Monsieur,

She inhales... And no word comes out. She starts again.
You know, I'm keeping track of a lot of things because of this job. But the one I enjoy the most -She picks a small leatherbound booklet on her console, and waves it in front of the recorder - ... is this. It's a journal of oddities. All the strange things I've come across, the surprises, the crazy, bewildering things I've seen or had to do. There's a chapter in it for... Well, precisely this. All these outlandish communications and messages I received from people I'd never expect to even look me in the eye.

She opens the booklet and peruses it, at random. Ah yes. There is this one time I organised a press conference for one of the most wanted, demented and famous psychopaths of the galaxy. Oh, and that time where an outcast sex cult attempted to get in Gallia's good graces, through me. Or when the hideous rogue nation of Crayter sent me a cruel, and in retrospect quite appropriate April Fools message. Ah, one of my favourites ; when I received the most inappropriate bakery for last Christmas, from a Sirian girl I had just interrogated, and without asking anything in return. Who does that ? You see, my crew took charge of this package and sent it to my parents' home, knowing I'd be there for this event. I unpacked it in front of them, and discovered oversized male genitalia-shaped cookies. In front of them. My parents. She laughs softly, closes the booklet, and puts it back on her console before returning her gaze on the recorder. Her eyes are watery, as though she was on the brink of tears, but her voice remains constant, with that usual cutting edge and staccato delivery.

I feel like this transmission of yours is going to take a special spot in that booklet, monsieur de Gobineau. I'm tired, you know. I'm very tired, and much like you, I imagine, I want all of this to end. I'm very much prepared for all of this to end. Your message comes at a particular time. Probably not by chance... I've just been informed about your fleet amassing, with our predictions being that an all-out assault on Paris is the end goal. And as a result, I've just received instructions. Final instructions, as it were. I probably would not have answered your message, had I not received them. But I can't be alone at a time like this, so it has to fall on you. I'm just as surprised as you are.

I will be returning, rest assured. We will be returning. I feel our presence in Bretonia has lasted for long enough, and I miss home.
I just have one more thing left to do in London, it would seem. So I'm going to do that, then we'll come back, and we'll talk.

I promise.

Thank you for your message.

The transmission fades.