Relief

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“Weight.”

“What?”

“The weight’s off, 0.2mg.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Am I?”

He pulls a bullet from his back pocket and fills an empty chamber.

“What’s going on?”

“Field test.”

He aims the gun.

“Hang about…”

Sweat swiftly patters the floor.

He draws the trigger.

BANG.

The room echoes for a moment and a body stands shaking.

A hole shoots a midday beam from the back wall.

“See, were it on weight, you’d be missing your friend down there. You should be thankful.”

A damp patch warms.

“G…get out. No sale.”

He shrugs.

“Your loss.”

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