[ The first recording comes mid-day, amidst the clamour that can only be associated with large, milling, and largely confused crowds. The audio is little more than a jumble of noise, of fumbling and the clatter of keys; the visual feed is no less confusing. There's the image of a corridor, milling newcomers, and it ends as the camera settles to focus on a thin chest and a black shirt. ]
[ The second recording comes a little over an hour later, and the image this time is brighter, more clear; the communicator and it's user are outside. There's the glimpse of blue sky over a dark shoulder, the corner of tinted glasses, and skin more dark, more ashen, than is really considered normal. The accompanying audio is no less harried. Four seconds. ]
Fuc--
[ And then, one hour later, according to the timestamp: ]
what the fuck.
what ii2 formatting.
what kiind of 2hiit technology ii2 thii2?
who the fuck even thought thii2 up?
fuckiing 2henaniigan2.
ii fiinii2hed one game ii'm not doiing another.
hey fucka22e2 where are you?
2hiit ii2n't funny.
iit'2 liike you've hiit the end of your bad joke career2.
prank retiirement.
prank2ter2 gambiit runniing on empty liike a leaky four wheeled automatiive machiine.
2hiit man.
the2e are all human2.
where the fuck diid they come from.
ii don't thiink thii2 ii2 my room but fuck iif ii giive a 2hiit.