[ The feed flickers on to video. It shows a woman, regarding the device with a calm, and calculated glance, a light smile lingering on her lips. Polite and well put-together, as she tilts her head lightly to the side. ]

Well, I must admit, this honestly wasn't how I was expecting to be spending my evening. But I'm assuming it's safe to say I'm not the only one here whose business was cut short. [ Her British accent is faintly pleasant, as she holds herself with Victorian reserve, though she smoothes down a crease in her blazer. ]

Regardless. I'm Dr. Helen Magnus. I'd like a word with anyone who can tell me more about this spacecraft. More about the specifics. It's history, layout. Information that hasn't been provided on arrival.

However, I'd also specifically would like to request any medical personnel here to contact me. [ She offers another shadow of a smile. ] I do hate simply sitting around and doing nothing, so perhaps I can offer my experiences to the infirmary on board. [ a beat.] or anyone who would require it.

[ Another beat, and a slight nod. She guesses that this would be enough, for now.] Thank you.

[ And the transmission ends.]

[What on earth... Was this thing? It was definitely unlike anything Lenna had ever seen before... Nonetheless, the pink-haired girl manages to turn the device on and clumsily picking the ‘audio’ option.]

If you all wouldn’t mind, I would like to take up but a moment of your time.

[She speaks in a soft, but stern voice. She can’t afford to show any weakness, especially in this foreign place. She also speaks a bit slow, but that's only because of her confusion in this weird place.]

I was just curious to know if anyone could possibly fill me in on what is exactly is my purpose here. Why was I brought to this odd place? Is there some sort of task I am supposed to accomplish? Please, if anyone knows anything... Anything at all, please reply to me.

[A pause.]

Oh! Thank you for your time.

[ The feed turns on to show a man, the hard lines of his face tense, as he makes little effort to hide his irritation at first. His steely eyes narrow, regarding the device in his hand with mild contempt, before he speaks. ]

I hardly needed any more numbers on my arm. [ The seething annoyance is measured, swallowed down. There's almost a lilt to his voice now, though there's the slightest tension in his jaw, a subtle shadow of a frown slip through the apathy. ]

Whilst the most generic information about this spaceship was explained to me, people really seemed to have failed on the how or why. [ A brief pause, if only to cast a quick look around him. ] Or anything else that would be considered useful.

-- And mainly. [ There is a brief hesitation, before he lifts his left arm, bearing the forearm. There's a clock on there, a long row of zeros, and a few numbers, as it gives off a faint green glow. But it stands still, the numbers not changing, not ticking away, like they technically should be. He considered not showing it, but yet again. His time could no longer be stolen, if his clock wasn't working.

Raymond wasn't sure anyone would be able to provide an answer, but he also had no reason to believe anyone wouldn't know what he was talking about. ] Why my clock has stopped.

[The video starts out showing a shot from a dark corner of the shuttle bay, the device clearly sitting on the floor from the piece of one of the shuttles visible. Nothing really happens for a moment or two, and then the toes of a pair of boots come into frame, Riddick dropping down onto his haunches next to the camera. He lets his hands fall down into the shot, recognisable from the forearm guards over the backs of them. There's another device in his hands. Nothing to really mark it as different from anyone else's, no blood or damage, but those aware of the situation might understand that it's Hotspur's.]

You want this, Kirk? [He flips it over in his fingers.] How about you, Stark, want to get your hands on it? [Another flip.] Doesn't mean much to me. Maybe I'll leave it out somewhere, see how many rats come scurrying.

[A pause, and he pulls it back to settle in his hand more firmly.]

But, see, something's starting to dig at me on this ship. All the secrets. You all demand answers, but you've got your fancy encryptions. Your teams. Shouting disclosure, but how much do you and your people know, Kirk? Stark? How much are you keeping to yourselves?

I'm not a team player. Not preaching that we're-all-in-this-together bullshit. But I'm not helping you build your walls.

[He sets Hotspur's device down flat on the floor, taps it.]

Files on this trace back to a shuttle, one-four. Amity, Hotspur called it. Sitting right here in the bay, you want to see for yourself. Black box is gone, but I'm thinking we can say that's on the bridge right now.

[He doesn't say anything about the fact this information ties up with what Ward and Resnik said, proves that - at least on that - they weren't lying. Sometimes he spent far too much time pointing out the obvious to people, but on this one, he's really hoping he doesn't need to. But here's something Ward and Resnik didn't tell everyone:]

Lock wasn't broken, the room he was in. No damage except what he did trying to get it open. Accidents don't happen like that. Who did it? [There's a smile evident in his voice, dark.] Don't know about you people, but I don't like it when there are big arrows painted out for me. Got a tendency not to follow them. And this arrow's got parts that don't make sense.

[A pause, and any amusement in his voice disappears completely, leaving something more serious] A good man died in that room. Died nasty and messy. You want to pray? Pray you go out a better way. His prayers didn't help him, yours aren't gonna mean shit to him now. You want to preach? Use his death? [He's talking to you, whoever hung that picture and poem up in the Oxygen Garden.] There's no room for martyrs out here.

Really seeing him right is thinking. Learning. Surviving.

Try it. Maybe some of you will make it out of this.

[He picks Hotspur's device back up and stands. A moment later, the feed cuts.]

[Tate sounds excited, somewhere between shocked and amazed and horrified]

Holy shit. Guys- guys I know there's some serious shit going down right now, but did anyone else see the fucking alien in the grav chamber?

I saw that thing take some people out! Was that on the ship before? Does anyone know?


[ooc: anyone who doesn't know, he's talking about this.]

[ Aragorn doesn't post often (actually, he tends to not post at all), but now he's talking on the network. It's only voice, and it's a soft, quiet one. Contemplative, if not for the steel hiding underneath it. ]

Near-thousand years ago, it was the time of the Kings. They ruled well, and in times of war, they gave their citizens many gifts. Their spirits must be kept, the Kings will say, and the soldiers must find reasons to return home. While the taxes rise to pay for armour and swords, the minstrels are well-paid to sing of the glories of war, and the victorious dead decorated well with honours.

[ A beat. ]

Now Tranquility takes the life of one of us, but some others have received bounty plenty. In items; in friends brought from home. [ Another pause. ]

What have you received?

( encrypted to nathan petrelli; 10% )

[ After seeing the video of Hotspur, Ales had scoured the medbay Charles, and all but ran to the rooms to check for him, finding no sign of the man. There's a slight tint of panic here and Alex doesn't take the time to private this like he should have. ]

Charles is gone.

[ Spoken with underlying urgency he's trying to keep suppressed, but after what happened with Hotspur and considering Charles' issues with getting around... Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. ]

Havok. Erik. He's gone. [ This tone meaning: get your shit over here right the fuck now, this is a serious issue. ]

[ If Alice were so panicked right now, this would be a private feed, but she's freaking out too much to bother. Her breathing sounds a bit labored, too, and combined with the tone of her voice, it's probably fairly clear that she's running right now. ] Hatter, if you hear this, call me back immediately. Please. I need to know-- [ Her voice catches a little and there's a pause before she continues. ]

I couldn't find you and I need to know you made it through the jump. I saw that guy's - Hotspur's - post and saw what happened to him; I need to know you're okay. Oh, god, please--

[ The feed ends there. ]




ooc: backdated to about half an hour/forty-five minutes after the latest jump

How many of you are fictional in someone else's 'world'?

[ No fanfare. No reason. Just Brendan Frye speaking and then shutting it off. ]

[ It's a risk. It's a trouble. And yet, Alias feels desperate to try. If it's been captured, perhaps James has been too. If it's in space, perhaps more like it will be here. Counsel is needed. ]

[ The network will receive an odd message indeed. It sounds like... singing? No words, just tones, humming slowly, repeating. One voice, soprano, then a second voice, bass, joins. A mournful note. It takes the nanites and communicator a second to translate it. ]

Are you there? Are you there?

I apologize...

I request consultation.

Are you there? Are you there?

[ Even still, the translation sound melodic, overlaying the quiet song. ]


(( OOC: This is the day of the jump. ))

[ amy is staring directly at the screen, her eyes narrowed. she's wearing her own clothes (blue skinny jeans, a purple shirt, and a leather jacket) which she found in her locker, because there is no way that she is wearing that stupid jumpsuit. ]

So, just to be clear. We're all prisoners here, taken from different worlds against our will and none of you have any clue what's going on. What exactly do you all do here then? And these tattoos better come off!

[ she crosses her arms over her chest, surely if the Doctor was here they would have figured it out by now, but he's not. and that sucks. ]

Doctor? Doctor if you're somehow getting this...

[ oh, what is the point? he's probably not going to get it. he probably thinks she's dead. or...oh no, what if something happened to him?! ]

...I'm here. Uh, wherever here is.

[ since arriving on the ship, roger's noticed a couple of things: constant surveillance, distinctly uncomfortable architecture… oh, and nikolaj coster-waldau dying in an unfortunate door accident.

sounds just like home!

good morning evening indeterminate-time-of-day, tranquility. have a video transmission of a british dude with a very calm voice and a very intense stare. ]

It's always seemed rather interesting to me, the way ships are given names that, while well-intentioned, end up... ironic—in my experience, at least. The Phaeton was a rather ill-advised name for a ship that could literally go down in flames, and the good ship Tranquility seems to be—well. Quite the opposite, of late.

Digression aside, my name is Dr. Roger Fallon, and I'd like to extend an offer of assistance to whomever may currently be on the medical staff here. I'm a trained psychiatrist, and—quite frankly, if the past few days are generally considered normal for this ship, I may be of some use to you... if only as another pair of hands. [ that... should have sounded kind of dickish, and possibly might, but it's meant as a comment on the recent shenaniganry rather than a slam on the way the people in charge handled it.

(it helps that roger is a master of the self-deprecating half-smile, even if it never quite reaches his eyes.) ]