"High noon" still has a resonating historical significance not lost on the people of New Amsterdam. Old cowboy movies, complete with John Wayne standing in a dusty, old street are imprinted upon people's memories, helping them recall a simpler past where grudges could be settled with guns. By 2511, these movies have been remade countless times over with different set pieces, but nostalgia continues to be an ever-present factor. It's not nostalgia that drives the UNA soldiers and Morningstar agents into position during this hour, but the time itself serves as a reminder. A call to a different time and a different past.
Outside, the sun burns bright, but people sleep soundly, shades drawn securely over their windows to create a false darkness. This is why the UNA strikes at noon: their targets will be vulnerable, comforted by the presence of daylight only a drawn shade away,
Across town, Morningstar's agents are preparing for their own strike. One of them makes a joke about the non hour. He's told to shut it. They have fifteen minutes. Is everyone ready? Their uniforms are black, tightly fitting. Each of them pulls their mask over their faces. Up ahead, there's a wall to scale.
Fifteen minutes and the plan goes into motion. Each agent knows the costs of this mission. Their last one ended up with numerous dead – lost – with no reward. UNA soldiers are far more threatening than the armed guards Morningstar faced on that day, but the reward is more sure. Worth the risk. They're secure in what they need to do.
Then it's time. Across the city, the UNA soldiers descend in perfect unison. Separate but thinking with one mind, one goal. Eliminate a festering problem, one that only stands to grow in a world haunted by chaos and trauma. It's their job to set things right. To restore order to a world that is currently without.
About forty five minutes in to the widespread assault, El sends out a message to everyone in the safehouse. This time, zeir communication is immediate, without the steady scrolling of text. Prepared in advance:
Hey, so. Emergency everyone. Come to the safehouse ASAP. Morningstar agents are in trouble, including a number who have helped you behind the scenes. Gaby will tell you more once you get there.
Once everyone shows up, crowded inside the part of the safehouse with the cots, Gaby gives everyone the rundown. The risk. The place where the rest of the agents are – this last bit of information being shared with an uneasy edge, arms crossed and body language giving off her discomfort. There are other people at risk, people who can't fight, who try to undermine the corporations with their regular lives, doing their best to keep the people they care about safe from their rebellious activity.
After she hands out the gear, she insists that it must be returned. But Gaby isn't stupid. Her desperation is inherent in her decisions, in the information that follows: exposing most of the inactive safehouses, giving away the addresses of the people likely in danger. Every Morningstar contact in New Amsterdam is likely at risk. So far, agents in other megacities aren't being targeted – yet. But this operation could be a model for future UNA efforts to eliminate the Morningstar threat.
The safehouses are spread across the city. Typically present in disheveled and forgotten pieces of real estate, there will be squatters and homeless alike taking up space as they move inside with the agents. This may prove a risk, and they may need to be bribed to go elsewhere, offered food and supplies. Other safehouses will be beneath bars, convenience stores, and through the storage room in less expensive apartment buildings – businesses and buildings owned by long-time Morningstar agents, kept ready in the case of an emergency like this one.
None of the safehouses will be prepared for living with the exception of cots and communal restrooms ready for use. This is a problem, but not a priority. She'll ask that everyone get out there and save the lives of the agents. Bring them and their families in safely – the rest can be figured out after that.
> RESTORING ORDER
Given the limitations over real estate and space even in a city as large as New Amsterdam, every citizen lives in an apartment building. The great majority of them were meant to be built quickly, similar layouts and designs behind them. A quick bit of research will get anyone the floor plans for these places – they're publicly available, ready for potential tenants. Most of these places are no dreamhouse, however: small and contained, they show the lifestyle of the typical Morningstar agent.
Any of the agents with a child – and there will only ever be one per agent, with the restrictions on childbirth – will have a roomier place, with better furnishing and more space for a child to run and grow up. These places will afford the family within better privacy, and many of them have drones and advanced robotics to help maintain the household, even caring for their child and keeping the door locked as the UNA soldiers move inside.
Where it's viable, the majority of UNA soldiers will move through the front door of these buildings. Never numbered over five, these soldiers will take the endless staircase up, erasing what little chances there are to run into anyone along the way. The knocks are just a cover to soothe the close-packed neighbors. Not all are fooled, and that's where the calls to the NAPD come in – though the UNA is prepared for this, too. Ready to assert their jurisdiction. Rather: their bosses are prepared. These soldiers have their orders and beyond that, only follow their orders with their formidable physicality and swift training.
But they are physically assertive: most of them are tall, seemingly without gender within thick black, metal armor. Despite their size and their robotic carapace, they are human underneath. Their extensive armor doesn't slow them down, instead seeming to propel them forward in a fight, letting them predict their enemies' moves as the mask they wear provides diagnostics and likely attacks on the fly. They carry extensive weapons and supplies, all to wear down any opponents. When they fight together, their actions are perfectly complementary.
They won't start a fight, but as soldiers, they are prepared. Though they enter through the front door, they intend to leave through a window, into a large flying vehicle outside, ready to hold the targets and bring them to a temporary dropsite. They don't expect any assailants, anyone to provide trouble – but they wouldn't be very well-trained, well designed if they couldn't expect or deal with the unexpected. They won't shoot unless someone forces the matter. Their training means their stature should be enough to put down most threats.
> A WELL-LAID TRAP
Confident and well-trained, the Morningstar agents have the plan ahead of them all mapped out. They know the shifts, the patrol patterns, especially at hours like this one. Fewer, right now, but they aren't nonexistent. Several strike teams spread out, ready to move to dismantle the UNA soldiers on site as needed. These are combat-trained agents, but five versus three UNA soldiers, or two, or even one still leads to odds where they don't win. Morningstar knows these soldiers intimately, has studied and discerned their few weaknesses. But these UNA soldiers are formidable opponents.
UNA Soldiers en route to Morningstar's goal will be handled with an eerie lack of follow-up. No reports of reinforcements incoming. The swift-moving Morningstar agents are too focused on their goal, which is close now, to worry about the implications. Besides, their information told them most agents would be away on training exercises. Reinforcements being delayed is no surprise.
Each agent has their own reason for being here, for believing that Morningstar needs to be more proactive, more forceful in fighting back. They aren't career soldiers, but people who thought that they could wield a gun and change a world that hides its problems under false promises and shimmering gloss. Many are impatient, frustrated: they were given a lead on weapons in June. They weren't mislead then, at least not intentionally, but what they got instead was a bus full of disoriented people. This cache is real, verified, and vulnerable, housed here temporarily before being moved for some unknown operation.
Once the Morningstar agents are all inside, the concealed UNA soldiers left at the base line up in formation. Perfectly tailored for the fight ahead, they move onto the site. Any agents on lookout duty will see the UNA moving in, ready to lay waste to anyone in there. This is a trap, they message frantically. The very real weapons inside are meant to mock with false hope.
The UNA aren't worried about Morningstar making off with their toys. After all, this is just as planned.
> INTERLUDE
Numerous officers pass by the holding cells in the NAPD's twelfth precinct, talking softly about what can they even do, muttering to themselves. Others pop a squat nearby and call it a well-earned day off. Let those soldiers take care of whatever mess they're cleaning up. That's not their job.
It's around this time that a third, unidentified group, takes advantage of the chaos. Well-dressed despite what is a late hours right now, they head into the precinct to take care of a dangling loose end. They show credentials that link them to New Beijing's governing body and personal security, they claim the men temporarily known as Tak and Alexei. As they're brought out of their cells, they're injected with the same compulsory drug as always, leaving them veritable walking zombies at first, leaving them unable to speak or act as they're given orders that tell them to do otherwise.
The records of these men will disappear with this action, the two of them swept away into the back of an expensive four-door sedan. The whole incident erased. Two somehow anonymous men didn't kill semi-innocent bystanders during the festival. As long as the records can be trusted, that was a fantasy. A whimsy.
Morningstar cameras will see this sedan stop near the current safehouse, near the typical entrance, and order Hei and Jake out. "Stay here. Sit down. Don't do or say anything until someone comes to retrieve you. It'll be a bit – they're tied up right now."
The man in the passenger seat in the front rolls down his window, leaning forward on his arm. His face is concealed, utilizing technology that's not the same but not dissimilar to what Morningstar has at their disposal. "Try not to do anything else too stupid, will you? The cops are gonna have a bug up their asses about you idiots."
And then the sedan rolls away, lifting up and passing through the city. Morningstar cameras will spot a specific – or perhaps the more apt word is "suspicious" – lack of license plate.
> MEDI-UNITS
Each of the safehouses were designed for the worst case scenario. There is a medi-unit in all of the safehouses, a large and complex machine that can heal most ills, but given the expensive nature of their design and the risk of using them, they're not used lightly.
The medi-units are reserved for the direst of needs. come into play. Dependent on a person's time of death to bring them back to the living, they need the exact time so that someone can clock it in and prepare the restoration process correctly. There are many risks in lacking that information – someone may come back damaged, unhealed, hurt in some way. They may not live for long. Assuming that a body is brought in with a time of death, they'll be directed to a safehouse with a free unit.
The person is kept in a medically induced coma while the machine repairs their body. What dreams someone experiences will be at the end point – which can be between 48 and 60 hours – as they slowly surface, starting to return to the world of the living. As they surface, their mind will be encumbered by images of bright blue lights glowing, swirling, communicating – but language seems thoroughly out of reach.
Once the medi-unit opens, the person inside will be thirsty. Desperate for water. But there will be no other signs of the wear and tear on their bodies.
> FINAL OOC NOTES
Please refer to the OOC EVENT POST for this event for all OOC info, including suggestions for directions on how to engage with the event and the questions thread for any questions regarding this event. The outcome for this event will depend upon character plans and actions developed in both this OOC post, and any additional plots brought to the moderators. Please feel free to submit any game-changing plans to us under the questions thread – but we will be reading all comments on the post!
The Operation will continue until September 11, IC time. An aftermath wrap up post will be made on January 26 which will detail the resolution and fallout of the event.
As a reminder, there is one power level up available for this event. This will be granted for a thread of at least 5 action/log comments containing your character utilizing their power in some way. They will need to reach the 5 comments required by FEBRUARY 23 to be eligible. Submission will be handled on the wrap up post.
Our Activity Check will be posted tomorrow, January 20, at 9 PM UTC. It will run for seven days and close on January 27. We will not post a warning list.
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meadowlarklogs2019-01-19 09:58 pm
rey (star wars)
[ it's not that morningstar's goals with the weapons cache isn't important. it's just that rey's priorities are elsewhere.
she'd wanted to help the people in danger to start with — saving lives always had to come before striking the enemy — but the moment they'd mentioned families, there was no chance of her going anywhere else.
walking through the city, rey doesn't wear her mask. she doesn't want to draw attention to the fact that she's carrying a gun, even if it is tucked between the back of her bulletproof vest and her skin, which is obscured by her thick hoodie. she's done her part to group up with whatever other displaced persons she can to make it to the target locations, and as they approach, she gets the mask out and solicits her companion — ]
How do you want to do this? [ while other people were doing silly things like planning in advance, rey was racing against the sun to try and get to those targets. now it's like hm. do i wear infiltrative gear to try and help this terrified family leave their home??? rey is a reliable, prepared partner. ]
b. no one's home (ota).
[ the apartment's empty. one of them is, anyway. and what's left behind is ... bad. it's not terribly obvious, no. the signs of struggle are actually quite muted, enough to indicate that whoever was here never really stood much of a chance. but there's signs of forced entry in the broken door, a stray bullet that has tilted a picture frame, a broken chair that was knocked out of the way and left askew when someone kicked at it while they were dragged from their home.
rey takes a few moments to walk through the living space of the apartment and take these signs in, not just disappointed but devastated into perfect silence by the failure.
then she wanders through the bedrooms, trying to see if there's hints of anything else that the UNA would have found while removing the morningstar agents. it's probably all in the neural implant. probably, it's too late for that also, but — she opens one of the doors and there's a child lying asleep in bed. ]
Kriff. [ an orphan, now, most likely. ]
c. getting injured (for johnny).
[ they're not always empty. rey and co arrive at one of the morningstar agents' residence at the same time as the una. there's more of the una soldiers than there are of her team, and that's bad news, but when they start attacking, coming as a singular, powerful unit, rey is able to get two of them pinned down with her gravity anchor, sweat beading on her forehead under the physical duress of holding them back.
there are four, though, and one of the other two has managed to fire their weapon off. rey tries to hold her power through it so that the others with her can get the morningstar agent and her family out, just has to hold them long enough for it, but the bullets shred through her shoulder and leave a bloody wound behind.
it distracts her in a bad way. the other unanchored — no, that's not right. loosely anchored, she realizes, and they have broken out of it — the other soldier who has broken out of the influence of her gravity charges for her and knocks her back.
back, straight out the window of the apartment complex. she manages to gain only minor traction with the gloves morningstar gave them as she plummets, slowing her fall before she lands in the dumpster with a sick crunch of bone. she's broken a bone before. set it herself, even, but this time it's bad, ribs poking into her lungs. it hurts every time she breathes, even shallowly, and when she tries to sit up, to pull herself out of the dumpster, a screaming pain lances through her chest.
rey groans low and long until it turns to a whimper. ]
d. rey got away safely (for kylo).
[ she's mobile, thanks to johnny, and she has pulled off the mask and gloves and stuffed them with the gun into a bag on her back, but she only uses one strap, because there's blood trickling down her other arm still. he had healed the worst of it, but he couldn't take it all. not without leaving himself in the same position. she's out of the fight, for now. there's nothing more she can do for them.
but she can't go back to the safehouse like this either. if anyone has managed to track her, she'd only lead them right back. so she gets herself to the train station and slumps to the floor, catching her breath, and then she calls the only person she can think to call. ]
Were you serious about telling me where your apartment is? [ because it'd be helpful to have a place to go right about now. ]
d
Yes.
( thought-to-text. he glances back over his shoulder, briefly, then pushes on. )
Where are you now?
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[ Right. She'd headed for the first train station she'd seen, but she hadn't checked the signs yet. Fortunately she hadn't collapsed until the platform, so — She glances around and figures out which part of town she's ended up in. ]
Hale Station. I can take the train.
[ Everywhere's close to a stop, really. ]
You can just send me the location.
[ 'Please don't come pick me up.' ]
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( if he had a better idea of what he was doing he could probably send her an image. a map. something useful. as it stands his grasp of the implant is still rudimentary. )
I can meet you there and we'll walk the rest of the way.
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[ She doesn't stop it from translating to text, though it's mostly her hyping herself up. Though, aloud, she does say, "I can do this." Rey pulls herself back up to her feet with a shuddering gasp at the sudden ache blooming in her ribs. Then she makes her way over to the train doors as they open.
She doesn't dare take a seat. She'd miss her stop. So she sways and grimaces with each rumble of the train car until she counts the right stop, and staggers up the steps from the platform to search down the café. A cup of caf might honestly help, right about now, but when she reaches it, she finds their doors closed for the night.
Can't catch a break. Does she look suspicious standing outside this closed shop? She hopes not. ]
no subject
he doesn't.
he winds up taking a circuitous route, jaw tense and nerves vibrating. the adrenaline burning through his system is welcome, familiar. it allows him to push back the rising tide of panic ㅡ because he's still blind, out here. still prey ㅡ and allows him to focus. )
Rey. ( it's called out to the shadow-shape tucked beneath the awning of the café ㅡ closed, he realizes belatedly.
another glance over his shoulder before moving to join her. )
no subject
However, the efforts she has gone to in order to conceal her injuries make them hard to notice, but for the stain of dried blood leaving the shoulder of her black jacket a single shade darker than the rest of it. Easy to overlook. Nothing that would draw too much attention.
Still, seeing him there makes her feel ready to collapse. Almost there. How many times has she pushed through wooziness like this? She knows the drill. Just a few more steps. Always just a few more steps. ]
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just imagine the bridal carry icon here instead
Once I have photoshop again, I'll make you a bridal carry icon.
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slaps a slightly belated nsfw on this Just In Case
sexy loofa action is a go
rip the loofa
it died in service of a good cause
it's true
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a, save the babies.
as they approach the landing of the floor housing their first objective, a family composed of a biomechanical scientist, a low-level political staffer, and one six year old child, daisy pauses. hesitates, even. her fingers tug down the mask. ]
It's quiet. [ she gestures for rey to do the same. to tug down her own mask, to hug the wall, to keep her hands on her gun instead of obscuring it out of reach. ] We might have beaten them here.
[ she considers, for a moment, the mental map of the building she pulled earlier. she sent it to rey before they left, but they haven't had much time to really look it over while en route to their destination. there's the staircases, of course; they've used these to get up to the right floor. the main hallway of each floor hosts the entry doors to the buildings. they could knock on the right door, but that might wake up some of the neighbors. it might alert the una that someone else is coming for the targets. there are external windows, too. with the gear gaby gave them, they could maybe open a window from the hallway and climb out to the exterior wall. ]
How do you feel about heights?
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She doesn't have the Force here. It's too bad — it'd be much easier if she did. She could feel if anyone was approaching; she could calm these people or send away any UNA agents who showed up. She reaches for it now and feel the now-familiar reflexive ache. ]
Fine. [ She looks up the side of the building. ] Nothing here's really as big as a star destroyer. [ And she'd been using her own cobbled together equipment then. Morningstar's is better quality. ] I mean to say — I've done higher.
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they might just be able to do this, then. ]
Okay. We'll go in through the window. If these floorplans are right, it should bring us into the living room. Families have two rooms. You take [ a quick mental glance at the plans in question; for this building, the rooms flank an internal hallway off of the front door, with the living space at the rear. ] the left door, I'll go right. We'll have to go out the front.
[ which puts them at a little bit of a tactical disadvantage, as who knows what'll be on the other side of that door when it comes time, but they can cross that bridge when they come to it. ]
You want to go first?
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These things better work.
[ Because she doesn't have any other equipment, and the walls here are fancy like the First Order's — sleek, modern — but without the paneling necessary for a spacecraft.
She begins to climb, dropping into silence as she scales her way up towards the window. They do work, as it turns out, and she gets to the ledge. She holds herself there while she wedges the window open. ]
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once the window's budged open, she follows suit; in just a few minutes, they're both flat-footed against the floor of the unit's living room. surprisingly, there's no security system to alert to a window opening on the outside. (daisy makes a mental note to ask fitz about their apartment. with dick coming through every so often, maybe they should look into something like that.) ]
This is so creepy. [ how quiet it is. it feels wrong somehow. ] I feel like a fucking burglar.
[ but what's done is done. ]
Which room first, you think?
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[ She points. ]
They'd want us to.
[ She walks lightly through, like she's at least familiar with trying not to be seen or heard. It doesn't sound like a good idea to startle a Morningstar agent. No way to know if they're carrying a gun too. She's trying hard not to get worked up about uprooting a happy family that loves their children enough to stay with them in an apartment like this, to want them to be saved first by their rebel friends.
It's the life she'd always wanted to imagine she had. She swallows the lump in her throat and heads for the left room. ]
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b
so, he follows behind her and hears her soft curse. she doesn't appear to be squaring up to fight so he doesn't reach for his own weapon. ]
What?
[ yes, you have company, rey. ]
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Oh. [ She lowers the weapon. It takes her a moment to place the voice, separate from the masks they both now wear. But she does. It's just this asshole from before. Illya? Maybe he's in a better mood now that he's settled in, to be fair. In either case, he seems to be here to the same end.
Good. Given Clarke's attitude, she'd been worried fewer people would be here to help Morningstar. ]
Just ... The kids. [ She nods into the bedroom where they still sleep. ] I guess it's a good thing, really, that they got left behind. I just ... [ She pulls the mask off. The UNA has already been here, obviously. No need for it. ] We're going to have to explain.
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Mmm.
[ an uncomfortable conversation to say the least. ]
Perhaps we should think about moving the child out of here before you start making plans on how to best tell them what has happened. There are still soldiers in the streets.
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[ Correction: kid. Well, they is still appropriate. Rey isn't really sure what gender they are anyway. But she realizes there's only one, at least, when they wake up, a groggy fearful noise chirping out from behind her. Rey whips around and her gaze softens. ]
We're not here to hurt you. I promise.
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Do not take too long. [ he tries -- really, he does -- to not sound as stern as usual. ] We need to move soon.
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We're not here to hurt you. [ She says it again. ] We work with your parents. They went away somewhere. We ... We need to take you somewhere else, somewhere safe. It's what they would have wanted for you.
[ The child doesn't look particularly convinced. Rey looks back at Illya and frowns. He does look imposing back there. ]
He's going to help me keep you safe until we get there. He's ... He's a superhero. Do you know what that is? [ The child nods. ] Right. So you see, you don't have to be afraid of anything.
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hi i'm soRRY i'm here !!
The decision's conscious, but it's quick. Johnny turns heel on the fleeing agents and bolts for the dumpster, swinging his gun over the strap on his shoulder to pull himself up with both hands, leaning over— ]
Rey. [ She'd fallen quickly, and recognition had been unsteady; it's an unhappy confirmation, concern and focus clear in his voice. ] Hey, don't move. Are you hurt?
[ Stupid question. It should probably be how is she hurt. ]
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Something is broken in her chest. Fractured fully. She looks down and sees blood, wet spot of darker, brownish black in her tactical gear, just below the injury in her shoulder from where she'd been shot. It's a mess. She's a mess, and she's bleeding all over the trash.
It's never been like this. Not this much blood. She didn't even know it could be like this. ]
Ribs. [ She finally gets out the word, though she can barely inflate her lungs. They're the worst of it, she knows. Then, even frightened and dizzy and dazed, she says, ] Run.
[ He should go. What if those UNA soldiers come down here to make sure no witnesses survived? But no. They'd have no reason to assume she could have possibly survived it. It should have been impossible. ]
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There's no real traction in the bags and filth, and he sinks awkwardly into the trash next to her without bothering to get better footing. He isn't running. He isn't going to pick her up, either. Instead Johnny frantically yanks the gloves off his hands and lets them drop. One hand seeks out hers; the other slips under the collar of her jacket, trying to get skin contact. He doesn't know if that even matters. He hasn't tested it enough yet, but now isn't the time to find out.
The blue light kindles out of sight, buried beneath tactical vests and dark layers. The empathy bond sparks to life with it. The surge of fear and worry's first, parallel to cold, hard control, trying to keep his focus. ] I've got you. Just— hold on.
[ Doubt, too. It's an icy thread, rising up as he waits for his power to kick in. It takes a few seconds. Then it's there, a sharp twist in his chest. It builds, frustratingly slow, white hot pain setting up house at a leisurely pace. It won't feel much better on her end. Hot, more than anything. Like cauterizing a wound, nerves fraying before they can mend. ]
i never get to use this icon, also welcome back to weirdly sexual tags with tifa and melissa
His fingers touch skin, and her breath scrapes along the inside of her throat as the connection opens. Fear of her injuries -- they're worse than she's ever had, much worse -- but bewilderment too because no one has ever stuck around to try to do anything about them. If someone were doing this on Jakku, it'd be because she had something they wanted, and they were hoping to take advantage of her weakened state.
Johnny isn't.
The searing pain is so hot it's cold, rolling up her spine, and her eyes roll back with it, a guttural noise coming out of the back of her throat. She twitches, arches, as her two cracked and broken ribs start to realign. It's a sickening noise. Meat and wet and crunching. They realign, and she can breathe again.
Not deeply, she learns as she sucks in greedy gulps, but she can breathe. She reaches up with her good arm again then, getting a grip on his, holding onto him, meeting his gaze through some concerted effort. She's not sure what she's trying to do. Steady herself, maybe. Something is happening, something that doesn't make sense. Her body shudders with it. ]
just murder your character more (also oops)
Johnny's response is to grin like an idiot, even as his brow creases with pain. He can feel her small breaths under his palm, air rasping steadily through her throat. It's an improvement, even if the rest of it debateably isn't.
His free hand's there to meet her desperate grasp when she reaches out, taking a firm grip at her elbow and holding her steady. He holds even longer than she does, aside from the inevitable grimace; he knew what to expect. Except last time he tried this it was a paper cut, by comparison. He isn't expecting all of it.
Like the sudden, sharp throb in his shoulder, mirroring where the blood's thickly coating hers. He's watching her, keeping his focus up and keeping her focused, but he can't help the quick intake of breath when a wash of black rolls over his vision. Johnny holds on for another second, then reluctantly breaks skin contact, flinching back just enough to put a thin line of air between his hand and her neck.
Whether it's that or simple restraint, the transfer's cut. The heat surges back like a wave and then spreads out, soaks in, dissipates. Johnny fully intends to say something clever or ask her if she can move. Instead he falls back against the wall of the dumpster with an awkward thud, breathing heavily, grip on her arm still tight. ]
honestly ur right
When he slumps back with an uneven clang against the metal dumpster wall, Rey goes briefly slack, staring up into the seemingly endless stretch of skyscrapers all around. There are so many bright lights here, and none of them stars. She misses what the stars looked like.
Which, she supposes, means she's going to survive. It's a coherent thought, even if it's besides the point, slightly dissociative. She groans and sits up, struggling as the pain continues to lance through her ribs, her shoulder. It's not healed all the way. Her lungs won't inflate fully. Her shoulder is still bleeding, less now -- mostly stopped for now at least, just not closed up -- though her ribs have stopped bleeding entirely.
Her fingers fumble across her chest, find purchase in the holes of her shirt and vest where her rib had been jutting through the bloodied fabric, only slightly. It's gone now. She looks at Johnny. ]
You ... [ Healed her ?? ] You heal people? [ That's so much more fucking useful than floating rocks / ? ?? This is unfair. ]
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