A soft chuckle, like wind chimes made of glass. “The history is a story we don't want to tell anymore. The client wants a blank page. So. Gomu. ”
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The server room hummed, a low thrum of a billion forgotten calculations. It was always too cold in here, a sterile morgue for data, but Akari’s screen was running a fever. The console spat out error logs in a cascade of angry red. A soft chuckle, like wind chimes made of glass