The Quantum Monopoly
The rain in Manhattan didn't fall; it descended like a curtain of grey static. Sterling Vance stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his office on the 92nd floor, watching the yellow cabs crawl like beetles through the neon-lit veins of the city. In his hand, he held a glass of vintage Cristal, but his mind was focused on the humming black box on his desk—the Oracle. The Oracle was the result...
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