The Golden Oath
The air tasted of copper and ozone. "Check your seals, Miller." Thomas Miller did not look up. His hands were steady. They were always steady. That was the job. That was the training. The suit was a second skin, white and seamless, humming with a low, subsonic vibration that lived in the teeth. It was a pressure suit. A void suit. Built for the deep dark. Built for the nothing. "Seals are...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen