The Golden Circuit
The ink is still wet on the ledger page, a slick, black mirror that reflects not your face, but the distorted geometry of the vault door you are currently prying open with a wrench that feels too light for the magnitude of the task, and the air in this subterranean sanctum of the Ashworth Industrial Consortium tastes of copper and old, stagnant ambition, a metallic tang that coats the back of...
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