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Showing posts with label cyberpunk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cyberpunk. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 22, 2025

Release Day: Daemones ex Machina by Russell Anders + giveaway

If you make a deal with the Devil, don’t forget to read the fine print.

Daemones ex Machina
by Russell Anders
July 23rd, 2025
Genre: Cyberpunk/Urban Fantasy Fiction
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
Three operatives find themselves on the run after a corporate sabotage job goes awry. Now, their predatory employer, a heavyweight weapons-tech firm, wants its elite A-team dead at all costs. Jon is a smooth-talking charmer. Friedrich is a hacker prodigy. And Guion is the ice-cold tactician who keeps them all in line.

Backs against the wall, the men strike separate infernal pacts to stay alive. They vanish into the urban badlands of New York’s Five Hives, vowing to lie low and figure out why they’ve become targets. Meanwhile, Jon suspects there’s an insidious evil possessing his friends, and he wonders if they all got more than they bargained for.

Amid an escalating war between local gangs and the firm’s private shock troops, the fugitives uncover a conspiracy that threatens to destroy everyone they know and love. But can they stop the destruction before their inner demons seize control?




About the Author 

Website-FB-Instagram
Goodreads-Bluesky
At the age of four, Russell Anders started telling stories, often interrupting his mother during bedtime reading to ask, “Then what happened?” She always answered, “You tell me,” and his imagination conjured fantastical tales of dragons and dinosaurs.

He gravitated toward a career as a technical writer and writing coach for software companies. He also briefly served as a columnist for Dragon Magazine. One of his favorite hobbies includes tabletop role playing, especially as the game master. And yes, he's as cruel to the characters in his games as he is to the characters in his books; his players love him for it.

Russel lives with the constant canine companionship of whip-smart but goofy Sigurd, an English Mastiff (the best breed ever).

Daemones ex Machina is his debut novel.

GIVEAWAY

Tuesday, April 29, 2025

Cover Reveal: Daemones ex Machina by Russell Anders - Cyberpunk / Fantasy

 

Daemones ex Machina
by Russell Anders
Release Date: July 23rd, 2025
Genre: Cyberpunk/Urban Fantasy Fiction
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
If you make a deal with the Devil, don’t forget to read the fine print.

Three operatives find themselves on the run after a corporate sabotage job goes awry. Now, their predatory employer, a heavyweight weapons-tech firm, wants its elite A-team dead at all costs. Jon is a smooth-talking charmer. Friedrich is a hacker prodigy. And Guion is the ice-cold tactician who keeps them all in line.

Backs against the wall, the men strike separate infernal pacts to stay alive. They vanish into the urban badlands of New York’s Five Hives, vowing to lie low and figure out why they’ve become targets. Meanwhile, Jon suspects there’s an insidious evil possessing his friends, and he wonders if they all got more than they bargained for.

Amid an escalating war between local gangs and the firm’s private shock troops, the fugitives uncover a conspiracy that threatens to destroy everyone they know and love. But can they stop the destruction before their inner demons seize control?


About the Author
Website-FB- Instagram
Goodreads- Bluesky
At the age of four, Russell Anders started telling stories, often interrupting his mother during bedtime reading to ask, “Then what happened?” She always answered, “You tell me,” and his imagination conjured fantastical tales of dragons and dinosaurs.

He gravitated toward a career as a technical writer and writing coach for software companies. He also briefly served as a columnist for Dragon Magazine. One of his favorite hobbies includes tabletop role playing, especially as the game master. And yes, he's as cruel to the characters in his games as he is to the characters in his books; his players love him for it.

Russel lives with the constant canine companionship of whip-smart but goofy Sigurd, an English Mastiff (the best breed ever).

Daemones ex Machina is his debut novel.


Sunday, October 20, 2024

Fantasy Adventure: The Dungeon Anarchist's Cookbook (Dungeon Crawler Carl) by Matt Dinniman

The Dungeon Anarchist's Cookbook (Dungeon Crawler Carl) - Hardcover

by Matt Dinniman
October 22, 2024
Book 3 of 7: Dungeon Crawler Carl
Welcome to the Iron Tangle! Carl and his ex-girlfriend’s cat, Princess Donut, have to team up with other contestants not just to survive, but to solve a deadly puzzle in this third, mind-twisting novel in the addictive Dungeon Crawler Carl series by Matt Dinniman—now with bonus material exclusive to this print edition.

Earth has been transformed into the set of the galaxy’s most watched game show: Dungeon Crawler World, a nightmarish, multilevel, video game–like dungeon filled with traps, monsters, and mind-bending puzzles. Carl and Donut have survived so far, but this fourth level is unlike anything they could imagine. The Iron Tangle: an impossibly complicated subway system tied together into a knot of trains of all kinds, from classic steam engines to sleek modern cars. Up is down. Down is up. Close is far. The cars are filled with monsters, the railway stations aren’t always what they seem, and the exit is perpetually just a few stops away.

The top ten list is populated, and Carl and Donut have made it. But that popularity comes with a price. They each now have a bounty on their head. They must work with other crawlers to solve the puzzle of the floor, but how can they do that when they don’t know who to trust? The secret to unraveling it all may be hidden in the pages of a seemingly useless book.

Welcome, Crawlers. Welcome to the fourth floor of the dungeon.

Includes part three of the exclusive bonus story “Backstage at the Pineapple Cabaret.”

Praise for Dungeon Crawler Carl

“Fresh. Creative. Hilarious. I'm obsessed…Princess Donut is my queen.” – Actor, producer and New York Times bestselling author Felicia Day

"I don't always say nice things about a book just because the writer has compromising pictures of me engaging in some very complicated international crimes, but when I do, I say them about Matt Dinniman's Dungeon Crawler Carl! Also, this series has no goddamn business burying so much depth and emotion and complexity under its bawdy, gory surface, but it does so anyway. What a wild-ass and unexpected delight." – New York Times bestselling author Scott Lynch

"If there's a better LitRPG than Dungeon Crawler Carl, I haven't read it." - Shirtaloon, author of He Who Fights Monsters
“Dungeon Crawler Carl is the best start to a series I’ve read this year. I wish I’d tried it sooner.” – Will Wight, author of the Cradle series
 

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1


Time to Level Collapse: 10 days.

Views: 43.1 Quadrillion

Followers: 677 Trillion

Favorites: 158.1 Trillion

Leaderboard rank: 6

Bounty: 100,000 gold

Red Line.

Welcome, Crawler, to the fourth floor. "The Iron Tangle."

Your title has reverted to Royal Bodyguard.

Sponsorship bidding initiated on Crawler #4,122. Bidding ends in 45 hours.

The world rumbled. The ground shook. I stumbled backward the moment we appeared, but I was held upright by a metal wall. Lights flashed in a quick staccato, pulsing on either side of the long, thin room. I felt the thump, thump, thump under my feet. We were in a long plastic-and-metal tube that vibrated and thundered. The lights in the room blinked out, then turned back on.

Mongo screeched in anger and fear. Donut jumped to my shoulder, trembling. Katia clutched on to a metal pole rising from the floor to the ceiling.

New achievement! I'm on a train!

Choo Choo, Motherfucker.

Reward: You've received a Train Conductor's Souvenir Hat! Wear it with pride!

"It's a subway car," I said. We hurtled through a tunnel, racing toward some unknown destination.

A double aisle of seats, facing inward, filled the train car. The seats were made of beige molded plastic with brown cushions that were ripped and tagged with marker and spray paint. The words were in nonsensical letters in the Cyrillic alphabet. The floor was dingy and pocked. Scorch marks dotted the plastic walls. Poles rose to the ceiling at regular intervals and also ran the length of the car. The whole place smelled like a pile of dead rats.

The train car was empty except for our party.

"It's a Metro car from Moscow," Katia said. "But the ones I rode were in much better condition than this. And cleaner." Her face had returned to the mostly human, blond-haired form she'd held earlier. Her nose had been knocked halfway around her face the last time I'd seen her in her doppelganger form, but she'd willed it back into place.

At the end of the subway car was a closed door with no window. Above the door hung a small electric sign with red words scrolling across the top.

Red Line, Car 20. Next stop: Sirin Station (81) in 12 minutes and 32 seconds.

"Everybody get dressed," I said. I sat down in the chair and quickly began the process of putting my gear back on. I briefly examined the stupid train hat we'd received, and it was junk. It wasn't magical. It was a simple blue-and-white hat one would see on a toddler. It had the words "I rode the Iron Tangle" embroidered on it.

"Carl, it says I have to pick a new class because of my Character Actor skill. I only have six minutes to choose, or I will get a 'random' one," Donut said. "The list is full of new stuff. Not the same as before."

Carl: Mordecai. Help Donut pick a class. She's going to read off some choices. We're in a moving train car. I think it's a subway-system-themed floor.

Mordecai: Welcome back. Donut, hit me with the suggested list.

Donut: I DON'T LIKE THESE CHOICES, MORDECAI.

As Donut rattled off a list of options in the chat, including things like Alley Cat Brawler and Nec-Cat-Mancer, I moved to the window and peered outside.

We moved swiftly. The exterior wall of the tunnel was right there, barely inches from the window. It appeared to be made of dirt or rock. Lights flashed by occasionally as if electrical lights were built into the tunnel walls at random intervals.

"Why does she always type in all caps?" Katia whispered as I peered out the window. "Is it because she's four-legged?"

"No. It's because she's Donut."

"She's quite the handful, isn't she?"

I remembered what Odette had said about Hekla wanting to steal Donut away.

"More than you know," I said.

We had 10 days to complete this floor. Our first priority would be to find a stairwell. If we were constantly moving, that was going to provide a unique challenge. There were only 9,375 stairwells this time. If the level truly was subway- or train-themed, and this wasn't just taking us to some random location where the floor was really going to begin, we needed a map. Even if there was a stairwell at each and every stop, that suggested this system was beyond huge. Finding a stairwell wouldn't be enough if we didn't know how to circle back.

My Escape Plan skill couldn't find any directions or maps, at least not in this car. The skill worked great, but you had to know where the hidden maps were before you could utilize it.

"Wow," Katia said. "My constitution is double what it normally is. I'm at 102. I have an active momentum bonus even though I'm not moving."

"Good," I said. That means you're our meat shield, I didn't add. "I hope that's by design. Otherwise, I wouldn't get used to it. If the showrunners didn't mean for that to happen, you can bet it'll be patched out tonight."

If we were going to be doing a lot of close-quarters fighting this level, that meant I needed to work on my hand-to-hand. Last floor had been all about explosions. I suspected that was going to take a back seat here.

Donut: SO, SHOULD I DO THE FOOTBALL HOOLIGAN OR THE FIRECRACKER CLASS? QUICK, I'M ALMOST OUT OF TIME.

Mordecai: Hooligan. If you're going to be stuck in a series of tubes, it's the best choice. It comes with a momentum bonus and several team buffs. Plus the Mascot skill, which gives a bonus to Mongo.

Donut glowed for a moment.

Donut: I DID IT. I GOT THE MASCOT SKILL! BUT I DIDN'T GET GROUP CHANT OR MOVING RIOT. I GOT THE 10 POINTS TO MY CONSTITUTION, THOUGH.

Mordecai: Damn. Chant would've been good. Okay, you three. I just peeked my head out of my room, and I am in what appears to be a train station settlement. It looks as if the stores and inns are placed at these stations. This is a bigger one where you can switch between three different train routes. One of the trains is a subway like you described, but another is much larger. Like a regular transcontinental railway train. Get off at the next station, and see if you can find a safe room or inn.

Carl: 10-4. By the way, thanks for telling us about the bounty.

Mordecai: So you made the top 10, huh? Find a safe room, and we'll talk.

I looked at Donut. I tried to remember what she'd lost by switching away from Artist Alley Mogul. The only noteworthy benefits were the +5 to dexterity and the 15% bonus to item sales. Also, she'd received a few extra coins when we went down the stairs, but it wasn't much. The loss of the dexterity bonus would probably be the worst part. "So what do your new skills do?"

The ground rattled as we went around a bend. The lights flickered.

"I only got a couple of new ones. It came with a skill that would've raised my damage if we were moving, but I didn't get it. The best one is Mascot. If Mongo deals damage to an enemy, everybody in the party receives a bonus to dexterity and constitution. If he kills a mob, the bonus lasts for a couple hours."

"That is a good one," I said.

"Also, my constitution went up by 10 points. Oh, and I got a skill called Guinness that doubles my strength if I'm drunk."

"Are you serious?"

"Quite," she said. "So if we're going to be doing any fighting, we'll need to stop at the club first so I can get another Dirty Shirley."

Carl: Mordecai, is it me or are these classes better than what we were offered before?

Mordecai: It's an unintended benefit. A lot of these rarer classes weren't available because she didn't meet the minimum requirements. But as her stats increase, the classes she's offered on each level will be better. There's another benefit I hadn't anticipated, too. She'd received a level 5 Negotiation skill with that Artist Alley class. Before you guys left the third floor, she'd raised the skill to level 7 thanks to all that selling you did. When she lost that class, the five levels went away, but she retained the two she'd received, including the skill experience, so it actually bumped itself up to four on its own.

Carl: Wait, I don't understand. So if she gets a temporary skill, she keeps it the next floor down? What about the stat point increases?

Mordecai: She won't keep the stat points. But as long as she uses a skill enough to level it at least once, it looks like she'll keep it, minus the levels she received as being a part of that class. Skill experience is a complicated, under-the-hood metric crawlers can't see. It takes a lot to break the cherry, so to say, and obtain level 1. But once you're in, you're in. So in other words, use Mongo as much as you can, and you'll keep that Mascot benefit. Also, from now on, we should keep an eye out for classes with rare spells. If she levels the spell at least once, then I think she'll keep it.

Carl: That seems like a bug.

Mordecai: I think it might be. So don't talk about it out loud or bring attention to it. They probably won't notice until she manages to keep a spell from one floor to the next. Now get to work. I'll look for a map, but you should, too.

"Katia," I said. "You have the Pathfinder skill. Do you see anything?"

"The skill is only level three. It was level one when I got it, and it's hard to upgrade. I have to keep my map open all the way to train it. My old game guide said I needed to find a training guild to really boost it. I can zoom my map out really big, but when I do, I don't see much. There are tubes everywhere, like a mess of noodles. Though a minute ago, I saw another train rush by on another track on the other side of this wall, shooting off at an angle from us. As for this train, there are 20 cars, and we're on the last one."

"Can you see any mobs?"

"No. It usually doesn't show monsters. But if we're close to a stairwell or a safe room, I'll get a notification. But I can see car number 15 is shaped differently than this one. I can't see what it is. It's not a passenger car like this one."

I looked on my own map, and it showed the first half of car 15. I knew normally my map zoomed out a little bigger than that, but it shrank while we were moving. If Katia could see all 20 cars, then that skill really did make the map a lot bigger. The map also helpfully labeled the cars for me, something I hadn't seen before. We were in Cabin #20-Passenger Car.

"What does the label say for that 15th car?" I asked Katia.

"It just has a question mark."

I examined the back wall of the train. Normally there'd be some sort of emergency exit. Instead, it was just a solid metallic wall. I wondered what would happen if I attached an explosive to it, breached the wall, and jumped out onto the track. Considering how tight the tunnel was, we'd probably get squished by the next train in a matter of minutes.

"Okay, guys," I said. "Let's go check it out."

I moved down the center aisle. Donut jumped to my shoulder. Mongo pushed his way to my side. He had to struggle past the vertical poles. If he got much bigger or the aisles any tighter, it was going to become a problem. We came to the door, which seemed out of place here. There was no glass window. I sensed this door was something added by the dungeon, and normally there'd be a short, open gangway where one could walk the length of the train unimpeded. Above, the timer to the next stop was at five minutes.

"I'm going to pull the door open. Katia, your constitution is four times mine, so you go in first. You okay with that?"

She swallowed but then nodded. I could see she was trembling. "I guess that's my job, isn't it?"

"Don't worry, sweetie. We have your back," Donut said.

The door slid to the side, revealing a small, enclosed space between the two cars. The gangway floor bounced up and down. The walls connecting the two train cars were a black accordioned material that looked like reinforced fabric. The distance between the two cars seemed longer than it should be. Below my feet was a panel that I could presumably pull up to get to the connector. A second door appeared, leading to the next car, and I put my hand on it. Behind me, Katia now held a small glowing ax.

"Have you used that thing before?" I asked.

"It's a good weapon," she said. "But my strength isn't high enough, and it doesn't do a lot of damage. Though I killed some lumber monkeys with it."

I nodded. "Here we go."

I slid open the door, and she leaped inside. Mongo jumped in with her, snarling, causing her to face-plant. I stumbled back at the pet's sudden, unexpected forward motion.

"Goddamnit, Mongo!" I yelled, examining the room for threats.


About the author
Instagram
Matt Dinniman is a writer and artist from Gig Harbor, Washington. He is the author of the best-selling Dungeon Crawler Carl series along with several other books about the end of the world. He doesn't really hate Cocker Spaniels, and he plays bass in two bands.

Monday, November 20, 2023

Pre-order Cyberpunk/Sci-Fi: Pacific State (Sundown Book 2) by Grant Price

Pacific State (Sundown Book 2)
by Grant Price
December 21, 2023
Genre: Cyberpunk/ Sci-Fi "A rip-roaring cyberpunk novel... it's definitely science fiction, but it's frighteningly plausible." -The San Francisco Book Review

On the streets of Berlin all morals can be bought for a price, and Owen Resler sold his long ago. Once an underground dissenter, now a corporate drone, he spends his days reluctantly manipulating data for Big Pharma. Across town, notorious gun-for-hire Mia Warsaw is putting together a team to assassinate one of the city's more unscrupulous business moguls and she needs someone to handle the ones and zeroes. When Warsaw crosses paths with an increasingly desperate Resler, she hands the former radical an ultimatum: he can either succumb to death by a thousand bureaucratic paper cuts or take a chance with her. Of course, there's no guarantee he'll survive that, either...

Pre-order on Amazon 

Book 1


About the Author
Website
Grant Price is the author of three climate fiction novels set in the near future: By the Feet of Men (Cosmic Egg, 2019; submitted for consideration to the Arthur C. Clarke Award); Reality Testing (Black Rose, 2022; Kirkus Top 100 Novels 2021); Pacific State (Black Rose, forthcoming 2023). He lives in Berlin, Germany. 



Book Tour Organized By:

R&R Book Tours

Monday, June 26, 2023

Runners (A Misnomer Crew Story Book 1) by Justin Hale + giveaway

Runners (A Misnomer Crew Story Book 1)

by Justin Hale
June 27th 2023
Genres: Cyberpunk, Science Fiction
A high octane, cyberpunk thrill ride that will have you hanging on to the edge of your seat!

On the planet Nera, a world of towering metropolises powered by nano technology and controlled by corporations, Mr. Zan and his misfit crew have trained for five years to be Omegas, the greatest and most elusive assassins on the planet. However, disillusioned with their mission, they went rogue and killed their handler, Nancy. Now, they run guns to survive, while racing to stay one step ahead of the living Shadows that hunt them. After a tragic, traumatic attack, Zan and his crew find themselves on the outs with Dietrich Boateng, one of the most powerful men on the planet.

But when Dietrich suddenly risks everything to warn them of a new, dangerous threat, events are set in motion that threaten to spiral out of their control. To make matters worse, Deputy Marshal Akira Sudo is hot on their trail, after a coverup leads her to believe that there is more to this case than meets the eye.

If they can complete Dietrich’s mission, they might secure the tools they need to survive the next Omegas that show up to exact revenge. If they don’t, they might not survive to see tomorrow. For fans of Neuromancer, Blade Runner, Ghost in the Shell, and Altered Carbon, this action-packed, dystopian Sci-Fi romp will leave you breathless and wanting more!

About the Author:
Justin Hale is an author who lives in the Bay Area of California with his wife, Candy, and crazy dog, Maya. He is originally from the small, coastal city of Brunswick, GA and is a diehard Georgia Bulldog football fan. After suffering a mental health crisis, Justin left his full-time job, using his recovery time to finish and release his debut novel, RUNNERS. In his free time, he enjoys video games, watching pro wrestling, and making his wife laugh.

Justin first wanted to be an author at seven years old. He participated in a class project to write letters to The Polar Express author Chris Van Allsburg. The project was to draw a picture of what the students thought Chris Van Allsburg looked like and to write him a small message. Justin drew a grey version of Frankenstein’s monster, writing “I didn’t know what you looked like, so I drew you as Frankenstein[‘s monster], because he is weird and so are you.” His teacher was not impressed, but the experience made him interested in becoming an author, even if it would take 30+ years to arrive at that goal.

GIVEAWAY
Blitz-wide giveaway (INT)
$50 Amazon gift card
a Rafflecopter giveaway





Saturday, October 1, 2022

Excerpt: Shellshock (My Fatal Futility Book 1) by N J M Hemfrey + giveaway

What inspired you to write this book?
I’ve always wanted to write a cyberpunk and time travel story. I thought there was nothing better than combining the two to give a very rich and blood-pumping experience. Cyberpunk is an important genre for deconstructing the evolution and integration of society and technology, and exploring how this affects ethics, politics, and the very shape of nature. Inspired by my research into the ways of bushido, Buddhism, and Shinto led me to become captivated by wider Japanese culture and beliefs, especially the often overlooked and simple ideas of respect and peace. So, I knew I didn’t want to do cyberpunk that accelerated towards nihilistic oblivion within polluted, criminal-ridden metropolises. I wanted the hyper-violence, high-adrenaline action pieces, and pure neon spectacle, but set within a world that really conveyed the beauty of nature, the tranquillity of meditation, and the respect even adversaries can share.

The time travel aspect of the story is fully born out of my own fascination about the concept. I loved reading the horribly lethal time loop in“All You Need Is Kill” by Hiroshi Sakurazaka and the mind-bending bootstrap paradox in“All You Zombies”by Robert A. Heinlein. However, what truly penetrates my soul is not the tech of time travel but the implications of its existence. Time travel reveals the nature of time which absolutely influences our identities, behaviours, free will, and sense of meaning and purpose. The nature of time is the nature of reality which our humanity depends on. Respecting my fatalistic time travel rules became essential and never bending them to create easy resolutions became crucial, as respecting time is respecting reality. Moreover, a story is nothing without unfair circumstances, consequence, and sacrifice.

Ultimately, aside from all these lofty concepts, the story developed out of raw and rending emotion. I experienced a significant loss in love and it was something I have replayed in my head an infinite number of times. With each replay, I tried to understand what I was feeling and why the universe enabled such a feeling. This led me to time travel, because who hasn’t pondered the possibility of a “do-over” and I really needed to know if one could even be possible. The story I wrote is cathartic in many ways and has improved my understanding of myself and others and this thing we call reality.

It’s important to realise that even we lose, we still deserve to live.

What can we expect from you in the future?
At least one book a year. I have what I call my “conveyor belt of stories”. This comprises three already written first drafts and over thirty 8-10 page outlines that are all ready to be developed one by one.

From now until Q3 2023, I’ll be working on the final book in the cyberpunk/time travel trilogy. In 2024, I will be working on the 3rd draft of a modern-day horror story set in the Scottish Highlands. The book is split between 2 perspectives. The first perspective is from a documentary crew investigating a strange massacre in a remote community, while the second perspective is from a character present during the time of the massacre. It’s Lovecraft inspired with focus on keeping readers imbalanced as the stories and accounts of survivors/onlookers conflict with what others experienced. In 2024, I’ll be working on the 3rd draft of a science-fiction survival novel, set on a refugee vessel in space when riots kick off and the ship AI goes rogue. The perspective is from ship workers who run the vessel’s radio show, who hear and see things develop from the isolation of their small studio. Eventually, they’re forced to make decisions to leave the safety of their room. In essence, the story explores what ethics really matter when oxygen, food, and water are limited, and I initially got the idea while working in customer service and serving very unpleasant individuals. In 2025, I’ll be working on the 2nd draft of a science-fiction survival horror novel, inspired by the video game series “Dead Space”, the movie “Event Horizon”, and the book “Hostage to the Devil”, but it is very much its own thing too.

How did you come up with the title of the book?
The series name “My Fatal Futility” went through three iterations. Originally, the short story was called “If it’s the Last Thing I do”. I called it this because I wanted a name that wasn’t clearly about time travel, that hit upon a familiar phrase, and also possessed a deeper meaning for a narrative set within a fatalistic timeline. In fatalistic terms, the first and last thing you do could actually be a cause/effect of one another.

When the story grew, it became “My Fatalism of Futility”. I started to lean very deeply into the time travel aspect, researching the nature of time in a fatalistic universe and how this affected humanity, psychology, spirituality and so on. This time I really wanted to emphasize a conclusion that the character would feel summing up his life after the time travel journey he’d been on. The title sums up an experience of reality.

It became “My Fatal Futility” as this simply was concise and catchier. Ultimately, it is the title I love.

Who designed your book covers?
Damonza.com and their skilled artists designed my book cover and they are undoubtedly worth every copper, silver, and gold coin to my name. I always give them a sketched mockup of an idea I’m going for along with, usually, movie posters that have inspired me. I always want my covers to have a cinematic feel. The artists at Damonza are ceaselessly accommodating and always deliver a far cooler version of the idea I have. They do things spot on and I am never endingly grateful for their designs that will last a lifetime, that will solidify my legacy.

If your book was made into a film, who would you like to play the lead?
I’m a big fan of South Korean cinema and tv shows. I think the quality of the acting, the display of emotion, and delivery of lines is truly unique, authentic, and satisfying in the South Korean productions. I would be very humbled if any of these actors could play Kage Carnifex; Lee Byung-Hun, Ju-Ji Hoon, or Kim Seong-gyoo.

Anything specific you want to tell your readers?
Thank you so much from the core of my soul in sacrificing time to read my works. Time is the most valuable commodity in the universe and we all get set amounts so I do not underestimate the importance of devoting time to support me. I try to live life by four principles: kindness, patience, humility, and perseverance. I believe you all exemplify these principles when engaging with my stories (while also hopefully having fun – that’s overall goal we should have that goes without saying).

Convince us why you feel your book is a must-read.
I don’t try to “ride the wave” of expectation for a genre. I write what I think needs to be explored about the world and our delusions. I go gut-deep and do not care about my reader’s feelings if there is something philosophically, emotionally, or spiritually valuable in writing a scene as it should be written. So, if you’re searching for high-octane action akin to The Raid, John Wick, The Night Comes for Us, or Carter (you can tell I’m a sucker for anything where fists fly, blades slash, and bullets puncture), philosophical punch where you’ll have your perceptions challenged, and fantastical worlds/technology/tool that make your brain twist then my books will eat you up.

Shellshock (My Fatal Futility Book 1)
by N J M Hemfrey
Genre: Cyberpunk, Time Travel
In a neo-Japanese inspired future, comes a cyberpunk epic with a razor-sharp time travel edge.

Kage Carnifex never bleeds easily. He's stronger than the slickest cybernetics. And the chip in his brain whispers the value of violence.

Kage is the last product of a dead corporation. When he is scraped off the streets by another megacorp, Kage plunges headlong into an unforgiving world of unbreakable contracts, absolute loyalty, and soulful devotion beyond what he thought possible.

Yet, the psychotic butchers from his shrouded past cannot be escaped forever, nor their malicious masters denied Kage's life. Blood is owed and carnage is coming to carve everything Kage loves apart.

And the secret to surviving may lie within a device Kage can't control; the chrono-disruptor -- a time machine -- but time is a fatal thing...

Life is fucking unfair. The steely voice of the Shirei-Kan brain chip reverberated in my mind. So, you best grin and bear it. Dying is not an option.

That malfunctioning piece of hardware had been chattering randomly in my head since I could remember, since I was seven. She never responded to my verbal commands. She never listened to my thoughts trying to motivate it to shut up or needing it––

When I feel alone.

The brain chip never filled in any of my missing memory. No, for the past two years, Shirei-Kan had only invaded my thoughts sporadically. She usually spoke about the value of violence.

At first, I’d thought that made sense. I could be good at violence, at breaking things, at wounding people. My body displayed “atypical durability against foreign objects”, so I could hurt without getting hurt much back.

Nobody wanted me to be violent in here. The Abertay Orphanage was not the place for “irate boys with irrational tendencies”. The Abertay Corporation was the place I apparently owed my loyalty and livelihood towards.

Not that I remember being given a choice.

Not that they’ve fixed my memory.

None of my living arrangements or routine had been decided by me, even though my adherence to corporate code of conduct was apparently always “up to me”. Apparently, every action and reaction I had, or my “carers” performed, that developed symptoms of rage in my emotional core, was something that I controlled. They enjoyed telling me that whenever I possessed consciousness, I had to take ultimate responsibility for the consequences of my behaviour.

Not that long words are a good source of calm.

The white, bouncy-foam walls of my room were finally allowed some colour when I did start cooperating, when I finally learned how to pretend and resist lashing out from the frustration boiling my veins. They even stopped wrapping me in that creepy crawly cyber-leech jacket and feeding me with icy tubes down my gullet. I hands-down preferred the utility-crab scuttling across my bouncy floor, from its shell-shaped vent, and delivering my meal plates to me. I’d been told that utility-crabs didn’t enjoy playing games, but my bot could sort of play “catch”. Little utility-crab’s springy steps, where I thought its blue bionic legs might trip over one another, and its perky bleeps got me laughing, at least. I didn’t know any actual person that could do that.

Not that you let me see…

Yeah.

There were other children at Abertay Orphanage, but I’d been labelled an SDF––a socially disruptive figure––and I still carried the label. Even though most children, as my doctor informed me, didn’t stay in Abertay for more than two months, the staff clearly didn’t want to risk any other children being exposed to my “atypical durability”. I often thought about the first time I’d lashed out. I remembered the hyper feeling that came with impaling my fist through the radiator-shaped head of a bouncer bot. I’d really felt life burning through me as I’d pulverised the piston-clad limbs of those two-metre machines, and crushed their white tessellated plating. I’d gone toe to toe with five of them and had thrown them around easily. Part of me, if I thought hard enough, could sometimes still taste the powdery puffs of shards bursting from the walls and floors that I’d dented their robotic frames into. I’d really loved the fizzling sound of the sparks sputtering from their crushed circuitry.

Convulsions (
My Fatal Futility Book 2)
Return to the high-octane, ultra-violent world of the 25th century: where cybernetics, bionetics, and bionics blur the lines between people, robots, and beasts; where a secret sinister syndicate play the strings of apocalypse; and where the river of time runs with a fatalistic flow.

Honour-bound, tough as titanium, Kage Carnifex follows two paths that twist his head and heart. One turns him towards the past for love and strife in the climate-ravaged steppe of Norvono. The other fires him into the future under a new captain and a new strategy to devastate Psychosisium.

But seeing the truth of his destiny and origin is barbed with manipulation and betrayal. The hologram ghost of an archenemy promises answers to avoid armageddon. While the malfunctioning chip inside Kage's head seeks greater control of his body.

Facing off against temporal assassins, teleporters, and butcher-bots has never been deadlier. Fortified by samurai-instincts and bulletproof flesh, Kage plunges into the depths of this neon nightmare -- where good deeds make devils and the worst make gods.


About the Author

N J M Hemfrey has degrees in Philosophy and Sociology, and Information and Library Studies, and is an administrator for a charity. He lives with his fiancé Kasha, who is the best individual to spend existence with, whether in lockdown, the apocalypse, or more normal things like the cinema, or wandering around old castles. He is an utter movie, book, video game and comic enthusiast, especially for the science fiction, fantasy, and horror genres. One of his greatest frustrations is that there is not enough time in the universe to ever finish the lists of things he wants to do.

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Monday, August 15, 2022

Cyberpunk Science Fiction: Lo by author Bradford Tatum

Welcome to the tour for genre-blurring novel, LO by Bradford Tatum. Read on for more details!

LO

by Bradford Tatum
June 7, 2022
Genre: Sci-Fi/ Noir Thriller
Publisher: Soft Moon Press
Willoughby, known back on Earth as “the East Hamptons of the Kuiper Belt,” is the first sustainable colony on Mars.

Built by the mysterious geneticist Carlo Yakamura this settlement encourages the rich to live as they please. They can enjoy decadent homes, physically modifiable partners, meals based on their best memories and even boutique children known on Willoughby as Builds.

Designed to impress even at the dullest cocktail parties, the Builds’ proprietary motive genes have been sourced from the DNA of some of the greatest artistic disruptors of the last several centuries. But even among a host of uniquely gifted Builds, Lo is unique. And uniquely unbalanced. So what would be the grisliest of murders back on Earth, is just an inconvenience on Willoughby. That is why Lo is sent to be “seasoned” by a man we come to know only as Cook.

Can Cook’s fatherly hand guide Lo to a deeper understanding of his potential and purpose or is Lo’s innate power destined to destroy all of Willoughby? Is Lo the key to Cook’s creative redemption or is he the cause of Cook’s worst nightmares? And once Cook learns the true purpose of Yakamura’s Willoughby will Lo or Cook find the colony worth saving at all?

LO is a sci-fi noir thriller, painted in more deeper shades of blue than black. It is also a story of fathers and sons, lost to one another through terrible compromises and found again through the limits of love. It is a parable of our possible future, a future that is doomed if we rely only on the digital representation of our present while forgetting the lessons and lore of our analogue past.

Add to Goodreads

About the Author
Website-FB-Instagram
Bradford Tatum’s award-winning debut novel I Can Only Give You Everything was published in 2010. His second novel, Only the Dead Know Burbank was published by HarperCollins in 2016 and received a starred review from Publisher’s Weekly. His book Gray Matters has been used as a textbook in various college business communication courses.

Bradford began his career as an actor appearing in numerous television shows and movies such as 20th Century Fox’s submarine comedy DOWN PERISCOPE, Disney’s POWDER and HBO’s WESTWORLD.

He was a staff writer for Dick Wolf on the NBC series DEADLINE and has written and directed two award winning independent features. He has won an Alfred P. Sloan grant for his written work as well as sold pitches to various production companies.

Twitter Tags: @KeriBarnum @NewShelvesBooks @RRBookTours1 #RRBookTours #LO

IG Tags: @bradfordtatum5 @rrbooktours #rrbooktours #LO #BookTour #scifibooks #sciencefiction

Book Tour Schedule
August 15th
R&R Book Tours (Kick-Off) http://rrbooktours.com
FUONLYKNEW Blog (Spotlight) http://fuonlyknew.com/
August 16th
Jessica Belmont (Review) https://jessicabelmont.com/
@gryffindorbookishnerd (Review) https://www.instagram.com/gryffindorbookishnerd/
B is for Book Review (Spotlight) https://bforbookreview.wordpress.com
I Smell Sheep (Spotlight) http://www.ismellsheep.com/
August 17th
Nesie’s Place (Spotlight) https://nesiesplace.wordpress.com
@mels_booksandhooks (Spotlight) https://www.instagram.com/mels_booksandhooks/
Bunny’s Reviews (Spotlight) https://bookwormbunnyreviews.blogspot.com/
The Faerie Review (Spotlight) http://www.thefaeriereview.com
Cocktails and Fairytales (Spotlight) https://www.facebook.com/CocktailsFairytales
August 18th
Books + Coffee = Happiness (Spotlight) https://bookscoffeehappiness.com/
Reads & Reels (Spotlight) http://readsandreels.com
August 19th
Rambling Mads (Review) http://ramblingmads.com
Liliyana Shadowlyn (Spotlight) https://lshadowlynauthor.com/

Book Tour Organized By:

Friday, April 16, 2021

Excerpt: Dogs of DevTown by Taylor Hohulin + giveaway

by Taylor Hohulin
April 16, 2021
Genre: Cyberpunk science fiction
Welcome to DevTown.

In this city, holo ads lumber like neon giants seeking advertising targets. Men and women pop Oracle tabs in search of relief or enlightenment or both. Creatures of unknown origin stalk the darkest alleys. In the center of it all, NexDev Tower looms over the city, home to hundreds of floors of top-secret research.

And in its shadow, Shan Hayes kills people for money.

Rejecting the mechanical enhancements so popular in DevTown, Shan needs only two things: The resynth serum that can reshape her body's entire cellular structure, and her hand-cannon containing a sentient parasite capable of converting her blood into weaponized wasps.

As a hired gun for various crime syndicates, there's little of the city's underbelly Shan hasn't encountered. But when a longtime business associate hires her to track down an underling who's vanished into the neon night, Shan finds DevTown still holds secrets more deadly and terrifying than anything she could imagine.


Excerpt
The target pauses, turns to look at Shan. Here in the alley, shadow swallows his face. Emerald neon reflects off his mirrorshades, but it’s not the only surface catching the soft glow. As he turns, light flashes around his knees and continues to his feet.

Mech legs.

As he stares her down through green-glinting shades, a hissing whine fills the alley. He turns just as the sound reaches a crescendo, and as it releases in a blast, he bounds away. The single leap carries him thirty feet, and the instant he lands, there’s another blast, carrying him another thirty feet.

The mech legs must have some sort of repulsor technology. Shan has heard of newer models which concentrate electromagnetic fields and use them to propel users at high velocities, but it doesn’t matter how his models work. Shan won’t catch him without enhancements of her own. There isn’t a single mech installed on her body, but she doesn’t need mechs. Not when she has resynth.

All these thoughts pass through her head in an instant. Before the target lands, Shan swallows a handful of CalPills. The large yellow capsules land in her stomach like a ton of bricks, but she needs the calories for what comes next. She slides a syringe from the clip on her belt and plunges the needle into her thigh.

She runs.

Resynth serum, that cocktail of proteins and viruses, floods her bloodstream, issuing commands to each cell it touches. The cells comply, transforming to accommodate the design coded into the serum. Heat ignites in her belly as the CalPills fuel the change. Shan’s joints rearrange, her muscles grow, her tendons expand and contract, reforming her body until she isn’t running, but galloping, using the force of four limbs to chase her target. She is more than human now. She is a predator, and her target is prey, no matter how much organic tissue he’s traded for metal.

Thanks to those mech legs, her target is fast, but she’s faster still. The pavement is cool and rough on her palms. The scents of DevTown sharpen as air rushes past her face. Her lips twist in a bitter smile. No hunt is complete without a chase.

--

A news report on the old flatscreen details another attack in another alley. In a dry voice with a matter-of-fact tone, the anchor narrates grainy footage of bone-thin men and women overwhelming a victim, mentions the growing trend of corpses covered in bite wounds. She relays the authorities’ promise to investigate the violence and provides a phone number for anyone with information to share.

“Literal zombies is what they are,” says the bartender, wiping a pint glass with a rag. “People comin’ back from the dead and bitin’ chunks outta folks.”

Shan grunts, but offers no comment. She doesn’t care what he thinks. Theories won’t improve the streets of DevTown, but that’s never stopped conversation at Infusion.

“Aw, not this again,” shouts a voice behind Shan. “We got no proof the shamblers ever died to begin with.”

Shamblers. It’s the term used by anyone unbound by journalistic integrity, referencing the clumsy way the attackers move.

“Every single one of ’em looks like a walkin’ corpse. Add the bite marks, and how they don’t seem to feel nothin’ when folks fight back, it makes perfect sense.” The bartender sets down the pint glass and leans into the bar. Slender mech fingers drum a staccato on old wood. “I bet it’s Oracle tabs makin’ people do it. Ever notice how many of those victims turn up in Tabber Alley?”

“Shut up,” says another voice. “Oracle can’t raise the dead.”

“You sure?” says the bartender. “Oracle’s the newest drug on the street. No one’s studyin’ it. Tabbers know what happens after they swallow, but what about after they die?”

The door to Infusion slams open. Shan glances over her shoulder, half-expecting to find a bone-white, withered corpse of a person. It would shamble in, fall upon one of Infusion’s patrons and bite into his neck, sucking everything out until the patron is twitching on the stained floor and the newcomer’s body bloats with fluid.

But that’s not what she sees. Instead, it’s three men. They’re pale, but not bleached white, and they certainly aren’t wasting away. Their arms are thick, their chests wide. As one, they stride up to the bar. There’s no sizing up the patrons, no scanning for dangerous characters. Each man’s gate is purposeful, fearless. One settles into a stool next to Shan, and the others wait behind him, snapping at the bartender for attention. After they order a round of drinks, an uneasy silence falls over Infusion. Nobody offers another opinion on Oracle tabs, nobody theorizes on the shamblers’ origin. Everyone stares at their glasses, but the bar’s collective focus centers on the newcomers.

“You Shan Hayes?” says one man. His voice is a dagger, piercing the silence and leaving a gaping wound in its wake.

“Who’s asking?”

The man’s lips quirk in a smile. “Heard we might find her here.”

Shan holds his stare, tracking his companions in the corner of her eye. One has shifted a hand inside his black trench coat; the other drifts sideways, flanking her. She doesn’t know who sent them, but they aren’t here for a friendly chat.

So Shan acts before they do. She throws an elbow back, sinking it into the gut of the man shifting behind her. As he grunts, more from surprise than pain, she keeps turning, spinning off her seat and using her other hand to snatch his glass of whiskey and hurl it at his companion in the stool beside her. He dodges the projectile, and it shatters in a spray of gold and glitter. That split second of hesitation is all she needs. She shuffles away until they’re in front of her, the bar at their backs. At least she’s not surrounded anymore.

The guy reaching into his jacket withdraws his hand to reveal a weapon. It’s not a gun or even a knife, though. This is a long black baton with ice blue spirals running up and down its length. He lunges at her, lifting the weapon over his head. Reckless.

With ease, she sidesteps the attack and throws herself into a counterstrike. Her knuckles crash into his jaw, but a jarring vibration runs from her wrist to her shoulder. He barely reacts to the perfectly placed blow, now whirling toward her. He even has the audacity to smile.

Of course. He’d used mechs to reinforce his bones. Not a terrible investment for someone on his career path.

The guy with the baton lurches toward her, and Shan reacts instantly. She grabs a syringe from her belt, plunges it into her thigh, and throws the empty canister at her attacker. He dodges, and she backs away, waiting for the serum to do its work.

The cells in her arms split, change, and die, burning calories at a rapid rate. Her stomach feels empty, and the emptiness spreads to her entire body as the serum demands more fuel.

Kim would not approve of this.

Shan forces herself to focus through the sudden hunger, the lightheadedness, the feverish disorientation. Her right arm has grown razor-sharp spines along the edge of the forearm, and her left has changed into a massive claw as hard as a diamond.

This time, when the guy swings at her, Shan plants her feet and blocks with her spiny forearm. His elbow catches on the fresh blades, and when she jerks her arm aside, it shreds his mech. The club rattles to the floor, but he stays upright. Synthetic skin hangs in ribbons around the ruined chrome. He sneers.

Shan sways where she stands, her body burning through calories at an unsustainable rate. She has to finish this. Without CalPills, she can’t hold this form long.

She launches herself at the man with the shredded arm, bringing the full weight of her claw into the crook of his neck. Now he falls, legs buckling under the force of her blow. The claw sinks into his shoulder. It isn’t heavy enough to sever an entire mech, but its serrations still cut partway through. Shan rips the claw free, and he collapses, twitching in the chaos of shorted and severed connections.

The clock is ticking. Shan’s growing weaker by the second.

She kicks a loose barstool at one attacker and lunges at the other. It’s a reckless move, but she doesn’t have the time to maneuver so there’s nobody behind her. She must rely on her own speed, hoping to finish one guy before the other recovers.

In the blink of an eye, she’s on top of her target. The spines on her forearm pierce flesh and tendons on his chest with ease, and when she tears the arm free, he gives a low, gurgling moan. Blood sprays a nearby table. Her stomach roars with hunger, and her head vibrates, but she can’t stop yet.

She whirls to face the last of them, but he’s ready for her. The barstool she kicked is his weapon now. He’s already mid-swing, and the seat catches her under the ear.

Darkness swallows her.

About the Author:
Website-FB -Twitter
Blog-Goodreads
Taylor Hohulin is a radio personality by morning, a science fiction author by afternoon, and asleep by 9:30. He is the author of The Marian Trilogy, Tar, Your Best Apocalypse Now, and other genre-bending stories. He lives in West Des Moines, Iowa with his wife, where they are owned by two cats and a dog.


Giveaway
$5 Amazon Gift Card + eBook Copy

Wednesday, March 17, 2021

Scifi Author Taylor Hohulin: The books that influenced Dogs of DevTown + giveaway

Stylized sci-fi, psychic internet, and genre blenders – 

I’ve never set out to write a book thinking “I really want to emulate [insert book I love here].” That said, once I finish a project, it becomes clear which stories and concepts were dancing in my head as I was planning and writing. Here are a few of my favorite science fiction books that helped shape my cyberpunk action mystery Dogs of DevTown.

Snow Crash by Neil Stephenson
It’s probably some sort of literary crime to write a cyberpunk novel without having read Snow Crash, but I was deep into my rough draft of Dogs of DevTown by the time I cracked this one. I instantly knew this was the kind of story I wanted to write. It’s so stylish and just relentlessly cool for no real reason except it’s cool. Does the main character need to be a master swordsman? Probably not. Does his main ally need to fly around the city on a sci-fi skateboard? I doubt it.

But is it all super fun and super cool? You bet.

That’s what I’m hoping the experience with Dogs of DevTown. Stylish, fun, and unrepentantly cool.

Rosewater by Tade Thompson
The concept of an immersive internet experience that you can drop into virtual reality-style a la The Matrix is nothing new to science fiction, but the way Tade Thompson handles it in Rosewater and the following books in the trilogy feels fresh. This “internet” manifests as a shared psychic space, rather than a series of hardwired ones and zeroes. He uses this concept to tell a truly unique alien invasion story while asking how consciousness, memories, and body interact to make a person who they are. I don’t go that deep into the rabbit hole in Dogs of DevTown, but there is a shared techno-psychic space called the Net that features prominently in the story.

Perdido Street Station by China Mieville
The least popular genre that I love the most is the New Weird fiction of authors like China Mieville, Jeff VanderMeer, and the like. There were books in the genre I read before Perdido Street Station, but none of them blew my mind quite like China Mieville’s urban fantasy/cyberpunk/near-horror epic. There was something really freeing about seeing an author tossing in elements from as many genres as possible. I’ve been chasing that experience with my books ever since.

Trail of Lightning by Rebecca Roanhorse
I’ve been really drawn to monster hunter stories lately. Give me a larger-than-life threat, make the only person who can stop it a conflicted hunter-for-hire with exciting tricks up their sleeves, and I’m all over it. To me, nobody’s topped Rebecca Roanhorse’s approach to that formula in her Sixth World books. It’s a Mad Max-type setting with monsters based in Navajo mythology, and heroes with what amount to superpowers based on their lineage. Dogs of DevTown isn’t exactly a monster hunting story, but it does have some larger-than-life threats, and an antihero with unexpected tricks up her sleeve.

by Taylor Hohulin 
April 16, 2021
Cyberpunk Science Fiction
179 pages
Welcome to DevTown.

In this city, holo ads lumber like neon giants seeking advertising targets. Men and women pop Oracle tabs in search of relief or enlightenment or both. Creatures of unknown origin stalk the darkest alleys. In the center of it all, NexDev Tower looms over the city, home to hundreds of floors of top-secret research.

And in its shadow, Shan Hayes kills people for money.

Rejecting the mechanical enhancements so popular in DevTown, Shan needs only two things: The resynth serum that can reshape her body's entire cellular structure, and her hand-cannon containing a sentient parasite capable of converting her blood into weaponized wasps.

As a hired gun for various crime syndicates, there's little of the city's underbelly Shan hasn't encountered. But when a longtime business associate hires her to track down an underling who's vanished into the neon night, Shan finds DevTown still holds secrets more deadly and terrifying than anything she could imagine.



The target pauses, turns to look at Shan. Here in the alley, shadow swallows his face. Emerald neon reflects off his mirrorshades, but it’s not the only surface catching the soft glow. As he turns, light flashes around his knees and continues to his feet.

Mech legs.

As he stares her down through green-glinting shades, a hissing whine fills the alley. He turns just as the sound reaches a crescendo, and as it releases in a blast, he bounds away. The single leap carries him thirty feet, and the instant he lands, there’s another blast, carrying him another thirty feet.

The mech legs must have some sort of repulsor technology. Shan has heard of newer models which concentrate electromagnetic fields and use them to propel users at high velocities, but it doesn’t matter how his models work. Shan won’t catch him without enhancements of her own. There isn’t a single mech installed on her body, but she doesn’t need mechs. Not when she has resynth.

All these thoughts pass through her head in an instant. Before the target lands, Shan swallows a handful of CalPills. The large yellow capsules land in her stomach like a ton of bricks, but she needs the calories for what comes next. She slides a syringe from the clip on her belt and plunges the needle into her thigh.

She runs.

Resynth serum, that cocktail of proteins and viruses, floods her bloodstream, issuing commands to each cell it touches. The cells comply, transforming to accommodate the design coded into the serum. Heat ignites in her belly as the CalPills fuel the change. Shan’s joints rearrange, her muscles grow, her tendons expand and contract, reforming her body until she isn’t running, but galloping, using the force of four limbs to chase her target. She is more than human now. She is a predator, and her target is prey, no matter how much organic tissue he’s traded for metal.

Thanks to those mech legs, her target is fast, but she’s faster still. The pavement is cool and rough on her palms. The scents of DevTown sharpen as air rushes past her face. Her lips twist in a bitter smile. No hunt is complete without a chase.
--

A news report on the old flatscreen details another attack in another alley. In a dry voice with a matter-of-fact tone, the anchor narrates grainy footage of bone-thin men and women overwhelming a victim, mentions the growing trend of corpses covered in bite wounds. She relays the authorities’ promise to investigate the violence and provides a phone number for anyone with information to share.

“Literal zombies is what they are,” says the bartender, wiping a pint glass with a rag. “People comin’ back from the dead and bitin’ chunks outta folks.”

Shan grunts, but offers no comment. She doesn’t care what he thinks. Theories won’t improve the streets of DevTown, but that’s never stopped conversation at Infusion.

“Aw, not this again,” shouts a voice behind Shan. “We got no proof the shamblers ever died to begin with.”

Shamblers. It’s the term used by anyone unbound by journalistic integrity, referencing the clumsy way the attackers move.

“Every single one of ’em looks like a walkin’ corpse. Add the bite marks, and how they don’t seem to feel nothin’ when folks fight back, it makes perfect sense.” The bartender sets down the pint glass and leans into the bar. Slender mech fingers drum a staccato on old wood. “I bet it’s Oracle tabs makin’ people do it. Ever notice how many of those victims turn up in Tabber Alley?”

“Shut up,” says another voice. “Oracle can’t raise the dead.”

“You sure?” says the bartender. “Oracle’s the newest drug on the street. No one’s studyin’ it. Tabbers know what happens after they swallow, but what about after they die?”

The door to Infusion slams open. Shan glances over her shoulder, half-expecting to find a bone-white, withered corpse of a person. It would shamble in, fall upon one of Infusion’s patrons and bite into his neck, sucking everything out until the patron is twitching on the stained floor and the newcomer’s body bloats with fluid.

But that’s not what she sees. Instead, it’s three men. They’re pale, but not bleached white, and they certainly aren’t wasting away. Their arms are thick, their chests wide. As one, they stride up to the bar. There’s no sizing up the patrons, no scanning for dangerous characters. Each man’s gate is purposeful, fearless. One settles into a stool next to Shan, and the others wait behind him, snapping at the bartender for attention. After they order a round of drinks, an uneasy silence falls over Infusion. Nobody offers another opinion on Oracle tabs, nobody theorizes on the shamblers’ origin. Everyone stares at their glasses, but the bar’s collective focus centers on the newcomers.

“You Shan Hayes?” says one man. His voice is a dagger, piercing the silence and leaving a gaping wound in its wake.

“Who’s asking?”

The man’s lips quirk in a smile. “Heard we might find her here.”

Shan holds his stare, tracking his companions in the corner of her eye. One has shifted a hand inside his black trench coat; the other drifts sideways, flanking her. She doesn’t know who sent them, but they aren’t here for a friendly chat.

So Shan acts before they do. She throws an elbow back, sinking it into the gut of the man shifting behind her. As he grunts, more from surprise than pain, she keeps turning, spinning off her seat and using her other hand to snatch his glass of whiskey and hurl it at his companion in the stool beside her. He dodges the projectile, and it shatters in a spray of gold and glitter. That split second of hesitation is all she needs. She shuffles away until they’re in front of her, the bar at their backs. At least she’s not surrounded anymore.

The guy reaching into his jacket withdraws his hand to reveal a weapon. It’s not a gun or even a knife, though. This is a long black baton with ice blue spirals running up and down its length. He lunges at her, lifting the weapon over his head. Reckless.

With ease, she sidesteps the attack and throws herself into a counterstrike. Her knuckles crash into his jaw, but a jarring vibration runs from her wrist to her shoulder. He barely reacts to the perfectly placed blow, now whirling toward her. He even has the audacity to smile.

Of course. He’d used mechs to reinforce his bones. Not a terrible investment for someone on his career path.

The guy with the baton lurches toward her, and Shan reacts instantly. She grabs a syringe from her belt, plunges it into her thigh, and throws the empty canister at her attacker. He dodges, and she backs away, waiting for the serum to do its work.

The cells in her arms split, change, and die, burning calories at a rapid rate. Her stomach feels empty, and the emptiness spreads to her entire body as the serum demands more fuel.

Kim would not approve of this.

Shan forces herself to focus through the sudden hunger, the lightheadedness, the feverish disorientation. Her right arm has grown razor-sharp spines along the edge of the forearm, and her left has changed into a massive claw as hard as a diamond.

This time, when the guy swings at her, Shan plants her feet and blocks with her spiny forearm. His elbow catches on the fresh blades, and when she jerks her arm aside, it shreds his mech. The club rattles to the floor, but he stays upright. Synthetic skin hangs in ribbons around the ruined chrome. He sneers.

Shan sways where she stands, her body burning through calories at an unsustainable rate. She has to finish this. Without CalPills, she can’t hold this form long.

She launches herself at the man with the shredded arm, bringing the full weight of her claw into the crook of his neck. Now he falls, legs buckling under the force of her blow. The claw sinks into his shoulder. It isn’t heavy enough to sever an entire mech, but its serrations still cut partway through. Shan rips the claw free, and he collapses, twitching in the chaos of shorted and severed connections.

The clock is ticking. Shan’s growing weaker by the second.

She kicks a loose barstool at one attacker and lunges at the other. It’s a reckless move, but she doesn’t have the time to maneuver so there’s nobody behind her. She must rely on her own speed, hoping to finish one guy before the other recovers.

In the blink of an eye, she’s on top of her target. The spines on her forearm pierce flesh and tendons on his chest with ease, and when she tears the arm free, he gives a low, gurgling moan. Blood sprays a nearby table. Her stomach roars with hunger, and her head vibrates, but she can’t stop yet.

She whirls to face the last of them, but he’s ready for her. The barstool she kicked is his weapon now. He’s already mid-swing, and the seat catches her under the ear.

Darkness swallows her.

About the Author:
Website-FB-Twitter
Blog-Goodreads
Taylor Hohulin is a radio personality by morning, a science fiction author by afternoon, and asleep by 9:30. He is the author of The Marian Trilogy, Tar, Your Best Apocalypse Now, and other genre-bending stories. He lives in West Des Moines, Iowa with his wife, where they are owned by two cats and a dog.

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