Adam could feel his fingers trembling even after he stopped.
The copied chips lay in neat rows on the table. Three hundred pieces had already become normal for him, and that thought alone made him want to laugh. A few weeks ago, he would have thought one copied chip was a miracle. Now three hundred felt like a daily punishment his own company demanded from him.
He drank the last half of the ORS bottle and leaned back against the chair.
His throat still felt dry.
His head hurt.
His stomach had started making small painful twists because he had not eaten properly since morning. If he stayed in the apartment, he would keep staring at the chips and force himself to paste more. That was exactly why he stood up.
"Food first," he muttered.
He changed into a simple disguise, not Wil, not Rivan, and not any face connected to Bruno or the company. This one looked like a tired clerk in cheap glasses and a loose shirt. Good enough to sit in a small shop without anyone remembering him.
