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Futuristic Tyrannicide [Nacre]

Lorsh

Lorsh

Varlot
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)
Tyrannicide
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  • You are Eden Holliday, a Sanctarian Orthodox citizen assigned to the General-Class Quadrant of Ablicar Urbzone. You are a technico working for a privately-owned (but government-contracted) company called MechNat, which specializes in simple drones for industry and policing.

    Your roommate is Tani 'Ray' Raybles, a young woman of about twenty. An art prodigy as a child, she became a propaganda artist for the city. When she isn't pitching poster designs, she is often painting the portraits of mid-level political officials, constabulary chiefs, etc. Sometimes you see scrap pieces of paper with doodles on them laying around, but she seems to take special care to keep the majority of her stuff hidden. Right now, she's sleeping in room next to you; her schedule is often quite free compared to yours, so she doesn't get up as early.

    You live with Ray up on the "catwalks" level of the block. To leave the storey, you typically take to the metal walkways that are attached to the sides of the upper levels of the apartment, before taking a long set of stairs down to the street alleys. Some of the walkways lead to the rooftops of the shorter buildings, where drab playgrounds and terraces can be accessed.

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    Down on the street, it's mostly foot traffic and people waiting at tram stations. There's a decent amount of trucks and motorized service vehicles, but personal automobiles are few and far between. Though, at least a few can be seen, probably belonging to upper-level bureaucrats and loyalists.

    You are expected to show up for work at MechNat (located in the urbzone's Outer Hub) for 0800 hours. It is 0600 right now.








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Muffled instrumental music roused Eden from dreamless sleep as bleary eyes were drawn to the source of the noise. The anodic clock to her left read 0600 indicating another gray morning in Sanctaria. She stretched, lethargic and feline, her blanket tangled between tanned legs as she released a mighty yawn that made her eyes water and vision blur. One hand strained over to silence the crescendo of her radio-alarm clock before the propagandist lyrics could brand themselves into the sleep-soft fuzz of her brain.

Gradually the twenty-three year old coaxed herself from the warmth of her bed, legs untangled from her blankets and feet pressed flat to the floor. The bedroom was almost pitch-black in the gloom, illuminated distantly by the blinking lights of haphazard scrap and abandoned tech. The place was far from a mess, in fact Eden prided herself on her organisation and cleanliness, but it was definitely cluttered. Thankfully, muscle memory dictated that her morning routine was carried out as per usual.

Eden splashed cold water onto her face -- she did not shower in the mornings, she much preferred to take them in the evenings after a long day of work -- brushed her teeth, then her dark honey coloured hair which she braided back to settle between her shoulder blades. After antiperspirant was applied some nondescript coveralls and her standard work shoes were pulled on before she double-checked her pockets. Well, it seemed that everything was in order. Never let it be said that Eden wasn’t at least a little bit pedantic.

Breakfast was a ration bar washed down with a glass of water, which tasted as bland as it sounded, though she knew better than to complain. By the time Eden was cleaned, dressed, watered, and fed it was 0630. That left her plenty of time to depart from her shared apartment and into the smog of Sanctaria’s early morning air.

Being a technico was a fulfilling job, at least for Eden who enjoyed taking things apart and putting them back together again. Fixing things seemed simple to her -- not in the sense that machines weren’t challenging or difficult -- but in that she felt individual when she was solving problems. MechNat wasn’t where she had envisioned herself working when she was in school but it was a stable job that provided semi-enjoyable work. There were definitely worse things that she could be doing with her time. Though, as whiskey eyes glanced down at the crowded streets below, Eden couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more she could be doing with her mundane life.
 
There is a whirr as the loudspeakers on the street outside come to life. A low voice begins to speak, and it is hard for you to tell whether it is simply a monotonous-sounding human, or a robotic voice programmed to send out automated messages.

"DO NOT ABDICATE YOUR CIVIC RESPONSIBILITY, REPORT ALL SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY AND SEDITIOUS TALK. THROUGH THE HELP OF EACH LOYAL CITIZEN, THE AUTARCH SHALL KNOW ALL."

There is a short pause, and after a few moments, a static-infested recording of a song begins to play, honouring the forebearers of the Autumn Revolution. Though, the recording eventually bugs out and cuts itself short.

"Of the few the**#** were the ones ***#** few they had the power **#* had the will *#**** saviours in the darkest h*#**#**#*#*..."

The public intercom does this a lot. The voices are usually grating and hard to understand, and sometimes the messages don't get through. You've heard that some kind of system was damaged a few air raids ago.


After presumably heading outside, you see a few young people in the uniforms of the Labour Conscripts laying artificial green turf on the front lawn of one of the Residentiary buildings. Fake grass is quite common- most real vegetation is limited to the Bloom and the underground farms. Most of the grass you see looks like what would be on a Pre-Ashfall golf course.

There is a tram station nearby, which is the usual way one tends to get to the Outer Hub. Average people, workers and low-level bureaucrats, are shuffling to the intake area of the tram station. At the entry point, there are a few constabulary officers in faded blue uniforms with slung guns, giving the occasional patdown.
 
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Exiting the metal stairwell of her apartment building Eden cautiously stepped out into the street, joining the throngs of people on their own separate journeys for that morning. Navigating her way through the crowd she was drawn in the familiar direction of the tram station as she began to chew on the inside of her cheek. Even when she had nothing to hide, the constant security and paranoia made her a little anxious.

But all of this was routine because everything in Sanctaria was routine. The entire city appeared to operate like a clockwork mechanism, predictable most of the time with a few errors that were promptly oiled out. Unfortunately, the awful music and the automated propaganda were just a constant fixture in that machine.

The Conscripts laying down artificial terrain briefly caught her attention and Eden’s subdued anxieties were momentarily forgotten as her gaze sharpened. Coda, her youngest sibling and the sweetheart of the family, had recently been conscripted on his eighteenth. She couldn’t help but try to catch a glimpse of dark, honey blond hair -- the same shade as her own -- among the uniforms.

Unfortunately she also couldn’t afford to miss her tram. Eden huffed out a quiet, disappointed breath and followed the ebb of people through the station's entry point. Being patted down was not something she enjoyed -- because really, who enjoyed having their personal space invaded like that? -- but it didn’t annoy her as much as it used to. People learned to live with things.
 
One of the constabulary officers gives you a quick patdown, taking care to avoid touching your breasts or crotchal region, but still making sure there are no visible bulges from any of your pockets or clothing. The constable taps your shoulder before sending you back into the line of people shuffling onto the tram. There is a brief whirr as tram passes are swiped against a small, cracked screen.

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

Nearly every civilian stepping onto the tram offers a quick greeting to a young army soldier standing near the front, one hand clutching one of the overhead support bars, and the other hand grasping sling that has the bolt-rifle resting over his shoulder. He simply nods, occasionally uttering a reply. You're not sure if he's providing security, or simply going somewhere.

The soldiers and constables don't usually bother other Orthodox. They are curt, but polite, and never swear or push anybody around without cause. But you've heard differently in terms of how they act in the Seclusion District, or against people that have allegedly slandered the Autumn Party. It's like a switch is thrown, and their stoic demeanor is replaced by cruelty, remorselessness, and even gleeful sadism as they brutalize, kill and torture. You know many of them have to follow orders, but at the same time, many of them operate on the basis of a very personal hatred towards enemies of the state.

The tracks scrape as the tram starts to move, and a groaning announcement signals its departure as it moves along the rail line next to the motorway. You reach your stop at 0715. The MechNat building is already in sight; it is tall, gray, and utilitarian-looking.


One of your colleagues, Evaline, is nervously standing outside outside the front entrance. She works as a receptionist at MechNat. She has always been rather quiet and passive, doing what she's told without complaint. You've known her to have some aversion to violence, however. You noticed she was particularly disgusted with an event that happened several weeks ago; While walking near the border of the Seclusion District, she saw a teenaged 'mutie' get beaten to death by two constables. She even went so far as to describe it as 'evil' while talking to you about it one day.

She later told you that she thinks witnessing the event may have affected her mental state. She has always been very neat and orderly, but now, for some reason, she frequently misplaces things in her apartment, many items she throws in the trash somehow end up back in her house, and her alarms don't go off at the right times anymore. She says she might be sleepwalking, but she isn't sure.

When she sees you, she offers a timid greeting. "Hello, Miss Holliday..."
 
Once it had been confirmed that Eden was indeed as unassuming and not-threatening as she looked, the young woman was free to step inside the tram. Swiping her card against the cracked screen her gaze was immediately drawn to the young solider standing nearer the front. Soldiers were often a stark reminder of Eden's own father or her angry older brother, which was why -- when she had stepped safely inside -- she offered him a small smile alongside her well-wished greeting. It seemed that she had had many familial reminders today, maybe she should consider stopping by and seeing them sometime?

Eden's mind was lost to thought as the tram doors finally closed, the people crammed inside like sardines, and her perspective shifted into motion. Her hand instinctively braced itself against the overhead support bar and her gaze grew steadily distant. The ride to work was always the same after all; a gray haze that she didn't truly care for.

In fact, it wasn't until Eden had stepped off from her daily transport, and into the familiar streets of her work, that things appeared to be different. (And for that she was grateful, otherwise the days began to bleed effortlessly together and it was hard to tell how much time had actually passed.) Evaline was an unusual sight as she waited outside the MechNat entrance, her expression one of anxiety that Eden was growing increasingly accustomed to seeing.

The event that had occurred weeks ago had clearly traumatised Evaline deeply and though Eden kept her sympathies quiet but well-placed she couldn't help but agree. Logically she understood that mutants, or the Unorthodox, weren't actually humans; they were a sub category and an inferior one at that, but still she struggled. They were still animals and she couldn't help but pity them for the treatment that they received. Sometimes she had bigger doubts, sometimes she considered them as more than animals. Shudder to admit such a thing. Eden was glad she hadn't witnessed the incident because she wouldn't have known how to react or how it would have affected her.

"Good morning, Evaline," Came the warm greeting as Eden directed a gentle smile in her direction. It was an offering, an attempt to soothe the other woman. Eden hadn't grown up around twitchy or nervous people; her mother was stern but proud, and her father stoic and steadfast. But she practiced patience and something was undoubtedly troubling Evaline.

"How are you today?" She asked politely, words gently intended to ask what was bothering her but without verbally acknowledging those words aloud.
 
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Evaline takes a deep breath, appearing to glance around nervously before turning back to you. "I have not been well," the pale, sunken-eyed woman tells you softly. She looks completely on edge. She draws closer to you, speaking in a tone akin to a cry for help. You know that a lot of other people have been avoiding her lately, so she may have clung to your polite greeting.

"Things keep... they... things aren't going well. Something's happening to me. I'm not sure if it's something in my head, or if... someone's out to get me. I can't stay organized. Nobody's talking to me, Miss Holliday..." She appears to be tearing up a bit. "The doctor didn't refill my medication. I need it to focus... I can't do my job well anymore, especially with everything that keeps happening to me. Why is it happening to me?"

A few other early-arriving employees shuffle past, heading up the set of concrete steps to reach the main doors of the MechNat building. They all stay away from both you and Evaline as they move up, occasionally glancing but quickly averting eye contact afterwards.
 
Evaline's admission that she had not 'been doing well' came as no surprise to the young technic. Anybody with eyes could see that something had been bothering her, it was just that the citizens of Sanctaria were very good at being willfully blind. Even now she could see the passing glances thrown their way and the quick aversion of eyes as their coworkers shuffled into the concrete building. Very gray, very monotonous.

Eden stopped her own slow progress towards the building, pleased that she had arrived early and bought herself some time. Amber eyes settled onto the tense form of Evaline, a heavy weight to bear undoubtedly as she appraised her carefully. Physically she looked terrible; pale-skinned, sunken-eyed, and hands wrung tight. Coupled with the sheer waves of anxiety rolling off her tense form it was clear that things had gotten progressively worse.

"Your doctor hasn't refilled your prescription?" Eden repeated, because that seemed like the important part of her sentence. If she wasn't on her regular medication that could cause side-effects or old symptoms to reappear. Also, admittedly, she didn't want to touch the rest of Evaline's onslaught of information. The paranoia was concerning to have confirmed and though people were avoiding her, it was because she was acting strangely (e.g, not conforming) and not due to some overhanging conspiracy.

It sounded like she was losing her mind.

"I think it's important to get your medication filled as soon as possible," Eden soothed, aiming for comforting or at least understanding. "If your medication affects your mental health then I'd suggest a psych evaluation."
 
Evaline shook her head. "I talked to him about it. He told me there were delays, and I told him 'okay'... so I came back the next day, and he said he wanted to evaluate me. He asked me a bunch of questions, and then once it was done, he told me that I didn't need the medication anymore. When I told him I did need it, he came up with a different answer. Told me I'd get an allergic reaction... but nothing like that has ever happened to me before. It's not true," she whimpered.

"Please," she says, her voice hushed. "It's not just me. Something else is happening. I'm not sure if I should say what I think it is... but please, please... I'm not crazy. I think it's something worse."

She takes a moment to gather herself, patting her eyes. "I'm sorry, Miss Holiday. I... perhaps you just shouldn't concern yourself with it... I don't think I'll be a bother to anybody anymore, soon..."
 
That was definitely not the usual conduct for a doctor though Eden struggled to understand why anybody would withhold required medication like that. Just by looking at Evaline it was clear that she going through something even to an uneducated, outsider perspective. Eden crossed her arms over her chest, lips turned down sharply at the corners as she continued to listen. Whatever was happening to this poor woman sounded weirdly suspicious and though she'd told herself to stop asking questions, to stop getting involved... she was undeniably curious now.

"Please, call me Eden." She said, placing a comforting hand on the other's shoulder. Physical contact wasn't something she particularly enjoyed but it seemed appropriate given the circumstances. The way Evaline said she wouldn't be around to 'bother anybody' made her a little nervous. "And you don't need to worrying about me concerning myself with it. I want to help as best that I can. Now, could you please explain to me why you think this is happening? I want to hear your theory and I won't call you crazy, don't worry." Eden might think it but she definitely wouldn't be outright rude.
 
Evaline seems to freeze for a moment, lost in thought... as if it took a great deal of effort to even consider the horrifying prospect of her next thought. She did another precautionary glance around the general area, ensuring no coworkers were walking nearby, before stepping even closer to you. "Do you think it might be... them?" Her lips trembled. "The w-... The Watchmen?" She swallows hard. "They... do you think they might be doing it? Punishing me because of... what I said? " She takes a deep breath. "Did I commit... disassociation from the Orthodoxy? Failure to comply with the common will?"

Evaline nervously regards your face, perhaps frightened that you might try to expose her as a nonconformist. She tries to word it in a way that places blame on herself, rather than the authorities, but you can clearly tell that she feels unjustly victimized.
 
Strangely enough, it hadn't even occurred to Eden that this could be the executive will of the Watchmen. Evaline's comments had seemed harmless enough at the time. After all, she was a frightened and traumatised citizen who had witnessed a brutal murder. That was until Eden recalled exactly who, or rather what, had been murdered: an Unorthodox. Somebody who they had no business feeling sympathy for, brutally murdered or not.

It belatedly occurred to her that she should have avoided Evaline, that she shouldn't have gotten involved. Because she'd silently agreed with her. Because had their roles been reversed it could have been Eden coming to Evaline with paranoid worries and conspiracies pressing down on her.

"If you are being accused of something," Eden said carefully, suddenly acutely aware of every single gaze on her person. Her hands were braced over her chest again like a shield, body language tight and closed off. "Then perhaps you should try to defend yourself and rectify that. Prove that you... that you're loyal. What you saw and what you said are --" Valid is what Eden wanted to say but instead she said: "-- dangerous. But you are loyal." She placed heavy emphasis on those last three words.
 
You're not sure if Evaline picked up on your hesitation. She may or may not be aware of the... mutual reluctance in accept accepting these standards and toeing the party line. Still, she nods to you. "M-maybe, yeah- I just need to keep myself in check. It can't be forever. I won't step out of line again. They'll know I'm... that I'm a good citizen," she said with a soft exhale. She doesn't smile, but she might have tried.

A whirring is heard, and suddenly rotting leaves and ancient ash is being blown about as a few hovercrafts fly overhead. You're not sure if they belong to the police or the army. Evaline proceeds to brush herself off and gather herself to continue to the day. After giving you a nod, she walks with you up to the (assuming you follow along with her.) Once inside, she places down her handbag and becomes seated behind the reception desk.

At MechNat, you are assigned to Workroom 19. It's on the first floor, near the northern end of the building. There, you work with your partner, Korrison, on improving the speech modulator for a newer model of Propomaton. Propomatons are essentially clunky, hovering technics that are used to relay public messages and propaganda in places where intercoms are not present. They rarely sync up properly with Technic Command Stations and often get lost, but they're rather cheap to make. The Workroom is rather large, and has station for employees that are working on other aspects of the technic, such as the propulsion system, artificial intelligence, etc. Each station has a long metal table with various tools and robotics components, as well as a heavy, box-shaped computer with a black metal casing and red, veinlike cords that lead off into the wall.
 
It seemed that their tentative acquaintanceship was still intact and that the conversation had come to a decisive end. Eden watched as Evaline steadied herself, visibly pulling herself together once more, and then turned to climb the concrete steps into their workplace. For a second Eden stood there and contemplated the repercussions of her actions. Loyalty to the Autumn Party was paramount and disobedience was not tolerated in any form. If Evaline was the target of the Watchmen then she wondered what that meant for her; could somebody come back from something like that?

She hoped so.

Shaking her head slightly Eden cleared those thoughts from her mind and brushed off the remainder of ash that clung to her coveralls. She followed Evaline up the stairs and into the MechNat building, her stride efficient and swift. She hated being late. The two women separated almost immediately upon stepping inside the reception area; Eden turned to take the familiar route to her workshop while Evaline situated herself behind the reception desk. Her brain was still a distracted whirl of thoughts as she strode down the hallway to Workroom 19. It was easy for Eden to fall into the trap of over-thinking so she had to push her disorganized mind aside when she finally stepped into the room.

It did not take long for Eden to situate herself at the designated table for speech modulation. If she were being honest she would have preferred to be working on an installable tracking system to stop the Propomatons from being lost so easily. But, for the most part, Eden did as she was told. For now she merely took up residence behind the table and booted up the computer.
 
You boot up the computer, and a low, groaning sound emits from the metallic box as the screen flickers on, showing a few touch-screen buttons that should bring up different relevant parts of the technic. You are eventually joined by Korrison, shuffling in with his ashy workboots as he wordlessly falls into the spot next to you, tinkering with a few small physical parts of the Propomaton.

A few hours later, around 1030, the main door to Workroom 19 opens up. Jent, the chief supervisor for Workroom 30, steps inside and snaps his fingers to get your eyes to move from the screen and onto him. "Miss Holliday, WR30 is interested in meeting with you. Would you be able to come on over? Assuming you're all caught up on your assignment, that is," he says.

Jent is a tall, thin, brown-haired man in an orange loyalist coat and a MechNat earpiece. He's never interacted with you so directly before, but he had always been polite and friendly when you saw him around the building.

Korrison shrugs, not seeming to care if you were to head out. He tends to be more focused on his own specific tasks.
 
Time passed quickly when Eden was hunched over the computer, her legs pulled comfortably up beneath her and braid draped over her shoulder. All of her attention was focused solely on the task at hand; which was picking apart and adjusting the software. Occasionally she would huff a quiet breath of annoyance when a mistake was made, or when she was forced to backtrack, but mostly Eden remained mute. Korrison's wordless arrival and silent presence would have bothered her in any other devised setting. But considering that they were at work the silence was oddly companionable. There was no need for conversation beyond minor communication over their respective tasks.

The snap of fingers jolted Eden back into the present and she blinked rapidly up at the figure, attempting to bring her eyes back into focus. Immediately she is surprised by the person standing before her -- Jent? -- as she is unable to think of a good enough reason for the members of Workroom 30 to request her presence. Still, she nodded dutifully and saved her immediate work.

"Of course, sir." Eden replied, doing a final check over said assignment. There were a few things she would have to tweak before the software was ready for production but otherwise she satisified in leaving it there for the time being. "I am currently caught up on my work. Would you like me to come over now?"
 
Music

Jent nods to you. "Yes, come along now if it isn't any trouble," he says, disppearing out of the WR19 door after waving for you to follow along. You head down the hallway, and soon reach WR30, located on the northeastern side of the building, on the same storey.

Jent invites you into the room. "We've been working on an alternative to the usual Monitors," he says, gesturing at a few tables with various components, wires, robotic parts. You know the Monitors are the rudimentary 'cameras' that are used to perform general surveillance. They're made from recycled biological parts, encased in a metal shell like sardines. They use human eyes, which are altered and outfitted with lenses and circuits which transfer information to different wetware computers in the security stations. Monitors... aren't technics, despite appearing so externally. You've heard that they actually bleed if they're damaged. And, of course, there are rumors that the government recycles the bodies of undesirables into these 'fleshnics', although the official statement is that the biological parts are artificially grown in labs.

WR30 seems to be working on something else, though. Something completely robotic, as is MechNat's specialty. Jent leads you over to where a small, sphere-shaped bot has been placed on a metal pedestal, hooked up to a nearby computer. "You see... my team has perfected many aspects of this particular drone. It can take pictures, record footage, zoom... But we also worked on its ability to recognize facial features, tones of voice, etcetera. Things that occur in everyday conversations. It can semi-accurately determine... deviancy based on what are often imperceptible aspects of a person's demeanor."

Jent clears his throat, and takes off his orange loyalist coat. He places it on a nearby chair before turning back to face you. It is now that you notice that the four other workers in the room have their eyes on you. Jent smiles non-threateningly, and gestures at the coat- seeming to emphasis that he is not wearing it. "Miss Holliday, I'm now informing you that we've... tested this drone on a few individuals, yourself included. You stand out. Now, before you say anything-- let me tell you that you may actually be among... like-minded individuals."
 
Assignment saved and workload secured for the day Eden stood up briskly from the metal desk, quick to follow after the other technic. Jent then proceeded to lead her down the long and familiar hallway towards Workroom 30. As they walked she attempted to recall some form of reasoning as to why the chief supervisor of another station required her immediate assistance. Her first suspicion was that they needed a fresh pair of eyes to look over their current assignment, though she still struggled to comprehend why they’d chosen her out of all the technics employed at MechNat.

When they initially entered the room she paused briefly, apprehensive of what lay before her, before she pulled herself together and approached the tables hesitantly. Whiskey eyes darkened in calculation as they swept over the tech covered tabletops until they came to a sudden halt. There was something she hadn’t seen before -- an unfamiliar sphere placed upon a pedestal. Tanned hands were folded neatly together as she listened to Jent’s explanation. For a moment she believed that her initial assessment was correct and she waited for him to reach the part where they needed her help. Except it never came. As Jent continued the pit in the bottom of her stomach widened and deepened until it inevitably threatened to swallow her whole. Eden had just been politely accused of treason.

Even as the orange coat of a loyalist was removed she flinched backwards, a subtle step to create the illusion of space as her hands unfolded themselves only to form into tight fists at her sides. She doesn’t know what to do. There was no amount of protocol for her to comprehend the situation before her. Eden, in her darker moments, would admit to being unhappy with the way that things were -- that she viewed change as a necessary occurrence -- but that didn’t mean she identified as a rebel. A small part of her mind whispered that this was a test, that they were testing her loyalty to the Autumn Party. But it seemed too indirect; those that showed signs of treason were not openly confronted like this, right? They were merely knocked aside or, worse, they just disappeared.

“What is this?” Eden questioned, eyes narrowed with suspicion as her fists trembled at her sides. Because she was terrified. Of what? She couldn’t exactly say. If this was a test then she’d already failed it. If this was some kind of recruitment scheme then she’d just stepped into something much bigger, and much more dangerous, than she could’ve accounted for that morning. “I… this is a test, right? You’re testing my loyalty? What do you want from me? What were you expecting from this?” The questions fell unbidden from her lips and Eden belatedly realised that she was panicking.
 
"Miss Hollid-... Eden," Jent says, deciding to switch to a first-name basis and ditch the corporate formalities. "Be at ease. This isn't a test, we've used this method to find people before."

Jent clears his throat. "This drone is only in its initial testing phase, and no information has been transferred to anyone else, not even up the MechNat chain. Of course, if we mass-produce this drone, the authorities will begin using it... by that I mean the armed forces, the police... the Watchmen will be using it. They will use it to, one day, discover these tidbits about you and I. How do you think they will react?"

The supervisor straightens himself, and crosses his arms. He glances over at the other employees, who appear stone-faced, maybe on edge. He then returns his gaze to you. "Do you want that to occur, Eden? This project is expensive. It won't be mass produced any time soon, it could take years. But when the time comes, would you want the state to possess this drone and its abilities?"
 
Tension held the points of Eden's shoulders in a visible, rigid line beneath the thick material of her gray coveralls. Thin arms were crossed firmly over her chest once more, giving her the appearance of a petulant -- if frightened --- child. But it was better than the fists her hands had been clenched into before. There was the fear that somebody was going to jump out and arrest her, however it was an underlying fear now. Nothing like the world-ending terror she'd experienced only moments ago. She would listen to what these people wanted to say, even if she wished she hadn't stood out and gotten herself in this mess.

Jent's explanation only made her wish for that harder, because that made it more difficult to turn away. Eden imagined all the people, like herself and like Evaline, who could easily fall if such a device were released into the hands of the authorities.

"No," Eden breathed on a deep sigh, eyes closed briefly. "No, I don't want that. People are already terrified and paranoid enough as it is, I can't even imagine the havoc this device would bring." Except she probably could imagine, she just didn't want to. Amber eyes trained themselves back on Jent's face, unnerved by the stone carved employees behind him. At least he looked human.

"You didn't answer my question though," She continued, though not so unkindly as the harsh line of her lips softened. "And I am... curious. What are you expecting from me?" Eden asked cautiously, which was as close to an admission as she'd gotten. Because you didn't single someone out and reveal your secret club unless you had a plan for that person.
 
Jent seemed to untense his shoulders a bit, seeming relieved at your answer as he began to respond to your question. "We're going to transfer this drone system, as well the schematics for it, out of here. We believe it would better be used by the... contrarian side," he explains.

"There is a problem. Well, several problems, actually... Firstly, in order to make sure that these schematics are made unavailable to the state, we're going to have to manually destroy our terminals here. When that happens, MechNat alarms will automatically alert the police. Secondly, upper-level management forced us to implement a tracking device on our drone prototype. We can disable it, but when that happens, it will likely trigger alarms as well."

Jent takes a deep breath. "Essentially, we're going to have to initiate both actions simultaneously, and work fast. We need more manpower, and we're very short on time; today we received orders to transfer a copy of the schematics to the company's secure archive... so, once that happens, MechNat would have permanent access to the drone's schematics, forever. Obviously, MechNat has started to realize the potential of this drone, and is trying to secure it as an asset to sell to the government. They aren't suspicious of our department yet, but we're being forced to act."

He looks over at the other co-conspirators that have gathered, and then back to you. "So, this is what we have to work with. Several of us have volunteered to stay behind and do what needs to be done to the computers," he says, slightly solemnly. It's clear that this is a sacrifice. "As for myself and several others, we'll be doing what I mentioned earlier; physically transferring a hardcopy of the schematics, as well as the prototype, out of this building. We're going to deliver it to an undisclosed location."

"I'd like you to assist in the transfer. I know you're working on a different type of bot right now, but your skills as a technico would still be useful. You'd also have to assist in protecting the prototype in a worst-case scenario, and in general, ensure it reaches its destination. I'll be there with some more experienced coworkers to lead you along, and more will be explained later- but essentially we're running short on time, and need another hand."
 
They wanted to directly involve her in a plan that'd completely disrupt her everyday life and push her away from her family's ideals. The terrified excitement that had begun to burn in the pit of her stomach surprised her. Eden thought that she liked her life. She liked working as a technico, living in her shared apartment, the decent access she had to her friends and family. She could live with the constant paranoia, that unscratchable itch beneath her skin, if it meant that things continued the way they were. Right?

Staring at Jent and his followers now she couldn't help but wonder how this would change and redirect her life. Even if they continued on with her plan, she'd either be called upon due to having contact with the betrayers beforehand or, worse, they'd be captured and she'd be exposed. The loyalty that they were willing to show in order to protect this creation was... admirable. Even if Jent was skirting around the fact that this was in blatant support of the rebellion.

"I see," Eden breathed, her hands had regained their tremble so she shoved them into her pockets. No matter how she felt, she didn't want to appear weak. "You want me to assist in the transfer which is presumably happening soon. Because you're low on man power and because you're out of time." Eden summarized, barely resisting the urge to sigh. How did she get herself into this mess? But surely she was right; if they received the order for the schematics today then they'd have to act relatively soon.

It was then that it distantly occurred to her.

"So, if I do this then I won't be able to go back to my normal life, will I?" Eden asked and huffed a low breath that might have been a laugh under any other circumstances. She swallowed the lump in her throat, hands formed into fists in her pockets. It wasn't like she had that much to lose. Either she helped them and faced the possibility of helping others. Or she didn't help them in an attempt to save herself.

"Alright, I'm in," Eden's voice was steadfast and resolute in her decision. "This isn't something that... that they should have access to. I want to help."
 
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"No, at least not in the foreseeable future. Perhaps our fellow contrarians could help you at some point; features can be changed, documents can be forged, perhaps you could assume a new identity one day. But for now, you're going to have to sever the ties to your current life. The struggle against Autarchism(1) demands great personal sacrifice, and I am glad that you are ready to take it," Jent says, finally smiling.

"Well, you're the last free-thinker we managed to scrape up. Everybody, standby and get ready. Evelyn, I'm going to hand you off to Mr. Lancaster, who will be showing you some appliances that will help you in your tasking," Jent tells you as he throws his orange coat back on.


A man with graying hair and a pencil moustache waves you over to a worktable that looks like it was hastily set up. You see 'WR28' emblazoned on the right breast Lancaster's faded blue coveralls, identifying him as being from Workroom 28. You're not the only outsider, it seems.

The grizzled technico sighs, picking up a handheld device that looks vaguely similar to a nail gun. "Alright, miss. Since we're not going to be employed here for much longer, we're just going to utilize as much of this tech as we can. I happen to work in Implant Solutions." He gently takes your arm, and presses the device against your wrist. Before you have much time to react, you suddenly feel a sharp pain the device emits a pneumatic hiss.

Blood drizzles down your arm. "Congratulations, you're now a bionic, and I just wasted a million company certs(2). So, that's called a MedJack. If, say, a constable were to shoot you, it would release painkillers and mend the wound slowly." He gestures at your wrist, which has already stopped bleeding, the flesh already growing back over. "I'm not getting into the details, but keep in mind that it doesn't make you indestructible. However, you won't need surgery and months of recovery when you take a small bullet. Taking a shot to the head, or a full-powered rifle round to the chest will still kill you dead, though."

Lancaster uses a rag to wipe the blood off of his small chip gun. "Now, are you ready for more? Still need an AimPiece, accompanying arm brace, and uh... a communicator."


(1) 'Autarchism' is the Autumn Party's described ideology. It borrows its name from a long-lost philosophy based on individual liberty and self-reliance, but the Autumn Party has since co-opted and twisted it into a dogma of totalitarianism and human purism that is more comparable to old-world fascism. They may have only taken the name due to the fact that it shares the first three letters with 'Autumn'.

(2) Currency Certificates, or 'certs', are Sanctaria's currency. Using certs to buy food or water is illegal, since Ration Cards are used, with points being added at the end of work days.
 
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"A pleasure to meet you, sir." Came the polite greeting as Eden was briefly introduced to Mr. Lancaster. She was guided towards another worktable, one that she hadn't properly looked over in her previous haste. Curiosity was evident in the dark of Eden's eyes as the older man withdrew a strange looking device and pressed it to her wrist. The bite of the gun subsequently caught her off guard. Almost immediately the curious expression twisted into one of pain, a hiss sucked between the young woman's teeth as she instinctively jerked her arm back.

"That's... uhm, useful," Eden breathed out shakily in response to Lancaster's explanation, watching with fascination as the skin slowly repaired itself. "I'll try not to take any bullets to the head or chest then." She mumbled jokingly, visibly dazed by the suddenness of the events. Everything was happening so fast and she was reeling just trying to keep up. But... from the sounds of it, there was much more to come. Eden would need these advancements if she were to become a 'rebel'. And he was right, they might as well take advantage of the various enhancements at their fingertips.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded to the older technico.

"Yeah I can... I'm ready for more." Eden affirmed, though she was slightly preoccupied as her gaze made a quick sweep of the room. She was looking for a chair. "But, if it's all the same to you, do you mind if I sit down for the next ones?" She asked, lips tilted up at the corners in a hesitant smile.
 
Lancaster uses his foot to push one of the worktable's stools over to you, an unpleasant scraping noise being heard as its legs slid across the floor. After you become seated, he digs out the arm brace he mentioned. After rolling up your sleeve, he begins to fasten it onto your right arm, doing up some straps. The straps are leather, and the rest of the brace seems to be made from a thin, flexible metallic material. It's unnoticeable with long sleeves,

He opens a drawer and pulls out a small eyepiece.
1543906372379.png

"Alright, this is the AimPiece. Strap it around your dominant eye. It comes with wires that attach to the arm brace. When you focus on something that you intend on shooting, it'll use the brace to correct your shooting stance. It'll basically help you kill stuff, even if you don't actually know what you're doing," he explains. "Make sure you plug it into the brace, or else it won't work, though."

Finally, Lancaster opens his palm and presents a gray, bullet-sized device. "ComBud. Put that in your ear."
 
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