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

[shikomizue]

[Of all things to be putt off by in this place, a pipe should have been low on the list. Though, with the deepness of the frown on the other's face, Takasugi supposed this man was simply frequently displeased.

It wasn't endearing, even if it was ever so dully familiar. Takasugi turned to the offered drink, considering it with raised eyebrows.]

You've got some honor, repaying a debt long forgotten. [A compliment given with tone, and a smirk, that was anything but lauding.

He let the glass sit between them as he lit his bowl, two plumes of smoke rising one immediately after the other from his mouth until only a small wisp twisted above the burning leaves within.

Fingers rested on the brim of the drink carefully, drawing it closer as if an afterthought.]

[shikomizue]

[An aloof sense of comfort, projected by the way his hips swing forward, how his arms hang relaxed at his side, and in his focus on the boy - rather than the impending danger - is the only image Takasugi cares to project.

He maintains it even in the face of the other's desperate shouting, lips parting as if to offer another meaningless suggestion of subtlety. Unfortunately, the growing echo of boot falls and the ear piercing ring of bullets interrupts him.

A direct hit.

Disappointing. The decision to move has already been made by the time he's implored to do so - but he won't be stepping away from the enemy. Yellow eyes flash in his vision as Takasugi lunges, closing the gap between himself and the enforcers with his sword drawn.

He wonders how far the injured boy will make it down the tunnel, or if some form of selfless justice - so common in the resistance - would bid him to stay.]

[shikomizue]

[Assuming such terrible thing of him - a safe bet, to be sure - even if Takasugi would feed platitudes to the wholesome youth of the Resistance readily. For Leo, there was no point, his business was information and he did it well. He knew Takasugi's goal.

And yet, he didn't hold himself back beyond a moment's hesitation, during which Takasugi's gaze fell dark, his body still as he waited and allowed for no distractions.]

Consider it a non-issue. [An expensive hotel was expected, as was the informant asking for more money. He'd leave it with the tip, so long as he got what he needed.]

lmao

[shikomizue]

[And Takasugi an appreciate the flow of information, unbridled by morals. If Itsuki had something like that, Takasugi wasn't aware of that - a sign of a good business partnership.]

Aaa, it's been busy. [Yet Itsuki had somehow avoided getting his face bruised up in the process of gathering the threads of events. Surprising.

He was interested already. Takasugi's eyebrows raised to show as much, a genuine gesture let slip purposefully.] The second, and then the first. [A small bit of information in exchange - namely, which Takasugi was more concerned with - involved in.

The bartender brought their drinks, and as a gesture of appreciation, Takasugi bid the man leave the bottle, pushing it towards the broker as their server departed.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Shake him down or threaten, no. But bribe? Well that wouldn't be unheard of in Old Town.

But then... from the odd and end dealings he's seen of this particular Company man, he's not exactly the corrupt type. And that was one of the reasons he'd thought to ask him in the first place.

So.

Another long moment, and then Kanda smirks, drains the last of his own drink then pushes to his feet.]

I've had enough with that kind of 'fun' for the day. C'mon. She's upstairs.

[lotusmesenpai]

[To be fair, everything about this place is offputting to Kanda.

At that quirk of a brow and words that sound nice but feel like a taunt, Kanda's own scowl deepens slightly as he frowns and leans back from that smoke a little.]

The fuck would I know about honor.

[Because, for him, he's never really considered any of his acts as 'honorable'. To him, they'd be closer to 'surviving' and 'hates the leverage that favors provide over oneself', but not something so lofty as acts of honor.

What would a false human, a tool for wars, know of something so very human as that?

But then the drink shifts closer and his scowl sifts into the hint of a satisfied smirk before he takes another long sip of his own glass. An easy resolution, now, and he can forget this ghost from a past long dead and buried...]

[snuggies]

Me? [ Scott shoots Fenris a baffled look, tearing his gaze away from where he'd been squinting at his information. ] Why would I have an explanation, isn't it the company's job to keep tabs on people?

[ Maybe he shouldn't be so snappy with an Enforcer, but the statement had genuinely made him incredulous. It's not as though Scott has any control over the whims and administration of the Company. They made official what information that they wanted about him, and it was out of his control. ]

[snuggies]

Don't worry, your concern about my well-being is inspiring a lot of confidence in you.

[ He fixes Jason with a small, lop-sided grin as he says this, previous animosity having all but evaporated. To be honest, he doesn't even need the other man to many any attempt to patch him up. Even without the handy healing factor, it's not a particularly grievous injury. Scott had just forced himself inside out of irritation, but the fact that Jason's humouring him says a lot.

Smells like someone's got a heart of gold underneath that gruff exterior.

Scott takes a seat anyway. ]

But I meant ship maintenance. Do you know anything about motorbikes?

[tirejacked]

[Don't smell him, Scott, that's weird. Anyway, his heart is bitter and spiteful just like the rest of him, I don't know what you're talking about.]

Turns out they don't work out nearly as well in zero-g.

[(He knows a lot more about bikes than he does about ships, actually. Prefers them by far.) This deflection comes while he's stooped to dig for a compress in the freezer. He tosses it in Scott's direction and gestures vaguely at his eye, leaning back against the counter. Apply pressure, bud.]

If anyone asks, tell 'em they should see the other guy.

idk neopets inflation?? what even

[inksplashes]

[ For a killjoy tasked with finding the heir, Lavi doesn't seem overly impressed with the information provided. It's not that Itsuki hasn't provided something valuable, it's just that he doesn't care.

All things considered, the sooner war descends upon the Quad, the sooner he moves on to his next assignment. His next name.

So it's with an impassive blink and easy smile he accepts the information, stows it for use, and then disregards much of it. ]

And is she carrying the only heir? Or do you know if someone else might be around to wear that crown?

[valr]

[Well, this is awkward.

Kara stares at the offered shirt, trying to figure out what his issue is, before she realizes it's the blood. Instead of taking off her shirt, she pulls a knife out of her boot and slices off the bottom half of her shirt, dropping it to the floor.

Now she has a midriff and Kanda gets to keep his blood.]

Not everyone in the Company is loyal, they could've been bought out.

[tirejacked]

Sometimes all you've got to do is ask nicely.

[Sorry, not sorry at all, Koon. If you're going to rope him into your problems and make him bail your ass out in the process, he will make a point of doing so in the way that aggravates you the most. Since he actually has nothing to lose by causing a ruckus right now, it's worth it just to see the on Koon's smug face.

And hey, now you can get rid of them and it's self defense. Easy.

Koon runs for cover, but no point in taking the direct approach if you're going to draw things out. Jason breaks for the opposite direction and shoots out the supports for the heavy canopy of the bazaar storefront serving as their assailant's cover. They snap and the canopy drops, scattering goods and gunmen into the alley behind the building. Goon number one isn't fast enough on the recovery and ends up pinned down under the canvas with a boot to the back of his neck.

One down. Pull your weight, Koon.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[The sound of ripped fabric has him half turning only to see a modified shirt instead. He blinks, and then shakes his head, a hint of amusement there in his expression before he snags his shirt back up to put it away.]

...Guess I'll owe you for a shirt, then.

[Turning back to face her, he leans back against the door and crosses his arms, a thoughtful frown pulling into place.]

Perhaps, but from what I've seen, there aren't that many above ground level willing to be bought by anyone other than the Nine, or their bootlickers, so it still leads back to the same.

[valr]

[Kara lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug, effectively dismissing Kanda's offer - clothes are just clothes, and hers aren't exactly expensive. And it still functions as a shirt, just less of one.]

Corruption's everywhere. This helps 'em, anyway. Don't want Westies getting too uppity.

[shikomizue]

[The scorn on the other's face deepens and Takasugi wondered, as only a man inhaling the sweet smoke of narcotics could, if the scowl could cut so thoroughly that it left scars.

So much more could be learned from a wrong assumption than a correct one, and Takasugi leaned back, eyebrow raised as he was faced with the gruff rejection of his statement. A hollow laugh, low and more sardonic than jovial, preceded his first sip of the offered alcohol.

An action which placated his company quite markedly. Takasugi set his drink down, fully intending on savoring the glass. It was a timer - a man so dedicated to repaying a forgotten debt would stay long enough to see it through - as drink remained so would this stranger.

No, not a stranger.

A ghost.

They never did stay dead and buried long.]

Did you enjoy your panda? [As Kanda's tone cut between them, the memory cut it's way from the fog of smoke that concluded the festival ten years ago.]

[deceptions]

Still, it'd be rude of me to not ask what happened to a— friend. [ "Friend". It's a term he uses loosely, and whether he puts any weight behind the word is another matter entirely, but —

The grin stays on his face, though the edges of it change to something ... more genuine, for once. ] Good to hear it. [ They won't have long to talk like this, at this rate, but he'll stick around for as long as he can. ]

[lotusmesenpai]

[He can only snort in agreement at that before canting his head to the side to watch her, his gaze thoughtful.]

...either way, I doubt this is the end of it. The Accords are still intact, so... you hear anything else about this shitshow, let me know.

[valr]

I'll keep my ear to the ground.

[She always does, but she figures it can't hurt to reassure him that she'll pay attention to this particular issue.

And now that she's finished patching him up, she figures loitering any longer is overstaying her welcome.]

Get some rest. I'm gonna go make sure that Company idiot hasn't broken the Leithians.

okay look in neopets it cost 1000 neopoints to buy a virtual apple

[nightchild]

[Itsuki shrugs at that.]

Isn't there always someone else? You don't get to be rich and powerful if you don't have a dozen contingencies in place -- or in this case, babies. Who knows? The Nine are fucking weird.

[It's a good thing no one pays Itsuki to stay neutral in his line of work.]

But yeah, I've heard rumor of bastards. They're not as popular as the surrogate right now, but if whoever you're working for wants them ahead of time then I can sell you some stuff on them.

[lotusmesenpai]

[So he's not the only one that had recognized the other then.

Even so, the questioned tossed so casually his way is enough for his hand to tighten into a white-knuckled grip, blue eyes widening and then narrowing hard as he slips from his seat.

It's automatic, the way his hand snaps forward, fists in the older man's shirt. Because for a moment, all he can see is broken bodies under shattered walls, his sister's foot the only thing remaining to be seen.

Just that, before a second explosion had left him in darkness, had delivered him into ungentle hands.

Blinking back the memory, the scowl deepens, lips twisting angrily.]

Fuck you, bastard.

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris glances at the screen. The information displayed doesn't mean anything to him, just as nothing else in this encounter has meant much to him--aside from the fact that Koon is a Derrish heir, and thus must be protected. He leads Koon into the nearest, quietest bar, and he doesn't speak again until they've both sat down. ]

You asked me if I recognized you. Why? Have we met before?

[ As a RAC agent, Koon has surely had dealings with the Company. This, Fenris can accept. But he was never part of them, at least, not to his knowledge. ]

[shikomizue]

[The familiarity between them - genuine or not - brings a more relaxed smile to Takasugi's face. If Koon wants to keep the air between them warm, Takasugi will follow suit.

Makes it easier to ask for favors.]

We've both parted from this place, and yet- [He turns to glance inside - guards have strewn themselves more thickly.] We find ourselves returning.

Hopefully for good reason. [The same reason, he imagines.]

[shikomizue]

[Takasugi's recognition was delayed, not unmarked by doubt, but confirmed the moment worn fingers curled into a fist. He knows the reaction will be violent, something inside the other was surely twisting, writhing in anger.

He wonders what Kanda sees when he looks at him. Is it the destruction, or is it the smiling family that left him behind?

With no care to test reaction time seeped in alcohol and opium, Takasugi only leans away from the insult spit in his face. There's no urgency on his face, the most concern he allows that of a glance to his alcohol to ensure it hadn't been toppled in the upset.]

You're the only survivor. [Levity is gone from his voice, now a flat tone that doesn't accuse. Rage like this couldn't be banished, he understands that all too well.]

is the apple made of gold?! neo..gold?

[inksplashes]

[ Hn. That's quite a dilemma. He's not exactly flowing in joy to keep forking over, especially with the understanding that he won't, in fact, collect on the black warrant..

But it's important to Yu to keep that girl safe.

Forwarding the payment for the initial intel, Lavi mutters under his breath about bookmen and book-keeps not at all being the same thing. ]

Why bother going for the same targets everyone else is? Work smarter, not harder. You know of anyone like that I might turn over instead?

[lotusmesenpai]

If you want to call it that.

[Neither letting go nor moving back, Kanda's glare stays focused on the man before him as he tries to reign in the sharp spike of raw rage that curled through him at the terse assessment.

Watching the other's impassive expression, it's all the harder for him to draw his anger back, to leash it. Instead, he lowers his voice, measures his words with too much care.]

But look at you... same face as back then. No new scars that I can see. So? Where'd you go? One minute you were there, the next I woke up government property. Must have been quite the escape.