The Faded Shield
The rain on the tin roof of the processing plant was a relentless, rhythmic drumming that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of your bones, a sound that had become the only true thing left in a world that was slowly dissolving into gray mist and rusted iron, and you stood there with your back against the cold, damp wall, watching the water run in jagged, frantic lines down the corrugated sheets,...
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