The Pale Verdict
You stand at the center of the rotunda, the air thick with the scent of polished mahogany and the faint, metallic tang of fear that clings to the skin of the judges seated in the semi-circle above you, their faces carved from stone by decades of institutional rigidity and unyielding prejudice, watching you not as a person but as a variable to be solved, a glitch in the pristine algorithm of...
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