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Bremme undressed. He removed his uniform slowly, as if performing a rite of unmaking. Each button embossed with runes was a scale of his pride. He folded the tunic neatly, as one folds a flag before surrender. The SS — two silver lightning bolts on the collar tabs, two frozen discharges of pure order — now looked like faded scars on the body of history itself. They no longer granted power; they only chilled his fingers with dead metal

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