The Override

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2026-06-03 07:40:53 -

The Override

The bar smelled like regret and cheap whiskey. Jack Mercer sat at the far end of the counter, staring at his mechanical arm the way a man might stare at a corpse he'd been forced to identify. The prosthetic was a matte black thing, all angular joints and exposed cabling, built by a guy in the Eastside who worked out of his garage and didn't ask questions. It was the best thing Jack had ever...

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