The Faded Sutra
The riot shield cracked against the chest plate of the officer known as Unit 7. The sound was sharp, a dry snap like a winter branch breaking under the weight of snow. Rain slicked the cobblestones of the plaza, turning the afternoon light into a murky, bruised grey. Unit 7 did not flinch. He was a construct of Kevlar and polymer, a man reduced to a function, a gear in the machinery of order....
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