Dense Marrow Cyberpunk Novels & Stories

"No way. Fuck that third floor. That's for addicts and whores. We're neither, not yet at least. Later, bro." "Later." Drake hung up and dropped the phone into his bag. Kadia was the hottest night club in all of New York. Getting in was going to be a bitch, unless you were a DeMarco or a Castaletta. Good thing Drake was both.

“How so?“ Arthur leaned back on his chair, awaiting whatever reasons he had for calling him absurd. “For starters? You've never been seen with any female. That includes humans and animals. You avoid that gender like they were some plague.“ Arthur tensed at that. His eyes flickered at the emotions that welled up in them. Richard waited for any arguments but Arthur had none. Richard was right. He avoided female company. And yeah, they were the worst plagues. Stacie was living proof. “Good.“ Richard nodded satisfactorily at Arthur's lack of words. “Another absurdity is the fact that you live in an apartment. “ “And what the heck is wrong with that?“ “Everything, man. You're a billionaire. The B

Norman wiped his tears. "Tom, to be honest, I don't have money now!... It's getting difficult for me to hide and get her treatment with whatever I am left with now... I came to you because you are my friend but I don't know how to manage further." Tom sighed. "Man, I understand... But you need to understand that Aurora's condition is worse... She has lost herself, now she is more of her second personality... It's like her brain is trying to avoid the pain she is inflicting on herself, it's helping Aura to stay and Aurora is getting lost... Since last week, this is the first time Aurora has come out that too when we forced her to come out... She is lost and it's serious!... You might be feeli

Dead-universe energy flowed through half-built corridors, and the Principal Creditor's transformed consciousness served as both architect and foundation. The Market was strange and beautiful. Stalls made of compressed twilight sold goods from dead universes. Corridors of crystallized probability connected wings that operated under different physical laws. And everywhere, the ambient hum of commerce, the oldest and most persistent human invention, filled the dimensional pocket with a warmth that even the dead-universe entities found comforting. The Hollowsmith's shop was at the Market's center. It was, Jack noted with grudging appreciation, the best location in the entire facility.

"You did it," Alex Henry said, her tone devoid of surprise, a hint of a smile working its way around her lips as Sama Arthur entered the cavernous, dark room. Low, low-grade energy resonated in the air, overwhelmingly different from the mute despondency Sama'd departed at Dean Wason's domain. Ozone and blood-stained metallic from a bygone era filled the air. "Dickson told you'd be here by dawn. Always was a glass-half-full kind of guy."Sama Arthur nodded, her gaze scanning the huge room. It was a derelict underground bunker, a hangover from some bygone industrial era, now reused. Ragtag workstations rimmed the walls, glowing screens casting an unnatural light on the unfamiliar faces of stran

Lanie The world rematerialized as a barren wasteland before me. Canyons and pits were filled with torture devices. Cries of pain filled the air, making my whole body shudder. I could see black hooded creatures, horned demons, and tortured souls dotting the landscape. There were lava pits, spikes, and spires with bodies strapped onto them being stabbed repeatedly.

The "Black Bloom" did more than just rewrite the city’s DNA; it rewrote the physics of the war. In the wake of the Great Edit, the Gutter was no longer a collection of rusted tenements. It was a dark, pulsing thicket of obsidian-laced vines that resonated with the frequency of the Aether-Core. The Directorate’s scanners couldn't see the streets anymore; to the satellites in the exosphere, Neo-Tokyo looked like a dead, light-absorbing crater, a "Ghost-City."

carbon—a material that shouldn't exist in the "Dead-Zone." "This isn't a 'Silo', Dad," Thomas said, his "Independent" curiosity "Indexing" the "Mechanical" seams of the door. "This is a 'Crossover' point. It’s built with 'Sovereign' tech, but the 'Source-Code' on the panel is... different."

Outside, the city was a wash of cold gray mist, but inside, the temperature was stifling. Damien Blackwood stood shirtless in front of a bank of humming, liquid-cooled servers, the harsh blue light of the monitors cutting across the hard, scarred planes of his chest and back. Drops of water still clung to his dark hair from their frantic, wet escape through the municipal drainage shafts, tracking slowly down his collarbone and disappearing beneath the waistband of his low-slung, dark trousers. His skin was still flushed, radiating a violent, restless energy that he couldn't quite shake.

Chapter 140: The Sovereign Marrow The interior of the capital's central cooling district did not look like a workshop of the living; it was a subterranean cathedral of industrial slaughter. Rows of towering, vertical brass boilers stretched sixty feet into the vaulted stone ceilings, each one jacketed in thick plates of dark green cast iron and wrapped in networks of glowing copper pipes. Through the narrow glass viewing slits of the primary pressurized tanks, a thick, luminescent arterial-red sludge bubbled without heat. It was the stolen marrow of the Lycan ancestors—the Primal Well—forced into a perpetual state of chemical degradation to stabilize the high-velocity steam-engines that powe