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... s boots. The place was a shell—cracked tiles, peeling paint, a faint musty smell of neglect. His savings—years of B-rank hazard pay—were about to take a hit, but this was step one. He rolled up his sleeves, the sling gone but his arm still stiff, and got to work.
First, the walls. He hauled in cans of paint, a crisp off-white to banish the gloom. The roller glided over the stains, each stroke erasing the past. He worked late, sweat beading on his brow, the hum of a portable fan his only ...
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