The heat from the furnace opening was weird. It wasn't like a fire; it smelled like burnt stuff, boiled metal and heavy grease from a big industrial yard.Elara was falling backward, her balance completely gone, her bare feet slipping off the edge of the iron tracks. Below her, the massive subterranean vat churned, a swirling white-hot ocean of liquid metal that glowed with a blinding silver light. This was the system's incinerator, where rejected stuff, discarded sentences and corrupted memories were broken down and melted back into raw fluid for the next corporate edition."Julian!" her voice tore from her throat, a desperate, instinctual cry that was instantly swallowed by the roaring draft of the furnace.Her fingers clawed at the air but her body tipped past the point of no return. Then a violent jolt stopped her descent mid-air.The pressman had thrown himself across the burning iron rails. His shredded jacket smoked as he hooked his arm around a track. His hand, slick with gre
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