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

[agnominal]

Simple enough.

And a reminder that he wants to put as much distance between himself and what remains of his armor as he can, once they're through here. It'll have to hold until they return to Legion World. Delta, meanwhile, has the option. So he'll oblige him.

The chip comes out with a firm tug, and there's some resistance at first, but it's clearly a slot made for him, and after a solid push in, the device takes the chip with a securing 'click'.

[goddamngrenades]

The hologram blinks out without so much as a word. The space between one slot and the next is a veritable infinity of silence and darkness- then the chip is pressed in, the unit hums online as his chip recedes into the storage device. A plate slides over where it'd been to leave a smooth, unbroken surface and for a moment? All is quiet.

Then the unit blares to life and the unit uncurls. Unfolds into the shape of a solid armored man, roughly ten inches tall. A physical replica of his hologram in full articulated detail from the lights on his helmet to the shade of green on the armor's plating.

Delta stands, taps his fingers together before peering around the room, looking back to the door where York lies beyond. "Thank you."

[agnominal]

A miniature body. A wonder why they didn't grant him a full-sized one, but given past events? That seems an unlikely venture. Locus merely nods before following his gaze.

"...he will recover." He'll need time. They all will. But given that time they can overcome most. York at the very least has his mind intact, his sense of self. He wasn't the one to transform, after all.

[goddamngrenades]

"He will never look at me the same way again." The trust won't be there. The understanding. The implicit, instinctive way they communicated with one another-

Those doors are closed to him.

[agnominal]

"You wanted to protect him. But even with the best of intentions..."

Even meaning to do well, they could do serious harm. Delta had been closer to York than anyone, in a very literal sense. And even he could choose incorrectly, while intending to do good.

In that, at least, Locus could sympathize.

"It's not enough. To want to do good. Not for some."

[goddamngrenades]

"The path to hell is paved with good intentions. A human saying I have not understood well until..." Until it suddenly became applicable. Delta's helmet dips for a moment, hands flexing in his tiny gloves.

He meant well and nearly destroyed them both. Nearly killed their associates, their team.

Easier to focus on Locus than himself, truly. "You wish to do good, do you not?"

[agnominal]

That, too, he feels more than a little. It's far easier to look at someone else's mistakes than your own, especially when the results stand so starkly in front of you.

"I did."

He's not sure if he meant to leave that in past tense, but. Well. There it is.

[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?"

[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."

[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."

[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?"

[goddamngrenades]

"He offered a rough description of your relationship with Felix. It was compelling enough for York to not only forgive your secrecy but intend to continue your association- and enough that I had no intention of dissuading him from the same." They'd seen what isolation could do to soldiers- what being left alone and not treated all that well could make a man do.

Better to offer some kind of grounding. Besides- it was mutually beneficial.

Was.

It may yet again be so.

[agnominal]

"...he did?"

That is news to him. He can't fathom why, why anything Washington could say would be to encourage York to continue associating with him, but there it is. Stated as matter-of-fact as you like by a little fragment of overly-logical AI.

It takes him off guard, for a moment.

[goddamngrenades]

"Agent Washington has seen first hand how soldiers that isolate themselves become a danger to those around them. He only explained what he knew when York came to him, confused with the incomplete picture you gave. If he truly wished your association to end? There are simpler ways of seeing it done." Perhaps it is a good time to attempt humor?

He gauges the moment and, well, as his example of when is and is not appropriate is York chooses to move forward.

"Bullets, as I understand, are quite final and more efficient than social manipulation."

[agnominal]

Gallows humor. Something any soldier could appreciate, and Locus makes a quiet noise of acknowledgment in turn. Yes. Yes, that's certainly true.

It's still far more than he expected. Though it matters little now.

"Washington understands correctly, then. I doubt he would question the course that should be taken, now."

No, that's not exactly true, is it? Washington had said he'd be happier if Locus stayed the Hell away from him and his friends, but he'd also said he and York's friendship might be beneficial to the two of them. Contrary. Confusing, to say the least.

Doesn't matter. Locus knows that York, Sombra, all of them, would be better off if he remained off-duty.

[goddamngrenades]

"Self termination is a waste of a second chance." Why not follow that line of logic to the worst possible outcome and describe how it's a terrible idea? That seems like the safest route. "Remaining inactive is, likewise, a waste. Do you still wish to atone for what you did on Chorus?"

Ignoring his opportunity to show he can be more is-

Well.

A waste and hardly logical.

[agnominal]

Does he?

He's seen the bodies on that side of the scale, watched them pile high. And that niggling voice in the back of his head, too familiar by now, insists that it's impossible. It would be one thing to die trying.

I hurt them. I hurt them and I chose to do it. I chose to follow the Faceless because I wanted this to end.

He doesn't answer. Just stares down at the ring again, which now feels heavier than ever.