The Mirror of the Tyrant (V-05)
The rain in Los Angeles didn't wash anything away; it just turned the dust into a thick, grey sludge that clung to everything. I sat in my office, the only light coming from a flickering neon sign across the street that cast rhythmic pulses of red and blue across my desk. I poured myself a glass of cheap bourbon and looked at the badge sitting in the ashtray. I used to believe in the badge. Ten...
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