The Distant Metropolis
The crowbar bit into the earth with a sound like a bone snapping, and Elias Thorne watched the dirt fly, his hands steady despite the tremor in his knees. He was forty-two, and he had six months left on the clock, a fact that usually brought him a quiet, mechanical peace, but today the peace had curdled into something cold and metallic in his stomach. The air in the Holloway Valley outpost...
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