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  • Eyes of the Wilderness
    Act I I was the first one there. The sun was coming over the canyon rim when I heard Billy Calloway cry out. I was checking my fence line on the south ridge, and the sound carried up from the riverbed like a whistle. Not a call for help. Not yet. Just a cry that broke the morning in half. I walked down the slope. My horse, a roan mare I called Rusty, stood where I'd left her, grazing on the dry...
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  • The Bones That Remember
    The Bones That Remember Silas Cross had been scavenging for twenty-one years. Twenty-one years since the Collapse, since the trains stopped running, since the sky turned the colour of rust and stayed that way for three straight years. He had been a mechanical engineer in Ohio before all of this, working in a factory that produced parts for machines that no longer existed. Now he worked in the...
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  • The jazz of fading stars
    The music was dying, and nobody wanted to admit it. Not in New York, where the music was everything. Not in Chicago, where the music was the only thing. And certainly not in Julian Ashford, who had spent the last five years composing jazz that made people dance because they were afraid of what would happen when the music stopped. It was 1925, and the city was drowning in its own prosperity....
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  • The Cipher of Fortune
    (Southern Gothic Style) The humidity of the Mississippi Delta didn't just hang in the air; it weighed on the soul, thick with the scent of rotting magnolias and old secrets. Julian Thorne lived in a house that was slowly being reclaimed by the swamp, a crumbling plantation where the white paint peeled like dead skin. In the attic, hidden beneath a layer of dust and moth-eaten lace, Julian had...
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  • The Neon Meridian Protocol
    The first thing Jax noticed was that his left arm had stopped working. It happened between one heartbeat and the next, in the space between the drip of the apartment's leaking faucet and the hum of the ventilation fan that hadn't worked properly since the last tenant—a data broker named Dex—got fried trying to jack into a ThorneCorp black server. Jax lay on his bed, stared at the water stain on...
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  • The Glass Singularity
    ## Act I: The Perfect Equation (20%) Zeno lived in the Zenith Cluster, a civilization that had conquered death, disease, and hunger. As the Chief Researcher of the Harmony Project, his goal was the ultimate luxury: the removal of all suffering. He had developed the "Apathy Field," a quantum modulation that could erase the capacity for pain, grief, and anger from the human mind. The Council of...
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  • The Anatomy of a Star
    The clinic was a sanctuary of brass and blood, hidden in the fog-drenched alleys of Victorian London. Dr. Julian did not treat the living; he studied the transition. He was obsessed with the 'Weight of the Soul', and his basement was filled with precision scales and jars of preserved organs. Julian was a man of exquisite contradictions. He wore the finest silk waistcoats, but his fingernails...
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  • The Weight of the Last Hour
    (Variant V014: Existentialist Black) The city of Lyon in 1946 was a skeleton of a city, a place where the ruins of the war were not just in the stone, but in the eyes of every man who walked the streets. I am Julian Vane, a man who lives in the periphery of existence. I have a gift, or perhaps a parasite: I can see the "Last Hour." When I look at a person, I don't see their face or their...
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  • The Chronos Hierarchy
    In the new Manhattan, time is not a concept; it is a commodity. It is stored in crystalline vials, traded on the exchange, and injected directly into the carotid artery. The "Centennials" live in the spires, their lives stretching across millennia, their skin glowing with the borrowed time of a million poor souls. The "Seconds" live in the gutters, their life-clocks ticking down in glowing red...
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  • The jazz of fading stars
    The music was dying, and nobody wanted to admit it. Not in New York, where the music was everything. Not in Chicago, where the music was the only thing. And certainly not in Julian Ashford, who had spent the last five years composing jazz that made people dance because they were afraid of what would happen when the music stopped. It was 1925, and the city was drowning in its own prosperity....
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  • THE QUIET END
    Frank O'Malley woke at six in the morning. It was not an alarm clock that woke him. It was the habit of waking at six, established twelve years ago in a base camp in the Ho Chi Minh Trail and never broken, even after he broke everything else. He lay in the dark. The apartment was small—one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen that was really just a corner with a stove and a refrigerator the size of...
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  • The Double Life of Thomas Vance
    Thomas Vance opened the bookshop at nine in the morning and he closed it at six in the evening and he did exactly the same thing every day for three years. He straightened the books. He wiped the counter. He drank tea from a cup that said World's Best Bookseller in letters that were chipped and fading. He watched the people walk past the window and he thought about nothing. This was exactly...
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