Cherreads

Don't Run!

ArthurMatte
In the hidden black-sites of 2035, scientists are slitting each other's throats to build the first genuine "Mechuro"—a top-secret, fully cybernetic human. Shawn Frickin' Heisen couldn’t care less. He peaked at six years old when he mastered calculus. Now? He’s a certified anti-genius. A blacklisted shut-in whose only useful skill is hacking encrypted servers and cracking shitty games from his messy bedroom just to afford a meal for the day. He's broke as fuck, surviving entirely on the tired patience of his older roommate, Remila. She used to be his paid tutor back when he actually had a future; now, she grinds through three dead-end jobs just to keep them from starving. Then one day, his phone buzzes. One message from his deadbeat father, and Shawn's rotting sanctuary is ripped apart. Suddenly, staying hidden isn't an option. To survive the fallout, Shawn needs to get into Novainé Phoenixä, an academy strictly for the global elite. But getting a dirt-poor, truant hacker into the most secure school on Earth is lowkey a suicide mission. If he actually manages to cheat his way in, his only cover is the school's Artist Club. In a tech-obsessed world, traditional art is slowly bleeding to death, making the club a perfect, dusty graveyard to hide in. There, he reunites with his estranged childhood friend Nico, and meets two girls, Nielle and Rosalinne—a group of damaged kids just trying to share a few quiet afternoons and maybe fix each other. But healing is a joke. Underneath the canvas, ugly secrets start to leak. The tragedy that originally shattered Shawn’s mind wasn't just bad luck. And the "friends" smiling to his face are hiding dark, twisted ties to the very cybernetic shadow-war he wanted no part of. The world is trying to build the perfect machine. But first, it’s going to break a very fragile boy.
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Warcraft: The Light alone cannot save Azeroth

The Light alone cannot save Azeroth. No one can. They whisper these words like gospel, like inevitable truth carved into stone. WHO decided that? Who appointed fate as our master? Who crowned despair as our king? I was once a prince who believed in salvation through obedience. Through the Light. Through duty to crown and clergy. Through blind faith in powers greater than myself. And I learned a bitter lesson: the gods do not fight our wars. The heavens do not bleed for us. But I have shed that weakness like a serpent sheds its skin. Azeroth does not need saviors who kneel and pray. It does not need heroes who defer to prophecy and hope for divine intervention. It needs those willing to seize POWER—the power of conviction, of will, of absolute determination—and wield it without hesitation, without apology, without the paralyzing doubt of lesser men. I have seen what humanity is capable of when we stop asking permission. When we stop waiting for the Light to guide us. When we decide that OUR strength, OUR choice, OUR sacrifice will be enough. So I say this to every soul that hears me: We will not be saved by distant gods or ancient prophecies or the benevolence of forces we cannot control. We will be saved by OURSELVES. By conviction. By the refusal to accept defeat as destiny. By the recognition that WE are the authors of Azeroth's fate. The question is not whether we CAN save Azeroth. The question is whether we have the strength to decide that WE WILL, and to become the warriors, the leaders, the sacrifice that this world demands. That is the path of a true prince of Lordaeron. That is our burden. That is our glory. Of Humanity! This is not the same translation as my other one, New Dawn of Lordaeron. 魔兽:圣光救不了艾泽拉斯
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