Pleading with the crew
“No, please don’t! Don’t shoot!” the man cried out, voice cracking in terror, his desperation raw. “Please, I’m not sick!” The sound of his plea echoed unnervingly down the corridor. Morgan, however, didn’t flinch. He kept his weapon steady, finger still near the trigger, but his restraint was clear. He hadn’t come this far to waste a life needlessly. Instead, his posture grew rigid with control, the weight of authority rolling from his every word.
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