"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
kaldur'ahm | young justice
two › rescue ops/team up
three › rescue (closed to loki)
four › death (closed to jason)
five › recovery
six › wildcard
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hates even more than he's standing here with a child behind his back, a soldier at his front and no goddamn weapon in hand. his gun's too far to reach for without leaving her unguarded, and he has absolutely no intention of doing that. but kaldur steps in, steps in front and takes the bullet. it provides a moment of cover even if that's--fucking gruesome to think about. jason tucks down, wraps an arm around the little girl and reaches for his gun, takes it off stun and aims it straight for a shoulder. it hits, but doesn't do much damage; still, it's enough to get them to back the fuck off for a moment, and he's running forward a step, shoving this kid on over his shoulders and tells her to hold on tight as he reaches with (now free) arm to grab onto kaldur's body and
jumps straight through the nearest window. manages to avoid the hovercraft just a bit above and lands on creaky legs onto the next building over's balcony.
the child'll be fine; she's shaken up, her parents--didn't make it, but there's not jack shit jason can do for that right now. he murmurs a soft "we'll get them, it'll be fine" to her before turning his attention down to the body bleeding out where he had dropped kaldur.
runs fingers over his arms, down his chest. tries to figure out where most the blood's fucking coming from. )
When I said "hey, you close enough to help with this?" I didn't mean "hey, get shot for me" asshole.
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his chest hurts. rattles a little when he takes a breath. that's not good. his gills work uselessly at his neck. ]
Chest. [ he tells jason, voice ragged, and ] I know you did not. [ he thinks about saying that he did it for the child, and that part is not a lie, but he did it for jason, too. for the boy who died in his world and because this angry man here is someone he almost considers a teammate, for all that there is no team. ]
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I didn't need it. ( a breath, fingers moving over kaldur's chest, doesn't give a shit about the blue glow, who is this kid going to tell? his attention's fully focused in on getting a good-sized gauze pad out of his bag, ripping it open and taking a moment to drench the wound in antiseptic before shoving over the pad and leaning his weight into it. putting pressure onto the wound. his expression--is carefully measured, lips tight and brows furrowed. )
It's--deep. Don't think we can fix this out here. Can't tell what needs fixing without better equipment.
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You should leave me. Get the child to safety.
[ he's died before —in a simulation only, but it had felt real at the time when he'd chosen to sacrifice himself. he shouldn't have then and he knows that. today, here, he is not the leader of the team. he is little more than the pawn he behaved as back then. ]
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I run a "no fish left behind" ship, that includes you.
( the pressure doesn't lessen, even if he's sure it's not doing jack shit. there's too much blood, no donor nearby, no time to page someone else to get down here-- )
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he coughs, once, twice, growing pale —and with each breath that doesn't fill his lungs, his skin and lips take on a more blue-ish hue. ]
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his team-ups have been few, but as he parts with one to begin another, he stops by an apartment on the way. the GPS pin hadn't been resolved yet. and no wonder, as he slides around one of the corners, he sees Kaldur surrounded by those in full body armor, disgruntled and blind to everything else but their mission.
the rock that he tosses bounces off the helmet of the UNA soldier closest to Kaldur, and they look up, suddenly at high alert that another someone might be there. a split second of silence, then Loki's dropping on the second one from above, bowling all four-hundred pounds of Asgardian god into them. ]
Now we run.
[ that's your opening, Kaldur. ]
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he does not expect a rescue, but it comes in the form of someone he does not know dropping down on one of the soldiers. now we run, the man tells him. ]
Indeed. [ there is no shame in a strategic retreat. he has fulfilled his primary objective of getting the soldiers away from the family.
he will need to cover the family's retreat in some way, but that will not be an option if he is incapacitated. so he plants a kick to the chest of the other soldier, pushing him back for a moment, and then does as loki said and runs. ]
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What were you doing again?
[ he asks as he turns a corner on his tail, as if he were part of this the entire time. ]
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[ as though that is self-evident. to kaldur, it is. what else would he have been doing? —but it's good that loki asked, because it gives kaldur an opening: ]
I could use your aid in covering their retreat.
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Is there a plan, or is this purely one of those instances of improvisation?
[ because he can get behind either, and even if there is a plan, it would probably be more improvising than not. ]
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The plan is to cover their retreat without getting hurt.
[ so. improvisation. ]
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two
They remain a step ahead of the UNA for a whole floor before suddenly running across them on the floor beneath, three of them filing forcefully into an apartment despite the protests of the family within. Ah, it was too much to hope things would go smoothly, wouldn’t it?
There isn’t a lot of time to formulate a plan, but Kaldur apparently has his own ideas. (Frankly, X’rhun is a little miffed he thought to engage the solders before he could offer to do the same.) X’rhun slips in while the soldiers’ focus is on his ally, quickly rallying the family and ushering them towards the fire escape on the back of the building.
He has no intention of leaving Kaldur behind, however, and once the family is making its way out, X’rhun bolts across the tiny apartment, powerful Miqo’te legs launching him forward as he bowls right into one of the soldiers, managing to surprise his feet from beneath him. X’rhun kicks his weapon away. ]
I couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could I?
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the team has done it many times before and he misses it, misses them —but he hasn't been a part of the team for months even before coming here. he is again now, or he had been briefly, but in his time undercover, there had been no one but artemis he could trust like that.
there is no one like that here, either. (he wishes dick grayson knew him, but their worlds are different. if there is a team dick leads, kaldur is not part of it.) ]
You could have. [ just calmly stating a fact while he trades punches with two una soldiers, holding them at bay but barely, taking a fair amount of damage in the process. ] But I am glad that you did not.
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X’rhun as well hold some small advantage in being a Miqo’te. He is agile, with a strength that is hidden by his small stature and slender frame. It will, of course, not take the remaining soldiers long to cotton to that, and adjust accordingly, but for now he and his young friend have managed to take them off their guard. ]
I try to make a habit of leaving no man behind.
[ He’s an idealist, that way.
The man on the floor is down, but not out. X’rhun chooses to leave him for the moment since he’s been unarmed and is a little slow to get to his feet. Instead, he wishes to even the odds with the two currently focused on Kaldur. One reels back to throw another blow at the young man and X’rhun catches him by the wrist. ]
Two against one is hardly fair, is it?
[ The soldier’s free hand launches at X’rhun’s face, and he ducks to avoid it. Well, he’s got this one’s attention, but the third fellow is finally picking himself off the floor. ]
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A policy I can appreciate.
[ he tells x'rhun, but doesn't smile or look at him fight, busying himself instead of trading blows and kicks with one soldier, pushing him back a little.
although there is movement in the corner of his eye —and kaldur grabbing a lamp off the sidetable to fling at the soldier getting to his feet who has his gaze focused on x'rhun. ]
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Perhaps he doesn't care much about the lamp because he's going for his sidearm, a simple pistol, but a bullet is a bullet.
Dancing around as he and Kaldur are with their respective opponents must make them a little difficult to get a bead on – at least for the moment – and the soldier's first shot swings wide by a frighteningly small amount, embedding itself into the couch in a spray of fabric and padding. ]
Seven hells!
[ X'rhun bites it out, taking his attention away from the man with whom he was exchanging blows for a precious moment. The soldier with the gun adjusts his aim, ticking the muzzle of his pistol in Kaldur's direction, and the Miqo'te feels a familiar sort of warmth bloom in his chest as his given power flares up of its own volition. A simple square of translucent red light springs into being in mid-air, a couple of feet long on other side and no thicker than a couple of inches, but surprisingly solid.
The gun barks twice, but this small shield of X'rhun's is enough to block the bullets. There is a moment when the man seems confused, probably taking the floating shape for some kind of tech and working out how to adjust. The same could not be said of the soldier X'rhun is fighting – while X'rhun's attention is on the manifestation of his power, a fist connects with the side of his face with such force it sends him sprawling. Thankfully, he doesn't get his lights knocked out, so the shape of light remains where it is, but X'rhun is going to need a moment to get back on his feet. ]
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they need to get out of here somehow.
the soldier kaldur is fighting doesn't let up anymore than the soldier x'rhun is fighting does, but kaldur sees x'rhun being sent sprawling and it gives him the surge of adrenaline needed to at least temporarily gain the upper hand, to knock out his opponent with a series of fast and strong blows. even without his atlantean magic, kaldur is a strong opponent —and the momentary freedom he gains allows him to move into a position to cover x'rhun, to give him the time he needs to get back on his feet. ]
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urgh sorry i'm so slow i'm really bad at fight scenes /o\
no worries! we can probably work on wrapping this up if you like!
let's :>
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recovery
He wonders—does this guy need it more? Possibly. Keith hadn't been a part of the "mermaid experience" or whatever Lance called it. He used flashier words. Keith stopped listening.
Would it be insulting to relate this guy to mermaids?
Not the time to think about that.
He extends the bottle forward.]
How are you feeling?
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another attempt at clearing his throat. when he manages to speak, it's scratchy and rough. ] Water?
[ any answer beyond that will have to wait —and yes, he does need more water than the average human being. ]
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The only experience he's had with speaking to someone recently deceased was Shiro, and that was a unique experience in and of itself.]
Drink it all. We made sure to grab more.
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I'm Keith. [It's idly stated, like he feels like he needs to put it out there.] You need more, don't you? Just nod. I'll make sure to get something.
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[ keith. he'd spoken to keith on the network more than once, hadn't he? it's good to put a face to the name, a voice to the words. he'll appreciate that more once he's had some more water, once he feels better. less rough and faint around the edges.
once he knows what happened, too, because the last thing he remembers is being unable to breathe, jason's face worried and angry and a bullet lodged somewhere in his chest. ]
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