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The pain catches up with him an instant later, throbbing hot and dull through half of his face. One of his eyes waters, and he blinks rapidly to clear his sight.
“Hypocrites don’t get to talk,” Reaper bites out.
Seventy-six turns his face back around and spits pinkish saliva onto the shotgun. “Oh, are you going to talk, then? That’ll be the day.”
“No,” Reaper says. “I’m not interested in talking.”
Bookmarked by lavenderkoi
26 Mar 2017