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]

[ It's not a gun pointed in his direction, so Scott accepts the order though it makes him grit his teeth. He's annoyed and regretful that he'd gotten caught, but not afraid. Maybe he should be, because he really has no idea what she's capable of, but he isn't, and instead he climbs the rest of the distance up to the barebones balcony that she's waiting at, the claws disappearing from his hands as he hauls himself over the ledge, leaving slightly bloody fingertips in their wake.

Able to actually see her now, he watches her carefully, trying to spot any weapons or the slight metal noise of a gun. He's about as far as he can keep away, the lines of his body painting a wary picture. ]

I'm not looking for a fight. [ He starts, gentle and careful, with the hopes that she might hear him out. ]

[valr]

[For someone standing in a precarious spot with a complete stranger, there's nothing about Kara's body language that suggests she's concerned. Instead, she's relaxed, as though she's just run into Scott at a cafe and they're having a perfectly normal chat about the weather.

(Which is terrible).]

This is the wrong place to be if you ain't looking for a fight.

[There's a gun on her hip, half-hidden under a loose shirt, but she isn't trying to conceal it, nor does she reach for it. She's too busy taking a drag of her cigarette.]

What's your deal? [a beat, as she blows out smoke.] And don't lie, I'm not in the mood.

[snuggies]

[ A knot of tension unfolds, and Scott lets the posture of his shoulders soften, expression a little less hard as he considers her now. He doesn't want to be here any more than she wants him to be here either, but he's glad to have met with the one guard who doesn't abide by the policy of shooting first.

He doesn't have any reason to lie. ]

My papers are missing. [ Which doesn't mean much, because it's not like Scott actually believes in a future outside of Westerley. But this isn't just him, it's his family.

His gaze darts toward the door, light streaming, wavering, and unpleasant, with a frown furrowed between his brows. ]

I heard this might be the place to get them back.

[valr]

[Well, shit.

Kara's shoulders drop at the same moment as she pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly, because she realizes that she should have expect this. People are going to get desperate - understandably so - and it's going to make them stupid.

It's also going to make her stupid, because she can't help but sympathize.]

What's the plan if you do find someone selling yours? 'Cause that shit don't go cheap.

[She wants to know if he's thought this through.]

[snuggies]

[ Scott's eyebrows shoot up, and he gives her a look of open shock. ]

I'm not going to pay. They're mine.

[ His voice goes a little off at the word "mine", thrown by the thought of something his being taken. It's a strange and unusual feeling, one that's not really in line with his normal behaviour, and it gets him to drop his gaze, hating feeling irresponsible. ]

I'm not here to fight anyone inside either. I just want some information I can use to get them back.

[valr]

[Oh, honey.

Something in Kara's expression softens, just for a moment before she slams down on expressing any sort of real sympathy. That's the sort of thing that will get her in real trouble.]

Anyone in there with those IDs ain't gonna leave here until they're all gone.

[So he's either going to have to buy it, or fight to get it back.]

Best case scenario you get a Killjoy involved, but they don't go cheap either.

[snuggies]

[ Scott's expression hardens at the same time, knowing that she's right. He doesn't want to fight, not just because he's a peace-loving hippie, but because he genuinely doesn't think it would be an effective way of getting way he wants. He has no idea what the atmosphere is like in Eulogy, whether or not others would jump to his opponents aid if Scott were to instigate a fight—it seems more likely than not. It's not a fight that he's arrogant enough to think that he can win.

But if he doesn't have a choice either way, then he'll have to make it work. ]

I don't want to hire anyone either, but I will if I have to. Right now all I can do is get in and see what the situation is, and work from there. [ Which is shortsighted, and not a strategy that he's particularly interested in.

He looks at her, considering. ]

How are they able to sell them anyway? Shouldn't the Company have failsafes to prevent fraud like that?

[ It's not just his genetic history that had been stolen. ]

[valr]

[This sounds like a terrible plan all round, and Kara has a feeling it's going to end with someone dead, though she isn't quite sure who. Anyone who can scale the walls is potentially someone not to be messed with.]

You think the Company really gives a shit?

[They might run frequent ID checks, but it's not because they care about people's identities being stolen; it's just another form of control, a way to remind people who has all the power.]

[snuggies]

Not really. [ He can admit that easily enough. ] But they pretend they do sometimes. Besides, aren't they all about wanting to police who gets into their sacred land?

[ Leith isn't Qresh by any stretch of the imagination, but it's better than Westerley. And its inhabitants know that. They probably think themselves better than the Westies too.

He meets her gaze again, because eventually it boils down to: ] I can't do nothing.

[valr]

Think about it, now they have an excuse to put a hold on it, or come down harder on people. They'll take advantage of this.

[Maybe she's thinking too poorly of the Company, but they've yet to prove her wrong when it comes to being incredibly awful.

The Company doesn't really matter, though, because they're not going to help with this situation. Right now, Kara is the only one who can help.

With a sigh, she drops her cigarette and crushes it under her heel.]

If you figure out who's got your shit, tell me. I'll handle it.

[She's angry at them, anyway, the people selling their fellow citizens' identities. Killing one of them won't rest heavily on her.]

[snuggies]

[ It's probably a little presumptuous, the way that Scott's eyes light up at her. He slides down from where he'd been sitting on the ledge, standing on the balcony now, looking her with considerable interest, expression open. ]

What will you do? Can you figure out how they got it in the first place?

[ He doubts it, there's no way anyone would reveal how they came about their goods, lest their supply get cut off, but the question slips out before he can help it. Maybe it's just because he's been starved for an opportunity that might lead to something good. His demeanour changes immediately, and he focuses more closely on her, studying her presence and trying to commit it to memory. ]

[valr]

[Sometimes it amazes her how hopeful and trusting people can be, despite everything that Westerley chooses to be. It's lucky for Scott that Kara isn't the type to take advantage.]

Best not to ask questions you won't like the answer to.

[She'll spare him from having to get his hands dirty, but that doesn't mean she has to coddle him. If he's a Westerlen, he knows how things have to work sometime, that violence is the only language some people talk.]

[snuggies]

[ At first, he thinks she means only his question about finding out how the sellers came by the IDs, and he wants to tell her that he's not worried about Company conspiracies or being disappointed by any organization. That's how things tend to go, and he's learned to accept disappointment pretty much every step of the way.

Then, he wonders if she thinks he might take issue with her method for solving his problem. ]

I do want to know. [ He'd thought maybe she could use her connection and position here to cajole the return of his ID; that that would be the only reason she'd offer to help, because it would be a small task for her. ] I don't want you to get in trouble because of me. [ Or hurt, but he doesn't want to imply she can't handle herself in a fight. ] And I can help.

[valr]

[Kara shakes her head almost immediately.]

I ain't gonna get in trouble.

[All she has to do is get the person alone, kill them, and dispose of the body before anyone notices, which is all relatively easy for her. Sometimes fights get bad at Eulogy, it's not desirable to the owners, but it means that Kara has learnt how to make a body disappear quickly. She'll have to make sure not to make a mess, but a snapped neck doesn't leave any marks.]

I'm not doing you a favor. This shit ain't right, they shouldn't be profiting off people like you.

[So - she's doing it because she thinks it needs to be done, which is mostly true, though she's only telling him because she figures it'll make him less likely to fuss about it.]

[snuggies]

[ Okay, so this isn't a step toward their inevitable friendship, and it's not like she's warming up to him or anything, but he smiles a little nonetheless, head dipping down as he looks over at her. ]

It feels like a favour. [ Because he wants to be able to convey his gratitude whether she wants it or not. Her actions have an impact on him, and it's not as clinic or matter of fact as she might want it to be. He wants to make it clear that it goes beyond duty in his eyes, both her offer and his own insistence to let him help. ]

You don't believe in having a plan b? I won't interfere if it looks like you're doing fine on your own.

[valr]

[For a moment Kara simply watches Scott, weighing up his words, especially his insistence that what she's doing is a favor, and she gives a quick little nod, an acceptance. She'll take his gratitude so long as he knows he doesn't owe her.

The rest of it is easier.]

If I need a plan B, I might as well let 'em kill me.

[Not to disparage on anyone who might like a back up plan, but Kara has to rely on getting things done efficiently.]

[snuggies]

Why? [ Scott furrows his brows, mystified.

He's actually a little more conflicted than he looks. The fact is that he wants those papers back, and he doesn't want to push Kara until she retracts her offer. But he can't just send her in alone. ]

I can help. I know getting caught scaling a wall doesn't exactly inspire confidence, but I swear I can be useful.

[ He thinks for a moment before quickly adding: ] I mean, I'm going in there anyway.

[valr]

'Cause if I can't handle a couple of crooks, I ain't cut out for my line of work.

[She might not be a soldier anymore, but that hardly means she's let herself get rusty. It's important that she doesn't need to rely on anyone else, because 99% of the time, she can't. Trust is a rare commodity.]

It's not about you being useful. [She gets it, really, why this is troubling him, but she's not going to budge.] You handle the first bit, let me deal with the rest.