The Golden Farce

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2026-08-18 05:11:54 -

The Golden Farce

The rain did not fall. It hovered. A fine, grey mist clung to the walls of the bunker, damp and cold. It smelled of wet wool and old iron. Silas stood by the heavy steel door. His hands were still. They were large hands, calloused from the grip of a rifle that he no longer carried. He watched the droplets slide down the concrete. They moved slowly. They had nowhere to go. They stayed. He had...

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