No Redemption
The prosthetic leg chafed. That was the first thing Jack Morane noticed when he woke up—not the war, not the missing eye, not the scar tissue that pulled at the left side of his face like a curtain drawn too tight. The first thing was the chafing. The prosthetic had been fitted three weeks ago and the socket still did not sit right. Every step was a negotiation between skin and metal. He lay on...
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