Anglo-Force: Saltwater Grudge Chapter Six: The Northern Star’s Coordinates

The morning light came through the office window at an angle that felt personal, a blade of white February glare that found the gap in the curtains James had not quite closed the night before. He sat at the desk with his back to it, the Maglite fragment still wrapped in its handkerchief beside the telephone, the folded receipt from the storage facility propped against the base of the lamp where he could see the word Pier in Leo Bernard's cramped hand. His head ached in a way that paracetamol had not touched, a deep and patient throb that seemed to keep time with his pulse, and the skin above his left ear was tender when he pressed it.

Anglo-Force: Saltwater Grudge Chapter Five: Beneath the Pavillion

The mist came in off the North Sea before dawn, thick enough to blur the streetlamps into soft coronas of orange. James walked with his collar turned up and his hands buried in his coat pockets, the folded receipt a crisp edge against his knuckles. The promenade was empty. Even the gulls had not yet begun their morning patrol.

Anglo-Force: Saltwater Grudge Chapter Four: A Whispered Name at the Shack

The Crab Shack sat at the wrong end of the promenade, where the paint on the railings had blistered down to bare metal and the amusement arcade's neon gave up halfway through the word FORTUNES. James walked with his collar up and his hands buried in the pockets of his coat, the Maglite fragment wrapped in its handkerchief pressing against his thigh, the watch a smaller, colder weight on the other side. The slashed tyres had forced the walk. He had stood in the lane behind the office for a full minute, looking at the rubber peeled back in neat flaps, before locking up and setting out on foot. The black Rolls Royce wasn't parked across the street. That did not feel like a comfort.

Anglo-Force: Saltwater Grudge Chapter Three: Initials on Silver

The bus let him off on Cadogan Road at twenty past two, and James walked the remaining half-mile to his office with the torch fragment heavy in his coat pocket and the taste of West's warning still coating his tongue. The black Rolls Royce had not followed him back from West Runton, and the absence of it unsettled him more than the surveillance itself had done.

When An Old Music Video Makes You Feel Really Sad

It was late one night a few weeks ago when I began to click through what remaining music channels we currently have. There’s only five now, and four are them are brought to us by the Now! Music people.

I stopped on the channel dedicated to the 1980s, and my attention was immediately captured by a classic song from Fleetwood Mac from their album Mirage. It wasn’t one of their best efforts, but the song Gypsy, with Stevie Nicks’ wonderful performance and a classic music video, always makes for great viewing. It really is a great example how great the music video industry was back in those days, when the industry was finally beginning to realise just what they could do.

Anglo-Force: Saltwater Grudge Chapter Two: The Cliff’s Silent Witness

James left the handkerchief where it lay and took the watch with him.

            The bus from Cromer to West Runton ran every forty minutes, and he caught the one that pulled away from the stop on Cadogan Road at ten past one. A handful of pensioners sat near the front, shopping bags wedged between their feet. A young mother with a pushchair folded into the luggage rack stared at her phone. No one looked at him. He took a seat halfway down, next to a window filmed with salt, and watched the town thin out into hedgerow and ploughed field.

Anglo-Force: Saltwater Grudge Chapter One: A Watch in the Mailbox

The wind came off the North Sea in long, querulous gusts that rattled the sash window and found every gap in the frame. James Watt sat with both hands curled around a mug that had gone tepid twenty minutes ago, watching a gull beat itself steady against the grey. The bird hung there a moment, wings working, then peeled away toward the pier.

Here's Another Way to Read My Stories

Those of you who've been playing close attention to this blog may have noticed a change around here. If you don't what I mean take a look at the image above, paying attention to the part I've highlighted for you.

You'll see this on most of the fiction pages now. If you tap, or click, or whatever, on the words "Download this story in PDF format here" it will hopefully open a new browser window where you'll be able to read the entire story in PDF format. This means that instead of visiting and reading each chapter individually you'll be able to download and keep the entire story whenever, and wherever, you want, and the best thing about is it's FREE!!!!!

I haven't uploaded all of the stories yet, so keep checking back if you want to add my fiction to your collection.

If any of this doesn't work and you can't access the PDF files leave a comment on my Facebook page. 

Social Media Discoveries 82: Matteo Mancuso, Wolfie's Just Fine, Savage Existence, Woodship and More!

We've made it to episode 82 of Social Media Discoveries. Bloody hell, how did we get this far? Answers on a postcard to the usual address, whatever that is.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Sixteen: The Dawn of a New Age

The morning light, usually a comforting, golden wash across Arthur’s London Crown Prosecution Service office, felt oddly sterile, a harsh fluorescent glare compared to the bruised, metallic dawn that had broken over the Tower of London just hours before. The silence, too, was a stark contrast to the cacophony of sonic blasts, the whirring of drones, and the desperate shouts that had echoed through the night. Arthur sat at his desk, the events of the previous evening a heavy, visceral weight, yet strangely, it was accompanied by a newfound clarity, a steel-hard resolve he hadn’t possessed before. He reviewed the news reports scrolling across his laptop screen, each headline a carefully crafted lie: ‘Unexplained Technological Malfunction at Historic Landmark’, ‘Tower of London Incident: No Casualties Reported’, ‘Authorities Investigate Drone Anomaly’. Inspector Solo and his police force had done a commendable job of damage control, weaving a narrative designed to prevent widespread panic. They had managed to contain the truth, for now.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Fifteen: Clash of Eras (Climax)

A metallic tang, like old blood and ozone, coated Arthur’s tongue. He swallowed hard, the taste a stark reminder of the night’s grim purpose. The wind whipped at his white kevlar body armour, a cold caress against his face as he stood on the ancient battlements of the Tower of London. Below, the Thames flowed, a dark, indifferent ribbon under the sickly glow of the city’s emergency lights. Excalibur, a beacon of ancient power, hummed faintly in his grasp, its familiar weight a comfort against the encroaching dread.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Fourteen: The Eve of Battle

The laptop, still warm from Arthur’s hurried journey, clunked softly as he placed it on the ancient oak table in Magus’s hidden study. Dust motes danced in the single beam of moonlight slicing through a high, leaded window, illuminating the room’s chaotic charm – towering stacks of leather-bound tomes, arcane instruments glinting in the gloom, and the pervasive scent of old paper and something indefinably magical.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Thirteen: The Pendragon’s Resolve

The persistent hum of the server racks in the building’s basement usually provided a comforting white noise, a steady pulse to the Crown Prosecution Service’s diligent work. This morning, however, it felt off, a low thrumming beneath the floorboards that vibrated with an unsettling discord, a subtle disruption to the expected rhythm of an otherwise ordinary London morning. Arthur Pendragon sat at his desk, surrounded by stacks of meticulously organised legal documents, each file a testament to his successful career. Yet, his gaze kept drifting from the intricate legal precedents and witness statements to the small, intricately carved wooden box nestled on the corner of his blotter. It was the same box Magus had given him, a twin to the one Solo now possessed.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Twelve: Converging Paths

There was something deeply unsettling about it all, a gnawing suspicion that stretched beyond the usual grime of London’s criminal underworld.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Eleven: Orsine’s Grand Design

“The world, Peter, is an organism,” Giacomo Orsine began, his voice a low, resonant purr that filled the opulent penthouse office. He stood before the panoramic window, the late afternoon sun casting long, dramatic shadows across the polished floor. “And like any organism, it requires… periodic realignment.” Peter Oswald, his cybernetic limbs gleaming under the artificial light, stood rigid, his gaze fixed on Orsine. Lucy Black, ever the silent observer, leaned against a minimalist sculpture, her expression unreadable, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Ten: The Shadowed Knight

Arthur Pendragon pushed open the heavy oak door of the old London bookstore, the bell above chiming a mournful note that echoed his mood. The scent of aged paper and dust, usually a comforting aroma, felt oppressive today. He navigated the labyrinthine aisles, his boots scuffing softly on the worn wooden floorboards, until he reached the familiar, unassuming entrance to Magus’s hidden study. His face was a mask of exhaustion, etched with the sleepless hours of the previous night and the chilling memory of Oswald’s bitter words. The anonymous email, with its damning evidence of Orsine’s sprawling network, still burned in his mind.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Nine: A Glimmer of Recognition

The acrid scent of stale coffee and desperation hung heavy in Arthur’s office, clinging to the worn fabric of his chair and the stacks of legal briefs that mocked his current paralysis. Outside, London’s relentless hum had softened to a late-night thrum, but inside, the silence was punctuated only by the whirring of his laptop fan and the frantic beat of his own heart. Hours had passed since Davies’s concerned query, hours spent staring at the cold, hard data that had irrevocably shattered his world.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Eight: The Drone’s Shadow (Midpoint Reversal)

The gentle hum of the Crown Prosecution Service building, a constant, almost soothing drone of air conditioning and distant keyboard clatter, usually provided a comforting backdrop to Arthur Pendragon’s methodical work. Today, however, it felt like a fragile barrier, barely holding back the tide of unsettling thoughts that had plagued him since his last session with Magus. He’d spent the morning wrestling with a labyrinthine corporate fraud case, a digital Gordian knot of offshore accounts and shell companies, his mind constantly snagging on anything remotely connected to advanced technology.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Seven: Balancing the Scales

A dull ache throbbed behind Arthur’s eyes, a persistent drumbeat accompanying the residue of stale coffee and the cloying scent of cheap courtroom air. He’d spent the day dissecting a labyrinthine corporate fraud, his brain feeling like a tangled ball of yarn. Now, the weight of the ancient, leather-bound book in his hand was a physical manifestation of his fractured existence, a constant reminder that his life as a Crown Prosecutor was merely one half of an increasingly bizarre equation.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Six: Forging a New Arm

A faint hum, almost imperceptible, emanated from the polished chrome and carbon fibre of the prosthetic arm. Peter Oswald flexed his fingers, watching the intricate mechanics respond with a fluid grace that defied their artificial nature. It was late morning, the London skyline a muted grey beyond the panoramic windows of the Orsine Foundation Headquarters, yet within this gleaming research and development lab, a different kind of dawn was breaking for him.