[ This is a video post! But you don't actually see the scruffy guy talking this time, aside from maybe parts of mechanical limbs and a trail of cigarette smoke—yeah, some cyborgs can pull of tricky feats like broadcasting what they see with their own artificial retinas. Cool shit. He seems to be looking outside the window—not a whole lot of festive decorations in the street, phew—, so probably nothing interesting here for you guys, which means you're more or less forced to listen. ]

So, Christmas. Doesn't seem to be a big deal in this time and place compared to 21st century America, which I'm actually kinda grateful for. Bigger problems, after all... [ Because wow Christmas sure sucks when your family is dead and you don't have a partner. ] Bet the majority of you don't even know what it's all about. Personally I just care about eggnog right now -- and so should you if you like having something good to drink.

[ Priorities. Adam's downplaying this a lot but he still got a select few people gifts... speaking of gifts. ]

Oh yeah, I think somebody forgot this at my place...

[ And with this, he means a black lace C cup bra, which he's dangling in front of his own eyes. ]

Unless this is supposed to be a gift. I'm not sure what to do with it. Might wanna come here and pick it up before I get rid of it or give it to someone else -- it being Christmas and all.

[ Adam sounds remarkably indifferent despite the implications. He's so gonna get spanked for this and that's actually exactly what he wants AHEM. Anyway, there's a private text message tacked onto this later—for Vanadi. ]

You too.

[ Yeah, just that. ]


(( ooc: also, linking Adam's CASIE permissions post again c: ))

So I take it this isn't exactly unusual.

[ And if you wanna know what Adam means with 'this' ... well, the video opens with a closeup of a rabbit, snarling and squirming and hanging off an arm it has bitten into and just won't let go. The person that arm belongs to doesn't sound too bothered, probably because that arm is made of solid, black metal that's not at all sensitive to pain. ]

( Cut for implied animal violence; private messages to Samus, Edgeworth, Barnaby )

Squalling children and grunting savages--this place is overrun with children and savages. Is this how this Initiative plans to fight a Time War?

[But... wait. Isn't that the Doctor? It certainly looks like him...sort of. Yet his eyes are literally glowing with a crackling, blue-white light and his voice sounds... staticky. And the expression on his face is very unlike the Doctor--cruel and twisted. Behind him is a random street, various people standing about and gawking.]

Well, not to worry. [His voice takes on a mocking tone.] I, Zagreus, will set this place right. No children, no savages, no would-be-gods, no high-and-mighty pacifists are needed, now. This place, this... Exsilium will be whittled down, bit by bit, until only those worthy of a Time War remain. Observe!

[With that, he grabs a random witness, a teenaged boy. His eyes flare, blindingly bright. The boy manages a yelp before vanishing completely. The crowd panic, fleeing.]

[Somewhere during the stampede the light in the Doctor's eyes gutters and flickers out and he moans, dropping to his knees. The netbook clatters to the ground next to him but still shows him at the right side of the screen, groaning and clutching his head. When he speaks, his voice is normal again.]

No, no no no no no no... not now, not here.... [His gaze flickers to the netbook and he scrabbles for it.] Help me, someone, please... It's trying to break free.... Zagreus is... I can't contain it much longer.... Help me....

(( OOC info lives here. ))

Hey, I appreciate the tour and the free knockoff iPad, but can we not with the kidnapping thing? No matter how much that lady smiled her creepy smile and they gave us free grub, it's still kidnapping. Just really polite kidnapping. Some of us have had a rough day at work and all we want to do is go home, sit in the tub with a bottle of wine, and a terrible book, not go off and fight in somebody else's fight.

[She stares at the screen with a certain amount of intensity, like she's going to force somebody to send her back home. This lasts all about five seconds. Way to go, Ange. Everybody now knows you're a stone cold badass]

Yeah, that's not going to work, is it? Fine. I hope you know I'm friends with an FBI agent. He's not going to go easy on you.

[Because thinly veiled threats work so much better?]

[ as the feed opens, you only hear a voice. A rather anxious voice, if you want to get specific. ]

It might be working. She said I should only press down on - perhaps if I asked her again - might be magic - oh!

[ and suddenly, video! The background is the familiar sight of the farmer's market and in addition, you get one young woman who is currently busying her bottom lip between her teeth who is holding a sword in one hand and a vase of flowers in the other.

Both are weapons of a sort, if you're wondering. She eyes the vase of flowers, uncertainty written on her face. ]

I don't suppose they might come in use here. Not that – they do at Camelot, not to me anyway as they're not mine. Not that I'd want them to be.

[ rambling, she is. ]

I'm not even sure if this is working. But she said to speak regularly into it.

[ a small sigh as she presses a hand to her forehead. Ok, start over. ]

My name is Guinevere, handmaiden to the Lady Morgana of Camelot, if she is here – not that I'd want her to be –

[ because she'll be so angry being trapped, she was never good at being told what to do. Not that this is the subject at all.

Maybe she should put the vase down. ]

And I do not want you to be here either, if you do not wish to. But if I can do anything or assist in any way I would gladly do so.

[ a beat, a smile. ]

It's nice to meet you all, truly.

[Drake's never cared much for technology, so it's no surprise that the feed starts abruptly and with a loud thud at an odd angle displaying the right horrific mess that has become his room.

Remember that time we all got sent into medieval Russia? Yeah, you might find some familiar weapons around along with some trinkets. Drake's standing with his back facing the camera, his trusty sketchbook in his back pocket, hands on his hips, looking around.

Quite unceremoniously, he shoves things around and they sort of crash into the walls.

Which causes a Mongol Bow and a scimitar he had set up to come crashing down.]

Crap.

((ooc: roommates and neighbors feel free to notice the destruction he's causing, if not, carry on))

You look away for a little bit, and suddenly the place is overrun. [Shepard... A month is not really "a little bit". Her sense of time is distorted. But hey, when you've buried yourself in booze to ignore the fact that people you care about are now gone, well...

A smirk play along her lips.] I suppose introductions should be made. I'm Shepard. Commander, if you'd like to get formal with it. I'm good with either.

Now that we've gotten that little business out of the way, I was wondering which of you fine recruits would like to share a drink. Drinking alone, as I've learned, is boring. And a little depressing. Come on, first round's on me. I'll even promise to keep my hands to myself. [Have a bit of an eyebrow waggle.]

[ Video--coming from Adam's tablet for once, and not his retinal enhancements. it shows him, obviously in his messy apartment, and obviously... different from what one might be used to. he's neither properly dressed nor his usual stoic, composed, monotone self.

but most notably, the lenses of his shades--which are mounted to his head--are retracted. his eyes are visibly artificial. here's the usual gravely voice: ]

...And they keep dragging more and more people here. Or is that the machine malfunctioning again? Can't be sure anymore.

Anyway, hello. My name's Adam Jensen and I'm -- [ insert vague, dismissive gesture here--his hand, too, is artificial and looks like it's made out of black metal. ] ... who the fuck even cares. I'm the local oversized can opener. Hi.

[ if it wasn't obvious before that he's drunk, it's sure as hell now. ]

Given the uh, premise under which you all arrived here as well as the popularity of thought-provoking surveys lately, let's talk about a topic each of you surely can contribute to with a story or two. Since I couldn't help but notice that we're quite a miserable bunch of misfits. Exceptions prove the rule by the way.

[ pause, during which he reaches off screen... for his smoke. ]

So, broken dreams. There's a pretty catchy song on them by Green Day which I can only recommend. But before you scurry off to find it, why don't we share with the class why we're all so damn bitter, and not only since we ended up in this shithole. Though I guess the shithole made it worse, in some cases. I don't know. Getting it off your chest might have a soothing effect, or something.

[ another pause, and he seems pensive for a moment. he might be able to offer alternative treatment methods for your troubles which may involve punching ahem. ]

Here, I'll start. I was planning to get married not too long ago, start a family. I had the perfect girl, a decent job I liked and paid well, and then--then science happened.

[ a dry, humorless chuckle. ]

Gotta love science. Your turn.

[Gordon fidgets when he first sits down in front of the camera, fiddling with his glasses.]

So... for those of you who don't know me, my name is Doctor Gordon Freeman. I'm a scientist and a Transport just like all of you, and there's something that I've observed for the longest time that intrigues me.

Magic. Some of us use it here, or at least have powers that are worthy of the term... Now, I'm not looking to start any sort of science-versus-magic debate here. On the contrary; I'd like to ask those of you who use such powers a few questions about them so that we can gain a better idea of what kinds of powers we've got around here.

Where do you draw your power from? How is it focused? Do you use spells, words, gestures, symbols? Or something else? Are there any dangers to you when you use it? Things like this. I realize some of this might be personal, but anything you can volunteer would be useful; hell, it's still better than nothing.

[ WELL, he was going to have to post to this network thing eventually, but only after some forethought and a lot of paging through older posts to find the guide about posting. In particular, the part about how to keep someone specific from answering posts. Sorry, Prestor, he's not sure what he's going to do about you yet.

So, here we have it. Welcome to the world of intranets, Caesar. ]

[ Filtered from Lord "Deathwing" Prestor ]

So is it common for people to drop into this place and start recruiting for armies or is that just the in thing to do lately?

[ He's new. For all he knows, maybe it is normal! ]

One, I could see, but there's been three or four and that isn't even counting that defense meeting someone mentioned earlier.

First things first - Initiative? Really? Come on, couldn'tcha be at least a little original? I mean I'm having a serious case of been there, done that. And for the record? Not really looking forward to doing it again. I've had the tour, I've seen the shinies - and I'll say again. Not interested. Opposite of interested. Me and freaky government strongholds go way back. We had a very hot and heavy relationship, but we're seeing other people now, and both of us are better for it. So, second thing? If you could just, you know - help a girl out and point me toward the nearest exit? That'd be real peachy. Failing that? I'm not your strong-arm. You can't control me. Don't even try.

[Nick is sitting at a table in his favorite bar, a glass of beer sitting on the table and a silver-plated lighter in his hand. He’s turning the lighter over and over, tapping it against the table occasionally.

His usual pissed-off look has been replaced with one that’s more somber.]

Y’know, I’ve never actually killed a person before. I’ve killed hundreds of zombies, and my dad took me hunting when I was younger – deer and elk, mostly. But I’ve never killed an actual person until that mission we went on.

It felt… different… than I thought it would.

[He taps a sealed package of cigarettes lying next to the beer.]

I gave up smoking about ten years ago… I’m starting to wonder why.

[The pissed-off look is back as he shakes his head irritably.]

Fuck this shit. We went back in time, right? By our standards, those fuckers had been dead for thousands of years. We were just… reenacting history. Nothing to feel guilty about.

[Terms like 'down time' and 'free time' were somewhat of a foreign concept to Samus up until only a few days ago. Between bombing and catacombing and Mongolian battling and Monster slaying, and then believing it some imperative duty to patrol around the Hold in-between those times like an armored guard dog set on (well justified) high alert, she's not given herself much of a moment to relax. Samus has, however, has made it a point to become in need of a good shower very acquainted with the tablet-formerly-netbook device, and especially appreciates the recent upgrade. Her technology is still far more advanced than the tiny little device, but it suits its purpose well enough.

Much the same, she's made it suit her purposes, if literally. The particularly astute will recognize this video feed is coming from the forearm of this person, fixed in place as if it's just another part of them.

"Person" is a generous term--what's being displayed could be more accurately described as a orange suit of armor from the torso up, heck, maybe even some kind of space robot with how distinctive it looks. (Though, there's also something very organic about the suit, like it were a second skin in some parts.) The voice is quite muffled under the helmet and opaque green visor--to the point of questionably androgyny.]

...

[It's a very talkative robot person. A damage report seems utterly moot.]

More Transports and more Exiles. It really is a testament to how miserable this place can be when the island population never seems to grow despite that. Some of the new arrivals seem... ill.

[Then again, if the last mission was any indication time can change anything, can't it...?]

I suppose an overdue introduction is in order. Here's my resume for what it's worth. Take it or leave it.

( [ UPLOADING ENCRYPTED DOCUMENT. . . ] )

[ACTION for el residentes of unit 406]
[KNOCK KNOCK. HONEY, I'M HOME. Actually Samus might have let herself in and out of here previously just to quickly use the shower, chances are when no one, or Maya was present so no time paradoxes happen and saying nothing more than 'hi' and 'bye' before leaving as quickly as she came.

But now, running ragged, Samus thinks she is ready to give this... roommate thing a real try. It couldn't be worse than the fiasco in Adam's place, or sleeping outside in the dirt another night, could it? Hopefully her roommates are ready to give the big armored person standing at the door a try too.]

[OPEN ACTION]
[When not needed Samus is an elusive creature, but the towering armored person can be found especially if your name is Mia patrolling around the Initiative Hold and in the city--there's still plenty for Samus to explore, being here only a little over a month now.]

[The feed opens up to a rather messy table. There appears to be some sort of device sitting atop a dirtied rag. Looks like someone's maintaining their tech. Or trying to, anyway, since it doesn't look like he's able to dismantle it with his bare hands. If you're hoping to get a better look at the strange device though, you're out of luck, because the camera swings around to reveal a rather tired looking face, if those bags under his eyes are any indication. This guy looks like he hasn't had a good night's sleep in... well, ever.]

Hey, uh, the name's Isaac. I'm new. [Obviously. Bear with him.]

Anybody know where I can get a decent tool kit around here? Just the basics would work. Screwdrivers, pliers, files, that kinda stuff. One of my modules didn't like the crossing to this place and I need to get in there to fix it. [If only to take his mind off the larger scope of things for the moment. NO HE DOESN'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT ALL THAT TIME TRAVEL-Y WAR STUFF RIGHT NOW.]

Uh, so... yeah, I'd appreciate it.

[And then a quiet murmur just before the feed ends:] I can probably wire up the RIG to this network too..

Well, that was something of an adventure! Between the Russians, the newest arrivals, and our monstrous friends, why there's been quite a few things to keep track of. An awful lot of people. One of which in particular I seem to have misplaced... I don't suppose anyone has seen Bela lately? Bela Talbot?

[ A pause, as if he's actually listening for a reply. Or maybe just asking a completely rhetorical question and taking a moment to gather himself afterward. ]

Well, it was always difficult to keep her in just one place. Not like Sierra, Annalise, and Adamo, three natives caught by the UE bombs, near a month ago now. I would say they were entirely too — too stationary. That old woman in the market, too— with the jerky stand? She always claimed it was dog meat, but I really had to wonder. But she always had a kind word for anyone who stopped to chat, didn't she? I found a bit of her stand some time ago, but no sign of her. Maggie, she told me her name was...

My apologies, to anyone who knew any of those caught in disaster. At least we've managed to turn this latest one back to the status quo, mm? We have that much.

[ Another pause, and this one comes with a slow breath out. So... that's awkward. But! He can make it better. When he speaks again, he sounds just as cheerful as he had at the beginning. ]

You know, for all their flukes and faults, I would say there's one thing the Initiative is truly bad at. They can throw our lot into a room with food set out, but that's not any sort of party. So I propose we arrange one ourselves! We've the musicians for it, don't we? The cooks, surely! The tailors, seamstresses? We certainly have the headcount for it, by now!

Any opinions, mm? I'm thinking, perhaps, a masquerade. A ball! We kitrites excel at the organization of them, you know. I would be pleased to offer my services to a properly interested crowd! Have I any takers?

( Winry taps on her tablet screen, waiting for some sign of feedback. When it plays, it shows her frowning, bandana in hair, apron on. That also appears to be the ceiling. )

No, send the message already, don't do whatever you're doing now --

( Ah, but the tapping pays off, the video feed ending and a text message posting to the network soon after. )

Imports -

I'm looking for some kind of foam molding to outfit a leg I'm working on now that my customers have all reappeared. I don't know if any of you have worked with prosthetic limbs before, but I've heard rumors of some kind of shape-retaining foam that used to be used for them? Has anyone seen some kind of material that would work similarly?

Let me know if you have, or if there's any good scrap metal or hardware stores you've run into off the main part of the city.

Thank you,
Winry Rockbell
Automail Mechanic and Prosthetics Consultant

[ When the camera turns on, Peter for a second does a slight double take; it's not the technology he's familiar with, though it shares a particular similarity minus the Bing obsession thank fuck for that. There's a brief moment where he genuinely does consider shutting it off, simply because he's always been the kind of kid to get his answers on his own, rather than asking in public; keeping to himself is easier, less troublesome, even now, when he has a reputation to live up to and a responsibility to adhere to, but that's not as Peter Parker.

As Peter, he's back to himself, back to before the bite and there's a world of changes he's still trying to prepare for. ]

So, [ cue awkward smile, as peter bites his lower lip; definitely not how he wanted to attract attention so early on ] -- looks like I missed out on all the fun, right?

[ Totally a safe thing to say, because while Peter had been recruited for lack of a better term, there's no way he's going out of his way to reveal his identity, not so easily anyway. ]

I mean, you gotta hand it to this place, gives you everything and then some. [ because he's spent far too much time being the nerd he is, digesting information as provided

but in a serious moment, Peter sobers up -- ] The people back where you came from, does anyone know what happens to them?

[This gentleman has already wandered out past the city's walls - he's sitting in some ruins, only marginally protected from the raindrops that drop between the camera on his face. He's a mid-30's average-looking guy - blonde, a little skinny, a day's stubble - but there's a tiny smirk on his lips and obvious amusement in his eyes. He doesn't seem to be bothered by the cold or the rain or the fact that he's in a monument to human destruction. A bastard sword with a white, ornate hilt and set with a diamond is sheathed at his waist.

He looks past the camera, considering his environment, before actually looking into it. Any one who can sense mojo through a camera will realize immediately that this guy is not to be messed with.]

So, they actually ran out of people to fight their war that they had to enlist us. Our varied, ragtag group of folks, newcomers. Feed us with food and arm us. I can't imagine they actually thought this all the way through, did they? I mean, they wouldn't really be capable of stopping an insurrection if we really wanted.

Well, no plans for that. Not yet, at least. For now, I'm ready to just enjoy the weather. Nice day out here. Nice place they got, too.

[The video starts up and you get a blonde with an upticked mouth looking at you.]

So everyone got these new tablets, but teaching us how to use them was just one step they weren't willing to take. I figure I could step in here and offer to teach the basics to anyone who was having a problem using theirs.

I'll be at the *insert random place here idk* for most of today, so if anyone wants to stop by for a lesson, I'll be there. [Grins a little wiser] I hope ya'll are good, attentive students so I don't regret this later.

[/feed ends]

Oh, sure. The one time I take off the damn mask, that's when they decide to pull me back here. That's just fantastic.

[Tali's voice is a touch nasally as she waves a three-fingered hand at her omni-tool. It looks like she's recording from bed; the quarian is all bundled up in blankets. Someone caught a cold after coming back from her canon update~] So, hey. I'm back, for better or worse. Mostly worse. Did I miss anything while I was gone? Keelah, it feels like it's been ages. So much has--

[Achoo! She cuts herself off with a sneeze, after which she groans irritably. Stupid immune system. >:(]

...Also, does anyone know where I can get some antibiotics? Or just some plain old cold medicine? Dextro-friendly, of course.

Shit. This place looks almost as bad as Earth. [The voice comes first, a tired drawl as the camera on her omni-tool shakes a bit. It moves then, to her stomach, showing burned remnants of her armor barely attached to her civilian clothes underneath and a hole in her gut that's dripping with blood; the reason why her hand is there.

Finally, the camera stops shaking so much as Shepard sits down heavily against a building, not really caring about the uncomfortable feel of rubble. She switches hands and brings the arm with her omni-tool up. Her face is pretty much just in the same shape as the rest of her, bruised and bloody, although she somehow manages a smirk.] My Earth, I guess I should say. [There's a moment of silence as her eyes glaze over before she blinks again.]

So, not to worry anybody, but I think I might need a medic over here to keep me from leaking everywhere. [A snort.] Better idea: someone bring me a stiff drink. I think I could use one.

[Her eyes close just before her arm falls into her lap.] By the way, we won. [That's for the other Mass Effecters. They'll know what she means.]

[ooc: someone is back from her canon update :'3 also with a new journal name!]

Looks like moving out of transport housing when I did was one of my better decisions.

[ Deadpan as ever. Yeah, guess who's looking at the apartment complex right now. Almost everything is bombed to hell. Except for his own single apartment further away from the Hold which is pretty damn cool. ]

Though I have to wonder if that was caused by the bombs or another type of explosive. Or maybe a chain reaction.

[ You know who you are. And if this is your fault, kid, Adam hopes you're happy now, you asked for it. ]

Anyway, do we have a status report? Not like I'm expecting an official one anytime soon, given the levels of competence and efficiency we're working with here.


[ Private and 98% unhackable, for Bunny Barnaby. ]

How's it look? The precinct-to-be still standing?

[ There's a notable pause. ]

Should probably get a move on, given the chaos. It's a breeding ground for more.

[Video]

It seems we've got quite a few people who are getting bored around here. Well, the lower parts of the Labs crumbled and fell into the catacombs thanks to the shaking from the bombs, which means two things.

One, that we can easily get back into the Hold itself without being seen, though I'd still stay away from windows and doors and by no means go outside.

And two... that there's now a giant freakin' hole in the ground that's going to have to be fixed eventually. I'm looking for volunteers to help in bracing and stonefoam work, as most of my, ah... colleagues are content in their role as supervisors. [Read: THEY DON'T WANT TO DO THE WORK.] Experience isn't necessary, they just need some people willing to put in little work.

[EDIT: Log is up here if anyone wants to run with this. Feel free to tag around!]

[Private, to Tony]

Hey, Stark. Now that we're on an impromptu spelunking expedition with no where to go, maybe I can get a better look at that suit of yours. Can't promise cookies, but I'll buy you a beer after we get out of here.

[when the feed turns on, a young woman appears on screen. she looks a little tired, but that's expected after what had just happened. she is sure to straighten out the netbook before speaking.]

I'd like to start an army, or something like it. I know we barely know each other, and I'm sure some of you prefer to work alone, but I feel like we could work together on this.

[she pauses, thinking for a moment.]

If this works, we can come of with something more planned and our efforts won't be as scattered.

[a brief smile,]

Anyone interested?

[Huh. If this didn't feel like home, he didn't know what would.

Off to the side of everyone else, and for the most part minding his own business, would be a particular armored soldier lounging with his feet propped up on a piece of rubble. A position that likely wouldn't be very comfortable to those who weren't wearing armor, considering he was sitting on a very debris-ridden spot and leaning back against some of the rocks like it was some sort of make-shift chair.

And though he appeared physically exhausted, the rush of data flying across both his netbook - and most likely his visor's - screen showed that the Rookie wasn't taking the time to relax completely just yet.]

Well, the people here wanted a war, so I guess we've got one. [For those listening over the netbook, there's a large amount of static, and the video makes a point to flicker and pixelate before the Rookie casually raps the screen with his knuckle. Mostly out of the whole 'if technology doesn't work, hit it' habit. Not that it did much to solve it.] But at least we didn't come out of this completely empty handed, if those videos involving the Masked soldiers are of any use to us.

[There's a slight pause then, before he's propping his arms up behind his head and adding in a little more quieter. Though his next couple of words might be a little hard to make out over the network, with the occasional pops of static appearing over the feed.]

Suppose the real question now is, how ready are we?

 [the feed is inconsistent throughout this transmission, particularly the visuals, which cut out at random intervals, followed by brief audio feedback.  Koltira kneels beside a couple of bodies, and he's holding the netbook so as to provide a clear view of their still, open-eyed faces.  The edges of his cloak are visible, as well; he has placed it over them like a temporary shroud, as his purpose here is not to show off trophies of war.  Several other figures stand near the bodies; one is Emma Frost, in her diamond form, arms crossed over her chest.  Tier Halibel is an active blur, still battling ground troops.]

Exsilium, I have something to show you.

[A clawed, armored hand gestures to the men on the ground.  They are exactly, eerily alike in form and detail, with unnerving, milky-blue eyes and sharp, attractive features--high cheekbones, strong jaws, perfectly and scientifically symmetrical.  Both of the men have black hair, neatly cut; they are twin to one another in every way, like mass produced mannequins.]

These are the faces beneath the masks.  Acquaint yourselves.

[the feed becomes even more unstable.  The last image it catches before cutting out entirely is that same armored hand, passing over both men's faces, shutting their eyes with surprising, solemn gentleness.  Koltira doesn't hate these men: it's clear that they are just tools, prefabricated slaves created for the UE's use, and he knows more than a little something of that.]

Hello, everyone.

[ Today, he looks about as professionally neutral as he normally would - if maybe a little pleased for once - and he's seated at a table in his apartment, somewhat visible from the angle of the netbook screen. ]

I hope to hear that everyone's been doing well - or as well as possible.

[ Considering what happened not long ago, but there's no need to rub it in. He pauses briefly before going on and leaning towards the screen a little, some light catching on the gold resting at his collarbones. ]

There's been talk recently of the need for a more organized means to control threats and protect the people here. Naturally, I agree completely.

[ There are some papers on the table and he takes a moment to glance through them before picking up one in particular - plain, nondescript, with black typeface visible on it - and gesturing at the camera. ]

As I found out not long ago, we're not alone in thinking that. The people - the civilians - of Exsilium have already begun to organize a police force of their own. I happened to find their station because of this flier, advertising for assistance. They're more than willing to accept Transports - in fact, they're willing to allow for a separate segment to be created that would consist entirely of Transports and address dangers to us.

I can understand if anyone may be hesitant to work with natives of this world, but they seem to be completely unaffiliated with the Initiative - so much that no one I spoke to acknowledged the name - and I believe this is a good opportunity to bring some [ JUSTICE ] order to Exsilium while we're here.

[Video]

[Hey, it's Gordon! He's... actually wearing a labcoat now? The fluorescent-lit concrete slabs and test ranges behind him look unfamiliar too...]

"Doctor Gordon Freeman, research associate..." [He snorts derisively.] Well, at least I'm not in administration. I'm officially working in the labs of the Hold now. It's, uh, not exactly glamorous--

[Behind him, the clattering form of a crash-test dummy drops down in front of the concrete wall over the target painted on it, and then something off-camera fires a bizarre spiraling beam that neatly shreds it into a pile of splinters and fine sawdust.]

...But it's got a few perks.

[Private, to Chloe]

Hey, uh, I know you didn't want me to take the job, but I hope you understand why I did... I'll let you properly berate me over lunch if you like. I've got another confession to make too, but I have a hunch you're going to like this one.

[Action, open]

Gordon spends a lot of his time in the Hold nowadays. Will you meet him in the training rooms, blasting the shit out of robots in that weird orange suit of his? In the library looking up explosive compounds? In the armory, performing the THIRD inventory that week?

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.

[...and the Doctor looks terrible. He's slumped in an easy chair, staring woozily at the screen and blinking dizzily. When he speaks it's a weary mumble.]

Someone really needs to talk with this Initiative about their vortex hardware.... [squint] What's the date right now? My timesense is... scrambled.

Also, does anyone know where I could get some decent tea...?

[Shortly after this. The time is 3:12AM. Ionae looks to be outside somewhere in the city. Also her face is covered with blood, leaking from several long cuts along one side of her scalp. She just kind of stares for a few seconds in confusion before shaking her head and visibly regathering her thoughts.]

Ugh...Is anyone even awake? Someone attacked me...don't know where a doctor is.

My head hurts.

[Snow is sitting on what looks to be a fridge somewhere, idly kicking her feet back and forth. One hand is toying with her mirrored necklace - observant people might notice the similarities with the mirror present in Prince Arthur's latest post]

Just to make things simpler here, how many people in this place are going to have some sort of issue with magic? If you could all give me your name and some sort of idea of how far you're willing to go in order to stamp out this fiendish menace, that would be extraordinarily helpful. Save time on everyone's part, really.

[The mirror she's toying with flashes, before she drops her hand and straightens. A bright smile crosses her lips, and her tone changes slightly, teasing] More importantly, though, it seems that I've acquired a number of heavy objects here that I simply can't move on my own. [She taps a hand on her fridge-chair] I don't suppose there are any strapping young men who would be willing to come and help me move them? [She's totally just helping some old lady NPC move house but no one needs to know that right now]

[Action]

[Being as it is a permanent fixture of the Hold, the mareketplace has manifested several trappings of a mall-like nature. Like, say, an arcade. Well, actually it's just a few "antiquated" game machines stuffed into a corner, but with the training routines disturbed by the VR shenanigans they'd reached a level in popularity again.]

[One in particular, "Superah-RealCombato Sim 3000" has a ring of holographic projectors no more than six feet across, that cast flickering red shapes in parallax for characters standing in the middle to aim a virtual weapon at and shoot. The resulting sea of red gradient that they loosely call a "firefight sim" is hardly realistic, somewhat headache-inducing, and kind of flickery thanks to the wear of years.]

"HEADSHOT. DOUBLE-KILL. MULTIKILL. SURVIVALIST. NEW HIGH SCORE..."

[Wait, is that Gordon in there? Where did he learn to shoot like that?!]

[Watch? Comment? ...Try to beat his score?]

[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.]

[The feed turns on to a blue-haired woman looking critically into the netbook. Her head tilts in a thoughtful gesture. She's working it correctly, right?
A second later and she's clearing her throat with a small noise, staring at the screen squarely, eyebrows knit, jaw set, back straight.

She really looks like she could use some coffee.]

So we've all been roped into a war. I haven't heard anything on how far into battle the rest of you have gotten, but I would really appreciate any information you can spare.

[A big sigh here, and her hand massages her temples for a moment. MAN but does she look pissed all of the sudden.] I can't believe these people would stoop to kidnapping children and civilians, nevermind the entire scheme is disgusting to begin with.

Look. My name is Aileen Kimbler, I'm a doctor. I'm not a solider, and regardless of what this Initiative wants I’ll have no hand in the death of anyone here unless it’s in the interest of preventing it. I don't believe in war, but I'm good at my job for a reason.
If there's a hospital or infirmary of some sort, I'll do everything I can to help out there.

[Looks like she managed to calm down a bit halfway through all that, and her expression shifts to something gentle and worried.]

Please, don't hesitate to contact me if you're hurt.

[She reaches for the off button, but stops. Frowning and glancing left and right before pulling the netbook a little closer. The corner of her mouth perks up as she fights a smile, her nose crinkles and she casually brushes a piece of hair into view, drawing attention to it.] And um, just curious, but... How many of you believe in magic?

If so, I'm happy to say: You're not alone.

[Action]

[Gordon had taken to a pattern. Get up, work out (behind closed doors and hopefully away from any wry observations of Chloe's), head to the Hold, lose himself in the library. With the VR system still buggy they'd more or less halted training for new Transports, so he had a lot of time on his hands. It's easy to find him around the library, and in the anterooms of the Training facility, not to mention on the streets and at the marketplace, hoping against hope that he can find some actual decent COFFEE somewhere.]

( TL;DR, field equations and bad language. )

[Video]

Hey... A few questions for all of you. I've heard tell that the worlds we come from go into stasis relative to our frame of reference when we get here. Time stops for them, in other words. Can anyone actually verify this? Also I'm looking for someone. Woman about half a head shorter than I am, wears a bandanna, a little on the slender side, has a hacking tool that she uses for everything? She goes by the name of Alyx. Has... has anybody seen her here?