[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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[Concern hidden with intrigue. Yes, these types of situations aren't to be touched til the last moment.]
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Goodness, I - I'm so..rry?
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Forgive me - for being so horrid.
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Mmmm, yes~ But you know how much I adore playing with broken things. They make the most interesting sounds.
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[Now he sounds delusional - but would ha have been able to change the filter if he was?]
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[Delusional? What is this?]
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Be careful not to get cut, though, Undertaker. It might get...infected.
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Would be a shame to fester over such little things, yes?
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[Nearly sang.]
But you would like that, I think.
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