"You think? And then what? When everything and the kitchen sink gets sucked in and I can't reverse it, then what? Last time I checked, my Samantha nose twitching talents weren't so well honed. Your plan's about as well thought out as Elmer Fudd's best laid plans, buddy." John's tablet had switched itself to visual as he shoved it away. Harvey
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Howeber, the voice itself distracted him from his quest for answers. That one guy...the alternate version his memories included twice over. The oddity, and the vague affinity he associated with the man was enough to give him pause.
But that did not mean he had any idea what the man was talking about. "...I think you've got the wrong number."
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"Wrong number, yup. I meant to call the Taxon crisis line. It's not 1-800-273-FRELLINGTABLETS then, I'm guessin'?"
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Cam frowned, "Nope. M'Pretty sure I misplaced it."
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"Oh well, guess I'll just keep tryin' then." Maybe there was a chance he could just skirt over this.
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"What exactly's the crisis?"
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"I'm just trying to figure out what you were yelling at Taxon about."
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"Yup. I'm yelling at the tablet, I'm crazy, not right in the head, off with the fairies, living in la la land, I hear voices." He drummed his knuckles as he spoke. "Dude, I see dead people. It's freaky shit. I know what you did last summer. Now where's my goddamned chainsaw?"
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Uh huh. He'd seen Jackson give a better impression of crazy than that. But this was clearly getting him nowhere. Apparently, the man was not going to tell him anything without some serious grilling, and that would be tipping his own hand. Not something he was willing to do just yet.
"Guess it's a good conversationalist, then."
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