Wasteland Run: My Son Steals Abilities
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"Congratulations. He has chosen you to carry on his bloodline." When the doctor said those words, Emily had already calculated everything: the slack in the restraint buckle, the position of the medical cart, the nearest exit. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. She grabbed a vial labeled "Forced Symbiosis Tolerance Rate: approx. 41%", drove the needle into her own abdomen, blew the lab, and ran. Seven...




















