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Summary
If you tell anyone I was on the bottom, I'll cut your balls off and make you eat 'em."
The place stank of dry rot and dead things. Down there, Manhattan crawled with cunts in capes. Up here—just dust, a supe-killing virus no one planned to use right away, and two assholes who'd rather fuck than finish the job. They came to end each other. They ended up grinding on broken concrete, trading blood like cheap spit, and fucking like it was the only honest hole either of them had left.
Still hard. Still hungry. Still the same old shit.
