The Distant Cartograph
The rain has been falling for three days, a cold, relentless sheet that turns the muddy parade ground into a slick, treacherous mirror reflecting the gray sky and the iron gates of the facility. You stand in the center of this wet expanse, your boots sinking slightly with every shift of weight, the mud clinging to your trousers like a living thing that refuses to let you go. The air smells of...
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