[ Button mashing, button mashing, button mashing. That's all there is at first; someone's panic, anger and frustrations are being taken out on this poor device. There's indiscernible muttering going on behind the ons and offs of the feed, and finally, the connection is made. Clearing the hair out of her face, there's a girl. Under the bags of her eyes and the dirt (soot? ash?) on her face, there's a story, but the expression she has tells you she won't be sharing it.
She's scared, out of her mind. There are more than just metal people here. Not motorized patriots, no, these drones had...duties, expectations, respect? They weren't hostile, and that's probably what scared her the most. ]
Booker? Are you there----can you hear me?
I don't know where I am. They're talking to me, telling me I'm on a different planet, a different world. What does that mean, I can't----I can't be. That's impossible.
Different realities, okay, but I've never torn into a different planet before.
[ Is she crying? She's trying her best not to, rather. ]
Please, tell me you're there, that you followed me. God, I'm sorry.
[ The not-voxophone stays on, she's sure it will stop recording on it's own. ]