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... the muzzle flash briefly illuminating the room, casting stark shadows.
Ila dodged, rolling across the obsidian floor with feline grace, her own gun drawn in a heartbeat, firing back with deadly precision, the recoil barely shifting her stance.
The intruder—an eerily familiar figure in Ila’s form, her black hair and teal eyes a perfect mirror—dodged with identical agility, rolling in sync, their movements a deadly dance, their silhouettes flickering in the screen’s crimson glow. ...
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