The Undead

ORIGINAL FICTION: "Cult of the Undead" (Part 2)

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Level forty-five, ward six, room ten. I rolled out of the elevator. There were flashing lights all over the place, but no guards. They must have figured that since the V-net connection had been cut, they were safe and the intruder was no longer here.

So why was I still here, anyway? I mean, how is it that I was still in the facility when they shut off the link?

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ORIGINAL FICTION: "Cult of the Undead" (Part 1)

Republibot 3.0's picture

There is no way in hell you people aren’t going to throw the book at me. There’s no way you’re not going to send me up the river, so what’s the point of a trial? Just to pretend that you’re honorable people? You’re not. A sham show of justice? If there were any Justice left here, you’d give me a medal, not try me. It’s all just a kangaroo court, and I don’t care to explain myself to you, so you can just try me in absentia, ok? And then you can just got to hell, ok?

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WHAT I'M DOIN' # 46: Writerly Stuff And Being Bad At Math

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Gah. I'm an idiot.

As some of you know, I've put together an anthology of my original short stories called "Ice Cream and Venom." It's all done with the editing, and aside from needing a bit of technical support from Kindle/Amazon to straighten out a table-of-contents issue, it's ready to go. Once we get that out of the way, it should be online more or less immediately.

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ORIGINAL FICTION: "The Undead at Work"

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It’s always about space with me, ultimately.

I was in space. Well, I wasn’t really in space, I was very much on earth. My brain was in a jar in some hospital somewhere, and my body was six feed under in some cemetery somewhere. But my senses were all plugged into a geostationary satellite twenty-two thousand miles above the Atlantic Ocean.

“Wow,” Saint Peter said.

“Wow, indeed,” I said, “I’ve been here eleventh jillion times, it always takes my virtual breath away.”

“I always wanted to be an astronaut,” he said, “Back when there were astronauts.”

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