[THIS IS A RECORDING OF A WALL THAT HAS BEEN SMEARED WITH WHITE PAINT. well it looks like white paint.

obviously this is very exciting but what's more exciting is a vague humming sound coming from somewhere off-camera. it continues for a few seconds and there's a popping sound, and the once-empty white wall now bears an oval shaped opening outlined in glowing orange.

within that orange portal is a room, and in that room is a bed, and on that bed is Chell (sitting around in her underwear, what a slob) holding a working Portal Gun in her hands. she hops off the bed and strides towards the camera. she walks through the portal and bends down to pick up the device.

she looks...vaguely pleased and shuts the video feed off.]

[the next bit is text.]

avoid blue and orange gel.

trying something.

[So, this last jump? Aaron got a gun. Just walked up to his locker for his clothes, clicked it open, and there it was. Sitting on top of his leather jacket, a few cases of ammunition behind it.

He really missed his gun.

Which is why, today, he's not addressing the network through text. Instead, he's sitting in his room, a single gold case (it almost looks like cigarette case) hanging around his neck, face serious and posture... well, it almost looks a little threatening.]

I need to know how often people from your worlds show up, people you know. When one person ends up here, do other people follow? That sort of thing.

Also... I need a chemist. [His expression tenses a little, almost darkens] Consider it urgent.

[There's a quick pause, and Aaron's lifting up the handgun he'd been given this jump, wiggling it in plain view of the camera.]

People from Outcome... Byer? You know what this means.

[And, almost looking smug, he leans forward and flicks the feed off.]

[ The feed starts. ]

Hey, this is September. Please don't dissect me, thanks.

[ The feed ends.

It starts again several hours later. The boy appears shaken up, actually shaking his head at the screen as he readjusts his posture. His partner's next echoing words: "No one is out to get you, you moron." Apparently he remembered that small lecture over this short range of time, so here he is again. He rubs at his neck that appears pink from pinching. Making E N T I R E L Y sure this still isn't a dream, it seems. Or something worse.

So, he tries to fix his small stumble there. ]

Right, I was kidding before. Hah. Okay, I'm September and don't attack me. Thank you. [ That works, right? ]


( P.S. Permissions post for dream eating, thanks! )

[ 4:58am. The video begins. All there is to see is black. And what there is to hear is only a mess of extreme sobbing for eight whole seconds. The low buzz of her electrical prod provides ambiance for whatever short moment Cibo gasps for air. The whole event practically sounds like torture It must have shocked the device and activated the transmission in the first place — which it apparently does again on the ninth second, ending the feed.

There is nothing posted publicly afterward, save for a short texts a few minutes later. ]

[Text → AM]
Again. Worse.

[Text → Scout]
May I come over soon?

[Text → Murphy]
If awake, please meet me.


[ ooc: Depending on when your character replies will determine how upset Cibo will be. She'll head to the showers to calm herself down for a while. Once she returns, she'll be more comfortable to voice or video.
(Would most likely switch from her perma-text replies if asked.)
((Note: Edited in a time. Hope that doesn't mess anyone up!))
(((Here's what Cibo's dream was~))) ]

[it’s taken him a few days, but Francis has sort of kind of gotten the hang of this comms device. he’s also since retrieved his bow and quiver from his locker and sort of familiarised himself with the ship, though he still keeps mainly to himself, stalking the halls in silence

almost like he’s patrolling

because he sort of is. see, Ataraxion, he’s looking for something. and that something is specifically robots, since he knows there are some on the ship, thanks to Ult!Tony building one on the network a few days ago. and by god, he is going to rid this ship if every last robot because no, robots are bad, mmkay?

but hey, might as well make a lesson out of it, right?]

All right, so. I don’t know if you people noticed? But there are robots on this ship, and unless you all want to be disintegrated, I suggest you watch and learn.

[he sneaks into what looks like the same room where Ults!Tony was building his bird earlier, setting down his device and unslinging his bow where everyone can see. he very carefully nocks an arrow, taking aim at a small helper-bot that doesn’t look entirely unlike WALL-E, breathing out and letting the arrow fly. it’s a direct hit and the robot sparks and twitches before going completely still. Francis looks utterly pleased with himself]

You hit them hard and fast, and don’t let them see you. The sooner we get rid of them all, the safer we’ll be. Trust me on this.

[And then Ults!Tony walks in (clothed this time) and looks down at the broken remains of his helper bot. He sighs and rubs his temples.]

Alright, did you do this? I told you, Ultron was not my fault.

So? Robots are robots, or did you miss that part? [stubborn teen is stubborn]

The device isn't actually all that hard to use. There are three basic functions: voice, video, and text. If you're not from a place where you grew up with a QWERTY keyboard it may be harder to use the text function, but I doubt anyone here really cares if they can hear your voice or not.

The voice and video functions are more self-explanatory and don't require as much technical knowledge.

If you need to keep something a secret, don't say it over your device. The ship's not that big. Someone can always listen in. Even if you don't think they will? Someone will. And if you're sure your encryptions are unbreakable, I would still not have it anywhere that if someone found your device they might be able to get someone else to dig up your history.

[A pause.]

Sorry, for the people who knew Sherlock.

[Well. That was awkward.]

This is the updated list.

> 001 » 005 (TONY STARK)
> 001 » 033 (JAMES T. KIRK)
> 001 » 060 (HOTSPUR) DECEASED
> 001 » 099 (TODD / GUIDE)
> 001 » 106 (MEGAMIND)
> 001 » 200 (SPOCK)
> 002 » 125 (NEAL CAFFREY)
> 002 » 200 (ABERDEEN) GONE
> 003 » 012 (RIDDICK)
> 003 » 038 (JONATHAN CRANE / SCARECROW)
> 003 » 094 (TATE LANGDON)
> 003 » 150 (CASTIEL) GONE
> 003 » 180 (CHAPEL HILL)
> 004 » 006 (CROWLEY) PINGED; UNRESPONSIVE, BOUNCED SIGNAL. PRESUMED CONFIRMED GONE
> 004 » 036 (NED THE PIEMAKER)
> 005 » 021 (OXFORD)
> 005 » 079 (PETER PETRELLI)
> R (RESNIK)
> W (WARD)

> 001 » 012 (NATASHA ROMANOFF)
> 001 » 051 (JANE FOSTER) GONE
> 001 » 113 (CHASE KILGANNON)
> 001 » 198 (SHERLOCK HOLMES | BBC) DECEASED
> 002 » 004 (DUNDEE) GONE
> 002 » 023 (SHERLOCK HOLMES | RITCHIE)
> 002 » 035 (ISAAC CLARKE)
> 002 » 080 (DEATH) GONE
> 004 » 012 (ERIK LEHNSHERR / MAGNETO) GONE
> 005 » 044 (ROBB STARK)
> 005 » 091 (JIM MORIARTY)
> 006 » 029 (DR. BRUCE BANNER / THE HULK)
> 006 » 066 (BASS) GONE
> 006 » 072 (ISAAC MENDEZ) DECEASED
> 006 » 078 (NATHAN PETRELLI)
> 006 » 138 (JAYE RINNARK)
> 006 » 140 (HATTER)
> 006 » 145 (STEFAN SALVATORE)
> T (???)

[Locked to TONY STARK]
Can you block access to our project from Sherlock's communicator? I don't know who's in possession of it now.

[ooc note: The names in parenthesis are for OOC reference only. Characters should only see the numbers.]

[The feed turns on rather hesitantly, as a face peers in at it, an angular eyebrow arching up.]

Hello? Uh, this thing is on, right-

Are we... we're actually in space, huh? Wow. That's definitely...different.

At any rate, my name's Phoenix Wright - I'm an attorney, back home.

[He zooms in on a yellow badge on the the lapel of his jacket, tapping it slightly.]

I know that might not be of much use in space, but I'm willing to help however I can - is there anything I should be reading, on that note?

[He scratches the back of his head, grinning a bit.] I'm kind of rambling here, aren't I. At any rate - it's nice to meet you all, and I hope I can help in any way.

Now, how do you turn this off again...?

[After fumbling for a moment, the feed ends.]

78ASACSDKAKI89891N
NAJ
NAANOSFW990990PIOP90000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

[ the view is black when the feed finally enters video mode, but the sound well. that leaves much to be desired. whatever he's doing to make the communicator make that noise should definitely be illegal.

it's actually kindof. terrifying.

the camera picks up a handful of images of the oxygen garden as it spirals backwards and drops a few feet, sorry to those of you who get motion sick. the communicator comes to an abrupt stop on the ground (the clunk of metal on grass isn't as bad as it could be, but still isn't all that promising) and for a long stretch of moments, you're pretty much stuck looking at a tree trunk.

until-

a stick. s l o w l y turns it over onto it's back, and you get a nice view of the treetops overhead. guys we have a nice oxygen garden, it's really pretty in he- oh wait, nope, you're being rolled back over onto your other side now. silence, and on the other end of the feed, peter is leaning over to listen, which gives you a glimpse of a blond curl at the top of the video, before it's snatched away. WELP. he's satisfied that he's killed it. ]

O, the cleverness of me!

[At first there's just a soft, momentary shuffling of a rusty orange messenger-bag as its set aside, an old pair of in-line skates tied to one of the grommets. There's the corner of what might be a small white-board at the bottom right of the screen, with a pen sitting next to it. The camera shifts.

Then, finally, a youthful, almost feminine looking boy. His lightly kinked and roughly dirty strawberry blonde/ginger hair partially falls over a pair of hazel eyes, gaze steady (maybe frustrated), however there's a near-obvious gleam of uncertainty that settles within the way he focuses on the screen. An unusual display of such an emotion, perhaps, as he tends to prefer to keep those feelings to himself.

That same gaze then shifts a little, brows knitting as he types.]

So. This is space, huh? Like the movies?

[There's a slight quirk to the corner of his lips. ("Man, this is nuts. . .", is all he can think) It reads only partially of entertainment, however. He's far more spooked than he's letting on. —Still far more disturbed by what he had just experienced, with the gravity couch and that tube down his throat, and every little moment that understandably comes along with such a situation. Mikelo chews at his lower lip as he begins typing again.]

How about someone talk to me? Clearly there are others out there and can see this, so. . . let me know you're there, yeah? And since I might as well —

[He juts a thumb in towards his chest, then waves as a greeting. A more pronounced and purposeful grin dances across his youthful face before he adds: ]

My name is Mikelo. Nice to meet you guys, I suppose. Also, I have read that guide that's floating around, but if there's any other info out there, that any of you think a newcomer like me should know, I'd definitely appreciate it. ☼

[A beat or so passes before he remembers something. He wags a finger at the camera, then taps at his throat with a shake of his head.]

Before anyone asks, I'm mute. Got it? [brow-lift —then, a thumbs up] Good.

[At that, he ends the feed.]

[The voice that speaks is calm and even, with a rumbling Nordic accent.]

A vessel of lost souls drifts through the stars and her name is Tranquility. An unfit appellation for a place that so frequently seems to be in a state of dire urgency.

[A calculated pause]

As I am now trapped within these walls, I suppose I should offer my hand: I am Loki, and I will lend my strength and my power to you for as long as I am able. Consider it recompense for the illusions you now see. I was panicked and angry when I awoke and, in my foolishness, I lashed out at my very surroundings. For this, I do apologize, 'twas an honest mistake.

Speak, now! If Loki is to assist, he would know more of the people that haunt these corridors alongside him.

[Great, one of these things again. This was all feeling a little too familiar. A video shows up on the network, but Lisbeth's face is barely visible. It may seem more like an accidental video. The left side of her body is visible.]

I don't do well in confined spaces.

[Hey sup Tranquility IT'S WHEATLEY TIME. And if you don't know what that entails, YOU ARE ABOUT TO FIND OUT. Spoiler alert: it's a lot of petulant British whining.]

Yes, right, hello, sort of been a while, hasn't it? Two things. Well, three, I suppose, if you want to get technical.

One. I am...okay, I'll be honest, I'm in the market for a weapon. And a haircut. Either/or, really. I suppose the weapon is--is the more pressing issue, because, well, obviously we've got a monster problem on board. I saw the science department; you can't convince me there aren't other...abominations of that nature hiding away on this ship, and I'd rather not experience another situation where it's me, and no weapon, versus a bunch of vicious animals out for my blood. Sure, it's all well and good if the powers that be dump an entire arsenal in your locker, but some of us didn't have arsenals back home. Some of us had flashlights, which, for the record, I was not allowed to keep.

The haircut is...slightly less pressing, but I do think I need to look into it. I was under the impression that it would quit growing eventually, you know, reach a maximum length and then stop, but we're going on…what? Eight months? And that does--that does not seem to be the case. If it hurts, someone might want to let me know, and we'll just forget it, but honestly, I will never understand how any of you deal with all these pointless functions. Ridiculous.

I don't exactly have a lot to offer but I would...very much like to work something out, if possible. We can--we can negotiate.

Have I mentioned how hard it is to participate in our little established barter system when you don't have possessions? It's difficult, in case you were wondering, especially when you need weapons, or haircuts, or maybe clothing that isn't covered in buttons and zippers and laces. I mean, for god's sake, I'm starting to pawn of my furniture to get what I need around here.

Third. Mostly unrelated to points one and two, but still important. Cave Johnson, founder and CEO of Aperture Science, seems to have mysteriously vanished, as people tend to do around here. Seeing as I was his appointed personal assistant, I'll be assuming leadership of the company from here on out. All inquiries regarding Aperture activity can be directed to me. [hay GLaDOS haaaaay]

Oh, and--four things. I lied, I had four things. Ward or Resnik, when either of you have a moment--I'm sure your moments are few and far between but in the event you do feel like giving me the time of day, I've just got a question. Quick one. Won't take any time at all.

[ He adjusts the screen, takes a few steps back and grins against the camera. expression playful, but tone entirely serious. he's in a gray t-shirt and a hoodie, with a scarf and slippers. ]

Huh⎯ So, okay. Inter ship feed, I can work with this. Alright. For the record, I don't think I've ever had an audience this large before. Bear with me.

So, Tranquility. I'm Doctor Charlie Holloway and I guess, this makes me your new crew member. Now, I get that everyone's got their story to tell and I'd genuinely love to hear it. I'd wanna know who I'm workin' with especially when the scope is both inter-galactic, between time periods and cross-species if what I've gathered is correct.

Now - I get it, new dude, no reason to trust me. I'd be weary. But remember that - none of us enlisted on this mission, so might as well save the antagonism for - what was it? Frowny?

So quid, pro quo - Now, introductions - well, credentials more so.

It just so happens that I've had past experiences with Interstellar Travel before, I don't know if that's useful to anyone. So before this, I was a crew member of the USSCC Prometheus - which was an expedition, sponsored by Peter Weyland - set out to explore the moon LV-223. [ it's a call out to see if anyone from their world is there. ] If anyone here's familiar with the concept of Engineers. I'd love to hear your thoughts. [ curious to see if his research went anywhere too. ]

[ a beat. ]

Also can anyone give me a down low on the regenerative properties of the stasis fluid? I'm sure this is asked, at least, once a month.

So, right.

Topping this off, questionable circumstances or not. I don't like the idea of being dead weight. So if anyone needs a hand anywhere, don't hesitate to contact me. I'm zero-zero-eight ninety one. [ Which, when you think about is pretty damn reckless, considering that's his room number and like - there are murders. ]

[ ENCRYPTED 50% | FILTERED TO DAVID 8 ]
So enjoying life on board, David? [ Just a little cheeky. ]

[ Just casually flagging him down. He knows you're here once he actually got back to reading Elli's post. ]

A few items of business.

First: We need to start tracking ourselves more precisely. Two people in two months have perished because because they caught outside of the gravity couches at the time of a jump. What I propose is a simple check-in list for the jumps and someone to take roll. If anyone hasn't shown up one hour prior to the jump, then a search party can be organized. Is there any preexisting framework for such a system?

Second - [And here Edgeworth looks perhaps just a bit self-conscious - ] I'm looking for someone adept at construction. Please speak up if you have such skills and are willing to barter for labor.

[He recovers but frowns, just a bit hesitant before the next item.]

Third, a general question; bear with me if it sounds odd or intrusive, and responding to this is, as ever, completely optional. [He looks down; it's clear he's now reading off a page that he's prepared.] Respond in the affirmative or negative: "I would describe my life as 'peaceful' - id est, a life in which I have not witnessed or been subjected to violence."

[He looks up again.]

Your responses are appreciated.

 [Well, Tranquility. I bet you're ALL OF THE THRILLED to have Topher in your lives again... now 100% less soaked in blood and vomit and sweat and all means of terrible things from his adventure in the science labs and as cheerful as... anyone can be post-jump. Given the background of the video you can assume, he's in medbay and that his comm is propped up on something. Why is he not holding it?

...Well, it might have something to do with the fact that he's trying to flip a certain fedora onto his head with concentrated hand gestures- he was not being factitious when he said that was what he wanted it for, Dave. AND NOW THE WORLD KNOWS.] This is way easier in theory-

[Oh right, he's recording. Yes, well. Moving on.] 

Okay, while we're getting all the usual existential "where am I, what is my purpose" post-jump network blues out and the "you are here, ask us how" responses and a few "oh, by the way, the creepy ship is still creepy" things thrown in just in case anyone felt all safe for a half second, I've got to bring out my contribution. 

My name's Topher Brink and I'm the med bay's neurologist. And you're probably wondering, "Topher, how often do you actually need a neurologist.?" Surprisingly, more often than you think. Space crazy can happen to anyone, so consider this your PSA about that. If you feel weirdly homicidal, please tell someone before you flip your biscuits and kill everyone. If you always feel homicidal and this isn't a new development or anything... Thanks for not already flipping your biscuits and killing us all. And keep not doing that for the foreseeable future.

But the real reason I'm putting this out there is neural implants. How many of you actually have them- if you don't wanna say it out loud and you don't have it on the med bay's records for a reason, please filter to me and it'll be strictly patient-doctor confidentiality. I ask, because I'm pretty sure if anything in your coconut gets hacked, screwed with, or otherwise messed with, McCoy, the Watsons, and the rest of the staff are gonna go, W-T-F and it's gonna be a big mess. If I know ahead of time and can run diagnostics, check to make sure everything's the way it's supposed to be working, then we can cut out any sort of horrible side effects being in space could have on them, 'cause frankly, I've never been a space neurologist, but I know implants, while amazingly durable, can break down or stop functioning. ...Don't panic about that though. It's not likely, but it could happen.

That's... pretty much it. Unless you've got questions or concerns regarding brain science and you, 'cause I'm the guy for that. And completely at your service. [He holds up the hat.] And, apparently, I've got too much time on my hands right now.

[MED BAY FILTER// ENCRYPTED 100%]

Speaking of brains... Aberdeen's still in a coma, so... How 'bout we all get together and put our thinking caps on and brainstorm a little on fixing that.

[[OOC: LITERALLY HEADING OUT THE DOOR FOR WORK. But I will hit tags when I return. Blah, blah, blah. I wanted to get it up.]]

[The feed turns on to show Knives Chau (18 years old) staring right into the camera lens with those big ole brown eyes of hers. Judging by wide her eyes are and how strained her smile is, she's trying her best to look like she's not a total panicking mess right now. Because she's not. She's calm, collected, and totally cool like Envy Adams would be if she found herself in a freaky situation like this.

Totally.

Oh man....This is even more nerve-wracking than her first day of college. ]

HI! I'M KNIVES CHAU!

[Oh god, has her voice always sounded this high-pitched and loud? At she thinks it sounds pretty high-pitched and loud. What do other people think?  Oh god. She must sound like one of those cartoon chipmunks to them. Oh god. Oh god. People are going to think she's totally lame and annoying now. Oh god. Gotta fix this and stay cool.  AHHHHHHHH.

It's nice to meet you all. You all seem really...cool? [CRAP. THAT WASN'T SUPPOSE TO SOUND LIKE A QUESTION.]

I mean, even though I haven't met all of you guys, I bet most of you are pretty cool and not blood-thirsty aliens who want to probe my brain and eat my skin and whatever! Ha ha ha ha....

Um. So anyways, can someone explain to me what's going on here exactly? I, like, already know the basics, but it still doesn't really make sense to me.  This is the kind of stuff that only happens in movies, not real life. Like I don't know how I got here  or why I'm even here in the first place. I don't even know. And—

OH. MY. GOD! [Cover your ears, Facility. She did just scream that. Very loudly. Cue the hair grabbing and freaking out-ing.]

I haven't even taken my finals at UBC yet! What if I flunk out?! My parents are totally going to kill me!!!

...My life is officially over....