## The Static Bloom The chipped Formica countertop smelled of old coffee and regret. Leo traced the ring stain with a calloused thumb, ignoring the persistent drizzle drumming against the corrugated metal roof. Outside, the sprawl of Neo-Austin blurred into…
## The Algorithm’s Harvest The dust tasted like regret. Elara spat, wiping her mouth with a calloused hand. Sun hammered the Oklahoma fields, shimmering on brittle stalks of wheat – a pathetic yield compared to last year. Data scrolled across…
## The Cartographer’s Shadow The dust tasted of old parchment and regret. Elara spat, wiping a smear across the worn leather of her glove. The shard pulsed beneath her fingertips—a frantic heartbeat in the cavernous Archive. It depicted a harvest…