The Distant Nightmare
The rain hammers against the bulletproof glass of the armored vehicle, a rhythmic drumming that masks the sound of your own breathing. You are moving. You are fighting. The city outside is a smear of neon and grey, but inside the cabin, the air is recycled and still. In your left hand, you grip the brass knuckles. They are not weapons in the legal sense, but they are the weight of your history,...
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