LOG 001: INTRO

[shiftmods]

WELCOME TO STATION RED.

You wake up in your bed.

Not your bed back home, of course, but the bunk that's been assigned to you. Your new bed for the next foreseeable future. You’ve been dressed in what is the basic uniform around here. (OOC note; your newly issued equipment is detailed here.)

Your own clothing, of course (the clothing you came in wearing, that is) is folded neatly, and all of your other belongings are present and accounted for nearby, and near them will be a piece of paper, a thin carbon copy of your bill. Of course the word ‘bill’ is the only word in your native tongue on the paper, the rest in a completely indecipherable alien language. That and the number, of course.

1,000,000,000

The room is sparsely furnished, small, and some would say cramped; someone with a less negative outlook might call it utilitarian, or hey, why not even cozy. The bed is just soft enough to be comfortable, but not luxurious, although it probably feels like you slept on a slab of concrete after what you’ve been through.

And what have you been through? Your memories preceding your awakening may be hazy at best, and you certainly won’t remember any of your arrival here. Characters who were present at the Interim will remember it. You might have a headache, light-headedness, nausea, strange lights or shapes in your vision, or sounds in your ear, although any life threatening injuries you may have had just before waking up here will be gone.

Characters will be free to explore their location, STATION RED, although at the moment, much of it will be unavailable, corridors shuttered off, gates closed, with no obvious means of access. It’s a sparse, almost military type of place, high ceilinged and warehouse-like in the big areas, with more cramped feeling interior rooms and hallways. There seems to be a significant level disrepair here, with exposed wiring, and chipped or scratched finishes common sights. This is closer to an old bunker than a five star hotel. There will be no windows anyway, making it impossible to tell where you are.

If there’s one thing that’s consistent, whether in your room, or a hallway, or anywhere else, video screens, seem crammed in unlikely places, and are ubiquitous. They’re all black at the moment, and some are cracked, looking like they might never come on.

The only place that really seems lively, and as if anyone’s been occupying it in recent times, is an area that looks something like a bar.

Its not quite this populated yet.

The bar-like area is decorated in an odd assortment of paper decorations and streamers, a small banner that reads ‘Happy New Year!’ strung near one of the tables, which is piled with the only available food. There’s cake, a variety of snacks, shrimp cocktail, an ample supply of  glasses of champagne. And almost all of them taste wrong. Some items might taste exactly as you’d expect them, others taste distinctly like something they should not, and those shrimp have the notable taste of absolutely nothing. Something is definitely not right here.

When the screens come on, there’s an audible electronic popping noise, and a woman’s face appears on the screen. The image has some static, but there’s something strange about the woman as well; something...insubstantial.


“Welcome, everyone, to Station Red! I hope you like what we’ve prepared for you here...I apologize, it’s something of a work in progress. We are working with limited resources here and your arrival was somewhat….unexpected. It’s been a long time since we’ve had dealings with anyone from your particular coordinates.” She smiles broadly. “I almost forgot, my name is Solan Re. I’m the Senior Case worker for, ah...well for you. On your behalf.

Take your time and enjoy the refreshments we've provided you - they're as culturally accurate as we could manage with our somewhat limited resources, informational or otherwise. In the meantime, I am here to answer your questions as, I'm sure you have many. I will answer them to the absolute BEST of my ability!"

Comments

[spiritlift]

[ When Gildor reached out Lewa immediately responded with the traditional matoran greeting of a fist bump before realizing just in time that that wasn't what was actually happening. After a moment's hesitation, he grabbed Gildor's hand, giving it a firm shake. ]

Lewa, though if Tahu ever-shows better to say Toa Lewa Nuva. He thinks hero-titles are important.

[perroquet]

Toa... Lewa Nuva.

[ He says it slowly, committing it to memory, though it is doubtful he would forget someone large as a half giant. The true nature of Lewa's size becomes apparent soon as Gildor has a grip on his hand. Really it's the other way around, what with how his hand fits in Lewa's... gauntlet? No, he feels no flesh beneath the metallic hold, yet there is an unmistakeable pulse of life. A golem is the simplest known thing Gildor can compare him to, but that wouldn't be fair. A sentient construct, and one with title and rank.

Terrifying, but he seems friendly so far. If Gildor is in any way afraid, it does not show. His usual small smile is back on as he pulls his hand back. ]

Pleasure. Good luck in finding your allies. If I come across any others like you, I'll certainly say so.

[spiritlift]

[ Lewa was used to being surrounded by people much smaller than him. Gildor was easily taller than most matoran. But shaking his hand felt...weird. Lewa couldn't think of a comparison, but he couldn't help thinking that whatever Gildor was was very fragile. ]

Heart-thanks, Gildor. I'd offer the like-same, but there seem to be plenty of your kind here-around. Friends of yours?

[perroquet]

No.

[ It's almost said as a laugh, almost answered too quick. He leans back in the couch seat, violin in both hands as he resumes the casual pizzicato he was practicing before. ]

Don't know anyone round here, and I don't have friends.

[ He seems oddly content with that fact. ]

[spiritlift]

[ Lewa looked rather bemused. Not that Gildor would notice. Sounded like a certain ice hero he knew. ]

Well, guess we'll have to quick-change that.

[ He's going to be your friend, you don't have a choice. ]

[perroquet]

I'm in no hurry.

[ Challenge... no, friendship challenge not accepted. Actively trying to not make friends would mean actively trying, and Gildor is too passive in most things to give a damn. Hence the lack of friends. While he wants to get to know the other strangers stranded here, he's not going to do it with plans to build relationships.

So he falls quiet and focuses again on his music, nothing more left to say on that topic. ]