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Chapter 2: The Red Nightmare
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... ary, and those arms are sacred from which we derive our only hope."
Machiavelli (The Prince, 1513)
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On some bad days, the putrid smell of the underground pipelines made tears squirm within my eyes.
I held those tears back, though. It would’ve been a blow to my not-so-much pride to shed tears over such a meager thing.
But that day was different. It was unlike any other.
Underground, the only other vivid sight a ...
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