[Anne has blood coming out of her eyes, which she realizes she'll need to alleviate soon, but she still looks as determined as ever.]

Look, I know we've gotten used to this whole bleeding thing. It's happened before, I know. But there's something different about it this time. I sure you've all noticed the weird shit that's been going down. These shadows from our pasts, the good and the bad. Between this, the need for touch, and the dreams or memories or whatever you want to call them, I'm working on a theory.

[She doesn't normally like to talk about this kind of thing, but at the moment it seems necessary.]

Years ago, a little while before I came here, I was in a place called Silent Hill. It was a town, but it was more than a town. It was almost like it was...alive. It knew things about me, knew what was going on in my head. And I'm sure we've all accepted that the ship is the same. But what I realized toward the end was that that town, Silent Hill...it was trying to show me something. Which leads me to my next question;

Before, I thought it was evil. But now, I'm not so sure. Do you think this ship is really just trying to drive us insane and show us the things that happened before...

Or do you think somehow...whatever makes it this way has always been trying to help us get out?

[There's a fleeting glimpse of this guy - bare shoulders, wet, wildly uneven hair, grouchy face still pale and a little shocked - before the screen jumbles around, finally landing on one hell of a mess strewn across the 002 bathroom counter. What used to be the mirror over the sink is now the mirror in the sink. And on the counter. And across the floor. And - broken glass is everywhere, really, interspersed with shorn tufts of hair and a scattered array of clippers and product.

Not that Netherlands is here to talk about hair. When he speaks it's low and careful, measuring out his words as he goes.]

Has, uh -

Wanna know if anyone else has broken one-a these things. It's... weird.

[…

…

just dead air and a stationary view of the wreckage for a few seconds, then he clears his throat and flips the video off.





Aaaaand about thirty seconds later flips it on again, just voice this time, all business.]

Gardens are always hiring. An' come talk to me, if you smoke. Can set something up.

[Because if he's gonna bother to post to the network he might as well make it useful, right. PRIORITIES. He's your grumpy neighborhood agriculture-head-slash-smokeables-dealer. Impromptu advertisement complete, he ends the feed for good.]

[ooc: dude broke the mirror. also threadjacking is a+ recommended]

[It's Anne's style generally that she doesn't show up on the network unless she's demanding information, and today is no exception]

Does anyone around here know the first thing

about weddings?

Planning them

That sort of thing

[attempted but obviously failed lock away from Murphy, because how does Anne technology?]

[The last time Anne appeared on the network, she was more or less a blubbering mess. Now, she has her composure back, and she's as unflappable as ever as she gives the camera a slightly intimidating stare. It isn't even intentional. It's just the way she looks.]

I hate to use the network to resort to begging, but I need some cooking tips, if you have them. Whatever you can tell me is fine. There's someone I want to cook for, but as of right now... it'd probably do more harm than good.

[After her last fiasco, it's clear she needs all the help she can get.]

I just need to get to a point where I won't kill anyone with whatever I end up with. I'm not looking to become the next iron chef.

I have never been here before. I have no idea who any of you are right now.

Sorry

-Chell

[Private Text: Wheatley]

Not falling for your tricks again. Will punch you again if you try anything.

[Anne's face isn't one that shows up over the network very often, if she can help it. But right now, it feels necessary to break out of her usual norm of being as antisocial as possible, now that she has a reason to reach out to people]

I don't know if anyone's going to be able to help with this, but I can't risk not asking. I'm looking for someone.

[She pauses, and takes a long moment to just breathe. Internally, she's cursing herself for not making this a text, because it's a challenge to keep her composure right now. She chews on her bottom lip and then manages to pull herself together enough to speak again, though her voice is shaky]

I know at least some of you know him. His name is Murphy Pendleton. He's middle aged, around average height, I'd say. Brown hair. He has a scar on his right cheek. He's been missing for a few days. If anyone's seen him, or knows where he might be...

[Then her voice breaks and she abruptly switches the feed to text]

Just let me know. I need to find him. His number is OPR » 006 » 073, so you'll know him when you see him.

[ The feed opens to Sherlock seated at his lab table with finger steepled, smiling in a way that seems almost pleasant if not for the inherent sense of smouldering rage in his eyes. Oh yes, he is a wee bit peeved. And do you know why, Tranquility? Because someone is taking his shit. ]

Good afternoon. I require some assistance in the gathering of suspects after a theft of a personal item despite the constant and clearly ineffective presence of security roaming the halls like a herd of stray cats. It's a matter I would prefer to handle personally, in any rate.

[ Seeing as, you know, he maybe sort of kind of stole the stuff from the Science Department first, but who really cares about the semantics? And anyway he could handle the back and forth of snatching items with whoever's involved up until his precious electron microscope was stolen. He loved that scope. That was too far. ]

The man I'm looking for is unusually tall - I'd say just shy of two metres - aged somewhere in the range of his early fifties. Physically fit, impeccable posture and hair that's, oh, I'd say waist length with some charming hints of gray. Personality-wise I would say I'm in search of a self-important megalomaniac with a God complex. If you know anyone of that description and could be so kind as to send them my way I would most appreciative.

[ He then leans forward, eyes narrowing at the screen. ]

And if you are the man I'm looking for and you'd like your highly detailed notes returned please feel free to contact me personally.

[ With another overly-friendly smile, he leans forward and ends the feed. ]

Hey. I, uh... I know things went fucking crazy for a while there.

[Well, this isn't an easy post. But then... He knows he's gotta at least throw it out there. Heather's missing (god, please don't be dead, please don't be dead), and Murphy's hurt and Anne's probably freaking out for his well-being. So. He's gonna just get it over with. Sure, he'll probably get some pretty bad replies, but honestly? He's already fucked up anyway. Got some nasty injuries from some of those fights and he's not planning on leaving the room until the jump happens. Or at least, he'll try not to leave the room. We'll see how that pans out.

He runs a hand through his hair. If Heather had caused this, then... Keeping everyone focused elsewhere would be good. And if it's not her? Then hell, it probably is him, or something. He did piss off two whole towns in one swoop.

His voice is raw, hoarse from the miserable time the last week's unleashed.]

Listen.

The place you were at—I've been there before. Back home. It's was a bunch of supernatural bullshit that might be from a place called Silent Hill. I... used to live next door to it, in the neighboring town. Came back home after a few years and walked right into an empty Shepherd's Glen and some secret cult and their weird mystic shit... Almost didn't make it out of there myself. A pact broken with my town caused everything there to turn into what you just went through now. The otherworlds, the monsters, the puzzles, everything.

... I don't know how it got here. I don't honestly know. Hell, I don't even know most of what happened to where I used to live. But I do know that it was from my world, right the fuck next door, wherever the hell my world is supposed to be out in space. There's nothing I can do to change that, and I'm sorry. I wish I knew how all of this even went the way it did. But if there's anything I can tell you about it, I'll do my best. There's not a lot I even understand, but you deserve at least that much.

[A breath. His chest feels tight. What else can he even do? He drops his face in his hands, sighing.]

... Being in the dark wouldn't be fair to any of you. I'm—

I'm really sorry.

[After a particular incident which may or may not have involved projectile retching, Murphy breaks his awkward radio silence over the network to come before you people for some worldly advice:]

"Don't... suppose anyone would have any suggestions on how to get ink stains outta your clothes, would ya? I'm, uh... talkin' about lots of it, like...

"Shit, how do I do this...?"

[Eventually, Murphy figures out how to switch the video feed on. What you actually see is a set of black shirt and jeans.

[...Actually, they weren't always black, judging by the specks of the original red and blue colors that are still miraculously visible. Murphy himself is still slightly marked in ink, but he isn't about to showcase that at the moment.]

"Guess askin' for dry cleaners in this damn place would be a bit much to ask for..."

[As the camera clicks on, those who know Remus will notice how tired he looks. Not simply as if he hasn't gotten a night's sleep, but truly exhausted-- as if he's been on a long journey, or suffered some great hardship. The circles beneath his eyes are too dark, and there's a long pink scar forming on his right cheek.

Still, he gives the camera a smile, albeit a tired and nervous one.]

Ah-- hello. I do hope this is working properly; I haven't precisely had much practice with cameras. But-- yes. My name is Remus Lupin, and, as most of you know, I've been technically on-board the Tranquility for some months now. However, I've no memory of this-- really, it's as if this is my first month. So please, if I knew you but you haven't heard from me in a while, it's nothing to do with you, I assure you.

[The smile fades now.]

Which brings me to my second point. I've, ah, heard it said that I was rather free with this information, so I suppose it's no longer a secret. But--

[He glances behind him uncertainly, as if seeking support from someone unseen, and then nods.]

Well. I'm a werewolf. No jokes, please, I assure you I've heard them all. And-- well, we're taking every safety precaution we know, Sirius and I, but-- just so you know. I'll post up what days I'm dangerous, simply so no one stops by my room while I'm changed.

[He gives them a thin smile.]

And finally: a simple question. How many people, precisely, have duplicates or twins aboard the ship? Not biologically, I mean, but-- people who look like that, for no discernible reason at all.

[For quite some time, Walter has been shuffling about, sitting in corners and observing things on his own time. Perhaps you've seen him in passing, but he surely hasn't spoken a word since he woke up on the ship. He's still not certain if he's alive, dead, or somewhere in-between.

Though he did consider his communicator before, he simply didn't know what to say to it until now. And even so, he doesn't think he has enough to say to warrant a video like so many others posted on the feed. He just wants to try and speak for now. Baby steps! So if you're tuning in to his post, you'll hear a few moments of hesitated breathing, with the timid voice of a 30-something man with all the social grace and experience of someone only half his age following.]

It's lonely here. Lonely and cold.

Feels like home.

[there's a sharp exhale, as if he's silently laughing at himself.]

I'm not the only one who thinks that, am I?

[it's been a while since Anne has shown her face on the network, and she doesn't look any less grumpy now than she did last time. She's sitting with her back up against a wall, and she's not wearing her uniform jacket, so with her short-sleeved buttonup, her forearms are visible. She's stating at the identifying tattoo there, and then after a moment she holds her arm out to make the mark readable to the camera]

So a while back, I joined security, and the next morning I woke up with "sec" added to the beginning of this thing. But how exactly do they do it? Because I sure as hell don't remember it happening. Does anybody else? I know these numbers are basically an ID badge. But what I want to know is how they get to us to change them. Any information would be great.

[with that, she cuts the feed]

[Private video to Murphy Pendleton, sent out some time later]

How're you holding up, Pendleton?

[she knows he's a grown man (hell, he's probably ten years her senior), but she can't help feeling a little responsible for him, after how much her father cared about him]

It's been a while. Just want to check and see how you were doing. I might stop by and see you, if you wouldn't mind.

[On the screen, there's a tense-looking CO in full uniform moving back and forth across the room. There is always something off-putting about Anne Cunningham. It might be the way she always looks like she wants to kill everyone, or maybe it's the harsh and businesslike way she talks. But whatever the case, even in the video it's apparent, and currently she's pacing around her room. When the transmission's been going for about fifteen seconds, she stops pacing long enough to focus on the feed she's sending out, leaning slightly against the wall beside her]

I've been here a month now, and I haven't noticed any kind of law enforcement around here. Maybe I wasn't paying enough attention, but from where I'm standing, it's like anarchy around here.

[her tone is clipped and she leans her head back against the wall]

I guess my main question is, who exactly's keeping order around here?

[private video to Murphy Pendleton]

How're the birds? They haven't escaped yet, have they?

[what she really means is "how are you and how's that drinking problem?" but she keeps it professional. Well... as professional as one can be when talking about birds that you're unwittingly sort of a surrogate mommy to]

[Hello network! Meet Murphy.

[Murphy does not sound happy, either. In fact, he's the very opposite of happy. Because at some point in his temporary freedom, he was pretty sure that he finally had things all sorted out. That was before he became an unwilling passenger aboard a spaceship seemingly headed to no determined destination. Out of the frying pan and into the furnace, as the saying goes. It's an idiom that couldn't be any more appropriate than it rings now.]

"Guess no one was kiddin' about all that crazy stuff that happens here, huh?"

[He tries to hide it in his voice, but Murphy is also sounding mildly alarmed when he speaks. Thus, he doesn't waste any more time:]

"Anyway, I actually wanted to, uh..." [Pause.] "Well, some birds just flew outta my locker, about an hour ago." [Wasn't expecting that. Scared the hell out of him, too... but he's not going to mention that part. He had spent most of that hour trying to look for them before he decided that MAYBE accessing his comm device would be more productive.] "They're just blue birds -- and they're small -- and I don't think they'll survive out here on their own."

[It was one thing when he set them free in a town. This place is different. He won't bother in asking how they even got here. After all the crazy shit he'd been through in Silent Hill and with the fear gas stuff that went down -- he's learned to just roll with it for now. Fortunately, he's well passed that stage of having another meltdown.]

"Just... If anyone finds 'em, uh... let me know?

"That's all."

[No, Murphy can't see himself caring for a pet. He's never even owned a goldfish at any point in his life. But the prospect of a little bird helplessly starving to death (or worse) in this place legitimately worries him. Yeah, he's a sap like that.]

( private ping to anne cunningham/and also spoilers? )