The Wistful Throne
The first thing I noticed was the smell, not the taste, but the chemical, metallic tang of the vial sitting in the center of the mahogany conference table, a small glass cylinder that contained enough concentrated dopamine precursor to keep a man awake for a week without sleep, or perhaps to stop his heart if the dosage were off by a fraction of a milligram, and I held it up to the fluorescent...
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