capencowl2020 | BABY WE WERE BORN TO RUN

Entry tags:

!ic,
!log

BABY WE WERE BORN TO RUN

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?

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When the vehicle she's guarding is hit having just run over a resistance spike trap, Peridot is shoved forward by the edgy guards demanding she do something about this. The 'secret weapon' protecting this particular truck is all of four feet worth of green person, but she leaps out of the currently disabled vehicle like a force of nature, scowling at the popped tires.

Her badass credentials are thoroughly trounced when she turns back towards whatever resistance flunkies are trying to get through her, not recognizing any she might have known before she was reconditioned- even her form has shifted back to her default state, her visor no longer shaped like cutesy kamina glasses.

"Seriously?! Can't you clods just accept this is for your own good, and stop breaking our stuff??"

Bart hated getting assigned to transport duty, but nobody would deny that the fastest meta alive was a perfect fit to the job. All he had to do was keep up and put on a good fight when the resistance showed up. (They had better show up, he'd managed to drop warnings and several of the proposed routes to various contacts when the opportunity arose.)

Still, he had to try to keep his job, which meant attempting to talk to some of the transfers, keeping them calm, all the while waiting for a chance to show he was still on what deep down he definitely considered the wrong side. Government wasn't meant to take over like this, but if anyone knew he wasn't all in, he'd be added to the human cargo in a heartbeat.

He usually keeps his mask on at all times, but this crowd being transported is being especially rowdy. He hates it. While part of him wants to help them, feels a twinge of pity when they call out for help, remembers his complete terror when he himself was taken...he knows he can't do anything. He has to do this. He has no choice.

Turning toward the prisoners, in an effort to both scare and warn them, Jonathan pulls off his mask, revealing his numerous scars.

"Listen. I know you guys want to fight. You want to break out and do something big. But believe me when I tell you this will all go a lot better if you cooperate."

Recon - OTA

It's dangerous to be a journalist who refused to toe the government line. But on the bright side, none of the enforcers have ever bitten Georgia and turned her into an undead corpse so really, it could be worse.

Prisoner transports are always interesting and newsworthy. Especially interesting is seeing who's moved from prisoner to enforcer. Georgia's got a running tally, and she loves pointing it out to her readers. She keeps her distance for the most part, using long range cameras and microphones rather than risking getting too close, but she has to come in close sometimes. You can't be a good journalist if you're too afraid to get your hands messy. That means risking enforcers seeing her. She's armed and ready if she has to be. She doesn't want to fight, but she's not going to let herself be taken in if there's another option.

Good news? Her brother generally does want to fight. He gets bored easily.

Rescue - closed to Shaun and Jane Foster

Losing Jane was a hit to the resistance. So far they've been lucky. If she told them anything, it hasn't been enough to get anyone else arrested, at least as far as they can tell. Still, with the forces of the government stretched thin and prisoners on the move, there's an opportunity there. Jane's transport doesn't have as many guards as it would otherwise. It's not going to be easy, but, well, Shaun's got a lot of grenades. It's an opportunity they have to at least try and take.

Georgia turns to Shaun. "Ready?"

Bubblegum slides out of the vehicle and ties her squishy pink hair back out of her face as she crouches to examine the damage. She's wearing a pink jumpsuit, comfortable pink sneakers, and her crown. Perfect casual wear for a mission like this.

"Peeps here are almost as bad as the Candy Peeps back home when it comes to taking care of themselves."

She frowns, tapping on her tablet, then glances over her shoulder at Peridot.

"The damage isn't too bad. I can fix it. Just keep that fighting biz away from me for a few minutes."

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.”

TRANSPORT

Well, this is bullshit.

Jacob had been happy. It had been over. No more war, no more fighting, just a life of teaching and rebuilding and raising a family. Then, in a flash of cosmic power and a rush of returning memories, he was an imPort again.

Not an imPort arriving in Cape Canaveral, though. No, this time he had arrived in the City, a name out of history, a legend of violence and tragedy he’d only heard second-hand from the most experienced imPorts. Before he had time to process what was happening, he was surrounded by armed personnel, bound by power-dampening cuffs, and hustled none-to-gently into a transport for ‘processing’

This is the kind of world Jacob had always feared as an imPort, the world he had fought to prevent. A world where imPorts either ran rampant over defenseless people, or were corralled and brutalized by those who feared and exploited them. In the world of Cape Canaveral, Jacob had led a government-backed team that had tried to maintain balance and keep the peace. In this world, he’s stuffed into an armoured vehicle along with other people whose only crime is being imPorts, and driven off to an unknown fate.

The worst moment comes when Jacob gets a glimpse at the unit patch on one of the masked and armoured agents manhandling him into the vehicle. Sewn onto the shoulder of the man’s uniform is a familiar yet inverted symbol: a black tower instead of white, set against a red background instead of blue. Printed underneath is the name: ‘AEGIS UNIT.’

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” Jacob groans. Then the door slams, and the transport starts rolling.

RESCUE

This is more like it. Freed of his bonds by whichever Resistance members have intercepted the vehicle, Jacob stands up and stretches out both his muscles and powers once the fighting is done. He lights up with a corona of blue energy, feeling his biotic abilities return after being nullified, then turns to whoever has saved him.

“Thanks for the help,” he says with feeling. “I don’t know what they do to ‘processed’ imPorts, but I’m guessing it isn’t fun. We’ve got a place to run to, right?”

He hopes there’s somewhere they can go to get off the street. This transport may not have been well-guarded, but he doesn’t doubt that reinforcements will arrive soon.

If there was any doubt left in Jacob’s mind that he has been pulled into a nightmare universe, seeing the face beneath that mask dispels them. He stares up at Jonathan’s scarred features, stunned, disbelieving.

“Jonathan?” He breathes, confused and angry. “What the hell did they do to you?”

“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.

I can get you to other members of the resistance, but we have to hurry.

[ the voice is familiar, though he looks different. he's dressed in all black, a balaclava over his face, but it's not the batman costume, and while he can walk freely, he favors his right leg. around him though are a team of six clad in swat-like armor, and they move silently around them in formation, as ominous as he used to be. ]

We don't have much time. Let's go.

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.

"On it." Peridot shakes out her hands dramatically and produces five metal spheres from inside the belt she wears around her waist. Once her powers activate, they float in the air, spin, and then begin to assault the resistance- she doesn't have enough force to put them through people and not enough finesse to even kill, but this is effectively the worst came of dodgeball ever and anyone who comes near her is gonna get bruised up at best and maybe end up with a broken bone or two at worst.

"You don't know who you're dealing with," she yells, laughing maniacally as she clocks some poor bastard right in the groin on sheer luck and then nails another one in the solar plexus.

Dorian slips in before the door slams shut. And it is blatantly obvious that he is out of his comfort zone. He's wearing some clothes that are obviously designer. One hand grabs one of the handrails inside the armored van, another hand holds a small yet expensive looking video camera. As the van lurches to a start, he turns to one of the armed guards.

"Try to actually win if the transport gets hit. Do a good job and I'll put your face on a poster."

If the casual condescension didn't give away his allegiance, the government issued ID card clipped to his suitjacket lapel certainly does. As the guard makes a noise of acknowledgment and rolls his eyes, Dorian turns his attention to the rest of the Metas.

"Well, aren't you all a sorry looking lot. Still, the Porter never really had good taste--present company excluded, of course," he says as he gestures to himself with the hand holding the camera.

He briefly tries to remember whether he's met this person before, but quickly shoves that thought out of his mind. It's not important.

"It doesn't matter. If you don't put up a fight, they won't do it to you. And if you do put up a fight, it's not going to make a difference in the end."

[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.]

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.”

[Jacob doesn't recognize the man or his apparent personal tactical squad, but he recognizes the voice. He trusts the voice. So he nods, and pauses to stoop and help himself to the sidearm of a fallen guard before he is ready to head out.]

Right behind you. And let me tell you, it's damn good to see a familiar face. Mask. You know what I mean.

Jacob immediately corrects himself. He was wrong earlier. This is the worst moment.

"Dorian Gray? Seriously?" He groans. "Now I know this timeline is bad."

He had still held out a sliver of hope during the arbitrary arrest and other clear signs of dystopia, but having to deal with Dorian again? That's it, that's the final straw.

Yeah. I know what you mean. It's good to have you back, Jacob. Though I think the both of us wish the circumstances were different.

[ wordlessly, he starts to change. he pulls up his pant leg and detaches a mechanized leg brace, revealing a mangled knee, and slips on a black trench coat. his men wordlessly continue, but they press a button on the dashboard and whatever the van looked like previously changes into that of an armored police vehicle. logos appear on the shoulders of his men-- C.P.D. finally... he removes his mask, using the other man's surprise as an opportunity to quickly seize jacob's weapon and puts some handcuffs on him. ]

Don't be alarmed. There's a checkpoint in a few miles. Just play along.

[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.

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.”

“Is that what you did?” Jacob demands, leaning forward as much as he can while still shackled and restrained. “Fight back? And they cut you up for it like a piece of meat?”

He’s not trying to hold back the anger in his voice. Jonathan is one of the kindest people he’s ever met, give or take a history of human experimentation. And however he came to be an enforcer for this regime, it clearly involved brutalizing him.

Cut him up like a piece of meat...his eyes widen, his breath quickens, remembering what he went through. Quickly, he puts his mask back on, hiding his face and turning away to watch outside the transport for a few moments. He is supposed to be keeping an eye on things after all.

After a long silence, he says, "At least you know the consequences."

There is something perhaps unsettlingly bright in Shaun's eyes as he looks back to Georgia and flashes her a grin. "Born ready." A pause and he amends, "Probably." Given that the circumstances of his birth are entirely a mystery, there's no knowing for sure.

Anyway, he's ready to blow something up and to retrieve Jane.

He palms one of his grenades, but pauses to lean in and press a kiss to Georgia's cheek. "Don't get caught. Don't get dead. See you on the other side." He lingers just a moment longer before he's off.

He darts off in a path that'll bring him waiting for the transport. Grenades are tricky things, but he's gotten good with explosives. And improvising. He steps out into the road right in front of the transport vehicle, grenade in hand. He watches as it slams on the brakes, grins at the drivers as he pulls the pin and drops the grenade at his feet.

At the same time he phases himself out so that the explosion that follows, tears up the road and the front of the car, but passes harmlessly through his intangible body, and with that he heads for the back of the transport.

For a moment, Dorian honestly looks a little confused. This man is a new arrival. How the hell would he know Dorian's name? But that confusion is pushed back since honestly, in Dorian's mind, the more attention the better.

He shifts his position slightly to look at Jacob, giving him a winning grin as he does so, absolutely ignoring that shit-talking.

"Well well well. I'll have to pass this on up. If a new arrival like you already knows my name, things are working perfectly. Tell me, was it the posters? Or maybe the film, I know they were thinking about playing that."

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BABY WE WERE BORN TO RUN

PERIDOT | AU- GOVERNMENT ENFORCER | OTA

Flash / Bart Allen | AU Double Agent | OTA

Jonathan Walsh | AU Government enforcer | OTA

Georgia (and Shaun) Mason | AU - resistance journalists

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Boba Fett | AU Reprogrammed Government Enforcer | OTA

JACOB TAYLOR - MoM MEMORIES - OTA

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rescue

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transport

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Rescue

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