Nena Trinity has returned, and this time Michael has arrived as well.

[Short. To the point. He wouldn't expect a response from anyone who didn't want to. He was just warning everyone so there weren't any surprises later followed by angry misunderstandings like last time. Though, it wasn't like Nena and Michael had been very secretive about their arrival.

His tone also left no question as to his feelings on the matter. He was not a happy camper.]

[familiar face, anyone? she's a grumpy mcgrumpypants today oh nooo.]

I just woke up with what feels like the worst hangover ever, different clothes on, and chewing gum in my hair. Again. Once was way more than enough, and I didn't even fucking do anything last night! Even I just relax sometimes y'know, geez.

So, I need icecream and someone with superpowers. Now! I'm not getting any younger here, y'know.

[It didn't take Hiling long to figure out Ribbons was missing again. She had wanted to thank him for the pink cardigan and scarf she was now wearing, but he was nowhere to be found. There won't be any announcement of his disappearance. Instead, she intends to find a way to distract herself.

Her pet project seems like just the thing. Hiling claims a room in the education center with all the tools she needs as well as the supplies she acquired from Acumen. She's building something by the looks of it. Eventually it will be her Mobile Suit simulator, but for now she's just getting started. Every so often, she'll move back and forth from the laptop to the parts she's messing with.]

[The video starts nice and clear, showing the face of a man in his late teens or perhaps early twenties. He's boyish-looking, with red hair and green eyes, skin lightly tanned and cheeks sprayed with freckles. It's clear that he intended to start this transmission so it's really anyone's guess why he isn't saying anything yet - there's no interference or distractions in the background or anything yet he continues to aimlessly fiddle with the headset for a good few seconds.

Those of you who ever had a technologically handicapped teacher may recognize this behavior. Overhead projectors and VCR's, man. ]

Oh, uhm… is this on? I ain't sure but… I think it's workin'?

Okay! Uh. Hi! I guess… I'm not really familiar with th' prison… etiquette, I suppose? This here place don't look much like any prison I've heard of but then again I ain't never been in one before so maybe prisons can look like this too. I figured I should at least introduce m'self so uh… let me know if I'm, y'know. Doin' it wrong.

Anyway… My name's Aidan an' I'm twenty years old. Is it custom t' say what you're in for? Cause… I don't know if I wanna do that. I ain't dangerous or anythin' but uh… [pause as something occurs to him] ..but I can hold my own, so don't get any ideas. Let's just leave it at that. Uh, so… hi. It's… it ain't a pleasure t'be here, that'd be a big fat lie but uhm, I guess since I ain't got much of a choice I reckon I might as well be civil. So… it's nice t' meet y'all.

[Getting awkward now.]

I'm just gonna… go ahead an' turn this off now.

[And he does. Action open for anyone at the beach!]

[Have a Tim. Have a Tim who does not look happy at all. If you're really good at reading people, you might be able to tell he looks a little worried and pretty upset too. He's being charged with murder? That's impossible, he'd never. But being charged with murder is a pretty big deal so he's really anxious although he's trying his hardest not to let that show.

It's not working very well.]

I have no idea where the Eloquois Ocean is and I don't care. I don't care if this place has a park or library or beach or ar- ... [Okay so he can appreciate an arcade.] I wouldn't care if there was even a stupid castle here. All I care about is where I can find a phone or something so I can call Bruce. You know, Bruce Wayne? Of Wayne Enterprises? One of the richest men in the country? My adopted dad? 'Cuz he's really not going to be happy when he finds out I've been thrown in jail and tied down with a stupid ball thing I can hardly walk around in. If you won't let me talk to him, then I want a lawyer!

I already was in juvie, I already did my time for all the stuff I did before, and I haven't done anything bad since then! [Let's... just leave the word 'illegal' out of this. >_>] All of these charges are bogus, especially the first one! ... Okay, so I did steal before but like I said, I already paid for that! But murder? I don't kill people. I never have and I never will. I wanna know where you're getting all this information from because it's wrong. I. Don't. Kill.

[Billy drags a hand over his face and takes in a deep breath before muttering to himself for a moment.] My mom is going to kill me. No, she's going to ground me for all eternity and then let me die of boredom because she'll take away anything and everything fun. Goodbye, comic books. Goodbye, video games. Goodbye, TV. Goodbye, life. How I ended up in prison again... [He trails off, then speaks up in a normal tone.]

Well, I guess this good be worse, right? It can't be that bad of a prison if they let you use all sorts of things and don't confine you to a tiny cell... right? [He asks a little nervously.]

This is probably a real long shot but, uh, are there any Avengers here...? Or X-Men, maybe...? Or anyone who knows any of them really well? I have a... problem. Yeah. A problem. I mean, besides that I'm stuck in a jail I'm not entirely sure how I got to.

[ This one seems calm to say the least. He takes a moment to adjust his glasses berfore surveying the surroundings with a slight frown. A quick check of his person assured him he was still in one piece despite his change of surroundings. But then there was something distinctly out of place.

Two things, actually.

The most obvious concern came from that sudden weight on his ankle. A ball and chain. Who had been foolish enough to try that? But much to his chagrin, he finds himself unable to break free. No matter. That would be dealt with in time.

The second concern is that infuriating pull. That damned itch and yank on his collar that he had begun to so utterly despise. That brat, his cursed brat of a master was still alive. But how? Why? Hadn't he just killed the child? He was supposed to be dead. He made sure of that. If he hadn't finished him off then surely the wolves would have.

Annoyance at this second bit causes a rather obvious frown to come to that normally cool facade and a slight click of the tongue. But what was this? Ah. ]

As I've gathered, this is... a prison?

[ He didn't think the feds would've caught up with him this fast. Were there even feds for demons? No time for ifs, whys and hows though. There are more important things on hand. ]

At any rate, I am Claude Faustus, head butler of the Trancy house. I understand my [ slight hesitation and acid on the word ] master, Alois Trancy may be among your number. If someone would be so kind as to direct me to him, your assistance would be appreciated.

[Nasuti appears to be settled back into the Trooper's home. Her expression doesn't give any indication of their being cramped at all, but perhaps that was the hidden blessing of being stuck in the shelter for several days.]

There are a few things I've noticed. Forgive me if these are redundant, I'm still somewhat new, though I guess not as new as some of you who have just recently arrived.

On a lighter note, is there any sort of reading-slash-book club? I noticed several of you, the new-comers and more veteran members both, have a particular fondness for the library.

Would anyone be up for something along those lines if one is not already established? If there is one, who organizes it?

On a more serious note--well, serious unless you consider the irony of the question--

Have any of you been convicted for 'abduction' or 'kidnapping' on your list of crimes?

And then Monopoly wasn't the only hoarder with a "Go Directly to Jail" card. Good to know.

[This teenage boy looks like he went five rounds with a patch of dirt. And lost. Battered appearance aside, he seems ready to go for a sixth round. The way he's fidgeting is also a dead giveaway of something being up and it also doesn't help that he's in prison. Tommy and prison? That didn't go so well the last time.]

I went through the entire place twice and what did I find? No exit in sight, that's what. Big surprise there. Anyone thinking third time's the charm? 'Cause at this point, I'm willing to try anything. I'll even bring down a building or two if it means grabbing the warden's attention.

[Normally cheeky Tommy isn't in the mood to fool around right now. Which is saying something. With his general dislike of prisons and the aftermath of Doom's attack, he seriously needed out.]

[There’s a man holding some of the cookies from the welcome basket in his hand, sniffing them suspiciously before popping one – with the largest chocolate chunks – whole into his mouth. His green eyes look tired. Very, very tired.]

 

Don’t think ‘ve ever been in a prison this serious. Got a ball an’ chain an’ everything, huh? Hard enough movin’ these old bones without it, now this. [He swallows and gives a bitter laugh that sounds genuine until you stand back.] Thanks to whatever lovely lady made these – ya’ll sure know how to make a fellow feel loved.

 

Want to come an’ greet ol’ Raven in person? [A sly smile and a wink ends it. One still can’t help but notice how his eyes flicker to and fro, seeing everything they could.]

( After some panic... )

[ The voice that comes out of the network is shaky and the most confused. ]

I can-- I can deal with the Whats and the Whys later, but what I want to know is how: How did this Acumen get me out of Grie?

[ Should anyone venture by the Beach, they might spot a lady in her 20's, long black hair and white wings whipped by the wind, faintly glowing halo floating on top of her head. She clutches her denim jacket to her person with one hand, welcome basket held in the other as she makes her way towards Sector 5. ]

[The post starts off as voice-only, and, unfortunately, the poster wasn't exactly prepared to talk immediately. He crunches lightly on something, and fiddles with some paper before realizing the transmission was ready for him. He clears his throat with only a little theatricality.]

Hello? Is this working? I think it is...jeez, I'm not used to talking like this. But anyway, just wanted to say if any of my friends are here, it's a-okay to come see me! The map says I'm in sectoooooor...three? Yeah, Sector 3!

[John then groans after a lame attempt at crossing his legs. There's a small period of crunching and munching before he speaks next, and sounds pretty annoyed. In addition, there's a quick rattling of chains when he picks them up to emphasize his next point.]

Man, this ball and chain isn't really helping. You know, criminal or not, this seems pretty rude! Juuuuust saying.

[The chain drops from his hand with a noisy clatter.]

But it's awfully nice of the welcoming committee to give us these baskets and stuff! It's kind of cold and I don't have a jacket, so this scarf is getting a good home around my neck and stuff!

[He presses the network button on his communicator, and ta-da! John's face! The source of the munching noise is now revealed to be John chowing down on the pretzels from his welcome basket. He blinks at it for a moment, pausing his chewing to remember what the pamphlet said about the button. During this moment of stillness, it's now more obvious that he's sitting on the floor, leaning against the glass wall of the sector.]

So everyone can see me now? Alright, that's...cool I guess. I would still prefer to think-type, but prisoners can't be choosers. Not that I am saying I belong here! Because I don't!

[John sighs and looks over into his basket, digging in it before coming up with a cookie in his hand. He makes a face at it, like he really doesn't want to be touching it, let alone eat it, but it's food and he's pretty starved. And...cookies weren't as bad as cake, but only barely, and god so help him if this cookie was born from the wicked batter witch.]

...these cookies don't have peanuts in them, do they? Or the chocolate? I'm kind of super allergic.

[The transmission starts, light dim and musty like the books lining the walls behind the young man that appears on the screen. He seems confused, nervous even, eyes darting from one end of the room to the other and tongue flicking out every so often to lick at his lips. A nervous tic, perhaps, just like his voice grows more rapid with every sentence, pronunciation remaining surprisingly clear despite his fervor.

The situation is familiar. He's trained for this. He's been here before and although he doesn't know who he's talking to, he's talking to someone. Keeping an open feed gives him a greater chance of someone hearing him than not talking at all, and so he talks. Someone will hear him.]

Acumen. First used in the 1530's, the word stems from the latin acuere, to sharpen, hence giving it the meaning of sharpness and in extent shrewdness, keen insight. Another synonym is "the ability to judge well" which alludes that the person using this word as their moniker believes themselves to be the ultimate judge. This in turn points to some sort of God complex with the creator of this AI, although not your typical narcissistic personality disorder - by using the construct as his or her spokesperson the individual behind it can remain hidden much like the Wizard behind the curtain.

And just like in that story the suspect may be feeling inadequate and insecure about him or herself, thus hiding behind a construct in order to keep their appearance flawless - it's the only way they can act as an absolute judge without being hindered by their humanity. A similar logic lies behind the hoods of executioners in the past - by making them virtually faceless the guilt of taking another persons life or in this case their freedom can be absolved into a disembodied concept of justice…

[Pause. Brows furrowed in thought he worries at his bottom lip. This isn't helping. He's not even sure who he's talking to, to be perfectly honest, but that has never stopped him before and if anything doing the math may help clear his head.]

One point six zero nine kilometers under the surface… that translates to roughly a mile. Pressure equals depth times fifteen divided by thirty-three… so at 5280 feet that would result in a pressure of 2400 psi which in turn equates to over a ton per square inch. Right now the limits for commercial diving is roughly at 500 feet, one tenth of the assumed depth we're at now…

[This would be a good time for someone to interrupt. He'll go on forever if you don't.]

[OOC He's restrained and as such bots will take him away to the salt mines work before long! I'd also really appreciate if those interested could fill in this PERMISSIONS POST so we can get some profiling done here.]

[ They had come in into the Shelter as a fairly large group and now they have come back out with two members less. It was as if the Shelter had swallowed them and thus left a gaping hole in the black thing that Frankenstein has for a heart.

He showed no sorrow, no anger -- he lead the members of his household back home in the same manner that he had lead them in. With the same, casual and cheerful voice, he reminds them not to leave mud tracks all over the floor and to leave their shoes by the door.

Tonight's dinner will... not be ramen.

Frankenstein is in the kitchen, wrapping up jars of rose jam and jotting down notes for the recipients, occasionally looking out the window.

He should be glad. He was able to wait for eight hundred and twenty years. What is a few hundred more? ]