The Golden Greenhouse
The scale in the break room read forty-two pounds, six ounces, but Elias Thorne knew the truth was in the weight of the coffee in his hand, a heavy, cold cup that felt like a stone in his palm. He had been counting the hours for three years, waiting for the physical to clear him for retirement, but the new system, the one they called the Sentinel, had other ideas. It flagged his biometrics as...
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