The Distant Machine
The pill was blue. It sat on the white tile, small and cold as a marble in a fishbowl. Mara stared at it. Her fingers trembled. She was a detective, or so the badge on her lapel claimed, though the badge felt heavy, like a lead weight sewn into the fabric of her coat. The room was not a kitchen. It was not any room she had ever seen. The walls breathed. The light came from nowhere, a flat,...
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