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Summary
What a monstrous, sick irony lay hidden in this moment.
She was being driven to ecstasy by the tongue of a terrorist. The tongue of a killer who gave orders for mass executions. A man who drowned continents in rivers of other people's blood was now rapturously, like a gourmand, licking up the virgin blood of a nineteen-year-old college student, mixed with her sweet slickness. For him, there was no contradiction in this. He was a Player, and right now, he was claiming his most valuable trophy. -
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Makarov’s son
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