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148 Publicações
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Female
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02/05/1973
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The Architect of Flesh(Noir Style) The lab was a concrete tomb, lit by the flickering hum of fluorescent tubes that made everyone look like they were already dead. Marcus Thorne thought he was the god of this little world. He had the funding, the tenure, and the genetic keys to the kingdom. He had created Subject-X, a biological marvel that could process data faster than a mainframe and think in fourteen...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 787 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça o login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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THE LAST GREAT GATSBY'S WARACT I: THE JAZZ CLUB (20%) The piano player at Le Diable Noir was playing a tune Nick Calloway had never heard but felt he had lived. It was slow and sad and sounded like a man walking through a room where everything he had loved had been taken, and he didn't know when it happened or by whose hand, so he just kept walking. Nick sat at the bar with a whiskey that was half water and watched the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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ACT IDr. Julian Frost found his own biography in a Taiping archival document, written in 1854—twenty years before he was born. The discovery happened on a Tuesday, in the imperial archives of Tianjing, where Julian had spent the last three months cataloging rebel propaganda and religious texts for his forthcoming Oxford publication. He was thirty-two, a man of meticulous habits and rational...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE MARKED DOORThe signal arrived on a night in November, 1894, and Dr. Thomas Blackwood listened to it because he was a man of science and science demanded that he listen to everything, even things that made his hands tremble. The instrument was new—a crude electromagnetic detector built from vacuum tubes and copper wire, sitting on the desk of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich. Thomas had calibrated it...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Sample V-04: The Magnetic Void(Style F: Psychological Thriller) The silence of Station Zero was a physical weight. Located at the South Pole, the station was a cluster of titanium pods buried under three hundred meters of ice. Dr. Aris Thorne stared at the magnetometer, his eyes bloodshot from seventy-two hours of wakefulness. The line was flat. Not just the local readings, but the global network. The Earth's magnetic field...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Frequencies of WarThe German officer's wife was named Ilse. She was twenty-nine years old. She had been in France for eighteen months, living in a requisitioned apartment on the Rue de la Paix, waiting for her husband to come home from the front. The apartment had belonged to a French family who had been relocated to the countryside. Ilse did not know where. She did not ask. She had learned that asking certain...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Cipher of KindnessThe rain in New York does not fall; it descends as a grey, industrial mist that tastes of salt and exhaust. Julian lived in the gaps between the skyscrapers, a man who saw the world as a series of encrypted signals. He had once been the lead cryptanalyst for the NSA, a man who could find a needle of meaning in a haystack of noise. Now, he was a ghost in a rented room, his mind a fraying...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Gatsby VariationsThe Gatsby Variations Forty years after the train left the Gare de Lyon, Clara Dunmore sat in a sunlit room in Manhattan and held a letter that had never been sent. The envelope was yellowed at the edges. On it, in careful French handwriting: Clara. And beneath it, the address of a town she had not visited since 1925. She did not open it until the very end. She had known what it said for forty...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE LAST OBSERVATORYThe anomaly appeared on a Tuesday, in the margin of a chart that should have shown nothing but predictable starlight. Dr. Eleanor Ashworth adjusted the brass lenses of the refracting telescope one more time, counted her breaths the way Sir Reginald had taught her, and looked again. The stars of Cassiopeia were dimming, not all at once, not in the dramatic fashion that would have made better...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Last Page of the BookKael sat in the dim light of the Life-Pod, the only remaining bubble of warmth in a universe that had gone cold. Outside the reinforced glass, there were no stars. There was only the Grey—a thick, featureless expanse of frozen hydrogen and dead light. He was the last. The others had gone long ago, either consumed by the Great Chill or having simply ceased to breathe when the last spark of hope...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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What the Ledgers Did Not RecordThe ledgers in the study of the Thibodeaux plantation house are bound in leather and filled with copperplate script. They record the purchase and sale of sixty-seven human beings over a period of forty-three years, from 1823 to 1866. Each entry includes a name, a price, and sometimes a notation about the person's age, skills, or physical condition. The ledgers are meticulous. They are complete....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Midnight SignalI The knock came at three in the morning, which in Los Angeles meant it was either an emergency or a joke. James Hinton had learned this rule during twelve years in wartime intelligence and another twelve years as a private investigator. Emergencies knocked hard and fast. Jocks knocked slow and smug. This knock was neither—it was three measured raps, precise as a metronome, the kind of knock...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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