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Jonathan Blake, Jonathan Blake--what to do with Jonathan Blake?

"I.... I know I must have already said this a hundred times by now, but... Thank you. You have no idea how grateful I am to see a friendly face right now. To tell the truth, you're probably the first person i've met on this island who hasn't immediately tried to gun me down on the spot. I guess that either makes me one of the luckiest guys alive or one of THE most unluckiest in existence, depending on which way you look at it..."

He looked at his arm, consideringly.

"Still, like I said, thanks again for stitching my arm up, can't imagine how I'd of been able to do it without your help... I just wish there was some way I could repay the offer."

Well, that one was easy.

"You need to leave." Mizore said. She pocketed the thread, the needles, the scissors easily. "You need to stay away from the rest of my party. I'm traveling with some dangerous people, and you'll probably--you'll probably be shot again."

To say that, she felt like a vassal, a strange fairy. Something larger than herself. It was odd. The sort of feeling that made her want to paint again, get out the last of her spray-paint and cover the trees.

And he stood, achingly, and Mizore's heart leapt to her throat. Because she still had his gun, like she still had Raidon's and she still had Julian's, and like Raidon's and Julian's, she wasn't giving it back. And this man--this man was going to check for his gun, and he might panic. Become violent. Like you do, on hellmurder island, you know, when some unknown chick has just stolen your gun which for some reason you thought was a form of defense.

Oh crap.

How well can I lie?

Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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Riddles Of Monsters · The Woods: Inland