The Faded Sutra
The air in the bunker tasted of rust and old sweat. It was a thick, metallic tang that coated the back of my throat. I sat in the corner. My back was against the cold concrete. The walls were sweating. Droplets fell into the puddle at my feet. I did not look up. I counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. General Ashworth stood before me. He was a tall man....
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