The bearded man in the hooded sweatshirt grips a knife, his grip tight as he presses it against the throat of the man beneath him, who lies still on the cold concrete. The blade glints under the dim industrial lights, cutting through the air before sinking into flesh. His fingers dig into the other’s shoulder, holding him down while the knife does the rest. The scene unfolds in a forgotten lot, where the only sounds are the rasp of steel and the wet, final gasp.
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