"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
daisy johnson, aos / mcu.
ii. › the rescuing.
iii. › the tinkering.
iv. › the wildcard.
the rescuing
Ready?
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Da. [ pour one out for timelines. ] I can't tell you how much I'm ready to see you kick ass again with those things.
[ she can't spare much, but there are some things even super serious soldier daisy can't ignore. the fleeting blessing of seeing bobbi back in action after missing her for so long is one of them. she's not going to take this for granted. ]
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When did you learn Russian?
[ because clearly, moments before moving in to kick ass is the right time to talk about languages. ]
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[ it's not really a spoiler, is it? it's just a fact. besides, she also learned russian from another very interesting source... and not the tall man in the fighting rings in new amsterdam. she's not talking about him. ]
Plus, I dated a Russian hacker once, way before SHIELD. He was kind of a dick, but he taught me all the dirty words.
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[ the difference in their timelines, that daisy and fitz both remember things that bobbi doesn't. it bothers her sometimes —mostly when it means that her own frame of reference is ever so slightly off. ]
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[ thanks for the spoilers, fitz. ]
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the tinkering
so, when he spots her through a broken window, he steps over debris and comes inside, making enough noise so she will know someone is there and isn't trying to sneak up on her. ]
Arts and crafts?
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it makes daisy's heart ache.
when the shadow of illya's tall frame crosses over her work, daisy tilts her head up to greet him. the move exposes how long she's been out here — there's a cut from the business end of a UNA soldier's rifle that crosses from browline to cheekbone, angry and red around the edges; she hasn't stopped long enough to clean it, so each swipe of the back of her hand in attempt to clear the sweat from her brow only rubs in more dirt and grime. ]
The jaws of life. [ a frustrated sigh, hands finally stilling. there's a rudimentary pair of oversized scissor-looking things in her lap, but it isn't quite right. ] Except it's not helping that I've only seen them once in a movie. I can't get it right.
[ she's done well keeping her head somewhat steady, but in illya's presence, the control starts to slip just the slightest bit. just the hint of exhaustion, a little desperate panic, rising a half octave with the last few syllables. ]
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[ it's a gentle order but still stern. even just a passing glance tells him all he needs to know about how long she's been out here, working herself to near exhaustion. he would never call himself an affectionate or even a comforting person but he reaches out and rests a hand against the side of her neck for the briefest of seconds before he turns towards the door. ]
Tell them to cover their ears. And back away from the door. [ he's put holes in walls before, a door should not be a problem. he glances over at her and nods. his voice is far too gruff and brusque to comfort any children inside so he leaves that to her for the moment.
it's easy to find the anger especially after all that he's seen today. the inclusion of children in this matter just makes it worse. he can feel it sizzling in his veins, in his blood and he can feel all of that rushing to his fist. ]
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but then illya steps away, squares up against the door, and daisy understands what's to happen. her own debris project is swept aside with the side of her foot to the other end of the hallway; with a soft, reassuring voice, daisy tells the two children currently held at bay by a stuck door to go into a closet, to hide for a minute. a game, she says. ]
Do it.
[ once she nods, she'll move away, clearing a space. who knows how much room he'll need. ]
I trust you.
[ small sentence, but big words. she wonders if he knows what that means to her. ]
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he clenches his fist, nails digging into his palm and then punches the door. the first blow shatters a hole into it, giving illya some space to grab the sides and yank it apart piece by piece.
when he's able to again, he drives his fist into another part of the door, feeling it splinter and shatter underneath his hand. his knuckles crack a bit but he doesn't feel it and kicks a few sharp edges away to give ample enough space for the kids to get through. ]
Come out.
[ he stands aside, hand held loosely behind his back so they don't see the damage he's done to himself. ]
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when they've gone, her attention goes to illya himself — or more specifically, to the hands held suspiciously behind his back. her own reach out, curving around his elbows and tugging his arms forward before he has a chance to react, and once her eyes take in the splotches of red, there's absolutely no chance he's getting them back. ]
Illya. [ reproachful, concerned; her voice is soft where his had been stern. luckily, the injuries are minor enough that a swift bandaging should do the job... though she doesn't exactly have any bandages on her. though. she does have a shirt. ] Hold still.
[ because she's going to have to remove her hands from his long enough to tear a long strip of fabric off the bottom of her shirt, said piece being torn in half in order to create two pieces. one for each hand.
she's careful to be delicate, but the bandages must be tight or they'll fall right off. ]
You didn't have to do that, you know.
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the tinkering
[prompto points out, intelligently enough, looking at daisy and hunkering down beside her behind the turner-over car. if the soldiers can't see them, they'll likely not actively go looking for them; they seem to have specific orders. still, doesn't mean they can relax.]
Are you taking requests?
[he asks with a grin, looking over the top of the overturned car to check for any imminent threats.]
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Might as well. What do you have in mind? The more specific, the better.
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[this one's gonna be out there, and he knows it. he squats down next to her after checking the coast is clear and starts emphasizing sizes and shapes with his hands.]
Y'know a pizza cutter, right? So, imagine that, but, like a chain saw. So it's circular, it's pretty big, and it cuts through monster parts easy peasy!
[maybe he likes cutting things down a little too much. reel it back.]
It's pretty fun to use.
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A giant monster-murdering pizza cutter chain saw. [ wow... ] I can officially say that's the weirdest thing anyone's ever asked me to make, but ... okay, I guess.
[ why not. ]
We're going to need something sharp for the saw edges, though. Think you can manage to find something like that while I finagle you a handle?
[ the hubcap will at least offer the rounded shape, but the thick metal's not exactly a sharp knife yet. ]
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[ask him about his machinery someday.]
But that one's gonna work best for the circumstances, I think. [rubbing at his nose, he listens carefully to her instructions and nods a few times.] Yeah, there's a bunch of crap all over the place.
[he's already considering a few broken down cars and hoverbikes. he can probably get something sharp and strong from them.]
Gimme a few!
[mask back down, he heads out into the street--not fully, mind--sneaking behind trash containers and toppled over cars, quickly working through some rubble and broken parts. he grabs at a chain drive from one of the hoverbike's engines, thinking it useful. when he returns to daisy, he drops the scraps at her side.]
Okay, I got this! The streets are pretty quiet for now.
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finally satisfied, daisy exhales. the pieces left over drop suddenly to the floor, the blue glow dissipated, and she peers back up. first at him, then back down to the pile he's added to. ]
Yeah, these are good. Where'd you find this? [ holding up the chain drive in her hands, grease clinging to her palm. ] Doesn't matter. Don't tell me.
[ don't make her complicit in his crimes! or a good witness! ]
I need ... five minutes, probably. Maybe ten. Can you keep watch that long?
[ can prompto stay focused on one task that long? ]
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iii. the tinkering - but also that thing we discussed
who knows, perhaps they aren't.
his fingers tighten around the grip of his firearm, ) Say what you will, they are persistent.
burn baby burn
They're fucking nightmares.
[ literally and figuratively. she has a feeling she won't sleep well after this for a while. ]
You don't have a flare or anything, do you? I think I need to melt some of this down first before I try to combine it again.
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( and by something, he means himself. he moves away from where he's settled, crossing over to her as quickly and quietly as he can manage. )
I've been practicing. ( he offers by way of explanation, pulling off one glove and wiggling his fingers. there's a shimmer of something beneath the skin. gold skeins of light threaded with blue ㅡ not the bright blue of the empathy bond but a darker, almost royal blue. )
It won't be pretty but it should work.
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[ take that to mean, it's fine if it's ugly, she doesn't care. squeezing her fingertips to her palms, daisy stills the rotation of the pieces; they clatter to the ground as they fall from the air above, forming a haphazard sprawl across the floor. ]
The more clean you can get it, the easier it'll be to mold into shape. Whatever shape you want, that is. [ "since you still haven't told me" hangs in the air, mildly irritated. ]
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A shock staff. ( then, to clarify: ) They're too strong to take on directly, but their armor ㅡ ( it's just a guess, admittedly, but an educated one, ) it's too heavy for an ordinary human to lift.
( which means either they're enhanced ㅡ which, while possible, means that they are still essentially human ㅡ or they're machines; either way, susceptible to a good direct shock. )
If it could be disabled ㅡ ( he leaves it hanging, letting her draw her own conclusions. )
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[ she's not opposed, per se. just surprised, if she's honest, that the idea hasn't come up before. the kind of armor that envelopes each una soldier isn't the kind that your average joe could support long-term, let alone in heat like this. having some kind of computerized operation system on board to support the weight would definitely make it easier ... and of course, there's always the possibility that these demons are actually just deathmarch versions of the good old life model decoys.
great. more androids. for once, daisy actually hopes it's the former. ]
Okay, well, if we're doing this I'm going to need something electrical to provide the shock, and more of this stuff — [ the metal pieces, the ones that look more conductive and shiny than the rest ] — separated out to carry the charge.
[ she feels like fitz, babbling in technospeak about things that are way beyond her paygrade. ]
And there's zero promise this will work, so if we both wind up electrocuted, don't come at me later.
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i can't believe i finally get to use this icon and it's for this
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