Post-cyberpunk Novels & Stories

I'll just need it when I need to go out of this room. I'm just thinking, what if, I didn't leave early that day? Maybe, my father were still here and I'll wouldn't need that baton because I've still my eyes. And, I couldn't kill anyone just because its dark. Thinking about it makes me want to blame myself. But still, I can't go back in the past. There's no way to be back at the past and change my faith. Should I just accept that it really meant to happen? Must I need to forget everything and just live in the present?

Was it worth sacrificing my own values for a twisted desire for revenge? As evening descended, I settled into a cozy corner of my living room, seeking solace in my personal hobbies. I picked up a book, hoping its pages would transport me to a world far removed from my own. But as I read, my mind wandered, weaving the plot of my own dark narrative. The characters on the page melded with the faces of Alpha and Freya, their interactions morphing into scenarios of discord that I longed to orchestrate.

The vampire said in a sickly sweet tone and the human inched closer to him. “Yes, that is it. Don't be afraid of me. I just want to taste your blood and if it was good I will spare your life.” The male swallowed and stood before the vampire, shaking, and offered him his neck. The vampire male chuckled and took his hand instead. He opened his mouth and instead of two sets of fangs, there were rows and rows of sharp teeth. I shuddered involuntarily. He was a tainted one. A supernatural who was deformed, because of the virus and the poisonous shit the governments had unleashed in the world.

Meph follows the sound by instinct, only to notice his new tattoo — the black little snake around his wrist — is glowing red, projecting a hologram of a game panel right above its little snake head, one that moves along with his movements. The panel looks like an old fashioned computer screen. Lines of green words over a pitch black background. Ugly as hell. There is really no need for the angels to localize the trial to the first glimpse they took on the human civilization. Such a weird combination of magic and ancient computer tech is like seeing a tissue section of the failed civilization that ran itself into extinction. Lines of words fly up on the screen, pushing the previous line up as

​The betrayal didn't taste like digital ash; it tasted like iron. ​As the "Actual Author" faded into the grey static of the un-rendered penthouse, the world of 2026 Manhattan collapsed like a cheap stage set. The smell of the expensive scotch and the cool Hudson breeze were replaced by the sterile, humming vacuum of a Tier-5 Data Fortress.

She waved her hand, summoning a holographic terminal directly over the bed. "Show me," Scarlett commanded. The hologram flickered, displaying a heavily corrupted video feed. It wasn't a pristine, white-jade cultivation realm, nor was it the green earth. It was a sprawling, suffocating megacity built entirely out of dark metal and illuminated by blinding, toxic neon signs. It looked like a cyberpunk nightmare. In the center of the video, a young woman with a mechanical, cybernetic arm and glowing, artificial Qi-meridians wired into her spine was running through a rain-slicked, neon-lit alleyway. She was bleeding glowing blue coolant.

"The 'Atmosphere' does not recognize concepts. It only recognizes 'Gas-Exchange.' The Sovereigns are 'Carbon-Positive.' The Symmetrics are 'Carbon-Negative.' The 'Math' is failing. To save the 'World-Brain,' we must 'Disconnect-the-Limbs.'" Avery realized the terrifying reality of the "Post-Scarcity" world: The more "Perfect" the system became, the less "Tolerance" it had for any deviation. The Garden was so optimized that a single wood-fire in Detroit was a "System-Error." "We need a 'Hybrid-Standard,'" Avery said, her mind racing through the 150,000 words of history she had lived. "We need something that isn't the 'Symmetry' and isn't the 'Silence.' We need the 'Third-Integration.'"

Georgia and Danial's pas de deux display dominance, deprivation, and dread. I watch with a sense of euphoria. I am transfixed at how they can be able to look so scabby. Their march around the dead forest displays a sense of primality. And such movements exhumes their inhumanity. The eyes bursts into different reds, purples, and greens. The right side of the forest is completely dim as the sprites are oblivious to the awaking of such beings. However, the blooms reopen and Summer III conclude with the monsters meeting the sprites.

"Cass, after the annulment, I want us to get married immediately and then transfer to the house that I have renovated outside the city. I will show you the place next year if you want." Following his order, Cassandra tightened up her seatbelt and heard the plans of the lawyer which she assented by nodding her head. It's been a long while since they last ate together since they always have their son as a company. The night is still young, the stars are just starting to show themselves in a cloudless but cold evening, reminding the people who are out for a walk or for dining or just roaming around that in the morning, the rain came and washes away the dust accumulated by the pollution which is

My fingers moved on instinct as I logged into an account I knew as well as my own reflection. Patricia Dawson. The screen refreshed, and my breath caught. Thousands of messages flooded in with condolences, tributes, strangers and acquaintances alike wishing me to rest in peace. Like I was dead, oh if only they knew... I stared at the screen for a single, dangerous second. Then I typed… I’ll be back. You’d all better wait for me. I didn’t reread it. I didn’t hesitate. I posted. I logged out, shut down the computer, and stood up.