[OPEN] mod plot | sacking of olympus: harbinger descends

[unplug]

CHARACTERS ▶ All characters opting in
LOCATION ▶ Olympus
SUMMARY ▶ The Zion Defense Grid with civilian relief corps arrive at 1100 6/18, and Commander Gwisin gives the orders for rescue, assault, and investigation. This log is player-run and includes The REAPER simulation option (1 of 3) in the Matrix, as well as rescue activity in the Real. Kill some zombies, save some abducted babies.
WARNINGS ▶ Violence and reference to human experimentation, possibly R.
NOTES ▶ This is Part II of the Sacking of Olympus plot. Questions/investigation here, for example, what happens when you shoot compartment x of the centipede

▶ Sacking of Olympus Part II

REAL: THE ZIONITE RESCUE OPERATION ◀

Gwisin's orders are terse over the comms, two hours before the fleet makes Olympus. Make contact and communication to the best of your ability, restore comms if possible. Provide emergency care, fire control, and evacuation, before the unidentified bogey arrives at city center.

Pandemonium reigns over the populace of Olympus, civilians trapped by fires, drones, and debris. Olympus’ forces have rallied but remain thin on the ground, and the Zionite reinforcements are direly needed. Electronic communications remain down except for the Matrix pirate signal, darkening the panic and despair that have descended over the city; REAPER drones harry every human or ship that tries the ground or air.

Organizing this wide-scale rescue in the face of explosions and still-unexplained abductions comes down to ingenuity and manpower.

REAL: HARBINGER DESCENDS ◀

Thirteen hours after the Zion rescuers arrive in Olympus, the Harbinger does too. The cavern ceiling, dead center, cracks, crumbles, boulders the size of hovercrafts hammering down on the city center. By now, thankfully, the heart of the city is empty of civilians, but as the Machine breaks through, it's instantly clear that isn't going to be enough.

Harbinger is massive. Digging mandibles up front could eat a squid whole, and have room left over to total a hovercraft; its name emblazoned on red on each segment. Scarlet optics glow against its black chassis, and drones flush out of the gasping ports in its sides the same way insects give birth in dozens. Ponderous but unmistakably powerful, the centipede-shaped robot crawls out into a dangle into empty air. Keeps dropping its head toward the city in neat, clockwork degrees, almost elegantly, to let itself down onto the rubbled cavern floor. Erratic gasps and comments sound off across the disrupted networks: the oldest of the humans, civilian or otherwise, have never seen a Machine like this in the Real.

But maybe you remember dreaming a monster like this, from another lifetime.

Pilots throughout the city gun their engines, preparing for a feat of comms-blind synchronization. The battle truly begins.

MATRIX: REAPER COMBAT FREE-FOR-ALL ◀

When the Harbinger arrives, the Matrix pirate signal augmentation doubles in strength. Triples. The operator reports start to come in, distorted from the REAPER signal jamming, but unmistakable. There's a simulation out there, like a bridge to-- what? The Matrix? The programming language carries unmistakable similarities to the Dowager's feed from Kitty Jones' call to the Atalanta, but there's nothing specifically like that strange, consuming pattern in the girl's neuro-output. At least, not on this level of the sim. Not yet.

Jack in, and the first thing you see is the cold belly of a spaceship. What you hear are the screams, bouncing echoes off catwalks and cold corridors. Next, figures coming in a wave of seemingly unstructured attack. In the vanguard, the Husks, screaming zombies-- sinewy, discolored flesh mingled with useless tech components and bioluminescence. Not far behind, the bulbous Scions with their single energy weapons. Bringing up the rear, the Banshees float in deceptively slow at first, only to accelerate into a dazing flash of teleportation, skeletal-faced, real death waiting in their razor hands.

One thing is certain: they're guarding something, though where in the recesses of this ship, the operator must largely guess.

Comments

[sfoils]

[ Steve wants to go out there. Wedge weights the pros and cons like laser fire in his head—if the drones penetrate the hull, if they enter the ship, it'll be a two-front battle they can't afford. It'll lessen their odds to a point where even Wedge, who's made a career out of impossible odds, balks. ]

Go. [ Wedge says to Steve, jaw tight. The drones aren't just swarming, they're throwing themselves like sacrificial lambs to keep them for getting to the leg. This will test their gunners' ability to the max and, if Bucky wasn't at one of the turrets, Wedge would've taken his chances with the thickened hull instead.

Which is why, when Black Widow requests to go with Steve, Wedge's stomach returns to its rightful place. ] Take whatever you need. [ He reminds her, unwilling to babysit a crew that's career by telling them what weapons they should use. They all know their own strengths and weakness; Wedge's job is only to make sure everyone is in their rightful positions, doing their duty.

It always sounds so much easier than it actually is. That's why he hates command, and why he avoided it for so long—while his people are out there, taking risks, he sits pretty inside.

It feels like letting them down. ] Take evasive actions, Luke. Try to minimize the amount of area we give these drones. [ So it'll be harder for them to anchor themselves to the ship and, with that, an easier time for Steve and Black Widow.

He's not going to lose two crew members today. ]

[milagros]

( dead people, mila manages not to say, because there's bleak humour in the face of imminent death and there's sharp reminders of the fact that a ship taken out by their ineptitude wouldn't be the first ship to go down today and hoping you'll still be alive to attend the funerals is a complex series of emotions at best. she'd rather not look too closely into those dark places - in herself or anyone else - when she's trying very hard to ram explosive rounds up the arse of something that doesn't technically have an arse.

which is not fucking easy, jostling through the cluster of drones and at one point she is just blindly firing towards movement and praying. )

Taking suggestions on sentimental card notes.

[forcemageure]

( There tends to be no trapdoor under Hawke's gallows humour, or--well, maybe there's a trapdoor over a bottomless pit, to be more accurate. Probably the most depressing facet of that, if one must be picked out, is that's him following the universal interpretation of the golden rule: in even the worst situations that's how he'd want to be treated, like anything can be shrugged off at surface level. )

'Sorry so rushed, trying not to die'?

( Apparently, they're crafting this in transit. It's possible he was going to add something that is then cut off by a fervent expletive, since coming out of the tunnel of Reapers on either side means they almost collide head on with one that swoops directly up from underneath, obliging Hawke to do the same. The drone, apparently having decided they are delicious, halts whatever progress it was making and follows them, the upside of which is that its fellows scatter.

The downside is ...probably obvious. )

Not to backseat slaughter, but would you mind terribly--

[milagros]

( the downside is immediately obvious. mila reorients herself in the turret, making the discovery that it is much easier to aim for a target that's so singlemindedly in pursuit of you. this feels obvious in a way where she would have been perfectly happy to have never practically confirmed, but rather drawn as a logical conclusion from the safety of not actually being obliged to fire repeatedly at a drone in singleminded pursuit of their craft.

beggars can't be choosers. that's practically the motto of the unplugged, that right there. )

I'll do the shooting if you drive faster, ( tersely. )

[lostsoldier]

[ The Winter Soldier whirls to greet Luke's approach the way he had the last husk, with a vice grip and a twist — and then stops short, wary blue eyes catching at the sight of the other man. Those eyes are the same, at least, if nothing else about him is — long, scraggly hair over half a face mask, black leather tac gear, and a prosthesis that's had a few upgrades. But from the look on his face (or, half-face) at the sight of Luke, you'd think he was the one who was almost unrecognizable. Belatedly, his hand drops to his side, recategorizing. Luke. Phoenix. Ally, not enemy. ]

Functional, [ he answers. Injuries are a little hard to gauge beneath all the leather, and there's a certain relentlessness to his bearing that suggests he might not pay much attention if he was hurt, but it's nothing that's slowing him down at any rate. He looks beyond Luke, to the felled Scion, back to the lightsaber. Not bad. ]

Together? [ with a nod ahead, to the next wave of husks. While there's no pattern to their formation, they do at least seem to be coming from a particular direction. ]

[lostsoldier]

[ The drones, it seems, have different plans. In the settling dust of the Nidhoggr's abrupt descent, machines spill over the rubble of what used to be a marketplace and is now more of a smoking crater. Their spindly legs bend in half to retract and extend in quick, restless motions at the sight of Seoraj emerging from the wreckage. One zooms to close in.

And freezes, caught still in a burst of electric blue. Sparks explode from its body with a high-pitched shriek of twisting metal and overloaded circuits, until it drops to the earth with a muted clunk.

And at the other end of that electric arc is Mr. Chatty. Dust-covered, bloodied, and breathing heavy, he braces an energy gun between some kind of makeshift harness and his one good arm — which is looking at least a little sturdier than wet spagetti these days, though not much. ]

Hurry, [ he says, true to form. The harbinger's arrival had shifted his priorities, from herding civilians to getting back to The Phoenix before it took off, but he owes Seoraj more than to leave him to fend for himself. ]

[berserkergang]

Which leg?

[ --bellows Thor, while people are having anxieties about nerds with guns. But he doesn't really wait for clarification -- the left one, at that segment, Wedge had said, and whenever the ship dips in a way he can angle the turret, he lets off a steady stream of gunfire. ]

That leg.

[ Dohoho.

But meanwhile, fancy flying is happening to avoid extra attention, and Thor is forced to steer his guns to glance machinegun fire passed Bucky's, covering him off. ]

[scission]

[It's an efficient method. Efficient enough that Deuc can easily hang back, let Steve take point, only needed to drop a shoulder into some of the falling, wrap claws to one or two necks and fling those bodies aside. It's almost too comfortable, letting someone else do the work. Familiar. Not in a way he likes.]

I wouldn't like to claim I was planning any of this.

[He replies mildly, a grim edge to it himself. There's a break in the wave of assailants as the last one in the immediate falls, scrabbling to reach for them as they pass. Deuc pauses at the next turning, the choice between one way or another, listening to the shrieks and echoes of vibration rattling down both.]

There are more to the left. [His head tips slightly, gaze distant as he picks out,] With something heavier amongst them.

[forcemageure]

( That and 'try not to die,' yes. Although that seems like it must be a recent edition, since previous problems included like, how many random pieces of ...something, do I pay for this other random piece of something.

Tragically, this kind of problem is much more Hawke's speed. Speaking of speed! )

This is the part where I'm supposed to step on something, isn't it?

( He still only half understands that, but. Irrelevant. Resistance straight up being what it is, Hawke levels out the ship a little, which makes the drone's trajectory toward them a few terrifying feet shorter, but does enable the Atalanta herself to gain an immediate burst of speed, just about evening the distance.)

[ironwork]

( has anyone ever been as pleased to see mr chatty in this moment as seoraj is? --well, sure, maybe steve, actually, but the point remains that under the circumstances, he (and his weapon, bless his weapon) are a sight for sore eyes. and shoulders, and torso, and it doesn't hurt exactly but there's a warm sensation at the back of his thigh that probably means blood, and nothing good. there's no time to worry about any of that, though, and he doesn't; he can still carry cage, he can still move, so he hurries, adjusting the dead weight over his shoulders to sit better so he can jog forward, clapping his free hand against Bucky's good shoulder when he joins him.

under said circumstances, he isn't exactly his own usual chatty self, but there are important details worth imparting: )

He's not dead.

( --in case he was, uh, wondering. )

( with mod permission. )

[milagros]

Just as hard as you can, darling.

( endearments are not often heard from mila, but when they are, it's exactly like this: dry as the earth salted by apocalyptic warfare, delivered under pressure and carrying the implication that it might be the last goddamn thing you hear. maybe her father wasn't really her father, in the end, but she'll always be his awful daughter.

--though the explosion of graphic expletives that follows is something she picked up somewhere else. hawke probably doesn't need an explanation for that when the other hovercraft - the one she nailed with friendly fire when it joined the fray from her blindspot - draws up alongside them in, presumably, an effort to coordinate visually and not get shot again.

they're a little busy to talk, a while, and then, eventually-- )

Did you see who that was?

( --is an unnecessary question, actually, because the jammed comms crackle as if on cue and although the signal is too poor to get any real idea of what's being said (shouted) to (at) them, the feelings gwisin is experiencing upon his beautiful machine sideswiped by bullets transcend, somehow, both language and technical problems.

there is no time for a contemplative pause. the sentiment of one somehow hangs in the air. )

Nevermind.

[last_ofthe_jedi]

[Truthfully, Luke hadn't recognized him at first. Now that he's looking closer, however, Luke tilts his head and his eyes narrow in realization.] Oh... Soldier? I didn't recognize you.

[It might have been the short, to-the-point answers and tone of voice that did the trick. He really looks different. Luke, on the other hand, looks mostly the same aside from slightly longer hair. Even his prosthetic hand was made to look as realistic as possible.

He takes Bucky's word for it and trusts that he's as injury-free as he says he is.]

Absolutely. Less chance of getting overwhelmed that way. [With the way this horde is moving and with their massive numbers it would be very easy for a single person to get in over their head. If they team up they can keep an eye on each other.

He nods in agreement in the same direction as Bucky. That seems to be what the horde is protecting so that's where they should probably head. Luke starts off that way, lightsaber humming and slashing through husks as he goes.]

[lostsoldier]

[ The shoulder-slap earns the same mild, rabbity sort of confusion Seoraj's existence usually prompts from him, but maybe that's not such a bad thing. He gives a brisk nod in answer, partly because it hadn't. actually occurred to him Seoraj might bother carting a dead body around, and maybe later he'll ask Natasha about that sort of sentimentality he still has trouble understanding, but maybe he won't.

Either way, they have bigger problems ahead of them. He falls into step beside Seoraj, energy weapon at the ready, stalking through the rubble smooth as a hunter on the prowl. His muscle memory might not be what it used to be, but even lean-limbed and fuzz-headed, this is his element. ]

Your leg. [ he asks without sparing so much as a glance to it, because of course he noticed. ] How bad?

[ironwork]

I can walk, ( slightly more relaxed on the subject of his probable leg damage than is probably sensible, but he's also probably still slightly in shock from the crash and should be commended - quite frankly - for getting this far with a second person slung over his shoulders. ) Ask me again when the adrenaline wears off.

( he keeps pace with him, at least; he favours that side, but only so much as he's able to favour either side of himself when he's slung cage like a hog he's bringing home for dinner and must by necessity maintain a certain center of gravity to keep the both of them from eating dirt. more laconic, not looking up but the sentiment remaining: )

If it wears off.

( they still might die. he's upbeat, somehow. )

[ex_paragon697]

[ Permission isn't unwelcome, if maybe a little more unexpected than Steve's willing to dwell on at the moment — though it still manages to catch him at an odd angle, like anticipating a climb up and stumbling on even ground, delaying his slight nod to Wedge in response even as he's strapping the gun to his back. ]

You get a chance to take that thing down, you shouldn't wait up for us.

[ If this were his command, it would be an order. As it is, it should at least assuage Luke's concerns. Steve grabs some of the grappling gear that would ordinarily be used for ship repairs in the field and starts to hook himself up. Looking down at the straps as he adjusts them, his tone is light but his volume for Natasha's ears only this time. ]

So I've been thinking I oughta learn some Russian.

[ex_spins462]

[ Natasha only has time for a quick grateful smile at Wedge before she too is 'suiting up': she's been equipped with her weapon ready since they took off. but her fingers fumble a little with the delicate clasps, and she frowns at them as she tugs the harness on. ]

Hе бежать впереди паровоза.

[ She murmurs in an ironic tone, looks up and tightens the buckle at his chest. ]

Pretty sure you don't need to speak Russian to know we think you're an idiot.

[ She adds, a little warmer, as they turn and head out. ]

[metempsychotic]

[ Can she shoot? The question prompts a series of statements- ] Uh- well- it's just a... resonance transformer. With- magnetic buffers. A- uh- fairly simple directed energy weapon. [ -which, while they are all factual statements, do not answer any actual inquiries. But after this list of technical suppositions peters out, and the weapon is thrust into her scuffed and sooty hands, Bella gives a quick bob of the head. ] Yes.

[ She gulps before the caveat: ] Technically.

[ And indeed, if her grip on the weapon is a touch tentative, it is at least technically accurate; it has all the correctness of something known in the mind- but not so much in the muscles. ]

[last_ofthe_jedi]

[Wedge's command gets an eyebrow-raise out of Luke, though he doesn't turn his eyes away from the battle. The drones have been swarming in and out of the viewport since they got here and Luke has found a small amount of frustration with how big and slow this ship is compared to his familiar fighter.

His knuckles are white and he's already fighting to stay out of the swarm but they keep coming back.]

Would you like to go outside and put up a 'wide load' sign for the drones?

[There's some good-natured sarcasm in his tone.]

Or should I just tell the ship to suck it in?

[But his frustration is getting the better of him too. Normally Luke would draw on the Force to calm himself but...

He knows Wedge can take it. He'll continue to evade as best he can while simultaneously keeping the leg in sight for the gunners and avoiding any sudden movements for Steve and Widow's sakes. This isn't as easy as it looks, folks.]

[ex_paragon697]

Yeah, but I've found claiming you meant to do that after the fact tends to have the same effect, [ he says before they both pause there. He listens for just a moment, his own hearing a few steps above baseline himself, though he can't make out the details that the other man can, and doesn't try. ]

Then we go left.

[ He doesn't ask how Deuc knows. Steve would have to be a fool not to be able to guess — which is also why he lets him take the lead this time into the darker passageway — but Steve's also less concerned with the question of monsters than of choices. The man is fighting beside him; that's all he needs to know. ]

[lostsoldier]

When, [ he returns with the shadow of a Look. When it wears off. Because if you think he's letting the two of you kick the bucket on his watch, well — you've been paying attention to his usual lack of empathy, probably, but time on the Phoenix has started to unearth a one or two long-buried instincts.

The less-well-buried ones are not without their uses, though. Accepting that assessment, he leads quick as he thinks Seoraj can manage; better to keep the adrenaline up than find out one way or the other. They pass through ruined streets and smoking husks of buildings, his breathing hard but even — until an incoming click-clatter of metal pinchers has Bucky shifting weight to shoulder back against the other man — wall, now — as if his 5'11" of half-starved dog could shield Seoraj and his Christmas ham from anything.

(Humor him, ok.) ]

[ambidextrosity]

They're bigger than me and fly. Just shoot up, yeh? [Horse offers by way of reassurance, clapping the chatty nerd on her shoulder. She thinks that Bella's holding up pretty well, all things considered. Plus one point for humankind, our hearts don't stop from terror like bunnies.

Horse probably is scared on some level, but you can't tell by looking at her as weaves halfway upright, her back still stooped in strange precaution. She makes her way over to the nearest mess of rubble and starts to sift through. Despite her reasonably impressive build, plenty of the shattered rocks are large and dense enough to give her pause. Some of them, she only pits herself against for a split-second before giving up, stepping over. Eventually, she frees a big spar of metal. It doesn't look like rebar, but it looks strong enough. Whatever it used to be probably doesn't matter anymore, like so much of the rest of the promise Olympus held before.

Outside and far away, something explodes. Not loud. Closest thing to thunder Horse has heard in awhile, and she doesn't even look up, as she installs the lever and starts to pull.

Five, six seconds. It seems for a moment like she's got the end pushed in wrong or something, but then the drone's limbs start to jiggle, tellingly, and the rotundity of the inert chassis starts to slip away from the jagged edge of the wall. Orange light seeps through the widening gap, orange from fire despite the smoke and dust and debris filling the air. The small flickers of shadows that flit past seem too small to pose meaningful threats, at least until Horse eases the space a couple feet wider.

There's a drone coming into view behind her. Despite what she'd said long minutes earlier, this one is walking on the ground, jagged upturned metal along its back where some collision rendered flight impossible. Its red optics focus on Horse's lanky figure as the woman tries to wedge her lever tight.]

[ironwork]

( it's a touching effort that seoraj accepts in the spirit it was made, flattening against the wall as much as it's possible for him to do with the awkward burden of cage on his shoulders, throwing out the shape of them. somewhere in the back of his mind he's concerned about head injuries, and jostling, and making things worse-- but there's nothing he can do about that right now, and this is the only way to make damn sure that cage lives long enough for someone else to tsk over his haste and tell him all the ways he should've done it instead.

they're so close. he stops breathing. )

[metempsychotic]

[ Ethanol and company do wonders for the human spirit - entire civilizations have been formed to provide just those things, the earliest settlements showing signs of communal gathering and purposeful fermentation both. War craft has also long been our companion, and when Bella feels the weapon in her hands, there is something fundamentally correct about it; however advanced, however miraculous, the lightning gun is at heart a tool, the sort of thing hands were freed up to use. ]

Okay- [ she says, a brief affirmation as much for her own benefit as for Horse's. Bella's eyes flick nervously from the other woman and her work to the smoldering surroundings, split between her own reactive task and vicarious involvement in Horse's active one. When the drone first appears in her line of sight, there is a moment in which Bella feels a herbivorous panic, a deep seated desire to freeze in place. But these things sense heat, not motion, which means it won't pass over them until they are cold and dead- and that if they are lucky.

There are probably dozen little pointers on how to fire accurately- but in this moment Bella remembers none of them. She just angles the weapon, depresses the trigger, and tenses bodily as lightning arcs from the barrel of the gun to the damaged drone, illuminating it in harsh whites and scorched blacks. The searing crackle of the discharge blots out Bella's battle-cry, a keening, high-pitched noise that issues like steam from between clenched teeth.

Hear heart is still racing as the drone slumps to the ground, the smell of ozone thick in the air. The hands on the rifle, now charging, tremble. Bella gives an uneven giggle.]

Nikola Tesla, you beautiful bastard...

only if you'll forgive my slowness .-. ...and also this tag

[lostsoldier]

[ It's a little like tackling a concrete post. The soldier lands heavy, flesh shoulder slamming against corrugated metal floor as the weapon goes off, but his heartbeat doesn't falter. One danger registers as another passes. Leather scrapes swift as he rolls to his feet without missing a beat, and beneath that sound, a crunch of metal, the high-pitched song of electricity ramping up, of motors whirring to life.

The sound of metal hand lifting to catch Matt by the throat.

Not to crush — he may not be listening to a single word coming out of Matt's mouth, but he knows human from robo-zombie. The aim is to catch and lift, to hold while he searches to catch the eye of his recently-near crewmate, for direction.

Ally or enemy? ]

[lostsoldier]

[ Together, as it turns out, is a relative term. Teamwork isn't the soldier's forte, as becomes evident enough as they press forward through the husks. He's used to leading strike teams whose capabilities are summarily dwarfed by his own, and once or twice at the start, his rifle sends a husk Luke probably could have handled tumbling over a catwalk rail.

But the next time he— redirects. Reorients his area of attack to minimize overlap. Decides maybe he can trust Luke to keep doing what he's doing, at least.

It means as they close in on whatever it is these things are guarding, though, Bucky isn't maintaining his initial guard-dog closeness. Letting Luke handle a clump of husks in one direction, he steps in the other. Unfortunately, so does another scion. ]