[ - there's the low, distant wailing of the sirens. The feed bobs drunkenly, up and down, and there's the sound of someone retching off-screen; it weaves some more and the face of a very disoriented blond man comes into view. He looks shell-shocked; he doesn't realise that the journal he's writing on is recording. The pen trembles.]
What -
[He
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[He's seen victims of traumatic events before, and the man is showing some of the signs.]
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[his face falls.]
I apologise, sir, I shouldn't have lashed out like that.
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[he's feeling a little bit better, but still off-colour; he manages to sit up, still swaying a little.]
Ah, I - My name is Jack. Jack Vessalius. May I have your name?
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[he looks around, shaking his head slightly.]
Classified - are you a mercenary?
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[...pause.]
Previously?
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Yes, previously. Prior to coming here. [And to the whole... terrorist thing.]
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[he tries to stand. He wobbles for a moment or two, but he unhooks a sword from his hip and uses it as a sort of crutch.]
- like this place. What kind of shelter should I look for?
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If you're at the baseball field, look for either the large towers, or the dugouts. The dugouts will offer temporary shelter, the Tower Apartments offers one month's free stay.
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[he looks left, right, and back over his shoulder - ]
What exactly is a 'baseball field', if I may ask?
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