KNOW YOUR RIGHTS.

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody! Including fourth wall visitors.
WHAT? Time to kiss the spiders goodbye and strike out for greener pastures.
WHEN? 10 XI, Year 6 of Sanaliel's reign (as of arrival in Lemuria).
ANYTHING ELSE? Please warn for anything besides physical violence and move to a personal journal if it's beyond PG-13.

this is a public service announcement;

with guitar

ESCAPE TACTICS

READ THE JHASHCH INFOPAGE.

The departure from Jhashch has none of the ceremony of arrival. A few hours after the last of the mission teams report in, a bulletin goes out. It's the only forewarning for the time-step.

@SCOUT | @ALL

emergency time-step approved
expect it within the hour

you won't be returning to base; we'll port in supplies after arrival
if you have your standard cost clothing, change into it now
cover your face and hide the cost patch

It's hurried and without embellishment, and for good reason. While the teams have deterred and distracted the Regency and burned House Shaiy's residence, it hasn't stemmed the chaos. If anything, it encourages it.

Princess Chch still lives, but Queen Thsh is viewed as the Aranean ideal of a tyrant, confidence only bolstered by surviving the Regency's assassination attempts. COST has her blessing — and that of the Twin Generals and Prince Shch. Aranean soldiers throw themselves into brutal confrontation at their generals' behest, dragging Ythaway further into bloodshed; the male Araneans decline direct involvement, but they're skilled saboteurs. And the public watches; while the media teams couldn't completely convince them of the cause and House Oujh still maintains its influence, they spare the Regency no love.

This is the fate of the weak.

Young has already sent Serket ahead with the mines' valuable deposits of Ymir. And, with the queen's position assured amidst all the gore, COST wants to evacuate as quickly as possible.

» THE TIME-STEP

The transfer begins like a vibrating heat on the collar bone, just a hum of sensation.

But the vibration spreads. Veteran recruits often refer to this phenomenon as "the buzz". The feeling builds, not unlike standing near a great engine or the wind-rattled branches of a massive tree. There is a long moment of motion sickness and you can't be sure if the world is shaking you from the inside out or the outside in. It may be better to close your eyes against the growing nausea, as the world blurs out of focus.

A star shines in the distance. You may hear the faint rustling of leaves. Some swear they hear voices in this moment, indistinct words echoing off nothingness. Others say they feel a touch of the divine, that the eyes of the eternal look down upon you. Ancient bones rattle just out of earshot, cold and brittle and nothing more than the suggestion of sound. Or maybe it's only an illusion, brought on by the powerful technology grafted into your skin.

One thing is for sure: One moment you are here and the next you are not.


WELCOME, GHOSTS

A siren blares in the distance, accompanied by unintelligible shouting and the low rumble of engines. The air is chill, no matter where you arrive; the ground beneath your feet is like ice if the soles of your shoes have worn too thin. Closer, there's the crackle of an air quality alert and the creak of swaying metal. A nearby terminal declares the date to be 10 XI, 6 SNL.

The time-step has scattered the cell throughout the districts of Lemuria.

@SCOUT | @ALL

now that i have more time
if you weren't briefed by your commander already, this is an emergency time-step, possible through the efforts on jhashch
for those of you with my cell, the sergeant and i won't be present, at least not physically; we can't be
you can contact us, but the regency carefully monitors this time stream so excessive communication through time and space could be dangerous

you can ask the scouts available for more information
@ASHOLE @STARBOY the two of you are the most accessible

Almost immediately, a second bulletin pops up.

@STARBOY | @ALL

are you shitting me

[And that's it, until five minutes later:]

lets get this out of the way
read the 1st attachment
its not done but dwi

if youre new read that and the 2nd attachment
and if youre looking for us for some bullshit reason
x marks the spot on the 3rd attachment
we got clothes and weapons since no one sent you in w shit
(lmao ofc)

[ATTACHMENT: lemuria.html, beginnersguidetodumbfuckery.html, map.png]

The files are succinct, establishing COST's mission and role as opposed to that of the Regency. The beginner's guide even addresses the side effects of BCE glitches and wiped memories, for newbies who don't remember joining COST. These scouts want you up to speed as quickly as possible, because fucking up could have dire consequences. And they also really don't want to explain it to you; this shit is not in their purview.

The map indicates a cellar in one of the low districts, identified as the Skhan District. If you're missing an outfit of your own, the scouts have several bins of secondhand clothing and more than their fair share of weaponry. It's a mismatched collection and far from the height of fashion (unless scavenger chic is in), but be careful: while most of the patches have been torn off, some clothes still bear the insignia of COST. You'll want to get rid of that.

POST-APOCALYPTIC WEAR IS IN THIS SEASON

Blasters load six to fifteen rounds, depending on model; none are larger than a shotgun. And, because of the dangers of porting in and out of Lemuria, the bolthole has its own revivicator installed. Which means if you die in Lemuria, you revive in Lemuria. It isn't as refined as BASE's rundown tech; chances are, when you wake up, you'll feel echoes of whatever killed you.

READ THE LEMURIA INFOPAGE.

» NEW RECRUITS.

New arrivals, here by virtue of the fourth wall, can arrive in one of two ways.

The first is as a fresh recruit, in COST-issued athletic underwear and holding whatever item you chose to bring. Hopefully your clothes and circumstances don't embarrass you too much, because you're stuck with them until you can rendezvous with a scout or steal your own.

The second way for fourth wall characters to arrive is as a seasoned member of another COST cell. Their assumed missions can be to your tastes, as fantastical or historical as you like. Need ideas? Feel free to read back through the game's logs and infopages for inspiration.


HIDE YOUR SHIT

Welcome to COST's little bolthole in Lemuria. It's a cramped space, a basement's basement in an abandoned factory overrun by squatters. The community doesn't make much notice of anyone moving through as a rule, so it's easy to weave by the masses huddled together in rags and find the long, dingy staircase, leading down, down, down to a padlocked door.

The padlock will twist and open as soon as you tap the corresponding app on your BCE. It automatically loaded when you got to Lemuria and reads FUCKINGPADLOCK.IO.

And then there's the bolthole. Dug into the ground, it's not unlike being in a submarine; it's certainly cramped enough. It could hold maybe four people, very uncomfortably.

It has a selection of security cameras and terminals on one end and the rest of the walls are decked with cabinets and drawers, all locked by various means. Some are traditional and some ask for eye scans or fingerprints or "identity samples", whatever that means.

There is a not insignificant number of empty takeout containers in one corner.

And, thanks to the staircase, you can at least hear whenever someone's coming.


GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER

You can't hide in the bolthole forever — the scouts, for one, will kick you out — and Lemuria is a restless city. Many of the low districts are overflowing, too many people packed in too small spaces. And everywhere is an air of discontent, evident from disgruntled muttering.

It's often hard to tell what's news and what's rumor, even surrounded by terminals with easy access to the Lemurian network. Fafnir is causing a ruckus at the city limits; maybe someone will ask Jörmungandr to "deal" with him. Terrapin Labs is dumping genetic waste in the sewers. The Crosslands are already drained dry and the war is a coverup. A red dragon ate someone near the upper districts. Sanaliel's advisor is a shape-shifter. The list goes on.

For now, your orders are to keep an ear to the ground and maintain a low profile. In general, the scouts would really like you not to make their lives any harder.

» THE ANTS GO MARCHING.

If you manage to find your way into the Pyramid District, the Lemurian upper class is having a military parade and even the lower rungs of society have dragged themselves to see it. The crowd is mixed, though it naturally segregates itself, with the richer moving away from the poorer. Myths fit themselves in where they can; faeries flit through the crowd and a few kappa saunter through, promising eternal blessings for a few spare cucumbers.

The parade itself is a magnificent thing to behold, if you like gaudy splendor and overzealous displays of wealth. Each regiment walks in unified steps, their battalion announced. At various points, the parade stops and the soldiers perform demonstrations of will and might, shooting rockets into the polluted fog of the sky, shredding dummies with advanced weaponry, and sparring with one another.

Occasionally, radicals break through the crowd, throwing smoke bombs that bleed colored mist and sting the eye. They shout slogans like "Freedom for the Crosslands!" and "Justice for Lemuria!" and "Food for the poor!" Sometimes they cause a riot. Sometimes they escape back into the crowd. Sometimes they get shot in the head.

The bodies are dragged away without much comment, like it's a common occurrence.

The parade continues.

» I PREDICT A RIOT.

If you wander into the low districts, you'll find something else entire. Some would argue it's a coincidence that there are bread riots the same day as a military parade. Some wouldn't.

Basic sustenance — rice, bread, beans, and lentils — have skyrocketed in price. Fueled by tax increases and missing supply vans, what it means is the poor are poorer. People slink back to their hovels to beg or barter. And the rest, well...

The rioters come prepared, stomping boots and guns fired into the sky. The majority are teenagers and young adults, commandeering food shops and carts, scaring away (or killing) the owners and giving out food for free (or at a lowered price). Other people try to stop them and the scuffle quickly becomes untenable, escalating into bloodier violence.

What do you do?

» THIS IS SO ILLEGAL.

Maybe you got involved in a riot. Maybe your fingers were a little sticky. Or maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time; the police force is largely apathetic to crime in the low districts and reacts all too readily with violence in the upper districts.

Whatever the case, you've gotten yourself on the wrong side of the Lemurian law and you're handcuffed to (or sharing a cell with) a comrade-in-arms. Maybe it's fortunate that Lemuria has only just begun to distribute power nullification tech to deal with the influx of myths; most officers don't carry it and even fewer would think to use it on someone who looks human.

The guards make no comment, if asked how long they'll hold you. Other prisoners, filthy and dressed in rags, remark they've gone months without knowing.

Escape is really the only feasible option.

» SPECIAL DELIVERY.

If you left items behind at BASE, you can handwave filing a request and COST will deliver them to the bolthole. The scouts will send an alert if necessary and you can pick it up at any time. Just preferably sooner than later, because there isn't exactly a lot of space in that cellar.

Alternatively, if you're a veteran recruit, maybe you just received an unexpected delivery.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

Comments

PLACEHOLDER OF HOLDING.

[agogemod]

MEET @ASHOLE.

[ilinot]

If you wander into COST's secret bolthole at the right time, you'll find Da Uoe Ilinothe Ashere Lebruin Da, though you can just call him Ashere. He introduces himself with a flourish while smoking a cigarette bent at an odd angle.

Brown-skinned, light-haired, yellow-pupiled, eyes owlishly wide and limbs running long and tall, he's... an anomaly, for most people. "I'm from Earth," he natters, "but not yours, if you're staring like that. Not all Earths have Beler on them. Not sure why. Last Earth I went to didn't have an Australia. Just a big hole in the ground. Depending on your perspective, though, maybe that's not much an alternate reality."

He shrugs, and goes back to rifling through a cabinet filled with clothing. "Here, you'll look fine enough in this. It will fit, at least. I hope you didn't come here for iconoclasm." He rolls his large yellow eyes, and shoves a shirt or some trousers or goggles in your direction. "Do you need anything else? I'm a busy man. I have a date with a gumiho in nine minutes."

MEET @STARBOY.

[armageddon]

[Wander in at a different time and, well, the bolthole is empty. Because let's be real: the cellar is cramped and the opposite of exciting and who wants to stick around if it isn't necessary? But eventually there are quick footsteps on the stairs and someone ("someone"; three guesses and the first two don't count) literally kicks the fucking door open. Someone who is also, to continue his stellar first impression, covered in blood.

He doesn't blink twice at the occupied room, already aware of company; it's a perk of having low level empathy. Sure, anyone with a modicum of telepathic talent could probably stonewall him, but accurately sensing people's moods and lies makes the scouting life way easier.

He shrugs off his coat, dumps it on the floor, and yanks open a cabinet. He then proceeds to dig out a replacement, checking it over for a COST patch.]

Hey. [His speech is a little slurred; not drunkenly, but like he can't be assed to enunciate properly.] There something sharp in that drawer?

[He gestures to the drawer in front of you, motion truncated like he got bored halfway.]

[horsepowered]

I. Timestep and Welcome
"Oof!"

Chiron has only time traveled as a human before now. Doing it as a centaur means that he lands with every single leg going in an opposite direction, flat on his ass, and hardly looking like the calm, composed creature he prefers to be.

He picks himself up as quickly as possible, ignoring the fact that there is blood still splattered on his face and hide, there's shreds of his so-called formal clothes still hanging onto his shoulders, and the remains of Jhashch struggle to stay with him.

As the BCE pings, Chiron looks down at the thing and starts to get his bearings. No matter anyone noticing his giant horse's ass right now, he'll change out of it in a moment once he gets to the Skhan District.

II. Ants go marching
Keep an ear to the ground. Keep your profile low. Chiron can do that. It's why he feels comfortable slipping into the Pyramid District, quiet among the lower rungs that have come to watch it.

Chiron doesn't flinch as anything that qualifies as a Myth approaches. If anything, being around them feels the most at home he's ever been. This kind of a cross section, it's almost like being home. He's happy to let two small faeries settle on his shoulder, as even in human mode, he has the advantage of height.

Watching the parade go by though is a mindnumbing experience. The same projection of power. The same demonstrations to get to the point. Watching it all, it's easy to see how the Regency grows of this.

As yet another break in the parade happens, Chiron ticks it off. "Fifteen," he says quietly. "I wonder where that fits in with the usual number of such occurances at this type of event."

III. This is so illegal
[Okay, so getting thrown into jail is...a new experience. Not one Chiron ever expected to experience before being pulled into COST's orbit, and one that after all of this is said and done, will probably be the height of comedy.

As it is though, Chiron's more than a little unhappy. The only reason he stands here is due to the fact he was being dragged away from a young man with a severely broken arm that Chiron had been trying to set. That, in turn, ended up in punching several law enforcement officials, and well. That had been that.

Waiting for wisdom to strike, Chiron sits in a small corner of the cell he's been chucked into, using the Norn cards that had been delivered to him at the bolthole. Looking at the patterns present in the spread, he only snorts.]

Well, that's appropriately vague, I suppose.

IV. Wildcard
[You know the deal. 200% down for all Myth shenanigans, for obvious reasons.

ii

[dorzalta]

She stands with him, not nearly as tall, of course, but still able to witness the parade and its riots. Each one has her ears straining, as if a familiar name will pierce the air and she'll be forced into action. It doesn't. But the gunshots reverberate in her mind minutes after.

Another body falls. Her face remains impassive, so as to better blend in with their surroundings. Her eyes--those betray her.

"No one seems upset by the number. They don't seem very much affected." Period. It's like a veil of impassivity has settled over their eyes, making them blind to the outbursts of violence. "How long has this gone on for, for a place's people to react this way?"

ii. HI

[riderofcharlemagne]

When it comes to keeping a low profile, some people are far less suited to it than others. Astolfo is one such person. Though he's clearly holding back, when the parade breaks he struggles to hide his reaction. The sound of gunshots, the falling of bodies, it's hard not to be shocked.

Hearing Chiron's comment, he responds before even placing the source, in a barely hushed tone.

"The Fifteenth?! That's-" He whips around, and that familiar voice finally registers. "Archer?!"

Daenerys Targaryen | Game of Thrones

[dorzalta]

Ia. WELCOME, GHOSTS
Stepping from one place to another is always jarring, but she's blessedly spared from starvation and dehydration this time around, which means Dany at least manages to stand on both feet. Just barely.

It becomes clear straight away that the reason she stumbles is because of a rather large Aranean she is bear hugging. For those who know her, it's a ridiculous sight. And why would anyone wish to hug one of those monstrous spiders, you might be wondering? Especially if you rush forward to either try to catch her, or lend a helping hand (is she going to be consumed??).

The Aranean takes no time to settle her long and slender legs onto the ground, straightening both she and Dany before they collapse into an undignified heap. And while she does that, Irriella snaps her mandibles at you if you get too close.

"It worked!" she laughs, delighted, smiling broadly at you. "I thought she might've been too large for the jump."


Ib. WELCOME GHOSTS [network option]
>>FROM:@STORMBORN
>>TO:@ALL
Does "DWI" mean something significant to our understanding of this realm?

Or is it like when you "lol" when things are not at all funny?


II. FOLLOW THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD... TO SKHAN DISTRICT
( a. ) The bolthole is worse than the trenches at Gallipoli. Not only is it claustrophobic, but she's accidentally elbowed you in her bid to salvage any additional pieces sturdy enough to allow her to blend in. "Excuse me," she distractedly murmurs, paying you no notice. It happens two more times--once with the bow on her back, and again with the sickle arakh on her belt--if you don't move, and by the third, she's huffing in quiet annoyance and glancing over her shoulder at you, her look all but saying do you mind?

It doesn't help that Irriella insists on worming her way in to the bolthole. So much for space.

( b. ) The end result of her endeavors yields a coat and clothing. The pants and boots are fitted and durable, reminding her of the pieces she wore while conquering the slaver cities. Don't mind her as she tugs off a bloodstained top, replacing it with something cleaner, albeit musty-smelling.

"What are identity samples?" she'll ask, walking up beside you to peer at the cameras. "Do they read our blood and tell us what our lineage is?"

( c. ) Soon enough the staircase is groaning. Whatever the two of you were doing beforehand, be it scavenging, scowling, or studying the screens, she stills, nocking an arrow as Irriella skitters up the wall and hangs right above the doorway. Or maybe you are the person coming down the stairs? In which case... say hello to an arrow aimed at your head, and two long, slender white legs trying to lift you up from beneath the armpits.


III. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER
( a. ) The liveliness of the city is muted only by the discontent and air of aggression all around her. Dany's never walking the streets alone, flanked typically by Irriella... or you. That is, if she catches you nearby and tugs you into step with her. She's not above that. Her hood is pulled up, the deep burgundy just barely hiding silver chunks of hair. "Who is Fafnir?"

( b. ) Or perhaps you're with her when someone announces a dragon consuming someone. If you know her well enough, you know to look toward her. Probably. Right? Well if you do, you'll catch her tensing, head whipping around so quickly her hood falls back. There's a steely glint in her eyes, and she's latching on to your sleeve and dragging you off. "We have to find the dragon!"

Someone should tell Dany that rushing toward dangerous dragons is a bad idea.


IV. THE ANTS GO MARCHING / THE RIOT
( a. ) It's not exactly difficult keeping a low profile in the face of a march, is it? The extravagance and waste merely reveals the stark differences between rich and poor... enough to have her openly frowning. "This seems like such a waste when there are so many suffering," she tells you.

( b. ) It only grows worse when someone gets shot in the head. No matter who they are, they don't deserve that. It has her stiffening--do you stop her before she can charge off to see if there's anything to do for the body? Or are you going with her as the body gets dragged back into the crowds?

( c. ) Or maybe you're tagging along with her as she finally leaves the parade... only to discover that there's a riot over food in the lower district. Perhaps you're already there. No matter what you're doing, there are children who get caught in the chaos, and Dany's shoving her way past faceless bodies--and you--to try and catch one who appears to be getting trampled on. "Move!"


V. TOTES ILLEGAL
So this is what being imprisoned feels like. She stands in the middle of her cell, frowning at the guards, hands on her hips and tapping a foot impatiently on the stone floor. She's lost track of time, having spent some of it reviewing the network, another portion of it communicating with Chiron through their telepathic link, and the rest of it intermittently asking the guards when she will be released, and muttering in Dothraki about the indignities of it all.

Whether you got thrown into the cell with her, or were there either before or after her arrival, she'll eventually come to settle beside you. "What kind of place holds captives for months, with no word of when they'll be freed?"


XX. WILDCARD
Something not floating your boat? Feel free to PM me or ping me on plurk, or come up with your own prompt to hmu with c:


[ ooc: will match prose or action, no preference here. ]

III. b. Get Your Shit Together

[northerndragon]

To be fair, Jon's gaze whips towards Dany when he knows they've both heard the word "dragon"; he isn't surprised by the way she tries to drag him off, except that it's the first indication she's shown of being less concerned about the wounds he took on Jhashch.

He's extremely dubious about this. "I'm not sure what sort of dragon it is, love. Maybe not your sort. You want to go and see?"

Why am I asking? There shouldn't be any question. Of course she does.

III b. SHOVES EVERYTHING OFF OF THE TABLE I AM HERE. AND RUSTY

[cartking]

How dare you touch me!

[ His voice is a high-pitched snarl, and he looks the same as he did before his death: a truly pitiful creature. He’s every ounce of his beggar king title, lean and hungry, his clothes already dusty and nowhere near as durable as Dany’s. Worse still, he hasn’t listened. He never listens. His clothing still bears the COST insignia in plain view. It’s worn and faded, but he’s still been undeniably fortunate thus far.

He rips his arm away, whirls around to face her properly. He sees hair like his own, eyes like his own, and a gaze of cold recognition falls across his face. When last he saw his sister, she stood by while her Dothraki horselords prepared to murder him. ]

Daenerys.

[ A tight smile twitches at the corners of his mouth, forced and not a true smile at all. He’s given so few of those throughout his life. An odd sort of fire ignites behind his eyes: anger mixed with hurt. He hasn’t forgotten. How could he ever forget his own blood turning against him? ]

My sweet sister. Is this how you speak to me? After all this time?

V yes hello

[idealisme]

"What kind? That which cares to serve itself and its power rather than its people." Enjolras' voice is hard. The COST unit he serves with were formed specifically to deal with uprisings- usually to assist in overt or covert ways.

The blond is dressed to blend into the crowd, though his red jacket is torn and there's dirt and blood streaked on his face. This isn't the worst uprising he's seen, but it's a while since he's been caught like this. He'd been overconfident.

1a.

[oldser]

[ There is much he does not understand. The uniform, displeasing to the eye — there are worst to wear, and he has lived harder than this, but in place of the resplendent white he's accustomed to seeing in the mirror, it's a poor substitute. The jump has been jarring — old bones, he thinks. An old man in a strange war, left with only one thing to protect. ]

More children, Your Grace?

[ He bears this with patient amusement, having come to her side at once. ]

Ia.

[foughtvaliantly]

He had grown used to the jumps over time, though the different realms were more jarring in themselves. The small collection Rhaegar had arrived and worked with for these number of years had become a tightly knit as the squires he served with. While it wasn't in his power to knight them, he viewed those COST recruits as though they had been given the honored position. In these small ways, he found a means to connect the past and the present, holding firm to one piece of himself, as though it were a tiny ruby from his shattered breastplate.

His cell had never crossed many of the other recruits, going on specially assigned missions away from the rest, but he heard stories and still had his dreams. He had known his mother was pregnant when he rode of for the Trident, but didn't know the child that she would bear. He had seen Viserys somewhere in the crowd, grown now and looking more like their father. But this other silver haired figure was unknown to him.

She was hugging an Aranean, strange but not so odd compared to some. He smiled fondly at her before leaving his group of men to approach her. "You must be a kinswoman of mine."

ii - c

[unprays]

She wishes she still had the small sewing kit she'd managed to pocket during her last (and first) mission, for she could use it to make the horrid set of clothes she's put on look at least somewhat presentable, but no — Sansa is stuck looking, in her opinion, like a little girl playing dress-up, the kind where you take whatever you find, an old cloak far too big, the remains of a burned-up flag, perhaps a shirt far too small, and pretend they all make clothes worthy of the court.

How lucky, she thinks wryly, there is no court here, as looking a lady would do me nothing but harm. The only thing that she does need to fix is the COST insignia still attached to the front of her shirt. She tugs on it once, twice, trying to feel the fabric tearing, and thus her focus is not on what is at the bottom of the staircase she's descending.

She yelps when she feels herself being lifted up, though it's the arrow her eyes find, and the person aiming it at her.

"Please," she says immediately, holding her palms up, to be as non-threatening as possible (and at the same time, she thinks, revealing the insignia, but hopefully the lady isn't one of the Regency), "I mean you no harm."

IIc.

[doublejumps]

Genji's followed the coordinates to the small outpost that COST has set up within Lemuria. It had been confusing enough making his way through a large building filled with discontents, but he's made it to the long, creaky stairway that leads into the bowels of the building.

He'd expected someone else might be here, though he hadn't expected that someone to be an Aranean. He's halfway to grabbing his blade with his one remaining arm before he realizes that he recognizes this spider, and he glances over Irriella's shoulder to spot Daenerys there, bow drawn. Far more people in COST seem to use a bow and arrow than he would have expected, he can't help but notice.

He lifts up his one arm, the other conspicuously missing, with only a patched-up shoulder socket to show for it.

"Daenerys. It's good to see you made it here safely."

Now maybe call off your spider child?

ib.

[pointedlook]

Fairly sure it's shorthand for "deal with it". So, less fake laughter and more sass.

[ Hi Dany, feeling alright? ]

iv. b

[prizeneck]

[He doesn't flinch - the shades resting on the bridge of his nose had already given him the trajectory of the shot, the way it would skewer through skull, brain and skull again, out in the asphalt. Cerebellum, balance point, the connection of mass with nerve endings, all out of order. He feels her tensing, muscles contracting before he goes to move, and subtly places his arm and cane in front of her.

His voice is calm but carries easily.] Don't. That was a good shot. There's nothing you can do.

Jon Snow ✥ Game of Thrones

[northerndragon]

[Top-levels in comments; may add more as necessary.]

HIDE YOUR SHIT

[northerndragon]

Everything here is new to Jon again... everything that he doesn't recognize from Jhashch or BASE, that is. But he makes his way to the cellar -- the sort of place that has too many people in not enough space with not enough bathing and probably not enough food -- then down the steps to the locked door. FUCKINGPADLOCK is obvious enough.

i. Daenerys is not far away from him, but the bolthole is small, and the chances that they're in it together simultaneously are only middling. But it may be that you find him outside, near a white spider that's taller than he is.

ii. Once he's inside, It's not long before he's sorting through clothes, trying to find something like what he's typically worn at BASE: black or brown or blue, a cloak, a hood, boots, and so on.

He isn't alone there, and he turns to the other person, offers them a bundle of fabric from the table, and says, "It's not for me, but it might do for you." Or, if not that, he says, "Wait. You're still wearing the COST sigil." He has a dagger at his belt; he'll happily remove the insignia for anyone who needs him to.

He was a steward once, after all.

[sleepdarts]

( one | new recruits )

( the first thing that ana does when she's shifted, when the transfer moves through, is to see if jack is there. though the missions over the past several months had kept her busy it had been a frustrating separation. they'd signed up, with cost beginning to claim that they didn't know what had happened. at least that had been the comment in her cell, she needed to find him to get the side of the story on his side.

once she's found jack ana takes her time to look around the bolthole. it isn't a base, and it seems they're going straight in, but she's not good at sitting for too long. they have... some intel. it's better than nothing )

( two | the ants go marching )

( she fits in well observing the parade, watching the reactions of the crowd. the display is something, a little too showy but it shows a well trained regiment. the spars show skill, though the riots that begin to form detract from it.

when the display happens, the smoke filling the air, ana takes a step back. she doesn't want to get caught up in this and, as sad as it is when the man is shot, there's nothing she can do )

Come on.

( her voice is low, muttered to the person who'd been watching with her. they didn't need to be there )

( three | wildcard )

( hit me up with a prompt from something else or pm to get something set up! ana was recruited by cost but has been with a different cell. she's got some interesting stories to tell )

two

[doublejumps]

[ Genji had been watching the parade alone, staying well in the back of the crowd with his hood pulled up to make sure that he didn't draw too much attention to himself. Tensions quickly rise in spite of that, though, and soon the area's covered in a blinding red smoke, and gunshots ring through the street. Without any way of knowing where the shots are coming from, it's impossible to put a stop to any of it.

All the same he remains in place, reluctant to retreat when people might be in danger, but that's when he hears a voice at his side, urging him to move away. It's a familiar one, and Genji turns swiftly to see if his mind is playing tricks on him. ]

Ana?!

[ She's older, and she has an eyepatch, but there's no denying that it's her. Jack had told them all that she survived, but seeing her here, on some distant planet so far away from home, is completely unexpected. That alone keeps Genji rooted in place, as he attempts to let this development sink in. ]

WILD CARD!

[inconstantly]

John too is dressed like a local from pieces he could scrounge from across Lemuria. He's never had much care for fashion, but this is something he can easily fall into. This reminds him of a past life, of a home that seems infinitely far away. He wears dark jeans, a thin gray t-shirt, worn leather jacket with fraying at the shoulder seams, and familiar combat boots. If he finds a marker he won't hesitate to add certain lettering to the shirt.

But as it is, he throws himself to the chaos, joining the riots and throwing himself into fights. With a can of spray paint he draws a large A against the wall of an abandoned building in encouragement of the protests. He doesn't notice anyone nearby.

genji shimada | overwatch

[doublejumps]

I. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER

Genji's located the bolthole and gotten himself a new change of clothes (a loose and nondescript cloak allows him to keep his cyborg body mainly hidden), but the sudden time-step to a new mission site has thrown a wrench into his plans. He'd assumed that the return to BASE would give him the time and resources to get his right arm replaced, but now he'll have to navigate a new city and a new set of rules. He won't be of much use to the mission until he's found some sort of solution, and so his first goal is to hit the streets of the lower districts in search of a body mod place that can help him.

Of course, with the run down state of the areas he's searching in, it's hard to be sure of where to go, and what place might actually be reputable. This is his own body that he's talking about, and given that he'd had the top scientists at Overwatch handling him before, it's difficult not to be wary.

He's standing outside of a shop that looks a little cleaner than the others he's passed, weighing his options, when another recruit approaches him. Genji turns toward them; his cloak hides the fact that he's missing an arm, but he doesn't have anything to hide from a fellow COST member.

"Would you mind accompanying me inside? In case something goes wrong, it would be helpful to have back-up."

He hides his nervousness fairly well, at least.

II. SPECIAL DELIVERY

The replacement arm that Genji's received is hardly top-of-the-line, but it will get the job done, at least until they return back to BASE and it can be fine-tuned. It has a full range of movement, even if it's missing the shuriken holder that he's become so used to. He would claim it doesn't matter, as he doesn't even have any shuriken with him, but when he returns to the bolthole and finds a package addressed to him, only able to be opened once it's in contact with his BCE, that all changes.

There's a whole collection of items inside. It's his katana that he grabs first. While his wakizashi has served him well in his time here, he's been missing his other sword greatly, and he takes a few seconds to simply enjoy having it in his hand again. He might take a few testing swings with it (only after making sure no one else is near him, of course). A set of shuriken are there as well, along with some other more miscellaneous items (hair dye, a set of instant ramen), and then...

A photo.

He sheathes his sword at his back and grabs for it. It's a photo he's all too familiar with, having placed it in his room at Nepal as a reminder of simpler days. It's him and his brother when they were younger, and he stares at it for quite a while, unaware of who might be watching him.

III. I PREDICT A RIOT

It's not as if Genji can blame people for beginning to riot, and for being so desperate. If they're literally being deprived of food, then what other option do they have, but to resist? Especially given the opulence that he'd seen at the parade earlier in the day, the disparities here are sickening.

All the same, the violence is senseless. These people are lashing out against each other, for lack of a better option or solution, and it's hard not to feel helpless when watching it. Genji really doesn't have much to offer, but...

Much as he might have looked forward to enjoying the ramen he received in his delivery, he doesn't need it as much as these people. His cyborg body doesn't require much in the way of nutrition these days.

So he stands among the rioters, attempting to catch someone's attention as he holds out the containers of instant ramen.

"You can have this. I know it isn't much, but... please, take it."

IV. THIS IS SO ILLEGAL

Not everyone had been able to take Genji's attempts at kindness and generosity at face value, and so he'd ended up dragged into a fight against his will. There weren't many options when you ended up with a gun pointed point-blank at your face. Even if all he'd done was deflect the bullets shot at him, that had been enough to get him seized and tossed into prison.

Is there anything fair or just in this development? No. But it's clear that the police here don't care to decide who has actually committed a crime or not. Simply being in the vicinity of a riot was enough to get you landed behind bars.

Genji can't help but think of the strange, too-vivid dream he'd had after his death. The cell isn't nearly as high-tech as the one he'd dreamed of, but it's impossible not to wonder if it had been a strange sort of premontion. Given how fluid time is with COST, it's entirely possible.

When one of the guards leaves the vicinity, Genji quickly turns to his cell mate. "This is our chance. We need to devise a plan to escape."

V. WILDCARD

Want something else? Let's do it. Feel free to toss me a prompt or hit me up at demonology or PM if you'd like to plot!

IV

[horsepowered]

"I could try to kick the hinges off," Chiron says, strangely calm about the whole thing. He had been mostly trying to offer medical assistance and threw quite a few punches to make sure he could continue to do so, hence well, being here.

He walks over, examining the door in question, before turning his attention to Genji.

"How quickly can you run once we're out?"

mamoru hijikata. uddup. OTA

[prizeneck]

I. Don't tell me what to do. aka Hide your Shit.

[The bolthole is tiny, but enough to test the new item that has arrived, somehow, to his possession. Mamoru rests the walking cane's tip on a corner of the small safehouse, and nods. The transmission of the soundwaves from its tip is working nicely and so is the reception in his shades. Good. For a mission like this, this item may have just come in handy.

There's a soft click, and his lip curls unconsciously - he missed the sound of that familiar action, and he only realized it now. He pulls the handle of the cane up, revealing a thin, almost paperlike blade from within the cane's confines.]

Magnify. [And he examines the blade's condition. It looks perfect. No dents, no curvatures. Pristine.

Back to the 'click', locking the blade again in the walking cane.

He hears footsteps coming down the stairs, rolls his shoulders. Time to move. The air is feeling like a crescendo, lately, and it's almost up to a boil.]

I'll be outta your hair. I'm moving.

II. Don't tell me what to see. aka The Ants Go Marching.

[Moving within the crowd is easy for him - for someone of his height, he's remarkably good at blending in, somehow. But he stays in the sidelines, anyway. Maybe you catch him watching the parade, back against the wall - lest there is someone willing to attack him underhandedly - just enough of a vantage point to get a decent idea of what's happening.

The motions, the basics of tactics, weaponry handling and the overall demeanor. This is so familiar it's easy to pinpoint just why the jump had been rushed, why suddenly there are new people giving him intel from the comms. It all has a sense of finality, and Mamoru is suddenly very, very well aware of it. ]

III. Don't tell me who to screw over. aka I predict a riot.

[You may find him, however, slipping into a backdoor of a shop. One that's conveniently being robbed, even. While he understands that social instability and a fluctuating economy can cause these riots - it's not just the air between COST members that's bubbling, really - he also knows that small shop owners had very little to do with those decisions. So when the baseball bat one of the robbers is holding is sliced in half before it hits said store owner, he feels that he's a little going back to basics, back to where he began, way before he was even sent to Chechnya.]

On your seven. Don't let them get away. [He warns you when he spots you.]

IV. Don't tell me who to talk to. aka WILDCARD.

[Anything else? Go for it, don't even need to let me know what it is in advance. This is Open to All.]

zenyatta | overwatch (fourth wall)

[tekhartha]

I. STOP, THIEF

Zenyatta has read the documents. He has braced himself for the full spectrum of callous indifference to violence. But mental preparation, it seems, even of his general calibre, is no match for the Lemurian slums.

All it takes is a moment of lapsed concentration- a split second dedicated to processing the atmosphere's chemical makeup, to consulting the maps he has committed to his databanks. Before Zenyatta can so much as register movement the gang bursts forth from a side-street he'd barely even noticed behind a wall of neon signage. His chassis hits the wall with an audibly metallic smack that rings through his entire body like the chiming of a great bell, jangling his senses, but not so much that he does not realise that his sleeves are being ripped back, they'd seen him even through the layers, his arms exposed, and then-

It is over in a matter of moments. With more force than finesse Zenyatta's forearm is loosened, ripped from its joint and snatched away, leaving sparking wires and broken bolts in its wake.

As a rule, Zenyatta does not run. But he will make an exception for it- particularly if there just so happens to be a friendly vigilante around to help him.

II. UNDER THE SKIN

In a tight, close corner of the bolthole, Zenyatta finally snaps open the case set on the floor before him. Overhead a light flickers with the rattle and roll of movement overhead, but the omnic's attention is fixed squarely on the case's contents, which he surveys with something like morbid fascination. Skin: smooth, brown skin, textured like the surface of a peach and artfully padded in the places he lacks. Put together, he can only assume that the pieces form a seamless suit. A human disguise.

Attachment seems a simple enough process. The note accompanying the skin implies that it will bond instantly to his chrome. But his hand does not move from where it hovers over the material, stalled by the sudden, striking sense of betrayal that surges within him like an old promise. He has never wanted to become human; the thought of mimicking them now, even for the greater good...

Footsteps. Without looking up, he seizes on the chance for a little support and calls, hopefully, "Would you be so kind as to help me with this, please?"

III. I PREDICT A RIOT

In the end, Zenyatta has to hand it to COST and their gift: the results are instantaneous, and impressive. At home it was a fact of life that one human would treat an omnic differently to another, but here- here, the shift is whiplash sharp. He had almost forgotten how good it was to be acknowledged after ignorant silence. A small blessing, to be recalled in more dire situations.

A now overtly human Zenyatta can be found making himself at home in the breathless, smoggy chaos of Lemuria. Even after a few days, the sheer concussive force of these outbursts still floor him. Quite literally, in this case.

A square-shouldered rioter bundled in scarves and body armour sends him sprawling among stamping boots and swirling coats. But even with the world thrown sideways he still spots them breaking for the edge of the crowd, against its inexorable flow.

Worthy of investigation? Probably not. But he is not alone, and Zenyatta has never been one to deny an opportunity thrown in his path by the universe on probability alone, and so with a huff of effort he seizes his partner's hand.

"After him- I have a feeling."

[ooc: feel free to pm me if you have any questions/ ideas/ etc!]

under the skin

[heilt]

There have been many new arrivals lately, some from other COST cells and other new recruits. The sight of many more makes Angela wonder if something is happening but there is no one close to ask.

Angela has, at least, been flittering amongst the new recruits, offering assistance or answers to questions, making certain that everyone is fit for what is to come. COST are good at keeping everyone in good health but there was a rush from the last mission to this one, no chance to return to base. She does what she can.

Which is how the man, an omnic if she guessed though there have been other similar individuals here that have not been omnics, catches her attention.

"Of course." She offers him a smile, familiar with the application of the contents of the case through assisting Genji.

"Have you recently arrive? I don't recall your face." Unless he'd been disguised in this skin for past missions.

hanzo shimada | overwatch ( fourth wall )

[eruit]

» HIDE YOUR SHIT.

Hanzo is not the kind of person who spends a great deal of time outside and around people if he can help it; if there is a means for him to hide in a corner, preparing arrows or taking care of his bow, then that is what he will do. Nothing will distract him from it. It is what is necessary for the upkeep of his profession and a means of keeping other people at bay. Who wants to approach a man who is holding a bow in his lap and aiming arrows, especially when he's burrowed as far below and away from everyone else as he can.

For the most part, he doesn't react when anyone else comes in and messes with any of the drawers, cabinets or other locked up, safeguarded things in the room. He's tucked away in the quietest place he can find, practically squashed into a small space to avoid detection by anyone as much as he can. What's obvious, should anyone take notice of him or approach him, is that he ignores practically everyone that comes near him, even if they're having to lean around him to get to their space. He's a little more twitchy, but not inclined to move.

Eventually, of course, the scouts come and kick him out, and Hanzo can be seen climbing the staircases hurriedly, his shoes making a quiet click, click as he climbs, face practically thunderous as he's forced back out into society.

» GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.

Exploring Lemuria, once he's been kicked out, is at least something that is some level of interesting. With Storm Bow strapped to his back and a quiver in place, Hanzo walks around, heedless of any looks or attention he might get. He has no desire to abandon his weapon, no matter what anyone might think, and his attention is solely on learning as much as he can as quickly as he can - then he can come back, away from the swarming people, and make himself more comfortable.

The urge to scramble up walls and listen from the tops of buildings is more than a little bit appealing, and sometimes he can be found hovering near a wall, head tilted, as if judging whether or not it would be a good vantage point before he moves on to somewhere else, head bowed and eyes intent as they flick here and there.

Above all else, the rumour that most gets his attention is the whisper of dragons, and no matter how false it might turn out to be it seems worth investigating. A red dragon ate someone near the upper districts. Hanzo is quick to begin to move, pushing through people, and start to see if he can head towards that direction, intent on learning more about this 'dragon'. After what he has seen over the last few weeks it seems... Worthwhile, as much as anything else in this strange new place.

» THE ANTS GO MARCHING.

Walking through the crowd is easy enough, at least at first - most people seem to not want to get in Hanzo's way, and those of richer blood recognise his stride and seem to allow it, for now. The strange, mythical beasts give him pause and that's what he pays attention to for a long space of time; he follows after the fae and kappa, interested in their movements, what they do, offering them little things from his pockets in trade for their time. It's not the most interesting thing he's done, but it passes the time until he learns more of worth.

When the parade itself starts, Hanzo moves out of the way of the crowd and back to stand somewhere where there's a little more breathing room, watching from afar. It reminds him a little bit of training at home, the regimented style, the military weight of it, and for a moment he's caught in a kind of painful nostalgia that makes his teeth clench and his hands tense at his sides before he forces himself to calm down. It's not worth getting upset over and he's well aware of that - his family is behind him. The Clan is behind him.

That's what he keeps telling himself.

Eventually, he has to leave, ignoring the shouts of radicals behind him, moving to creep back to see if he can hide in the depths of the bolthole once again.

» WILDCARD.

( Hit him up somewhere else or ping me at aziraphale and we can figure something out! )

hanzo! get ur shit together!!!

[doublejumps]

Of course Genji is also curious when he hears talk of a dragon. Now that he has his katana, it would be possible for him to summon his own dragon if necessary, but he knows that this red one that people are whispering about is probably something else entirely. Not simply a spiritual being, but something corporeal; something that could spit fire, and take to the skies. He's curious, especially after speaking with Daenerys of her dragons, but he also knows that seeking the beast out could drag him into yet more danger. After the injuries (and death) that he's endured lately, he knows he should take some more caution.

So he's making his way toward the upper districts, not purely to find this dragon, but also to get a better sense of how this city is laid out. He's wearing a dark cloak that hides most of his metal body as he moves through the crowds, ducking down alleys or crossing over rooftops when they offer an easier path.

It's while he's on the ground that someone brushes past him, shoving him to the side in their urgency, and Genji frowns, ready to be annoyed by the rudeness of the maneuver as he watches the person continue onward.

It's the bow that he sees first, the yellow ribbon next, and Genji's heart stutters in his chest. First Zenyatta, now this? After getting that photo in his delivery package, he almost thinks that he's seeing things. But the longer he stares, the more clear it is that Hanzo is here as well, and he's quickly moving away from him.

"Hanzo!" Genji calls out, running after him through the crowd. Get back here!

William | Westworld

[omniavincit]

i. jumped in the river, what did I see

No splash. He's just soaked to his ankles in water, half-gagging on the air. William thrusts out an arm, touches a sloping wall slick with...something that has him withdrawing his hand, shaking it over and over. Eventually he gives up, wipes it on his pants with a grimace.

“Hello?” he calls, his voice bounding off into the dark. He listens for minutes after, could swear he hears warbling in the distance.

He tries the network next.

@LOUISLAMOUR
Please tell me I'm not the only one to wind up in the sewer.

The fucking sewer.

He sloshes through the muck until he finds a ledge to clamber onto, consoles himself with the sight of the map—though it's a street map, of course—before sending out an addendum: Haven't had time to get into the briefings, anything I need to look out for while I'm down here? Tips?

ii. black-eyed angels swam with me

“Hey.” There's no hope of privacy in the cellar, a reality William's struggling valiantly against. He stands hunch-shouldered, back to the rest of the room, walling off a little pocket of space with his body. His voice sounds strained—has a reflexive, grasping urgency he's too late in trying to retract. When he turns, there's fear in his eyes, like an insect trapped in a light bulb.

“Do they ever, you know. Mix up the mail here?” he asks with forced casualness. He's holding a knife—he turns it over, obediently somehow, though there's nothing, no instruction to obey. It's long and wicked, too big for his hands. The blood flecking the blade doesn't look at all out of place.

iii. a moon full of stars and astral cars

William's seated cross-legged on the jail's floor, neck craned for a look at the creature he's murmuring to: blue as pipe smoke, it has an elephant's trunk and tusks but pointed teeth, yellow eyes that can't seem to latch onto anything in the cell. Its striped and scaled body is slumped on the ground—it moves in agonizing increments, drawn to William's voice.

At the approach of another prisoner, he turns to look and raises his arm in a parody of a wave, rattling the chain linking the cuff at his wrist to a much larger one clamped around his companion's clawed foot. “You too?” he says in a hush, his gaze as bright as the creature's is listless. “They tranked him.” Something like concern darkens his expression. “He's just coming around.”

iv. and all the figures I used to see

Wildcard me!

iv with a hint of iii ok? also late tag is disgustingly late im sorry

[horsepowered]

In kicking his way out of his own jail cell (ah, the power of being in centaur form), Chiron saw no reason at all not to open up the cells of others that were caught in the riot. That no one had heard the godless racket that came with powerful hooves slamming against metal was well, a surprise, but it was also an advantage.

As he comes long to the cell where William is, Chiron's face turns from one of confidence to one of concern. The blue thing that's in there looks ill indeed.

"Do you believe you can carry your compatriot over there in the corner?"