The Pale Circus
The bell rang. A sharp, metallic crack. It split the silence of the square. "Stay back," said Officer Thomas Bradshaw. His voice was flat. Dry. Like a leaf crushed under a boot. He stood at the perimeter. A cordon of blue. Men in uniforms. Faces hidden behind masks. They held their rifles. The barrels were cold. They pointed inward. The crowd was thin. The air smelled of ozone. And wet stone....
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