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directive β { ENCRYPTED TO NETWORK }
May. 28th, 2014 12:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
parcour[ This post, though visible to the network, is ENCRYPTED rather heavily so as to be harder to access via remote sources, such as anyone attempting to hack in or monitor the network through something besides a communicator.
Similarly, the first two "points" in this post will be accessible to all imPorts, regardless of status. The second two "points" will be further encrypted to Registered imPorts only, although they can be hacked.
Captain Holiday is sitting in what appears to his home -- it's an apartment, a sliding door that opens onto a balcony behind him and an end table to his left, a framed photo sitting on it turned face down. There's also an ashtray, which he stubs his cigarette into and present lights another. Somewhere off-screen there is the distant noise of a radio turned to the news in another room, and far-off cooking sounds. ]
All right, listen up, everyone. There's a lotta nonsense bein' thrown around, word of mouth and a hell of a lotta other crap, and damn if it don't get tiring. I'm the liaison between y'all and the higher-up's in the military and government, and I'm the one that takes the crap when the roads collapse. My number's there so I can help you, not sit at my desk while someone runs their mouth and blames me for terrorism.
Y'wanna ask me something? Now's your chance. I'll throw y'all a bone and hope it don't come back and bite me in the ass. But first do yourselves some listening, and accept if I can't answer something then there's a reason for it.
Before I really get started, I'm tellin' y'all on the record you did a great job handlin' that situation with what's his name. Y'know who, the devil. You won't hear a peep of complaint from the law about it even if you ain't Registered, even if you bent the rules a little to handles things, that's my promise t'you -- seein' as you did us a favor, too. No surprises down the line, nothing like that. This ain't a matter of taking things into your own hands, this is a matter of public safety, common decency, and dealing with goddamn hellbeasts. Our people ain't been coming back in one piece from that kind of crap.
But movin' past that for now. That was an aside, a thank you, but down to brass tacks--
Point one's the obvious. I'm not your enemy. I ain't your friend neither, but I'm a better one than you'll make with some of the other folk around here. Y'don't wanna trust nobody named Peter Narga, and y'don't wanna trust nobody that calls themselves a Hornet.
[ He drags on his cigarette. ]
Point two. The Porter was found in 1985 and we still don't know where it came from. Back then it worked differently. We couldn't control the people it pulled in, but we got it working to send folks back after about twenty years of trying. Course, that research was useless after Lachesis synched up with the thing, and y'all know the story from there. It does what it wants to now. It's all like I've been saying from the start, we don't got control of it.
Three. Them tattoos of yours... since it's relevant. In the vicinity of any of the Porters, they react to the tech to nullify a person's powers if they earn a particular title. If someone goes on a murder spree, for instance, their wrist will say "CRIMINAL" on it. Byproduct of the signals interacting that we tried to make the best of. Ain't a perfect fix, of course, but it helps toward getting someone apprehended if you get 'em in the right place.
[ Hint hint? ]
Four.
Y'all won't hear this in the official statements, and y'all didn't hear it from me, either. The imPorts before you weren't the only heroes we had around here. We had locals, too, normal folks without powers puttin' on costumes to fight the good fight. Most of 'em retired. Ones that didn't just kinda disappeared. But people here⦠native to this universe, I mean, they don't disappear same way y'all do. This is technically hearsay, y'follow me? But there's compelling evidence around that some of them folks are still active underground. Fighting crime or making it, sometimes both. No one knows which ones they are from the names we used to know, splashed up in articles and all, they keep themselves anonymous wearing yellow hoodies or jackets and black scarves over their faces. They're called the Hornets, and for all intents and purposes you'd be better off thinking of them as a lot of terrorists themselves. They think they got themselves a bone to pick with the government and you saw up in Nonah how they're expressing their displeasure.
[ He blows smoke from the corner of his mouth, looking weary. ]
Anyway. I got brunch with my partner in an hour, so let's make this worth the time.
[ OOC: Closed to new responses. ]
Similarly, the first two "points" in this post will be accessible to all imPorts, regardless of status. The second two "points" will be further encrypted to Registered imPorts only, although they can be hacked.
Captain Holiday is sitting in what appears to his home -- it's an apartment, a sliding door that opens onto a balcony behind him and an end table to his left, a framed photo sitting on it turned face down. There's also an ashtray, which he stubs his cigarette into and present lights another. Somewhere off-screen there is the distant noise of a radio turned to the news in another room, and far-off cooking sounds. ]
All right, listen up, everyone. There's a lotta nonsense bein' thrown around, word of mouth and a hell of a lotta other crap, and damn if it don't get tiring. I'm the liaison between y'all and the higher-up's in the military and government, and I'm the one that takes the crap when the roads collapse. My number's there so I can help you, not sit at my desk while someone runs their mouth and blames me for terrorism.
Y'wanna ask me something? Now's your chance. I'll throw y'all a bone and hope it don't come back and bite me in the ass. But first do yourselves some listening, and accept if I can't answer something then there's a reason for it.
Before I really get started, I'm tellin' y'all on the record you did a great job handlin' that situation with what's his name. Y'know who, the devil. You won't hear a peep of complaint from the law about it even if you ain't Registered, even if you bent the rules a little to handles things, that's my promise t'you -- seein' as you did us a favor, too. No surprises down the line, nothing like that. This ain't a matter of taking things into your own hands, this is a matter of public safety, common decency, and dealing with goddamn hellbeasts. Our people ain't been coming back in one piece from that kind of crap.
But movin' past that for now. That was an aside, a thank you, but down to brass tacks--
Point one's the obvious. I'm not your enemy. I ain't your friend neither, but I'm a better one than you'll make with some of the other folk around here. Y'don't wanna trust nobody named Peter Narga, and y'don't wanna trust nobody that calls themselves a Hornet.
[ He drags on his cigarette. ]
Point two. The Porter was found in 1985 and we still don't know where it came from. Back then it worked differently. We couldn't control the people it pulled in, but we got it working to send folks back after about twenty years of trying. Course, that research was useless after Lachesis synched up with the thing, and y'all know the story from there. It does what it wants to now. It's all like I've been saying from the start, we don't got control of it.
Three. Them tattoos of yours... since it's relevant. In the vicinity of any of the Porters, they react to the tech to nullify a person's powers if they earn a particular title. If someone goes on a murder spree, for instance, their wrist will say "CRIMINAL" on it. Byproduct of the signals interacting that we tried to make the best of. Ain't a perfect fix, of course, but it helps toward getting someone apprehended if you get 'em in the right place.
[ Hint hint? ]
Four.
Y'all won't hear this in the official statements, and y'all didn't hear it from me, either. The imPorts before you weren't the only heroes we had around here. We had locals, too, normal folks without powers puttin' on costumes to fight the good fight. Most of 'em retired. Ones that didn't just kinda disappeared. But people here⦠native to this universe, I mean, they don't disappear same way y'all do. This is technically hearsay, y'follow me? But there's compelling evidence around that some of them folks are still active underground. Fighting crime or making it, sometimes both. No one knows which ones they are from the names we used to know, splashed up in articles and all, they keep themselves anonymous wearing yellow hoodies or jackets and black scarves over their faces. They're called the Hornets, and for all intents and purposes you'd be better off thinking of them as a lot of terrorists themselves. They think they got themselves a bone to pick with the government and you saw up in Nonah how they're expressing their displeasure.
[ He blows smoke from the corner of his mouth, looking weary. ]
Anyway. I got brunch with my partner in an hour, so let's make this worth the time.
