Author: Alzo David-West
A soldier – roving through the miasma streams of rended forms and spectral cores, the broken gangrene and the fractal pain pouring from the fading – an anxious, empty, frenzied atavism without love and without feeling, except for the instinct to preserve the fragment self in the chaos of emanations and microdrones; the third year of the counterinsurgency against the unified Sytokyn storm – decayed outposts and senescent cells, and the savage, indiscriminate, endless bombardments of the N’ar; carrying an interferon charger, firing into the dismal storm, and the exploding swirling, crashing in dim tones.
