[On the evening of the 17th, there's a transmission; the NV is lying on its side - and the screen captures the lower half of a man's face, clothes obviously dishevelled, long blond hair tangled and strewn everywhere. He's lying on his side, curled up on some concrete.
He only chokes out one soft, strangled word:]
Help.
[Gilbert Nightray's
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Jack?!
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Jack, it's me. It's Re-l. Do you remember?
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[He laughs weakly.]
Don't look, my lady. Y-you - shouldn't see me l-like this.
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You idiot... Don't worry about what I can see. I'm just glad you're okay.
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Don't look -
[He repeats.] Disgusting.
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[Idiot. Idiot.]
Just rest.
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[He starts to sound distraught.]
The boys - are they all...right?
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