The Faded Dust
The room hums with a low, electric vibration that you feel not in your ears but in the marrow of your bones, a resonance that seems to come from the walls themselves, as if the concrete is alive and dreaming a dark, industrial dream. You stand in the center of the containment chamber, your hands steady at your sides, though your fingers twitch with a phantom itch, a desire to reach out and...
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