50: You have got to be kidding.

[yourunichase]

No. No. [A clang here, because Parker has thrown the communicator where it bounced against her bed, giving a sideways view of Parker in a now too tight (and torn) suit. When she speaks, it's in an angry, smarmy tone.]

No. No. You have got to be fucking kidding me. After the fucking fear gas, now this. No. Fuck. Anyone but him.

[Parker screams for pretty much the entire sixth level to hear, and then she kicks her bed and is rewarded with a further tearing sound in her suit before she looks and realizes that the communicator is still on.]

God damn it!

[She stalked over to it and looked into it for a second.]

Fuck this place.

Comments

[fuckitybye]

Fucking tell me about it. Jesus fucking Christ, did we just pass Bad 1980s Bodyswap Movie World or some bullshit like that? Fuck.

[This is what Malcolm looks and sounds like now. Younger and slightly more Glaswegian, but otherwise the vocabulary and verbal style seems right at home.]

[yourunichase]

I want to fucking remove the Admirals eyes with a spoke.

[This is what Parker looks/sounds like now. Only you know, more sweary and of course, more bitchy sounding.]

[fuckitybye]

Fuck that; I ever meet the fucker, he's getting the Edward II treatment with a fucking red-hot poker.

[yourunichase]

Good. And scrotum removing with fucking drops of acid.

Private

[fuckitybye]

Who are you, anyway? I seem to be inhabiting the body of the traitorous, feral little shit who used to run the Downing Street press office.

Private

[yourunichase]

I'm inhabiting the body of the fucking creepier bastard who stalks me and wrote that fucking book.

Re: Private

[fuckitybye]

Fuck. That's just fucking unfair.

Private

[yourunichase]

Fucking tell me about it.