[She happens to glance down at her shirt, which has so far been covered by that signature green coat of hers. The olive symbol that graces the front of her shirt looks... misshapen.
She pulls it down, realizing that it's not the symbol that's different: her shirt is stained with her own blood.
There's a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.]
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She pulls it down, realizing that it's not the symbol that's different: her shirt is stained with her own blood.
There's a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.]
I didn't do this.