"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
Then we’ll try that. And if we’re given issue regardless—
[He’s noticed that hand, the strain as Prompto shifts the gun between one to the other.]
—your hand. Will you still be able to manage to defend yourself? I might can help with my own power.
no subject
You have a power that can heal others? I have a -- sprain. It doesn't hurt much, but it's a real handicap at a time like this.
no subject
[That should, he thinks, be cause for explanation.]
I would have to use my own blood; contact will heal your injury, assuming it can reach where you hurt.
no subject
[color him excited to try this out. he holsters his gun, removes the glove from his right hand, and pushes back the sleeve. then, he has some trouble removing the tight bandaging illya had done for him in the morning...]
It's this one!
[removed, it will show obvious signs of swelling, along with a bruise blooming purple and yellow the shape of a hand, along with a second degree burn that never really had time to heal properly. there's so much going on in this arm. save him.]
no subject
He has no idea what the young man is going on about, and has to wince a little when that'd be so cool! echoes a little too enthusiastically throughout their surroundings. They are still trying to be subtle and sneaky, after all, and Alucard glances around them, making sure they've not drawn attention.]
Quiet, now.
[The bandage unwrapped, eyes focusing back on Prompto's arm and... what a number that's been done to it. Alucard frowns-] I see you don't do anything in halves. [-and removes his own glove, briefly stowing it limply on his shoulder, before bringing up his hand and piercing skin with a glimmer of sharp fangs.
Blood trickles down, following the curves of his open palm, and Alucard holds it out for Prompto to put his arm under. He'll activate his ability once the other commits.]
Hold out your arm for me.
no subject
[let alucard do his magic.]
[hushed,] You said it needs to come into contact with the injury, right? Have you got a knife?
no subject
[—is honestly the only preamble to a warning that Prompto gets, and it’s hardly much of anything. But there’s no time to waste, and Alucard does not bother with explanations when answers can come after the fact.
And so, gently enough, a free hand touches at the bottom of his arm, lifting it up to meet his the incline of his head, and the touch of his mouth. Lips curl back to reveal a pair of sharp fangs, which then sink into skin — a pang of something sharp, too precisely purposeful to be too painful, but likely startling — but it’s a shallow bite. Just enough to draw blood, to begin a soft trickle of red, and he pulls his head away.]
Remain still.
[Alucard lifts his own cut above Prompto’s arm, dripping down blood. The glow can’t be seen under his gear, but it’s there, activating — healing the outward hurts first, before he presses a thumb against Prompto’s small open wound, forcing down his own blood against the flow.
Slowly, but surely, it’s enough to heal what ails the other.]
hands over the 🌶 turmeric 🌶
[what in the...]
[his face is flushed red and he is remaining very still! thankyouverymuch. he may even have stopped breathing for a few seconds as his mind catches up with what happened.]
Uh...
[it's a breathy sort of non-statement, as he just stares at this honestly very strange blood situation.]
[how the bells toll...]
too hot, hot damn
Only after the healing mostly runs its course, and the dhampir no longer needs to oversee it, does he release his gentle grip, and finally looks at the other.]
…
[And thinks to himself that maybe he should’ve warned him properly first.]
Are you all right? Is it not working?
no subject
Unexpected?
[get a hold of yourself, buddy, is what prompto thinks to himself. his arm stops hurting, the bruising giving way to a feeling of -- nothing. and nothing is good, considering the throbbing from under the bandages that he kept ignoring.]
Dude, it even got the burn...
[he uses the bandage to clean up the blood from his skin, sees it patched up, his tattoo back in fit order, stark against his paleness.]
--thanks. Uh.
[glove back on and sleeve down, he pockets the bandage and pulls the helmet down on his head.]
Gimme a few seconds and I'll activate my power thing. Run the plan by me again?
no subject
One engraved with irony, given what he is. But no time to linger on that thought. He drops his hands back to his side, quietly.]
Something about concentrating ‘a million times’ more, using it for stealth? Bolstering your focus with your own power?
[Prompto it was like 2 minutes ago.]
no subject
[he mutters, eyes closed, willing himself to focus and stay--ultimately--still and with even breathing. it's not entirely too difficult now that he's practiced it a few times before, ten seconds being about enough to activate his power, bringing forth the fish-lens distorted view that is synonymous with his power being activated.]
[he moves now more reassured, peering from around the wall and noticing the moving patrol.]
--right. They're moving in intervals, a delay of .30 seconds per guard. There's a gap between their patrol after the third guard that should allow us to move by unnoticed.
[here is to assuming that alucard is master of stealth, to some extent, too.]
I'll go first.
[is all prompto says before waiting a breath, and then pushing past the patrol, unnoticed, movements confident and meaningful. he will wait for alucard or provide guidance on the timing if needed...]
no subject
Because when he takes the lead, he is just that. Cat-footed and swift, it is much like how Alucard himself moves, and the dhampir trails behind him. Their timing kept quiet and his focus sharp, so that he can follow, until—]
To your right.
[Another guard unaccounted for, and Alucard pings the message across their implants.]
no subject
[it falls limply in his arms, and prompto presses it gently on the floor.]
i don't think that's taken it out but it'll take a minute to recover, maybe
[it was risky! he knows that! but it can buy them time, too, as they avoid the enemy and push onwards. he hears no sudden movements from the other soldiers, and so keeps on with their route, pushing forward until they reach the staircase.]
no subject
It means they’re doubly armed, now with a gun in possession of more firepower if need be. Hopefully they don’t need to use it, and Alucard nods, moving towards the stairwell.
Down, down, down they go to the first floor.]
You’ve done this before.