The Wistful Dinner
The alarm did not ring. It never rings in the dead of night, not for the men who sleep in the barracks of the Department of Containment, Sector 4. You know this because you have learned to wake to the silence, a heavy, pressurized quiet that smells of ozone and old iron. It is three in the morning, the hour when the shift changes and the air in the dormitory turns cold enough to see your...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews