0800 Hours [slash]

0800 Hours: Recording #023

Click.

A shrill squeal cuts into the quiet, sharp and penetrating.

"Got it! Cye! Cye, I got the door! Oh man, I am so good."

"Debatable."

But the rough edges in the voice are smoothed by affection. Warmth sandpapers all of their insults nowadays.

"Excuse me, you couldn't move it at all. Clearly all that farming has given me superior muscle mass."

"Clearly. Pity about your brain, right enough."

A buoyant laugh boils deep in someone's throat, bubbling over and spilling out in staccato bursts.

"I don't even care that you're insulting me. I'm too buzzing. We're gonna make it."

The door swings open, screeching stubbornly on its hinges.

"Jesus fucking Christ, what is that smell?"

The other voice splutters, choking on the stench.

"It smells like a thousand out of date steaks wrapped in a pair of your socks. I think I'm gonna throw up."

"Try not to aim it in my direction babe, ta'."

"If I wasn't about to vomit, I'd have something hilarious to say about the fact that you just called me babe."

"... Slip of the tongue."

"Yeah, right."

The speaker sounds delighted. Then -

"Fuck."

And it all comes crashing to a halt. The world is submersed in a thick, gooey layer of silence. Their breaths quieten to a whisper, like rain on soft grass.

"...Cye? Are you – oh my fucking God."

"There's at least six bodies in there, Cam."

The wary stillness shatters with a cutting exclamation of:

"We're fucked, aren't we?"

Click.