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

closed prompts

[selfsatisfy]

Lavi | Making like rats [Undercity Tunnels]

[selfsatisfy]

[Lavi has his own business in life. ...Actually from what Midori does know he'd say Lavi tiresomely has his fingers in too many pies. Then again Midori is so lazy he keeps a single hobby, a job and absolutely nothing else. No girlfriend, no secondary hobbies, social activities run the gamut of "hospital holiday party" and pretty much nothing else.

So. Yeah. Lavi has a really busy life. And here Midori is in it! Not just a looker on, but actually assisting in bringing supplies to Lavi's friends down under. Most doctors would doubtless be a little nervous going somewhere they obviously don't belong. Midori, in contrast, is viewing this as an unexpected boon for the day. Like someone buying you ice cream after you choked down another poor person's dinner of cup noodles.

Yeah. He's lived that reality too. As such he appreciates Lavi's (metaphorical) gift of ice cream. ...This metaphor got kinda weird, but we're just going to roll with it.]

I wouldn't have expected you to be so kind, Lavi. [He's been surprised by this act of charity? Maybe?] Then again you're always attentive in cultivating what's useful to you.

[Nevermind, he's just an asshole. Despite the terrible conversation he keeps up well enough, lugging the case of medical supplies he's carrying easily even as he slips around those who live and clog the tunnels down here. ...He has no idea where they're going, of course, dependent on Lavi to guide him. But that's just part of the fun.]

[inksplashes]

[ It never ceases to amuse him, the reasons that people won't follow him down into these little rabbit holes. The darkness, the dirt, the people--everyone has some form of phantom they fear down here, yet it's the second occasion of the week that Lavi leads a new lamb into the labyrinth.

He glances at Midori, expression a mix of perpetual amusement and careless curiosity.

That's not very fair to lambs.

No, the good doctor may be unfamiliar with the twists and turns of this world, but he's far from helpless or innocent.

(Perhaps that's why he's insisted that Midori's hands stay occupied and out of the devil's proverbial workshop. The lack of light down here makes for a potentially wicked trap should darker thirsts need satiating.) ]

Semantics. [ Nervous laughter, a dismissive wave of his hand. ] You're right, though, I am a pretty great guy for doing this.

[ Though he's carrying considerably less supplies than the doctor, all in the tactically sound but largely bullshit name of keeping him ready and able to respond to an attack.

And he does respond when one comes, though it hardly qualifies for an assault. He pauses when fingers grip into his pant leg, tugging at him pitifully to stop. His gaze turns down coldly, surveying the crumpled old man shaking with withdrawal, murmuring pleas for help.

Midori probably has the supplies to ease his pain. Lavi has them in his emergency stash.

Without hesitation, Lavi pulls that hand away sharply and keeps moving. ] And you? I know you enjoy my company, but your nurse is definitely hotter than these guys.

[selfsatisfy]

[A smile spreads across Midori's face.]

I don't know what you mean.

[Why he's here... He steps around the addict with only a murmured, "I am working today" to the hand that raises up towards him next so pitifully. As a doctor Midori can be charitable. As a Killjoy he lacks mercy. He didn't follow Lavi down here because he is a doctor. It's a weird dichotomy most struggle to understand about him, something that would almost be compartmentalizing if Midori didn't embrace all the horrible in his life so readily.

Anyway...]

If you keep hitting on my nurse she's going to take you seriously. You should get some shame.

[Just saying, bro. You've got a problem. And this is him not answering the original question as they come to a split in the path. Midori looks up curiously, eyes tracing the ceiling, noting the age even as he deftly moves a would-be thief out of his way. He has no problem with touching the unwashed masses. ...Probably shouldn't pat them on the shoulder like they're an amusing Pomeranian he's encountered when they try to take advantage of him though.]

Which way~.

[inksplashes]

[ Compartmentalizing isn't something this one struggles to understand, but more importantly, not something he asks or pays much mind to. If they stopped to help everyone they came across, they'd never make it with the supplies--let alone their clothes--to the intended audience.

So if he's surprised to see the doctor brush off a potential patient, he doesn't let it show, sparing the people around them no more than a glance for threat-assessment.

(Though the evasion itself is noted, he lets it go out of a sense of fairness. He hadn't exactly provided a real answer to Midori's question, either, and like most relationships, their camaraderie is hinged on knowing what questions not to ask or press.) ]

Shame? I have plenty of shame.

[ By which he means absolutely none, at least not the variety that Midori means.

To one side of them, an unmarked wall. To the other, white paint spread in crude cracks and straggled lines, almost resembling a child's rendition of a branch. Lavi studies it for a moment, contemplating its meaning, searching his memory for similar symbols--

--and then remembers his company, filing the image away for study later. ]

Here.

[ He turns, following the almost-branch's path. The lighting, already dim and inconsistent, gets lower as they proceed, people beginning to filter out as they delve into one of the lesser used tunnels. Their destination shouldn't be too far off, but the cost of that convenience is a significant likelihood that they run into someone with no intention of letting them see their journey's end.

Enjoy the ice cream, Midori. ]

You brought something sharper than a syringe, right?

[selfsatisfy]

[Midori's eyes follow Lavi's to the symbol-- but he doesn't keep them there, instead watching Lavi's face. Ho... He's glad he came. He's seeing interesting things already. He doesn't remark upon it though, merely following dutifully as he's done all along.]

Of course, I'm a doctor-- there's scissors in there too.

[...Horrible. Then again he doesn't feel the need to illuminate just what he can do with his hands let alone a case full of bandages, medicine and other tools. It's kind of boring to talk about, right? Much more fun to keep teasing Lavi rather than telling him pertinent information.]

You shouldn't worry so much. Whatever happens I'm sure it will be fine. I have you with me; I'll be counting on you~.

[Truly he is a piece of shit, but yes show him what you've got Lavi.]

[inksplashes]

Counting on me, huh?

[ What a foolish thing for anyone to do. A bookman is only loyal to their mission--not to the people involved, not to those they might call friend. If anything, it would be in Lavi's better interest to let Midori sustain damage down here and leave him to die. One less killjoy to compete with, one less lie to maintain.

But Lavi is always mindful to cultivate what's useful to him.

(And in some small part of him, there's possibly some genuine fondness for the other, mired beneath layers of both earned and unearned distrust. But that isn't something Lavi pays mind to: if he became conscious of even the slightest sense of attachment, he'd have to severe communication immediately.) ]

Sure. I'll do my best.

[ Said with the usual smile and the sound of one long-suffering, he adds lightly -- ]

But if you get hurt because you left the one-eyed guy to fight in the dark, well...

[ The murmur of voices, tense but indistinguishable, catches his attention. Someone--possibly multiple someones--is shuffling, but stops when they in turn notice the approaching men.

Lavi frowns, regarding the supplies in his arms furtively. Dropping them would probably be fine, but this isn't the kind of area you just leave something--or someone--unattended. He glances back at Midori, then raises his voice to a level that most people would consider obnoxiously loud. A warning for those waiting for them down the line: ]

SO.. I heard you bagged a Level 4 warrant without any shots yesterday, nice job. What are you working on today?

[ Yes shut up he knows they're both level 3, but maybe "two killjoys coming through" will be sufficient warning without anyone having to get hurt. ]

[selfsatisfy]

[Skills Midori has: murder, doctoring, murder, cleaning assembling and shooting any gun you can name and several you can't, murder. Skills Midori doesn't have: acting and bluffing. ...The look on his face is hilariously awkward for the briefest moment. And then:]

...Ah, yeah. There is a guy I'm looking to get to the core of. He's a tough one; if I simply torment him he'll just retreat in on himself. So I'm taking my time. Making it slow. Ho ho~. It should be good.

[Midori continues down the tunnel, letting Lavi think on that however he likes. Pain, death, loss-- these things don't strike fear in him. As such it's very easy for Midori to stop just a foot or so shy from the darker shadows that mark the other party moving through this place.]

Hello.

[There's something to be said for traveling with a sociopath. A polite tone doesn't change the very real sense of murderlust oppressively beginning to bear down in the stifling air of the tunnel.]

Are you looking to play out a massacre with us today?

lmk if this is okay!

[inksplashes]

[ ...

His teeth set to trap his tongue from saying anything that might betray his irritation, expression blanking. He's less concerned with whatever game Midori thinks he's playing (with him?) and more with the other man's apparent intent to make a potentially bad situation worse. The doctor is far too bright to not understand Lavi's aim, he's just too damn stubborn not to follow along.

Such, he supposes, is the price he has to pay to get these supplies.

Very well.

The shadowed figures rise, the smaller of the two trembling slightly--another addict--as their dirty faces come into view. A man and a woman, both malnourished and weakened with the lack of sunlight, flash their teeth in feral warning, gangly bodies bowing out towards the two killjoys in threat.

Thoughtlessly, Lavi drops his supplies and moves himself in front of Midori, as much protecting the other killjoy from their would-be robbers as he is protecting them from Midori.

"G-give me what you have!" the man rasps, swinging a crude shiv towards the pair. The woman behind him looks as if she's both hiding behind his back and providing support so he can stand.

There's no question that Lavi could turn the tables with force, but he's still of the mind to handle things peacefully. They're just desperate people. Lavi holds his hands up, open palms, to show he means no threat, and prays to the trees that Midori doesn't make good on his threat about a massacre today. ]

We can't do that, friend. We have to take these to the uncles or a lot of people are going to suffer.

Right back at you face in hands here

[selfsatisfy]

[...It's kind of funny to have another person stand between Midori and others. It's not that no one ever has. It's just...

The list of those who would do so willingly isn't long.

Snagging what Lavi set down Midori balances it with what he's already holding. He is listening to the conversation even if he's not particularly watching. He's being troublesome to Lavi, he realizes that. It's kind of funny. Didn't he say not to worry so much...?

Politely he waits. This is Lavi's show and Midori is only a guest. Still-- ...Hn...]

They're not so bad. You should bring them along.

[It's something said softly only for Lavi. Why he is saying such things... His eyes glance up to the ceiling, cracked bricks and depressing water leakage meeting his sight. It's not the first time he's done so, it won't be the last. It's been on his mind some time there is nowhere the sky can be seen from here. Not the merest shred.

Midori doesn't see any reason to leave someone behind in this darkness. Not if they're going to be so adamant about being noticed.]

chews on knuckles

[inksplashes]

[ "What's he saying?!"

Not what Lavi expects to hear, for one. It's a potentially peaceful resolution, though it would still end badly for them--but.

They are trying to rob two killjoys, so while he's sympathetic enough not to reach for his sidearm immediately, he's not inclined to go out of his way to see them escape the eyes of the law, either. ]

He's saying that your friend looks sick, that's all. Withdraw--

[ Depth perception and darkness are a dangerous mix. Agitated with the killjoy's insistence on talking and not handing over the goods, the man lashes out, and Lavi reacts on instinct, one arm sweeping out defensively in front of him, the other pushing behind him to move Midori out of the way. The angle is off and he earns a deep gouge in his arm for it, and that is where most of his nice guy act drains away. ]

...On second thought, you're just pissing me off.

[ Because as it happens, most people, including Lavi, take poorly to being stabbed, and he's ruthless when he moves forward this time, blocking the next attempt and pinning the man's wrist behind his shoulder blade until he drops the shiv. One cold glare sweeps towards the woman and sends her scampering in the other direction. ]

You'll want to see the uncles about your concussion later.

[ There's an uttered "what--" but it's muted, largely, by the impact of concrete against the man's skull as Lavi firmly introduces the two. ]

LMAO LAVI today he writes in his notes "Nagamasa is never allowed to accompany me again"

[selfsatisfy]

...

[Ah, well. Midori spares a glance for the man who's now slumped on the floor. But-- there are priorities and he is not Midori's first. Now that they have had an "enemy" escape they need to move. To stay is only inviting retribution. ...And he really didn't bring a gun. Which was perhaps stupid, but guns are for murdering people and he's not here to kill anyone.]

Keep going. I'll take care of that when we're somewhere else.

grave mistakes were made this day

[inksplashes]

Mm, yeah.

[ He glances at the gash in his arm, though he seems more concerned about the tear in his jacket than anything else. He loves this jacket and there's only so many times he can convince someone else to sew it up (and him) before he's going to need a new one.

Mentioning that would probably get him a definite "told you so" out of his current company, though.

Lavi laughs at that thought, grin painted right back in place as he turns around to unload some of the burden from the doctor's arms. ]

Your nurse would definitely think I was hot right then, right? And you--

[ Surprised him. ]

Thanks.

[ As for what, he doesn't clarify, but steps around the now unconscious figure with a slight grunt of disgust and picks up the pace. Just a little further to go, and provided no friends show up, they'll make it yet. ]