The Golden Downtown
The brass gears of the great clock tower were not merely metal; they were the crystallized memory of a city that had forgotten how to breathe. I stood before the escapement mechanism, my hands slick with the black grease of industrial progress, the air thick with the scent of ozone and stale coal. My name is Arthur Vane, and I was the Keeper of Time, a title that carried more weight than any...
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