EXOTIQA (YA Cyberpunk Dystopia) by M. Black

Enter Tomorrow is my brand that focus on robots, AI, SIMS, wildlife, nature, grafting, genetics, social divisions, and future tech.

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About the Book

EXOTIQA is a YA cyberpunk dystopia set in British Columbia where the line between root and man is blurred. When a computer virus infects most of the population, Fione-our heroine, and Maci- a flex, will have to fight o destroy it and save their friends and family.

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Keep reading for an excerpt:

I stretch my left hand forward, my fingers scraping the bark of the log, as my back registers Thirty’s metal knee pushing into my hardwired spine. To the human eye, this might look like a fight between two individuals of the human species, but I know better.

The faux human skin covering his exterior doesn't fool me. Volumetric scans detect the advanced nanowiring and metal foam in every inch of Thirty’s athletic form, and I have to get out of here before his Exotiqa program alerts the other Trackers and they soon surround me. I won’t stand a chance then.

My fingernails catch the edge of the bark on the log and I tug. Thunder cracks and a few fingers wrap around the wood and I yank the only hope I have toward me. As Thirty pushes my body further into the mud with the weight of his own, I dislodge my elbow, allowing 360-degree motion of my arm, and swing.

The log hits his metallic-cold face—nothing warm-blooded about him now except the crimson-colored coolant running through faux veins. The brief knock from the log releases the full force of his body weight on me for just a second. A second is all I need.

Rain pours and my body flips upward underneath him as my hands shoot over his hard shoulders. My eyes catch his charcoal-dark pupils as I push my weight into him, turning, and roll with him in the mud and rain several times before kneeing him in the chest.

Grunting, he almost sounds like he is in pain as his grip loosens and his dark hair, wet from rain splays across his face. I shuffle to my feet before kicking him in the stomach. His arm swings into my standing legs, tripping me backward onto the ground. My hands brace my fall into a puddle, splashing, before I slide on my side to ram my foot into his chin. His neck jerks back with his head as my foot connects. The golden sliver sliding over the whites of his eyes—the sliver that tells me he is connected to Exotiqa—fades, and his left leg jerks in a quick uncontrolled motion.

I push my palms against the mud in a struggle to stand. “The rain must be jamming your joints and the Exotiqa frequency.” I say.

Thirty stares at me with his intense glare. He always had fierce expressions, now more stoic, and he hates losing. Maybe he is this way because Russell Wagner designed him that way. Or maybe because, like me, Thirty developed a sense of himself—at least, before the corporation dissolved him into the collective.

Hands struggle to reach me in desperation as his voice vibrates in and out of monotone syllables making their callous way to my ears. “This is not over yet.”