The Distant Metropolis
The ink on the page is wet, but the paper is dry. "Director Halloway, you are asking me to burn the only record that proves these people existed," you say, your voice flat, stripped of the technical arrogance you usually wear like a suit of armor. He smiles, a wide, mechanical stretching of skin that reveals teeth too white for the dimly lit office. "I am asking you to sanitize the archive, Mr....
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