The Pale Fracture
The banquet hall of the District 4 Reclamation Center smelled of boiled cabbage and industrial-grade sanitizers, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a persistent cough. It was a feast, or at least, the city’s definition of one: a long table stretching down the length of the concrete room, laden with trays of nutrient paste, reconstituted protein bricks, and cups of water that had...
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