Tick. Slumped with his back to the wall, Ben looks at the peeled skin on his knuckles, then to the patch of blood on the door. His outburst futile, that dam ticking continues to pick at his brain. Tick, tick… Twenty seconds and it’ll all be over. A life with so much potential snuffed out because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tick, tick... The fluorescent numbers continue counting backward, grating his nerves over the faint whirring of the mechanism. If only he’d done what they asked. If only he’d listened, if only…tick…three, tick…two, tick…one….
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"Classic"
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