In Maev Barba's "Machine," a lottery leads its winners to immortality via a great underground machine. When we store ourselves as data, what will our data really need? Will it be satisfied with a finite world like a fish in a bowl? Or will it need pieces from our physical world to reproduce? In "The Vampire," old age is a drug. Vampires, craving mortality, stalk the streets to track and drink aged blood. Lock up your grandpas! Death is like heroin for these creatures of the night. The king's man is a dedicated servant of ...
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In Maev Barba's "Machine," a lottery leads its winners to immortality via a great underground machine. When we store ourselves as data, what will our data really need? Will it be satisfied with a finite world like a fish in a bowl? Or will it need pieces from our physical world to reproduce? In "The Vampire," old age is a drug. Vampires, craving mortality, stalk the streets to track and drink aged blood. Lock up your grandpas! Death is like heroin for these creatures of the night. The king's man is a dedicated servant of the king, but, as the primary suspect for the murder of the king's only daughter, the king's man is to be hanged, unless he can find the truth. But beware the deeply buried truth, king's man, for this truth is far more horrifying than any dangling noose.
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