The cold wasn't like the December wind off the lake; it was a dead, manufactured chill that promised to preserve a body for a thousand years. A digital beast’s constant, roaring breath vibrated up through the soles of my cheap shoes and settled in my teeth, the only sound in this cathedral of secrets. Rows of black monoliths stood silent watch, their blinking green eyes a sea of indifferent good health, but I wasn't here for the saints. I was looking for the sick one, the blinking amber promise of a dirty secret tucked away on a server somebody paid a fortune to forget. The whole place was a mausoleum of information, a morgue for ones and zeroes, and I was just the hired ghoul, here to rob a grave.
