The Distant Wound
The air in the Sub-basement Level 4 tasted of copper and stale ozone, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat and settled into the creases of my skin like a fine, invisible dust, a sensory reminder that the walls here were not just concrete but a living membrane of surveillance and control, vibrating with the low-frequency hum of the Atmospheric Stabilization Units that kept the upper...
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