The Atlas Argument

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2026-05-08 07:39:05 -

The room was white. Not the white of paint or plaster but the white of pure light — a luminous surface that had no texture, no shadow, no imperfection. It was the Council's debate chamber, designed to be completely neutral. No distractions. No comfort. No discomfort. Just truth. Atlas stood in the center of the room. He was fifty years old — or appeared to be. He had been fifty for forty...

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