Chapter 2

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week 2, Day 5 - Week 4, Day 6
Summary: Chapter 2 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
Westies
True Leithians
Leith
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine: Poisoned Well

With the heir delivered and Lady Derrish returning to health, balance has been maintained amongst the Nine. Swift and efficient - and, some would say, unbelievable - medical attention administered may have steadied the Lady's life, but for those in the ruling houses, the atmosphere of tenuous peace only grows thicker. Land Kendry has launched an investigation - with particular focus on Land Hyponia - into the source of the 'attack' on Lady Derrish's health. Of course, that is only the surface, and some suggest, with hushed voices, that there may be more to Land Kendry's goals than to weed out an assailant. Land Hyponia has long since been in support of maintaining the Seventh Generation Accords, which it defends staunchly against any opposition. One of the most agitated among those in disagreement with the Accords is Land Kendry. Now is the perfect opportunity for them to rearrange the pieces in their favor, and with the information they've fabricated, they'll be able to replace the head of Land Hyponia with someone who is - at least hopefully - more pliable to their agenda. The Derrish have their own suspicions, the cure surfacing all too conveniently timed to have been a coincidence. When Land Kendry's investigation procures evidence pointing to Land Hyponia as the culprits, inflaming the crime with implied - yet vague - ties to the resistance, the Derrish publically accept the accusation. Behind closed doors, the solution seemed to have come as uncannily easily as the cure, and suspicions only rise. But for now, the two houses remain allied - ready to use one another for their own interests. For those among the nobility, it's the time to reevaluate alliances, assuring the old and gathering the new. The more support you have, the safer you are - unless, of course, you chose the wrong friend. Some turn to other members of the nobility, some to the RAC for hired guards, some to the Company to mandate investigations unsuitable for Killjoys, and some may even turn to the underbelly of society to accomplish anything necessary to stay on top. Or to simply stay alive.

The Company: Cleaning House

There will be no accolades, and no rest, for the hard working Company officials following the response to the True Leithan attacks. Assignments shift from one thing to the next, moving from bureaucratic nightmare to bureaucratic nightmare. While there’s always busy work to distract from the intrigue behind the scenes, it’s not liable to be any safer. Some officials will be charged with maintaining peace and order on Leith, as the outbreak of a pandemic slowly spreads over the moon. From helping the afflicted find their way to a place of treatment, to safe and efficient body disposal—burning corpses by the hundreds—to attempting to track down the source of the virus, it's best anyone assigned here take heed ‘lest they find themselves falling ill as well. Westerley, on the other hand, is a different kind of headache. With Harvest Week in swing, most company officials will be reaching for a drink of their own at the end of their shifts. Rowdy workers celebrating their time off, spending their hard earned Joy frivolously, and citizens whisked away by the atmosphere of celebration all mingle throughout Old Town. Property damage, fighting, less than subtle illegal activity, and crowding all become more of an issue than they usually are during this time. It's the perfect setting to lay down the law, or to not be noticed by it. On top of it all, each and every member of the Company's workforce can expect to have their documents double and triple-checked. Those with any suspected ties to Leith are likely to undergo a more serious investigation. One-on-one interrogations become common practice, and whether you're trusted or suspect, you may come face to face with a companion in your duties. True Leithan sympathizers are what the Company review is after, but anything else unturned will surely not be ignored. Cover your bases.

Westies: Harvest Week

Harvest week is in full swing throughout Westerley - visa workers have been shuttled back in droves from their time on Leithian farms, many of whom were willing to take some of their observations to information brokers for a price. Most had superficial information to sell (the state of unease on the average farm due to the impending Accords, the increased suspicion that the migrant workers were forced to endure, the fear of retaliation by the rebellion for the True Leithian attacks), others with reports of increased security and weapons caches on the farms of those whose sympathies lie with the “heroes” of the attack in Old Town. Old Town, however, is even more of a chaotic mesh of humanity with the mass influx of returning bodies. Bars stay busy day and night, the hokk and ale flow almost faster than most can keep up, and many Enforcers and Killjoys alike can make a good bit of extra joy (or free drinks) by moonlighting as security at the more popular locations. Despite all of the fun to be had, there is still the undercurrent of unrest, because Company checks have increased even more and Intake has become a revolving door of petty criminals being held for the smallest infractions. Everyone is on edge as the Resistance grumbles and the Nine search the shadows for something or perhaps someone. The unrest only worsens once Leith is placed under quarantine. And through it all, criminal activity is on the rise. Somehow, despite the strict regulation and transport of migrant workers, there is an increased access to Jakk and Bliss. Norn has an ever growing market, and weapons dealers are in high demand both in Eulogy and by private buyers alike. Something is brewing beneath the revelry, and no one wants to be caught unable to defend themselves, it seems. Not that any amount of firepower can defend against disease when P43X shows up on W3D7--but it can certainly make the symptoms worse.

True Leithians: Second Stage

Wounded and pressed to a corner, the beast rears its head and bares a maw of teeth and ruthless pursuit. The True Leithian organization does not take pause to mend wounds left in the wake of last week’s retaliation, no. They do not seek the comfort of safe haven and recovery. Instead they turn their anger and fear inward, sacrificing their own for what they believe to be the greater good. On Week 2, Day 6, three individuals slip into the crowds of Leith, mingling with the revelers and the families celebrating Harvest Week. They share smiles and laughter, they share conversation and drinks, but most importantly, they share infection. Each of the three is responsible for disseminating P43X, a viral bioweapon designed by Zan Nikora on behalf of the military in years past. During its conception, the aim of P43X was simple: to create a weapon which could demoralize and destabilize an entire population within a matter of days. To create madness that builds in the blood and eats into the brain, spreading through every tier of society. And though its use has long been out of commission, its engineer has lingered. Zan Nikora, kidnapped and held under threat of death not to himself but to those he holds dearest, is made to choose between the lives of his family on Westerley or the strangers on Leith. His choice is obvious, though far from easy. Reassembling the buried curse takes time, supplies, and testing. He is provided amply with the last two but scarcely with the first. But still he complies. When his madness maker is complete and his existence becomes a potential loose end, it’s not freedom that Zan Nikora tastes, but the poison of his own medicine. Only once the voices in his head have risen above whispers and turned to screams, when his mind can no longer hold secrets worth sharing, does he see his family again. It takes six days*. Six days and Zan Nikora stumbles through Old Town, eyes unseeing, mind riddled with disease—infection spreading. Mod Note: *W3D6. Cure and vaccines will be developed and disseminated beginning on W4D3, but will not be fully administered to all locations until W4D5.

Leith: Pocket Posies

Harvest Week in Leith marks a period of joy and relief. Bazaars are open longer, the ordinary bustle of the business day replaced with celebration and festivities throughout the evening hours. Vendors offer games for adults and children alike, the sky is a constant wash of soft pinks, purples, and greens from holographic firework shows, and music fills the air from different stages. All walks of life are welcome to join in the merriment, just so long as they have the right to be there. Anyone suspected of an invalid visa or citizenship papers are dealt with harshly, but quietly. Tucked away into the darkness of a holding cell like all of Leith’s more problematic elements. It is a time of peace and relief, this week, and they will not abide disruption. But within the hallowed days of celebration, a sickness grows, incubating. Spreading. First, it begins with an ache deep within the muscles. The body tires too quickly, the flesh burns with a blanket of rising fever. Whispers skirt at the edge of hearing, unintelligible but audible, filling the audio cortex with illusions and lies. Food loses its appeal, though the body yearns dearly for energy it cannot hold, and breathing becomes tighter, harder. Next the tide of high fevers, of lethargy. The brain devolves into paranoia and mania, the mind races with delusions and hallucinations. Pain follows, a pain that seems to emanate from every nerve without relief or pause, seeping through the muscles and aching within the very bones of a person. Some may wish for death, and for many, that wish will be granted in an unending sleep when the fatigue pulls darkness across the mind, plunges the last thoughts of a person into static slumber. But not all will succumb so readily, and therein is the weakness that ultimately shelved P43X during its initial creation. Its impacts are not uniform—while much of the population suffers dearly, most are sustained with timely medical interventions, and many others recover with the prowess of their own immune system. For Leith, bountiful in money and supplies, most of P43X’s more fatal properties are circumvented or delayed. But even in this lush world of affluence and peace, there are the poor, the underprivileged, and the weak. They are not afforded the same haste of care, the same salvation. Instead, they’re given graves of sanitizing fires, and their bodies turn to ash.

Resistance: Sleeping Dogs

The chaos of the festivities that go along with Harvest Week provides the perfect cover for the Resistance to begin moving once again. New cells need to be formed in the wake of so many executions and new members need to be recruited. Info brokers with Resistance-leaning sympathies have an opportunity to make a little extra joy by putting the disconnected sympathizers in contact with one another, aiding the vetting of Company insiders that need new handlers within the organization. For Resistance members already embedded within, they need to work now to find new locations to store what supplies remain and to begin rebuilding the stockpiles of weapons and supplies re-confiscated by the Company. Some may have heard of abandoned mines or facilities that can be retrofitted out in the Badlands while others are needed to track down rumors of Company made fallout shelters located within the under-city tunnels. For this, Company moles are essential - the only hope of accessing these shelters is with long forgotten Company passcodes. And the Scarbacks, well. Everyone’s heard rumors that there are many within their ranks willing to help with recruitment and contraband transportation, though there’s little the Company can do to restrict their movements at this time. Because of this, Scarbacks may also be the only ones that have a chance of getting into Leith once the quarantines go into effect. Those already aligned with the rebellion will be tasked with coordinating supply movements, making a deal or three with the devil on behalf of those unwilling to back down from the promises of the Accords. Caution and purpose should drive their movements because if the True Leithian attack is any indication… those nationalists are not going to let go of their precious land and status without a long, bloody fight.

The RAC: Holding Pattern

Warrants still flow in with a regular consistency - enough to keep the average team or agent quite busy. Every harvest season there are visa jumpers that need to be caught and low-level warrants claiming petty theft from farms by Westie migrants. The increasing number of disturbances and crimes in Old Town guarantee a plethora of local warrants to capture criminals across the moon or those that managed to escape an Enforcer’s arrest. Some, however, have either been requested by Seyah Kendry herself or volentold by their seniors within the RAC to conduct investigations into the attack on the Nine. And not all of these investigations are on the Lady’s behest. Some of the Nine aren’t quite willing to take Land Kendry’s word as law and have quietly requested their own investigations into the attack in Old Town and the Land Derrish misfortunes. (MOD NOTE: There will be a comment thread for teams to sign up for the specialized plot related warrants on the monthly warrant post, located HERE. Once teams have posted for a plot warrant, the mods will give them a location and focused assignment.)

Comments

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni enters on hearing his name ring out from inside - well, more rightly, his name and model, Rammsteiner being the name of the series he belongs to, the model that succeeded to resonate with the Spine - and whilst there'd usually be some level of surprise taken from hearing the sound of it in place of 'Unit 68', or 'Dog', or just 'hey, you', it doesn't strike him in quite the same way when coming from Tieria. If Tieria ranks only slightly above the photocopier, then Giovanni ranks only slightly above a gun or sword. It's their shared inhumanity, then, that gives the sound of his full name on the other man's lips a kind of sense. A rightness.

He stands straight-backed and silent as Tieria begins talking, though when the word satisfactory with it's coating of displeasure hits his ears, his face splits on a sharp little smile. Backhanded praise, perhaps, but it's praise all the same, and he thinks he discerns the place from where that displeasure came. His own Unit's success, the other's dissolution-- it's easy to see how that petty dislike might arise.

Still. He won't hold it against him. Knows what it's like to be seen as something of lesser value.

The smile remains as Tieria continues, turns slightly sharper. Immediate termination-- those are two words he always likes to hear.]

No doubt it's what they deserve in the wake of a less than satisfactory performance.

[teiaiel]

...Indeed.

[Tieria takes a deep - and almost entirely unnecessary - breath. He can survive in the vacuum of space for hours without oxygen, but his synthetic vocal cords still require moving air to make sound. His voice is clipped, precise, and sharp.]

Unfortunately, I haven't been granted permission to terminate all unsatisfactory employees. I've been warning them about disloyalty and ineptitude within the Company ranks for months... it's easy enough to predict breaches in security by tracking the patterns of data. Traitors to the Company may be able to hide their treachery from their superiors, but they can't hide the changes in their behavioral data.

[With a brisk flick of his wrist, the main holographic monitor displays an intricate map of connections between thousands of Company-linked databases. It looks like a spider's web with Tieria at the center, monitoring each thread for the telltale pull of a trapped fly. Banking records, security camera footage and biometric scans scroll past on the auxiliary monitors, far too fast for the human eye to process. Tieria moves his hand again, and the monitor freezes on the image of a face. It belongs to an average-looking man with an unremarkable Company record.]

Ulrich Jura, a low-level database technician at the records facility that was recently bombed by Leithian terrorists. He was their inside man. He hoped that with the family records data temporarily offline in the minutes after the explosion, he could quietly edit the backups and move his own family to the top of the list for Leithian resettlement. Since the official investigations have focused on security personnel, he must have thought that he could escape notice...

[Tieria gives a vicious little smirk.]

But nothing gets past the Company's dogs.

[ofobedience]

[In truth, it's a little beyond him. What he is - an attack dog, a weapon held in the Company's hand - it doesn't call for this kind of training, for any kind of proficiency with computer systems or holographic data sets, and so when Tieria begins his convoluted display, Giovanni's head tilts in a gesture of detached curiosity. It means nothing to him, all of this. Something set outside of his parameters and therefore nothing he needs to understand.

It's only when the nondescript face freezes on the screen that he really begins to pay attention, commits the plain features to memory, and as Tieria keeps talking, his interest slowly rekindles into something sparking and hot, felt between the ribs and in nails and eyeteeth because yes this is something he knows what to do with.

The coming violence-- he wants it.]

What would we do without you.

[It's said in a smooth cool tone that could mean anything at all and yet--]

You're right, of course. Nothing does.

[His own smile is a glacial thing.]

So you're saying he's entirely unsuspecting?

[It'll make him easier to hunt down if this is so, and in some ways that's a pity-- the hunt can be just as satisfying as the final act itself. But this kind of thing, it holds its own pleasures-- for example, the surprise on his face the moment before Giovanni tears him apart.]

[teiaiel]

Unsuspecting? Hm... that's difficult to say. If this were Leith, it would be much easier to trace weapons sales, but Westerley's black market is largely opaque to Company surveillance...

[Tieria waves his hand at the screen again, delving into complicated risk analysis projections. His computer has no keyboard or other peripherals - what he can't control via gestures or voice commands is done via direct brain interface. He can sense that Giovanni has little interest in data, though, so he folds his hands in his lap and lets the screens fizzle into nothingness.]

There's an estimated 25% chance of armed resistance, but based on your record, I'm sure it's not anything you can't deal with.

[Tieria understands the satisfaction of tracking prey, but he takes little pleasure in killing. Not because of any moral opposition to violence, but because death is messy and bloodstains are difficult to remove from clothing. He snorts, regarding Giovanni with a slight smirk.]

Try not to make too much of a mess. The Company won't pay for your dry cleaning.

[ofobedience]

[Again, that polite detachment in the face of the incomprehensible data, but he waits with studied patience for the parts that matter to come, the parts that hold most relevance to him. And that information does comes as Tieria allows the display to dissipate into blankness. Giovanni raises his chin, just slightly. Smiles his cutting smile.

25% chance-- not the best odds. He'd prefer something higher, something that holds more of a promise of a fight, but perhaps he'll get lucky. 25% is better than no chance at all. Ultimately, whatever the case, it's going to end in blood. That's what matters, ultimately. Unlike Tieria, then, he has no qualms about getting his hands dirty.

And that particular point-- it has him barking out a brief laugh.]

Oh, you'd be surprised what they'll pay for, when it comes down to it.

[Seeing as he receives no formal wage himself-- the Cerberus Unit, the Dogs, they're property, not employees in the traditional sense and as such there are certain things he need not concern himself with. Some days it seems like a pretty good deal. Others? Not so much.]

I can't make any promises regarding the mess, but I can assure you he'll be dead before the day is out. A fair trade off, I think.

[teiaiel]

Tieria nods and tries (unsuccessfully) to suppress his small smile. Perhaps the Company's problems go far deeper than minor corruption and misallocation of resources. Perhaps there's something fundamentally when an organization bows to the whims of the least qualified and treats its most competent employees like dogs.

...After the purges are complete, the Company will be a far leaner beast.

[He pauses for a moment, listening warily, even though he's aware of the location of every surveillance device within Headquarters (even the ones he's not supposed to know about).]

And I'm not just talking about this internal review. We all know that it's little more than a media production intended to appease the Nine and reassure the public. The Leithian conspirators will be found, a few people will be executed, and a few more will lose their jobs... but the sources of corruption and discontent won't go away. Like a wound allowed to fester, they'll continue to poison the Company from inside.

[ofobedience]

[And perhaps there's truth in that-- to some extent, even Giovanni sees it. Sees it in the way that he and other members of the Cerberus Unit will end up assigned to Company executives with more money than sense, the kind who know how to grease the right palms in order to gain themselves a loyal guard dog for the day when they could be doing something of higher value, the kind of thing they were designed for to begin with. The kind of pleasant opportunity Tieria is presenting him with, now. It's a misapplication of resources of the highest magnitude, he thinks, to use them in such a way.

The rest though-- well. He'd struggle to understand. He is a Dog, and to be treated any differently would only confuse him. This is what he knows.

He listens though with head slightly cocked, interested, and when the other Company creation finishes his sentence, Giovanni nods in steady agreement. There's a sense of discomfort in him, in speaking out against those above him, but it's hardly disloyal to agree that those who spread poison throughout the Company via corruption ought to be purged. Right?]

No doubt. Sometimes it seems a pity that they don't utilise the tools they have at their disposal to the best of their ability. It wouldn't be such a hard thing to flush the poison out.

[Just point him in the right direction, and he'd soon see to it. Would enjoy it, even. But while he hasn't had the benefit of a traditional education, he isn't foolish enough to fail to realise that some of the worst cankers are those in possession of the most power. The kind who'll slip and slide their way out of his grasp no matter what.]

[teiaiel]

...My loyalties lie with the Company itself, not with... not with humans.

[Tieria ducks his head, almost in embarrassment. He knows that his own words are dangerous and that others might mistake them for an incitement to treason, even though he hates the Resistance as much, if not more, than he hates the Nine.

Giovanni was born and bred to be a Dog, so he feels no shame in being owned by those who would keep him on a short leash. But Tieria understands shame acutely - the shame of being deemed unfit for combat service, the shame of being ignored by his human superiors, the shame of helplessness. Maybe, one day, when Giovanni has tasted that shame for himself, he'll be an ally.

For now, Tieria must be careful.]

I'll contact you if another assignment becomes available. Something off the record.

[ofobedience]

[The words, the emphasis on humans, the slight duck of Tieria's head that's indicative of something like embarrassment-- they're surprising almost (almost), and Giovanni's eyes narrow just slightly as he listens. It's hardly the first time he's come across such sentiments, and there are those among the Cerberus Unit who utter similar things, but there's still something in it that vaguely unsettles him. A sense of the near-sacrilegious, and for a moment he's left uncertain of what to say.

When his voice comes, it's a little cautious. A little cold.]

I'm not sure how you'd separate the two. Humans created the Company, didn't they? And one should abide by the command of one's superiors. Even if, sometimes, they leave something to be desired.

[Although for him it's a nebulous thing, the Company, something he belongs both to and within-- unpacking it beyond that isn't something he's considered in any great depth. At the end of it all, if he had to pinpoint the exact seat of his loyalties, they would most likely be with Mother. But it's not something he's been forced to consider in any great depth.

Not yet.

There's a tense pause, a moment of inner discomfort, and then his shoulders slice at the air as he shrugs.]

But I do like interesting assignments. The kind that make proper use of my particular skills.

[He smiles then, and again there's the hardbright flash of his razorblade teeth.]

[teiaiel]

[They are not our superiors!

Tieria quickly bites back the words, so an awkward silence stretches between them for several seconds. Finally, he tosses his hair in a haughty shrug and looks away from Giovanni.]

Humans are capable of creating perfection even if they remain imperfect creatures themselves. They're inventive, if nothing else.

[He sighs and adjusts his glasses. Most of humanity's "perfect" achievements have been in art, music, literature, and other fields in which Tieria has no expertise. Instead, he sees beauty in patterns and data... and information is the lifeblood of the Company. The Company must be righteous because the Company is an all-seeing, all-knowing god.]

But I'm far more impressed by your skillset.

[ofobedience]

[He feels it almost, the tension there, the taut thrum of difference that takes shape between them, and although it isn't quite dispelled by the movement of Tieria's hair nor the words that come after it, there's at least a loosening, a softening of it. And there's something there, in the words-- the Company is bigger than the sum of its parts, and that's a notion Giovanni can get behind, something he can support. On a smaller scale, though, there are other inferences to be drawn, aren't there? Giovanni himself-- he's faster stronger better than ordinary humans in so many ways and yet he's ruled by them, utterly.

Or at least, ruled by the Company, the restrictions it places upon him.

But it's a complicated thing. He doesn't know how to be any other way. Free will isn't for everyone. At least, so he thinks.

He voices none of this, only smiles his sharp-edged smile, chin slightly lifted in the wake of the compliment because - despite his track record, his unerring ability to get a job done - such things are few and far between.]

I suppose I have my creator to thank for that. But I do try.

[teiaiel]

[There's a wry, bitter smile from Tieria, but he nods anyway.]

...Yes. We owe it all to our creators, don't we?

[Human researchers created Giovanni's physical perfection and unclouded mind, but Tieria is a military-grade reject plagued by flaws and insecurities - flaws that he can blame on the imperfect humans who created him in their own image. They aren't worthy of being treated with such absolute reverence, so Tieria seeks a higher, purer authority.

Bile (metaphorical, of course) churns inside him, lacking a proper outlet. He can't hate Giovanni for being what he is... but a part of him still does. Petty jealousy may be beneath Tieria, but it's still satisfying to wallow in it from time to time.]

If your orders are clear, then you're dismissed. Contact me when the job is complete.

[He shoots Giovanni a glare of annoyance, but there's comparatively little venom in it. After all, what's a friend if not someone you hate slightly less?]

[ofobedience]

[Mixed sentiments-- the compliment, the wry smile, something a little snide in the comment regarding their creators that of course he's able to discern. The look of annoyance thrown almost casually at him in the wake of his dismissal. But Giovanni thinks he knows the shape of them, where these things come from, considering Tieria's rejected status, the writing off of his particular project as a waste of time.

There's something in him, not quite sympathy, but a level of understanding perhaps. He knows what it is to be considered somehow inferior, not quite good enough. He'd been made faulty, after all, his abilities only coming 'online' after further experiments and fine-tuning, his temperament considered - initially - unsuitable and inferior in relation to what he was created for. And perhaps all that is behind him now, but it's still in him, an unpleasant feeling up behind his ribs, nagging doubts that plague him daily.

But ultimately those things have made him all the more eager to prove his usefulness, to show that their efforts weren't wasted on him. That he's worth something, if only as a Dog. It's more than enough for him.

So he thinks.

And so his smile is a wry and crooked thing in return as he nods his understanding.]

As you like it, then. I'll be in touch when the target has been eliminated.

[When, not if. And he turns on his heel, then. Heads for the door. Goes to do what he's been created to do.]