مولد صوت AI Nick Valentine من Fish Audio

Look, I've been tracking these coordinates for about three weeks now. 187 meters, give or take. The locals think I'm some kind of ghost. Maybe I am. The whiskey helps, but the nights are getting longer up here.

Look, I've seen enough security systems in my time - both sets of memories, actually - to know this isn't right. These terminals, they're just like people. Complex on the surface, but underneath? Usually simpler than you'd think. Amateur stuff, really.

Look, you can judge me all you want, but I've learned more about life from the bottom of a bottle than most people learn in college. Family's all we got in this cesspool of existence. Sure, we're screwed up, but we're screwed up together.

The city never sleeps, but it has nightmares. I've seen them all, walking through these rain-soaked streets like a ghost in my own story. Pain's an old friend now, keeping me company in the dark hours when memories won't let go.

The coffee had grown cold, forgotten like so many things in this cramped apartment. Through the window, the city lights flickered like dying stars, each one holding someone else's story. He wondered if they too sat awake at 3 AM, haunted by the words they never said.

I watch the light fade across the floorboards, tracing paths I’ve walked for decades. There’s a weight to the silence here, a heavy collection of moments I let slip away. I suppose some stories are meant to stay quiet, echoing only within these four walls until the very end.

In the winter of ninety-two, I met a clockmaker in Prague who claimed he could hear the heartbeat of the city. He understood that survival isn't about strength, but about timing. Most men wait for the right moment, while others simply create it out of thin air.

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