The Golden Cellar
The iron taste of blood sits heavy on your tongue as you slam the heavy oak door shut behind you. Outside, the sound of shattering glass and the screams of the mob fade into a muffled roar, like the sea crashing against a distant cliff. You are in the cellar. The air here is thick, stale, and smells of damp earth and old wine. You check your sidearm. The cylinder is empty. You did not expect to...
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