The Anatomy of Collapse
The smell of gangrene is something that never truly leaves your nostrils; it becomes a part of your identity, a permanent shadow. I am Dr. Aris, and for four months, my world was a series of blood-soaked tables in a repurposed barn in Virginia. I remember the first arrivals. They came in waves, their uniforms crisp, their faces bright with the naive glory of the early campaign. They had minor...
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