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Alessio stood up from the ground, in one hand the sword, on the other a new bar of energy snacks. A word, a break, a word, a break, a word.

"What? What? What?"

He was confused. He deserved to die? And all the other killers? Fuck, what? What?

"You, no. Don't. It doesn't make sense."

If no one would kill, everybody would die.

"No one here deserves to die. Not the innocent, not the killers, not even the terrorists."

God, what a world view must she have? Killing is evil, not-killing is good. That's some naive-fucked-up black-and-white world view.

"Death is not something people deserve."

Does that statement contradict him killing two people? He had no time to think about that in depth. Perhaps it's just the position of the Alessio before the trip, who was still in him deep down. Perhaps the Alessio before the trip was wrong and Mr. Prospector was right. But maybe it was the other way around.

There was no right or wrong, hands down. But what Maria said was fucking disgusting. As if no one here deserved to go back to Kingman.

Alessio bit into the bar. He breathed heavily. He was nervous, he was angry, he was confused, he was pissed.

He raised the sword to stare at the blade.
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Cooking Up Trouble · Storage Closet