The Wistful Mirror
The Med-Field was white, a sterile void that hummed with the low-frequency vibration of the containment fields. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the center of the room, his boots planted firmly on the polished floor, staring at the holographic projection that hovered before him. It was a mirror, but not of glass; it was a reconstruction of his own face, rendered in cold blue light. The image...
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