The Wistful Skyline
The first thing you notice is the smell of ozone and wet wool, a pungent, metallic scent that clings to the inside of your nostrils even after the storm has passed. You are standing in the center of the Great Hall of the Ministry of Civic Order, a room so vast and cold that your breath mists before your face, a ghostly exhalation of your own existence. The air is thick with the hum of the...
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