SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

[modormenace]

All fourteen Gates simultaneously reverse polarity. For the next seven days, and only these seven days, any imPort stepping through a Gate will arrive safely in the Porter building: the only place on this fractured planet that can safely contain the energy of the imPort community in its entirety.

SO IT BEGINS
THE SYNOD

THE

DEATH

TRAIN

While the Gates are the simplest form of transportation, those making the journey to the Synod from the White Tower have the option of travelling by train, if they wish. Despite the playfully grim moniker, there haven't been any recorded fatalities on board the Death Train in many years. Or ever, really. Raw, untamed entropy doesn't do anything as simple as kill.

For that delightful reason, passengers will be reminded at frequent intervals not to attempt to leave the train once it enters the active zone of the Porter's defenses, or to do anything that could jeopardise the integrity of its shielding.

The journey is relatively comfortable and takes approximately two and a half hours. A limited menu of pastries and alcohol is available from the buffet car. The smallest tables seat two.

 

As the train passes through the entropy-saturated wasteland of the Deathdome, the view from the heavily tinted windows of each of the train's four-person cars is impossible to comprehend: every atom of the landscape is in a constant state of flux, scattered in endless possibilities across the multiverse.

WELCOME CARPET

Inside, you get the impression of three towers; no view from outside is possible. You're totally sealed inside for the week, by the same Fate-built tech that shields this place from the ravages of cosmic radiation— the train station is built into the structure, entrance tunnel hermetically sealed.

You're greeted by welcome robots, primitive little things full endless enthusiasm and covered in dents. What they lack in intelligence they make up for in persistence and durability. Each and every ImPort is assigned their own personal robutler.

Though they tend to hinder more than help.

Boop boop boop boop. They provide you with a complimentary swag bag. Inside is one (1) t-shirt, one (1) top of the line tablet (pre-loaded with this year's Agenda and a simple game app that looks suspiciously like 2048), a stress ball, personalised souvenir pen and eraser (but no pencil), and of course, a lanyard keycard for accessing the comfortably adequate accommodations provided for all attendees.

Given the week-long Synod, your room itself is a decent suite, furnished with dark colors, redolent with a smell you can't quite place. You may find yourself assigned an unexpected roommate, which may feel awkward considering you'll find arrayed on the beds, a half-dozen complimentary tickets to the spa, restaurants and the power gym, with its preternaturally durable equipment.

Robutlers constantly remind: do not attempt to leave the Porter facility or do anything to jeopardise the integrity of its shielding.

CONVENTION

Talks and panels take place in the convention area, which feels like a miniature city within the Porter's defenses, a hive with padded audience seats, wide stages, and complete with holographic audiovisual equipment that's curiously compatible with presentation software from every city.

Here, ImPorts will present and debate various topics regarded as major concerns for all. [OOCly, players are invited to suggest topics! Scroll down; they will be added below.]

This is also something of an expo, where cities practically demonstrate— or show off their good works. From the latest hovertechnology models to demonstrations of healing powers, playful duels in the forcefield-enclosed stages to magical books that temporarily transfer skills on touch, this is the place to pretend you're showing off your cards... while playing the most important ones close to your chest.

PANELS AND DEBATES

PRESENTERS

TOPIC

Joseph Kavinsky vs [N/PC]

White Tower ImPort Overpopulation and Dimensional Instability

Tony Stark and other technopaths

How Technology Will Save Us

Joshua Foley

The Mysteries and Intricacies of ImPort Physiology

Count Dooku and volunteers

ImPort Factions Must Align Against the Shared 'Resistance' Threat

Jin Bubaigawara (x3)

The Twin Cities are NOT Dimensionally Unstable No Matter What You Heard

Kang

Bridging Old and New: Maintaining Infrastructure with Limited Modern Resources

EVENING

EVENTS

Every night of the Synod, ImPorts gather to dine in a grand hall with a ballroom party. Each dinner is hosted by one ImPort city, gruntwork complete with robutlers-- which guarantees food safety, and complete with multiple cuisine options, cultural decor, and entertainment.

Given the range of cities represented, food options vary from greasy burgers to six courses of seafood and blue venison, and rarefied vegan fare.

When ImPorts aren't here eating, they're most often talking. Ergo, it's not uncommon for low-key drama to break out, but this year, the majority of Synod days seem to be passing uneventfully.

Fortunately, speeches are reserved for daytime. After dinner, it's time to dance.

 

The last song of the night is always obscure music no one can quite remember the words or melody to afterward. It's a slow dance song meant for two or more partners; the ballroom grows dark and the world seems to fade away. Or rather, it just fades back into one's hotel room.

THE BLACKOUT

On Monday, September 21st, shortly before the Gates are due to resume ordinary function and allow attendees to leave, the Porter building suffers a power cut.

Abruptly, all the lights cut out. Music stops. Your faithful robutler freezes in place, unresponsive— though its internal systems appear to be running, the centralised command hub that it relies on has fallen silent.

Though the robutlers are out of comission, technology-minded ImPorts and their tech drones hasten to reassure that systems analyses are underway. Within a few hours, repairs begin, the estimated time being two days.

In the meantime, thanks to the diversity of powers on hand, there is enough food and water. Candles start to circulate. It might even be a little romantic, if it weren't for the chaos outside. Characters might find themselves trapped in an elevator for a few hours, or compelled to seek comfort from one another.

Comments

[drivesadesk]

"Great. Glad to hear it. Oh, and there's one more thing. When you give your uncle the doll," he leans in closer and whispers, "The password is 'from the snake's mouth 15', no spaces."

Because naturally, Jonathan had password protected the USB to give them one final line of defense, should this fall into the wrong hands. And he assumes it'll be fairly easy for anyone who knows either his code name or real appearance to remember the password, and the number is the number of official factions, which again he figures will be easy for people to remember.

Pulling back and acting perfectly casual, he adds, "So, yeah. Hope your uncle likes it."

[legalcy]

The avatar nods, thinking of an appropriate response.

"...Cool."

Nailed that Earth slang.

"What does it cost?" The avatar sticks a hand in a pocket, though she has no money on her. It helps to sell the illusion.

[drivesadesk]

"A dollar fifty." A made up price, of course, but it sounds reasonable and would make more sense to onlookers if he's trying to sell these dolls than if he's just giving them away to random teenagers.

[legalcy]

"Sure thing." Minimus hadn't programmed a hologram of Earth money, so he has the avatar hold out a fist, pretending to have messy folded however many sheets of paper and pieces of metal would total the amount.

"I'll give it to him when I return." To the apartment, of course, where no one can hear him speak or read through classified infirmation.

[drivesadesk]

Jonathan mimes taking the money and putting it in his pocket.

"Sounds great! Well, see you around. Hope your uncle enjoys his new doll."

[legalcy]

With that, the avatar nods and turns back to the street, careful to take another road to the warehouse. She has to be careful not to bump into anyone in case the program glitches with the physical contact, but thankfully Johnathan picked a less busy part of town to meet.

Once alone, sitting on top of Ultra Magnus' body, she opens the doll. One layer. Another. Then one last doll. She opens it and finds the USB of knowledge.

"There you are." Not-Verity slides off and makes a beeline for the Earth computer in the back. It's slow and clunky compared to Cybertronian tech, but it's incredibly versatile in its uses. With a quick motion, she types the password, no spaces.

[drivesadesk]

When she does so, she'll find a lot of information on the USB, as well as a document containing a note from Jonathan.

Word is the leadership of the White Tower is less stable than it might appear. If we strike soon, we might be able to destabilize them.

- Snake Man

Beyond that, there's a lot of information on places where various Resistance bases with state of the art equipment can be found within he Northwestern Imperium, as well as contacts to get a hold of weapons, tech and various other supplies.

[legalcy]

Minimus - Magnus, really - is meant to be part of a neutral force, keeping every faction in check, but the White Tower is one that deserves dismantling. Nothing good has ever come from them.

The avatar disappear, and the hauler transformers into a giant robot. Preparations must be made. Contacts must be alerted, and positions must be held.