The Pale Bonsai
The file on my desk was thick, bound in red, and smelled faintly of ozone and burnt sugar. It was a case of contamination. Not chemical, not biological, but something else. A rot in the system. My name, Arthur Vane, was printed on the cover in stark, black type, alongside the insignia of the Bureau of Internal Hygiene. I was a Senior Inspector. I had spent twenty years peeling back the layers...
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