[The handwriting that suddenly appears is very sloppy, but still somewhat readable. It's a combination of being drugged, having messy handwriting in the first place, and having a cast on his arm to have to work around.]I don't really remember what happened, so I'll try to write what I can here
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...Well, alright, life is always that cruel, but occasionally he has that hopeful moment that things will go reasonably well for a while. Thanks for squashing that little feeling again, Malnosso. He loves it when you do that.
He doesn't respond for a while. He waits, he watches, he puzzles over how to deal with this. He could easily just walk away, pretend he never saw it, wait in ignorance for things to improve. And if they didn't- no, this is an effect of his kidnapping, none of his things were missing.
Guy would've wanted him to say something, he knows. Guy would've wanted him to take care of this stupid, lost, clueless replica.
Guy's not here anymore. And maybe that's why he should speak up.]
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You- [You bastard, you dreck, you replica] I- [I hate you, I wish you didn't exist, I want you gone, I want the old Luke ba-] ...Tell me where you are.
[Dammit.]
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It's because it sounds so much like his.
Luke turns his head to look at the journal, curious and suspicious at the same time.]
H... How should I know? Who're you? [Why do you have my voice?]
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So, the hard way it is, then. Better to avoid excessive confusion, so he keeps his face out of view from the camera. He's not in the mood to deal with questions about his identity.]
Just forget it. Someone's coming to find you, right?
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Um, Luke?
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