(CLOSED) My hands are tied, for all I've seen has changed my mind

[alittlesweptup]

Date & Time: Forward-dated to Nov. 16 0300hrs through Nov.19th ~0230hrs
Location: Observatory, East Loading Bay, Transporter Room, Various (read: everywhere)
Characters: Pro-Initiative and Mutineer action teams
Summary: With mutineers occupying the transporter room and vital base systems hamstrung, Pro-Initiative forces work against mutineer teams to bring those systems back online and reach the transporter room.
Warnings: None yet (will update as necessary...because lbr ‘none yet’ isn’t going to last long)
Notes: All threads, with the exception of the Transporter Room B, are open for posting beginning now. Transporter Room B will kick off on Nov.16th proper in order to incorporate decision making from earlier action team’s choices and to maintain tonal cohesion. Community wide mingle log for the mutiny will go up on Nov. 16th.

[At 0300hrs on November 16th, things suddenly go wrong. The network cuts out, lighting abruptly goes from artificially sterile to the unsettling flickering of red emergency lighting. Furniture, supplies and even Transports suddenly find themselves untethered from the ground as the base’s gravity regulation abruptly shuts down; moreover, it isn’t long before Transports begin to realize they’ve been locked off from anything but the housing(/restrooms), vr and cafeteria sections of the base. Not long after:

Click-HHHSSSHK-click!

A woman’s voice speaks over the moon base’s PA system, echoing through the dark corridors and off the odds and ends gently floating through them thanks to the lack of gravity regulation. The voice is rich and accented, with a certain practiced ease to it - one that sharpens to a point the longer she talks:]

Testing. Testing-- are we good? Christ, I'm not echoing, am I? No?

All right good. Listen up, fellow transports. As you might have noticed, some of the base's general systems have gone offline: this, I assure you, is absolutely intentional. There's no need to panic.

So moving on from the understandably frustrating to the even more frustrating, I'm sure you all have also noticed the fact that we're currently all stuck-- starving and defenseless-- on the bloody moon. In a base that was, up until a few days ago, overrun with zombies. And before that, thousands of lives were bombed right out of existence, and before that, an entire world-- and before that we were all still being thrown at the United Earth for the sake of dying off repeatedly in a war we never stood a chance or had a say in. Transports have been treated like pawns since day one, and I'm sorry, but we don't deserve it.

If we're giving up our lives and our freedom, I'd say it's about time we earned ourselves a little equality.

We deserve a say in what goes on in this fight, and with that in mind, a few of us have decided to hold onto the transporter for a while. Just until the Initiative agrees to treat us like people instead of ammunition. Trust me, we’re not here to hurt anyone; none of this has to end badly. But it does need to end. Things have got to change. And if this is what it takes? This is what it’s going to be.

We need your help; please don’t make it any harder for us.

[The PA clicks off, pitching the base once more into complete radio silence.

Over the course of the next four days, pro-Initiative transports gather their resources and individuals form impromptu (or well planned) teams to bring these systems back online and out of the hands of mutineers so they can ultimately reach the transporter room and set things to right -- whatever that “right” may be.]

Comments

[gevurah]

[ She remains anchored where she stands, eyes glossing over each and every person who opposes them in the room.

She's collected and resolute when she speaks. ]

You have to answer for what you've done. No hiding.

The longer you continue to seize the base, the less time we may have to accomplish anything. This will only divide Transports further, with morale at its weakest.

[alittlesweptup]

[Charlie tightens his fingers on Chloe's shirt, knuckles white. He makes a low, dangerous noise - the corner of his mouth pulling at something of a grin before it flickers away entirely. He's got Chloe practically vibrating with rage under his hand, Tempest ready to claw her way through the ceiling, two Initiative employees waiting to see where things fall--]

Someone hasn't done their homework. [Maybe if he hadn't decided so certainly on this course of action, that tenor of Kang's voice might have more effect. But he's got a gun in his hand and these are the same conversations he'd had for the past four days, on and off the network. If no one's listening to the things they have to say, then he's tired of talking.] If you're just going to repeat what everyone else has said, ignore the points we've made in return - the fact that we've done but momentarily inconvenience you in the pursuit of doing something to actually get us back to the bloody planet along with some future reassurance that we won't wind right back in this same situation because of an organization that can't even remember their fucking mistakes? Then that's up to you.

[He reaffirms his grip on the handgun.] But I am done talking to people who find a few locked doors justification for murder. If you're not going to give us amnesty, you'll grant us a fair trial and protection from the people among your ranks who would rather vent us into space without a word in edgewise.

[A beat, then:] And you'll find someone to bring Seviilia Brightwing back to life.

[highfrequency]

I was instructed to entrust you to Miss Small upon your arrest.

[Raiden says this firmly.]

But.. I won't let anyone hurt you. I made a promise that my sword will always be used to protect people.

That means you too. All of you.

[gevurah]

[ If they could see the storm of emotions in Kate's eyes as she wrestles with what she needs to do next.

Neither of them will leave the room. No one is wrong, but no one is completely right. She didn't want it to come to this for selfish reasons, but that's not the way a soldier behaves.

She slowly steps forward with her arms raised as a show of good faith: no tricks. She isn't going to hurt anyone. ]

Give me five minutes and I'll have Small here.

[ She backs out of the room, but not before quietly adding: ]

No, a few doors don't justify what was done to your friend.

[ Her heart pounds in her chest.

She had to do this at some point. ]

[totallytrustworthy]

Lovely. We get a mexican stand off while Ros is called in. [It's hissed through nearly clenched teeth, but dear god, Chloe does not want to stand around staring down a group of bloody strangers while they wait-- not for someone to give them an answer-- but for someone else to come in. And she knows Ros, trusts her as much as any of her close friends, but that doesn't mean she wants to sit and wait for it while Koltira stares her down. It's exacerbating the tension. Drawing it out till it's sharp enough to cut.] This has got to be a bloody joke.

[alittlesweptup]

And we're the ones without the bloody plan, apparently. [Cheap jokes with a weapon drawn? Those are the only ones Charlie can make right now. Good to see they really are all talk.] For fuck's sake, at least take Tempest into loading bay before she claws through all of us.

[hyanaimne]

[Tempest, meanwhile, takes this opportunity to sit down, rubbing at her face tiredly. She's exhausted in so many different ways, and she's starting to feel sick, and you know what? Screw whatever a mexican stand off is; they can stand all they want.

Though, she glances up at Charlie and makes a face. Sweetly:] Piss off, Charlie.

[boughtabookstore]

[ It doesn't take Roslyn long at all to show up - she'd been hovering nearby ever since the teams decided to go in, spending most of that time pacing nervously.

The text had been - not entirely a surprise, but the source had been, and if she seems slightly distracted the first moment she walks in it's because she's watching Batwoman with an unreadable expression for a moment. ]

It would help if people put weapons away, please. [ Focused again, and her own hands are loosely at her sides, jeans and a white button down leaving no room to hide a weapon, her shoulder holster still on but clearly empty.

A beat, because she's been excoriating others for their lack of hostage negotiation knowledge but hers isn't all that extensive. She has a little, but this is a situation she's never particularly found herself in. ]

Here's the thing. All official authority I have is derived essentially from saying I have it. [ The brutal truth, because she doesn't have much else. ] I cannot give an absolute guarantee that I will be able to keep you safe from the population. What I can promise is that any mistreatment of you would have to be over my dead body. And I can promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you all receive a fair trial. I don't know what you need me to swear on, but I'll do it.

[ And looking over at Chloe. ] Chloe, Charlie. Please. Somebody's already died. I don't intend to let anyone else.

[totallytrustworthy]

Shame it took a phone call for that to happen, darling. [Which is all she's going to say on the matter, lips flattened out into a line as she flicks her attention off somewhere else. And lets go of both the M-9 and her defender.]

[highfrequency]

[Raiden spins his sword deftly in one hand before sheathing it in the metal scabbard on his back. He shifts his weight, claws scraping across the floor as he turns his attention to Roslyn.]

Well... I'll defer to your judgment. Where do you want them? I can escort them there if necessary.

/thread over

[alittlesweptup]

Oh thank god, someone who wants to talk to me. And here my arm was getting tired. [He's livid - that much is apparent just from the set up his jaw and how low his brow is drawn. Because this is what it's come to - just over three days in lock up, desperately trying to make people understand their responsibilities, that they have to make decisions if they want to win this war (whether that meant agreeing with them or dragging them out by their bloody ears). And what had they done?

Decided not to decide. Shirked responsibility.

It hadn't been the ideal solution, but for once in his life he'd been fully prepared to play the bad guy if it meant galvanizing the Transports - getting them to take some culpability for their actions. But here they were, three days of preaching about how they just needed to talk to the Initiative, to the community, to anyone before they'd done what they did -- and Roslyn goddamn Small is the first person to ask him to lower his weapon. Because apparently for all their insistence on the power of communication, that hadn't occurred to anyone else. For all their talk of slipshod planning, they hadn't made any plans beyond getting through the goddamn door.

Charlie does drop the Walther: carefully clicks the safety on and tosses it to the floor of the transporter room. He raises his hands without so much as fuss. The sarcasm comes thick:] I only expect you to do your best, CI Small. That's all I've ever asked of anyone.

[He does turn then, glancing back to Richard Lawson and Lowell. Three days spent trying to prove their point and he's not sure there's anything that does it better than this charade. To quote Saul Goodman:]

Good fucking luck, mates.