[A young woman with bright green eyes and a contrasting white streak at the front of her brown hair looks into the camera. Only a little skin, her face, her neck, and a little bit of her décolletage is visible. As the feed starts, she stops biting her lower lip and addresses the camera:]

Hey, ya'll. Has anyone seen a necklace 'round here? I lost it a few weeks ago, and I've been looking, but I can't find anything. It's small- a silver cross, no bigger than a nickel. It's got a tiny diamond on it, too. It's mostly sentimental, so if you see it, could you let me know?

My name's Rogue, if that helps you locate me. Thanks so much! [She gives a small wave with a gloved hand.]

Hi, everyone.

My name's Richard Rider, I'm of Earth - Terra - twenty first century, and Nova Prime of the Nova Corps, originally of Xandar. And I work for Security here.

Anyway, just wanted to say, since I don't think I've seen anybody talking about it so far. If I'm speaking out of turn, sorry.

One can again enter the unlit corridors away from the inhabited areas of the ship. I say again, though that's not exactly been the case since I showed up here, but anyway.

Those corridors are dangerous. I know I, nor anyone, can actually stop people from going there, [ never mind that Rich is not very fine with the idea of fear controlling one's decisions ] but if you're a recent arrival, please look into the posts made about the recon missions. Look into what happened to Commander Shepard and one member of her team. Talk to people who've been here for a while about it.

Don't go in there blind. Even if you feel you're all alone here, or you're bored out of your mind - your life, and what might happen to you there, does matter. Try to keep as safe as you can.

Thanks for your attention. Nova Prime out.

I'm aware that this is about to sound terribly dramatic, but. [ But she's paused a moment, debating cutting the feed entirely. She's been too reclusive, however, and this is as good a way as any to try and connect to her fellow passengers, isn't it? ]

I've spent my whole life in exodus. It's as if my life is split into chapters, and each one ends with having to flee the place I'd been calling home. Being stuck somewhere isn't something I'm accustomed to.

[ Which brings us to the point: ] How do you all stand it? I'm discovering that I'm terrible at keeping busy without wilderness to go tromping through, noble children to drag home, or a city guard to assist. Does anyone need anything fetched? I might actually be desperate enough to play messenger and courier for someone. I can only do target practice so much before even that gets dull.

[ There's a heavy sigh. Hawke doesn't like this one bit. ]

Which reminds me, I don't suppose there's anyone around here who knows how to make arrows?

Morning, Tranquility. This is William Tsang. I'll be taking over as Chief Medical Officer down here in Medbay for the timebeing, in absence of 1) Peter Petrelli, may his time back in his homeworld be characterized by frequent adventure and beautiful companions irresistably drawn to his ample brown-eyed lust for both, and 2) a specified succession procedure. Hopefully with this change we will see an end to the last of our technological cockups for a bit.

I'm familiar with our equipment and our staff and our weird plagues. I will be referring out appropriately.

Recon Filter | or you're Seraphim Dias | 80% Encryption

Hey. Hello, recon. [William's face flickers into view, medbay in the background. The camera wobbles because he's putting the comm device down after thumb-typing fastidiously in what he felt would be the least time-consuming format for the PSA's audience. He looks normal/slightly hungover.] I'll keep it short.

I been hearing about symptoms experienced by some of us who we's went into the corridors under Commander Shepard. Unlike the syndrome we experienced this past cycle, no two set of symptoms seem alike. Some is emotional, others physical, or behavioral. The degree of impairment is likewise variable. For some of us, they seem to come in and out, possibly coinciding with stress or situational factors. I've yet to confirm everybody's suffering some shit, obviously-- but if you are, know you ain't alone.

If anybody's got a fix, I'm sure we'd all appreciate to know about it. If you'd like to discuss, I'll be in the medbay. I'd also like to run some tests, if you're amenable. No bonesaws, promise. Cheers. [His hand thumps the lens once before the disconnect.]

[Despite working in Comms, Leia hasn't tried to address the rest of the ship since her arrival. But things have been steadily getting worse and she can't ignore it anymore.

Her cheeks are unnaturally flushed and she alternates between shaking and wanting to strip down to nothing from hour to hour. The slight cough she'd disregarded as leftover stress from her arrival, it's gotten worse. The overall picture is of someone who's miserable and ill but is trying to deny it.]

Excuse me, but is there something wrong with the environmental controls on the ship? Who do I talk to about having my room checked over?

[She coughs harshly, a wet sound that quickly turns into a harsh gag. She has to get off the communicator now.]

Help would also be appreciated with opening my door. It's been stuck for the last three hours.

[She turns the comm off just as she starts coughing again.]