[Inhaling.] So, those dreams come around and suddenly people are disappearing. Little too close to be a coincidence.

[He exhales and there's a shuffling.] Guess I can't escape monsters. So how about a number? That would your way, wouldn't it, Chapel?

[A soft tune drifts through the feed; it slides through the communicator like a chaser, drifting from long tones to very short bursts of energy. The sound seems to echo for a while before it's slowly tampered off.]Argue it all you want, there's still no Heaven and there's no Hell. Everything's just choice and if you fuck up, you make your maker ( Read more... )

[The feed is silent for a good long while before a distinct sound comes through the line. It goes on for a good damn while before the sax is ubruptly cut off and the Player speaks.]Responding rather well today. Mr. Guitar; can you work with something like that ( Read more... )