This is Sgt Brad Colbert, Security. Seems like a few individuals have gone completely fucking mad and are attacking others.

Ground rules: don't kill them. Pretty fucking sure it's not their choice. Don't fucking engage unless you can handle yourself.

Stay safe, stay in groups of lucid individuals, stay frosty.

[ the text message is accompanied by a SECURITY PING. locked to the best of his ability with the new network to sec individuals is the following: ]

First priority is keeping everyone safe. That includes the fucking mental ones. Separate them, detain them, put them in fucking brig. Work together, I don't want anyone fucking dying.

[ and he adds, a moment later: ] Tyke's indisposed.

[ Skye's mostly watched the network, sending a few texts, but otherwise avoided people in any form since she woke up here. She's getting a little tired of ducking behind doors, though. It's like being back in her van and after being on the bus for so long, she's actually feeling lonely and claustrophobic at the idea. There has to be someone here with useful answers. ]

So is everyone here from Earth or what?

Anyone heard of SHIELD? Or HYDRA? I know someone who's really into Captain America. Is that a thing here? Is it too much of a leap to assume that you've heard of America at all?

[audio:]

[L’s voice is the voice he’d use for any public announcement: smooth, measured, calm, not betraying much of the intense irritation and frustration that the network crash has caused him in the previous few weeks.]

Greetings. This is Ryuuzaki, speaking for the Communications Department.

The recent problems with the network were caused by an attack on our systems by a particularly malicious virus. Its effect was to systematically overwrite existing material with random characters. The department itself had no control over this and no effective way to stop it.

When network service returned, it was because a fail-safe rebooted the network software itself, something we’ve never had the authority to do -- or, to be honest, the desire. We are now active on the ship’s original network, and have learned that the system that we’ve always used in the past was actually a subnetwork.

[As far as he’s concerned, every bit of this is a clue about why posts from prior to the arrival of the first wave of passengers are only sporadically available. Was the network previously rebooted in response to an infection with the same virus, or something even worse? That doesn’t explain how they would have ended up on a subnetwork, but it might explain much of the rest of it.]

As some of you may have noticed, nothing posted prior to the network’s return has been accessible since then. One of the functions of the Communications department is to archive network activity, and fortunately, we were able to back up the vast majority of the network as it existed before the emergency shut-down.

I’ll be posting what I can of that archive in a minute. However, please be aware that we don’t have the technical capacity to make this available to you in the format you’re used to, and that any posts from the old system that had been subject to an encryption created by one of us are completely incompatible with the new one.

[A beat of silence.]

Related to that: while we’ve been trying, no one in the department has yet been able to create new encryptions that work on this network, and the built-in privacy function seems to be much stronger and more reliable than it was before. We can’t say that the privacy function will be reliable forever -- very likely, it will be broken in the future, which will compromise the security of anything you’ve done using it -- but it appears that it’s currently dependable. This also does not rule out the possibility that someone we’re not aware of has the ability to break it already.

If you’re able to create an encryption that the network will accept, or if you simply have skills in this area that you’d be willing to put to work, please let us know, and please consider joining the department. [He is now turning on the charm, such as it is, and sounds slightly wittier and less serious than he had earlier in his announcement.] We’re not short-staffed at the moment, but we wouldn’t want to let your talents go to waste.

Those of you who don’t have talents in this area should consider joining another department. Agriculture could certainly use your help, even if it’s only for a few hours a week.

[The lightness in his tone now vanishes.]

On an associated note, if you receive any anonymous messages in your inbox, particularly from someone calling themselves Lina, or attempting to strike up a conversation and fish for information, please let us know. The same goes for any situation in which your communication device otherwise behaves in an unexpected way, and if you can visit the Comms Hub with your communicator while any of these things are still ongoing, so much the better. We’re located near the Bridge.

We’re aware that it’s common to come from a place where this kind of network communication is unusual. If you need help learning how your device works, let us know. We also have several programs which can be added to it, and some people may be able to make music or game files available to you. Those were programmed for your communicators, not the network itself, so it appears that they’re still compatible.

Finally… [a hint of regret enters his voice]... as of the jump several days ago, Clara Oswald has left the ship.

If you have any further problems involving the network, please contact me or Bail Organa.

Thank you. Comms out.

--

[Filtered to Tyke | Private]

If we learn that someone onboard has falsified an anonymous conversation similar to the one I just mentioned on the network, particularly if they do so in the future, can Security consider a suitable punishment? I had to discuss the messages here, but doing it so publicly is likely to encourage pranksters. I'd really prefer that they didn't waste my time.

Likewise, we’re still looking into the matter of the virus. If it turns out that someone is responsible for it, I’d like them to be subject to brig time.

--

[OOC: Please note that even the most talented hackers won’t be able to get into posts marked private for at least three months, and new characters will probably need about that much time to get up to speed with this system after they come in! It will not be a smooth road, either: the new system has many built-in blocks and tricks, and some hacking attempts will even flag SEC.

The link within the post is to an open Comms log. Please have your character drop in if they're interested in being tutored in the ins and outs of smartphones, or if they want to ask a question, or if they want to bug someone who's trying to work.

The batch archive of posts from the old network is here! It covers everything prior to November 1, 2014, or a week before the 37th jump by TQ Reckoning. Notes related to technical aspects are on that post.]

[ If you’ve never seen someone who’s very close to death, you have now. The image broadcast is of a wearied-looking soldier who is fairly torn up, sporting dozens of gashes to the face and badly-cracked military-grade armor. The woman in question looks tired, yes, but there’s something almost relieved about her expression, about the way she sighs long and deep before speaking, taking her time in sending out a message. ]

Never thought being dead would look and feel just like living. [ Does that sound too unamused? Ah, well. She pauses, considers what to say; it’s difficult when you’ve recently been more or less dissolved into atoms and then woke up in a gooey pod. Among... other things. ]

This is Command-- [ The woman cuts off, brows knit as she reconsiders. ] ... This is Shepard, formerly Commander of the SSV Normandy, Alliance Navy. I don’t know where this is, exactly, but I think I know what it’s supposed to be.

[ Do the specifics of the afterlife matter so much once you're dead, though? Shepard smiles distantly, voice surprisingly easy despite all the unknown factors. ]

I need to find the bar. Promised someone I’d be there.

[ Iiiiit's Edgeworth! It's Edgeworth looking a little bit worse for wear. His face is blotchy around the eyes. ]

Good day. Miles Edgeworth, with Security.

[ Edgeworth's introduction is terser than usual, and his face is decidedly ill-tempered. And his speech is considerably less formal than usual: a lot of his usual pomposity is gone, in the face of sheer crabbiness. Indeed, instead of polite administrative announcements going first, he hops right into a snappish lecture.

(There's a little bit of nervousness to this, under the surface. In a weird way, it might almost seem to the keen observer that he's sort of minimizing the gravity of this by framing it as a don't-be-stupid issue rather than a you-all-have-committed-criminal-deeds issue.) ]

Do not touch things that look suspicious. You all have been on the ship now for a minimum of a month and for a maximum of two years. You are all familiar with how things work by this point. You know perfectly well that there's no end to the death-traps that the ship sets. So I honestly do not know why I have to say this to a single one of you, but if - hypothetically - there's an eerie painting of one of your fellow passengers, perhaps don't mutilate it. Perhaps just walk past it. Perhaps ignore it. Honestly, you're all intelligent people; begin acting as such.

[ And then he crosses his arms even tighter, and scowls deeper, and says: ]

Anyone who has evidence that their depictions were tampered with by someone acting with malice aforethought, do come to me or one of my colleagues. Reckless stupidity is not something we have any interest in pursuing, since that would put rather too many of you in the brig. But any attempts to deliberately do harm to others, with awareness of the consequences, during the last incident - that will be dealt with.

[ Simon comes into view unsmiling and still, standing framed by one of the unadorned walls of his room. ]

Those of you who aren't human. Or are more than only human. If you lie low, or pass, or hide—why? [ He's quiet, with an Irish accent and a cadence that's steady verging on mumbly, and intently focused. He's not uncomfortable, not fidgety or uncertain, but he isn't quite at ease, either, in front of a camera. He's only using video to make a display of his bloodless face and white eyes. ] Has something happened to you here? Or is it a habit you've carried from home?

We may not be in the minority, altogether.

[ That's less threatening than we could outnumber them, right? Right.

That's also the end of what he'd planned to say ahead of time; he shifts back from the screen, looks aside, and nearly disconnects before more occurs to him. ]

If you want to talk and don't trust this to stay private, I'm in room two hundred on the third floor. You can... [ Leave a note, he almost said, but he's yet to see paper or pens. He raises his eyebrows like a shrug. ] Paint your answer on the wall.

Or knock. I'll be here.

[ katniss has had a month of bored recovery after being seriously mutated by last month's illness. she's still embarrassed about the loss of most of her hair, and she isn't a big fan of texting, so this is voice, though she's just sitting on her bed, playing with the pearl she found in the pocket of her suit from home, rolling it between her fingers. it's late. she woke up screaming. she wonders if she should apologize to tyke, sometime, or if that's not something you bring up to your superior. ]

[ initially, she was going to ask someone to take the wedding dress out of her locker before the next jump, so she doesn't ever have to see it again, but instead all the frustration and restlessness and uselessness that's plagued her since her arrival on this ship coagulates into an angry ball. so when she presses play, she just asks one question, direct and simple and with a grit of fury to it that could be interpreted as either petulance or passion. ]

Why are we here?

[ because no matter what happens, no matter how many theories get floated, she still doesn't have an answer to that question. at least the Games had a clear end point, even if the goal was to kill every other person. ]

[ The video feed begins on a room bathed in Christmas lights. Or at least in lights that are red and green; certainly there's no holiday cheer of any sort involved. It's not the steadiest feed, but it moves slowly as it sweeps across the space. A flashlight beam follows it, illuminating large tanks full of fluid. The color is difficult to make out, brown beneath the color filters of the lights. ]

This is Kate Bishop and the search team. [ Her voice is recognizable despite its hoarseness, and she speaks at a normal volume, no whispering. There are other voices in the background, and shadows shift as other people (members of the team, one hopes) move around the space. ] We believe we've found the source of the stasis fluid. It's a room sealed to Medical access at the end of a long corridor of supply closets leading away from the Medbay toward the center of the ship. The doors we've checked have been marked with red paint and should lead the way. [ You know, just in case they for some reason don't make it back. You never know around here. ] You'll know them when you see them because every one Sirius checked is marked with a dick.

ANYWAY as you can see, there are tanks. That fluid is blue, it looks like stasis fluid, the light's just weird in here. You can't see from here but there are pipes that lead toward the Medbay. More importantly [ She moves forward here, toward a bank of control consoles, and the light follows and sweeps across them. She names them in turn. ] Oxygen Management, Gravcouch Management, Nanite Management. We can access the system but it won't let us make any changes. What we can do is take the tubes of nanite fluid physically out of the system, but when we started to do that we got a bunch of errors. I think if we take them out the couches just won't fill at all at the jump. So we need to have a plan if we're doing that. Maybe bringing shit here is a better idea? I don't know how things're going in Medical, you'll have to let us know asap.

Anywa-- what? [ Another voice in the background has the video wheeling as Kate turns, and there's a queasy moment of dipping and spinning before she gets it focused again. In the frame now is a small cannister of the sort used in the Science Department. It is sitting on the floor next to the console. It is uncapped. Someone's finger Hook's hook points at it. ] We just found this next to the Nanite Management station. We'll get it back for testing since it's pretty damn suspicious.

[ Kate feels as miserable as most aboard but at the moment looks on the better side, pale and flushed at once, dark circles beneath her eyes, but seemingly in possession of all her hair and limbs and minus any conspicuous growths. She's sat on a bed in the passenger quarters, comm propped on the bureau near her head as she looks into it. Her voice is thick and hoarse. ]

So whatever this is is clearly only getting worse. I know people have been testing the food and water and air and seem to be coming up empty, and the only other thing I can think of that we've all been exposed to is the stasis fluid. The gravcouches have all been drained, so unless anybody has a sample lying around to test... I'm thinking we go find where it comes from. If we can find the source maybe we can figure out if it's been tampered with or infected and how to cure this.

[ She pauses to clear her throat, fingers pressed against her neck. They're even paler than the rest of her, grey-ish in comparison, a sickly purple around the nail beds. ]

If anyone wants to help, let me know. The more the better. Especially if you know more about those parts of the ship. I don't have departmental access to anything and there's a lot of this shithole to search especially if we keep getting locked in the elevators trying to get anywhere. [ Or getting sidelined by hideous mutations and unbearable pain, but that goes without saying. ]

Hello, Tranquility. This is Doctor Knutson, co-head of Xenobiology and Genetics. I understand this illness has escalated at an alarming rate, and that many of us are experiencing symptoms far beyond what one expects from a strain of influenza.

Specifically, many of us are mutating.

[ If she sounds a little concerned about that, it could be because it's very concerning, and the proper weight needs to be given to the subject. What she doesn't sound is alarmed. Then again, this post is noticeably lacking a visual. ]

It would greatly help the department if we had a better idea of what sort of mutations the ship's population is experiencing. If you would be so kind, please either respond to this message, or stop by the XenoGen laboratories or Medical. Species and the nature of your affliction will be very helpful information. Your condition will be kept confidential, should you choose to respond to me, or one of my staff, in private. Anonymous replies are accepted, though not encouraged.

Please seek out Medical, myself, Professor Xavier, or Doctor Grimm regarding this. Thank you for your time and cooperation.

I NEEd chains.

[ That's it. That's what you get. Oh, no, wait. She knows exactly what Stiles and Kira would suggest in this moment. She should ask nicely. It's less effort over text than in person, so even though she's rolling around miserably right now because she had it on good authority that weres don't really get sick unless it's wolfsbane, she can manage. ]

Please. :)

[ Be friendly!! ]

[ Mr. John 'The Sickbay is Too Good For Me' Sheppard had been fighting the symptoms of illness valiantly ever since they'd begun. Now - frankly - he looks like shit. His eyes are hollowed out, his wrists are ragged with cuts, and sweat is clinging to every visible part of him. Oh, and he's still incredibly blue.

But that is not why he's posting to the network. That, in fact, would be because he just ripped his comms device off his belt an flung it at the closed door he's having a fight with. The communicator bounces off the wall and lands with a view of the dark stairwell above him, and viewers are subjected to the sound of him yelling and beating at the door with his fists, something which occasionally includes him backing across the frame and throwing himself with superhuman strength at the closed doors.

Which don't budge an inch.

After a moment he backs off, glowering with gold eyes at the closed door, before the recording light from the floor catches his attention, and he scoops up the device. He sits back on the second step behind him. ]

This is John Sheppard reporting for TCGFM news: I am officially done. Done. This ship can eat me. I'm not going round again. I'm not doing it. [ He swipes sweat off his scaled forehead, and enunciates: ] I am staying right here until whatever malicious, corridor switching, version of Doom Satan it is runs this place unlocks this door. You hear me? I'm done!

[ He pressed his fist into the center of his forehead briefly, then spoke again, and now most of the loathing had soaked out of his voice. ] Okay, so I've got time to burn. Let's talk sandwich fillings. Subway - remember Subway? - you can order anything, let's hear it.

[ katniss is restless with illness, crabby with it. she wants to do something to get her out of her head, but she's worked herself too much already today, knows she's reaching a point where pushing through will only make her worse, not better. so she rests in bed, and tries to find something to talk about. she's not very good at small talk, often only exchanges a couple of words and then considers the conversation over, but there's one thing she could listen to people talk about forever. ]

Would anyone like to tell me about their favourite foods?

[ voice, because she still finds texting too fiddly. after a pause, she adds an addendum: ]

Be as detailed as you'd like.