The Distant Metropolis
The rain hammered against the corrugated steel of the inspection booth, a rhythmic, violent drumming that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of your bones. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, and your hands are betraying you. You grip the digital calipers with a force that makes your knuckles white, trying to measure the tensile strength of the primary load-bearing beam, but the tool slips, skids,...
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