245 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
245 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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The Interview
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The elevator chimed telling her she had reached her
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floor, and more importantly, her big interview. After two
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years of reporting, she had apparently landed the big
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interview that would get her the recognition she deserved.
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She straightened her shirt, checked for her paper and made
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sure her pen was still in her front pocket. No mistakes in
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this interview.
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Room 1620 was up ahead and to the right. Approaching,
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she could see that the door was open, but no lights were on.
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She slowed down a little and before reaching the door took a
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quick look around. Nothing seemed strange or out of place so
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she stepped up to the door and knocked lightly.
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"It is open." came from within.
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Her hands trembled a little as she pushed the door
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open a little and peered into the room. The silhouhette of a
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man stood poised against the far wall, looking out on the city
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below. She closed the door behind her and took a tentative
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step into the room. Not knowing what to do she stood there for
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a minute trying to study the features of the man in front of
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her.
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Another second passed and he turned to face her.
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Reaching out, he turned on the light hanging near him, and
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pulled out a chair from the table underneath. He quietly sat
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down and looked at the woman standing before him.
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"Please have a seat so we may begin."
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After a nervous sigh, she moved to the seat opposite
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of the man and sat down. Pulling out her paper and pen she
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tried to study his face but found it difficult. His
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penetrating stare made her uneasy to say the least. She
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flipped open the pad, and removed the cap to the pen as she
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set her mind to the task ahead. This was her time.
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"Lets get a few basic things out of the way before we
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begin. Of course, you don't have to answer any questions if
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you feel they are out of line. It isn't often your profession
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is interviewed you know!"
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She let out a nervous laugh trying to east the tension
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she could feel. Apparently he wasn't nervous at all, but he
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smiled at her remark. She used this time to get a better look
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at some of his features. Seemed to be about six and half feet
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tall, about two hundred pounds, well built, but otherwise
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featureless. She couldn't really consider him handsome, but he
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couldn't be considered ugly by any standards. Everything about
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him seemed to set him as another face in the crowd. Black
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button up shirt tucked into blue jeans. No distinguishing
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marks, features, or anything else that would make him unique
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from what she could tell.
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"Lets see, the basics; name, age, where you live, and
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official title."
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"Wil Johnson, 27, Washington DC, and Assassin."
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A look of doubt crossed her face upon hearing this.
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Even though he had told her that over the phone, it seemed
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more a ploy to get her here for another reason. No one in
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their right mind would admit to such a thing. But what if he
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wasn't in his right mind...
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"Assassin you say. And who do you work for?"
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"A number of agencies. Occasionaly an individual. It
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is a case by case basis."
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She jotted a few notes down before looking back up. At
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this point, she didn't know where to begin. Hell, she didn't
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even know whether or not to believe him. Guess we'll have to
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take it one question at a time.
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"Hmm. Agencies. Would you care to elaborate on that?
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It sound as if you are suggesting you work for the government
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or something!"
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She let out another brief laugh and quickly quieted
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down when she saw he didn't think it was funny.
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"Of course it is the goverment. Who do you think gives
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the orders for over 70% of the assassinations in the world? I
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have been hired by the CIA, NSA, and occasionly the FBI
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because their snipers can't shoot worth a damn."
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Disbelief registered on her face and it was quite
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apparent to the man before her. For him to suggest such a
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thing, and maintain that face, she didn't know what to
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believe. Certainly the U.S. Government couldn't do such a
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thing and as often as he said.
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"Can you prove any of this? Some documents? Witnesses?"
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A sly grin stole over his face as if he were expecting
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this question.
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"Of course. Here are the orders for my first
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assignment. I was to eliminate a general in Phoenix who had been
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stealing classified documents from a military base. The nature
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of the papers demanded that he be dealt with quickly and
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quietly. He planned to take these documents to the press for
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general publishing."
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He reached inside his shirt and withdrew a folded
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piece of paper. Across the top of the paper stood the
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letterhead for the Pentagon. She quickly read through the
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letter and gasped as she finished. Even after reading the
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document she couldn't believe what she had read.
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"You said this was your first assignment? How many
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have you had? I guess I am asking, how many people have you
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k...killed?"
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Fear ran through her knowing that she sat just a
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couple of feet away from someone that had killed several times
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and obviously had no problem with it. She tried to calm down a
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little before listening and jotting some more notes.
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"I have been asked to do 103 jobs by the government.
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That is where most of my work comes from. Of those, I have 102
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confirmed kills. I will complete my 103rd three days from now."
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Will repositioned himself in the chair and leaned back
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a little, as if he was relaxing, but nothing on his face
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showed he was relaxed. That was part of his job.
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"102? There is no way. Someone would have noticed all
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these and linked them together. The police would be onto you
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or someone for those!"
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There was just no way he could have done it. He was
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lying to her for some reason that she couldn't figure out.
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Certainly if the government had him kill that many, he himself
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was a liability and could not live. CIA? They were chartered
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for world wide affairs, certainly they wouldn't do business
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with a sniper. And the FBI? Domestic affairs. That meant that
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they had hired him to kill mostly Americans. And the NSA?
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Weren't they the people that monitored communications between
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countries and here inside the U.S? What would they be doing
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hiring this guy! It just didn't make sense!
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"No. Evidence from these cases are almost always
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tampered with. They know that I will get the job done on the
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first try, and they need me. They will help me in any way I
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need. Everything from money, to destroying evidence, to
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providing alibis. Basically, I can prove that I wasn't there,
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and that I didn't do it. Works out nicely that way. That is
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one way I can sit here and tell you about all of this without
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having to kill you."
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Her eyes went wide upon hearing this, and realization
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hit her that he was right. She may have heard enough to
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warrant her own death. Needless to say, she was quite nervous
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at this.
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"So then, why are you telling me this? Some sick game?
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You tell someone and then kill them too? If this hits the
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press, you are guaranteed to be dead!"
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He thought about that statement for a second before
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replying.
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"No. You are the first I have told. And I only kill
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people that have a contract on them. I came to you today
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because the government has done this for years. Probably as
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long as you and I have been alive. They will continue to do
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this, and continue to get away with it regardless of who knows
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about it. I figure that since they will continue to do it, the
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public should be aware of 'big brother' and what he has been
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doing. And even if they know I spoke, they can't afford to
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kill me. Most of the agencies know I have detailed reports of
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every job, and more than enough evidence linking them so that
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they have to keep me around. If I should not check in with
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certain friends across the seas, that evidence gets released."
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"That makes sense. It is hard to believe that you are
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that well protected though, seems they could do something to
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get rid of you. And besides, you keep referring to them
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needing you. Aren't there others like you?"
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The expression on his face turned to a smug smile as
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he sat up. Clasping his hands in front of him on the table he
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continued.
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"There are others, but they will only use me. I am the
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best there is."
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"Seems you have an ego Mr Johnson."
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"It isn't ego when you ARE that good."
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"I see. Lets get back to some more details about other
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assignments or whatever you want to call them."
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She turned the page of her notepad so that she could jot down
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a few more notes. As she did this Will leaned back in his chair again
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getting a little more comfortable. Without warning, a crack split
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the silence of the room. Eyes wide, the reporter looked up quickly, and
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slumped down on the table. Blood flowed freely out of her back from a
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bullet wound.
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Seconds after she hit the table there was a knock at the door.
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Standing up, Will straightened his shirt, put the gun up that he had drawn
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from instinct, and spoke.
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"It is open."
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The door opened slowly as a figure entered hesitantly. Looking
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near the window he noticed the body of the woman and the blood flowing
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down her back and onto the carpet. The gentleman closed the door and
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took another step into the room.
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"I hope this doesn't become habit Mr Johnson. Everything you
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said about needing you was true, so lets keep things professional
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between you and our agency. No use in alarming the public about our
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activities."
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"Ok. I had to try though. We both know you can't do this forever."
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"I think we can."
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, etc etc... =
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= Internet : lamb@sun1.coe.ttu.edu WWIVnet : 123@3314 =
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= VMB : 303.763.6377 Or On One Of The Boards Below... =
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= Ionic Destruction 215.722.0570 Wulf's Den 303.699.WULF =
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= E.L.F. (NUP) 314.272.3426 Entropy 318.625.9666 =
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= Dungeon Sys. Inc. 410.263.2258 Celestial Woodlands 409.764.2843 =
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= Plan 9 716.881.3663 Logikal Nonsence 717.XXX.XXXX =
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= Purple Hell 806.791.0747 Club Baby Seal 817.429.4636 =
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= PuRe EViL (NUP) 905.XXX.XXXX The Keg 914.234.9674 =
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