The Great Gasping Choir of the Imperial Newsroom
In the humming, antiseptic caverns of the nation’s largest broadcast empires—those palatial warrens of polished glass and humming servers—dawn breaks not with birdsong but with the shriek of production cues. The anchors emerge from makeup chambers like resurrected idols, their smiles lacquered into submission, ready once again to bless the republic with the soft hiss of well-engineered fear. Each morning they adjust their earpieces, straighten their suits, and prepare to funnel another day’s worth of pre-chewed narrative into the open mouths of the public as if dispensing nutrients to a brood of captive hatchlings.
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