agogelogs | KNOW YOUR RIGHTS.

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KNOW YOUR RIGHTS.

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

Jon accepts the clothing he's handled, but all of this is a little baffling, even for COST, so he stands without gathering the bundle close to his body. Ashere approximates other men without being quite like them, with his gangling limbs and strange eyes, and the things he says are only partly comprehensible.

"How many Earths have you been to? Mine has none of those places, not Beler or Australia." After a beat, he adds dryly, "Plenty of big holes in the ground, though."

Ashere clicks his tongue, irritated, before rifling through the drawer for more. He pulls out a scarf for himself, dull white with flecks of gold, and considers its coloring against the (dull, grey) clothing he's already wearing.

During this, he murmurs, "enough. I fucking tire of the endless permutations. You'd think they'd send me somewhere interesting, but no, Earth, Earth, Earth, Earth. Occasionally called creative things, you know, Terra Alpha and other Grecian paroxysms, shriveling endlessly in conformist uroburos, but here we are."

He wraps the scarf around his throat dramatically, before heading for the door. He looks Jon over with an appraising sweep of the eye, before snapping his fingers. "Come now, are you going to help me or not?"

[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.]

[That's one way to enter a room. Anyone coming in either has the key or has broken the lock, but with the state the man is in, Jon doubts it's the latter.]

There's something sharp in my hand. [Which rests on the dagger at his waist.] Do you want the sigil cut off?

Obviously. You offering?

[He holds out a hand for the dagger, movement loose and lazy. In his experience, COST recruits can get weird about their weapons, probably because anything from their own worlds has sentimental value. It's usually that or general possessiveness, at least.]

[The dagger isn't Longclaw, so although his offer was to cut the sigil away himself, he unsheaths the dagger and passes it over with care, raised eyebrows, and a small shrug.]

That's a lot of blood. [And given that the other fellow isn't obviously wounded, most of it can't be his.] What happened?

[He checks the blade out of reflex, before he readjusts the weight with a practiced flick and begins ripping out the patch's stitching.]

Came back into the low districts without a weapon and I look human. [He lifts a shoulder in a suggestion of a shrug, before he glances at Jon.] Usual shit; you'll always wanna carry something unless you got tricks up your sleeves.

[ Genji has only just reached the bolthole for the first time and is busy taking a look around when someone practically breaks the door down coming in. He sharply turns, shocked to see a man covered in blood, though the only sign of that is the way his back straightens slightly. There's a time when that sort of thing would have been a regular sight for him, back in Blackwatch. It's more the fact that he doesn't recognize the man at all; he's not from their cell, is he?

At first, the stranger doesn't pay him any attention, but Genji turns to watch him as he crosses the area. A change of clothes is certainly in order. When a question's sent his way, Genji steps closer. ]

No, but I have this. [ He reaches to his lower back to unsheath his wakizashi, then eyes the patch on the piece of clothing the man's pulled out. ] Here, I can cut it off.

[ Sorry, but he doesn't generally let other people handle his weapons, even people who he knows. ]

[He glances at the wakizashi, almost appraising, before he easily passes the jacket over, patch on its front pocket.]

Knock yourself out.

[And he spares them from any awkward staring by opening another drawer, this time to pull out a box of ammunition.]

How many of you did they even send?

[ Genji takes the jacket and with one quick and easy movement, he slices the patch off, tossing it into a bin nearby. It might be safer to burn them so that there's no evidence of COST here, but the bolthole is meant to be secure, so it probably isn't necessary.

How many did they send? Genji's confused by the question for a moment, but the fact that he doesn't recognize this person suddenly makes sense. ]

You've been stationed here for some time? [ He hands the jacket back to the man. ] That blood wasn't yours, was it?

[ He'll answer the question, he just wants to get some more urgent ones out of the way first. ]

Nope.

[He shrugs the jacket on, too unfazed by the blood spatter on his sweatshirt and pants to bother replacing them.]

Not like it'd matter if it was. [He says it with amused flippancy, like he's offhandedly referencing a game instead of open wounds.] But yeah, I'm one of the scouts they assigned before they got all hasty and sent in the rest of you. Fuckin' hassle, honestly.

[ Genji had done the assigned reading before they'd been sent there, even though there hadn't been much time to do so. Given how little he'd been briefed during his Blackwatch days, it's nice to have some more information to work with.

Judging by this stranger's demeanor, Genji has a guess for which of the scouts he might be. ]

Was there something to prompt so many of us being sent here?

[ The stranger doesn't seem all that thrilled to have them here, which Genji can almost understand. He's about to have a lot of unsure COST agents asking him questions and looking for guidance. ]

[ William, to his credit, reacts quickly to the door flying open. Less to his credit, his reaction consists of a half-hissed the fuck and a swift glance at whoever else is in already in the room, a wild-eyed request for guidance.

When it becomes clear that the intruder is less an intruder and more a fixture of the bolthole, William hangs back—abashed, not wanting to get in the way. Tension slowly ebbing from his posture. He approaches only after the man addresses him. ] Are you all right? [ It's not the blood that concerns him—it must belong to someone else—but how it got there. ]

Here. [ He draws the knife gingerly from his belt, extends the worn handle to the stranger. He seems almost eager to hand it off. ]

[The inquiry earns William an unimpressed snort.]

What do you think?

[He readily takes the knife and makes quick work of the patch on the sleeve, before flipping it around and handing it back, handle-first.]

Regency don't make it easy to get around sometimes.

Thanks. [ William says to the return of his own knife, without a trace of sarcasm. He glances down to fit blade to sheath. This is the kind of talk he'd expected around BASE, on missions—shorthand for bloodshed, battles reduced to scar tissue and tossed-off remarks.

He's at a loss. What's he supposed to say, yeah, they're worse than traffic on the 405? Maybe it's the knife's unfamiliar weight at his side that compels him to admit: ] I've only killed one. [ He sounds faintly apologetic, manages not to wince as he meets the man's gaze. He'd panicked. He'd held the body. Time hasn't done much to insulate him from the memory. ]

Where'd you run into them?

[He arches an eyebrow when William meets his eyes, but his expression otherwise remains flat, devoid of skepticism or derision. Not like it's a competition—well, it probably is in some cells, but he knows the commanding officers of this one by reputation. Pretty sure that wouldn't fly.]

Eastern myth districts. Heard they been tailing a rumored COST founder and we gotta protect our interests as much as they do theirs.

[He turns back to the cabinets as he pulls on the jacket and tugs open another drawer, this one stacked with ammo.]

Regency's using it as bait, though.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

KNOW YOUR RIGHTS.

PLACEHOLDER OF HOLDING.

MEET @ASHOLE.

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MEET @STARBOY.

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rip me

rip US

💀