BABY WE WERE BORN TO RUN

[maskormods]

WHO: EVERYONE
WHERE: THE STREETS OF THE CITY
WHEN: Duration of the event
WHAT: PRISONER TRANSPORT/RESCUE
WARNINGS: Violence and language likely
OOC NOTES: This is a starter log to help kick off the event. Feel free to use or post your own!

The transport process isn’t a fun one. Captured Metas are outfitted with power-nullifying handcuffs and collars, chained into the back of a heavily armored prison transport vehicle. Normally there’s a huge procession that goes alone with this: more back up vehicles, overhead support, government loyal metals in every vehicle. But this rush of new arrivals has pushed the system to its limits- there’s never been a need to accommodate more than a specific number of known Metas. It has the guards in the vehicles on edge, jumpy as they try to navigate through the City without the usual back up. And it’s a strain the resistance is more than ready to push to the breaking point.

In addition to transporting new arrivals to their reprogramming, there are the already-present Meta prisoners that must still be shuffled around, causing a mix of old and new in the vehicles. And irresistible targets for liberation for the resistance groups. When the transport is hit, which will the new Metas side with? Your captors you may still be able to gain a comfortable life working with? Or the rebellion fighting their way into the vehicle?

Comments

Boba Fett | AU Reprogrammed Government Enforcer | OTA

[fettchquest]

It’s not a usual job.

The Empire generally isn’t understaffed. With their legions of ill-trained recruits meant to puff up their image of being a galactic superpower, usually quite the opposite. So it’s strange that Fett has been hired to do what is basically grunt-work: guarding a prisoner transport alone as it makes its way to a secure holding facility. The irregularity of it grates at him, a low-level buzz at the back of his mind.

There’s a high-priority target on-board. Yes, that’s what Vader had said, isn’t it? It’s not strange. It makes perfect sense why they’d want someone like him around. The buzzing warms some, but doesn’t dissipate.

Fortunately, there’s a much-needed distraction occupying the transport with him—one of the prisoners, struggling against their stuncuffs and shouting for justice, for freedom, for help. It’s a pathetic display. Fett walks up to the prisoner, regards them silently for a moment—and then drives a fist into their stomach, hard enough to knock the wind out of them.

The buzzing stops. Even the sound of the doubled over prisoner gasping for breath doesn’t disturb the blessed silence that fills its space.

Fett offers a single word of admonishment.

”Volume.”

[darkpants_warmfeeling]

“Leave them alone!”

Jacob knows it would have been smarter to keep his mouth shut. He knows there’s very little he can do for the prisoner, or anyone else in the transport. Like the rest of them, he’s bound, bruised, and power-nulled, completely helpless before their captors.

But it’s his duty to put himself at risk for the protection of others, no matter what universe he’s in. So he glares at the faceless helmet looming above him, and steels himself for what seems like an inevitable punishment for speaking up. At least if he’s getting hit, someone else won’t be.

[fettchquest]

There’s a reason Fett doesn’t prefer these types of job. Capturing and transporting one prisoner is easy enough. They resist, he knocks them down, and that’s the end of it. With multiple prisoners in the same transport, there’s solidarity. Conversation. It’s a headache to manage.

He turns his attention to the newly-protesting prisoner, stalking closer while the man behind him continues to gasp and sputter. Fett isn’t a sadist. He has no interest in causing pain for pain’s sake. But order must be maintained. And if this prisoner wants to take responsibility for the rest, then Fett is inclined to let him.

“I’d prefer to,” Fett says, habit stopping him just out of arms’ reach. “You could make both of our lives easier.” A hand rests on his blaster—not drawing it, just calling attention to its presence. His helmet jerks back towards the others. “Tell them there’s no point in resisting.”

[darkpants_warmfeeling]

Oh, so that’s how it is. Instead of being physically pummelled, Jacob will have to morally compromise by being the guy who tries to convince everyone else to comply. But maybe that’s what he has to do to spare other people pain.

He keeps glaring at the helmet for a moment longer, as though trying to pierce through the visor and find some glint of humanity inside to connect with. Then he sighs, and averts his eyes.

“Look, we’re all in this together,” he says to the other detainees. “They’re not going to hesitate to hurt us, and they don’t give a damn what we want. Best we can do right now is hold together, and don’t give them any excuses.”

[fettchquest]

The black visor of Fett’s helmet doesn’t budge at the man’s glare. He waits, patiently, as the man speaks, not turning to see the others’ reactions. He doesn’t have to; the 360-degree display in his helmet gives him a generous view of the grimaces and slumping shoulders of the other prisoners as one of their own is forced to order their compliance. As a means of demoralization, it’s satisfyingly effective.

Only once the man has delivered his injunction does Fett step back, helmet dipping in a caricature of courtesy. “Reasonable of you,” he says, without warmth. “Nobody needs to get hurt.”

[darkpants_warmfeeling]

“Yeah,” Jacob says bitterly. “That’s me. Reasonable.”

He does not return the nod. He already feels like an accomplice just for doing this much.

“You’re an imPort too, aren’t you?” He asks, squinting. Curiosity is probably also something that’s discouraged in this transport, but he has to try what he can. “That gear doesn’t look standard-issue.”

[fettchquest]

As the interior of the transport returns once again to order, Fett returns to a neutral stance, taking up position in a corner opposite the man. For whatever reason, the prisoner keeps talking. Asking questions. Normally, Fett would ignore him, but there’s something about the question itself that’s… odd. ’You’re an imPort too, aren’t you?’ It’s plainly nonsense—Fett is a bounty hunter, currently rendering services to the Empire. Whatever an ‘imPort’ might be, he has nothing in common with the man or any of the vehicle’s other stun-cuffed passengers.

So why does he feel like he should say yes?

There’s a long stall in which Fett says nothing, as if he is ignoring the question. And then:

“It’s not.”

Well. He ignored half of the question.

[darkpants_warmfeeling]

“I used to have my own custom stuff,” Jacob offers, thinking about the gear he’d worn as a government-backed hero in a very different universe, which is currently keenly missed. This is a situation where a utility belt would come in handy. “Different missions, though. A lot different. Never hit anyone who couldn’t hit back. But maybe they didn’t give you a choice on whether to do this shit, huh?”

It’s just a guess. There’s plenty of people who willingly go along with this work, and always have been. But there’s something about how this guy dodged the question that makes Jacob wonder.

[fettchquest]

Fett’s helmet turns slowly away as the prisoner speaks, though he keeps an eye on him through the 360-degree display of his helmet. He's seen this tactic before from plenty a desperate mark—trying to sow sympathy by appealing to perceived similarities, to form rapport. But if the man is expecting some sad story about Imperial threats or conscription, he’s in for a disappointment.

"I’m no Stormtrooper," Fett says, helmet still facing away. "I have a choice."

[darkpants_warmfeeling]

“Maybe you think that,” Jacob says to the back of Fett’s helmet. “But I’d be willing to bet something bad would happen to you if you ever tried to say ‘no.’ Maybe you’d end up sitting right where I am now, in chains. Believe me, it isn’t comfortable.”

That was how things had worked in Cerberus, Jacob’s thankfully-former employer. Those who contributed to the cause, were given money, resources, leeway, and praise, so long as they got results. Those who hesitated, asked too many questions, or tried to walk away tended to disappear and never be mentioned again.

[fettchquest]

That’s not how it works. The Empire may be the law in the galaxy, but he isn’t a stormtrooper, to be at their unquestionable beck and call. He can say no—has said no before—and the Empire knows better than to try and change his mind. They wouldn’t want to jeopardize his future cooperation. Or their own lives, for that matter.

That’s why it doesn’t make sense that Fett finds himself instinctively tensing at the man’s words. They’re not real. So why do they feel like a threat?

“You talk too much,” he says, voice dangerously low. “I can fix that, if you insist.”

[darkpants_warmfeeling]

Jacob gives a grimacing half-smile even as he once again tenses himself for an expected blow.

"You were okay with me talking before," he says, looking into the T-shaped visor without blinking, trying to get a glimpse of the man behind it. "Did I touch a nerve?"

It would be easier to just shut up and cooperate. But he can't. It would feel like a betrayal of something.

[fettchquest]

“No.”

The prisoner is making too much noise. That’s all. The words themselves are meaningless. Fett walks towards him again, hand moving to his blaster a second time. A stun round in the center of the man's chest at this range should put him out cold for a while.

“I just have limits to my patience.”

[germhating_hypochondriac]

Eddie's been frozen in fear since the cuffs were placed on his wrists.  He's a good little prisoner, staying quiet until he can't take the sound of the guy next to him gasping.  It's too close to the sound of his own 'asthma' (panic attacks) and he's on the verge of having an episode.  He can't even use his powers to help the guy feel better, not with the cuffs on.  He looks up at the guard and speaks in a near whisper, just loud enough to be heard.] 

Okay, we'll be quiet, dude.  But you hit him hard.  This guy needs a doctor and an x-ray.  He could be bleeding inside and need surgery and blood transfusions.  All that shit.

[fettchquest]

[The boy is so much smaller than the vehicle’s other occupants that Fett almost hadn’t noticed him next to the unruly prisoner. His helmet turns, regarding the boy coolly.]

If I'd wanted to kill him, [Fett says,] I would have.

[It isn’t unheard-of for the Empire to detain children. Fett can guess as to reasons: petty crime, relation to known dissidents, Force-sensitivity, conscription. Or something more serious. Fett had started killing when he was around this boy’s age; he knows better than anyone not to underestimate children’s potential for violence.

He crouches down to the boy’s level, less to be reassuring and more for a better look. After all, there’s nothing reassuring about being in the sights of that implacable black visor. The boy doesn’t look like a street urchin or petty criminal. He hadn’t sounded like one either.]

You don’t seem like the Empire’s usual fare...

[There's no question attached to the remark, but judging by the slight angling of his helmet, it's easy enough to tell that he's looking for an explanation.]

[germhating_hypochondriac]

[That's scary as fuck. What kind of cops say shit like that?  This world makes no sense to Eddie.]

That's why you should take him to the doctor.  To make sure he'll live.

[Eddie's eyes grow wide when the guy crouches down and he tenses up, expecting violence.  He's an eighties kid and can piece together the mask and the empire reference, but can't understand the link between a galaxy far away and this world.  This guy is clearly nuts.  He can feel the tension building n his chest, the feeling of the air being squeezed out of his lungs and he hopes he can hold off the asthma/panic attack.]

Because I'm not.  There's been a mistake. Someone fucked up big time. You should let me go and find the real guy that's supposed to be here, before your bosses get all pissed off and take it out on you.

[fettchquest]

[Fett appears unmoved by the boy’s words, shifting neither towards violence nor retreat. It’s almost nostalgic for him, hearing the kid blather out excuses. Fett had been a fugitive himself as a boy and had more than once found himself in similar situations. He’d made it out—by talking, by fighting, and often by both. He doubts this one is capable of the same.]

What’s your name?

[germhating_hypochondriac]

[Eddie begins to wheeze as his hope disappears. The cuffs feel even tighter.  He looks into the mask, for some sign of the person inside.]

I'm Eddie. [He answers quietly.]  I really don't belong here. Can't you see that?  [He manages to say in between wheezing.] 

I need my inhaler.

[fettchquest]

I can see that you’re here. Whether you belong isn’t for me to decide.

[On the off-chance there was a mistake and this boy isn’t a fugitive, someone further down the line can make the decision to turn him loose. It doesn’t concern Fett—his job is making sure the cargo reaches its destination. Nothing more and nothing less.

The helmet tilts, just slightly, at Eddie’s request. Between the word itself and the wheezing sound the boy is making, Fett can guess that an inhaler is some kind of medical device to facilitate breathing. Not that Fett is convinced that the prisoner actually needs one, nor would he be able to provide one even if he did.]

You could breathe fine a few seconds ago.

[germhating_hypochondriac]

Yeah, it is. 

[He looks into that mask again, wondering if he'd see the same blank look he'd seen in others - as if they'd all forgotten that other world. If only Bill was there, he'd have the right words to say.]

You have to know this is wrong.  Not just me being here.  All of this is wrong.  The whole fucking world, the fucking universe is wrong. You can make choices.  Make it right.

[He's worked himself up getting those thoughts out and closes eyes eyes, just wheezing, his face turning red from the effort to draw in air.]

It's an asthma attack.  [He mumbles without opening his eyes.]

[fettchquest]

I’ve made my choice already.

[And he chose to be the hunter rather than the hunted. It’s not his problem if others chose differently.

The boy’s face is turning red as he continues to wheeze. It’s an enthusiastic display, to be sure. But Fett has watched people suffocate before. They’re usually quieter.]

You talk a lot for someone who can’t breathe.

[germhating_hypochondriac]

[Eddie's starting to think he's the only one that remembers shit the way it happened.]

No, someone chose for you and brought you here.  Why doesn't anyone get that?

[He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of that thought.  He can panic enough to have an attack; he doesn't want to find out if he could make his breathing stop completely and pass out or worse.]

It's just asthma.

[fettchquest]

[The boy is starting to veer into hysteria now. That would explain the near-nonsensical rambling. Fett shouldn’t encourage it. And yet, he’s curious as to what Eddie thinks is happening.]

Alright, [he says, voice neutral.] Who brought me here?

[germhating_hypochondriac]

Whoever controls the porters. 

[He concentrates on his breathing for a few moments, trying to draw in enough air to say everything he wants.]

I think it's the government.  Other people say other stuff, like the porters are kinda alive somehow.  

[fettchquest]

[...Huh. Maybe the kid really isn’t getting enough air. The things he’s saying certainly sound delusional enough to be the result of an oxygen-starved brain.

Finally, he stands and steps away from the boy, returning to his original position in the transport.]

Keep breathing, [he orders, dismissive.] You’ll think more clearly.