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Wasteland Tales #21


The word fills her with the clean, elegant simplicity of a razor’s edge.
The night swims in green shades of night vision. Lying on the sand, Elise sights down her rifle.
It’s them. She recognises the faces, the tattoos. She should. She sees them in her dreams.
She pulls the trigger. The silencer coughs out muffled death. The first target falls.
She aims. Fires again. The second target is dead before the first has hit the ground.
Again. Again. Again. They die, quick clean deaths that are better than they deserve.
Is this justice?
But it feels good.

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