It's shit in here.
The longest-'serving' prisoners of war have been here for a decade; they say you're never getting out. Occasionally news comes through the channels of progress towards a peace treaty. Sometimes your compatriots eagerly share links to articles on hostage exchanges. Mainly, there's not a lot to be optimistic about. When you get on the comms channels, it's all Elysian bullshit. There's not much news of your home system.
Even the clickbait here is anti-Tel.
There's not much that reminds you of what it is to be Tel. There aren't many prisoners of war, and distributed through the workgroups and cell blocks as you are, you're not exactly rubbing shoulders. Without I Teyk Ngalsh there'd be basically nobody who with advanced knowledge of Tarzhda. There was someone here who could preach for hours, apparently, four years ago, she was a real inspiration, made everyone feel connected and soothed, you'd think she could've done no wrong listening to the older inmates talk. She died in that explosion at the bottom of the space elevator four years ago. The one that all the scorch marks are from. Yes, all the scorch marks are from one explosion. Yes, the one with the potatoes.
Last month, three prisoners of war in Workgroup Three thought there was something up with their assigned terraforming machine. Somehow, someone knew they'd be staying behind trying to figure it out. What a coincidence. They were jumped. One of them spent four days under the compassionate care of Dr Greco, fuck. At least they missed the surveillance run to Data Station 2, one of the vehicles broke down and the poor Three bastards had to push it thirty miles. Goes without saying the guards didn't help.
Zhar Ro had words with the troublemakers in Workgroup Three, the ones that everyone knows did it, more muscle than brains. It didn't go well. Things could've gotten nasty again – like they did three months ago at the evening changeover when the guards had to paralyse about forty people, remember? it was the True Elysians that time, and someone who wasn't even Tel, they were just mumbling angrily into their dinner about some uppity guard or something, and the jingoistic thickheads thought they were speaking Telbau – anyway fortunately it didn't last long, Zhar Ro took a heavy beating but there were enough people there to weigh in. Some were us, some were people who've been done in by those fuckers before, then there were a few of the CPP lot1), and this random guy with a massive cybernetic arm that probably goes in for any excuse to thump someone. Just ten minutes in, the fight got broken up and nothing's happened since. The guards activated more collars on our side than theirs, though. That's what you've heard. And, as you discovered sooner or later after your arrival, when the collars are activated they fucking hurt.
It's shit in here.
You're a long way from home.
For non-gang-specific information, see the Tel private brief.