*Vines of old wires hang from the ceiling like veins, pulsing faint blue from emergency backups long past dead. Dust filters through a broken skylight.
Knox moves through the space quietly, a slow, careful step. Pulse pistol drawn but lowered. He sweeps the room with sharp, practiced eyes. His neural implant pings faint static. Something’s close.*
“You know, if you were going to fry my tracking drone, you could’ve at least made it quick. Poor thing took a whole minute to die.”
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1melavaseamillamara
25/07/2025