The Wistful Throne
The rain hit the window. It was a cold, industrial rain. Grey. Endless. Margaret sat at her desk. She stared at the screen. The code scrolled. Blue light. Her face was pale. "System check," she said. Her voice was low. It shook. The machine hummed. It was a low, rhythmic sound. Like a heartbeat. But it was not a human heart. She typed. Her fingers moved fast. She was a senior analyst. That was...
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