The Faded Frequency
March 12 My hands are shaking as I write this, the pen scratching against the cheap paper provided by the stationery box in the corner of my quarters, a small, ironic concession to the fact that we are still human beings who need to record things. I am Sergeant Elias Thorne, and I am writing from a remote outpost in the Alaskan wilderness, where the wind sounds like a freight train passing just...
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