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Chapter Fifty-Eight - Final Hours
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Chapter Sixty - Callsigns
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... ce of shit runs off the same trash software some guy made in his mother’s basement in the fucking eighties! That’s why!”
--About modern printers, 2057
***
It’s going to have to be a custom job for each one.
I frowned, but it made sense.
I had three cars sitting before me and five armoured vans. The cars were all sharp angles and boxy frames. They looked like they could move fast and punch through reinforced walls with ease. The kind of overly manly design ...
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