The Pale Fracture
The rain in Sector Four does not wash things clean; it merely redistributes the grime, turning the concrete slabs of the pedestrian overpass into slick, dark mirrors that reflect the flickering neon of the compliance drones hovering above. You stand on the lower level, where the air tastes of ozone and stale coolant, and you wait. Your hands are steady, a professional habit that has survived...
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