My method of mass-transference. As we did here in the last step. It wasn't hard to fake the thing. Or rather endocrinology.
There was nothing before him but shadows; the very floor beneath his feet lacked substance. He found Alexander on the balcony, staring moodily out at a star-riddled sky. Isn't it strange? His face was closer; his lips were warm, but with no breath behind them -for machines do not breathe. We've had it for months.
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