A universe of shadowfronts, dying cities, and neon prophecy.
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Death Row Teaser
“Even if they killed us, how are they supposed to get to-”
“Down!”
Carter pulled her to the floor as automatic gunfire shattered the window they’d been watching from. The rest did the same of their own volition, and Santonio alone dared to find a spot to try and peer back out from.
“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he muttered more to himself than anything else as all four of the van punks- including the driver -braced themselves on the van and, knocking it onto its side, leapt across the probably 30 foot gap towards the train hurtling at speed, managing to actually reach the damn train.
“Come to me! COME ON!” He shouted, leaping out and striking one of their guns towards the floor before battering the man right on his sunglasses… that were fused to his face.
“You fuckin’ freak!”
Carter fared slightly better, managing to kick another punk’s gun wholly out the hole they’d made in the side of the train– following up by stabbing his metal shard into a third man’s neck. The final attacker tried bringing his gun up, but Trish and the nameless man threw themselves on top of him, fighting for nothing more than to keep his gun out of the fight.
GrampyTracks Teaser
The bench wasn’t cursed. Not exactly. It just had a duct-taped sign that read, “DO NOT SIT – BLEW OUT HIP TWO WEEKS AGO.”
Grampy didn’t sit. But he did rest one foot on the edge, taking pressure off his bad knee. His nickname might not fit, but sometimes his 40-something aged bones felt like it. Behind him, a man in a faded vest, branded “Centurion” was pacing in tight loops, nervously vaping through a face mod that pulsed like a dying jellyfish.
“You good?” Grampy asked, not really expecting a reply.
“I’m waitin’ for a sign,” the man muttered. “Gettin’ back into the game, need somethin’ solid. Coincidence. Symbol. Y’know?”
Grampy nodded and tapped the side of his mango pit, still in his coat pocket. “Sometimes it’s just fruit.”
The man looked up, squinted, then turned and walked off in the opposite direction, muttering, “Yeah… okay. That’s the sign. It’s dumb. That makes it perfect.”
Grampy shrugged. Not the weirdest conversation he’d had that hour.
Shattered Futures Teaser
“In your own words,” she asked, voice careful but not cold, “how would you describe your time in SYNward?”
He didn’t recognize her. Not from the food line, not from Pananariwa, not from anywhere. She wasn’t wearing a badge. But her voice had that low-frequency intensity—like it wanted truth, not protocol.
She leaned in like she thought he had something worth saying.
That was the worst part.
He didn’t flinch, but everything under his skin did. Something twisted at the base of his spine, like his nervous system wanted to crawl backward. His hands curled in his lap. He didn’t remember making fists. Didn’t notice his nails biting into old cuts, opening skin that never healed right.
A drop of blood welled, slow and stupid.
He tasted copper. Didn’t know if it was his mouth or the air.
The room was nothing. Just white glow and pressure. No clocks. No angles to anchor to. Just her voice—round, soft-edged, way too real to come from someone official. And maybe that’s why it burned worse than the rest.
Because she sounded like she meant it.
He hated her for that.
He hated how much he wanted to answer.
His jaw cracked open.
He was going to say—
Noose Teaser
Baro exhaled. Slow. Controlled.
“That all we got?”
“Far as our digging goes,” Ginger said. “Ticker tried every node. No chatter. No alerts. No indication the vehicle’s carrying anything unusual.”
Baro turned the card over again. The Joker’s grin felt like a mirror.
“And the kid?”
Ginger’s expression didn’t change. She just tipped her chin toward the living room.
Baro walked.
The suite stretched into a double-height sitting area. Natural light poured through panoramic windows, giving the place a holy glow. It didn’t touch the far wall. Shadows lived there.
Baro stepped into them.
His boots stopped when his eyes did.
Dariush hung from the upper balcony. Silent. Still. The western-style noose hugged his throat with ceremonial precision. His body dangled just low enough to be seen, just high enough to miss casual notice from the entrance. HexnailZ still extended on his left hand. His face was calm.
Too calm.
Baro took a breath.
He looked up. Followed the rope.
It didn’t anchor to the railing. Didn’t knot to the beam.
It disappeared.
Clean through the ceiling. Like it phased through matter. Like it didn’t care what reality thought of it.
“We scanned it,” Ginger said, her voice behind him now. “No entry logs. No breach. And the rope…” She paused. “It glitches. Doesn’t belong.”
Baro didn’t speak. Just stared. Long enough for silence to stretch taut.
Then he looked down at the card again. Let the Joker catch his eye.
“Heh. Wildcard, huh?”
Ginger frowned. “What?”
He waved it off.
“Nothing. Just a private joke.”
He turned back toward the living room.
“We’re taking the job.”
“You sure?”
“No. But the boy’s dead, and I’m curious.”
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