The Faded Sutra
The alarm does not ring. It screams. A jagged, digital shriek that tears through the sterile silence of your quarters. You are old. Your bones remember the cold of the Balkans, the mud of the Afghan mountains, but they do not remember how to move with the speed the new recruits possess. You stumble. The floor is slick with condensation. You are Sergeant Major Elias Thorne, a relic of a system...
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