Chain Gang All Stars by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah
- Language: English
- Genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Literary Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Hurricane Staxxx
This was sacred. The low roar of thousands waiting for her. An ocean of voices
above, all around. She held her scythe in her hands. She told the guards to
give her space and swayed left, then right. Warmed her spine. Energy
flowed through her. She closed her eyes and entered her body. Her body
didn’t always make her feel safe, but there, underneath the ocean of voices,
it felt immaculate.
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The gate in front of her pulled open. There at the end of a tunnel that
opened to light, Hamara “Hurricane Staxxx” Stacker was still a silhouette.
A floating ball of glowing metal appeared before her. She spoke into it:
“Who makes the knife feel good?”
An electrosynth jumped on top of a swinging melody and a pitch-shifted
vocal loop. The people’s hearts beat harder.
STAXXX, they said together, definitively.
She sprinted onto the field. Show lights flashed down and golded her
sandy-brown skin. Her locs fell free in thick ropes down her neck, past her
shoulders, even past her lightweight reinforced carbon-fiber-polymer chest
guard, branded with the WholeMarket™ insignia, a bountiful fruit basket.
Her shins and left arm were mummied in white bolt leather, the style
Thurwar had made popular. There was a sleeve of hard armor above the
wrapped battle cloth on her left arm too. Her formerly white combat boots
were splotched with browns and reds, a pale, grainy earth tone. Her thighs
were compressed in elastic that stretched against her muscles, the tights also
marked with the WholeMarket™ fruit basket, emblazoned near her hip,
conspicuously not centered on her genitalia, as many other major brands
might have opted for. WholeMarket™ was a family brand.
Her wrists glowed, perpetual proof of the forever hold of the magcuffs
beneath her skin.
An additional floating camera moved around her, taking in the Xs inked
all over her body. There was one on her tight abdomen, a few at her neck,
several on her arms, and one on each eyelid. Every X was a story of her
life’s triumph over another’s. She was a collection of death and vitality.
“That’s the best you can do?” she called out to the stadium.
Her face collapsed into a frown that was magnified a hundred times on
the Jumbotron above. Seeing their failure, the crowd screamed harder.
Staxxx’s mouth snapped to a wicked grin.
“Who’s that beautiful bitch you bastards beat off to?” Staxxx sang into
the HoloMicCam floating in front of her. She was propellering her scythe,
LoveGuile, around her hands and forearms. The momentum accrued, the
bladed head leading, speeding, and eating through the air as Staxxx
charmed it around her body. This staff and blade, the world knew, were an
extension of her person. They screamed her name.
STAXXX!
“Who’s that heartbreaker you need to break you down?”
STAXXX!
“Who do you motherfuckers love so bad it hurts?”
STAXXX!
Hurricane Staxxx. They were her wind and thunder.
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