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Weekly Contest #361
They entered into their third hour of flying. They had just crossed Sector 347 due northwest. It was hard to tell from the air. Most of the sectors in the outer plains were data-farms. Endless sprawls of grey concrete and metal, punctuated only by transmission towers. From their elevation, the ground looked like one giant canvass that someone had decided not to paint on. The on-screen timer turned from green to yellow. Protocol required them to start posture augmentation. The central copilot was already on it. “Starting pressure assist cycle...
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