The Wistful Incense
The air in the basement laboratory was not merely stale; it was a physical weight, composed of suspended particulates and the metallic tang of ozone. I pressed my thumb against the haptic interface of the Centrifuge-4, feeling the micro-vibrations of the rotor spinning at ten thousand revolutions per minute. The hum was a constant, a low-frequency drone that had seeped into my bones over the...
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