[The recording device is on the floor, showing a large pool of blood under a body. With a groan the body moves and shifts until you can see Sam's face.]
On no. No, no, no, no, no. This can't-
Rosella! Rosella are you-
This is bad, this is really bad. Rosella I'm sorry... Rosella!
[Sam scrambles up off the ground and starts to run away
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At least the City resurrected you without penalty.
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Dead. Sam was dead, and she'd done it with her own hand. She'd killed her best friend, right there in their Warehouse, in front of their bedrooms, and the blood had gotten everywhere. It reeked of it, and the smell alone was enough to turn her stomach--not that the sight itself wasn't. She ached all over from lying on the floor, but she could tell that the wound in her own back had closed, and though Sam's shirt was still ripped in the back, it was clear that his wound had disappeared, too. He was breathing and alive, just like she was breathing and alive, but all she could think was, I did it. I killed him. It was me.She wanted to scream, to panic, to call for help or plead for forgiveness or drop to her knees next to him and shake him awake and beg for it all to be nothing more than a hideous ( ... )
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No, okay. Okay. Take a deep breath, Sam. We can figure things out after Rosella's found, okay?
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Anything I can do?
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