"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
no subject
[ even if he was right, technically speaking, she still had a choice in the matter. maybe by the time they got to the safehouse, she'd be so damn tired of dealing with his petty ass that she'd need a fucking nap. ]
Is this your way of telling me you lied to me just to get me to agree with you?
[ the thought of which actually angers her more than anything else. it's a good thing the girls have started walking ahead, emboldened by the surreal quiet on the streets — it's not exactly great for security and safety, but it's better that they don't hear this petty, stupid argument. that they don't see how being lied to and manipulated actually twists something visceral in daisy's gut, how it forces a telltale sheen at the corner of her eyes and a thickness in her voice as if fighting off the urge to — no. she can't even think it. she won't dignify his asshole response with that. ]
You're such a dick.
no subject
[ see a doctor or i'm going to sit on you. see a doctor or i'm going to tie you down. that doesn't make it sound like he has much choice in the matter, does it? but, when it comes back down to her, she is angry. he doesn't understand people. ]
I never proclaimed to be anything else.
[ he knows what he is. he knows. but the sight of tears still takes him aback. he's not sure why she's reacting so strongly to this and he's too irritated to ask or apologize because despite his alarm, he doesn't think he has anything to apologize for. ]
Are you telling me you weren't lying to me? [ because he hadn't heard a denial there. ] Bullshit.
[ american curse words were good for something. ]
no subject
[ outraged, her cheeks bloom red, blending the flush of her cheeks to the dried blood on her skin. whatever her intentions may have been, agreeing to a deal that hadn't yet been tested isn't a lie. she'd just expected not to be able to fulfill it — a distinction daisy holds as fairly important. the beds in the safehouse belonged to the refugees they were bringing in, compromised morningstar associates who narrowly escaped being drug out by their hair or the children left behind alone. people who needed a rest far more than daisy did.
did that mean she wouldn't have rested at all? no. and to be told that illya doesn't trust her, that her agreeing to his compromise had meant nothing to him — well. it cuts her to the quick, sharp like a knife, a blow more painful than the butt of a rifle had been to her face. that stung, but she'd expected the pain.
for some reason, she hadn't expected this from him. ]
I didn't want — [ the thickness in her throat makes her voice waver as she says it, betraying the emotions she's trying so hard not to let get the better of her, each syllable a struggle to choke out. ] I didn't want you to get hurt. Not for me.
[ self-sacrifice for someone else, she can understand. for her? not so much. she doesn't deserve it. ]
Forgive me for giving a shit about you, comrade. [ bitter, the words spat out. ] Just forget it. Do whatever you want.
[ she'll take it from here, mostly because turning away makes it a little easier to furiously wipe the moisture that keeps pooling in her eyes. ]
no subject
What I did was my choice, Daisy. Mine. [ breaking the door down and then going after that soldier had been the only way to help the children. and speaking of the children: ] And it was to make sure all of you got back to the safehouse. I would do it again and again and again. I would make the same choices a hundred times over.
[ and if he got hurt, he got hurt. in his mind this was a worthy cause. if he fractured bones and broke skin, it still wouldn't be on the level of suffering these children were to experience soon. ]
I am not going to forget it. [ he calls the words after her before starting forward against, trying to catch her elbow so he can whirl her around to face him. he has no idea what these poor children are going to think of this display but he hopes they just remain close and don't wander off. ]
My hands will heal. I don't want to waste the time or the energy of the few doctors that exist when there will be others worse off. [ he keeps a hand on her elbow, fingers stiff and throbbing but his grip is sure. ]
It wasn't meant as a lie. It wasn't meant as anything untoward, for God's sake. I just want you and these children off the streets. Can we talk about my hands when that is accomplished? Please. We're not safe out here. I want you to be safe.
no subject
[ he doesn't answer. maybe he doesn't have an answer. maybe the answer isn't a good one. or maybe he just doesn't want to say what the answer is.
as it turns out, illya's near foot of height advantage means he towers over her, and the bulk of his shoulders gives him easy access to manhandle her — but it doesn't mean she likes it. being whirled around on her feet via an uninvited grip on her elbow leaves daisy feeling off-balance and furious about it to boot; by the time her head whips up to face him, a glare all but wipes away the sadness lingering in her eyes. ]
Get off. [ spit out syllable after syllable, her entire arm yanking away hard enough to leave a sharp ache just above her shoulder blade. bodies aren't meant to move that way. a wince colors her expression before she can manage to school her features back into the firm line of rage she's practicing. ] We don't have to talk about anything.
[ it's easier to be angry than it is to be sad, easier to lash out than it is to admit she's hurt by his admissions. but being angry means being loud, and as daisy's free hand reaches up to rub at her now sore shoulder, the sound of a child's voice breaks through the awkward silence between them. what's that?, they ask, and her gaze snaps — that happens to be a matte black disc floating in the distance. the device rotates side-to-side, a thin red spread of laser light skimming over the open windows in a nearby apartment building. a drone, daisy realizes, a chill running down the back of her neck.
they have to move. ]
Pick them up. [ he hears her, but he doesn't move immediately, so daisy repeats herself, voice shrill in urgency. ] Illya! Pick them up!
[ don't panic don't panic don't panic. more importantly, don't cry. ]
We have to lose it before we go inside, or — [ or the safehouse is compromised. or everyone who's been brought to safety will be lost, and it'll be all her fault. ] Where do we go?
no subject
except it is never going to be that easy. as soon as he turns, he hears her shout and his eyes go up, locking onto the metallic device. it takes him too long to move but he does scoop up each child like they're nothing and brings them close to his body, voice dropping to a whisper. ]
Press your faces into my coat. Do not look and hold on tight. We're going to run and I can't have you letting go, understand? Tell me you understand.
[ each child nods and his eyes scan the area, finding a narrow alley a few hundred feet away. he nods at it. ]
Go.
[ it will not be easy for the thing to get a bead on them if they're moving and in a small space. he reasons that there is probably a back door to a business or apartment there so that's where he heads, keeping low and shushing the children when they start to whine. he murmurs something soft in russian, something they don't understand but relaxes them anyway.
the alleyway is all brick, dank and smelly but a door does appear finally and, miracle of miracles, it's unlocked, he throws it open, listening to the hum of the drone as it grows closer. ]
Get in. [ he snaps the words at daisy before he follows her in and shuts the door with a quiet click. as soon as they're in, he puts a finger to his lips, keeping them quiet while he lowers the kids to the ground. ]
Quiet. [ he has no idea how long this thing is going to hover but they need to wait it out. he gives daisy one more look before he moves to the window, folding his large frame down so he can peer out and not be seen. ]
no subject
somehow, someway, illya finds a door. they pile through it, pull it shut behind them, and their collective exhales of relief fill the space with a lingering, uncomfortable heat. or maybe the heat was there before. doesn't matter. daisy's just glad to be inside somewhere with limited views of the outside — if the space appears to be nothing but storage, the drone's artificial intelligence should register the space as a dead end and move on.
but illya, of course, does exactly what he shouldn't. he sticks his face right up to the window like a little boy waiting for the mailman. ] It can see you, get down! Put your coat over it! [ because it's a million degrees, and he's wearing a coat like some kind of deranged boy scout.
that settled, daisy sinks down to the ground, cross-legged against the opposite wall, her head resting in the palms of her hands, elbows pressed against her knees. the girls sit beside her, curled into themselves, and after a beat, she lifts her arms. she offers up her lap as a safe space, and they take it, immediately crawling in to rest their faces against her chest.
as if by instinct, her arms curl down around them, her face dipping down to press a feather-light kiss against the crowns of their head. her own blessings, this time chinese phrases she learned from a mother she only met in passing, are whispered in the dark.
when her face lifts again, a telltale sheen glimmers on her cheeks, though she doesn't have the free hands to wipe it away anymore. after a moment, she finally pipes up again, voice quiet, sure. ]
I'm going to go out there. I can try and bring it down.
[ hack it, she means. through the neural network. or, worst case scenario, distract it long enough for him to take the girls and go the other way. self-sacrifice. ]
no subject
but he cannot think about it now. he uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away errant blood before he drapes it on the window. he steps off the side, back still to her while he thinks.
he's in the middle of formulating some kind of plan when she speaks and then he whips around, naked shock on his face. ]
You are not going out there. That thing will go away once it realizes we're done. We should wait until it moves onto another area. We have shelter for the moment and we are safe. No one needs to leave.
[ would she listen to him? he doubts it but he has to try. ] Leave it alone, Daisy. You're needed here.
[ by the kids, of course. just the kids. yes. ]
You can't risk your life on the possibility that you can do whatever it is you do to bring that down. [ no. no, it wasn't going to happen. ] I am asking you to please stay here. Please.
no subject
please, he says, and daisy almost hesitates. almost. but this isn't a party where she can linger on the sidelines, or a mission where she can just bail out the window when things get to be too much. this is real life, real danger; the longer that drone lingers in the alleyway, the more risk the situation poses not only to themselves and the children, but to everyone waiting in every safehouse around the city.
they know too much now. she has to do this. she appreciates the attempt at empathy, but his pleas don't contradict the facts. ]
I'm sorry. I really am. [ about ignoring your wishes. about hurting your feelings. about lying to you. about all of it. ] But I have to do this. And you have to keep them safe.
[ illya is tall, and probably packs a hundred pounds on her, but daisy is determined. and fast, as it turns out; a quick duck and she's under his reaching arm, a hand wrapping quickly around the door in order to pull it open and then shove it shut behind her. though he can't see her, she turns around for just a moment. just long enough to mouth i'm sorry before walking back in the direction of the street.
she expects to find the drone lingering nearby, scanning the windows and doors of the building front for signs of entry, forced or otherwise. accessing the feed is easy, though changing the flight patterns admittedly a little more difficult. it takes up her concentration; she's surprised to look up and find a pair of una soldiers investigating the intrusion, weapons at hand. the surprise is all they need. they move in unison, one flanking her from behind, strong hands reaching to grab her wrists and pull them behind her back; the other stepping in front, too close for comfort.
at first, she tries to quake them. it's instinct, self-preservation at its most simplistic form; she's rewarded for the attempt with the same dull ache in her chest and the softest hint of a blue glow under her black shirt. the soldiers don't miss a beat. this time, they strike her in the stomach. the butt of the rifle goes hard, and daisy doubles over, a sharp, shrill cry of pain echoing in the empty street. she tries to break down the gun, focusing her attention on breaking it apart, but as the first one falls to pieces in the street, another finds its way into place from a holster on their back. for her cheek, they hit harder.
please, she cries, but they keep going. an attempt to show their superiority, to frighten her into submission, to force her to comply — but daisy just screams, and they keep hitting, until she's a ball crumbled on the ground, vision blurry from a black eye that's surely going to bloom overnight, body aching in every limb until unconsciousness sounds like a blessing. and then, just as quickly as it had started, it stops. apparently satisfied with her pain, or perhaps distracted by a sound in the distance, the soldiers turn — in unison again, they move south, away from daisy (and perhaps more importantly, away from the safehouse), leaving her alone to enjoy her new-found injuries.
or lay there and cry, whichever. ]
no subject
as all things do, it doesn't happen that way. the first time he hears a scream, he starts, feet moving towards the door when he catches sight of the fear on the children's faces. the next blow is accompanied by a shout and he has to put a hand over one kid's face to stifle their cries. teas roll onto his hand but he puts a finger to his lips and closes his eyes.
she cries out. he closes his eyes tighter, feeling the second child move closer and bury her face in her friends shoulder. while the attack does not last long, it seems to go on forever and her pleas echo in his ears. when quiet reigns for two minutes straight, he gets to his feet and pushes the door open.
there are no signs of soldiers but he spots daisy not far away, limp and bloody and completely stupid. he gestures for the kids to stay there and moves over to her, crouching down to feel for a pulse. there is one and he breathes out a sigh of relief before he hefts her into his arms.
russian is already spilling from his lips when he straightens, complaints and admonishments about how idiotic and dumb that was. how she could stand there and yell at him and do the exact same thing. how she could accuse him of things before apologizing to him for similar things.
he's so. he's so incredibly mad but he's worried too because her breathing is labored and every time he moves seem to cause her pain. ]
Children's, let's go. [ this was done. they were not stopping until they got to the safehouse. she would see a doctor and he would stand aside and let her friends take care of her while he left to take care of himself.
but he mutters russian curses and bile at her the entire way, anger coursing through his veins like a rushing river. he keeps talking, the sound distracting him from the way she breathes, the way she moans and he keeps walking despite the absolute ache in his hand. ]