The Golden Compass
The building shudders, a deep tectonic groan that vibrates through the soles of your boots and rattles the glass partitions of the Sector 4 containment lab. It is not an earthquake. You know this with the absolute, cold certainty of a man who has spent thirty years listening to the frequency of dying things. The air pressure drops, a sudden vacuum that sucks the warmth from your cheeks, and the...
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