So I just thought I'd share with everyone here that I am

a) not dead

b) not arrested

c) just a little bit more famous than I was yesterday

and d) co-founder of kick-ass treasure that pretty much redefines history as we knew it.

Yeah, pretty good day overall.

And with that, I am way past exhausted, and heading for some aptly-deserved sleep. Fear not, all questions will be answered to the best of my ability in the morning.

[ooc: all replies will be forward dated to tomorrow]

In case anyone was wondering, I make a pretty fantastic getaway driver. Not that I'm particularly fond at being shot at.

I thought I'd post something before the community decided to get post-happy on me and put up something I'd rather not have floating around the internet right now. (Or ever, really.)

But anyway, how was your evening?

Attention!

I'm looking for hackers, aliens or people from the future with crazy technology, or someone who knows how to program something into a previously existing game like a really cool weapon that can kick ass even though it's basically a cheat.

This is to save someone, not because I want to play a video game, promise.

I need someone who's willing to occasionally off me too in order to log me out who promises not to freak out if I go brain-dead for a while.

[ locked to Suguha & Kirito ]
Any luck getting a NerveGear set?

[First there is the sound of crackling fire. Not a nice campfire or fireplace. Large, dangerous flames. Then above that is the sound of someone stomping their feet around. Then suddenly, a shout.]

Riley! Get over here!

[Running footsteps and the sound of door creaking open.]

What is this!?

Smuggler's hold. Get in!

[The sound of two people landing on their feet.]

Follow me.

[Two sets of feet can be heard running as fast as they can.]

Get down! [There's the sound of Riley being thrown to the ground, and then another door slamming shut.

Finally a giant explosion sounds, and the feed cuts off.]

[ooc: Plain text is Riley, Italics is Nic Cage Ben.]

[It looks like this time Orlando is sitting in front of a campfire at night. His surroundings aren't very clear, obscured by the light and the smoke from the fire, though there is the sound of someone else snoring. Though he's in the same simulated body, Orlando himself appears to be in better shape than he was in the last video that came from his account. For one, sitting up doesn't seem to be a struggle.]

Hey, community. There's been a lot going on, so I haven't really...updated here. [He shifts, settling his weight back a little.]

We're still online, in this network. Nobody knows why we can't get offline. But there's this guy- [He almost says the name, "Sellers," but at the last moment wonders if that might be an unnecessary risk to the man.] He helped get us all here, people from all over, because he wanted people to help him stop the people in charge of the network. They're some of the most powerful people in the world and...they're not good. [His expression darkens.] They've been doing things to kids. Putting them in comas.

[His look becomes direct. Determined. Sincere.] So we're going to stop them. [After a moment, a trace of embarrassment or doubt passes over him.] Or at least we're going to try.

[He looks off to the side.] Fredericks and I got separated from the others, though, so we'll have to find them first.

Um. I guess that's it.

[As the video clicks on we see Riley, surrounded by quite a lot of luggage. He appears to be in the back of a moving vehicle.]

Alright guys. I figured I should post something before the community decided to do it for me. I'll probably be out of communication for about a week. Maybe more. I decided to take the hypothetical job I mentioned before. We're heading to...well, we're heading to the Arctic.

[There's a distinctly Nic Cage voice coming from off screen. "Having fun back there, Riley?"

Riley looks up, over the computer screen.]

Oh yeah. Tons.

[A few different chuckles are heard off screen. Riley looks back down at the camera. His tone is quieter.]

I'll let you know when I get back. Hopefully the community won't butt in while I'm out here.

[It's Orlando's journal, all right, but things are looking different today. For one, there's the young man lying on the sand, with a black cloak draped over him, in front of palm trees and other vegetation which suggest a tropical beach. He looks to be in his late teens, or perhaps very early twenties. His long black hair is tied loosely into a ponytail, his skin is well-tanned, and what is visible of his body seems toned enough for him to be a professional athlete, or an actor from an action flick. In fact, the general look of him says "B fantasy movie character." Anyone who has seen footage of Orlando playing the Middle Country might think that this looks like a younger version of his "Thargor" character.

But there's something off about the young man. For all that he appears to be in the prime of health, he doesn't move like it. The way his chest rises and falls suggests someone seriously ill, for whom breathing is a battle.

That's not the only thing that's off, though. There's something bigger. All of this- the sand, the palm trees, the hairs that aren't contained by the man's ponytail- they all lack that little lag in movement, that little sense of the lines and shadows being wrong. Everything looks completely real.

But it can't be, can it?

The man opens his eyes, and turns his head towards the camera. He appears confused for a few moments, frowning vaguely.]

The community? [And that is definitely Orlando's voice, though weak and strained. A small smile forms on his face, before he pulls his head to his chest to cough. It's a violent sound. But when he rests his head, he returns to facing the community, and speaks again.]

I wish Fredericks could see this. [A pause. And something behind his eyes is ignited.] Fredericks. [With what is apparently great effort, he turns, and lifts himself shakily on one elbow.] Someone has to tell his parents- both our parents, that we're...that we're here.

[He starts to cough again, and the video ends.]

[The video clicks on the reveal Riley on his bed. However, he is leaning up against the wall, upside down. His legs are up in the air while his head rests on the bed. There are all kinds of papers scattered around him. He's holding a book upside down and intently reading it.]

Ah ha! I knew it!

[He pulls a highlighter from behind his ear and hastily scribbles with it in the book. He turns the book towards the camera. The highlighter marks crookedly go from one corner of a page to another. The text isn't clear from the camera.]

George Washington was the president when the Wright Brothers learned to fly. This proves that Area 51 is covering up for alien spies and the whole government is run by disguised Klingons.

Well, I'm on to them now.

So...what are your thoughts on treasure hunting?

And for that matter, what are your thoughts on conspiracy theories. Like say...a forgotten Templar treasure?

I'll just throw this last one in too. Would you take a stable, if somewhat boring and tedious, job or a chance for an adventure. Would you take a risk like that?

Just curious. [Not like he has a reason for asking or anything.]