The Distant Threshold
The rain lashed against the reinforced glass of the bunker, a rhythmic, violent drumming that masked the sound of the breathing. Commander Elias Thorne stood in the center of the circular room, his uniform pressed and immaculate, a stark contrast to the damp, grey world pressing in from the other side of the heavy steel door. He held a silver fountain pen in his right hand, the nib dripping not...
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