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Summary
The comms cut out completely– there’s a beep before they return.
A different voice speaks up in a much clearer quality. “I hear you’re having trouble disarming a bomb.”
Simon’s hand falls from the device.
The voice is unmistakable, familiar; but it’s a voice that is gone and dead, and Simon feels his heart sink in his chest as he fights back a pathetic sob. It’s Johnny’s.
And this is a recording– unmistakable from the crisp sound of the audio and the fact that the voice belongs to a dead man.
Simon’s breath falters, and he furrows his brow. “Price. This is a sick fucking joke.”
The sound of Johnny’s voice continues. “You’re going to want to start by cutting any of the blue wires.”