The Dawn of Progress
The laboratory smelled of ozone and ambition. James Callahan stood at the workbench and watched the vial of X-7 glow with a light that had no business existing in nature — a pale, almost green luminescence that seemed to pulse in time with his own heartbeat. He was twenty-six years old and son of Irish immigrants who had crossed the Atlantic with nothing but a suitcase and a prayer. His father...
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