[This video feed is dark. There's light filtering in from somewhere, and it's just enough to highlight the silhouette of a person, apparently crammed into some kind of confined space. Closet? Air vent? Who knows. This is probably meant to be an audio post, and there is evidence that an attempt was made to filter it away from at least two parties. Neither of these efforts were successful.]

Here's a problem for all of you. Real brain-buster, this one, if you catch my drift.

[Hi Wheatley.]

Let's say, hypothetically, I have a friend who, um…sort of…found himself in a situation where things got a little complicated. Circumstances out of his control, you know how it goes. Did some things…maybe said some things…that…were not the best things to say or do. Point is, this friend of mine made a couple of ladies rather upset.

Thing is, he didn't think he'd see either of them ever again! Turns out he was wrong. Saw them again…much sooner than he anticipated. And is now a bit…unsure of what to do, right? Because…they all parted on, uh. Less-than-stellar terms.

Still purely speculative, here, by the way. In case you forgot.

So we'll confirm that one of the ladies actually deserves an apology, which he did, in fact, grant. Right off. First thing he did, apologize to her. And he--and he thought it would make him feel better about the whole thing, but it didn't. Which…doesn't make any sense at all, because that's not what's supposed to happen. You're supposed to say you're sorry, and she's supposed to say "apology accepted, and also I'm sorry for a couple of things that may have upset you in turn", and then you say "that's all right, let's go back to being mates". And you do.

But that's not--that's not what happened, and honestly, I think he feels worse because she is…still angry. Hypothetically angry. Or--or hypothetically disappointed, at the very least. Which is…the complete opposite of what he wants. It's--it's all terribly confusing and he is not entirely sure how to go about correcting this and would…very much like to not be on the receiving end of her unstoppable wrath. We'll suppose he's already experienced it once and it was not. Pleasant.

And we'll say, hypothetically, that the other lady--if you can even call Her a lady--does not deserve an apology, because She is bloody insane, and also a homicidal maniac.

Actually, that's only partially hypothetical. It is, in fact, loosely based on the true story of a crazed lunatic fresh out of the gravity couches, absolutely hellbent on spilling my blood. I am capable of bleeding, now--that's a thing I've confirmed about this body, and I'm not terribly keen on having it happen again. Since arriving, She has already tried to murder me once, and might possibly attempt to murder others once I am dead. She might not even wait until I'm dead! Just…just throwing that out there. Food for thought.

Cave Johnson here.

Welcome, newcomers and memory challenged individuals who may or may not recall if they've ever been here before. Seems we'll be getting a new batch of you every so often and in which case it's important to note you can refer to my pre-recorded messages anytime you need a re-introduction. Just push some buttons on that device you've received until you hear the sound of my voice.

In short, welcome to space. Space is fraught with perilous danger at every turn, and as such, recent space developments include reports of some kind of wild animal on the loose attacking people at random and feeding on their flesh. Don't know what it is! I'm bettin' on some manner of space vampire or space werewolf.

If by chance it is a space vampire or space werewolf and you notice yourself turning, don't panic, and please assemble what little is left of your morality and drag yourself into Medbay for immediate testing, or flag down the nearest Science personnel you see. [Cave gives a muted cough.] Chances are we'll have to fuse garlic into your skin or transfuse all the blood in your body with Adamantium liquid silver, in which case I'd advise not standing near or touching anything that conducts electricity.

Speaking of which, my personal assistant Wheatley has gone missing. Either he's lost or turned in which case do both me and you a favor and drag him to Medbay. Ginger kid, freckles, glasses, a little over five-foot, British accent, kinda' scrawny and lacks personal hygiene. Very important he's returned to me, ideally in one piece. He's been wanting to get himself back into a robot body, so multiple pieces should do just as good, but ideally in one piece.

Wily (or anyone else bored and interested in building a robot body horror for science) why don't you check out these blue prints I've been working on [which in actuality is more like an 80's looking hodgepodge of the two] and tell me what you think of them. Fantastic, right? I think the kid'll like them.

And if not and you can hear this Wheatley, I'm out of pain pills again. [Again with the cough--this time a bit less muted. Not for lack of trying, Cave kind of sounds like crap.]

I would really appreciate some.

Cave Johnson, we're done here.

[ Aberdeen knows she's not the kind of person who people will notice is gone if something is ever to happen to her. It's a symptom of being something of a recluse and of living her life behind her laptop, tucked away and listening and watching to the other people around her. Which means that something like an automatic distress beacon is necessary, given her line of work as an operative. Every hour on the hour, she deactivates it, only for it to reactivate automatically. If something happens to her, if she doesn't switch the program off, it alerts important parties of her seeming disappearance. While on the Tranquility that is the Network at large.

Which why her communications device posts right now: ]


A L E R T _

communications device_designation.aberdeen
status_currently.inactive
time elapsed since last access_02.45hr

action required_locate
note_additional assistance most likely required.


[ ooc note; This is basically an open post for people to get their communications on in relation to this event. SO PLEASE FEEL FREE TO RESPOND to this post but mostly to each other since Aberdeen isn't going to be saying much of anything. Aberdeen, in search of her cat who scurried away and out of her quarters, managed to get hit and fed off of by Todd, and so is lying somewhere — inert and passed out and very much chest-wounded in one of the distant and unused common rooms. Go searching, track her communicator, whatevs.  Somebody please feel free to find her and bring her to the Medbay!

Any questions about Aberdeen specifically, feel free to plurk be about it. ]

This is Agent Margaret Carter of the SSR. Please respond.

[The feed is a bit crackly and disjointed, with the occasional fizzing noise in the background.]

I repeat, this is Agent Margaret Carter of the SSR. If there is anyone one out there who is part of that organisation, please contact me immediately. I believe I have established a private channel for you to speak to me on.

It seems that I've been taken against my will to a base of some sort. I'm not sure if it's HYDRA but the technology is unlike anything I've seen before.

[Quietly, to herself.] Howard would have a bloody field day here.

[Back to the professional persona.]

Once someone has responded, I'll give you details of a rendezvous point where we can meet to discuss what our next move is.

That will be all.

[The feed ends.]


((ooc: Going out shortly but will tag back when I return :3))

So apparently we've had some folks put into squishy meat suits, and we've had some more-- advanced android models come through who apparently are reasonably humanoid enough that they didn't need any ship-based modifications, and those who were probably modified who may not know it yet! And that means those mechanical and electrically based people on the ship need someone to see to their needs!

That also means you need someone with the right skills to keep you in tip top shape. I'm volunteering; robotics [rahbahtics is not how you say that, Megamind] is probably my favorite field, and I've years of experience, both practical and academic! Also, coming to me for your needs makes a lot more sense then those guys down in medical. Because, let's face it, you don't need a surgeon, you need the hands of an engineer.

[Ping! Here's his location of the 'evil lair, or at least the floor it's on, and some other information.]

So, if you're needing help adjusting, need repairs made, need back ups -- I'm the gentleman to help you.

Though, ah, if you have any security software, or other countermeasures-- please let me know before I hook you up for diagnostics... We've already lost one console and putting it back up to rights is a pain in my skinny blue--

--well, you get the idea.

[ The communications device is placed haphazardly. Perhaps on a shelf, but regardless the orientation makes it so that video is tilted in a less than pleasing manner. Sherlock and John are both in frame; entirely unaware that the video has them both captured. Sherlock is all jitters and small animations of tension. From the rhythmic taps of fingers to the trouser end of the jumpsuit to the quick paces back and forth in the gaps between John and Sherlock’s bed. ]

I was hoping for more concrete advice. [ A hint of seething; irritation; perhaps desperation. ] I was under the presumption that you had added space into your repertoire, John Three Continents Watson. [ More pacing; his expression turns legitimately confused ] Help me.

[ John sighs - he’s never living down that particular disclosure of information, is he? He rubs at his brow with his thumb, though his eyes follow Sherlock for some of the walk. The communicator in his own hands seems to have been forgotten for the moment. ]

What are you on about? Advice? What are you trying to do now?

I’m not helping you sweet-talk any more women into stealing you things.


( cut due to length. )

[[ OOC: HI GUYS FEEL FREE TO SPAM THIS POST WITH INAPPROPRIATE TERRIBLE DATING ADVICE FOR THE CONSULTING DETECTIVE. THIS GRATUITOUS DISPLAY OF BROMANCE HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO YOU BY JULYA AND EFFY: BROMANTIC PRODUCTIONS. BLUE IS SHERLOCK, BROWN IS JOHN :D ]]

[a little fumbling, a nice view of the pad of someone's thumb, vague muttering, and oh-- voilà! there is an old man with a great big hat and a small pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose peering at the camera with a mix of curiosity and hard scrutiny.

forsooth, he speaks:] --my, this interface is extraordinary... Image, sound, and text... Never even considered--

[oh hi. he's talking to himself. realising this, he clears his throat, smiles a little embarrassedly, and directs his gaze not at the communicator itself but at his unseen audience.] Apologies. This technology, though, it's all so advanced. Rivalling even my own, in its own way. [though the way he says it, he doesn't sound particularly convinced... ahem.]

My name is Qilby and, ah, I am an Eliatrope. And no stranger to space travel, for what it's worth. But to tell the truth, I hadn't expected to be on the move again quite so soon.

In any case, I understand we have quite the long journey ahead of us. Seeing as we've got the time, I'd be very interested to hear about all your worlds. Where you've come from, what life was like. Perhaps what you were doing before you... Arrived here. [le tired smile. he doesn't seem to still be groggy from the jump; maybe that's just how he normally looks.] I'm afraid I have nothing to offer in return but my own story, but I'd understand if listening to an old man blather on doesn't sound particularly appealing...

[a pause, and casually, as if an afterthought:] ... And I understand that there are people I may talk to about helping out on the ship?


[ooc: feel free to notice he's chillin' in the common area of one of the passenger's quarters, if you'd prefer action!]

[ Helen had given herself a little time to 'settle in', or at least become a little more familiar with her location before broadcasting anything - that and the more time that past the less disorientated she felt. Hello travellers, have one rather calm looking woman addressing you ]

I've heard as much as is known about where we are, and although I wish that there was more what I do now know is far more helpful than nothing at all.

My name is Helen Magnus. I arrived in the last 'jump' and would like to offer my help in any way possible. I've heard of a shortage in the infirmary but if there is anything else that I could also do please, do ask.

[ The more she can do the more she can learn in her opinion. And she gives a small smile before cutting off the feed ]

Thank you.

[ He'll casually be tapping the device; to check if this is on. The camera is moving, you can tell he's in one of the Lounges in the Holodecks. ]

Is it on? - Fuck, I'm usually really excellent at turning things on. I am not spending another 20 minutes rambling only to find it didn't record agai- oh, okay, there red dot. Good. Spot on. Bloody thing works.

[ Hello Tranquility, after a few more movements, he faces it towards himself. there's a rather chatty brown haired pretty boy grinning at the camera. ]

Hello there, Citizens of Starship Enterprise Registry 'We are fucked'. As much as I appreciate a good kidnapping - gelatinized kool aid too; didn't see that one comin' - I really was in the middle of something prett-tay important. Since there's a bunch of us joining you already rather large and zany bunch - I was wondering if the supernatural - actually - preternatural, let's be politically correct here, hold any meaning to any of you? Like what's the mystic to mortal ratio on this ship?

Any ghost busters references will be met with extreme sarcasm; or declarations of 'who ya gonna call?'

⎬⎬ OOC PERMISSIONS POST FOR SUPERNATURALS + POP CULTURE/4TH WALLIN

( Jules has taken time to compose herself. Of course she has; for one, appearing in a anxious mess wasn't flattering for anyone. It didn't fly with her modus operandi of forever optimism, where people could be forgiven for thinking that every day she awoke in a waterfall of daisies, nudged into consciousness by a unicorns that carried her on roads made of rainbows.

Secondly, she is London. The capital, the overseer, and while she might still be counted as a beginner by some Order members (“not even three years yet, a bit green”), Julia Grumley was not a person to be trifled with – despite all appearances and assumption. Not anymore, and especially not when she had been on her way to a lovely, romantic weekend in Amiens and has been fucked right off into a bloody spaceship.

No. She takes her time. Make up, a silk scarf that does wonders to make this jumpsuit look better (lies) and a few minutes to compose herself. She's even got a smile, which might be considered a miracle, unless you've known her for more than five minutes.

So, here she is, clearing her throat, and eyeing the device with some curiosity. )

Um, terribly sorry to be a bother, but I seem to have wound up somewhere rather different than my intended getaway. I think I've got the hang of the basics, just about, but if there's any chance anyone's going to jump out with a big old “haha, we got you!” then sooner rather than later would be very much appreciated. Not that it isn't a lovely ship! I'm sure it's just... marvellous. Splendid, even! Fantastic.

( . . . Oh, God. Why? ) I'm Julia Grumley. Jules, actually. Only one syllable, much easier for everyone.

( Her voice is light, smile playful – you'd not think there was a thing wrong. Another beat, and Jules tilts her head a little, observing the device with sharp curiosity. )

I don't suppose there's anyone else from the UK here?
( It's not pointed, unless you know what she's talking about. ) I'm from London, myself.

( more lies )

Hey!

[There is a pause at this point. He's feeling awkward and looking awkward as well. He's also looking somewhat naked, though it might just be the lack of collar. (No, he's just wearing underwear and a pair of boots but is otherwise fairly naked, 'cause...)] Uh...does anyone here know how to sew?

My... [What noun could describe the skin tight things they have to wear?] ...clothes didn't exactly come with a tailhole. The only thing I have to cut one with are these. [And at this point he holds up a Mage Masher: elegant weapon of doom, thiefy pointy object of choice, crappy for delicate work.]

[ The video clicks on, and there's a lanky blonde, somewhat tall, a bit muscled - for a minute you might mistake him for another particular person on the ship. It's easy to do, for some reason, unless of course you notice the hair first - the hair's actually very wavy and somewhat curled, one long strand hanging down. He does have a resemblance, but his body language is all wrong, lazily propped back against the wall, glancing towards the camera. ]

[ There's also a polar bear. ]

[ Albeit, a very small, rather harmless-looking one. For a second, you hear a voice speaking in soft, accented French, obviously talking to - the bear? Though it stops after a moment, and directs itself to the video. Matthew clears his throat. ]

Excuse me? [ He pauses for a moment, and when no one answers right away he sort of - figures things out a bit! Right, right, so there's a network, this is easier to use than he thought. ]

So, this is the Tranquility, eh? [ He rubs the back of his head and grins. He's soft-spoken, but raises his voice a little. ] And we're in space. If… [ He waves a casual hand around. ] This is any inclination?

[ Alright. He can do this. He's been to space before! - Really! He has. What. ] So, this is Matthew Williams or - Canada, if you'd rather. Sorry, uh. I don't suppose anyone has any aspirin, or anything? My head's been killing me since I got here. [ Never mind all the rather crazy, insane things he's been told by the people around him. It's enough to give anyone a headache. ]

[a brief flash of orange as the video turns on before the camera focuses on what looks to be sleeves on a jumpsuit tied around someone's waist. a moment's pause and there is a slight shuffle sound as the camera is brought up to reveal a face.

said face is of a woman of an indiscernible age. young-looking but...who the fuck knows with the way video game timelines work. her brows are stitched together as she examines the device. she looks perplexed, fatigued, and simply displeased with her current state of affairs, and her lips pull down into a pout before the picture blips off.

obviously someone is having trouble with her communication device!

a few seconds later it blips back on, and she still looks a bit disgruntled, but less so. there's a moments concentration and the device is brought closer to her face for a second, and then lowered at what would be reading level for the strange woman.

the tank she's wearing reads APERTURE LABORATORIES and once again, the feed cuts out.

seconds later, there's a bit of text.]

hello?

[her face appears once again, and she seems to be thinking carefully. obviously she is a woman of very little words.]

i won't test.

[ Chase has been busy. She's been out of sight for a while, even to the group she normally can be seen trailing--the time of her disappearance coincides with the second wave. The arrival of the Crowing. She's been hard at work doing something, though what it is exactly is hard to tell.

She's in the room her and Capa share, both beds void of any covers, the entire thing crumpled up into the corner. Her hair's tied messily back and she's scribbled things on the walls--quotes from the religious book she's been holding onto for dear life, and the drawings of a four year old in chalk: blue stick figures with wings, a blue stick figure with horns, one in a brown trench coat and above it, a symbol all too familiar for people that have seen her holding her book. ]

More have gone.

[ She addresses the communication device with something other than concern--of cold detachment. ]

More will follow.

i am not the only one who signed up for the gun crew, right?
the turrets here are pretty different from the guns i used back home, but i think they will be easy enough to figure out!!
so um... does anyone know what exactly we are supposed to be using them to shoot at???
i hope its not other people...... D:

[ The video starts, with the above slammed into the screen. And then, the paper relents and moves back to show that familiar loser kid. ]

Hi, I am looking for a really good person to be a best friend for my good friend, orange Dave! He's an asshole but he's pretty nice, and he has lots of friends like me and Rose and Jade, but one of his bestest friends died a long time ago, and it is really hard to be good enough. So I am taking applications for a new best friend for him. Rose and Jade don't have to apply, but you can if you want! And the rest of you can go meet him yourself later, but he's really nice.

[ And it switches to text. ]

<b>1. Are you awesome?</b> <b>2. Are you a nice person?</b> <b>3. What are your thoughts about cake?</b> <b>4. Nick Cage is awesome.</b> <b>5. Why are you good enough to be friends with him?</b> <b>6. Are you going to play awesome pranks on him?</b> <b>7. And pretend to piss in his apple juice?</b> <b>8. I don't really know why I'm doing this.</b> <b>9. But he's a really good friend, so I hope you take care of him.</b>