The Pale Protocol
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that blurred the boundary between the forest floor and the sky, turning the path into a slick ribbon of mud and rot that clung to the boots of Sergeant Elias Thorne like a second skin. He walked with the heavy, deliberate rhythm of a man who has forgotten how to move lightly, his service pack digging into his shoulders, a...
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