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Metropolis (Fritz Lang, 1927)

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reblog to give your headache to elon musk instead

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Ayo Tracy-you single? Asking as a pathetic nerdy girl that’s single👉👈

Aw, aren’t'cha sweet. Some folks chase hearts, others chase power. Me? I’m married to the mystery. But you know, it takes guts to chase a feeling across the stars, Cosmic Kitten.

Mark my words—one day, you’ll find a love so rich the universe’ll beg you to write it down.

Yalura Casanova created by @samostigma

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An Excerpt from Act 1 Chapter 8; Strange Things are Afoot at the Omni-Stop

The store had all the usual trappings—rows of snacks, cold drink cases, and an ancient slushie machine humming in the corner. The linoleum underfoot sported one of those retro Memphis designs; squiggles and triangles in clashing, neon colors.

But the longer I stared, the more the patterns seemed to shift, like someone had hit shuffle on reality itself. Squiggles slithered, triangles twisted into shapes that hadn’t been invented yet. My stomach churned. I looked away fast, pretending it was just the Tosh messing with me.

“Nothing’s weird,” I muttered under my breath. “You’re just high. Or dead. Or both. It’s fine.”

And then I saw him.

Behind the counter, leaning casually with that same bored expression, was a face I knew all too well. Scott. The clerk from The Afterglow.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite protagonist.” he drawled, like I’d just walked into my neighborhood corner store. “Fancy seeing you here, Lawrence. What’ll it be? Pack of smokes? Slushie? Existential crisis?”

My brain scrambled for something coherent, something that didn’t immediately out me as a high-functioning Tosh fiend. “What are you doing here?” I asked, pretending not to notice the floor beneath my boots shifting like a living thing.

Scott shrugged, popping a piece of gum into his mouth with practiced indifference. “Paying the bills. What else?” He chewed slowly, his jaw working in lazy rhythm, each bubble pop louder than it had any right to be in the unnervingly quiet store.

“You know you’ve been here before, Tracy. You’ll be here again.”

A chill crept up my spine. “I have zero clue what you’re going on about.”

Scott chuckled, the sound low and almost condescending. “You never do.”

“Right,” I muttered, feigning nonchalance as I veered sharply into an aisle, pretending I had some grand purpose for being there

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current fan creation landscape is kinda like if you went to a party with a homemade cake and everyone takes a slice and silently thumbs up at you with no attempt to start a conversation except for occasionally some guy sits in the corner with a tape recorder critiquing the cake as though he was a restaurant critic and another guy is handing the cake to an uber driver like "yeah i need you to find a restaurant that makes cake like this so i can have more of it" and the only person that's talked to you in 30 minutes is a very sweet little guy who was like "hey i liked your cake" and then ran away apologizing for bothering you the moment you said thank you.

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An Excerpt from The Edge of Existence & Where to Find it - Chapter 8 : Strange Things Are Afoot at The Omni-Stop

“Gonzo, coffee. Stat,” I mumbled, rubbing my face as I fumbled for my glasses.

“Initializing Caffeine Station. Warning: recommended caffe—”

“Holy fuck, Gonzo, just make the damn cappuccino!” I snapped, cutting him off.

The coffee machine in the galley sputtered to life with an almost passive-aggressive hiss.

“Your impatience has been noted for future optimization, ma’am,” Gonzo replied, his tone irritatingly smug.

I cringed, rolling my eyes. “Cut it out with the ‘ma’am’ crap. Just call me Tracy.”

“Understood, Tracy,” he chirped back with unnerving precision, like he’d been waiting for permission to drop the formalities.

I shuffled to the galley adjacent to the lounge, leaning heavily on the counter while waiting for the cappuccino to brew. The steady bubbling of the machine filled the quiet hum of the ship, blending seamlessly into Gonzo’s unflappable, Jeeves-ass energy.

“Gonzo, how far are we from Beldasia-Omega? And spare me the ‘in AU’ nonsense, just give it to me straight.” I asked, pulling out my rolling tray and little black jar of sativa to prepare the hippie portion of my hippie speedball.

“We are precisely 39 hours away, assuming standard surf factor conditions and no unplanned deviations” Gonzo replied. “Traffic conditions on the 42 are currently clear.”

I groaned. I’d been hoping I’d slept through more of the trip, but three solid days in surf was enough to drive anyone stir-crazy. At this point I was desperate to stretch my legs or pick up grub or something.

“Okay, Gonzo, stop us at the nearest Galson or QuikRok-it,” I said, grinding the grass with a practiced hand. “I think stretching my legs might get my mind off the… obvious.”

I glanced toward the holopit, where the image of that poor bastard in the coolant tank was still floating mid-screen. His warped, deformed body was twisted beyond recognition, but the grin—those teeth—still shone through, unnervingly clear. Even in death, he had a smugness about him, like he’d just discovered the universe’s punchline and couldn’t wait to tell me. I hated that grin. It felt too familiar, like my reflection might wear it one day.

“Very good, Tracy. I agree; perhaps a change of scenery would do you well. Setting course for the nearest convenience station,” Gonzo replied, calmly rerouting.

The coffee machine hissed its final bubble right as I finished rolling the joint. A well-timed morning routine is a happy one, especially when the reward is coffee and grass. I took a long sip of my cappuccino, savoring the sweet bitterness—a perfect early-morning slap to the face, just how I liked it.

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It's so crazy how "Don't feed the trolls" was like the Motto of the internet & in forum culture of the 00s and early 10s and now you log onto a certain website and it's just an endless sea of people pouring gruel into the troll trough day in day out and no one seems to realize or care that their internet experience being a constant deluge of misery and bad faith discussion might in fact be their own fault

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An Excerpt from The Edge of Existence & Where to Find it - Chapter 1 : Friday; June 20th 2098

I was 30 AU’s outside the horsehead nebula, on the edge of the system. When the -tosh began to take hold. I remember stumbling out of my chair and calling out to Webster, the ships onboard Logic Circuit or AI or whatever the fuck you want to call it, 

“Webster, you should probably know this. I just Noz-binged a whole canister of Cosmitosh and I'm starting to feel it. Maybe you should drive” without missing a beat that happy-go-lucky tin can goes 

“Sure thing, Tracy! Now engaging Autopilot mode, destination; Bay City’s current position near the Horsehead Nebula.”

I couldn't help but wonder how it would’ve gone if I had gone with that YSD ship that didn't have a logic circuit, it was a beast of a machine in the speed department don't get me wrong. But their build quality left a lot to be desired. It wouldn’t be much of an adventure if I had to deal with the interstellar equivalent of a jaguar breaking down after less than 5 Surf-Drive Jumps and I would be too gone to even take care of it. That would be like going to go see a movie and with every scene change the projectionist stopped the movie, stuck his head out of that tiny ass window, just to tell the entire theater his opinion on the movie. 

Just then, The radar blips, Distress Signal it said.

"Well fuck me," I muttered. "I'm not capable of such a request," Webster chimed. Ignoring him, I dragged myself to the comms panel.

“Webster, get a scan on that ship would ya?” 

“You got it, Tracy!” on the main screen of the bridge a closed circuit feed of the ship in question was seen. The whirr of the sensor array rumbled the ship ever so slightly as it scanned the ship. Upon looking at the ship I noticed one of the engines was out and spewing coolant like a frat boy at a toga party. After a minute of waiting I still got no response from that damn Logic Circuit.

“Well?” 

“Well what, Tracy?” Webster asked, absolutely oblivious.

“The status of the ship!” I exclaimed in frustration. 

“Oh, I was waiting for you to ask for the report.”

I had to pause for a moment at the sheer dumbassery I have to endure at the hands of an outdated AI that seems to operate on Star Trek Logic. 

“Just... tell me the damn status, Webster.”

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Well, Cosmic Cats n’ Kittens,

I’m about to slip past the outer markers and into Autonomous Frontier space. A proper sendoff deserves a proper shoutout, so to my readers in Bay City and Beldasia-Omega—thank you. The farewell bash at Astrojax’s was one for the books (even if half of it is a blur now).

Now comes the radio silence. The AFS only has subspace access along the border with Union space, and once I’m past that, I’m off the grid. That means everything I send back has to be beamed old-school—radio waves to Titan, just in case I don’t make it back, or hand-delivered straight to Ty himself when (or if) I return.

So, this is it for now. If for whatever reason, you never hear from me again… just know it was one hell of a ride. In the meantime, spark one up for the truth in a galaxy full of bullshit. Here’s to the wild ones, the wanderers, and the ones who refuse to fold.

Stoner Cheers~!

Tracy Lawrence July 14th, 2098

OOC: Taking some extra time to make sure Act 2’s outline is absolutely dialed in. But don’t worry—I'll still be posting illustrations from Act 1, which you can read right now!

Check out the Substack and subscribe (for free!) to get notified the moment Act 2 drops. Stay tuned~!

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OOC: The cover of my first zine, trying out the kirby crackle for the nebula clouds and thrusters on The Gonzo. Kept it monochromatic to make it cheaper to print, though i wonder what color A3 paper i should use as I don’t want it to be completely devoid of POP

Also illustrated zine editions of the chapters will be released in volumes soon!

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Clue (1985) dir. Jonathan Lynn

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An Excerpt from The Edge of Existence & Where to Find it - Chapter 2: The Moving Metropolis

Weaving through the masses, I made my way past the crowd and slipped into The Afterglow. The smell hit me right away, incense, grass, and that unmistakable haze of herbal concoctions hanging thick in the air. The walls were plastered with ads for pre-packaged recreational drugs, a trillion-credit industry thriving thanks to the Union's relaxed public health laws. "Your body, your problem." That was the motto, and honestly? It was one hell of a culture shock for us humans back in the United Commonwealth of Sol, or you know the globalized offspring of the United States of America and the United Nations.

We were still fighting the war on drugs then, too busy debating morality to notice we’d just legalized a trillion-credit industry overnight. Took the dopefiends a week to figure it out, then shit hit the fan. It was chaos, plain and simple. Goes to show, that even with all our advancements, humanity still has a talent for missing the fine print.

After flashing my Commonwealth ID to the beefy security guard at the door, I was greeted by a table set up by some Cosmitosh producers. The brand? ChryBmb. Behind the table stood a girl with short red hair, matching outfit, and the kind of energy that only comes with either enthusiasm or stimulants. As I approached, she greeted me in Japanese, my optics helpfully displaying a live translation like subtitles.

“Hello there! Would you care for a sample of our newest variety, Scented -Tosh?” She handed me a disposable one-hit canister with an orange printed on the side, about the size of a fat baby carrot, attached to a plastic atomizer. I twisted the safety with a satisfying click, lined it up with my left nostril, and Noz-Binged the fuck out of that little bastard.

The hit was immediate, artificial oranges, smooth and clean, unlike the chemical tang I’d grown used to. It's kinda like going from Lysol to Orange Pledge. My head went fuzzy, and a rhythmic, euphoric buzz began rolling through my body. The psychedelic jazz they were playing in the background suddenly hit just right.

“Thanks,” I said, still savoring the scent. “Reminds me of orange groves.” The -Tosh girl giggled and waved me off as I floated over to the counter, now in the perfect headspace to finally buy my essentials.

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An Excerpt from The Edge of Existence & Where to Find it - Chapter 6: She Blinded Me With Science!

At the back of the room, a chemistry array stood like something out of a pulp fantasy novel, all twisting glass and glowing liquids. A holomatrix screen floated above it, displaying notes and formulas for whatever was bubbling in the setup. A man in a lab coat, his dark hair slicked back and glasses perched on his nose, was focused on the array. He turned taps, lit a Bunsen burner, and adjusted tubes like he was conducting a symphony of alchemy.

This had to be him. The big cheese.

Elaine had slipped into another room, her creepy cat sticking around like my shadow. It perched on a bookshelf, its glowing green eyes locked onto me, unblinking. It hadn't moved since I walked in, and I was starting to wonder if it ever blinked at all.

Clearing my throat, I stepped forward and addressed the scientist. "You must be our host. Thanks for having me. I'm Tracy Lawrence of the-"

Before I could finish, a woman's voice cut me off. "The Quantum Pulse Network, yes, I'm keenly aware of who you are~!"

The voice belonged to a thin woman with unkempt dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes, and thick red-framed glasses. Her cream lab coat, complete with the iNNoTec lightbulb insignia, had its sleeves rolled up, and she held a half-filled plastic cup of boba milk tea in one hand. She stood in the doorway, grinning like she'd just stumbled across a new experiment. Elaine appeared behind her, the cat now back on her shoulder.

The woman strode toward me, hand outstretched, and grabbed mine in a shake so enthusiastic I thought she'd pop my arm clean off, like a barbie doll. "Delia Bradford, Owner and CEO, Innovation Technologies Incorporated. A wonderful pleasure to finally make your acquaintance!"

Caught off guard, I managed to mutter, "O-oh, the pleasure's all mine."

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Chapter 12 Subspace Edition Drops Now!

Fear & Loathing In Beldasia-Omega Part 2: Is Tracy Burning…?!

“This is a Grand Prix event! Two-lap standard,The Orbital Section of the track has been cleared by safety officials for use, clear-weather rules! And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for—RACERS, START YOUR ENGINES!” With a turn of the key, the fusion engine beneath me roared to life, vibrations thrumming through the frame, through me. That’s when I noticed them. The Grey mercs. Front row, center stands, all talking on their optics—some even looking right at me. On the comm with your bookies eh fellas? I exhaled. Whatever. They can watch all they want. I had a race to start. Around me, the starting grid came alive—twenty-plus FM pods igniting in a chorus of raw, unfiltered power. The air shimmered with heat distortion, the scent of thruster exhaust was thick, practically enough to taste.

Will I make it out of this race in one piece, or will they be shipping me back to Titan in a box? Find out now on this week's edition of The Edge of Existence & Where to Find It! Only on Subspace and in print via The Quantum Pulse Network—exclusively at Omni-Stop off Orion and the Beldasian Expresslanes

https://open.substack.com/pub/spacedfictional/p/chapter-12?r=1halq0&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

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Sometimes, me and that two-faced attorney of mine take turns playing drunken shitshow. Those Gargle Blasters cut through me like a plasma torch—instant lightweight, despite my so-called liver of steel. Chel, on the other hand, was laser-focused on the street tacos we passed on our way to whatever dive we decided was our scene for the night.

The rest? A blur.

Next thing I knew, I woke up sprawled on my couch, face smeared with dry guacamole, and the high cost of low living cracking me over the skull like a Derrinite bat.

One for the books, clearly.

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OOC: Made this while stuck at home receiving treatment, been playing around with abstract psychedelic backgrounds.