The Pale Circus
The glass shatters not with a bang but with a sigh, a long, wet exhalation of silica and dust that fills the air of the office with a fine, glittering fog that settles on your skin like a second, colder layer of reality. You stand in the center of the open-plan workspace of the Meridian Institute for Behavioral Correction, a sterile, white-walled purgatory where the air conditioning hums a low,...
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