Attempting to blend with the crowd, you drift about, carrying with you a slight sense of anxiety that threatens to overtake you. As you mill about, you find yourself parallel to one of your pursuers. You quickly alter your present course, but bump into an elderly woman carrying a bushel of apples in a basket, promptly sending them scattered to the mud below. The ensuing commotion draws the attention of your attentive pursuers, who have by now become aware of the grim reality of their cohort’s demise. You attempt to flee, but you feel the pierce of a blade enter your back, causing you to fall to the ground, crushing the apples below.

THE END

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