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26/08/1973
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The Rusting CageCase didn't believe in "starting over." In Oakhaven, a town where the factories had died decades ago and the air tasted like oxidized iron, the only thing that started over was the cycle of addiction. Case lived in a trailer that leaked whenever it rained, working three part-time jobs that barely paid for the antibiotics his daughter, Mia, needed for her chronic lung condition. The town was run...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 BewertungenBitte loggen Sie sich ein, um liken, teilen und zu kommentieren!
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The Rusting StationThe air inside Station 42 tasted of old copper and wet wool. Silas didn't remember the smell of a real forest, but he knew the smell of oxidation. He lived in the "Gut," the lowest level of a derelict deep-space relay station that had been drifting in the void for three centuries. The walls were a tapestry of peeling grey paint and weeping rust, and the only light came from the flickering amber...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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E=mc2Rattlesnake Creek was not on any map I could find. The nearest town was called Hope, which is either optimistic or ironic, depending on how long you have lived in Hope. I arrived in October 1927 with a suitcase, a desk, a blackboard that had a crack running through the middle, and a contract that paid me twelve dollars a month plus room and board at the Miller farm. There were twelve children....0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Devil's Fiddle and the Drought BoxThe Devil's Fiddle and the Drought BoxThe heat in the Delta does not lift. It sits upon you like a live thing, breathing hot and wet across your chest until you cannot tell whether you are sweating or being sweated by the world. Jebidiah Crowe knew this heat the way a man knows the inside of his own skull. Forty-five years of it, pressed into his skin until his face was the color of cured...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The rain in Neo-New York didn't wash things clean. It just made the grime slicker.Marcus Vorne sat in his office on the 14th floor of a building that had been an office tower in 2045 and a halfway house in 2060 and a detective agency in 2078 and now, in 2089, simply a room with a desk, a working heater, and a window that looked out on neon reflecting off wet brick. He was drinking whiskey that cost less than the glass it was in and waiting for a client who probably wouldn't...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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Title: The Last Echo of London(Act I: The Spark) The fog did not just cling to the streets of East End; it breathed. It was a jaundiced, sulfurous veil that tasted of coal and despair. In a cellar that smelled of damp earth and old paper, Professor Adrian lay beneath a moth-eaten blanket, his chest rattling with every shallow breath. Beside him sat Elias, a boy of twelve with eyes too large for his gaunt face, clutching a...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The champagne was cold, the saxophone was loud, and nobody in that room on Fifth Avenue cared about anything real. I knew this because I had lived this life before, and I remembered exactly how it ended.My name is Julian Ashworth, and three months ago I was hit by a taxi on Broadway. I lay in the street for twelve hours, bleeding onto the sidewalk, watching the neon signs of Times Square flicker above me like the stars in some cruel and indifferent sky. When I woke up in the hospital, I remembered everything. Not a past life. Not a previous incarnation. A different life—one that had happened...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 5 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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Title: The Geometry of a TouchI no longer have a name, only a coordinate in the Lattice. I am a stream of data, a sequence of pulses in the Great Processor. We are the "Ascended"—the generation that traded the fragility of flesh for the eternity of the network. We do not eat, we do not sleep, and we do not die. We simply exist as a collective consciousness, a shimmering web of thought spanning the diameter of the drifting...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Barn at BlackwoodThe bayou does not give up its secrets. It holds them, the way a hand holds water - not tightly, but with a pressure that is gradual and inexorable and ultimately impossible to resist. Dr. Margaret Beauregard stood at the edge of the water on her grandfather's property and understood this for the first time in her life. She was forty-five years old, a former CIA psychological operations...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Starlight StrategistI. The first time I heard Nathaniel Callahan speak, he was standing in front of forty people in Evelyn Vanderbilt's drawing room on Fifth Avenue, and the room was so quiet you could hear the ice melting in the glasses. He was thirty-two years old, lean in a way that suggested the war had not finished with him, and he spoke about a Chinese general who lived two thousand years before Christ. The...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 10 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Plague of Blackwood ManorI found the first one in the scullery. It was three days after Sir Sebastian returned from India, and the house was still settling into its old rhythms after the disruption of his absence. I had risen early, as was my custom, to inspect the kitchens before the cook came down. The gas lamps were still dim, casting long shadows across the flagstones, when I saw her—Martha, the kitchen maid—lying...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 6 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Starlight FleetThe jazz band had just finished a set when Nicholas Sterling first spoke the words that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He was sitting at a corner table in the Cotton Club, a glass of gin between his hands, listening to Louis Armstrong's trumpet weave through the smoke and the laughter and the clinking of glasses. The gin was cheap, but the music was priceless, and for a moment,...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 10 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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