The Legion [Mods] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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legionmissions2017-01-03 12:57 am
letsgolegion) wrote in legionmissions2017-01-03 12:57 am
Entry tags:
SILENT HORIZON - [Part 1: The In-Between] [modplot]
Who| Everyone who signed up
What| 2 spoopy
Where| In The In-Between, the pocket dimension inside the Silent Horizon
When| After Valor's Day. Mission starts shortly before "No Sanity Clause" and runs simultaneously in game time
Warnings/Notes| Potential warnings for EVERYTHING. This is a horror plot that may tread a lot of ground. Please keep in mind that you can stumble on disturbing stuff in almost any thread. We advise all players to put warnings in the subjects of threads when they lean towards cut-worthy stuff.
The mission was simple. The team had to board the derelict Silent Horizon, a ship with an experimental stardrive, after it finally reappeared in UP space, many hours after it was supposed to reappear, during its first field test. No life signs were aboard, but the presence of several Roboticans on the crew -- who were undetectable by bioscan -- meant that the ship had to be boarded to make sure the Robotican crewmen were gone, too.
The United Planets government, concerned about the loss of the crew members, asked the Legion to step in, in case the threat on board was of a metapowered nature. Due to the massive danger implied by an entire starship crew going missing, the response team sent on the mission was relatively large, more than enough to handle any hostiles. None of this "we'll just send one tiny team to go alone into a giant starship against an unknown threat" business. No, if there was a hostile force on the ship, the plan was "let's drop 25+ Legionnaires on its head." Safety in numbers.
It was a good idea. In theory. In most cases, it would've given them the edge that would've let them face something very nasty without succumbing to it themselves. But in practice, it just meant that it was a much larger team that suddenly went missing after watching the last video log of the previous crew on the command deck.
Screams poured out of the screen the moment it started to play -- automatically -- when they entered the command deck. Onscreen, they saw the original crew murdering each other, tearing each other apart in a blood-soaked rampage.
"Wait, stop! What's wrong with everyone? Why are you --?" cried out one of the Robotican crew members, clearly immune from whatever was causing the madness, but his cries went unheeded as one of his Coluan crew-mates bashed his head clean off with a chair.
After the video played, the darkness swept in, wrapping around the whole team of Legionnaires, making them feel frozen all the way down to their bones and stealing consciousness away from them. When they woke again, they all found themselves separated, waking up in a realm of nightmares.
The halls breathe here -- at least in the places that have walls. They flex in and out, like the passageways inside the lungs. Sometimes the walls give way to open nightmare-scapes, remote and foggy, or bright and alien and exposed. The landscape bends and shifts around them, reacting to their thoughts and fears. And every so often, far off, there is the pitter-pat of something strange moving through this place. Like the sound of many feet -- or hands -- slapping against the ground or flesh-walls.
At some point, there is always a voice that each of them hears, tinny and robotic and distant, warning them of a being called the Faceless, that rules this realm. They're told not to feed from his blood, that if they do they'll be made a part of this place. If they accept his offer, and change forms, they'll eventually bleed to death, and if the Faceless isn't stopped before they die, those that die in their mutated forms will belong to him forever.
It's not the only voice they'll hear, though. This is a land filled with whispers. And screams. And the sounds of begging sometimes, too.
And for some of the Legionnaires, the In-Between speaks to them, touches something deep and dark inside them -- and it's calling them home.
What| 2 spoopy
Where| In The In-Between, the pocket dimension inside the Silent Horizon
When| After Valor's Day. Mission starts shortly before "No Sanity Clause" and runs simultaneously in game time
Warnings/Notes| Potential warnings for EVERYTHING. This is a horror plot that may tread a lot of ground. Please keep in mind that you can stumble on disturbing stuff in almost any thread. We advise all players to put warnings in the subjects of threads when they lean towards cut-worthy stuff.
The mission was simple. The team had to board the derelict Silent Horizon, a ship with an experimental stardrive, after it finally reappeared in UP space, many hours after it was supposed to reappear, during its first field test. No life signs were aboard, but the presence of several Roboticans on the crew -- who were undetectable by bioscan -- meant that the ship had to be boarded to make sure the Robotican crewmen were gone, too.
The United Planets government, concerned about the loss of the crew members, asked the Legion to step in, in case the threat on board was of a metapowered nature. Due to the massive danger implied by an entire starship crew going missing, the response team sent on the mission was relatively large, more than enough to handle any hostiles. None of this "we'll just send one tiny team to go alone into a giant starship against an unknown threat" business. No, if there was a hostile force on the ship, the plan was "let's drop 25+ Legionnaires on its head." Safety in numbers.
It was a good idea. In theory. In most cases, it would've given them the edge that would've let them face something very nasty without succumbing to it themselves. But in practice, it just meant that it was a much larger team that suddenly went missing after watching the last video log of the previous crew on the command deck.
Screams poured out of the screen the moment it started to play -- automatically -- when they entered the command deck. Onscreen, they saw the original crew murdering each other, tearing each other apart in a blood-soaked rampage.
"Wait, stop! What's wrong with everyone? Why are you --?" cried out one of the Robotican crew members, clearly immune from whatever was causing the madness, but his cries went unheeded as one of his Coluan crew-mates bashed his head clean off with a chair.
After the video played, the darkness swept in, wrapping around the whole team of Legionnaires, making them feel frozen all the way down to their bones and stealing consciousness away from them. When they woke again, they all found themselves separated, waking up in a realm of nightmares.
The halls breathe here -- at least in the places that have walls. They flex in and out, like the passageways inside the lungs. Sometimes the walls give way to open nightmare-scapes, remote and foggy, or bright and alien and exposed. The landscape bends and shifts around them, reacting to their thoughts and fears. And every so often, far off, there is the pitter-pat of something strange moving through this place. Like the sound of many feet -- or hands -- slapping against the ground or flesh-walls.
At some point, there is always a voice that each of them hears, tinny and robotic and distant, warning them of a being called the Faceless, that rules this realm. They're told not to feed from his blood, that if they do they'll be made a part of this place. If they accept his offer, and change forms, they'll eventually bleed to death, and if the Faceless isn't stopped before they die, those that die in their mutated forms will belong to him forever.
It's not the only voice they'll hear, though. This is a land filled with whispers. And screams. And the sounds of begging sometimes, too.
And for some of the Legionnaires, the In-Between speaks to them, touches something deep and dark inside them -- and it's calling them home.
Bloodborne OST plays ominously in the bg: Soldier 76/ Reaper/ Sombra
She has to ask from time to time. In part because it takes less than five minutes to realize how this place thrives on working to separate anyone that isn't leaning into its horrific curve; because transmissions don't get through unless they're designed to walk you straight into a trap; most importantly, because she's seen firsthand what it does to anyone she can't look after directly— and she has the scuffs and scrapes to prove it. If she's careful, it's because she has to be. And if it wears him down, her protective adherence to his side (downplayed aside from glances, from the occasionally unnecessary question that demands an answer, or the fact that she doesn't stray more than a few feet), she couldn't really care less.
This is one ally she isn't losing. Not like the others.
There's a pause as she reconfigures her digital map of their surroundings, making a minor adjustment to reflect yet another drop off into an entirely legitimate abyss. The rest, seemingly altered on its own, is in truth handled by Cortana from inside the figurative machine.
They're so close. A few more sections charted and she'll be able to narrow down where this...Sin Rostro is nesting, she's sure of it.
no subject
Simplistic in his purpose, he draws nearer to the sound of digital clicks and urgent tones, careful not to get too close. Instincts from his former self take over, mapping out the most effective strategy for flanking his target(s) and utilizing the unique nightmare properties of the ship.
He glides past her from behind, about 20 yards away. A low, rasping breath is exhaled through the stretched gap in his face.
no subject
Though 76 isn't exactly operating at a hundred percent. He's done a fairly good job of hiding it, he thinks--the advantage to being about ninety percent covered in tactical gear, his own stubbornness carrying him the rest of the way. Having someone else around makes it easier to ignore and bite down.
He focuses on Azúcar, staying close to her as they move through the halls--the last thing he wants is to get separated.
But 76 wouldn't be much of a super soldier if he didn't know when they were being watched. There's something nearby, but the fact that it's not officially pinging on his environment scanner just sets him more on edge. He doesn't know if they're moving towards it or away from it.
"Stay close."
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Because she hasn't talked about it, but there's a lot to be said for being directly jacked into like a fucking laptop by a suffering, wholly corrupted consciousness, or for having to try and discern the face of an ally that's been so entirely decayed they're nearly unrecognizable. The long hours and the longer walks all peppered with noises that pick at her spine and even Sombra— tough as nails and sharper than a knife (according to none other than herself)— is starting to feel it in her bones. She wants a goddamn shield. She wants the kind of security she's been able to buy since she learned how to use a digital interface.
At least for five minutes.
"Not until I finish hunting this cabrón down myself."
Stubborn. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn— and possibly the first time she's been livid enough to show her teeth, tucking a few tangled strands of luminescent hair behind her ear before adding, belatedly: "Together."
no subject
If he had to pinpoint his location to relation to them? He's floating parallel to them, winding through different shortcuts and portals that are more readily available to him. It feels so natural, like home, like he'd been here his whole life. Gliding into a nearly invisible crevice in the wall, the flesh sinks in around him, sucking him through and depositing him further ahead.
They must see him. He must see them. He needs to see them clearly so they can't escape.
no subject
"There's something here."
He's sure of that much, and he's reacting accordingly, hair on the back of his neck standing on end, entire body bracing itself for the thing to make itself known, even if he can't see it.
"It's not pinging on my scanner."
no subject
"Maybe it's him." Voice low and dripping with vitriol from behind the raised body of her SMG, squinting out into the darkness. "The Faceless."
Oh, she hopes it's him. More than anyone has any right to, she does.
no subject
Reaper's mask had lost its distinct shape and features during the transformation, stretched out and fused to the hood, his entire face having merged with it. Trickles of black blood leak out from the cracks. The wispy tendrils of smoke seem to cling to the blood, swaying heavily before it speckles the ground. The ever-present crackling of decay and regeneration remains, that much hasn't changed about him. A blessing in disguise, the regeneration of his body slows down the bleeding.
His entire form seems to fill the corridor, the smoky form of his lower half settling down and dissolving away to reveal flat, metallic hooves which give him an extra inch in height. He stares them down. As if waiting for them to make the first move.
no subject
They were being followed—the question is, by whom?
“That ain’t him.”
Not the Faceless. There’s a certain degree of ominousness to his voice, because it doesn’t take 76 long to put the pieces together. The shape of the mask, the tendrils of familiar smoke—he’s quick to voice his suspicions.”
“Reaper—”
The fact that he isn’t attacking is more than a little suspicious. It might be stupid to call out to him, but 76 wants to be sure of what’s going on here.
no subject
Reaper had been with her, he'd been fine. Strained, yes, but that's what this place does to you: sinks its claws in deep and tears for all its worth. When he'd left—
He'd left.
It's a clipped breath that catches in her throat, shock-raw and bitter as a stuck pill. It's like watching a pulled thread unravel all her well-laid plans, like that sickening, sinking second when her screens locked up in alarm - hacked at the height of her own game.
Her SMG slips lower as she falls back on her heels, sinking behind the outline of 76's shoulder by slow, careful degrees, instinctive habits stuttering where they start: she should be thinking of a lie, some way to cover for him, or—
"He's one of us, isn't he?"
no subject
The eye holes of his mask now turned eye sockets gaze at them calmly, stretching this moment on way longer than it should, unintentionally making the silence as uncomfortable and unnerving as possible. Heat signatures, he can feel them, see them— brilliant red orbs within his line of sight. The sight he sees could easily be described as looking through a heat sensor.
He can't hear what they're saying, not really. The sound is there but the comprehension is gone. It's only when he has the clear picture that he breaks into a full-on charge. Quiet as a stale breeze only moments ago, he now thunder down the corridor as the fleshy bits occasionally cushioning their footsteps give away to a sleek metal flooring. The walls warp into familiar plates of steel, the sound of a muted explosion in the distance ripping a pained howl from Reaper as he nears.
no subject
Not that he considered Reaper on his side to begin with, Legionnaires or not. Right now, however, it's clear that they have a big problem on their hands. 76 already knows that this thing is not going to be reasoned with.
He senses Azúcar's slight reluctance, but in the next instant Reaper is rushing at them, the hallway changing around them, and that noise--76 almost feels pain in response, that thing in his chest wrenching itself around one more time.
They don't have the luxury of time, and 76 doesn't waste it. He puts himself between Azúcar and Reaper, levels his rifle, and fires off his trio of rockets.
no subject
As the thin smoke clears, Reaper isn't in sight. Even in the dim lighting, one can see the residue of black blood coating the ground like tar, but other than that it's quiet. Normally, this is where people would think 'Phew, that was a close one. Good thing he's dead now!', but... the ground gurgles quietly, bubbles forming on the surface of the blood. Black dust and puffs of smoke like mushroom spores burst out from the bubbles, swirling ever so slightly that one would have to put their nose to the ground to see it.
no subject
He keeps his eyes trained on what's left, not convinced the dark puddle isn't going to launch itself at them. What he wouldn't give for a flamethrower.
"Don't move."
He holds a hand out to Azúcar, preventing her from getting any closer. His gun is still at the ready, and his insides throb.
"It won't be that easy."
no subject
Her grip tightens for a beat, nails dug in before she wrenches her hold on him like a lifeline.
Whatever state he's in now, Gabriel isn't wholly dead yet - and the longer she can keep these two from hammering the last few nails into the coffin of their past, there still might be time to fix it. "No mames, Dígitos— we need to leave, now!"
no subject
Defeating Reaper isn't necessarily hard, but it's not easy either. What made it 'easy' is that he didn't take massive risks beyond his capabilities. He knows when toeing the line becomes straight up launching himself over it. Right now, he doesn't recognize that line. All he has is a zombie-like drive, forcing him onward.
What normally would've kept him down, or encouraged him to retreat, doesn't do the trick. The bubbling intensifies, the smoky smell of flesh and blood filling the space rapidly as it starts to expand. Regenerating is no easy feat, and time-consuming, not to mention incredibly gruesome in this particular form. It's no quick and dusty swirl of particles that once used to be his body, oh no— strands of white and gray veins, slick and organic begin to bloom from the surface as his face begins to slowly stitch itself together. Hopefully by then, they'll have thought of a better plan than to stand there and yell at each other.
no subject
After a moment of watching (looking for...he doesn't know what--maybe some indication that Gabriel is still in there), he realizes he can't waste any more time.
He opens fire and advances, body almost moving of its own accord, thought process shrinking down to a pinpoint as his vision tunnels. It's clear he's about to meet Reaper head-on, and if Azúcar is smart, she'll stay out of the way.
no subject
—No. No, he needs his blood. The more violent Gabriel's injuries, the faster he'll sink into the Faceless' grip, if the voices she's heard are right. This is stupid, senseless. Heels dug in deeper than the fucking ground and Jack's already angling for a fight, she can see it in his shoulders as he watches sinew knit together. A knife to her ribs for reasons she doesn't know how to pinpoint. Probably won't ever bother to.
And then he fires.
"No— !"
Lunging forward, Sombra aims to latch onto his arm again— to drag it sharply downward and disrupt his aim, even if only by degrees. Does it make her seem noble? Selfless? The opposite of the truth, even without trying. There's so little tech on him, no matter how much violet lines coil across his silhouette from where her nails dig in she's not sure it'll find purchase. At least aside from the visor he's so fond of.
If her hold on him is broken quickly enough, she won't have the chance to shut down his visual feed.
no subject
He lurches to the side, the pain going through his leg as a stray pulse-fire shoots through his calf. It avoids hitting anything major, nothing he can't regenerate from slowly over time while he's wraithing about. He'd thank Sombra if he could, though that hardly spares her from his hunger.
no subject
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
76 is quick to jerk his arm away, still trying to close the distance between himself and Reaper. The aim is not to give him a chance to recover, and she's swiftly wasting what precious little time they have.
"Get out of here!"
no subject
There's a slight scrape, a meager little snap as he tugs himself loose and her nails click together over nothing but air. At most, she's a nuisance: without firing on him (possibly even if she did, unless Reaper was working in tangent), there's no inherent threat to be found in her presence - he isn't keen on listening, she won't change his mind.
Idiot. Idiot.
It's down to the wire— seconds, less than, maybe— so fuck it. There's a digital flicker as she throws her translocator past him as a means to bypass his reflexes, teleports to it immediately in a flash of blue, putting herself between the two while Reaper finishes knitting himself back together. No matter how much he imagines himself ruthless and cutting, there are some lines even 76 won't cross.
"You stay here, you die— I can't do this alone, Dígitos, don't force me to leave you!"
no subject
They just keep getting closer, one flashing right in front of the other and he inhales noisily in what might be impatience. His foot snaps into place, slamming the hoof down on the ground and blood spatters the ground in thick globs. He has to kill, he must devour that globe of red and oranges, and his impatience is rewarded with some quicker regeneration where it counts.
"You stay here, you die— I can't do this alone, Dígitos, don't force me to leave you!"
One lurching step forward, his body struggling to move forward again.
no subject
Whatever is trying to claw its way out of his chest twists again, and he's shoving Azúcar aside with a growl, all but launching himself right at Reaper, closing the rest of the distance and ignoring his gun in favor of the brute force of his fists.
Heroism -100
And she's done.
Enhanced as he is now, Gabe will take care of him. Decision made and committed to in an instant when she bitterly activates her camouflage, slipping away into invisibility before her former-partner has the opportunity to focus on anything but the soldier charging in bare-handed.
Good luck, Jack Morrison. You're on your own.
/finger guns
He howls in pain and anger, clawing at 76 when he's able. Where once there would've been some satisfaction in the fight, in the thrill, is now just an animal-like need to kill.
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