The Golden Harbor
The gun is heavy in your hand. It is a standard issue sidearm, cold and matte black, but it feels like a limb you have forgotten. Your finger is on the trigger. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. This is not a drill. This is not a simulation. The air in the hallway is thick, stale, smelling of old paper and damp wool. You are breathing in short, sharp bursts. In, out. In, out. The...
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