[Chapter Three - Video]
[The video begins, and after a few seconds, Yuki comes into view. He’s visibly frazzled - his hair is disheveled, hair being pushed out of his eyes with a piece of cloth being used as a makeshift bandanna. His glasses are falling off his nose, and it’s evident he hasn’t slept in a while, though it’s questionable how long “a while” actually is.
He has a pen in hand, as well as a thick, poorly bound book. After a few minutes, he throws the book down on the desk, sighing heavily. He picks up a nearly empty pack of cigarettes, pulling out one and lighting it up. As he places the box back down, his hand grazes the communicator, emitting a loud shock. Yuki jumps back, letting out a pained noise.]
Ah--! What the fuck was that?!
[He looks down, noticing the communicator - and that it’s recording. He quirks an eyebrow at it, grumbling in annoyance.]
I wasn’t aware these crappy PDAs get to decide when they want to record. Interesting, isn’t it? Now everyone can see a writer in his finest moments…
[He’s obviously being sarcastic, but an almost crazy smile appears on his face.]
Is that what you all want to see? It’s a bit voyeuristic if you ask me. Though I guess some deviants can get off on anything. What a sick, sick world we’re living in. And a useless one. Weeks, and I couldn’t get one damn simple question answered. While someone is watching, I guess I’ll ask again, this time in a way that even a complete imbecile can probably understand:
Are there any psychiatrists in this city? I’d be picky, but that would be just a bit too greedy for this shithole.
[There’s a short pause while Yuki tries to enjoy some of his cigarette in-between his crazy fit.]
Oh, and whoever left that stuff. Thanks. It’ll get put to good use.
[And with that, he smirks again, putting his hand over the camera and turning off the communicator.]
He has a pen in hand, as well as a thick, poorly bound book. After a few minutes, he throws the book down on the desk, sighing heavily. He picks up a nearly empty pack of cigarettes, pulling out one and lighting it up. As he places the box back down, his hand grazes the communicator, emitting a loud shock. Yuki jumps back, letting out a pained noise.]
Ah--! What the fuck was that?!
[He looks down, noticing the communicator - and that it’s recording. He quirks an eyebrow at it, grumbling in annoyance.]
I wasn’t aware these crappy PDAs get to decide when they want to record. Interesting, isn’t it? Now everyone can see a writer in his finest moments…
[He’s obviously being sarcastic, but an almost crazy smile appears on his face.]
Is that what you all want to see? It’s a bit voyeuristic if you ask me. Though I guess some deviants can get off on anything. What a sick, sick world we’re living in. And a useless one. Weeks, and I couldn’t get one damn simple question answered. While someone is watching, I guess I’ll ask again, this time in a way that even a complete imbecile can probably understand:
Are there any psychiatrists in this city? I’d be picky, but that would be just a bit too greedy for this shithole.
[There’s a short pause while Yuki tries to enjoy some of his cigarette in-between his crazy fit.]
Oh, and whoever left that stuff. Thanks. It’ll get put to good use.
[And with that, he smirks again, putting his hand over the camera and turning off the communicator.]