[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

[narcissithstic]

I drank too much. [There. Prompted honesty given without a fight - and what's more, Ren isn't looking to set the blame on Sam's dozing shoulders. Another shaking, stuffy breath and Ren swallows down what's left of his misery, salt stains raw across his cheeks.]

I don't feel well.

[He can barely make out Hux's shadowed form, but he knows he's near.]

[exhuxperation]

So it would seem.

[ So much honesty when there wasn't exactly a need for that particular conveyance. The smell of alcohol is enough to tip off even the most sober of people to what exactly what went on here. Still, the fact the Ren had given up the fact without much of a fight was telling. Maybe it's the emotional upheaval.

Not something he can wonder on for long. There's another matter to attend to, one he can hardly believe he's going to have to help with. ]

If you've drank as much as I suspect, you're hardly going to feel well. Can you stand? [ Did he drink by himself? Something to ask. ] You'll need to soak up the alcohol with something. Was anyone else with you?

[narcissithstic]

Samuel.

[An odd confession given the circumstances when Ren had last filled the General in, but they're broodmates if nothing else: there was always a chance that they'd find themselves in one another's company in time.

And then, without an answer, Ren fumbles for the higher ground of nearby furniture - fingers slipping, stare— posture even— uneasy at best. Like a man on a mission he works against both reason and gravity in the dark.

It isn't a reassuring display.]

[exhuxperation]

[ Broodmates. Of course. Somehow this makes more sense.

Still, it's a bit strange to see Ren in this state– not emotional, no, he's seen that enough– but the drunkenness is new. He can't hold it against him entirely, considering the circumstances.

As Ren tries to get up though, he automatically reaches a hand out. Not that he's a particularly strong person, but if he can offer solid balance then that would better than Ren tumbling over from a lack of. ]

Go slow. Your center of gravity is compromised.

[narcissithstic]

I've been poisoned. [Muttered absently; he grips more of Hux's sleeve than his arm, but eventually the man is upright. Shaky on his feet, one hand pressed down across his mouth as though attempting to stifle instinct— or something else entirely.

And the darkness isn't helping the floor feel any less like soft sponge under his heels.]

[exhuxperation]

Alcohol poisoning, maybe. How much did you have?

[ He'd look around the room for context clues, but it was too dark to make out much of anything. At least Ren is on his feet now, though it was a precarious state of being. Cautiously, he steps forward, heading for the nearby wall and feeling for the light switch. It takes some fumbling but he flicks the dimmer up a notch, lights at a less invasive 10%.

With slightly better lighting conditions, he makes out the curled up form of Sam nearby on the other sofa. May as well kill two birds with one stone. ]

Sam. [ And a muttered afterthought– ] How much did both of you have to be in this state?

[frakkincylons]

[ no, what. why. why this. hux might've had to repeat that again, louder, but at some point, sam's jerking awake, and immediately regretting the sudden motion. because he's definitely still drunk as hell. ]

Hm? What? Yeah, I'm here, I'm good. [ are you, though, sam? are you? it takes him a moment of blinking and scooting to sit up and squint around the room, before he settles on hux, and mentally rewinds to remember what that question was.

how much did they have? U M M . ]

Had about... four? Of these? [ holding up the glass tumbler that was settled on the carpet nearby, and then points to the whiskey bottle nearby, looking very shallow. ] And more from there.

[ a lot, okay, he drank a lot. he's an alcoholic and a cylon, he's good for it. after a second of squinting at Ren, flailing around or whatever it is he's trying to do, thinking back to not terribly long ago, he snorts. ] He just had something like... three frakkin' shots.

[ it was probably more than that, but it wasn't a lot, okay? ]

[narcissithstic]

[Fortunately Ren hasn't slept. In the immediate sense it means his eyes look raw and red from weeping, in the larger sense it means he's lucky enough to not balk at the drastic shift in brightness as Hux locates the lightswitch and snaps it on, lurching instead towards the nearby kitchen. Palms braced on either side of the sink, everything else is little more than background noise: vaguely he catches the words four of these and the echo of something metal clanging outside.

And just as he thinks to respond, his body makes it clear it has other plans.

Namely throwing up every last ounce of still-festering alcohol.]