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23/08/1965
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The Empty NotebookChapter One The bar was called Last Stop. Not ironic. Not aspirational. Just a description. It was the last bar on a block that had been the last block for a long time. The next block was a vacant lot where a steel warehouse had burned down in 2008. Beyond that was nothing—empty land, chain-link fence, and the railroad tracks that separated Chicago from everywhere else. Ray Kowalski sat behind...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 ReviewsPlease log in to like, share and comment!
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The Prophet's DilemmaACT ONE: THE MIRROR The crystal lens was cold against Jean-Luc Moreau's palm, colder than glass should be, as if it remembered the frost of a battlefield that had not existed for three years. He held it up to the light filtering through the window of his left-bank apartment and watched the Parisian afternoon bend and refract within the unknown material, splitting into colors that had no name....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Elder's ConfessionI am dying. The doctor says I have months, perhaps a year. The cancer is in my lungs, which is ironic, because I spent sixty-seven years telling other men how to breathe. I am Reverend Isaiah Crowe of the First Baptist Church in the town of Harlan, Mississippi, and I have come to write this confession because the truth has been sitting on my chest like a stone for too long. It began in July of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Doge's Last WaltzThe canals of Venice were shimmering like liquid obsidian under the moonlight. Julian, the Doge of the Republic, stood on the balcony of the Palazzo Ducale, his velvet robes heavy with the weight of a thousand conquests. He had not risen to power through blood alone, but through a love that had burned like a fever. Isabella. She was the daughter of the House of Valenti, his greatest enemy....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Nodes Between FloorsThe basement at 274 West Chatham was not an isolated space. It was a node in a network that extended upward through the building, outward through the neighborhood, and outward again through the city in a web of connections that Marcus Williams, in three years of captivity, had only begun to map. The Boss was the most visible node — the one that connected directly to Marcus, the one whose face...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Last Song of Saint OlafThe star harp in the cathedral-keep of Ashworth Castle had not been played in the way it was meant to be played for eight thousand years. I know this because I am its keeper. Edmund Ashworth, Lord of Saint Olaf, guardian of the frequency that holds our atmosphere in place, prisoner of a duty my family has held since the first colonists planted their flags on this edge-world and discovered that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Gilded Playground (V-02)The skyscrapers of Manhattan had become a vertical archipelago of gold and glass, connected by suspension bridges made of silk and neon. In the year 1926 of the New Era, New York was no longer a center of commerce; it was a masterpiece of whim. The "Great Flash" had purged the city of its bankers and bureaucrats, leaving the keys to the kingdom in the hands of those who still knew how to play....0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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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 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Last Bastion of MemoryThe sky over the laast city was the color of a bruised plum, heavy with the weight of a thousand dying stars. Commander Valerius stood on the ramparts of the Citadel, his armor scarred by a century of wars that no one remembered how to start. In the Age of Attrition, the living were too few to hold the line. To survive, humanity had turned to the "Necro-Archives"—vast, subterranean vaults where...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Seed of the Last Dawn## Act I: The Iron Sky The world was a bruise of charcoal and rust. Under the Great Dome of Aethelgard, humanity lived in a choreographed dance of survival, breathing recycled air and eating synthetic protein. Elias was a scavenger, a ghost in the machine, drifting through the scrap-heaps of the Old World. One afternoon, while digging through the ruins of a pre-Collapse botanical vault, he...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Rust BeltI. The truck wouldn't start. I kicked the tire and the tire kicked back, or at least that's how it felt—solid, unyielding, exactly as stubborn as everything else in this town. Danny stood on the porch watching me. He was sixteen, all elbows and attitude, wearing a hoodie that was too big and a look on his face that said he was already tired of me and this town and everything that came with...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Silent Garden of Ashes## Act I: The Outset The mud of the Belgian frontier had a way of swallowing everything—boots, hope, and the occasional scream. Julian, a Lieutenant with a penchant for Keats and a gaze that seemed perpetually fixed on a horizon only he could see, stood amidst the ruins of a shattered hamlet. His white dress uniform was a scandalous anomaly in this grey wasteland, a stark, fragile beacon of a...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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