[A joke. It had all been a goddamned joke.
He's left with a handful of clues that may or may not be worth anything, another death under his belt, trauma, and a ruined chain gun for a joke?! His regain adds insult to injury; having his own glasses and makeup is nice, but what he had to go through to get it? It's too much
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Looks like I'm not the only one with that particular method of coping with Mayfield's jokes.
[Apply liberal amounts of alcohol until you forgot there was a problem. Good work.]
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[Can you chug an appletini? Because he does.]
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As far as I can tell, nonsense and destruction are what this place runs on.
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[He shoves his glass at the man, not satisfied in the least with his current blood alcohol level.]
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Friend of yours, I'm guessing. [Whether that was meant sarcastically or not was debatable, as Lancer poured another drink regardless.] Won't they just come back tomorrow morning?
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That's just the problem! It's nothing! Nothing I've done, here or at home... I'll kill them. I'll kill all of them. I don't care what it takes!
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[DRINK]
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