“Yeah, I really do enjoy this crazy bulls--t. I've been doing it in one form or another my entire life. Main difference is the stakes. Getting suspended from school, having an account or two banned, worse, maybe doing jail time. And for what? A few pranks and some stolen premium sports feeds? This time, it's for a bigger reason. Rescuing a teammate and trying to keep the world safe from twisted people with way too much power.
I turn the rig down a side street, managing not to take the corner off a building, and park. We're still doing this, no matter what these people know about their boss. It's the rush, gotta be. The stakes, I'm less sure about. Maybe that's how all the supposed heroes feel.”
In his previous book, Stay Younger Longer, author Ryan Hyatt conjured up a world not so far from our own, where eco-politics carried more weight than they should, the search for the next party was everyone’s greatest quest, and California set the standard of living for the nation.
Bobbie’s expression was grave. “The Faceless Ones are a new race, or to be precise, a very old race that has been in hiding for a long time.” Bobbie looked uncomfortable even talking about them. “They have begun building their strange machines and terrible devices across the world. No one knows to which gods, if any, they pray, but the ywield knowledge as to make the University look like a tribe of cavemen.”
“Eventually, we started coming across ruins. Ancient, dilapidated structures once inhabited by Pre-Rising humanity. They were an inescapable part of any Wasteland Journey. Most Recon and Extermination rangers cut their teeth on these particular ruins, looking for mutant stragglers or bandits hoping to intercept Remnant convoys. These structures, which included everything from gas stations to schools, were a missed sight. Most were half-collapsed at best. Others were eerily perfect, as if their owners had just stepped out for the night. Driving past them was always a sobering experience, however. Everywhere were reminders of the days when humanity had been great and powerful.”
“Step up into my greenhouse and speak your names.”
“I see Flames and blood.”
“I hear screams and dying… Your past is your past. You know why you are here, as do I… Once you cross my threshold and enter my home, there are only three things I require of you. There shall be no violence, no lying, and no lateness. Break one of these and you forfeit your right to remain here…Welcome to my home.”
“The point is, I wasn’t special. I was a no one.
But it’s all my fault.
This place in the mountains.
The way things are.
All of it.
Because I stole the wrong thing.”
“Let’s play a little game. How long can you hold your breath?”
“I told you already. We don’t do none of that kinky s--t. Just straight up action, baby.”
“But I don’t like straight-up action, baby. And nobody cares what you like!”
“Times Square, 1986: the home of New York’s red light district, where strip clubs, porno theatres, and petty crime prevail.
When a chance encounter for Peepbooth worker Roxy Bell leads to the brutal murder of a public access pornographer, the erotic performer and her punk rock ex-partner Nick Zero soon find themselves under fire from criminals, cops, and the city elite, as they begin to untangle a complex web of corruption leading right to City Hall.
Like the Naked City, there are eight million stories in the Deuce. This is one of them…”