The Golden Downtown
The iron gate of Ashworth House does not yield to your shoulder, nor to the brute force of your exhausted limbs, but it shudders, a deep and resonant groan of ancient metal twisting against its rusted hinges, as if the building itself is waking from a long and cold fever. You are bleeding from a gash above your left eye, the blood hot and thick, running in a singular, deliberate line down your...
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