The Golden Scar
The sterile white of Sector 4 did not smell of cleanliness, but of antiseptic and copper, a scent that clung to Elias Thorne’s tongue like a bad coin. He stood alone in his cell, the door sealed behind him, his hands trembling not from fear but from the first violent spasm of the Rot, a supernatural decay that consumed the body’s will. He wanted to complete his final patrol, to earn the pension...
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