Niklas clutched his chest. His heart implant worked overtime as he ran down the alleyway. Water pooled on the uneven pavement, reflecting the illuminated skyline of Freeport City at night. The image shattered

Tom yawned as he leaned back in his desk, crossing his arms over his faded Metallica T-shirt and stretching his legs, knees flexing through the frayed holes in his jeans. The day’s starting bell rang and

The door opened to the basement apartment, swallowing the last light of the afternoon sun into its dark maw. The landlord, skin speckled with age spots and a tuft of unkempt gray hair sitting atop his

“What’s your day job?” asked Trent. “You know, when you’re not on mission.” Trent was in his late twenties and kept a clean face and a crew cut, telltale signs of man fresh out of the service. He was new

It was nearly noon and the smell of the corpse that lay contorted in a mix of mud and horse dung already choked the air in the small village of Dirtshire. Archibald Flemigan sighed as he leaned over for

Tweasy the witch nervously paced to and fro in the kitchen of her small bungalow, staring at a black leather grimoire lying on the counter. Light jazz played on the stereo in the living room and the scent

Samuel Blackthorn slammed his fist down on the oak table in his lawyer’s office, knocking over a fountain pen from its stand and ruffling a stack of papers. “I own this town!” he shouted. “I ain’t gonna