The Wistful Show
The air in the server room was not cold, as one might expect, but thick with the static hum of ten thousand silent judgments. Elias Thorne sat in the center of the aisle, his back against the cold metal of a rack, watching the blue LEDs blink in a rhythmic, hypnotic pulse. It was a feast of data, a banquet of human life reduced to binary streams. Outside, the world was tearing itself apart. The...
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