[The jump alarm is sounding. That much is obvious despite the static plaguing the transmission. Under it: the sound of rapid footfalls, sucking breath. Away from the receiver there’s a muffled mention of ‘—outhwest at the next intersection’ clearly not meant for the comm. Then the static clears and a voice comes through, momentarily crisp and clear:]

This is Shepard, formerly Commander of the SSV Normandy reporting with Javik, ID number zero-two-four-dash-one-four-seven. Hill, transcribe —opy of this for the record and for your after action report. [Because she sure as shit doesn’t have time to write it down herself. As it is, she speaks in a clipped, hard tone - painfully brusque.] Communications failed on jump da— --er which we were separated. If Corvo Attano is there, he’ll have—. I— [a pause, possibly a moment of conferral or maybe just a drop in the transmission] —we found —places that don’t belong he— from where we’re from. Unable to report if other fireteams experienced similar phe—nom—a, but I’d put credits on it being tied to either the —ingulari— on the shi— or more nanotech hallu—nations. Formally suggest further investigation. —found people we knew and were led to— with a bright light. See previous jump’s after action re— speak —arolyn Fry for —tional details.

[And this part comes through, sharp:]

The white door leads to the ship’s core. All field operative members were there and so is—. It’s living there or— from there and is protected from —jump. If we’d stayed there, we would have— shielded—.

[Another brief, muffled statement, followed by a different voice, lower but just as breathless.] To the left--

—omeone pulled us from the core. —made— a mistake. Unsure of core’s loca— in relation to the physical— of the ship. Unsure of duration of stay. Unsure of current jump cycle. Unsure of position of— --ther field operatives but know they’re safe. Unsure of distance from current position to —ical bay, though mapping gear puts us out at--

[There’s a small rustling sound, and Javik’s voice is muffled when he finally speaks:] Approximately seven-point-eight metric —ts northeast of marker P1. [Anyone with access to the map will see exactly what their situation is. They will not make it to medical. They will not make it out of the corridors.]

--Refer to previous jump’s schematic for closest approximation. I can’t verify —validity so I’m leaving this channel open. We also left Javik’s comm open where we started. Petrelli, try to tr— the --ignal when you get out. Someone needs to get back there. If any field team operative gets to medical, —eeds to get them back to the white—. If we can ge— there, we might have— to—. They know how— and —it’s there.

[A beat. The alarm drones on and on, the sound of running and heavy breathing punctuated by static. When she speaks again, there’s something distracted and distant at the edge of Shepard’s voice:] Formally suggest volunteer only operation. Something is different. Something’s in my head. [And then she sharpens.]

Shepard out.

[There is, for a moment, silence, except for the howling of the sirens and the continued, regular sound of their footfall in the corridors. More time, but not much.]

You must go— [There’s a snarl in his voice, disgust or despair] This place will— you. It —kill us all. Do n— this did not happen. Do not re— --til you have avenged your own stolen lives. For the sake of all those you have been taken from. You cannot —eace here, but you must— revenge. There is nothing else. Fight until you die, there is no other—

Javik! [She cuts him off, voice loud enough to make the transmission distort around it. It’s followed by a muffled prompting of ‘Which way--?’ before the static suddenly increases to a roar that drowns anything - everything - else out. The ship jumps. The channel stays open and remains that way, though by the time anyone comes out of the jump it will have been broadcasting only silence.]
 
 
25 March 2014 @ 06:58 pm
I've got an inquiry about amputation. Metaphysical amputation, you could call it.

Where I come from, cutting off limbs is a routine procedure. We've been doing it since before the days of biting on a belt buckle and bearing the pain. And if you do it right, you'll survive. But what about parts that can't can't be cut into and stitched up?

Some of you call it magic, even if that frankly just sounds like fairytale bullshit to me. A generalized name for distinct powers in different worlds.

It's something that can't be seen or touched, that's immaterial, and is yet just as attached to you as an arm or leg. If you cut yourself you bleed. If you remove that part of you, what happens? How the fuck do you cut out something like that?

At least for me, it hasn't always been there, so logically, I shouldn't need it around. I should be able to get rid of it, without repercussion. Except that's the thing about this-- magic-- power-- whatever you want to call it. It isn't logical. It's existence itself is a blatant fuck you to all the laws of the universe, laws that have a damn good reason for being there in the first place. Unfortunately, it's also stubborn. Older and trickier than you can even imagine. It doesn't want to go away, and it'll keep on reminding you of that, louder and louder, ever incessant.

My question is simple— how do I get rid of it?
 
 
31 December 2013 @ 11:55 am
going to find the damn thermostat.

volunteers welcome, amateurs not.

survival skills required.
 
 
19 December 2013 @ 06:47 pm
[On comes the video feed, to show one (1) Booker DeWitt. His collar is a little undone and his sleeves are rolled up higher than usual due to the heat, but that's not the reason why he's addressing everyone today. The issue of the temperature and people seeing "shadows" doesn't escape him, but he figures he'll be keeping an eye on network posts for any development in those departments.

Right now, he has something else on his mind, and as always he gets straight to the point.]


Got a question for the people on this ship with -- [what's the proper phrasing to use? Even though he's the one asking it still sounds awkward leaving his lips] --unusual abilities. Does this place seem to affect them in odd ways, such as some of them not even workin' at all?

[Oh, and those watching might also notice Booker's left hand and part of his forearm, which is smattered with patches of sprouting black feathers and nails that have grown into long black talons. Yeah.

Even as he speaks, he's shaking out the aforementioned limb with an annoyed grimace, and it begins to revert back to its everyday appearance of a normal human arm.]


Or is it just me?

[Damn vigors. More trouble than they're worth.]
 
 
20 October 2013 @ 04:26 pm
[Strange memories from a fellow AI have sparked her curiosity. She's hoping someone on board can give her some leads, but after what she saw and the potential backlash such a request could have, she's opting for anonymity.]

Does anyone have a record of the AIs that are on board? I want to find out more about them and possibly get in contact with some.
 
 
19 October 2013 @ 11:43 pm
[It’s been a long few days for the Tarrs. It’s not the first time they’ve been awoken from stasis of some kind, but the apparent lack of proper bathing facilities made it a far ruder awakening than last time. Luckily, they discovered the inadequate-but-not-actively-insulting bathrooms on the residential floors before anybody tried to make them use the showers.

And now they appear on the network, calm and composed. They would look more or less like a human couple, if their unnaturally pale complexions didn’t give them away as something else. The man in the video speaks, projecting his voice as if addressing a crowd.]


My name is Datak Tarr, and this is Stahma. I am informed that none of you are responsible for kidnapping myself and my wife from our home. Be aware that if I find I have been lied to, none of you will be making it to -

[Before Datak can continue, a smaller, but firm hand appears on his shoulder, pressing down reassuringly. He glances at its owner and falls silent, letting her speak for now.]

We are certain this is not the case, of course. This rather-- unpleasant situation seems to be a misunderstanding, at worst. We are willing to talk about this civilly in a manner that befits all parties, if you allow us. In fact, sitting down to discuss this sounds like a wonderful opportunity to know our new neighbours. After all, it seems we may be in each other’s company for a while.

[At this point, Datak gives her a smile that should indicate gratefulness, but looks more like a signal to stop talking. When she does, he turns back to the camera and continues his speech.]

As you may have noticed, we are not human. While we are quite familiar with your kind, I understand that few of you are familiar with Castithans. I would like to speak to any of you who are, as well as any other people who originate somewhere other than on Earth.

Finally, I find myself in need of someone with engineering skills. It seems as if there are no baths of a civilised size on board this ship, and I would like to see this remedied as soon as possible. I'm sure we can come to some sort of deal for payment.

[He smiles a little, well aware that the request will seem strange to the apes on board and wanting to seem disarming about it. It's a mask for his disgust at being unable to bathe properly since arriving. Bath attendants may be too much to ask for, but being forced to bathe in single-person bathtubs is humiliating.]
 
 
17 October 2013 @ 08:30 pm
[Initially, he was going to give a proper sort of introduction over the network; enough time had passed for him to "settle in", as it were, and he felt it necessary to pierce the veil of non-communication sooner or later.

But now, the point seemed rather moot, what with everyone's memories being tossed about the place. It appeared that the residents here were already forcibly getting to know each other a bit better.

Regardless, he settles for text.]


What does it feel like to have your most cherished memories, your most hated actions, your darkest secrets -- all potentially flitting about in the head of a complete stranger? Is it freeing? Humiliating? Or are you indifferent; what is a single memory without a lifetime of context, after all?

And as for those who would rather not wax philosophical: Hello, Tranquility. What a welcoming this is turning out to be.
 
 
16 October 2013 @ 04:14 pm
First, a rejoinder to the speculation that has been going on of late: It does not matter whose memories, if anyone's, you are experiencing. Aboard the Tranquility, we must all be good neighbors, and being good neighbors is respecting others' privacy. So do your part to maintain our air of cordiality; do not discuss your psychic connections with anyone. Indeed, try to forget them the moment you experience them. They are of no consequence.

Additionally, if one of the passengers new or old is responsible for all of this, I beg you to stop at once. This constitutes a psychic attack, and if you are discovered to have been responsible for this, you will be subject to repercussions. This is neither amusing nor helpful in any way.

To any new arrivals: my name is Miles Edgeworth; I'm an officer on the security team. Anyone with combat or law enforcement experience, please contact myself or Tyke (001 >> 011) to arrange employment with SEC.
 
 
16 October 2013 @ 12:16 pm
So we're all up in each other's heads, which blows, obviously. I feel like I'm ten people right now, and I have no idea who half those ten people are. I was gonna ask around, try and figure it out, but I have a better idea.

[ for a certain definition of "better". ]

Presenting, The Tranquility's Freaky Memory Swap Directory.

Here's how it works: you drop the details of stuff that doesn't belong in your brain. You know, names, places, events, incriminating secrets. Then comb through what other people leave and work out who got all your dirty laundry so you can bribe or threaten them into silence. Got it? Great.




(( i won't be back to this post for a few hours for any tags meant specifically for stiles, but i turned comment emailing off so tag each other!!! you are welcome to ignore the form.))
 
 
10 October 2013 @ 02:38 pm
I suppose I might as well...

[This is muttered accompanied by a shaky sideways shot of two bare feet against the floor of one of the cabins, before the communicator is swung upwards (sorry to anyone prone to motion sickness) and set on the nearest flat surface. Armin messes with it for a moment, scowling slightly and mumbling to himself --] If it would come apart I could understand it better...oh well.

[One more adjustment and the video picture is steady, though Armin has both hands held out as he steps back, like he's expecting it to fall. Once he's reassured it won't, he's all business, straightening his shoulders and saluting smartly, one arm across his chest and the other at the small of his back -- though his expression clearly says he feels ridiculous saluting a mechanism rather than another person.]

This is Armin Arlert of the Scouting Legion, formerly of the 104th Trainees Squad, until recently...very recently...a part of the 57th Expedition. I have...absolutely no idea what's going on. If there is any sort of central information base... [He trails off, then suggests hopefully:] A library, maybe? With books? Are there books here?

[Remembering his intentions, he straightens again and finishes:] Also I seem to be minus the more important parts of my gear. I don't appreciate being left unarmed. If there is any way I can recover them, or similar weaponry, that would be most appreciated.

[He nods, steps forward to end the video, then stops and adds in a slightly more desperate voice:] Please.