Imperial Literature

‘Who are you?’

Nate’s gun wavered in his sweaty hand. He was not at home with violence, not visible violence, not the kind that was close up, close enough to see the blood, close enough to be anything like a fair fight for his opponent. The trigger was slippery on his finger, the gun too heavy on his wrist. He licked his lips and repeated the question.

The man smiled.

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