The Steam Engine of Earth
The sky over London was not black, but a bruised, metallic purple, choked by the soot of ten thousand chimneys. Lord Alistair stood on the balcony of his floating manor, his velvet coat smelling of expensive tobacco and ozone. Below him, the city was a sprawling machine of brass and iron, a clockwork nightmare that never slept. "The pressure is dropping in Sector 7, my Lord," his valet...
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