Recent Updates
  • The Algorithm of Breath
    **Act I: The Spark** Leo lived in a world of white noise and glass. In the Neo-Manhattan of 2099, existence was a series of optimized data points. Breath was regulated, sleep was scheduled, and emotion was a legacy feature. Leo was a "Quant," a man who saw the world as a series of oscillating waves. He didn't care for people, but he was obsessed with the "Biological Variance"—the unpredictable...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 7 Views 0 Reviews
  • The bone lay on the silver platter like a secret someone had decided to stop keeping.
    The bone lay on the silver platter like a secret someone had decided to stop keeping.Eleanor Graves stood over it in the lamplight of her private laboratory, the candle placed three feet away to avoid contaminating the evidence. She was twenty-eight, widowed at twenty-three, and had spent the last five years learning the language of dead things. Bones spoke. Teeth testified. Hair carried the...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
  • The Arbor of Lost Selves
    ## Act I: The Gilded Cage Julian lived in a penthouse that overlooked Manhattan like a god overlooking an anthill. He was a master of numbers, a predator of the market, until he acquired the Bonsai. It was a twisted, silver-leaved thing from a nameless auction, said to be a fragment of a world that never was. The moment Julian watered it with a drop of his own blood, the world shifted. He...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
  • Blood and Magnolias
    Magnolia Hall did not so much stand on the land as lean against it, the way a dying person leans against a wall that will not hold them. The porch sagged on its left side, where the pillars had rotted from the inside out, swollen with moisture and then collapsed, leaving the veranda to tilt like a ship taking on water. The magnolia trees that gave the estate its name had grown wild and tangled,...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
  • The Man Who Watched
    I am Nick Delaney and I write about things nobody reads for a website called The Brooklyn Beat that gets four hundred visitors a month and pays me in exposure. I am thirty-four years old and I have been thirty-four for six years, which is the New York version of being stuck. The story about Marcus Rivera was supposed to be my breakthrough. A rising star from the Bronx, the article was going to...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
  • The Crimson Horizon
    ## Act I: The Outset The plains of the Great Divide were a sea of amber grass, stretching infinitely toward a sky that burned with a permanent, bruised gold. Julian was a cavalry officer of the Solar Empire, a man whose spirit was as wild as the horses he rode. He didn't fight for the Emperor's glory or the expansion of the borders; he fought for the sheer, visceral poetry of the charge. He was...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
  • The Weight of Dust
    ## Act I: The Outset Oakhaven was a town where the wind only blew in one direction: toward the graveyard. It was a place of rusted silos and grey skies, a relic of an industrial boom that had ended forty years ago, leaving behind a population of people who were as hollow as the factories they once worked in. Toby was nineteen, with a restless energy that felt like a foreign language in...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
  • The Glass Ceiling of Blood
    ## Act I: The Outset The skyscrapers of Manhattan were not buildings; they were monuments to a religion of greed. In the penthouse of the Obsidian Tower, the air was filtered, the light was artificial, and the morality was non-existent. Julian was the "Golden Boy" of the firm, a brilliant analyst who could manipulate market trends with a single keystroke. He was young, handsome, and utterly...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
  • The Rust Belt
    Ray Kowalski clocked in at 11:03 PM. The convenience store on West Main Street did not care that he was three minutes late. The convenience store did not care that he was forty-two years old, that he had worked in a steel mill for eighteen years before it closed, that his left knee clicked when it rained, that his daughter lived in Cleveland and called him once a month and forgot to ask about...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
  • The Ferry to Raven's Point
    The rain in New York has a way of making everything look the same. Same grey sky, same grey streets, same grey men in grey coats hurrying past each other with their collars turned up and their heads down. I was one of those men, or I had been, until the gun incident made me somebody else. Now I was Jack Murray, former NYPD, current PI, and the guy you call when you need something done that the...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
  • The Starlight Ambition
    The bridge at Long Island groaned under the weight of steel and sweat, and Tommy O'Sullivan wiped his forehead with a sleeve that had been white three months ago and was now the colour of dust. Below him, the East River moved like a dark ribbon, indifferent to the men who were building something that would span it. "Keep those rivets hot, O'Sullivan!" the foreman shouted from the other side....
    0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
  • The Observatory of Lost Stars
    The telescope had not moved for three nights. Arthur Windsor pressed his eye to the brass eyepiece until the cold metal warmed against his skin, until the world beyond the glass became the only world that mattered. The signals had begun six weeks ago. At first he thought them instrument error—a vibration in the mounting, a flaw in the lens, the fatigue of a man who had spent too many hours...
    0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
More Stories