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It was hard to concentrate on speaking anything with the pain, but Conrad emitted words out of his mouth, like usual, nonetheless. He swiped the tears out of his eyes.

"Hello, Isabel."

A familiar face was always good. Especially since he already knew her from the island. He did not need to be scared of her, because she seemed friendly earlier. She did not seem to have snapped and her inputs earlier that day were rational. Smart, even, in comparison to Clarice's plan. She was not like Nancy, a wildcard that murders people. She was not like Harold, who was also armed like Nancy, who also could have been a wild card.

It was also Nancy's fault. It was people like Nancy that Conrad tried to protect Clarice from. Isabel was not Nancy.


Why had she blood on her shirt? Actually the question Isabel could ask was why he had blood on the sword.

"A fight happened here."

He pointed with his right hand at the sword. Conrad grimaced.

"It's unbelievable that our classmates are capable of doing such a thing."

Then he looked at his left arm and then back at Isabel.
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By the time you hear the next pop, the funk shall be within you · Solitary Confinement