The Golden Circuit
The hall smells of stale sweat and cheap perfume. You stand in the center, your boots planted wide, your hands empty but ready. The air is thick, a physical weight pressing against your chest. Around you, the men breathe. It is a collective respiration, a single lung pumping the oxygen of survival into the bodies of the exhausted. You are one of them. You are the wall that holds the line. But...
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