The Pale Dance
The rain fell in sheets of grey, turning the asphalt of the district into a mirror that reflected nothing but the sickly orange glow of the streetlamps and the trembling, fractured light of my own headlamp. I stood on the corner of Ninth and Main, my tactical vest heavy against my ribs, the Kevlar plates digging into my skin with a cold, relentless pressure that felt less like protection and...
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