Fantasy C O D E - I00

[DramaMyth]

L A N C E ​

Lance knew there'd be controversy, let alone a split in opinion and differences. If he was being honest, he would've probably had a mini heart attack if everyone unanimously decided in favor of one way or the other. It was their individuality that he cherished and needed. It would make all the difference in taking down the House, because while the Orc thought like a tactician, they would use the fact that they're human, the side of them that had been suppressed for so long. Vince seemed to be very silent on the matter, perhaps the old lad had reached the point where his true age into fatigue has hit him. Lance understood he probably needed some rest, but truthfully he wasn't sure if he was ready to call the shots. Lance was wise indeed, but young. He was terrified, just as much as everyone in the villa, but he had to do what he'd been used to doing back in his old life which was turning that fear into fire. Mila was scared, empathically so. She moved to the kitchen where Nick and Sofia were trying to use spirits to relax. Lance takes a deep sigh as he felt her pain, but had to emphasize what would happen if they stayed idle or worse, did the opposite and try to leave. As Kostya tended to Anne, and then Cree took the girl to rest up and recover, he had to also consider the mental aspect of trying to get off the island. Caretaking for each other repeatedly, upkeep in every way imaginable while also staying off the grid with a rag tag demographic. It was nigh impossible, even with Credence's gifts. Lance nodded at Kostya as he agreed with him, with Nick, Mila, and Landon opposing. Even as Nick screamed from the Kitchen, Lance paced back and forth, already prepped with a tactful response to anything thrown his way. He stopped Nick on his way to his makeshift room, a compassionate touch to his shoulder.

"Think about what I'm saying. Think about what you're trying to do. Compare the two. Which one seems like the most secure longevity wise? We run, we will always be running. For the next 80 years we will have no name, no face, no identity, no life. Or. We expose The House. There are better ways to fight them than physically or with these Gifts... but what I'm suggesting is that we start opening up to each other FULLY, let each other in with who we are, and what our Gifts are... and then we hone them, together. So that when, not if The Orc comes for us we'll not only be prepared, we'll be in sync. Kostya said it best... we don't keep our head in the sand, and we don't roll over. Think how disoriented they'll be if we come at them instead of away. If they are well resourced and supported, it can't be public or sanctioned if we were kept in a hole for years." Lance pulls back and walks around the room, speaking to everyone and no one. He looked at Sofia, someone who seemed to trust him. He was fond of her spirit, past just her good looks. After all, she was the first other face aside from his own that he'd rescued and seen during the Break. They were inherently connected. In any other real life case, he'd probably have tried to dissuade his peers from drinking, but as it stands, he was amazed at the miracle that he hadn't started after all they'd been through. He never had an interest to drink or smoke, he never needed it. "I feel like this is the best option. We managed to break out and shake them off a random occurrence, imagine what we'd do if we coordinated." Lance returns to the newspaper, with the eyes of the Centennial that the public surely thought was a hoax or nuisance at best, but where everyone focused on the eyes, Lance looked past the gaze and into his expression... the man was terrified, it almost looked like he was screaming in fear, not anger or to scare anyone. "We need more. We need us. We are not just experiments like Mila said. That's The House talking, reducing us to numbers and objective resources. Think about your home, your families, traits you picked up from them. Nights of laughs and hobbies... that's us, and every Centennial has it no matter how suppressed it's been. But we gotta start operating from a place of liberation, not incarceration."

Lance looks out the window to the lit barrios below. "It starts with us, and it'll end with us. I'd rather be on the end where we control the narrative and trajectory of our fates. So even though we're split on a decision now I'm sure we all can agree we need to get our Gifts under wraps right? So then let's do this: Tomorrow, early. We get up, we open up to each other about ourselves, then we show each other our gifts. And then we train, not eye of the tiger train, but baby steps. We get ahead of the chances we've been given. Together. Like it or not, we're all family now. Period."
​

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Elsewhere, Undisclosed.

The Orchestrator looks onward into a large room separated by two way glass, as a team of soldiers and scientists alike comb over the area of the underground facility, trying to find any microscopic trace or evidence of the inhabitants that once were there. The Centennials broke out, but not all of them had... something the escapees didn't know. The Orc looks into the glassed room, but it was pitch black. They knew what resided in the darkness, but none of the outside world, not even most inside The House were none the wiser of its contents. The scientist in charge of research had approached The Orc, a discerned look on his face. "So, we've managed to track one near the southern archipelago, he's made headlines. Another cluster of unusual activity about 45 miles north of there, they're scared, and they're disoriented. They'll expose themselves and the public will respond. That will be out beacon."

"And The Deca?" Orc asks without even a budge in posture. The scientist looks down with concern as his words were laced with uneasiness. "We haven't fou--" Suddenly The Orc sharply faces and turns towards the scientist, his words halting altogether as his throat is met with a precise and quick grasp from The Orc's surgical hands. "Need I remind you the consequences of exposure or failure? Get. Them. Back." The electronic voice thunders in his ear as the grip is relented and all the scientist could do in reactionary nerves was to simply nod and usher himself into the reaches of The House.

The Orc stood bold and breathing, looking into the darkness as Houseguard mobilized and swept up evidence and any sort of chaotic leftover of the escaped Centennials and their use of gifts and proof of existence at the facility.

Yet in the darkness down below, on the other side of the glass where the unknown dwelt. Breathing was returned back in a mighty husk. ​

 

[Kairon]

Landon listened to what Lance had to say. Apart of him wanted to go along with everything that Lance was saying. Them fighting this big, and evil organization that is trying to capture them. They liberating themselves. Them teaming up together, but to him, it all just sounded like something straight out of a novel. How could they, of all people, hope to fight this enormous organization by themselves. It would be nigh impossible for any normal person, but for them, people who have been put through so much trauma and pain, how could they even hope to fight against it. It was unrealistic. Though, deep inside, there was a voice telling him that Lance was right. That the only way for them to survive would be to fight back. Nonetheless, he continued to be steadfast in his thought process. "Think about your home, your families, traits you picked up from them. Nights of laughs and hobbies... that's us, and every Centennial has it no matter how suppressed it's been. But we gotta start operating from a place of liberation, not incarceration." Landon was caught off guard by this statement, it seemed that Lance assumed that they all had happy lives before The Home. Maybe Lance had a happy life before, but not Landon. His home was a small building that nobody lived in for years, his family was long gone from his life, and all of his nights were spent by himself, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to overtake him. He had never had any of those happy memories that Lance seemed to have.

Landon stood up from his chair, he spoke directly at Lance. "So, if I understand what you're saying, you want us to fight against this giant organization which has been able to capture every single one of us and not been caught. How do you propose we even begin to do that? Seriously, they have been able to avoid detection for who knows how long. The only way we were able to escape in the first place is because you caught them with their pants down, and even then you said that they let that happen for some larger plan. They have eyes and ears pretty much anywhere so no matter our move, they will always be twelve steps ahead of us. In all honesty, it sounds like such an insurmountable task that we might as well turn ourselves in right now." Landon stopped talking and took a calming breath. Anger was starting to seep into his words. He wasn't angry at Lance, but instead at the entire situation that they are in. "Look, all I'm saying I'm saying is that if we were to pursue this endeavor, you would at least need a plan because, as the famous Sun Tzu once wrote, 'every battle is won before it is fought.' Landon walked toward the table and grabbed some shampoo and conditioner, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be in the bathroom." Landon walked away from the group towards one of the many bathrooms inside the house, he couldn't wait to step inside the shower, he hadn't had a bath in about a week and he was, frankly, starting to reek.

Landon stepped inside the shower and turned on the faucet, letting the water run down his back. He could feel all of the dirt and grime from the past week run off of his body. The water was at the perfect temperature and if he wasn't in a shower, he probably could've fallen asleep right then and there. Not only was the water nice, but it was nice to finally, really, be by himself. He didn't get that much time alone to himself, and when he does, it usually never lasts long enough for him to relax. Now, he had as long as he wanted to be by himself, and he was going to take the opportunity. He felt all of his muscles relax. It seemed as if he had been tensed the entire time as if he was waiting for something that would take him back to The Home. The Home... it used to be so omnipresent in his life, 24/7 of tests. Now they were finally free. They finally have the chance to live. It's... Terrifying. As he's thinking this, he hears a knock on the door. It must be someone wanting into the shower. He yells that he is almost out, washes his hair, gets out, dries himself, puts on clothes and let's the person in.

Landon decided that instead of going back to the group he would instead head of to bed, it was getting late and he was pretty tired anyways and he knew that if he went back out, it would just tire him even more. Even in the large house, there still weren't enough rooms for everyone to have their own bed, and not wanting to share a bed with anyone, Landon relegates himself to the couch. Though it could be worse, he could have to sleep in a chair, or on the floor, so he didn't mind. He settled onto the couch and covered up with a thin blanket. He slowly tried to fall asleep. He didn't know how long it was before he fell asleep, but, eventually, he did.

Landon woke up. He was laying down on a bed, thick, leather straps restraining his arms. There was a bright overhead light, not unlike the ones you would see in a dentist's office. It also had that sort of sterile smell you would find in a hospital. Landon was in a long, flowing nightgown, again, not unlike the ones patients would where in hospitals. He looked around the room as best as he could, but couldn't see much because of the intensity of the light above him, though he can see that to the right of him is a metal table full of tools, though the tools weren't normal medical tools, they seemed more like tools that would be used for torture. A cold sweat ran down his forehead, there was something familiar about the place, though he couldn't quite place it, nonetheless, he felt the overwhelming urge to flee. He fought back against the restraints, pulling as hard as he could against them, though that only proceeded to rub against his skin and cut off circulation, he continued to struggle as much as he could, but his body was beginning to feel heavy, and after a few minutes of struggling, he was not even able to try to lift his arm. Suddenly, Landon heard the sound of a door opening. A silhouette walked towards him without a word and stood right in front of him."Whoooarrreeyooouu?" Landon's words were slurred, making anything he said barely comprehensible, though he couldn't figure out why. The Silhouette in front of him moved the light out from his face and after his vision had adjusted, The Orchestrator was standing right in front of him. without the light shining on his eyes, he could see that there was an IV bag connected to his arm to left of him. Terror overtook him at the thought of being back at The Home, and it seemed as if The Orchestrator came to test him himself. The Orchestrator's laugh rang out, beginning from a small chuckle to a full, loud, laugh that seemed to come from everywhere. It filled Landon with terror and scared him to his core, and then he woke up. Landon woke up from the nightmare in a cold sweat. I looked around, disoriented and then relaxed when he realized he was back on the couch in the mansion.​

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

It was too hot to sleep, and when the sky began to lighten Kostya gave up on trying. Who decided living somewhere where the air was soupy was a good idea? he wondered, padding into the kitchen quietly, fully dressed but barefoot, trying not to wake the others. He boiled water and started brewing several tea bags into zavarka in a mug covered by a plate, since Puerto Rico was in a coffee country and the house didn't have a proper teapot, and he thought.

Landon was right about one thing. They needed a plan, and they needed more information than a photograph in a newspaper none of them could read. They needed to know the town, and the locals. The language would help. He knew French, he could probably learn enough Spanish to muddle through a conversation.

Kostya rifled through the kitchen and started making blini. He might not be able to turn himself invisible, but he was fairly sure he was the one best suited to getting the information they needed. That was a craft, not a superpower. He'd been taught it, and teaching it to someone else would take longer than they had. And he was so very, very bored, hiding in the empty little house. The dacha. He grinned at his own joke and let thoughts of plans and conspiracies go as he focused on not burning the thin pancakes.

He left a stack of them on the counter, for when the others woke, and sat at the rather wobbly table with his own plate of blini and strawberry jam, and a cup of tea, and the newspaper Lance had brought, flipping through it in hopes that something else useful might jump out, even if he could only hazard guesses at a handful of words. He took a sip of undoctored tea, made a face, and stirred a spoonful of jam into it as well.

Think of the Orchestrator as a boss, think of his team as a crew. They had a big facility; they were involved in human trafficking. Internationally, even. Which meant they had government connections. Which meant someone, somewhere, knew something. They just had to find out who, and then apply pressure. They could do this. The others just might not like the time it would take, but no one could build opportunity in a day. They'd have to learn patience. Kostya wanted to go home as badly as the rest of them, but how? How could he lead the Orchestrator back home? How could he put Ivan and the bratva at risk? He would stay, in the heat and the homesickness, and keep his family safe.

And when the Orchestrator and his organization were dead, he could go home.

Kostya turned his forkful of strawberry jam and blin on his fork and mused aloud, "Мне понадобится нож." (I will need a knife./Mne ponadobitsya nozh.)

 

[Jaellagirl]

The ray of light shining strait into the girls eye broke the darkness of her dream. It was a welcome but brutal way to be woken. She opened her eyes in swiftly and found herself still afloat. This has not happened before. The sensation of being this weightless was overwhelming and uplifting. only now she noticed that she was not alone the blind one was also there. Why was she here? Well now was certainly not the time to wake her. All her concentration was gathered to lower them both back onto the bed. It was hard and every cm took like an eternity. Last 10 cm (about 4 inches) she flipped off the bed and the woman fell into the bed. The girl gave a quick look back before she sneaked out of the room and closed the door.

She leaned slowly against it and slided down to the floor. Now what? Probably the whole house was still sleeping. It was too early to any sane person to be awake. As she could hear some clinging it the kitchen. The girl was not sure if it was a bad people searching or someone making themselves breakfast. Now was the time to make sure everyone was safe. She was one of the Useless Ones, those of us who can't control their "gift" nor would it be much use in general. To go unarmed would be a dumb decision so all she had to do was to find that knife she used yesterday. The girl is not stupid after all. She hid it but now she cold not remember where exactly. It took her a bit of time to find but she did. The person in the kitchen had silenced down a bit but not much. She started to make way step by step towards the kitchen.

"Just like training. Just like training. Just like training"

It had been long time since she had been in the woods with all the others. War games, spy games, intelligence games, survival it was all part of a much happier and simpler time. It was one of the only memories she could remember. Others were just lost in the mess of a brain she had. Well now she had a perfect time to put it at use. She silently walked through the house until she reached the kitchen. Just one more step and the truth would be revealed but the faith had a different sense of humour as Kostya made his presents know by musing.

He seemed to be too focused on his blins to notice her enter the kitchen. The knife hit the table in quite the force causing the sound to echo in the house.

"Вот тебе нож. Держите это хорошо и острый. Это единственный здесь." (Here's a knife for you. Keep it well and sharp. It's the only one here.)​

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Kostya hadn't heard Anna's approach, and he started at the knife clattering on the table.

Sloppy, he chided.

"Ты чудо, Αннушка," he said, picking it up and twirling it in his hands to inspect it. It was a utility knife, he thought, and not quite what he'd had in mind, but certainly serviceable. "Как вы себя чувствуете? Хотите завтрак?" He didn't wait for an answer before getting up and going to make her her own plate, folding the knife and slipping it into his pocket. He paused to tuck some of her hair behind her ear as he went. "Ты пьешь чай?" (You're a wonder, Αnnuška. How are you feeling? Would you like breakfast? Do you drink tea?)