[ it opens up to a video at first. there's Meenah, lounging about in some ruined remains of a building, rubble around her. she's sprawled back and her clothes are ripped and stained with blood. she has some dried blood on her face, like she hadn't been bothered to clean up after the whole attack.

resting atop her head is a strange animal skull, large and grotesque, worn as a crown with her horns sticking out of the eye sockets. long shredded flaps of the flesh drape around her shoulders like a cape. she twirls her trident around her fingers in her hand ]

Kay, that was fun. I was thinkin' this shithole was gonna be borin', even with all that timeline hoppin' or whatebber the fuck you'd call it.

Was gettin' kind of fond of some o' the beasts that were swimmin' around this plaice, but, 'ey, gill's gotta prove who's the balla, right?

Anemoneways, looks like we got a buncha new scrubs nomoby cares aboat, and more imprawntantly, looks like a buncha suckafishes think they can be startin' armies or somefin, eh?

Maybe I should start an army of my own. Then we can just go and wreck some shit. Sounds fun, don't it?

[ she grins her shark teeth which are splattered with drops of blood and disconnects ]

[Hello, Exsilium. Here is a clearly frazzled man in a clearly rumpled dress shirt fidgeting in front of the camera. It's clear his hands are moving, despite only his shoulders and head being visible. It's obvious he hasn't slept–there's dark circles under his eyes, though his face remains meticulously shaven. He gestures as he speaks.]

I um. I apologize for the poor timing here. And, um, I'm dreadfully sorry for asking this when there are monsters around–especially when I haven't done anything to help. I mean, not that I could if I… did. But. Well. The sentiment's there, at least?

[What… was he talking about again? Oh. Right.]

Anyway, I really appreciate being kidnapped and at least provided for. I'm sure somewhere that definitely classifies as the most polite… case of kidnapping but I have just… one question? [Nervous chuckle and a quick, sheepish smile.] I um. The apartments. They're very nice. Very… tidy. And… cluttered. I–I was wondering if there's any way there could be less items in them. Maybe an… extra room with less things. [But then again, it is a nice apartment they're supplying him with. Maybe he's being too demanding. Quick, make amends:] I mean, I can live with a bunch of items. I, um…

[Return of the nervous chuckle and a weak half-shrug as he jabs his thumb back at nothing.]

–There's Advil here, right?

[Alright, so Hawkeye may, in fact, have spent some time going through the device and getting familiar with it, and he may have read up on the situation at hand, but he's not one to run in without a plan. Well, not into all-out war, anyway. He may also have noticed some familiar people in the archives.

Unobtrusive, he stands in a corner of the banquet hall, sending out a short message:]

I heard there's some things that need shooting. My kind of welcome.

[ After a long search, Takegami has found something he just wants to share with everyone. But instead of showing it to people, he is just going to play it. So enjoy a little piano music over the new netbooks.

Then he will sigh and the video is turned on. The room is disused and dusty, water stains on the walls and various plant life creeping inside. Maybe at one time the room had been full of artwork and elegant furnishings but now it was all crumbling, though a few pieces looked intact. ]

Ah, there. It's back in tune. Do you know how hard it is to tune such an instrument without the right tools? [ The camera swivels around so he can look at all you lovely people and smile. ]

The only question is how to it back to the City in one piece. I don't suppose any of you can help me, can you?

[ He had managed to repair his appearance now that they were able to get out of the catacombs. But it was easy to tell that he was still not at his full strength - skin pale, healing bruises and scrapes visible on exposed skin, and hands tightly bandaged almost mummy-like.

He had found an unbroken bottle of whiskey and had poured himself a drink before turning the new netbook on. ]

And so they give us a new toy and a better lock on the new toy. How generous.

[ His deadpan words are accompanied by a slight twist to his lips, and a narrowing of his eyes. He is not in a good mood. ]

I would have rather have received a new piano than this.

[When the video feed first turns on, all that's seen on screen is a shifting, jerking view of some sort of black and red fabric, the wall she's leaning up against, and some very heated muttering-] What is it that this blasted system has against holocomms, this is ridiculous-- [-but once the newcomer seems to have the notebook figured out, the video finally focuses on a teenage girl, her bone-white and harshly tattooed face mostly hidden under a heavy black hood. But the look in her eyes is clearly visible, and she is nooot the happiest camper right now.]

This new game of kidnapping me to these planets is going to stop, because the only "attacks" I care about are the ones my people are suffering back home. [....well, maybe not suffering suffering just yet, but teenage melodramatics. And once she has that out there, she sits back, yellow eyes still glowering darkly at the camera, but she forces herself to be a little more relaxed now.] I need information. The woman that met me this time was as useless as the last one. If any of you have seen a large, ugly red creature with lots of teeth, I want to know at once.

[That's right, no questions on what's going on; no concern at all except for the location of her still missing crew. So far. And for a second it looks like she's going to just leave it at that, but after second's hesitation:] And a man calling himself Captain Sallian, if you've met him. He's been injured recently, and it's important that I find him.

[The video is...poor...to say the least. There is clearly a man, oddly dressed and wearing horns. His eyes are blazing green with anger and he is covered in dust and ash. He doesn't seem used to handling something like the communicator and he's not helped by the occasional burst of static.]

Who, precisely, are these people that dare steal me away from my chambers!? Should I get my hands on the one responsible, I shall strangle.

My people are in dire need of me at this moment and I will not tolerate being herded about like cattle while some nebulous foe strikes me with fire from the sky.

[He hooks a finger at the screen, tipped with a well manicured black nail]

Step you forth, you have called upon a god from the frozen north and he has answered. Pray your answer is to my liking or consider your life forfeit…

[ Hello guys, I hope you enjoy Adam Vision, because the following videofeed is from Adam's direct point of view—and there's an UGLY ORANGE ahem, classy renaissance gold tinge to everything, and people who've seen him before might know the reason for this.

Anyway, he's outside—right in the middle of the bomb and evacuation chaos, yep. The connection's sort of bad, so expect the occasional static, especially should you happen to respond. ]

Adam Jensen, reporting live from the front lines.

[ Adam your humor is so dry and deadpan and inappropriate. There's also a constant INFLATING-DEFLATING sound, even as he speaks, which is sort of annoying—some people might recognize it as the noise a rebreather makes. ]

Not sure what these fumes do when breathed in, but I wouldn't encourage anyone to try and find out. It's probably best to stay underground until-- [ He suddenly falls quiet and a few seconds later, there are some Masked. Passing right by him and pausing, just a few feet away. EVEN LOOKING INTO HIS DIRECTION and tilting their heads because what is that noise? Adam continues, his voice the same volume as before (yay for subvocal communication implant) -]

--Yeah. There's the other problem.

[ If you ever wanted to get a closer look at the Masked, you just did. Either way, they shrug and continue on their merry way after a few moments, heading into the direction of the Initiative Hold, and Adam follows. His radar is still exclusive to his HUD and therefore himself, but his Smart Vision actually is recorded by the feed when he activates it, and he directs his gaze momentarily at the ground as he walks—and there's the glowing human shapes of people hiding away in the tunnels, you might even be able to spot yourself if you're particularly observant.

Anyway, Adam redirects his own attention back to what's in front of him, namely a wall with a person right behind it. He knows for a fact that the entrances are sort of heavily guarded, and so--

Wallpunching and neckbreaking happens. Only in first person view. ]

Where, exactly, does the Initiative store their technology? Because I'm assuming that's what they're after.

[ Also he lowers himself into a crouch to poke the dead guy and uh, see if he got anything useful on him. ]

These guys aren't very talkative. Anyone interested in ... taking a closer look, anyway?

[ Because HE sure is interested but he is no doctor. He will totes drag one of them back into the tunnels, though. Now, stay right with us to enjoy more of this playthrough of Deus Exsilly: Explosive Revolutions...]

All right. Let's try this again.

[Her words are strained and forced, because she honestly doesn't see why she needs to apologize. But for the betterment of things...]

I know before I was a bit... urgent about this matter. And I apologize if it came off as rude but.

We need to organize. We have to. I know some of you won't listen and some of you don't want to but please understand that this isn't just your own life at risk here.

I can't make you, I know that. So instead. Who is at least willing to organize with others into groups and actually willing to fight together? And I don't necessarily mean just for battles we are sent and forced to fight.

This isn't going to work for every issue of battle but it will at least be something more than we have now. Which, by the way, isn't much of anything.

And again if anyone is willing to help with this, I'd appreciate it. I'm not any sort of leader or commander or anything so no, I don't know what I'm doing. But at least I'm trying when the rest of you sit and wait and hope that someone might just happen to have your back in the battles to come. [Oops. A little too defensive there. She'll take in a breath to calm a tad before continuing]

If you don't want to help or be a part of this, fine. Don't. It's your choice. I won't stop you. But don't start criticizing another's efforts when you won't even try yourself. [Yep, still butt hurt.]

But for the rest of you... thanks.

Welcome to Exsilium. There is much to discuss.

[recognize those words in that voice? Simmaeri's kind of an A+ mimic. she get your attention with that one? she likes to think so. we'll find out anyway.]

Discuss is to make understand, yes? [as far as she knows. the raised eyebrows seem to imply a need for confirmation. no rhetorical questions here!] I want a discuss. You help. There is much words to discuss.

[she leans forward a little, lifting her hands from her lap.] You speak words for you. Words for...[fingers settle near her collarbone; her eyebrows knit. she takes on a pained tone.] Why. I see...[her hand lifts, tracing from her temple down to her jaw, wearing a hurt expression.] No good face. I hear no good words. Much, no good.

[the next words she says are untranslatable, but laced with the desire to be understood:]

What causes you unhappiness here?


[OH RIGHT THE VOLUNTARY ACTION:

because where is this girl broadcasting from?

one of the stairwells at the apartment building, between the first and second floor. why not? who stays in their rooms, anyway?

feel free to not like. step on her computer on your way up/down the stairs.]

( ooc: dated to a bit earlier in the evening. )

[ Edgeworth is sitting his room tonight as he address the network; someone who knew him well might suggest that he looks tired - exhausted, even - but if questioned about it, he'll just deny it. ]

Good evening, fellow transports. For those of you I've yet to meet, my name is Miles Edgeworth and I am a prosecuting attorney.

Tonight, I bring forward to you all an idea that I have been considering since my arrival here last month. As some of you may know, Exsilium currently has no internal judicial system. That is, no police, no courts, no prisons... and even worse, no laws. Both in light of recent events and out of concern for possible future occurrences, it would be my preference to implement some sort of system to deal with inter-transport conflicts.

I am willing to work to my full capacity to ensure the functionality of such a system and all that it entails, but I do acknowledge that I am only one person, and I cannot achieve my goals alone. So, I ask: who amongst us would be willing to assist me in this matter, so that we can ensure a safe and just society for all of us who have been brought here?

And a second question, if you don't mind: I am aware that there are many individuals from a wide array of disparate alternate realities, and that the judicial system as I know it might not exist where you are from. If this applies to you, I would welcome any information about how crime was handled in your reality.

Thank you for your time.

[ At the end, he submits a text version of his main points for reference: ]

1. Would you be willing to assist with the creation of a transport-run judicial system and an accompanying set of laws?
2. If your judicial system differs from the one I have briefly described, how does it differ, and what aspects did you like/dislike about this system?

I will answer any further questions or discourse on this topic, and you are of course free to discuss it amongst yourselves.

- Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth

I've heard rumor that we can't die here. Is this true? Am I not as pathetically fragile as I thought?

Atamagaitai... Sore ga akka shi tsudzukete.

[ He doesn't sound so well, a little hoarse and tired and not his usual smug annoying wat. In fact, it sounds like he is working his way into a full-out sulk. Which usually involves a lot of people getting hurt in creative ways but he doesn't feel up to it. So instead, he will ramble about a few things on his mind. ]

How many secrets are hidden in this place? How many do you think that they will let us find? Their past, their records are incomplete - books with torn pages and blackened names, pieces never fully recovered in the centuries that they have been here.

What of us then? How many of us hide behind masks? How many do not tell truths and how many are not what they may seem to be. [ A brief bit of laughter, ended with a a slight intake of air and a quiet '...shit'. ] The Initiative saw something in each of us that they may put to use. I think that we may need to be open of what that something is.

Or at least learn how to act coherently together. It is always easier to pick off a group that does not work together or so I would believe from various media. Think on that as well.



[ooc; Fail!translation is 'my head hurts... it keeps getting worse'.]

[So Bloodsnap is getting used to living with the initiative and its bullshit, and she can't say its too much of a step back from what she was dealing with on Azeroth. Some things could have gone differently, but all and all, she doesn't seem too put off by her experiences.

So she sits, having finally figured out how to work the network, and stares down at the camera. The device appears to be sitting in her lap, so the network gets a full view of her wringing her hands every now and then. Even though she sounds pretty chipper, there are some bags under her eyes -- lack of sleep perhaps? Stress? Who knows?]

Strictly speaking...would you lot say we're outnumbered around these parts?

[Her hands go still as she perches her chin on them. The world shaman's recent arrival has given her something to think about, in terms of raw power at their her disposal.]

Not that numbers are the end-all of war or anything.

[The sounds of outside filter through the network, distant with little to be heard beyond the faint rustle of the wind, but there nonetheless. A distinctive clink-fwoosh of a lighter disrupts anything further, followed by the slow crackle of burning paper and tobacco and a satisfied inhale and steady exhale. When he finally speaks, it's with a tone that lacks interest.]

Well, isn't this quaint. Doubt I would have believed it were I not seeing it with my own eyes. At least the woman greeting me was persuasive enough. [You can practically hear the dirty little smirk.]

Even so, I'm not quite sure how I feel out of my home and sent on my merry way towards college kid dorm rooms. Or rather, I'm perfectly aware of how I feel about it, just the words I'm looking for aren't for public ears.

Still. Judging by the archives on this thing, there's plenty of you about who know this world, so come on, share your wisdom with an outsider, would you? One can never know too much.

[A pause as he inhales another lungful of smoke, eventually adding with a thoughtful exhale:] Oh, and don't patronise me with the basics. I'm curious, not stupid.

[audio --> video]

Attention, [intones the deep, rough, and rich voice of a newcomer.] I was told that I could contact other-- [the barest pause] -- transports with this device. This is a test signal. If you are able to hear me, please respond.

Or perhaps there is another way—?

[Without any warning, the video feed switches on, showing a green blur at first. At last it evens out, centering on a wrinkled green face possessing two startlingly blue eyes... strangely gentle, despite his otherwise beastly appearance. His hair is black and braided in front, and some of it leaks out of his beige hood. His expression is grave, concerned with recent events and things yet to come.]

I appreciate any information you can give me regarding the nature of missions and the history of this center. If I am to fight for my freedom, so be it, but I will not fight blindly.

[Another pause.] Thank you for your help. [He fiddles with the netbook for a second, then the transmission ends.]

[Oh, look! On your screens! It's a... it's... it's a floofy-haired fellow in Victorian-looking clothing. D'awh, he's cute. His eyes are a bit sad, though, no matter how much he smiles.]

Hullo, I'm the Doctor. Just the Doctor. Lovely to meet you.... [he sounds a bit distracted and he even looks about. You can see a random street and buildings behind him.] I don't mean to trouble you, but has anyone seen a tall wooden box, deep blue, has the words 'Police Public Call Box' on? Emits a bit of a hum? It's mine, you see, and it only causes trouble when it's gone wandering off.... [Yanno. Like they do.]

I'd be ever so grateful if someone could point me in the right direction...?

((OOC: Hint: It's most likely in the same place every PC vehicle is stored, but he doesn't know that....))

[There is a moment- several, in fact, where Dexter contemplates his life; in this new place with this ... war, he can be someone different. He can chose to, if he wanted, be free from hiding who he is, embrace his specific skills. He could be useful in a completely different way. The moment passes. The truth, however, is that last six years of his life had been defining for Dexter. He is what he is by accident, but who he is? That's hard-earned and a bit more complicated.

Dexter decides to forgo video and vocal communication for a while; no one needs to see him yet, anyway. ]

Afternoon, fellow ex-pats. My name is Dexter Morgan and I am (was?) a blood spatter analyst for Miami Metro Police Department. I don't have many useful skills other than basic lab-geekery - I don't suppose that there's much call for a spatter analyst here?

[He should only be so lucky.]

[The video flicks on, revealing a light blue visor that was currently taking up most of the screen's display. Something that lasted for about, oh, two seconds before the feed was flicking on and off a couple of times. Almost like the user was making sure he had the right button and was, in fact, broadcasting to... whomever else was able to receive this.]

... [Tap, tap of his finger directly on the screen, before the stranger would finally pull away to a reasonable distance. Revealing both the upper part of his armor, and the city around him.] This working?

Good. [An inhale, bracing himself.] I need information.

Has there been any other soldiers here with armor like mine? Tend to call themselves Helljumpers, Freelancer or Spartans. Last ones are usually big. [Lifting his hand way above his head to emphasis this, before casually letting it fall back down.] Also would appreciate any further advice or information about this place.

Thank you. [And with that, the transmission cuts off.]

Good day, Exsilium. My name is Naoto Shirogane. [The English is formal and passable, but there's still a hint of an accent and a problem with the '-lium' that sounds more like a '-rium' that reveal this rather androgynous teenager to be a non-native speaker. ... If the name wasn't any indication, anyway.]

I must say, while I'm just to being out on the field, a war is something I have never been to before. Admittedly, this is also the first time I have heard of sentient weapons. [Stumbles over 'sentient' too. She had a hard time understanding that word when the woman who greeted her informed her of that-- that certainly wasn't part of her English vocabulary, and she had needed to carefully analyze the other words in her speech to get the gist of it.]

What I do not understand is how a weapon not from their own supply can become such a thing. Their 'technology', yes, but as far as I can tell, they have yet to do anything to my weapon.

Hmm... [Thoughtful look!] If I may-- what weapon do you have, and how has it changed, if it already has?

[Notice the teenager's not talking about the Initiative and being stuck here to do someone else's dirty work, because really, Naoto thinks it goes without saying that they're all pawns and ways to get home will be a big secret to all of them, what with the woman before being mum on that and whatnot.]

Thank you.

My name is Adam Jensen, and I've been with the Detroit Police Department and its SWAT division for almost ten years. The last two, I worked as a Private Security Specialist. Earth, 2027, no major deviations.

With that out of the way, I've [ hacked through everything ] read up on past events since the transports started and noticed that the security measures around the compound, the city in general and especially the transport apartments are insufficient; and I think it's in everyone's best interest that we maintain a safe and secure environment for ourselves because I don't think the Initiative gives much of a shit. I'll try and do something about it provided they let me mess around with their precious security systems and joke of a network.

Until I sorted that out, I can at least provide you with an impromptu code I whipped up a little while ago that should make your online communications a tiny bit more secure. Feel free to use it—you just need to download and unpack it, then apply it to any transmission.

>> DOWNLOAD (icarusencrypt.exe)

[ so, using this encryption will make all your private conversations about 25% more unhackable and it will also PING YOU when someone tries to hack through it. On the downside, using it will enable Adam to stalk all the private conversations you apply it to UNNOTICED because hell, he wrote this shit and is still too nosy for his own good. ]

*

[ the following is edited in about twenty minutes later ]

addendum;

Is there someone among you who would consider themselves knowledgeable with prosthetics. Or cybernetics. Preferably both.

[ There's a video attached of a rather dark, gloomy place; but after two seconds this thing comes into view, SANS BLADE, of course. Just looking at it, it seems to be made of sleek black metal and moves absolutely naturally... if it weren't for two fingers being locked into rather unnatural positions, like they're dislocated. This'll teach Adam not to do too much weird shit with his hands when he can't be sure if any specialists are around, sigh. There's a low rasp, just two words lacking any emotion, ]

It's stuck.

[The sight that appears on your device's screens is that of a wall of smoke, and hopefully you had the speakers turned down because the fire alarms they use here aren't exactly pleasant on the ears. For a minute that's all there is, smoke obscuring vague shapes and the sound of the alarm screeching its head off, but if you stick with it you soon see a shape start moving in through the black clouds, the sound of coughing audible under the alarm. Finally, Reya emerges from the smoke, her hand over her mouth.]

Enough!

[She gestures and shoots two little red orbs off in different directions. There's a loud crack and the sound of glass breaking, and suddenly the alarm disintegrates into static, and the smoke starts to lessen, just slightly. A gust of magically conjured wind speeds it along.]

May Ithilids starve themselves on the brains of whatever sadist designed these infernal machines!

[She turns back to the camera, wiping soot from her cheek.]

I'm certain the one who wrote the instructions on the back of our food is either long dead or not very concerned with my plight, but I would like to inform those providing it that not every world uses whatever absurd system you people have for measuring the passage of time.

[Coughing as she tries to take a calming breath]

Since I find myself with the choice of continually risking burning down my residence, starvation, or throwing myself upon the kindness of others, I am hoping some among you might be willing to explain 'minutes' and 'seconds' to me, as well as the proper use of this 'mi-crow-wave' device?

Also, to those living with me, I apologize for the mess, [She glances over her shoulder] and the window. I'll clean it up as soon as I'm able.

[OOC: Basically, Reya tried to use the microwave, and coming from a world where time measurement is based on people's best guess she made a botch job of it. Roommates feel free to action tag]

It looks like the indignant rage thing is pretty much covered on this one, so I'll spare you all of that.

I really just have one, big, and potentially day-ruining question.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't exactly keep a personal diary of harrowing mental experiences lying around. They have access to our memories. Good access. Access good enough that they could throw us into them without permission.

Naturally this is leading to a healthy suspicion aimed primarily towards all the new goodies we're getting from the supposed La Resistance.

They can get into our memories, I don't think it's that big of a leap to think everything else in our brains is at stake, do you?

[ Video for a moment. Roslyn's bent over the netbook, frowning. She doesn't look nearly as put together as normal, her hair shoved back into a messy ponytail as she rubs at her forehead. Her room behind her is a mess, none of the organization people who had visited her before would have seen. She realizes the video is recording almost immediately and sighs, clicking a button to switch it to voice. ]

I've noticed a significant uptick in people asking for the nearest bar. I believe someone out there is working on some sort of welcome booklet, but for now -

Welcome to Exsilium. Here's how you have a drink.

[ just before she disconnects ] You'll need it.

[ And attached to her post is a text list of the bars in the hold, question marks by the ones she hasn't been to and a few words' of description by the ones she has - size, activity levels. Well over half of them have descriptions. ]

HEY GUYS IT WASN'T MY FAULT ALRIGHT
they locked me off your network (LIKE THEY THINK THAT WILL STOP ME I BUILT THAT NETWORK) but hey i just wanted to say some asshat kicked it off EARLY. i said a week, didn't i! that wasn't anyone's version of a week! look i'm gonna reboot it, no more memories, we got a real default battleground coded into it now so it

uh oh found out
oh come on I WASN'T DONE TYPI

[ Broadcast end. Anyone trying to reach this network ID will be met with the polite but persistent reply: "This host banned, please reroute your query." There won't be any NPC replies, but feel free to thread here! ]

[As the video starts recording, an older gentleman inspects the device, unsure if it's actually recording. After a few seconds, he shrugs his shoulders and decides to leave it be and sits in an uncomfortable looking aluminum chair in front of it. Victor Sullivan, an older mustachioed gentleman, sporting a worn Havana shirt and holding a lit cigar in his right hand. Looking exhausted and in need of sleep, he leans back in the chair casually and looks directly into the camera.]

 

Goddamn, I must have one helluva hangover. I feel like I've been stuffed in a barrel...

 

[He taps the ashes of his cigar on an off screen ash tray, and takes a drag from the cigar. He returns his attention to the camera as he exhales slowly.]

 

Look I don't know what I'm doing here, one minute I'm in this peaceful little village chatting up a friend, next thing I know this, actually pretty cute, woman is talking nonsense... offering me weapons, I think she might have been coming onto me? I don't know I didn't get her number... Then suddenly I'm in this room... cigar in one hand, this little electronic doohickey in the other. Apparently this is to be my "living quarters", hah, as if. Nate, I don't know if this can even reach you, but I hope you're alright. Assuming you are, get over here! Quick! I need you to come pick my ass up, pretty sure you owe me one after I used all our money to bail YOU out. Christ I feel like I'm on lock down!

 

[He puts the cigar down and leans forward in the chair, moving in closer to the camera. He sighs and smoothes his mustache anxiously]

 

Seriously though, if anyone get's this message, anyone at all.... someone please fill me in. I could really use a familia- hell even just a friendly face right now. 

 

[He laughs nervously, his weak smile quickly fading in defeat. He stands up out of his chair and picks up the camera.]

 

Yeah... well it was worth a shot anyway. ... I need a drink...

 

[The video abruptly stops]

[Being from Victorian-era London, Alice has no idea how to even begin working the miniature netbook. It only manages to activate through sheer stroke of luck. With the screen facing upward, viewers can see that this girl has clearly seen better days. Sickly pale skin, disheveled hair, dark circles around her eyes, worn and dirty clothes... Hardly the picture of health one would expect from someone so young. The only part of her that doesn't look ragged and tired would be the pendant of the Omega symbol ( Ω ) she has around her neck.]

Blasted woman made no sense at all. I will certainly not be living here, or have anything to do with their so-called training.

[Underwhelming as she may appear, this girl still has a sharp tongue on her, and a distinctly English accent. She takes a look around, but it’s clear that she has no idea what she’s supposed to be doing. Alice just sighs.]

Out of one nightmare and thrust straight into the unknown. It seems that fortune smiles upon me once more.

[The view moves, as she raises the intended communicator and looks into the monitor.]

And what a remarkably useless item you turned out to be. I’d almost go as far to say that I’d prefer the Cat as opposed to this.

And so the whining and complaining begins. So we start yelling and foaming and pointing out that yes, it is annoying to have fond memories - and not so fond - dragged out and bludgeon to death in front of others. The accusations fly, and words are tossed around, and again, we only prove one thing.

[ He is clearly not amused. The tightness around his eyes, the way his accent seems to have vanished, an edge in his voice instead of his usual soft purr. ]

We are spoiled children expecting the pony our parents promised is real and not a piece of molded plastic.

So. Continue the complaining. Continue the annoying disorder of getting nothing done but expecting it all to be perfected without any work. Go right ahead. Do nothing. Have nothing done but continual irritations to your state of mind.

[ Basically, if there was a more uniform presence between all these little groups people have formed, things wouldn't have been so traumatizing. That's his theory and he's sticking to it. But he has other matters to discuss. ]

Is there any reason to expect a better way to find dates on this miserable island? The dance music alone is more appalling than elevator music.

Look, I can’t say I’m exactly pleased about being brought here -- wherever the hell “here” actually is -- but I’m not going to complain too much. Yet. I mean, the alternative was getting eaten by a bunch of zombies, which believe me, was not high on my “to do” list.

The problem I have is being asked to fight in a war that I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be giving a shit about. I look after only one person: me. Just make sure you remember that.

Oh yeah, anyone happen to know of a decent tailor around here?

[ It has been a while or maybe not, but when the feed clicks on - and it's never an accident with this man - what comes up is a close-up of a cup with a milky liquid and a couple of rolls. The rolls look fresh, the liquid looks sort of like skim milk. Some where in the background, Takegami sighs and there's his hand in view, picking up the cup out of camera range. ]

Sake wa hyakuyaku no cho...

[ The cup reappears and is refilled. Takegami toys with the cup and then starts speaking in English. ]

They say that sake was first made when a warrior tried to save his bride from a dragon. In order to lure him away, the warrior took rice and fresh spring water and boiled it together until sake was made. The dragon grew intrigued by the smell and came to sip the brew. While the dragon drank his fill, the warrior and bride were reunited. The dragon was so sated by the sake that he did not give them chase and the couple was able to live peacefully for all their lives.

[ Again the cup disappears as there is a pause in the narrative. The cup is set down with a sharp click and is refilled, and again a pause in-between cupfuls. Takegami's fingers are covered with half-healed scratches, his nails cut short, and the rings on each finger twisted into fine knots. ]

It is the drink of new beginnings and of fond farewells. We drink it under the cherry trees in spring, we bring the finest brew for the newly weds to drink on their first night, and we drink it for births and to celebrate those that had passed before us. There are holidays where we would crack open the barrels it seeps in, there are holidays where we toast the new-born sun. Some medicines are made more potent by soaking in it, and it always with good cheer we raise a cup to each other over our evening meals.

[ The cup is raised out of sight once more and he sighs softly. ]

A pity it is so hard to find here.



[ooc; Japanese proverb is 'Sake is the best of all medicines' ]

[ Oh, look, a voice post from the official Initiative frequency — it's probably all kinds of important and official. ]

Oh, boy, have we ever got a treat for you guys. [ …If it's so important and official, why does the speaker sound slightly drunk? ] You guys're all slacking with those weapons we whipped up for you, don't even pretend otherwise. Slackers. Sheesh, lead a horse to a laser cannon, but you can't make him fire it…

Anyway, that's alright. It's alright! We whipped up something else for you. You guys're gonna love this one. State of the art, alright? VR is old news, but wait till you see what we did with it. Sometimes I even impress myself, which isn't easy, because I usually know just how genius I am.

[ It's at about this point that the recorder picks up another voice in the background. The words are indistinct, but the tone is inquiring. This new speaker sounds way too professional to ever be drunk. ]

—No, I wasn't talking to you. Anyway, Transports, we're thinking… a week. A week? A week. Sounds good. We'll have this baby up and running in a week, and you'll love it. Money back guarantee if you don't.

[ The voice in the background is getting closer, words can be picked out. ”…talking to the Transports? Doctor, are you—” ]

I'm still not talking to you! [ ”Doctor, early release of information on this project was expressly prohibited!” ] Oh, calm the hell down, kid. I got this. [ And more fully into the mic: ] You're gonna love it, guys. You'll see.

[ And the broadcast ends, amid harried background protest. ]

[ the woman on screen regards it with a look of mild disinterest, and subtle irritation that comes across from a simple raise of her brows from an otherwise smug face. ]

Oh, this place is desperate, isn't it? [ never mind the fact that she truly believes it's almost impossible. But she's here, others are here. No amount of pinching, or trying to convince herself this is a dream of any sort will change this. ] As much as I'm flattered at being picked to fight in a city's war completely irrelevant to my own, I have much more interesting endeavors awaiting me back home.

[ A beat. ] Besides, I'm sure plenty of people wouldn't consider me 'rebellion material', and I'd agree. [ Though she was good at her craft - she knew - she saw no reason to help them. Unless she benefited from it in some way. Some major, noticeable way. And for now, she saw little benefit at all. But perhaps that was from lack of knowledge. ] Oh, all of this is such an inconvenience.

[ Another pause, as she cants her head to the side gaze flickering to red-painted nails and exhales. ]

Alright, consider me willing to suspend my disbelief for the time being. All you veterans out there who've been here longer than I - I'd appreciate some advice. Information. Help a girl out?

[ A smile, faint and sharp. And the feed ends. ]

I...guess this thing's on?

[She pauses for a few seconds to collect her thoughts.]

If anyone's listening to this, my name's Prue Halliwell and I'm looking for my sisters - Piper and Phoebe. I don't know if they're... transports, but any information you might have would be appreciated.

[There's a long pause as she considers saying more, but that seems against her better judgment and the transmission ends.]

[Emma does not even have time for your nonsense, Initiative. However, she has neither woken up, nor has her team appeared to rescue her, so apparently she has to cope. Emma hates coping. But what she hates rarely has any bearing on what she actually has to do, and so she shoves her rising irritation back where only a hint of it can leak through to her voice and expression, and records herself a video post.

Look, Exsilium, it's a sharply beautiful blond woman who's got the camera pointed such that it doesn't look like she's wearing anything besides a choker. It's accidental, but she's too annoyed to care and fix the angle, so there you go.]

I should, I suppose, introduce myself to my fellow conscripts. My name is Emma Frost, and I'm simply delighted to make your acquaintance. [The observant might note that she is not, in point of fact, currently delighted about anything whatsoever.] One hopes no one else from my timeline has ended up here, but we've never been that lucky. Be a dear and check in, hmm?

[She's from a comic book. Of course she assumes she's going to know anyone else from her world who got stuck here. That's how things work.]

[Turns it on, spends a few more seconds than most woud checking that the screen is on, admiring that it actually works.]

Am I broadcasting? If I am great, if not, I'll just be talking to myself. Which, would not be a far from normal occurrence let me tell you.

[He clears his throat, and continues.]

Let me tell you a story, of a tired guy, just trying to get come sleep in his uncomfortable cot in the middle of a war zone. Then suddenly the guy is transported to some strange place where a weird lady tells him he's supposed to help save mankind. Or some such drivel.

Well, my friends, that guy would be me. Unfortunately.

Then to add insult to injury, she hands me a gun. When I tell her I don't do guns, she hands me a sword.

[His eyes boggle, in that way that only Hawkeye can pull off.]

Anyone want to explain why I have ladies, not  those of the lake variety, handing me swords and telling me I'm in the future? Because, right now?  I'm thinking Korea has finally driven me round the bend.

[ Hello, fellow transports. Tonight when you check your networks, enjoy a look at one of your newest, a serious-looking man (flippy blond hair notwithstanding) with a politely neutral expression. ]

If it isn't too much trouble, I'd like to ask a few questions. While the woman providing the introductions was enthusiastic enough, her explanations were somewhat lacking. For instance, how many people are here in Exsilium right now, and how many are fellow transports? I understand there's a war going on - in that case, what kind of organized armed forces exist in this city? I'd assume there's a system in place to protect civilians or those unwilling to fight, but [ a bit of that politeness slips out of his tone ] please correct me if something so obvious hasn't been attended to.

[ He reaches to turn off the feed, but pauses as if remembering something, and straightens again with a friendlier look and a half self-deprecating sort of tone (all affected of course, with the ease of someone used to putting on a public face). ]

My apologies, it's rude to ask questions without giving any answers. My name is Barnaby Brooks Jr. Additionally, I'd like to hear from anyone familiar with me, whether personally or from Hero TV.