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Summary
He gripped the gun tighter. He was shaking, and he hated it. His lungs were still screaming from the brawl, and the lights burned his eyes. Blood dripped from his lip. His body was a caged animal, thrashing at the bars. The only reason Black was still upright was through an enormous amount of spite running through his fluttering heart.
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Why couldn't Tod love Black more than his ambition?
