District 9 Book Novels & Stories

Nora When I first arrive at my destination, I feel like a drunk stumbling from place to place. First into the right parking lot, then to the right old colonial/Victorian-looking mansion. Then it’s a mad dash into the basement, and to whatever part of that basement holds the The Velvet Accord.

I dump my bag on the floor and read through the shelf while pulling books out and mumble as I go. ‘Even a book can be dangerous in the wrong hands.’ ‘Ignite.’ ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here.’ ‘You’ll make bad choices. Sometimes you’ll choose the best of bad ones.’ ‘Tuesday is Fucked.’ ‘Everything’s a game. And now it’s your turn.’ I have a stack of about 10 books before I abruptly stop. "Next isle." I say and we walk up and down the library isles. I climb and jump to get books off of shelves and Aidan has to catch me a couple of times when I fell.

I mutter before heading over to the staircase. “You Peters and Trundle?” I ask of the two men I didn't recognise. “Yeah.” “I'm west, just the three of us going up.” I state. “Okay then. You have family here West?” One of them asks and I nod. “My parents.” “Mine too, I expect this is going to difficult,” “That's probably an understatement.” The other states and I glance back at the dead on the ground floor, yeah. The top floor was overcrowded to say the least people occupied almost every square foot of space, crammed into cells and stood along the landing eyeing the ground floor with fearful expressions and I reminded myself that most of these people had never seen a dead before never mind th

Watch out for “Striking Blow.” (Strike Zone Book #2) This is Pearl and Antonio’s story. Filled with international intrigue and subterfuge. Striking Blow Colombo. Sri Lanka. Pearl needed directions—a map—a freaking GPS back to herself. Finding her worth again meant starting with a physical transformation. For starters, the blonde princess staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t real, and it was time to pack “socialite barbie” away in a dark drawer; time to step away from the two-hundred-dollar haircut and her designer lifestyle.

A familiar, affectionate voice jerked him from his half-conscious state of mind. "Nothing." He lied, looking around at his surroundings. Hashmuk had booked the top-most floor of the hotel. Glass walls surrounded the room, and he could see the beautiful view of the city from where he was standing. He smiled and turned to thank him. "Before thanking me, share with me what you were thinking earlier." "You were lost, and I kept on talking to myself." Hashmuk demanded, pushing him against the glassy walls so that his shaft would press against his ass.

She's nice about it, giving me a look of pity before scanning my boarding pass and motioning me down the hall. I clamber down the aisle of the plane-this one much larger than the one I just vacated-covered in sweat, face beet red, and panting like I just ran a marathon. I do the walk of shame to row twenty-one as people make disparaging remarks about my disheveled look and my inability to plan more time between flights. By the way, I did not book this flight. It was booked for me. I'm embarrassed, thirsty, and need to change clothes, but relieved I made it. That is, until I find my seat, put my suitcase in the overhead compartment, and plop my tired ass down next to the most beautiful man I

Not yet. “No,” I said quietly. “Not until I see the East District myself.” --- Later that night… The East District was barely lit, shadows swallowing the alleyways as our small group moved carefully between buildings. The scent of smoke and old blood hung in the air. Children huddled in corners. Mothers dragged them indoors at the first sign of movement. There were no soldiers. No patrols. Only fear. A small girl with tangled hair peeked out from a half-burned doorway, clutching a worn-out doll to her chest. She stared at me—not with awe, not with fear, but with hollow eyes that asked a single, silent question:

Pulsing with the rhythm of her heartbeat. The code flashed beneath the surface like a living signal. An impossible signal. One location. One forbidden destination. A place no one in the world dared mention openly. The true center of the Wall Street power network. District Nine. The Forbidden Zone.

“There’s a supermarket and a few restaurants downstairs. The subway station is about a five-minute walk to the right. If you need anything, contact me anytime.” “Thank you, Cecilia.” “Don’t thank me too quickly.” She walked to the door before turning back around. “The Anderson family doesn’t keep useless people around. The value of what you brought depends on what value you can create for us next.” After the door closed, the room fell silent. I stood by the window and looked at the scattered ship lights across the ocean in the distance. Suddenly, I had a sense of unreality. Just over ten hours ago, I had still been trapped inside that gilded cage in Corholt, ordered around by a man who treat

"I am the Adrian who opened the Ninth Cipher." His heartbeat stopped. "No." "That never happened." The older Adrian nodded. "Not in your history." "But history has been rewritten many times." The reflection raised one hand. The surface of the compass transformed into another vision. An enormous city stretched beneath a sky filled with floating books. Its towers reached into the clouds. Children laughed through streets lined with silver trees. The Nine Doors stood open. No darkness. No war. No fear. Adrian stared in disbelief. "What place is this?" "The world that almost survived."