[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: Day :000 - ???
SUMMARY: Leaving the Station; the arrival and first days on Concordia. Concordia pt.1.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

IT'S EARLY IN THE DAY and something feels strange. It’s not unlike when a new Host - not one of your brood, but close enough to feel the tug - comes awake on the Nesting Deck. But it’s just the initial tug. There’s no noise, no hum of confusion or volume. Today, it’s just there: a sensation of presence that a moment ago wasn’t. Soon after follows a prickling awareness of urgency. A small electric bolt through the mind. Cathaway doesn’t use words in the mind, but her meaning is nonetheless easily understood: come to her on the hangar; your presence is required.

On the hangar there is a sleek, low profile transport ship. Before it stand Cathaway and Prince and in their company is a stranger: a short woman with warm skin and dark hair, wearing unfamiliar colorful clothes and a quick, pleasant smile. You’ve never seen her before, but you know she’s a Host.

“This is them?” Her voice is light and sweet. Prince, occupied by a databank, glances up at her then nods once. There’s a tension in his shoulder and through his jaw - a distinct contrast to Cathaway and the stranger who lack both.

“Lovely.” Her tone is breezy and easy, delighted. “Hello, it is so nice to meet you all! My name is Carata. My partner and I have been away on duty for a few months, but it’s become clear that we need backup on our assignment. We are hoping you can help.” Carata motions to the mission equipment in neat kits at her feet. There is one for each young Host.

Prince folds his pad down into its smallest form. His expression is set and serious.

“You will be joining Carata and Nirad on the planet below to assist them with their mission. Your datapbank will provide you with information about the planet and the city where you will be stationed. This mission is covert and the planet itself has no contact with other planetary races, so you will need to do your utmost to blend in.”

Cathaway sharpens slowly beside them: a dull pencil being sharpened to a point as her attention curves back to this place, this instance. She unfolds her hands. “You’ll be provided with an earpiece that should allow you to interface with the local technology and a fake identity for your cover on world. Please mind both carefully and be sure to keep your databanks offline. It would be inconvenient if they were networked while on planet.” From the way she says it, it sounds like ‘inconvenient’ might be an understatement. “This mission shouldn’t be inherently life threatening. Your primary goal is to investigate the anti-android movement. Carata and Nirad will be able to tell you what your databanks do not.”

“You should listen to them,” Prince adds. “Rely on their experience and knowledge to help you succeed in your task. Be mindful, and treat them with the respect they have earned.”

At this Carata laughs. It’s a bright, joyful sound, her hands coming up to clasp in front of her chest, “Please, teacher, you are too serious. I am sure they will do very well. Come along then! Gather your things; we must leave as soon as possible. I do hate to leave Nirad alone for too long.”

Turning her back to the Hosts, Carata takes Cathaway’s hand for a moment Nothing is said, but there’s the distinct impression of something passing between them. They release their grip, then Carata turns to Prince. She places her hands on his shoulders and goes up to her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t return the gesture, but those with sharp eyes will note he does lean down slightly to make her job easier.

Gather your gear, get anything from your rooms you might not want to leave behind. In two hours, everyone attending the mission will be buckled or strapped into the transport as Carata readies the ship for takeoff. She explains, neatly and concisely, what they believe the enemy to be doing in Concordia. Then, with a turning of the deck, the ship is freed from the embrace of Station 72.

It will be a long time before you see this place again.

     I. THE WHEELS ON THE BUS
The flight to Concordia is surprisingly short. By the time Carata's finished her explanation, you've passed into a new universe. It comes with a strange wave of something akin to nausea. Outside the transport's starboard viewports lays Opia in all it's glory: a beautiful blue marble speckled with sixteen landmasses and swathed in thing clouds like spun sugar. From this distance, clusters of light burn from specific points on the continents like a map of grounded constellations. As one of the great megacities of Opia comes curling from around the edge of the planet, the transport ship begins to descend.

Atmospheric entry is smooth. The transport drops at the outskirts of Concordia on what is, hilariously, some kind of large parking garage. It has engaged the most sophisticated of its cloaking technology to do this and Carata urged everyone to disembark quickly so the ship can return to orbiting the planet before it's detected.

"It will be back," she says flippantly. "When we've finished our job."

The ship departs. It's quiet and still for a handful of minutes; Carata seems unconcerned and gives little in the way of direction or instruction. The city flashes around them - bright lights and neon masking the fading of natural light - and nearby, a roadway hums. Eventually the sound of a car pitches louder. A set of headlamps shear from the long line of cars and in moments a long, squarish transport van pulls up and parks at the top of the garage. The side door slides open to admit everyone. In the driver's seat is an android - shining metal and cheerful as it greets every host by name. Beside the android in the van's passenger seat sits a tall, dark skinned man who - much like Carata - is obviously a host.

Welcome to Concordia.

     II. HOME SWEET HOME
It's a long drive into the city. The buildings get taller, the lights get brighter, the streets get busier. There are throngs of people on the street, dogged by endless rows of neon bright advertisements. Traffic is either miserable or flowing depending on the neighborhood and trams run on tracks fifty feet or more above the roadways. Streams of people files from the pavement to the subways, countless numbers of escalators leading down.

When the bus finally stops, it's in front of a building as tall as any others. The signs here mark this section of the city as BETA BLOCK and when you get out and into the building lobby you find that the door opens for you automatically. A chime rings through the interfacing ear piece and when you enter the elevators, the only floor accessible to you is NUMBER EIGHTEEN. When you disembark, a kind voice welcomes you by home in your ear. There are a large number of rooms here in Bearing - stake your claim, everyone! Nirad and Carata already have a couple of rooms in the Southwest corner of the building, but the rest are open. Time to settle in!

     III. FEET ON THE GROUND
You're given the rest of the night to sleep (or...whatever), but by 9AM the next morning everyone is awoken by Carata's voice in their head. She's clearly not shy of using her symbiotic connection.

( Good morning! I know this is quite a lot to get used to. I believe this is your first true assignment? But I have always believed that the best way to learn something new is to jump right in. ) The words are accompanied by the sensation of someone clapping their hands together, a cheerful kind of practicality. ( You’ve been given a credit card. I encourage you to go out today and learn what you can about this place. Talk to people. Listen to the news. Be sure to remember your cover identity, and don’t hesitate to call if you find yourself in trouble. )

There is nothing pressing to the suggestion, just the sensation- light. Airy. Fun. She switches track after a moment, a thoughtful addition: ( There is also a rally in town today. It’s being run by The True Children of Opia, some minor little hate group-- ) She seems to wave off the unsavory aspects as she forges ahead, ( They aren’t affiliated with Humans + Humans 1st, but they do have very similar ideologies and it is quite probable that there is overlap in their membership. If you would rather, it is also quite likely that there will be protestors there as well, both members of Mind Life and those who are adamant about pursuing digital resurrection. Please do be careful, though, sometimes those rallies can be a little... ) An image of an oily substance catching flame, quickly and hotly.

( Whatever you chose, simply do your best to get your bearings. ) She seems to realize the unintended joke there, given the name of their current residence, and a bright happy flash of color accompanies it. What a delightful surprise. ( Prepare yourself for what is to come. Nirad and I will continue our investigation in the meantime. )

---

((OOC Notes: This is the catchall log for the first stages of the Concordia mission. You'll notice there's no set ending date, so use this log however you like - alternatively, feel free to start your own logs in the setting! Don't worry; we'll be keeping a close eye on things, so if something big starts to happen that necessitates a new long, we'll make sure to keep our bases covered and all of y'all updated. Just be aware that dating forward farther than :010 may get a little dicey.

If you have any mission specific questions, direct them to the OOC post here.))

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Comments

I felt it necessary to the essence of the tag

[apoptotic]

[ the corner of his mouth lifts. ] Probably not. [ as in not at all. that's a lie; there would be more glaring. but he will never know; his face happens to be perfect. no one tell him.

anakin follows the stream of people surging down the pavement, then up an escalator. once on the landing platform, however, he keeps to the back. the train has not yet pulled in. a helpful sign above their heads indicates two minutes until arrival. leaning against the glass wall, anakin crosses his arms in front of himself and tilts his head back. ]

it truly was you're a gem

[narcissithstic]

[And just like that, Ren's demeanor shifts again - marred expression evening out with a tepid brand of surprise. He'd expected Anakin to keep biting, to prod or dig in his teeth. This? This is...human. Familiar.

Strange.]

You're searching for something. [It's a question, more than what it sounds like when he opts to slink in close at Anakin's side.]

[apoptotic]

[ don't get used to it; it won't last.

as if to prove this, anakin glances over askance. don't stand so close to the chosen one, have some respect you heathen B( ]

I'm ignoring something.

[ close as he tries to keep his mind — cathaway's lessons helped, but they weren't a solution — anakin still leans closer to 'open.' yet another failing as jedi: never knowing that fine control over thought and emotion he should.

it means his discomfort filters through — shockingly not due to ren's very existence. a whisper on a breeze; too many voices to be understood; each strangled by futility, shadowed by a singular desire, and tainted by regret. ]

[narcissithstic]

[If he feels it, it's the slow, dawning realization of fingers tracing his own skin and finding a notch, a bump— something unfamiliar in what he knows with an unparalleled keenness. Anakin's mind is his own. Anakin's fears, his cravings and discomforts, all shared well before the Force takes hold.

For a moment he stays quiet, pouring over what little he can sense without the clumsiness of vocal communication. Somewhere off in the distance, he hears the echo of a platform monitor springing to life under collective, shuffling heels.] It upsets you, losing control.

[Of course it would: he is a Jedi still what a waste.]

Sharing so much.

[apoptotic]

[ how funny. two minutes and ren already thinks he knows anakin. knows anything about him. a chuckle leaves him, sardonic and cold. his smile, when he regards ren not unlike he would a presumptuous subordinate, is ripped from a krayt dragon's mouth. ]

You have no idea what I'm not sharing.

[ all signs of laughter evaporate as the sleek, gleaming train pulls into the station. again, anakin follows the press of people forward. the voices, not from anyone pushing into them in the clamor to get through the doors, grow in urgency. anakin grips the bar above him, and stares out the window. long before the doors close, he feels trapped.

( the dead wall him within their despair more perfectly than could metal and glass, and only he is aware. ) ]

[narcissithstic]

[Again he follows, nearly shadowing Anakin's spine in how closely he hovers. His voice is low, enough that it's little more than a discontented murmur above the din of the crowds around them - but he knows Anakin will hear it regardless.]

I think we both keep too many secrets.

[The doors hiss, cars jostling gently with forward momentum as the scenery begin to bleed. A few stops and those glittering lights begin to fade as the stops go on and - changing instead into harsh, industrial flecks against a dimmer skyline.]

[apoptotic]

[ anakin closes his eyes before they roll out of his head. on the tracks, the cries diminish until they have been left behind. anakin breathes deeply. with oxygen comes sarcasm. ]

I thought my contempt was obvious.

[ when he turns, his eyes are cool. ]

You obviously have something to say. Get to it, and stop wasting my time.

[narcissithstic]

[From here at least the train car is mostly empty. A few souls linger at the far, far end, linked only by an open doorway and a sliver of visibility, but somehow it still feels too open for what he wants desperately to let spill.

How utterly stupid.]

You won't like it.

[He isn't meeting Anakin's stare; he doesn't want to.]

[apoptotic]

[ a scoff. ]

Too late.

[ anakin regards ren dispassionately. this is obviously something he's been wanting to get to for a while. enough to rope ahsoka into it ( and again an ugly feeling comes up his throat and again it is tamped down swiftly. ) any tolerance or compassion anakin may have had ren wasted almost from the moment he spoke.

an expectant air lingers around him: get to the point. or stop trying. ]

[narcissithstic]

[He scuffs his thumb along the hemline at his thigh, rubbing the skin raw with tense repetition. It's the only sure sign of his anxiousness and discomfort, and thankfully it's hidden away in the long shadows cast by stark light. That, and the fact that Ren still opts not to meet Anakin's stare.]

Why did you wait for me.

[Anakin could have taken anyone along for this detour— so far removed from crowded streets even Ahsoka wouldn't have scoffed at the opportunity. However detached the question seems, it's an itch against the base of his skull, boring in right down to the bone: was it the bond between broodmates, a passing whim or the ease of convenience— or does Anakin Skywalker feel it.

Does he know beneath the span of his ribs, his beating heart, that Kylo Ren belongs at his side.]

[apoptotic]

[ anakin's reasons are not so lofty. nothing to do with desire or curiosity or even the usefulness of another force user. at least, not at first. ]

Because you would follow me anyway. [ blunt. with others, he might try to temper his words. not with ren. ] And you'd attract more attention with that than I need.

[narcissithstic]

[In a way, it's the best (and worst) answer Anakin could have given: the offhandedness is a definitive shove forward, cutting any hope or frailty at the root and hardening Ren's resolve. In an instant his features stiffen, locking tight as stone.] You defied the Jedi Order.

[For Anakin, those words might mean little. It's an understatement to say he's been defying their will for as long as he's been in their care, but for Ren, the only act that stands out aside from Darth Vader's betrayal is the truth buried in his blood.] Ahsoka thought she was special. How stupid — anyone that knows you should know better than to hope you'll show compassion. Weakness.

[Edged, biting, hateful. Ren was just as senseless for daring to think the same for so long.] But she never told you, did she? What she and I discussed when you left her alone.

[His voice softens by degrees, head canting as if this were a personal conversation rather than a bitter attempt to puncture vulnerable skin.] You should have asked.

[apoptotic]

[ the mention of ahsoka's name is like a needle slipped underneath his skin. the accusation — you left her — sets his blood boiling. taking a step forward, his hand clasps ren's shoulder. the artificial grip tightens to the point of pain. in a contest between durasteel and bone… there is no contest.

anakin smiles through his teeth. ]

Don't speak of Ahsoka.

[narcissithstic]

Then I'll speak of myself— [Equally biting, as if the two are physically pressing with equal force, attempting to shove one another right over the edges. This time, he doesn't blink, doesn't flinch.]

Your heir.

[So much for courtesy and self-restraint in the house of Skywalker.]