Tag Archives: Cyberpunk Science Fiction

Newton’s First Teaser

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Newton's First cover

A Cyberpunk Novel

Motherboards & Magic, Book 1

 

Cyberpunk / Science Fiction

Date Published: August 2, 2024

 


 

 

Newton’s First Law: An object in motion remains in motion. Until an
outside force screws it all up.

As a grieving child in a burned-out husk of a body, Asher Syphamus was
given an impersonal room within the Company’s cold labs — until he
was offered a second chance with illegal and painful cybernetic
augmentations. Now, after many decades of martial arts training and mental
conditioning, Ash is the all powerful DPL’s top agent and never misses
a target. Along with his beautiful, hyper-sexed purple partner, Vers, the
unstoppable duo hunts down the most dangerous hackers and criminals for
punishment or elimination.

Korya Funo is full of privileged DPL information downloaded into her brain.
If caught, she would be deleted from the census. That keeps her running —
until her luck runs out in Paradise, Nevada. When she’s captured by
Ash and Vers, Korya accidentally reveals the truth about Asher’s
parents’ deaths, and then all hell breaks loose.

Now with all their lives on the line and the fate of the planet riding on
their backs, they trio will show the world why Newton’s First Law is
not to be screwed with.

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2024 Stephanie Burke & Areana Senoj

 

“Fuck, Vers. Where are you?” Asher Syphamus muttered softly,
knowing the cochlear implant installed just above his jaw bone and below his
ear would pick up his words.

The wind whipped back the few tendrils of hair that escaped the tight bun
containing his long hair. The bun hid locks tipped a rich blue almost
matching the color of his cybernetic left eye.

As he walked away from the Virt Dive, the virtual reality diving bar where
his mark had been lost earlier in the Blue, he wondered why people even
bothered to hide from real life. The fucking Blue was where everyone logged
in, turned on, and turned up in cyberspace. The Blue was a whole world
inside the actual world, one that many used to escape life, spread joy,
disappear into a sea of information, of education… to be your avatar
while you fled your body and got lost in a way that only total computer
immersion could bring. And above the Blue was the White.

The White was a shady, dangerous place where only the most experienced
divers dared to venture — the environment was just too dangerous for a
diver used to only dealing with the Blue. The White was physically a small
blank plane existing between the connection of the Blue and the person
putting out information. Here, the world’s best hackers snatched
dangerous information from accidental info dumps from those who purposefully
stole and sold the data to the highest bidder. No matter how many protocols
were put in place to protect the vulnerable space, the White divers always
found a way in. And his latest ping had come from the mark he’d
finally tracked down to this dive.

He felt the signal he was tracking start to move again and watched as his
target slipped out, looking over her shoulder as if she knew he was there
and following her. As he walked past the large, mirrored wall to the shop,
he caught a quick glimpse of himself as he passed. His face was pale, creamy
tan, the same as his mother’s. He had her eyes too, large but with an
epicanthic fold that proclaimed his Asian ancestry. His eyebrows had some
thickness but with a natural arch that made his eyes rather pretty. He had
his African father’s full lips, though not the same concentration of
melanin, more’s the pity. He could use more sun protection in this
bright-assed desert. His nose was broad though, its bridge straight as a
knife, and his cheekbones were high and sharp, like his dad’s. His
thick, wavy hair was kept long and confined now so it wouldn’t get in
his way.

Though he only caught a glimpse of himself as he followed after his mark,
he could barely stand to look at his reflection. He was a damn near perfect
combination of both his parents from what he could recall, though he
didn’t dwell on that much. The pain of it all was still too
crushing.

The air circulating through his lungs was quiet as he pulled in his
emotions. Barely a sound emerged from his body as his booted feet slammed
down on the concrete when his body lurched forward. His little trip into
nostalgia had given his mark time to run and now he had to give chase.

His heart would be racing if it actually had the capacity to pump hot blood
through his veins. His target was pulling a jackrabbit, dodging in between
early morning foot traffic on the busy city street as she looked around her,
prey knowing she was being stalked by an apex predator. Only the bright and
very visible green of her plaits kept him from moving any faster. No matter
how much he wanted to knock people aside to reach his target, he knew that
drawing more attention to himself would be detrimental to their
mission.

“I’ve been at this since the ass crack of dawn and I would
really like to get some accurate intel from you, you one-being
orgy.”

Don’t get cheeky, Vers responded. You’re just upset you don’t get laid.

Vers’ answer through Asher’s implanted microphone sounded more
amused than insulted. That wasn’t what Asher had hoped for. When Vers
was annoyed, his work efficiency increased by almost three percent and he
could use some of that efficiency now, at least until he caught up with the
woman who pinged on his internal sensors.

“Hmph,” Asher huffed. “Can you keep your mind out of your
pants and on the job? I need to know if she’s the one.”

The green-haired woman in question cast one more furtive look over her
shoulder before trying to hide herself in a gaggle of schoolchildren, all
racing and gleefully dodging through the streets teeming with people
traveling to get to their jobs and appointments in the watery light of a new
sun. With their connection pads in hand, the tourist masses were an
explosion of color, a flock of bright, chattering birds that raced through
the smiling crowds. Their laughter was contagious, and it made Asher grit
his teeth. In a firefight, mundanes always seemed to run right in the path
of danger. He wished they would all just disappear.

I’m working on it. Give me a mo. Paradaise has a complicated network
of —

“You just don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”
Asher managed to dodge several children, keeping one eye on the green of his
mark’s hair as she ducked around a corner. He was closing in.

He moved faster, desperate not to lose her or give his position away. She
couldn’t know if he was actually chasing her and he wanted to stay in
that pocket of the unknown. She might sense someone or something was hot on
her tail, but she had no idea from which direction the attack would come.
And it wasn’t like there were a lot of places to hide in Paradaise,
Nevada.

And then he wanted to smack himself stupid for thinking that a woman who
could possibly be the government hacker he was sent out to find
wouldn’t be wily enough to actually give him the slip. Underestimation
was going to cost him dearly because the moment he turned the corner, he
lost sight of her in a sea of green, low-flying kites.

Hey buddy, guess what? Did you know there’s a butterfly kite flying
festival today? There’s gonna be a lot of kids and old people so maybe
you wanna keep an eye out for that
.

“Gee, thanks, Vers. You couldn’t fucking tell me that five
minutes earlier?” As he spoke, he heard a cheer, and a wall of sound
rushed past him as the hum of several hundred robotic and some basic silk
cloth kites took to the sky. People looked up in awe as dancing holograms of
colorful transparent butterflies took to the sky, spinning and dancing as
safe holographic fireworks exploded over them.

Well, it’s a point of historical interest, as they’ve been
having the butterfly festival for over a hundred years. Get some culture,
you asshole. You need it more than you need to get laid
.

“What I need is a way around this mess.” Asher looked around at
the mass of people, made up mostly of children and old people gathered in
groups, each holding massive butterfly kites of their own. Some held remotes
that controlled the flight of the butterfly kites, both real and illusory.
Most of them, unfortunately, glittered and glowed the same primarily green
color that matched his mark’s hair.

Pinging your location, Vers purred in his ear after a moment of quiet while more and more people
filed onto the special moving sidewalk heading toward the restored MGM
Grand, singing and chanting as they moved.
Oh! You aren’t far from the New Bellagio. One of these days I’m
going to get you there for a real upgrade instead of the crap the powers
that be keep sending you to
.

“Vers –”

I mean it. You’re in a town right outside of Vegas, baby! Almost to
the cybernetic playground of the whole entire continent ever since the
redesign of the area. To get anything better you’d have to hop a
streaker across the Pacific to Japan. It’s amazing what they can do
with both artistry and circuitry
.

“Whatever the fuck,” Asher grumbled, casting his gaze around.
He ignored the small vibration in his brain as the ocular implant adjusted
and repositioned, sending his mind a feed of information calculating the
height of the buildings and the large vehicles passing by.

Turning to a small three-story building to his right, Asher took three
fast, bounding steps then flexed his leg muscles. With a mechanical whisper,
he launched himself skywards, a blurred silver flash through the backdrop of
colorful fluttering kites, before he landed on the flat solar tiles of the
roof.

Bent over, he raced along the edges of the closely placed buildings,
jumping the odd ones that bordered on alleys, leaping up to the higher ones,
his eyes constantly searching, feeding him data so he could adjust his
flight.

He was contemplating going back to the ground and following her along the
crowded streets when he saw a blur of green headed away from the celebration
and toward a small, dark street that led away from the sound of laughter and
merriment.

There, in between a closed toy shop on one side and ironically, an adult
toy shop, was where his prey was fleeing.

To the left, Casanova, Vers confirmed softly with the just the right amount of sarcasm for the
nickname.
And you better move swiftly. She’s about to head to a parking lot and
if she has her vehicle shielded, well, we are shit out of luck, Ash. If she
gets away, you’d be better off hitting a pleasure palace and getting
your freak on ‘cause that signal is going to be scattered and lost. And
I urge you to take advantage of the many wonderful and erotic amenities that
this run-down trash heap of a city provides. Besides, your cherry needs
plucking ‘cause that bitch is overripe
.

 

 

About the Authors

Stephanie Burke is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning
author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually
confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to
pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do
more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and
world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts,
an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing
cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied
legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female
characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and
multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice. 

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

Areana Senoj is a multi-genre writer of erotic romance, paranormal, and sci-fi fantasy
fiction. She’s been an actress, singer, dancer, educator, and, briefly, a stay-at-home
“tennis, soccer, and band mom,” as well as a small business entrepreneur. Now she’s
enjoying a new career living life as a full-time writer. She’s thrilled to join Changeling
Press, where she’s teamed up with USA Today Best Selling Author Stephanie Burke,
co-authoring Motherboards and Magic. 

Author’s Blog

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

 

 

Pre-Order Today

 

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Dogs of DevTown Blitz

 

Dogs of DevTown cover

 

Cyberpunk Science Fiction

 

Date Published: April 16, 2021

Welcome to DevTown.

In this city, holo ads lumber like neon giants seeking advertising targets. Men and women pop Oracle tabs in search of relief or enlightenment or both. Creatures of unknown origin stalk the darkest alleys. In the center of it all, NexDev Tower looms over the city, home to hundreds of floors of top-secret research.

And in its shadow, Shan Hayes kills people for money.

Rejecting the mechanical enhancements so popular in DevTown, Shan needs only two things: The resynth serum that can reshape her body’s entire cellular structure, and her hand-cannon containing a sentient parasite capable of converting her blood into weaponized wasps.

As a hired gun for various crime syndicates, there’s little of the city’s underbelly Shan hasn’t encountered. But when a longtime business associate hires her to track down an underling who’s vanished into the neon night, Shan finds DevTown still holds secrets more deadly and terrifying than anything she could imagine.

Excerpt

The target pauses, turns to look at Shan. Here in the alley, shadow swallows his face. Emerald neon reflects off his mirrorshades, but it’s not the only surface catching the soft glow. As he turns, light flashes around his knees and continues to his feet.

Mech legs.

As he stares her down through green-glinting shades, a hissing whine fills the alley. He turns just as the sound reaches a crescendo, and as it releases in a blast, he bounds away. The single leap carries him thirty feet, and the instant he lands, there’s another blast, carrying him another thirty feet.

The mech legs must have some sort of repulsor technology. Shan has heard of newer models which concentrate electromagnetic fields and use them to propel users at high velocities, but it doesn’t matter how his models work. Shan won’t catch him without enhancements of her own. There isn’t a single mech installed on her body, but she doesn’t need mechs. Not when she has resynth.

All these thoughts pass through her head in an instant. Before the target lands, Shan swallows a handful of CalPills. The large yellow capsules land in her stomach like a ton of bricks, but she needs the calories for what comes next. She slides a syringe from the clip on her belt and plunges the needle into her thigh.

She runs.

Resynth serum, that cocktail of proteins and viruses, floods her bloodstream, issuing commands to each cell it touches. The cells comply, transforming to accommodate the design coded into the serum. Heat ignites in her belly as the CalPills fuel the change. Shan’s joints rearrange, her muscles grow, her tendons expand and contract, reforming her body until she isn’t running, but galloping, using the force of four limbs to chase her target. She is more than human now. She is a predator, and her target is prey, no matter how much organic tissue he’s traded for metal.

Thanks to those mech legs, her target is fast, but she’s faster still. The pavement is cool and rough on her palms. The scents of DevTown sharpen as air rushes past her face. Her lips twist in a bitter smile. No hunt is complete without a chase.

A news report on the old flatscreen details another attack in another alley. In a dry voice with a matter-of-fact tone, the anchor narrates grainy footage of bone-thin men and women overwhelming a victim, mentions the growing trend of corpses covered in bite wounds. She relays the authorities’ promise to investigate the violence and provides a phone number for anyone with information to share.

Literal zombies is what they are,” says the bartender, wiping a pint glass with a rag. “People comin’ back from the dead and bitin’ chunks outta folks.”

Shan grunts, but offers no comment. She doesn’t care what he thinks. Theories won’t improve the streets of DevTown, but that’s never stopped conversation at Infusion.

Aw, not this again,” shouts a voice behind Shan. “We got no proof the shamblers ever died to begin with.”

Shamblers. It’s the term used by anyone unbound by journalistic integrity, referencing the clumsy way the attackers move.

Every single one of ’em looks like a walkin’ corpse. Add the bite marks, and how they don’t seem to feel nothin’ when folks fight back, it makes perfect sense.” The bartender sets down the pint glass and leans into the bar. Slender mech fingers drum a staccato on old wood. “I bet it’s Oracle tabs makin’ people do it. Ever notice how many of those victims turn up in Tabber Alley?”

Shut up,” says another voice. “Oracle can’t raise the dead.”

You sure?” says the bartender. “Oracle’s the newest drug on the street. No one’s studyin’ it. Tabbers know what happens after they swallow, but what about after they die?”

The door to Infusion slams open. Shan glances over her shoulder, half-expecting to find a bone-white, withered corpse of a person. It would shamble in, fall upon one of Infusion’s patrons and bite into his neck, sucking everything out until the patron is twitching on the stained floor and the newcomer’s body bloats with fluid.

But that’s not what she sees. Instead, it’s three men. They’re pale, but not bleached white, and they certainly aren’t wasting away. Their arms are thick, their chests wide. As one, they stride up to the bar. There’s no sizing up the patrons, no scanning for dangerous characters. Each man’s gate is purposeful, fearless. One settles into a stool next to Shan, and the others wait behind him, snapping at the bartender for attention. After they order a round of drinks, an uneasy silence falls over Infusion. Nobody offers another opinion on Oracle tabs, nobody theorizes on the shamblers’ origin. Everyone stares at their glasses, but the bar’s collective focus centers on the newcomers.

You Shan Hayes?” says one man. His voice is a dagger, piercing the silence and leaving a gaping wound in its wake.

Who’s asking?”

The man’s lips quirk in a smile. “Heard we might find her here.”

Shan holds his stare, tracking his companions in the corner of her eye. One has shifted a hand inside his black trench coat; the other drifts sideways, flanking her. She doesn’t know who sent them, but they aren’t here for a friendly chat.

So Shan acts before they do. She throws an elbow back, sinking it into the gut of the man shifting behind her. As he grunts, more from surprise than pain, she keeps turning, spinning off her seat and using her other hand to snatch his glass of whiskey and hurl it at his companion in the stool beside her. He dodges the projectile, and it shatters in a spray of gold and glitter. That split second of hesitation is all she needs. She shuffles away until they’re in front of her, the bar at their backs. At least she’s not surrounded anymore.

The guy reaching into his jacket withdraws his hand to reveal a weapon. It’s not a gun or even a knife, though. This is a long black baton with ice blue spirals running up and down its length. He lunges at her, lifting the weapon over his head. Reckless.

With ease, she sidesteps the attack and throws herself into a counterstrike. Her knuckles crash into his jaw, but a jarring vibration runs from her wrist to her shoulder. He barely reacts to the perfectly placed blow, now whirling toward her. He even has the audacity to smile.

Of course. He’d used mechs to reinforce his bones. Not a terrible investment for someone on his career path.

The guy with the baton lurches toward her, and Shan reacts instantly. She grabs a syringe from her belt, plunges it into her thigh, and throws the empty canister at her attacker. He dodges, and she backs away, waiting for the serum to do its work.

The cells in her arms split, change, and die, burning calories at a rapid rate. Her stomach feels empty, and the emptiness spreads to her entire body as the serum demands more fuel.

Kim would not approve of this.

Shan forces herself to focus through the sudden hunger, the lightheadedness, the feverish disorientation. Her right arm has grown razor-sharp spines along the edge of the forearm, and her left has changed into a massive claw as hard as a diamond.

This time, when the guy swings at her, Shan plants her feet and blocks with her spiny forearm. His elbow catches on the fresh blades, and when she jerks her arm aside, it shreds his mech. The club rattles to the floor, but he stays upright. Synthetic skin hangs in ribbons around the ruined chrome. He sneers.

Shan sways where she stands, her body burning through calories at an unsustainable rate. She has to finish this. Without CalPills, she can’t hold this form long.

She launches herself at the man with the shredded arm, bringing the full weight of her claw into the crook of his neck. Now he falls, legs buckling under the force of her blow. The claw sinks into his shoulder. It isn’t heavy enough to sever an entire mech, but its serrations still cut partway through. Shan rips the claw free, and he collapses, twitching in the chaos of shorted and severed connections.

The clock is ticking. Shan’s growing weaker by the second.

She kicks a loose barstool at one attacker and lunges at the other. It’s a reckless move, but she doesn’t have the time to maneuver so there’s nobody behind her. She must rely on her own speed, hoping to finish one guy before the other recovers.

In the blink of an eye, she’s on top of her target. The spines on her forearm pierce flesh and tendons on his chest with ease, and when she tears the arm free, he gives a low, gurgling moan. Blood sprays a nearby table. Her stomach roars with hunger, and her head vibrates, but she can’t stop yet.

She whirls to face the last of them, but he’s ready for her. The barstool she kicked is his weapon now. He’s already mid-swing, and the seat catches her under the ear.

Darkness swallows her.

About the Author

Taylor Hohulin


Taylor Hohulin is a radio personality by morning, a science fiction author by afternoon, and asleep by 9:30. He is the author of The Marian Trilogy, Tar, Your Best Apocalypse Now, and other genre-bending stories. He lives in West Des Moines, Iowa with his wife, where they are owned by two cats and a dog.

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Dogs of DevTown Tour

Dogs of DevTown banner

Dogs of DevTown cover

Cyberpunk Science Fiction

 

Date Published: April 16, 2021

Welcome to DevTown.

In this city, holo ads lumber like neon giants seeking advertising targets. Men and women pop Oracle tabs in search of relief or enlightenment or both. Creatures of unknown origin stalk the darkest alleys. In the center of it all, NexDev Tower looms over the city, home to hundreds of floors of top-secret research.

And in its shadow, Shan Hayes kills people for money.

Rejecting the mechanical enhancements so popular in DevTown, Shan needs only two things: The resynth serum that can reshape her body’s entire cellular structure, and her hand-cannon containing a sentient parasite capable of converting her blood into weaponized wasps.

As a hired gun for various crime syndicates, there’s little of the city’s underbelly Shan hasn’t encountered. But when a longtime business associate hires her to track down an underling who’s vanished into the neon night, Shan finds DevTown still holds secrets more deadly and terrifying than anything she could imagine.

Dogs of DevTown tablet

EXCERPT

The target pauses, turns to look at Shan. Here in the alley, shadow swallows his face. Emerald neon reflects off his mirrorshades, but it’s not the only surface catching the soft glow. As he turns, light flashes around his knees and continues to his feet.

Mech legs.

As he stares her down through green-glinting shades, a hissing whine fills the alley. He turns just as the sound reaches a crescendo, and as it releases in a blast, he bounds away. The single leap carries him thirty feet, and the instant he lands, there’s another blast, carrying him another thirty feet.

The mech legs must have some sort of repulsor technology. Shan has heard of newer models which concentrate electromagnetic fields and use them to propel users at high velocities, but it doesn’t matter how his models work. Shan won’t catch him without enhancements of her own. There isn’t a single mech installed on her body, but she doesn’t need mechs. Not when she has resynth.

All these thoughts pass through her head in an instant. Before the target lands, Shan swallows a handful of CalPills. The large yellow capsules land in her stomach like a ton of bricks, but she needs the calories for what comes next. She slides a syringe from the clip on her belt and plunges the needle into her thigh.

She runs.

Resynth serum, that cocktail of proteins and viruses, floods her bloodstream, issuing commands to each cell it touches. The cells comply, transforming to accommodate the design coded into the serum. Heat ignites in her belly as the CalPills fuel the change. Shan’s joints rearrange, her muscles grow, her tendons expand and contract, reforming her body until she isn’t running, but galloping, using the force of four limbs to chase her target. She is more than human now. She is a predator, and her target is prey, no matter how much organic tissue he’s traded for metal.

Thanks to those mech legs, her target is fast, but she’s faster still. The pavement is cool and rough on her palms. The scents of DevTown sharpen as air rushes past her face. Her lips twist in a bitter smile. No hunt is complete without a chase.

A news report on the old flatscreen details another attack in another alley. In a dry voice with a matter-of-fact tone, the anchor narrates grainy footage of bone-thin men and women overwhelming a victim, mentions the growing trend of corpses covered in bite wounds. She relays the authorities’ promise to investigate the violence and provides a phone number for anyone with information to share.

“Literal zombies is what they are,” says the bartender, wiping a pint glass with a rag. “People comin’ back from the dead and bitin’ chunks outta folks.”

Shan grunts, but offers no comment. She doesn’t care what he thinks. Theories won’t improve the streets of DevTown, but that’s never stopped conversation at Infusion.

“Aw, not this again,” shouts a voice behind Shan. “We got no proof the shamblers ever died to begin with.”

Shamblers. It’s the term used by anyone unbound by journalistic integrity, referencing the clumsy way the attackers move.

“Every single one of ’em looks like a walkin’ corpse. Add the bite marks, and how they don’t seem to feel nothin’ when folks fight back, it makes perfect sense.” The bartender sets down the pint glass and leans into the bar. Slender mech fingers drum a staccato on old wood. “I bet it’s Oracle tabs makin’ people do it. Ever notice how many of those victims turn up in Tabber Alley?”

“Shut up,” says another voice. “Oracle can’t raise the dead.”

“You sure?” says the bartender. “Oracle’s the newest drug on the street. No one’s studyin’ it. Tabbers know what happens after they swallow, but what about after they die?”

The door to Infusion slams open. Shan glances over her shoulder, half-expecting to find a bone-white, withered corpse of a person. It would shamble in, fall upon one of Infusion’s patrons and bite into his neck, sucking everything out until the patron is twitching on the stained floor and the newcomer’s body bloats with fluid.

But that’s not what she sees. Instead, it’s three men. They’re pale, but not bleached white, and they certainly aren’t wasting away. Their arms are thick, their chests wide. As one, they stride up to the bar. There’s no sizing up the patrons, no scanning for dangerous characters. Each man’s gate is purposeful, fearless. One settles into a stool next to Shan, and the others wait behind him, snapping at the bartender for attention. After they order a round of drinks, an uneasy silence falls over Infusion. Nobody offers another opinion on Oracle tabs, nobody theorizes on the shamblers’ origin. Everyone stares at their glasses, but the bar’s collective focus centers on the newcomers.

“You Shan Hayes?” says one man. His voice is a dagger, piercing the silence and leaving a gaping wound in its wake.

“Who’s asking?”

The man’s lips quirk in a smile. “Heard we might find her here.”

Shan holds his stare, tracking his companions in the corner of her eye. One has shifted a hand inside his black trench coat; the other drifts sideways, flanking her. She doesn’t know who sent them, but they aren’t here for a friendly chat.

So Shan acts before they do. She throws an elbow back, sinking it into the gut of the man shifting behind her. As he grunts, more from surprise than pain, she keeps turning, spinning off her seat and using her other hand to snatch his glass of whiskey and hurl it at his companion in the stool beside her. He dodges the projectile, and it shatters in a spray of gold and glitter. That split second of hesitation is all she needs. She shuffles away until they’re in front of her, the bar at their backs. At least she’s not surrounded anymore.

The guy reaching into his jacket withdraws his hand to reveal a weapon. It’s not a gun or even a knife, though. This is a long black baton with ice blue spirals running up and down its length. He lunges at her, lifting the weapon over his head. Reckless.

With ease, she sidesteps the attack and throws herself into a counterstrike. Her knuckles crash into his jaw, but a jarring vibration runs from her wrist to her shoulder. He barely reacts to the perfectly placed blow, now whirling toward her. He even has the audacity to smile.

Of course. He’d used mechs to reinforce his bones. Not a terrible investment for someone on his career path.

The guy with the baton lurches toward her, and Shan reacts instantly. She grabs a syringe from her belt, plunges it into her thigh, and throws the empty canister at her attacker. He dodges, and she backs away, waiting for the serum to do its work. 

The cells in her arms split, change, and die, burning calories at a rapid rate. Her stomach feels empty, and the emptiness spreads to her entire body as the serum demands more fuel. 

Kim would not approve of this.

Shan forces herself to focus through the sudden hunger, the lightheadedness, the feverish disorientation. Her right arm has grown razor-sharp spines along the edge of the forearm, and her left has changed into a massive claw as hard as a diamond.

This time, when the guy swings at her, Shan plants her feet and blocks with her spiny forearm. His elbow catches on the fresh blades, and when she jerks her arm aside, it shreds his mech. The club rattles to the floor, but he stays upright. Synthetic skin hangs in ribbons around the ruined chrome. He sneers.

Shan sways where she stands, her body burning through calories at an unsustainable rate. She has to finish this. Without CalPills, she can’t hold this form long.

She launches herself at the man with the shredded arm, bringing the full weight of her claw into the crook of his neck. Now he falls, legs buckling under the force of her blow. The claw sinks into his shoulder. It isn’t heavy enough to sever an entire mech, but its serrations still cut partway through. Shan rips the claw free, and he collapses, twitching in the chaos of shorted and severed connections.

The clock is ticking. Shan’s growing weaker by the second.

She kicks a loose barstool at one attacker and lunges at the other. It’s a reckless move, but she doesn’t have the time to maneuver so there’s nobody behind her. She must rely on her own speed, hoping to finish one guy before the other recovers.

In the blink of an eye, she’s on top of her target. The spines on her forearm pierce flesh and tendons on his chest with ease, and when she tears the arm free, he gives a low, gurgling moan. Blood sprays a nearby table. Her stomach roars with hunger, and her head vibrates, but she can’t stop yet.

She whirls to face the last of them, but he’s ready for her. The barstool she kicked is his weapon now. He’s already mid-swing, and the seat catches her under the ear.

Darkness swallows her.

About The Author

Taylor Hohulin


Taylor Hohulin is a radio personality by morning, a science fiction author by afternoon, and asleep by 9:30. He is the author of The Marian Trilogy, Tar, Your Best Apocalypse Now, and other genre-bending stories. He lives in West Des Moines, Iowa with his wife, where they are owned by two cats and a dog.

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Dogs of DevTown Reveal

Dogs of DevTown cover

 

Cyberpunk Science Fiction

 

Date Published: April 16, 2021

Welcome to DevTown.

In this city, holo ads lumber like neon giants seeking advertising targets. Men and women pop Oracle tabs in search of relief or enlightenment or both. Creatures of unknown origin stalk the darkest alleys. In the center of it all, NexDev Tower looms over the city, home to hundreds of floors of top-secret research.

And in its shadow, Shan Hayes kills people for money.

Rejecting the mechanical enhancements so popular in DevTown, Shan needs only two things: The resynth serum that can reshape her body’s entire cellular structure, and her hand-cannon containing a sentient parasite capable of converting her blood into weaponized wasps.

As a hired gun for various crime syndicates, there’s little of the city’s underbelly Shan hasn’t encountered. But when a longtime business associate hires her to track down an underling who’s vanished into the neon night, Shan finds DevTown still holds secrets more deadly and terrifying than anything she could imagine.

About The Author

 Taylor Hohulin


Taylor Hohulin is a radio personality by morning, a science fiction author by afternoon, and asleep by 9:30. He is the author of The Marian Trilogy, Tar, Your Best Apocalypse Now, and other genre-bending stories. He lives in West Des Moines, Iowa with his wife, where they are owned by two cats and a dog.

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