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... new sunglasses darkening the already dim space. The concrete structure amplified voices, letting him track his targets well before he spotted them. Three rows down, the six men from outside the theater huddled around a black sports car, voices bouncing off the concrete pillars.

"Fucking hunter bitches," one complained, still cradling his wrist. "That blonde one nearly broke my arm."

"You should sue," another suggested, leaning against the car. "These academy broads think they ca ...

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