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... he sat on his chair, staring at something on the table.

It was a gun.

The pistol was small and slick, its metallic sheen giving off an oily black hue. Around him were corpses of gang members, all of them with bullet holes in their heads.

"Without my corpse among them, it’ll be pretty obvious to the higher-ups that I’ve betrayed them. But, since they should have some way to track the money, they’ll go after that guy instead." He continued to whisper to himself. "I’m guess ...

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