[A low sigh slipped past the brunette’s lips as she worked with the ridiculous little device, not figuring out the video part, but the voice thing worked just as well. It was probably better that no one saw her, anyway. Grungey and worn down was probably not going to help anyone by any means.]

If this is some kind of way to break me down into following your orders, Ivan, I’m not in the mood for playing these games. Just beat the hell out of me like you always do and leave it at that, it’s not as if I can really do anything against you or your little hellion army you’ve amassed. Are you truly that afraid of me that you’d leave me in a secluded place until I broke?

[Really, she can’t help a laugh, far more strained than it probably needed to be. There’s sound of her rustling about with who knows what, sounding like fabric at the time being.]

How cute. You leave me with my ring but take everything else from me, though I should be thanking you for the new clothing. It’s better than the dirty and ratty things I was forced to wear before. Is it meant to be some sort of weird welcoming present to my new hell and jail? I thought you were above such pathetic tactics.

[A soft snort, her voice calming down in tone and just sounding more apathetic than anything else.]

If anyone would care to let me know just what the hell is going on here and why they’re here, I’d appreciate it. I may as well meet the others doomed to this political hell.

[ The video feed clicks on to reveal Robert Capa — a man in his mid-thirties with shaggy hair (still damp from the tube where he awoke) and a five o'clock shadow and narrow shoulders covered by the ship's uniform he found in the locker marked with his identifying number. His eyes, bright blue, are particularly striking in that they are wholly calm, despite the latest series of events. The rest of his face is calm as well, the muscles of which never really rearrange themselves much to convey this emotion or that. When he speaks his voice is measured and even, though there is a certain start-stop to the cadence.

His words are prefaced with an inhale. It seems to steady him. ]

I guess I should start with the obvious question. We can figure out where to go from there, depending how the answers trend. [ Capa rubs his chin; the scrape of his stubble is audible. ] Is anyone here part of the ship's natural crew?

[ He pauses, letting that inquiry and whatever implications it may carry set in. There's a vague flicker of emotion, maybe worry, in the set of his mouth but it's as understated as the rest of him. ] And maybe, more importantly: can anyone recall how they got here?

[ The screen flickers, and a girl of about 11 with long brown hair and eyes that seem to stare right into the heart of you appear. Despite the communication device visual, it's apparent she's a little different then most little girls. Maybe it's the way she bridges her fingertips,  or how she purses her lips before speaking. ]

 All of this communication babbling has to stop. You're doing nothing by clouding the waves.

[ She extends three fingers ]

[She's used to this, following orders and directions, and even if her head is still a bit fuzzy, she knows how to do that much. She's already slid into her crewman's uniform without question. Blue-eyed with orange-dyed hair, she looks a little bit like she's ready for Halloween in this getup, but whatever.]

Thumos here, student ID 44932. Uh, any sisters who are out there should ping me, because this is really not cool. Sparrows should warn us before she starts piling this shit on to everybody.... Keyboard? Orchid? Thundersnow?

[She keeps spewing names, waiting for an answer that's never going to come. She stares at the comm a moment longer before she takes a deep breath. She sets the phone down and takes a pistol from its holster instead, checks it over to make sure it's loaded and ready. Ka-chink.]

All right then.


[[ooc; brb going to sleep, but I was excited about the ooopppeeennniiiiiing.]]

[An image flickers into view of a very distressed-looking, bespectacled young man. His eyes are tired as if he had just finished exerting himself in one way or another. In this case, it was panic, but he is doing his best to not let on. Unfortunately, his voice is trembling a bit, but considering the level of panic he’s just managed to shake off, he’s doing quite well. Stiff upper lip, as always. As much as he can, at any rate.]

Hello. I would like to know who else is present in this place, and what your circumstances were leading up to your arrival here. I understand that the United States and the USSR have been exploring the idea of space travel this past decade, and I am under the assumption that one of them has finally succeeded. I have spoken with the United States, however, and he appears to be just as confused as I am. [His face colors a bit, nervous again.] I’m almost certain this is some sort of arrangement decided upon as a result of the events of the last two decades. I'm not sure what would be more of a comfort - knowing the USSR is responsible, or finding him somewhere on here, and having to start from square one figuring out why I'm here. Or why we're all here.

[He leans his head upon his hand and his long, slender pianist’s fingers are raked through his own hair. He lets out a sigh, inadvertently letting his guard down a bit, not looking into the camera.] I thought all of that was over and done with. They finally let me pledge to eternal neutrality and I embraced it. I welcomed their conditions with open arms and honestly, I thought I’d been let off easy. But it looks like that was too good to be true, now, and in any case, it makes sense. After everything that happened, really. [He winces, finally looking back at the camera for a split second, his voice faltering a bit, speaking quickly and quietly.] And in regards to that, all I can say is that I’m sorry, and that I wish I’d known myself, otherwise... [A pause.] Really, if someone could just tell me what I’m in for, I’m prepared to hear it. Just don’t leave me in the dark. Please.

[Another pause, growing more agitated.] And if someone could explain this godforsaken number...

[He trails off. He really, really does not want to think about that; he's already tried desperately to remove the number until he realized he was severely harming his skin.]

[The video flickers out.]


[[ooc: going to sleep soon and may have a busy day tomorrow, but I will try to respond asap!!]]

It doesn't seem like any of us know just where we are or how we've ended up here.

[a soft breath, and then:]

Would anyone be interested in exploring this place with me? I need to see if some friends of mine are here.

[she's hoping against hope at this point, but.]

And if you don't... is there any way I can be of assistance?

I'd like to help if I can.

[Well, someone's not in a good mood, if the visage appearing over the PHS is any indication. Flared nostrils, lowered brows coupled with a very, very thin-lipped expression give it away far before words ever could. When they do, however, the tone is at least controlled, tightly, and the careful baritone resonates as the individual speaks.]

This is General Sephiroth of Shin-Ra's Elite SOLDIER unit, requesting any and all information regarding the translation of myself and others to this unknown territory. I am also seeking a fellow SOLDIER officer by the name of Zack Fair, information to his whereabouts would be greatly appreciated.

Contact me as soon as possible with relevant details; the situation is...critical and it is absolutely imperative that I make contact with my command.

[That information given, the feed holds for a moment more until it finally blips out.]

This is Farseer Taldeer of the craftworld Ulthwé. To any of my kin aboard this vessel: if you are here, and if you are able, contact me at once. We have much to discuss about... recent developments.

[ this post is not a great post to make. jenna debates saying anything at all, but the other options aren't options so much as death sentences. after steeling her nerves, a visibly ill at ease but trying to grin through it jenna has a few things to ask, o fellow passengers on this not-a-yacht. ]

Okay, everyone else is doing the 'where are we, why are we here' thing, and better than I could so... I'll take the other obvious ones. Has anyone found food? And more importantly, booze? Because I would trade the space jumpsuit off my back for a bottle of Cuervo right now.

[ pause. and this is the MOST CASUAL QUESTION WHAT. no ulterior motives here, shhh. ]

And on a different note, what's the medical situation like here? Because the first aid class I took says we should probably have bandages, Neosporin, Advil... blood bags... [ one of these things is not like the other. ] Just curious.

[ worst stealth vampire of the year award: in the bag. ]

[ There's small click as the feed begins transmitting. Nothing shows up except staticky black, but there are muffled noises in the background that faintly resolve themselves into hurried words—two voices, one male, one female, pitched low. ]

—id this—

—ell is goin—

[ . . . ]

—et’s just … over with.

[ There’s a noise that might either be a sigh or a quick burst of static. ] Fine.( Q & A UNDER THE CUT. )

[The video starts out at an odd angle, the device left on the bed as Taylor sorts through the other items she'd found in her locker. She's confused and a little disorientated, but she still starts out with an accusatory tone in her voice, clearly thinking that she is addressing someone specifically.]

Is this another test mission? You should give us briefs, you know, it's not like we ever get a real mission where we just wake up wherever and fumble through it.

[Quiet for a long minute, waiting for a response, checking a gun over to make sure it's all in working order. Still no response, though, and she continues, more anger seeping into her tone.]

Or maybe you're finally trying to get rid of me. [Her expression hardens.] Fuck it, whatever. Guess the worst I can do is survive whatever this is.

[She looks the gun over one more time before holstering it, then starts gathering the rest of the items up; three grenade-like devices that she settles onto the uniform's belt; chewing gum, dog treats, mascara, spare ammo - all go in various pockets. Lastly, she scoops up a dog - a chihuahua, surprisingly calm looking for the strange environment - and rests him on her hip.]

Oh, yeah. And don't ever stick one of my dogs in a fucking locker again.

[ Hey Ataraxion, have one obviously annoyed, slightly frustrated, small brunette currently looking into what she assumes is the camera of the device in front of her. She’s only been here for a couple of hours, and already she thinks this is some convoluted dream – she just hasn’t figured out whose yet.

Brow furrowed, she lets out a long sigh, rubbing at the back of her neck before finally speaking to the screen. ]  So it seems I'm not alone here. [ Which is a good thing, right? (or so she hopes) ] Yet none of you seem to have any real answers.

[ It’s not annoyance in her voice then, more sympathetic perhaps. (She feels your frustrations, okay?)  A small smile ghosts across her face, taking on an almost hopeful expression. ]

Is there a way we could all work together - start ruling out some possibilities maybe?

At least maybe get an idea as to why we were the ones taken. [Quickly adding: ] Is there something significant about you others would find beneficial – anything that may be important?

[ She pauses, attention turning away from the device, and the faint sound of metal hitting the table can be heard. (She tests her totem yet again, still unsatisfied with the results.) Her attention drifts back to the screen, as she clearly is fighting back the panic and uncertainty before she mumbles. ]

Dreams feel real when you're in them...

[ Not that the rest of the people here would understand that. But she needs to keep reminding herself this fact. ]

Any G.U.N units out there, this is Agent Shadow. I've been brought aboard a spacecraft known as the Tranquility through unknown measures. Situation and hostility currently unknown.

As for the people on board this ship itself; if anybody can provide me with the necessary information on who I have to take care of for turning me human and returning home, I will be appreciative and perhaps let you live.

[Scar would've chosen the voice option if he knew how. It's a lot easier and saves him time, and he knew others were using it. The device in his hand wouldn't be quiet ever since he picked it up.

Wait, he was recording, wasn't he? He fixed himself towards the camera, not that it changed much. His jaw remained tough and cold, and you couldn't see his eyes. They were completely hidden with his sunglasses. On the off chance that someone he did know was here, he couldn't risk his complete identity. He went to open his mouth.]

Who are you? Explain yourself.

[He already knows where he is. He'll be exploring on his own time. All he needs to know now is who he could trust the most. Well, he doesn't really trust anyone. It's just weeding out the really bad people.

He tries to turn off the recording, it's clear to see he's getting frustrated. He lets out a little grunt. This machine is getting more and more annoying. Too bad it's the only useful way to communicate.]

How do I turn off this machine?

[Well, the recording stopped at any rate.]

[Of all the places Dean figured he’d wake up, submerged in a freaky Matrix-style pod filled with liquid wasn’t one of the top contenders. He’s woken up in far worse situations before and though that should be a comfort it’s not. All of this is supposed to be over...

What follows his rude re-entry into consciousness is a slick (literally) routine, old habits and what he knows mix, eyes, ears and hands checking out the entire medical bay. The scalpel he ends up with is more chance than anything and, though he’s got nowhere to stash it yet without risking serious injury, he keeps his grip on it tight. He has nothing else to go by aside from an itch inside his arm and it’s not until he twists it over to scratch that he reads the number tattooed into his skin. 124.

Another minute passes as he tries to figure out how stopping the apocalypse has anything to do with this, and he half considers the idea that he’s actually dead at least three times before the number and the lockers suddenly make sense. He finds 124 and opens it, stares inside at the weirdass Star Trek uniform and tries not to react to the keys he can see very clearly next to a lighter, a pack of beef jerky and his hunting knife. He’s not going to think about his baby, alone in a graveyard without him.

Once the uniform is grudgingly pulled on, his own belongings concealed in various places around his body, the device he doesn’t recognize is scooped up and flipped over twice in his hands, powered up and snorted at when it tells him to go to the blue lift. That ain’t happening anytime soon. Instead he’s messing around with every single button until he’s told he’s broadcasting to a network. Awesome.]

Who the hell’s in charge around here? And who wants to explain why I’ve got a number tattooed into my goddamn arm? I swear to that douche upstairs, if this has anythin’ to do with any of you feathery assholes I will kick your asses from here to... whatever.

I have no idea how I got here. I have a number in my arm and right now, for all I know, I’m in some kinda concentration camp for guys who the universe thought it hadn’t crapped on hard enough or long enough. Anybody with answers? I’ll trade you strips of my beef jerky for information. Maybe.

[The feed cuts out here, though anybody who’s anywhere close when he realizes where he is? Be prepared for expletives like you’ve never heard before.]

[Cybertronian encryption]
This is Ratchet. Who else hails from Cybertron on this ship?

[Open voice]
How many here woke up organic? I've made a perusal of the activity on the network already and I am quite curious.

This is a request that if any other members of the Normandy crew have shown up here, they let me know. I'd like to know how many of us there are to work with.

[Not that she's the leading type, but it -- seems like it's going to be necessary, at least until Shepard shows up. She just has to have faith that Shepard will show up.]

[She clears her throat. She should probably say something to the rest of the people here, too.]

If any of you missed it, some of the remaining members of this ship's crew are answering questions here.

[Not that it's very informative. Still.]

Is this working...? I think I'm getting the hang of these little things!

[Dainty clearing of the throat!]

Well! As long as we're all stuck on board for who knows how long, this would be the perfect opportunity for all of us to get to know one another, hm? We have to look on the bright side of this and embrace our chance to make new friends from... all walks of life. [She's trying to give a convincing smile here, never mind that she made a HUGE DEAL out of everything at first.]

Let's all introduce ourselves, shall we? I'll go first. I am Rarity, and I come from Ponyville in Equestria. I am a fashion designer back home, and I know there have been several complaints about these outfits we're made to wear, so the sooner anypony finds a sewing machine and perhaps some fabric the sooner I can solve all of our fashion woes!