The Silent Hangar
The basement of Site-42 did not breathe; it only hummed. It was a concrete lung, exhaling the scent of ozone and stale coffee. Julian Vance sat in the center of this artificial void, his eyes bloodshot, staring at the skeletal remains of the "Icarus." The Icarus was a silver needle designed to pierce the stratosphere, a marvel of aerodynamics that should have redefined the Cold War. But Julian...
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