[center][h1][color=teal]Jericho Cross[/color][/h1][/center]

Jericho stumbled out of the pod, grunting as he landed on his feet, the scentless smell of recycled air assaulting his nose while he quickly took gauge of his surroundings, and himself. Other pods, including other people recovering from their stasis, five including his own, were in the room. The table had clothes, his own being with reach while the others were not, and the only light was emergency powered, far as he could tell. He himself was wearing a damn ugly jumpsuit, and his head hurt something fierce. Right, his memory was wiped, he could tell that much from the complete lack of recollection of anything earlier than waking up in the pod. No, he could remember a thing or two. He was Jericho Cross, bounty hunter, and his actual gear and weapon wasn't on the table. Smart, don't give the disorentatited and possibly pissed mind wiped passengers arms so quickly. Was it smart? Something told him it was smart, internally, so he listened to that feeling while he took gauge of his fellow passangers. Not an impressive looking bunch, for the most part, and he grabbed his clothes, a tank top replacing his breastplate and his coat thankfully there, while doing so.

The slacks were a bit more snug than he felt was comfortable, but he wasn't going to waste time ditching the jumpsuit until he had time in privacy. He would also have to examine himself for scars, injuries, anything that might indicate hints to his past. Next came the tank top, which he remembered was worn under his breastplate for his own good. Chaffing, maybe? Regardless, it mostly hid the ugly as sin jumpsuit now, and tugging on his coat and boots pretty much completely made it vanish. No armor, he remembered there was supposed to be armor, but he reckoned that would come later once they figured out what the hell was going on. Speaking of they, his thoughts turned to the assembled group. Token women of the group, slim, short, and pale. Probably a pilot or spacer of some sort, looked like she didn't get much sun either way. Looked young, perhaps mid to late twenties? Not terribly imposing, either, so his thoughts quickly moved on. Next two were fairly average looking guys, some hard jawed kid, probably a glass jaw (figuratively speaking), and the other had some scruffy beard. He pegged those two around late thirties, and middish twenties, respectively. There was the old guy then, white haired, and probably one of the more dangerous men in this room. Sixties to seventies would be his guess there, and he jammed his hands in his pockets, finished analyzing each person for now, since no one had acted.

The woman started babbling first, not very impressively either, but Jericho didn't concern himself much with it. Rain Causwell, a name to the pale face. She seemed to be waiting for a response of sorts, and the bounty hunter shrugged and spoke, his voice gruff, both from not having spoken in who knows how long, and seemed to be a natural state of tone. [color=teal]"Jericho Cross, far as I remember it. Figure there is work to be done, so let's get this over with."[/color] Jericho, unlike miss Causwell, did not bother waiting much at all after the doors opened and the mention of heading to the bridge for answers was made. Good, he needed those right now. He also needed his gear, which he remembered having at some point, and really wanted right now. Answers first, then gear, then deal with whatever reason they were out...wherever they were right now. He would take the lead, by virtue of not waiting, following the path towards what he figured would likely be the bridge. And then, whoever this phantom speaker was, better have some answers. Not remembering shit out of a stasis pod didn't do much good for his temper.