THOUGH NOTHING WILL DRIVE THEM AWAY

[maskormods]

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.

Comments

[hostage]

THE FUTURE ( OPEN )

[Jesse's assumption, of course, is that he was ported out. It happened to him once before, and it worked much like this: one minute he was in his room, and the next thing he knew, it was a day later. These things happen. Only, this time it's been more than a day. It's been... He can't even guess how long it's been. The entire world is different. He's not in Albuquerque, but he's not in Cape Canaveral, either.

The glowing brand on his wrist catches his attention and he raises his hand to examine it. IMPORT. Not REGISTERED, but IMPORT. Judging from his surroundings, he guesses that the distinction doesn't matter much anymore, in whatever timeline he's found himself. It was always a shallow gesture, he knew, the whole idea that registration meant anything to the feds who owned them, but it's important to know that the pretenses have been stripped away. He's property. He understands that before he understands any other part of this.

Jesse starts walking, moving through the compound in search of a familiar face, but he doesn't get far before an armed guard seizes him by the wrist and starts barking commands at him. Jesse's so disoriented, he hardly processes what's being demanded of him as he's tugged along by the arm.

Then they turn a corner and he sees the wounded. A makeshift triage has been set up outside, bodies laid out on cots with blood pooling around them. A terrorist attack, the guard informs him as he pushes Jesse forward. He's a healer, isn't he? He'd better make himself useful.

These people are missing limbs. Some of them are already dead. The ones that aren't dead yet will be very soon. His stomach turns as he looks at them - ten in total, at least four are corpses - and he turns around to yell back to the guard:]

I can't - It doesn't work like that! I can't heal this much all at once. I'll -

[His protests are met with the butt of a rifle and Jesse's thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. A second later, he's being physically dragged to the nearest corpse, the barrel of the gun pressed to his neck as the soldier behind him forces his hand onto the body's cold skin and orders him to get to work. These are important people. They need resurrecting.

Jesse struggles against the soldier's grip and throws a desperate look over his shoulder. There are other imPorts nearby. He can see them. But are any of them going to stop this?]

THE PRESENT ( CLOSED TO ELLIE & CO. )

[Jesse's standing in the middle of his dorm room, his eyes fixed on a point beyond the wall in front of him. He's perfectly still, breathing slow and steady. Nothing in the room has been disturbed. It's as if he got up to do something and then simply stopped. There's nothing wrong with him.

Except that he's no longer here. His mind is far away, and the only sign of this is in the movement of his lips. He's wide awake but mumbling like someone talking in his sleep:]

It doesn't work like that... I can't...

The Present

[nohalfway]

[ It's a damn good thing that he only lives a floor away from her and Joel, because running to his apartment takes little to no time at all. After multiple phone calls that weren't returned, Ellie was convinced something was wrong. Jesse has always been on top of answering his phone when she calls, the longest she'd waited being maybe an hour. So when the whole day passes with nothing? She can't help but worry. ]

[ Jesse, thankfully, keeps his door unlocked normally. It's the one thing that Ellie finds is still the case, other than him not answering his phone. She opens the door, peeking through and immediately calling: ]

Jesse?

[ She hears talking, quiet talking, but she recognizes his voice. Ellie walks in and shuts the door behind her, and once she comes around the corner of his dorm, she sees him just standing there. But for a second, she sighs in relief. ]

Holy shit, Jesse, could you possibly try harder to give me a fucking heart attack? Why aren't you answering your phone?

[hostage]

[Jesse doesn't turn to her. Doesn't acknowledge that he heard the door open or any of her words. He doesn't so much as twitch a muscle. He just keeps on staring at thin air and mumbling to himself, weak protests against someone who isn't in the room.]

[nohalfway]

[ Ellie makes pause, her head tilting as she takes another slow, hesitating step forward. ]

... Jesse?

[ She says his name again as if that's going to gain his attention. As if the first time wasn't enough, but even she knows in the back of her mind that this is clearly not normal Jesse behavior. She knows him well enough to get that something is wrong, and she feels a bit sick to her stomach because she's having this horribly similar flashback of when she'd gone to the adjacent office in the radio tower where Sam had turned. ]

[ But, like the curious and impulsive person she is, she tries again, reaching out for him and grabbing his arm. She speaks softly. ]

I'm talking to you.

[hostage]

[She might as well be talking to a mannequin. He still doesn't react, his arm hanging limp at his side until she decides to grab it. Manipulating him is the same as manipulating a doll. He'll pose however she moves him, and then remain that way, just as frozen as before.]

[nohalfway]

[ It's not the reaction she wants, not one bit. Moving his arm only for it to fucking stay there is almost as if he's playing some sick game with her. But that's not him. ]

Come on, fucking--

[ Ellie makes a sound. It's a sort of struggling laugh and whine because this is so not funny. ]

Jesse! I'm not playing!

[ She puts his arm down and walks in front of him, arms reaching up to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. It's clear in her voice that she's starting to feel frantic, panicked. What the hell is even wrong with him? ]

Wake up you, asshole!

[ It's hard to put two and two together, because she doesn't want to make assumptions that don't belong or put him in a place he shouldn't be. He's a fast healer, resilient, but it's as if he's on something. Ellie has no fucking clue what the drugs he sells even do but would he use them? Would he do enough to cause this? ]

[hostage]

[When she shakes him like that, his body reacts enough to keep him from losing balance or falling over, but that's it. He doesn't crack a smile and he still doesn't even seem capable of seeing her. It's as if he's looking through her, and even though he blinks occasionally, his pupils don't change their focus.]

[nohalfway]

[ Ellie stops, taking a step back as her mouth goes agape. ]

Holy shit.

What do I even do right now?

[ She takes a heavy inhale and an even harsher exhale as she frantically reaches for her phone and immediately starts to dial for Joel. She can't do this by herself, not when she has no idea what is even going on. ]

the fuuuutuuuure

[whathawksdo]

These people are already dead.

[ One of them is. Not one of the imPorts that had been lingering nearby already, no, but one that had trailed along after Jesse and the soldier from the get go. Hawke's been faster on recovery, even if she still has no idea what's just happened. Another porter incident, perhaps. Something gone wrong. There's a lot of unknowns right now, but that isn't going to stop her from stepping in to try and stop something that pisses her off.

Pushing anyone around like that, especially a healer, of all people. That's wrong enough for her to throw caution to the wind and step in, a hand dropping onto the soldier's shoulder. ]

They don't need healing, they need a miracle.

[ And speaking of miracles, she'd consider it one if the solider lowered that gun, to be quite honest. Either that or turning it on Hawke, but, hey, if it moves the aim of the weapon, she can work with that. ]

[hostage]

[The soldier's reaction to an imPort laying a hand on him is, naturally, to turn the gun on her instead.]

Stand back, imPort!

[He doesn't fire yet, but he's ready to. An imPort might be a precious limited resource, but none of these natives has any use for an imPort who won't follow orders.

Jesse, meanwhile, scrambles away on hands and knees. He doesn't know what will happen if he tries to heal a corpse, but he doesn't want to find out. Something tells him it'll be no better than a bullet to the head. He trips a few times before he finally finds his feet, but there are other soldiers heading their way. He and Hawke are both apparently a problem that needs containment.]

[whathawksdo]

[ To which she puts her hands up and does, shockingly enough, take a step back. All in all, that may have gone differently if she still had access to her magic, but wherever they are, whatever's happened, the power dampener from her probation, say, what? Ten years ago now?

Yeah, that's still there, so at least she isn't making this worse by setting anyone on fire. ]

Well. Someone's a little touchy. [ Could be the surrounded by dead and dying thing. Hawke's kind of used to that schtick. ] I was only saving you a lot of grief.

[ And she does hear the other soldiers on their way, the noise they make, but she isn't taking her eyes off the one in front of her save for a quick glance towards Jesse. Why is he still here? Did he flub his escape? Maybe there just isn't anywhere to escape to. ]

I mean, really? Shooting healers for not playing god? You might have ended up answering for that one, wasting resources and all.

[willinglychanged]

( The Future - OTA )

[Drew still wasn't quite used to the sensation of porting or the idea of porting itself. He didn't like how suddenly everything changed, the sights and smells around her indiscriminately altered and replaced by something new. It always took him a few moments to get his head around it, to shake himself free of the sudden confusion and actually take stock of what was happening.

He was still in Heropa, visibly at least, but everything looked a little different, a little more militarized than it had been before. Where he'd once been in a fluorishing city he now feels more like he's in a barracks, which mostly had to do with the fact that he was, at the edge of an army camp beside huge, sprawling walls, guards all around him.

His surroundings weren't the only things that'd changed, either, but also his brand. Where there'd been a tattoo marking him as Registered before now there was only the bright sign claiming him as an imPort, something about it making him feel incredibly uncomfortable in how glaringly obvious it'd become.

He only had a couple seconds off disorientation before suddenly the butt of a gun is jabbed between his ribs, he turns snarling to the soldier who'd done it, his fangs popping out instantly only for him to drop suddenly to the floor, body spasming with electrical shocks exploding their way through his system, a loud howl escaping from between his lips to be heard all over the camp. A soldier was standing over him, a dark expression on his face.]

Guard dog, did you forget your place? [Guard dog? What the hell? Not only was that completely untrue it was entirely demeaning... Drew was starting to realize he'd been ported into something incredibly sinister, a reality that did an awful lot to scare him. He was starting to realize he was a slave here, not a hero, something which was just confirmed when there's suddenly a collar clicked into place around his neck, attached to what is essentially a leash, the soldier who'd spoken a minute ago yanking it viciously.] We're doing a perimeter sweep. Now get moving, one foot in front of another. Pretend like you're an actual human for once.

[Shame burned bright on his face and horror was evident in his eyes. Not only was this reality a sick idea for the place he'd only recently joined, but it rung true to what life had been like before the SRM had taken off; the worst nightmare of any supernatural creature from his home world. Wouldn't someone help him? Unleash him from this guard's control? Couldn't they see how sick this was.]

( The Present - OTA )

[Drew is alone in his apartment, lying on his bed and twitching occasional, the sign of someone in the middle of a bad dream. Luckily he was in a safe enough position, flailing limbs not able to make contact with anything else. He genuinely seems like he's at rest if it weren't for those wide eyes staring straight at the ceiling.

When he howls in the hallucination, however, that same supernatural sound rings out in the real world, practically a siren echoing off not only the walls in his apartment but echoing out across several blocks of the city, something haunted in the sound of it.]

athos ; ota

[desequilibre]

❚❚❚❚❚ a. ( FUTURE )

[ His stomach rolls in such a way that he knows he's been moved without his consent. It's enough to send a bright flair of anger inside of his chest, because if there's anything he does not like it's being treated like a puppet. He even turns to say something sharp and harsh to the soldier manning the porter but then --.

Well, this is no place he's seen. The walls are high, the landscape dark. The look on the man's face is one of such vile contempt that Athos feels a chill go through him. It would be so easy to walk away and find someone he recognises. Lucy. D'Artagnan. His friends who would be able to help him work out just what was going on. And yet he tries this way. ] What's happened? Where have you brought me?

[ The soldier sneers but does not speak and Athos has never been a cautious man when wronged. He reaches for the sword at his belt only to find it's no longer there. Stepping in he raises a hand, points a finger at him. ] You'll tell me what's going on or I'll --.

[ The jolt of pain that courses through him from his wrist is excruciating. He feels his knees go out beneath him, his breath caught in his throat. Through watery eyes he sees the guard start to laugh. ]

❚❚❚❚❚ b. ( FUTURE )

[ The humiliation stings long after the shock of electricity. Athos feels it like a festering wound, still seeping inside of him. But he stays quiet and watches. Some people he recognises from the network. Some he does not. But they are all treated as badly as he had been, beaten and bruised and addressed like animals. The indignity is something he cannot stand, the fact that these men - these creatures - have so little compassion. They are not soldiers but mercenaries.

He sticks to the shadows as best as he can, his hat pulled low on his head to avoid the gaze of anyone too keen. But he does not avoid the other imPorts. In fact when someone stumbles in front of him then he is the first to reach them, giving them an aid back to their feet. His voice is low when he speaks so as not to be heard. ]

Keep walking. We'll get out of this, I promise.

❚❚❚❚❚ c. ( PRESENT )

[ He falls asleep in a tavern. No, a bar, that's what d'Artagnan told him to call them. So he falls asleep in a bar, a glass of brandy at his fingertips and an unnatural cast to his slumber. He hasn't done this in a long time, since before he had Porthos to carry him home, since before he knew he had an image to present. That's what makes it so strange.

That and it was only his second drink.

When the first shock comes it is the brandy is the one that suffers, flung aside by his seizing fingers. The words he snarls out are under his breath and almost intelligible. Every so often he makes a start forward as if he means to slam himself into something. Or someone. ]

[hostage]

He's got his orders and you've got yours. Unless you plan on volunteering to do his job for him, keep back.

[For emphasis, the soldier cocks his gun. That's the first and last warning she'll get. The next time she intervenes, she'll catch a bullet.

The others have cornered Jesse by now, herding him back toward the mutilated bodies. With nowhere to run, he retreats to the same spot he'd just escaped, throwing an apologetic look at Hawke. She tried her best, and he appreciates that, but these guys are clearly used to keeping imPorts in line. The two of them won't stand a chance.]

I was just, um... I was saying, I gotta start with the ones that aren't hurt as bad. The, uh, the ones that're still breathing.

[Maybe if he works slow enough, she'll find an opening and do something. For now, all he can do is cross to the least injured person out of the lot and lay his hands upon them. Their wounds heal instantly, but those same wounds transfer onto Jesse. A series of lacerations carve themselves into his arms and begin seeping fresh blood.]

b

[whoneedsadream]

[ Somebody had to be an optimist because it sure as hell wasn't Anatoly. He had been trying his hardest just to roll with this, casting being in the future as another strange facet of this place like the robots and the aliens. But as he was shocked by his tattoo and jostled by one of the guards, Anatoly honestly wondered how much more he could take of this. He wasn't strong. He wasn't a fighter. If they were truly stuck in this terrible world, then what would happen to him?

As Athos helps him up, the other man's words do nothing to console Anatoly. ]

You say that like there's some way to leave this place. [ His voice is low but there's no hiding that Russian accent. ]

[desequilibre]

[ He keeps close to the man in case he stumbles again, barely looking at him but there's the sense that his attention is on him regardless. ( The accent doesn't bother him as much as it might others. He's French. And he has yet to buy in to the whole communism thing. ) ]

This isn't the world we were in before. It's different somehow. Like something fundamental has changed. [ A pause. ] And if we were brought here then we can be sent back. We just have to bide our time and be careful as we do it.

[whathawksdo]

[ This is going to be tricky. The problem with the soldiers being used to dealing with imPorts leaves little opportunity that an opening will present itself all on its own, not if she doesn't take a few chances, though watching Jesse begin working on the injured, the way the injuries transfer, she can only imagine what will happen when he gets to the dead ones.

Maybe he'll prefer taking those same chances over what's to come, if that's the case. ]

Fine. I will. [ And, once she lowers her hands again, she immediately presents her wrist and its power dampener to the soldiers. ] I have magic that can help, but I need this gone. It's old, so my time for needing to wear it has long since passed.

[ The latter is true, the power dampener being of a design obviously old and no longer in use. Probably not needed, either, with whatever other back-ups they have now for dealing with imPorts. The former, however, is a lie, only who would know? Hawke would have to be listed as someone with a wide range of magic, who's to know whether healing is part of that or not? ]

The sooner it's off... [ She looks intently at Jesse when she says this, hoping he might get a clue. She can't exactly tell him to get ready to run. ] The sooner we can all go.

[whoneedsadream]

We were brought to that other world, the other Heropa and there's no way for us to be sent back to our actual homes of our own choosing. [ Sorry you have to deal with Mr. Cynical here, but really Anatoly's just seeing this as yet another confusing thing in this world that he's just going to have to deal with and can't change. ]

We're stuck in a damn police state. 'Careful' will be harder than you think.

OTA

[equinamity]

A. 2025 (Future) I

[Riza is generally a cooperative person. Even in her attempts to resist when she disagrees with a plan or behavior, she does so typically with a modicum of respect. Even still, this has not spared her from the various indignities imPorts have been afforded in this time.

She isn't sure how she's gotten here. One moment, she's in the familiar Heropa, a place she's come to know. The next, she's felt an uncomfortable tug in her stomach as she's ported elsewhere and dropped into this unfamiliar De Chima. She isn't initially walking, hesitant, taking a few moments to get her bearings before pressing on--]

Ah--!

[The shock in her wrist startles her, a strangled yelp as the electricity courses through her. Her right hand grabs at the tattoo, the pain freezing her in her tracks.] You get your ass moving when we tell you to go, imPort!

B. 2025 (Future) II

[Not one to rock the boat--at least not outwardly--Riza has spent her free time in the recreation area after work. She doesn't actively participate in the Tuesday evening meeting but she's certainly there, listening intently while 'skimming' a book. She's taken a position by the entrance to the area. The book she's kept with her to read is closed in her lap by the time the meeting starts, amber eyes carefully watching all passers-by, particularly government employees. If you didn't know better, you might think she was keeping watch for the group of imPorts who were meeting. But that would be silly, seeing as she isn't looking for trouble, right?

It may be best not to get too close. Her gaze is sharp. Anyone who meanders too close to her with anything even remotely like attention to the meeting taking place will be greeted with a polite, though warning:] Ah. Good evening. Are you looking for someone?

C. (Present)

[Riza was home when the hallucinations began happening, getting ready for work. She goes about the bare minimum of life-sustaining tasks in what likely looks like uncomfortable silence; a glazed-eyed expression and silent, non-interactive. Any attempt to speak with her will be completely unsuccessful.

The only vocalization the sniper makes is the occasional shout--likely when she's being shocked by the tattoo on her hand in the hallucination. Otherwise, she'll remain completely silent.]

Long tag is long and I hope this is ok, please tell me if it's not!

[equinamity]

[Drew might be surprised to find another imPort standing watch, a small frown on her features. Her amber eyes are focused, though her expression is distant. The guard dragging Drew along passed by them, and her gaze swept over the two, the rifle shifting in her hands.]

Excuse me, sir.

[Clearly, despite the slightest hint of someone who wanted nothing to do with this, the woman had military experience. She slung her rifle over her shoulder, standing at attention to the military guard though she did not salute. ImPorts, she had learned early on, were not asked to salute. Sullied the action, or some other ridiculous comment.] What do you want?

I would be appreciative of an extra set of eyes, sir. [Does she have experience playing the part? The sniper blinks, her shoulders sagging just slightly. Despite the bright tattoo on her wrist, she's acting every part the model soldier that the government in De Chima wants. It's rather convincing, so much so that Drew may not initially know where her alliances fall.] There has been an increase in activity near the western gate, and from this vantage point I have a fair view of the road leading to the area. Another pair of eyes would be indispensable in preventing any rebellious behavior. Sir.

[In return for her relatively realistic request, the sniper is shoved hard against the wall, the guard pressing his arm hard against her collarbone as she winces, her free hand gripping his wrist to avoid the pressure digging into her windpipe.] If you need help because you can't do your damn job, then you just need to say so. It's crap they're letting imPorts like you do such important work. The dog can stay

[With a rough shove, the guard ensures her head collides with the concrete behind her before handing her the leash, stalking off and muttering curses to himself.

Riza is silent for a solid thirty seconds, watching the guard leave. When she's sure he's out of earshot, her shoulders sink. There's nobody else near the two of them on the perimeter wall of the De Chima government compound, and she's glad for the privacy. She drops the leash with a huff of disdain, reaching for the collar that had been placed on him. When she's undone the clasp, she releases it and drops it to the ground as well, finally allowing herself to rub a hand gingerly along the obvious red mark along her neck.]

Are you all right?

Future!

[equinamity]

[Riza has been assigned to keep watch over the triage area. It's been an unpleasant experience to say the absolute least and she's unsure exactly what anyone is supposed to do for the collection of dead bodies other than attempt to mourn, because healing is out of the question. But thus far attempts to explain to the guards that their "healing" attempts are really just attempts at resurrection have fallen on deaf ears. She'd all but given up until she heard an unfamiliar voice pleading quietly.

Her gaze shifted, and she caught sight of Jesse. A small frown crosses her features and she hesitates, before making a very conscious decision to step in. Rationality has not worked on the guards thus far. A different tactic is going to be necessary now.]

Excuse me, guard--I, ah...

[Play the part. She's sure she's only been in this fascimile of De Chima for a short while, but it's made very good use of her ability to act under cover. She does look a bit like a nervous new soldier, a nervous frown on her face and uncertainty in her eyes.] Um...would you be so kind as to relieve me of my post?

[She's deliberately standing between Jesse and this guard, her rifle held straight out to the other guard, a physical barrier between their disagreement. It's visible just for a moment as she turns her arm, there on the inside of her wrist: IMPORT, just like Jesse's.]

...just for a few moments. I'm not used to standing post this long, is all. Please.

[hostage]

[Jesse sees that look and gives the slightest nod. He understands, yeah. More than that: he can help her. Healing isn't his only power. Whatever magic she intends to use, he can double its strength. He has no way of communicating that to her, but she'll undoubtedly notice the surge of energy once she has access to it.

The guards don't question her offer, and the soldier with the gun seems pleased with himself, apparently thinking that his skills of persuasion have brought about this sudden patriotic cooperation between imPorts.]

Two's better than one.

[He reaches for her wrist while the others look on, frowning when he gets a look at the power dampener.]

Haven't seen one of these in ten years...

[He remembers how to handle one, though. A few clicks and it's deactivated.]

[whathawksdo]

[ The flood of magic returning Hawke had braced herself for... doesn't come, which strikes her as bizarre, but it doesn't stop her from reacting the very second the dampener's light goes out. She immediately strikes out to shove the first soldier away, then pulls her magic up around not only herself, but all of them, every last armed man and woman surrounding her. One gesture to raise them up, jerking them off their feet and throwing them into the air, a second to slam them back into the ground with so much more violence, so much more power, than she had meant to.

Bones snap, ribcages crush, but the air knocked out of them on impact contains all the screaming to nothing more than gurgles, coughs, and pained gasping.

Anyone else might find it disturbing, but not Hawke. She's killed before, this is no different than all those other times.

When they go down, she takes off, leaping any in the way on her path over to Jesse, who she'll grab to hoist to his feet if he needs to help. After that, she'll jerk her head in a direction and change her route for the back exit of where they are. At this point, she has nothing to say and that's for the best. The less noise made, the better.

Just run. ]

[hostage]

[Jesse looks between the guard and Riza, grateful for this small interruption, even though he's not entirely sure where Riza stands in all this. If she's assigned to guard duty, her next orders might very well be to assist them in forcing him to do this grisly work.

The soldier doesn't look too pleased with her, however.]

Aw, isn't that a crying shame. Get the hell back in position. You'll have your break when it's your goddamn turn. Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?

ota

[resipiscent]

[A. 2025 I]
[Riku opens his eyes. It's pitch black, he's outside, and there's someone ahead of him, leading him somewhere. In the small of his back, he can feel something cold and hard against the fabric of his shirt. Somehow, he knows it's the barrel of a rifle. From below his eye level, something glows, and his eyes flick down to the tattoo on his wrist, glowing more violently than he's ever seen it. Dangling around his wrist is a strange bracelet.

He moves to lift his arm, but the gunman behind him presses the weapon harder against his back, and he drops it again -- instinctively, he knows that there will be consequences if he stops.

Ahead of them, there's a door set into a long, featureless wall, except for the other doors just like the one they're moving toward. He's led inside and sat down, in front of a pile of... parcels? A pile of parcels, and a blank, empty-screened television. Without a word, the two soldiers leave, and he hears the lock in the door clatter as they lock it behind him. Not the most secure, he figures, given that they must know he's able to open it.

Looking down at his wrist again, bracelet wobbling, he reads the inscription twice. No longer 'REGISTERED' -- simply 'IMPORT'. He's not certain he remembers when this change occurred. But it doesn't matter -- what matters now is leaving this room, finding Sora or Minato, getting out of here. He opens his hand to call the Keyblade and -- nothing. It doesn't come, and Riku feels a wave of panic that he's never felt before. It didn't come.

He returns to the table, eyes on the parcels there. There are instructions, printed on a piece of paper underneath the plexiglass tabletop.
1. SEND ALL ITEMS WHERE INDICATED.
2. IF PARCELS DO NOT ARRIVE, REPERCUSSIONS WILL BE ENACTED.
Which is pretty straight-forward, he figures, but... how is he supposed to know where to send them? Without being to the place or seeing it, he can't get any locations correct.

With an odd noise, the TV next to him turns on. The image on the screen is fairly static, it's the front door of a government building. The nearest parcel has an address on it, and Riku reaches for it, opening a Dark Corridor and dropping it inside. On the screen, a matching portal opens, and the parcel arrives neatly on the doorstep inside it. Someone immediately comes outside to gather it.

This goes on for a few hours, until Riku becomes aware that there are actually others on the other sides of the walls. He can hear a printer on one side, and he crouches, peering through the vent built into the wall itself.]

... Hello?

[B. 2025 II]
[It's a few days later. He keeps expecting to wake up and find himself back home in his bed in Heropa, but it never happens. Instead, he's sitting in the recreation area in the facility, eyes on a middle page of a book, but not really absorbing any of the text. He's simply tired -- magic-restoring items don't work the same as a good night's rest does for his energy, and the fact that he can keep using spells doesn't mean he's actually restored any stamina. Sending parcels all over the country for the silliest reasons for the last few days has been draining his energy in too big of a capacity. He figures it's just another way to keep him quiet.

It's Tuesday, and he can see the group of imPorts gathering, but he's simply too exhausted to go and join them. He's almost too tired to even pick himself up and go back to his room, if he could call it that. But he will, because he'll get a lovely black eye on top of the one he already has if he resists -- he found that out the hard way.]

[2015]
[Riku's in the middle of the sidewalk when he's afflicted with the brain tampering, and he stops dead, eyes half-lidded. He's completely silent, and immobile, too. It's rather eerie, actually.]