Mask or Menace | MODERATORS (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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maskormenacelogs2015-07-21 05:47 pm
maskormods) wrote in maskormenacelogs2015-07-21 05:47 pm
Entry tags:
- !event log,
- † andrew warner | n/a,
- † athos | n/a,
- † d'artagnan | n/a,
- † edward elric | the fullmetal alchemist,
- † ellie williams | n/a,
- † jesse pinkman | diesel,
- † marian hawke | andraste's mabari,
- † matthew lin | abduxel,
- † riku | darkeater,
- † riza hawkeye | the hawk's eye,
- † sora | destiny’s key,
- † winry rockbell | n/a
THOUGH NOTHING WILL DRIVE THEM AWAY
WHO: The ImPorts signed up here
WHERE: The Heropa of 2025... THE FUTURE!
WHEN: From 5PM on the 21st until 7PM on the 23rd
WHAT: Soviet sabotage results in random imPorts experiencing an interactive vision of a possible future: Heropa ten years from now, in an America where the government has taken stricter control of imPorts as their weapons.
WARNINGS: Please let Bizzy know here if you have any questions about the setting, or the mods if you have questions about the plot here.
IMPORT.
The tattoo is bright. Unlike before, where imPort tattoos could be hidden with carefully placed clothing or other accessories, the designation is so demarcated that it is difficult to conceal. Gone is the gentle glow, replaced with lettering so bright that it can almost be its own light source. Nowadays, imPorts attempting to conceal their brand are penalized harshly by whoever catches them in the act.
The government base, big though it may be, is restrictive. Unlike before, the fences are walls. Tall. High. You are welcome to leave, but it isn’t without escort. IMPORT is visible everywhere you go—every person you pass, every set of eyes that sees you, every street and every shop keep, everyone and everything knows just what you are. And you aren’t looked upon with awe, or respect, or even curiosity. IMPORT. The brand triggers anger. Distrust. Occasionally it even brings about outright hostility.
As such, most choose to stay within the confines of the base. The imposing gray walls are high, leaving no view but the sky above, but at least they don’t threaten you as you walk by, curse you and your kind, suggest that you go back where you came from.
The work is menial. Tedious. No longer are imPorts assigned to work related to their fields at home, nor are they permitted to change the work they do. You may have been a nuclear physicist at home. Irrelevant. You are here now, and you cook for other military police. When necessary, your skills are called upon—when they need someone to engineer replacement parts for a broken vehicle, when they need the eyes of a sharpshooter to stand watch while a guard takes a break. Primarily, though, you are completely removed from both the skills you possessed at home as well as the powers you were granted upon arrival. It’s deliberate in its message. We are in control. You do exactly as we say.
The nanites in the brand—what most refer to the tattoo as, now—have the power to shock all who misbehave. imPorts are forced to check in at all locations, so movement is rigidly tracked. Returning to your residence for the night? Check in. Arriving in your suite in the residences? Check in. Going to bed? Check in. Headed out to work? Check out of all of those places, each stop of the way. Check in to the office building. The floor. The office suite. The desk itself. There are cameras everywhere and it isn’t a secret that they can see your every movement. The checking in, the swiping of your brand at every possible point isn’t an act forced upon you of necessity. It’s another show of power. Who is in control. It isn’t you.
Surely, there’s more to this. When you arrived here, you were given a file folder, filled to the brim with information—about you, your power, your skills, your background. After all, though the view on imPorts has changed dramatically, the welcome information has not. Every new arrival is still told they’ve been brought to serve their new government. They are here to help. They are here to serve. This time, there just isn’t a choice.
Most importantly in all of this is that you aren’t alone. The imPort presence might seem small but there are quite a few milling about, stolen from their home in times of great duress and dropped into this militaristic hellhole of a country in the middle of a frigid war. There are others who have been granted powers they are not permitted to use, placed in jobs that belittle every skill they’ve ever learned, placed in residences alone and away from the other imPorts in the building, separated from the civilian life outside of the high concrete walls.
Someone, ages ago, set up a small recreation area at the far eastern portion of the de Chima government facility. It started out minuscule, but that was the point. It needed to appear nonthreatening. Over the last few years it has grown, but it continues to be one of the least regulated areas of the base. It is the one imPort area that is not rigidly watched by military police twenty-four hours a day. And if you ask the right people, you might be surprised to find that a small group of imPorts meets every Tuesday evening at 1700 hours to discuss any breaches in security that have been identified. Not for the sake of the military police, of course. No. The imPorts who run this meeting convene quietly with coffee and tea and discuss what ways their fellow prisoners might find a glimmer of freedom.
WHERE: The Heropa of 2025... THE FUTURE!
WHEN: From 5PM on the 21st until 7PM on the 23rd
WHAT: Soviet sabotage results in random imPorts experiencing an interactive vision of a possible future: Heropa ten years from now, in an America where the government has taken stricter control of imPorts as their weapons.
WARNINGS: Please let Bizzy know here if you have any questions about the setting, or the mods if you have questions about the plot here.
IMPORT.
The tattoo is bright. Unlike before, where imPort tattoos could be hidden with carefully placed clothing or other accessories, the designation is so demarcated that it is difficult to conceal. Gone is the gentle glow, replaced with lettering so bright that it can almost be its own light source. Nowadays, imPorts attempting to conceal their brand are penalized harshly by whoever catches them in the act.
The government base, big though it may be, is restrictive. Unlike before, the fences are walls. Tall. High. You are welcome to leave, but it isn’t without escort. IMPORT is visible everywhere you go—every person you pass, every set of eyes that sees you, every street and every shop keep, everyone and everything knows just what you are. And you aren’t looked upon with awe, or respect, or even curiosity. IMPORT. The brand triggers anger. Distrust. Occasionally it even brings about outright hostility.
As such, most choose to stay within the confines of the base. The imposing gray walls are high, leaving no view but the sky above, but at least they don’t threaten you as you walk by, curse you and your kind, suggest that you go back where you came from.
The work is menial. Tedious. No longer are imPorts assigned to work related to their fields at home, nor are they permitted to change the work they do. You may have been a nuclear physicist at home. Irrelevant. You are here now, and you cook for other military police. When necessary, your skills are called upon—when they need someone to engineer replacement parts for a broken vehicle, when they need the eyes of a sharpshooter to stand watch while a guard takes a break. Primarily, though, you are completely removed from both the skills you possessed at home as well as the powers you were granted upon arrival. It’s deliberate in its message. We are in control. You do exactly as we say.
The nanites in the brand—what most refer to the tattoo as, now—have the power to shock all who misbehave. imPorts are forced to check in at all locations, so movement is rigidly tracked. Returning to your residence for the night? Check in. Arriving in your suite in the residences? Check in. Going to bed? Check in. Headed out to work? Check out of all of those places, each stop of the way. Check in to the office building. The floor. The office suite. The desk itself. There are cameras everywhere and it isn’t a secret that they can see your every movement. The checking in, the swiping of your brand at every possible point isn’t an act forced upon you of necessity. It’s another show of power. Who is in control. It isn’t you.
Surely, there’s more to this. When you arrived here, you were given a file folder, filled to the brim with information—about you, your power, your skills, your background. After all, though the view on imPorts has changed dramatically, the welcome information has not. Every new arrival is still told they’ve been brought to serve their new government. They are here to help. They are here to serve. This time, there just isn’t a choice.
Most importantly in all of this is that you aren’t alone. The imPort presence might seem small but there are quite a few milling about, stolen from their home in times of great duress and dropped into this militaristic hellhole of a country in the middle of a frigid war. There are others who have been granted powers they are not permitted to use, placed in jobs that belittle every skill they’ve ever learned, placed in residences alone and away from the other imPorts in the building, separated from the civilian life outside of the high concrete walls.
Someone, ages ago, set up a small recreation area at the far eastern portion of the de Chima government facility. It started out minuscule, but that was the point. It needed to appear nonthreatening. Over the last few years it has grown, but it continues to be one of the least regulated areas of the base. It is the one imPort area that is not rigidly watched by military police twenty-four hours a day. And if you ask the right people, you might be surprised to find that a small group of imPorts meets every Tuesday evening at 1700 hours to discuss any breaches in security that have been identified. Not for the sake of the military police, of course. No. The imPorts who run this meeting convene quietly with coffee and tea and discuss what ways their fellow prisoners might find a glimmer of freedom.
a
Don't answer him. Just move, or the shocks will keep coming. This isn't the place.
[ To disobey, he means. They have to be smarter than that. They have to think, and find a way to get out of this. And they will get out of it. So long as they can survive the regulations first, and not let these soldiers know anything is wrong. ]
You shouldn't be here, am I right? You remember another De Chima.
You aren't the only one.
no subject
She quickly falls into step with him, brows furrowed and dark eyes watching for guards as they walk. Her ears remain alert to the sounds of others as they walk. Carefully, she shifts her weight so her mouth is close to his ear as they walk, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper.]
Heropa, but yes. I've worked in De Chima through my job, but this was not it. Not like this.
no subject
It's his instinct to fight back. To put a stop to all of this. But it's bigger than him, and it's sudden, and he's out of his depth. Now that his head is in gear, he knows he must find a way to help them all without putting them in worse danger. ]
I know.
[ A pause, while he checks again that they're not being watched. ]
It's different. We shouldn't be here. I've seen others, too. I don't know how many, and I don't know why we've been brought. It could be another world.
Or it could be something else. [ He flicks his eyes up towards the nearest soldier. ] They seem to think we belong here.
no subject
We've changed to fit being 'here', as well--wherever here is.
[Her gaze is on the soldier a few paces down the hall, careful to be aware of the soldier's actions and behaviors.]
Now, though, I wonder what we're expected to do, beyond attempting to fit in.
no subject
Mine is the same. [ His tattoo. As they settle into a rhythm, he carefully lets go of her arm. There’s no need to pull her along now. He pulls his sleeve back to show her the tattoo. It’s bright enough to be seen through the material of his shirt, anyway. ] Like a badge of honour. I don’t know what they want, but this seems normal to them. They’ve made an army out of us. It makes me wonder if we’re at war.
[ He glances at her. ]
We’ll need to get away from them if we’re to find out more, but we can’t be seen. What powers do you have?
no subject
I've heard talk of a meeting that happens on Tuesday evenings, already. The imPort next door was talking to someone about it.
[A pause, as she wraps the fingers of her right hand around her left wrist, covering up the tattoo.] Perception. I can know things about persons I should not immediately know, just through brief interactions. Just by looking, at times. It's invasive, and I try not to use it.
I am also a military sniper, and that seems to be what purpose they are putting me to here, if I read the schedule I was initially given correctly. I'm expected to stand watch most of the day.
no subject
[ Perhaps the people there will have some answers. D'Artagnan can hope, anyway.
As she tells him about his powers, though, his eyes become very focused. Not using a power like that makes a lot of sense to him - he can't imagine it would be easy to make friends with people who were always wondering how much you knew about them.
But the guards here don't seem all that keen on making friends, anyway. ]
What about them?
[ He nods, briefly, back towards them. It's a minimal gesture, meant only for her. ]
What can you perceive from them, what do they want from us?
no subject
Disgust. That we're here and being used, even if our skills are useful to their cause.
While also wondering what we can do for them. Since we're here already, of course--not that they sympathize with imPorts. There's a lot of distaste. Distrust.
They don't...
[Her gaze returns to the two guards briefly, brows furrowed, before she shakes her head.] They don't seem to want more. Easy targets that they can project their anger upon. They don't know anything else.
[As the two continue to walk, she slips her hands into her pockets contemplatively, quietly adding:] A wise decision by whoever is in charge. They do know what powers the imPorts have, after all.
no subject
Distrust is something different, though. He turns back, rubbing his hand along his jaw. ]
I wonder what they're afraid of. What they think we're going to do.
[ Why there's distrust. He leans back. ]
Maybe something happened here, something that ruined their opinion of us. It's as if they think we're a threat. We need to know why. Maybe we can use it to our advantage.
no subject
Hmm...
[Amber eyes focus on the guards, brows furrowed again, considering. She's quiet for a few moments before shaking her head.] I can't--nothing in particular is coming to the forefront. But they clearly see us as a threat. There's no need to use perception to tell that.
[Hawkeye swallows.] Keeping us split up, separated. Keeping us subdued. Beating imPorts down.
...the question is why. There were the events that we've seen in Heropa, but that hasn't shifted public opinion so drastically.
no subject
[ D'Artagnan frowns around at the scene, at the camp. This is nothing like the world they came from. The air feels the same as it did in De Chima, but that's the only similarity. ]
I don't think we're in Heropa, anyway. [ It's humid there. Horribly so; he'd know the difference. ]
But something has changed things. Maybe it's a warning. But it's not much of one, if we don't even know what we're being warned about.