The Pale Fracture
The air in Sector Four tastes of rust and ozone. You know the taste. It coats the back of your throat, a metallic film that never quite washes away. You are a Calibration Officer. Your job is simple, though the machinery of it is not. You walk the grid. You find the fractures. You report them. The city is a machine, and you are its immune system. You wear the grey coat. It is standard issue....
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