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​The Orange Zone was just as it's name suggested. Orange fog, humid, and a place where trouble was
never too far off. Most of the inhabitants here have a shady background in some form or another. If you
even so much as entertained the thought of stepping foot on the rocky soil here, chances are, your
hands ain't exactly clean.
Zylo was familiar with the man in charge here, guy goes by the name of Rax. He typically imports
cybernetic implants from other quadrants for a rather hefty sum of money. Not exactly the honest type,
but business is business. Even if it was of the shady variety, you couldn't find a better place for top of the
line gear. And it wasn't just cybernetics either, even though that was where most of Rax's business had

found success. He also dealt in arms dealing and weapons development, as well as high stakes boxing-
bot matches.

The parts Zylo took from the youngsters at the club would fetch a nice discount for what he's looking
for. Of course, some of the components were a little wet.But the change in temperture should help dry it
off. Even if it will get a little dusty instead. Rax most likely won't care though. Just bring him the parts and
he'll make them practically brand new, for a price, of course.
The girl kept following him even in this barren landscape, with no sign of her leaving anytime soon.
He'll ask Rax about that while he's in there, maybe he can fix it this time.
"You can keep trying as many times as you like, i'm not going anywhere." She said with a smile on her
face. Zylo was getting so annoyed by her that he wants to tear out his opticle implants if it means getting
rid of her.
He looked up the walkway and saw some guys pushing a rather large bin, probably containing tons of
scrap and other items as well. The way work is done here is, you put most of the "materials" in the
bottom of a bin. Then you fill it up with lots of scrap and any other useless junk. That way, if any cops
show up, you can hide the stuff in plain sight. And they can't do anything about it, because they need a
warrant to dig through the bins.
A man in a blue jacket walked up to Zylo, another scan and check, no doubt. This has always been a
tedious process, but it was the only way for him to see Rax.
"Spread your arms out." Right down to business as usual, never one for small talk, perfect for the both
of them. The guy in blue pulled an old metal detector out of his jacket. A loud beep rings out as it is
switched on, with a yellow light blinking on the handle.
At first glance it seemed a little banged up for the job, but the motto in this place was simple, "make it
a masterpiece on the inside, and a peice of shit on the outside." Inside would be a true work of technical
art, circuits and other gizmos making a fine string of criss-crossing craftsmenship.
A minute of scanning, and the light turned green.
"This way Zy." If Zylo could talk right now, he'd tell this guy to watch his mouth. Something about the
way he says it just comes off as disrespectful. Rax should really discipline his men more often.
Over the catwalk and about ten flights of stairs later, into the the office of the man called Rax. His
office looked more like a garage then anything else. Blueprints and parts of varying machinary,
organized in numerical value.
A younger man walks up to Zylo with an automatic pistol in his hand, smirking like some kind of clown.
"You got business here, pal?" Rax looked over at the youth with a steel gaze, anger just barely visible
in his eyes. "Nick, i've told about that tough guy act before. Now knock it off."
So Nick was his name. Zylo seemed to keep forgetting about that, along with a few other details, he
was sure.
"Give us a little space, boy. The place isn't gonna run itself." Rax motioned for the guy in blue to leave
with the kid. Both of them bumping past Zylo as they shut the door, an electronic lock clicking into place.
"I apologize for my nephew's behavor. He's been acting that way since i brought him in a couple
months ago." That was his nephew? Oh yeah, Zylo had forgotten about that too.
"Now, what'd ya bring me this time?" Zylo dumped a bag full of parts on the table. Rax smiled like it
was his birthday. He rummaged through the pile with the occasional grin and raised eyebrow. "Ha,ha.
You always bring back some good stuff, friend."
The girl looked at him curiously, almost confused as to just what she was seeing. He tapped his finger
on his optical implant. Rax looked at him with a face that said "i'm not surprised."
"You having that Ghost problem again?" Zylo shook his head in a yes motion. "Well, if it's not a
hardware problem, then it's a software problem." He grabbed a tiny screwdriver off the rack by the table.
"It might be a Ghost-Virus you got there. Meaning, if you want to have it taken carer of, you need new
implants." Zylo motioned no, he wasn't about to spend the next week or two adjusting to new hardware
like that.
"Well, alright then. Your problem." The girl giggled, he really wised he could just get the new implants.
"Offer's on the table." She could be a real smart ass sometimes.
"Alright, just the tune-ups i guess." Good, this shouldn't take too terribly long. It'll give him a chance to
take it easy till he has to head out again. He looked over at the monitor on the wall, and saw what looked
to be a cruiser very VERY similar to the one he saw at the club.
Damnit...not now. Not yet.

-Sam Matz

​Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

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​Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

Special Thanks:

Laura Albert
Casey Spooner
La Santa Muerte Internacional
The Vine Family
​&
Zebulon Whately and Sons of Perdition

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​I travel a mile
From my home, to the train, to the street
Walking on paths of sunlight of glimmering lakes
For a little fresh air every once in a while
I spy a man from the corner of my eye
Beaming on Morrison street
Walking from stall to stall for a little water in his glass
Burning, not quite the colour of barley or rye
Youth's stubborn fervor
Blazing in glance and flesh
Building in uncertainty and frustration
Stays yet to unnerve her
However, I admit to wonder
In times of pestilence and isolation
Where will the train take that man
When his path runs on the thunder?
As for the vernal tide
I must say, I remain at a loss
Drifting in a haze that grows thicker as days seem to clear
As this seems to be the storm I'm stuck to ride
Though I can't quite say I mind
Hearing the tremble of hail stones pelting the street
As whispers of promise fall quieter and silent
And the rain comes again to give sight to the blind
And to the deaf, the falling rain will speak
Pounding into the soil and upturning each new leaf
A tender age, every equinox
Coming to life with each touch of the cheek
Life's sweetest ingredient
Mana from heaven
Fill the cup and run into the tears
So this sickness may leave, ever expedient
Blooming beyond these mortal fears

​    It took two long hours for the crime scene crew to arrive, traffic and faulty comms being the culprit. Gus was already questioning one of the punks on the balcony by the time they wheeled away one of the bodies.
    Senny was examining the scene, blood stains on the busted table, and bullet holes in the heads of the victims. Blast marks on the walls, each angle required laser-precision from the shooter. Most likely from a modified Mk-3 phase pistol, with the chamber replaced with something from an antique Desert Eagle.
    Odd that someone was mixing older weaponry with modern technology, probably salvaging scraps of whatever the perp could get his hands on. A tactician and expert survivalist with some cybernetic gear from a few punks in a bad block. Not bad for an urban jungle.
    "What have you got this time, detective?" Senny faintly jumped as he turned to face the chief. His hat dripping wet, while his slightly receding hair was perfectly dry. His right brow raised at the sight of the chaotic aftermath and his left hand in his coat pocket.
    Senny cleared his throat before answering his boss. "A massacre and a bad gamble."
    The chief pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it up. He chomped down on it and started puffing rhythmically, smoke flowing to the ceiling with each huff and puff. For as long as Senny knew his boss, one thing was for certain, he didn't care at all for CigRets. The flavor of a cigar was such a rare luxury anymore that the chief had to go out of his way to buy one from time to time.
    The chief looked all around the pile of corpses, puffing his cigar with each nod he made. "A bad gamble with a bad patron." He leaned down and pointed at a shattered drinking glass. "With some bad drinks to go with it." He examined the glass, not daring to lay a finger on it, for risk of contamination. "Call me crazy, but i don't think there was even a drop of anything a human could drink." He stood back up. "See the grimy coloration in the the glass?" Senny looked hard at where the glass was. For what it was worth, some of it managed to hold together quite nicely. A translucent yellowish tint could be seen in the glass, as well as some of the small shards scattered about.
    Gus approached the two of them as Senny finished examining the scene. He handed the chief a small notepad, detailing the events described by one of the boy's upstairs.
    "The both of you..." the chief started, looking through Gus's notes with a more than focused eye. "You misspelled modification, detective." Gus hated it when his boss would point out spelling errors in his writing. To him, there was nothing more annoying than a stickler for proper grammar. Senny didn't have to worry so much about it. His spelling was usually on point, with some minor errors here and there.
    They both watched as he adjusted his glasses and pulled out a tiny box, with a little white bulb on the top. He handed it to Gus and looked them both in the eye, with as much of a commanding presence that said he was the authority figure here more then either of them have seen.
    "The both of you are going to the orange zone. I don't want to hear any questions or any back talk, get your asses over there and don't report back until you've got a lead. You boys want to get paid, work'n earn."
    He walked over to the bartender, pulling out his notepad and pen. Still puffing his cigar, with smoke flowing out his nostrils.
    Senny and Gus walked out the front door, with the box tucked away in Gus's pocket. Beeping and whirring could be heard from the corner. A little bot was wheeling down the street, most likely a trash bot. They both dismissed it and walked on over to the car, their next destination being a little far off. They knew they'd better get started, it was going to be a long drive.   

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Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

​Pausing and remembering
A reverie beyond the isle and mountains
Dreaming torturously of that fated day
The one that never came
A coin lost to those emerald fountains
Flights in my mind
Desperate as they now appear to me
Weighed down in doubt and denial
No test, but still a fiery trial
A false ardor which forbade me to see
The visage didn't lie
With crooked eye and blackened tooth
Yet how heavy was the sickness below
That allowed that foul venom to flow
To poison me in my naive youth
The tongue of a silver spike
Twisting truth in plain daylight
Despite some kind word and loving speech
You alluded me in my sleep
But clouded my hopeless sight
Despair encased me
Misery my only companion
Free and feeling when the spirits ran forth
Running dry when came the morn
Wandering alone in a vast canyon
Awakening was abrupt
Far too long a time coming
In that time I stood tall
Holding myself above all
Refusing blows that were shocking or stunning
Away I walked
Afraid if my boldness was wrong
But bold it was not
When harbouring respect and considerate thought
Though it still proved your anger quite bitter once I was gone
So here we sit
Having long since passed this mysterious test
Separated by life and many an hour
Though this expanse appears quite dark in light and form
To otherwise, honestly, I see no reason to attest

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​Darkness binding
A serenade amidst the earth and sky
Out from which I toil and turn
That milk white orb shining into my eye
Foot unto foot, I walk forward
On this nighttime path to ponder and yearn
All the time in the world for me to wonder why
Path unwinding
A sonnet spoken by light unto ground
Walking an after dark saunter
Ever watched by the great black hound
But bathed in pale light still
Safe to veer and vaunter
And into my mind I will share and expound;
These flowers have flourished
From bleeding into breathing
By the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon
These thoughts have been nourished
Far beyond the point of feeding and teething
Pushed upward by a song coming into tune
In this umbratic garden
They weep and cry
Flowers pink as flesh
Though in shadow thin and white
A melancholic creche
Shying away and obscured from sight
And from out my heart comes a prayer
Earnest and heavy and filling the air
Thankful for the sorrow and pain
For without it I have no knowledge
No reason to grow
Nothing to explain
And on this path I will always walk
Where thinking becomes like a palindrome
I purge my heart and begin to forgive
Reading from the soul's unwritten tome
Foot unto foot, I walk forward
On this moonlit path where I will always live
For no matter how far I stray, my destination will forever be home

- Sierra Matz

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​ If there was one thing Jerv learned, it was that no matter what, pack plenty of Cafinite and booze. Working on old robots can tire a guy out. Whether it was from all the shocks or the swearing, he always needed a drink afterwards.
    Edmond would have a drink every now and then, but not when he's working. One of them needed to be crystal clear in the head if they were gonna get a story going.
    They pulled up fifteen yards away from the patrol vehicle they were tailing, getting the bot ready for a little snooping.
    Edmond put out his CigRet and pulled out his D.R.O.I.D.(Data Recorder Online Information Device). He clicked it on and looked over to the neon light that marked the club's territory. Despite the crappy weather, he could still see the sign clearly. It was too bad the video feed on his D.R.O.I.D couldn't focus any better even if he had the best recording software in the star.
    Jerv activated the bot and hooked up a wireless control board to the harmonius machine. Each beep and whir was like drums and trumpets to the two journalists. Both men smiled and turned their attention to the possible story at hand.
    A click on one of the keys and the bot was in motion. Edmond opened the side door to let the rolling crap box out. He never did like machines. Not in his youth, not in his middle aged career, not when he's a broken down asshole close to his nineties.
    Edmond flipped on the video feed from the bot's lens, the picture was better than what he could get with the equipment they had, but it still wasn't perfect. Infrequently the picture would get scratchy and fuzzy, making it just that little bit unreliable for the both of them. All he could hope for was a clear image of something hot enough to get a story or a development.
    Jerv was handling the control board as carefully and as best as he could, but he was fumbling just a little with the controls. Drinking might help him fix up a run down junk box of any variety, but actually handling anything becomes a bigger pain in the ass than necessary.
    Just as Jerv's miracle junker was trying to maneuver up a curb, it bumped into someone walking by. Jerv tensed up, thinking it was one of the detectives in the building. Footsteps could be heard and a shadowy figure could be seen outside where they were hiding. Whoever it was, that person walked right by them and kept on walking.
    Jerv exhaled, not realizing that he was holding his breath. Edmond played it calm, never letting his cool get away from him.
    They continued to observe as the spy bot rolled into position for it's cameras and microphones to pick up anything happening in the club right now.
    Only one thing was on each of their minds, a lead on what could possibly be the biggest story they have ever uncovered in their careers. Fingers crossed. 

- Sam Matz

​Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

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​The black absence of a lightless moon
A void held in the breast of the sky
Samhain passes quietly as a chill
In solitude and silence with no cup to fill
So night turns to dawn in a swirling mist
The sun's glow orange as the harvest's wane
Here is when sleep may overtake me
Because there's an absense of light for which I plea
November frosts over as soon as it comes
Bringing a Northern wind and a maple bite
Leaves along the road frozen as stone
That precious snow drifting without a sigh or a moan
And music remains my comfort
When everything seems to skew
Whether when those ice white shivers grow too many
Or when friends thin to be further and few
In these penultimate weeks night will be heavy
Air like a knife at celsius zero
No one to hold and foreign friends to miss
Returning to darkened solstice slumber awakened by no man's kiss
Tonight a white candle of a bright round moon
A joy held by the hands of the sky
Each new night passes like a deathly chill
In peace and comfort for the air to fill
So dusk turns to night in a celestial tryst
The moon's glow pale as the coming rain
Here is when lunacy may overtake me
Because there's a presence of light for which I plea
December will come as quickly as the evening
A lavender sky over sunless days
Bringing a thickened pall like a lulling drone
As numbing to the eye as it is to the bone
But music remains my comfort
When sense seems to cease
Either by the wake of a low hanging sun
Or just by a melody that has yet to be sung
In these final weeks life will be heavy
Chilled to the core at celsius zero
Alone in bed thinking of the things I miss
Dreaming in a darkened solstice slumber, never to be woken by a foreign friend's kiss 

-Sierra Matz

Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

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Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

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