The Distant Wound
Thorne, the Director’s voice was a flat line in the intercom, a command stripped of inflection, "Report to Sector Four. The clinic is active." Elias Thorne stood in the center of his apartment, the sterile white walls reflecting the cold blue light of the state-mandated nutrient dispenser. He was forty-two years old, a man who had spent two decades enforcing the quiet order of the city, and he...
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