The Wistful Silence
The riot shield cracked down on the pavement with a sound like a bone snapping, a sharp, definitive fracture that echoed off the wet brick of the station lobby, and Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the center of the chaos, his visor fogged with his own breath, watching the world distort through the plastic curve of his faceplate. He was a man who had spent twenty years learning how to be a wall,...
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