Novel & Cerita Pulp Fiction Dead Storage

The number of dismantled Civil War-era corpses piled up in the storage unit was a testament to Papa Nightmare’s lack of military acumen. Roo and Fernández had pushed the zombies out of the storage unit once. After dismembering the initial attackers, they’d used Roo’s truck as a tank, ramming anything wearing blue or grey. The vehicle had given its life for the two men and the soon-to-be-awakened Golem. Riddled with a couple dozen bullet holes, steam rose from the deceased engine. Two tires had been summarily shredded by nineteenth-century weapons fire, and the zombies were lining up for a final push. Papa Nightmare might have been inexperienced, but he learned fast.

Diro said. But Maurice was already swiping to accept the call. He put it on speaker. A voice came through. Male. Unfamiliar to Beverly. Cold and professionally neutral. "Mr. Maurice Reed?" "Yes." "This is a courtesy call. Your evidence cache at the storage facility on Riverside Drive was located and destroyed seventeen minutes ago. Fire. Very thorough. Nothing survived." Maurice's face went white. "Your backup cache at the law office of Morrison and Associates was accessed twelve minutes ago. All files deleted. Hard drives removed."

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.

—old-fashioned wooden chairs and rusted bicycles that had been deleted decades ago. "This isn't just a dumpster," Dr. Vance said, her eyes wide as she scanned the horizon. She was the one who had started all of this, the woman who had sold the first algorithm to the corporation. "This is the 'Cold Storage.' It’s where they put the things that are too complex to delete but too dangerous to keep in the main server. Every failed experiment, every 'Sentient Bug,' every character that gained a conscience... they’re all out there." --- ## Chapter 62: The King of the Forgotten

' Serena, stripped of my support, went bankrupt. This was her intended ending anyway, so I felt no pity for her. As for Lark, without the abilities I bought for her, she died at the hands of her stepmother. The system was ruthless to the core. Before she died, she told her she was only good with the gun because of the purchase I made. Her lips moved, but she never managed to even say the words, "I'm sorry." Still, I no longer cared for their apologies. Finally, the system transferred my last reward. Two billion.

I profit from the dying. My warehouse is in Shadwell, near the docks. Far enough from human traffic that bodies coming and going don't raise questions. Close enough to supernatural activity that I'm convenient. The newest arrival is werewolf. Male, maybe thirty, dead two days. Silver poisoning from the smell. Someone stabbed him with a silver blade and left him to die slow. Packless, judging by the lack of pack scent. No one to avenge him, no one to claim the body. Perfect for my purposes.

He signed emergency documents with a steady hand, but every time someone mentioned the eighteen thousand dollars, his pen stopped. Eighteen thousand. A number small enough for them to invent. A number large enough to kill me. Adrian lasted three days before he went back to the basement apartment. He went alone. The place looked exactly as I had left it: the folding table pushed against the wall, a chipped bowl in the sink, my work shoes by the door with one heel repaired in tape. In the drawer beneath the hot plate, he found coupons, clinic flyers, and the Christmas card I had bought on clearance but never gave him.

"I want the whole world to know that even if you were an illegitimate son, you're still worthy of the real luminescent pearl, while Elliot was only ever fit to wear a fake." A bitter smile curled at the edges of my lips. By now, the fake luminescent pearl was probably covered in maggots. In the next second, someone stumbled into the venue, screaming, "Ms. Ashford, this is bad! Emilia just stormed the cemetery and dug Mr. Elliot out of the ground. Mr. Elliot is dead!"

It sounded thrilled… hungry… entertained. I didn’t feel entertained. In front of me, 0269—who only a few hours ago had punched a man unconscious to save me, who had sat on my bunk and talked like we were… something not quite friends but not enemies—turned to dust. Just like that. One heartbeat she was standing there, eyes huge with disbelief, lips slightly parted, shoulders still tensed like she was preparing to attack again. The next heartbeat, her body began to crumble. A soft cracking sound, like the first break in thin ice over a lake, slipped through the air.

Vincent declared, looking at Charles, clearly expecting him to argue back. "Sabrina and I have different aspirations and specializations. What's the point of comparing?" Charles shot back defensively. "Sabrina is more talented than you, which is why you manipulated her into switching majors. She was originally one of the best in her field!" Vincent reiterated. I watched as Charles's composure began to crack. His jaw clenched tightly. "So, what are you getting at? What does this have to do with Sabrina's death?" "Of course it's related," Vincent replied, producing a few blurry photos. "These show your purchase records for the oil, along with your chat logs with Arianna. You were the one who l