The Golden Maze
The steel wheel of the airlock groaned against the rusted track as Elias Thorne forced it open, the sound a low, metallic moan that vibrated through the soles of his boots. He stepped into the corridor, his hand still resting on the cold iron, and the air that hit him was not the sterile, recycled breath of a military facility, but a thick, cloying humidity that smelled of overripe peaches and...
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