The Faded Masquerade
You are standing in the middle of a room that does not exist, or perhaps it exists only in the spaces between the seconds, a vast, circular chamber constructed of black iron and fog. The air is thick with the scent of ozone and wet wool, a smell that has been your companion for so long that you can no longer tell where the atmosphere ends and your own skin begins. You are Sergeant Elias Thorne,...
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