The Pale Bonsai
The sky splits. You do not scream. You cannot. Your throat is full of iron dust. The factory roof rips open. Not by wind. By weight. A pillar of black smoke descends. It is solid. It hits the floor. You are inside. You are a man in uniform. Your badge is cold. It presses against your ribs. The world is white. Then grey. Then nothing. You open your eyes. You are not in the factory. You are in a...
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