[A severe young woman is sitting stiffly at her network point, clutching a frilly umbrella across her chest, partly as a weapon and partly to hide some of the uniform she'd woken up in. ]

Ahem. I'd be most grateful if someone could inform me where in this tower I could find some more decent clothing than those issued to us.

[Her lips thin at even having to mention the unacceptable items of clothing.]

I'm afraid I'm quite new, so I don't know where to even begin.

For reference, 'decent' means tops that button up to the neck and skirts that are at least ankle length. Thank you.

[With that little message complete she turns off the feed]

[A rather severe looking man in a black turtleneck addresses the network, oddly calm for someone who has just found out that his world was destroyed. He's a bit battered, having spent only a few moments on dressing and a hasty cleanup before heading for the nearest network terminal. There's quite a bit of dust in his hair, along with bruises and faint smears of what might be blood on his face and neck.]

My name is Howard Link. If there are any members of the Black Order present, please state your status and location. Anyone familiar with the facility, I would request your status as well. [Because last he checked? The station was pretty broken. Or well on it's way there, at least, and if he was pulled to this place? Well, there have to be others here.

He hesitates for a second or two before speaking again, glancing down briefly at something near the floor.]

... If there is anyone here familiar with the construction or repair of mechanical prosthetic limbs, please contact me at your earliest convenience.