The Golden Scar
The machine shrieked, a sound like tearing metal, and the gold locket in my hand grew hot. "Temporally radioactive," Halloway said. He did not look up from his ledger. His pen scratched against the paper, a rhythmic, dry sound that cut through the low-frequency hum vibrating in the floorboards. "Must be destroyed. Protocol seven." I placed the locket on the steel counter. It was small, no...
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