The Grease and the Gears
The valve was leaking again. It was a slow, rhythmic drip—*tink, tink, tink*—that sounded like a countdown to a disaster that had already happened. I wiped the grease from my forehead with a rag that was more oil than cloth. I'm Jax. I've spent twenty-two years in the belly of Engine 794. I've never seen the sky. I've never seen a star. My world is a series of corridors, steam-vents, and the...
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