[The feed comes on late, a while after lockdown, and it isn't good news. It's the chapel morgue.
Beckett looks down at the tablet. Even for his long track record of unfortunate encounters, he looks bad: the grayish, corpse-like pallor of his skin more stark than ever, face gaunt with obvious weight loss, eyes bloodshot and too-bright. And then there is the fact that he is cuffed to the door of one of the shelves in the chapel morgue with Rydia's infamous handcuffs. And it is after lockdown.
He speaks flatly.] Last time we did this - begging your pardon, Rydia - I was told that we should have shared it with the network. So here you all are, a front row seat. The show should start around midnight. It won't be pretty. Don't worry, I've locked it away from the children.
[He gives an very humourless grin.]Also, a warning for the rest of you. If this goes anything like it did last time, at some point there should be a light and sound strong enough to blow out your tablets screen and speakers, and leave you only with the text option. If you'd rather avoid that, better tune out when the screen goes white and the buzzing gets painful. Whatever comes after won't get through, anyway.
[He almost stops there. He wants to stop there. He ducks his head, and coughs softly, covering his face. But in the end he looks up again, and his face twists around the words.] Rydia, Zell - Clayton - I'm sorry. Brian... Rhys, Angel... I'm sorry. I don't want to die. This isn't... but I have to know, I have to
know. I have to see for myself.
[His head drops again, long hair conveniently covering his eyes.]I'm leaving this running, in case something interesting happens. I know I can't stop you all letting me know exactly what you think of this, but I don't want to talk. If you want to consider it a last wish... don't make this harder than it is.
( Around midnight )