Amnoartist

Chapter 1 The steel mill stood on the outskirts of town, a hulking relic, its silhouette cutting a jagged line against the night sky. The moon hung low, its pale, silvery light over the decaying structure. Rusted beams twisted upward like the ribs of some long-dead beast, their surfaces pitted and scarred by years of neglect. Weeds and wild grasses had claimed the ground around the mill, their tangled roots weaving through concrete cracks and around abandoned machinery's skeletal remains. The mill’s windows were shattered, their jagged edges catching the moonlight and scattering it in fractured shards across the ground. Inside, the space was swallowed by shadows, the only light coming from the moon’s faint glow as it filtered through the broken roof. Chains hung from the ceiling, swaying gently in the cool night breeze. The floor was littered with debris—rusted tools, broken gears, and scraps of metal that had long since lost their purpose. Outside, the surrounding area was

Multiples Guaranteed The sun filtered through the lace curtains of Ethan and Jessica’s suburban home over the living room. The air was thick with vanilla and fresh flowers, balloons floated lazily near the ceiling, their ribbons swaying gently in the breeze from an open window. Jessica sat on the couch, her hands resting on her rounded belly, a small smile playing on her lips. She wore a flowing lavender dress, her dark hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. Ethan hovered nearby, his usual calm demeanour tinged with nervous energy. He adjusted the bow tie of his light blue shirt for the third time in five minutes, his eyes darting around the room as if to ensure everything was perfect. “Relax,” Jessica said, her voice warm and teasing. “It’s just a baby shower, not a royal inspection.” Ethan chuckled, running a hand through his sandy hair. “I know, I know. But it’s your day. I want everything to be… perfect.” Jessica reached out, her fingers brushing his. “It

Chapter 10 Mia adjusted the sleeves of her sweater as she paced through Claire's mansion hallway, her fingers brushing against the fabric. The material clung stubbornly, outlining the pronounced ridges of muscle that had become increasingly impossible to ignore over the past day alone. Every subtle shift in her movement sent a faint muscle ripple through her skin. Ahead of her, Matthew's broad back dominated the hallway, his shoulders shifting like tectonic plates beneath his shirt. But Mia's eyes lingered with something sharper than admiration. Her lips quirked into a smirk as her eyes traced his lats—not to marvel at them, but to measure them. Big. Sure. But how much longer until I'm bigger? The thought sent a thrill through her, her chest tightening with a layer of certainty only she was privy to. Her pace quickened, her quads flexing visibly through the snug fabric of her jeans. Each step seemed to stretch the limits of the material, her thighs pressing against the

Chapter 9 The smell of freshly baked bread and sizzling bacon filled the kitchen. Claire’s family had gathered around the long dining table. Jerry sat at one end, his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed and his steel-blue eyes observing his family behind his horn-rimmed glasses. Lily sat across from Mia, occasionally glancing up from her phone to observe with quiet detachment, while Matthew sat beside his father. Everything looked almost idyllic—perfectly normal—except for the pile of empty plates accumulating in front of Mia. Mia had always had a healthy appetite, but her hunger had grown significantly since using Claire’s machine. She couldn't help but wonder if this was only the beginning of the changes the machine had triggered. The first few hours after her exposure to the machine had been strange; no matter how much she ate, there was this unyielding, bottomless pit of hunger. She’d wake up starving, and this morning was no different. Jerry's wide-eyed stare followed

Chapter 12 Philo’s hands trembled as he pushed open the glass doors of Yeager Corp’s headquarters. The cold air from the lobby’s air conditioning blasted his face. Security cameras perched discreetly in corners and tracked every movement. A faint hum from the ventilation system blended with the muted sound of distant phones ringing. Philo’s heart raced as he stepped inside, his scuffed shoes squeaking. The receptionist sat behind an expansive desk, its black surface polished to a mirror finish. Behind her, an illuminated Yeager Corp logo dominated the wall. She was a young woman with sharp features, a perfectly tied neck scarf and an immaculate uniform. Her manicured fingers tapped lightly against the desk as she glanced up from her computer monitor, her expression immediately freezing into a professional mask. But her eyes flashed a flicker of disdain as they swept over Philo’s dishevelled appearance—his wrinkled clothes, askew tie, and a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his

Best Job in the World Caleb Winters sat hunched over his desk, his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened after a long day of crunching numbers. His brown hair was tousled from hours of absent-mindedly running his hand through it. Caleb’s desk was organised yet lived-in. Neatly stacked folders sat beside a collection of pens, and a small artificial Christmas tree blinked in the corner. A photo frame of him and Lauren, his wife, stood front and center, something that helped him push through the day’s grind. Next to it was a mug emblazoned with “World’s Okayest Employee,” a joke gift from a colleague he secretly cherished. He glanced at his computer screen—5:53 PM. The spreadsheet stared back at him, a maze of cells and numbers that needed one last calculation before he could clock out—the thought of finishing filled him with relief. “Almost there,” he murmured to himself, his fingers poised over the keyboard. Across the room, a few colleagues were beginning to