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She went back to her desk and tossed the polaroids and the letter in the trash, before picking them up out of the trashcan right after, and stuffing them at the bottom drawer instead, after a swift change of heart; a bittersweet smile on her face. She put on her jacket, grabbed her 8-inch Colt Python, and popped out the cylinder to make sure it was loaded.
"Okay, we're good." she slapped the cylinder shut and raised the revolver to her face, "Fingers crossed, I don't have to use you..." her breath steaming up the nickel finish.
"Game time..." she holstered her hand cannon and let out a heavy sigh.
Moments later, Megan was hopping down the stairs on her way to the garage; her ponytail dancing as she went.
Back on her desk, a box of .357 Magnum ammo was still waiting for someone to pick it up. Or was it a flare gun? No, wait-- Was it a radio? Maybe it was a medi kit... Fuck. I can't remember, dammit...
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>Megan forgot:
>Her ammo.
>Her flare gun.
>Her radio.
>Her medi kit.
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