transport log » ❝ welcome to Exsilium ❞

[initiates]

Date & Time: Sept 23rd, 2012.
Location: The Initiative Hold & Courtyard.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: New Transports have all arrived and have been shuffled into the Courtyard after their initial briefings.
Warnings: None.

You've just been hustled and bustled through mazes of information and literal, wide corridors of the Initiative Hold and you've been equipped with your weapon—be it a gun, a sword, or even your existing powers. They've handed you this light netbook and a small pouch of coins (or a debit card, if you're more inclined), and there are several Transports before and after you going through the very same motions. You can hear the Greeter's voice as she walks alongside large groups, telling them all about the history of this place and sharing with you your purpose here in a hurried and urgent tone. "This isn't standard," she's saying, walking perhaps faster than most of the people she's dragging around. "We don't normally have so many Transports at once. Please, let me show you into the courtyard."

You pass what looks like huge gymnasiums, all with dummies and targets strewn and splayed around the room. Training areas. There are even classrooms, and a few small offices. You're rushed past a large library while the Greeter informs you that you can find almost all your information there, if you've got the time to look—and trust her, you'll have time. You don't spend a lot of time in the bank, and it's a bit of a blur of exchanges with more and more of these strangely-accented and oddly polite-seeming members of the Initiative.

Soon enough, you're in a massive courtyard bustling with all the other Transports. It's not exactly what you'd expect, and it looks more like barracks than anything—huge walls of concrete and stone, separating you from all of the hallways you'd just passed through. It's raining heavily, and dark clouds loom in the air. It's a chill cold, and there are shelters—long cloth hangings that extend from the walls of concrete to house you from the rain, but not enough. Most notably, the courtyard is filled with a marketplace. Even in the cold and the rain, there are several citizens seated at their covered booths and tables. They're selling all manner of their own handmade goods and foods, and citizens and Transports alike are traveling from one small covered shop to another in search of all manner of necessities.

The Greeter's voice has become so faint now, but you swear you can make it out in the back of the crowds as she tells you, "Good luck. Be safe!"

Her voice is drowned out by the busy marketplace, though even the transactions taking place are somewhat subdued. Nobody is overly happy, really, though most citizens can be found with smiles on their faces. It doesn't seem like they're that shocked to see you, either; even if you're not bound in tattered rags and wrapped in heavy shawls as they are. You're welcome to walk up to a shop, and find yourself something to eat—hey, maybe you'll even find something akin to a raincoat. Or, you can join the others under the coverings against the walls. Where am I? What war? She was talking so fast, and it didn't all make very much sense… did anyone else catch it all?

Welcome to the courtyard. Welcome to the Initiative Hold—and most importantly, welcome to Exsilium.

Comments

[raisedbybirds]

[She'll take it with three fingers, the forth and fifth still delicately clutching her little food bag.]

Samus Aran

[She vaguely registers that's not a standard human birth name but then again she comes from space and space is full of strange names like that. There's a pause.]

Former military with the Galactic Federation before I broke off to do solo work.

[loyalism]

I see. Mercenary?

[This one just gets more and more interesting.]

[raisedbybirds]

Bounty Hunter.

[SPACE AND NINTENDO: WHERE LINES ARE BLURRY.]

I've had plenty of contracts with the Federation even after I left, so it's close enough. They pay well enough and I'm not obligated to follow their rules.

[Because rules are for losers.]

Usually solo operations.

[loyalism]

A man after my own heart.

[Whoops.]

I've done some mercenary work myself, in the past. Always found the solo jobs suited me better.

[And the ones where he wasn't bound by their rules. He preferred being able to choose what he fought for.]

[raisedbybirds]

[She'll let it slide, easily.

If they're going to continue this conversation, she's going to lead it away from the crowded marketplace and to an unoccupied awning. Even if they don't open up much more than they already have, she's aware of the possibility that discussing the nature of their professions could easily stray into sensitive information territory.]

You must have seen many if you were in Special Ops.

[Jobs probably handled far more delicately than she would have.]

[loyalism]

When it was necessary.

[Even spec ops worked in teams more often than not. FOXHOUND on the other hand, being such a highly specialised black ops unit, was almost entirely solo work. But it was also top secret, so for now Fox is simply Special Forces and nothing more.]

You mentioned the Galactic Federation. I'm not familiar with it.

[raisedbybirds]

[She tilts her head skyward, as if she could see through the clouds and gray atmosphere that obscure the stars.]

They are the largest governing body in the universe, that I'm aware of. They strive for galactic peace but I've come to question their methodology over the years.

They'd have me destroy bioweaponry they claim is too dangerous to exist...

[She'll let Fox fill in the blank.]

[loyalism]

But you disagree?

[Bioweaponry... Something about the way it's said suggests that Samus isn't talking about biowarfare as he knows it, using microorganisms. There was no arguing how dangerous that was.

The implications are obvious.]

[raisedbybirds]

I didn't. I destroyed them willingly.

[A pause. There's no point in being vague and cryptic--they were all gone anyway, and Federation politics weren't really applicable here.]

Them--The Metroids--they were too dangerous to exist. They were a highly mutagenic life form capable of terrible destruction. The Federation ordered their genocide, lest they fall into the wrong hands.

...of course, they considered their own hands an exception. This didn't become apparent to me until after the fact, and they had cloned them in secret.

[loyalism]

[Other lifeforms used as weapons. It's hardly as surprising as it should be, when you've seen humans used the same way. When you've been used as a weapon yourself.

The Federation taking those weapons for themselves was not surprising, either.]

It seems things are the same no matter where you're from.

[raisedbybirds]

[The more things change the more things stay the same.]

You too?

[It's half a question, fairly certain she already knows the answer.]

[loyalism]

What better way to ensure a weapon can't be used against you than by taking it for yourself?

[Or by cloning it so you can use it against itself.]

It's somewhat like deterrence theory, I suppose.

[raisedbybirds]

[She nods in understanding.]

Sometimes a better hand is none at all...

[There's a pause and she can't help but look at her hand--the one that's a canon.]

Even if that hand is a weapon itself and doesn't know how to be anything else.

[loyalism]

[Fox's eyes sharpen at those words. They hit painfully close to home, and for a moment he's not entirely certain how to respond. It's an uncomfortable topic, and certainly not one he would ever discuss with a stranger, but an admission like that... It deserved some gesture of understanding, or solidarity.

He probably lets the silence drag on a little too long, and when he does speak, his voice is rather quiet.]

I think you and I will understand each other quite well.

[raisedbybirds]

[The silence is duly noted. She's caught between wanting to agree more, and to hope that they don't even understand each other too well, lest they both do what they're best at, and be on the receiving end of each other to boot.

After another contribution of silence, she simply nods--resolute. She takes a step in the opposite direction, feeling a need for privacy.]

It was nice meeting you, Gray Fox.

[loyalism]

A pleasure.

[He stays where he is, making no move to stop Samus leaving. A need for privacy is something he also understands well. But before he's out of earshot, he adds one last thing:]

There's a difference between a weapon and a tool. It's important to remember that.

[raisedbybirds]

[She halts midstep but doesn't turn around, finding his advice profound. Even comforting.]

I'll remember that.