I think that's the pattern with all the people here - we're kidnapped by an unknown means, we wash up on shore - a few of our personal affects arrive later.

[ He resisted an urge to put a hand on her shoulder, or something similarly odd, since he's uncertain how that sort of casual, familial touch should go. Zechs hadn't been subject to it for over a decade. But he supposed, stripped of their pasts, that's what they merely were here - family. It's a humbling conclusion. ]

[ ... And then, there's this fucking island. He spoke with as much detachment as possibe. ]


Had you time to be informed about the ... nature ... of this place?