"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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as fitz lifts his arm out of the way again, connor's free to check that area over. nothing to be found on his shirt, but a firmer press over his skin will reveal the tell-tale knot of a rib gone wonky. any touches there will make him wince at best, arching away from the contact. any comment about connor being the one covered in blood gets cut off by the lad's demands. no doubt he'll make good on the demand, too, as the stronger of the two, even when fitz stands at his healthiest.
fitz even has the decency to look stricken, features slack at the gravity of his response (ever unable to understand the care others have for him). he tries to grasp connor's arms and slow his movements. ]
Connor. [ razor sharp, instinctively defiant against an order. then, softer — ] Connor, hey. Easy, I'm telling you. [ a coarse exhale. ] Just — a cracked rib. [ careful word choice, as always, when he can’t say if it’s fractured or broken without an x-ray. he does know, however, that he'd have been dead by now, if it had nicked anything internal, given how long he left it untreated, so. ]
[ he makes an effort to contain his chaotic emotions, pushing them down and securing them beneath a rattling hatch, to be dealt with later. and provided that answer placates connor enough for fitz to dodge the shitting medi-unit, he catches connor's hands, bringing them together and covering them with his own, fingers laced over the top, as if he means to keep them captive and warm after a journey out in the cold. 'cause trauma begets tremors and chills at the extremities, in need of treatment as much as lacerations and the like.
although he doesn't say, he notes the freshness of the blood now staining his own hands. a little arch of his brows, not challenging but checking. ]
I'm clear to stay right here with you, okay?
[ now let him help, you dramatic guardbot. ]
no subject
Okay. (a third time, because that's the charm — they've got each other in a tight bind, now, restricting much movement, but connor can still tilt his head close enough to press his forehead against the side of fitz's neck, bowing under the stress of a few long, long weeks.
his skin is feverish from the restrictive aspect of his ability, unable to let any of it go in the off chance it'll all tumble out and leave him incapacitated. still, he wishes. fitz has a hold on him and now would be the best time for it, to say goodnight for just a little while while noctis tends to markus after promising them he'd come out of this fine, to drop to his knees and collapse so others can take care of themselves instead of worrying about him — him and his foolishness, him and his failures, him and how childish he's been and how little he deserves this kind of careful attention — all the goddamn time.
if only he had enough space to compartmentalize fitz's anxiety, he'd steal it from him in a heartbeat and never give it back.)
I made a mistake, (but it all comes bubbling up anyway, watery eyes blinking sightlessly over his friend's shoulder as he shakes and kneads at the fingers clasping his,) Markus got shot.
no subject
he can't offer a haptic transfer of calm now, but he can maintain physical reassurances the old-fashioned way. ]
He's here, right? [ in medical, a revival pod, with help. ] You got him — here. [ his voice cracks there, hoarse from overuse and thick with emotion that won't solidify into one thing or the other. ] That's good.
[ logically, there's no doubt in his mind that connor brought markus back.
'cause if markus was gone, fitz doesn't think connor wouldn't be with him now. ]
no subject
gritting his teeth behind lips that've sealed into a grim line, connor shakes his head against fitz's shoulder.)
Noctis is taking care of him. I was told to stand back while all of that went on. (admitted after a wet sniff and a shaky breath out, too frightened to raise his head.) Does your chest hurt very badly? I can take some of it away, but not much I'm afraid.
(maybe someone will let him help. maybe he won't feel so useless, healing instead of marking people with his bloody hands.)
Would you tell me what happened? How this happened?
no subject
fitz wonders if that’s how jemma felt, when he gave her the last of the air at the bottom of the ocean.
any comfort he can offer, he’d give to connor right now. warmth starts to bleed back into the bond, a desperate affection, wanting to reassure. how can he say no? ]
You can take — some. A little. [ lower. ] Please don’t hurt yourself, Connor.
[ As for the rest, he hesitates before realising that if Markus hasn’t already told Connor what happened, he will following his recovery. The would you hits him, too. Would you, when you’ve lied to him so many times before? ]
It was the first op. [ admitted slowly, as he decides how much to say. ] Five soldiers on our four, separating us. Cain and I on the outside, while the others were cornered. [ his fingers twist, tightening in Connor’s shirt. ] We needed to draw the soldier’s attention to clear a path for Markus, Carter and our contact, Patil. [ his tone remains even, but it drops low. ] So we escalated. I used my powers to get Cain close, and he shot to kill at point blank range — on my order. [ his idea to blow the plan, though Cain agreed and accomplished the task with finesse. ]
Can’t blame them for a swift and brutal retaliation. [ a little awe there, where it shouldn’t be. ] One got their hands on me as I was escaping and, ah, swung me against the wall. [ a noncommittal noise. ] Guess that broke something. And the only way out was through so — rift in spacetime at the neck.
[ the technical term being decapitation. ]