The Wistful Show
The alarm didn’t ring. It screamed. A red light pulsed in the hallway, a rhythmic throb that matched the frantic beating of your heart. You were still in your nightclothes, bare feet slapping against the cold linoleum of the corridor. The air smelled of ozone and burnt plastic. You knew what this was. Not a fire. Not a gas leak. Something else. Something the system called an anomaly. Something...
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