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... cracked open, the cold, musty air of the bunker heavy in her lungs. She stared at the cracked ceiling for a moment, the tension in her body already familiar. No alarm clocks here—just the ache in her bones and the promise of another brutal day.

Her stomach growled, sharp and hollow. She needed food. Which meant one thing: Quota tickets.

She shoved off the thin mattress, her muscles screaming from yesterday's ordeal. The scrape on her shoulder throbbed, but she i ...

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