You can do anything in a story. And people can absolutely call you on your shit.
You'd think after all the times I'd been burned I'd have learned, but I haven't.
I wanted readers to have a conclusion of sorts, even if in my mind the story wasn't finished.
There's something satisfying about defending your life and the lives of your comrades with something you'd find rusting on the floor of your garage.
There is one destination here, and all I can do is try to give them life and comfort as they travel the path.
It's hard to imagine even massive sums of money could produce so many shiny, streamlined skyscrapers in just a few decades. But damn, they're pretty.
At long last, my short is done!