E
V
E
N
T
|
deep in the murk
"It comes first and follows after. Ends life, kills laughter."
With the outcome of the battle against the Caducans and the Moira having twisted together with their ship to form a strange combination of glass, metal, and organic parts (both across the ship and among the crewmembers), there is still the matter of the Ingress not functioning “properly”. It hasn’t worked correctly since the very first person arrived on the Moira through it, and there is little the Captains themselves know about its functions. However, now, more than before, it’s even worse than that. The Ingress malfunctions yet again. This time, though, it doesn’t simply combine time and space and objects around it—it encompasses the entirety of the ship and sends it far off into a completely different universe. Welcome to:
( click text for a rough map/layout )This puts the Moira closer to its final destination, and most of the glass has disappeared as the Caducan ship has been left behind aside from small things here and there (i.e., some of the walls in the corridors, random furniture in the rooming decks, the rooms themselves). Even the mess hall has permanently changed. Yet, there is some bad news that comes with this transition. The universe the ship is in is so terrible that it has been given its own name so that travelers avoid it altogether. Even the Captains themselves are aware of just how Bad News this universe is and had originally planned to take “the long way around” to avoid it. Anything shady or unsavory can be found in the Runoff, and while it might not appeal to the majority, it is simply second-nature to those who inhabit it. From arms trafficking to drugs, whatever one might think is illegal somewhere else is suddenly very legal and very dangerous.
Through the transition, some of the crew will accidentally end up on a nearby outpost specifically used for slave trade. It is a covered, temporary establishment used only for this purpose, meaning there are no open markets, hotels, or businesses of any sort. Stalls and tents line dirty streets, and ships litter the space around the outpost. This is a slave trade zone. People come and go but do not stay. Various lifeforms can be found here, and there are many different forms of slave trade happening. The motto “honor among thieves” does not exist in this place either. Crew who end up here will be “free”; however, this means that there is the potential to be taken and sold or kept by those of the Runoff. The Moira will not be close to this outpost, but the signals given from their MIDs will alert the crew to their location. Rescue, obviously, is imminent, but those who choose to help their fellow crewmembers must keep to small stealth missions using transporters or other crafts with one important detail in mind: they cannot bring attention or notice to the Moira itself.
Almost one-third of the crew has found themselves on the slave trade outpost, leaving the rest to plan for rescue. The Captains will immediately divulge all information that they have about the outpost, which is unfortunately very little outside of the stigma associated with the Runoff. The Captains will ask any MID techs or those with skills to create a program that allows person to person location; this function will allow crewmembers to search for those on the outpost via their MIDs. Rescue efforts are encouraged, and all the ships and transporters in the cargo bay will be available for public use. Crew will be told to be careful and quiet, bringing no attention to the Moira’s location, and most importantly, do not stand out. If crew look and act like they don’t belong there, others will notice. Stealth is the name of the game, and blending in is a necessity. ☄ time goes by slowly The unfortunate crewmembers who ended up on the outpost have now found themselves pursued by those looking to make a profit through slave trade. The standards of hard labor vary from owner to owner, but it is what it sounds like. Rough, hard work that will last as long as the body performing it can endure. If purchased, owners might examine their new property to determine what type of work they’d be best suited for and then split them up into holding areas until they are done with their purchases. Others might have their slaves begin work by cleaning their ship or holding stalls or packing up their tents and gear. The owners, and their needs, are as varied as the universe. Did you manage to escape? Or were you forced to work before you were rescued? ☄ and it seems to last forever Like the crewmembers taken by general labor owners, the murdersport slavers buy and take whomever they believe can last the longest in the pit. Some take those who appear to be strong or have great stamina, and some take those who are light on their feet or are quick-witted. Some crew are chosen simply based on appearance and how good they’ll look in their gear. If pursued, the slavers will do everything they can to capture the Moirans, and if captured, crew might be taken to a holding stall or a testing pit so that their skills can be witnessed by the public and tested. Some slavers want to show off their new property by throwing them into small roped off areas with other slaves, various creatures, or machines. Some make them stand up in front of groups and simply show them off, boasting that, at the next big event in the Runoff, they’ll surely win the grand prize. What kind of slaver has taken you? Will you be forced to fight before you rescue? Or will you not make it to the Moira before the Ingress pulls you back? ☄ but then it starts to fly ( cw: sex ) As is typical of this universe, slave trade comes in various forms. The most notorious being its illustrious sex trade. Slaves are bought and sold quickly and often, with no notable preference for appearance or species. Buyers come from all over to find slaves to work in their brothels, for personal use, as in-house entertainment, and much more. While the other two most popular type of slave trade don’t care as much about the physical well being of their property, these specific owners usually do. They might try to incapacitate first, so that the slaves aren’t bruised or cut, and if necessary, use binds until they can get them back to their ships or holding stalls. Some owners have their slaves cleaned and dressed in the finest attire, while others shove them into uniforms and tossed into stalls. Were you captured? Did you escape? Or were you rescued before something untoward occurred? What's more, events of the past always have a way of coming back to haunt you.
Months past, a monster terrorized the crew and left a very literal mark upon those that it touched. Those scarred by encounters with the Ploiatos will find their minds drifting as they work and go about their day. They may also find themselves in a different part of the ship than intended when they come back to themselves. It happens slowly, these small moments of lost time. But both before and after these events occur, one might notice that the scars seem to shift slightly. Where the patterns have been stable for months, suddenly the branching arms of the scars appear to be in a slightly different position than before. More often than not, those who lose time will regain awareness and find themselves in Navigation. When this happens, oftentimes Captain Manasseh will herd them out with a quiet, but undeniably firm, suggestion to visit the infirmary. More unsettling are the moments when they awaken in the I.L.R. standing outside the one door that should never be opened. As for those who were lucky enough to avoid encounters with the creature locked within, they must figure out how to deal with their friends and fellow crew who seem to walk around in a fog with no control of their actions.
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-07-19 01:11 am
Tarn | Transformers IDW | CW: mentions of sex slavery
[Tarn has seen many shady outposts in his time. The are a beacon for degenerates and traitors regardless of the galaxy that they reside in.
He has been freshly repaired by Doc Yewll and was sporting a new T-cog courtesy of Riptide when he finds himself suddenly warped to the seedy outdoor market of the runoff.
Its not difficult to tell that his sudden appearance has garnered more than a little attention. A mech of his size is not easy to miss despite the various species milling about. He straightens his back and tries to appear authoritative as he glances around, making a bee line towards whoever appears familiar.]
In custody: B
[The restraints binding Tarn’s has behind his back are padded to avoid any unattractive scuffs or dents around his wrists. He’s fought fruitlessly, already weakened by the effects of the poison that has been systematically been fed to him over the coarse of the past month. It doesn’t stop him from lashing out with his feet, kicking at the reenforced bars of the holding cell that he’s been placed in.
Tarn doesn’t give up determined to bend the metal keeping him trapped. Unfortunately the noise attracts the attention of the slaver that has collected him and the other Cybertronians that ended up on this outpost. He earns an electric prod to his side for his efforts but remains stubbornly silent, glaring over his shoulder at the organic. Tarn hates him more than any Autobot in the cells neighboring his own. After the violation of being inspected and opened up, Tarn couldn’t possibly feel any differently.
It truly is a worst case scenario.
He kicks out again, ignoring the sting from the prod, and thrashing. Tarn tires easily but he isn’t giving up without one hell of a fight.]
Hangry: C
[Tarn hasn’t fueled in days. It’s incredible the lengths that he would go to get even the foul tasting fools energon that had been sentenced to are astounding. But he can’t bend to the will of the man keeping them here. Fuel for cooperation is what they have been offered, and very little cooperation has occurred. He isn’t even entirely sure what is expected of him, but he’s flat out refused regardless of whatever whim this organic seems to want them for.
More often than not Tarn is offline, sprawled on the floor of his cell in an attempt to conserve what little energy he has left. He needs to save it for when it will really matter. Besides, the less he is awake, the less he has to listen to the incessant chatter of his fellow slaves.
Currently, he is caught in a fleeting moment of consciousness, Watching and waiting for something—anything— to happen. Something to focus his attention on rebelling against.]
This is far surpassed the point of absurdity. What does he even want from us?
Closed to Rodimus
[He’s sick of seeing Rodimus’ face. Since they had been taken it seems to be all he sees. Kept in the cell next to his, Tarn can not escape the flashy red paint job and useless whinging.
However, despite everything— despite Rodimus being an Autobot— Tarn can’t help but feel a stab of something eerily close to camaraderie. The violation of having his chassis opened up and his internals prodded pales in comparison to whatever they did to Rodimus. He didn’t see the actual procedure but he seemed to be particularly upset by it. Organics have no right to be treating himself and his fellow Cybertronians in such a disrespectful manner. They can’t risk their technology or biological components falling into the wrong hands.
And this most certainly qualifies as the wrong hands.]
Do you recall what the organic did to you?
Wildcard
no subject
He'd tried to kill him a few times, and earned a few painful shocks directly to his spark, but even his grouts of fire wouldn't come.
Rodimus had started to become extremely concerned over the state of his internals. Between having something so ingrained as part of him shut down, the hunger, the gross, slimy feeling in his internals, and the queasiness squirming around in his tanks, he was worried something was really wrong. For now he was keeping quiet, swallowing down his panic. ]
Huh?
[ Tarn's voice takes him by surprise. He frowns, then moves closer to the Decepticon's cell. To be honest, being crushed to death by Tarn was a more acceptable fate than being kept as some organic's plaything. He leans close, curling his hands around the bars. ]
He figured out I could probably burn this whole place to the ground and put a stop to it, if that's what you're asking. The rest of it seems to be for fun.
no subject
Tarn inches a bit closer to the bars separating their cells.]
This is disgusting. I'm still not certain why he is so insistent on keeping us here-- what purpose could we possibly be filling? He wanted to watch me polish myself yesterday, but I can't figure out what the obsession seems to be.
no subject
Well, Whirl is being forced into fights, while Starscream just seems to be chores and general work. He seems to want to keep us in better shape, tampering aside.
[ Briefly, he tries to imagine being in their captor's position and watching Tarn rub polish over his armor. He regrets that thought right away. ]
No offense, but your armor isn't exactly built for a shiny finish. Has he figured out you can transform?
no subject
Transforming is the only thing that i will do for him. He likes to watch me slip from my alt mode to my root mode for whatever reason.
[Tarn's disquieted expression is concealed by his mask, but his optics hold a sort of desperation and disgust. He knows that me must be missing some key part of the situation.]
Whirl and Starscream seem to have purposes outside of just sitting here and looking nice. I have a sinking suspicion that we have not yet realized out true purpose to him.
no subject
You think? He likes to have me 'flutter' my spoiler for him. He had Riptide wash me. It was... weird.
[ He goes silent for a few months, thinking of Earth. ]
This isn't the first time I've seen organics keep Cybertronians as slaves. It's-- [ Why is he even telling Tarn? A famous organophobe? Though to be honest, Rodimus himself wasn't too fond of humans. ] At Earth. They captured some of us-- didn't matter what faction. They kept them imprisoned in altmode and drove them around like toys.
no subject
He has to put that aside for now, there are more important issues to be concerned about.]
You dont... you dont think that they intend to do that with us, do you? [That sick fragger had watched him transform! what if he was just scouting out a way to keep him trapped in his alt mode? Tarn shudders to think of a world where he can't transform freely. He'd rather die.] I need you to be honest with me, Rodimus. I can't live like that.
no subject
The humans figured that out mostly from studying dead cybertronians. We're alive and well-- it would probably take a few years, right?
[ He doesn't sound too sure, though. ]
If it's any consolation, I volunteer to kill you if you get stuck in tank mode.
no subject
This is much more dire than I previously realized. We need to think up an escape plan and quickly.
If I enter stasis, you can't let them take me from this cell. Who knows what they will do to my frame...
no subject
I can't exactly burn your body or anything, so what exactly do you want me to do?
no subject
I don't know... We can't let it come to that.
Have you any seed of an idea of how to escape? Everything that I've thought of involves physically breaking the bars to this cell and crushing them with my bare hands, but try as I might I can't get the steel to bend.
no subject
He rubs his hand over his chin, optics dimming. ]
The inhibitor was placed behind my spark chamber. If it could be disconnected, I could probably melt our way out. I can't do it myself though, and I'm betting they're looking out for the kind of funny business that leads to getting that out of me.
no subject
Perhaps a distraction is in order.
[Tarn pauses in thought, tapping his mask with a pointed finger.]
What is it that our captors wants from us the most? Of all of the requests, what seems to be the end goal?
no subject
Um.
[ Waxing, washing. Weird, intimate touch-- ]
Oh slag. I think I figured it out.