Gregg Cunningham spends his days locked away, rewriting many of the thoughts in his head. He has found, to his dismay, that many of his tales are actually well received and has had the good fortune to be accepted into some fine anthologies. Most of his protagonists hate him, actually all of his characters hate him as he rarely spares any of them from the injustices of his keyboard.
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London, 2113.Racked by riots and ruled by corporations, London has grown to house over twenty-million people. Its limits stretch across the south-west of England.Pollution chokes the skyline, hiding the stratoscrapers of The Mile, London’s exclusive centre, from sight; though its gaudy neon signs penetrate the smog. Corporations rule after the collapse of the mid-2000s. The NHS, under strain from underfunding and the barrage of pandemics, chemical attacks and terrorism, found itself sold off, piece by piece, to the highest bidder. The augmentation companies moved in; buying what they liked. The National Health Bank rose, supplemented by other privatised care centres.
So, somebody finally asked me to pull up a chair and find out just what it is that makes me tick. Cheers guys, I really appreciate this. As for what’s inside the noggin’, well let’s find out shall we, because I don’t have a clue what’s going to come out, and to be honest, in the words of my daughter meeting up with her favourite Disney Princess… it’s a wee bit scary.
Imagine if you will, a world where our history pages have been smudged, ever so slightly. A world where places and people sort of, well…differ from our current reality.
Gregg Cunningham spends his days locked away, rewriting many of the thoughts in his head. He has found, to his dismay, that many of his tales are actually well received and has had the good fortune to be accepted into some fine anthologies.