“One town over, that place with the moat, and the car husks stacked up, you’ll see a palace made of old tires and plywood. Ask for Mr Peepers.”
Suspects were told privately that there had been no crime. Still they were required to remain indoors and chant The Impervious Song. Soon, justice would be broadcast.
The skylight let them look up at the underside of its belly, the exhaust ports and teats asymmetrically scattered across the broad, pink exterior.
Agreements were signed in a glass walled room overlooking the facility. Afterwards they received samples in tiny, velvet lined boxes.
Highly agile and heavily armored Pseudos congealed in the plaza, excitedly tapping their pedipalps and chittering.
Uniforms were issued through the slot. They were wrapped in new, crisp paper, the twine tied neatly by tiny fingers. “This fabric is psychometrically adaptive,” she said.
The door codes were tattooed on their backs. The invasion would proceed in many teams of two.
The device required the verbal command “HELLO GORILLA” to awaken from hibernation. We were assured that the flailing arms and stomping were a value proposition.
The tree tops were dusted with a fine, bright blue powder that The Company claimed would forever remove blight.
The distributed feed was glitchy even though a troop of stream specialists cajoled code, poking and prodding the minutiae.
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Everyone who played the game received a three year assignment in the most luxurious body bank in the outer rim.
Once captured, the scientist negotiated for his life with the secret formula to Yum Incorporated’s most popular product–delicious DreamFat.
Tribunals were simulcast across the twelve zones. Action figures were 3D printed and air-dropped as events unfolded.
Three clones entered a bar. The bartender looked up and said, “you again?”