The Pale Protocol
The ink bleeds. You watch it spread. Black veins on white. The paper is thin. Too thin. You press your finger down. It smudges. You are in the glass house. The walls are foggy. Outside, the sky is wrong. It pulses. A deep, bruised purple. Steam rises from the ground. Not water. Something thicker. Smells of iron. And ozone. You are here because they said you would be. Director Halloway’s voice....
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