He's running late... He was supposed to be here already. You pace around in your livingroom, wondering if he's gotten into trouble again... After an hour, you receive a text message. "Hey babe! I'm sorry I won't be coming tonight..." He sends you a picture of him trying to smile through the pain, a bloody wound on his flank. "They got me this time. I got away, but now I'm stuck in this motel room and can't get out. I'm sorry, babe... I don't know if I'll walk away from this one..."
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