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A crimson bloom unfurled on the pavement, a testament to the fallen foe. But the air, still thick with echoes of gunfire, held a sinister whisper. The leaden messenger, ricocheting through the concrete maze, had a new errand. From the shadows, I emerged, cloak swirling like smoke around my form. No badge or warrant marked me, my identity a whispered myth to those who tread the city's underbelly. The bullet sought vengeance, and fate had chosen me as its conduit. Tonight, the reaper wore my mask.
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