Hey! Anybody else's house zombies going completely fucking off the handle--
[CRASH.]
Shit.
[The feed falls into complete darkness with a rustling of fabric. Apparently, it's been stuffed in Travis' pocket. Though nothing but the inside of his jeans is visible, the noise of footsteps, Travis' breathing (interspersed with profanity, of course), and a
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Actually...didn't think you'd be the kinda guy to do that stuff yourself.
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How was life on the other side of the pond, anyway?
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How was yours, hm?
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Eh. Normal suburbian kid who spent more time in the principal's office or in front of the SNES than anywhere else.
[Travis pauses.]
...Our father was a real son of a bitch.
But Mom was a good woman.
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It's strange, and vaguely comforting to hear that, actually. About our...mother, anyway.
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