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The darkness of the room is pulsing with gunfire, and by our standards we are grossly outnumbered – there are only three of us to every one of them – but something is tipping things in our favor. Our manic speed is uncharacteristic of the Dead, and our prey are not prepared for it. Is this all coming from me? Creatures without desire usually don’t move quickly, but they’re following my lead, and I am an angry whirlwind.
