KY321B; voice; night 007

[backsassin]

[ It’s the dead of night when the broadcasts start—short, choppy bursts initially, static interspersed with the occasional snatches of a woman’s voice against the low susurrus of waves on sand. It’s several long moments before they resolve into an actual message. ]

—anyone there? Please, anyone—I don’t care who you are, just say something!

[ There’s a clear edge of desperation in her voice and it’s no wonder; Zam had woken up pressed against a sand dune in the pitch black night, her last memory being of her own untimely murder. She’d thought she was buried at first, then in hell—and then she’d noticed the radio clutched in her one remaining hand. Then came the struggle of trying to figure out what it was and how to operate it one-handed in the dark and—suffice to say, she is experiencing a lot of stress at the moment. ]

Does this thing even work? [ More static as Zam starts blindly pressing buttons in the dark. ] —anyone receiving?

Comments

[backsassin]

[ Changed him physiologically? Zam's not sure she likes the sound of that—though, as he points out, whatever is responsible might be the same thing that had saved her from her own death. Or, perhaps, had brought her back.

She grimaces at the question. ]

My arm's been cut off, so yes. The wound's cauterized though, so I won't bleed out. [ An exhale through her teeth. ] Just have to worry about infection.

[ Zam probably shouldn't look a gift dewback in the mouth, but if something had saved her from death, it seems pretty strange that it would promptly drop her into another life-threatening situation without so much as wrapping up her wounds. Of course, she's assuming that it has an agenda at all; for all she knows, it has as much reasoning ability as a black hole. ]

How long have you been here? And how many others are there?