The Golden Scar
"You're late for the shift change." The voice came from the dark, flat and stripped of inflection, like a wire pulled taut. I didn’t turn. I was too busy counting the steps to the perimeter wall, each one a small, cold shock through the soles of my boots. The air here, at the edge of the Sector, tasted of ozone and wet rust. It was the taste of the vibration. It had been in my teeth for six...
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