"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
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[the sound that will make aranea turn around is prompto opening a door further inside the apartment, into a bedroom.]
Hold on.
['hurry up' might as well have fallen on deaf ears, because this should be a get her and go mission.]
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With an unhappy little huff, she otherwise stays quiet, following him to the bedroom at a few steps behind. ]
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[finding a scarf in one of the drawers, he comes back to the girl and puts the backpack on her before picking her up and turning to aranea.]
Can you put her on my back? I'll tie her with the scarf for extra support.
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[ There's a faint light coming from the apartment's great room. Despite the cut power, the fridge is on some sort of auxiliary, clearly - the bulb still lights up the interior, illuminating the planes and half-moons of Aranea's face in harsh, unflattering tones. Prompto will hear the sound of shuffling, plastic bags rustling and food being nudged to the side.
After a few moments, Aranea pokes back into the door. ]
Hey, hon. D'ya like ham?
[ The girl, only belatedly realising she's been addressed, shakes her head. Her face is blotchy from crying, her shirt covered in the same now dry, almost blackened blood coating the carpet. ]
Fine. No ham. How about PB&J?
[ Another shake of her head.
Shyly, fingers twisting together in her lap, the girl speaks up -- ]
Mayo, sliced pickles, and locust sauce.
[ Aranea's eyebrows shoot up her forehead. Her expression of shock is exaggerated purposefully, but the surprise behind it is real. ]
Are you for real? That's really what you want?
[ A small giggle, still in a somewhat choked voice, but the girl smiles to reveal two missing front teeth. ]
Yeah. Th... thanks.
Comin' right up.
[ Aranea disappears back into the kitchenette. ]
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[he doesn't follow after her but instead stays with the girl, pulling out the plush toy and smiling soon as she hugs it into her chest.]
Can you stay here a minute? I'm gonna make sure she uses sliced pickles and then we'll go somewhere safe. Okay?
[the girl nods, hesitant, but stays where she is. the shock from the whole situation hasn't settled too much yet, and this casual interaction is probably helping. prompto heads on out to the kitchenette where aranea is, keeping his eyes from the dead body across the room.]
There's still soldiers about. I've found a safehouse nearby--about 10 minutes away. It's by a convenience store.
[checking the map, though...]
There were other break-ins in this building, I think two more based on the pings the others placed on the map.
[children could be there, still. someone injured, but alive, could still be there, hanging on.]
I know it isn't convenient to carry more than what we can handle, but I wanna check it out.
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It's not easy to calmly prepare a child's lunch while the bodies of her dead parents lie a few feet away. Aranea bites back any nausea she feels with the efficiency of a practiced professional and keeps at it regardless. ]
Fine. [ Her tone is a bit brusque, a bit too professional. ] We'll check it out and then we'll drop her off.
[ Sandwich finished, she wraps it snugly in saran and then starts to go through the cupboards for a lunch bag of some sort. ]
Once we're out of the building, it'll be dicey. [ The flashing of lights from the streets below shines in through the tall windows and bleaches out the wall in a rather macabre fashion. ] We should probably have a contingency plan in place.
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[he offers with a smile, although there isn't a lot of humor in how he says his words. looking atop the fridge, he finds the lunch bag she's probably looking for, reaches up for it, and hands it over.]
[at least, he seems to sober up quite quickly despite his quip.]
Her safety is priority. If things go sour, just grab her and go. [he looks pretty serious, a strange look on prompto.] I'd probably panic and fall over trying to get away, but at least we can trust that I can use a gun right.
[he just means that aranea is more reliable in getting from point a to point b without fucking up. also, it could be that prompto's tired of running away; tired of aranea seeing him constantly running away.]
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Prompto, because she's already unhappy with him, takes the brunt of her frustration over this mild inconvenience. ]
... you gonna quit the self-deprecation act any day now?
[ Dropping the bag, she rests her hands on the countertop - her eyes dart over to the bedroom, to make sure the girl isn't in earshot - ]
You're not gonna do me or her any good by assumin' the worst about yourself. Grow up.
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[eyeing the lunchbox that gave her such a hard time, he reaches over--despite her words--and tugs the zipper over the fabric hurdle, using a finger to push it to the side, allowing room for it to go through just fine.]
I know you're not happy with me, but I'm not assuming anything. [he looks back up at her.] I'm trying to do just that-- grow up. She has better chances of safely reaching the safehouse with you if we get spotted.
[perhaps, really, he's trying too hard, to an extent]
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He's right, though. She is unhappy with him, and behaving a bit irritably because of it. It's more than her usual light layer of defensiveness. Rather than try to work through this, however, she knocks out a few terse words - ]
Fine. You want to be our meatshield so bad? Knock yourself out.
[ Grabs the lunchbag and heads back to the bedroom. To the little girl: ]
We're leavin' soon, alright? You ready?
[ If Prompto follows into the bedroom, he'll see Aranea kneeling, sliding the bag into the backpack before zipping up the whole thing. ]
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[her name gets stuck in his mouth, for she retreats before he can even think of countering her remark. there's something solid weighing down on his gut, but he's got to keep -- determined. whatever she is or isn't seeing in him, prompto has to prove his worth.]
[following after her, he nods at the little girl and kneels down in front of her so she can climb onto his back. prompto manages to tie the scarf tightly around the two of them, right in the middle, for extra support. as much as she's holding on and as much as he's careful about keeping her steady, it's better to be safe than sorry.]
Alright.
[back on his feet, he adjusts his weight and nods at aranea, moving forward. he trusts her to watch his back.]
We'll use the fire escape and end up behind the building. Gives us room to leave without anyone noticing.
[a careful scoping out of the hallway, and he's heading out the door, towards the window at the end where the fire escape would be.]
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Halfway up the first flight, Aranea asks (unable to stop herself, really) -- ]
This remind you of anything?
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Niflheim?
[he assumes would be the answer she's looking for. but... he doesn't remember a lot from it, not with her in the picture, anyway.]
[the girl clutches tightly around his neck, her weight on his shoulders.]
I don't know about anything past me waiting at the campfire, remember?
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Yeah. Right.
[ A faint sigh, if he knows to listen for it. ]
That bother you, the not knowing?
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Of course it does. It's like walking out a movie before it ends. I'll never get to know the resolution you say there was.
[it would feel more real, then, his own supposed growth and all that. there's something else, though -- and his mouth thins into a line.]
It's like you expect me to act differently, too.
[--which sucks, because prompto wants to be all that. useful, resourceful, content in his own skin, determined, and resolute. but how can he be that, when he doesn't know how to even get to that point from where he is now?]
[climbing up another set of stairs, he stops. readjusts the girl on his back. he continues on.]
I don't know how to be that person.
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Since then, she's thought that she should have done it herself. If she had stepped over Prompto altogether and told Noctis herself about the repercussions of Altissia falling, it may not have been as gentle, but it wouldn't have been that.
The more she's around them, the more she finds faults in these young men. Cleaning up their messes is wholly uninteresting to her. ... or so she tells herself, but asks a question regardless - ]
You think you're different?
[ Up the next flight of stairs. Aranea steps a bit closer, purposefully shielding Prompto and the girl as they step in through the window. ]
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[this building seems to be clear, if the online map is anything to go by. it'll make their descent out easier, at least.]
[not that this conversation is that.]
I'm not?
[the look he offers aranea is one of confusion--a frown on his eyes, as if trying to seek for answer where he knows he can't find.]
You don't seem too happy with the things I say or how I say them. I'm trying to change and own up to things, but it just doesn't seem like it's right to you. I don't know.
[he turns his eyes back around, to check over the corner and to step into the empty hallway.]
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She knows she doesn't like the look on his face, the one he's giving her now. What else can she do? She tried to push him in the right direction; instead, he rocked back on his heels. ]
Why is what's right to me so important to you?
[ The point she's trying to make is that her opinion shouldn't be what his world revolves around, which may or may not be an accurate assessment of his current situation, but his phrasing implies as much. She has very little time or respect for that sort of thing.
Aranea stops at the first door in the corridor. ]
Locked tight. Keep going.
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It's not that it's so important, even when it is somewhat important. You went through some stuff that you say I was there for, too.
Raiding the labs, right? Fighting together. Fighting Verstael. Did I change? I don't know if I'm changing right enough here, right now. But I'm trying.
[it's not so much about what aranea thinks of him, but she did see him change -- from feeling so lost over his origins to embracing them, is what he'd assume. he wants to get it right -- not flounder with the wrong concept to try and grow on.]
[he swallows as he tries another door, but it's locked, too. feeling frustrated over his thoughts, he jams the butt of his gun into the keypad, the panel giving way. he holsters the gun back again and uses his free hand to mess with the cables. every other door is going to be locked; might as well save them the trouble of being disappointed by breaking and entering.]
I should've told Noctis before Ardyn did.
[an admittance]
Not a day goes by that I don't feel like I betrayed him, even when he says otherwise. [the pad goes from glowing red to glowing green, a beep-beep coming from the circuitry, the door sliding open.] I'm doing what I can to not fuck up anymore.
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And Aranea is, quite helpfully, checking out the kitchen. The fridge has a built-in water and ice dispenser; considering the rationing, it's either very wasteful or a sign that this floor is even more obscenely wealthy than the previous floor, with its multiple bedrooms. ]
How much do you think a place like this costs a month?
[
More than she makes or will possibly ever make.Back to what he was saying a moment ago, though - ]
That night, at the campfire, I told you that you needed to figure out what you want. I was tired of hearing you twist yourself into knots over what you thought everyone else wanted.
You figured it out eventually. I was ready to leave you there if you couldn't rally, but you picked yourself up.
[ Because it isn't her style to pepper her words with adjectives, she leaves off there. ]
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Guess I won't ever know what was going through my head.
[unless he gets back.]
[and that's something he isn't sure he wants, seeing how comfortable it is here -- with his best friend, with ignis, with meeting people who seem to like him for who he is. it's never felt this easy to feel like he belonged, outside of the guys.]
...we should keep moving, unless you wanna take something from here.
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[ She closes the fridge again.
Specifically, Aranea is referring to not wanting to take anything from the apartment. They haven't encountered any more bodies, which is either a good thing or a very bad thing, but either way she isn't about to start robbing the place. Annoyance flares briefly - is this what he thinks of her, assuming she'll start graverobbing apartments? - but she sets it aside. They have more important things to worry about. ]
Let's go. [ Seeing the little girl blink at her, so tiredly, over Prompto's shoulder, she adds, in a gentler tone - ] We're almost at the safehouse. You're doing good.