The Cost of Freedom




Two hours and twenty-nine minutes of freedom and counting. That’s how long it had been since Reznik’s release. The world had changed in the intervening years and any life he’d meagerly scrapped together of his few remaining memories was fragmented. He could shape nothing of substance from these disquieting glimpses but he recognized the danger of inquisition.

He had neither home nor the means necessary to acquire one. Faceless shadows were both friends and victims. As for the town, it was familiar but it was not his place of origin. The world around him seemed false though he could not name the aberration that rendered it so. By all appearances the people were content. At some point he’d known a secret so shocking it would’ve thrown their little white picket fence worlds into chaos. Now that he couldn’t remember the secret he was happier for it. He would’ve been happier…

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