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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.
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hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-07-19 01:11 am
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He may not be directly in the path of the falling metal, but that's not something he wants to risk. It's preferable that he go without being hit by any debris, as well. Taking several quick steps back, Wash only stops when he's sure he's at a safe distance and raises his rifle again. In the chaos and all the dust that billows up as the pillar hits the ground though, he can't get proper sights on anyone. No one excepting one guard who, before Wash can even pull the trigger, is already dead. And the colour and pattern of those lights is all too familiar.
Of course it's Rinzler. Who else? He's officially going to have to come up with a large gesture to pay the program back for all the assistance that has been thrown his way. He owes like, two life saving debts now.
Now isn't the time for stopping and staring in disbelief at a crewmember with a flair for the dramatic, however. About a half-second before they're under fire, Wash is moving back toward the pillar, the brand new cover, and ducks below the burst of bullets. Clutching the rifle to his chest, hands gripping it tightly, as though they need proof that it's real, he shoots Rinzler a look when the program joins him. ]
At least you gave them the show that they paid for.
[ It's deadpan, and Wash shows no further sign of humour than making the comment. No real greeting, either, but he doubts Rinzler of all people cares at all about pleasantries. There's a time and a place for them, and this is not it. ]
Good to know that absences on the ship were noted.
[ That's an assumption. Seems like a reasonable one though, because if Rinzler had ended up in the outpost the same way he had, it seems doubtful that escape would have taken this long. And yet more doubtful that Wash himself would have been found.
Bullets continue to whizz overhead, and Wash ducks down just an inch further. Close-quarters combat without his armour is bad enough, but a full-out battle like this with far more opponents than there are allies? God, does he hate it. He feels so exposed and vulnerable. It won't stop him from fighting back, but it makes him uncomfortable enough that it's notable. ]
I actually started missing the Moira at one point. Didn't think that was possible.
[ There's a lull in fire--not likely to last long, but Wash still wants to take advantage of it. Peeking out over the cover of the pillar just high enough to peer through the scope on his rifle, he aims quickly and pulls the trigger. Once, twice, three times in the span of a brief moment, downing three foes before he crouches back down to safety. ]
no subject
Also the most flashy? Maybe.
He's careful to stay behind shelter himself as the enemy fire scores past just above; if Rinzler is confident in his ability to take on firearms that he can track, the current position is a lot less optimal. Especially without his disks. He settles for tossing a small package Wash's way instead: extra magazines for the rifle. If the user's handling all of their ranged attacks, he'd better be equipped to keep it up. He can thank Nihlus for teaching Rinzler about guns later.
The mask lingers a little at the commentary, though Rinzler doesn't seem to feel much need to respond. Of course the absences were noted. And Rinzler liked their system. Whatever Wash's feelings on the matter, this probably isn't the time to trade thoughts.
Especially with some of the guards closing on the new avenue down from the stands. Rinzler slides forward, keeping low, only to leverage himself up into the first row with a flip, blade impaling the nearest guard and flicking it ahead to block the second's shots. His helmet jerks towards Wash, then towards his own position as he ducks into a flurry of quick strikes. He can handle the guards here, and Wash is faring fine against the others now that he has a better position. But they'll circle the perimeter soon enough, and staying here to fight the whole system's security force is probably a bad plan.
Even if it would be entertaining.]
no subject
What does surprise him, though, is Rinzler dumping some extra magazines at his feet. Huh. He wouldn't have thought the program would have taken extra ammo into consideration. There's a nod of both acknowledgement and thanks before Rinzler moves off, and Wash shoves the mags into the pockets of his pants. Once again, he finds himself silently thanking the universe that he hasn't been one of those poor slaves kept around for their sex appeal. This would be more of a challenge in some of the outfits, or lack thereof, that he's seen some of them wearing.
Extra ammunition or not, they won't be able to hold this place. Well, they might be able to, but there's no point. Better to get the hell out while they have the opportunity. When Wash sees the jerks of the programs helmeted head, he nods again. Just a sign that he's seen and acknowledged. One problem with fighting alongside a mute ally: it makes strategizing in the moment more of a challenge. But they've made it work any time they've fought together thus far.
The ex-Freelancer starts trailing after Rinzler, though not without raising up from behind cover here and there to return fire. Sure, he could probably get by without shooting anyone, but at least shooting them not only lessens the number of people firing their way, it also makes him feel better. After far too many days of being trapped in this godforsaken place, being captured and literally sold, being beaten and forced into fights to the death for the entertainment of others, you could say he's got a pretty hefty grudge against anyone who spends their time in the outpost. So yeah, he's going to kill as many of them as he can on his way out. ]
I'm assuming you have somewhere we can fall back to?
[ The question comes as he reaches Rinzler's position, his gaze still on the ever-approaching guards behind them. While awaiting the program's response, Wash will just drop a few of them, only taking pause to reload. ]
no subject
A sword slices down to finish things. Then Rinzler turns to Wash. Shoulders twitch inward in a shrug. Sort of? The ship he'd come in on is a long walk off, and Rinzler wouldn't count anywhere on this station really secure. But he's scouted the area. And more importantly, perhaps, he knows the way out of here.
Apart from that? They're improvising.
A fact the program demonstrates as he slips ahead, starting up the stairs at a quick pace. They're into the stands properly now, which means less exposure to the guards who haven't charged into pursuit—and even those numbers are starting to wane. The ones that are present have had much more time to entrench, though.]
no subject
Whatever the answer is, Rinzler doesn't seem concerned, so there's got to be something closer to a positive answer in that shrug. Improvising, though. He can do that. It's become something of a speciality over the last couple of years.
Without a second though, Wash follows Rinzler to the stairs. He's lagging a bit, slower than he'd normally be, held back by various injuries--most notably his still broken rib and the leg that has now taken both a bullet and a knife this month--but he moves as quickly as he can, ignoring the pain where he can. Still, the sooner they get out of this place, the better.
He keeps his rifle up at chest level, occasionally firing burst shots at guards who have made pursuit and moved into the stands with them. Mostly, he works to keep their path clear, prevent any of the hostiles from getting too close where he can, though the occasional shot is sent in the direction of someone further off with a weapon pointed their way. Regardless of his efforts though, Wash does feel and hear bullets whizz by, again making him wish for his armour, but thankfully none make any impact. At least, not yet. ]
no subject
He minds it less than he'd expect.
Wash takes care of the long-range threats. Rinzler kills those that get closer. The enforcer moves with his usual fluid leaps and acrobatics, but as they push further up the stairs, he finds the motions tightening, staying closer to Wash. Scan-sense is enough in close quarters. It's easy to feel the guard crouched behind a seat in ambush. It's satisfying to flip past the obstacle in a close twist, blade in the user's throat before it can even bring its weaponry to bear. But Rinzler can't track all of the guards taking aim from across the chaos-filled arena, and more than once, visuals flick back at the echo of a shot to find a leveled gun dropping as its wielder falls.
There's a good deal more blood on both of them by the time they make it to the top, but as far as Rinzler can tell, it belongs to threats and threats alone. The exit is blocked by a steel security grate, and Rinzler pushes excess charge through both batons, charging them up a brilliant orange before slicing a neat opening through the metal.
He'll check to be sure Wash is just behind him, then duck through the gap and out.]
no subject
By the time they reach the top of the stairs, Wash is breathing on the heavier side. No new wounds, though. Thank god for that much. He gets a look at the blocked exit before his attention is back on the hostiles, and he's about to ask how they're supposed to get through that when Rinzler's actions answer the question for him. Taking out one more guard, his head whips around just in time to catch the makeshift exit being finished. You know what, he doesn't even have any questions about that, he is definitely right behind Rinzler and casts only a haphazard glance back around the arena before he slips through the hole as well. ]
If I'd known it would be this easy, I'd have done this days ago.
[ A dry quip as he steps to the other side, no big deal, he stands straight again with his gun at the ready just in case there are guards. None of them seem to have anticipated an escape this route given the grate, however. Not that it has the Freelancer's stance relaxing any. ]
Lead the way. I'll handle anything that decides to follow us.
[ Nodding Rinzler once more to point position, Wash remains ready to follow him, though he pauses to crouch slightly in order to send a few shots back through the gap behind them, eliminating a few of the guards closest on their tail. ]