The Golden Scar
The rain slicks the cobblestones of the valley town. You drive the black sedan through the mist. The engine hums a low, steady note. You are a soldier of the Bureau. Your uniform is crisp. The badge on your chest is cold iron. You arrive at the clinic. The lights are dim. The air smells of antiseptic and wet wool. You check your weapon. It is a standard sidearm. The chamber is full. You know...
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