The Monument of Order
The wind of the Wasteland did not blow; it scoured, a relentless, abrasive force that carried the grit of a dead world and the scent of oxidized iron. In the settlement of Oakhaven, a fragile cluster of salvaged shipping containers and reinforced concrete, the air was a thick, yellow haze. Here, the law was a memory of a lost civilization, and the only thing that mattered was the ability to...
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