MarinaNova Asylum

[Julian groaned as he woke up--he felt like he'd slept for hours, but he was lying on something much harder than even the station's Cardassian beds, and it made his neck and shoulders ache terribly. He stretched his neck, then opened his eyes--and was immediately on high alert when the unmistakable fact that he was somewhere that was most definitely not Deep Space 9--not even the holosuite--hit him.

And then the device over his ear and half his face began to play its welcoming message, and he was immediately even more incredulous and angry. To be accused of such crimes and sentenced without due trial--when he'd just avoided being unceremoniously bounced out of Starfleet...

Julian had just escaped a prison that he'd been abducted to in the quiet of night, and now here he was again--without even the dignity of his uniform, instead a bright orange thing that even his fashion sense was affronted by.

There were other people here, he could see them going about their lives, hear their voices over the communicator looped over his ear. Well, time to get the introductions over with.]

Normally, I'd expect to be at least given the basic right of due process and trial by a jury of peers--in which I am proven guilty of whatever crimes I am accused of--before being thrown into a prison indefinitely.

[Not to mention he's fairly sure whoever and whatever power is holding him here doesn't have jurisdiction over him.]

I am Lieutenant Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space 9. I'd appreciate any further information anyone can give--and if there are any Starfleet officers present, I would appreciate hearing from you.

Good morning, inmates. Today is day [ 262 ] of the first generation. The weather scheduled for today is [ mild with light rains in the evening ].


New inmates will be arriving in the facility shortly. Please be aware of this disturbance as you go about your day and help them get started on their [ rehabilitation ]. We value your cooperation.

Have a nice day.

[ And like always, we end this message with a jaunty tune! You're welcome. ]

(OOC: Kiosk requests will be handled by Conscienti unless otherwise requested! Mail submissions go here! )

[ liz is careful to maintain her composure and choose her words carefully, keeping whatever she might have to say about being pulled into yet another (possibly) alien fiasco to herself. ]

Hi. I'm not— uh, not entirely sure I'm using this thing right. Not that that's the point or anything...

Look, I think there's been some sort of misunderstanding. My name is Liz Parker. I'm an intern for the office of Congresswoman Vanessa Whitaker, the US Representative from New Mexico. If this prank has anything to do with the upcoming election or the Land Exchange Act, I can't help you. You'll need to contact Congresswoman Whitaker's office directly. I'm just an intern. I don't have any pull. Sorry.

So, if you could please could put me in contact with someone in charge here, I would really appreciate it. I'm sure we can sort all this out.

[ she's was on an FBI watch list at one point. for all she knows, this situation isn't alien, but some sort of ploy on their end. something nasedo's yet to put a stop to. ]

[Quatre's listened intently to every drop of information he's been given, along with what his eyes and 'normal' senses have to say. Though one sense is lacking...and making him twitchier than he's been the last little while. It's almost a blessing to not have as big of a gaping hole in his heart for feeling Trowa's absence, but even that thought makes him feel horrid.]

You'll all have to excuse my abrupt questions, they're likely not even surprising to those who have been here for a while. However, I feel they deserve asking, and I'd like to hear any answer you can provide. What happens if an inmate cannot be 'rehabilitated'? What if it's too late to save someone?

[The sector map on his visor tells him he's in Sector One, and his nose tells him there are horses nearby.]