The Golden Scar
The hum of the centrifuges in Sector Four’s filtration plant was a low, thrumming B-flat that I had learned to recognize as the sound of stability, a frequency that meant the water running through my daughter’s cup was safe, clean, and free of the particulate matter that the Ministry of Civic Harmony claimed to be eradicating from the city’s veins. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a...
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