Twenty-Three Iterations to Unbecome Myself
The mutation log was the only thing Kael still kept by hand. Everything else ran through the neuro-interface — oxygen ration counts, toxicity maps of the Thames quadrant, the encrypted pings from other scavengers working the flooded lower levels of what had once been London. But the log, the record of every modification she had made to her own body in eleven years of survival, she kept on a...
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