[Shepard's been restless all night, most of it's because of nightmares that leave her drenched in cold sweat and disoriented when she wakes.  The third time she does so, it's entirely too early after being entirely too early the last time she woke.  The video flicks on and the lighting around her is subdued,muted in that vaguely 'trying to let patients rest' sort of way.  She's somehow lost her blankets and the first shot that transmits is a flash of red hair and a green eye, then a bare shoulder as she reaches out for the covers she's kicked onto the floor. The communication device joins them and she frowns miserably as she stares down at it and what had been fairly warm covers.]

( where's that damned drop shuttle? )

[ Elena doesn't have the time to make herself presentable for the network, let alone set up a video post for this one. She almost thought about texting the question out because she can feel the panic leaving her throat the moment she opens her mouth. ]

Has anyone seen Jeremy? Gilbert, I mean. My brother. I know he hasn't been here for that long, but if someone knows where he is, can you please tell me? I haven't seen him since the whole jump thing and I can't get a hold of him.

Everyone's been talking about making sure we keep an eye on each other, so this probably makes me sound like the worst sister ever. But I need to know if he's okay, and that he's not... [ She lets herself trail off and the thought hang in the air as she feels its weight slowly crushing her. She can't even verbalize it. Denial, thy name is Elena Gilbert. So, she's tries that again: ] I just need to know if he's okay. Uhm, thanks.

( ( locked to mystic falls crew ) )

[ For the entirety of the invasion of Iraq, Brad has been wishing for just one mission, one legit recon mission that makes use of his skills and talents. He didn't get one then — but the days since his arrival, he's run through the entire range of his skills. He's done basic reconnaissance, he's stayed out of everyone's way and watched, he's appropriated food, weapons and ammunitions beyond what he'd found in the locker.

Person would have a fucking field day with this, but Brad's conclusions are still tentative. Time to reach out to the local populace: ]

Brad Colbert, Sgt. of the US Marine Corps. My social security number is none of your fucking business, I don't care what the Geneva Conventions say. Any devil dogs aboard?

[ And after a moment's consideration, he adds: ] So. Space?