Actueel
  • The Currency of Dust
    The town of Oakhaven was a place where the wind tasted of rust and the sky was the color of a bruised plum. Gary drove his beat-up sedan through the main street, his eyes glazed with the fatigue of a twelve-hour shift at the mill. He was a man who had stopped expecting things to get better. The crash was a triviality. A fender-bender with a man in a faded flannel shirt. There was no screaming,...
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  • The Iron Jug's Shadow
    The fog rolled off the moors like a living thing, swallowing Stonehedge Manor whole. Inside the library, Lord Arthur Ashworth sat alone with the jug. It was an ugly thing, really. Rough-hewn pottery, black as the peat bogs of Yorkshire, with a crack running from rim to base. The Roman workers had found it in the ruins beneath the manor house three generations ago. The family lore said it could...
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  • The Wall-Scratcher
    Act I The drive worked. That was the first impossibility. Three hundred years after the Great Disruption, after the atmospheric fires, after the collapse of the global power grid, after the world had been reduced to a landscape of rust and dust and broken concrete, a digital storage drive from the Old World had survived — and worse, it had survived in a condition where it could still be read....
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  • The Solubility Constant
    Dominic Marchetti had been baptized in beer three times before his twenty-eighth birthday. The first baptism was literal, at St. Anthony's on Polk Street, when Father Moretti had splashed holy water on his infant forehead and his mother had wept with the exhaustion of having delivered her fifth child in a tenement kitchen. The second baptism came at sixteen, when a fermentation vat in his uncle...
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  • The Dough of Mamma Ruth
    The heat in Jackson, Mississippi, in August of 1954 was the kind of heat that made the air shimmer above the asphalt and turned the streets into rivers of molasses. Mamma Ruth sat on her porch, fanning herself with a newspaper from June, and watched her three sons argue in the yard below. Ezekiel, the eldest, stood with his hands on his hips, his face red not just from the heat but from the...
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  • The Data Soul
    I. The first time Daniel Harper saw a soul being digested, it looked like a snow globe being shaken. He was sitting at his desk in the Eden Security Division, sipping synthetic coffee that tasted faintly of burnt almonds, when the alert chimed. Case 44921: Consciousness deletion. Victim: Dr. Richard Park, Level-9 Eden architect. Time of incident: 0200 Eden standard. Consciousness deletion was...
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  • The Geometry of Kindness
    My apartment in New York is a study in grey. Grey walls, grey floors, a grey sky visible through a single, narrow window. I live my life in straight lines and right angles, avoiding the messy unpredictability of human emotion. I am a man of logic, a mathematician who sees the world as a series of equations waiting to be solved. I found the child in a state of total disorder. He was in a...
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  • The Stone Heir
    (V-03: Southern Gothic) The Blackwood Estate did not just decay; it festered. In the humid, oppressive heat of the Mississippi delta, the house stood like a rotting tooth in a mouth of Spanish moss. Elias was the secret of the house, the bastard son kept in the cellar, a living shadow in a lineage of porcelain perfection. For three generations, the Blackwoods had remained the wealthiest family...
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  • The-Signal-in-the-Rain
    The Signal in the Rain The rain in New Shanghai never stopped. It had been thirty years since the Atmospheric Scrubbers failed, and the acid drizzle had become as ordinary as traffic. Detective Daniel Wu stood at his apartment window, watching the neon glow bleed through three layers of cloud and moisture. His neural processor had been acting up again. A cheap military-grade unit, cobbled...
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  • Sample V-02: The Cosmic Ledger
    (Style C: Jazz Age Idealism) The penthouse of the Chrysler Building was a cathedral of glass and gold, but for Clara, it felt like a gilded cage. It was 1926, and New York was a fever dream of saxophone music and illegal gin. Clara, once the darling of the debutante balls, now spent her nights staring at the skyline, wondering if there was any truth left in a world made of sequins and lies. She...
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  • The Anchor Holds
    Margaret Doyle noticed the silence first because silence was not a thing that happened at The Anchor. The pub sat on the corner of Bethnal Green Road and a street so narrow it had forgotten its own name, a Victorian wedge of brick and blackened timber that had survived the Blitz, survived the slum clearances, survived the developers who came sniffing around in 1983 with briefcases full of...
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  • The Glass Ceiling
    David viewed the world as a series of acquisitions. His penthouse, his cars, and his company were simply assets to be managed. He sat in his office on the 80th floor of the Obsidian Tower, looking down at the ants of Manhattan, when Sarah walked in. She had been hired as the lead consultant to restructure his failing logistics division. She was also the woman who had walked out of his life four...
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