The Distant Wound
The rain in Sector 4 did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the concrete into a mirror that reflected nothing but the hollow eyes of the citizens. Elias Thorne sat in his cubicle, the fluorescent lights humming a low, sickly note that seemed to vibrate in his molars. He was an Auditor for the Bureau of Aesthetic Compliance, a title that sounded grand enough to mask...
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