The Ghost Protocol
The rain in New Shanghai never stopped—it just changed density. Sometimes it was a fine mist that made the neon reflections on the asphalt look like watercolors bleeding into each other. Sometimes it was a deluge that turned the lower levels of the Sprawl into canals of toxic runoff. Silas Vale had learned to read the rain the way other people read faces: he knew when the acid content was rising by the way the streetlights flickered in the downpour, he could predict d
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