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Fleeting Memories

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The light plays off the Revolver’s silver edge as Squall painstakingly cleans the many components. While he hasn’t had it long, already the weapon feels like an old friend.

Friends. He pauses. What was that like?

There were times he’d look over to Dincht or Almasy and almost join in with their banter. Always, he’d hold his tongue, and the false feelings of camaraderie would pass.

No, Squall decides as he wipes a cloth over his gunblade. Comrades and friends only serve as burdens. It’s a weakness he doesn’t want.

The only friend a SeeD cadet needs is his weapon.