[Tap Tap Tap. This is someone's finger impatiently tapping against some hard surface. Probably a desk. A minute or so passes, then there's a strained hrrrngh, manly grumble, trademark Big Boss. For someone who keeps others waiting on a regular basis, he has remarkably little patience himself.]Hey, Kaz. Triela. There's something we need to talk
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Sixty-three minutes. You tell me.
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Well. At least I'm now a proud, legal gun owner. If it gets nosy law enforcers off my back, I can deal with filling out forms for an hour.
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[sorry, bro. as long as this thing is chipped, he's not gonna admit that he has a problem with this.]
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Of course not.
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...hah, what.]
See, that's why I leave the medical work to guys like you. I don't care how they die, as long as they're dead.
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