The Golden Scar
The train hisses against the gravel of the Northern Line, a long, metallic exhalation that vibrates through the soles of your boots and into the marrow of your knees. You are standing on the platform at Kettering, watching the arrival of a vehicle that is less a machine than a living thing, a steel beast with a heart of compressed air and a mind of cold, unyielding logic. Your name is Thomas...
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