station72 | [MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

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.))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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[ omfg if someone had to fit the bond villain/dr claw ticket between the two of them, it'd be the one dressed entirely in black. with the pseudo-russian accent. it's okay, rhys could keep the cat though. fur shows up like a beacon on black fabric, especially white fur. ]

Maybe we've been expecting one another.

[ too late, rhys. he's engaged your statement, you can't retract it now.

the sense of expectation has enlarged. is it the words that brought on the feeling, or was it always there, waiting to be acknowledged? he has far too many questions to ask, about far too many things. several of them are about rhys's manner of dress. is this the local style? ( he had better not be expected to dress in it, if so. )

is hey really any better, rhys........... ]

No, please. Continue. [ he's got your number now ] What am I expected for?

[ The worst part about his fashion is that Ahsoka told him not to wear anything too loud or flamboyant, so he can't wear his new tie, life isn't fair. In response to his question, Rhys hisses a sharp intake of air through his teeth, grimacing. Getting stuck on the wrong thing here, buddy. ]

Honestly? [ He makes a vague hand-waving gesture, scrunching up his face a little bit. ] I hadn't planned that far ahead. I was thinking of something cool to do when I felt you guys wake up, but then the day just got away from me, you know?

[ Long day going on Future-MySpace and trying not to look robotic, the ushe. ]

You were still expected, but not... for anything? Just. Your general existence in this vicinity was anticipated.

[ 8( what no. who else is going to wear the asymmetrical pinstripes. why would you listen to ahsoka, YOU'RE the fashionista here. ]

It's all right, [ said graciously. first meetings are very difficult, especially when you're trying hard to make a good impression. or a cool one.

they're both wearing gloves, which makes it easy for him to move his attention to rhys's. he's got to know, why yellow? so he flexes his own fingers, and the curious pull of his mouth might be question enough. the concept of robotics and artificial life in the form of biomechanics is -- not something he understands yet. nor are robotic limbs?? ] They said the gloves were... tasers? [ subject change. ]

Ah, yep, taser-gloves. They should patent that. Or I will.

[ He picks them up, spinning one around on his finger. It's a pretty good idea, really, much more inconspicuous than a stun baton. Not as satisfying, though. ]

That's why there's the, uh. Gloves-on-gloves-on-gloves-on-gloves action here. [ It's really just gloves on gloves. ] Gotta have the regular gloves to cover up the robot hand, but I gotta have the other ones for tasery things.

[ This fashion disaster really isn't his fault. Aoba and Ahsoka got him all worked up about possibly being hate-crimed, and it spiraled. If anyone's to blame, it's them. (It's not like they look good, either, though. Aoba's got that weird hair and Ahsoka is walking around in a cloak like she's Severus Snape.) ]

Weapons would be better, but we're quote-unquote irresponsible.

[ Rhys has a robot hand. The fashion choices finally make sense.

There's a pair of gloves included in the care package that had been given to him on the flight down, but the "taser" bit is where he's drawing a blank. Best try them out, then. If that means they have use and "taser" isn't just a name brand here. Backtracking for a moment - Rhys has a robot hand. This is also a new concept. ]

I thought having, [ what was it called in the databank? ] cybernetic augmentations was still a normality here. [ Despite the """purity""" movement, he means.

Then, flatly, in response to Rhys's last statement: ] Irresponsible. [ wow what sort of nest is this ]

[ He only shrugs noncommittally in response to the flat irresponsible, as if to say, "Crazy, right?" Clearly, the Darkling has been dropped into the most responsible Nest of all time. Just look at everyone, Darkling, don't they all look like they have their shit together? ]

Ah, yeah, it is. Only the lower class people have ones that don't look real, though. [ The frown on his face suggests he doesn't want people to assume he's a slumdog. ] But that's not really the point.

[ Well, it is a little. But only a little. ]

It's more of a blending in thing? I really don't want anyone from one of those bio-whatever groups noticing me. Just in case. And, [ he adds, holding a finger up. ] Then I can go deep undercover at their rallies. Gather intel. Do some recon. You know, cove ops.

[ He's just spouting random spy words. ]

[ Why yes, everyone looks as though they're perfectly all right and not teetering on the edge of various mental breakdowns.

Rhys mentions the class disparities, though, and the Darkling's mouth twists a little. Now, part of him is infinitely curious about Rhys's own augmentation(s?) and what they look like, where he has to hide them away under layers and layers of clothes. That, and they would be the first opportunity he has to look upon a real augmentation. Not just read about them. Asking him to show it off might be rude, however. So, he resists the urge. ]

Cove ops. [ Charming. More to the point: ] How far have you gotten within their ranks? Who is your back-up on this?

[ Listen, he doesn't sound worried, but if the point of this Nest is to watch out for one another... he can play that angle. ]

[ Rhys opens his mouth to answer, but ends up making a noncommittal (vaguely embarrassed) sound instead, rubbing at the back of his neck. With every question asked, he has fewer and fewer good answers. He's beginning to consider a moratorium on questions. ]

Welllllllllllllll.

[ He grimaces, inhaling sharply. ]

I haven't so much— done it as I have... thought about it. You know, planning and all that. But, I mean, if you're dying to jump in, you can be my back-up.

[ So, all of this is forethought and not action. It's not a bad approach, to be fair. Especially when one is, in part, made of something that a dangerous subset of society despises and has publicly demonstrated their willingness to do violence towards. Careful planning is vital. A misstep might result in harm.

Leaving Rhys to his own devices might -- be interesting to observe, but again: they're all meant to work together. He doesn't believe in the unity of the Nest, but if these people are his allies in their mission? It'd be best keep them even remotely safe. ]

Provided you teach me about the technology here, I will.

[ He wants something. Rhys wants something. Win-win? ]

[ Definitely a win-win. He breaks out in a grin and nods, slowly at first, then enthusiastically. ]

Yeah. Yeah, that works for me.

[ It's probably the best reception he's gotten from anyone yet, all things considered. Alliance fucking formed. He extends a hand for the Darkling to shake; if he does shake Rhys's hand, he'll be able to tell it's pretty damn good, but very rehearsed. Just the right length of time and firmness — "not too hard, not too soft" in the words of the classical poets Boyz II Men. ]

It's a deal. What do you want to know first? I'm gonna need a frame of reference for how technologically... uh, unsavvy you are. Or I can just assume your people haven't discovered fire or the wheel yet to cover all my bases, but that's more work for me, so.

[ Rhys puts out his hand. For a moment, a very precise moment, the Darkling does not return the gesture.

( Again, they're both wearing gloves; so, nothing should happen. ) So, he shakes hands with the other man. Alliance formed. Opposed to Rhys's particularly practiced handshake, his own hints at masked hesitance when it comes to touching another, even indirectly. Other than that, it's a very natural gesture - and it is accompanied by a quick nod of his head. That's more what he's used to. ]

I know fire, very intimately. We have guns. Carriages. Running water in upper class households. None of this... augmentation, or robots. Or lights like these. There are too many lights. "Tasers" are also new. I've never even heard the word before. How do they work?

[ He says a lot, but the words flow among one another, and he punctuates them with little gestures. Shaping his speech with his fingertips, tracing the outlines of fires and horses idly, even as he points to the lights within the room, and the lights outside of the Bearings. Neon colors, empowered at all hours of the day and night. It's disorienting. Their timekeeping system must be accurate, for people to sleep when there is no night. ]

Too many lights—

[ He cuts himself off before he even has a chance to get into it. He has a feeling it would be a long and frustrating conversation. ]

Okay. Well. Glad to hear you have that stuff.

[ There's a tiny bit of judgment in his voice, like he's thinking about how advanced his society is compared to the Darkling's, but he manages to keep it mostly at bay. He likes knowing more than other people, of course, and it's fun to get to talk about technology, so he isn't exactly pressed about it. ]

K, first lesson of Tech 101, I have something to show you. Hold on. [ He grins, his mind a little giddy like he hopes the Darkling thinks he's cool. Rhys tugs at his gloves, struggling to get one off, then the other, revealing a metallic cybernetic hand. After wiggling the fingers for a moment, he takes off his jacket as well to show him the rest of the arm.] This is one of them. The augmentations. Obviously, it's not realistic, but... I mean, I think it looks cool.

[ Too many lights, Rhys!! He has an affinity for the shadows, after all.

And. He can hear that fraction of judgment. Some small part of him bristles at it, if only because he is a man with exponential pride. The rest of him will turn the other cheek because, well. Rhys is due to possess pride of his own, and the Darkling is the one asking for his assistance and his information. He's the one who needs this crash course in Futuristic Technology, after all. Plus, it seems to have won him a first-hand look at, uh, Rhys's augmented limb. What an interesting contraption. Responsive, is the word he thinks of first. ] I think it's incredible.

[ He does. It's more than he's seen, and his world is only just beginning to develop warmachines, in leaps and bounds, at that. Mechanical limbs is for a different generation - one he'd wished to be part of. He'll get his kicks this way; especially if he gets to study Rhys's arm. Observing at a distance is fine, but god, he'd love to get his hands on it for further investigation now. Might just have to do that with someone who's not a member of the Nest. ] How does it work?

[ Tell him more, Rhys!!! He wants to know!!! ]

[ Oh, is he blushing right now?? Rhys breaks out into a grin when he hears the awe in the Darkling's voice. It's not strange where he comes from, and the others don't seem to have shown more than a passing interest, but this is what it's all about. Be still, his beating heart. He continues excitedly, seemingly ecstatic that someone is interested in him. (Well, it's not so much him as something that's attached to him, but that's semantics.) ]

It's mechanical! [ he says, a little too loud. ] I mean. [ Feigning boredom: ] It's mechanical. Not a big deal. [ He shrugs, but can't help the smile creeping onto his face again. ]

It's a cybernetic limb. The eye, [ he points to his gold eye, ] and the head port are cybernetics, too.

[ He flexes his hand then makes a fist a couple times, turning his arm a little bit so Darkling can get a better look at all of it. ]

It works pretty much like a regular arm, except it's stronger. And it's got a couple attachments.

[ A mechanical limb, a mechanical eye and a -- "head port". He's interested in each of them, in turn. The arm, especially is not only a clever construct, it's a useful one. When the Fabrikators learn how to create such a thing, it may spell a new era for their branch of the Science. Limbs lost, replaced with working constructions that allow soldiers to stand again -- that will be the day. And it's a day he has no doubt is coming. ]

Attachments, [ and his tone is a subtle go on, hopefully encouraging Rhys to tell him more about the "attachments".

He wonders if Rhys lost the arm, or if, like the people of this city seemed to be prone to doing, he voluntarily exchanged one limb for the other. ]

Despite the city's reaction to them - how has your life been affected by your mechanical parts? Do they -- feel like a natural limb?

[ He doesn't need more encouragement, but it's nice anyway. That someone actually wants to hear him talk and seems genuinely interested — long story short, Rhys is lapping this shit up. Getting to feel more knowledgeable than someone else about something is an added bonus. ]

For the most part, yeah? It's not that hard to control, once you get used to it, and it's basically just like an arm. But strong. —Er. I mean stronger. [ He gives himself a mental pat on the back. Nice save. ] And it's got a built-in flashlight and can bring up some holograms.

[ A conspicuous look in the Darkling's direction, to see if he's impressed. ]

And my eye, it's a normal eye, basically, but I can scan stuff with it.

[ Acquiring knowledge is what he wants, most of all. And Rhys seems very ready to offer it.

So far, he's managed to keep his actual dislike from eclipsing his curiosity. Technology in this world is not the technology that threatens his existence, and the existences of those like him, in the world he comes from. If he rationalizes it that way, he can focus on what Rhys offers, instead of - any alternative.

(Flashlight, he can assume what that is. Hologram, that's a word he's unfamiliar with.) ]

And this is how acquire your information. Effective, in this world. [ A beat, and: ] Are you able to scan people?

[ That's what they always ask. They always want to know what info he can get on them. It's understandable, he guesses; he'd want to know, too. A lot, probably. But as he's on the other side of the equation, the side with the advantage, he isn't particularly fussed. ]

Pretty much anything, yeah.

[ Anything he can look at. It's not always useful information, but it's still information. ]

It can only tell me so much, though. It's not gonna tell me what color underwear someone is wearing. ...Probably. [ And on that note: ] Why, do you want a scan?

[ It reminds him, distantly, of the ability of a well-trained Corporalki to tear a man down to shreds for the information in his mind. Of his own ability, to frighten someone to tears with the crook of his finger. Rhys's ability does not sound cruel, however. Not violent, either.

Do you want a scan? (He cannot stop the way his jaw tightens, nor the way his eyes narrow. Of course, the technology could be turned on him.) ]

Not at this moment, no.

[ Apologetically, and perhaps with a bit of wry humor: ] I don't believe I'm ready for that sort of self-awareness.

[ His discomfort is clear enough even without the connection of the Nest; pettily, Rhys's disinterest suddenly turns into interest simply because the Darkling doesn't want to be scanned. What horrible skeletons are you hiding in your closet? He resists, not really because he respects privacy but because his eye would light up and he'd get caught, and the Darkling is really the only person who has agreed to be his back-up in any way. Best not to piss him off. ]

Right. Okay, well, if you need anything scanned— I'm your man. [ He taps his temple, next to his ECHO eye. ] Anything else you need to know?

[ "Anything else I can take pride in knowing more than you about???" really, but. Close enough. ]

[ There are a lot of horrible skeletons he's tucked away in his closet. And, there's a dead woman in the Station's mausoleum that will be joining them, once this mission is finished and they return. For now, though, he'll be glad to keep Rhys from giving him a once-over and discerning some sort of information from his person.

Right now, he's doing his best to keep a low profile - both from the city, and from the rest of the Nest. As for what other information he needs: ]

Your name, actually.

[ Never got it. So far, Rhys is "Techy McHandy", or some variation, in his head, and that does not bode well for their... odd alliance. ]

[ Oh— manners, right. He shook the guy's hand, but didn't bother to introduce himself. He's also inside the guy's head (and vice versa) and doesn't even know his name. Little bit awkwardly intimate, there. ]

Right. It's Rhys.

[ He takes care to enunciate as clearly as possible. Rhyyyyyssss. With an 'ee'. And a 'sss.' ]

And I'm assuming you have a name, too. Just taking a wild guess here.

It's my pleasure, Rhys.

[ You strange, helpful man with a name pronounced in a very particular way, apparently. Either this is something people struggle with, or they merely don't care enough to attempt it. Even he, with his -- strange accent, manages as best he can. He also manages a very, very wry smile when yet another asks him about his name. ]

I don't. [ Have a name. ] I have a title, instead.

Oh. Okay. ...Weird.

[ Is that impolite? It probably is. How someone can not have a name is entirely too confusing for him to think about for too long — how do you refer to people if they don't have a title? Where the hell do the titles come from? Do you get them when you're a baby, or are you just nameless until you get one? — so he decides not to dwell on it. ]

And that title is...?

You're the first to actually say so.

[ Which is funny. He's not self-conscious about how he's been called for - years now. Years and years, but the other Hosts seem to all possess their names. Rhys. Sam. Ilde. Bellamy. Clint. Names given to them by someone who loved them, once upon a time. Rhys truly is the first to comment on his lack. ]

The Darkling, [ again, utterly not self-conscious about it here. ] I respond rather well to 'excuse me', as well.

[ And THAT is a joke, wow. ]

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