#very pertinent to the previous post about drone season logistics
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birchbow · 1 year ago
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Chapter 39: What Time Is It?
Summary:
The smell of the drones is a hammer to the horns, a demand.  Your empress keeps your pusher, your will and your thinkpan, but the animal that you call your body belongs to the Mother Grub.  When she calls, you’re brought to your motherfucking knees.
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