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... heart had stopped. His chest cavity was a scorched, hollowed-out crater. The golden teardrop of the Queen’s soul rested safely in the pocket of my ruined black suit. I had legally claimed Sector Eight, and the neon stock tickers wrapping the colossal, fossilized ribcage of the arena had already painted my name across the glass in stark white letters.
The audit was supposed to be over.
I turned my back on the corpse, planting the steel ferrule of my umbrella into the frozen, bloo ...
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