Novels by D.N.A

The alleyway didn’t just grow dark; it seemed to shrink, the brick walls leaning inward like a closing trap. The scout—the "marker"—was no longer caught in the crystalline mint cage. With a sound like tearing parchment, the entity had simply shed its own coat, leaving the glowing, sticky mess behind as it stepped free, its movements as fluid and unnatural as oil on water."Well, that was a party trick," Santiary whispered, her voice tight. "Noob, please tell me you have a Plan C. And please tell me it doesn't involve gum.""I’m working on it!" Noob scrambled backward, his left hand glowing with such intensity that the alley floor looked like it was bathed in a neon rave. "Hey, you! Do you have, like, a supervisor? Can we talk to HR? I have some grievances about being stalked!"The figure didn't speak. It just drifted forward, the silver blade in its hand lengthening, shimmering with a cold, pale light that felt like a migraine made manifest.Oh, for the love of—it’s going to slice the

The shadow at the end of the alley didn’t move. It simply waited, a silhouette of malice carved against the flickering neon of a distant Chinese takeout sign.Noob took a stumbling step back, his left arm feeling less like a limb and more like a live wire sparking inside a meat locker. "Santiary. Please tell me you see that. Please tell me I’m not hallucinating because of the localized ozone or whatever."Santiary’s posture remained rigid, her eyes narrowing as she gripped Noob’s sleeve, not to hold him back, but to steady herself. "I see it, Noob. And unless you’ve suddenly decided to hire a private bodyguard with a flair for the dramatic, I’d say we’re in trouble.""Trouble? We’re in a catastrophe," Noob whispered, his voice pitching upward. "I’m in a wet sock, I’ve got a dolphin-loving billionaire hunting me, and now I’m being stalked by... what? A Grim Reaper in a trench coat?"Stow the melodrama, the God of Pranks muttered, his voice echoing in Noob’s skull with uncharacteristic

"Keep moving, you absolute menace!" Santiary hissed, her heels clicking rapidly against the pavement as she hauled Noob around the corner of a dumpster-lined alleyway."I’m trying! I’m trying!" Noob gasped, his chest heaving. "But my left foot feels like it’s bolted to the concrete. It’s like the sidewalk decided we’re best friends and it’s never letting go!""We are two blocks from the tower, Noob. If those security guards catch up, I am literally going to hand you over and tell them I was just a bystander who got hit by a rogue fountain."Oh, don't be so dramatic, the God of Pranks chimed in, his voice sounding oddly muffled. It’s just a little structural adhesion. Think of it as a creative pause. A moment to reflect on our triumph."Reflect? My shoe is melting into the cement, and you want to reflect?" Noob pulled his left leg, his entire body jerking violently as his sneaker remained firmly cemented to the ground. "This is not a pause! This is a kidnapping by infrastructure!"Sant

The golden retriever’s eyes glowed with a faint, mocking violet light as it held Noob’s gaze. "The final curtain falls," the dog intoned, its voice a synthesized nightmare, "upon the stage of greed."Noob didn't wait for the next stanza. He turned on his heel, grabbed Santiary’s wrist, and bolted."Are you insane?" Santiary shouted, trying to keep her footing as they sprinted across the park lawn. "Why are the dogs quoting Shakespeare? And why are you running like the hounds of hell are actually chasing us?""Because they are, in a weird, poetic, sentient kind of way!" Noob panted, his left arm thrashing like it was trying to escape his hoodie sleeve. "We have to go! Now!"He’s right, you know, the God of Pranks chimed in, his voice strangely subdued. That wasn't me, Noob. That was something ancient. Something that doesn't appreciate my brand of comedy. We need to leave. We need to go big. We need to focus on a target that can drown out that weird, literary static."What, like a tycoo

The sidewalk seemed to stretch on forever, a concrete runway of humiliation for Noob, who was doing his absolute best to keep his left arm glued to his hip. Santiary walked with a rhythmic, feline grace that made her look like she belonged on a Parisian catwalk, whereas Noob looked like he was auditioning for the role of "Guy Who Just Lost a Fight with a Condiment Aisle.""You’re remarkably quiet," Santiary said, not breaking her stride. She turned her head slightly, her eyes sharp. "Did you run out of brilliant commentary on the nature of reality, or are you just busy vibrating that sleeve of yours?""I’m just, uh, taking in the scenery," Noob lied, his voice sounding like gravel in a blender. "Very nice neighborhood. Lots of... bricks. And, uh, dogs."Oh, the dogs, the God of Pranks echoed in his head, his voice dripping with syrupy malice. Noob, look at them. They’re so orderly. Sitting on porches, wagging their tails on cue. It’s sickening. It’s like a suburban military parade. We

The rain of the sprinkler system finally sputtered to a halt, leaving the alleyway humid, smelling of expensive floral perfume and aggressive lemon-herb mayonnaise. Noob stood there, dripping, his left arm locked stiffly behind his back as if he were hiding a live electrical fire.Santiary took a half-step back, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene. She plucked a single, coagulated glob of mayonnaise off her silk sleeve with the tips of her manicured fingers, grimacing as if she were inspecting a dead bug."Performance art," she said, her voice dropping into a register that sounded like expensive velvet draped over a razor blade. "I’ve seen some avant-garde street theater in the city, but this? This is essentially just public assault involving a condiment bottle.""It wasn't an assault," Noob insisted, his face heating up so fast he felt like he was running a fever. "It was... an expression of the duality of man! You know? The, uh, the crusty sourdough of society versus the cr