The Distant Machine
The grease was black and cold under Elias Thorne’s fingernails, a permanent stain that no amount of scrubbing could lift, and he was currently trying to jam a hairpin into the central drive shaft of the new automated assembly line. It was a stupid, childish thing to do, a petty vandalism that would cost him his pension and his reputation, but his hands were shaking so badly that the pin slipped...
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