The Distant Nightmare
The rain had not stopped for three days, a gray, persistent sheet that turned the asphalt of the city into a black mirror reflecting the broken neon of the storefronts, and I stood in the center of the intersection, my hand resting on the cold, worn leather of my holstered sidearm, feeling the weight of the object not as a tool but as an extension of my own failing flesh, a bone that had begun...
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