#like a science-fiction short story

[harleiquina]

If I had time to write I'll be...

Finishing Black Suit #1 (group of detectives chase an assasin's agency but one of the detectives knows one of the assasins since childhood because he was her brother's best friend and practically lived with them). 3 books in total.

Rebooting Broken Wings. 7 books in total where the Devil (Lucyan) and a rebel guardian angel (Ángela) have to work together to find the 7 Deadly Sins that escaped from Hell. (Since the Deadly Sins are a human invention, they are less cooperative with the Celestial forces, hence both sides need to work together).

The Little Princess Frog and other retellings. I have so many ideas to patch-up some plot holes in my favourite eslavic farytale that I HAVE THE NEED to turn it into a novel. I'll add (if it ever gets published) my retellings of Cinderella, Sleepy Beauty, Beauty and the Beast & Snowhite + the original version of The Little Princess Frog.

The Hunter's daughter. Fantasy book. Standalone. It was born out of the premise: yeah we all know how tempting it is for the leading lady to have a ✨️connection✨️ with the bad guy... but what if they are actually in a relationship since the very begining of the story and nobody knows about it?

Unnamed fantasy project #1: A kingdom is divided in 4 regions (the cold North, the warm South, the sunny East and dark West). Every time one of the royal children turns 6 years old, there is a tournament to welcome them into the "social royal life" and to bond with the other territories. But then something happens and the young royals have to prove in real life that they have the necessary skills and trust each other to save their land.

Unnamed fantasy book #2: what if you find out after 2 years into relationship that you've been dating a fantastical creature that was sent to our world to protect an ancient relic from Dark Forces?

Tak tak. Stand alone, with possibilities of turning into a series. A paranormal investigator has a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to investigate his Holy Grail: the house of a mediocre young writer that was killed and, supposedly in every anniversary of her death you can hear her scream. But what if she's unaware that she's a ghost and she's trapped into reliving her last year of life over and over again?

And let's not forget my ideas for TV shows:

Working title Sapo (Frog. After a common saying "like a frog from a different well"). The USA Embassy in Argentina blows up and the Ambassator and his family are killed. The FBI sends and agent to investigate but he has to find a way to work with the corrupt police department and politicians in Buenos Aires. It could have 3 seasons (Buenos Aires - New York -Buenos Aires again) with 3 different stories. And it could be expanded to other latinamerican countries in other seasons, but we'll see.

Twilight: I know that they already are planning on remaking it as a TV show... but I can make it work! Using the gender-bent version of the story as a foundation, there is a chance to make something that... let's say... is less cringe.

Syn/biosis: spin-off from Broken Wings. A girl is left for dead on a road and the only way for her to live is by allowing a demon to possess her. She tries to find out who did this to her.

And let's not forget some movies I've planned:

Zorro: I love 1950's Zorro and my absolute favourite episode is that very rare time when Diego de la Vega and Monasterio work together to catch a man that is pretending to be Zorro (under Monasterio's orders at first). Sadly that is the second to last episode of Monasterio's arch... I always wanted to see more of this odd couple. So... with Monasterio under arrest and beeing taken to Spain to be judged it would make total sense for El Águila's men to try and have a hold on him and bring him to their ranks. But Monasterio might be a dictator but not a traitor to Spain and it's King, so he escapes and goes back to Los Ángeles to seek for help and warn others of what might happen. Of course no-one believes him... but El Zorro. Together they'll try to solve the mistery of El Águila.

Tales of Egypt: "Gods of Egypt" left a sour taste in my mouth. Why coming up with that story when the original myths are so good? Set kills his brother Osiris, chops him and tosses his bodyparts all over Egypt. Osiris' wife, Isis, embarks herself on a journey to put her husband's pieces together but she cannot do it alone (because Set is working with Udjat to try to kill Ra and take over his throne) so she tries to convince Sekhmet to join her (the godess of war) but she's still hurt from beeing kicked out of Ra's guards and kind of enjoying beeing a mom.

Title not decided yet, but it'll be a remake of C'era volta (Once upon a time, but I don't want to use that title since it's very related to the TV show. The English titles were "The Miracle" or "There's always a woman" or "Tje Italian Cinderella" and I don't like any of them). It's an italian movie with Sophia Loren and Omar Shariff loooooosely based on Cinderella and it screams for an update. I don't care how beautiful mr. Shariff was, his prince is a d*ck and Sophia Loren's character only has one trait: she's loud... maybe 2 traits since she fights a lot. We could use some nuance there and tell an actual love story instead of something that feels like lust at first sight?

[whereserpentswalk]

Human space has always been large. Generations ago when ftl was first invented humans used it to create far off colonies, but then those colonies created colonies, and so on and so fourth, until nobody even knew where human space ends.

You were on an exploratory mission, and your ship ended up flung way further and faster out into the universe than you thought you could go, and ended up way past what you wanted to explore. You were lucky to still be in human space, but the culture was entirely unknown.

The first system you went to was filled with humans wearing hoods and masks, and clothing that covered their entire bodies. When they met you they made you wear the same clothing as them, and you quickly learned that in the local cluster of planets any skin being shown was completely taboo, even the smallest inch on any part of the body. The closest they had to revealing clothing were tighter fitting garments, and more humanoid masks. They started helping you repair your ship, but it would take a few years.

And while you were there it seemed strange at first. You felt sad for the mask wearers, knowing that people would never know the appearance of their closest freinds, their siblings, their parents. Even eating was strange, being done with the same privacy as a shower would be on your planet. It felt as if the masked people had lost some element of humanity.

As time went on, and as you got used to wearing their clothing it stopped feeling that way though. You had close freinds on those planets now, and you found it weird to want to see their faces, it would be weird to, perhaps it was better with them choosing how they looked. And soon the idea of someone having an exposed face seemed weird, at least it was when you left. Part of you wished they hadn't fixed your ship, you had a life there. But they did, and you left.

When you got to your ship again you spent months avoiding pirates and androids before getting to your next safe planet. When you got there the people looked strange, most of them had prosthetic body parts, many of them looking so cut up that they didnt even look human. You learned that it was the custom there in those local systems, to slowly remove body parts as people aged, until they completely lacked biological forms, and were purely mechanical beings.

The custom was horrifying to you for your first few weeks there. And you knew it would be awhile since your ship needed fuel. People celebrated their first amputation, discarded limbs would be preserved like baby teeth, and it was all so casual a mutilation. You knew a young woman there who would talk so cheerfully about how they were going to remove the bottom part of her face, and how excited she was. You couldn't bare to look at anyone.

But as months became years, and you had a job as a professor of far off cultures, you began to understand. Not agree but understand. They could live forever, and never be disabled by old age. Children could visit their great great grandparents. And soon the amputations that disgusted you became commonplace enough to ignore. You even agreed to have a broken arm replaced, as so few doctors knew how to mend one. But you left, and you wept as you left, for all the people you'd never see again.

It took you awhile to find a habitable planet again. You were lonely for a time. And when you found one again it was like a drowning person finding water. The people in the new planet you found looked strange, they were hairless and androgynous, many of them either underweight or chubby, or somehow both, and all with a softness to them. Pretty soon you found out that their civilization reproduced using machines, and removed their children's testicles or ovaries as soon as possible, never letting them go through puberty.

Even having seen many worlds these people disturbed you. Their bodies were so broken looking, being so obviously incomplete to you. They thought of you as an oddity but they didn't even know what was taken from them. None of them had or desired sex, their genitals remaining childlike and useless, and because of that they were naïve to any hint of sexuality, they'd shadow publicly, and it was normal for friends to kiss and cuddle naked. It felt as if they had lost so much of what made someone human, and like you had no way of telling them.

But as time went on it too became normal. Even though you told yourself it wasn't. Sex seemed weird and useless when nobody had it, and bodies seemed normal when they were the only kind around. You thought they were missing something at first but they just weren't, they were as human as you, they could still live full lives. And in time it was all ok. After spending years there you ended up with a wife there, and though you never were allowed to have sex you loved eachother. But you eventually left, you had to, even though your wife wept as you said goodbye, it was in your nature to leave after years as it was in their nature to castrate children.

You've come to your next planet now, and they seemed to be serving human flesh alongside all the normal meats like pig and cow. It's disturbing to your right now but your sure it'll all be normal in time. Everything is normal in time.

[specialagentartemis]

My favorite genre of sci-fi is “small research team goes to a distant plant/star/space station/black hole/etc to study something weird there, and then the weird thing there Wrecks Their Shit.” Can’t get enough of it. “Small research team goes to a deep undersea research station” and “small research team goes to a deep Antarctic research station” are also very good variants of this as long as they get completely rekt by a weird mysterious alien thing there. I love it every time.

It is also important to note that these stories can range from “TPK” to “lone survivor” to “a few losses but most of the main characters come out of this harrowing ordeal alive, if changed” to “everyone survives this harrowing ordeal and they have a new friend now!” but the more characters survive the better the story better be. If it’s a TPK/lone survivor I eat this up and will love it no matter how bad it is (Underwater (2020) starring Kristen Stewart I am vaguing you here. Stupid movie. Saw it on the big screen and loved it). But if most/all of the cast survives, the writing and the story and the characters better be goddamn amazing (All Systems Red by Martha Wells and Wolf 359 by Gabriel Urbina and Sarah Shachat I am vaguing you here <3 )

[shortstorytournament]

Short Story Tournament

LIKING WHAT YOU SEE: A DOCUMENTARY by Ted Chiang (2002) (link) - tw: ableism

We saw calli as an opportunity: What if we could live in an environment where people didn't judge each other on their appearance? What if we could raise our children in such an environment?

I AM A BEAUTIFUL BUG! by Julian K Jarboe (2019) (link) - tw: bugs, themes of transphobia

Once at the clinic, I brought my copy of The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka to my brief pre-surgery consultation. I pointed to the inside cover illustration, and said, “Gimme the works, doctor! Just like Gregor Samsa!"

[aimfor-theheart]

sci fi and fantasy genres are really for minorities and while i’m not surprised white cishet men in particular have dominated and claimed those genres as theirs, it’s so like….frustrating watching them butcher the genres again and again. ceaselessly. without an ounce of self awareness.

[ilovedthestars]

I just read “The Blue Afternoon that Lasted Forever” and oh. Oh,,,,,

YEAH

I read it in my sci fi class last year. On the science side, we used it to talk about black holes and doppler shifts and time dilation, and it uses all of those very accurately and to great effect. (I don't believe that the phenomenon depicted in the story has any strong evidence behind it, but all the consequences of it are all real science.) But apart from that it is just a devastating tragedy (& story of father-daughter love). And it's also a really interesting portrayal/subversion of the cold, calculating genius trope. The theme of the class was "the science of science fiction" and i think Blue Afternoon is a pretty great example of real science being used very effectively in fiction.

[randomperson339]

Random scene

Xernalia (Biologist Alien): How can the human body be so inefficient. I mean, your organs aren't even completely comprised of cells! Sometimes there's just randomly a bunch of stuff in place of them!

Thomas (not biologist himself, but very nerdy human): are you talking about the fibrine stuff?

Xernalia: Yeah! I don't understand why they're even there! When I run em' through, they don't form, like at all! There wasn't a little bit of them!

Thomas: Xernalia, that's where I've healed from unnoticeable diseases. How did you even discover them?

Xernalia: Well, first off there was a big one right at {{eldretch word}}. But honestly, why hasn't your body properly healed from that??? It really should've by now.

Thomas: Well... from my understand the human body doesn't heal from those kinds of wounds.

Xernalia: Why doesn't it? It reduces the efficiency. Slightly, yes but those are like. The main things you don't want to reduce the efficiency of. You have them for your muscles, why not the most important parts of the body???

Thomas: I honestly could not tell you.

Xernalia(under her breath): I swear the human body is impossible.

Thomas: And you're the one that decided to make it ungodly sexy!

Xernalia: And I will forever regret and enjoy that decision.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

I knelt before my God. “God, why did you call me here?” I was but an acolyte, hardly worthy of His attentions.

God tilted his head to the side. “I wished to tell someone a story, and you happened to be nearby,” He explained.

I nodded, unable to conceal my excitement. To be called upon by God, at such a young age? It was unheard of! “I would be honoured to hear any wisdom from your lips,” I said.

His expression unchanging, God began. “Once upon a time, there was a boy. He had wealth and power, but he wanted the world.”

A story about overstepping your bounds, I thought. About the follies of ambition. Did God think me too eager? I had best be more humble. I lowered my eyes and bowed deeper.

“He plotted and schemed, seeking to rule. But a team of pure-hearted heroes saw through his deceits and rose to stop him. They waged an epic battle, good against evil, chaos against order,” God continued, not showing any sign of noticing my change in demeanour.

“Good almost won. Those heroes were indomitable, unstoppable. The boy feared for his life, for everything he earned. So he unveiled a great weapon, a bomb that would take out the world, for if he could not have it, no one should either.”

Ah, I thought. Selfishness. Pride. Two great sins. Perhaps He had seen me gloating over my skills? Yes, that must be it.

“He blew up the world, and as he did so, he discovered a secret. The path to immortality. The boy Ascended, and when the dust settled, he sat on a throne of radioactive stone and bodies, ruling over a broken people.”

God shook his head and closed his eyes. He had too few eyes, I thought idly, then cursed myself for the heresy. God was Perfection itself, the final form. It was not my place to critique Him. “That boy became a young king. His power grew endlessly, safe in the knowledge that his enemies had been vanquished.”

Carelessness, now. Would the king fall, betrayed by a trusted ally? Would his kingdom flounder from lack of tending? I listened intently. When God spoke, those who listened were blessed.

“Other kind souls, who saw the horror in his actions, took up arms. Time and time again, he destroyed them. Centuries passed, and the people stopped looking at him as a king, and started seeing him as a god. They forgot the story of how he rose to power, and invented a legend. They worshipped him.”

Idolatry! The worst of all sins. He would be cast down by our God, the true God. I grinned to myself, pleased by my deductive skills.

“He was showered in gifts and partook in every pleasure possible, every vice and depravity. He glutted himself on the rarest delicacies, slept with the most gorgeous men and women, killed those who so much as irritated him. His dominion was absolute. None would challenge him.” There was an air of resolute pride in God's voice, but it swiftly softened to his usual solemnity.

“The centuries turned to millennia. The young man still enjoyed his bed-warmers, and his fine wines, but he did not take the same thrill in them that he once did. The world had grown boring, he decided. So he entertained himself with the thought of gaining more power, the idea of taking other lands, other peoples, other worlds for himself. For a brief while, he felt whole again, alive.”

This must be about contentment, I concluded, not without a hint of panic. The story had taken so many twists- How was I to know what he meant to tell me?

“But time struck again, and the millennia turned to eras. He had conquered every galaxy there was, seen his very first struggle mirrored across the universe, and found his life no more fulfilled for it. His power was incomprehensible. Entire species would kill on his whim. He was no mere god, but God himself.”

“The concept of indulging his lust no longer appealed. Though his body was still young, he had seen too much to produce any interest in any merely mortal pleasure.” God sighed.

I was confused. What was this story about? I had missed something, failed his test. A bud of panic welled up in me.

“So the god turned inward. He pursued the works of philosophists, who were awed by their god's sudden interest in his work. He pondered on the meaning of good and evil, and wondered about the heroes he once fought. He realised he had been a tyrant and a monster, and made laws to make the world a better place.”

I gasped. Of course. This was about kindness! Forgiveness, and learning from your mistakes were both valuable teachings, so often forgotten in today's society. By putting us in the shoes of a heathen, only then could we truly understand the meaning of empathy.

“But even that faded with time, and as a final resort, he returned to his homeland, where he once resided. He hunted down the deathplace of his old enemies, the location of his former castle. And he wept for the very last time there, as the final shreds of his humanity died.”

“You see, he had been gone so long, so very very long, that the world itself was unrecognisable. Plates had collided and produced a mountain where his plains-home once was, the sun had turned a deep red with age, and even his people had evolved and distorted to become a new species. There was no trace of the world he once lived in, the boy he once was, the life he once lived. He, as he knew it, was gone.”

“And now, the eras turn to aeons,” God concluded. “And I wonder: What will be left? When the sun that was once his explodes, will he embrace it and end the saga? Or will he live on for all eternity, changing and changing and never dying?”

I blinked. “Great God,” I murmured, making the holy sign, “Forgive me, but I do not understand. What is the moral of this story?”

God did not frown, nor show any sign of anger. His voice was even as he said, “There is no moral, boy. Some stories are just that. Meaningless tales. Idle words. I never expected you to understand. Simply be grateful that you will never live as long as I will. Now go, and live your life. Love and make children and die, like I never got a chance to.”

Finally, it clicked. This was a test, to see my tenacity. He gave me a false fable, meant to bewilder me, and sought to see if I would still attempt to make sense of it. And because I admitted my lack of comprehension, I proved I was humble, and because I tried to understand anyway, I proved I was intelligent. Smiling, I got up and left.

God watched me go with eyes that had seen eternity.

The direct result of this

[moderatelyquicksilversposts]

The psychonauts’s capsule plunged into the collective psychic pool. The mysterious song no one had been able to identify slithered between their minds like the wind, guiding them away from the surface.

Lyrics evaporated one word into the other, notes became colors and colors became suns, and queen bees nested in them.

There it was, lodged between a memory and a desire for more, the cosmic song whose origin they’d been commissioned to investigate. They managed to unstick it.

Excited, they made for the surface. But they’d strayed too far. The mystery they’d entered was dissolving, fog-like, sweeping them along.

(via Like the Wind)

[jellalism]

Hi all! I wrote a short story. It'd mean a lot to me if you read it or shared it with your friends.

[powerfulkicks]

^ needs to write fucked up science fiction short stories

[entropywritez]

SPACELOGARCHIVETEXT:FULL:2232023

(translation: Space Log Archive text: full: March 23 2023)

When an interstellar ship is docked into the Main Ship for repairs, only one human is sent up to keep watch over it. Isolation in the natural world is difficult enough, even more so in the artificial. Even considering this, the human sent up does not cope well with the deafening silence of space.

Warnings - animal and human death alluded to, suicide, brief conversations about religion and superstition. Much of the literal text is abbreviated technobabble, in a similar format to the untranslated title, which may be difficult to read. 

Wordcount: 1.8k

Text is under the cut!

INFRMTNREQ#589573851-589573856:8:36AMSENT:

CPT#678234 MLTRPRSNL:ALL

NO LOGGED INFORMATION.

CPT#678234 CVLPRSNL:ALL

1:MAYSIM ABDULLAH;27YRS;OCCU:NONE;RELATIONSHIP:PARTNER;STATUS:DEAD

NO OTHER LOGGED INFORMATION.

CPT#678234 CVLPRSNL:DPND

NO LOGGED INFORMATION. 

CPT#678234 PROFILE

RANIAH ABDULLAH;28YRS;OCCU:GNRL;STATUS:UNDT

NO OTHER LOGGED INFORMATION.

CPT#678234 LOGARCH:ALL

LOGTRANSM#1147634:8:46AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES: THIS IS WHAT, MY THIRD TIME BABYSITTING A SHIP? THE NOVELTY’S WORN OFF, BUT IT’S STILL UNNERVING.ANY TIPS FROM MAIN SHIP?

LOGTRANSM#1147634:8:46AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147634:9:14AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES: KEEP YOURSELF BUSY. MAYBE CHECK ALL MAIN SUITS OUTSIDE. POLISH THE WINDOWS.

INSTTRANSM#1147634:9:14AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147635:8:28AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:GAVE ALL THE SUITS A TRY. #9, THAT YOUNGER RECRUIT’S, HAD A COUPLE SURPRISES FOR ME. HIGH SCHOOLERS ARE HIGH SCHOOLERS, I FIGURE. FOLDERED, IN MY LUGGAGE FOR RETURN TO LAND. THE WINDOWS SURE LOOK A LOT SMALLER WHEN I’M INSIDE, NOT POLISHING THEM. EVEN I KNOW NO ONE GETS USED TO LOOKING DOWN AT MAIN SHIP. THE WORD MILLION DOESN’T STICK AS WELL AS LOOKING AT THE FUCKING SCALE. WHO’S ANSWERING THESE TRANSMISSIONS, ANYWAY?

LOGTRANSM#1147635:8:46AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147635:8:52AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:LT. COMMANDER GOLDE-DIAZ OF THE INFORMATION WING SPEAKING. I HOPE I WON’T GET SWITCHED OUT. SURE WOULDN’T HELP WITH BEING UP IN SPACE ALONE, WOULD IT?

INSTTRANSM#1147635:8:52AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147636:10:53AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:WLLCHCK

ADTNNOTES:NO MESSAGE YET RECEIVED. EVERYTHING ALRIGHT, CAPTAIN?

INSTTRANSM#1147636:10:53AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147637:8:17AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:PERFECTLY FINE. POPPED OUT OF BED, DECIDED I’D START READING SOMETHING INSTEAD OF WORKING ALL DAY. LOST TRACK OF TIME.

LOGTRANSM#1147637:8:46AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147637:8:51AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:WLLCHCKRES

ADTNNOTES:GOOD TO HEAR. MAYBE SET AN ALARM TO KEEP TABS ON LOGS. WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN READING, CAPTAIN?

INSTTRANSM#1147637:8:51AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147638:8:32AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:DABBLING IN DIFFERENT CLASSICS. DIDN’T EXACTLY STUDY THEM IN SCHOOL, FIGURED THERE’S NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT.

LOGTRANSM#1147638:8:32AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147638:8:37AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:WATCH YOURSELF, CAPTAIN. SOME OF THOSE CAN GET PRETTY HEAVY.

INSTTRANSM#1147638:8:37AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147639:8:35AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:STARTED CHECKING DEFENSE MACHINERY. NOTHING OF NOTE TO REPORT SO FAR. JESUS, DO OUR OPERATORS LIVE IN THESE THINGS? THEY’RE DISGUSTING.

LOGTRANSM#1147639:8:35AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147639:8:41AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:IN RECENT CASES, THAT WOULD BE A REASONABLE CONCLUSION. SPACE TRAVEL TAKES A WHILE IN OUR WARP VEHICLES. WOULDN’T BE SURPRISED IF SOME OPERATORS SPEND A FEW MONTHS IN THESE THINGS TO REACH THEIR ASSIGNMENTS.

INSTTRANSM#1147639:8:41AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147640:1:47PMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:DEAR GOD. SOME KID TRIED TO BRING THEIR CAT IN WITH THEM IN THE SUIT. ANY PROTOCOL AGAINST SPACE BURIALS?

LOGTRANSM#1147640:1:47PMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147640:2:04PMSENT:

ORDERS:REFRAIN. PRECAU:OBEYPRTCOL PROTOCOL:DEBRISPREV

ADTNNOTES:HAD TO DO SOME RESEARCH. UNFORTUNATELY, YES. TINY MASS CAN DO SOME SURPRISING DAMAGE IN LOW GRAVITY. RECOMMEND SEALING AND STORING IN FREEZER.

INSTTRANSM#1147640:2:04PMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147641:9:17AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:DONE. SEEMS DISRESPECTFUL SOMEHOW, BUT I’M MORE AFRAID OF HULL BURSTS THAN CAT GHOSTS.

LOGTRANSM#1147641:9:17AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147641:9:20AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS, CAPTAIN?

INSTTRANSM#1147641:9:20AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147641:9:22AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:NO, AND I SURE DON’T WANNA BE PROVEN WRONG HERE.

LOGTRANSM#1147641:9:22AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147642:9:16AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:CAN’T GET THAT CAT OFF MY MIND. STARTED TRYING TO GERMINATE SEEDS FROM TOMATOES AT BREAKFAST. WILL UPDATE AS I CONTINUE. NOT ENOUGH PLANTS IN PATROL CITIES.

LOGTRANSM#1147642:9:16AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147642:9:20AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:PLEASE DO. WOULD BE USEFUL INFORMATION FOR IMPROVING OPERATOR MORALE IN THE FUTURE.

INSTTRANSM#1147642:9:20AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147643:8:23AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:ARE YOU A RELIGIOUS PERSON, LT. COMMANDER GOLDE-DIAZ OF THE INFORMATION WING?

LOGTRANSM#1147643:8:23AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147643:825AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:NOT PARTICULARLY. GREW UP CATHOLIC, DECIDED I WASN’T CATHOLIC ONCE I MOVED OUT. YOURSELF?

INSTTRANSM#1147643:8:25AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147643:8:26AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

CASUALLY. I GO TO THE MOSQUE FOR EID, GET MY PRAYERS IN, BUT I’M NOT EXACTLY A PRIEST. TO BE HONEST WITH YOU, DAILY PRAYERS ARE ONE OF THE FEW REASONS I’M EVEN KEEPING TRACK OF THE TIME.

LOGTRANSM#1147643:8:26AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147644:8:48AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:TRIED OUT THE AUTO-TENNIS TODAY. OPERATING A SUIT’S PRETTY TAXING, BUT SOMETIMES YOU JUST NEED SOME GOOD OLD EXERCISE TO KEEP YOUR MIND OFF OF WHATEVER YOU’RE DREADING.

LOGTRANSM#1147644:8:48AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147644:8:50AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:DREADING, CAPTAIN?

INSTTRANSM#1147644:8:50AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147645:8:32AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:BEEN HAVING TROUBLE SLEEPING HERE. I’M TOO USED TO THE CONSTANT PATROL CITY BUSTLE OUTSIDE MY QUARTERS. TONIGHT I’LL TRY PUTTING ON SOMETHING TO DROWN OUT THE RINGING IN MY EARS.

LOGTRANSM#1147645:8:31AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147645:8:53AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:BEAT ME TO THE SUGGESTION. DON’T TAKE ANY SUPPLEMENTS JUST YET. FIGURE YOU JUST NEED TO GET USED TO IT.

INSTTRANSM#1147645:8:53AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147646:10:39AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:GOD, ALREADY A WHOLE WEEK UP HERE. TIME FEELS DIFFERENT WHEN IT’S NOT RATIONED OUT BY ORDERS. EYES ARE STARTING TO HURT FROM THE 24/7 LIGHT.

LOGTRANSM#1147646:10:39AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147646:10:41AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:I COULD SEND YOU SOME ORDERS IF NEEDED, CAPTAIN. START WEARING SUNGLASSES AROUND. 

INSTTRANSM#1147646:10:41AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147647:5:33AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:HIT WITH DEBRIS FROM SOME IDIOT KID’S ABANDONED SHIP LAST NIGHT. IT’S FUNNY. EVEN THOUGH IT’S ALL PASSED, I STILL GET THE SENSE OF THUMPING ECHOING ABOVE ME.

LOGTRANSM#1147647:5:33AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147647:8:17AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:UP ALL NIGHT, CAPTAIN?

INSTTRANSM#1147647:8:17AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147647:8:22AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

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ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:I SUPPOSE I WAS. KEPT WAKING UP TO THE FEELING OF SOMEONE WAS PULLING MY HAIR. NOT THE WAY TO TREAT A LADY, HM?

LOGTRANSM#1147647:8:22AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147649:8:52AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:CHECKED ON THE CAT BEFORE BREAKFAST. I’VE TAKEN TO CALLING HER SECOND-IN-COMMAND. SURE HOPE SHE APPRECIATES THAT. NO TOMATO SPROUTS YET. EVERYTHING UP HERE’S TOO DEAD, I SUPPOSE.

LOGTRANSM#1147649:8:52AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147649:8:54AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:I’M SURE SHE WOULD.

INSTTRANSM#1147649:8:54AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147650:4:48AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:STAYED UP ALL NIGHT AGAIN. DECIDED TO POWER OFF AND CLEAN THE STEERING THRUSTERS. NEEDED SOMETHING DIFFICULT TO FOCUS ON AS A DISTRACTION.

LOGTRANSM#1147650:4:48AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147650:8:34AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:DISTRACTION FROM WHAT?

INSTTRANSM#1147650:8:34AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147651:12:27AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:I CAN STILL FEEL MY PARTNER’S FINGERS RUNNING THROUGH MY HAIR AS I FALL ASLEEP. IT’S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE I’VE HELD HER.

LOGTRANSM#1147651:12:27AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147651:8:23AMSENT:

ORDERS:RESTDAY PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:HLTH374

ADTNNOTES:CAPTAIN, YOU’VE BEEN ORDERED TO TAKE A DAY OFF TO SLEEP AND REST YOUR MIND. MAYBE WRITE HER SOMETHING FOR US TO SEND TO YOUR PARTNER.

INSTTRANSM#1147651:8:23AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147651:8:32AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:NEGATIVE, LT. CMDR. SHE’S ALREADY HERE, PETTING THE CAT.

LOGTRANSM#1147651:8:32AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147652:9:30AMSENT:

ORDERS:LOGREQUEST PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:MISNGLOG

ADTNNOTES:NONE

INSTTRANSM#1147652:9:30AMRECIEVED. LOGTRANSM#1147652:1:26PMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:I KEEP HEARING CHATTING AND A CAT’S PURRING. DIDN’T GET TO SLEEP UNTIL THE WEE HOURS OF THE MORNING. STILL CLEANING AROUND THE SIDE THRUSTERS.

LOGTRANSM#1147652:1:26PMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147652:1:29PMSENT:

ORDERS:RESTDAY PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:HLTH374

ADTNNOTES:I’M CONTINUING THE REQUEST FOR YOU TO DEDICATE A DAY FOR REST AND SLEEP.

INSTTRANSM#1147652:1:29PMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147653:9:30AMSENT:

ORDERS:LOGREQUEST PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:MISNGLOG

ADTNNOTES:NONE

INSTTRANSM#1147653:9:30AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147654:9:30AMSENT:

ORDERS:LOGREQUEST PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:MISNGLOG

ADTNNOTES:CAPTAIN, PLEASE PROVIDE A STATUS REPORT. I TRUST YOUR LAST MISSING LOG WAS DUE TO A REST DAY.

INSTTRANSM#1147654:9:30AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147654:10:42SENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:I’M NOT ALONE ON THIS SHIP, LT. CMDR. I’LL NEVER HAVE TO BE ALONE AGAIN.

LOGTRANSM#1147654:10:42PMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147655:7:13AMSENT:

ORDERS:SECRTCHK PRECAU:SHLD;STN;FZE PROTOCOL:UNIDEDOBJ

ADTNNOTES:UNKNOWN STRUCTURE FOUND CLOSE TO LEFT SIDE THRUSTERS. PLEASE BE PREPARED FOR HOSTILES WHILE INVESTIGATING.

INSTTRANSM#1147655:7:13AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147655:8:29SENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:IT’S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT, LT. CMDR. I WON’T LEAVE ANY FREE-FLOATING DEBRIS.

LOGTRANSM#1147655:8:29PMRECIEVED.

AUTOMNSHIPLOG#3785235:10:22AM:SGNFLOSSLOG

LIFESUPRT:NONE

HMNPRSNL:1 LOSS;CPT#678234;LFLRDNG:FZE BEAM INJURY HEART;LCTN:L14THRSTR

ARTFPERSN:1 LOSS,4 INJR;IRDNG:FZE BEAM REMNANTS AFTER INVESTIGATING HUMNPRSNL LOSS.

MAINSHIP:NONE

MTHRSTRS:NONE

STHRSTRS:L14THRSTR;LFERDNG:FZE BEAM DAMAGE,LSS/IMP/TMP EQUIPMENT.

HD/NCYC:NONE

ADTNNOTES:SHIP NOW UNSUPERVISED. RESTORE HUMAN PERSONNEL.

HMNNOTES:NONE

[brytnoter]

At one point this was my favourite short story ever.

The Egg (in 32 languages)

Content: One interpretation of what the afterife entails. Fucking magical beautiful shit.

[nyarlathotep420]

It's A Metaphor

The wind howls as it drifts past the dunes and shrubs that cover the outback. Sand is picked up and thrown into the air by the hot breeze, dancing about in unison with the occasional patch of dead grass. The torrid earth clashes with the deep blue sky as though they are fighting for dominance. Lonely clouds drift through the air, small and distant from one another. Each cloud takes on a unique form as it wanders its lonesome path. Far beneath them, snakes slither through the sand, pushing aside the smallest of pebbles and grains of sand as they leave a barely visible mark behind them which is soon covered by the sand being tossed around by the wind. Lizards bathe in the sweltering heat of the sunlight on simmering rocks and stones, perfectly tranquil and oblivious to all worries that any other creature in the world may have.

The scolding sun beams down on a seemingly unending set of metal train tracks. The rusted tracks sit covered in a blanket of dust and dirt. Back in the day, every part of the two metal lines would’ve reflected the scolding sunlight all day long and be cold as ice throughout the night. Now only a few parts poke out from the rust that covers it and they shine in the face of a girl who sits on the ground close to the tracks. Her hair blows in the warm breeze and sand is kicked up into her eyes. She lifts up her pale hand to hide her chocolate-brown eyes from the dust. Her watch takes the brunt of the impact from the sand as it reflects the run’s intense rays. Her yellow jacket waltzes in the wind, almost mimicking the sound of fire crackling. The teenager stands up and walks closer to her friend. She sits down next to them and leans against them. Their cold and metallic exterior is actually quite comforting for her after knowing them for so long.

The automaton sits with its legs out straight, looking directly forward and showing no emotion. Its face is more like a camera than that of a humans. No mouth, no eyes, no emotion. Its green titanium paint is faded and chipped although it is covered in newly applied stickers. It is brightly coloured and can easily be told as those of a teenagers. Some have smiley faces, and some have vulgar words. Covering most of the arms and torso of the robot is a Hawaiian-style shirt with the buttons undone. Its bright orange and yellow contrasts with the green and grey of the metal of the machine but blends in with the red sand of the outback. Its large size casts a long shadow in front of it which stays equally as still as it does.

The girl watches the shadows, her knees to her chin and her hand wrapped around her wrist. She observes as the silhouette of her hair blows in one direction and then the other, but the robot’s shadow doesn’t move an inch.

“When will this fucking train get here?” The girl asks impatiently.

The automaton shrugs its shoulders slightly and moves its camera-like face towards her as to view her as she speaks.

The girl turns to the machine as it makes its gesture to her “It was a rhetorical question; you wouldn’t get it though.”

The robot's rectangular head moves up and down as it nods in agreeance with her statement. She is right. They do not understand it. Humans are far too complicated.

“I can’t believe we have to do this. I reprogrammed you, that should be enough not to scrap you. I get that you guys have done some bad stuff in the past but I’m a fucking good programmer, you’re safe now, right?”

The robot continues to nod in response to her rambling. It doesn’t completely understand what the girl is talking about, but they still agree with her despite that.

“At least when this fucking train arrives we’ll be able to jump on it and get you away from them. Maybe people will appreciate my work somewhere else… man, having to wait for this train is killing me.” The girl drags her hands down her cheeks as she expresses her impatience.

The machine tilts its head in confusion as if it is a dog of some sort. It silently stares at the teenage girl, waiting for an explanation.

The girl waves her hand in front of the robot and looks down in fatigue “You wouldn’t get it, it’s a metaphor.”

The robot nods and looks back up at the tracks while the girl rests her head against their shoulder. There is a minute of silence between the two as they listen to the whistling of the wind crawling through the sea of sand.

The silence is broken by the distant sound of a train clacking along the rusted tracks in the dust. The rattling of the metal grows louder as the speck in the distance becomes larger, revealing the train.

The girl stands up with a grunt, her hair flicking in the hot breeze. Dust is thrown at her eyes by the wind, forcing her to squint and raise her hand above her eyes. The sound of the train grows ever louder, like a beast with a million legs running along the steel in the ground. She reaches into her bag, digging through its contents. Her fingers trace wires and slide along pieces of spare machinery as she searches for such an everyday object as her sunglasses.

The machine gets up from the ground in an unnaturally efficient way and stands with its hands to its sides and its head straight forward. Its head clicks as it turns to face the girl and its lens observes her in mechanistic curiosity.

Her pale skin shines in the calescent sunlight as she fumbles through her bag. Finally, the girl latches onto the familiar feeling of her sunglasses and leads them through the several items contained. She loosely clutches the facewear in her hands and brings them up closer to her and further from her bag.

Suddenly the wind howls louder as it changes directions and increases in strength. It flicks the girl's hair back and makes her jacket rustle intently behind her. She lifts her arm up in a futile attempt to stop any more dust getting into her eyes but in doing so she puts her sunglasses in the line of fire. Her grip on them loosens and they slip out of her hand, flying off with the gale.

In one precipitous movement, without thinking, the girl spins her entire body around in an attempt to snatch her glasses away from the thieving wind. Not a thought crosses her mind as she twists her body in a circle besides not losing her sunglasses before the train comes. Due to her body contorting itself, her legs are thrown off balance and she trips over.

The teenager's foot is caught on the metal rails and gravity thrusts her to the ground. Her back cracks down onto the steel running along the ground.

The mechanoid barely has any time to register the events unfolding before it. The only thing bionic sentience can manage in the time frame is moving its head to look at the girl. It pushes its hands against the ground and begins to lift itself to its feet as quickly as it can (unfortunately this is not very quick).

The girl feels the tracks rattle intensely as the train rushes along them without any sign of slowing down. Just as the machine did, she lifts herself off the ground quickly (much faster this time). The girl regains her posture and stands upright, looking down the middle of the two rusted steel lines drenched in dust. She barely has time to register the train hitting her.

The girl's friend stands up with its arms to its side, only to witness her demise.

The large metal beast charges at the teenage girl like a bull. It slams into her fragile body, making her bones crack and shatter. Her skin is torn from her flesh, ripping off into pieces. Her legs bend backwards as the sheer speed of the train forces her limbs to crumble. The girl's lungs are crushed along with the rest of her internal organs which are smashed into a paste. Her blood spurts out of her body like a water sprinkler of sanguine liquid. It paints the front of the vehicle red as her entire body smashes against it. The teenage girl's head splits open, her skull shattering. Her brain splats onto the train like spaghetti being thrown at a wall. This teenage girl is mutilated beyond recognition in a time that not even the mind of the machine can comprehend.

Just as soon as it came, the train rushes off down the tracks, slowly fading into the distance. The girl's body is nowhere to be seen for the vehicle took her with it. Blood covers the automaton, dripping from its limbs and seeping into the cracks of its hardware. It stands with its head turned to where the girl once stood, its arms straight to the side and not an expression on its face, for it could not express emotion if it wanted to. Right now, if it could, it would scream.

The desert is once again silent save for the constant wind howling and shoving sand out of its way. The mechanoid looks down at the tracks, witnessing the few drops of blood that are left of her. It stares at the dark red as the sun forces it to shine. Like a deep abyss, the computer lets itself drift off into its equally dark thoughts.

“What does a machine think of at this time?” you may find yourself asking. Well, it was asking itself the exact same thing.

The girl waves her hand in front of the robot and looks down in fatigue “You wouldn’t get it, it’s a metaphor.”

The robot looks to its side in pure confusion, now snapped out of its thoughts. What it sees is most shocking, even to a being of code. The girl sits next to it, perfectly intact, as if nothing had happened. The robot is no longer standing. It sits with the girl's head resting on its shoulder. It stares at the top of her head in pure and utter confusion. There are longer drops of blood on the tracks or on the machine itself and there is a living, breathing teenager right next to it.

It sits completely still as its mind races, failing to come to any logical conclusion behind the situation. Before the machine can come up with any explanation of what is happening before it, the pair hears the sound of the train rolling down the tracks once again. It rumbles along the rickety railing, charging forward exactly as it had done a few moments before.

The girl stands up and begins to rummage through her bag that hangs down beside her, looking for her glasses. The machine watches her in bewilderment, not entirely sure what to do in this situation. Her hand threads itself through her bag in the exact same manner as a few moments before.

She grabs out her glasses and holds them up beside her. The mechanoid remembers what happened the last time, the images flashing into its mind as the events unfolded before it once again.

Before anything happens, the robot stands up. The girl does not take notice of this, and the wind begins to blow harshly as if it had been angered by this teenager once more. It howls and roars as if knocks the glasses out of her hand and steals them once again, drifting off into the gale.

The automaton witnesses as the girl quickly spins around and trips over on the corroded rails. It listens as the sound of the girl's back slamming onto the steel and her grunt of pain is drowned out by the deafening sound of the train racing forth.

The train charges forward with malicious intent, determined to tear apart the young girl twice over. The machine watches, feeling powerless in its moment of shock and confusion. As of this moment, it can not come to any sort of logical conclusion about the events unfolding before it once again. Its shirt folds and flows in the wind and the stickers that cover its body begin to slowly fall off over time. Wind rushes past as time feels as though it slows down.

The teenager stands up and the robot watches in helplessness. The vehicle once again slams into her body and crushes her organs. Her skin is torn and ripped apart in the exact same way as before. The robot is covered in blood and viscera, staining its shirt, and hiding its stickers as the gore seeps into its wires and hardware.

The train rushes off as fast as it came and fades into the distance, once again stealing the corpse of the teenage girl away from her friend. The robot stares off into the distance down the tracks, dripping with carmine liquid, still warm from sloshing around in her body, now exposed to the outside world. For the second time, the automaton is left with nothing but the sounds of the outback to keep it company. It stands with its metallic feet in the sand and the hot breeze smashing into its solid body.

The girl waves her hand in front of the robot and looks down in fatigue “You wouldn’t get it, it’s a metaphor.”

The machine looks to its side at the living girl sitting next to it. It happened again.

She leans against the hunk of metal much like the two previous times this has happened. It is not long before the robot realises that the exact same thing is going to happen again for what seems to be a third time. It looks at the tracks as it ponders the situation while the girl looks at her shadow as it sways and moves in the wind.

The tracks begin to shake and rumble with the sound of a distant train as it begins to get ever closer to the pair. A lizard that was sunbaking on the tracks quickly rushes off as soon as they begin to rattle.

The girl rises up from her seated position and stands close to the rails. The machine looks at her as she gets up with a quiet grunt. It continues to stare at her as the dust gets blown into her eyes and she raises her hand up above them. Soon after, the mechanical person also stands up right next to her. It stands up, perfectly still and stiff, not moving an inch in the harsh wind.

The teenager reaches down into her bag, beginning to search around inside of it for her sunglasses. She looks off into the distance at the train rolling along the tracks as she scrambles to locate her sunglasses in time. The mechanoid's mechanical legs take two perfectly programmed steps towards the girl, the sand at its feet being shoved to the side. It reaches its steel arm out to her and latches its cold hand onto the soft flesh of her arm.

The girl looks up at the tin man with a look of confusion and annoyance. With one yank of her arm, she releases herself from the grip of the machine.

“What the fuck is your problem?” She says to it, not expecting a response from the mute machine.

The robot leans back in shame. The lens in its head shines in the sunlight like a glimmer in the eye of a human. It watches her as she rummages around in her bag, becoming increasingly agitated with her situation. The automaton puts its arms back to its sides as the teenager lifts the sunglasses out of her bag and holds them.

As always, the wind begins to blow even more harshly than before and knocks the sunglasses out of her hand. In desperation, she turns and trips over the tracks again. The mechanical person does nothing but watch as she slams onto the metal that lines the ground of the searing outback.

As she stands, her body instantly becomes a pinata of bone, muscle, and blood. It sprays out in a macabre display of gore. It tears her apart and rips her nearly in half. Her bones are all but powder by the time the train hits her and crushes the entirety of her body against its speeding steel. Nearly every piece of her body is splattered across the front of the train as it speeds across the railway and off into the distance.

The machine is once again left alone in the outback, blood-soaked and covered entirely in what was once its friend. The incarnadine slides off of the metal-plated machine and drips onto the sand below. The wind howls in sorrow at the loss for a third time in a row.

The girl waves her hand in front of the robot and looks down in fatigue “You wouldn’t get it, it’s a metaphor.”

The girl's friend doesn’t waste a second this time around, knowing exactly the outcome of the situation if it doesn’t do something about it. To the teenager's surprise, it stands up as quickly as it possibly can and turns around, looking down at her as she looks at the machine in confusion.

The mechanoid starts to wave its arms about frantically. The girl stands up and looks at the machine with a perplexed look on her face. It grabs onto the side of her arms and starts to shake her, desperately trying to communicate to her what is going on. It wants to yell, it wants to scream, it wants to make any sort of noise to indicate the message that it is trying to get across to the teenager, but it simply cannot, no matter how hard it tries for it does not have a mouth. It becomes more desperate as it realises that what it is doing is not making any impact on the girls understanding. The automaton starts to slow down in its movements, and it loses hope.

“What the fuck?” The teenager says in response to the machine's rapid motions.

She looks at it in complete confusion and slight irritation that she cannot understand what the robot is trying to do. The mechanoid steps to its side and looks down at the ground, watching as the wind blows against the tiny dunes of sand. It attempts to come up with any sort of solution to its problem, but it cannot find any, so it simply stares at the ground, refusing to look back up.

Dust is blown into the eyes of the girl who decides to get out her sunglasses in an attempt to stop such a thing from happening further.

A few moments later, the girl's friend hears the sounds of her body being crushed and strewn across the face of the train. The backside of the robot is covered in her blood and viscera. It watches as the blood drips down onto the ground, drowning the sand in crimson red.

Robots cannot cry, but if this one could, it most certainly would.

The girl waves her hand in front of the robot and looks down in fatigue “You wouldn’t get it, it’s a metaphor.”

The wind blows throughout the outback, the sun beating down on the pair. One of flesh and one of metal. The tracks sit in the scorching sunlight, heating up by the moment. They run for what seems like forever. If one were to stand and look at them, they’d feel as though they simply went on across the world and back around the other side again.

The machine watches the girl rise up from the ground and get out her sunglasses. It watches as the wind tears the items from her hands and off into the distant sky. The automaton witnesses the teenage girl catch her foot on the side of the tracks and fall backwards onto them. It refuses to watch any further.

As the girl stands up, so does the machine. It turns around and walks off in the same direction as her sunglasses. The mechanoid listens to the sound of her bones being crushed and her body being dragged away by the vehicle.

It looks down in the sand at the sunglasses stuck inside of a bush. The wind makes its bristles dance and sing as they rub against each other, moving the sunglasses with them. It looks at its reflection in the pair of shades. Viewing itself intently, looking at all of its imperfections and at its lack of a mouth. It has no way to communicate with anything or anyone. No way to show the outside world what it is thinking or what kind of torture it is experiencing.

The girl waves her hand in front of the robot and looks down in fatigue “You wouldn’t get it, it’s a metaphor.”

The robot looks at the girl as she leans against it in the exact same way as before. Her hair blows in the wind in unison with her jacket as her eyes follow the shadows on the ground. The computer inside of the bionic person's mechanical head ticks over with ideas and possible solutions, most of which it decides would not work.

The machine looks over at the girl and stares at her face. Her brown eyes shimmer in the sun and her skin is illuminated by the rays of light. Her hair blows gently, each strand dancing like it has a mind of its own. It stares at her eyes that look like the bark of an oak tree which stands strong and immovable. It searches her eyes before moving its gaze further down at her eyes. Bags hang beneath them, dark like an abyss. At a second glance, the machine notices that wrapped around her eyes are veins that stretch across the white void white the roots of the same tree. The teenage girl yawns and raises her hand to her mouth, something that the machine didn’t notice she did before.

Slowly, the girl's friend raises its arm up from the sand and reaches it across the back of the teenager. The sunlight makes the metal of its arm shine in its face, but it soon faces as its arm is covered from the sun by the girl's torso. It wraps around her like a snake and rests once it reaches her other arm. The robot pulls her in closer and she huddles up against it.

The tired teenager can’t help but close her jaded eyes in the gentleness of the arms of the machine. Her friend holds her next to it, surprisingly comfortable for the side of a robot. The teenage girl lets the waking world fade away and disappear into darkness as she falls asleep. She rests against the torso of her friend and snores gently as she forgets about all that weighed on her mind.

The robot watches and listens as the train rolls past the pair and off into the distance, with not a drop of blood on it. No gore, blood, or viscera rests on the train tracks, simply the rust growing on it from its age.

The machine does not fear nor stress about the two getting to where they need to go in time because it knows that they will find a way. 

Above: Inspiration for story, by lemurdibuja on Instagram.

[they-loved-in-2075]

Science fiction. The Invincible One (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1401819576-science-fiction-the-invincible-one?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=Javid117&wp_originator=m61kvNXCqb5tiAUGkZGODqf8KufX7wOFIYOuSBW8SSf%2F3kyp4pobd8als0oDXIIgjO%2FXWZbjwYegBDoXJeiYB5799gdimHP82dfSXgxpfRPUGjp6NbJ%2FBlBn%2FI0XzGxO This short story has everything that will keep you wondering what next? What will happen to the Invincible one? Will the senior one be able to penetrate his exo-layer of trillions of nano processors? Well, anything can happen in this suspense packed science fiction story. To know exactly what and how it happens. Please refer to this short and exciting scifi story.

[enlichened]

guy who constantly starts stories and never finishes them..