013 - Video, morning after everyone's safely back from the port.

[fuckitybye]

[The camera clicks on revealing Malcolm, no longer bespectacled and looking absolutely fucking awful, like he just spent the whole night pacing and cursing in his cabin. Which he did. He starts to say something, then scrubs his hands over his face.]

Fucking fuck it.

[And he reaches out and slaps the camera off. If anyone responds, his responses will be in text only.]

[OOC: Malcolm's Masterworld Daily Briefings? Are all publicly visible to anyone who feels like backtracking in his public journal entries. He doesn't know it yet.]

Comments

Private // Voice

[fuckitybye]

Thanks for the fucking consolation.

Private // Voice

[grayatonement]

What else is there to say?

At least you didn't kill so many.

Private // Voice

[fuckitybye]

Got your hands a bit dirty, eh?

Private // Voice

[grayatonement]

A little.

Re: Private // Voice

[fuckitybye]

What's your proper name, son? Don't think I caught it.

Private // Voice

[grayatonement]

Sylar. My name is Sylar.

Who are you?

Private // Voice

[fuckitybye]

Malcolm Tucker. Director—former Director of Communications for the Prime Minister of the UK.

Private // Voice

[grayatonement]

No wonder you were good at your job.

Did port change you?

Private // Voice

[fuckitybye]

I fell off, if that's what you fucking mean. Thought I'd been there for years, had a family. [Pause.] Now if you mean in the long term, well, ask me in a fucking week, yeah?

Private // Voice

[grayatonement]

I'll ask in a week.