So, there's this city on the Eastern seaboard, call it Notham City. It's a big, brawling city with lots of industry and business, great gothic architecture, and a big crime problem.

Fortunately, the city is blessed with an abundance of crimefighters and vigilantes. There's the Clown Detective, who brings his twisted insights to every case, along with his balloon animals and squirting flower. There's Black'n'White, who can switch from thinking like an honest man to getting in the criminal's head as easily as flipping a coin. There's the Puzzlemaster, who uses his enormous knowledge of trivia and logic to unravel the most baffling crimes. And Shabazz, who came from distant lands with his beloved daughter, and now protects his adopted hometown with the ferocity of a mystical tiger.

Unfortunately, facing all these heroes and more is a huge and complex underworld of dozens of gangs and syndicates. And behind them all is the Night Mayor, the Big Bat, Dracula, the Shadowman -- he has a thousand names, but no one knows his face. Some say he's a myth or urban legend, but he's real all right, and he is the true master of Notham - via RPG.NET

They were the ones who invented rhyme and meter—the programming language for human memory in preliterary civilizations. It was a cultural checksum — a mnemonic device. You couldn't fuck with the code or the rhymes didn't work; and if the rhymes didn't work, people noticed. And so the knowledge of a people was passed down intact. It was a shamanic code. If you fucked with the code, then society lost its collective mind.

Gragg felt the tingling of the Third Eye on his stomach and back. The Third Eye was another of the miracles that Sobol had bestowed upon him. It was a form-fitting conductive shirt worn next to the skin—but it wasn't a garment. It was a haptic device that helped him use his body's largest organ—his skin—as another, all-seeing eye. An eye that never blinked, and an eye that could see around him in 360 degrees or halfway around the world, if he wished.

It worked by sending tiny electrical impulses to excite the nerve endings in his skin, much like a computer monitor projected pixels onto a screen. The microscopic electrical impulses represented data — from blips on a radar screen to full-blown visual displays. But what amazed Gragg was how the brain learned to accept input from this new source as if it were just another organ. Just another eye.

He felt the networks around him, but he could do more than just feel them.

Back when the Earth was young, back when there was still a moon
in the fucking sky, I pulled on whatever flesh was needful and I
struck terror into the hearts of the powerful and enthroned all across
this mudball world and another dozen like it. I took the spirit form
and strode across measureless ... ah, fuck it, never mind." - thus spake Takavach. Red herring or just Moorcocking?

The eve of the 22nd century. A world where the dearly-departed send postcards back from Heaven, and Jainist evangelicals make scientific breakthroughs by speaking in tongues; where genetically-engineered vampires solve problems intractable to baseline Humans, and soldiers come with zombie switches that shut off their own self-awareness during combat. A world under blatant surveillance by an alien presence that refuses to show itself.

Daniel Brooks is a living fossil: an old man in a world of immortals, a field biologist in a world where all biology has long since turned computational, an unwitting catspaw used by terrorists to kill thousands. Taking refuge in the Oregon desert, he turns his back on a humanity that shatters into strange new subspecies with every heartbeat. But he isn't hiding from anything; he awakens one night to find himself at the center of a storm that's about to turn all of history inside-out. - http://rifters.com/real/2009/01/consider-yourselves-lucky.html