#dystopian fiction

you’ll be reading an almost 80 year old book and you’ll think “wow george orwell really predicted internet brainrot slop”

ALT Self-Publishing Review’s Praise for Imber I’m grateful to Self-Publishing Review for their recent reflections on my novel Imber . Here’s an excerpt: “Creative, timely, and ultimately optimistic, this is a piece of visionary fiction that stands out from the field of speculative dystopian sci-fi.” —Self-Publishing Review, ★★★★★ Imber is available on Bookshop and Amazon , including Kindle Unlimited.

The sky was a dainty blue, fragile, as it seemed like a storm could break through the peace at any moment. Though there wasn’t much of the sky to see. This was the only spot in the whole city, hell, maybe the world where you could see the sky. And how beautiful it was to watch, all of its shifting colors that give every sky piercer around hints of orange and red as its radiant light hits the window at the right angle. It’s spontaneous tantrums that leave its tears falling down to the earth. And you cannot forget the bright ball of pure light; so pure a light it is that you cannot look at it or your eyes will burn. Oh how I wish the sky was everywhere, wish it would fill the whole world with its awe inspiring emotion. Oh how I would love to live in a world with a sky so vast every person in the world could be able to enjoy its beauty. But as it is now, I am content that at least this small 5 meter gap exists between the “SUPPORT YOUR COUNTRY” sign written in big, flashing letters, impossible to ignore, and the other screen for Big Capital’s most recent version of its bot. “No need for a wife with this NEW and IMPROVED Gobot 21. Get now for 20% off!” It was in a soft cursive font that only those that could afford the bot could read. I look over at the time screen just a few spots over, realizing how late it was. Dusting off my new sreek, I stand up and walk over to the sidewalk. Sometimes I do enjoy partaking in lower class activities like walking for very short distances even if it is scandalous. I lift the bottom of my sreek up so it doesn’t touch the sidewalk and pause a moment as the sidewalk wobbles slightly. It appeared I had accidentally stepped right on the hand supporting the tile I was on.

A Summoned Spark - chapter ten Chapter 10 of my YA/dystopian novel, A Summoned Spark , is now available for all supporters on my Ko-fi page. Shared dreams! Thrilling rescues! Revenge! Check it out!

DAYS IN PARADISIO Convinced Me ██████ carefully read the pamphlet handed out to her, debating whether this “Paradisio” was the real deal or just some cheap cash grab scam. “Seems too good to be true” ██████ thought to herself as she put the pamphlet in her bag–maybe she’ll give it some time or sleep on it. Today was–below average, minor inconveniences here and there but she wouldn’t call it a bad day-some people are having it worse anyways. The sky was gloomy, it always seemed gloomy in ██████’s eyes-and so did the world around her. Life had thrown misfortune after misfortune at her and ██████ learned to live with it but this Paradisio place sounds like somewhat promising… If what the pamphlet was saying is true then that would mean turning a new leaf in ██████’s life… One where the world isn’t so gloomy and lackluster. It had just gone dark when ██████ reached her apartment. She tossed her bag on the floor and the pamphlet flew out,catching her eye and ██████ once again picked it up and read the contents once more, eyes scanning for any fine print messages that might make her regret believing in this thing. For some reason, it had no location listed, no additional details aside from the contact number. ██████ shook her head and placed the pamphlet on the table, she’ll make her final decision once she’s made dinner. As she sat down and ate dinner, ██████ scrolled through her phone, seeing what her friends and family were up to made her feel… Bitter. Her siblings were out on vacation, her friends were going on reunions and get-togethers and her? Nothing. There was nothing going on in ██████’s life, nothing worthy enough to post online-that bitter feeling grew and grew inside her until she took a deep breath and set her phone down. There’s no point in being envious of something that’s out of your control, let alone something that doesn’t even belong to you. “What am I doing with my life…” ██████ muttered to herself as she stared up at the ceiling. She stared for minutes until she finally made up her mind, reaching for her phone and dialed the number written on the pamphlet. Ring ring… Ring ring… Ring ring… Ring ring… “Hello, Paradisio line, this is E.H-2618 speaking, how may I help you?” A chirpy voice answered. ██████ paused for a moment before opening her mouth “Hi, I was handed a pamphlet about your city and wanted to ask a few questions” “Of course, ma'am, what is it that you would like to inquire about?” ██████ glanced at the pamphlet in her hand. “So like what kind of opportunities does Paradisio have–” “We can offer you job opportunities and a chance to make a new life for yourself” ██████ was taken aback by the immediate answer, she had just finished talking. Although the answer she was given was-quite general. “Anymore questions?” “…” “No” A moment of silence passed before the person on the other line spoke again. “So are you interested in moving to our little paradise? Just tell us when you’re coming so that we can prepare for your arrival” ██████ glanced at the calendar on the wall. The person on the other line sounds so sincere, it convinces ██████ that this could be the chance she’s been wishing for, the chance to turn a new leaf and restart her life. Six days of preparation should do. “Is March 26 alright?” “We can do just that” “A few reminders, when you arrive in your new home, you will need to do a bit of registry so that we can decide what job suits you best” Decide what job suits her best? Isn’t it the other way around? “Wait what do you mean decide what job–” “We’ll call you to let you know when your new home is ready, we look forward to your arrival, have a good night!” The call ended, leaving ██████ with new unanswered questions. She looked at the pamphlet again and read it again and again, searching-scanning for something, for answer-none. She let out a frustrated sigh, the only choice she has now is to prepare for her eventual move to Paradisio. Hopefully all the things she’s heard of this place is true.

Purity Act (Part 1, Chapter 1) Part I - Genesis “The Lord God said, ‘The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forevermore.’” - Genesis 3:22 1 Percy I always wake wondering if God has already named me. Not aloud, of course. Nothing is ever spoken aloud before the second bell. I lie still until the first bell passes. It doesn’t mean anything important — it never does — but we have to listen anyway. Ignoring it could be seen as defiance. The room is already pale with morning light, the curtains drawn the same way they always were. Even sleep has rules here. I keep my hands in view. It was the first thing I was ever taught in Region One: ‘Nothing hidden is harmless.’ I hear the creak of my door as my mother enters. Her gaze flicks to my fingertips, as if she expects them to turn blackened overnight. It’s become a habit of hers. She’s checked every morning since I was nine. I hear the second bell ring. It practically shakes the whole house — I can see the water in the cup on the nightstand shiver. “No signs today,” she says, her voice tired of the words. “Good.” I say. “Get changed, we leave at 10 o’clock.” She turns on her heel and briskly walks out — like every morning. I stand up from my bed and move towards the white uniform laid on the chair the night prior. It’s plain, completely white. The fabric is stiff against my skin, as if it doesn’t want to belong to me for long. After I’ve done my top button, I walk out of my room. I take myself into the dining room where my Mother already waits for me. “I’ll walk you half way there,” she tells me. “You know the rest of the way.” I give a curt nod. She puts a firm hand on my shoulder and steers me out of the house. Other people are already outside, all moving in the same direction. Some accompanied, others alone. My Mother looks straight ahead, her eyes set on something in the distance. Her grip tightens slightly as we walk. It takes all my strength not to react. I know I mustn’t make that mistake. Two girls walk beside us, and I recognise them as Seraphina and Serenity Prince. They always move together — one never seen without the other. They’re identical, though I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart without the gloves. They cling to each other’s hands as if afraid of being torn apart. I recognise the gloved girl as Serenity. Tear tracks stain her face and her lip trembles as she walks. Seraphina glances at their interlocked hands. Faint black smudges mark Serenity’s white gloves, and my eyes snap to Seraphina’s fingertips. Black coats her finger tips, she’s been chosen. I never knew the mark could smudge. We stop where the path splits in two. My mother’s hand slips from my shoulder, though the dull ache is still there. “Keep your head down.” Her eyes remain fixed ahead, like she can already see the ceremony waiting for me. I tug at the cuff of my sleeve. “I know.” “And don’t stare if someone is named.” My stomach tightens at the thought of the blackened finger tips and the ink-smudged gloves. “Alright.” For a moment, she looks at me properly. Something uncertain flickers across her face before disappearing just as quickly. “Come straight home afterwards.” I nod. “If they allow it.” Her expression hardens again. “They’ll allow it.” Then she turns and walks back the way we came, leaving me among the others. The hall stands at the centre of Region One. It stands in all its glory, white gleaming stone underneath the sun. By the time I reach the gates, hundreds of people are already gathered outside. Nobody speaks above a whisper. The third bell rings as the hall doors swing open. Nobody rushes forward. Nobody speaks, we move in silence, rows of white filling in between the stone pillars beneath the watchful eyes of the Shepherds. I keep my hands in view, just like we were taught. At first, I think the dark behind my fingernails is dirt. Then it spreads. Slow black crawls across my finger tips, like ink soaking paper. I stop breathing. God has named me. 2 Percy My hands stay still. I don’t move them, like movement might make them worse. A girl two rows ahead begins to cry. No one tells her to stop. She is already being watched. I swallow, but my throat feels dry. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. Ahead of me, a Shepherd stops. Serenity screams. It isn’t a clean sound, it cracks through the hall like something is tearing. “No — no! I have it! I have it! Please-” Chairs scrape and hands move but no one steps out of line. “It’s fake!” she cries. “It’s fake, I have it! Seraphina — tell them!” Serenity grabs Seraphina’s sleeve as if it’ll anchor herself there. As the Shepherds drag her away, she makes an attempt to remove her gloves. Her fingers fumble, shaking too hard to obey her. “Please don’t — Please don’t take her!” She’s dragged backwards through the rows, still reaching for her sister. Then the doors to the hall slam shut, blocking Serenity from view. The Hall doesn’t pause, the Shepherds move through the words as if nothing has changed. Seraphina stands near the altar, she doesn’t move. She doesn’t look back. From a distance, she might as well be carved into the stone herself. The Shepherds stop at the crying girl two rows ahead. “Hands.” Her hands shake so badly that the Shepherd can barely inspect them. “Hold still, girl,” He hisses at her. The Shepherd takes her right hand and turns it over beneath the light. It’s a slow motion, like he’s reading something small. Then he stills. “Marked.” The girl makes a small noise in the back of her throat and tries to shrink away, but there is nowhere to go. Two Shepherds pull her from the row towards the altar and she takes her place next to Seraphina. A pang of pity makes my insides churn, she doesn’t look older than nine. The Shepherds continue through the rows, closer to me now. Someone else is found, a scrawny boy who looks around some of the oldest here. Then the Shepherd stops in front of me. I keep my hands where they can see them, though my fingers have started trembling despite my effort to control them. “Hands.” My throat tightens. I raise them anyway. The Shepherd takes my right hand first, his grip cool and firm. He turns my hand beneath the light as silence settles around us. The Shepherd studies my fingertips longer than he should. “Marked.” The words hit me like a stone hitting water. Two pairs of hands seize my arms and hoist me up. They escort me to the altar, where I stand next to the guy from before. Rows of people begin to stand, they file out the Hall and the reality of this gives me a firm slap on the cheek. I can get a glimpse of Serenity who’s now been cuffed by the Shepherds. Serphina bows her head and she begins to shake slightly. I wonder if my mother is waiting for me. “They’ll allow it.” I know that I’ve broken my promise to her because I won’t be returning home. The words of the head Shepherd blur together, muffled by the sound of my heart beat. I stare ahead, that’s what my mother had said. “And Don’t stare if someone is named”.

A Summoned Spark - chapter nine I posted chapter 9 of my YA/dystopian novel, A Summoned Spark , to my Ko-fi page. It’s available for all supporters.

She was moving forward by intuition, which arose inside her like a powerful flame these days, tearing through the gap between thought and action.

A Summoned Spark - chapter eight Chapter 8 of my YA/dystopian novel, A Summoned Spark , is now available for all supporters on my Ko-fi page! Old friends return and secrets are revealed…

7 Gripping Dystopian Plot Ideas For Writers In this post, we share seven dark and imaginative dystopian plot ideas to inspire your next unforgettable story. From oppressive governments to broken societies, these ideas will help you create a tense and thought-provoking world for your readers.

The Nexus Run MxM Hey guys, I wanted to share my work in progress novel, The Nexus Run (MxM) artwork of Daytona by me. In the year 2105… The divide between the rich and the poor has grown wider than ever. Nev AI governs the megacity of Neovista , maintaining constant surveillance, security, and control across every zone. Obsolete technology has been discarded and dumped into The Slums outside the walls of the city, now a sprawling Wasteland . The enforcement arm, the Neovista Defence Force (NDF) , enforces order and deals appropriately with crime. In The Slums , survival comes only through tireless labour working for the city. Payment comes in just a handful of tokens. After covering the cost of food, hygiene and accommodation, many are left with nothing to show for. But there is hope, in the form of a lottery-style competition. The prize promises a lifetime of money and fame. But The Nexus Run is tougher than you think, and playing the game might just cost you everything you thought you had, and everything you believed you were. GRAB THE NEXUS, WIN THE GAME. —- Prologue An engine rev rumbled low and hungry, snapping Daytona out of his daydream. He’d just finished fuelling his kart and was now rolling it to the starting line. The smell of gas lingered, and the heat of the night was heavy on his mind. The kart racing was illegal, of course . However, down in The Slums , it was hard to care about the rules of a city that had shut its doors to you. Like all the others who dared to race before him, Daytona had gathered the materials himself, by scrounging what he could find in The Wastelands , in the mountains of discarded technology and machinery scrap that were seen as no longer useful. Now forgotten, but not to all. Daytona’s kart was a crooked mess of welded scrap, built from rusted metal frames, and parts from vehicles that had long since seen the open roads. The rear wheels were thick and heavy, while the front wheels were small and nimble which were perfect for taking sharp turns. The rest of it was whatever he could make of it. With bits and bobs that didn’t quite make sense and parts that were only used for aesthetic purposes. The kart wasn’t a grand design, but it was his, and he was proud of what he’d managed to build. It was functional, and that was all he needed. Daytona turned the key, the engine choking as it started. The exposed engine rattled behind him, coughing smoke and screaming as if it hated being alive just as much as it refused to die. Loose wires hung sporadically above his head, and the seat looked like a single bump would knock it loose from its bolts. ICARUS , was painted in yellow and blue along the side, adorned with a set of white angel wings which he’d designed and spray painted himself. When he was settled at the starting line, a kart parked beside him. It was sleeker than his, painted black and red. There was also an explosion along the side and the memory of that day played in his mind. He could still see the two of them covered in grease and paint, laughing as they spray painted their karts in the garage, dreaming about the races that were yet to come. Behind the wheel sat a guy in a faded maroon leather jacket, his brown hair slicked back beneath a pair of red goggles. His grey eyes locked onto Daytona, intense and unblinking. “Max…” he whispered under his breath. Daytona’s attention snapped away as feedback from speakers pierced his ears. Archer Wildes was the MC, fashioned of course, sporting a green mohawk and a black punkish outfit. He stepped out onto the track, and grinned widely as he brought the microphone closer to his mouth. It was quiet for a moment as he held the audience’s anticipation. Then he spoke: “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grand final of our annual Wasteland Ranks . The engines are ready, and the crowd is somewhere hidden among the scrap metal. Tonight, five elite racers battle for glory! Let me introduce to you the legendary and respected, Gurdy Armstrong, driving the shooting ARROW. Next we have the feared and fearless Lance Striker, driving the deadly and deathly DEATH MACHINE. Unstoppable and with unmatched energy and talent, Vikki Cordero, riding her bike VIPER. Racing with his angel wings, the electrifying and one and only Daytona Atari, driving his kart ICARUS . Defending the crown and the racing champion, Max McCloud, soaring with his machine, MAD MAX! Only one will win. Let the race begin!” The cheers of the crowd were heard, and the energy around the track picked up. Thousands of Slummies had flooded into the depths of the scrap, under the cover of night, taking advantage of the hours when Hounds were not out in force. They were packed into makeshift seats, metal crates and barrels. His friends sat perched on the high scaffolding of a junked crane to get a better view. He looked back at them, and Neo caught his eye who waved at him. He then lifted a hand, waving back and acknowledging his friend. The rev of the engines purred, the racers eager to race. Daytona tried to control breath and sweat dripped off his brow. Winning would earn you thirty tokens. It was just enough for extra meals, clothes, or whatever junk you fancied from the markets. In the grand scheme of things, thirty tokens barely made a dent, but it was still more than most Slummies ever carried in their pockets at any given time. For some, the junk was worth it. Slummies had to treasure something down here, because what else did they have to look forward to besides the drudgery of everyday work? Carefully Daytona watched the lights. Red… Orange… When the light turned green, the white flag was signalled. Daytona pushed his foot hard on the pedal but his kart suddenly fishtailed, his tires losing grip which made him spin out. Red dust flew up as the other racers sped off down the track. It was embarrassing, but he refused to let one bad start define the entire race. He could still win. Daytona stepped on the pedal, once it moved he quickly grinded the gears. Before he even realised, he scooted around the first corner. It wasn’t long before Vikki’s bike, VIPER , came into view. She’d beaten Daytona in races plenty of times, and neither was willing to give an inch now. But with Daytona’s heavier vehicle, even a slight bump forced Vikki to pull back, unwilling to risk her loss of balance. Daytona edged closer until their tyres were almost brushing. Looking back, the determination in Vikki’s eyes was unmistakable. Despite being a fierce competitor, she’d taken a bad fall recently, breaking her leg and dislocating her shoulder. Daytona was impressed she’d even gotten back her bike after the incident. He felt a twinge of guilt for taking advantage of her physical shortcomings, but this was the final race, after all. And he really wanted those tokens. Her angry shouting was instantly swallowed by the sound of the engine as he surged past her. The race wasn’t over, he still had a job to finish. But the moment he gained ground on the racers ahead, scooting past all the scrap, his engine spat out a heavy dark grey cloud. Oil erupted from the exhaust, his momentum faltering. “Come on, don’t do this to me ICARUS! ” He pleaded under his breath, begging the metal and grease for a miracle. Right on cue, the kart bounced back and howled forward. He looked down at the speedometer and the speed seemed to climb back up. ICARUS had been showing red flags for days, and racing tonight without properly fixed engine parts was pure stupidity. Still, Daytona pushed through the doubt, his eyes locked dead ahead and Lance’s kart, DEATH MACHINE came into view. Adrenaline pumped through Daytona, like a lion’s roar, kicking a trail of dust beside him. Lance’s kart suddenly slowed due to the vision loss, and he lost traction. Then, it spun wildly across the track, now facing backwards. “Yes!” he cheered with a fist feeling a rush of satisfaction as Lance disappeared, the dust still hanging in the air like a fading cloud of victory. Then, out of nowhere, another kart slammed into his side and he jerked at the wheel trying to hold his balance. Daytona didn’t have to look to know who it was. He knew the sound of that engine like the back of his hand. It wasn’t just any kart, it was ARROW , and he’d learned how to build a kart thanks to its driver. Gurdy Armstrong. The old man shot him a wide, competitive grin. They were neck and neck now, wheels vibrating over the rough track. Daytona was not about to let a veteran claim his prize. Gurdy swerved ARROW , trying to force him off balance, but Daytona was used to his antics and edged on the brakes. Gurdy overcommitted. His kart skidded straight into the makeshift barrier, sending pieces of scrap shooting out like shrapnel. Daytona let out a wide grin, but then a chunk of debris slammed into his windscreen, cracking the glass. “Fuck!” he cried as the piece flew off. He didn’t have time to care about the damage. He accelerated, driving away and leaving Gurdy in the dust. There was no time to check if the old man was okay, not when he saw his true rival, MAD MAX , up ahead. His sleek vehicle cut through the air with a sharp, whistling whine. Right on cue, Daytona’s kart choked once again. “Don’t die on me now!“ The kart coughed more, and gasoline spat, the engine stuttering. "No, no! Don’t do this to me now!” Desperate, Daytona reached blindly behind his seat and slammed his fist hard against the rattling metal block. It usually did the trick, and this was no different. Thankfully the worrying sounds stopped. With the engine issues somewhat smoothed out, he finally pulled up alongside Max, who glanced over at him. Daytona smirked, but Max wasn’t giving anything away. Max edged closer, their wheels grinding together, sparkles flew through the opened window and Daytona flinched, quickly brushing the embers off his arm. “Are you trying to get us both killed?” Daytona barked at him. “You’re such an ass,” he added. Max finally looked over, his expression intense and unwavering, “Day, I just wanted to see your heart rate jump.” he shouted back, smirking with that look Daytona knew all too well. “See you at the finish line,” he winked. Max floored it, his engine roaring as Daytona watched the distance begin to stretch between them. Daytona shook his head. He was just as stubborn as Max. He reached over and grabbed the small canister sitting on the seat, popping the lid. He tipped the glowing purple liquid straight into a pipe beside him. The feed went straight into the engine, and he hoped ICARUS would consume it before the race ended. "Come on!” he gritted his teeth, waiting for the liquid to kick in. Looking behind his shoulders, he finally saw the purple smoke blast from the rear cylinders and his kart shot forward like a spitting fireball. “Wahooo!” he cheered at the boost and suddenly he was nearing Max. Second passed, and he was once again neck and neck with Max, who turned to look at him with wide eyes. Daytona gave him a quick wave before speeding past with ease, and the finish line finally came into view. Then came the smoke, not purple but black like midnight followed by a small bang. “Shit!” he hollered. Within seconds, and just meters from the finish line, Daytona’s kart came to a complete stop. “Fuck!” he shouted out, banging his hands against the steering wheel. Max passed him first, eventually followed by the rest of the racers who zoomed past him. Despite his best efforts, Daytona was last to finish the race. It was disappointing to say the least. He rolled his head back in defeat and slumped against the chair. Daytona wheeled his broken kart past the finish line and off the side of the track. He immediately looked around for Max who had just stepped out of his vehicle. Max ran a hand through his shoulder length hair, and walked with swagger that Daytona found effortlessly cool. Removing his goggles, Max looked back at him, his jacket flowing in the dusty wind. He smiled with a warmth Daytona hadn’t seen from him before. Daytona smiled back with a quiet understanding shared between them. Max had beat him fair and square, and he’d respect his victory. Day slowly started walking toward Max, but without warning, a smoke bomb exploded right between them. Screams erupted, followed by bright lights and chaos. Daytona shielded his eyes against the sudden glare, coughing as he breathed in the thick smoke. “DAY!” Neo, his friend, called from off the track. Through the haze of smoke, Daytona watched as an NDF Hound had Max pinned to the ground. The officer raised his weapon and pressed the barrel into Max’s back. The neon charge glowed illuminating red against his jacket. Daytona would never forget the terrified look on Max’s face, or the single tear that rolled down his cheek as he looked back at him. “Stay down!” the officer growled. He pulled Max’s wrists behind his back and snapped the handcuffs into place. “You’re finished kid. To the box you go.” “Day, we have to go!” Neo grabbed his arm and started pulling him away. Daytona resisted at first, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Max as they hauled him toward a truck. Max looked back at Daytona one last time, offering a silent goodbye. The Hound shoved Max’s head down and forced him inside, the door shut behind him. The racing had always been done in secret, deep in the scrap, far away from the city. But clearly someone had ratted them out. The city hated it when any bit of fun ever happened down here, and they were usually quick to shut it down. Which is why the NEV AI coming here tonight was unprecedented. The city usually just left the border work to the ground Hounds , far too prideful to waste real capital resources on The Slums . Seeing those massive aerial shapes meant the city was escalating the crackdown. Daytona couldn’t understand why one of their own had sold them out. But he probably figured they were doing it for whatever tokens or favours the city was offering. Daytona finally gave in, letting Neo guide him away. More sirens echoed in the distance as large drones hovered overhead. The two of the boys ran, climbing through the rubble for a chance to escape. They stayed silent as they watched The Slums that night. Eventually they made it back to their apartment. They wondered how many others had been arrested and what it meant for the future of the races. Daytona looked out at the lack of visible stars that night, feeling guilty, wondering why they had taken Max and not him. Max was his friend. No, he was more than a friend, and now he would suffer however long they saw fit. The boxes were notoriously small jail cells located in the Security District where the police resided. Nobody ever came back from them the same, and he worried the same for Max. NEV AI Drones hovered around until the sun finally rose, then they disappeared back into the capital. He desperately wanted to find and help Max, but there was nothing he could do. This was The Slums after all, and they were powerless against those who controlled them from the mega city of Neovista.

Divergent is better than the maze runner

“Laughter comes from living.” –Shatter Me, Tahereh Mafi

The Last Contract of Isako Review - Useful or Dead

The Last Contract of Isako Review - Useful or Dead The Last Contract of Isako by Fonda Lee is the tale of a corporate samurai on a space colony fulfilling their last mission before they retire, which on this colony means walking to their own death. Not going to lie, my experience with cyberpunk is limited, but this novel definitely fits the bill with one …

All that you touch You change. All that you Change Changes you. The only lasting truth Is Change. God Is Change. -Earthseed: The Books of the Living.

📚 The Last Contract of Isako by: Fonda Lee Isako is a legendary swordswoman, but every legend must come to an end. When her long-time client unexpectedly retires, she plans to follow—to walk out into the frozen wasteland of their planet with her head held high and her family enriched by her death. But when she’s offered a final mission, she can’t refuse, especially when she realizes who lies at the center of it all: Martim, her last—and worst—apprentice, who’s somehow made his way to the top. As she’s thrust into a world of corporate espionage and shadowy secrets, what she uncovers could forever change humanity’s existence among the stars. The Last Contract of Isako is epic science fiction like only Fonda Lee can write it—set in a world where money trumps loyalty, the elite have the power to extend life or end it, and one woman in the twilight of her calling must decide what’s ultimately worth living—or dying—for. A battle-worn corporate samurai undertakes one last mission on a merciless planet where death is always a mere breath away, in this standalone dystopian epic from the author of the modern fantasy classic Jade City. LIVE BY THE CODE. DIE BY THE KNIFE. Find this book at BookBlaBla

Perilous Comics releases “The Last Call,” a collaboration between FantasyForge Comics and Para232, combining Para232’s renders with FantasyForge’s signature captioning style. This chapter follows Victoria as she navigates a dystopian society in a dark, atmospheric visual narrative told through 213 HD images. https://powershopz.com/PerilousComics/280518

Hi :] Out of these books (minus Heated Rivalry, Role Model and Given) should I read next?

1984 all the way. Love picture of Dorian gray but I feel like 1984 is a book everyone should read.

Currently reading. I was fully immersed in my dystopian era when this book came out, yet I never got around to reading it. I read so many dystopian novels (or novels that were marketed as being dystopian, I should say) at the time that I got burned out on them and ended up largely disappointed with the genre. Now, almost 15 years later, I’ve decided to read this. I’ve seen bad reviews of it but still want to see for myself what it’s like. I usually don’t agree with the majority of book reviews and ratings, anyway. We will see.