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The Cut-Up Man: And other Posthuman Cycle stories
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Science Fiction > The Cut-Up Man: And other Posthuman Cycle stories [ePub, Sony and mobi]

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message 1: by Micah (new) - added it

Micah Sisk (micahrsisk) Four works of short fiction set in my Posthuman Cycle universe--including a new novella and novelette, and my two previously published short stories--are now available in one eBook (Kindle format) on amazon.

[Fair warning: though nothing here could be considered erotica or porn, some of the stories contain adult content of the sex and violence kind--especially the novelette. They are intended for a mature audience.]

The Cut-Up Man (a novella): After nearly ten years, Hansson finally has a chance to redeem himself to Head Council. Someone on Centralport Station needs killed, and it's Hansson's job to do it. Now Hansson finds that Centralport Station is under martial law, his mission handler has gone AWOL, he doesn't know who he's supposed to assassinate...and something is disturbingly wrong with the synthetic body he's wearing. Aborting the mission isn't an option; Hansson is going to have to improvise.

(Please Don't) Put Your Wires In My Brain (a novelette): Locked in a dank cell somewhere on Earth, visited only by a nameless technician, Dana has become the subject of a mysterious research project centering on the posthuman bioware illegally implanted in her brain. Hardened by a life in the sex slave underworld, determined to rise above her years of degradation, Dana struggles to discover the aims of this research, and to somehow parlay that knowledge into freedom, power and...revenge.

"Watching the Watcher" (previously published short story)

"Born Into Shadows" (previously published short story)


message 2: by Micah (new) - added it

Micah Sisk (micahrsisk) Smashword Edition now available in ePub, Sony, and mobi formats:

The Cut-Up Man: And other Posthuman Cycle stories
The Cut-Up Man And other Posthuman Cycle stories by Micah R. Sisk


message 3: by Micah (new) - added it

Micah Sisk (micahrsisk) Here's a little sample from the new novelette included in this collection. It's a gritty, visceral tale set on Earth where posthumanity is banned, but still existent in the darkest corners of this dysfunctional society's criminal underworld...

(Please Don’t) Put Your Wires in My Brain


Out of total darkness, the jarring clang of metal bolts being thrown open, rusted hinges forced into protesting motion. Unseen, the heavy steel door swings open, screeching on its way to finding wall. A second before the cataclysm, the door swings silent—

A deep thunderous boom fills this reverberant space, trailing away over long seconds into a silence that is never quite complete. Naked, rasping light floods in through the doorway, a dark shadowed hole revealed within: the silhouette of a man with very, very long fingers. The air is still and smells of antique oil and rust, moldering concrete and musty cellar.

* * *

Awake? She raises herself on one elbow, prying her leaden weight up from bare mattress to blink into the light. Her weary eyes fix upon the stationary man–shaped shadow hovering at the room’s threshold. No, she is not dreaming, she decides. Though, perhaps nightmare would be preferable to this.

“Who are you?” she manages weakly, mouth dry

“You know who I am, Dana.”

She pushes herself into a sitting position, rubbing sleep from her drug–fogged eyes, massaging her temples, not wanting to be awake, not wanting Shadow Man to ever be here again. “Go away.”

Shadow Man remains still. “It’s time.”

“No,” she counters without hope.

He pauses several seconds before stepping into the room: four slow paces, each footfall echoing softly into darkness. “It’s time, Dana. For another session.”

“I know,” she replies, listless in her despair. “Why are your fingers so long?” She is frightened and confused. She doesn’t want to remember what is about to happen.

“You know why they’re so long, Dana. This isn’t your first session.” He starts toward her again, speaking calmly as he comes. “And my fingers aren’t long. The wires just make them seem that way.” He is insistent but not cruel. Or perhaps he is cruel in his sterile, objective, dispassionate way.

“Wires…”

“That’s right, Dana, the wires coming out of my fingers.” Already he is upon her.

“Please…”

“There, there, Dana it’s alright. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

“Please don’t…”

At the foot of the mattress he kneels, hands reaching up to her head. Living wires wriggle at the tips of his fingers like thin metal snakes, eager and seeking. His voice is calm and emotionless, almost soothing, almost reassuring: “Just hold still, Dana. Hold still.”

“Don’t. Don’t put your wires—”

—A flash of blinding white; a confusion of sound and images, thoughts and emotions: fear and regret, guilt and sadness. She is alone and worthless, an object controlled and used by others. There’s nothing for her. There’s never anything for her.

He’s towering over her again. Not Shadow Man, but someone else. Someone who shouldn’t be there. Someone who used to be there but who is dead now. Isn’t he? There’s a different kind of flash than before, the kind that comes with an explosive bang and a plume of dark blood, brains, and shattered skull. There is a scream—hers—and the smell of spent cordite. The light above flickers and sways. Rough hands grab her by the wrists and haul her off the floor, dragging her through the room’s narrow door. She glances back and sees the headless body, the splatters and spray, the surging, spurting rivulets of dark, dark blood issuing from the man who had just been leaning over her, the man who was now dead.

Again.


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