The Wistful Mirror
The hum of the server farm was not a sound but a pressure, a low-frequency vibration that you felt in the marrow of your teeth before it registered in your ears. You stood in the center of Row Four, the cool air hitting your skin like a damp cloth, the blue LED lights of the storage units blinking in a rhythmic, mechanical heartbeat that seemed to sync with the frantic pounding of your own...
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