unplug: (dreamers cursor)
SYSTEMWIDE | INFO ([personal profile] unplug) wrote in [community profile] systemcritical2015-06-19 02:34 am

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

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.
forcemageure: (ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅsᴛʀᴇᴀᴍ)

[personal profile] forcemageure 2015-06-27 06:22 am (UTC)(link)
( It's all right, Hawke speaks fluent quip. So the Atalanta, already hovering, sets course for the periphery of one teeming clot. )

I wouldn't have taken you for a traditionalist!

( He also can't quote Mae West regarding cake for breakfast, which is truly a regret he would have if he knew he could uh, have it. But meanwhile, once they're in range he pulls hard to the left, not overshooting it by some miracle (actually no, he works better under pressure, possibly because not!pressure just seems weird) and settling them far enough to the outside that they won't be noticed and swarmed immediately, but obviously once guns start happening that's going to change.

As things are they can't exactly stop and sit comfortably in the air, either, but Mila presumably has considering more experience shooting at shit while moving than Hawke does, you know, making the thing move. )
Edited 2015-06-27 06:22 (UTC)
milagros: ᴊᴜᴍᴘ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴡɪʟᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀɪᴏᴛ, ʜᴜʀʀʏ– (ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴏᴇᴛʀʏ)

[personal profile] milagros 2015-06-27 02:19 pm (UTC)(link)
I am a fucking lady, Hawke. Acquiring target.

( this is mostly delivered as a warning - she's firing based on trajectory, where they will be vs where they are, and there's no pissing about. the second the shot is there, she takes it, and takes it, and - it seems like a good idea to have their pilot ready to start maneuvering when she starts drawing attention. )

Let's see if we can't separate the pack. Try not to hit anyone we know.

( which is easier said than done, comms-blind. )
forcemageure: (ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜɴ)

[personal profile] forcemageure 2015-06-28 12:23 am (UTC)(link)
( 'Easier said than done' might as well be Hawke's middle name; a/o 'much better said than done,'. Either way he chuckles under his breath at 'I am a fucking lady,' which is quite a feat with the body's reasonable reaction to adrenaline several levels past 'through the roof. )

Roger that.

( Someone clearly taught him that, along with other useful pilot phrases. Getting the hang of using them correctly is only slightly less tricky than actual piloting, with zero context for ...context. )

We'll just send them a fruit basket if I do. Who doesn't love a good 'sorry I blew you up' fruit basket?

( Furious concentration on zig-zagging around and through the tightly clustered drones takes the place of actual speech, maneuvers not as smoothly executed as they'd be by someone who'd been at this for a more reasonable amount of time, so apologies for all the internal jostling and shit, but! They don't die, and they don't hit anyone they know. What a coup that must be. )

Sour grapes, that's who.

( If you can't pun in the face of possibly imminent death, you're just not having enough fun. )
milagros: ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴏᴜʀɪs, ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇʀᴍᴀɪᴅs (ɪᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ᴄʀᴜᴍᴘʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅ.)

[personal profile] milagros 2015-06-28 03:28 am (UTC)(link)
( 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: (ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴍɪssɪʟᴇs)

[personal profile] forcemageure 2015-06-28 03:51 am (UTC)(link)
( 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--
Edited 2015-06-28 03:51 (UTC)
milagros: ᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀsᴛ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʏᴇs -- (THE VILLAINESS  ʀᴇsᴇᴍʙʟᴇs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ)

[personal profile] milagros 2015-06-28 06:48 am (UTC)(link)
( 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. )
forcemageure: (ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴅᴀʏs)

[personal profile] forcemageure 2015-06-29 02:38 am (UTC)(link)
( 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.)
milagros: ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ ғᴀʟʟ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀʏ, ᴅɪᴠᴏʀᴄᴇ, (sᴇǫᴜɪɴs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴀʟʟ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏᴅɪᴇs)

( with mod permission. )

[personal profile] milagros 2015-06-29 03:25 am (UTC)(link)
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.
Edited 2015-06-29 11:45 (UTC)
forcemageure: (sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴡᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ɪᴛ)

[personal profile] forcemageure 2015-07-14 05:44 am (UTC)(link)
( the sentiment of contemplative pause and also borderline-hysterical laughter, because what else does one do in these circumstances. hawke has never actually met gwisin, but of course he's now obliged to wonder how he'll react to a fruit basket. just in the background while the rest of his brain is concentrating on not experiencing fiery death while they sort this out.

not that sorting out can in this circumstance mean much more than the intent not to do that again, but it's the thought that counts, surely. on which note:
)

You know, mother always said there'd be days like these.

( Mournful. Sardonically. Does he know he's quoting a song? It's possible. Although not the one you're thinking of right now. )