[The voice that clicks on is smooth, deep, and there's a definite hint of an Irish accent in there.]

What happens to the people we've left behind? If anybody knows, I mean. If you don't, that's all right. You can just tell me what you think happens. Or, we could talk about the weather. [Pause.] Of which there is none of in space, making that a short conversation.

Maybe pick your own topic. I'd like to talk to just about anybody, at the moment. Get to know the other inmates, so to speak. I'm an excellent conversationalist, you'll find - possibly the best, but I'll give everyone a chance to prove me wrong there.

[ The video turns on to show a woman, her brunette hair still damp, curling strands beginning to fall over her face.

She doesn't look scared but her brows knit closer together, as she gives the device in her hand a look of confusion, mixed with subtle awe; an attempt to make sense of all of this. ]

A ship?...I don't understand. [ She speaks. At first it's a mutter, her French accent subtle, but noticeable. It's not that she does not understand where she is; it almost sounds a bit deeper-- a lack of understanding as to why she was here, rather than anything else. She's looking around, then casts a glance to her arm and the new, unwanted tattoo there.

It's probably a play of the shadows, but her shoulders give a single, small quiver before she swallows, straightens, as the sound of a door sliding open can be heard; she averts her gaze form the screen, into her new 'quarters'. ] Dom?

[ A blink; a beat. ] This is not the reality i was meant to wake up to.

[Here's another new arrival for you all-- This time it's a pale, puffy-eyed teenager, who looks tense and irritable and as though he'd been crying for quite a while. He definitely had time to wash himself up and style his hair, and he sort of idly fixes it for the camera before he speaks.]

The worst part about this is that I don't even like science fiction movies.

[A sigh, and he sits back, crossing his legs.] I'm still not entirely convinced that this isn't some sort of lengthy, incredibly involved nightmare that'll later be translated into a deep-rooted fear of mushrooms or something--but I'll play along. Where are we headed, exactly? Who else is here? And where can I find something decent to wear?

It's my dream. I might as well look good in it.