The subject line read:
Happy cloning! 🚀
On the screen, a familiar and dreaded prompt blinked incessantly:
The neon sign sputtered above the entrance of "The Silicon Boneyard," a repair shop tucked away in a forgotten alley of the city’s industrial district. Inside, the air smelled of solder, stale coffee, and ozone. Elias, a technician with grease-stained fingers and eyes that had seen too many failed hard drives, stared at the monitor of his workstation.
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