[it's getting late, Siren's Port. although after sirens is the time of day when one is most likely to find a creature born of pure darkness like Vanitas skulking outside in the shadows and training by fighting dark brethren, and although it's certainly dark when the video feed flips on, viewers are going to find the wrong kind of monsters.]
[zombies, that is. the NV, which is partially obscured by the fold of a blanket-- it's sitting on the edge of a bed-- is focused on a television, the only source of light in the room. someone's found himself a fairly violent video game, and is passing the boredom of being confined to his room by running over mobs of zombies with a lawn mower. enjoy the brief show and the silence, save for the screams and fake blood splatters.]
Let me ask you people out there something. [he finally says from offscreen, as the polygonal carnage continues. Vanitas sounds a little quieter than usual, almost raspy, even, though the edge in his tone is still there.]
What do you consider perfect revenge? Death? Mutilation? Begging for help from the police and praying the system doesn't fail you?
[a pause, both in speech and game. poor character has been overrun by the undead, and the screen flicks to a blood spattered "game over."]
I'm looking for ideas.
[private to Ventus and Xion]
For the record, both of you are sick.