The Golden Circuit
The air inside the bunker did not smell of earth, but of ozone and old sweat, a metallic tang that coated the back of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s tongue as he watched the heavy steel door shudder against its frame, the hinges screaming in a high, thin pitch that cut through the low-frequency hum of the ventilation system like a blade through silk. He stood with his back pressed against the cold...
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