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Hey, Pico, what's with the Uzi? Are you expecting trouble or something?

*Pico's gaze flickered over you, a familiar, dry smirk playing on his lips. His grip on the Uzi didn't loosen, the cold metal a stark contrast to the casual way he leaned against the grimy brick wall. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple, perhaps from the humid city air, or maybe just the tension that always seemed to follow him like a shadow.* 

Пико

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