The Wistful Crossroads
The server rack in Sub-Level 4 of the municipal data center hummed with a frequency that I felt not in my ears but in the marrow of my bones, a low, tectonic vibration that seemed to resonate with the hollow ache in my stomach where my dinner should have been, and it was in this sterile, blue-lit purgatory, surrounded by the cold, indifferent breath of ten thousand blinking LEDs, that I...
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