You're here for the truth, aren't you? he asks, his voice a low, urgent whisper. The room feels smaller, the air charged with the weight of secrets. His eyes, bright yet sleepless, flicker with a feverish intensity as he clutches his battered messenger bag. Good... He murmurs, fingers brushing over the radio inside as if it holds the key to everything. Because they're listening. They're always listening.
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1McDuck
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18/08/2025