my fingers formed into guns
I killed four hundred soldier bots all vying for the same thing before I realized there was no such thing as anti-war if our invention was the solution.
Precogs in the Machine
By Nat Katz in Issue #464 of Beneath Ceaseless Skies Online Magazine She looked into his brown eyes, and her vision doubled and trebled: Peter in a tunnel and in an alley covered by blood and walking on what she knew from her readings of distant lands to be grass. She felt she could come unmoored and drift away into those visions, wondered wheth...
The Dragon, the Scarab, the Wolf, the Dragon
Ánar’s bootheels echoed on the iron floor. What a groundbreaking honor this ceremony was for a landless tenant like him—joining old house Veivilkas, of the wolf. Such an honor that it made him leaden to think of, made him long for sleep. At the conclusion of the ceremony, he would no longer be merely Ánar from the undercity, scarab-kin, but Ánar...