thearena | Lightning Strikes Twice

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Lightning Strikes Twice

There were no sign ups involved this time, this was an off-worlder idea which means the off-worlders clearly have every desire to see this through; you signed up with your consent. The mission is to be held in the evening, so the morning is spent preparing, stocking up the hovercraft with medical supplies, arming everyone, donning the now familiar all black attire. When the alert is sent out, it's simply to gather in the hanger and begin loading.

As promised, there's no sign of a 13-issued leader involved, it's on the mission team and it's assigned tactical head to lead themselves; all Webb gives the group is a chipper smile and 'Good Luck.'

The sun is just beginning it's descent when the hovercraft leaves the hanger. The flight isn't nearly as long as the one to District 3, but it's long enough that the sun has dipped below the horizon when the hovercraft stops. Stopping doesn't mean landing, however. The team's resident off-worlder pilot comes on over the speaker with given instructions: time to strap up and get ready to do a little sky-diving.

The plan is simple really. Should the hackers do their job, the storms will do as they're told and strike the dome below the hovercraft all at the same time, breaking the barrier and making a hole big enough for the strike team to carry out the rescue. Hackers strapped in and strike team ready to zipline down, the hovercraft's door opens to the windy outside, allowing a wonderful view of the bright flash and deafening crash a minute later as the weather codes carry out their destruction.

Time to move.

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The ships is quiet except the usual thrum of the engine. 13's eyes and ears aren't here except for any of the Panem-natives who might have come along, but it's debatable on if they count. Perhaps now is the time to have a conversation you've been holding back on before the action starts, or maybe it's time to find that quiet place and relax before chaos strikes.

The doors are open, the order is given from the comm unit in your ear and it's time to zip down into the hole in the Arena's dome. Hopefully help has mustered from within and the kids can be found easily, if not it might take some searching and it's well known how dangerous an arena can be even without the Gamemakers watching.

There's approximately an hour's window of time to gather what kids can be found and make it back on board. Extra time can't be afforded, so it would be wise to work fast.

Each person on the mission, from those in the cockpit to those on the ground, have a comm link in their ear that connects them together for easy communication. It's a valuable resource, it would be wise to use it when needed.

[Feel free to structure threads here like network threads or in prose based on your needs, this is essentially an open voice thread for anyone to talk to anyone on the mission. It can be activated by being tapped.]

It's eerily quiet, like a sigh of relief. So many things could have gone wrong. But the power stayed off, the Capitol is none the wiser for now and, hopefully, there's a few new additions to the ship's passengers. Time to check in, rest, tend to any injuries and catch your breath while you can.

[The hole's blown and as Albert thought the remaining electric current makes his cybernetic arms and legs feel as if they're thrumming, buzzing with the ambient energy despite their being insulated from it in the hovercraft. It's why he's stayed behind instead of on the ground with the others; he has no idea what sort of malfunctions he might be facing, but it's not going to stop him from helping out.]

I'll be keeping track of everyone's positions. Call for backup if you need it and I'll make sure to call who's nearest. We have a short time, people. Good luck.

It's more successful than Albert had suspected it would be. Out of the 12 remaining children, at least half have been recovered, though not all seem to be happy about it. Albert climbs out of the cockpit where he's been ensconced for over an hour and moves to help with any medical attention that needs to be given or just to chat with either his off-worlder cohorts or native children. He's not sure what to expect; gratitude, betrayal, or a bit of both...

He approaches the nearest person, a small a guarded smile at the ready but one that can quickly be banished if it's found inappropriate. "How are you?"

The crash had woken her up from the doze she'd been snatching. Sleep hadn't been something she felt like she could afford. IT was true that these off-world tributes were more passive than the classic tributes, but she wasn't stupid enough to let that take her guard down.

The crash had her up, knife in hand and foraged backpack over her shoulder. She should run from it, but curiosity has her running towards it instead, the wreckage of the caved in dome has her pausing and her eyes scan the sky where lights can just be seen outside of the barrier. Then the people come down.

She gasps and stumbles back to find a hiding place. These were rebels, they had to be. They might kill her...but what better way to bring herself and her family glory if she could get one of them first? She had to try...it was probably the only way. The thought she might not win after all had already begun to settle heavily in the back of her head.

She waited until she could hear the ground crunch and shift under one of the traitor's weight before whipping out from her hiding place, knife poised to bury itself into her enemy.

Edited 2015-10-19 21:55 (UTC)

It probably says something about Sam that despite the danger and the time limit and everything else, he's feeling pretty good right now. And really, he knows exactly what that something is - but the benefit of being mission orientated is that he doesn't have to give a shit about that right now. This is what he does, what he spent two years in training and a decade in service doing, he's in his element.

Once he hits the surface of the arena, he's moving quickly. The fact that he's back in the fucking arena registers, yeah, but only dimly. This is pararescue, and he spent far longer in that mindset than he did in the arenas.

So his guard's up, but he's not on the offense, and when a figure darts out at him, he immediately ducks down. Sam rolls to the side, springing back up on his feet and taking a few steps back, hands held up as he scans her over. Aemila, District 2, one of the ones who's actually trained for this, and he might have a fight on his hands with her.

"Hey, slow it down, all right? We're not here to hurt you, we're here to get you out of here."

They've only got an hour, the Capitol's surveillance could come back on at any time, there's no guarantee that any of these kids are going to be willing to just come with them, and there's a whole host of Tributes who may not be on their side - but all of that's in the back of Sam's mind right now.

In and out, avoid discovery, grab the PC and get them back safe, head back out and repeat if he's got time, Sam's got this.

He's got his gear on his back, gun and knife at his hip and within easy reach, as he moves quick and quiet away from the hovercraft and into the arena. They don't have an exact location, so Sam keeps his guard up and his ears and eyes open, scanning for any sign of the kids they're here to pick up - or any sign of the other Tributes or arena obstacles.

Edited 2015-10-20 00:20 (UTC)

Rotor was lucky enough to find an ally in James, someone stronger with more experience who wasn't going to stab a gentle lamb like him in the back to pay him back for his desperate trust. So far, he's survived, into week 4, far longer than he thought he would, and every second he's panicking and close to tears. He almost wants it to be over faster just so he'll not have to feel this terror and panic anymore.

Then something went terribly wrong, and the tightly wound fear set Rotor off sprinting, completely heedless of his protector, aware only that adrenaline is prioritizing getting away. He pays no attention to the direction he's going, blindly running forward, and is that a parachute with a person on it coming into the Arena...?

He knows that if he stops for any amount of time his legs will be shaking too much to support him, and his hyperventilation might even make him pass out. He looks behind him, to the side, then trips and falls on an exposed root. He throws his clasped hands instinctively over the back of his neck and squeezes his eyes closed. Playing dead won't work here, not without a cannon, but he's utterly paralyzed. It's all he can do.

[Though Linden had been given the option to sit this mission out, he's been far too restless since the last one to even consider it. For all that hard work to amount to sitting on his thumbs from a claustrophobic bunker was out of the question, and he'd after nurturing and honing his existing skill and talent even more in the computer labs, he'd joined the hacking team. While he's no slouch at working alone, and might even prefer it, he's got no problem meshing his skills with others when the situation requires it, and as a result, the storms had been successful, along with the breach. Now, it's a matter of scrambling signals and overloading servers so that the Capitol can't do shit about them for as long as it takes to do what they came to.

He's not on the ground this time. Along with all the other hackers, he's strapped into the hovercraft where they continue their efforts and are able to give and receive updates while they wage war on the Capitol's technology with District 13's.]

You should have plenty of time. That last wave should have their O.S. substantially crippled. They're almost certainly panicking.

[He sounds distinctly satisfied at the prospect.]

He dodges out of the way and she has to admit to herself that it's impressive and she falters when her knife doesn't hit anything solid. In response, he backs up and so does she, but her knife is still up between them.

"You and the rest of your stupid rebel friends, Sam Wilson?" She remembered him, he'd been alright at first, but there were times when what he did in the arena had been questionable. He'd always been so entertaining and charming outside of the arena, though...she'd kind of liked that charm, someone she wouldn't have minded talking to. But then he'd vanished and now that he was here, well, she wasn't stupid.

"You just broke the fucking ceiling, I know why you're here, I don't want to be rescued!"

Edited 2015-10-20 01:22 (UTC)

Aemila sits in the corner of the ship, back to a wall and her knees pulled to her chest. Even with her arms around her knees and her head down, she glares fiery daggers at anyone who comes too close, practically daring them to approach her so she could tear their faces off. She wanted to, more than once her eyes had darted over to the cockpit with thoughts of trying to take out the pilot or even just the control systems to take out the whole plane.

One last blaze of glory since her chance to shine was stolen from her.

She didn't move.

Her fists were balled tight so her knuckles were white, her whole body practically vibrating like a live-wire for how tense she was. She was in enemy hands and she hadn't been able to stop it. That's what she kept telling herself, hopefully it would drown out the doubt in the back of her head, that little voice that said she might have lost her chance at victory, but she'd also lost the threat of death. Maybe. She couldn't listen to that.

She's got this look about her. He sees that look and he motherfucking knows. Oh yes, he is all about the comprewareness as to what's kicking it behind them eyes glare to cut up corpses for the beast feeding. He might be one of the few what's not being all so surprised that there's being any to refute rescue. What would refute rebels.

It's like looking in a mirror, one what's cleaner, sin not yet committed. The fury's all there though. The dead motherfucking end.

It's all compulsion what drives his feet, turning the wheels on the other stuck up in his nug, but tied down by his pusher. Heart's all on for getting up at being about a motherfucking hashing of elections up and deemed done.

He's towering as he stares her down, so he sits, not beside her but down upon the floor. He brings his palm up to bite, pierce just enough to draw color. With a deep steadying breath for the attempt to commune, he writes in indigo upon the floor: rebel trouble?

He looks up at her. He wonders if she remembers him in the arena, if she remembers when he was all about the cull and calamity, all the people he slaughtered, all the tortures he got done about, the goodness he refuted and rebels he fought. He wonders if she noticed how he wore down over the arenas, got softer because people asked him too, learned things, fell apart over and over as his world got broken and the pieces put together numerous times.

He wonders if she'll see in him what he sees in her.

Terezi catches that glare as she passes by. It's been a stressful mission for all of them, and she wasn't expecting all of the children to be grateful; but the murder in that look is a bit much. She meets it with a raised brow, and after a moment of indecision, Terezi decides to approach.

"If I didn't know any better, I would say that you were practicing for the late arrival of laser vision. But you're not going to crash the helicopter by glaring at it. Or at the pilot."

She sees him coming and she directs that glare at him as well, even in the face of how he towers over her. But then he sits and she feels more on-level with him even tho it's not a huge improvement.

For one moment she thought about not even looking at whatever weird thing he was doing with his freaky blood but curiosity got the better of her. She shifted to see his words and they made her pause.

She did remember. His bloodshed had been terrifying and also admirable. The kind of thing that she watched with wide eyes while it was happening but turned to nightmares when her eyes closed. She'd admired his strength.

And then he lost it. It was gone, slowly lost over time or gone all at once, but missing now when she looked at him. She saw weakness where he saw strength.

"Yeah, I'm looking at one." Her voice had a venomous bite to it, a hint of betrayal laced through. It sucked when one of your favorites turned out to be a heel.

She'd hoped the glare she'd given him was enough to chase him off, but he went and talked to her anyway and it made the heat in her rise. She was angry, she wanted to punch this man, the others here, everyone. She was better in the arena, she was terrified about what might happen to her. None of this came out.

"Fuck off."

The most articulate thing to come to mind did instead.

He laughs once, a muted thing none more than a breath. Yeah, he guesses she is. Ain't that funny. Ain't that ironic. He can't help but feel fond over put off. He bows his a little to give concession to that all. And slight apology. A rebel laughing in his face would've sent him far over the edge. He makes sure to smooth his face out again quick.

was like you

He remembers. But in a way, he still is. He'll never fully trust, he thinks. He can only go for the eighty or ninety percent at any given time and figure it enough. That betrayal is a burn on him. It will always be there. It may always be in her too, though he can try his best to ease it.

not so rebel.
alien.
protecting family.

A little loophole; it's not his world to rebel against. He considers asking if she'll allow a question, but he imagines that won't go over. He simply skips over that and gets straight to writing, as much a difficulty as the directness is.

why'd you volunteer?

He wants to know what her thoughts are most of all. He wouldn't lie and say it wasn't to find his way in to grip, but he's hardly about to say that either.

Edited 2015-10-20 06:01 (UTC)

She's wary, and yeah, he was expecting that. He keeps his hands up, not going for either his gun or his knife, watching her closely for any sign that she's going to try to attack him again.

He can't help but give an amused snort at her 'stupid rebel friends' comment. She recognizes him, and he isn't sure if that's good or bad, but he'll roll with it. "A decent number of 'em, anyway, but just me right now."

Of course she doesn't want to be rescued. He raises an eyebrow at her protest.

"And I wanna listen to Marvin Gaye without the Capitol embellishments, but you and I both know a lot of times, the world doesn't give a shit about what we want and we gotta make the best of what we got. This case? You get staying alive, and I get not having to watch you die when I could've done something about it."

Edited 2015-10-20 04:26 (UTC)

When Sam hears something crashing down off to the side, he pauses in his tracks. There's a moment where he waits, listening, just in case someone was using that as a distraction for an attack - but when there's nothing, he heads cautiously in its direction.

Only to find one of the District kids huddled on the ground next too an exposed tree root, and Sam winces. He can't quite tell which one this is with the kid's hands over the back of his neck like that, but Sam approaches anyway.

"Hey, brother, you're okay. I'm not here to hurt you."

Her eyes darted away from the pilot the second she was called out on it and turned to Terezi instead. Out of all the jerks here, this one was probably the one she wanted the least to deal with. Terezi the Junior Peacekeeper had been a subject around the dinner table before and Aemila had thought well of her. Sure, she agreed with her brother that Terezi really didn't have much of a place in the Peacekeepers, but the fact she'd worked hard enough to earn a spot regardless had won Ae's respect.

Now all she had was her anger.

Don't talk to her.
Ignore her.
Ignore her and she'll leave, don't say anything.

"I don't need laser vision." Damn it. "Get out of my face, you're just a traitor."

Back into the arena, for real this time, instead of just in his repeating nightmares. Oddly, it wasn't as bad as Wyatt expected it to be. Maybe it was the clear goal, having something to focus on - something to do besides fight and starve and die; maybe it was the voices in his ears, reminding him that he wasn't alone as he pushed into the greenery.

An hour wasn't long. Not with the arena being as big as it was and there being so many kids to try and find, so he moved at a quick clip and fought against his urge to go quietly. He was not a tribute here. The pack bouncing lightly, gun cradled against his chest, he jogged on, eyes roving, finger resting on the guard of his rifle.

"Not really. I prefer the term strategist. Or vigilante justice. Kinda hard to be a traitor to the entity that kidnapped me in the first place."

Not that anyone in the Capitol--or sympathizing with them--has ever seen it that way. The fact that all the off-worlders have been strong armed into a world that isn't theirs seems to be conveniently overlooked in their minds. But that's not a technicality that she plans on arguing. She doesn't figure she'll get any further with this child than she has with anyone else.

Instead, she crouches down, balancing on the balls of her feet and resting her arms on her knees. It's an easy position to get up from quickly, if this kid decides that she wants to cause a commotion.

"For someone who just got scooped out of a death match that they were bound to lose, you don't sound very happy. Want to talk about it?"

He frowns, but there's patience in his tone nonetheless. They'd known not all of the Tribute children would be pleased to see them.

"I'll leave you alone just as soon as you tell me truthfully if you're injured. There's no point in being stubborn."

Peggy had been afraid that going back into the arena would make her have flashbacks. She had been afraid she would shut down and become a burden on the team. After all, she's fought for her life twice here.

Instead, she responds in a completely different way. It's like she's back there, her focus narrowing down into a pinpoint until nothing matters but her goal. Before, it had been survival. Now, it's finding the kids.

She has a gun and a knife, but they stay sheathed and holstered. She moves away from the group in her own direction so they can all sweep out and cover as much ground as possible in the short time they have.

She keeps her mouth shut but her eyes sharp, tense and ready for anything.

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Lightning Strikes Twice

Pre-Mission

Ground Team

Comms

Post-Mission

OTA

OTA

For Sam

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OTA

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Linden Lockhearst- OTA

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OTA

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OTA

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For Hemlock