[ THIS IS FORWARD DATED spike would usually do this up on video but given the chaos and just how shitty he looks-- oh, yeah, if you haven't seen spike in a bit there's a reason for it. he looks like death. literally. skinny, sallow, low-energy. he's not even quipping like he should be. he's scarcely been here ninety days, but without blood, he's not healing like he should. these demons are giving him the go around and he doesn't like it. so have a raspy english voice, sounding much tireder than usual, which really everyone should expect given the theme around here. ]

I'll tell you all, I've seen an apocalypse or two in my day. And this? This is a bloody disaster.

Floor 22, Room 17. I've got some weapons and hiding spots, but that's not what I'm on about. I'll see you all in the trenches anyway. [ he takes a breath, he might be smoking. ]

...This blood situation, yeah? For us vamps. [ pauuuuuse ] It's wrong, and I'll tell you why it's wrong. This might be a bloody big ship, but it's going to start seeming a whole hell of a lot smaller if we keep handing over human to them--us. To us.

I don't drink human blood, it's a life choice. Let's use an analogy. Now, I talked to an expert on the subject so let's call 'blood' ... 'heroin.' And let's call bagged blood something they call 'methadone.' That's a drug used to bring someone down off scag, if you didn't know. But it doesn't work, and neither does this. Drinking it from a bag? Well. Just makes someone want the real thing.

Over on the Cyllene, guy name of Jayne told me to look for Dr. Tam up in the med bay? But I'm sorry, doc, and anyone else who might have a hand in that concoction -- I don't trust it. Don't ruddy well trust anyone with a beaker and I've got good reason.

There's got to be another way.

[ he hangs up rather abruptly, it takes a lot to get a rise out of him like this. it took the perfect cocktail of starvation, sleeplessness, nightmares and demons from his homeworld but now he's here and he's mad. and yeah, no that's basically it. ]

[Have another odd-hour network post brought to you by rampant insomnia. This one's in the science labs, and thankfully there doesn't appear to be anyone else around to witness what Zeke's been doing with the equipment. He only signed up a week ago, and if nanites can be revoked, he's very possibly on his way to losing them. Not that the prospect seems to be bothering him, looking just as unaffected and confident as usual - even if there might be more of a slouch and sluggishness to him than can be written off as 'bad boy teenager'.]

Looks like the good doctors aren't gonna come back on the air to admit it, but you should all know by now sedatives aren't cutting whatever bullshit's messing with our heads. And I don't know about the rest of you people, but I'm getting sick of feeling like some Dawn of the Dead extra.

[Which will be a really good excuse for why he strayed into the land of bad decisions, when he looks back on this. In the moment, though, he just holds up two little clear plastic pots with a small amount of white powder in them.]

Skat. My own personal recipe, adapted from limited resources, so let's call it version one-point-five. [His hand tips, almost like he's offering the tubes to whoever might be on the other side of the comms.] Guaranteed to crank you up to eleven, burn the fog off, let you do some thinking again. Selling for the low low price of whatever the hell you've got, man.

[He really doesn't sound like he actually cares, because it's not like there's much to do business with here. But he does pause, glance to the side.]

While stocks last.