The Wistful Skyline
The concrete walls of the bunker, damp with the breath of the earth itself, had swallowed the last gray light of the afternoon, leaving Sergeant Elias Thorne suspended in a darkness that was not merely the absence of illumination but a tangible, heavy substance that pressed against his eyelids and seeped into the marrow of his bones. He sat on the cold steel cot, his back rigid against the...
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