normal people get angry--red faced and blunt fists. His anger usually goes the way of sharp teeth and claws.

It's been getting harder lately, when he'd done his best to keep his life as stress-free as was possible in Westerley, but he couldn't let this slide, even if he hates how wrong footed he feels in this entire situation. ]

What are you trying to do here? Why are you still talking to me?

[snuggies]

[ Different. Not like the Alpha subject that Scott had battled with in the past, but different still. And still an Enforcer if his uniform and conduct are anything to go by. Fenris could have an entirely different narrative--could've willingly volunteered himself to the Company to receive modifications. There's probably plenty of people that wouldn't see anything wrong with altering their bodies for enhanced senses and strength.

As much as he wants to, he probably can't ask the Enforcer for his story. ]

Yeah- I. One sec.

[ His gaze drops, grabbing his device from inside his jacket to bring up his ID. He's a little distracted at first, but when he focuses his attention back on the information displayed-- ]

Wait. Something's wrong... there's information missing.

[impulsors]

Yeah, I'm starting to wonder.

[ too sharp, huff for puff. ]

You could just wait. The last thing we need's someone else with a plan in there.

[ which is true, but there's some backstory missing to make that less than a jumble of sentences. ]

[snuggies]

What? Is it a competition? My plan versus your plan?

[ To be fair, Keith would probably win that competition. ]

And I can't wait, it's not exactly easy for me to get out here, dude.

[ How exactly did Scott manage to get in the middle of no where with just his feet? Who can say. ]

[inksplashes]

[ Ordinarily quite adept at reading people, especially those he's familiar with, Lavi stares for a moment after Yu turns away, not quite grasping what has the other man so irritated.

Then concludes, with a slight sigh, that he could spend three lifetimes with Yu and still not understand what's made him angry on a given day, so it's something he can worry about later.

And thankfully, the subject turns away as swiftly as his brooding partner. Lavi resumes his beaming smile, hands slid comfortably back into his coat. Chuckling, he shakes his head softly in denial, then gives that same faint shrug by way of answering.

He knows plenty of people who could do it, but none he'd ask to jump into this foolish plan--nor anyone else he'd be willing to play backup for during it.

So no, Yu isn't "on his own", but he's not getting any help drowning the both of them with his sudden heroics, either. ]

I wonder what's taking her so long? There was barely anything to put on..

[theunluckygirl]

["Barely anything to put on" was part of the problem, honestly. The girl that Lavi had gotten the clothes from was shorter than Jennifer, which made the already short dress much shorter in comparison. It fit okay everywhere else, and honestly she didn't dislike it utterly, but the length... She didn't know how to wear a dress this short.

She considers living in the bathroom or maybe just pretending the dress had somehow, magically, become ruined in the short time it had laid out and she just had to stick to her more modest clothing.

The door cracks open, hesitating, before Jennifer walks out, taking note instantly of a strange tension in the room and their changed positions. Tugging at the hem of her dress, continuing to smooth it down with the paranoia that it was going to ride up too far, she looks uncertainly between the two. Her hair is still pulled up in its tight bun, but the shoes fit and the rest of her looks more normal, if incredibly uncomfortable.]

Is... this really necessary? [The outfit change, she means]

[snuggies]

[ It's nothing that he could recognize as being specifically from Leith-- everything smells foreign to him, alongside the scent of metal and grease. The scent that he'd picked of Jason outside is much stronger now, and it's probably lodged permanently into his memory whether he wants it to be or not.

There's a sense of adventure that Scott feels himself drawn to, one that he hadn't really indulged in since he was a kid. Though he doubts, from Jason's countenance, that it's all fun and games.

He smiles, and it looks especially stupid given his puffy left eye. ]

Is that a suggestion? You maintain this ship on your own, right? I wouldn't mind learning a thing or two.

[ He's never going to have a ship, but he's saving up for a bike! ]

[inksplashes]

[ Well, field trips notwithstanding, at least this excursion is proving more fruitful than others. Nodding pleasantly and backing away as Scott disappears, Lavi waits patiently, head tilting to the side when the other pops back out like one of those children's games with a gopher.

Strictly speaking, nothing in the tunnels is clean, and the water supply is chief among them. Some of the more inventive have found ways to tap the water mains, but they're often discovered when enough residents complain and subsequently.. relocated. Forcefully. ]

Uhh... no, but..

[ Lavi frowns, trying to think of the gentlest way to say this without canceling the deal he hasn't quite yet cashed out on. ]

We should probably focus on things we can carry easily, so if it's very heavy, don't worry too much about it! Even just a little bit helps a lot.

[ In other words, we may get shanked so don't bring anything that prevents us from shanking them back. ]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Fortunately, Jennifer's timely reappearance saves Kanda from making the observation that would likely reveal just how little he actually knows about how long it takes women to get ready for... anything.

Instead, he passes a quick, almost clinical eye over her and shrugs.]

You still look too clean. And learn to slouch, woman. You stand out with that posture.

[Glancing back out the window, he watches a Company man make his slow way closer, stopping locals every few feet to check their papers. Ever the helpful one, this guy.]

[brickinthewall]

As long as we're clear that you're not trying to pick me up.

[She shakes her head, a little amused.]

King. [That's about all he'll get because that's about all she ever gives anyway.] Kinda like Seal, but not as great. [... What a weird reference, and yet, so immediate and obvious to her.] Good to meet you, Leo Elster.

[And she means it.]

[deceptions]

[ His eyes flicker away, for a moment, to the guards; their tense shoulders, the hurried steps they were taking. But then, he also knows Takasugi's noticed, too; his grin grows, while he sighs inwardly.

And here he was hoping this would be simpler. ] You're going to have to tell me what happened. [ The eye, he means — ] Some other time.

If "comfortable" means losing my citizenship and becoming a Killjoy, sure. Neutrality's nice. [ "Nice". ] You?

[impulsors]

Your plan already failed. There's no competition. You're not going to get anything out of the people in there.

[ an ugly way to phrase -- but the line's thinning at the door, earning the distinct and meaningful swivel of a bouncer's look. keith glares back, a fleeting cut-sharp stare, then squares his shoulders as he turns on his heel, heads for what generally passes for eulogy's parking lot. ]

[slotted]

[ he narrows his eyes and cants his head a bit, confused. ]

Seal...?

is that cute tho

[deceptions]

You're not the one that gets to decide that. [ Complete with a simple roll of his eyes, and a small huff. Just take his one kindness and stop arguing?? ] Unless you want me to have a problem with it.

[ But anyway — no surprises on the fact that Scott couldn't get in here easily. Slightly more surprising that Scott's stupid enough to think that he can just walk up and find the claimant papers in a place like Eulogy. ] ...

Two questions. One, how were you going to find them in the first place, two, if you did — how were you going to get it back? [ Can you really blame him for being doubtful. ]

[deceptions]

[ If Koon's eyes widen when a certain individual walks into a shady alleyway, that's not anyone's imagination.

Reactions, as a whole, are hard to pull from him — he knows they can be easily turned against him, and purposely keeps from being overt about them. But there's things that come out of left field out of his control; this happens to be one of them. Of all the people to see here—

He takes a deep breath, exhales, eyebrows knitting together at the lack of a reaction. No recognition, nothing. ] What, no hello?

[ Not that... either of them have time to say hello, with a situation like this. When the uneasiness turns into hostility, sharp laughter and cocky gestures, Koon rules his eyes. A blue cube, made of hard light, flickers into view, followed by — please let this be over soon. ]

[snuggies]

[ Scott steps further out, holding out the supplies he'd gathered so far, though the concern does waver from his face. ]

I don't know what the incoming weather is going to be like, but if it's damaging skin, it's probably similar to a chemical burn. [ Probably, he doesn't really know what they're dealing with here. ] The most important thing is to be able to wash out the corrosive liquid...

[ His brows furrow, wondering how the people are even surviving without clean water. ]

I can spare a jug. But after that you're going to have to find your own way of getting clean water.

[snuggies]

[ Scott balks a little at that, having no idea as to whether or not Keith's right. Is there some kind of system that would mark him inside? Keep the entire building from interacting with him? He does have a second face, but it doesn't exactly warrant casual conversation.

He follows after him. ]

What about you? You said you were with me before, doesn't that make you suspicious too?

[snuggies]

Ask around, I guess? [ His answer comes with a wince, because he doesn't really know. Maybe he'll have to empty his pockets for the information, as much as he doesn't want to. But ] I can't just do nothing. There's no one else around who's going to get them back for me, so I had to come here.

[ As stupid as it might've seemed, he remains stubborn on his front. ]

There's a-- person. That works here. They said that as long as I tell them who it is, they'd get my papers back. [ His gaze had moved to the throngs of people, weary and a little unnerved, before it sweeps back to Koon. ] I just need to figure out who.

--What're you doing here, by the way?