Limited Hangout (eBook, ePUB)
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Some people don't disappear-they're collectedLIMITED HANGOUT is a novel of control disguised as connection, of captivity as a form of information management. A woman vanishes into the private curation of a man who believes he's outside the system. He isn't. None of us are.He wanted her for her Tartarian bloodline. He watches her. Records her. Somewhere between conspiracy and communion, their identities begin to glitch. What begins as possession becomes a broadcast, recurrent and unstable.There are patterns of recognition in the older rituals-shifting geology, energy weapons, flooding, anomalou...
Some people don't disappear-they're collected
LIMITED HANGOUT is a novel of control disguised as connection, of captivity as a form of information management. A woman vanishes into the private curation of a man who believes he's outside the system. He isn't. None of us are.
He wanted her for her Tartarian bloodline. He watches her. Records her. Somewhere between conspiracy and communion, their identities begin to glitch. What begins as possession becomes a broadcast, recurrent and unstable.
There are patterns of recognition in the older rituals-shifting geology, energy weapons, flooding, anomalous zones. But fake history doesn't repeat itself, it's replicated.
The house is isolated, the surveillance is ambient. Exposure is mistaken as intimacy. Myth mistaken as memory. Truth is obsolete, only access remains.
This is not a love story. This is not a crime. It is something slower, unfamiliar, more sanctioned.
You were never meant to read this.
LIMITED HANGOUT is a novel of control disguised as connection, of captivity as a form of information management. A woman vanishes into the private curation of a man who believes he's outside the system. He isn't. None of us are.
He wanted her for her Tartarian bloodline. He watches her. Records her. Somewhere between conspiracy and communion, their identities begin to glitch. What begins as possession becomes a broadcast, recurrent and unstable.
There are patterns of recognition in the older rituals-shifting geology, energy weapons, flooding, anomalous zones. But fake history doesn't repeat itself, it's replicated.
The house is isolated, the surveillance is ambient. Exposure is mistaken as intimacy. Myth mistaken as memory. Truth is obsolete, only access remains.
This is not a love story. This is not a crime. It is something slower, unfamiliar, more sanctioned.
You were never meant to read this.
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