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The Whisper Protocol

TikiTikiTime
In the not-too-distant future, reality had been edited. Not replaced—just enhanced, beautified, streamlined. Life ran smoother on the Q-Link, a surgically embedded neural chip that let you see the world through your own eyes… but better. No more phones, no more awkward screens. You could scroll TikTok with a thought, order coffee with a blink, and stream your dreams in real time if you wanted to. People danced at silent raves, laughed at memes no one else could hear, dated in virtual cat cafés from across the planet — all without moving a muscle. Max was one of them. Twenty-two, Brooklyn-born, chronically curious. He was charming, lowkey viral, and just detached enough to surf the dopamine tides without drowning. His best views came from inside his skull. His favorite music? Beamed directly into his auditory cortex. His mornings? Coffee shops full of beautiful, silent people — each lost in their own tailored universe. Then there was Clara — smart, fearless, the face of their joint YouTube Xtreme channel where they filmed high-adrenaline neuro-sim stunts for millions of neural feeds. She’d once simulated a zero-gravity skydive into a digital volcano and came out grinning. Life was curated chaos, but under control. Or so they thought. Because beneath the fun — the neuro-cocktails, virtual pet cafés, and pulse-synced club scenes — something darker was humming. A whisper. A pattern. A question that shouldn’t have been asked. What if someone wasn’t just watching the feed… What if they were writing it? And by the time Max and Clara realized they were no longer the storytellers but the story itself — the script had already begun.
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The Next General

"Have you heard of him?" A small boy tugged at a woman's skirt, his tiny finger pointing at the large portrait of a man clad in a minister’s robe. "Shhh! Don’t say its name!" The woman hushed him, glancing around anxiously. She knew the boy was only curious about the drawing, yet the inscription beside it spoke of someone else entirely. Still, the credit had been given to the man in the portrait. "Why?" "We just... don’t say it." "Are you talking about The Next General?" A man dressed as a scholar interjected, inserting himself into the conversation. "Everyone is talking about it. After a hundred years, it has returned. I can't decide whether that fills me with hope or dread." His words were meant to impress, to showcase his knowledge, but the woman only tightened her grip on the boy, scooped him up, and hurried away like a hunted animal sensing danger. The scholar let out a single sharp laugh. "A chaotic rhythm… and marvellously extraordinary times are upon us," he murmured, before turning and walking away. --- Disclaimer This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental. The views and opinions expressed by the characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author. This book contains content that may not be suitable for all audiences. Reader discretion is advised. ------- Author-Sama is here with another one, been planning this for quite a while but laziness and procrastination keeps holding me down but now I am free. Here is another exciting historical novel, please enjoy.
RainhaAsha · 50.5k Views