alphalogs | Daycycle 20 [Feb 7

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Daycycle 20 [Feb 7 - 13]

DAYCYCLE 20
[ FEB 7 - 13 ]

MORNING

Troubleshooter Team: No specials have been selected for a mission this morning.

All other Troubleshooters: You are to report to your Service Firm positions for the day, until called on for Troubleshooter duty.

Intel: A truck full military grade explosives was stolen yesterday evening. Guards report that the thieves were mutants. Any troubleshooter willing to volunteer to search the sewers for mutants will be awarded for their time and any captures.

AFTERNOON

There is a virus travelling throughout the facility and gaining speed. It may have been a special order performed by a Nameless member who was deep in debt to Free Enterprise and chose to overlook the possible inconveniences they would be causing their fellow man. Their client, the Frankenstein Destroyers, had a very specific need - turn the humans against the robots. Thus, starting at noon robots and machines around Alpha will begin malfunctioning and working in tandem towards one particular need - destroy the humans. Some machines - like the ones in the military sector - will be outright hostile in their need to track and decimate. Others who are more sophisticated and limited in their range - like PDCs - may simply reroute information and let the humans destroy themselves with simple miscommunication.

EVENING

By early evening, any machine that hasn’t been switched off or destroyed will be working towards it’s united goal. Nameless will call for it’s members to track and destroy the virus with special recognition for anyone who can pinpoint its origin.

No sleep gas will be expelled into the barracks this evening.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It started with the centrifuge and only seemed to ripple outward until Lydia and Barry had to turn everything off and give up for the day. There was no way they could continue the investigation they'd been working without their equipment.

Admittedly, she sort of misses the ORANGE quarters, if only because she wasn't forced to go to the mess hall like an eighth grader at lunch. Lydia hates going down there now. She lives in secret fear of the next "point" the Anti-Specials want to prove. Every person who looks at her makes her nervous. Every time she sees two or more Alphas dissolve into hushed tones or whispers when she walks by, Lydia wonders whether it's coincidental or whether she's the target of another attack waiting in the wings for an opportune moment.

She's scared to be alone anymore, but she's also too proud to tell Barry or Ray that. Lydia misses Allison even more than she already had, knowing that she wouldn't be so afraid if Allison was by her side, and Lydia wouldn't even have to ask Allison. Allison would just know.

She settles down at a table alone and resolves to eat as fast as she can without making herself sick and then getting the hell out of the mess hall and back to the room she shares with Dick, even if that doesn't feel a hundred percent safe, either. Nowhere does. This place feels like Beacon Hills, but the threats are people and she doesn't have the pack to protect her.

As she's eating, Lydia loses herself unintentionally in thought. What if all that bull they fed her before was real? What if she and Barry are wrong and she really is just a clone? What if there is no pack back home? What if she really always has just...been here. A copy of a copy of who knew how many copies? Ray is. Maybe she is, too...

He had been held up back at headquarters and by the time he'd turned around Lydia had been gone. It wasn't as if they had a standing lunch date or anything like that, but ever since she'd been attacked, Barry had made it a point to stay close whenever possible. He felt responsible, even if he knew that he wouldn't have been much help even if he had been there. He also disliked the cafeteria, though that had more to do with the quality of food than the atmosphere. He was used to being ignored and he liked to think that he was above being bothered by whispers or insults.

Still, he went there today knowing that Lydia didn't like to eat alone. He sat down across from her without preamble, poking at his RED soylent and pulling a face. He lifted a fork and then paused. "But what if the vat machines poisoned this?"

He looked up at Lydia and then around the room. "They would know already, right?" He didn't give her time to answer, speeding on. "It's not as if we'd be able to tell from the taste alone."

Lydia looks up as a shadow falls over her, relaxing when she sees that it's just Barry, having caught up with her, and she lifts another forkful of the soylent slop stopping just short of her mouth when he speaks. Looking disgusted, Lydia puts her fork back down and pushes the half-empty plate away.

"I don't know, but thanks for that, Bar," she sighs, "because I'm not already paranoid enough." She's not upset with him and the spark of amusement in her eyes should tell him that. "If it is poisoned, I'm pretty much screwed, where were you five minutes ago, huh?"

Edited 2016-02-11 15:54 (UTC)

Leave it to him to stick his foot in his mouth. He opens his mouth and then closes it before also pushing his plate of slop away. "I'm sure it's fine."

But that doesn't stop him from digging into his crimson pockets for some credits. "But just in case, how about we grab something from the commissary instead? My treat."

He's sorry for talking about poisoning, really.

"I was, too, until a minute ago," she sighed dramatically before getting to her feet. "That sounds a lot better than trying to stomach that stuff after that," she added, smirking a little.

Lydia didn't actually mind a reason not to eat that garbage.

Ronan hates all of this. He's been here for three days and he's figured out a few things, but not nearly enough to be comfortable. He goes to a private boys school back home so he's somewhat accustomed to the dining hall experience, though the dining hall at Aglionby is much nicer than this.

When he sits down across and one seat over from Lydia, he smacks his tray on the table and sits down heavily. The red jumpsuit that he's wearing is unzipped on top and hanging down around his waist. He's got the black wife beater that he arrived in on underneath it.

"The fuck they get to make this shit? Blind four year olds?" Yeah, that's his idea of a greeting. Sorry?

The sound of the tray slamming against the table startles her and Lydia looks up sharply as she jumps a little with the surprise of it. The last person she expects to see is standing right in front of her — what the hell did you do to your hair?! she thinks — and, for a moment, all Lydia can do is stare at him with no words.

She blinks a little at the vulgarity. Jackson had a foul mouth once in a while, usually in bed or on the lacrosse field, but the f-bomb still sounds a little foreign. Of all the things to open with after leaving her in Beacon Hills to go to London without so much as a goodbye after she saved his life and told him she loved him, honestly. Once she remembers that, Lydia's eyes narrow a little.

"Well, hello to you, too, stranger. Long time, no see." She pauses and wrinkles her nose. "Is that a thing? In London?" she asks, gesturing vaguely at the buzz cut and lifting her eyebrows. It doesn't occur to her at all that this might not actually be Jackson, because why wouldn't it be him?

Ronan is accustomed to being stared at so he doesn't think much of it. Instead, he pokes at the food, a look of disgust on his face. He's not a picky eater but the food here is gross.

Vulgarity is normal for Ronan. He does it to shock people, to put them at a distance, to maintain the image that he's a scary thing. He smirks a little as her eyes narrow, assuming she's offended by his language as she's intended to be.

His brows raise at Lydia's words. Besides the buzz cut, she might notice the tattoo that hooks over his shoulder and his bicep. It covers his whole back as well. "Lady, I've never seen you or London." He scowls a little at her.

Lydia's own eyebrows arch at that and she turns her head just slightly in a mixture of confusion and suspicion, eyes narrowing. It comes out before she can stop it even though she can already tell that he very much isn't.

"...Jackson?"

Lydia tells herself that maybe he's just especially screwed up from the orientation; that if she gives him a minute and maybe prompts him again, he'll remember. She isn't willing to acknowledge the pang of upset that comes with thinking she could ever be forgettable to Jackson, because he was a jerk, but he was her jerk and she loved him. He was the only guy she ever had loved.

It's not hard to see the confusion and suspicion on Lydia's face. He softens a little (not much). This place is fucked about enough without him being a huge asshole (he'l settle for just an asshole).

He shakes his head. "Nope. Ronan."

He's not screwed up from orientation. He's not this guy that Lydia thinks he is, but he is a jerk. He's got no particular reason to be mean to Lydia. He doesn't know her and she doesn't pose any particular threat to him. She's stuck in the same situation (he assumes) that he is. "I'm guessing Jackson is someone that used to be here?" Or someone from home, but he doesn't say that because 'home' is still a touchy subject.

Lydia stiffens a little. Ronan. Not Jackson. Her stomach twists uncomfortably as she looks back at him. It's uncanny how much he looks like Jackson.

"Not here," she says, shaking her head. "Home." Her throat and mouth feel dry and she's not sure how exactly she's going to handle having this guy with Jackson's face around when Jackson was once her everything and she still misses him. She never talked about it, she probably never will...but she still misses him. Jackson was a very big part of her life and he just...left. No goodbye, no nothing, just left. With the lack of closure, it's been more difficult than she likes to admit and now seeing this guy around looking like his goddamned twin...

Lydia tucks her hair behind her ears and clears her throat. "Sorry, anyway. Ronan. I'm Lydia."

Not Jackson. He really doesn't want to know how much he looks like another guy. Clones he can accept; he's dreamed a clone for himself already and watched it die. People that look like him that aren't clones: that's weird.

He nods, choosing to be quiet because he can tell that whoever Jackson is Lydia cares about him.

He shakes his head at her apology. "No problem. This place is weird as hell already. So where you from, Lydia?"

Her eyes finally shift back up to meet his and she clears her throat a little.

It's hard to look at him. Really hard. But she supposes that isn't his fault and she's stronger than continuing to rudely evade his eyes. "Weird is one word for it. Terrifying is another," she responds, because that's true, to her. The never really understanding what's going on, why they're there; the knowledge that there are literally hate groups that have targeted then — her — in the past for something none of them can control, to Lydia, is scary.

"California," she answers a little belatedly. "Beacon Hills, California. You?"

He's really not used to many people making eye contact with him. It's probably because he glares at everyone and he's okay with it that way. He wouldn't feel particularly slighted if Lydia chose to continue not to make eye contact with him. As it is, he kind of admires her for it. Of course, he's not really glaring at her, just looking garden-variety sullen.

"Heneritta, Virginia." He glances around the room. "These guys sure got around in pulling people from all over."

Lydia nods a little. Across the country from her, but still a place that sounds like it exists, anyway. She tries not to dwell on that too much; on Star or Central Cities because she's never heard of them and they're supposed to be big cities...she should know them, but she doesn't.

"All over, yeah," she agrees, shifting in her seat a little uncomfortably at the thought. "There's a lot about this place that's messed up," she adds. Not the least of which is how scary alike you look to my ex, she thinks.

Yeah, Ronan would call bullshit on those cities being real as well. Who the fuck names a city Central or Star?

He snorts at her words. "Understatement of the damn year." He takes a bite of his food. It's not any good, but he's hungry. "So what's the most fucked up thing here according you?" He's still learning about this place.

Cocking her eyebrows, Lydia gives a half nod to agree with that sentiment, but she doesn't actually have any intention of elaborating until he specifically asks.

Her expression falls more serious and her eyes drift downward toward the table between them. "The Anti-Specials hate group," she replies. It isn't even a question; hands-down, that's the thing that freaks her out and bothers her the most. "And the way that they have no problem siccing four or five men and a woman on a teenage girl and nearly beating her to death for being a 'Special'. Or the fact that they video taped it. Or the fact that they broadcast it to the other Specials in an act of terrorism," she replies bitterly, finally looking up at him again. "That's the most fucked up thing about this place. If you ask me."

Edited 2016-02-26 01:18 (UTC)

He actually appreciates that. Ronan isn't a rambler. He doesn't say things just to use fill silence. In fact, often silence can work for him to get people to say things they might not ordinarily. However, that's not the case here. He's genuinely curious about this place and he's trying to make some allies if not friends.

As she speaks, one can nearly see the anger building in Ronan. His expression becomes a scowl. He's not a joiner, but he is a fighter and he can't stand it when someone is picking on a person for no good reason. "Anyone got any idea who's in charge of this hate group? 'Cause I think we can get together a group and go beat the shit out of them."

It's not hard to see that Ronan's offended at the principal of it and Lydia just thinks to herself that he's in awfully good company, being a Special and all. All of the Specials that saw that video feel the same way.

Holding her head high, she takes a deep breath. Then, she shakes her head. "No. They wore masks. I couldn't see their faces," she says, trying not to look as upset by the admission that she's the aforementioned teenage girl. "If we knew, I'm pretty sure they'd have been dealt with already. I'm one of the two women in the Specials, and I'm the younger of us, so of course they picked me to send the message. Nobody who saw the video took it very well."

Ronan can't imagine that anyone human didn't see that video the same way. He's not the nicest person ever, but he doesn't think you ought to beat someone half to death simply for not being like you. He even enjoys fighting and destroying things, but everyone he's ever punched has been able to hold their own.

Ronan's face just deepens into a scowl when Lydia admits that she's the one who was beaten. His brows are heavy over his eyes and his teeth gnash a little as his lips part in a sharp, angry scowl. "Have you got people that watch out for you now?"

Because she's got one more. Ronan has a thing for underdogs.

Lydia takes a deep breath once more, sighing it out through her nostrils. This isn't something she actually wants to continue to talk about, she realizes a little belatedly, and she shouldn't have brought it up at all.

"Yeah," she said. "I do. I did then, too, but they were stalking me, I think. They waited until I was alone and I hardly ever was." She shrugs; tries to play it off like it doesn't bother her anymore when anyone could tell that it does. "There haven't been any attacks since, I don't know. Maybe that's all, maybe they just wanted to scare us and then Steve did his speech to the whole cafeteria and they realized we weren't scared." We. That was a loose way to use the word. She still was.

Unfortunately, Ronan isn't good at not picking a sore once he sees it. It's not even conscious, just something he does.

His brows go up as he listens to Lydia. Some obvious thoughts are going through his head and for once, he thinks not to say anything because if he's thought of things like 'so it's someone you know or have seen' then she has as well.

"Buddy system. Sounds like everyone needs it until these douche nozzles get caught."

Which is probably also obvious but he had to say it.

Sighing, Lydia gives a small, curt nod. "That's the idea, I believe." She sticks to the two people she trusts the most — Ray and Barry— but mostly, Barry's the one by her side, because they work together. He goes to lunch with her and she doesn't head off without him, nor does he head off without her to meet one another down there anymore, if they can avoid it; that's what left her vulnerable to the first attack. They've learned their lesson.

"So, make some friends in the Specials group and sooner than later, I would suggest," she adds before taking a deep breath. "I should get going."

Requesting an audience with the head of Free Enterprise was no easy task. Maecenas would've had to have gone through multiple channels and would have asked several times before he was even given the opportunity to explain why he wanted to meet with the man that all Free Enterprise agents referred to as The Father. It had originally been 'The Father of Industry' but had been shortened over the years for simplicity's sake.

As all of the specials were, Maecenas was considered an outsider and he had to be thoroughly vetted to ensure that he wasn't working with IntSec before his request could even be considered. Finally, however, The Father agreed to meet with him. Maecenas was notified of this when he was kidnapped, had a pillowcase thrown over his head, tossed in the back of a motorcar and driven around the Complex for half an hour before being led into an empty warehouse with a table and two chairs.

He was sat down roughly and the pillow was removed, revealing a handsome older man with expensive looking clothes that spoke of the upper clearance level salaries. He nodded at the two thugs who had hauled Maecenas in and they backed off to the corner of the rooms.

"Hello, Mr. Maecenas. I was told you have a proposition for me."

Maecenas did not particularly appreciate such roughshod treatment, and he was ready to complain quite thoroughly when the pillow was removed, but in the moment it took for him to get his bearings he also managed to get bit of a look around, and it didn't take him long to put the pieces together. Shouting would not get him what he wanted.

He took a moment to compose himself, straightening his clothes and smoothing his hands through his hair before turning his attention on the man sitting opposite him. He immediately turned on the charm.

"I have a proposition for somebody who likes to make money, so if that's you, then yes, I do..."

If fresh air had ever existed in this dank, old building it had fled for greener pastures decades ago. A sharp metallic scent seemed to cling to everything, metal and oil and something deeper and more unpleasing that Morgana couldn't quite name.

Wherever this was, it was not home. Despite the bright red (and utterly hideous) clothing, there was no Pendragon in sight, no Knights, no Guard, not even some obvious captor. It was just her, some strange things she had been given, and the endless halls and stench of this strange place. And the seemingly limitless supply of people she did not know.

She had found her lodgings, but like the little... thing with the writing on it had said, she had roommates, and Morgana had quickly turned back out of there, desperate to find something to do, some way to get out.

Yet somehow she had found herself at her "job", a strange sort of garden that was indoors, and still the plants thrived under the strange candles that lit the room. There was lunch, that she did not eat, and that was when her day got even worse.

The little machine she had been given wouldn't stop blinking and showing strange images and words to her, and as soon as she opened the hydroponics door to go back to hiding amongst the plants, she was beset by a pack of strangely insistent robots who had only an hour ago been calmly fertilising the plants or feeding them or doing god only knew what.

Now they were spraying it on her and attempting to follow her as she turned and ran, despite being bolted to their positions. As Morgana rounded a corner at full speed, she ran into someone and barely managed to keep her scream of surprise quiet enough to not raise alarm. It was not her day.

'Sorry,' she mumbled, meaning to go past them and keep going until she was as far away from all of this nonsense as she could get.

Edited 2016-02-12 03:56 (UTC)

He’d heard the steps around the corner, but Steve was so busy attempting to get his PDC to function that he took a step in the wrong direction. Instead of getting out of her way, he walked straight into it.

The collision itself was instant. The Captain didn’t even have a chance to have a look at the woman before they were crashing into each other. But when she nearly screamed, he reached his arm out to catch her from going past him.

“M’am, are you all right? It’s not safe to be in the halls at the moment. The machinery is malfunctioning.”

'I'm sure whatever it is has lost it's mind, yes,' she agreed as she forced herself to stand up straight and swallow any fear she still had. He looked normal enough, unlike those strangers with the glassy, distant eyes that she had wandered past around breakfast time but that didn't mean she wanted him to think her weak or easily frightened. She hadn't actually stopped to meet anyone since she awoke, and the last thing she needed if she was stuck here was people thinking she was too delicate.

'I don't imagine anything here is safe, or right.' she said quietly. 'Else I would not be here, I would still be at home like I was when I went to bed last night.' it was almost humorous to her, that she wanted to go home to Camelot of all places, but she would prefer even the company of Uther to this little hell. What she wouldn't give for Gwen, or Arthur, or even Merlin. Alone she felt helpless, lost between devices she had no context to even begin to understand and this strange world which wasn't much easier for her to comprehend.

'My name is Morgana.' she said, deciding to edge away from the growing racket coming down the corridor from her workstation. Perhaps they had worked out how to unbolt themselves, or had ripped themselves from the table. They had been... determined when she had walked back into the hydroponics bay and she wouldn't be surprised. 'Unless you wish you join me in being covered in filth, I may suggest you pick a different route to get wherever you're going. It seems the... machinery, did you say? Is a little alive. And angry.'

"I see," he says, his voice empathetic when she mentions that she should have been home. "You've just arrived then. I'm sorry you had to wake up to a day like this. The Complex isn't home for many of us, but most days it's not this ... exciting."

But Steve doesn't give up going the other way.

"If—" He hasn't entirely let go of her, but he realizes now that he's probably overstepped the boundaries of appropriateness, so he does pull back his arm. "I know you've only been here a day, but if you were at your assigned position, do you have any idea how to power down the machines in your job?"

Now that she's had a second to look at him, Morgana would be able to notice a few scrapes and cuts across his jumpsuit. His left arm looks as if it's been grazed by a bullet. Steve's position was in the Very Special Forces. Don't ask him what happened with the robots in his sector went haywire.

"We need to shut down as many as possible."

'So people are commonly kidnapped and made to live in this place?' she supposed that explained the general foul mood. Of course, there was a chance someone had tried to tell her the details of what had happened and why she was here but what was a girl from 5AD supposed to understand about this level of technology on her very first day?

The man lets her go, but it's small comfort because he still speaks like she's supposed to understand what is going on. 'I don't even know what they do. Where I am from, no such things exist. We don't even have water that goes to every room or those strange pumps that you merely have to once turn to make water come out.' she discovered a hot water tap earlier, that had been far more interesting than it should have been. 'They are not magical so far as I can tell, and that's what things that move on their own would be where I am from.'

'Are you hurt?' she asked, motioning to his clothes but not touching him.

Steve stares, slightly open-mouthed for a moment, when he thinks of a good way to answer Morgana's question. "Yes, though- it's complicated."

He had no idea the woman before him was from such a distant past, but most people from his actual generation probably wouldn't believe that technology like this existed either.

"Not magical." That wasn't a phrase he was expecting to hear, but the Captain moves past it quickly. "They're pumping water, is that right? Beyond that door right there?" He pointed. If they didn't have actual weapons, he should be able to turn them off fairly quickly.

"Don't worry about me ma'am," he says, when she motions towards the tears. "I've gone through much worse." And if she does confirm which door the machines are through, Steve will take a few steps back before getting a running start, slamming the door open and tumbling in.

'Mmn.' Complicated. Weren't these things always "complicated"? She let it go for now, she could ask someone else if she found someone trustworthy enough. Maybe those people she was sharing her room with, if they didn't turn out to be axe murderers.

'Yes. Water. Some other coloured things as well, the sign said something about helping it grow. Fertiliser, perhaps?' for all she knew nothing of hydroponics, she had least had a passing understanding of farming and so she presumed that was what it would be. 'They seem to have a great desire to leave that room.' she barely had time to finish her sentence, however, before the stranger burst his was into the room she had just closed.

Morgana'a eyes widened a little and she tilted her head, sure, the man was built like a castle wall but that had to hurt. 'Uhm.' she paused a moment, biting her lower lip. 'I hadn't locked the door after me.' aka, wow you would get along with Arthur, Mr-Brawn first, think later.

The scene inside was just as Morgana left it. Six robots, upon Steve's entrance, were not tugging at their bolts attempting to come towards. Two already re-activated their water system to attempt to hose him down.

When he hears Morgana mention that the door hadn't been locked, he naturally smiles and shakes his head. "That would have been nice to know beforehand!" he yells backwards into the hall.

From this angle, he can't see any switches or power buttons, so Steve dashes closer, grabs one of the robotic arms to hold it down, and frantically searches for any kind of operation control. He finds a set of five buttons and uses his fist to smash into them all. Spastically and gradually, the robot he's holding onto powers down, but not before the one next to it sprays a hose full of water into Steve's chest at full force.

It's enough energy to blow Steve onto his back, and he lets out a very painful grunt.

'Well you don't really give a girl the chance,' she said as she suppressed the first real giggle she'd felt bubble in her throat since she woke this morning.

Of course, she would rather keep her distance — she knows nothing of robots or machines or any of this so she suspects she'd be of no use anyway, but she cautiously creeped closer as the man looked around, smashing a panel of raised buttons. She blinked and then he was on the floor and Morgana had to duck a stream of water that aimed at her as soon as it realised she was there. Her smile couldn't hide her amusement.

'Careful, you'll get a mouth full of fertiliser.' but before she could comment further, another water stream came flying, hitting her back into the door frame at full force and then knocking her back into the hall on her bum. She rubbed her head where she had hit it on the frame. 'Ugh.'

Well, at least someone was getting a laugh out of this. If Steve knew that this was the first time Morgana had experienced laughter since arriving ... well, a small part of him would be quite pleased.

Once he's had just a second to catch his breathe, Steve uses his arm to topple over a small cart nearby. A few things clatter to the floor, one of which was useful: a metal tray. There had been little clear cups of seeds inside, but Steve immediately flipped those off and propped the tray up with his left arm — it blocked the water hose from blinding him, which was already a step up.

Retreating back towards the woman to make sure she was okay, Steve kneeled down besides her by the door, and used his newfound shield and body to block incoming projectiles.

"Are you all right?" Said with an urgency that indicated his next question was going to ask her to participate in a plan.

'Kidnapped, attacked, seems like a perfectly normal day,' for someone who had been tossed across the hall and into a wall she seemed quite fine.

'You should tell me your name if you're going to get us murdered on the account of a room of plants and metal.' Morgana said, brow raised as she straightened herself out. She might not have known him, but she knew that look.

There's a moment when Steve realizes that she'd introduced herself earlier in the hallway, and in a rush to turn off the machinery, he'd completely forgotten to say his own name. A flicker of embarrassment comes across his face.

"Steve Rogers, ma'am." Said like a man who grew up his whole life referring to every woman as 'ma'am' instead of her real name.

"The plan is simple. We'll loop around to all the machines. I'll block the water and fertilizer in front, and you turn them off by smashing all the buttons you can find."

The look in eyes is pretty convincing — just pure and total belief that they are capable of accomplishing the task he's set out for them.

"We won't die in this room today, you can count on that."

Ma'am? Morgana blinked, but they had more pressing matters than his choice of words.

'Well, I would hope not. Though I've yet to be convinced that this isn't some kind of purgatory.' her tone was light, she gave him a small smile. 'We can try.' she said, not wasting any time she stood up on her toes to better see into the room. It was her first day, and though she was certain she knew what this man, Steve Rodgers, meant by "buttons" she wasn't entirely sure she knew where they all were.

'Let's get this over with.'

When it’s announced that an entire truck of military grade explosives were stolen the previous evening, Steve knew retrieval needed to be his top priorities. At a time when Alpha citizens were actively working against the Specials, such a large amount of mission explosives would only mean casualties.

Before they broke from the morning meeting, he rounded up Tony and Dick to formulate a plan. He’d go speak to the guards for more information, but in the meantime, they’d need to find out as much as possible about ‘mutants’ and the layout of the sewers.

Freedom!

Every machine is down, every camera, every security system everything. It's like Christmas for Parker, but without the non-sequential bills.

Days of trying not to nick everything from the office supplies, to security badges (she's not always resisted -- she is a thief), and Parker finally has a chance for just about everything she wants.

Some items have disappeared from the museum. Parker's not sure why some objects are so valuable to the people here: none are diamonds, or precious gems, but if she can sell them for money, she'll steal it.

Each item is deposited on the top floor of a warehouse: a little room one might think is useful for only ventilation. She's secured in the most old-fashioned of ways: locks, chains, and a really nasty face full of home-made pepper spray if one enter in the wrong way. This means to the normal way to everyone else.

Only those with the sharpest of eyes, and most devious of intentions might spot her. Without the sleeping gas, she's not in her room tonight.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Daycycle 20 [Feb 7 - 13]

DAYCYCLE 20

[ FEB 7 - 13 ]

Afternoon | Lydia and OTA

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Evening | For Maecenas

Re: Evening | For Maecenas

Afternoon | OTA

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Steve | For Dick and Tony

Evening