The Probability of Breath
(V-10: New York Urban) The Ark was not a ship; it was a floating city of steel and neon, drifting through the void of a dead galaxy. Space was the only thing that was infinite; oxygen was the only thing that mattered. Marcus was the Curator of Breath. His office was a sterile white room filled with screens that monitored the respiratory output of ten thousand souls. He held the keys to the...
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