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... secretly cursed their employer. Didn't you say this kid was an artist type?


An assassin, no question. A composer? Hell no!


His temple pressed against the barrel of a gun, he swallowed the comment he was about to make and lowered his hand carrying the electric rod.


The two of them had been working black streets for some time. They had completed quite a few jobs, so they knew who was faking it, who was a paper tiger. They could deduce from a single move or look.

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