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His gaze was sharp enough to cut a silk cloth in mid-fall. How many had died now as a direct result of his misguided acts of mercy? How many families would never see their children again because of his inaction? He had two chances to stop her cold, and twice, he failed. Who else was going to die because he had too big a heart? Mary-Ann?




R.J. pulled himself to his feet, using his sword for leverage. With his right hand, he made a gesture behind his back to Mary-Ann. Pinky and ring fingers extended, thumb pointed up, bent back ninety degrees at the interphalangeal joint. She knew what this meant. They'd practiced it. The message delivered, he wrapped the fingers of both his hands tightly around the handle of the khanda. Kris moved into a seated position atop a metal box. What was in it, R.J. neither knew nor cared. He had one objective in mind. He had to eliminate every threat to Mary-Ann's survival that he possibly could. If he failed now, it wouldn't be because he didn't try. If she got away this time, it wouldn't because he showed her mercy.

His eyes never left the blonde, his face fixed in a feral scowl, eyebrows threatening to sever his nose. Thousand yard stare met thousand yard stare. He approached her with long, slow strides, raising the blade toward the sky. Once he was in range, he would allow gravity to take care of the rest.

Third time's a charm.
<Mimi>: You are much nicer than I thought you'd be!
<Stark>: Shut up, fatty.
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