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... oking at the “weapon” in Richard’s hand, Gutas was full of caution, and asked, “What… what do you want to do?”
“I’m drawing blood,” Richard said calmly, “as I mentioned earlier.”
After finishing his sentence, Richard pulled away the small table with food placed in front of Gutas, walked up to him, and attempted to stick the syringe into Gutas’s arm.
Gutas lifted his barely functioning arm, struck Richard with all his might, and struggled frantically. He did not know what ...
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