The Faded Root
The order sat on my desk, stamped with the red seal of the Ministry of Infrastructure. It was a simple directive, three lines of typed text, instructing the removal of all organic obstructions along the new Sector Four boundary line. I read it twice. The paper smelled of ink and damp wool. Outside the window, the light was failing, turning the grey sky into a sheet of hammered lead. I looked at...
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