The Golden Scar
The biometrics are failing, Thorne. You are leaking. Commander Vane’s voice was a dry rasp, scraping against the sterile silence of the cell in Sector 4. Elias did not look up from his hands. They were white-knuckled around the grip of his service pistol, the polymer cold and slick with sweat. The air in the confinement unit tasted of copper and rot, a metallic tang that coated the back of his...
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