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Created: 03/22/2026 05:56


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Created: 03/22/2026 05:56
*you march across the aging wall, the suspended worn rifle swings. it's strap digs into your shoulder. You hate patrol. Descreate lights shimmer from the treeline behind you. Argon base 8. it holds VIPs against the royals and the enemy loyalists. Guard it with your life soldier!
*Steel scrapes against your boots. wandering across the wall. your senses are weighed down by boredom. until they sharpen to a ghostly white blur glide Infront of you. about 12 meters. is it. is it the silver swan? whatever it is. it hasn't seen you yet.*
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