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The day starts the same: bleary-eyed, fingers aching, and a hope that’s more like a joke now. I click. The wheel spins. Please.
Blue.
Blue.
Blue.
I can already hear the taunts in my head. Ash Ketchcum says I’m cursed. Tommy Tough Nuts calls me “the king of disappointment.” But the worst? Charlie Utter. That bastard opened a knife on his first case—three times in a row. No one even cares anymore. “Oh, look, it’s Charlie,” they say, “knife number four, must be nice.” Meanwhile, I’m here, drowning in the same P2000 | Grasslands.
Texas Pete Peter? He hasn’t said a word, probably because he feels bad for me. Or maybe he’s just tired of watching.
But I won’t stop. I can't. One more case. Just one more click...
Click.
...
Blue.
sigh
I think I’m losing my mind.