The server room hummed like a trapped insect, its fluorescent lights flickering in rhythm with the heartbeat of the machines. Marcus Voss adjusted his glasses, the plastic frames digging into his nose as he stared at the screen. The data…
## The Algorithm’s Harvest The dust tasted like regret. Elara spat, wiping her mouth with a calloused hand. Sun hammered the Oklahoma fields, shimmering on brittle stalks of wheat – a pathetic yield compared to last year. Data scrolled across…
## Ghost Data The rain tasted like exhaust and regret. Reynar pulled his collar higher, the damp wool clinging uncomfortably against his neck. Neon signs bled colors onto the slick pavement of downtown Seattle, a garish distraction from the task…
## The Bloom Weaver Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight slicing through the grimy window. Old Man Tiber, they called him, though he couldn’t have been more than sixty, lived in the husk of what used to be…
The rain in New Seattle tasted like static. It slicked the neon signs of Lower Meridian and drummed a persistent rhythm against the corrugated iron roofs. I gripped the damp edge of the Skywalk, my boots kicking up a spray…
The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of O’Malley’s Bait & Tackle, a relentless percussion that mirrored the anxiety thrumming beneath Silas’ skin. He wiped condensation from his worn baseball cap, letting it fall back into place with a…