The Iron Will of Marcus
The bunker smelled of ozone and stale coffee. Colonel Marcus stared at the holographic map of the Solar System, his face a mask of scarred granite. Above them, the sky was no longer blue; it was a shimmering, oppressive grid—the mark of The Void. "The High Command has signed the Accord, Colonel," General Vance said, his voice trembling. "They've agreed to the 'Culling'. We surrender seventy...
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