So, we're starting with the psychological torture first? Different. Cute, even. I wasn't even sure you bothered with that down here.

[calm, confident, with only a slight quirk of an eyebrow to show for her exasperation. going to Hell, getting arrested -- such a drag, right? and she's certainly not hoarse and red-eyed from crying. she made damn sure of that before even touching the camera. even if she has no idea what's going on, she can still save face.

if her smile's a little on edge, you'll have to forgive her, but she's expecting this cosy little place to disappear in a puff of black smoke any second now.]

Well then, if we're to communicate, then I suppose introductions are in order. You can call me Bela. And yourselves? [thin-lipped smile.] Come on, I'm guessing the idea is that we all bond over our damned souls now, yeah? Then after we've swapped all friendship bracelets, we can start flaying each other alive. If we're lucky, it might even be fun by that point.

[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.]

[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.]