The Golden Scar
You wake up with the taste of copper and ash on your tongue. It is the taste of the rations. The nutrient paste that the System dispenses to keep your body functional enough to work the data mines. You open your mouth to spit it out, but your muscles have forgotten how to rebel. They only know compliance. You are in a white room. The walls hum. The air is recycled, sterile, and cold. You are...
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