The Faded Masquerade
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended static that clung to the walls of the decommissioned substation. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the control room, his boots leaving dark, wet prints on the linoleum. The space was a tomb of humming servers and blinking LEDs, a cathedral of obsolete technology sealed against the modern world. He was a man of the old guard, a...
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