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The red ink was crisp, but as Arthur pulled the envelope away, he frowned. The date stamped wasn't April 27th. It read: November 12, 1992. The basement of "Putter’s Rare Finds" smelled of
Arthur looked at the power cord. It wasn't plugged into the wall anymore. It was dangling in mid-air, yet the machine continued to hum, waiting for its next delivery to a destination that hadn't been built yet. It was a heavy, industrial beast of a