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... through the cavernous mall like a beacon. The remaining Russian gunmen, their boots pounding the polished marble, swarmed toward the second floor. Jason shoveled the last bites of cold spaghetti into his mouth, the tangy marinara sauce barely registering as his survival instincts screamed. He gripped the M4A1 carbine, its weight a reassuring anchor, and sprinted toward his next ambush point, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and grim determination.
He shoved open the heavy stee ...
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