Leftovers of a Crew

The hallway beyond was tight, cluttered with scattered equipment. Rusted wrenches, spilled oil cans, and a toppled toolbox littered the floor. A mold-streaked overall lay crumpled in the middle. Morgan bent down and lifted the garment. Dark navy fabric, frayed edges, torn forcefully. The patch read ARMAS ENGINEERING UNIT. He held it briefly, studying the damage. “Something happened quickly here,” he muttered grimly. “Really fast. They didn’t have time to clean up afterward.”
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