The Golden Scar
The bioluminescence on Elias Thorne’s forearm pulsed with a sickly, amber rhythm, a living gauge of his caloric debt that had grown brighter with every failing heartbeat. He stood in the sterile white corridor of the Ministry of Caloric Balance, the hum of the ventilation system the only sound competing with the frantic thumping of his own blood. At fifty-two, his joints ached with the...
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