Havok Publishing

Tag - clone

The Last Hurrah

During pregame warmups for the 2035 semifinals, my players couldn’t miss the basket. Shot after shot went up, then swished through the net. That might have made some coaches happy, but I’d seen too many teams have a great warmup and then come out flat.
Besides, I worried about our star player, Jake.

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Sweet Soul Blues

A drum beat throbs, anchoring the guitar riff spilling out the front door of Maisy’s Blue Dandelion. Only Charlene can play the blues like that—with her soul riding on each note, her very life poured into the music. Exposed. Honest. Alive.
I pull in a breath of moisture-laden air. Lightning flashes in

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CT 1109

CT hunched his shoulders against the drizzle and the gazes of other pedestrians, his hood pulled up to hide his face. Neon signs colored the sidewalk and steel buildings odd tones in the night. Between the hordes of people, he glimpsed an officer ahead and swung toward a video advertisement sign, feigning interest.

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My Friend, The Clone

I scowl at the computer screen and push my hair out of my eyes, rubbing black-stained fingers on my hoodie. They should be dry, but I can’t leave prints behind. Mrs. Grant—calling her Mom still sounds weird—says dyeing it makes me look like a goth troublemaker. I yank on my hoodie strings. Maybe I am.

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S2 Mystery Monday featured image (season 2)

Negotiation via Looking Glass

“What the hell are you doing here?”
Neal was surprised that Lena, who was staring down his reflection in the vanity’s mirror, hadn’t asked the more obvious question: why was Neal aiming the gun at her back? Or maybe it was the right question; he still hadn’t pulled the trigger.

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The Replicant

The ornate twin doors opened and the black clad figure of Queen Elandra entered the crown prince’s chambers and commanded her two automated sentry droids to remain at the entrance.
Harsh voices carried down the hall from the sitting room. Yet another argument had broken out.

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Part of Me

“Do you remember your name?” A woman’s voice echoes in my mind.
My eyes open. Fluorescent lights stare back at me from the ceiling as my surroundings begin to register. I am lying on a steel gurney, wearing a dingy set of medical scrubs.
“Nelson. Nelson Duran.” I cock my head at the sound of my own voice. Is that right?

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