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... ix: Sanctified by Celluloid: Devotion in Frames and Fire
The aircab touched down in front of a looming twenty-story monolith—a structure made of glass, guilt, and politics. Over its wide entrance, stamped in cold chrome like a corporate sigil from some forgotten empire, was the letter H. Just H. Like it didn’t need to explain itself.
The vehicle door unlatched with a whisper, exposing the cringing driver, who stared hard at the floor like it owed him money. His spine curled inwar ...
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