I'm glad everyone's alright.

[ alright here being a subjective term. not dead might be better, though that's also a subjective term in this instance. the message is a bit late on the tail-end of the previous week's violence, and some clarification would probably be helpful, but kieren's second-guessed starting this discussion about a thousand times. now that he's finally going for it, the tactic's too leap before you look to be completely coherent. ]

It's not your fault. That's what people will be saying, anyway, about any damage you've done or harm you've caused, but I know it's difficult to believe. And it isn't true, really, because if you hadn't been alive, then maybe it wouldn't have happened.

Acting like the guilt's not there doesn't help. But if you can accept it, there's a chance you can learn to live around it.

[ except now he's getting insanely awkward group therapy flashbacks. the attempt to make the conversation less dire is a mildly panicked afterthought, tacked on quickly. ]

And I know I'm late to space Christmas, but if anyone wants any pictures — paintings, portraits, anything like that for belated gifts, I'd be happy to do something if you've got the materials.

[ super awkward pause, then: ] Thanks.

[ 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.

Got two things to ask and one thing to offer. I'll try to make it short and sweet.


QUESTION 1: What destroyed or depopulated your version of Earth? Nukes, asteroids, zombies? If nothing did yet, what took the closest shot so far?

Same question if you're not from Earth - just swap out Earth for wherever you came from.

I'm not compiling a spreadsheet or anything. I guess it's just something I've wondered.


QUESTION 2: What are we even doing here? What's our destination? The purpose of the voyage? Who sent us, and why us? Maybe I missed something and by all means point me there if I did, but in less than a day, this ship sucks up more resources than the Ark could spare for a month.

I've been here for over a month now and I'm the first person I've seen ask anything like this so far. I want to think it's because we were up to our airholes in highly invasive nanotechnology. Or - like I said, maybe I missed the big 'who, what, where, and why' memo.


OFFER: I'm bored off my rocks, if you haven't picked up on that yet. I was a zero-G mech back on the Ark, and if that's not enough, I helped fix the thing that saved your asses pre-Jump. I can repair, rebuild, or build from scrap just about anything you can think of. So somebody give me a job before I start opening panels and improving whatever the hell's inside.

[ is she serious? she very well could be, so throw her a bone here, yeah? ]