The Golden Scar
The fluorescent lights of the Ministry of Continuity hummed a low, electric note that Elias Thorne had long ago stopped hearing, replaced by the sharper, internal ticking of his own pulse. He sat in his sterile apartment, the walls painted a clinical white that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it, and before him lay the biometric logs of Julian Vane, his oldest friend and a fellow...
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