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niamhsglobalproject · 8 months ago

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Week 1

While our lectures were taking place in the morning, I decided it would be a good idea to take notes and jot down any initial thoughts that came to my head/ key points that I found important. This way I didn't subconsciously rule out anything before starting the module properly. In my free time, I converted my shorthand notes into a mind map using miro. (See below). While my knowledge of Ukraine and Kyiv are minimal, me and my family housed two refugees from Kyiv back when the Ukrainian- Russian war began. They stayed with us for 6 months and this gave me some insight into life in Kyiv and how different our countries were. For one, their education system seems to be a lot more strenuous. throughout school, each pupil is given a potential grade by their teacher. the student is then expected to match this grade in their exams as said grade is already given to the student. From speaking to Maria (who is a year older than me) she said it is a lot of pressure to be expected to achieve these grades. In order to attend university, you also need a certain level of English. this surprised me as i didn't think English would be a necessary language to Ukrainians. Another difference would be their conscription regulations. both Maria and Tetiana explained how many people attend university to postpone their conscription. From checking that this is still true, I found this article on Zelensky's recent alteration to conscription regulations in order to combat student waivers

From these initial thoughts, I found video games (specifically MMORPGs) to be my strongest ideas. This is why I decided to put it forward to the group.

By definition an MMORPG is an "Massively multiplayer online role-playing game". it is a communal World online where many players can participate in different activities to further their goals and exploration. The players share the same world with other players and can move about or converse with one another. An RPG requires three main things: Story/narrative development. Free decision making. and character development.

Some key examples of MMORPGs are games such as EverQuest, released by Sony in 1999 (see below)

Runescape, developed and released by Jagex in 2001 (see below)

Both of these games are considered MMORPG classics. Everquest was the first commercially successful MMORPG to use a 3D game engine. It sold 3 million copies worldwide and reached an active subscriber peak of 550,000 as of 2004. When the game released, we were on the 5th generation of gaming consoles. to put the games sales into perspective, The Sega Saturn sold 9.25 million units worldwide and the Nintendo 64 sold 32 million copies worldwide. As for Runescape, the game has had over 300 million accounts made and is recognised by the Guinness world records as the biggest and most updated free to play MMORPG.

More modern games such as Club Penguin (see below) which ran from 2005-2017. While this example is up for debate on whether or not it is classed as an RPG, it is definitely a great example of an MMO and a great example of the type of game/ server I think would be really cool to create, maybe due to it being the game I have the most experience with and grew up playing. My opinion, Club penguin would be classified as an MMORPG as there were interactive narrative elements embedded in the game, with the Elite Penguin Force (dungeon crawler-esque levels), lore that would be distributed in forms of limited time events or the newspaper, as well as self directed narrative through social play with other users.

What lead me to start looking into games such as these was the whole idea of creating a "portal". initially, I thought of a game that goes by the same name "Portal" (see below) which is a two player co-op. It is mainly played locally, with either two players on the same console or connected through LAN (two separate devices connected through a LAN cable). according to some forums found online, you can also play portal remotely with online multiplayer. The premise of the game is to work your way through a series of levels, acting as the protagonist trapped in a scientific facility governed by AI, using only a portal gun.

being able to see and experience the same thing as another while 1534.53 miles apart is something amazing and I think the element of escapism that comes with games as well as being able to connect two places could really help with morale and community.

According to google, the 5 themes of geography are:

Location (Where is it located?)

Place (What's it like there?)

Region (How and why is one area similar to another?)

Movement (How and why are places connected with one another?)

Human-environment interaction. (What is the relationship between humans and their environment?)

The definition given for Social Geography is "the study of people and their environment with particular emphasis on social factors."

From these points, I was then able to respond and conduct nearly all secondary research in the form of this mind map.

2023 article on community in Ukraine:

Here are the initial theme ideas we collaboratively brainstormed at the end of last year:

Next, I wanted to look into more themes that I could explore and relate back to our project. some of the first themes I came across were (themes of human connection):

Death and rebirth

Bearing the burden of responsibility

Aiming toward the highest good

Honoring the sanctity of things

Energy transfer

Going back to MMORPGs and their need for a narrative, I then had a look into themes used within writing. I put these alongside themes found within collaborative practice and other themes that I felt fit the brief. these are compiled into the mind map below:

A popular form of escapism within gaming is the uprising "cosy" game genre. with calm and soothing elements within gameplay, it would be interesting to explore further how this genre enables escapism. "A cosy game generally means there are no high stakes or difficult challenges. The aim of the game is to, quite simply, have fun." this type of game could be great to create as we would be able to create a setting that is neither Ukraine or England and doesn't resemble political conflicts, it could focus more on our similarities.

While online games like Roblox have an age guidance of 13 and up, it originally had a younger audience of pre-teens. the childlike elements of play and a wide range of mini games however have been increasingly popular within the 17-24 year old age rage according to Roblox's shareholder letter. I think just like cosy games, games such as Roblox present escapism that transport the user to live through the years that they may have lost to the pandemic.

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solivar · 6 years ago

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Quoth @eledhiel13 Talon Zenyatta?

It was so subtle that Jesse was not entirely sure that he wasn’t just losing his goddamned mind, finally succumbing to the weight from years of accumulated paranoia, sudden but inevitable betrayal, and a carefully cultivated outright inability to trust others long-term. (“It’s not paranoia if they’re actually out to get you, kid,” said the voice in the back of his head that he usually considered at least a cousin to common sense and which sounded rather suspiciously like the man who’d taught him just about everything he’d ever known about all of the above, plus psychological hardening techniques on the side.) It wasn’t even something he could solidly but a finger on so that he could say, “This. This right here isn’t right.” Not to anybody else, not without sounding like he was losing his mind. (“Observe. Document. Play it close until you have enough to actually bring others to the table.” Common sense was starting to sound a little irked with him and for good reason -- he hadn’t been out of the covert ops business long enough that this approach shouldn’t still be second nature. And yet he was having a hard time justifying spying on a teammate, even to himself.)

Observation the first: Tekhartha Zenyatta is an omnic. He was mostly humanoid in form but that was, ultimately, where the similarities ended. His faceplate was a convenient location for broad spectrum sensory arrays -- he never really had an expression that you could read, or an attempted lack of the same that could be equally telling. His voice was a carefully modulated synthetic approximation, one that he explicitly chose to keep on the warmly soothing end of the spectrum, even in times of high stress. He had no real body language -- no involuntary twitches, no nervous mannerisms, no subtle changes in stance or posture that could betray mood, direction of thought, an increase or decrease in tension.

Until he did. And it was subtle almost to the point of invisibility, the sort of thing you’d only notice after living with a body for months and getting accustomed to the way they did and did not act on a daily basis. A sudden tremor in the line of his shoulders; the set of his spine taking on a posture that could be assessed as almost furtive, encountered as he was in a part of Gibraltar he didn’t generally frequent; a visible change in the way he held his hands. Jesse managed to get a picture of it and ran an image search that yielded nourishes the divine feminine and seal of the inner source and silence arises and all senses awakened. No way to tell if that was good, bad, or freaky beyond the telling of it without consulting someone who might know more. The Shambali were notoriously terrible about checking voice messages and answering their email and the only other option at home was...Genji. So not really an option without also bringing him in.

Observation the second: Zenyatta’s balls. Orbs. Spheres. Floaty, glowy things that orbited him like his own personal planetary system. It wasn’t entirely clear, at least to Jesse, what exactly they were -- an intrinsic part of his body? Something he’d picked up somewhere along the way while he was doing his own stint as a wandering sage? Zenyatta’s brother Mondatta hadn’t had anything resembling them and neither had any of the monks occupying the Shambali monastery when he’d visited years ago, but he wasn’t sure how much that actually meant. They seemed to sometimes have a mind of their own, spinning off and following other members of the team, sometimes at a respectful distance, sometimes a bit closer, if that someone was one of the walking wounded, physically or otherwise, emitting something that wasn’t quite healing biotic field but which had a similar palliative effect.

Now they were hanging close to him all the time -- closer and quieter and darker than they’d been since the day they first met. The change itched at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t be sure it was a bad thing or a normal one. And, again, no one to ask except Genji.

Observation the third: Zenyatta was a creature of habit. He had, within the first couple days of his arrival at Watchpoint Gibraltar, crawled all over the place, explored it from top to bottom, and thereafter turned most of his attention to the areas outside the base proper. Jesse couldn’t really blame him -- the Watchpoints were designed for utility first and aesthetics second, if at all, and he couldn’t imagine finding anywhere inside it an adequate place for meditating on the fundamental spiritual oneness of all life, not when you had the option of floating up to an actual nature preserve located right next door. When he wasn’t roaming the paths on the Rock itself, or down at the beach, he could normally be found in the quarters he shared with Genji in the family accommodations block, or in one of the recreation areas where the team in whole or parts tended to congregate after meals or missions, or in the combat simulator when his presence was requested for team training exercises.

Zenyatta did not, as a general rule, attempt to socialize with Torbjorn, whose attitude toward artificially intelligent machines in general and omnics in specific was well documented, and thus he assiduously avoided the engineering lab, except on the four occasions in the last month when Athena’s internal monitors found him there when no one else was present, either absent in the field or at godforsaken hours of the night. Athena’s sensors had likewise detected him in the communications tower, the medical research block adjacent to the infirmary itself, the security drone bay. Some of that could be innocent -- his body needed maintenance like the rest of them needed regular patching up and, while he certainly could have asked Winston or Angela for help, it wasn’t impossible that he preferred to handle his own basic repairs himself -- but Jesse could not think of one damned reason why he would need to be in the drone bay, ever, much less three times in two weeks. And there was, of course, only one person he could ask about that.

Jesse flipped off his workpad and set it aside, security access logs and tiny bits of security camera feed scrolling across the inside of his closed eyelids. It was not completely beyond the bounds of possibility that a totally innocuous reason existed for all of these observations, individually and all together. It was also not beyond the bounds of possibility that he was simply calcified into an irreducible state of suspicious and untrusting by hardships untold and dangers unnumbered. He hoped he could find the answers to all his questions without breaking either the trust or the heart of his best friend.

Moving slowly, so as not to awaken the even less trusting man sleeping at his side, Jesse slipped out of bed, slipped his hat and gun belt off the headboard, picked up his boots and stepped out into the hall in his stocking feet. He didn’t put his boots on until he was past the accommodation block completely and out into the halls beyond that led to the main rec center, the kitchens, the exterior access doors. The communications array hidden in his arm interfaced smoothly with Athena’s systems and, taking her cue from him, she responded silently when he hailed her, text-only.

Good evening, Agent McCree, how may I assist you?

I need you to establish a secure location in the base, known solely to yourself and me. He opened a secondary communication line and input the Blackwatch command level access permission codes that, in years prior, would have allowed him to make such a request at any functional Watchpoint; Athena accepted them without comment. Deep Black level encryption protocols on all communications in and out and on any files locally stored on your servers. Feed me copies of all your security logs, the security drone recordings, the internal security camera records, everything, for the last three months to current.

The Blackwatch suite is located three levels down and below the communications tower, Agent McCree, Athena replied. I have reactivated its systems per your request, currently running diagnostics. The requested data is downloading and will be accessible at your arrival.

Thank you. He signed off and closed down his comms and thought, not for the first time, I hope to God you know what you’re doing.

The Blackwatch suite was exactly that: two rooms located in an otherwise completely unused sub-basement three levels below the Watchpoint communications tower buried deep in the rock of the cliff itself, visited only by the occasional housekeeping drone if the relative shortage of dust on the work surfaces was anything to go by. He might not want to sack out on the cot in the next room or make use of the world’s tiniest refresher unit in the absence of a check on the plumbing, but the equipment locker was at least still fully stocked with useful odds and ends. The workstation powered up at a touch and came to life in seconds with Athena’s icon flashing in the center of the screen; he activated the workstation’s own intrusion countermeasure systems and turned his comms back on. “Comms check.”

“I am receiving clearly, Agent McCree.” Athena replied serenely. “Deep Black communication protocols enacted. My remote systems diagnostic found no hardware systems failures or inadequacies with regard to the equipment in the suite.”

“Thank you kindly.” The files he’d asked for were waiting, along with the onboard suite of analysis tools he needed to whittle all the raw data down to manageable; he started with the security logs.

“If I may ask...what precisely are you looking for?” A politely curious modulation to her generally sweet tone.

“I’m not sure myself.” He paused, considered, chose not to ask for her help in sorting the mess just yet. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

He saw it about four hours in, once the pattern analysis had run two passes on the security logs and come up with nothing and one on the video footage, just as he was about ready to declare himself wrongly mistrustful and possibly in need of rendering Zenyatta an apology, even if the monk never actually knew what for. Two hits, in relatively close succession, both on oddities in the drone hangar footage. Separated out and isolated from the rest of the stream of workaday images, the cause was clear: the recording had been altered, looped at least twice over a period of several hours, the timestamps adjusted to display the proper passage of time, the sort of thing that would be all-but invisible to anyone not specifically searching for such a thing. Twice in the last week, made to look as though the drone hangar were empty when he had the rather strong feeling it most emphatically was not.

Jesse flipped his comms back on. “Athena, my sweet, can you run a diagnostic on the drone hangar security systems and let me know if you find anything unusual?”

“Of course,” Athena sounded, as always, more than a trace element of amused at any attempt to sweet-talk her. “This will require a moment.”

“Take all the time you need.” He restarted the pattern analysis pass on the security footage, watched as the images flickered past at a rate faster than the average human eye could follow, every nerve alive and twitching.

Hits three and four were from the infirmary. A little over a month prior, Genji had come back from a mission that had, to put it mildly, gone spectacularly tits up after a relatively uncomplicated first and second acts, in a condition that reminded everyone who had known him back in the day and informed everyone who hadn’t that one of his in-action hallmarks was a certain reckless disregard for his own safety in the defense of others. Lucio’d been the medic assigned to the team and had done his best to patch Genji up in the field and hauled him home for repairs, the injuries well short of life-threatening but also well outside the kid’s level of biomechanical engineering expertise. They’d called Zenyatta in immediately, of course, because after Hanzo he was the next-nearest Genji had to family and, unlike his brother, the one with the actual ability to enhance his state of cyborg ninja chill to a level that allowed him to stay on bedrest for a couple days with only minimal protest. The alterations in the security feed occurred within hours of each other the first day back, looped to hide no more than a twenty minutes each, during those periods of time when Angela was neither consulting with nor checking upon her notoriously restive patient.

He checked, because basic investigative thoroughness required it, but he already knew, and the knowledge was a cold knot in his gut and sudden ice in his veins: all of the things he’d observed, everything he’d hoped this little exercise would let him unsee, had occurred after that mission, after those couple minutes of carefully concealed time at Genji’s bedside.

“Fuck.” Jesse breathed, completely heartfelt.

“Agent McCree, I have completed my examination of the drone hangar security systems. All appears to be in order.” Athena murmured in his ear.

“Thank you, Miss Athena, I appreciate it greatly.” He thumbed the communicator off and swore with even greater feeling. “Fuck a fucking duck.”

Athena’s security systems were most emphatically not in order. Athena’s security systems had been provably compromised at least four times. Athena’s ability to perceive and diagnose her own state of compromise was, in all likelihood, being actively interdicted. And he couldn’t be certain, at all, that his own poking around had not or would not draw attention or a response. Could not, in fact, be sure of anything but the actual black ICE built into the standard Blackwatch security suite, which would have to be good enough for now.

He pulled his cell out of the thigh pocket of his pants and powered it up. Blackwatch field doctrine suggested that agents deployed alone in hostile territory possess more than one method of communication in case the primary was lost, disabled, or otherwise compromised. He routinely carried at least three and the cell had the advantage of not being reliant on Athena’s network for connection, particularly once he made his way back above ground, typing with his thumbs as he went. Where are you right now, darlin’?

I still cannot believe you drop your Gs in text. Hanzo replied ten seconds later. In the kitchen preparing breakfast. You?

Out on the bluff, taking the lovely cool morning air. Join me? The sunrise was staining the sky over the Rock and the mist still hanging in the trees a vivid rosy golden -- red sky in the morning and he couldn’t help but think that might, just might, be a sign for more than just sailors.

I will be there momentarily. Coffee?

Please. Jesse leaned back against a convenient spit of rock, still cool from the night and damp from the dew, and considered.

Medlab had, by far, the single most secure intranet in the entire Watchpoint for a multitude of reasons, the greatest of which was Dr. Angela Ziegler’s thoroughgoing dedication to the confidential relationship between a physician and her patients, and not the least of which was that a solid half of her patients were carrying around as an intrinsic part of their bodies the sort of technology that at least all the governments of the Earth would sell their collective soul to possess. Genji was, of course, the prime example: partial cybernetic modification had been a thing since as early as the mid-30s but the entire fact of his existence represented a quantum leap beyond that relative plateau. And it was not for ego nor for aesthetics that he went around with God of War laser-etched into his breastplate; back in the day, his deployment in the field was a tacit admission that the precision application of lethal violence was, indeed, an acceptable resolution to any given situation his team might encounter. It was with this knowledge in mind and a certain quantity of regret in his heart that Jesse, once again ensconced in the untrammeled depths of the communications tower, cut right through the lab’s multiple layers of intrusion countermeasures using tools designed by some of the most exquisitely subtle, paranoid, and vicious intelligence operatives to ever make their living at a computer terminal, a task made substantially simpler by Angela’s absence from the lab and the fact that Athena had no part in maintaining its security, at the insistence of both.

It meant, baseline, that while Athena could request access to that particular internal network she wasn’t automatically and immediately aware of anything that went on inside it and thus his quest for information culled from the infirmary medical monitors might well go unnoticed for an appreciable length of time. (Hanzo had listened to everything he’d had to say over their morning stimulants of choice, his expression and body language growing progressively more still, until they reached the point where Genji’s brother turned off completely and the assassin who had spent ten years picking off half the Yakuza command structure in Japan and abroad, an assortment of corrupt officials both corporate and governmental, and no fewer than a dozen wanted war criminals without coming within even a long shot of being caught himself poked his head out and started talking tactics. Extracting information from the medlab intranet was entirely his idea, a trick he’d used while building his approach on a particularly well-defended ex-senior-military-advisor-turned-mercenary-despot whose departure from the mortal coil could not happen soon enough. Turned out, the asshole had a congenital heart condition and Hanzo hadn’t even had to shoot him to accomplish the terms of his commission.) If he found something, it also meant that, until he got to it, that internal network was at least secure and could be secured more completely by the addition of several nasty tricks courtesy of Blackwatch counterintelligence research and development. And this time he was at least not searching blind but had an actual time frame to concentrate on, and if something was there he would know in minutes instead of hours and --

Something was there. Right there, not even five minutes in. Angela must have stepped out -- Angela probably stepped out the instant Zenyatta arrived because Genji with one arm more off than attached and with some sad attempt at armor-piercing rounds still sticking out his chest was exactly the sort of Genji who would be insisting that someone else needed her attention more. (Nobody needed it more. Genji could be even worse than Hanzo that way.) No data for Zenyatta himself, of course, since he wasn’t attached to any of the monitors but Genji’s neuromechanical systems output spiked through the roof, his temperature redlined, and his internal comms produced four short-range, hugely information-dense transmissions spaced seconds apart, each one no more than a few seconds long themselves. Genji’s emergency systems came online, brought his temperature back down to normal, stabilized him. The whole thing took no more than five minutes total but since when did a hit ever really take a long time?

Bad news. Jesse typed with one hand and backed out of the medlab systems with the other, salting his path with tiny packages of pain and delight for anyone who might try to follow it back to its point of origin.

Genji? Hanzo replied, a heart-stoppingly full minute later, given his present presumed location in the Watchpoint.

Probably compromised. Definitely the origin of...whatever it is that got Zenyatta. Might be the same thing. Genji had done nothing to draw attention but, then, every characteristic that looked suspicious on Zenyatta was a perfectly ordinary aspect of his existence. That alone made him want to run the footage again and he was more than half afraid of what he would find if he did.

I am afraid I do not have any better news. It took five minutes for Hanzo to come back, during which Jesse heroically assumed he was maneuvering into a place where it was safe to type and not being horribly killed by his little brother. I selected six of the drones that were in the bay at random. Each one was altered in some way, some more extensively than others. A selection of pictures scrolled up the screen.

Is that what I fucking think it is? Jesse asked, half-impressed, completely appalled.

An explosive device of some sort, yes.

Jesse breathed in peace. You could say that. Breathed out stress. That is some kind of zero-yield tactical device -- probably not a nuke, we don’t have the components to cobble one together here, but I’m willing to bet they could and did make something pretty nasty out of the heavy pulse ordinance that we’ve got in the armory. Or maybe even something experimental that Winston was working on. Probably more than one. Athena had a solid two dozen functional security drones active at any given time, and more than half that sitting in assorted states of disassembly, in the process of being cannibalized for the parts needed to keep the rest functional.

Hanzo was silent for a perfectly terrifying length of time. I see.

I think we need to move up our operational timeframe a bit. Jesse pulled up a secondary screen and opened the eyes they planted around the Watchpoint during an exceptionally vigorous and thorough morning constitutional, finding the rest of the residents: Lucio in his own workspace in the medlab, clearly deep in the throes of composition from the look of intense concentration on his face; Mei in the rec center, curled up on one of the less enormous pieces of furniture and reading on her tablet with a cup of tea at her elbow; Reinhardt and Brigitte down in the engineering lab advancing the endless quest to make his armor even spikier. Genji was, in theory, in the combat simulator running his daily solo exercise regimen and Zenyatta --

Was nowhere to be found.

Get out of the drone bay RIGHT NOW.

He flipped back through the video feed just to make certain that he hadn’t missed anything: Lucio still in the medlab, Mei still in the rec room, the engineering lab now empty. Jesse took a deep, deep breath of calm, made certain doors to the suite were locked and the automated security precautions active, and began extracting potentially useful items from the equipment locker in the next room. He tended to prefer his own ballistic armor since it was custom built to personal specifications but there were always nifty little add-ons to be hung on belts or utility webbing, like that disruptor that messed with motion detection technology or the thingamabob that jammed all forms of wireless communication within a certain radius of its activation and the kinetic energy absorption mesh that Reyes had sworn by as a lifesaver right up until the day it completely failed to save his life. He took a bit of everything plus one the little medkits that came with an assortment of biotic-impregnated goodies for emergency field usage. Unfortunately, none of the ammunition was suitable for Peacemaker and in the back of his mind he was working out the quickest and least exposed method of making it back to his quarters and the box of assorted specialty rounds occupying the back corner of the closet when his phone rang.

Rang.

The number was Hanzo’s cell, the voice on the other end, when he picked up, was not. “Agent McCree.” The worst part -- the absolute worst-- was that while the voice was technically Zenyatta’s it also and absolute was not, too coolly, malevolently mechanical by half. “I must confess, I find myself in a bit of an awkward position. You see, I was explicitly warned not to underestimate you. The precise words used were ‘he’s smarter than he looks’ and ‘obfuscating stupidity is a real thing as far as he’s concerned.�� And yet, despite all these warnings...I seem to have done so.”

“Good of you to admit it,” Jesse drawled in reply, “But, in your defense, the accent tends to throw lots of people off.”

The laugh on the other end of the line sounded like two sharp, spiky things crushing something small and helpless between them. “Thank you. I will put that in my after-action report. Alas…”

Jesse flicked through the video feeds again and found both the rec room and the medlab empty. The floor of the rec room was covered in bits of broken ice and a couple puddles of something he desperately hoped was water.

“...I cannot permit either your charming accent or your attempts to thwart my mission succeed at their chosen tasks.” The quality of sound coming over the speaker changed slightly, taking on a hint of an echo.

“Then it seems that we’re at something of an impasse -- what should I call you? ‘Cause it isn’t going to be Zenyatta -- you don’t deserve that and neither does he.” There was just enough room on his arm’s internal storage to suck down what he needed out of the Blackwatch ICE archive but not enough to keep a constant running track of the eyes and their video feed, so he cut the stream.

The voice made a sound that would, on anyone else, have been a mildly disapproving tongue-click. “Such unnecessary hostility.”

“Trust me, I have not yet begun to be hostile, much less unnecessarily so.” Jesse kept an eye on the passive sensors lining the halls leading down to the hidey hole as he set to work, as quietly as possible, opening up the recessed wall panel that led to one of the four alternative exits from the nether regions of the comm tower. “Why don’t we cut the dancing around it and get down to telling me exactly what you want?”

“What leads you to believe I want something?”

“Because if you were only trying to distract me, Genji would’ve already been down here sticking something sharp between my ribs.” The motion detector hit at the top of the stairs leading down into the sub-basements; Jesse stopped what he was doing long enough to check specifics and then start the countdown on the workstation. “So let’s cut the bullshit.”

A brief silence. “Very well. I have someone you want, and you have someone I want. Let’s make a trade, shall we?”

That gave him a moment’s pause. “Really now.”

“Yes.” A certain silken menace in that single syllable. “My employers wish to extend an offer but they tend to prefer engaging in such negotiations...face to face. I assume that you would prefer that your partner exit this situation identifiable by something other than his dental work.”

“Well, if you’re going to put it that way -- “

“He can hear you, Agent McCree.” Again all sorts of smoothly malevolent and Jesse felt it turn his blood to ice and clear his head completely all at once.

“Hanzo.” His voice sounded almost preternaturally calm in his own ears. “Darlin’. I’m on my way. Promise.”

He cut the call off and slammed the phone on the edge of the workstation hard enough to shatter the screen and reduce the delicate internal workings to bits, then left it where it lay. The back exit dropped at least three meters straight down into pretty much total darkness, hand and foot holds cut into the rock to aid the descent; he pulled the recessed panel shut behind him and climbed as quickly as he dared, not wanting to risk an ankle since he rather felt he was going to need both of them in the relatively near future. The downward bore ended in a tunnel that angled off away from the edge of the cliff, back towards the bulk of the Watchpoint itself.

Up above, the countdown ended and, just as the door of the intelligence officer’s hidey hole slid open, the security countermeasures deployed, all of them, all at once. Even deep underground as he was, he heard the screaming, and added it to the list of things he was going to do something about.

#Talon Zenyatta ficbit

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mccollumfoss7-blog · 6 years ago

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jvzooproductsclub · 7 years ago

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Plugin Profit Black OPS Review

Learn more here: http://mattmartin.club/index.php/2017/09/05/plugin-profit-black-ops-review/

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solivar · 8 years ago

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WIP: Talon!Zenyatta ficbit

There’s more written on “Ghost Stories” but it’s not yet a complete scene -- and, of course, it’s a structural plot load-bearing scene so I don’t want to post it in its current form.

On the other hand, I started writing this a while ago when discussion turned to thoughts on what other-than-usual-suspects would look like as Talon operatives -- in this case, Zenyatta.

t was so subtle that Jesse was not entirely sure that he wasn’t just losing his goddamned mind, finally succumbing to the weight from years of accumulated paranoia, sudden but inevitable betrayal, and a carefully cultivated outright inability to trust others long-term. (“It’s not paranoia if they’re actually out to get you, kid,” said the voice in the back of his head that he usually considered at least a cousin to common sense and which sounded rather suspiciously like the man who’d taught him just about everything he’d ever known about all of the above, plus psychological hardening techniques on the side.) It wasn’t even something he could solidly but a finger on so that he could say, “This. This right here isn’t right.” Not to anybody else, not without sounding like he was losing his mind. (“Observe. Document. Play it close until you have enough to actually bring others to the table.” Common sense was starting to sound a little irked with him and for good reason -- he hadn’t been out of the covert ops business long enough that this approach shouldn’t still be second nature. And yet he was having a hard time justifying spying on a teammate, even to himself.)

Until he did. And it was subtle almost to the point of invisibility, the sort of thing you’d only notice after living with a body for months and getting accustomed to the way they did and did not act on a daily basis. A sudden tremor in the line of his shoulders; the set of his spine taking on a posture that could be assessed as almost furative, encountered as he was in a part of Gibraltar he didn’t generally frequent; a visible change in the way he held his hands. Jesse managed to get a picture of it and ran an image search that yielded nourishes the divine feminine and seal of the inner source and silence arises and all senses awakened. No way to tell if that was good, bad, or freaky beyond the telling of it without consulting someone who might know more. The Shambali were notoriously terrible about checking voice messages and answering their email and the only other option at home was...Genji. So not really an option without also bringing him in.

Good evening, Agent McCree, how may I assist you?

Thank you. He signed off and closed down his comms and thought, not for the first time, I hope to God you know what you’re doing.

“If I may ask...what precisely are you looking for?” A politely curious modulation to her generally sweet tone.

“I’m not sure myself.” He paused, considered, chose not to ask for her help in sorting the mess just yet. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Jesse flipped his comms back on. “Athena, my sweet, can you run a diagnostic on the drone hangar security systems and let me know if you find anything unusual?”

“Of course,” Athena sounded, as always, more than a trace element of amused at any attempt to sweet-talk her. “This will require a moment.”

“Fuck.” Jesse breathed, completely heartfelt.

“Agent McCree, I have completed my examination of the drone hangar security systems. All appears to be in order.” Athena murmured in his ear.

“Thank you, Miss Athena, I appreciate it greatly.” He thumbed the communicator off and swore with even greater feeling. “Fuck a fucking duck.”

I still cannot believe you drop your Gs in text. Hanzo replied ten seconds later. In the kitchen preparing breakfast. You?

I will be there momentarily. Coffee?

Please. Jesse leaned back against a convenient spit of rock, still cool from the night and damp from the dew, and considered.

Genji? Hanzo replied, a heart-stoppingly full minute later, given his present presumed location in the Watchpoint.

Is that what I fucking think it is? Jesse asked, half-impressed, completely appalled.

An explosive device of some sort, yes.

Hanzo was silent for a perfectly terrifying length of time. I see.

Was nowhere to be found.

Get out of the drone bay RIGHT NOW.

Rang.

The number was Hanzo’s cell, the voice on the other end, when he picked up, was not. “Agent McCree.” The worst part -- the absolute worst-- was that while the voice was technically Zenyatta’s it also and absolute was not, too coolly, malevolently mechanical by half. “I must confess, I find myself in a bit of an awkward position. You see, I was explicitly warned not to underestimate you. The precise words used were ‘he’s smarter than he looks’ and ‘obfuscating stupidity is a real thing as far as he’s concerned.’ And yet, despite all these warnings...I seem to have done so.”

“Good of you to admit it,” Jesse drawled in reply, “But, in your defense, the accent tends to throw lots of people off.”

The laugh on the other end of the line sounded like two sharp, spiky things crushing something small and helpless between them. “Thank you. I will put that in my after-action report. Alas…”

The voice made a sound that would, on anyone else, have been a mildly disapproving tongue-click. “Such unnecessary hostility.”

“What leads you to believe I want something?”

A brief silence. “Very well. I have someone you want, and you have someone I want. Let’s make a trade, shall we?”

That gave him a moment’s pause. “Really now.”

“Well, if you’re going to put it that way -- “

“He can hear you, Agent McCree.” Again all sorts of smoothly malevolent and Jesse felt it turn his blood to ice and clear his head completely all at once.

“Hanzo.” His voice sounded almost preternaturally calm in his own ears. “Darlin’. I’m on my way. Promise.”

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