“Man, the clipping plane is really close in today,” said Bentley.
Anderson gave him an odd look. “It’s foggy out, yeah.”
“The processor must be overtaxed. Something big going on downtown, maybe?”
“There’s no processor,” said Anderson. “It’s just fog.”
“Crap! I forgot my keys in the office.” Bentley glanced at the thick walls and the closed security gates. “Here, hold this,” he said, handing his briefcase over. “I’ll be right back.”
He ran through the walls and into the building. A few minutes later he returned.
“Wallhack,” he admitted sheepishly. He blushed. “I don’t use it for serious competition.”
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