The Golden Harbor
The factory floor hummed. A low, steady thrum. It vibrated in your teeth. In your bones. You stood at Station Four. The assembly line moved. It never stopped. It did not pause for breath. It did not pause for thought. It carried the chassis past you. One after another. Steel skeletons. Waiting to be born. You were Margaret Holloway. Or so you believed. You wore the gray uniform. The cap sat...
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