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... chance for regret.

"Damn it!" Leipoder slammed his fist into the door of the cell, the dull thud of the impact echoing loudly, but leaving no trace.

Bright red blood began to drip from his hand, but he seemed unaware, his teeth clenched tightly. He glared fiercely at Marx's retreating figure through the window, his hatred so intense he wished he could tear him apart piece by piece.

If it hadn't been for Marx, he wouldn't have ended up in this situation. He wouldn't have l ...

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