Zedalith
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Futuristic 𝓝𝓮𝔀 𝓛𝓲𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓽𝔂
- Thread starter Zedalith
- Start date
Zedalith
#-#
DIRECTOR VINCENT
Campaigning Governor
Clockwork_Magic
*Gears turning*
Isabelle Sibylle
Security Detail Member
Interactions: None
Actions: Patrolling, Observing the surroundings
Amongst all the conversations and music in the Civic Center patrolled a woman with flowing brown hair, a member of the security detail for the venue's event. Her matching brown eyes scanned the venue, taking note of her surroundings. The decadence of the building was so on display it was almost sickening. Under any normal circumstances, the young woman would never have set foot in such a place, if not for the fact that she'd been hired to be there, but not by the Directorate as part of their security team, though she did wear the uniform and carry the gear. Oh no, she'd rather die than work for a bunch of indulgent, brutish hypocrites. On the contrary, she'd like nothing more than to bring this entire sham of a "charity event" down and luckily that's precisely what she's getting paid to help do.
The woman's name is Isabelle Sibylle, however her presence that night was anything but normal, not because of her demeanor or behaviors but because the woman known as "Isabelle Sibylle" didn't exist anywhere except in the system. And what lousy security did that system have. It wasn't that hard to add a couple of fake names onto the security and guest roster without anyone the wiser. Directorate system technicians really need to step up their game, give me a challenge for once!
Kyoko's disgust for this entire event was only amplified once the Governor himself showed up. Throughout his speech, she could feel the tension in her temples rise as bile continued to flow out through that man's mouth. Oh that's fucking rich coming from a hunch of murderers. As much as she wanted to yell that out loud, she wasn't stupid enough to sentence herself to death like that. Instead, she kept it to herself, adding it to the festering heap of hatred she had against the Directorate. Now was not the time to let those feelings out for she had a job to do, and right now that was to play lapdog to the Directorate.
"Isabelle" continued her rounds, continuing to scan the venue looking for potential places to jack into the building's system when another guard, an older man of superior status, approached her. "Sibylle, status report." She stood at attention as the other guard addressed her. "Yes sir. Nothing unusual so far." "Good, we don't want any terrorists lurking about tonight. See anything, you call in. That 'Golden Xeno' should be here soon, keep your eyes peeled." "Yes sir." Kyoko remained at attention as the superior officer walked away, observing him as he went on before she went on her rounds again.
It was still too early to start disrupting the events, so for the time being Kyoko continued to play the role of an obedient and loyal guard on patrol, biding her time until the time was right. Hopefully, that'd happen soon and the less time she'd have to suck up to Directorate.
shadowz1995
Amoeba of Wisdom
Hathom Long
Under no circumstances could anything go awry tonight.
Far too many eyes were watching the event and all were practically salivating at the chance for even the hint of an idea of drama unfolding. Even if it was the biggest line of bullshit the tabloids had ever published, something that got clicks was always better than nothing at all. True or not.
'Fucking vultures...'
'Now, now L.T. You know we have to be more conscious and emotionally sensitive than that. They are called "Reporters" or "Paparazzi". Vultures is a horrid slur to call them. Despite how true it may be.'
'Eat my ass, Condor'
Chuckling from various sources erupted over the neuro-comms. Hathom and his former squad mates always found a way to make light of even the grimmest situations and this night was no exception. A lot was riding on the success of this night. Not just for the big wigs in attendance but also New Liberty at large.
'I guess it makes sense for our resident scavenger to defend the other scavenger birds.'
Now, it was the lieutenant's turn to join in the chorus of amusement. His outward expression betraying the banter only by way of a small smirk hidden by his bearded, salt-and-pepper visage.
'Alright, alright. Cut the chatter. The VIPs are arriving. Make sure your PIDs are active. I'm running another systems check. Remember stay in formation. Overlapping patrol routes, eyes and ears on each other at all times. No blind spots. We do this shit proper and we won't have any paperwork after. Drinks will be on me.'
'Solid copy, L.T.' The responses echoed.
The veteran cut the line and glanced down at to triple check his appearance. A custom tailored 3-piece suit of black with gold accents. A subtle shift in his body weight caused the familiar pressure of his side arm to rub against his left flank. It hung tight and snug in a shoulder holster, easily accessible for a cross arm draw in a moment's notice. It was concealed underneath the suit jacket while 2 spare magazines were stowed in his gun Belt, also hidden by the suit.
The former soldier's eyes shimmered gold as his logistics system activated. For the 20th time tonight, the military officer went over the security systems.
'PID system active. Motion sensors functional. Surveillance systems operational. Ventilation IR grids green. Internal security personnel all accounted for. Snipers in position. Communications are fully encrypted. Cyber system firewalls fully operational. Auxiliary systems prepped and ready to launch.'
He then took a deep breath and nodded to himself. If it was up Hathom, he would forgo the whole "formal" wear and have the security detail in full combat gear but the situation didn't allow for such appearances. After all, this was a PR move first and political move second. The directorate wanted to placate the masses and make themselves seem guilt free of the recent xeno attacks. Wouldn't do any good to be implicated of the individual crimes of the "rabble".
Typical tactics. Hathom was far from a young, impressionable person and had seen far more of the shades of morality that humanity had to offer than most. It was in moments like this that he was thankful to have been born into Long family. They were on good terms with the New Liberty Directorate but did not answer to them like many of the other influential families did. Sure, the Longs had to follow the laws of the land like everyone else did but the sway the directorate had over the populace did not affect them like it did others.
The gold glow slowly faded as Hathom finished his system check and he lifted a hand to his left ear, activating the communications device the other security personal were using. Only his own soldiers that had the private neuro-comms implemented into their hardware, after all.
"All systems are green, Vector." The middle aged man reported in. Director Vincent's private security detail. "We'll keep you posted in regular 10 minute intervals. I'm buying drinks for everyone later if you are allowed some leave once the night is over."
With a sigh, Hathom rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers for the most dreaded part of the night.
Interaction with high society.
He approached the door to the VIP lounge and laid both hands on either door. His eyes flashed gold again for a moment as his neuro-communications connected with his latest addition to his ever growing band of elite outcasts.
'Zatara, you've got the most experience when it comes to infiltration and assassination. I know escort and guard duty is still new to you but you know best what signs to look for. That's why you're placed closest to the VIPs besides me. We've taken all the precautions you've recommended. Let me know of anything that is cause for suspicion. Even if it's only fleeting.'
The doors then swung open as the ex-soldier made his way in. He didn't wear a smile nor mask of pleasantly while he strode in and took his place among the nobility. A no nonsense, stern grimace of stone that the Longs were well known for. He took a seat at his assigned table and immediately turned his body to visually sweep the room one more time before grabbing a flute of champagne and giving a firm nod of acknowledgement to his table mates.
Zedalith
slim
Under no circumstances could anything go awry tonight.
Far too many eyes were watching the event and all were practically salivating at the chance for even the hint of an idea of drama unfolding. Even if it was the biggest line of bullshit the tabloids had ever published, something that got clicks was always better than nothing at all. True or not.
'Fucking vultures...'
'Now, now L.T. You know we have to be more conscious and emotionally sensitive than that. They are called "Reporters" or "Paparazzi". Vultures is a horrid slur to call them. Despite how true it may be.'
'Eat my ass, Condor'
Chuckling from various sources erupted over the neuro-comms. Hathom and his former squad mates always found a way to make light of even the grimmest situations and this night was no exception. A lot was riding on the success of this night. Not just for the big wigs in attendance but also New Liberty at large.
'I guess it makes sense for our resident scavenger to defend the other scavenger birds.'
Now, it was the lieutenant's turn to join in the chorus of amusement. His outward expression betraying the banter only by way of a small smirk hidden by his bearded, salt-and-pepper visage.
'Alright, alright. Cut the chatter. The VIPs are arriving. Make sure your PIDs are active. I'm running another systems check. Remember stay in formation. Overlapping patrol routes, eyes and ears on each other at all times. No blind spots. We do this shit proper and we won't have any paperwork after. Drinks will be on me.'
'Solid copy, L.T.' The responses echoed.
The veteran cut the line and glanced down at to triple check his appearance. A custom tailored 3-piece suit of black with gold accents. A subtle shift in his body weight caused the familiar pressure of his side arm to rub against his left flank. It hung tight and snug in a shoulder holster, easily accessible for a cross arm draw in a moment's notice. It was concealed underneath the suit jacket while 2 spare magazines were stowed in his gun Belt, also hidden by the suit.
The former soldier's eyes shimmered gold as his logistics system activated. For the 20th time tonight, the military officer went over the security systems.
'PID system active. Motion sensors functional. Surveillance systems operational. Ventilation IR grids green. Internal security personnel all accounted for. Snipers in position. Communications are fully encrypted. Cyber system firewalls fully operational. Auxiliary systems prepped and ready to launch.'
He then took a deep breath and nodded to himself. If it was up Hathom, he would forgo the whole "formal" wear and have the security detail in full combat gear but the situation didn't allow for such appearances. After all, this was a PR move first and political move second. The directorate wanted to placate the masses and make themselves seem guilt free of the recent xeno attacks. Wouldn't do any good to be implicated of the individual crimes of the "rabble".
Typical tactics. Hathom was far from a young, impressionable person and had seen far more of the shades of morality that humanity had to offer than most. It was in moments like this that he was thankful to have been born into Long family. They were on good terms with the New Liberty Directorate but did not answer to them like many of the other influential families did. Sure, the Longs had to follow the laws of the land like everyone else did but the sway the directorate had over the populace did not affect them like it did others.
The gold glow slowly faded as Hathom finished his system check and he lifted a hand to his left ear, activating the communications device the other security personal were using. Only his own soldiers that had the private neuro-comms implemented into their hardware, after all.
"All systems are green, Vector." The middle aged man reported in. Director Vincent's private security detail. "We'll keep you posted in regular 10 minute intervals. I'm buying drinks for everyone later if you are allowed some leave once the night is over."
With a sigh, Hathom rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers for the most dreaded part of the night.
Interaction with high society.
He approached the door to the VIP lounge and laid both hands on either door. His eyes flashed gold again for a moment as his neuro-communications connected with his latest addition to his ever growing band of elite outcasts.
'Zatara, you've got the most experience when it comes to infiltration and assassination. I know escort and guard duty is still new to you but you know best what signs to look for. That's why you're placed closest to the VIPs besides me. We've taken all the precautions you've recommended. Let me know of anything that is cause for suspicion. Even if it's only fleeting.'
The doors then swung open as the ex-soldier made his way in. He didn't wear a smile nor mask of pleasantly while he strode in and took his place among the nobility. A no nonsense, stern grimace of stone that the Longs were well known for. He took a seat at his assigned table and immediately turned his body to visually sweep the room one more time before grabbing a flute of champagne and giving a firm nod of acknowledgement to his table mates.
Zedalith
slim
zlexis
I Just Think They're Neat
Legend Saunders
Code by Serobliss
•
Location: His apartment | Directorate Civic Center
•
•
Interactions: N/A
•
Mood: hesitant
•
Dion
Salt on the glass, coke on the knife…
His apartment: a nuanced, meager living space. Nothing extravagant. One would stand up from the mattress, a thick pad of bedding lacking a bedframe, and find themselves in the kitchen. Devoid of any defining features besides empty bottles and the tools for his body, small instruments scattered upon the table. His home for the past fifteen years. Even the specks of dust remained unchanged. As the night came, the neon glow of New Liberty streamed through the window and over the machine; he sat at the kitchen island, drink in one mechanical hand and a tablet in the other, a recent article from New Liberty Press on the screen. Nothing new, nothing shocking. The city became more predictable by the day. The machine sighed, powered down the tablet, and took another swig.
The liquor settled in his stomach alongside the bad feeling about tonight. A charity event for those affected by xenogenic violence, and he was to be security. However, the paycheck and Helix’s covert intentions were too lucrative to pass up. A simple objective on both accounts, though Helix demanded of him a task more intensive than the former: mingle with the guests, observe the event, discover any conspiracies, and report back. The better the info, the better the compensation, as the organization wished to expand its reach and control of the city. Dig roots deep down and suck out any semblance of life New Liberty had left. Unfortunately, the mercenary was but a symptom of something far more unsettling.
A blip popped up in the corner of his vision. An image of the time that only he could visualize intertwined from his eyes to his brain. All of it connected with wires, metal, and mechanisms. As the reminder faded, he stood like an engine switching to life.
“Time to go.”
—
The chatter of animated conversations filled the air. Dion had arrived before the guests and studied all points of entry, floor plans, and guest profiles. An eclectic bunch, of which he could have been more eager to intermingle. His uniform was fitting, sleek, and almost seemed to meld into his metal. He could have seamlessly blended in with the crowd, though he would not be partaking in the revel tonight. Stationed where people had gathered the most, electric blue eyes scanned the public, a silent sentry on watch.
Heads turned as the director began his speech, his assured voice demanding attention. As he wrapped up, Dion gave a polite clap, if only to maintain appearances. In actuality, he was not concerned about the affairs of the Directorate or the xenogenics. However, he had a job to do, hence the politeness. Eyes continued to scan like a camera changing its focal length, zooming in on various audience members' faces, examining their features.
One thing caught his attention. A subtle glare. Squared shoulders. A twinge in her features. A fellow guard showed visible signs of disgust, an inconspicuous emotion to the naked eye, but easily parsed with his cybernetics. He watched her leave, continuing her rounds, chestnut hair flowing in her wake. He archived the information for later and concluded it wasn’t enough to monitor the guests; the guards also needed to be scrutinized. The bad feeling returned. Dion desperately needed a drink.
For now, he would bide his time, a weapon collecting dust on the shelf. Then, as more guests arrived, he would gather the intel he needed, finish his report, and send it to Helix. The concealed weapons and mechanisms in his limbs waited with bated breath as if his entire body anticipated the sound of the gun.
Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
ＧＥＮＥＳＩＳ ＯＬＩＫＴＯＲＯ
location: directorate civic center ; VIP room
mood: seething
tags:
Zedalith
An explosion of flickering lights like dozens of scorching stars heralded the arrival of an ivory shelled limousine, its tinted windows a stark contrast—and fortunate shield—to the blazing brightness that awaited. Beyond the jet-black windows, in the dim light and muffled silence, Genesis savored the final vestiges of peace she knows won’t be leaving the car with her.
The weight of her shackles felt outstandingly damning this evening; hooked to anvils to eliminate the mere concept of escaping. Her ribs were iron bars fraught with tension seizing her own lungs as captives rather than essential operations. Genesis couldn’t recall the last breath she’d taken of her own volition.
Beside her, Henrik was bouncing his leg like a quivering chihuahua holding more piss than its little bladder could carry. The screen of his phone highlighted the beads of sweat against his temple, which he promptly dabbed away with a silk handkerchief. His biggest fear had come to life: a secret that was not his own had been discovered. Now he’d happily play the role of a shit stain on the bottom of some pompous directorate’s shoe to stay in his good graces.
“Alright. Wings up, Seraphina.” Henrik finishes collecting himself, seeming satisfied with whatever he’d been poring over his phone and tucking it into his pocket. “And try to smile this time." Genesis—Seraphina—dared to delay for a meager, rebellious second.
The car door opens to a cacophonous wave of clicks and hisses and excitable voices all melting together into an amorphous, indistinguishable language. The quiet haven of the car turned into an unmemorable dream. Genesis elegantly slides out of the car in a smooth, practiced motion. As her back straightens, two feathery golden holographic wings burst from her back. She wished they could take her to the skies.
They entered the venue, its opulence and dedication to detail evident as much as Genesis did not want to commend it. Each smile or amicable look was the perfect mask of sincerity, nothing but a hollow space beneath it. Henrik was moving steadily but with haste.
A little eager to shove your nose up Vincent’s ass, huh? The words hung at the edge of her tongue where they faded. Though she had managed to amuse herself just a little.
Genesis’ private self-congratulatory party is abruptly stopped as she is bumped into by a distracted passerby. There’s a quiet gasp of horror as the person’s drink nearly teeters out of their grasp, but they manage to catch it just in time.
“I-I’m so sorry! I should have been—”
“It’s fine.” Genesis blinks, staring doe-eyed at the stranger fleetingly before Henrik rushes between them with a loud, painfully fabricated laugh.
“Had a little too much to drink already?” He says wryly, Genesis swears she sees a vein bulging against the side of his neck. After more brief apologies and reassurances, Henrik takes Genesis’ arm with a deceptively gentle grip. “Get your head out of your ass and start moving.” He hisses into her ear with a sickeningly sweet smile and applied pressure to her arm. She returns the smile and follows closely next to him.
The doors to the VIP lounge are opened for them. Henrik fussily straightens his tie as he enters, a giant simpering grin on his face upon seeing Vincent.
“Director! This is truly a beautiful event you’ve organized here. It is an honor to have Seraphina perform and show support for you cause.” His eyes nervously flicker over each unfamiliar face in the room, perhaps wondering who knew of Genesis’ secret. Or perhaps wondering who would kill him first at Vincent’s behest should he step out of line.
Genesis, for the most part, looked disinterested.
location: directorate civic center ; VIP room
mood: seething
tags:
Zedalith
An explosion of flickering lights like dozens of scorching stars heralded the arrival of an ivory shelled limousine, its tinted windows a stark contrast—and fortunate shield—to the blazing brightness that awaited. Beyond the jet-black windows, in the dim light and muffled silence, Genesis savored the final vestiges of peace she knows won’t be leaving the car with her.
The weight of her shackles felt outstandingly damning this evening; hooked to anvils to eliminate the mere concept of escaping. Her ribs were iron bars fraught with tension seizing her own lungs as captives rather than essential operations. Genesis couldn’t recall the last breath she’d taken of her own volition.
Beside her, Henrik was bouncing his leg like a quivering chihuahua holding more piss than its little bladder could carry. The screen of his phone highlighted the beads of sweat against his temple, which he promptly dabbed away with a silk handkerchief. His biggest fear had come to life: a secret that was not his own had been discovered. Now he’d happily play the role of a shit stain on the bottom of some pompous directorate’s shoe to stay in his good graces.
“Alright. Wings up, Seraphina.” Henrik finishes collecting himself, seeming satisfied with whatever he’d been poring over his phone and tucking it into his pocket. “And try to smile this time." Genesis—Seraphina—dared to delay for a meager, rebellious second.
The car door opens to a cacophonous wave of clicks and hisses and excitable voices all melting together into an amorphous, indistinguishable language. The quiet haven of the car turned into an unmemorable dream. Genesis elegantly slides out of the car in a smooth, practiced motion. As her back straightens, two feathery golden holographic wings burst from her back. She wished they could take her to the skies.
They entered the venue, its opulence and dedication to detail evident as much as Genesis did not want to commend it. Each smile or amicable look was the perfect mask of sincerity, nothing but a hollow space beneath it. Henrik was moving steadily but with haste.
A little eager to shove your nose up Vincent’s ass, huh? The words hung at the edge of her tongue where they faded. Though she had managed to amuse herself just a little.
Genesis’ private self-congratulatory party is abruptly stopped as she is bumped into by a distracted passerby. There’s a quiet gasp of horror as the person’s drink nearly teeters out of their grasp, but they manage to catch it just in time.
“I-I’m so sorry! I should have been—”
“It’s fine.” Genesis blinks, staring doe-eyed at the stranger fleetingly before Henrik rushes between them with a loud, painfully fabricated laugh.
“Had a little too much to drink already?” He says wryly, Genesis swears she sees a vein bulging against the side of his neck. After more brief apologies and reassurances, Henrik takes Genesis’ arm with a deceptively gentle grip. “Get your head out of your ass and start moving.” He hisses into her ear with a sickeningly sweet smile and applied pressure to her arm. She returns the smile and follows closely next to him.
The doors to the VIP lounge are opened for them. Henrik fussily straightens his tie as he enters, a giant simpering grin on his face upon seeing Vincent.
“Director! This is truly a beautiful event you’ve organized here. It is an honor to have Seraphina perform and show support for you cause.” His eyes nervously flicker over each unfamiliar face in the room, perhaps wondering who knew of Genesis’ secret. Or perhaps wondering who would kill him first at Vincent’s behest should he step out of line.
Genesis, for the most part, looked disinterested.
CaptainSully
🤘🏻Master of Puppets🤘🏻
♡coded by uxie♡
TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Beyond the Red Gate
ELENA GRAHAM
Mood: Brooding
Location: Directorate Civic Center, VIP Bar
Mentions:
Klown
CaptainSully
Eteri
Elena barely held in the urge to down an entire bottle when Vincent dove into the safety of the VIP lounge. Filtering through all the familiar corpo-speak was trivial; ‘fuck Xenos, vote for me so I can kill them all’.
Boring shit. At least her drinking buddy would show up tonight, in all her resplendent golden glory. Maybe if she finished quick enough, they could slip away for a few drinks and a chat.
Tilting her head, she watched the bartender serve her champagne, a splash of red into clear glass. Shadows at the edges of her visions danced, before disappearing.
Bodyguards. Without a doubt, they’d been forewarned by her brother to make sure she didn’t make a fool of herself. Today was an important day for the company; her father and brother would use this event to forge a connection and help Vincent build upon the foundations of his campaign.
They made themselves scarce, but her package was at least enough to pick them out in their positions around the little bar. Four in total, all mingling with the guests, but alert. All it would take was a pull a bit too long from the bottle and one of them would step up. Maybe even slip a jab with the purgants. They couldn’t allow her to indulge in her vice. Too much, anyway. There wasn’t anyone in the upper crust of the company who didn’t know about her extensive collection of alcoholic beverages.
Really, she was tempted. Very tempted. The little bastards were enjoying themselves a little too much for her liking. Eyes alight, taking in the views before them. This wasn’t their first event, but it certainly was the biggest. An event hosted by a Directorate member was something far larger, far more grandiose than anything the company could pull together.
Glorified mutts, barking and begging for scraps from their master. Each and every one of them. The moment they had it easy, they became complacent. They would bend down and lick her father’s shoes clean if he’d offered them a sum of money. Ambition? Flickers that faded into the accursed midnight winds as soon as they climbed enough. Like ghosts, anchored to reality by nothing more than their intimacy with the material. Empty.
And here, in this den of vice and sin, that was the only company she had. Ghosts.
She eyed the drink in her glass. Wouldn’t take a second for her to down the whole thing, really. A bottle could disappear if she really wanted. There were too many eyes on her, and the last thing she wanted was to be dragged out of the venue and getting a verbal lashing for the seventh time this week.
Miraculous, really. Granted, it was because most of the week was spent staring at the ceiling or in the blissful realm of Nod, away from things like corporate meetings and the bleating of the sheep her father had corralled.
Elena pushed it away. That familiar coil of self-loathing burning a hole in her stomach made it unpalatable.
Change. It was unfamiliar. Strange. But she’d noticed even in the haze of alcoholic stupors and highs., regardless. Less pulls of the bottle. Less drugs. Less women sharing her bed. More empty staring, rumination, hatred-jealousy-sadness. A vicious feedback loop, spreading like fire under her skin that threatened to consume her.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
Elena sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. She cast her gaze around her. Not many people at the VIP bar. There was a harried looking barman, looking for all the world that he’d shit his pants, grabbing some rum from his fellow bartender with barely a thank you before he raced towards the regular bar. Craning her neck, Elena spotted a particularly scruffy man seething at the other bar that the bartender offered it to; he;d swiped it from his hands and took a long drink.
She raised an eyebrow, but looked away. Probably a chrome hound; some people really didn’t care much for their appearances. Only that they got the job done.
A head of white, meandering off somewhere. Silver? Sylvie? It was that model that she’d seen. The manlet with height issues, always adjusting how tall he was like some kind of vertically challenged gnome. People really couldn’t be satisfied with how they were today, and with cybernetics…
Let’s not go there. You’re not satisfied either.
Tapping her fingers against the table, Elena wondered just how long the night would drag on for.
Mood: Brooding
Location: Directorate Civic Center, VIP Bar
Mentions:
Klown
CaptainSully
Eteri
Elena barely held in the urge to down an entire bottle when Vincent dove into the safety of the VIP lounge. Filtering through all the familiar corpo-speak was trivial; ‘fuck Xenos, vote for me so I can kill them all’.
Boring shit. At least her drinking buddy would show up tonight, in all her resplendent golden glory. Maybe if she finished quick enough, they could slip away for a few drinks and a chat.
Tilting her head, she watched the bartender serve her champagne, a splash of red into clear glass. Shadows at the edges of her visions danced, before disappearing.
Bodyguards. Without a doubt, they’d been forewarned by her brother to make sure she didn’t make a fool of herself. Today was an important day for the company; her father and brother would use this event to forge a connection and help Vincent build upon the foundations of his campaign.
They made themselves scarce, but her package was at least enough to pick them out in their positions around the little bar. Four in total, all mingling with the guests, but alert. All it would take was a pull a bit too long from the bottle and one of them would step up. Maybe even slip a jab with the purgants. They couldn’t allow her to indulge in her vice. Too much, anyway. There wasn’t anyone in the upper crust of the company who didn’t know about her extensive collection of alcoholic beverages.
Really, she was tempted. Very tempted. The little bastards were enjoying themselves a little too much for her liking. Eyes alight, taking in the views before them. This wasn’t their first event, but it certainly was the biggest. An event hosted by a Directorate member was something far larger, far more grandiose than anything the company could pull together.
Glorified mutts, barking and begging for scraps from their master. Each and every one of them. The moment they had it easy, they became complacent. They would bend down and lick her father’s shoes clean if he’d offered them a sum of money. Ambition? Flickers that faded into the accursed midnight winds as soon as they climbed enough. Like ghosts, anchored to reality by nothing more than their intimacy with the material. Empty.
And here, in this den of vice and sin, that was the only company she had. Ghosts.
She eyed the drink in her glass. Wouldn’t take a second for her to down the whole thing, really. A bottle could disappear if she really wanted. There were too many eyes on her, and the last thing she wanted was to be dragged out of the venue and getting a verbal lashing for the seventh time this week.
Miraculous, really. Granted, it was because most of the week was spent staring at the ceiling or in the blissful realm of Nod, away from things like corporate meetings and the bleating of the sheep her father had corralled.
Elena pushed it away. That familiar coil of self-loathing burning a hole in her stomach made it unpalatable.
Change. It was unfamiliar. Strange. But she’d noticed even in the haze of alcoholic stupors and highs., regardless. Less pulls of the bottle. Less drugs. Less women sharing her bed. More empty staring, rumination, hatred-jealousy-sadness. A vicious feedback loop, spreading like fire under her skin that threatened to consume her.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
Elena sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. She cast her gaze around her. Not many people at the VIP bar. There was a harried looking barman, looking for all the world that he’d shit his pants, grabbing some rum from his fellow bartender with barely a thank you before he raced towards the regular bar. Craning her neck, Elena spotted a particularly scruffy man seething at the other bar that the bartender offered it to; he;d swiped it from his hands and took a long drink.
She raised an eyebrow, but looked away. Probably a chrome hound; some people really didn’t care much for their appearances. Only that they got the job done.
A head of white, meandering off somewhere. Silver? Sylvie? It was that model that she’d seen. The manlet with height issues, always adjusting how tall he was like some kind of vertically challenged gnome. People really couldn’t be satisfied with how they were today, and with cybernetics…
Let’s not go there. You’re not satisfied either.
Tapping her fingers against the table, Elena wondered just how long the night would drag on for.
Alisutte
An irrigation system?
Chairman Amhson
Location: Civic Center
A flying object slowly glided through the skyline, invisible to all except Directorate's own surveillance devices. It landed on top of the civic center without notice and the chairman of the Directorate's board stepped out of the vehicle and went in the building. He arrived in the venue through an elevator and made his way to give a quick speech to the attendees.
"A quick word from our chairman."
"The Directorate is always working to ensure the safety of all New Liberty citizens. With the crime at unprecedented highs, please be assured that numerous plans are in the process of being rolled out to free New Liberty of it's clutches. I commend Director Vincent for his initiative and care. The Directorate will always have the best interests and safety of all it's citizens in mind and ensure that the issue of violent crime related to Xenogenics or others is dealt with in a satisfactory fashion."
Wrapping up, he mingled with the company present in discussions on various related topics.
Zedalith
#-#
DIRECTOR VINCENT
Campaigning Governor
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Zedalith
#-#
Tashi Dolma
Daybreak
Nogoodname
Did nothing wrong
Sylvia Valentine
Mood: Energetic
Location: Directorate Civic Center
Interactions: none
The rapid flash of cameras assaulted the journalist's eyes with each new arrival, rolling into the celebration in their luxorious limousines and designer cars, wading through the parted waves of paparazzi and fans alike in order to make it onto the venue. Sylvia flashed a small grin, watching her fellow journalists wielding cameras and climbing over one another, desperately trying to get a proper shot for tomorrow's paper.
It was an entertaining scene to watch from the sidelines, though deep down Sylvia could understand their plight better than most. A good picture that makes your story pop is a necessity in this day and age, that thumbnail might be the only thing that differentiates your article from the next when someone's scrolling through their tablet, and it might just win you the click if you're good enough. And what better image for your article than a couple of celebrities rolling fresh off the red carpet? News sites pay big bucks for a shot like that, it was the kind of thing Sylvia tended to think about as she chowed down on cheap ramen and cold pizza for the twelfth night in a row. It'd be so easy to just abandon her morals and get real scummy, catch a celebrity in a heated argument or having a wardrobe malfunction and make off with rent for a year.
Luckily, Sylvia didn't have to worry about that tonight. And if things played out the way she'd hoped, then this might just be the story that launches her career into the stratosphere, if things played out, which was a fairly major if. All she was going off of was a small tip from an anonymous source, not the most reliable thing in the world, but they'd been right before, and she couldn't let their story go unexplored.
That's how Sylvia had found herself at the event tonight, getting the OK from her manager under the guise of some down to earth puff piece, interviewing the common folk at the celebration, talking about what this sort of charity means to them. The kind of thing the New Liberty Press puts out by the dozen.
But Sylvia had no intentions of following through with that, instead her goal was to get info on the director himself, the man, myth and legend, Director Vincent. She knew he'd be here, he was a hard man to find, but he always showed up at events like this to make an appearance and placate the masses. All Sylvia needed was an in, a way to talk to the man, or at least root through his electronics, and to do that she'd need to get into the VIP area proper, which definitely wasn't a luxary afforded to her by her meager press pass. She'd find a way in though, just had to use her head. Instead for the time being she took to the bar, ordering a drink and getting into a bit of eavesdropping, a skill that Sylvia excelled at thanks to her PANOPTIC audial implants, allowing her to hone in on a specific conversation from afar and cut out any pesky background audio while she sat pretty with her drink.
Mood: Energetic
Location: Directorate Civic Center
Interactions: none
The rapid flash of cameras assaulted the journalist's eyes with each new arrival, rolling into the celebration in their luxorious limousines and designer cars, wading through the parted waves of paparazzi and fans alike in order to make it onto the venue. Sylvia flashed a small grin, watching her fellow journalists wielding cameras and climbing over one another, desperately trying to get a proper shot for tomorrow's paper.
It was an entertaining scene to watch from the sidelines, though deep down Sylvia could understand their plight better than most. A good picture that makes your story pop is a necessity in this day and age, that thumbnail might be the only thing that differentiates your article from the next when someone's scrolling through their tablet, and it might just win you the click if you're good enough. And what better image for your article than a couple of celebrities rolling fresh off the red carpet? News sites pay big bucks for a shot like that, it was the kind of thing Sylvia tended to think about as she chowed down on cheap ramen and cold pizza for the twelfth night in a row. It'd be so easy to just abandon her morals and get real scummy, catch a celebrity in a heated argument or having a wardrobe malfunction and make off with rent for a year.
Luckily, Sylvia didn't have to worry about that tonight. And if things played out the way she'd hoped, then this might just be the story that launches her career into the stratosphere, if things played out, which was a fairly major if. All she was going off of was a small tip from an anonymous source, not the most reliable thing in the world, but they'd been right before, and she couldn't let their story go unexplored.
That's how Sylvia had found herself at the event tonight, getting the OK from her manager under the guise of some down to earth puff piece, interviewing the common folk at the celebration, talking about what this sort of charity means to them. The kind of thing the New Liberty Press puts out by the dozen.
But Sylvia had no intentions of following through with that, instead her goal was to get info on the director himself, the man, myth and legend, Director Vincent. She knew he'd be here, he was a hard man to find, but he always showed up at events like this to make an appearance and placate the masses. All Sylvia needed was an in, a way to talk to the man, or at least root through his electronics, and to do that she'd need to get into the VIP area proper, which definitely wasn't a luxary afforded to her by her meager press pass. She'd find a way in though, just had to use her head. Instead for the time being she took to the bar, ordering a drink and getting into a bit of eavesdropping, a skill that Sylvia excelled at thanks to her PANOPTIC audial implants, allowing her to hone in on a specific conversation from afar and cut out any pesky background audio while she sat pretty with her drink.
Clockwork_Magic
*Gears turning*
Hanabi Kage
Blaze, Leader of Daybreak
Location: Outside the Directorate Civic Center, Nearby Alleyway
Interactions: None
Mood: Impatient, Excited
Though New Liberty certainly could be considered a city that never rests, the event of the evening seemed to carry with it a level of energy far exceeding the norm, with crowds of people gathered under the bright neon lights. But no matter how many bright neon lights the Directorate may install to illuminate their streets, there will always be places shrouded in darkness where the light doesn't reach, far from prying eyes, where crimson eyes looked upon the Civic Center, scanning the exterior. The redhead wanted nothing more than to reduce such an opulent eye sore into debris and rubble, a much more fitting appearance to match the climate of the city of you asked her.
A sigh escaped her lips as she averted her eyes from the Civic Center. If it was up to her, that's precisely what she'd try to do, after all why should she pity a bunch of xenophobic biggots, a bunch of murderers playing the victim, hypocrites preaching against violence when they're the inciters. But this case was a little different. It's not often Daybreak works with others, but with such unique circumstances that surrounded the supposed charity event and what laid beyond its veil it couldn’t be helped.
Hanabi looked over at a figure a few feet away in the same alley, also mostly obscured by shadow, as she heard a voice in her ear. "A shame we won't be able to see the fireworks tonight." She whispered back into the ear piece she was provided, a relic of another time, very difficult to trace, or so those Fuego folk said, as she took a look at one of the Civic Center's back entrances, eyeing up the security detail. "Can't be helped, some people have visitors over." "When do you think that party'll be over?" "Dunno, but we should really swing by once they've left, I wanna meet them." The guards weren't didn't seem like they were budging, but that can change at any minute, so she made sure to keep herself ready to move at a moment's notice while still biding her time in the shadows.
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Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
ＧＥＮＥＳＩＳ ＯＬＩＫＴＯＲＯ
location: directorate civic center ; VIP room
mood: angry, horrified
tags:
Zedalith
The charm of a man who knew he could puppeteer the world with a flick of his finger was daunting. A beastly presence that consumed more than half the space in a room yet was gracious enough to leave the illusion of air to breathe. Henrik was a hapless fish skewered by a hook affixed to Vincent’s line, and circumstances aside would still have done so willingly. The affair played out as if scripted; suffused with unspoken cues and deceptive subtext. Henrik would laugh when prompted and express his gratitude aptly.
Watching it was torture. Should there have been billions of fire ants festering beneath her skin, Genesis would not know the difference. She kept her composure although betrayed by the white-knuckle grip around the skirt of her dress. She definitely felt monstrous the more words Vincent spoke and didn’t know for how long she could hold her tongue before needing to bite it off out of necessity.
“I definitely had my work cut out for me, but thankfully she’s a quick learner.” Henrik delights akin to that of someone boasting over a car they’d repaired. His head becoming disgustingly bulbous from all the praise being pumped into it.
When Vincent’s precise eyes focus on her, it’s uncomfortably disarming. Inciting a storm of contradiction in Genesis so strong she feels her façade chip. Her secret is safe, he says, and she believes him. She trusts those words. And she hates herself for trusting them. The man who was looking at her with that steady reassurance was the same man who called her a beast not even a five seconds ago. She felt swayed and revolted. If not for the vice-grip of her fierce stubbornness, Genesis fears she might have forgiven him.
Fortunately, any crumb of sympathy the man might’ve coaxed from her is eviscerated upon the prepared speech’s presentation. Each sentence is a stab to the gut. Each allusion to Xenogenics being demonic has her blood simmering beneath her skin.
She cracks. There was nothing that could have stopped it. Fear and desperation have never been foreign to her, and in that moment, they’d become her first language. Lips slightly agape in shock, her head swivels towards Henrik. A scared, uncertain little girl looking for guidance from her uncle. But the expression on his face did not resemble hers, and that was possibly the most frightening.
“This is…It’s…” Speak, damnit! You sing words all the time, it shouldn’t be this hard to just talk! “I don’t think I—” Before she even motions to stand up, Henrik is grabbing her wrist like he’d read into the future. There was no consolation towards it, just pure control. Genesis forcefully collects the scattered pieces of herself. “If you could phrase some things differently—”
“Nonsense! This is a beautifully written speech with clear effort and thought put behind it. You should be so lucky that you didn’t have to prepare one yourself. Where’s your gratitude?” Henrik cuts in bitingly.
“I can’t read this!” Genesis pleads barely above a whisper, her hand trying to push the device onto Henrik like it was something she couldn’t bear to hold any longer. “What is wrong with the both of you?”
location: directorate civic center ; VIP room
mood: angry, horrified
tags:
Zedalith
The charm of a man who knew he could puppeteer the world with a flick of his finger was daunting. A beastly presence that consumed more than half the space in a room yet was gracious enough to leave the illusion of air to breathe. Henrik was a hapless fish skewered by a hook affixed to Vincent’s line, and circumstances aside would still have done so willingly. The affair played out as if scripted; suffused with unspoken cues and deceptive subtext. Henrik would laugh when prompted and express his gratitude aptly.
Watching it was torture. Should there have been billions of fire ants festering beneath her skin, Genesis would not know the difference. She kept her composure although betrayed by the white-knuckle grip around the skirt of her dress. She definitely felt monstrous the more words Vincent spoke and didn’t know for how long she could hold her tongue before needing to bite it off out of necessity.
“I definitely had my work cut out for me, but thankfully she’s a quick learner.” Henrik delights akin to that of someone boasting over a car they’d repaired. His head becoming disgustingly bulbous from all the praise being pumped into it.
When Vincent’s precise eyes focus on her, it’s uncomfortably disarming. Inciting a storm of contradiction in Genesis so strong she feels her façade chip. Her secret is safe, he says, and she believes him. She trusts those words. And she hates herself for trusting them. The man who was looking at her with that steady reassurance was the same man who called her a beast not even a five seconds ago. She felt swayed and revolted. If not for the vice-grip of her fierce stubbornness, Genesis fears she might have forgiven him.
Fortunately, any crumb of sympathy the man might’ve coaxed from her is eviscerated upon the prepared speech’s presentation. Each sentence is a stab to the gut. Each allusion to Xenogenics being demonic has her blood simmering beneath her skin.
She cracks. There was nothing that could have stopped it. Fear and desperation have never been foreign to her, and in that moment, they’d become her first language. Lips slightly agape in shock, her head swivels towards Henrik. A scared, uncertain little girl looking for guidance from her uncle. But the expression on his face did not resemble hers, and that was possibly the most frightening.
“This is…It’s…” Speak, damnit! You sing words all the time, it shouldn’t be this hard to just talk! “I don’t think I—” Before she even motions to stand up, Henrik is grabbing her wrist like he’d read into the future. There was no consolation towards it, just pure control. Genesis forcefully collects the scattered pieces of herself. “If you could phrase some things differently—”
“Nonsense! This is a beautifully written speech with clear effort and thought put behind it. You should be so lucky that you didn’t have to prepare one yourself. Where’s your gratitude?” Henrik cuts in bitingly.
“I can’t read this!” Genesis pleads barely above a whisper, her hand trying to push the device onto Henrik like it was something she couldn’t bear to hold any longer. “What is wrong with the both of you?”
Archie
Not even my final form
...
Could Tulkar the Terminator have been the GOAT?
Was Tulkar gay?
Tulkar Zhul-Sen Was a TERRIBLE Fighter
Tulkar scrolled through the titles of LibTube videos about his past self on his holoscreen. The first one bored him, the others were interesting. Looking away for a moment, he undid the top button on his black dress shirt. His Egyptian linen blazer was getting hot, not least because he didn't fix his endocrine system properly the last time he died, so he was forced to take it off. He then looked in the mirror to the driver of the hover-limousine he had hired out to attend Director Vincent's bigoted fundraiser. The man did not return his glance. Sighing, his attention returned to his holoscreen, and he was tempted to click on the erroneous video about his homosexuality, but already knew what it was going to say. He had once created a Poundr account, and may have plugged into a few outlets, but he wasn't particularly secretive about that. LibTubers always thought they were first rate investigative journalists, and their arrogance was boring. Besides, Tulkar was offended by the conclusion: his middle leg did not, in fact, discriminate on the basis of race or gender.
That left Tulkar Zhul-Sen was a terrible fighter. To his surprise, the video made sense. The creator argued that Tulkar over-relied on his iron chin, didn't keep his hands up, and had horrible form and technique. He concluded that Tulkar's large cranium and thick neck muscles made him impossible to knock out. So close to the mark, yet so far.
Tulkar averted his gaze near the intersection of Discipline Street and Utopia Blvd. Outside the window, he could see a veritable camp of homeless assembled, not even seven blocks from the Directorate Civic Center. The "homeless" bowed their heads slightly in unison to the passing vehicle, and Tulkar nodded back. In a normal situation, he would never attend such a public event like this, but this was not a normal situation. Fuego, the resistance cell which Tulkar collaborated with the most, and which was his go-to for forging documentation, had a VIP held at the Civic Hall whom they were looking to extract. Nobody in the cell knew who the "beggar king" was directly, but they wanted a distraction, and a distraction they would get.
Exiting the limousine, he Payapped the driver 30 Bytecoins as a tip. Ascending up the steps, the large man entered the Civic Hall fashionably late, and surveyed the room, bored.
"Mr. Nabil!" called out a construction contractor almost immediately. Tulkar pretended not to hear him, and darted towards the bar in the corner, where it appeared some hired muscle was intimidating a bartender. The contractor, no doubt, was going to inform Tulkar of yet another delay in his affordable housing unit on Xenogenic Insurgency Martyrs-Lakeshore Drive, due to insufficient bribes paid to the Director of Civil Engineering. Tulkar would simply find said director in this meeting and fix the problem, at which point the contractor's news would have become outdated. Having developed real estate for 2 years, Tulkar tired of people bringing him problems and not solutions, then pretending they were being helpful.
Sadly, he was intercepted on his way to the bar by Norman Scott-Wild, personal assistant for the ironically titled Commissioner for Public Safety, the architect of New Liberty's dystopian police state through whom most of the bribes in this city flowed.
"Mr. Nabil, you seem lost. The VIP room is that way" the handsome redhead man, likely a beneficiary of plastic surgery, said with a smirk. Tulkar laughed out loud.
"VIP? I am one of the poorest people in this room" he said in a thick, simulated Iraqi accent.
"You and I both know that's not true. On paper, maybe, but you're quite good at hiding things on paper" the man said, which triggered an angry stare from Zaid. The "fundraiser" was unphased.
"Besides, it's not just your modesty or historical generosity to Director Vincent that's earned you an invitation to high society tonight. It's interesting that, every time you develop a property on South Side, gang activity in the neighborhood comes to a complete halt. The commissioner is eager to learn from your community outreach"
At this point, Tulkar had lost his patience. Towering over the man, he got right up into his face.
"Are you implying I'm some kind of mob boss?"
"You're sure acting like one right now" the annoying ginger remarked, looking around awkwardly as if to imply that people were staring.
"And no, I'm not implying. Nor am I being so generous. The department is aware you're involved with organized crime, we just don't know if you're the leader of any criminal organization, or, more likely, just their legal front. For the time being, the commissioner is inviting you to talk things through with him as a potential partner. It's much easier to manage crime than destroy it, after all. if you refuse, you'll be having the same conversation this weekend, in handcuffs at Central Station. And make sure to be especially generous in your contributions to Vincent this time... the fact that members of the Board benefit from your operations is the only reason we haven't shut them down".
At that point, the man simply turned and assumed Zaid would follow him, but he simply stood where he was. Entering the VIP room before the resistance made their move tonight was not an option. He wasn't afraid of the Department of Public Safety, which was so corrupt he could practically pay it to kill someone - but of VIPs in general. Rumor had it that Director Nisbalt of the Budget Office had a body language implant so precise it was practically a mind reader, and Commissioner Liao of Public Safety had an implant that could retrieve all known video footage of a face in a milisecond. If he entered that room without a distraction, he was going to get found out.
"I will join you in a moment" he announced loudly, causing the man to turn and squint.
"First, I will have a drink. Or several. It will make me more forthcoming to your commissioner anyways"
He turned and approached the bar, his long stride crossing tables of suited guests who stared at him and gossiped about what had just happened. Nobody, Tulkar wrongly thought, had overheard the whole conversation, but they knew some argument had taken place between someone and the secretary of the Commissioner for Public Safety... and that never happened.
Approaching the bar, he noticed it was short staffed, because one bartender ran hurriedly off to grab a drink from the VIP room. At the counter were several boring guests peacocking to each other about how big their businesses were, a tall, silver-haired twink who Tulkar had definitely seen on a wall somewhere but thought was shorter, and a woman he had definitely seen on holoscreen before.
"What are you having, sir?" a bartender asked.
"Three vodka-Deadbull sugarfrees, two shots of tequila and three Stud Lights. Well vodka." Tulkar responded, forgetting for a moment to maintain his accent. It took a lot to get Tulkar tipsy, and there was no way he was making it through the night sober. The woman behind the bar gave him a confused look, before shrugging and figuring it was more tips for her. It was only then that Tulkar realized he was being profoundly rude - while powerwalking, the large man more or less forced his way to the front of the overcrowded bar, and was being served before people who had been there a lot longer. Turning to the woman in his right, he apologized.
"Sorry, did I take your place?"
Could Tulkar the Terminator have been the GOAT?
Was Tulkar gay?
Tulkar Zhul-Sen Was a TERRIBLE Fighter
Tulkar scrolled through the titles of LibTube videos about his past self on his holoscreen. The first one bored him, the others were interesting. Looking away for a moment, he undid the top button on his black dress shirt. His Egyptian linen blazer was getting hot, not least because he didn't fix his endocrine system properly the last time he died, so he was forced to take it off. He then looked in the mirror to the driver of the hover-limousine he had hired out to attend Director Vincent's bigoted fundraiser. The man did not return his glance. Sighing, his attention returned to his holoscreen, and he was tempted to click on the erroneous video about his homosexuality, but already knew what it was going to say. He had once created a Poundr account, and may have plugged into a few outlets, but he wasn't particularly secretive about that. LibTubers always thought they were first rate investigative journalists, and their arrogance was boring. Besides, Tulkar was offended by the conclusion: his middle leg did not, in fact, discriminate on the basis of race or gender.
That left Tulkar Zhul-Sen was a terrible fighter. To his surprise, the video made sense. The creator argued that Tulkar over-relied on his iron chin, didn't keep his hands up, and had horrible form and technique. He concluded that Tulkar's large cranium and thick neck muscles made him impossible to knock out. So close to the mark, yet so far.
Tulkar averted his gaze near the intersection of Discipline Street and Utopia Blvd. Outside the window, he could see a veritable camp of homeless assembled, not even seven blocks from the Directorate Civic Center. The "homeless" bowed their heads slightly in unison to the passing vehicle, and Tulkar nodded back. In a normal situation, he would never attend such a public event like this, but this was not a normal situation. Fuego, the resistance cell which Tulkar collaborated with the most, and which was his go-to for forging documentation, had a VIP held at the Civic Hall whom they were looking to extract. Nobody in the cell knew who the "beggar king" was directly, but they wanted a distraction, and a distraction they would get.
Exiting the limousine, he Payapped the driver 30 Bytecoins as a tip. Ascending up the steps, the large man entered the Civic Hall fashionably late, and surveyed the room, bored.
"Mr. Nabil!" called out a construction contractor almost immediately. Tulkar pretended not to hear him, and darted towards the bar in the corner, where it appeared some hired muscle was intimidating a bartender. The contractor, no doubt, was going to inform Tulkar of yet another delay in his affordable housing unit on Xenogenic Insurgency Martyrs-Lakeshore Drive, due to insufficient bribes paid to the Director of Civil Engineering. Tulkar would simply find said director in this meeting and fix the problem, at which point the contractor's news would have become outdated. Having developed real estate for 2 years, Tulkar tired of people bringing him problems and not solutions, then pretending they were being helpful.
Sadly, he was intercepted on his way to the bar by Norman Scott-Wild, personal assistant for the ironically titled Commissioner for Public Safety, the architect of New Liberty's dystopian police state through whom most of the bribes in this city flowed.
"Mr. Nabil, you seem lost. The VIP room is that way" the handsome redhead man, likely a beneficiary of plastic surgery, said with a smirk. Tulkar laughed out loud.
"VIP? I am one of the poorest people in this room" he said in a thick, simulated Iraqi accent.
"You and I both know that's not true. On paper, maybe, but you're quite good at hiding things on paper" the man said, which triggered an angry stare from Zaid. The "fundraiser" was unphased.
"Besides, it's not just your modesty or historical generosity to Director Vincent that's earned you an invitation to high society tonight. It's interesting that, every time you develop a property on South Side, gang activity in the neighborhood comes to a complete halt. The commissioner is eager to learn from your community outreach"
At this point, Tulkar had lost his patience. Towering over the man, he got right up into his face.
"Are you implying I'm some kind of mob boss?"
"You're sure acting like one right now" the annoying ginger remarked, looking around awkwardly as if to imply that people were staring.
"And no, I'm not implying. Nor am I being so generous. The department is aware you're involved with organized crime, we just don't know if you're the leader of any criminal organization, or, more likely, just their legal front. For the time being, the commissioner is inviting you to talk things through with him as a potential partner. It's much easier to manage crime than destroy it, after all. if you refuse, you'll be having the same conversation this weekend, in handcuffs at Central Station. And make sure to be especially generous in your contributions to Vincent this time... the fact that members of the Board benefit from your operations is the only reason we haven't shut them down".
At that point, the man simply turned and assumed Zaid would follow him, but he simply stood where he was. Entering the VIP room before the resistance made their move tonight was not an option. He wasn't afraid of the Department of Public Safety, which was so corrupt he could practically pay it to kill someone - but of VIPs in general. Rumor had it that Director Nisbalt of the Budget Office had a body language implant so precise it was practically a mind reader, and Commissioner Liao of Public Safety had an implant that could retrieve all known video footage of a face in a milisecond. If he entered that room without a distraction, he was going to get found out.
"I will join you in a moment" he announced loudly, causing the man to turn and squint.
"First, I will have a drink. Or several. It will make me more forthcoming to your commissioner anyways"
He turned and approached the bar, his long stride crossing tables of suited guests who stared at him and gossiped about what had just happened. Nobody, Tulkar wrongly thought, had overheard the whole conversation, but they knew some argument had taken place between someone and the secretary of the Commissioner for Public Safety... and that never happened.
Approaching the bar, he noticed it was short staffed, because one bartender ran hurriedly off to grab a drink from the VIP room. At the counter were several boring guests peacocking to each other about how big their businesses were, a tall, silver-haired twink who Tulkar had definitely seen on a wall somewhere but thought was shorter, and a woman he had definitely seen on holoscreen before.
"What are you having, sir?" a bartender asked.
"Three vodka-Deadbull sugarfrees, two shots of tequila and three Stud Lights. Well vodka." Tulkar responded, forgetting for a moment to maintain his accent. It took a lot to get Tulkar tipsy, and there was no way he was making it through the night sober. The woman behind the bar gave him a confused look, before shrugging and figuring it was more tips for her. It was only then that Tulkar realized he was being profoundly rude - while powerwalking, the large man more or less forced his way to the front of the overcrowded bar, and was being served before people who had been there a lot longer. Turning to the woman in his right, he apologized.
"Sorry, did I take your place?"
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Alisutte
An irrigation system?
Chair Amhson
Location: Normal bar at the ballroom, Civic Centre
Interactions: Orpheus Gascoigne (
CaptainSully
)
Location: Normal bar at the ballroom, Civic Centre
Interactions: Orpheus Gascoigne (
CaptainSully
)Events like this were undeniably boring. The Chairman paid it barely any mind. He looked over the people, the rich and powerful, the not-so, as they all replaced each other as they clamored to talk to the chair of Directorate's Board. So used Amhson was to such events that he could keep a conversation with countless little bugs without even being mindful of his actions, and his words indicated substance and logical reasoning, so experienced the red-head was in this art. The purpose of such events, in the most general sense, was always to throw a bone to the dogs. This keeps them happy even when they receive their assigned beatings moments later. Finally, Vale grew bored of pandering and he excused himself as he wiped his mouth with a napkin after a small meal he was having. He looked over the place the event was held, as his thoughts briefly brushed against the captive hidden on the floors beneath. This night might just hold a promise of some entertainment, and the results of it could be good old multiplication. Sighing to himself with closed eyes as he tilted his head down, he exhaled an air embued with exasperation one might feel at ants crawling beneath one's feet. Do you step on them, or do you make your way longer? What if they are, as a group, important for survival and prosperity of the city? Questions, questions.
At any rate, Vale strode towards the nearest bar as his eyes fell a second later on a man lounging at one of the seats. The man was distantly familiar, he believed he had seen his photo at least a couple of times during briefings. A moment later, the ID popup indicated Orpheus Gascoigne. Ah, yes, it's one of their little tools, one they acquired using quite creative of means. If his memory served, a Xenogenic with some kind of a spacial mutation? Nonetheless, he didn't bother unrolling his file. He moved next to the man and awaited for a bartender, who seemed a bit reluctant to appear. The Chair adopted a friendly smile as he side-eyed Gascoigne. Finally he saw the bartender appear, though his face betrayed his inner feelings. "M-mister chair," the man squawked. Strangely enough, there was, aside from fear and distress, a sense of glee that Vale could read from the bartender's face, directed at the Xenogenic even. He quirked an eyebrow, sensing a microcosmic drama erupting as he longingly thought of the VIP room. "M-mr. Amhson, this..." he paused, as if trying to collect his thoughts, "b-b-brutish rat of a man tried to kill me!" he said in a high-pitched tone.
"He threatened and forced me to give-give him something from the VIP lounge!"
Inwardly, Vale sighed. "Don't you worry, Mr. Patterson", he said, his mind letting the chip's data about the bartender enter from one brain lobe and out the other the moment he uttered his name, "Give me my usual and I will talk to this mister here", he said, his tone carefree, his body language nonchalant, though he felt merely apathetic at the situation. After the bartender served him he dissappeared, but not before eyeing Gascoigne with a stink eye, probably thinking he was conspicuous.
Amhson side-eyed the Directorate's dog as he asked, curiosity laced in his tone, "How do you like the evening, Orpheus?", his question possesing a double meaning, before continuing, "Please, don't be going around scaring off all staff, we do need them", he said. He then looked back to the ballroom proper, as he eyed the crowds. He scanned them and the ceiling with bored interest.
TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Beyond the Red Gate
ELENA GRAHAM
LISTLESS DREAMER
Nogoodname
Did nothing wrong
Sylvia Valentine
Mood: Surprised!
Location: Directorate Civic Center, Main Bar
Interactions:
Archie
Now her thoughts were on how to get into the VIP area without being noticed. She could just fake it, come in with some fancy story and hope her press pass would punch above its weight as it occasionally did with venue security, though it'd be a risk, one she wasn't really sure if she could pull off, best to save for a last resort. Maybe if she spoofed someone's credentials? Found a way to put her name on the VIP list? Too much hacking though, and not nearly enough prep time, Sylvia knew a couple of basic scripts but she was no netrunner, security like this would catch her in seconds. So all that left was finding some other VIP to cling to, get a free ride off their access and split off while they weren't looking, the old fashioned coattail attack. Now that was a plan...
It didn't take her very long to notice Tulkar's presence, her gaze shifting across the bar until she spotted the towering man looking down at her expectantly. "Oh!" she exclaimed, practically jumping out of her seat. It took a second for her heartbeat to return to a normal rate, her audial implants quickly reverting back to their default settings. It was lucky that she'd already mostly finished her drink, otherwise she definitely would have spilled it across her only nice blazer.
"Er, hey! Sorry, I was a little spaced out there, can I help you with something?" she asked, trying and failing to maintain an air of decorum.
It took a handful of seconds for her to notice just who she was talking to, her eyes scanning over him with a passing interest. Something about this guy seemed vaguely familiar, some ancient neuron in the back of her brain firing for the first time in years, though she just couldn't make the connection. Had he been some sort of fighter? She vaguely remembered doing some piece about kids in the city using MMA as a rare opportunity to socialize and vent stress, but that'd been such a long time ago. The man was certainly built like a fortress though, she wouldn't be surprised...
Mood: Surprised!
Location: Directorate Civic Center, Main Bar
Interactions:
Archie
At first the redhead didn't seem to parse the man's existence, her expression glazed over while she gazed off into space, her mind clearly on other things, namely a conversation between a pair of guards that seemed promising. She'd been pondering her next move for a while now, first she just wanted to get some gossip on the man of the hour, see what the people were saying about the good director so she could go after him with more than a vague tip, though that didn't really seem to manifest for her, at least not into anything she could use. It was a shame, but nothing that surprised her, most of the people who would actually know anything substatial weren't here with the rabble, they were in the VIP bar where they didn't have to worry about the prying eyes of the peasantry or the press, and considering her own motivation, Sylvia really couldn't fault them for their secrecy.Now her thoughts were on how to get into the VIP area without being noticed. She could just fake it, come in with some fancy story and hope her press pass would punch above its weight as it occasionally did with venue security, though it'd be a risk, one she wasn't really sure if she could pull off, best to save for a last resort. Maybe if she spoofed someone's credentials? Found a way to put her name on the VIP list? Too much hacking though, and not nearly enough prep time, Sylvia knew a couple of basic scripts but she was no netrunner, security like this would catch her in seconds. So all that left was finding some other VIP to cling to, get a free ride off their access and split off while they weren't looking, the old fashioned coattail attack. Now that was a plan...
It didn't take her very long to notice Tulkar's presence, her gaze shifting across the bar until she spotted the towering man looking down at her expectantly. "Oh!" she exclaimed, practically jumping out of her seat. It took a second for her heartbeat to return to a normal rate, her audial implants quickly reverting back to their default settings. It was lucky that she'd already mostly finished her drink, otherwise she definitely would have spilled it across her only nice blazer.
"Er, hey! Sorry, I was a little spaced out there, can I help you with something?" she asked, trying and failing to maintain an air of decorum.
It took a handful of seconds for her to notice just who she was talking to, her eyes scanning over him with a passing interest. Something about this guy seemed vaguely familiar, some ancient neuron in the back of her brain firing for the first time in years, though she just couldn't make the connection. Had he been some sort of fighter? She vaguely remembered doing some piece about kids in the city using MMA as a rare opportunity to socialize and vent stress, but that'd been such a long time ago. The man was certainly built like a fortress though, she wouldn't be surprised...
slim
destroyer
CaptainSully
🤘🏻Master of Puppets🤘🏻
♡coded by uxie♡
Archie
Not even my final form
...
Tulkar’s heart rate increased as the Chairman of the entire f*cking city came up next to him to chastise the most poorly dressed man in the room- the one who had bullied the poor bartender earlier. Tulkar wasn’t starstruck, but scared of discovery at this point. The Chairman had no doubt been invited to a PFC event before. He turned away as his many drinks arrived, and the lady he had sort of cut asked him to repeat himself.
Well, Tulkar thought, at least she didn’t notice his rudeness. Bars were fundamentally unjust institutions - tall people always got served first.
“My bad, I was just wondering if you were next” he said, proceeding to chug down an entire Vodka Deadbull Sugarfree by the straw.
“I can get you something to make it up to you” he claimed, but there was no sexual lust in his eyes. Rather, he was just trying to be friendly and talk off his nerves for the meeting to come. He was in a rather deviant mood tonight, and while a redhead was a little niche, she wasn’t niche enough. No, his attentions were on the size-changing twink behind him, who unfortunately was getting cruised by the mean guy. He’d deal with that after he had his mandatory fun with the Commissioner for Public Safety, of course, and after he had raised some corpses.
“I’m sorry I’m in such a rush” he added, double fisting StudLight bottles with one hand - one between his index finger and middle finger, and the other between the middle finger and ring finger. The bottles had to be squeezed tight by strong tendons so they both entered his mouth at the same time.
“That man over there” he said, gesturing to the Secretary to the Commissioner for Public Safety “is trying to drag me into the VIP room and I need to be much drunker before I endure that nonsense” he finished, chugging yet another Vodka-Deadbull.
“So what brings you here?” He asked. He wasn’t sure what this woman was - if he used his brain he might have figured out she was a journalist, but his mind was focused on the rebel operation and this upcoming interrogation with fancy cocktails. But, he knew she wasn’t like most of this boasting audience and was here for a reason, not just to donate to bigotry.
Tulkar’s heart rate increased as the Chairman of the entire f*cking city came up next to him to chastise the most poorly dressed man in the room- the one who had bullied the poor bartender earlier. Tulkar wasn’t starstruck, but scared of discovery at this point. The Chairman had no doubt been invited to a PFC event before. He turned away as his many drinks arrived, and the lady he had sort of cut asked him to repeat himself.
Well, Tulkar thought, at least she didn’t notice his rudeness. Bars were fundamentally unjust institutions - tall people always got served first.
“My bad, I was just wondering if you were next” he said, proceeding to chug down an entire Vodka Deadbull Sugarfree by the straw.
“I can get you something to make it up to you” he claimed, but there was no sexual lust in his eyes. Rather, he was just trying to be friendly and talk off his nerves for the meeting to come. He was in a rather deviant mood tonight, and while a redhead was a little niche, she wasn’t niche enough. No, his attentions were on the size-changing twink behind him, who unfortunately was getting cruised by the mean guy. He’d deal with that after he had his mandatory fun with the Commissioner for Public Safety, of course, and after he had raised some corpses.
“I’m sorry I’m in such a rush” he added, double fisting StudLight bottles with one hand - one between his index finger and middle finger, and the other between the middle finger and ring finger. The bottles had to be squeezed tight by strong tendons so they both entered his mouth at the same time.
“That man over there” he said, gesturing to the Secretary to the Commissioner for Public Safety “is trying to drag me into the VIP room and I need to be much drunker before I endure that nonsense” he finished, chugging yet another Vodka-Deadbull.
“So what brings you here?” He asked. He wasn’t sure what this woman was - if he used his brain he might have figured out she was a journalist, but his mind was focused on the rebel operation and this upcoming interrogation with fancy cocktails. But, he knew she wasn’t like most of this boasting audience and was here for a reason, not just to donate to bigotry.
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Clockwork_Magic
*Gears turning*
Isabelle Sibylle
Security Detail Member
Interactions: Tashi (
Zedalith
)
Location: Directorate Civic Center
Kyoko continued making her rounds around the hall, her eyes glancing over guests as they continued to arrive, being drawn to the main bar before long where she noticed quite the interesting gathering of people: a redhead, a silver haired girl, and 2 dangerous looking guys. If those 2 guys weren’t reason enough to stay the hell away from there, the goddamn fucking chair of the Directorate had to join them.
Turning her attention away from the train wreck waiting to happen that is the bar, she turned her eyes to the interior itself. If her memory serves her correctly from what she gleamed of the building's security system details while she was making a few additions to the security roster there should be no shortage of Directorate surveillance devices hidden in the hall. The Directorate’s eyes and ears were everywhere, yes, but once the control room is reached, those eyes and ears will become her own. And it didn’t seem it would be much longer before then, as she heard a voice manifest inside her ear. “Solid copy.” She responded back, still maintaining the demeanor of a proper security guard. Kyoko couldn’t understand why her contractors were so insistent on us unit old gen tech, especially if the newer stuff with the right encryption software could get the done with more efficiency with the same mitigation of risks. Well whatever, if it gets the job done…
Kyoko sized up the other “guard” as she approached his position. Yea this is definitely the guy. She made her way over to the control room, passing the man on the way. They shouldn’t have much trouble getting into the physical room itself, courtesy of the credentials she downloaded from the system, but hopefully her contractors could cover her properly as she worked her magic. “On me, let’s go. Almost time for shift rotation.” She said to the man as she passed by him, stern and straight to the point, a tone resulting from both her playing security and from collecting her focus, ready to get the job done as quickly and cleanly as possible and then get out of this hell hole of hypocrisy and bigotry.
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TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Beyond the Red Gate
ELENA GRAHAM
LISTLESS DREAMER
Last edited:
Nogoodname
Did nothing wrong
Sylvia Valentine
Mood: Intrigued
Location: Directorate Civic Center, Main Bar
Interactions:
Archie
Sylvia gave a soft chuckle, this was certainly a new development. Whoever this guy was, he seemed nice! The fact that she could abuse his kindness as a way to get into the VIP area only crossed her mind a little bit. She smiled at him pleasantly "Well, I'll never say no to a free drink~" the journalist grinned. While she questioned the mans methods she really couldn't cast any doubt on the underlying logic, frankly, a bit of alcohol to loosen herself up and soothe her nerves might come in handy in a situation like this. "I'll try what you're having" she said, eyeing the Vodka-Deadbull in his hand.
She listened to the stranger explain his plight with a slight bemusement and a hint of pity, her eyes following the gesture to look at the public safety official with an inquisitive expression. Apparently no matter how hard you strike it rich in this city, you're never immune to some fucking meeting that could've been an email. Sylvia could definitely relate, sometimes she got the nagging feeling her boss just needed a captive audience as an excuse to hear himself talk.
Then again, whatever this guy was up to certainly seemed a lot more stressful, or just that much more draining. She watched in awe as the man crushed two StudLights into his mouth at once, then didn't even flinch as he downed his Vodka-Deadbull like a shot, finishing it in a single pull and leaving Sylvia's jaw on the floor. Was this guy even human?!
Sylvia shook the stunned expression off of her face, having to shift gears quickly as the man's question came up, clearing her throat to speak up.
"Oh!" she said, perking up a bit. "Well, I'm a member of the New Liberty Press, I'm here to write about the event" she explained with a bright little smile, recounting her cover story with a practiced enthusiasm. "So many people of all walks of life come to a celebration like this, yaknow? You've got celebrities dropping in to make an appearance and show support for the Director, and a lotta hungry people coming in for the free food and a chance to get a taste of the high life. I thought it'd be kind of interesting to do a sort of... human interest piece, do some interviews, talk about what these kind of charity events really mean for the people."
Her thoughts went back to the Director for a moment, to the rumors she'd come here to confirm about his past and what that meant for the Xenogenic population. Because no matter how many people she talked to, there was really only one true meaning for this kind of event, it was a chance for Vincent to spread his propaganda about a minority population that was already struggling. She tried not to focus on the thought for too long, she'd just make herself sick if she dwelled on it.
"Actually..." Sylvia continued, "if you'd like, you could give a few words for the press yourself. I know you're a bit busy" she murmured, her gaze shifting over to the Commissioner for Public Safety again. "But we can keep it short if you'd like" she offered. It might not end up helping her, but knowing a guy like this couldn't hurt her odds at getting into the VIP area, maybe if she just kept him talking...
Mood: Intrigued
Location: Directorate Civic Center, Main Bar
Interactions:
Archie
Sylvia gave a soft chuckle, this was certainly a new development. Whoever this guy was, he seemed nice! The fact that she could abuse his kindness as a way to get into the VIP area only crossed her mind a little bit. She smiled at him pleasantly "Well, I'll never say no to a free drink~" the journalist grinned. While she questioned the mans methods she really couldn't cast any doubt on the underlying logic, frankly, a bit of alcohol to loosen herself up and soothe her nerves might come in handy in a situation like this. "I'll try what you're having" she said, eyeing the Vodka-Deadbull in his hand.
She listened to the stranger explain his plight with a slight bemusement and a hint of pity, her eyes following the gesture to look at the public safety official with an inquisitive expression. Apparently no matter how hard you strike it rich in this city, you're never immune to some fucking meeting that could've been an email. Sylvia could definitely relate, sometimes she got the nagging feeling her boss just needed a captive audience as an excuse to hear himself talk.
Then again, whatever this guy was up to certainly seemed a lot more stressful, or just that much more draining. She watched in awe as the man crushed two StudLights into his mouth at once, then didn't even flinch as he downed his Vodka-Deadbull like a shot, finishing it in a single pull and leaving Sylvia's jaw on the floor. Was this guy even human?!
Sylvia shook the stunned expression off of her face, having to shift gears quickly as the man's question came up, clearing her throat to speak up.
"Oh!" she said, perking up a bit. "Well, I'm a member of the New Liberty Press, I'm here to write about the event" she explained with a bright little smile, recounting her cover story with a practiced enthusiasm. "So many people of all walks of life come to a celebration like this, yaknow? You've got celebrities dropping in to make an appearance and show support for the Director, and a lotta hungry people coming in for the free food and a chance to get a taste of the high life. I thought it'd be kind of interesting to do a sort of... human interest piece, do some interviews, talk about what these kind of charity events really mean for the people."
Her thoughts went back to the Director for a moment, to the rumors she'd come here to confirm about his past and what that meant for the Xenogenic population. Because no matter how many people she talked to, there was really only one true meaning for this kind of event, it was a chance for Vincent to spread his propaganda about a minority population that was already struggling. She tried not to focus on the thought for too long, she'd just make herself sick if she dwelled on it.
"Actually..." Sylvia continued, "if you'd like, you could give a few words for the press yourself. I know you're a bit busy" she murmured, her gaze shifting over to the Commissioner for Public Safety again. "But we can keep it short if you'd like" she offered. It might not end up helping her, but knowing a guy like this couldn't hurt her odds at getting into the VIP area, maybe if she just kept him talking...
Zedalith
#-#
DIRECTOR VINCENT
Campaigning Governor