A guard screams obscenities to a soundtrack of explosions and incantations. Before you can react, you're downed by the still-warm torso part of a guard you knew by name. You feel blood seep through your clothes and pray it's not yours. Sick laughter ricochets off the cold walls. You play dead. A raspy song leads skipping feet closer, "Tili Tili bom, Zakroy glaza skoree, ktoe-toe hodit— ...Oh?" The fleshy shrapnel is bunted off you. "Cute, a hognosed snake. Question. Would you like to live?"
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