Um.

[The video feed kicks on at some ungodly hour during the night and finds Isaac- or, more accurately, the faint outline of Isaac. The world around him is dark, but for what it's worth, he seems to be outside. In the snow.

The first thing you'd probably notice is that he isn't dressed for it at all. Isaac is actually pretty much wearing a t-shirt, fabric pajama pants, and has no shoes or socks to speak of. He's drenched, shivering something awful, and seems to be rather in the middle of nowhere.]

I could use a little help. [His teeth chatter as he speaks. Not fun.] Is anyone awake? I just kind of... woke up here a few minutes ago. So, uh- a jacket or a way home would be nice.


[[ooc: Isaac's weapon is sort of in the process of leveling up and as a result, he's sleepwalkin'. Anyone is welcome to find him! c:]]

[This query brought to you by a pretty handful of missing puzzle pieces, not that you'd know, since Lenalee has no intent to justify or explain that imagery, nor to keep picking at scabs until they fester.]

We've already seen how the smallest change made can rewrite the entire history of this world. People are unborn, warheads are undropped... because we've cut out the circumstances which led to their happening.

How do you think that it might be the same for us? Transports come and go so often here and no one knows why. Whatever we do, we are always altering chances, there is no reason not to consider they could also be our own. That someone arrived on a day no longer existing may suddenly leave, or return by new circumstance, or forget they were ever here before.

It may be that we don't "go home", just. "Never arrive".

[ about ten minutes after broadcast, through careful squinting and experimentation, the feed is locked from Gilbert Nightray ]

( Cue one video post with Mr. Casey, looking a couple years older. The thin grey sweater covers up all the major markers of change in terms of more tattoos and more scars, save for a thin one running across his throat. Maybe the light obscures it - maybe it doesn't. The real thing is that he looks calmer, less uncomfortable with himself, even doing a video post. More steady, less haggard. Like he actually might sleep instead of being constantly run down. )

Uh, hey. I just-- thought I should um, let p-people-- know I'm back.

( Actually he got a little while ago, as those living with Max probably know, but he's sort of been sticking around her pretty constantly all that time. Not being around when she returned to the house seemed like a bad idea, all things considered. )

Or if you knew uh, a guy c-called-- called Atlas. That was me, too. I don't um, don't really do the secret identity thing anymore. Just if anyone wanted to uh, track him d-down.

( he takes a couple more pauses when he speaks, goes through more slowly, less of the urgent need to jsut spit it out from before.

Well. There's... not much more to say. Really he needs to go and catch up with people one on one, talk to the clinic, find his friends, see how things are. This just felt necessary.

A little nod to the camera, a slight smile, and the feed cuts. )

[Unless you've met this kid in person, you've probably never seen him. He's not a video post kind of guy. But this is important, and it's hard to summarize in a text post. So here he is, the face to a name that's been around for 6 months now.

He's pale, maybe a little shaken. And for some reason, he's wearing a new coat.]

Uh...

Listen. I-

[He takes a breath, realizing that he's stuttering a bit, and tries again. No, really. It's important.]

If anyone here met Richard Lawson...he's gone. And I'm sure. I-

I saw it. He- I don't know. He disappeared. He just raved about us and then disappeared. Um. He used to be on the UE council, so he knew some stuff about them. And he told me that they're still out there and that-

[Stanley swallows, and glances away from the camera for a moment. It sucks, to watch someone disappear. Fade away. But he can't think about that yet. Right now, he has to pass the message along. So he looks back, right at the camera lens this time.]

He said we have to make sure they don't find us.

(OoC: Derp, forgot to give you guys the relevant link.)

[the camera starts off upside down, before Tempest hisses out a curse and rights it. She briefly makes a face and pushes some hair out of her face - hair that is distinctly longer and a different, somewhat lighter color than the stark black it had been. Which . . . could explain why she's been MIA for the past two days, and why she looks confused at first]

Well, this is . . . hm. Odd. [she mutters just loud enough for the camera to hear] It really has been a while . . . .

Anyway, I've an offer and a request. I plan to do some hunting, so if anyone is in need of meat I would be more than willing to hunt a little extra. I am not looking to trade, though I will not say no to anyone who offers to.

As for my request, I am looking for someone familiar with . . . hm, symbols? Any kind. My thanks in advance.

So how does death really work here? [It's a strange question to even be asking, but--]

I heard others died before. Here. Like dead dead. [Not that she's thinking about it, but the girl has predilections for. Well at least the reasons she has in the past aren't exactly here.]

Oh-- also anyone got any cigarettes for trade. I'd say I'd kill for some, but you know... [She wiggles her fingers before shutting the feed off.]

[Last time Jaime posted as Blue Beetle, he kept to text. This time, he thinks that people might need a face - masked as it may be - to match to the words. His voice is put through a technological filter, just distorted enough for him to keep from being recognized. He's in the VR room in the most professional looking room he could think of, which is essentially a large table with wall-to-wall windows behind him looking out onto San Francisco - potentially recognizable to some canonmates as a loose copy of the Titans Tower meeting room, which is fairly generic anyway.]

So... hi. I'm Blue Beetle. A bunch of you already know that I've been trying to dig up as much info on the Chimera Project as I can - those are the cloned children, for you new guys - and I think I've got enough information to get going. Thanks to everyone who helped me out with this, by the way - you know who you are. I know everyone must be really tired of hearing people give long speeches by now, so I'll try to keep it short. [He smiles at the camera for an instant, a flash of white, human teeth behind the armour]

[He's making an effort to sound professional, but he's not used to public speaking. Sometimes, he looks down at his lap instead of the camera (consulting his notes as if he's giving a speech for class if he's honest about it) and he's stiff, uncomfortable, but his voice is even and steady. Small victories, and victories born of actually rehearsing.

Are you ready for a fun history lesson, Transports? Because you're sure as hell going to get one.]

( Non-IC cut! )

['Sup fellow moon people. Here's a face you've never seen on the network before, though some of you have seen the kid around by now.

Stanley is a teenager, about 16, with blond hair hanging in his face because he hasn't had it cut since at least June. In spite of that, a bit of his startled eyes still show through. His voice catches a little, and he's out of breath. There's an unusual urgency to his tone, for those who are familiar with him.

And while he's kept his mouth shut through the mutiny, now he seems to have something to say. In spite of how insignificant the question seems when he poses it, there's a barely restrained edge of panic to his entire being. Something is most likely up here.]

I-uh. I'm looking for the lost and found. But it's not-it's not on the map. Little help?

(OoC: That recently announced world change came with a few significant other changes. Namely, to the former Exsiles. Including smuggled children. For those that knew about Peace this will be an easy puzzle to solve. She's gone, guys. Never existed at all, officially.)

So, uh. I'm pretty sure that a bunch of people know that kid Stanley. He's a really lucky asshole, because he up and freaking disappeared. Went to take a piss and never came back. Just poofed. Great for him, sure.

But he sorta left me with...something. That he'd brought here.

[underneath peter's voice, which is pretty soft and even considering what he's saying, there's what sounds an awful lot like the sound of muffled sniffling.]

Which was big of him and all and fine for right this second, but this is not an ideal long-term arrangement. So if anybody wants to help out with that, it'd be great. I'm in the cafeteria, we can talk.

[anyone who comes to the cafeteria will find peter there with peace, who has cried herself out for the moment and is sucking on peter's hair and falling asleep on his shoulder while he walks her around and rubs her back, singing little snatches of songs in some foreign language. getting to this point was obviously a feat; parts of his hair and the shoulder of his shirt are soaked with toddler tears and snot and his ever-present leather jacket is draped over a chair to save it from the babypocalypse. he doesn't seem that fussed, though, for a seventeen year old boy left with someone else's small child. surprisingly good with kids, this one.

ooc: tempest is going to end up with the baby, but everyone is welcome to fuss or help out.]

Right, so. Public service announcement.

[the guy on the screen epitomizes scruffy teenager: leather jacket, hair in need of a brush, days worth of stubble on his face. those familiar with peter might think that he seems kind of extraordinarily calm. actually, those unfamiliar with peter might think that too, considering their situation. he doesn't seem happy, exactly, not drugged or faking it, just...really zen.]

Big brown wolf you might see wandering around sometimes? That's me. And yeah, I know the teeth are super impressive, but despite all rumors and recent shenanigans to the contrary, bloodlust is not my personal MO. A wolf is a wolf, though, not a labrador. Don't try to hurt me or touch me while I'm eating and everything will be cool.

End public service announcement.

[he makes to cut the feed and then pauses.]

Oh, and the other guys are okay now. Claws retracted and all that. If they become not okay, do us all a favor and call me along with the local hero squad. That kind of shit is what happens when you bring werewolves to the damn moon.

Right, last thing. Stanley, I still have a bunch of your stuff if you want it.

[She looks tired, a little strung out, like she's sure most people do right now, but this is important, and it's important that people listen, which means she's using video, in the hopes it'll help make this message stick.

When she speaks, it's steady enough, though there's hints of worry and desperation in her tone, at times. Indications of how serious she's taking this, how hard it's hitting her.]

I know everything's a mess right now, but if you're seeing this, I need you to take the time to sit and listen, please, because I'm trying to help all of us and that won't work if everyone ignores me. Some of are probably going to hate me for this, but that's okay, as long as you keep listening while you hate me.

[a beat; a breath]

We're not abandoning the Exiles.

( this got long winded )

When I was a kid, FDR would do these little— he'd come on the radio, and he'd sound cheery, and he could talk about all kinds of awful things. Poverty, and debt, and then war. [ His voice drifts off, for a second. ] And no matter how bad it all got, he could make you feel safe. I was always crap at that. I can't make you feel safe. But some stuff you've gotta know anyway, I figure.

I got a copy of one of the UE's field guides, and what it says is that the Black Code is the all-clear for a nuclear warhead drop, then carpet bombing. They have… fancier nukes now, I guess, with more than one point of impact on drop.

Now you know.

I'd put up a video, but I don't think I'm quite ready for Youtube stardom.

Anyway, if anyone's in need of professional military training, I'm not your best candidate, but I can give some pointers. Show you how to shoot. You could say this shit's the only stuff I'm good for, so I might as well put it to good use.

[The feed cut--though, Tim realized this was totally incomplete. He came back with an addendum the post.]

I forgot. I'm Tim Gutterson--U.S. Marshal and former Army Ranger. On top of teachin', feel free to hit me up if you're in trouble.