The Faded Paradox
The room smells of stale coffee and ozone. You sit in the corner, back against the cold brick. It is a basement. No windows. Just the hum of the servers. You are here because you were called. Not invited. Summons. A word from the old guard. They call it an audit. You know better. It is a purge. The man across the table is Martin. He wears a suit that costs more than your yearly salary. The...
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