We The Committee - This Won’t End Quietly
We let the night get away to somewhere better than here

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@agentcheyenne
We The Committee - This Won’t End Quietly
We let the night get away to somewhere better than here

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I guess I missed all the action.
I was really looking forward to doing more devastating plot things with you all, but I think it was time to end. I love you all a lot, and this RP is the best I've ever been in. It's challenged me as a writer and as a person, and really helped me grow. Cheyenne will always stick with me, as will all of you.
I won't go into too much detail or I'll get all teary and emotional and mushy, but I'm going to miss you guys a lot. If you need me for anything, anything at all, you can find me here at my personal.
(Shoutout to Kat for being the best A.I. a girl could have, and to Charlie for being my chocolate buddy even though I thought you were a teenage girl for two months, and to Bis for "Cheyinator", and Raleigh for GUTEN TAG HERR DENVER and to Prov for making this experience so wonderful, and to the rest of you all for your compassion, talent, and kindness). I love you all, and thank you so much for letting me have one of the best experiences of my entire life.
But I'm not going to say goodbye, because you know how I hate goodbyes. So for now, it's just see you later.
Digging || Lincoln & Cheyenne
Well. The A.I. were definitely a sore topic for Cheyenne.
If this were a one-off, if this was a situation that Lincoln was getting out of tomorrow, if this were a quick meeting and he’d never see Cheyenne again, Lincoln would be acting very differently right about now. He’d found a button, and his instincts wanted to exploit the hell out of it. Ruthlessly. He wanted to ask if it had been death that had taken her A.I. away from her, who the A.I. had been, if that had anything to do with why she was studying her hologram but didn’t want to talk about it.
And he could do it. Very fucking easily. He’d interrogated before, though it hadn’t been his main job. Just came along with stealth missions sometimes; you found a mark, you questioned them. He knew he could get the answers if he just pushed.
But the reality was, he had to stay on this ship. And he couldn’t afford to piss people off, not when they were clearly assets, not when they were obviously sources of information.
"I’m sorry to hear that," he said instead, his tone genuine. "From what I’ve seen, a lot of the Agents here have bonded with their A.I. It must have been hard to lose yours."
Cheyenne. Lincoln’s thoughts turned inward for a second, recalling the sparse files he’d read. Cheyenne had been listed as being paired with Taurus, aka Tara.
He might just have to find Tara, then. If she was alive. Her file hadn’t had any sort of stamp to mark her death, but then, would they even do that with A.I.? Could they die?
Cheyenne busied herself with restarting the tablet and running it through its final paces. She shouldn't have snapped, not like that, not to a newbie who could have been a potential friend, but it was too late now. No going back, and she never looked before she leapt. So she might as well have out with it, prevent Lincoln from having any false assumptions about her being a good person. If there was one pure thing left in her in terms of morals, it was that she didn't want anyone who didn't have to be involved with her dragged into the mess she'd made of herself. Especially someone who had no idea what he was getting himself into.
“No, you misunderstood me. I should have made myself more clear. My A.I. wasn't destroyed, she was reassigned to a different agent.” With a slight humming sound, the tablet purred to life. “We never really got along anyway. So much for matching agents and A.I.s based on a potential for the best possible team.”
She pressed a few buttons and the tablet's screen lit up, running through a quick diagnostic. Lincoln was probably uncomfortable hearing all of this, but she hadn't met his eyes once while she talked about Tara. But she did now.
“Before you ask why she was taken from me, I'm going to tell you and get it off the table. First off, we were never a good team. Secondly, I killed two of her fellows about a month ago during an attack on this ship. So if you're one for the social scene, I don't recommend hanging around me.”
Delta Team Building Exercise #40 || Team A || Bi/Ca/Or/Ch
"I…highly doubt Concord would use the bathroom for such an activity," Calvin murmured, watching the card in Bismarck’s hand with a hard, narrowed gaze. He wasn’t particularly happy to be participating in this team building exercise, especially without Concord.
Sighing, he turned his gaze to the rest of the group, lips pressing into a firm line.
"…It mentioned ‘fixing’. There are only two places on this ship that are primarily for fixing."
Orion did not wish to be here. He did not want to be part of a group or team. But refusing to attend would draw attention at a time Orion very much needed the opposite.
So he showed up. And he listened to the completely obvious, poorly written clue. And then he was more than a little shocked when no one seemed to instantly understand it.
"I am very surprised that you have all lived this long," was his irritated mutter, arms folded. "This is hardly difficult.”
Cheyenne was annoyed that Concord had managed to put her with one of the people she least wanted to be with, but she had to power through it, or whatever. She doubted that a scavenger hunt would be the best bet for a simulation of battle, but it was better than nothing. Yet she had better things to do with her time, not stand around with a bunch of guys and listen to them prattle on about toilets.
“If you know so much, why don't you just lead us there?” She snapped at Orion, not even trying to contain her dislike for his haughty attitude at this point. “My best bet is that it's either the medical bay or the restoration lab. Like Calvin said, those are the two most obvious places used for fixing things.”
Unless he was talking about her engineering table, but she doubted that that had anything to do with “admitting the need” or whatever.

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"I'm dying."
“No, you're not. You can't.”
Everything on this planet was colored in shades of orange and yellow and red, everything but the sky--a deep, emerald green. Only that sky was now pierced by a jagged trail of thick black smoke that ripped the horizon in two.
Dust had begun to collect on her boots and hands, and coat her visor in a fine grime. She raised a hand to wipe it away.
“Our ship is going down, Agent Cheyenne. I cannot do anything about it. Any attempt at restoring systems would result in failure.”
She shielded her eyes against the bright sun, listening to the crackle of static on the radio for a moment before forming a shaky response.
“Where's Concord? Transfer over to him, you still have time.”
“He... he's dead.”
She had never heard him hesitate to say anything except in this moment. “Then switch to me. Switch to someone, anyone! Get back on the ship if you have to!”
“You know I can't do that. The Equinox is out of range for such a transfer, and you--you lost your implant along with Tara.”
“No. No, there has to be some kind of way out. You can't just--”
She could taste the red dust on her tongue. High above, in the depths of the green sky, a cloud of yellow and orange flame billowed at the end of a trail of black smoke.
FAVORITE CELEBRITY CHALLENGE Noomi Rapace - (1/5) appearances
"I'm disappointed in you."
I’m not surprised, sir. And I know this response is only going to make you more disappointed in me, so I’ll shut up now.

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"I’m proud of you."
For what? Punching your A.I. in the face?
I have to admit, that was pretty fun.
Daft Punk - Rinzler
"I’m terrified of being too famous. What I’m really afraid of is that the audiences will go into the theater and not be able to forget that it’s me, that fame will stand in the way of my acting. I want to keep being able to change into different shapes and different personalities."
Digging || Lincoln & Cheyenne
Sense of duty. Focused. Reliance on work. Probably quick to complete any task she set her eye on.
Possible martyr complex. Though that could just be a sense of work being more important than the body, which Lincoln could certainly understand.
Really, everything about Agent Cheyenne seemed perfectly normal. But Lincoln hadn’t been picked for this job because he was stupid. There was something there, something under her demeanor, that spoke of … something. Who the fuck knew what it was yet. Maybe it was something, maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was something little, maybe it was a secret that could crack this whole mystery right open.
"Well, be that as it may, please don’t injure yourself too badly on my account,” Lincoln replied, watching her work. She was a deft hand, obviously an excellent engineer—people picked for this Project wouldn’t be anything less than excellent.
And with no clue of what this something was that Cheyenne might have to tell, Lincoln was left to cast a very wide net.
He leaned back in his chair, casual and relaxed, features quirked in interest as he watched her work. “Was that a hologram of your armor you had?” he asked. “Or of the AI?” Like he hadn’t gotten a close look. Cheyenne wouldn’t have noticed, though, she’d had her head down over the hologram. Lincoln smiled, edging some bemusement in there. “I just got implanted to my AI yesterday. Definitely not what I was expecting, though I guess every newbie thinks that. Are you partnered to one?”
Just making small talk. Just a soldier new to the ship, expressing his amazement at the technology to an engineer that might know more about the AI than he did.
And if AI weren’t that something, then Lincoln could very easily switch to different topics. That was the beauty of small talk.
“Believe me, a little zap from electrical wiring is the most minor injury I could get in this line of work, aside from hitting my thumb with a hammer or something.” She smiled, not really raising her head to look at him, but staying focused on the tablet in front of her. “I like to think that I'm a little beyond those kinds of mistakes.” Of course, with her track record, who knew?
Ah, the hologram. Cheyenne knew she shouldn't have had it in such a public place, or at least not with the EMP wiring displayed, but she hadn't thought anyone would disturb her. She seemed to be at the point where people flat out avoided her until necessary rather than attacking her, whether verbally or physically. She couldn't tell which was worse. “You wouldn't be interested in that,” she said, a lame attempt to throw him off of the subject. “It's just a little project I'm working on. I mean, I could go into it if you want, but you'd probably get bored of all the technical terms after a minute or so.” As she spoke, she unplugged a few wires and put them into alternate ports.
But at the mention of A.I., her relaxed mood was gone. Her fingers stopped for a second, just a second, as she processed what Lincoln had said. Partnered to an A.I. just yesterday. Fresh off the transport, and they were already giving him a match. She wondered how long it would take the Director to crank out the next batch of robots, how many agents would be implanted with a person of their very own, how many excuses he would make up for reasons why she couldn't have one. Except they wouldn't be excuses, just facts. Volatile. Prone to self-preservation above all. Violent contact with A.I.s in the past. Paranoid. Rebellious. Ungrateful.
“No one knows what to expect. You're not different there.” The switch in her tone was painfully apparent, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Having finished her work, she reached for the back cover of the tablet. She snapped the two pieces together with a little more force than necessary. “I had one once. Not anymore.” She didn't feel the need to elaborate more on the subject.

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Nightingale || Concord & Cheyenne
Concord didn’t look up when Cheyenne spoke again, even though he still had much to say. Cheyenne was, in fact, being a martyr. Her attempt to suffer in silence, to isolate herself from the rest of the group in some vain attempt to keep the peace? If that wasn’t martyrdom he didn’t know what else you would call it. It frustrated him a little, to realize that she couldn’t see sense. But like he’d said before, if Cheyenne didn’t heed the words he said before, there was little else he could do. He’d never been known for any particular aptitude for healing emotional wounds.
Physical wounds, though, he could do something about.
Still, he couldn’t help but mutter in annoyance Cheyenne’s words — “Huh. Facing facts.” — under his breath as he worked.
It had been a long time since he’d done this, but that didn’t mean that it felt any differently than it had back then. The feeling of breaking human flesh was still such an odd thing. It felt like pushing a needle through what he imagined a freshly killed cow must feel like. They were just meat — blood and sinew and bone. Being this up close and personal with the human body was just a reminder of that.
Concord moved as quickly and efficiently as he could. He took no pleasure in doing this — especially when it wasn’t really his job — so he wanted to finish as quickly as possible. But it seemed to be taking him longer than usual, or at least longer than it had when he was out in the field. Maybe it was because his adrenaline had been pumping then, and it made things appear as if they were going faster than they actually were. Or, he’d been doing a half-assed job back then and didn’t realize it.
When he’d made his final stitch in Cheyenne’s arm, he clipped and tied the remaining thread. What remained of his roll of bandage was wrapped around her arm and tightly closed. If he had somehow fucked this up and her wounds reopened, she would at least have something to keep the blood from spilling everywhere. At least for a few moments.
Having finished up, Concord started to put the remaining medical supplies away. He knew he shouldn’t say anything more, but Cheyenne’s words were still nagging at him.
"So you’re just going to readily accept whatever comes to you?" he said, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. "Whatever hatred, malice, or physical abuse that comes your way, you intend to sit there and take it, simply because "historically" someone has to be at fault? Is that what I’m meant to understand?"
The stitches had hurt like hell, but at least now they were over. For now. She wasn't sure if the cut on her face was deep enough to justify some kind of needle repair, but she hoped it wasn't. Because she didn't want to have to sit in this room and listen to another person lecture her for ages and ages. Concord was alright--at least, better than everyone else who'd preached at her--and he was her team leader, but she hadn't anticipated a simple patch-up turning into a discussion of her faults.
“What am I supposed to do, start a rebellion? I'm being as resistant as I can without being aggressive, and I'm toeing that line even now. I can't exactly parade myself around, it would be disrespectful. I fight people when I need to and work on the projects I have to and talk to the few friends I have left.” She was doing her best to keep her voice level, but it was hard. How could he not understand?
She was fighting back only as much as she needed to, and that... that was enough. It had to be enough. “It's not pretty, but someone's gotta take the blame, right? Better me than someone who still has esteem on this ship. What do you suggest I do to change it?”
Put one of these in my askbox to see how my Muse reacts.
"I love you."
"I hate you."
"You’re dead to me."
"I trust you."
"I’m dying."
"I’m pregnant with your baby."
"I never really loved you."
"I want you. Naked. In my bed. Now."
"I’m proud of you."
"I’m disappointed in you."