The thought of the dead-eyed monsters was enough to send a chill up her spine, so she wrapped her arms around herself and hunkered down, eyes on the gravel path before her. That’s when she saw the purple glow of light reflecting on damp cement ahead. Marisol looked up and smiled.
“The Fallen Hero,” she said, reading the name of a local bar with a smile. “My only friend.”
As if in welcome, the bar’s sign blinked off for a moment before flashing back on with a spark, and she laughed. “It’s good to see you too. Now give me a goddamn damn drink, you asshole.”
Each step felt a little lighter now, excitement boiling up inside her. read more…
Marisol, or “Sling,” as some of the Olders called her, held her rifle at shoulder level to peer through the scope, searching, hunting. The dark blue skies of pre-dawn cast a blue hue across New Chicago, and then she saw him, saw the man in the window, always staring out from that skyrise, one of the few that remained, gazing in her direction.
Well, not her specifically, but to the barracks inhabited by the hunters, the area where she and the other so-called “Apes” lived.
Their predecessors, cops and national guardsmen and the like, had worked to restore law and order after First Light (the local euphemism for the Unraveling, the purported solar storm that ended the old ways) and the populace, upon seeing them arrive for the first time in their militarized, then-shimmering black gear and body armor, had nicknamed them Apes.
The name stuck and the youngest of the Apes, Marisol, took some small measure of satisfaction from seeing images in the basin of the long-dead creatures with their muscle-quilted bodies and silver backs and faces seemingly screwed up in perpetual disgust. They were strong and powerful, and so was she.
Even though she had no idea who the man watching her was, she wanted to pull the trigger and watch him fall. Anyone who peered in the direction of the Apes often had to have sins enough worth dying for. An infatuation with their trade meant a love of death. read more…
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With an alien invasion and survival of the human race at stake, service in the Marines was no longer simply about honor and duty, it was a matter of life and death.
This was especially true for Quinn, a Marine sergeant who was hell-bent on ensuring that her young daughter had a world to grow up in. But one thing separates Quinn from the others:
She’s a certifiable badass.
And as the aliens will learn, it’s tough to keep a good woman down
Here’s what some people are saying already:
“SYNDICATE WARS is the perfect mash-up of STARSHIP TROOPERS and THE DIRTY DOZEN. A space opera with heart, great characters, and neverending action, the set-up will suck you in and the characters and story, including a very cool time-travel hook, will keep you wanting more.”
— Stephen L’Heureux, Producer – Sin City 1 & 2
The book’s about to launch, so here you go! FINAL SNIPPET!
Mortar rounds began dropping as an airborne drone sliced by, distending a mass of metallic tentacles that ensnared a female resistance fighter. Giovanni watched the drone pull the screaming woman up into the air until she was barely visible, and then it dropped her.
The woman shrieked, windmilling her arms, falling through the air before her body broke apart on the roof of an adjacent house.
“Fuckers!” Calee said, pulling up next to Giovanni. She had a Hafnium rocket launcher over one shoulder and was hungry for targets.
“Cover me!” she said, and Giovanni did, turning and firing several rounds as the drones regrouped and menacingly moved forward.
The chain guns on the drones turned night to day, spitting fire continuously, as Calee dove for cover. She scrabbled behind a brick wall and rose and fired her rocket.
The missile arced up and then came down on a hard angle, detonating on top of another drone, splintering it into five smoking pieces. read more…