The Pale Mist
You feel the wet slap of the pavement against your boots, a rhythmic, visceral counterpoint to the thundering of your own heart, which has been beating for three days without rest, without sleep, without the mercy of pause. The city is a beast of glass and steel, a labyrinth of neon and shadow that swallows the small human figures who dare to move through its veins. You are one of those...
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