"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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However, the efforts she has gone to in order to conceal her injuries make them hard to notice, but for the stain of dried blood leaving the shoulder of her black jacket a single shade darker than the rest of it. Easy to overlook. Nothing that would draw too much attention.
Still, seeing him there makes her feel ready to collapse. Almost there. How many times has she pushed through wooziness like this? She knows the drill. Just a few more steps. Always just a few more steps. ]
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she's hurt, he realizes.
she's hurt and she came to him. )
Let meㅡ ( he extends a hand to her, unsure what precisely he can offer her but compelled to offer all the same. )
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She's never had an injury anyone else has ever cared about. Yet between Kylo and Johnny, that's changing. She looks him over skeptically. But what does he think she can let him do? And here, of all places? ]
Not here.
[ Whatever he thinks he wants to do, examine her injuries, convince himself he's a medic of some kind, it can't happen here. She just needs a place to rest. ]
just imagine the bridal carry icon here instead
the apartment block isn't far but it is tucked away, making it difficult to find if you've never been there before. )
Once I have photoshop again, I'll make you a bridal carry icon.
At least her hurt shoulder is towards the outside, and not pinned against his chest.
It turns out that once his grip on her is solid, her ribs don't really hurt. It'd been the movement. And squirming threatens to worsen it, so she settles her chin on his shoulder, her good arm stretched across it, fingers resting at the base of his neck, reluctant pout on her lips. ]
You don't need to -- I can walk on my own. My legs aren't hurt. [ She grumbles this in her defense, but she knows it's a weak protest. Her speech, in long sentences, is strained by the fact that her lungs can't inflate all the way comfortably, not while her ribs are like this. And of course, there's the other thing.
He hadn't thought her legs were hurt, and she would have been slower going than he is, trying to nurse the impact of every step on her ribs.
This way, it doesn't take them long to reach his apartment. There's a security guard in the lower level of the apartment block. When she first glimpses him, she's bracing for a fight, but then she notices his confusion and faint amusement with the fact that Kylo is seemingly bringing anyone back with him, and like this. ]
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( it's said with such an off-hand casualness that one might be tempted to overlook the real concerned buried beneath. he's not much of a medic himself, point of fact, but if she's in a state to argue it means that she's unlikely to just drop dead on him.
he slaps a pad next to one of the elevators, waiting ) I'll take you back to the safehouse in the morning.
( as invitations to stay the night go, it's more than a little lacking. )
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She can't be out on the street, certainly not in the middle of the night. She'd intended this when she'd called him. Somehow, though, it coming out of his mouth while he's carrying her like this makes her bristle. Defensive of her ability to look after herself, perhaps. She'd only intended to bum on his couch, not be fussed over. ]
I can take myself back in the morning.
[ She argues the point because it's about the only power she has, presently. Details. Minutiae. ]
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( they're haggling now; he's trying to find the line between what he can give and what she'll accept. compromise. an exciting new concept he's not entirely sure he's figured out yet. )
There are people I need to speak with. ( things - at least in theory - he needs to return to Gaby. he's not decided whether or not he's willing to give up his weapon, yet. )
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She fusses for a while. The elevator arrives during that time.
Rey lacks both the finesse and the tact for anything but to ultimately blurt out -- ] You're not carrying me all the way to the safehouse.
[ As if it were what he'd been trying to bargain for all along. The fine point of her argument has become blunt, now. She doesn't like accepting his overt concern. No. Not doesn't like. Doesn't know how to. There's no more dancing around it, no more valid reasons dressed up to make excuses. Just the plain truth that she doesn't know how to be ... attended to. ]
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it would be a lie to say that he isn't thinking about the last time they were stuck together in a confined space, while not actively fighting for their lives or trying to murder each other. she's even closer now than she'd been, then. face pressed against his neck.
he inhales slowly, exhales. ) That would be excessive.
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[ She can feel his chest expand.
What a funny thing to get fixated on. But like this, wrapped up together, holding onto him, it's hard not to notice. The lift doors have shut behind them and closed out distractions.
Her forehead brushes the tip of his ear under his hair, which is finally starting to cover them. The blue light blooms in her chest, and his, as the empathy link opens. She wants to flinch away -- that desire pours across the link as much as anything, but she's afraid of injuring herself. No. Maybe it's that she wants to flinch away because she's afraid being vulnerable with him is going to injure her again.
And in turn she feels some of his conflict, his efforts towards self restraint, his amusement. Nerf-herder. She pulls back then. ]
I didn't mean to -- [ She doesn't apologize. But she's concerned the pain might be flooding over too. The pain in her ribs, in her shoulder. Better that she doesn't share that. ]
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( the wash of pain catches him off-guard, certainly, but he rallies quickly; he's felt worse, been dealt worse (by her, even) so breathing through pain while the elevator ticks through floors is well within his capacity. it's that flicker of uncertainty, of fear, that gives him pause. )
Tell me what happened. ( something, anything, to distract her from the throb in her ribs ㅡ almost certainly bruised ㅡ while they ride the last few levels to his floor. )
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[ Her voice sounds dry, like she's telling him only the obvious and not planning to share more than that. But she recognizes, given what she'd felt from him over the empathy link in that flash, that maybe his concern is genuine.
She doesn't know what to do with that. Her stomach knots. Reconciling his genuine affection for her with the fact that he's chosen to be terrible is hard, harder when she's spent her whole life with no one, harder still when it persists even after what they've done to one another.
If she was so terrible her parents couldn't love her, isn't it more miraculous that anyone can? ]
... They showed up after I got to one of the houses. I was in a rush, so I'd gone in alone. They shot me and threw me out a window. [ She shifts slightly, grimacing. And those apartment buildings were high. Her gloves had slowed her fall, thankfully, and so too had her power. That just allowed her to survive it. ] It was worse than this, but another one of us found me.
[ In the dumpster. It occurs to her only then, as she is this close to Kylo, that she might still smell like garbage. ]
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( it's said in that measured tone that suggests he's trying to rein in his temper. swallowing around the lump forming in his throat. )
You could've died.
( would have almost certainly died if someone ㅡ one of them, she says; it's yet another reason to ensure that they return to the safe-house in the morning, so he can find whoever did and... well, he'll see just how far that wave of gratitude carries him during the cold light of morning.
far enough, perhaps. )
Did you manage to do what you needed to do?
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[ But she should have. Would have, without her gloves and her power. She can feel him tense, hear the strangled sound of anger rising in his throat. ]
But I didn't. I'm fine. And so is the family. Johnny saw them escape.
[ That's what counts. Although perhaps her current state shouldn't be defined as 'fine.' The lift chimes and the doors open, and she's just hoping that excuses her from further explanation. This was easier when she was unconscious. ]
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( he's stepping through the door as he asks, into an unremarkable hallway on the building's eleventh floor. the moment is enough to disrupt the building anger.
his apartment is tucked into the furthest corner, number #11. palming the lock, he eases the door open with his shoulder. it's dim inside, but for the bars of light cutting across the floor from the neon lights outside. he sets her down carefully. ) I'll get the power.
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She takes in the apartment. Picks her way across the areas dimly lit by neon colors that she'd never seen before leaving Jakku. Then finds a place to sit.
Her shoulder throbs, and she looks to prod at it. ]
Yeah.
[ She didn't mean to mention his name. Her head isn't fully on straight. She hopes she can trust Kylo with it. ]
He took my injuries onto himself. Some kind of transfer. [ Hm. There's no examining her shoulder like this. She starts removing her outerwear -- a jacket, a light armored vest. ]
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( he is vaguely aware of the technology Morningstar has at their disposal having taken a turn in one of the pods, himself. as reluctant as he had been at the time ㅡ and still was, honestly ㅡ to trust them entirely, his hearing had been restored and the worst of the ache in his ribs had evaporated.
the power flickers on, revealing a small, modestly furnished apartment that is really just two rooms ㅡ the larger acting as a living and sleeping space, with a small kitchen crammed into the corner; the smaller, a bathroom.
when he returns, it's with a small first aid kit. )
I assume your ribs bore the brunt of the damage. ( the kit is set down, opened. )
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She didn't realize he'd have something like that. She had planned to just tough it out.
She's been careful. Her bloodied vest and jacket and gun are all laid across the kitchen counter, where they can neither stink up nor stain his bedding or couch. Rey has set herself on the couch. It's ... safer. She prods at her shoulder while he approaches. ]
My head's still ... foggy. [ Presumably it had hit the dumpster hard too. She barely remembered the impact. She wets her lips. ] Not much to do for them. [ She realizes she can't get at the injury to her shoulder through the shirt. It's mostly closed up, not actively gushing, but still bloody and mangled and sore. She winces.
Then, in the most perfunctory fashion, she strips off her shirt too. She's not bare beneath it, at least. Not like he had been. But she's got the good sense to feel exposed. Her shoulder has taken the worst of a gunshot. The fragmented shards of the bullet have all but been pushed out, and are held in the pucker of flesh in the midst of what have become mostly surface injuries and bruising. ]
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I'll need to clean that. ( he says finally, working his way through a mental checklist. he's no medic but he's had some training. knows that leaving the metal in, even overnight, is a risk he isn't prepared to take. )
You can shower, then. And I'll wrap your ribs.
( she'll have to borrow one of his shirts, he decides. the whole thing must be soaked in blood and sweet and stars only knows what else.
he pulls off his own gloves, pulling on ones that are white and plastic and not unlike the ones they had worn while butchering that crab beast.
then, after a moment it occurs to him: ) You did well.
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[ It comes out softer than she means it to. She doesn't have the room to get as much air in her lungs as she'd like without straining them. She focuses on her breath for a moment after that, briefly closing her eyes. The room threatens to spin because she did something stupid like get her heart rate up with defensive frustration. It's not his fault, she chides herself. ]
I didn't come here for ... [ Pity? Comfort? Help? She loses track of the end of her sentence, can't decide how to describe the way he's fussing over her. She's never experienced it before in all her life.
Ending the sentence will mean articulating what she did come here for, though, and examining that is just as uneasy. Ostensibly to avoid her hobbling, obvious self from drawing attention that might have led anyone back towards a safehouse, and because she hadn't had anywhere else she trusted to go, but ... If it were only that, she wouldn't feel the slight ache in her chest at seeing him snap on those gloves, sorry not to be touching him again, even with the trouble it had felt like it caused her in the lift.
She balls her shirt in her lap and focuses down on that instead of finishing her sentence. ] You don't have to do all of this. I just need a place to catch my breath while it all dies down.
[ That's enough. ]
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( removing the bullet fragments is a quiet affair, broken occasionally by the soft plink! of metal against ceramic ...if there was one thing their experience with the crab beast had taught him, it was that you never knew what would wind up being useful. what could be learned. )
You might as well take advantage of the rest of it while you're here. ( once he's sure he's got everything, he pauses a moment, debating how best to dress the wound. )
Though, sleep might need to wait. ( he pours out disinfectant onto a swab. )
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But the air in his apartment feels just as thick and ionized as the tunneled space of their bond, right now. Like it's somewhere else. She wets her lips, refuses to meet his gaze while he works. Grimaces through his labor.
When he pulls back, she looks down at the fragments of steel. So small. Nothing as remarkable as a blaster, but ...
She yelps when the swab touches her skin. It stings. It stings. She grits her teeth in a half-snarl through it and grips his upper arm to keep herself still. It flexes her shoulder, slightly, but it lets him get at it. ]
I don't have to shower. [ She tries to offer this, tries to lessen her burden on him. ] You're already cleaning it, and they're rationing water. [ It makes her feel better to try and barter his kindness down, even if she suspects he won't relent on that. She stinks. Genuinely stinks of garbage. Stars, she realizes too late that she has invited comment on it. ]
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( mildly; her fingers dig into the meat of his arm, but he still continues on, undeterred. if she's up to arguing that means she'll be all right. )
If you need help ... ( he lets the sentence hang, distracting her hopefully from whatever hole she seems determined to dig for herself over the fact that she's allowed herself to need him again. )
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it's a good thing they are not bonded together anymore, and that her humiliation is therefore entirely her own as recent images come immediately to mind. before she can stop herself, she's dropped her gaze to his lap, and then immediately redirected it, her breath arresting in her throat.
kriff. ]
I can wash myself.
[ she pulls her arm back then, pushes to her feet. apparently that means she's doing it now. she's dizzy, feels a bit nauseous, realizes she has a concussion for sure. she hesitates, reaches out to stabilize herself on his shoulder. it is perhaps ambitious to imagine her do this without difficulty.
it will be more humiliating, she thinks, if she falls down in his shower and he has to find her like that when the water shuts off. and it's a real possibility. especially when the pain of shifting her ribs seems to refer into some kind of tunneling vision every so often.
she hesitates, taking entirely too long to grapple with her pride for some middle ground. ]
You can stand by the door.
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slaps a slightly belated nsfw on this Just In Case
sexy loofa action is a go
rip the loofa
it died in service of a good cause
it's true
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