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((Oh, right. GMing approved.))

Do their best. Right. They should get moving, find a place to hole up, even if it was hopeless in the end. Better chances that way.

Sam opened his mouth to respond, when something caught his eye.

Movement in an alleyway. In the dark, it was hard to tell, but it looked... familiar. Clair, Rebecca, the drawing of the bowstring - it all came to the front of his mind in a second. Less than a second. It was Rebecca; she had her bow.

He started to raise his shotgun, to squeeze off a round to scare her off. In his haste, his finger slipped on the trigger before he could even raise it an inch, pulled it for the first time.

Nothing happened.

Sam didn't have the time to yell, or laugh, or cry, and if he had, he wouldn't have known which he would have done. He'd been a fool, all along. His shotgun was unloaded; Warren must have fired it before he died. And all this time, he had been making threats. Being a threat. Protecting himself with an empty shotgun.

As the bow stretched back to what looked like its full extent, Sam realized that they were in grave danger. More than anything, he realized he had one last chance to make a difference.


He heard the arrow whistle through the air.

His shoulder connected with Renee - he felt the same give that he had felt from Richard when he had knocked him down.

Sam felt the arrow connect.
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Program V3 Prologue:
Sylvia Veneski -- F32 -- Clothes Hanger -- Alive -- Stroke of Midnight

Auld Lang Syne
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Swan Song · The Streets
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