SILENT HORIZON - [Part 2: Facing the Faceless/Escape] [modplot]

[letsgolegion]

Who| Everyone in Silent Horizon plot
What| Fighting the Faceless, a perilous escape, and a chance to have a breather
Where| In the In-Between, the Silent Horizon, and then the Legion Cruiser
When| Chronologically, only hours have passed in the outside world from when the team disappeared, but it's up to players whether their characters perceived it as being hours or days
Warnings/Notes| Gore, blood, body horror, all the usual


They hear the voice again, calling out to them. Not the Faceless, not the dark whispers of this world. It's the same tinny voice that warned them, that told them not to give into the Faceless' offer. It's the voice that told them their Phalanxed teammates can still be saved if the Faceless is killed in time before they die.

It calls out again. Wherever they are, whatever the landscape is doing, they can hear it.

"I know you have no reason to trust me. I know you've been probably hearing lots of voices in this place, telling you all kinds of things. But I'm trying to help you. There's a way to end this, to stop the Faceless. Just follow my voice. My language synthesizer is broadcasting in the telepathic range like telepathic earplugs and I've managed to reconfigure it to broadcast through the entire In-Between. You should be hearing it wherever you are and you should be able to use its broadcast strength to navigate. I think I've managed to secure it from the Faceless and his Phalanx but there's no way to be sure."

How loud the voice is changes as they get closer or farther away. They can use it to navigate, albeit very crudely. And now that it's clearer, it's far more recognizable: it's the voice of the Robotican in the horrible footage that played before they were taken -- the one that had his head knocked off.

"My name is N-45LEN/Keth Series. My organic crewmates call --" He pauses, and sounds distraught. "--called me Lenny. I was a crew member of the Silent Horizon. This entire dimension is called the In-Between. It's made up of the body of the Faceless and I'm currently trapped at its core. I can see you Legionnaires from here through...what appears to be some kind structure for processing what equates to ocular stimuli for the Faceless. If any of you get lost, I can see enough to guide you here."

If they need it, they'll find that he can give them individualized directions, no matter what the landscape does, and he can give them to multiple people simultaneously. Having a complex processor for a brain has its perks.

"My organic teammate and I managed to discover the core of the Faceless and its nature, but I'm currently incapacitated and Bob...he just lost it. He nearly destroyed what was left of me and ran off before we could stop the Faceless. I saw him eventually accept the Faceless' offer and turn. If you make it here where I am, you may be able to destroy the Faceless' body enough to kill him, save your teammates, and destroy this dimension once and for all."

A pause.

"And if you could maybe take me with you when you leave, uh, I would appreciate that. Like, a lot."

[ooc post here]

Comments

[goddamngrenades]

He wanted to get to know you as himself rather than as a former member of a classified military project. Something that was a moot point considering Locus' experience with the freelancers.

[agnominal]

It doesn't explain much, nor satisfy him entirely, but that hardly matters now. He stares at the little figure in his hand, his eyes weary.

"...you were what transformed in him. What I felt."

What he'd assumed was finally some sort of kinship and understanding from York hadn't been at all. And wasn't that just so terribly fitting?

[goddamngrenades]

Affirmative. He isn't proud of it, doesn't wish to discuss it- but that is the case.

He was going to speak to you after this mission, regarding Chorus and your actions. Where you stood. He feels obligated to say that much at least.

[agnominal]

Why he feels obligated, he's not certain. Perhaps there's some loyalty there, even after York pulled him and threw him aside as he had. AI are not something he's terribly familiar with.

His expression, instead, goes carefully blank. "...there's no need for that now."

He knows what he is, what he's done. York needs no monsters in his life, they'd all be better off without him, he can't...

The thoughts are brushed aside for the moment.

"I take it he made no such commitment to speak with you."

Sombra — not a spooky

[vata]

She isn't sorry.

This? This is what she saved her ammunition for. Her anger for. The last few depleted pools of energy left in burned-out circuitry and her muscles alike: no pretense, no innocuous habits played up to make her seem like less of a threat. Sombra hardly glows as she flits around the battlefield, translocator teleporting her to safety each time her digital camouflage fails. It works to her advantage, that lack of brightness— even the fluorescent streaks of white in her hair are so matted with blood and dull from lacking energy— that she can make for the shadows any time something (or someone) wanders too close.

Her primary target? The hearts. Only the hearts.

Her still-living teammates can fend for themselves, as far as she's concerned. A neglible loss, an appropriate distraction, she's already spent every bought resource in her arsenal except for one— Cortana— who's housed inside her own cybernetics. If someone else falls in the process of taking this thing down, it's not her problem anymore.

She came here to finish this.

And with a burst of fired rounds from her SMG, puncturing another heart with a wet, agonizing burst of blood, she likes to think she is. Even as the distressed shouting of her peers echoes not-so-distantly in the background.

[steelandtemper]

"Delta's not even broadcasting an IFF--hang on." Running on hardware designed to support her and unhampered by interference from the Faceless, this copy of Cortana has no problem bridging the gap to York's implant and doing the AI equivalent of knocking on the door...to no response. She sticks her head in, so to speak, careful not to do more than a quick once-over; the implant can't take her normally. If it's damaged, there's no w--what the hell.

It's what remains of a war zone. A war her other self fought, apparently, because her code is everywhere...including an intricate web woven around Delta, holding him mute and immobile.

...You know what, if the other Cortana thought it was necessary to truss Delta up like that, this Cortana's going to trust her judgment, and she backs out like a person who has just walked in on something they didn't want to see.

"Delta's in solitary, and I'm going to leave him there. I think he might have gone rampant, and this is really not the time or place to treat that."

She's probably going to have to explain her copying trick, isn't she? What a day this has been.

Conneticut

[short_changed]

There's a feeling of deja vu as Connie stands by one of the windows in the ship, watching the wreckage of the Silent Horizon explode, bringing with it a bitter echo of old memories. With a soft growl she turns away, shoving the memories to the back of her mind as she looks for a way to be useful. This mission was bullshit from start to finish, and she's had more than her fill of mind games and fuckery for one lifetime already; but here in their charter away, among the wounded and the healing there's no place for her anger. Which just leaves her with the exhaustion heavy in her bones as the adrenaline leaks out of her, but sleep wouldn't be kind with the restless thoughts running through her head.

So she makes herself useful. Dressed in her undersuit Connie has taken up one of the tables in a corner of the ship to lay out the mess of her armour and weapons and starts to clean. It would be a bad idea to return home looking like the bloody mess she felt like, and the familiar routine of the maintenance was comforting. Requiring focus more than thought, it's easy to ignore everything while she works. There wouldn't be any horrors here in the familiar parts and pieces by the time she's done with them.

[goddamngrenades]

On the contrary, there is more need for it now than there was before. But that is for him to choose.

As it is for him to choose to talk to Delta again one day. For now- this limited existence is punishment enough for the betrayal he'd caused. It's- difficult to articulate and process especially since even now that he knows it's over, he knows they're safe- there's the phantom sensation of those many limbs he'd had.

But he shakes that off in favor of the conversation. No. He has not, though I suspect it shall be some time before he trusts me again.

[agnominal]

"...did the Faceless approach you?"

Admittedly, talking about it was the last thing he really wanted to do at the moment. But it was admittedly curious. Delta had fallen prey to the Faceless, while York had remained himself throughout. For such a symbiotic relationship, the fact that that was even possible...

Maybe it gave him something to contemplate other than the horror of what they had just gone through.

[vata]

If the desperate rumbling of convulsing pathways is indicative of anything, it's that leaving him here means he'll stay here.

So where his tangled memories and guilt leave off, Sombra steps in. There isn't time to waste on talking— and at the moment, she doesn't have the energy or desire to. Like old shadows had tried to drag him to the ground, her fingers close tight around the collar of his armor where flesh sloughs away, unwilling to let him have whatever grim satisfaction he craves. Pulls with every ounce of strength she has, arms burning—

—and it isn't enough.

'You don't get to go all soft on me now...'

Her grip flexes, she snakes her arm around his listless own as her free hand moves to grasp the translocator at her side. "Levántate, Soldado. We're leaving."

[goddamngrenades]

Breath rough and shakey he blinks, turning his head with great effort to see- Connie. Alive, well, Delta hand't-

They hadn't-

He is not so old or so badass he will deny a little welling of tears (he'll blame it on pain) to know she's okay. That he hadn't killed her again That at least one of them will get out of here. He's got nothing left to urge himself to move. In the implant, in the code- a warm wash of blue, unfamiliar but wholly welcome.

Cortana. The healing unit's systems are fairly straightforward.

A dummy AI or subroutine on the suit's OS would work just as well to keep it going, but no. An AI is required for some bizarre reason. Sorry about earlier.

A beat.

Is Azucar ok? Locus didn't-

[goddamngrenades]

...Assimilation was the only opportunity for survival.

The only way to keep him from losing York like the director lost both his wife and daughter. To keep what happened in their home from happening again. The only, logical route-

And it had been incorrect.

[agnominal]

"Survival."

He echoes the sentiment, softly. That's what mattered, wasn't it? Those that survived did so because they'd earned the right to. They'd done whatever was necessary. Locus's gaze fixed ahead in the hallway. Just a little further to somewhere where they likely wouldn't be bothered for a while.

"Well. We survived. For what that's worth."

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland's legs are one of the few parts of him which are not shifting their agonizing way back into shape and so he uses them. His hands aren't so lucky but he uses them, too, in spite of the way the mouth still climbing up Roland's chin gives a little yell at the feeling of his bare muscle and bone gripping tight onto the other man's shoulder.

Stopping is a risk. Every time he stops, there's a risk he won't be able to start going again. Here the risk is a necessary one but still it grates at his frayed nerves, sends desperation and anger snapping out behind his words as he leans into the man's face, shouting.

"What the hell are you doing? Legionnaire, on your feet!"

[agnominal]

"I belong here."

Even with that black poison oozing its way out of his system, he believes it. He'd failed even the Faceless at this point, unable to even be enough of a monster to complete the one task he'd been given. Yet how could he return with the other Legionnaires now?

With Sombra, who had extended her hand to him, and in return? He'd tried to kill her. Why, why waste her effort on someone who was not only not any use to her, but had actively worked against her?

He shook his head slowly, weight sagging. "You should go."

[agnominal]

The order is so sudden that he feels something tug, instinctively, before he can think. He straightens, despite the agony his body is in as it morphs back to something resembling human, but the look leveled at Roland is confused.

No, he's not one of them. He doesn't deserve that title, the ring, the mission. He's unworthy of it, he's shown as much here by falling victim to his own ghosts, and the Faceless.

He can't go back with them, not now.

[goddamngrenades]

At what cost?

An incalculable loss of trust. A loss of self- as 'true' as the Faceless attempted to make them to what it thought they were- it carved out a space of them that they will ever get back and left its mark.

...the being on your back- the corpse. That was Felix?

Sombra | Azúcar

[vata]

By the time they're back aboard the Cruiser, it's caught up with her. The exhaustion, the pain gripping her nerves— right down to the implants under her skin that've gone pitch-dark with overuse. Once everyone's alive and safely boarded, she finds a bed near the aft of the ship, sits down, and stares out into the vast expanse of space. Stains the sheets with dried blood, tacky. A ruddy, disgusting color. Nothing more than physical evidence of the memories still clinging to her skin.

She doesn't care.

For once, Sombra doesn't have anything to say. Not even to the AI still inside her head.

[agnominal]

Even the name has his guts twisting. He'd been there, or some semblance of him, and even now that voice lingered. Followed him. He should have known he'd never truly be able to shake him off.

Locus's jaw set tightly.

"...what do you know of him?"

[goddamngrenades]

Only what little Agent Washington was able to share with us. To...'fill in the blanks' as Taylor-

That was how he wished to be addressed now, that was how they were since they put the Project behind them, that is how he wanted Locus to address him.

Invited you to do yourself.

[agnominal]

What Washington had shared. Did he even want to know? Every step of the way he'd meddled, and he...

He'd had every right to. He'd known what Locus was from the beginning, and sought only to protect his friend. Undoubtedly he'd be able to say that he'd told him so, as this venture only proved how little he could be trusted.

"...yes. That was him," he manages, finally, letting out a breath and slipping into an unoccupied room, shutting the door behind them.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland still hasn't figured out quite where his mouth's got to but he can tell its lips are drawn back, can tell he's baring his teeth. Seldom has he regretted not being broad shouldered and solid built, not having the kind of body which could pull a wagon behind it, if it wanted. His muscles are as well tended to as any weapon he's ever owned; they do what they need to. But now, here, with horror and that black bile warring for control of his stomach, with all the shifting parts of his body shuddering out of time with each other, getting this man's cooperation is non negotiable.

"Focus!" he shouts, taking the look of confusion at face value. If there were more time Roland could try and touch his mind, try and get through to him that way. Does Roland even have the concentration for it, like this?

"You'll die if you stay, do you understand that? You'll die, or worse. Unless you move!" On that last word his hand not gripping the man's shoulder rises and moves, meaning to try and slap the confusion off that face. There's no time for anything nicer.

[goddamngrenades]

He was literally puppeting you.

Much in the way he had been doing the same thing to York, although to likely less horrifying effect. Felix is a figment, a ghost. Delta-

York will have to adjust and Delta will need to learn how to draw the line between where he is and where York begins. For the past several years he has not had to do so.0

[short_changed]

"That's putting it lightly. If Delta's out of the picture then I need you to run York's healing unit."

The ground lurches and Connie's head snaps up, gaze darting as some of the sections of the corridor start to spasm.

"And we don't have much time as is. Sorry York, but this is gonna suck."

As Connie moves York to lean against the wall so she can better lift him her heart starts to pound as the fluctuations in this section of the hallway start to get more frequent. Leaning down she slings one of his legs and arms over her shoulders until he's curled around her in a fireman's carry and hoists him up. It takes her precious seconds to make it back to her feet but as soon as she's up she's leaning forward into as careful a run as she can manage.

[agnominal]

There's no argument there. When he wanted to stop, Felix was usually the impetus to continue. And so it was, even now. He was allowing his ghost to continue to manipulate him, until he could find a way to silence him.

So far, he's been less than successful.

His head drops forward for a moment, one hand lifting to rub against his eyes.