The Viral Underclass Novels & Stories

"Enough to give me enhanced speed and strength, minor compulsion abilities, and a serious aversion to garlic. Not enough to require blood or combust in sunlight. I'm basically vampire-lite." "We're the outcasts," Alex said, settling at the table with their lunch. "The in-between people who don't fit neatly into any category. Too supernatural for humans, too different for traditional packs." "The Underground," I said, remembering the name. "The Underground," they confirmed. "Founded three years ago when we realized we were all hiding similar secrets and could benefit from mutual support." "What exactly do you do?" I asked, sitting down with the lunch I'd grabbed from the cafeteria. "Besides h

“The other apps were created to support financial dynamics. People can list their expectations, payment terms, even preferred tribute types. They’re structured for findommes, finsubs, cash pigs, sugar dynamics, all of it. It’s clear, intentional, and above all, consensual with financial boundaries defined.” Nathan nods in agreement, adding, “Daddies Underground was never meant to fall into that category. It was created to help people in the lifestyle connect on a deeper level. It’s not a financial transaction service, it’s about experiences, trust-building, relationships. Sure, people can contribute what they want toward events or gift one another, but it was never meant to become transactio

The golden invitation sparkled under the dim light of my apartment. Its embossed lettering “Sinclair Foundation Annual Gala” seemed to taunt me. This was an event for people who had made it, who belonged. Not for someone like me, struggling to keep the lights on in a cramped one-bedroom in Queens. Still, I couldn’t ignore what it represented: opportunity.

I was cornered by several members of the Blood Moon Pack, their eyes filled with a murderous intent that sent chills down my spine. "You think you can defeat us, little girl?" one of them sneered, his words dripping with contempt. "I won't go down without a fight!" I spat, trying to summon the last ounces of my strength, knowing that my life was hanging by a thread. "You have spirit, I'll give you that," another Blood Moon werewolf taunted. "But it won't save you." Despite my determination, my body was weakening, and I knew I couldn't hold out much longer. As I fought back with everything I had left, I thought of my father, my friends, and my pack. The love I felt for them fueled me, even as

"Lord Shane! Lord Shane!" a dark-haired guy came shouting at a tall and serious man that was contemplating the moon through the window, with the hands on his pockets. They were inside of an old and abandoned warehouse outside of the city, where their pack lived. Lord Shane was their leader and they were a band of rogue wolves that thought they were better and stronger than most of the other wolves. They didn't care about any rules and always did what they wanted. Shane was a young man with blonde hair, green eyes and a face full of scars. His presence was terrifying and it was almost like the place got colder every time he arrived.

I was glad it was a metaphor, I did not have the strength to walk through thorns just to get to some mob boss. I had a good look at the estate through the small openings of the gate. It looked more like something out of a cathedral than a criminal den. "They look... peaceful," I whispered. "That's the trap," Miguel countered. He stepped closer to me, his presence once again a grounding heat in the cool night. "They aren't trouble makers. They don't shake down shopkeepers or peddle poison. They are distinguished gentlemen—arbitrators of peace. But there is a flip side to that honor."

What we’re being told through official channels is that a form of unidentified viral infection has struck Middletown. ‘They’ve all fallen asleep,’ Bridget told him, elaborating on what the reporter had said, giving him more information than the media would ever possess. ‘The whole place. The people in charge are calling it Anti-New York. You know, the city that never wakes.’ ‘It’s Midwich,’ he murmured. ‘No, Middletown,’ Bridget corrected. He gave a small shake of the head, even though she wasn’t there to see it. ‘I meant... Doesn’t matter.’ He knew his assistant’s reading tastes were more Jilly Cooper than John Wyndham, sadly.

“You have a point. This place is a disaster.” “I’m not trying to judge you or the rest of the pack,” I paused. “Wait, maybe the trophy mates. I’m not even convinced they knew their pups’ names. But they don’t respect public spaces. It’s a bit appalling. If this all belongs to you, shouldn’t the people you let use it give a fuck about it? All this says to me is I don’t care. Someone else will handle it. You have a bunch of entitled brats living here.” “I never thought about it.” He started tossing books into piles. Somehow, he picked up on my strategy. “Thank you.”

From The Nora’s Logophile Board Flumadidle: (n.) Utter Nonsense *** 'Keeping the pure radiance of the moon as the witness, the heir of the Rakh Clan, and the firstborn female of the Paristo family are to be bound by marriage.' That was what stated in the letter Rosalind got a while ago. As she dragged her tired body into her house she thought, ‘What the hell?!’

Harris stated his observations. "But what about the LYCAN?" Zack wondered as he ended his call. "In the whole of the Mojave Desert and the rest of the Werewolf world, Wolf's family is the last surviving Lycan and I am the last true and pure blood of the first species of werewolves still living! Who else could she be talking about?" Harris asked even though he already assumed Zack wouldn't know the answer. "King Ruiz Wolf, your father!" Luna Rosette might not be pure blood but your father is!" Zack reminded and just then, Riley returned to the office with a small file in her hand.