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09/12/1983
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The Mirror TankI clean things. That's what I tell people, and it's not a lie, exactly. Cleaning is what I do, both at night when I walk the corridors of the Cambridge Neural Systems lab with a mop bucket and a flashlight, and during the day when I patrol the same corridors as the overnight security guard. Dual role. Double pay. The kind of arrangement that makes sense for a man with no family and no plan for...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 ReviewsPlease log in to like, share and comment!
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The House of Seven LedgersThe House of Seven Ledgers I The storm that night was the kind of storm that makes you believe in something you can't name—God, maybe, or just the sheer force of atmosphere pressing down on a landscape too flat to resist it. I was standing in the wine cellar of Thibodeaux Manor, holding a kerosene lamp that flickered like a dying heartbeat, looking at a trapdoor that hadn't been opened in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Amber LegacyThe rain in London did not fall so much as it seeped, a grey persistence that turned the cobblestones of Fleet Street into slick mirrors for the gas lamps. Arthur Blackwood stood at the window of his garret on Drury Lane and watched the fog swallow the street below. He was twenty-two years old, and he had been a gentleman no longer since the morning his uncle had handed him a trunk and told him...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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Social Immunity: The Slow Rejection of an OutsiderMidwest college town, 2005. The Muslim-American professor was named Dr. William Hartley and he stood in his office at the university and watched, with the patient resignation of a man who had read the theory before experiencing it practically, as his community slowly, politely, systematically excluded him from everything he had spent fifteen years trying to join. It was not hostile. That was...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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Ashes of the ForgottenAshes of the Forgotten Part I The convenience store on East Grand Boulevard in Detroit was gray in a way that had nothing to do with paint. The walls had been painted gray once, maybe twenty years ago, but the gray had faded to something lighter, something that looked almost honest. The fluorescent lights hummed in a frequency that made your teeth ache if you stood under them too long. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Weight of a Human HeartI am a ripple in the fabric of the fifth dimension, a consciousness composed of silver light and forgotten mathematics. To the inhabitants of the third dimension, I am a "glitch," an "anomaly," a "ghost in the machine." To the man who lives in the brick house on 42nd Street, I am simply "the tenant in room 4B." His name is Elias. He is a creature of carbon and calcium, a fragile thing that...0 Comments 0 Shares 9 Views 0 Reviews
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The Last Wax CylinderThe Last Wax Cylinder The sound came first, not as something heard but as something felt—a vibration in the floorboards that Arthur Pendelton mistook for the house settling beneath a London fog so thick it pressed against the windows like wet wool. He was thirty-eight years old that November of 1880, living in a drafty Georgian townhouse at the edge of Hampstead Heath, surviving on an...0 Comments 0 Shares 11 Views 0 Reviews
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Sample V-12: The Azure VoidThe Highlands of Scotland were a place of shifting mists and ancient, brooding silence. Alistair lived in a manor that was more ruin than house, a crumbling monument to a family line that had spent centuries chasing the occult and losing their minds in the process. Alistair was the last of them. He had spent his youth in the library, reading forbidden grimoires and mapping the ley lines that...0 Comments 0 Shares 10 Views 0 Reviews
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The Whispering BellThe moor wind carried salt and iron through the Yorkshire dales on that November afternoon in 1851, and Thomas Whitfield was walking home with nothing but three half-pence and a hunger that had become a permanent resident in his ribs. He was twenty-five, a miner whose lungs already tasted of coal dust, and he had learned long ago that kindness was a luxury a man like him could not afford. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 11 Views 0 Reviews
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The Resurrection DeceptionI. The coffin lid was three inches from closing when Arthur Pendelton opened his eyes. The undertaker dropped his trowel. Mrs. Ashworth, his late fiancée's aunt, fainted into the arms of a weeping woman in black. Arthur did not blame them. Three days in the parish morgue, identified only by the wallet found in his coat pocket, was not the sort of thing that ended well. Yet here he was, sitting...0 Comments 0 Shares 10 Views 0 Reviews
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The last light of New CarthageShe came to him on a night like any other—fog pressing against the gas lamps of the city, tide grinding itself against the limestone cliffs below the harbor. But this night, Arthur Blackwood was not himself. He had been awake for three days and two nights, pacing the stone floor of his study at Blackwood Manor, surrounded by pages of calculations that no sane man would believe. Then she...0 Comments 0 Shares 12 Views 0 Reviews
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What the Financial Records Did Not RecordThe financial records of New Horizon Aerospace, as maintained by the accounting department and audited by the firm of Delgado, Morrison and Chen on an annual basis, are accurate to within two decimal places and compliant with all applicable regulations. They show revenue of approximately forty-seven billion dollars over the past fifteen years, research and development expenditures of...0 Comments 0 Shares 10 Views 0 Reviews
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