[Adrasteius stares into the feed silently for a few moments, eyebrows drawn, jaw set.  He's somewhere outside in the city, on a sidewalk, surrounded by an ever-shifting throng of people.  The masses don't seem to bother him, though.  He has the look of someone who was struck by a sudden thought, and then by a subsequently urgent need to voice it.  There's a shakiness to the feed as he talks, which suggests that the hand holding the tablet is quaking--though whether that's from emotion or some physical problem is not clear.]

I've noticed that a number of you claim to be leaders in your worlds.  Princes.  Kings.  Queens.  Nobility of some stripe.  

[Adra pronounces all of those nouns with the same tone another person might use to discuss vermin, and the venom only worsens as he goes on.]

Perhaps you were a general or a lieutenant.  Perhaps a politician.  Or you controlled a gang.  [The tone indicates that he pretty much lumps all of those positions together.]

Whatever you were, it seems clear that a few of you think this entitles you to the same position here.  This is, of course, fucking ridiculous.  But let us entertain, for the sake of argument, that you should retain your privileged status in this place.  I ask: why?  

[His eyes narrow, and he leans low over the tablet, his eyes bright and angry.]

Don't misunderstand me.  I'm not asking for a record of your 'heroic' and 'worthy' exploits.  I don't need to hear about how many battles you've won or organized;  about how many goddamn corpses you've piled up in your past.  I care not one fucking iota about your pathetic, disgusting warmongering.  

Don't fucking tell me about how you can punch through twenty walls with your immense strength, or how your magical prowess is so great that you can conjure thousands of swords from thin air, or stop hearts, or bend minds, or any of that other fucking.  nonsense.  Do you understand me?  I don't care if you can kill any man, woman, child, or other semi-sentient thing you set eyes on, and if you try to brag about it, you will be instantly dismissed as a witless fucking troglodyte.

No.  I'm asking you what you stand for.  What is your philosophy of leadership?  Do you favor fear and violence?  Do you favor control?  Do you claim to speak about cooperation, when what you actually want is doe-eyed agreement from a bunch of teat-suckling yes-men?  Well, goddammit?  What makes you fit to lead?  Fit to serve?  I don't want to know about your muscles, physical or otherwise.  I want to know about your fucking convictions.

[This sort of technology is nothing new to Tamora, and it doesn't take her but a moment or two to get the hang of this particular device and its functions. The video feed shows a very stern-looking blonde with an unimpressed glower on her face.]

Okay, civilians, look alive. The name's Calhoun--Sergeant, Space Marine Corps. If this game's in trouble, then I'm offering my full cooperation, but I'm gonna need a little more info first. I got three questions for you, and I expect clean, concise answers.

One: [She holds up one finger, then three, and folds one down for each description she gives.] I'm looking for three people--a short guy with brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a blue shirt and a goofy hat, who carries around a golden hammer; a little girl about nine years old, with black hair, wearing a turquoise hoodie; and a big guy dressed like a lumberjack with disproportionately large hands and feet. Don't ask why he has disproportionately large hands and feet, 'cuz to be frank I really don't know. I just need to find these people, and if anybody's seen 'em, I'd like a full report on their last known coordinates. Also if there are any other space marines present, sound off; if there's a hole in the code in the far quadrant we need to figure out how to get a message to the rest of the team.

Two: [Two fingers this time.] Who's the genius that designed this game? Because I'd really like to punch them in the eye. Who in the name of Goomba's snaggleteeth thought it was a good idea to design a game with no exit? [And then she mutters under her breath.] Ugh, if I have to play a bunch of minigames to get to the next level or something I'm gonna seriously knock some heads...

[Back to business.] And three: [Three fingers, and then her hand swims to her forehead.] Where can you get a good strong cup of coffee around here? I have a feeling I'm gonna need it.

In addition, anyone who can give me a more comprehensive rundown than the sorry excuse for a briefing I received upon arrival, I'd appreciate it. Calhoun out.

[And the feed cuts promptly.]

Before I arrived in this place, Danko told me that I had died for my freedom. Ironic. Now I'm here. Freedom again. Accepting servitude in one way for freedom in others. Follow the rules, behave. Do as they say.

Then you can do what you want. A gold star.

They're afraid of us. They don't understand. We have these abilities..

[A pause]

I don't want to be alone anymore. I don't want to be the only one with these kinds of powers. Someone else out there must have something they can do. I can't be the only one with my curse.

Uwauuuu!!!

[ A green-haired boy can be seen pouncing around on all fours. He pounces closer to sniff the screen then pounces back like a wary dog. He repeatedly beats his chest with his fists. ]

Uwaaaaauu!!!

[ He slams his fists onto the floor, resolute. ]

Bun lady say glowy box show Gau friends! Show Gau friends! [ He howls. ] Gau friends lost! Glowy box show Gau friends again! We fight together! Show! Gau! Friends! Now! Wauuuu!!!

[ He waves his arms in the air. He beats his chest. He slaps the ground. He hops around the communicator a couple of times before stopping at the sound of his stomach grumbling. ]

Or food. [ He crouches. ] Glowy box show Gau food, then friends. Okay?

[The feed opens to an upwards shot of this guy. His expression is hard to read but a sharp ear might be able sense a bit of boredom in his tone. There are scatterings of white fur dotting his black armor, which he brushes off with clear distaste as he speaks.]

There are multiple theories about the afterlife. You humans have more than a few of your own. I believe rebirth is one of them. Eternal damnation another. Both too extreme for me but I expected something similar.

Needless to say, this place has… altered my expectations. Next time, I'll be sure to anticipate more fur.

[Hear that Korra? Yeah that's aimed at you and your little dog, too. Speaking of which, he brushes more white fur off his shoulder and continues, mandibles raised slightly in an alien grin.]

As for the rest of you, since introductions seem to be the standard here, allow me to make my own. [The grin disappears, replaced by a cold, unreadable expression.] My name is Nihlus Kryik. I… was a Spectre under the authority of the Citadel Council. Some here will recognize what that means, the rest of you shouldn't concern yourselves with it. All you need to know is that I'm here to help.

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.]

[There's a fellow in a suit that's just a bit too tight for him sitting before you. Yes, all of you. Anyone not on a call or otherwise preoccupied with the audio-visual portion of their tablet gets to say hello to a peculiar-looking individual dressed in an aubergine collared shirt and bearing an intensely grey-blue stare. Sherlock lifts a pale hand in greeting, waggling his fingers awkwardly (that's what people do to say hello, right?) He gazes down at the camera. By the background behind him, the man's sitting somewhere up on one of the tallest buildings in the city.]

My name is Sherlock Holmes. I've been listening to your chatter. 

It seems the general consensus is that the war we have all had foisted upon us is a losing battle. 

[His soft baritone carries a received pronunciation accent to anyone who's English and listening, or otherwise observant. By his state of dress and the other phone he's playing with, he's from around 2010 or so give or take a few years. He folds his hands in his lap and leans forward.]

I say, no, but if you continue on in the manner you have been, you are very likely destined for failure. I've done the math, but I'm told it bores people. 

[A file is pushed forward to all of the tablets in Exsilium in message form.]

Get back to me if you're interested in going home instead of wallowing about feeling sorry for yourselves, attending masquerades and sitting in awkward sympathy banquets. 
( An innocuous text file. )

[This is the first time Yue's even bothered to begin messing with this thing since her arrival. Her roommates in 405 likely notice a few things - one, they have a new roommate and two, that roommate must enjoy a lot of food. Seriously, there seems to always be food leftover near the stove. It's all neatly put up and most of it involves dumplings somehow.

This is one night when she's returned from training. And when the video pops up, it's...

Well, it's a bear. A panda, to be exact, with bright green eyes and long, slightly damp hair. The rest of her fur looks like it's trying to decide if it wants to fluff out or not. There's a slight accent to her voice as she talks.]

Let's see, let's see... ah, there, working!

[That brightens her up. There's the slightest of accents to her voice as she speaks.]

Much more efficent than letters. We should really have these back home, it would save so much time. And travel! I can't count the number of people who send me here or there or over there with a letter. A letter! What are the mailboxes for then!

[Huffpuff, she still can't get over that. It's not very efficient. Not that the Wandering Isle had the best postal system ever.

Whatever. She waves it off quickly to add:]

I'm Yue Hua. If you're hungry, stop and see me sometime. I'm usually training but I can always stop for a snack.

[Or five.]

[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?

[Hello, Exsilium, have a sudden video of a slightly damp young woman fiddling with the netbook before she's able to get a good grip on it. If anyone was paying attention, they might have noticed her other hand holding the handles of some shopping bags. Judging by the background, it appears she's out and about in the city in, of course, the usual rain, though today's seems to be rather light in comparison.]

Okay, I'll say right off the bat that I know this sounds pretty lame or whatever, but I need to ask where I can find some stuff to decorate the apartments. Interior stuff like... I don't know a plant? Something to make it less boring.

[She sighs, adjusting the netbook as she walks and ducks under an awning.]

If I'm going to be stuck here, then I at least want to make things more livable. Hell, I'll settle for inhabited. Those places are so sleek and white, it's almost creepy, even with repairs going on.

[Kallen leans against the wall and sets her bags down.]

On a less domestic note, would anyone be up for some training later? It definitely goes better with company.

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.

[Gond's Gonads, she spent a hour trying to learn this new thing. DAMN KIDS WITH YOUR NEW EYE PADS! She looks haggard and frazzled, her hair up in a ponytail and usual hideous robes replaced with jeans and a tank top that shows off how ]

Those airships they used, could anyone find weaknesses to them? I noticed that their maneuvering, while fast, is rather predictable, and their invisibility is far from flawless. They seem built to endure cold, fire, lightning, acid and sonics, and to stand up to heavy impacts and having a rhinoceros dropped on them, but a high enough concentration of power can crash them down. Granted, I was only able to disable a fraction of them, but it seems my results were consistent.

We should collect what we've learned for future reference.

[Yeah, this girl managed to take down fair number of the big super jets. Perks of being epic level.]

[Someone looks totally wrecked] Has anyone seen Al - has anyone seen Shepard? Or - or Tali. [Rubbing a hand over his face] They've been missing too long now. I know - I know there are a lot of newcomers here, so if anyone's see a tall female soldier, brown hair, probably in armour, could you let me know? Uh, please? I'm also looking for a female Quarian - alien, that is. She wears a full body suit with a helmet, purple accents, never takes it off.

If anyone has information and could let me know, that would be fantastic. Thank you.

 [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.]

[This time Chloe's set up in her room instead of the chilly rooftop perch where she'd made her initial broadcast. One, it's cozier, and two-- well, two is that she's still busy enjoying the little collection of trinkets and coins that've been acquired over both the course of her stay in the city and their brief expedition into the past. (The most important of the bunch being Henry's Morgan dollars, currently being rolled over her fingertips as she addresses the net.)]

Well that was a wild ride, wasn't it? Here's hoping we get sent out on destination holidays a little more often. Shame about the mess here, though. Seems like everyone's had a hard time of things this week.

Just goes to show how much we all ought to be watching one another's backs, no matter what kind of a disaster it might be out there.

Speaking of which...[Chloe sets her coin collection down for a moment to hold up a slightly defunct looking digital tablet. Poor thing's seen much, much better days.] Anyone out there know a thing or two about computers? I'm trying to save this one from the scrap heap, but it's been giving me one hell of a time.

I also figured it was about time I put out the call again. If you need something found-- doesn't matter what-- my crew and I are willing to get it for you. Our rates are fair, and trust me, with as lovely a place as this is, you might as well have someone out managing the more tedious tasks for you.

And Koltira, you still owe me. Fifty for the last job, fifty as a down payment on this one. Try not to make me regret placing a little faith in you, yeah?

You know what honestly blows the most in this place?

[ Jack's slumped down into the cushions of her unit's living room couch, an empty bag of chips resting against her stomach as she rambles. ]

The fucking cable. Has anyone else been watching Days of Our Dumbass Totalitarian Future? I don't know how many more fucking times I can watch the big reveal that Sally McBigtits is pregnant and the great betrayal of Fabio von Whatshisass fucking around behind her back before I shove my foot through the TV. I miss the extranet. I miss the bispecies porn. At least it was laugh worthy to see a Hanar and an Elcor trying to get it on.

You know what they say about idle hands... Well, I'm not really sure, but in this context it probably means arson is on the horizon, so let's work on the entertainment sector some time before I decide it's a better plan to just go around torching shit for the funsies.

[ There's a long pause in which she just stares with the most bored of eyes at the screen, face intensely unimpressed with life as a whole. ]


Shepard, I'm hungry.

The way I see it-

[Isaac is in one of the training areas- he's dressed in loose clothing, slightly sweat-damp, and with that cocky, arrogant little grin on his face. Just behind him, slightly obscured by the camera angle, is one of those hefty training dummies, and it's now in absolute tatters, worn down at the chest and head area and generally ripped to shreds.]

This 'training' is a joke. If we're going to be fighting real people out there, we need to be fighting real people in here. So.

[He tilts his chin upward, utterly confident in himself.]

Someone come spar with me.

[The four-eyed alien on the screen is excitedly typing away on her laptop with two hands, and waving two more in excited ways. Because yes, she has four hands and she is making wild gestures to punctuate each and every word she says. She is not going to stop for anything.]

I can’t believe this! Humans are everywhere, this is the most amazingly perfect opportunity! I have been studying humans, of course, but my sample size has been very limited up until now!

Let me review my notes so far- [She taps a few times on her laptop to bring up said notes, rapidly reading over them a few times before she starts talking again]

Humans are a fairly low-tech pre-spaceflight species, not many of them have made it into space! Which is such a shame, they’re a very attractive species, even though they tend to be a bit hairy and don’t have enough eyes. But I haven’t let things like that get in my way before! [She laughs loudly, then continues]

What else, what else- I wish I had my original notes here, I really did! Oh yes- humans are remarkably stubborn, prone to irrationality...and quite a violent species, too, aren’t they? They certainly do love their wars! Only two sexes too, correct? Isn’t that a shame.

I believe that’s where my data ends! I need more, much more to fill out a proper database file. And if any are up for an examination....well, I am a doctor! I need to know how to treat all of you, don’t I?

Oh, I'm so excited to start working! Tell me where I'm needed, please?

[Here is a cheerfully smiling Mahdi. He's holding up an obnoxiously cute kitten planner and looking cheerful.]

Hi everyone. I've been thinking. If we're all going to be stuck here for a long time, I figured I should find out everyone's birthday and if they have a favorite meal or type of cake. If you'd please respond to this message with your name, birthday, and a little bit about you, I'd really appreciate it!

On that note, I was thinking. If people keep turning up, we should have some sort of monthly event so everyone can get to know each other, introduce ourselves and catch up and celebrate one another's birthdays. Like a potluck, maybe? There are too many people to do do this at my apartment, so I'd need to figure out a spot. What do you think?

Oh, by the way. I'm Mahdi. I like cats, singing, and cooking. My birthday is Valentine's Day!

[Nick's looking much cleaner and neater than he had in his last entry, but he doesn't look to be in any better of a mood, and the bottle of scotch on the table next to him is half-empty]

How the fuck can there not be any casinos in this place? Or 'houses of ill-repute.' Given that we're supposed to be, like, a thousand years in the future, this place is pretty damn disappointing.

I have yet to see one flying care anywhere. There's also no robot butlers, no hot robot chicks, no weird-looking alien kids who like reese's pieces... there aren't even any 'damn, dirty apes.' And instead of living on some cool space station on Mars, we're stuck in Assholeshire, England, digging through post-apolocyptic rubble. There isn't even a god-damned McDonald's.

[He suddenly leans forward, his face taking up the entire screen.]

So if whoever's in charge happens to be watching this, I've got just one thing to say:

I want a fucking refund.

[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.]

Among us transports, how many used to be involved in their world's justice system? As police, lawyers, detectives, judges, [ heroes ] and the like. Nobody's required to answer, of course, but I'd like to know. Curiosity, if you will.

[ He goes for text for once because he doesn't feel like broadcasting - it's been two weeks since the VR and if nothing else he still believes in keeping up appearances, the instinct to pick up and carry on for his goal more deeply rooted than almost anything. What goal, he's wondered so much for so long lately, but he found an answer at home and there's no reason to let go of it now. ]

[He's sitting outside somewhere, his back to a wall, frowning at the screen. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about him, the thing most likely to make an impression--besides the crazy sideburns--is that he looks mean.

And he is. What little time he's had to adjust hasn't improved his mood.]

So what's the consensus? Just do what they tell you and they'll let you go home, or am I bein' too optimistic?

The rumors are true. [A big red eye and a face that seems too wide for the frame blips onto screen. The voice is gruff, but with a hint of amusement to its tone.] There is a new monster in town.

Hrm. And that's all anyone seems to know about me. Why else would that human willingly hand over some magic advanced weapon? [He chuckles lowly.] Famous first—and last—mistake.

Anyway, let's get this over with. Point me toward the enemy.

[The video feed sparks to life as Chloe taps repeatedly at the screen, offering the net a view of a woman with shoulder-length dark hair and bright eyes, wearing a stylish biking jacket and a few layers of leather necklaces with various little charms hanging from their ends. The city's skyline is visible behind her from a particularly high vantage point, and it's likely that she's found herself a resting place somewhere atop the roof of one of the taller buildings. She wiggles a few fingers lazily in greeting before speaking up with a distinctly Australian accent.]

Evening, everyone. Chloe here. New arrival, in case you haven't noticed. All right, somewhat new. Got dragged into this mess a few days ago and decided to take my time getting settled; never know what's out there if you don't bother to look first.

I was a treasure hunter back home-- one of the best in the business, I might add. Problem is I'm getting the impression that there's not much treasure to be found here on Alcatraz, and I'd prefer to stay sharp while things are relatively quiet. So here's the deal: if you need something of value-- for a price-- I'm more than happy to lend a well-trained hand and fetch it for you.

[She moves to shut the call down before adding, thoughtfully]

And in the meantime, if anyone out there knows a place that serves good drinks, I'm all ears. After all this I could sure as hell use one.  

If that is the Initiative's notion of training, I shudder to think how they command a battlefield. Victory will come steeped in more blood than it ought.

Is anything being done to combat this? Has no one here any semblance of proper military instruction?

[ private to Thor ]

We must speak. Now.

[The first thing the feed shows is a blur of green and brown rushing past at amazing speeds, the ground rushing by at blinding speed; a blur of red and white in the corner, the toe of a sneaker going faster than any sneaker has a right to. Then the view lurches into a dizzying overhand spin as its carrier performs a fast series of flips, shuddering as he lands...]

[And then the spiky blue... THING, flashes a grin at the camera.]

Helooooo Exsilium! My name's Sonic: Sonic the Hedgehog! And it looks like I'm going to be fighting alongside you guys now! I just took an easy jog out to the coast and back; Those guys really take themselves seriously, huh? Blockades, machine guns, constant patrols... and that's for their own citizens! I dunno about you guys, but I can't wait to cut 'em down to size!

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.