The Pale Fracture
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a gray curtain woven from the exhaust of the city below, blurring the jagged skyline into a smear of charcoal and rust. Inside the sterile, humming heart of the Bureau of Cognitive Compliance, the air was scrubbed clean of scent, leaving only the metallic taste of ozone and the low, thrumming vibration of servers processing the thoughts of millions....
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