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Chapter 77: Checkpoint Charade
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Chapter 79: Static Theology
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... cab, eyes locked on the conductor who was stuck whistling some cheerfully maddening tune.
The sound was so painfully out of place it almost felt deliberate—like the man had decided to serenade the apocalypse itself with a nursery rhyme.
He sat there in his battered chair, one hand lazily turning the throttle, the other scratching the bristle of his neck. His boots tapped idly against the floor, keeping time with whatever song was trapped in that meaty head of his.
But it ...
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