The Pale Fracture
The air in the block was thick, not with heat, but with the metallic tang of recycled sweat and the cloying, synthetic sweetness of the nutrient paste that kept us from starving while it slowly eroded our teeth. It was a smell that had become my skin, a second layer of flesh that I could not scrub away, no matter how many times I washed my hands in the lukewarm water that tasted of rust and old...
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