The Faded Alibi
The filament in the medical printer was low, a fact that weighed heavier than the oxygen subscription Gopal Sharma had paid for, the monthly fee deducted from his hydroponics optimizer’s salary with the cold precision of a tax assessor who had no room for error. He stood in the chawl on thirty-one of Corvid Lane, the air thick with the inversion that trapped the smoke of the city’s dying...
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