[ it has been a long time since nightingale had last woken up without remembering how he'd come to be where he was. it had happened briefly after being shot and waking up in hospital, but he'd been able to put two and two together quickly then. now, he is at a loss. none of his surroundings look familiar.

in fact, they look decidedly unfamiliar. as does the piece of technology - he hesitates to call it a phone - he finds, playing a message on repeat. his clothing isn't his, unfamiliar and far rougher in material than even his cheapest suit. ]

Excuse me. [ he starts when someone walks past, tone polite and expression not betraying the nausea he feels. ] Where am I?

[ just a mild-mannered middle-aged man with a posh british accent, nothing to see here. ]

[ aforementioned mild-mannered middle-aged man with a posh british accent has found the gym. he isn't particularly interested in the various machinery, but he's tied the arms of his jumpsuit around his waist, leaving him in a white undershirt, betraying broad shoulders and wiry muscle as he punches the bag, over and over again. it's methodical and he's working up a sweat, but he doesn't look particularly satisfied with it.

perhaps a boxing partner is what he needs? ]

Does the existence of this station mean that aliens are real as well?

[ ooc; find nightingale anywhere else on the station or lmk if you'd like to have a personalised starter re one of the other prompts (esp fade or drift)! ]