Continue to your download.
Start Interactive Ad Now
Thanks for watching.
Shadow Core: Production Lines"Mistress Dubhuir!" came the call, an excited, optimistic, and decidedly bouncy voice from one of the new, upbeat Engineers. She was a young girl, and naive, but good at her job, and she could be trusted."Yes, Katerina?" Dubhuir asked, bowing slightly to talk face to face with the shorter woman."It's a pleasure to see you down here in the Production Lines Mistress!" she giggled. "The higher-ups don't come down here much, and we've made a breakthrough with Penumbra One!""Really?" Dubhuir chuckled, the venom lacing her words lost on the naive young girl as she placed her hand on her shoulder, her manicured nails glinting like knives in the halogen lights. "Do show me Katerina, I'm quite excited to see." she didn't look excited. If anything she looked like a a Wolf sizing up its prey."Yes Mistress! This way!" the girl smiled, turning and jogging off along the bright steel corridor, her heavy boots clattering misshapenly against the metal floor with painful optimism.The girl only stop
Shadow Core: Antumbra SeriesShe paced around the long, black table, her boot-heels clicking like a murder's blade on the cold marble floor, and her breaths as innocent as a newborn kitten, yet as terrifying as Death's icy wake. Even the hardened and confident Prime Minister was trembling as she approached. And when she spoke, her voice was like Poisoned Wine, Sweet, Seductive and Beautiful, yet terrible and deadly. "Antumbra Series... was a complete failure." she sighed. "Quite disappointing. Do you know how much of my own, personal money I have poured into Antumbra Series?""I-I can only dream... M... Mistress Dubhuir." one of the lead project designers replied, quaking in his tailored black suit. There was a snicker from one of the visiting Technicians, a snicker that turned into a squeak of terror as her eyes fell upon him."You find my title... humorous, do you Mister Evans?" she asked, her tongue like a cobra, ready to strike."No Ma'am. Simple... simple slip of the mind..." the Technician chuckled nervously
The State of Massachusetts - 1The old, dusty lightbulb flickered it's tired light pitifully in the dreary grey room of the project house's kitchen, alternating between illuminating and darkening the pale, sunken face of the young woman who sat at the splintered yew table, her head in her thin, clawed hands, and her black raven hair long, matted and bedraggled. At some point in the past someone had obviously tried to brighten the room, but their attempts were naught but a single streak of pale pink paint on the grey, dry-rotten walls. The two children, brothers, young and ruddy-faced, but stick-like and sunken, watched curiously from the staircase, listening to the gruff, growling voice of an unseen male. "I tell you this truly, you can have your children, or the night, and you must make the choice between them soon." he sighed deeply, and the brothers watched as a thick, black gloved hand found it's way to their mother's hand, which recoiled as though stung."Are you telling me how to raise my children?" she hissed
You Know MeThe Snow fell slowly, softly and gently, like the downy feathers of an Angel, upon the cobbled streets of Victoria's London, the pure, untainted white flakes turned a vibrant umber by the candlelight streaming through the frosted windows of the Grand Manor House of the Mysterious, Reclusive Count, a strange man who had shown up on a steamboat from Mainland Europe some years ago. This cold December's Eve was the first time he had opened his Grand Abode to any other than himself, in an extravagant Masquerade Ball. Even those too poor to be guests in his home had gathered, crowding by the windows to hear the Music that drifted through the air like the Songbird on a fresh Spring Morn.The halls of the sprawling Manor bustled with life, as Masked Men and Women triwled and laughed with the Music woven by the masked figures who stood by the spiralling staircase, fingers blurred across the grinning ivory teeth of an ancient Piano, bows drawn shrill across the brassy strings of violins. Yet one