The Golden Scar
"You look thin, Elias." "Food is scarce, Thomas. Not that it matters." The voice came from the shadows of the cell block. It was low, rough, like gravel shifting under a boot. Elias didn’t turn. He kept his eyes on the barred window where the gray dawn of the industrial city bled through the iron. The air smelled of rust and stale sweat. It smelled of the machine. "Scarcity is a choice," Thomas...
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