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... ours playing under the sun, deathly pale. Sweat pooled down from his matted black hair. He breathed heavily, chest heaving in and out before he leaned backwards, resting against a rough synth-leather couch pockmarked with holes in need of repair.


He sucked in a deep breath before leaning forward, palming his face. The light of early morning struggled to stream in through the prison of blinders covering the windows.


Last night, he had stayed up waiting for his parents to com ...

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