The Golden Echoes
The mud sucks at your boots. It is thick and cold. You are fighting. Your fist connects with a jaw. Bone cracks. The man falls. You do not stop. You are a soldier. Or maybe a police officer. The labels blur. The uniform is torn. The rain is heavy. It washes the blood from your face. You are not thinking. You are only hitting. The building is in front of you. It is a bank. Or a warehouse. The...
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