Death At The Printers: An Agents of The Emperor Science Fiction Short Story: Agents of The Emperor Science Fiction Stories

By Connor Whiteley

A Printer. An Assassin. A Death To Come.

Assassins fight misinformation in the far future. 

Assassin Ethano stalks a target. He loves the Empire. He must stop a dangerous traitor.

If Ethano fails the Empire burns.

An imaginative, action packed and page turning scifi story readers will love.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: CGD Publishing
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201451882

Connor Whiteley

Hello, I'm Connor Whiteley, I am an 18-year-old who loves to write creatively, and I wrote my Brownsea trilogy when I was 14 years old after I went to Brownsea Island on a scout camp. At the camp, I started to think about how all the broken tiles and pottery got there and somehow a trilogy got created.Moreover, I love writing fantasy and sci-fi novels because you’re only limited by your imagination.In addition, I'm was an Explorer Scout and I love camping, sailing and other outdoor activities as well as cooking.Furthermore, I do quite a bit of charity work as well. For example: in early 2018 I was a part of a youth panel which was involved in creating a report with research to try and get government funding for organised youth groups and through this panel. I was invited to Prince Charles’ 70th birthday party and how some of us got in the royal photograph.Finally, I am going to university and I hope to get my doctorate in clinical psychology in a few years.

Book preview

DEATH AT THE PRINTER

Ethano didn’t care what happened or where his blade fell, as long as it did he didn’t mind. Some might have thought his life was full of sadness and fear, but it wasn’t.

He loved the killing. Not because he took lives but because he served the Emperor and in some weird way he knew he was helping humanity.

As Ethano breathed in the dirty air that smelt of ink and rotting food, he smiled. This was a disgusting place but at least there wouldn’t be any witnesses, the less witnesses there were, the less he had to kill.

His eyes narrowed as he looked down from his cold damp hiding spot high in the ceiling just below the glass roof that allowed moonlight and all the horrible noise and light from the flying vehicles to illuminate the printers.

Looking down, Ethano frowned as he focused on the large metal platforms that provided a subpar place for workers to walk around the immense black printing press as it