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His lab was a converted fermentation vat in the old Soda District. Inside, a bioreactor hummed, culturing a synthetic neural gel that shimmered like liquid mercury. Spline’s fingers, tipped with data-spikes, danced over a cracked holoscreen.

A thought hit him. Desperate.

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The gel screamed . It turned from mercury to a deep, pulsating violet. A wave of heat burst from the vat, fogging the glass. The holoscreen read 100%. His lab was a converted fermentation vat in