The Distant Journey
You wake in the grey, vibrating hum of the machine, your body a vessel of rust and wet copper. The air tastes of ozone and old pennies, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat. You are not in a hospital bed. You are suspended in a lattice of iron, surrounded by a fog that moves with the slow, deliberate grace of deep water. This is the Undercity, a place that exists in the negative...
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