The Pale Protocol
The bone snaps. It is a wet sound. It is the sound of a twig under a boot, but deeper. It is inside you. You do not scream. You hold your breath. The air in the room is stale. It tastes of dust and old paper. The light is gray. The light is always gray here. You are writing. Your hand shakes. The pen scratches the page. It is a sharp sound. It is the only sound. The walls are thin. You can hear...
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