[ He sounds like Crawford, but not. There is still the overlyaing gruffness brought on by smoking since he was thirteen. But the tired anger was gone. There was one, overbearing fact that marked this voice as not quite right: he spoke with a thick, Irish accent. ]What the bloody hell is going on here? Dane? Jackie? I knew the lure of an honest to ( Read more... )

[ The feed starts suddenly with a clatter of noise and a wild blur, interspersed with static. When it settles at last, Crawford's boot can be seen towering above the device. Just beyond is a shambling zombie. Crawford runs forward and smacks the thing in the head with a piece of pipe. When it falls, he laughs triumphantly, stepping backwards. ]Don' ( Read more... )

[ The recording starts and it's obviously accidental. He holds the device at just below chest level, glaring down at it. But the anger wasn't nearly as sharp as it usually was. There was a solemness about him. "It'd be a cold day in hell before I ever liked that fuckin' geezer," he muttered ( Read more... )