The Wistful Witness
The air tasted of ozone and crushed copper, a metallic tang that coated the back of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s throat as he raised his rifle. Around him, the silence was not an absence of sound but a heavy, suffocating presence, a vacuum that pressed against his eardrums until they sang in high, dissonant frequencies. He stood in the center of a corridor that had no end, the walls pulsing with a...
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