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

[nightchild]

[Itsuki immediately straightens from his 'oh woe is me, i haven't hit on a girl in ages' stance he's been perfecting for the last few hours, shooting Kanda a grin. Overall, 90% of every encounter with Kanda usually ends in pain, but Itsuki's never held a strong grudge against the killjoy for that. Probably because Itsuki's too self-aware not to know that 80% of the time it's his own fault. Anyway, at least Kanda looks pretty. Maybe Itsuki could like pretend. (im sorry laure)]

Heh, my bad. I figured it was a ninety-to ten chance, considering my track record. [He follows Kanda's gaze, ] There's a room in the back that's unoccupied. Or something. Tina's probably done with her last customer by now.

[who's tina??? Kanda probably doesn't want to know. and if Kanda doesn't grab Itsuki and force him into more private, CLEANER, pastures, then Itsuki will lead the way to some shady room, away from the crowd.]

Man, I can't remember the last time I've seen you alone though. Where's your friend?

[Is Itsuki using the word 'friend' on purpose to be annoying, probably, yes]

[lotusmesenpai]

[So long as Itsuki doesn't make jokes about Kanda's looks, or try to call him a girl, or anything along those lines, really, Kanda would probably manage to not knock the bastard out every time they met.

So really, the guy only has himself to blame for his sudden naps post Kanda visits, since he doesn't know how to not pretend.]

So long as she's not with her last customer still.

[Shrugging dismissively at that, Kanda lets it drop. He doesn't know or give a damn who Tina is (though he assumes she's one of the bar's sexters), so long as she's not in there to listen in on their conversation. He starts wave Itsuki forward, as if to shoo him towards wherever it is the other man wants to go.

(nevermind what it looks like, them going into a sexters room together)

But the question rankles.

There's innuendo there, on that word, but it strikes much to close to home. He and Lavi barely speak, really. And even after they'd met with Jennifer, they hadn't said much to each other before splitting into separate directions, falling once more into awkward avoidance as they had since the night of their confrontation.

His expression darkens, blue gaze narrowing as he glares at Itsuki.]

Not fucking here, so drop it.

[Cold and stoic, or pissed off and alone? Either way, tread carefully with this topic...]

[nightchild]

[Itsuki raises his hands in the universal sign of 'have mercy or, consider having mercy before knocking my lights out maybe', face creasing itself into a grin all the same.]

Just asking! Occupational hazard, you know.

[He doesn't sound very repentant?? But he leaves the subject seemingly behind him. It's true that he's curious, but he's learned by now that he can't indulge every single time. Even if he does want to know: is Lavi lying in a ditch somewhere?? is he in a full-sized body cast?? IS HE DEAD? Normally he'd take his cues, but Itsuki has this feeling that Kanda would look just as pissed-off if it was any of the above, or all three. when ur poker face is just ANGER]

[The room they enter is definitely a sexters room, dark-lit and smelling of cheap fragrance, and Itsuki steers around the bed in order to appropriate two chairs. The conversation might very well be brief, this is Kanda after all, but Itsuki's a man who likes his comforts and probably hates standing around for no reason and he's lazy so like, he sits.]

So, what's up? Assuming you're not here for the same thing every other merc and killjoy who's been around asking questions have been.

[though he can't imagine what else Kanda would possibly want to know]

[lotusmesenpai]

Moron.

[Urge to knock certain info brats upside the head diverted, Kanda follows into the room, nose wrinkling at the scent of musky humans and cheap perfume.

Rather than take the seat opposite Itsuki, Kanda crosses to the window, checks the street outside, and then leans against the marginally not filthy wall there, arms crosses as he considers his next words carefully.

This could, potentially, cause him some serious problems later, but the RAC doesn't govern how dirty killjoys play with each other during black warrants and the info sitting on his tongue isn't, technically, classified so...

Letting out a slow breath, Kanda offered a faintly amused smirk as he finally speaks.]

I've got information to sell you, for a change. If you're interested.

[nightchild]

[Kanda would be a wall-leaner. He's so the type. Itsuki raises an eyebrow, though he doesn't say anything for a moment. Probably wondering why Kanda would be selling anything, and for whatever reason.]

As long as it's not something I've already heard of, then sure. Why not. [But the climate now means not turning anything down, even if it's the stupidest rumor on Planet XYZ. Even if it's coming from Kanda, who apparently needs more studying now that it's just him, and without Lavi around to keep pace.] Are you strapped for joy or something?

[lotusmesenpai]

Am I ever?

[That would be a solid 'no'. They bag enough level 3 and 4 warrants throughout the J to keep them pretty solvent. Hell - he even gets out of having to buy his drinks by playing bouncer at a bar or two just to save joy.

Nope, that's not an issue at all. Even so, his smirk turns just a bit more smug as he actually chuckles softly, almost to himself.]

Someone's been annoying me and I've got a chance to return the favor. [Pausing, he arches a brow before he continues] ...what do you know about the bastard offspring of Land Derrish?

[nightchild]

[The sight of Kanda chuckling is practically hair-raising. Maybe somewhere, some innocent soul would totally find that attractive, but Itsuki's seen Kanda often enough (and gotten punched often enough) that he finds it highly unnerving??? His eyes squint back in a show of almost comedic unease, but the lead-on to the next subject piques his interest.]

I’ve heard of at least five so-called heirs who’ve supposedly come out of hiding. Wait, four actually, one of them’s apparently dead.

[He says matter-of-factly, shrugging. Itsuki's come too far to pretend any sympathy for the deaths of strangers, and his chip on his shoulder for the elite is easy enough to tell by now.]

Not like it matters much, since the rest don’t seem to be genuine bastards, much less related to the Derrish at all. Unless you're about to tell me something that's gonna change all of that...

[lotusmesenpai]

[If the smirk that finally crosses Kanda's face is any indication, it means exactly that. He gives that a moment to hang between them before he pushes off the wall and steps up before Itsuki, leans down to brace his hands on the arms of the chair to close the distance between them.

(The idiot hits on him enough that he should be able to use that to his advantage, for once.)

Blue eyes intent, he watches the broker through the fall of his bangs before finally arching a brow.]

Well then, broker... what're you willing to pay for the identity of a blood-true bastard?