The Distant Ghost
The directive lay on the steel desk, its edges sharp enough to cut the skin. It was a standard Bureau form, Type 4-A, stamped with the red seal of the Warden Corps. The text was clear, black ink on grey paper, forbidding entry to Sector 7, the Grey Wastes, effective immediately. I read it twice, my finger tracing the indent of the words where they had been typed. Then I folded it into a small...
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