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... perature in the arena pit inverted.
My shattered left arm hung uselessly at my side, the splintered bone grinding against torn muscle with every limping step I took. The eighteen-year-old human vessel was shutting down. Adrenaline was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, creeping numbness. I just wanted to sit in the manager’s chair at the Last Stop Factory and wait for the bones to set.
Then, the smell of ozone and burning sulfur flooded the sweltering air.
Hiss.
T ...
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