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

[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.”