The Golden Ritual
You are standing in the middle of the breakroom, holding the mug with both hands as if it were a grenade, waiting for the pin to pull, and the coffee inside is scalding, black, and bitter, tasting of burnt sugar and the specific, metallic dread that settles in the gut when you realize you have been watching the wrong thing for the last three hours, and you look at the clock on the wall, which...
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