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To Mr. Funk on old Storm Front open frequency [OPEN]

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Loscham sits outside his tent after a long day, twirling his knife in his hands.  He's smiling, but not sure if he should be.  Part of it feels wrong...he's singing softly to himself.

"One, two, three...

who should I kill?

Every motherfucka

Runnin' up the hill.

One, two, three...

what should I do?

Get fucked up

and fuck up-a you."

He chuckles to himself and hits the PTT on his radio. The waves fill with the gravelly voice of Bob Wilkinson.

"Well, well, well.  Lan Funk.  Or was it Lam?  Lamb?  Lamby-toes?  Fuck it."

He sighs, suppressing another chuckle.

"See, I talked to Tony after your and my little palaver.  He reminded me who you were, exactly, as far as Storm Front was concerned.  I think it's a very good thing I didn't remember at the time, Funk."

His voice turns to a growl.

"You left us when we needed you.  POOF!  Up and disappeared at the end there.  Definitely could'a used your help, but NOOOO, you just popped smoke and cut sling-load on your brothers and sisters.  Hell, even MARY stuck around.

Had I remembered that, Funk, you'd be missing a lot more than your ear right now."

He chuckles, pulling Funk's ear out of his shirt pocket.  He looks at it for a moment before he resumes speaking.

"Now, I've changed, quite a bit you see?  I'm gonna keep the rest of this short.

If I ever see you again, you will BEG for death."

He lets out a brief cackle, but suppresses it.

"Fuck off.  Be happy I'm not hunting you down like the disloyal dog you are."

He sighs and releases the PTT, replacing Funk's ear into his pocket.


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Hope overhears Loscham playing on his accent as Bob with a deep frown. If things couldn't get any worse, it did. Cherry on the cake.

"L... Bob what in the actual fuck..."

She sounds slightly disgusted with the way he was acting - if it even was an act.

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Loscham startles as he hears the familiar voice of Hope--the one person other than Nelson who could still effect his emotions. He is at a loss for words for a moment, and then they start spilling out of him faster than he can think to control them. He mashes the PTT. He only barely remembers in time to keep the faux voice on oper air waves.

"Hope...I...I don’t know anymore. I don’t know who I am, or what’s happening to me. Ever since the end of Storm Front these..."

A slightly mad cackle escapes his throat before he can stop it.

"VOICES...they talk to me now. I tried to tell you the other day in Grishino. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried to be the good guy for so long, and all it ever did was get me shit on. You and Nelson and Vic and Jackson and Tony and Abram and the Lockwoods and the Osbornes were some of the only people who were ever decent to me."

He takes a streadying breath.

"You see too much fucked-up shit, eventually...I don’t know. I’ve been seeing and doing fucked-up shit long before this whole apocalypse shit. I guess it’s finally catching up to me."

He struggles to control himself for a bit longer.

"You know what they say, don’t you, Hope? You either die the hero, or..."

He chuckles darkly.

"Live to see yourself become the villain. You can’t tell me that there are urges within you, too. Remember Mr. Black? You remember Cowboy? We fought the good fight, Hope. You won, I guess. Me? I lost. Every...fucking...time."

He scoffs as his composure breaks.

"I’m...I think I’m checked out, my dearest friend. Perhaps someone’d better stop me.”

He lets loose with an insane chuckle.

"And soon...”

Loscham lets go of the PTT, the demons and angels in his head waging a fierce battle. Looks like the demons are winning.  A last thought gets through his stricken mind, and he depresses the PTT for one last time.

"You were always like a sister to me. I love you like a sister. If you’re a prayin’ lady, pray for me. Me? I have...business to attend to, and I don’t want you painted with the same brush. I’ll be seeing you soon, I think.”

He releases the PTT and looks up into the starry sky. A single tear slides down his face, but he quickly wipes it away. After a moment, the look of melancholy is replaced by a slowly spreading wicked grin. His eyes darken. He turns to Abram and Tony and gestures for them to grab their guns.

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*Jackson was admiring the view from a castle tower when he heard a crappy, fake American country accent chime over the radio*

"Lo...Bob is that you, ya fucking jackass?! Where the hell have you been?" 

*A beer can be hear cracking open over the radio*

"Listen man, I got a whole sack of these shitty Rasputin beers here we can share as you tell me what the fuck happened to you. Oh right, my memories back, and all of my 'baggage' is taken care of. Hit me up when you're done threatening people over the open channels."

*Jackson ends his broadcast, picks up an old mace and drops it off the tower just as an infected walks by below*

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-Finnr cooking a rabbit around a fire in the middle of the forest clicks on the PPT of his radio-

-He slowly pours a bottle of whiskey into a glass he has put on the wooden log next to him-

Lo-bob.... l-bob.... -he musters out- Just get it out of yer mouth people its Loscham, It's not like it was hard to figure out.

So Loscham have you figured it out yet? After all this time have you figured out right or wrong yet?

Have you figured out why I shot you? Why I attempted to murder you? -A sad chuckle can be heard-

Life isn't a game of good or bad, it's a choice of will I or will I not, guilt doesn't exist its a imaginary thing in your brain constructed to keep you in the herd.

I predicted it didn't I, Loscham I predicted you'd become an issue get people killed. And look at you now.

Broken, tormented and discontent,

You played, you tried, you did and you lost.

There's nothing left here Loscham its the end of the line.

Your PTSD ass should end itself while you still can, you have become a burden upon yourself and those around you, a threat to everyone's survival you care about.
How many have you gotten to fight for you that got themselves killed? 10? 20? 30? How many have you killed?

How many pills will you find to keep you stable. and how many more will you kill without these pills.

The way I look at it, I would've done you a favour if I would pulled the trigger aiming at your head instead of your gut.

-the voice becomes soft and silent-

....And after all this time..... You agree.

-Finnr clicks off the radio-

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Loscham’s blood runs ice cold at the sound of that voice. He replays the transmissions in his head. There was no hiding it now. They’d said enough to give him away. He knew Finnr had always suspected, and now...now he had all he needed. A twisted smile plays across his face as he depresses the PTT. The voice that comes across the airwaves is Bob’s scratchy growl, but Loscham’s old German accent.

"Herrgott. Finnr...I thought you were dead."

He begins laughing, and soon is overcome by it. He laughs until he can barely breathe.

"I suppose I knew it was only a matter of time. But this is, as you call it, the end of the line. I always figured I’d die somewhere in this shithole of a country."

He inhales and gathers his composure.

"I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Finnr. Too many to really count. And yes, people have died because of it."

Loscham sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"It was always that way. But back in Afghanistan, at least I had the might of Deutschland behind me. Long gone, that is. I’ve led men on dozens of missions in that hellhole, and brought most of them home alive. Chernarus, I guess, is a whole different monster."

He reaches into his backpack, and pulls out the last bottle of Scotch Nelson gave to him. He uncorks it with a sad smile, and takes a long pull, savoring the burn as it goes down his throat.

"Seems I’ve become the very thing I’ve fought to destroy, doesn’t it, my friend?"

He chuckles and stares at the bottle, missing his brother.

"And to think, all I ever wanted to do was help people. Guess I went about it the wrong way. I should’ve taken the Northern Alliance’s offer from the start. Maybe then, the Free People’s Republic and the Alliance would still be strong...still be doing good in this world.”

Loscham sighs, and his voice lowers an octave.

"Yes, I agree, Finnr. Are you happy that you won? I was a fucking fool.”

He scoffs, taking another belt from the bottle before resuming speaking at a normal volume.

"I suppose it’s going to end soon. I feel it in my bones. An old soldat on his final leg.”

He sighs, and looks around to the few men sitting around the fire and laughing with each other. A smile crosses his face.

"I guess...thanks are in order. You let me live. You gave me just a few more months’ time to meet some really amazing people...to have a few laughs before I die.”

He chuckles darkly, heaving himself to his feet and taking a few steps out of the clearing.

"I won’t end myself for your satisfaction. I still have some unfinished business. When that’s done, if I have fully gone down the rabbit hole, well...I’m sure someone will end me. But it won’t be you.”

He makes to turn back to the clearing, but a thought strikes him, and he pauses.

"Wie geht’s Alice, nebenbei bemerkt?”

Loscham releases the PTT, shouldering his rifle. He stuffs the radio back into his pocket.

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-Finnr clicks on the radio-

I don't need you dead, I don't give a crap anymore what happens to you.

And Alice? She's dead.

Not that you should care, she was intrigued with playing with your emotions and feelings. I suggested she would do it and hell -starts a sinister laugh which continues for a good 30 seconds- She loved the concept.

So much that she did it twice.

-Silence crosses the airwaves for a minute-

She didn't even give a rats ass about payment, she was my pretty little sociopathic agent. A joy to work with honestly. But you'd have to be insane to fall for her.

-Yet again silence crosses the airwaves till finally a last final message comes out-

Tod war ihr Name, und eines Tages würde sie die Frucht ernten müssen.

-Finnr clicks off the radio-

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Hope listens to Loscham. Knowing her close friends treated her like an idiot and wasted her emotions more than she should've. It angered her, a hell of a lot. Hope bitterly picks up the radio. If she had a line. Someone finally made her cross it. The emotions riled through her made her feel numb. Stefanie Queens. Pascal Moss. Dragoslav Novak. Victor Cruz. Ellie Bridge. Stefanie Cruz. Lochasm Von Erdst.... And more. All these people close to her. And somehow, someway currently were missing, gone or dead. Then the fact of every little scar on her body fouled on her bitter taste.  Her voice casts over the radio - angry. Bitter. Pissed the fuck off.

"I'm not playing your stupid fucking mind games anymore Loscham. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice.... shame on me."

The radio sounds like it is slammed against a table before it cutting to white noise.

Edited by Mercy

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