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LIFEL1K3

LIFEL1K3 /
Your life is not your own

Autor: Jay Kristoff

English
2018 - Penguin Random House; Knopf Books for Young Readers

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Inhalt

Besprechung
"Kristoff's vivid world of grit, metal, and technology evokes all the senses, and his character' every emotion. This is a breathless, action-packed exploration of what humanity really means." - Marie Lu, #1 NYT Bestselling Author of The Young Elites

"I'd like to live in the vivid and raw world of LIFEL1K3 , if only I wasn't certain it would kill me." -Beth Revis, bestselling author of Star Wars: Rebel Rising and the Across the Universe trilogy

"Put this grimy, beautiful, devastating, hilarious, screaming, writhing, all-out post-apocalyptic girl-buddy-road-warrior-lost princess-techno-thriller in your face and read it right now. It is every kind of badass." -Laini Taylor, bestselling author of Strange the Dreamer and the Daughter of Smoke & Bone trilogy

"Make LIFEL1K3 your next favorite book. Trust me." -Kiersten White, New York Times bestselling author of And I Darken

"[A] thoughtful and thought-provoking work of science fiction."-VOYA, starred review

"A fast-paced adventure full of energy and verve that will leave readers breathless." -School Library Journal

"A solid, fast-paced adventure."-Publishers Weekly

"[An] action-packed thriller. . . . It's the print love child of movies Mad Max and Tank Girl." -Booklist

"Inventive and unexpected."-Kirkus Reviews

Textauszug
Almost everybody called her Eve.

At first glance, you might've missed her. She wouldn't have minded much. Hunched on the shoulder of a metal giant, she was just a silhouette amid the hiss and hum and halos of glittering sparks. She was tall, a little gangly, boots too big and cargos too tight. Sun-bleached blond hair was undercut into an impressive fauxhawk. Her sharp cheekbones were smudged with grease, illuminated by the cutting torch in her hands. She was seventeen years old, but she looked older still. Just like everything around her.

A black metal sphere sat in the socket where her right eye should've been. Six silicon chips were plugged behind her right ear, and a long oval of artificial flesh ran from her temple to the base of her skull. The implant obviously wasn't made for her--the skin tone was a little too pale to match her complexion.

It was just about the right shape for a nasty exit wound.

"Testing, testing . . . y'all hear me out there?"

The girl almost everyone called Eve clamped a screwdriver between her teeth, glanced at the monitors across from her work pit. A high-def image showed the arena above her head, three hundred meters wide, littered with scorched barricades and the rusting hulks of previous competitors. The EmCee stood in the spotlight, wearing a sequined jacket and a matching bowler hat. There was no need for a mic. Her voice fed directly to the PA via implants in her teeth.

"Juves and juvettes!" she cried. "Scenekillers and wageslaves, welcome . . . to WarDome!"

The crowd roared. Thousands of them clinging like limpets to the Dome's bars, humming, thrumming, feet all a-drumming. Most were the worse for stims or a bellyful of home brew, drunker still at the thought of the carnage to come. Their vibrations sank into Eve's bones, and she couldn't help but smile. Tasting her fear and swallowing it whole.

"Showtime," she whispered.

"In the blue zone," cried the EmCee, "the condemned! A fritzer, fresh from the border of the Glass, with the murder of seventy-two accredited citizens on its head. Brought here tonight for a taste of oldskool justice! All y'all give this fug a warm and fuzzy Dregs welcome. Some volume, if you please . . . for GL-417!"

Blue floodlights arced at the Dome's north end, and the floor panels rolled away. A hulking lump of robotic menace rose into view amid a hail of spit and jeers. Eve's insides turned slippery cold at the sight on her monitor. Her cutting torch wavered in her hands.

Hard to swallow your fear with no spit, isn't it?

The robot in the blue zone loomed ten meters high. Bulky as a battleship, it looked like a high-speed collision between an earthmover and some armored knight from the history virtch. It was a heavy-combat model, Goliath-class, and the thought of a bot that lethal throwing down under the Dome lights sent punters lunging for their pockets and bookies scrambling for their tabs.

This was going to be a fight. . . .

"This is going to be a massacre," said a tinny voice in Eve's left ear.

Ignoring the warning, she finished her welding, her dark goggles held up to what she thought of as her good eye. Talking true, the glossy black optical implant that replaced her right peeper saw better than her real one--it had flare compensation, a telescopic zoom, low-light and thermal imaging. But it always gave her headaches. Whirred when she blinked. Itched when her nightmares woke her crying.

"How's that, Cricket?" she shouted.

"Targeting only shows a 13.7 percent improvement."

Cricket peered out at her from the pilot's chair with his mismatched eyes. The little robot's face couldn't show expressions, but he wiggled the metal slivers that passed for his eyebrows to show his agitation. He was a homunculus of spare parts, forty centimeters tall, the color of rust. There was no symmetry to him at all. His optics were too big for his head, and his

Langtext
From the coauthor of the New York Times bestselling Illuminae Files comes the first book in a new series that's part Romeo and Juliet, part Bladerunner 2049, and all adrenaline.

On an island junkyard beneath a sky that glows with radiation, a deadly secret lies buried in the scrap. Seventeen-year-old Eve isn't looking for trouble--she's too busy looking over her shoulder. The robot gladiator she spent months building has been reduced to a smoking wreck, she's on the local gangster's wanted list, and the only thing keeping her grandpa alive is the money she just lost to the bookies. Worst of all, she can somehow destroy machines with the power of her mind, and a bunch of puritanical fanatics are building a coffin her size because of it. If she's ever had a worse day, Eve can't remember it. The problem is, Eve has had a worse day--one that lingers in her nightmares and the cybernetic implant where her memories used to be. Her discovery of a handsome android named Ezekiel--called a "Lifelike" because they resemble humans--will bring her world crashing down and make her question whether her entire life is a lie. With her best friend Lemon Fresh and her robotic sidekick Cricket in tow, Eve will trek across deserts of glass, battle unkillable bots, and infiltrate towering megacities to save the ones she loves...and learn the truth about the bloody secrets of her past.

Autor

Jay Kristoff is the New York Times and internationally bestselling author of THE LOTUS WAR and THE NEVERNIGHT CHRONICLE for adults, and the co-author (with Amie Kaufman) of THE ILLUMINAE FILES. He is the winner of two Aurealis Awards and an ABIA, was a nominee for the David Gemmell Morningstar and Legend awards, has been named multiple times in the Kirkus and Amazon Best Teen Books lists, and is published in over twenty-five countries, most of which he has never visited. He is as surprised about all of this as you are. He is 6'7" and has approximately 13,030 days to live. He abides in Melbourne with his secret agent kung-fu assassin wife and the world's laziest Jack Russell. He does not believe in happy endings. Follow Jay: jaykristoff.com or @misterkristoff.

Buchdetails

Titel: LIFEL1K3
Untertitel:Your life is not your own
Autor:Jay Kristoff
Verlag: Penguin Random House; Knopf Books for Young Readers
Erscheinungsjahr:2018
Sprache:English
416 Seiten
210 mm x 142 mm
ab 12 Jahre
ISBN-13: 978-0-525-64459-0

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