Luc's Log

3. Blood Ties

Sometimes, I find, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It certainly seems that things have gotten significantly more violent around the Division of late. Sure, the exploding ship was par for the course, now that I can look back on it with a modicum of calm… but how the fuck were we supposed to anticipate this clusterfuck? Okay, maybe that’s a touch harsh. We acquired the tablet, after all, and somehow managed to come out with our hides intact, but it was still far more… arduous than it should have been.

Really there’s not too much to say about the first attack; it was a giant, cybernetic, invisible centipede… but we killed it and still know next to nothing about it. More interesting is that, apparently, I have a brother. A rather moronic one, at that. I mean, I can excuse his first attempt to flee, but if he couldn’t kill or escape us at range, with a sniper rifle, out in the Venusian atmosphere, I’m not sure how he expected to get away from us the second time. If I didn’t have my crossbow, though, we might have had a real problem.

At any rate, Zachery Sheach looks very much like me, and a quick perusal of Therese Madison’s belongings marks him as the bastard son of one Seiya Kurono. As luck would have it, it also mentioned one Mr. Black as her employer in the grim matter of our attempted assassination. That can’t be a coincidence*. I’ll certainly need to find out more.

…The new cybernetics should help with that, and look, it seems like my guest is finally waking up!

[[OOC Note: Kuro is a Japanese word for dark/black. Kurono as a surname means, basically, ‘of darkness.’ Hence, the suspicion.]]

2. My First Teleport

Sucked. I cannot believe the sheer nausea it induced. Fuck knows how the girls fared so well, but I lost my lunch to the floor (and, regrettably, my chin) the moment we arrived. Alice was being her usual self; either she’s teleported before, or her sheer fondness for violence has long since rid her of the ability to be sickened.

This was a touch regrettable, it turns out. With the contents of my stomach so eagerly jumping out to explore the Venusian landscape, no one thought to see if Bob (note to self: find out her actual name. Or just one that sucks less.) was still around, or had any ideas on how to get by UIG security.

No need to guess how Alice decided to initiate negotiations. Somehow, we managed to get out alive and without killing anyone. Miracle of miracles, Alice actually helped to calm (for an Alician value of calm) the situation some toward the end. Nice as that was – it didn’t quite make up for the rest of the experience.

It turns out having bile dripping from my chin somewhat undermines my bearing. Seriously, though, our situation was a little compromised, yes, but I practically stare people down professionally! The UIG grunt standing up to me – and almost shooting Cara! – was bad enough. Having that fuckup of an innkeeper hike the price on me like that, though. That was… humbling. Unpleasantly so.

If that fucker so much as gives me a cross word while we’re here, I swear I’ll shove my sword so far up his ass that he chokes.

Well, some quiet time will be more than welcome. Hopefully Alex can explain to Cara the intricacies of our situation. The poor thing’s liable to have an aneurism if she doesn’t learn to relax. That, or get herself shot during one of Alice’s little episodes. That’d be a pity; she might be a little shy of competent, but at least she tries.

I wonder if ‘Bob’ is still around…

1. The Once Ship

Today… well; holy shit. Up until… ‘Bob’ showed her ‘face’ I could have said this was a normal day. I mean the explosions, the being stranded in a tin can with no engine, hurtling toward the nearest source of gravity and fairly certain death… that’s pretty much par for the course. Especially with Vitali-…

Where. The. Fuck. Is. Vitali? Eugh, nevermind I guess, so long as I actually survive the next 48 hours. He was really… admirable when it came to breaking things, or moving them – or even stopping them from moving, as we found out on this specific clusterfuck – but the man was a touch… let’s say ‘fixated’ on some rather morbid fancies.

Of course Cara was her usually helpful self; wibble. The woman is maddeningly infectious at times; it’s hard to keep a level head. Then there’s Alice; whoever in the fuck knows what’s going on in her head, I’d like to know. I swear she was trying to provoke an Archon, this time…

Really, Alex as always seems to be the only one with her head on straight. Can’t believe I didn’t think of reviewing the archived security footage. I do need to marshal my thoughts better at times. But then, I suppose Alex is more at home amidst a whole bunch of ridiculous explosions than most.

On the topic of marshalling thoughts; all that was par for the course, yes… but then there’s Bob. Bob. She’s definitely an Archon, though fuck knows which one. And now we’re on bloody Venus. Hopefully EI thinks we’re dead, because honestly; fuck them. I don’t trust Alice as far as I can throw her, though, not with her connections. Or her temperament for that matter.

Goddamnit. Fuck my life.

Well, at least …Bob probably knows what she’s doing.

-4. Target Practice

Monthly Report 33: While thoroughly average in combat situations, subject has shown some promise in matters requiring swift, decisive reaction. The animosity brewing between the subject and his peers, however, marks him as a target, and he has yet to show the ability to defend himself, or avoid danger. As such, we must still report no reason to consider the subject for future Agency.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. They decided to introduce us to dodgeball today, which is nice in that it’s something I can just about do. It’s less nice in that it’s an excuse to throw things at people. While I’m pretty quick… I’m not quick enough to dodge thirty balls at once. Mr. Bauer was there again, too, looking oddly disappointed.

…Fuck that guy.

-5. A Troubled Child.

Monthly Report 18: Subject continues to exhibit no distinguishing talents. Given the underlying cosmetic differences between the child and his peers, it is unsurprising that he continues to be the object of no little discrimination and scorn. His efforts to defend against the violence directed at him have been distinctly average. While it would obviously be of significant profit for the child to have the talents exhibited by the donor, we continue to expect very little of the child going forward.

Shitting hell, I hate this place, especially those racist fucks, Hans and Jean. They cornered me after gym again, today – I’ve just about stopped bleeding. The worst part was that asshole Mr. Bauer. I’m sure the dick didn’t realise I could see him, but he stood there, round the corner, WATCHING, for five bloody minutes while those fuckers stomped me. Fucking hell, I hate it here.

Luc's Log

Minerva Rises Yaz