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[CHANCE stumbles out of the wall he was thrown into, shaking his head to get any debris out of his metallic hair.]
[He looks deeper into the city, where DOROTHY and the witch are still trading blows. Or, rather, DOROTHY is trying to hit her, but the witch can counter and send her flying each time.]
[CHANCE]: Jeez, I guess I can see when I’m not invited.
[ As he looks across, she gets sent directly towards him, skidding on the ground. She tries to get up one last time, but falls back to the ground out of exhaustion. She shudders as she lies.]
[WICKED WITCH]: You have much to learn, my dear. Let’s hope this experience brought your expectations for yourself to a more reasonable level.
[The WICKED WITCH cackles, before disappearing in a puff of green smoke.]
[Then a jingle comes on over the intercom, followed by an announcement.]
[BRONTË]: Chance is your victor. Congratulations.
[ Hearing that voice, DOROTHY glares into the ceiling. Then stands, slowly. Her grip on her sword tightening, even with her exhaustion. Chance doesn’t notice her stand up, as he smirks and shakes his head. ]
[CHANCE]: Well, with how that training went… maybe it's a good thing you haven't returned to Oz just yet.
[ He turns around, expecting to see a DOROTHY angry or upset about losing, but instead he gets one storming off through the door. ]
[CHANCE]: …I didn’t expect her to be such a sore loser. Maybe she’s just going to go off and hold a pity party for herself… who knows.
[He shakes his head, and turns to the Cyncpad, resetting the flaming cityscape back to the blank, featureless void.]