The Faded Ruin
The air in the containment ward tasted of copper and stale ozone, a metallic tang that coated the back of your throat and refused to be washed away by the lukewarm water from the canteen tap. You stand at the perimeter of the sector, your hands resting on the cold steel railing that separates the living from the dead, the boundary line where the light from the external floodlamps fractures into...
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