The Wistful Atlas
The air tasted of ozone and old rust. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday. Time moved strangely here. I checked my watch. The hands were frozen at 4:15. I tapped the glass. It did not tick. I stood in the control room. The walls were curved metal. Blue light pulsed from the floor. It was beautiful. It was cold. My name is Arthur. I am a maintenance engineer. I fix things. I keep them...
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