Kasimir

Reminder that the write-up is fiction mixed with a heavy dose of 'Kas-brain-at-2330hrs' and 'Kas is dead tired of writing fight scenes so strike me down with a lightsaber' and shouldn't be taken as a literal guide to the night's events. Though if you need me to tell you that given both the RBM and Drake sections...

LG101: Day Three - GlitchxCity Roya was certain of it: there was something fishy about Relve. The way Roya saw it, you could assume the Scadrian saboteurs were all Mistborn, but if you did, then you sort of just accepted the Scadrians could do pretty much anything and hoped for the best. Or you could start with conservative assumptions and see where that got you. If you assumed the Scadrians needed access, seeing as they’d gotten to Comms, and they’d embedded themselves well within the crew of the Fourth Bridge, then you were looking for someone who had connections, and ways of getting contraband on the Fourth Bridge. That was a small slice of the Fourth Bridge, but instantly placed Relve square in the middle of Roya’s subject pool. And then, well. Digging through the personnel records, and the deployment records, and the shipments revealed the smallest inconsistencies. A cargo supposed to contain dried fruit from Theylen mysteriously disappearing between two invoices. Roya wondered if that was how you smuggled contraband onto the Fourth Bridge: a little accounting sleight-of-hand between one requisition and the next invoice, and friends who were willing to switch out the cargoes. The prints were all and very well, but on a hunch, Roya siphoned some power and asked the 4B to run a comparison on the Rosharan grid. A couple of hours later, he had his answer: the background belonging to Relve had been recycled from an orbituary buried more than five decades ago in the Kholinar Tribune. Some spacer who’d died before being able to make it out to the Fourth Bridge. Roya’s eyes were beginning to feel dry and he swore he was hallucinating black spots on the brushed chrome keyboard of his terminal. Grimly, he sipped at his kav and made himself keep on digging. If you dug, sometimes you saw where the story fell apart. And then he’d gone to the crew with his findings, and no one had believed him. Relve was certain of it: there was something fishy about Roya. You developed a sense for it, as a bartender. Sometimes it was the way they carried themselves, the way they looked about them, like they were bristling with energy and ready to start crem. Sometimes it was the speed at which they were knocking back Pan-Vorin Gargleblasters, which told you nothing good was going to come out of it, with how much Horneater Lager went into making that cocktail. Sometimes the energy in the bar was dark, edgy. You knew people were ginning up for a fight, and that was the point Relve pressed the quiet button that alerted Security. You weren’t supposed to get this drunk and rowdy on the ol’ 4B, but a bunch of things that weren’t really supposed to happen were capable of happening anyway. Well, he’d had that feeling that night, with the way Roya was staring and nursing his drink, eyes bloodshot and looking like a man who was going to start something, or a guy who hadn’t slept well in weeks. Relve wasn’t too sure about that. He’d asked for a Blackthorn Crusher, neat, which made Relve suck in a startled breath but something about Roya suggested it wasn’t the time to ask if he should be going that hard on the drinking with the night cycle that young. So he diluted it. Cut it with a little something he smuggled into his sector of the Fourth Bridge, a bunch of tranqs from Medical. The mix wasn’t strictly-speaking legal, but Relve was especially proud of it. Not enough to knock Roya out, mind, but just enough to put him out of whatever mischief he’d set his mind on, make sure it stayed harmless. ‘Course, then Roya’d wobbled about for a while and Relve’d called a security officer to escort him to his quarters. Didn’t remember which one. 4B was teeming with them these days and the last thing he wanted was for Roya to get lost or hurt on the way back. People got jumpy, what with the whispers of Scadrian saboteurs on board the 4B. And then Roya had gone to the crew, whipping up wild stories about him being a Scadrian saboteur, and the way Relve saw it, well, if you wanted to destroy the 4B, that’s what you did, didn’t you? Take out the guy keeping everyone well-fed, and watered, and who made sure Security had what they needed and Engineering was still keeping together and people were happy. Also there wasn’t any way in Braize he was a saboteur, nor was Roya getting up to anything with what Relve’d slipped him. And no one had believed him. Ara Ra'Ash stared at the flickering lights. The panel wasn't on the fritz anymore, not since the captain and crew had decided that potential Scadrian infiltrators could be held in the brig instead of the emptiness of space. But the Life Support was still off. All those little adjustments that normally, the ship made on its own. The little niceties that made Ara question why she still had her job in place. Ever since they shoved poor Ayet out the airlock, ever since Aeorin died and proved them right... it wasn't the same. She'd messed around with the controls before. Seeing how far she could push the air filtration systems in empty rooms before the great shipspren took over and gave its warnings in the form of a small alert and a potential chewing-out from the Captain. But it had always had a gentle tone, correcting a lost child. She'd never had to fight it before. She did now. "Come on, 4B, work with me here," she said, rerouting air throughout the ship as the lights flickered from blue-green to yellow-green and every almost-green color in between. She didn't think the Fourth Bridge had appreciated her inner voices' little message, but she also didn't think the shipspren had it out for her. It could have done much worse, like seal her in this room with no food or water, which would have been exceptionally annoying. It hadn't even touched her air supply. Instead it seemed more inclined to keep her busy, forcing her to focus on ensuring the flow was correct and not... whatever else 4B was up to. It kept trying to change the Life Support - and several other things, she considered—in a few different rooms. The brig was the main one. It seemed split between trying to subtly asphyxiate Relve and Roya and trying to help them. It also kept trying to refill the engine compartment, which had been vented prematurely. Ara wasn't sure, but it also seemed like the Security room also was turning slightly yellow when she wasn't looking. The detonation in Comms made it clear to everyone that there were actually Scadrians aboard. Ara, I talked to the Fourth again. Ara pulled out a set of indicators out of her pocket. She'd been checking them about once every minute for a while, although the kav was starting to fail. But both were still blue. Both of her friends were still alive. "There's not much more we can do for them, is there?" I doubt it. Survival only lasts so far. Not without drawing undue attention. Time to calibrate the Reactor perpendicularity? "Just about. Can't go without a parting gift, can I?" Lieutenant Ara said, a devious smile starting to appear. Oh rusts, AraRaash… One indicator blinked. Flickered. And then it went out. During the night cycle, the corridor lighting panels leading to the brig were dimmed, as was true for most of the Fourth Bridge. Jacks took the corridor at a run, boots hitting the flooring in a staccato. The air seemed painfully thin, and part of his brain wondered what Life Support was doing. One hand went to his painrial. The lethal fabrial was there as a backup, but he’d the idea that Command’d probably prefer the Scadrians captured alive for interrogation. You couldn’t ask any questions of a corpse. The security indicator that had silently triggered his alerter continued to go off. Faster, he growled. Pushed himself. He was worried he was too late, whatever it was. Ara’s words echoed in his mind, about the difficulty of keeping a Scadrian Mistborn locked up in the brig. Really, if either of Relve or Roya broke out, Jacks privately feared they would struggle to contain them. And then he came to a stop. The door to the officer’s lounge was wide open, and a medical officer was kneeling on the floor, administering CPR to the still form of Cofi. Jacks took in the situation quickly. The medical officer was going to do whatever he could. His job then was to secure the area. He glanced about him, quickly scanning for threats. A noose dangled from the rafters, near one of the battered old armchairs. There was a stain in the corner, but Jacks figured it was probably food. The officer’s lounge was private, and he’d seen it only a couple of times. It was also ancient enough to have known Honour. The lounge smelled of smoke, of grease, and an old tune played in the background. He absently recognised it as one of the postwar Parshendi songs that became popular in Thaylen City. No threat. The scene was secure. He turned to the medical officer, opening his mouth to ask if the officer needed any help, but the officer was shaking his head, even as the lights in the lounge abruptly grew dimmer, almost-black, and the music shifted. He wasn’t a Listener, but that Rhythm… Another post-war song, the song of Loss, played on the speakers, and the lights stayed dimmed. The medical officer drew his jacket over Cofi’s face and torso. Jacks wasn’t superstitious, and he didn’t think of the ol’ 4B the way some of the other bridgemen did, but he had the unmistakeable feeling that the shipspren was agitated by the death. He had been too late after all. Coffeecat was a Security Officer! The Day has begun! It will end in 48 hours at 2330hrs on the 28th July! Crew Manifest:

Cycle is over!

Less sure then - it might be because I already tend to have logged into Steam prior to that, so the game just launches without me opening Steam (it's an option in a button but I don't click it.) I also don't bother to look at the Steam window since I'm just logging in, so I click it shut fairly quickly.

I use the desktop icon to launch Stardew, rather than going through my Steam so that's why I don't see my hours Good for my SAN!

Oh, this. I've taken to giving myself a themed farm challenge each run just for the fun of it: stuff like there will be categories of produce or skillsets my farmer can't use, and things I'll focus on, and I try to stick to it and still clear Grandfather's check in two years. It's more for RP than genuine challenge. I also actually picked up a Retroid Pocket 2s just so I could install Stardew on it and play it while commuting. (There were some other reasons for it but Stardew was a big reason.) I really liked the idea of having Stardew on the go, even if I mostly just get a day or so done each run. I'm currently playing the Beach Farm and aiming for an Elliot run on the 2s and a Sebastian run with the River Farm (and the new update) on the PC. I haven't played since the Ginger Island update so I've got so much good content to catch up with. My best farm was still a Forest Farm run with Leah (always my fav ) where I focused on strawberries, melons, and artichokes. Tell me about it... I daren't check my hours. I stopped Stardew for a while because I made my own mods and was too lazy to check if they needed patching, but also got distracted on other games. It's nice to come back to it though.

It's so chill. Probably no accident I racked up the most hours on it while procrastinating from thesis.

You get jail! You get jail! Everybody gets jail!

LG101: Night Two - Suspicious Minds The atmosphere on the Fourth Bridge was tense, grim even. It was easy to dismiss Ayet’s death as being the result of paranoia run amok. It was harder to pass any sort of verdict on Aeorin’s death that didn’t lead to the conclusion that Command wasn’t particularly jumping the gun: the Fourth Bridge was dealing with determined adversaries from Scadrial, who had managed one way or another to infiltrate the background checks and security processes and make their way aboard the research station. Working together, a team from Engineering had managed to restore enough of the comms system to allow security broadcasts to be heard throughout most of the station. As Kethen had predicted, the makeshift repairs and juryrigging fixed the broadcast system but things like private calls and streaming axehound videos were still strictly off-limits. A good day for Security, and for productivity on the Fourth Bridge, Kethen thought cynically. After the task was complete, he headed right to long-delayed sleep, intending not to wake up until it was his shift—whenever his next shift was; the boss hadn’t been particularly clear, likely on account of the fact someone had detonated a bomb in Comms and all that. Oh, and Aeorin had been murdered. Kethen was too sleep-deprived for trauma at the moment and figured he could continue to function and then freak out about Aeorin’s corpse much later. Because Kethen was sleeping, he missed an argument that was raging on board the Fourth Bridge about whether Roya was a Scadrian saboteur, or whether Relve was. Jacks ended up detaining Relve in the brig for safety reasons—no one could agree about whether that was for Relve’s safety, or everyone else’s, as Cofi had claimed to have gotten a severe case of food poisoning after consuming one of Relve’s brews in a special Command-only lounge, and Roya’d backed her up. Meanwhile, Tuon had ended up confining Roya in the brig on charges of being a Scadrian saboteur, and Roya’d hotly denied the claim, arguing that it was Relve instead. The arguments went around, and around in circles, and the lights on the Fourth Bridge darkened sporadically as bridgemen argued about who should be chucked out the airlock. Perhaps the Captain could’ve put an end to the squabbling, but no one had seen him for days. In the end, no one went anywhere, unless you were Relve or Roya, in which case you wound up in the brig, and everyone went off decidedly grumpier. No airlocks were opened. In any case, nothing important happened today. Nobody was exed! Nobody was a Scadrian Saboteur because if Somebody had been Scadrian, Security would've found them...right? Man, Everybody hates Nobody. The Night has begun! It will end in 24 hours at 2330hrs SGT(GMT+8) on 26th July! Apologies for the short write-up but I'm tired and have been up since 6AM so this will have to do. Security Watchlist: Crew Manifest:

Cycle closed!

Current vote update courtesy of Tallybot:

1. Black and bold is any non-neutral alignment. Basically either V/E. 2. NAs—North Americans. I'm aware of where my timezone intersects theirs so basically it was "if y'all don't do it now you probably won't get a chance because my being able to check will be rare/odd intervals like rn."

GM Announcement! If anyone wants clarifications, I'd advise getting them in before the NAs get to sleep tonight because I'm going to be unavailable for a decent chunk of the cycle, until around SGT noon tomorrow. This means that essentially your best chance of getting clarifications off me in a timely manner is ASAP. Get them out of your system! Rollover will not be affected.

It does, but the only thing that matters for the Captain is the vote at the end of the cycle. I don’t consider any vote placed and retracted to matter.

No exe is treated like any other vote option. If it's highest then nobody is exed. Yes. The ruling it does not take an action slot does not mean it's not an action. It just means Elims do not need to choose between any actions they have and the kill: they can do both. Whoever sends in the kill will have the kill fail if they are roleblocked.

LG101: Day Two - The Lonely Hearts Club Band The jazz band was playing something Relve thought really shouldn’t count as jazz without violence; stentorian polyrhythms marching on in a cadence that somehow didn’t make the listeners in the bar want to throw the band out the nearest airlock. Small wonders like that was enough to make a guy believe that maybe the Scadrians didn’t have malevolent intentions after all. What did he know about plants anyway? The hydroponics bay had been deserted except for Jacks, who hadn’t been particularly helpful with his horticultural knowledge. “You’ll know,” wasn’t the most useful reply, though they’d whiled away the time speculating about whatever in Braize would make the Scadrians interested in a research station that spent an inordinate amount of time staring out into a pile of rocks floating in space and occasionally sending people out to take a closer look at the rocks. It wasn’t as though there was some rare metal out there (the Scadrians were, as far as Relve knew, utterly kayana about their metals) or some sort of resource that would explain…all this. Still, as Fourth Bridge dimmed the corridor lighting with the onset of the night cycle, Relve set himself up in the bar, nodded to the jazz band filing in, tried very hard not to wince as the band began a musical massacre, and prepared to minister to the bridgemen of the good ol’ 4B. A few of them (Relve very carefully ascribed more responsibility to this nebulous group and freely absolved himself in the bargain) had jumped on the intelligence officer, Ayet, for sneaking around and shoved him out of the airlock, though Relve really thought Ayet had it coming. What was with the sneaking? It was the sort of thing that made his scalp itch. No wonder he’d figured Ayet was probably one of the sneaky Scadrians instead. Of course, Security and apparently, Jacks, had come down on everyone involved afterwards like a load of bricks for the mistake, but the way Relve saw it, they weren’t going to hold one of those Scadrian Mistborn anywhere anyway and Command’d acknowledged as much. You couldn’t make a Radiant Roaster without crushing a few olives anyway. Or something like that. Still, there were a bunch of bridgemen who were keyed up, nervous, and maybe a bit twitchy after the whole affair, and Relve fancied himself the ship’s Ardent, ministering to their souls as he whipped up brews on request and generally made sure they were mellow enough not to start anything else. Mostly. Aeorin was, to put it bluntly, bored out of her mind. Being assigned radio officer duty was the one thing most bridgemen working Comms dreaded, especially at a time like this because the monthly re-supply shuttle had come and gone so you didn’t get to do anything with incoming or outgoing transmissions. You just sat there, monitored the array of comms fabrials, and hoped no one caught you falling asleep or playing hangman with the slate. Of course, in times like this, Comms was being put through its paces, but the shipspren handled most of the transmissions: Aeorin’s job was to make sure the Fourth Bridge was doing just fine, which struck her as an awful lot like peering over the 4B’s shoulder while she did her job, and made Aeorin more or less useless since she didn’t really know who was using which channels apart from the security broadcasts playing on all channels. There was quite a bit of comms activity, Aeorin thought absently, but 4B was encrypting the calls and messages as she should be, which means an awful lot of nothing for Aeorin to be doing. (Sometimes it felt like everyone hadn’t really caught up to the capabilities of first-rate spren intelligence systems, and the bridgemen spent an awful lot of time just being redundant and acting as though 4B were a traditional ship. She supposed this would change if the spren intelligence system were damaged somehow, but what were the odds of something like that even happening? Access to the reactor and the core arrays was highly-restricted. Even Knights Radiant, for all their raw powers, were walled out by the state-of-the-art security systems.) Still, Aeorin had figured out a small trick to make the boredom just a little more bearable. If she was careful not to siphon off more than absolutely necessary, and to keep the instance separate from the rest of the shipboard systems, she could get part of the Fourth Bridge to turn its attention towards playing a simple game of chess. She was frowning at the last set of moves 4B’d played—seeming nonsensical, but with 4B, that usually meant something devious was about to hit her maybe five moves from now—and almost missed the chirp of the security card reader granting access to the room. The door hissed open. A shadow yawned. Kethen yawned and stretched his arms out behind his back, fingers interlaced, and winced as he thought he felt something pop. He flexed gingerly, but at least nothing seemed to immediately hurt. Good enough for him—the last he’d heard, there was a long queue for the attention of the medical officers on duty, and he didn’t fancy the wait. The crowd in the lounge wasn’t thinning, but Kethen’d revenge-procrastinated for about as long as he was going to. The dregs of his spiced hot chocolate were all but solidifying at the bottom of the mug, and the last thing Kethen wanted was to let the bartender scam him into another. He carefully switched off the reader fabrial he was carrying, watching the screen fuzz into darkness, and then packed it away in his bag. If he headed back now, he could get a couple hours sleep before it was time for his shift and— Someone was pushing his way through the night crowd with the sort of purposeful stride that suggested he was looking for someone, and Kethen didn’t like the fact this fellow was headed right for him. He glanced about briefly to his left and right, but the bridgemen there were studiously pretending they had nothing better to do, and Kethen took a quick glance at his alerter, but it hadn’t gone off. No one’d called for him at all. In fact, if he didn’t know better… “Kethen?” asked the bridgeman, who had all the bearing of a security officer. Kethen sighed inwardly and hoped it wasn’t anything too time-consuming. “Third engineer, right?” “Yeah,” Kethen said. “Who’re you?” “Jacks,” the bridgeman offered his hand for Kethen to shake. Firm grasp, with the sort of calluses that suggested he probably hit some things for a living that weren’t buttons. “There’s a situation in Comms. You’re wanted.” And they didn’t even have the courtesy to wait for him to get sleep, Kethen groaned inwardly. Something about Jacks unsettled him though. Jacks was tapping his boot against the floor, glancing between Kethen and the door. “What—” “Not here,” Jacks said. The sense of wrongness, of dread, deepened. They walked quickly out of the bar, out of the recreation area entirely, and towards Comms. Almost no one was in the corridors, though they crossed paths with security officers here and there conducting searches. Once, Kethen thought he heard them instruct another bridgeman to remain where he was. The disquiet ripened as Jacks gestured towards the security card reader guarding the entrance to the Comms centre, and Kethen inhaled the stench of something charred. Lines of soot blackened the corridor outside. But still, the security card reader guarded access. Kethen swiped with his card and Jacks followed on his heels. He thought he recognised the radio officer on duty. Aeorin. But more disconcerting than Aeorin’s death was the explosive that had ripped an ugly path of destruction through the array of comms fabrials, and Kethen understood then why his alerter hadn’t gone off, why Jacks had come for him, and why there hadn’t been any security broadcast at all. “Can you do anything?” Jacks asked. Kethen grunted. “I’m an engineer, not a miracle worker,” he said, shortly. Filed away the thought of the dead radio officer, sprawled in a pool of blood deep in a cold part of his mind where he could process it later and panic later. “That a yes?” “That a maybe,” he said. “Let me see what’s left. Maybe if 4B helps me out here, I can figure out a workaround to get general comms back online. You all can forget about streaming stuff here or sending each other axehound photos though.” Jacks bent down and examined the reader fabrial that Aeorin had been holding onto. Kethen thought he caught a glimpse of a page, but his attention was entirely on the carnage in the Comms centre. He wished he’d taken the bartender up on some kav after all. Aeoryi was killed! She was a Radio Officer! PMs are now closed! Please stop using any PMs you have as this is all illegal now and don't open any more! The Day has begun! It will end in 48 hours at 2330hrs SGT (GMT+8) on 25th July 2024! Aeorin's reader fabrial: Crew Manifest:

They win. Essentially both the Village and the Elims have a hardcap of winning this game by N4 - if not, whether dead or alive, 4B wins. Edited to add: Sorry, I should be clearer - 4B's wincon is pegged to the start of D5. That means if either the Village or the Elims can close the game by the end of N4, 4B loses. If the situation is not resolved by the end of N4 and it goes to D5, 4B wins whether dead or alive. Everyone else loses in that world. The only role capable of winning with 4B (if difficult to do so) is the Lieutenant.

LG101: Night One - Asylum For The Feeling Technician Ara Ra’Ash scowled at the panel of lights ahead of her. The announcement blasted over the Fourth Bridge’s comms system had made it clear all bridgemen were to report to their emergency stations posthaste, but the Chief had also made it clear that you didn’t leave the life support systems unattended unless someone was here to relieve you. Especially if the ship was under emergency lockdown. No one was here, and the sole bridgeboy that came by had brought a chullsteak dinner (small consolation), enough spiced kav to keep the whole Engineering department running, and an alertness fabrial, so she figured this meant she was on the night watch too. Nice of them to tell her this way, she supposed. It was a truth rarely acknowledged that the Fourth Bridge was capable of more than they were really prepared to ask of her. Years after they had discovered the secrets of intelligent spren systems, they were still doing things like getting Ara to push buttons which were really about getting the Fourth Bridge to rectify inefficiencies in the air supply, as though the Fourth Bridge wasn’t capable of observing and rectifying those inefficiencies on her own. That was the whole point of having an intelligent spren system running the entire Fourth Bridge, after all. Ara wasn’t particularly worried for herself. The life support systems were gated off by security access only. No, instead, her attention was fixed on the indicators for the reactor. She was supposed to hammer the button to vent that area if anyone unauthorised attempted to access it, and her finger’d been all but on the button for the past hour or so. Still, no one except Kimril’d accessed that area, and he’d called in and been authorised each time. Would the Scadrian saboteurs try, or wouldn’t they? It was the question that kept her staring at the reactor button, wondering. Still, the announcement said they’d caught a saboteur trying to access Command quarters. Ara wondered, briefly, what they were trying to achieve there. Information? Assassination? Etanem officially did not exist. He was officially not listed on the crew manifest, except as Ayet, a security officer, and his job description was simultaneously eyerollingly-boring and astoundingly vague. In fact, several of his colleagues had described him as being probably one of the most boring people to ever work on the Fourth Bridge, the sort that just faded into the background, like the entire army of technicians and engineers and low-level security officers that kept the Fourth Bridge running. He was, in essence, the perfect sort of person you put on a research station that was strictly-speaking supposed to be conducting research and was absolutely never, dead Honour forbid, doing something as sneaky as manning a Rosharan listening post into contested space and sending out the occasional illicit probe. Besides officially-not-existing, Etanem was, at the moment, attempting to slip into Command quarters, to have a word with the Captain. The last he’d heard, the Captain was at the helm, but Etanem was pretty sure he’d have to come back to Command quarters at some point, and was prepared to wait. Better to hash things out in private—Scadrian saboteurs was a big concern to Roshar’s military—than anywhere like the helm where bridge officers could still walk in on such a conversation. In a way, Etanem would later believe he’d gone soft. Rusty, maybe. He was really not the sort cut out for fieldcraft: his expertise was in setting up those remote listening posts and maintaining them, and running the occasional probe meant to map out Scadrian capacities and incursions into contested space in the Teneb Cluster. He’d just slipped past one of the emergency stations when he heard someone call out, “Oy! What are you doing here, it’s security lockdown!” He was about to identify himself as a security officer, but a glass bottle came crashing down on his head, and the world spun about him. “Get him, he’s a Scadrian!” The blows fell, and Etanem dizzily tried to protect his head with his arms, but the spinning world turned to black. “You okay in there, Ara?” Ara blinked and briefly shifted her gaze away from the indicators, then remembered she was best off using the mirror, so she pushed a button and lowered it from the ceiling instead. She had to keep monitoring the lights panel, after all. It was Jacks—he’d come by, probably on his rounds. She never really knew what Jacks did. He was supposed to be with station security, but sometimes he seemed a bit of a loose cannon to her. Not that Ara was really interested in saying as much. Working life support suited her just fine. “I’m fine,” she said. “Heard there was something about a Scadrian saboteur?” Jacks’s mirrored expression turned grim. “Rosharan intelligence officer. Ran afoul of some trigger-happy yokels at an emergency station and they clubbed him and dumped him out the airlock without so much as reporting to security.” She’d wondered—there was the flicker in the chamber lights that told her the airlock’d been used, and the Captain’d asked her how many times they could open and shut the airlock, and she knew they’d figured one of those Scadrian Mistborn would bust right out of a brig and mow down anyone who tried to contain them, but still, the knowledge they’d just dumped an innocent Rosharan out the airlock without asking so many questions… She’d said, “I don’t like it. I doubt Security likes it. Old 4B here definitely won’t like it. But that’s just the only way to deal with it. Nowhere to go but… out.” And if they guess wrong? Ara ignored the inner voice. They both knew the answer. They always guessed wrong. "If the Captain goes through with this and the rest of the crew finds out, they're going to tear each other apart," Jacks had said. "It's human nature." “Looks like they didn’t wait to find out,” Ara said, and felt a sudden chill trickle down her spine. Aeternum was clubbed and ejected out of the airlock! He was an Intelligence Officer! The Night has begun! It will end in 24 hours at 2330hrs SGT (GMT+8) on 23 July 2024! PMs remain open. Thanks to @xinoehp512 and @Ashbringer for actually RPing so I could have an easier time doing the write-up: go upvote them if you enjoyed that last bit! Security Watchlist Crew Manifest

SECURITY BROADCAST #HELIODOR-1-SHASH [2330hrs Station Time]

Breaking the fourth wall to bring you this fourth wall breaking clarification:

Security Watchlist

I don't know if this helps but Google tells me it's 0930hrs MST?

Captain's Bulletin Security Watchlist

Captain's Bulletin Edited to add: Free reminder you are an hour away from Rollovet!