[voice post]
[Same noises of churning gears and endless ticking as in the previous post.]
I hate this fucking City. I hate these fucking gods. I hate this fucking clock.
I want my bleeding cigarettes--
What's this?
Ha. I knew I'd find something like this eventually. Dare I pull the switch? It might mean the end of the worlds, you know--well,
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Might want to check your casting for this conversation, old son.
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I only asked if you found the truths that you were looking for.
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All I found was that lack of nicotine makes me bloody cranky, and I already fucking knew that.
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You haven't discovered the unmoved mover, then? No Violator of Causality?
I suppose we get what we pay for.
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No, only a sorry lot of gears and dusty halls. There are pockets of Hell I'd rather holiday in than that place, though. It's just not right.
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Because gears don't care for your humanity, John dear, they don't have compassion for any bit of you. Isolation is a terrible thing.
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Well, fuck it. No, they don't, do they? I'll admit I'm glad to be back with the living, if not always the human.
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