The Savant — Roleplayer Guild

Safety Officer Klay and Trainee Officer Lupton

Thu-dunk!

There was a sharp, measured knock at the door.  “Civic surveyors", a voice called, crisp and professional, and sounding like it was from a young man. 

THU-DUNK! 

Another knock, this one slightly heavier, followed by a second voice, deeper and calmer. An older gentleman that sounds like he has done this before, “We’re conducting a public safety assessment on behalf of the Dominion Council. Just a few questions about your experience in these uncertain times.” A pause. The faint sound of shifting fabric, the weight of a presence just beyond the door. 

The first voice spoke again, slower this time, carefully, “We’re particularly interested in hearing from residents who’ve spent extended time on the outskirts of the city or in areas that things have happened or who have…,” a pause happened as if there was uncertainty to his next words. “…unique perspectives on the recent incidents.” 

The second voice hummed in agreement, a quiet but pointed sound, but there was more. It sounded like the older one with the deeper voice was correcting the younger man in muffled and whispered tones though it was hard to tell from the other side of a door. That was when the older man spoke up, “Of course, participation is completely voluntary,” he added, almost too smoothly – was participation actually voluntary? “But with the unrest growing, it’s important to ensure all citizens feel secure. Especially those who may have had –” the older man’s voice changed as if he was truly debating, “-how should we say-” he groaned a little hum out. “-closer ties or understanding of communities outside of Dominion residency requirements. Individuals who might want to go to the surface, perhaps.” 

The quiet hum of a data slate being adjusted, a flicker of a red light canning the door’s biometric panel, logging presence. The first voice returned, casual but probing. “It would be a shame if anyone’s records were outdated. We’re making sure everything is in order – updating files, confirming identities. Just a routine visit during such uncertain times.”

One of the ‘surveyors’ took a step forward, the faintest shuffle of a boot against metal flooring. “We’re sure you understand.”  

Mention(s)@Expendable Kit Galloway 
Current Events Safety Officer Klay and trainee officer Lupton are visiting Kit Galloway for a routine survey check-in because of the recent events in Dominion. 

The rioters

Anyone out and about on the streets today would be met with chaotic and possibly anxiety-inducing energy. Emotions were high. The streets of Dominion were alive with fury. The usual order of the underground cities had been fractured, and now, in its place, a chaotic sea of people roiled with anger, fear, and defiance. 
On one side, fists pumped into the air, voices raw from chanting.

“LET THEM GO! LET THEM GO!”

Klara and others might not be within miles of the city hall though the crowds were fighting everywhere under the cave’s ceilings. The words echoed against the towering structures, bouncing through the metal corridors like a relentless drumbeat. Young and old alike, their faces flushed with righteous fervor, held makeshifts signs scrawled hastily with messages of defiance: 

Truth Above All 

The Surface Exists 

End the Lies! 

A man near the front, his coat torn from being jostled, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed, “They just wanted to see the truth! You can’t punish curiosity! You cant punish hope!” But the opposition was just as fierce. 

“They could have killed us all!” came te harsh retort from the other side of the crowd. Their voices were sharper, edged with fear and rage, cutting through the chants like a blade. “Treason! TREASON!” 

A woman, her expression twisted in fury, pointed a trembling finger at the protestors. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if they broke through? If they compromised the vents? If something - if anything – got in?” 

“This is survival, not a game!” another man spat. “The council protects us! They keep us alive, and you want risk everything for some childish fantasy!?” The arguments clashed like thunder. People shoved, pointed, sneered, and screamed. Some had climbed onto crates and benches to be heard above the mass, their faces flushed, their voices hoarse. Others kept their heads low, trying to slip past without being dragged into the whirlwind of accusations and counteraccusations. 

Security personnel hovered at the edges, their expressions unreadable, their hands close to their weapons but not yet reaching for them. They were watching, waiting – uncertain if this was merely another protest or the beginning of something far worse. And beneath it all, an unspoken tension gripped the city. The knowledge that the council’s decision has already been made. The arrested individual’s would face trail. Their punishment would be decided. No amount of shouting could change that now. No amount of begging could stop the trial or the punishment. There were already whispers of the outcome of the trial – a bias one! One that was to “protect” all individuals instead of letting people such as these rebellious types run around and create this chaos again. 

"You! You look like you know a thing or two! Tell them! Tell them how something could be up there!" A middle-aged woman pointed at Klara without any hesitation. 

"IF she is smart. She would inform you that attempting to go up to the surface would get you and possibly everyone else killed!" someone from the other side shot over. A younger man who looked educated and in a career already by the suit he was wearing and briefcase that he had in his hand. 

Interaction Option for@Xandrya
Current Events Debaters are asking Klara and other passerby's their opinions and trying to wrap them up in the social mess. 

A simple street rat

In the tangled veins of the Grey Market, where every step was met with the weight of a hundred unspoken bargains, there was a shadow moving just a beat behind the rest. A boy, young but not naïve, drifted through the shifting paths of the sprawl underground with a practiced ease. His clothes — oversized and baggy. Hood up. Pants held up by a belt that had seen better days — marked him as just another street rat, a fixture of Dominion’s lowest tier. Someone easy to overlook or not think much of. At least for the average person. 

Though his movements told a different story. He wasn’t shopping. Wasn’t scavenging. Wasn’t bartering like the others, scrambling for scraps of teach or a warm meal. He was following.

Selene Syn. 

From the moment she entered the market, his gaze had locked onto her, watching how she wove through chaos like she belonged to it — because she did. But that didn’t mean she was untouchable. His posture remained relaxed, hands buried deep in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, shoulders slightly hunched. Just another kid trying to keep warm. Just another ghost among the forgotten. 

But… 

Beneath the fabric, his fingers toyed with something small and sharp. A nervous habit. Or a reminder. Selene’s deal with Krell played out before him, her stance sharp, gazing unwavering. She had the air of someone who knew how to survive — knew how to read the currents of this place as naturally as breathing. 
Then the broadcast hit.

The Grey market froze in its tracks, every flickering screen overtaken by the council’s insignia, and the boy barely moved. He had not seen anything like this in his barely sixteen years of living. He might not have flinched out of frozen fear but his eyes stayed locked onto the screen close to him. The good thing about being apart of Dominion’s lowest ranked people was the talent of acting and numbness to new. He didn’t have to pretend to be caught off guard like the traders around him. He simply listened — Tarin Geode’s words carried through the cavern, wrapping around the market’s denizens like a tightening noose. Breaches. The surface. A trial. This caused the air to change, not in sound, but in weight. 

The boy’s head tilted just slightly, strands of hair slipping into his line of weight as his eyes went from the screen to Selene. The Council had just painted a target on a very specific kind of person. People who asked too many questions. People who weren’t content with the way things were. People like her. 
And if she was paying attention — which Selene always was — she knew it too. 

As the market roared back to life, its pulse quickening with a new, nervous rhythm, the boy adjusted his stance, stepping back into the deeper shadows of an old ventilation duct. He wasn’t in a hurry. Selene was moving again, disappearing into the arteries of the market, and he followed. 

Mention(s)@Qia Selene Syn 
Potential Interaction A street kid is following her in a suspicious manner.
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