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... gate of the junkyard still fresh in his memory.
His inventory clinked faintly as he pulled out the scraps one by one and laid them on the ground.
The clearing wasn’t much—just a patch of dirt surrounded by half-dead trees and a few makeshift shelters he had pieced together—but it was his sanctuary, the only place he could work without worrying about being hunted.
He crouched low, eyes sharp as he separated the heap into two piles. One for true trash, warped metal and usel ...
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