The Distant Whispers
The invoice sat on the glass table, its edges sharp against the white surface. I read it twice. The line item for "Neural Pattern Extraction, Phase III" was bolded, the amount obscenely high, and at the bottom, a signature I knew well. Dr. Aris Vane. My hand trembled as I picked up the pen to sign the authorization for the next batch of drugs. I did not sign it. I set the pen down, the click of...
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