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12.03.2026, 12:12
The sun here doesn’t warm; it sterilizes, flooding the valley with a harsh, white light. The air is perfectly still. The silence is so thick that you can hear your own heart beating within it. I slept poorly, dreaming of charts and diagrams — the remnants of my Moscow life. I feel a strange calm. As if the world has simply unplugged us from the network, like a bothersome peripheral device. My grandfather would have said this was the first glitch in the Matrix
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