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Chapter 97: The floor is Teeth
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Chapter 99: The Commute to the Apocalypse
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... d to dirt. I am comfortable with moss. I have come to accept that "damp" is just a texture of air.
I was not prepared for clean.
The hallway we were limping down was offensive. The floor wasn’t stone; it was a grate of dark, matte metal that didn’t creak. The walls were paneled in seamless black glass that reflected our miserable, mulch-covered reflections. The air didn’t smell like rot or spores. It smelled like... nothing. It smelled like recycled static and ozone.
It w ...
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