ph_logs | Work Friends Are Like Prison Friends [October

Work Friends Are Like Prison Friends [October | Closed to the Ocularum]

Who: Agent Jean & Members of the Ocularum They Don't Know Well Yet

What: Post-Gala Follow-ups & Allaying Concerns

When: Early October

Where: YOU pick

Warning(s): Honestly hard to list but, y'know, Jean Things. Violence, corporate exploitation, discussions of brutality, depression & self-loathing, absolutely bonkers capitalist bullshit

Those members of the Ocularum who have recently joined, or whom Jean does not yet know well, find handwritten letters delivered to them. The writing itself is neat and professional, though at some difficulty; the thick paper bears the marks of scouring sand for the ink, indentations where spelling mistakes or sloppy handwriting from picking up speed has been destroyed and replaced with something the author deems more suitable. Still.

Esteemed Peer, You may recognize me from the recent meeting. I must apologize for not being at my best during that time; I offer no excuses. However, given the state of recent events, and especially rising tensions in Pumpkin Hollow, I am moved to correct my previous state of negligence. It would be my privilege, if you are amenable, to meet and discuss at a time or place of your choosing and explain whatever happenings at the Gala you deem in need of explanation, and answer questions you may have as to my intentions, qualifications, and background. Food and drink can be provided; time of day or inconvenience of locale are no object. Please send your reply via letter, telephone, or sending stone to: Agent Jean of Hyrule (pending), Pumpkin Hollow Recovery Task Force

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jean spreads their hands philosophically. "I, while having similar experiences, have learned harshly that to touch is to be touched. The hostile management is vulnerable. I have no evidence for this, but...ha! Haha...consider it an act of faith."

For is Kora not the mother of rebellions?

The corner of CT's mouth quirks just a touch. "Faith, huh. Not sure I know much about that one these days."

"It's a new skill for me as well!"

CT's head tilts, "Mm. Is this a Goddessses thing?"

This provokes a certain amount of thought in Jean. Their thinking face is much closer to a normal human neutral; a faint frown, barely showing teeth, eyes roaming the little rectangle they're in.

"...No," they answer at last. "Not exactly. It's more...that I was the worst person I've ever been when I told myself that I could defer problems, defer the future, defer consequences, until what was in front of me was taken care of. One day at a time, but when I look back at those days...they're a smear of violence and atrocities."

CT makes a thoughtful noise, chewing at the inside of her cheek. Her own memories of the last few years are a blur of taking it day by day, balancing cold equations and trying not to face down how unsustainable it all was. It wasn't hope, it wasn't faith, it was stubborn refusal to face reality.

None of this leaves her head. Instead, she says, "I'm not entirely sure what the shape I'm forming of your world is, so far."

"Would you like the short version that is awful or the long version that is worse?"

Her brow furrows and she nods her head to the side. "Give me the short version first."

Jean produces a notebook from the depths of their coat, and flips it slowly until they find the page they're looking for. The map they show to CT is carefully labeled, showing a City perhaps the size of the entire nation of Belgium; areas around the Districts, odd borderlands, are sketched out and labeled as Backstreets, each one associated with a particular District (i.e. Backstreets of District P). District L has been cross-hatched in red ink; a black dot rests just south-west of its center, labeled Lobotomy Corporation HQ.

"Billions of souls live in the last human City on Earth," Jean says quietly. "And if I told any given one of them that I used to murder people and sell their organs for rent money, not one, not a single person, would be surprised or offended. That's the short version."

CT inhales and lets the breath back out immediately. "Well. That's... certainly an illustrative, example."

She rolls her bracelet up over her palm so she won't pick the scar tissue, rolling it back and forth under her fingers. An idle repetitive motion as she thinks, chews over thoughts and words.

"...my city was spread between levels. The richest at the top and the poorest at the bottom. You learned quickly what was worth causing a scene over and what was worth letting slide because we were all just trying to get by after the UNSC turned their backs on the Outer Colonies."

"...Outer Colonies?"

CT sits back, still rolling that bracelet over her palm. "I come from a world where humanity spread out from Earth across the galaxy centuries ago. There's the Sol System, with Earth as the home of our central government, and the Inner Colonies—together, they're called the Core Worlds. But beyond them are the Outer Colonies. Planets colonised primarily as resource farms for the core worlds, populated by people not 'good enough' for the Inners."

She rolls her eyes at that.

"We were never the United Earth Government's priority, but the military government still managed to abandon us during the war. Even as we did what we could to support the fight before we all got wiped out."

"...I'm very sorry that happened to you." It's quiet; Jean's habitual energy is gone, their eyes shadowed, no teeth showing. It's an almost unnatural look for them, more dejected even than they had looked at the Ocularum meeting during their adrenaline crash. There is a pain there that can only come from familiarity. "I'm afraid the principle, if not the scope, is quite familiar to me. Thousands starve so their labor can support those whose single meals cost more than a Rat might see in twenty years. I..I am sorry."

CT smiles a subdued, commiserating sort of smile. "I'm sorry too. It's... well it's horrible the things you can get used to when they're all you've known, but you do get used to them. Maybe I would have learned to put up with a lot less if the war ended, but twenty-five years in..."

She's honestly not sure the war will end in any way that isn't humanity's annihilation. But she isn't in any hurry to let anyone hasten the process.

She shrugs. "Anyway. We're still here. If despite certain best efforts."

"With some luck, and people who believe in us." Still quiet, but with conviction. "...If you ever need to talk. I, hahaha, hahaha, I was STRUGGLING when...when I accepted Manager Mortanne's offer of employment."

Things Jean is shaking: the corporate mindset

Things Jean will not shake: 'Manager' instead of, say, 'Lady' or 'My liege'.

"But things here are different. For now. I'm hoping to leave enough of a foundation to kill a world like mine in its womb."

"Mm. That'd be nice." A world swerving away from the fate of too many others. She doesn't plan to be here long enough to see what becomes of this world after the barrier goes down, but even so. "I've... been adapting alright, so far. I think. Though my track record with authority is still as poor as it's ever been."

"I'm still working on that. I'm..." They sigh, rubbing the back of their neck with a guilty expression. "I thrive better with a clear chain of command. But it is what it is, hahaha. I really do not think installing one at this point ends well."

Wryly: "And here I'm the one who decided to work for the Enforcers. There's some joke to be made here about choosing the wrong lines of work."

"Hahaha! Perhaps, but to be honest this style of law enforcement is unfamiliar to me. Intruders to Lobotomy Corporation were slain by whatever Employee found them, and as for the City..." they shrug. "Corporate taboos enforced on pain of death by people like me, Syndicate taboos enforced on pain of death by the Syndicates, or community ones enforced on pain of death by Fixer Associations - mercenaries. You may be sensing a theme!!!"

"Mmm, yeah, I'm definitely noticing a pattern there." She shakes her head and exhales again. Christ, what a nightmare. "They're less heavy-handed here than at home, but even back there I at least saw jail before they almost tried to get me executed from treason."

"Can I ask an awkward question Comrade?"

CT spreads her hands. "Sure. Ask away."

"What is the actual purpose of incarceration?"

CT's eyes go a little wide in an oh, boy sort of way, and she settles with her arms folded against her knees. "Well, that... sort of depends on who you ask. The generally accepted purposes are 'humane' punishment and to keep people who are dangers to society in some way from continuing to cause harm, while attempting rehabilitation so they can one day be released. In practice... well, I was incarcerated for leaking documents proving that a military contractor was providing my colony's garrison with faulty equipment that was getting us killed. The only harm I was doing was to their bottom line and reputation, though they tried to paint it as me giving the enemy information that would help them kill us faster. As if they hadn't already noticed and started exploiting the weakness in the equipment..."

She rolls her eyes and bites the inside of her cheek, sighing. If not for the war with the aliens, she really might have been an Innie.

"Anyway. You can end up locked up for anything from actual serial murder or otherwise violent crime, or for pissing off the wrong government official. And that's not even getting into the people who buy their ways out if they ever see prison at all for crimes far worse than anything I ever did, so long as they have the right connections or enough money. Honestly I might be— a rather biased perspective to get this answer from, in hindsight, but I was hoping to get my old CO locked up for endangering the continued existence of humanity, so there's that."

"Rehabilitation..." Jean rolls the word slowly around, looking thoughtful. They know why Lobotomy Corporation had cells - to produce and sell electricity - but this idea of a soft power need from a spacefaring society seems so odd. Why bother pretending?

"And here? This...'jail' at your place of employment? Would it be used similarly if we newcomers weren't such a power bloc?"

Work Friends Are Like Prison Friends [October | Closed to the Ocularum]

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BY TRADITION -

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By tradition I declare: damn OCs and their one-liners

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By tradition I declare: damn OCs and their one-liners

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ANOTHER ONE

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