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... Volkov lay in the dark, a flickering screen casting cold light across a shattered bunker. His breath was shallow, lungs filled with dust and the stench of melting plastic. All around him, the remnants of a world war—the final world war—groaned beneath tons of concrete and radiation-soaked steel.
He couldn’t move. Not anymore. A beam pinned his legs. His side was numb. He had minutes left, maybe.
He watched the screen one last time. The news feed, still running off emergency sola ...
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