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The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of the decommissioned train shed, each drop a staccato note in a symphony of urban decay. Inside, nestled amidst the shadows cast by skeletal cranes and rusted tracks, sat Alex Pierce, hunched over a flickering laptop screen. The worn leather jacket did little to shield him from the biting Sydney winter, but the chill that truly consumed him emanated from the digital abyss before him.

The Ghosts Of Eden

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