[Text | Smartphone]

[shiromadoushi]

[[Bakura's been sending texts to this number for quite a while since he first had it in his head. He's never really expected a response, but as his notebook started writing back, he's going to try it again]]

Did you get this? If so, please reply.

1st Howl [Text]

[professorwolf]

[Not all of the new forays onto the network are as exciting as the old man with his fax machine. This one, in fact, is really pretty boring. Randall Lyall is on his lunch break, sitting in his classroom with his laptop open, editing his notes for tomorrow's classes between bites of lunch. And, because it keeps getting stuck in his head, he idly types out those numbers that had been cycling around in there again, in the hopes of maybe this time getting them out.

Instead, anyone else who happened to be connected gets a screen-full (or paper-full, depending on how they're connecting) of notes about photosynthesis. The page is complete with page numbers in the textbook (most of chapter 8), notations on what slide numbers to use where (slide number 82 is apparently a picture of a plant with a high chlorophyll leaf compared to one with low chlorophyll), a list of questions to ask the class at various points (difference in chlorophyll function between pine and deciduous? anyone?), and the following line:]

Chloro-fill joke stop using this, never gets a laugh

[Enjoy the inner workings of a high school teacher's class, network. For those who have actually had his class, this should look somewhat familiar.]

[Phone/Fax Machine]-Early Morning

[shendude]

[Being an old man, of course Shen Fujin owns a fax machine. But being an old man who at least tries to keep up with the times, it is a fax machine, phone and answering machine combo. It would probably be state of the art back if anyone but old people used faxes. Heck, it even prints in colour.

Trying to get the thing to stop printing sheets of pink is the trouble. In frustration, he eventually yells into the phone section.]

Stop wasting all of my ink, damn you!

[ computer(s) text / potential college computer lab action? ]

[struckout]

[ Kallie's never been the type to enjoy the first of April much, that cursed day after her birthday. Twenty-one years so far of gag gifts and flat-out birthday-themed pranks - no matter how intolerant she is of them - will do that to a girl. A cautious and frowny sort on the pseudo-holiday, she's generally pretty set on distancing herself rather than running the risk of becoming a victim.

When she absent-mindedly puts in the number that's been occupying her mind all day into her iPad between classes, at first she thinks she's stumbled onto some sort of joke- inadvertently accessing some sort of app designed to confuse.

Then she realizes that these sound like people instead of AI... and her iPad isn't connected to the internet.

Rather confused now (needless to say, a state she's reluctant to admit to herself), she simply fiddles around without replying for a while. Rereads and listens. On a slowly-growing hunch, however, it's then she tries the number on her iPhone as well. Same thing.

A few minutes later she's settled down in front of a distinctly Windows-based desktop in one of the university's computer labs. Number put in, same thing. She briefly quizzes some of the other people there over noticing anything weird, but obviously they're busy with their own things and don't know what she's talking about, so... ]

Is this some joke by the compsci dept or something? hacking into all the wireless devices on campus? I JUST got this ipad and its not even connected yet.

[ And with that she's frowning and running a hand through her dark hair, staring between both desktop and the tablet computer sitting beside it- wondering just what in the world is going on as the same messages continue showing up on both. ]

Network [Computer]

[comparative_insanity]

[Looks like someone typed the number into the address bar on his browser, if the webcam-angle is anything to judge by. Well, to anyone who is using a medium that allows pictures that is. Enjoy a young man who might be described as a pretty-boy save for the five-o-clock shadow and the smudged eyeliner making him look a bit both hollow-cheeked and hollow-eyed. In the case of voice mediums there's only his voice, light and a bit feminine, with a definite southern drawl. Or there's just a really rambly line of text.]

So I'm, uhm... still not sure this ain't some kind of weird April 1st hoax. Or I'm actually tripping. I've hear that if you go too heavy on the stuff, you can like... get weird trips even when you've not taken nothing, is that true? Might explain that weird pink light I saw,

Anyway, I don't know worth crap about computers, but I just looked my number up on one, and now I can see everything. Like, everything everyone else that's used the number've done? And like- like, it looks like people've been writing - for real writing, I mean, by hand - and it still ends up here? Not sure how that even works.

I wouldn't believe it at all except my TV talked to me, so... you know...

[He trails off, and then grimaces and appears to close the browser window.]

ᴏɴᴇ. [ video; later afternoon ]

[secondcomingof]

[ Despite his reputation as a prominent figure, Casval Mass still held a certain aversion to showing his face in public when he deemed it unnecessary. The fact that he's doing so to what he's deduced to be a bunch of strangers, seemingly picked at random by some outside force, makes him all the warier.

But what Casval likes even less than an overabundance of frivolous contact is a serious lack of answers. And answers were nowhere to be found, in this situation. Those strange lights, those strange numbers connecting him to faces and places he didn't recognize, but above all else, that haunting name, Char Aznable, which plagued his dreams and stole away what little sleep he managed to grasp at night.

So even though anxiety prickles through his consciousness, he figures a straightforward effort on his part may be the only way to find those answers he's seeking—and with a click of a button and a flurry of digits he couldn't discard from his memory even if he tried, Casval makes his first appearance on the network. ]

Greetings. This is Captain Casval Mass, though I'm sure that name means nothing to any of you. In fact, from what I've gathered so far, none of our names mean anything to each other.

[ Leaning back in his office chair, Casval folds his hands, staring sternly at his monitor and speaking with a swift, sure tone, lightly accented, the mark of a tested politician. ]

While some of you appear to have written this off as some kind of joke or hoax, I would advise you that such a possibility is highly unlikely. I am no believer in gods or the mystical forces surrounding them, but for now, we have to accept that what's going on is beyond our present capabilities to understand.

And I would like to understand.

Therefore, I would request—merely for the purposes of resolving this matter, mind you, I've no true personal interest in how you may spend your time—that you all tell me a little bit about yourselves. More specifically, any recent happenings in your lives that have stricken you as odd, or out of place, something that you saw, heard, or felt, anything that can might be interconnected. Because we are all accessing this same "network", we must all then share something in common, even if it isn't immediately coming to mind. I, of course, will disclose whatever you wish to know, within reason.

As a final note, I am currently stationed at Fort Turner, on a joint military venture with your country. I don't expect to be staying very long, so if you would prefer to discuss matters in private, feel free to stop on by; just ask for Captain Mass at the gate and they'll wave you on through. [ His face twitches, briefly, as if to say any juvenile jokes regarding my name will result in painful strangling, courtesy of myself. ] We could always use an extra hand or two around the base, if you've skill with a wrench or some related field.

[ Casval bows his head to his audience and offers up a polite smile. ]

I look forward to working with all of you to arrive at a logical, and mutually beneficial, resolution.

[ And click! goes the feed. ]

(( Respond however you like here! Casval will be sitting at his computer drinking tea like a boss or I left it open to anyone interested in some action for swinging on by the base. Public areas only, obviously, since they're not going to let just anyone go wandering around, but other than that have at it. Casval is NOT wearing any mask whatsoever, so you can disregard that in my icons for now. ))

Comparing Notes. Literal Notes, Even. [CLOSED]

[professorwolf]

Who: Randolph/Randall Lyall and Fenn Forester/Fai D Flourite
Where: A local mall
When: Just after sunset

As being out in the sun is uncomfortable, after a few rounds of text messages with Fenn Forester, as the young man introduced himself, a time for just after sunset is set for their little get-together to compare notes, and a comfortably public place of the nearest mall to the school. Lyall spends the interim poking at a few other network posts, half-heartedly grading some papers and pointedly not writing that damn number down again, and pacing around his darkened home, where all the windows are shut and blinds drawn.

He's a little early for the meeting, more out of a kind of frustrated anxiety, but he has a hat on and long sleeves despite the generally comfortable temperature out. His hands in his pockets and his laptop slung in its case over his shoulder, spectacles on and the hat shading his eyes, he does indeed look very much a high school teacher. One with a halfway decent fashion sense, but still. A high school teacher.

The hat and the laptop are what he's told Fenn to look for. That, and standing under the tree just outside the mall, anyway.