[The feed opens to the sound of a loud yell and fast-moving air battering the microphone... followed quickly by a loud, plastic crunch and a crash. A dull flash of light suddenly brightens up the feed as the communicator flies out of whatever pocket it was concealed in, bouncing once or twice before clattering to the concrete to reveal the back of
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Sweet wipeout, bro.
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Who are you?
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That meatsack you jacked has a little brother.
And you're lookin' at him. Sort of.
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Okay... I'm Fakir.
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Dave Strider.
Might want to take care of that body a little better.
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Fakir scowls.] I was asleep, and then I woke up in midair on that... thing.
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