Beneath The Neon Book Mga Nobela at Kwento

Prologue: Neon Veins Zacian POV The penthouse perched like a crown atop the Bellagio, its glass walls framing the Vegas sprawl below. It was a glittering beast pulsing with stolen light. I stood at the edge, hands braced on the cool rail, feeling the city's heartbeat thrumming up through the soles of my polished loafers. Neon veins snaked through the dark, marking the Strip's eternal carnival, a river of vice where fortunes flipped like cards in a rigged deck.

Thаt must mеаn thаt mу tасtіс оf nоt rеѕіѕtіng thе drugѕ is working, оr maybe I аm trulу broken аnd I just dоn’t knоw іt уеt. I mаdе a lіѕt оf mу оbѕеrvаtіоnѕ at the back оf thіѕ bооk. It has everything I know about Nеоn’ѕ thugs. If уоu’rе reading this, please add to thе list wіth the thіngѕ you fіnd оut about thеm.

She yelled. His moan matched hers, and the room filled with both their moans. Neon turned around to leave since they didn't notice his presence. He had just walked in on his best friend's mother, and he felt bad. His leg mistakenly kicked a pile of books arranged on the ground. The book fell over, making enough noise to alert the lovers. Neon glanced back, horrified that he had been caught staring. Evelyn was looking at him; her cheeks were flushed red. The man was still thrusting in and out without sparing him a glance.

Oakhaven glittered beneath the sunset—beautiful, arrogant, alive. A city completely unaware it was living through its final peaceful spring. Nebula lounged across the mahogany table beside me like a miniature emperor overseeing the collapse of civilization. His sleek black tail flicked lazily back and forth while his emerald eyes reflected the storm of notifications illuminating my screen. “The hornets’ nest has officially been poked, Host,” Nebula purred smugly inside my head. “And look at them swarm.” I swiped open the first article.

Neo-Vegas wasn't a city; it was a circuit board built of glass and sin. As we rode through the massive holographic gates, the air changed. The radioactive stench of the waste was replaced by the sterile, recycled air of a pressurized dome. Neon lights towered sixty stories high, not advertising casinos or hotels, but processing power. "UPLOAD YOUR DEBT," one sign flashed in blinding pink. "ETERNAL LIFE IN THE CLOUD," promised another in jagged green.

Come pick a bouquet from these Flowers in a Dumpster. Eidolon Avenue: The First Feast by Jonathan Winn—where the secretly guilty go to die. All thrown into their own private hell as every cruel choice, every deadly mistake, every drop of spilled blood is remembered, resurrected and relived to feed the ancient evil that lives on Eidolon Avenue. Through a Mirror, Darkly by Kevin Lucia—Are there truths within the books we read? What if the book delves into the lives of the very town you live in? People you know? Or thought you knew. These are the questions a bookstore owner face when a mysterious book shows up.

A lock on the front. She pulled out the key. Her hands were already warm. She put the key in the lock and turned it. The box opened. Inside wrapped in cloth folded with careful deliberate hands was a book. Small. Dark cover. Worn smooth at the corners from hands that had held it often. The same symbol from the necklace stamped into the leather. She lifted it out. Opened it. The first page had one line written at the top. Third of March. Grimwall is colder than I expected.

"The Synthetic Gods are falling! The cage is broken!" A roar, tentative at first, but rapidly swelling into a deafening tsunami of pure, long-suppressed rage, erupted from the underground. Millions of cyber-cultivators, realizing their souls were just batteries for a false heaven, poured out of the alleys, dive bars, and sweatshops. They didn't have orbital cannons, but they had plasma-cutters, mining lasers, and sheer numbers. The Neon Rebellion had begun. But Caleb and Scarlett weren't watching the streets. They were looking up.

Three Years Later. Neo-Verde, Sector 7. The rain on Neo-Verde was artificial, a programmed cleansing of the city’s carbon-filtered air. It fell in precise, shimmering sheets between the neon-lit canyon walls of the megastructures, turning the endless streams of hover-vehicle lights into smears of color on the wet permacrete.

Picked up her book. "Done?" Neo asked quietly. "Done," Irina said. He nodded. He returned to his papers and Irina was held once again by the library's quiet, steady light before she turned a page she hadn't read, and breathed, and let it be over.