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... risoner in the cell across from him. The emaciated prisoner had disheveled brown hair and a wild look in his blue eyes. He was relatively tall, maybe a hair over six foot, with the frame of a man who’d eaten well in his youth, only for his luck to turn sour.
A bit like the two of us. Only two of our group left. Just me and Arms.
That was a good thing, because after this debacle was over, they’d either be dead or their no-longer-functional team would be broken up and the two of t ...
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