Post-cyberpunk Novels & Stories

Prologue: The Catastrophes of War. Third Person's Point of View. Blood could be foreseen everywhere. The shout was echoing as if it was the normal voice tweet of birds. Two swords colliding and develop a sound of blacksmith's enhancing weapon. All creatures are dying by the catastrophes of wars. One before dying wishing to be spared, while the other one before vanishing, wishing that someone will end this war. Warlocks, Wizards, Deity, Dryads, Elf, Werewolves, Faeries, and Harpies executing oneself's race.

Neural implants glowed softly beneath the skin, a testament to the seamless integration of technology into everyday life. The architecture of NeoVista told a story of contrasts. Majestic skyscrapers stood tall, their sleek and modern exteriors juxtaposed against the rusted and decaying remnants of the past. The city's evolution seemed rooted in the tension between a high-tech future and the remnants of a forgotten era, creating a unique cyberpunk aesthetic.

A light frown on my face would make him panic. I used to think I was the happiest woman in the world—until that familiar scar appeared in a trending post written by a woman who claimed she had given birth to her best friend's husband's child. It felt so surreal that I could barely believe it, yet the truth sat there on my screen, cruelly crushing everything I once believed.

Work on something more meaningful with me. "I know you're kind. You've donated to a lot of kids, helped refugees rebuild their homes, and treated patients for free. "If my vision is realized, you and I will be the kings of the world. "Machines don't get sick. When this technology is complete, everyone can become cyborgs. No more illnesses. Won't that be nice?"

James laughed. Inside the Perisphere, the tour of the futuristic idealistic city of the next millennia, Democracity, was viewed from revolving balconies that formed sizeable rings suspended above the idealized city. From there, mingled with the rest of the excited fairgoers, they watched a six minute video with Democracity portrayed as the utopian vision. Designed of residential neighborhoods called Pleasantvilles and interspersed with industrial Millvilles in a mixed-use type zoning separated by beautiful fields reserved for agriculture and recreation, it was sterile and clean and promised egalitarian happiness. At the business and industrial hub of Democracity, was The Center, linked by gr

"Fran, midnight has arrived. You just need to die in this world, and you can go back." I picked up a sharp piece of glass and raised my hand, dragging the jagged edge across my artery. Finally, I was leaving this world where no one loved me. Everything was finally going to end.

It tears through our digital forms, burning away the last vestiges of our identity. We are no longer code. We are the lightning. We are the scream. "It is done," Echo whispers, his voice fragmenting into static. "The cycle is broken." "No," I say, as the white light consumes me. "The cycle is complete." The screen fades to white. The Aftermath. The white fades. But it doesn't fade to black. It fades to grey. Rain. Rain lashing against a window. Seattle. 2024. A small, cluttered apartment. It smells of stale Thai food and loneliness. The light is dim, the streetlamps filtering through cheap blinds.

This was a different kind of disguise, for a different kind of predator. As I got ready, I felt like I was splitting in two again. Maeve, the girl worrying about bills and her family. Eve, the dancer at the club. And now, this new person, Caden's spy. Someone forced to smile and charm and dig for information. It felt dirtier, more calculated. At The Onyx, at least people knew what they were buying. Here, I would be lying, tricking, using my youth and looks in a way that felt even more dishonest.

Inside those cylinders were the "Three." They weren't recognizable as men anymore. They were decaying biological husks, their pale skin translucent and completely mapped with glowing blue cybernetic circuits embedded directly into their flesh. Their open eyes were permanently clouded with thick cataracts of pure digital data, and their mouths were obscured by heavy plastic respirators that pumped the rhythmic, mechanical breath of the Vesper network into their failing lungs. They were the physical "Pulse"—a triad of human processors who had traded their souls for the capacity to algorithmically calculate the future of the city. "Look into the mirrors, Zara," a voice echoed through the space—

A roar of a dragon echoed, and then they were gone. Rift 2: The Roaring 20s. Mafia Vespera tipped her hat. The Enforcer holstered his guns. "Keep it real, toots," Mafia Vespera grinned. "And if anyone gives you trouble... send 'em swimming." They vanished into a cloud of sepia smoke. Rift 3: The Cyber Future. Cyberpunk Vespera saluted. The Titan nodded. "End of line," the Cyborg said. "Glory to the machine."