The Legion [Mods] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
letsgolegion) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.
no subject
And if he needed another thing reminding him of the Legion, where the people and their tools are so foreign to anything he's ever seen, here it is. A map would have been of only the vaguest use to him before - and he isn't convinced that isn't the case now.
Before he has time to think over that his head snaps around. Footsteps. Men walking in time, in mismatched uniforms, with mismatched weapons. They're dragging a wagon behind them, talking. Paying little attention, but maybe not for long.
Roland looks down at the place he'd been before, the most certain hiding spot. Then he catches sight of the woman from the corner of his eye. He shudders and then jerks his head at her, toward one of the statues, starts to creeping toward it.
no subject
"You sure you don't want to take them out?"
Whoever they are (aside from not being his friends), she's fairly certain they could bring them down together. Possibly entirely unscathed.
Possibly.
no subject
The memory comes over him before he's aware it's happening. Waking up under- underneath, hearing them come, feeling the awareness come over him that even now, even after everyone, everything, for him - and him only, of course - that it would be that easy. That easy to simply kill, survive. To go on.
He hadn't thought much on it, then. He'd closed his eyes. He opens them. Realizes he's closed them, and that the patrol has come closer. He gives his head a quick shake, a negative directed at his companion while he's still unwilling to risk the noise of words, and darts toward shelter.
He reaches it, leans back against the statue's mouth. And falls inside.
Fittingly enough, what he falls into looks like a throat. A corridor, but a throat, too, a wet, reddened stretch of hallway with wet air moving along it. Roland takes it in, listens around him, and of the things he hears footsteps are not among them. Safe enough to talk, probably. "Lady-sai. If you're real and still with me I'd like your body here, if you please, rather than only your voice."
no subject
It might be entirely intentional (it is) that when she dismisses her camouflage that she's behind him, rather than in front of him - entirely amused by the fact that he seems to dislike her ability to disappear. Most people that aren't fighting against her are actively impressed by it, or at least think of it as useful. That he doesn't is...curious. Amusing. Enough that she's smiling as she meets his stare.
"I was just trying to make sure I wasn't too easily spotted." Said with a gentle flick of her claws towards all the glowing circuitry patterned across her body, her armor— even her hair.
"After all, I'm a little difficult to hide without it."
Still, apology given (in a different language, god damn it, Sombra), she turns on her heel to survey their dark, entirely grim surroundings: more cancerous flesh from the looks of it, more claustrophobic as well, made worse by hanging tendrils that are coiled like vines at the end of that narrow hallway.
no subject
What interests him, instead, is what seems the only notable thing in the room. Her, that ability, whatever it is. "Been a long time since I've seen something like that. Is it done with some kind of machine, too? Something on you, or in you?"
no subject
Which, considering the implications in holding valuable data and walking around with instant camouflage in her pocket, it might be easy to assume none of the above happens in broad daylight through welcome, open doors. "Thermoptic camouflage can project a seamless reflection of the world around me so that I can disappear."
A statement that trails off to the sound of guttural chittering in the dark— off in the distance. It might be nothing, but knowing this place, Sombra's not going to take that at face value.
She flicks a hologram into existence, a flat little cube of bright blue light, to help illuminate the tunnel from where it's hovering just above her palm.
Absently she adds, in a bid at keeping conversation casual in spite of the rest of this:
"You know, amigo, I just realized I never got your name."
no subject
He gestures forward, toward those coiled tendrils. Forward is, of course, the only place there is to go. No point in trying to go back. "I don't know what all your machines can do yet - you do better from the front, or back?"
no subject
Considering how calm he is, maybe he feels the same way.
There's a slight pause, light pooling in her open palm as she mulls over whether or not to give him the truth. " Back, if we're playing it safe. I can hold my own— wouldn't worry too much if we get into trouble— I just get to have more fun if no one pays attention to me."
But then again, if he's a distant gunslinger along the lines of someone else she knows, he might feel the same way; deferring to his preference is a courtesy she's more than willing to extend.
no subject
Preference, to him, is not a consideration. Practicalities are what matter, and the practical thing is to play to each of their abilities. That'll also put his back to her light source, and that suits him well enough; the more at home his eyes are in the dark, the more at home he'll be in this place. The better off he'll be.
He does not think too long, or at all, on any of this. He only walks forward. He'll want to keep at least an arm's length between the two of them until they know there's no fighting to be done, but of course he can only do that as long as he can see her. If that changes he'll try to listen for her footsteps - hers, and those of whatever's making that hissing.
The floor makes wet noises under his own steps, gives under his weight but is reluctant to let go, adding an extra squelching tug to the sound of his walk. If that noise is his alone - maybe due to the shape of his shoes, or maybe this place just treats him differently - that'll be alright. It would draw attention toward him, which is probably the best strategy here.
Even without that extra pull at the end of every step his pace wouldn't be quick. It's more steady than it is quick. His manner is more alert than it is tense. Probably for the best, not to be tense in a place where relief from the horrors is not much more than a vague memory, or maybe a dream.
that gunslinger icon though A+++
It's sudden, that shifting in the darkness. What looks like more cancerous flesh embedded deeply into the walls tears itself loose: a cluster of lurching bodies so deeply corrupted by the excess growths fused onto their skin they barely seem human anymore, aside from the fact that they're bipedal; tentacles writhe in place of arms, and it takes less than a handful of seconds for them to turn on Roland, snapping forward with livid force.
"Dios mio— !"
thank, i love the dramatic shooting icons
That'll disturb him later. For now it works in his favor. He's clearheaded enough to remember he's swapped his own guns out for advanced and nonlethal ones and that, foolish as the idea of a nonlethal gun is, today it might prove helpful. The lefthand gun for this job, then, and it works about as well as he'd hoped. He fires once, then again, and strong cords shoot out and wrap themselves around first one creature, then another. The tentacles on those two are still dangerous but now cannot reach nearly as far and Roland moves to one side, making room for her move in past him, if she's a mind to.
"Azúcar. Finish 'em? I'll hold off the rest."
no subject
Another monster lurches towards her from over her shoulder, tentacles already straining to latch on, but all it takes is a quick teleport back to the secure space behind Roland's shoulder where her translocator rests to ensure all it finds is air.
And entirely prone positioning. Perfect for a man with exceedingly good aim to take care of.
"All yours, vaquero."
no subject
That's a problem for later. Possibly for never. For now he does what comes most easily and the one she's unbalanced is tied, along with the two beside it. If there are others - hard to tell, even adapted as his eyes have to this dark - they'll have to fight between their fellows and the narrow, flexing walls of this corridor to get close.
"Haven't seen this place," he notes. "It's all been familiar so far, places from my own world. My universe. This one's new. What is it? Yours?"
no subject
It's difficult to pin down the familiarity that she's never lived, but she knows it all well enough to take credit for the fact that it's surrounding them now. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you why, though."
no subject
Whether it's in his future now is in doubt; the parade of horrors here seems endless, eternal. The way this place has picked out chapters of his life and shuffled them around before shoving him back inside of them makes it seem, sometimes, that he never came here at all. That here is where he has always been, was and will be all mangled together into one long and dreamlike now.
Roland frowns, grits his teeth, and rubs the heel of a hand against his temple. Focus. No need to think of that. "If this place is yours then knowing the why of it could tell me what to expect, no matter what I think of it. If my belief is all that's stopping you, might as well tell me."
no subject
"I think these memories are hers, if she was telling the truth about what happened to her— to humanity, technically." Which is...a lot of jarring information in total. Sombra isn't entirely sure she was ready for the news when she heard about it, but there's no turning back now.
"Estás bien, Roland?" Her eyes darting down briefly towards his hand as it's pressed to his own temple. Strained.
no subject
"Yes." He looks over briefly to try and catch her eye, one corner of his lips twitching up. "Sí."
Then, of course, it's back to his focused study of the lay of the land, such as it is, ahead. He's not in a hurry about seeing this place - his walk is slow, steady, the walk of a man ready to go a great deal further before he's done. No, he's in no hurry to see. But it pays to be watchful. "I'm alright. You can keep going. You're... Let's see."
He knows she's being patient with this explanation. That she has to be, that anyone from a universe like the one the Legion exists in has to be, with him. And it does grate on him, of course it grates, but there is no question that it's necessary. So he doesn't try to hide his thinking, combs through memories of his tutor's old lessons and memories of legends, stories the boy he must've once been had listened to from every mouth that would speak them. Between it all he does come up with something.
"You're possessed. Your machinery is possessed. By a ghost, or a demon who's been around a while. Some disaster touched her. But not you, that's why this's only her memory. Must've been before your time. Or after?" He raises his eyebrows, glancing toward her to try and gauge how much of the whole thing he's put together.
no subject
"She's an AI, though. A computer - not a demon, and a Legionnaire like us. But she's been around for a lot longer than I have." Seen more, lived through worse. He's not far at all off the mark in his assessment of that, at least.
There's a low rumbling in the tunnels ahead, something that shakes the ground they stand on. "And if she's telling the truth? After my time. After all our times, probably."
no subject
"And that disaster. The one which fell on the humanity of your universe? Is that what shaped whatever's up ahead?"
no subject
That's a yes, for however much it's worth, her footsteps stilling with a tension drawn all the way up to her shoulders.
—that is, if he's willing to face the span of his own memories again.
no subject
He abandons his study of the way ahead to study her and his face is harsh, blank, but his voice is almost gentle. "There is no going back, sai Azúcar. Only forward. Only through."
Oh Roland
The sort of person who prefers to defeat a maze by scaling the walls rather than going through, she doesn't like the idea of pressing on when even Cortana had warned against the Flood— the Gravemind. It's an uneasiness that shows in her tightly knit posture, despite the fact that her voice stays even.
But there's a sincerity in what he says, and with a reluctant sigh, she commits to walking again, attention entirely fixed on those walls.
"Here's hoping I don't regret this."
no subject
"But you're right, I don't know what's waiting. So I think the time for putting off telling me has passed. Will it be viable to look for an exit, as in my- At Jericho Hill, falling here from the mouth of that statue?"
no subject
That, at least, is a game plan she can get behind. "You take the left side, I'll take care of the right." Those gore-slick tunnels can't go on forever, can they? Well— maybe they can, but Sombra likes to imagine the nightmare is limited in its abilities.
She presses a hand to the wall— to the gruesome, pulsing beat of its flesh, the jagged lines of teeth and bone where they cut through, exposed to the air. It's unsettling work, tracing her fingers along it as they walk to try and see if it's weak or that there might be a seamline worth prying open or peeling away. But then that's the whole point of this place, isn't it? And it isn't long before another group of malformed creatures wrest themselves free of the shadows, this time followed by another set of shambling monsters— and another—
"Watch your head, vaquero!"
A sharp round of fired shots snap past Roland's shoulder to cover him as a few tentacles come close to latching onto him with a feverish hunger.
no subject
"Retreat a ways?" He doesn't turn as he calls it, instead just tilting his head toward where he hopes she still is. "Or stick to one wall, carve a way through?"
It's not his decision, after all. This place is, if not hers, close to it, and she hasn't yet told him the facts behind it. If that unspecified disaster she'd mentioned has something to do with the nature of this place she's the only one of them who knows how, and so the only one of them really qualified to make the decision.
He won't go back all the way, of course. Not yet. No point in it. But retreating a little, that would be alright. Not the tack he'd personally take, but he always has been told he doesn't know when to quit.
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