[He's heard echoes of the voice before, but never so clearly. Never so sharp, with that drawl that manages to be both slow and lazy and crisp and impatient at the same time. It's a sign that he's rattled when he doesn't whirl with his heatgun already pulled and aimed, but turns slowly, still seated, the coldgun powered down and held in both hands.]
...I do. But I don't use it. It's yours.
[It's all he can think of. Is he finally crazy for good? It's possible. But who would have thought the thing that would finally send him around the bend, after everything, would be losing Len?
After a few extra moments of staring, he does all he can think of, he holds the gun out.]
no subject
...I do. But I don't use it. It's yours.
[It's all he can think of. Is he finally crazy for good? It's possible. But who would have thought the thing that would finally send him around the bend, after everything, would be losing Len?
After a few extra moments of staring, he does all he can think of, he holds the gun out.]