The Golden Suspect
The rain against the glass was a static hiss, a white noise that filled the vacuum of the laboratory. I sat in the chair, my back straight, my hands resting on the cold steel table. Before me lay the device. It was not a machine in the traditional sense. It was a sphere of polished obsidian, suspended in a cage of filaments so fine they seemed woven from light. It hummed. A low, subsonic...
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