The Pale Protocol
1 November. "Get out," said Foreman Miller, not looking up from his ledger. "I don't care if you can read the pressure gauges in your sleep, boy. The sickness is in the air, and I’m not signing a death warrant for my crew because you think you’re clever." I stood there, shivering, my hands tucked deep into the pockets of my threadbare coat, feeling the cold bite into my knuckles. The fog...
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