The Golden Scar
The rain did not fall; it was driven, a horizontal sheet of gray sludge that turned the streets of Sector 4 into a river of rust and oil. Elias Vance moved through it, his tactical suit slick and heavy, the synthetic fibers humming with the low-frequency thrum of the surveillance grid. He was not running. He was being run. The drones overhead, sleek black insects with red optical sensors,...
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