[At first, all can be heard is the distant, and occasionally not-so-distant crashes of teleported junk as it lands on other junk. Then, after a few seconds have passed, there’s a distinctly teenaged sigh.]
Ooookay, so. Apparently ‘voice’ does not mean ‘get a voice’. That’s one mystery solved…
[The speaker starts moving around the junkyard,
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Uh...I'm...just a guy, last I checked. Thanks for asking? Thing...on my arm?
[He'd really like for this all to start making sense, soon.]
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[This is a start.]
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Uh. Yeah. Freaky magicks are totally awesome.
Listen, uhm. No offense? But you're not making a lot of sense, here. I mean. This is a lot to just...accept here, y'know? Talking wrist guards with buttons that...record voices, I don't. I really don't know where to begin with all of this. It's all about the same level of crazy.
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[...you know, he's not sure.]
I--I'm gonna need you to, uh. Define your terms.
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I don't...think so.
If I was from the future, I'd remember this. It'd be my past. Right?
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Because I've definitely done some traveling.
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I--Look, while I...understand it's pretty easy to do so, uh, at this point, you've lost me again.
Is that what this place is called? Outer Space?
[He says the name like someone who's never encountered the concept of putting the two words together in the first place.]
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Though I've never been under a sky that rained junk before.
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