The Golden Suspect
The incinerator in Sector Four did not roar; it hummed, a low, mechanical thrum that vibrated in the marrow of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s bones, a frequency so deep it bypassed the ears and spoke directly to the fear he had carried since the riots began. He stood before the massive steel door, his uniform pressed into a rigid silhouette by the heat, the fabric already damp with sweat despite the...
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