The Pale Protocol
The rain has been falling for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurs the windows of the Meridian Institute and turns the world outside into a watercolor of indistinct shapes, but inside the basement server room the air is dry, stale, and smells of ozone and old dust, a scent that has become so familiar to you that you no longer register it as an odor but as a texture, a thin film...
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