The Pale Fracture
You wake with the taste of copper on your tongue, the phantom weight of a strap across your shoulder. In the dream, you are not a man but a function, a node in a vast, humming network of silence. The sky above the town of Oakhaven is a flat, unwashed gray, the color of old dishwater, and the buildings are uniform blocks of concrete and glass, designed to be seen but never to be inhabited. You...
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