somethingwickedthiswayride

[somethingwickedthiswayride]

[Begin Video Playback]

{The view is from cameras that have been set up in the safehouse so T.R.S can watch Signal as they work. Signal is walking around the safehouse but it isn't clear what they're doing}

{*Quiet Humming*}

{*Beginning to actually sing*}

I've slagged em everywhere man I've slagged em everywhere man Fought sitreps there man Cooked pilots rare man Of combat had my share man I've slagged em everywhere....

{*Signal trails off going back to quietly humming*}

[End Playback]

[somethingwickedthiswayride]

[Begin Video Playback]

{Footage pans out showing Signal walking up towards someone's home. It's a rural area, a large lake next to the path that they walk. Signal knocks on the door.}

{A new angle. Signal is sitting on a dock. It appears to be the same property. The other figure is Callsign Postage. Retired.}

[Begin Audio Playback]

Postage: Signal... What.... Look I get that you... Why aren't you threatening me?

Signal: I have better things to do Postage. Consider this a favor. Callsign Singed Whiskers has made it her goal to kill me. I think you'll be more interested in how she has fared without her handler.

Postage: I... I left that life behind I'm not going back to-

Signal: That's not why I am telling you.

Postage: Never that simple. What do you want Murphy? What... What actually brings you to my home in the middle of nowhere?

Signal: Curiosity. Telegram is sitting in an Union Rehabilitation Center. Morse is making mistakes as always. Broadband is impossible to track currently. Dial Up has returned to her announcing work. That leaves you the only one to talk to.

Postage: YOU HAD YOUR PILOTS KILL MINE!

Signal: So did you.

Postage: Don't give me that crap Murphy! You-

Signal: Made my choice. You made yours.

Postage: You're a sick fuck coming out here Murphy... You're sick you know that?

Signal: Your words are closer than you think. Enjoy retirement Postage. This conversation has served me enough. But say hello to your pilots. You know how they get without us.

{Signal stands from the dock and begins to walk away}

Signal: Tell the kids I say hi.

Postage: Tell your copilot that I still hate her.

Signal: I will.

[End Playback]

[somethingwickedthiswayride]

Pastime. No.

Union still doesn't understand.

I don't waste pilots.

I'd like to ask you something. Why do you fight?

Your reflex answer is money, but you're smart. Smart enough to know that if you wanted money, you wouldn't sign on with Signal.

So, why do you fight?

|| JADWIGA ||

Survival.

[somethingwickedthiswayride]

The following is a pre-recorded message. The voice is familiar- hyper, shaky, slightly shrill, and hole-punched with maniacal laughter.

Great run out there last night, cowgirl! Hope I can catch up to you sometime on the next leg- though I think I need to shake the comp’ before then! Tell hoss I said “howdy”- [unhinged cackling] -once you get the burnt rubber out of your nose ;)

Dead ahead and rarin’ to go,

//Greenlight\\

Howdy!

Thank ya kindly fer yer help with that damn Pyro durin' the op. Was a pleasure to work with ya.

Be seein' ya 'round, Speedy.

[somethingwickedthiswayride]

[ Attachment added; 03105027.omnif ]

[ Myles sits in the near distance, propped up atop a pile of torn cushions and scattered stuffing. His hair is tied back, though slightly damp, leaving his smiling face clearly exposed. Deep bags sit heavy beneath his eyes; His cheeks are sunken, enunciated by his pale skin and bloodshot eyes. The chem ports along his exposed arms are visibly inflamed, as is the skin around his feeding tube. ] [ Evidence suggests, he's fresh from deployment, and still riding a chemical high. ]

[ Next to Myles, still zipped into their hardsuit, sits a disoriented individual of indeterminate age or gender. The visor of their helmet is cracked open, exposing their face; Medical tape has been generously applied over their mouth. ] [ Despite this, they seem remarkably relaxed. In their hands sits an archaic game controller. ]

MYLES — "You wanna know a secret, Ronin?" [ Myles scoots backwards until his shoulders hit the wall behind him, then slumps against it. His chest rises and falls slowly as he takes deep, hungry breaths, though the twitching of his thumbs implies his heartrate is still well past ideal. ] MYLES — "You aren't the first thing I stole from Harrison. The first thing I stole-" [ Myles holds up one finger, wiggling it between his eyes before pointedly pressing the tip into his own forehead. ] MYLES — "-Was myself. Spiritually, I mean. Physically, too, eventually, but first? I let myself become disillusioned. I saw the hypocrisy around me and, slowly, became indignant to it. Or, uh, disgusted by? No, actually, I just hated it. Plain hated. Hated everything, every bit of it. The fake flowers on the kitchen table, the fake smiles when you shook hands, the fake posters with fake pilots-"

[ A pause. Myle's eyes water. A moment later, a fit of coughing seizes him, causing Myles to press his upturned hand harshly into his diaphragm. The individual in front of him, Ronin, reaches out and tentatively places a hand on his shoulder. ]

MYLES — "So then I stole- my frame-- FIREMAN and I, burned a-.. a, uhm... we..-" MYLES — "FIREMAN and I--" [ Myles runs his hand from his chest, to his shoulder, to his face, to his forehead, where he knits his fingers into his hair with a white-knuckled grasp. ] MYLES — "--Just me. Just... I ran. Dragged myself, really. I lost my legs, when we fled. FIREMAN took them. Called me a coward, broke me in half, and left me to die..- and, and I mean, I was, sort of. A coward. Not dead, no, just a coward. That's why I ran. I hid amongst the refugees, the people displaced by the damage I had caused, and played innocent until I was far enough away to sob and cry and lick my wounds and-- and find CORSAIR." MYLES — "So I told CORSAIR I was nobody! I was an unaligned pilot, unblooded, uhm, un-..remarkable. I just needed shelter. Shelter, and maybe pay. I said I had pissed off Union- that wasn't true, by the way, I mildly inconvenienced Teardown but that was it, and, really, he deserved it- and needed a some help getting my feet under me. Or, er, my skates?- I don't know why I went with the skates. A lot of people ask me about the skates. I try to think of a funny answer every time but, really, I like that- that they remind me to keep moving, I guess?"

[ Slowly, Ronin retracts their hand from Myles's shoulder. Mumbling something underneath the tape, they grasp the controller in their off hand and pointedly hold it up. ]

MYLES — "Right- right. The game. Right. Christ, you're real opinionated for a flash clone." [ At this, Ronin leans back and takes the controller into both hands. Their head cocks curiously to the side as they point their gaze expectantly at Myles. ] MYLES — "Oh? 'Was that the secret'? No, not really. Everyone knows that." MYLES — "The secret's that- I enjoyed it." MYLES — "The running, I mean. I enjoyed the running."

MYLES — "I don't think I ever stopped."

[ Close attachment. ]