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151 Publicações
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25/01/1969
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The Long Way Home - Variant 4: The Midnight Transmission (Film Noir)The Long Way Home - Variant 4: The Midnight Transmission Style: Film Noir Protagonist: Jack Morretti, 39, former FBI agent turned private investigator, alcoholic, insomniac Act I: The Spark The man in the raincoat knocked on Jack's apartment door at midnight, which in Los Angeles was not really midnight so much as a suggestion — the city never really slept, it just changed shifts. Jack opened...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça Login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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The Rot of Blackwater PlantationThe Beauregard mansion stood at the edge of the Mississippi Delta like a rotting tooth in the mouth of the South. Once it had been the center of a vast cotton empire, stretching across ten thousand acres and employing three hundred souls. Now it was a monument to decay, its white columns stained with mildew, its gardens choked with weeds, its interior filled with the smell of something dying....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Boy in the HallwayDevereaux Hall had been dying for thirty years. It was not a dramatic death. There were no collapses, no dramatic storms, no fires that reduced the plantation house to ash and memory. It was slower than that. It was a slow leaching, room by room, like a man who loses his money not in a single bankruptcy but in a thousand small purchases that he does not notice until the bank tells him he has...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE SIGNAL FROM LILY BRENNANThe office was on State Street, third floor of a building that smelled of boiled cabbage and old plumbing and the faint, sweet-sour smell of whiskey that seeped up from the bar downstairs. It was a small office—just a desk, a chair, a filing cabinet that stuck when you pulled the second drawer, and a window that looked out over a brick wall so close I could touch it if I leaned far enough out...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The mansion on blackwood hillThe house had been dying for one hundred and fifty years, and Atticus Blackwood was its last physician. Or perhaps its last mourner. He was not sure which. Blackwood Manor stood on a hill above the Savannah River in South Carolina, a sprawling Victorian structure of faded white pillars and purple ivy that had grown over the cracks like a scar tissue trying to hold the building together. The...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The-Reaper-ProtocolThe rain tasted like copper. Marcus Hale had learned to identify it that way — not by sight or smell but by the particular metallic tang on his tongue that meant the acid content was above acceptable levels and he needed to find shelter before his lungs started burning. He was already three blocks from shelter, standing in the narrow alley behind a NexusCorp data center in the lower levels of...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Contraction at GreenwichThe fog rolled in from the Thames at four o'clock, as it always did in November, carrying with it the smell of coal smoke and low tide. Professor Arthur Pendleton stood in the dome of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, his brass telescope pointed not at the stars above but at the data sheets spread across his oak desk. The spectral readings from the last three weeks showed a pattern that...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE PEOPLE'S ENGINE### Act I: The Spark James Callahan first understood what engineering meant at the age of twelve, when he was sent into the depths of the Homestead Steel Plant to unclog a jammed conveyor belt that had brought the entire rolling mill to a halt. The foreman had given him a choice: crawl through the gap between two moving rollers, or watch his father lose a week's wages for the downtime. James...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Great Transmission(Style C: Grand Narrative) The year was 4102. Earth was a cinder, a scorched marble orbiting a dying sun. The atmosphere had long since evaporated, leaving behind a world of obsidian plains and frozen oceans of nitrogen. But in the orbit of the moon, the Ark of Humanity remained—a shimmering ring of silver and light that housed the digitized consciousness of ten billion souls. The Ark was a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Patient from BelowACT I: THE LISTENING The sanatorium sat on the edge of Whitechapel, where the fog never fully lifted and the gas lamps cast yellow circles on cobblestones that were perpetually damp. Julian Ashworth had been sent here by his physician after his "episode" at twenty-five—a nervous breakdown, the doctor called it, though Julian suspected the word "nervous" was a euphemism for something the doctor...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Parasite of VirtueThe London of 1942 was a city of blackout curtains and the distant, rhythmic thrum of Luftwaffe bombers. In the bowels of a converted warehouse in Southwark, Dr. Julian operated a clinic that was a sanctuary for the broken. He was the "Angel of the Blitz," a surgeon whose hands could mend the most catastrophic shrapnel wounds and whose presence seemed to radiate a calming, almost divine...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Archive of Daniel MercerThe notebook was three inches thick and bound in black leather, and Daniel Mercer had been writing in it for eleven years. Every morning at 6:47 a.m., he sat at his kitchen table with a cup of black coffee and opened the notebook to a fresh page. He wrote down what he had done the day before—the meetings he attended, the conversations he had, the emails he sent, the people he saw on the street....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 859 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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