Novel & Cerita Blacklight Bingo

Not seeing them, he followed Marcus down to the basement. "We set up something we're calling the Blackout," Marcus said as they walked down the stairs. "We curtained off areas between mine and Greg's rooms. We're pulling names from a hat, matching up random guys and girls for ten minutes of make-out time in the dark. The way it's set up, you never get to see who you're paired with." "Huh," Julian said. "Sounds like it could be alright." "Yeah, it's been quite a hit," Marcus said, opening the door and dragging Julian into the waiting area. "Mostly kissing and groping, but a few guys said they got sucked off for a couple minutes. I'll put your name in."

Dad grabbed the nurse, throwing her out of the room alongside himself. "Well-done, Emily, you have accomplished your mission." A sinister scent emerged, a wicked laugh echoing across the room. The once blue sky was now a mixture of black and white with the moon reflecting its radiant image. Wails filled the air as a ray of light fell from the sky, hitting a mountain on the other side of town. I groaned, wincing as my hand was scorched by the flaming book. The pages settled, words in red appearing on the pages. "Strigoi, Nosferatu, Jiangshi…"

Black Card #0721 activated. A shadowed figure smiled. "Finally."

ASHTON Against my misguided judgment, my ‘run into things without thinking it through’ attitude, we go back to the complex giving me more time to prepare. Black Lagoon is the shadiest underground club in Moss Creek. Admission is tough to get and those who enter don’t always come out the same…or come out at all.

"Initiate the Blackout Protocol. If they want to audit me, let’s see how they do it in the dark." Suddenly, every light in the county—the porch light, the SUV's sensors, even the distant town's glow—died. The only thing left was the bioluminescent blue pulsing from the "Chronicle" on the Traveler’s arm in the distance, and the terrifying, silent scream of a mother ready to kill for her child.

Outside, lightning split the sky. And somewhere in the city, Marcus Blackwell smiled in the dark, watching the rain streak down the glass of his penthouse window. “Let the game begin,” he whispered.

I find a table in the very back corner, tucked behind a big stone pillar. It’s perfect. It’s dark. It’s invisible. I sit down and open my book—a worn copy of Theoretical Astrophysics. I hide the cover behind a paper bag. If people knew the creepy janitor was reading about black holes, they’d only find a new way to mock me. I take a bite of my apple, my eyes scanning the room. Across the hall, the Knights' table is a scream of noise and gold. They sit in the middle, lit up by the tall gothic windows. Alan Voss is at the head of the table, looking like a king carved out of ice and ink.

“Exactly. They released their legend in order to make money. But this wealth gathering scheme is not one centered around the name ‘Lightning King’. Sure the name of the legend is enough to draw in many to the underground arena; but the underground arena has limited seating. Sure, it is a large fighting arena capable of seating ten thousand. But that’s the thing. Every big fight is enough to fill the arena. They don’t need the Lightning King for that. So why call him out?” “Hmm,” the white man thought silently for a few seconds. His black friend was quiet during this period. He didn’t say anything or make any noise for fear of interrupting his friend’s thought process and soon, his patience w

His hands rested on his knees, gripping them tightly, as he struggled to steady his breaths. A black card lay before him on the ground, its surface adorned with bold, gold letters spelling out the unmistakable ‘S.’ The infamous Blacklist card—a harbinger of impending doom, signifying that the person who received it was about to endure the worst week, if not year, of their life. A tradition created by the alphas of the Shadowblood Territory. If anyone dared to offend alphas of Shadowblood territory, that person’s name appeared on the blacklist that was displayed on a big, glowing sign.

“Good. Let them know we see them. Let them know their glass prison is now a fishbowl, and I am the piranha. I am done playing spy games in the shadows of my own home. This is my territory. My rules. If they want a war of attrition, of whispers, I will give them a war of annihilation. In the light.” He moved to his desk, activating a secure line. “Eleanor? Initiate ‘Cicada.’ Yes, now. Full protocol. Authorisation Rogers-Alpha-Zero-Nine. And get me the head of Blacklight Solutions. I want a physical sweep team here in ninety minutes. Tell them to bring hardware. The kind that makes a mess.”