The Golden Maze
The order was a single sheet of thermal paper, the ink still wet and smelling of toner and ozone. You read it twice. The font was sans-serif, clean and cold. It said: Sector 7 is unstable. You are to hold the perimeter alone. Signed, Major Vance. You folded the paper into a tight square and put it in your chest pocket, next to your dog tags. The air in the briefing room was dry, recycled, and...
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