[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 ]

[ it had been a just one night since oz's departure and alice had more or less kept quiet. after spending a night searching fruitlessly, she spent the rest of the dark hours sulking with (1) gilbert nightray until they eventually fall asleep, buried in the sheets like sad children who have lost the dearest thing they held at night.

in the morning alice wakes up and her first instinct is to cry, but the second is something more violent... and of course she goes with that instead.

THERE'S A LOUD BANG. something appears to have fallen and shattered, although it's hard to say when things are happening off-screen. and before anyone can attempt to understand what just happened, they get an earful from one angry looking young girl shouting into the tablet. she never did care for this thing, but at least she knows now that someone will be able to hear her. ]

THEY TOOK OZ AWAY! I WON'T FORGIVE THEM. [ her head's clear but it's hard to stop yelling when you're so upset. if someone could hear her, feel threatened by her,

help her

then she might actually have time to think and calm down. ] How dare they take him away without my permission? Don't they know its the master's job to take care of their servant? How am I suppose to do that when he's not here? Huh? SOMEONE GIVE HIM BACK! NOW! I'm waiting!

[ don't be fooled by her tough exterior, she's gonna burst into tears any minute now.

oh. there you go. the tears roll down. ]

This is all your fault, idiot! [ blames the ne..twork... ] Bring him back... useless! Useless....

All right, I think I've finally found my way around this thing. And what better way to use it than broadcasting what I have so far of my newest work? I usually have Varric give my friend-fiction a quick read before I share it with anyone else, but I think this snippet is particularly fantastic. It's dedicated to a certain new sparring partner I ran into.

Settle down, everyone, Aunty Isabela's got a story for you all.

( Not explicit BUT NOT FOR GENERAL AUDIENCES EITHER. )

Hngh.

[ Yeah, that's pretty much all you get to hear at first – a grunt, followed by a long delay of him trying to figure out how this gadget works. It's tricky and he doesn't have the patience, but given what else he's seen and heard so far, this seems almost insignificant in comparison and not quite worth his ire. Because really – space zombies. ]

Okay. Sure, I'll run with this for now. This thing's working, right?

[ Part of him still wants to believe this is a crazy dream—but even so, he's gonna be a professional and deal with it gracefully. For now. Provided this isn't gonna be dragged out. ]

Not that I particularly appreciate being kidnapped to fight for somebody else's cause without so much as proper contract conditions being negotiated first, but whining will get us nowhere, will it?

Given the circumstances. Bad timing all around, it looks like.

Anyway, I got the gist, but there's still a lot of things I don't understand – most pressing matter of all being the question if and how we're gonna get rid of this infestation, or whatever you wanna call it. [ Of course he's still gonna skim the archives later, but first impressions and especially first hand accounts go a long way. And really a zombie-free station would be kinda nice right now. ] So tell me about what you know, what's important – what can be done right now. About yourself, if you feel so inclined, I'd rather get to know my comrades. Unless you'd like to postpone introductions, which is fine by me.

Me, I go by Big Boss, but Snake's fine.

[Time travel. Dystopian futures. Sentient weapons. Space right outside the windows. And these things roaming outside of the observatory. By now Mai's spent the better part of a day mopping up creatures, finding solace for her confusion in doing more than just pinning these things against walls.

And now that she's actually deigned to acknowledge the device thrust upon her when she first arrived, she's only got one real comment for... whatever this thing is supposed to connect her to.]

Do you all usually throw these kind of welcoming parties or were you exceptionally bored?

[Alright... Now Kenjirou is drunk.]

Doesn't really matter where we are, does it?

[Whatever alcohol Kenjirou had kept throughout his time in Exsilium and accumulated during missions has been officially depleted. It's been a rough couple of months, and they're only getting rougher. Still, there was one constant that allowed him to keep going. Now that she's gone, it really has become too much to bear. Honestly, a dark part of him wishes she hadn't come in the first place so he wouldn't have to deal with what seems (and Kenjirou fully expects to be) the death of a family member for the third time. His judgment has been a little compromised by the stress, so clearly, the only rational course of action is to make an ass out of himself on the network.]

's not like the scenery down there was breathtaking, either. And even if we get enough supplies to make it through, even if... [give him a second] ...Even if we return things to the way they were, what's the endgame? Don't really care about whatever war this is part of. Nothing but trouble...

I... ugh.

Class is... cancelled. Indefinet--... Indifi--... Forever.

( there's a slight sound of rustling after the feed clicks on, as oz makes himself more comfortable on a seat in the observatory. why he's there late at night — night by circadian rhythms, anyway, simulated nights on the moon — is anyone's guess, or maybe it's obvious enough. in any case, when he speaks up a moment later, he sounds to be in a good enough mood. )

What's your favorite story? Scary ones are probably best for late at night, but what I really want to hear about are everyone's favorites. For instance, something about a princess and a dragon, or maybe a mystery with a twist ending, or something out of history....ah, if you make it up or adapt it from a book, that's fine too! Or even if it's a real one that's happened to someone you know, ( and a light laugh ) — don't worry, I don't tell anyone!

But it's rude to ask without giving my own preference, right? I can start with mine, if anyone wants.

( he'll tell people about holy knight. all about it!!!! don't ask him about it. )

[When Walter’s voice first comes in, it is loud despite his actually speaking in a normal tone; microphones were not so advanced in his day, and he has followed the example of his day in holding the microphone close to him when he speaks.]

I’ve been told we’re to use these things when we want to get in contact with each other. Frankly, I don’t see much of a point to it in a location like this. We’re all grouped so close together that a public announcement system would be a more efficient use of resources. If you want to talk to someone, you can just walk to their door and knock.

[There is a pause in the recording in which he frowns, though it cannot be seen on the screen of whoever it is that happens to be listening in due to Walter’s electing to make the recording audio-only. But if the listener is patient enough to endure the two-second pause, the young voice with the King’s English accent returns.]

I’ve been told to give this a try either way, so here it is. If you’re feeling at all helpful, you can respond in whatever way you want to let me know I’m actually doing it right. No small talk required. I just want to be able to use this thing in case of an emergency.

[And with that, the recording ends, the listener left to respond or disregard the message at will.]




( [Speaking of going to someone's door, whoever walks into Housing Unit 131 will find a note posted to the inside of their door. It's written by hand, in cursive largely typical of the 1930s-40s era, though with a few unusual flourishes here and there on some of the letters.] )

[Greetings, Exsilium. Hope you're not tired of all these new transports, because there is going to be one (1) more popping up on the network during this lovely evening. She had avoided being overly social after her initial briefing, but now she had a stomach to fill and some time to kill, so here she was. If she looks a little bit too made up for this to be a casual, spur of the moment video, that's because it's not.

It's actually a con.]

Y'know, when I got dragged here, the last thing I expected was to be nearly bored to death. [Laughing a little, mostly because haha--death. That's hilarious.] I guess I was wrong, though. Let's change that.

[And shuffling a little, if only to show a couple of coins on the feed, she explains herself.]

Tell me a story. It can be scary, funny, sad-- whatever it is you can think of. If you make me cry, I'll buy you anything you want. If you don't... you'll buy me food tonight. Sounds good? [Probably not.

But, she looks frail and young enough for this to be easy. It should be easy, right? Right. That said, she flashes a smile at her tablet and ends the recording right there.]