station72 | A CURRENT FLOWING

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A CURRENT FLOWING

CHARACTERS: Everyone (really)
WHERE: Outside of the Memory Bank, On the Lam, The Stealth Ship, and Station 72
WHEN: DAY :052/DAY :001
SUMMARY: Things don’t go exactly as planned. When do they ever?
WARNINGS: Violence, death, allusions to weaponized suicide. Will update further if necessary.

THE RIGHT PEOPLE:
Erastos Loke & Friends
When you finally catch up to Erastos Loke - his paper, his pens, his elegant furniture and his heavily-lidded eyes - it doesn’t take long to get him to talk. All he needs is a little persuasion or a lot of torture? Or, wait. Maybe we got those two mixed up. Either way, he starts to give the strike team intel once the screws are turned on him.

You’ve already begun to suspect most the information Loke gives over. H+H1 has stayed hidden by avoiding any strong organization and by staying extremely low-tech. Additionally, the most powerful members have been quietly manipulating Concordia’s politics and security to keep the actions of the organization obscured. They’ve tipped off Gorram Saffit, they’ve mislead and blackmailed the police. When you begin to press Loke about who gave them the devices that have allowed their bombs to become so deadly, he tells you frankly that he doesn’t understand them. They were given to him by a man - or someone who looked like a man, he clarifies, when Carata asks - who he had assumed to be some wealthy foreigner until he realized he couldn’t find any evidence of the gentleman’s existence. The mysterious stranger had given Loke the devices which consisted of two dozen small parts that could easily retrofit almost any bomb and allowed them to bypass Concordian security systems looking for highly modernizes tech. Prior to the stranger’s involvement, Loke had already been working with a number of his H+H1 associates - the stranger had sympathized and supported them, and the devices provided the power they needed. Who else has access to these devices? No one. Only Loke.

Unfortunately, when the hosts ask further probing questions about the mysterious stranger’s identity - Did he say who he was? Where he came from? - something goes very, very wrong. Erastos looks briefly stricken, then dabs at his nose. It’s bleeding? Quite a lot, actually. He barely has time to cry out before he begins bleeding from his eyes, his nose and his ears. Then Loke drops to the lush carpet beneath his feed, dead. Oops.

Before the hosts have time to react, an alarm starts to blare through the townhouse. Apparently Loke has a second security system tied to his vital signs. Suffice to say, your cover probably won’t survive this long. It might be a good idea to get the heck out of dodge and make your way to the rendezvous point for extraction.

IN THE GAP WHERE IT SPARKS:
The Memory Bank & H+H1’s Bomb Squad
Thanks to the Batman + Prep Time and the Jr. Technophile, the bomb planted by H+H1 deep in the depths of the Omega Memory Bank is successfully located and disarmed although not without cutting it dangerously close to the wire.

Unfortunately nobody gets the chance to wipe the sweat from their brow. The H+H1 bomb squad knows the exact moment the bomb was supposed to go off, and they know exactly when they’ve failed. So even though Sirius and Company seemed like they could handle three average everyday people, they don’t get the chance. The lead Bomber makes the subtlest move towards her pocket - and triggers a secondary, smaller explosive on her person. The three members of the bomb squad are eliminated (hope you were standing a safe distance away, Sirius n’ Co), and while the collateral damage isn’t anything to sneeze at, it’s far from destructive enough to destroy the bank. Further, the explosion isn’t laced with any EMP blasts. While the hosts may not even be injured, the explosion definitely trips the Memory Bank’s fire suppression system as well as its local alarms. Soon (very soon), Concordian Public Security and Fire Teams will be on the scene. The hosts won’t want to be there when they arrive.

SHEPHERDS AND YOUR CROWNS OF STARS:
Escaping Concordia & Returning to the Station
With Loke dead and the secret of the Enemy’s retrofit tech gone with him, and H+H1’s plot to blow the Memory Bank hamstrung by the efforts of the hosts, it’s time to get off planet. Lets be honest: your cover identities were never going to survive this. Luckily, between the minor explosion and a jail break causing riots under the city, Public Security can’t exactly rally their forces to come chasing after the hosts. They have much bigger fish to fry. Carata and Nirad made sure that all the hosts - Loke’s infiltration squad, the bomb disarmament group and the prison breakers - knew where to meet up after their respective assignments: a concrete channel for runoff where a familiar bus is waiting to sweep you all away to the outskirts of the city. It’s less pressing to be invisible now. No one will be left on the planet to suffer the consequences; any comatose members of the Nest have been carefully packed into the bus too. Isn’t that nice?

Once they arrive at the outskirts of the sprawling diamond-glittering city, a point of black in the sky elongates and expands as the stealth tech strips back from the ship that once brought them all here. With straggles wrangled and comatose friends carefully stowed, everyone boards the ship and rockets off from Opia’s surface. Concordia with its high rises and neon, its holographic advertisements and its press of humanity, its ever present buzz of synthetic paired with organic, falls rapidly away below the ship until it’s merely one bright point of many on a densely populated planet. And then Opia too drops away, becoming a dark marble in a deeper, blacker space. When the stealth ship jumps away, it does so with a nauseating jerk.

It’s a short trip back to the Station, the closest thing any of you have to home. Cathaway and Prince are waiting there to collect their equipment (though any additional souvenirs are yours to keep) and to welcome them back.

It’s been a long time and there are new faces to greet you. Time to get caught up. Set your clocks to DAY: 001.

((OOC Notes: Feel free to play any of these events out. We’ll dip in with NPCs and so forth if it seems necessary/y’all ask, but feel free to take control of anyone if it lends to your threads. Backtagging and backdating is, as always welcome.

As of this log, all hosts have (more or less) safely arrived back on Station 72; all hosts - newly hatched and old hats - may now interact. YAY!

If you have any general questions, please hit up either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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It is rare that I see one confuse slumber for death.

[Her response is more of an explanation than a rebuttal, mostly indifferent but not necessarily dismissive. Seviilia pulls up her knees to rest her arms upon them, looking to be half-asleep herself as she considers what Bruce has to say.

Eventually, she lifts her eyes to him, one arm going back to grab at the cord in her neck. She doesn't pull it out just yet, remembering the rush of unpleasantness that had come with it the first time, but she's definitely thinking about it.]

I cannot say I have learned much about how this unit operates in the short day I've spent with most of you. For a Nest so connected, you're all rather hard to read.

[Probably her own failings, but she doesn't need to admit that.]

We might not ever "see" them again, not really. Even the connection is severed with those who have slept the longest. In a way, it's not so different.

[Bruce crosses his arms across his chest, exhaling. It might be mistaken for a sigh, if he allowed himself such gestures in front of those he didn't know.

He once again settles his gaze on Seviilia. He notes the hand on the cord connected to her neck, and finds it odd that she would find sleep, or even just respite, in such a way. It's the first of the hosts he's seen do such a thing.]

Being hard to read is a good thing. [Not so much her own failings, but rather that with a Nest so varied, there are bound to be a few who are mistrusting of their situation, and make it a point to be difficult to read. To be closed to sharing. Bruce is certainly one of those few.] It means that we haven't completely given ourselves into the Nest.

[That makes a bit more sense, some understanding dawning on her expression. Perhaps that was the numb feeling she felt somewhere at her back, the one she couldn't place or understand. Its that understanding that prompts her to tug the cord out, distracting herself from the sudden burst of noise and color that assaults her senses by forcing herself to stand rather suddenly out of the pod.]

"Given yourself".

[That's an odd concept. There wasn't really a choice, was there? It was not as if they were capable of separation, and in truth, the ability to communicate so deeply and so privately was a boon, not a curse. So far as she could tell, there was no controller -- not like the Scourge and its Lich King.

Its hard for her to see the down side.]

Perhaps you would indulge me, and explain your meaning.

[At her sudden standing, Bruce can only watch. The way his brow furrows may belie his uncertainty, but the man keeps his expression relatively neutral regardless. His stance remains the same, besides the way he shifts his weight slightly to the other foot.

His response doesn't even require a moment of consideration on his part. For too long he's been distrusting of all of this -- their deep connections, the symbiote in their heads, the very nature of being part of a hivemind -- and he's more than prepared to explain the downsides to anyone who might ask.

But first, a question of his own. A fine example, he believes, as to why one must exercise caution.] Have you spoken to Cathaway yet? Here, on the station?

I have.

[Cathaway had seemed far off on her own, but no different than she could expect of a broodmother -- except, perhaps, for the fact that she operated as the many rather than a singular. She hadn't had much time to consider it then -- it hadn't seemed important.

Her brows knit slightly as she tries to recall her conversation with Prince as well.]

Briefly.

And in your brief acquaintance with her, did you not feel as if something was off?

[Even without really prying with one's mind, it was obvious that she had given herself wholly and completely to the Hive. That the woman named Cathaway, perhaps, had been lost long ago. That whoever she was now was an amalgamation of many, spearheaded into one.

To Bruce, it was more than unnerving. It was a cautionary tale at its finest.]

[Seviilia knows the answer Bruce wants to hear, and she knows the answer she wants to give -- the two are not in alignment. She has the perspective of a singular mind, and decides its best not to alienate herself so soon.]

I suppose you are right.

[No sense giving ground to someone who doesn't trust their bond, let alone perspective on why its necessary. If Cathaway is the best example, he'll fall in line eventually.]

Forgive my questions. I am still in a bit of shock, I think.

[Only a half-truth.]

[And with that, Bruce lifts a brow at her. As it stands, he'd prefer truth to concession for concession's sake -- but as he hardly knows her, it's not something he can call her out on.

And so, all he can offer to that is,] Well, I'd prefer that you ask any questions you might have. Holding onto them won't get you anywhere.

Some questions are better left answered through one's own perspective. In this case, I appreciate you indulging me.

[A cryptic answer? Maybe, but her opinion on the matter is that, isn't it? A mortal creature could not know what a shared pool of minds could do in the heat of battle.

Manners have long been a work in progress. A living Seviilia might have shuddered at the animal death had turned her into.]

You may call me Seviilia. [A pause, as she momentarily searches herself through the unfamiliar link for a thought that isn't there.] Perhaps you knew already.

[A cryptic answer indeed, but Bruce won't push the subject further. Newcomers will make up their minds about the situation sooner rather than later, and Bruce is certain that the downsides of being a part of a hivemind will rear its ugly head just as prominently.

Maybe it's his cynicism, but surely nothing good can come of any of this.]

I didn't. I try to keep my thoughts to myself, and I don't reach out very often to pluck introductions out of anyone else's head. [A remark that might sound snide, if not for how plainly he states it.] My name is Bruce Wayne.

[Next up on the docket is to ask what she is, exactly, but he'll let her ask her own questions first.]

Such a gentleman, Mr. Wayne.

[The sarcasm doesn't necessarily drip, but there is definitely a hint of it. His need for privacy isn't completely unfathomable -- she had craved it for a time, shortly after her separation from the Scourge, when everything was new and confusing. She can't help but needle it a bit.

But she isn't there to tease him. There are still plenty of questions about the station that she hasn't gotten an answer to yet. Cathaway had been surprisingly helpful, but she isn't so blind as to completely trust what seems to be the mind of the station itself when it comes to transparency.

Maybe if she gives a bit, he'll be more forthcoming.]

Did you also come to this place alone? I was surrounded when they took me.

[The sarcasm rolls off of him, as if it were nothing. There's an irony in those words, though she may not realize it. Bruce Wayne being described as a gentleman (of mild degrees, at least) was often reserved for his other persona. That part of him slept dormant for awhile now; the situation on the station had been branded far Too Serious for anything else. Thus far, it hadn't changed.

Regardless, his expression is unchanging for now. He'll be as helpful as he can, serious as he is. He's not here to hinder.]

My... butler. He was nearby. [And a screeching cacophony of bats, as well. But he's sure that's not what she means.] Who were you surrounded by?

Scores of demons, and my army. None of which found their way here, mysteriously.

[This part, she sounds displeased about. Not necessarily about the demons, but the idea that they only took her is clearly not sitting well. They'd even taken her deathcharger from her.

Rude.]

I don't suppose your butler joined you either.

[Well, her admission makes his sound laughable at best. His butler.

His lips press into a thin frown.]

No. He didn't.

[Whether or not he's pleased about this remains up for debate; he'd rather not have anyone else he knew having to suffer through this situation with him, but what was the state of those he knew back in Gotham? Left to an unfathomable enemy. Both options were less than ideal.]

Your army?

[The way he asks after the Knights of the Ebon Blade confuses her, maybe even manages to wound her pride for reasons she'll discover later. Something in her skull bristles, thirsting to prove itself.]

Yes. My army. Is that so unbelievable?

[The spike of defensiveness is odd and a bit bewildering to him. He was only asking for the sake of clarification and curiosity, and so Bruce shakes his head, his words a plain attempt to stomp out that sudden ember.]

No, not unbelievable. Just curious. Does that bother you?

[A brow arch goes here.]

[There's an obvious suspicion about her, like she doesn't quite trust Bruce's claim of curiosity. Dark lips purse and her ears lower backward -- even if it wasn't true, he'd made an attempt at damage control.

She chooses not to answer his question about whether or not it bothers her -- her outburst was answer enough for that, and she is not in a rush to explain the why of it. Too many still believed her to be unfit for command.

No need to feed the idea to someone who doesn't even know her.]

War is what the undead were raised for. Our realm has plenty to spare.

Edited 2017-01-16 19:55 (UTC)

[That makes the next question easy enough, despite the subtle changes in her body language that display... defensiveness. Bruce, though not exactly the type to tread carefully just to spare someone's feelings, decides to keep his questions concise to eliminate any room for misinterpretation.]

The undead?

[Another who seemed unfamiliar with the concept of life after death. She shifts herself to adjust her armor proudly, and gestures to her chest. Its a pale attempt at dry humor, but its there.]

Did you imagine I still drew breath under all of this? I passed along with many others several years ago.

[She flicks a set of rotting ears, toying with how much information she wishes to divulge.]

And we were returned to life as a war machine.

Honestly? I'm not sure what to think at this point.

[A statement that's not just directed at her specifically, but this whole situation they've all found themselves in, as a Nest. Of worlds that sounded far away and exceedingly fantastical. Gotham City was absolutely blasé compared to some of the stories he's already heard from others.

He finds it interesting that swell on pride is there, though, given the macabre subject. Chalk it up to more otherworldly oddities.]

Did you have a choice in the matter? [Being returned to life, he means.]

[This, it seems, is the information she had been toying with giving him. Her tongue presses to her teeth behind her lips, causing them to purse. The pride melts when he asks his question -- whatever she felt now, it didn't compare to the ultimate reality:]

No.

[That seems to be all she wants to say on the matter, but there is much more that she can't help but think about. She was murdered -- the march of a rotting army so large that it cut a death scar across an otherwise gorgeous landscape, full of flowering trees and fauna.

To distract herself from the more gruesome edge of that memory, she focuses back on one of the few saving graces of her reality:]

But it is what I know.

[Leave it to Bruce to dive head-first into a matter that someone is trying to avoid talking about. It's a talent of his, truly.

If there's a memory that threatens to seep past, something dark and disturbing, he doesn't cling to it. At best, he'll quietly take note, and instead pursue something he finds preferable: to hear it from the host themselves.]

And that's enough to win your loyalty to the cause? A new life?

[It isn't criticism, not... really. But it's impossible to hide how dubious he might sound or feel.]

[His prodding, while incredibly annoying, is very to the point. She has to admire that even if some of her finds it insulting. If it hadn't been clear before that he'd never interacted with the undead before, it was very clear now.

Or, at least, no undead that had been turned by the Scourge. And yet, there's something about laying out the idea of slavery to a complete stranger that doesn't sit well with her -- so she doesn't.]

There is never a shortage of wars to fight, Bruce Wayne. A death knight does not die again quite so easily, else there would be no sense raising us at all.

[While he's not completely certain that's a satisfying answer, it does seem to reveal a little more about Seviilia -- or at least, Bruce believes it to. He thinks that it's answered his question, at any rate.]

That may be true. War and conflict seem to be universal around here. [Something he's picked up just by talking to the many hosts in the Nest. There's always strife, always a problem, always the aftermath of some war. Even Bruce was not exempt from that.] But usually there's a devotion to a cause that runs a little deeper than simple obligation.

Then you have never spoken to the unliving before.

[He's not wrong. But if he wants perspctive, she will give him some.]

Tell me, what would you do, if you were returned to life after death? Bearing in mind that the food you once sampled turns to ash on your tongue. The coldfire in your veins chases away all you might show you compassion. You are haunted by ever-present nightmares that you can't ever recall having.

[One long and slender eyebrow raises in curiosity.]

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A CURRENT FLOWING

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