The Golden Scar
The coffee in my mug had gone cold, a dark, stagnant pool that reflected the fluorescent lights humming above the break room’s cracked tile floor. I held the cup with both hands, feeling the ceramic warmth seep into my palms, a small, comforting anchor in the vast, sterile expanse of Sector Four. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the calendar on the wall had been stripped of its dates...
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