<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/5/58/Chloe_1.jpg/600px-Chloe_1.jpg)</div><br/><br/><hr/><br/><strong>NAME:</strong>Sarah Moreno<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong>prison issue tank top and shapeless grey undies, then plain prison issue coverall<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>PODS<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>any<br/><br/><hr/><br class="clear_left"/><br/><br/>"Ow."<br/><br/>This seemed to sum everything up, really, and she said the word again, slowly this time, making the sound last.  "Ow."<br/><br/>It was primarily her head that ached, though other parts of her weren't too far behind in the pain department.  Overall, she felt as though she'd passed out onto a cold hard floor and slept there in an uncomfortable position for several hours... which might not be too far off.  She hadn't yet risked opening her eyes more than the merest fraction, enough to realize that she was not in fact on the floor, but wherever she was, it was certainly cold and not very well padded.  And she definitely didn't feel like she'd moved around much lately, her limbs protesting faintly as she made a vague effort to sit up.<br/><br/>This effort didn't get very far, however, as she immediately encountered metal and glass, both even more frigid than the air.  "Ow!" she repeated, more sharply this time as her head briefly connected with something unyielding, and now she felt forced to actually look at her surroundings.  A suspension pod, she decided at once, though what she was doing in one of those, wearing only unattractive and uncomfortable underwear, was anyone's guess.  After a few blinks, more came into focus, though her attention was immediately seized by the heads up display.  Was that -- was that her?  Sarah, she mused, whispering the word to herself.  Sarah Moreno.  It sounded familiar, and yet it didn't.  Words like<em>fraud</em>and<em>embezzlement</em>also seemed to ring a few bells -- except she couldn't connect anything solid with them.<em>Great,</em>was her next random word, this time a reaction to the obvious conclusion.  And then there were the other names, Tina and Janet, tantalizingly suspended between strange and familiar just as the name Sarah was.<br/><br/>Well, Sarah would do for a name, at least, and if the fuzzy reflection was anything to go by, it was accurate.  Did she have blue hair?  Or was that more purple?  She shook her head, realizing that these thoughts were hardly useful at the moment, then seriously regretted the gesture as her brain seemed to keep moving a fraction of a second longer than her skull.  Cold, however, was rapidly starting to become more of an issue than her headache, and she finally reached up to move the lid of the pod out of her way.<br/><br/>Now the chilly air flowed freely over her, and she gasped faintly.  Two others had surfaced before her, and both seemed to have found clothing, which sounded like an excellent idea.  Focusing on a locker that seemed to be hers, she clambered awkwardly out of the pod and stumbled towards said locker, faintly surprised at how difficult it was just to stay upright.  It would pass, she knew that -- despite not knowing her name with any conviction -- but it was disconcerting just the same.<br/><br/>Inside the locker was a set of coveralls that looked just as bad as the underwear, not to mention being a particularly unpleasant shade of orange, but they at least promised something like warmth, and she pulled them on quickly, or as quickly as she could with shaking fingers.  One of her new roommates seemed to be shadow-boxing, a second was poking around in her own locker, and the third seemed to be focusing hard on speaking clearly, with limited success.  "Because no one cares if a bunch of convicts freeze to death?" she ventured in response to the last person's question, for all that it had likely been rhetorical.  "Ow," she added, for good measure, realizing that her own voice sounded thick and out of practice.  She rubbed her fingertips against her left temple, trying to massage out some portion of the lingering headache, while keeping a wary eye on the fighter.