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The Case of the Purest PovertyThe rain in New York doesn't wash anything away; it just moves the grime from one street to another. I'm Miller, a private investigator who specializes in people who don't want to be found. Usually, that means cheating spouses or debtors. This time, it was different. The client was a group of thirteen men and women who looked like they had been carved out of ice. They called themselves the...0 Comments 0 Shares 62 Views 0 Reviews
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The Parasite of PovertyThe London of 1888 was a city of two souls: the glittering gold of the West End and the rotting blackness of the East. Elias was a man of the latter, though he dressed for the former. He was a "Collector," a man hired by the nobility to remove the "Social Blights"—those wretched souls who refused the meager crumbs of the parish grants. Lord Sterling, a man whose skin was as pale as the marble...0 Comments 0 Shares 55 Views 0 Reviews
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The Parasite of PovertyThe London of 1888 was a city of two souls: the glittering gold of the West End and the rotting blackness of the East. Elias was a man of the latter, though he dressed for the former. He was a "Collector," a man hired by the nobility to remove the "Social Blights"—those wretched souls who refused the meager crumbs of the parish grants. Lord Sterling, a man whose skin was as pale as the marble...0 Comments 0 Shares 47 Views 0 Reviews
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The Parasite of PovertyThe London of 1888 was a city of two souls: the glittering gold of the West End and the rotting blackness of the East. Elias was a man of the latter, though he dressed for the former. He was a "Collector," a man hired by the nobility to remove the "Social Blights"—those wretched souls who refused the meager crumbs of the parish grants. Lord Sterling, a man whose skin was as pale as the marble...0 Comments 0 Shares 46 Views 0 Reviews
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The Poverty GambitThe rain in New York didn't wash things clean; it just turned the grime into a slick, iridescent oil. Marcus sat in a diner in Hell's Kitchen, nursing a coffee that tasted like burnt rubber. He was a man who knew the value of everything and the price of nothing. Across from him sat a man in a three-thousand-dollar suit, looking entirely out of place among the cracked vinyl booths. The man was...0 Comments 0 Shares 50 Views 0 Reviews
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The Poverty GambitThe rain in New York didn't wash things clean; it just turned the grime into a slick, iridescent oil. Marcus sat in a diner in Hell's Kitchen, nursing a coffee that tasted like burnt rubber. He was a man who knew the value of everything and the price of nothing. Across from him sat a man in a three-thousand-dollar suit, looking entirely out of place among the cracked vinyl booths. The man was...0 Comments 0 Shares 56 Views 0 Reviews
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The Purest PovertyNew York City in 1924 was a fever dream of champagne and jazz, a city trying to outrun its own shadow. Elias Vance, a man who had seen the mud of the Somme and the silence of the dead, now walked the streets as a shadow himself. He worked for the "Liquidation Committee," a group of men who owned the skyline and now sought to own the future. The Aetherial Hegemony had arrived with a promise: a...0 Comments 0 Shares 42 Views 0 Reviews
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The Forgotten WitnessI am told this deposition shall be entered into the permanent record of the Magistracy of the Sixteenth Canon, under the provision for posthumous testimony, which is to say testimony given by one whose standing has been formally erased, and that the scribe shall transcribe my words exactly as I deliver them, with all their infelicities and, God help me, their jokes, because I have been informed...0 Comments 0 Shares 93 Views 0 Reviews
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