In a frontier sprawl where jagged rocks claw at a blood-orange sky, survival is a game of grit and gunfire-its streets a crucible of betrayal, its air thick with the promise of ruin. Here, Warden stalks as a contractor forged in unyielding scars, his Doom Box a whisper of death in a lawless expanse. A bounty hunter with gray eyes that see too much, he's a silhouette against the sun, chasing a single vow: to carve a path to safety for Delilah, the barmaid whose teal gaze holds his fractured heart. But chaos breeds like rust on steel. Scarlet, a Renly Ranger with a four-eyed helm glowing like embers, burns with the fury of lost dreams-her carbine as quick as her temper, her loyalty a coin flipped in the dust. Together, they face a clan of aug-eyed raiders whose rifles and taunts promise a reckoning that could swallow them whole. In this land where no eyes have seen peace, every shot kicks up ashes of the past, and every choice is a gamble between redemption and ruin. Dust and Doom is a sci-fi Western where the horizon bleeds red, loyalty is a loaded chamber, and love is a flicker in the dark. Will Warden's fight bury him in a galaxy of despair-or light the way?

When David becomes enveloped with a foreign culture in an effort to find a career, he quickly suffers from culture shock and homesickness before he can leave; however, a girl is transferred to his office, and she shows him a side of Japan that he didn't know was there. A world of terror unfolds before David as he is submerged in demonic activity that only worsens the longer he stays. As his relationship flourishes with the girl, he finds it difficult to express what is happening in his personal life, but it soon involves her, too.

There's a 15-hour difference between Billings, Montana, and Tokyo, Japan. A 14-hour difference from Manila. A 6 Hour difference from Dublin. I can recall certain things from every country I've visited. The scent of rain brings back the green pastures of Ireland. Gray rumble can't help but cause my mind to spur with visions of Scotland. Distant fires bring smells that make me remember Ghana. Family pictures take me back to the beaches of the Philippines. Every country I've stepped foot on will always have a place in my heart. And yet, as I sit here at midnight, it always comes back to Japan. I think about the strangers I saw, the temples I walked in, the long hours on the trains. The quiet nights of listening to the dwindling sound of the nightlife outside my apartment, letting the dull glow of the street lights whisk me to slumber. My time in Japan inspired me to keep track of every detail in every day remembered. If I knew that everything I knew would come to a sudden stop, I would have taken care of my journals. I would have made a more vigorous attempt to save the pictures and videos that had been lost from computer corruptions. I would have tried to keep that strong sense of being connected to something higher and meaningful. I'd give up anything to return, even blind to return to the places I once walked in. I miss it all. I cannot forget everything. The stories in this collection are ones I've heard over the past. From family, friends, and strangers, as well as my own personal experiences. I've accumulated a large volume of short stories. How much of these are fake and authentic? I've decided to let the reader to find for themselves.