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... a gunshot. He staggered back, chain slack in his fist, eyes locked on the beast before him. No, not the Tanker. Her. Dancer.
She pivoted.
FWIP!
Her first rotation was smooth as silk, her free foot sweeping up in a perfect arc. The blade glinting like a crescent moon under the carousel’s strobing lights. The Tanker swung one massive arm, but she slipped right under, the tip of her blade carving a bright line across its armored chest.
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