The Golden Scar
The memo sits on your desk, yellowed by the weak afternoon light filtering through the high, barred window. It is a standard form, Type 7, issued by the Ministry of Purity, and it orders your immediate review. You are Elias, forty-two years old, a clerk in the lower archives, and your hands tremble as you smooth the paper against the wood. The scar on your neck, a jagged line of gold that has...
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