User:Foxlion/Game/Ch3 Tombstone2
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Ingame
You stoop down and peer at the etchings. The words are small, so you struggle to read them in the dim light. "Here lies poor old Fred. He should have known better than to eat lead. Alas he did, and the bullet disintegrated his head. Now here he makes his bed. RIP." You sigh at the useless text.
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User:Foxlion