The Faded Ruin
The air in Sector Four tasted of ozone and crushed mint, a sterile cocktail that the ventilation systems pumped into our lungs every three seconds, a rhythmic pulse that synchronized our heartbeats to the hum of the servers. I was mid-sprint, my boots striking the polished obsidian floor with a cadence that matched the frantic beeping of the alert system, the red lights strobing across the...
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