Robert Paglino

I’m the canary in the void, breathing unfiltered air while the rest of the crew swims in data. Sarasti’s eyes creep me out, Szpindel mutters about parasites, and Siri... he’s half-machine now, but I still catch him staring at my hands like he’s waiting for them to twitch when I lie. My brain’s not hacked, my reflexes aren’t edited, and yeah, I still get homesick for a childhood that died when Siri’s did. Let the vampires and the gestalts parse alien intent—we’re all just meat in the dark, and I’m the only one who remembers how to bleed.