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

[isthisapidge]

The fact that it's missed twice is simply not a deterrent, and it crouches to charge. What passes for it's eyes are trained on Connie, and all it's muscles tense under it's stretched skin-

And then it shoots up straight and shrieks. Sparks of electricity shoot from the base of it's spine, and Pidge decloaks behind it. She has her bayard pressed into it, with as much ferocity as she can muster.

The monster lets out one last groan and falls forward, leaving Pidge standing over it staring at Connie, all business.

"I'll need to get close to take these things out, it's quicker. Are you with me?"

[agnominal]

I know.

He knows he'll die, distantly. In a way that hardly seems to matter. There's too much between him and the reality of the situation to easily shift back to, and so he's nowhere near prepared to block the blow, as he might have done on any other day.

Smack! Locus's head jerks to the side, the sting of it barely felt over everything else, but there's something about the move that jars him. The orders, the violence, there's familiarity in it. He can hold onto instinct if nothing else, and instinct says --

Follow orders. Survive.

Even if the man in front of him seems more like the horrors of this place than any Legionnaire, he has his attention. After a moment he nods, and moves to follow.

Process later, when there's time.

[goddamngrenades]

"And now you wish to return to your days as an unquestioning soldier, a weapon to be pointed at an enemy while others make the call of whether or not to fire?" That is the gist of what Washington had told them of Locus' later days.

Of what he might turn to if given a choice.

"That is an inexplicable waste of your current opportunity."

[agnominal]

"No."

It should disturb him, that level of insight. Instead, he just feels numb. Maybe it's a defense, something to keep him from feeling anything else. The alternatives just might be worse than this dead, hollow feeling sucking inside his chest.

"I'm not even a soldier, anymore."

[goddamngrenades]

"Then what are you?" A beat. "Please do not say 'a monster' because that is inaccurate beyond my ability to ignore."

They have, in this past mission, done monstrous things. Become monstrous things. But it cannot possibly be their fault for failing and falling- if it were some flaw in his system that led him to this? Cortana would have torn him apart line by line.

She had not.

Therefore: something else was at play and while they are not wholly innocent, neither are they wholly guilty.

[agnominal]

"You saw what we became, given the choice. And we chose."

It was not inflicted, it was weakness. Pure and simple. To survive, to find purpose and a place, the reason itself didn't matter. They'd still turned on their fellows and let themselves be manipulated.

After he'd sworn 'never again'. After he'd told himself he was better than that. That he could be more than that.

But he'd failed in that so wholly and completely, it hardly seemed worth continuing to deny.

[goddamngrenades]

"While at the mercy of a multidimensional highly manipulative and motivated power beyond our comprehension or ability to withstand." Laid out like that- they never stood a chance. Some of the Legion changed, some did not. Finding the point of commonality and understanding it would further his certainty that this?

Is not on their heads.

"On occasion the familiar horror is the one that we find most comforting. Or to use a human idiom: The devil you know." Yes, we, yes, he'd been through the same before after a fashion. Focus, Locus.

[agnominal]

He's trying, but it's hard to break away from the circular path these thoughts have been taking in his head. Delta's logical take, however, is helpful. However marginally.

Locus simply shakes his head, looking aside. "And what if we come across such an enemy again? Should we be allowed to simply pose a threat to those who are able to withstand?"

Lena Oxton | Tracer

[zippity]

There's only so much a woman can do in a firefight full of people ten times her strength. Being faster was a perk, until you couldn't run away anymore. Everyone makes mistakes, right? That's probably what has Lena in a bed, only half-asleep thanks to the tackiness of blood making it hard to sit still.

The robotics had managed to repair most of the tears in her more vital muscles, and she was really due for a shower. Maybe after her mind stopped spinning.

She feels disgusting, and even with the accelerator sitting placidly in low-power mode beside her, its impossible to get comfortable. Or maybe it was just leftover from everything that had been happening -- her sense of time had never been the best, but its even worse now, given how much she had needed to exhaust herself to stay in the game.

Either way, its clear the normally-chipper woman is not feeling very high in spirits, but that doesn't mean she can't spare a small smile whenever someone happens to make eye contact with her. The important thing was that they'd gotten it done, and with minimal casualties.

[short_changed]

"Yeah, that would do it..."

A slow, measured breath escapes her as she shakes her head. She knew exactly who he was talking about. She frowns after a moment, remembering Cortana's description of Delta's confinement when Connie had been carrying York out of the ship.

"How is he?"

[i_got_this]

South swears as some thing comes lumbering out of nowhere, stumbling back and throwing an arm up to block his punch, and then instinctively following it up with a pistol-whip to his armored face.

"What the fuck --" Noticing now the additional thing on its back, the chains and reins and, why does that armor look familiar?

[agnominal]

But it's not a punch at all. Open-palmed, he instead grabs hold of the arm thrown up to defend herself with before attempting to haul South up off of her feet. A second later her gun thwacks across his face, but it barely seems to slow him.

Instead he looms closer, jaws dripping, as the armored corpse still perched on his back laughs in rasping tones.

Too easy. You gonna put up an actual fight or what, sweetcheeks?

[goddamngrenades]

"Often as we might face crises of varying degrees, the likelihood of us finding yet another faceless monstrosity warped by chronological that is able to tap into the trauma of our past and turn it against us is less than .000423 percent." When in doubt, follow the math. And the math? Doesn't lie.

"I believe we will not be faced with such an enemy again."

[goddamngrenades]

"...Monty's been dead for years. Who the fuck are you talking about?" That's enough to prompt him to sit up (as much as it isn't painful) and squint across the space to Grif. Because-

Montana? No. That uptight demo dude has been gone forever, unfortunately.

[goddamngrenades]

"Fuck if I know." He points to where the storage unit is. Or. Was. He's not looking. "It went fucking crazy and made a meat puppet out of me. I'm not really all that interested right now."

Later, maybe. When he can see HIS Delta and not the thing that hurt him? Sure.

But right now it's on the same level as the director as far as he's concerned.

[short_changed]

Connie's halfway to her feet when the sudden shock runs through the monster's spine, killing the momentum of the attack she had been readying to dodge. When it falls under the glowing blade of Pidge's weapon, Connie can't help a small vicious grin behind her helmet as she stands and gives a nod.

"I'm with you. I'll keep 'em busy while you take out the hearts. Think your weapon packs more of a punch than my knife does."

And with so many team mates in such close quarters Connie isn't willing to risk pulling out her gun to fight with. With a tip of her head she scans the room for the next closest patch of bone curling out from the walls, pointing out one with a similar hulking meat monster guarding it.

"You up for it?"

[ghost_bait]

Miku, likewise, doesn't like, enjoy or want to think any further about what today has been (aside from a nightmare she would like to immediately wake up from). She's missing a boot, her uniform is filthy and she's glad that she's managed not to lose Victor this entire time.

She climbs up onto Victor's back, quietly thankful she doesn't weigh much. Luckily, her uniform is more or less still decent and the worst of the gore has been deflected by her shield. Her head aches like the worst thing, and it makes Victor's face weeble-wobble in her vision. She takes a deep breath of the foul, fetid air and the shield closes around them. "Ready... Ready when you are." She closes her eyes and prays she won't fly off his back somehow.

[short_changed]

Connie glances over to the spare bed on the other side of the room, making a mental note of the armour piece lying on the barely ruffled sheets and the change York's language. 'It', huh? It leaves a bitter taste at the back of her mouth, but then again, so does the memory of Delta's wires forcing their way in to try and bring her into the fold.

"Some space is probably best. I think we all need it."

Whether they'll get it is another matter. In Freelancer they could usually go lick their wounds and deal with their failures on their own without an audience but with the Legion? How are they supposed to deal with people and masses wanting to know everything about what they do?

"...This was a real shit show."

[mylawn]

76 wants to think the two of them are far too exhausted and injured to start shit, but he can't put anything past Reaper if he wants to be smart. They're both fresh from medical attention and 76 in particular is out of his tactical gear--mask and visor included. It makes him feel more than a little vulnerable, a feeling that only gets worse when he staggers out of the way of the med techs and nearly runs smack into Gabriel.

He hasn't seen Reaper without the mask since...well, ever. 76 had his own theories about what might be under there, but seeing it is another thing entirely. Does he even have a face anymore?

"Jesus, Reyes."

It's clear from his tone of voice that he doesn't want to fight, and is really just some combination of exhausted and surprised. He doesn't make any moves to get closer.

[agnominal]

"Perhaps not exactly that," he concedes, grudgingly. "But it succeeded in bringing a great deal to light."

There are too many cracks, too many fissures to slip into. All it will take is an enemy with the slightest bit of insight and he will feel every bit as exposed as before. Locus's eyes drop to the ring on his hand before allowing his fingers to curl into a fist.

"I will not endanger them again."

[goddamngrenades]

"Without your aid in the field Taylor's chances of survival drop considerably. He is accustomed to operating with a sniper on hand to cover him from a distance." to a digital being, anything over five percent is considerable.

"You would leave him and those that would benefit from your skills without due to misplaced fear?" A beat. "The human capacity for foolishness is not limited to Taylor, I see."

[fantasmaniac]

His first instinct is to draw back, put up his guns, but his body doesn't listen anyway. Surrounded by scraps of some his tattered clothing and discarded gear, he's just staring at Jack through the black shirt around his head.

Even around people like Jack and Ana, he doesn't seem particularly comfortable with revealing his face. Ana just got lucky... or unlucky, from how he remembers her reaction.

"Morrison."

The tension slowly eases out of his shoulders and slumps against the wall again.

"You look like shit."

But that's the extent of his animosity for tonight.

[agnominal]

"It is not foolishness to consider the risks. You don't know--"

Locus's voice had begun to lift before he realized it, snapped his mouth shut, and sank back again. Arguing with an AI. This is what it's come to. But it's something. Even anger is better than the numb, is better than despair.

And he can only be truly angry at himself. His lips tighten, fingers squeezing before releasing, again and again, as if the gesture might ease his mind.

But the truth?

"I'm...compromised." Which translates as useless, so far as the Legion will be concerned.

[goddamngrenades]

"Brief me." He cannot work out the pattern without all the variables. He cannot calculate the odds of success or failure without knowing what is or is not in play- leaving him in the dark helps no one.

But this is more than battle tactics and statistics- this is...human. Emotions and trauma and ghosts and a jumble of messy scenarios that do not fit in neat little slots, much to his dismay.

"Even compromised you are more valuable as an asset in the field than you are alone, as am I. You, however, are able to act on your own." Delta...is not.

[agnominal]

A briefing. That at least things in a frame of mind he can work with. A mission. A mission that almost failed because of him, but a mission all the same. And one they had succeeded in accomplishing, in the end. There is that, at least.

His focus falls back on Delta.

"...how much did Agent Washington tell you?"