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]

"Haven't we?" Jacob leans back on the bench, tries to cross his own arms, then gets a rude reminder that yes, he is still handcuffed. He huffs instead and places his hands in his lap.

"Then maybe you can explain how I know who you are, Luther," he challenges, hoping that this angle will provoke curiosity rather than violence. "Or about your family, like Allison and Diego. Trust me, we've met."

[obediences]

Those two names are like a lightning jolt to Luther's brain, his nervous system: they immediately yank him up to sit up even straighter in his seat, looking at the stranger more closely. With a fair bit of suspicion now, because in this entire goddamned universe, Allison is the only one who knows Diego's name. Or she was the only one.

His family is a knife under his ribs: his main vulnerability, the one Achilles' heel that's always festered, that he hasn't known how to guard himself about. He's especially out-of-practice in the City.

"That's impossible," he says slowly, carefully. "Where did you come from?"