Wistrit
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The phone rings, your partner answers, and then his gaze becomes vacant and crazed. He points a gun at you and fires. Lying on the cold metal floor of the launch room, bleeding, you watch as your partner launches the rockets and seals the shafts. A series of monstrous explosions erupt, growing louder and closer. A quiet voice comes through the phone: "...Prime Minister, this is just the beginning."
Tomorrow holds no promises
Except the ones we've made
Except the ones we've made