The Faded Apartment
The rain lashed against the corrugated tin roof of the bunker with a rhythm that felt less like weather and more like a mechanical heartbeat, a steady, relentless pounding that vibrated through the concrete floor and up into the soles of my boots. We were three men in a box that smelled of wet wool, stale tobacco, and the metallic tang of fear. I sat on the edge of a narrow cot, my hands...
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