The Pale Protocol
The air in the basement office tasted of dust and old paper. It was a specific kind of dust, the kind that settles in places where sunlight rarely visits. I sat at my desk. The fluorescent light above me buzzed. It was a low, persistent hum. I did not look up. I had been sitting here for three hours. My back ached. My eyes burned. The silence of the room was heavy. It pressed against my...
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