002 - BACKDATED TO JUST BEFORE THE FLOOD (VIDEO)
[When the camera flickers on, instead of getting a fabulously framed shot of a random Inmate/Warden, you get a close-up of what appears to be wood-grain. In the background, there's a series of loud bangs, followed by some gravelly voice mumbling something vague in Russian. The screen twists around, and OH THERE WE GO! It's Mikhail!
...Only he looks like he's recently had the ever living shit kicked out of him. He's got stitches on the left side of his face, a load of partially healed cuts dotted about and some puffed up bruising around his remaining eye. He's also wearing a pair of reading glasses but... that's probably pretty secondary?
He lifts the communicator right up close, completely ignoring the camera, before holding it away from himself again. A screwdriver comes into view and then promptly disappears as he resumes, what, trying to open the device? It takes him a moment, but in the following pause, his eye flicks up at the screen, goes back down again and-- Ladies and Gentlemen? It's a double take. He frowns and cranes his neck forwards.
A beat.
His expression reads: BALLS.
For a moment, it looks like he's just going to turn it off again, but he sighs, and gives an irritated wave of his hand. He was planning on talking soon anyway, just... not right away. :c
When he speaks, it's in a slow, precise manner, but guys, compared to before his English is awesome.]
...One moment, please.
[Once the camera has been set down, facing him:]
My name is Mikhail Bakunin. I arrived here a little while ago, and... I suppose now is as good a time as any to properly introduce myself.
[He winces slightly, and brings a hand up to rub at his jaw.]
From what I am told, aboard this vessel are two groups. There are inmates, who... no longer live and who come here for redemption, and wardens, who are alive, and are supposedly here of their own volition, yes? The wardens-- they are awarded certain privileges that the inmates are not. These privileges include access to certain areas, lack of repercussions for their actions, be they violent or not, and... so on and so forth.
On the matter of privileges, I can only assume inmates are not permitted weapons. While much has been replicated, my... armory, shall we say, has not. I don't wish to dispute this. I understand it from a practical standpoint. The absence of my razor, however is perhaps a little questionable. If any of you could provide me with one, I would be grateful.
[He offers a big fat (forced) smile, which is SLIGHTLY HAMPERED by the fact that he winces again almost straight away, killing it. He gives his jaw another tentative prod or two, before continuing with a slightly bored sounding:]
As you can tell, Mr. Tyler, I am no longer a threat. You needn't check in again. [Pause. His expression softens a little.] As for the rest of you, for the sake of sociability, please feel free to tell me a little of yourselves. Who are you, where do you come from... why you are here? [Shrug.] Anything.
[Inmate filter, added a wee bit later]
Can anyone here provide any information on a... certain man? He appears to be approximately thirty-five to forty years of age, just under six foot in height and of, eh, Scottish origin. If I am not mistaken, he goes by the name 'Desmond'. Any background or details, no matter how small, would be very much appreciated. [He gives a serious looking frown.] I am perfectly willing to compensate for said information in a manner of your choosing. [The frown deepens.] Provided it is... useful information, of course.
[A pregnant pause. He shifts his weight, frown still very much in place.]
Some time ago now, after the breach, I believe, I... [He hesitates, giving a sidelong glance.] ...I admit to having had a little too much to drink. I had only very recently arrived, and I was confused. Angry, even. I wanted answers and so I sought them in manner that I ultimately regret. The man I questioned - a warden - was left as I found him. As far as I know, he was completely unharmed. [He pauses.] I, on the other hand, was set upon by another two wardens, one of whom brought it upon himself to try to kill me. When I regained consciousness, I found myself in a cell, which I was left in for number of days. The warden who attacked me received no such punishment. The entire matter appears to have been kept beneath the rug ever since.
[He falls quiet for a moment, then looks straight into the camera.]
I tell you this, not in search of sympathy or retribution, but because I have since found myself dwelling on a question which I believe many of you will have encountered before:
Aside from their privileges, what are the fundamental differences between an inmate and a warden? What is it that separates us from them?
I can only speak for myself, but while there are certain actions I have performed in the past that I... that I have come to regret, the world is certainly not as black and white as some would have you believe. If we are being held to different standards, then perhaps it is not our morals that should be questioned. [He gives a half-smile.] Not that most of you belong here in the first place, I'm sure.
[He clears his throat loudly, and holds both hands up, looking ever-so-slightly embarrassed. He might be faking that.]
And I have spoken for far too long. I thank you for your time.
[AND THAT'S ALL FOLKS.]
...Only he looks like he's recently had the ever living shit kicked out of him. He's got stitches on the left side of his face, a load of partially healed cuts dotted about and some puffed up bruising around his remaining eye. He's also wearing a pair of reading glasses but... that's probably pretty secondary?
He lifts the communicator right up close, completely ignoring the camera, before holding it away from himself again. A screwdriver comes into view and then promptly disappears as he resumes, what, trying to open the device? It takes him a moment, but in the following pause, his eye flicks up at the screen, goes back down again and-- Ladies and Gentlemen? It's a double take. He frowns and cranes his neck forwards.
A beat.
His expression reads: BALLS.
For a moment, it looks like he's just going to turn it off again, but he sighs, and gives an irritated wave of his hand. He was planning on talking soon anyway, just... not right away. :c
When he speaks, it's in a slow, precise manner, but guys, compared to before his English is awesome.]
...One moment, please.
[Once the camera has been set down, facing him:]
My name is Mikhail Bakunin. I arrived here a little while ago, and... I suppose now is as good a time as any to properly introduce myself.
[He winces slightly, and brings a hand up to rub at his jaw.]
From what I am told, aboard this vessel are two groups. There are inmates, who... no longer live and who come here for redemption, and wardens, who are alive, and are supposedly here of their own volition, yes? The wardens-- they are awarded certain privileges that the inmates are not. These privileges include access to certain areas, lack of repercussions for their actions, be they violent or not, and... so on and so forth.
On the matter of privileges, I can only assume inmates are not permitted weapons. While much has been replicated, my... armory, shall we say, has not. I don't wish to dispute this. I understand it from a practical standpoint. The absence of my razor, however is perhaps a little questionable. If any of you could provide me with one, I would be grateful.
[He offers a big fat (forced) smile, which is SLIGHTLY HAMPERED by the fact that he winces again almost straight away, killing it. He gives his jaw another tentative prod or two, before continuing with a slightly bored sounding:]
As you can tell, Mr. Tyler, I am no longer a threat. You needn't check in again. [Pause. His expression softens a little.] As for the rest of you, for the sake of sociability, please feel free to tell me a little of yourselves. Who are you, where do you come from... why you are here? [Shrug.] Anything.
[Inmate filter, added a wee bit later]
Can anyone here provide any information on a... certain man? He appears to be approximately thirty-five to forty years of age, just under six foot in height and of, eh, Scottish origin. If I am not mistaken, he goes by the name 'Desmond'. Any background or details, no matter how small, would be very much appreciated. [He gives a serious looking frown.] I am perfectly willing to compensate for said information in a manner of your choosing. [The frown deepens.] Provided it is... useful information, of course.
[A pregnant pause. He shifts his weight, frown still very much in place.]
Some time ago now, after the breach, I believe, I... [He hesitates, giving a sidelong glance.] ...I admit to having had a little too much to drink. I had only very recently arrived, and I was confused. Angry, even. I wanted answers and so I sought them in manner that I ultimately regret. The man I questioned - a warden - was left as I found him. As far as I know, he was completely unharmed. [He pauses.] I, on the other hand, was set upon by another two wardens, one of whom brought it upon himself to try to kill me. When I regained consciousness, I found myself in a cell, which I was left in for number of days. The warden who attacked me received no such punishment. The entire matter appears to have been kept beneath the rug ever since.
[He falls quiet for a moment, then looks straight into the camera.]
I tell you this, not in search of sympathy or retribution, but because I have since found myself dwelling on a question which I believe many of you will have encountered before:
Aside from their privileges, what are the fundamental differences between an inmate and a warden? What is it that separates us from them?
I can only speak for myself, but while there are certain actions I have performed in the past that I... that I have come to regret, the world is certainly not as black and white as some would have you believe. If we are being held to different standards, then perhaps it is not our morals that should be questioned. [He gives a half-smile.] Not that most of you belong here in the first place, I'm sure.
[He clears his throat loudly, and holds both hands up, looking ever-so-slightly embarrassed. He might be faking that.]
And I have spoken for far too long. I thank you for your time.
[AND THAT'S ALL FOLKS.]