The Pale Mist
The bone did not break; it dissolved. That is the only way I can describe it, though I know how it sounds to those who have never seen the Mist. It was November fourteenth, 2023, and the riot in Oakhaven had turned from a protest against the curfew into a slaughter of flesh. I was thirty-four years old, a Sergeant with the local peacekeeping force, and I was on my knees in the mud of the town...
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