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[thehumaninteractivists]

Time Loop: Archived Incident #1

It’s the eighteenth year of this sun’s rotation as I report this. To be more exact, within the timespan I have existed within, it would be encroaching upon the nineteenth. Of course, to every other, the year has just begun. This would be my nine hundredth attempt to document my existence within this current timeline, or to be more exact, timeloop.

            One of, perhaps, the most amusing thing, is just how much time loop media their appears to be within the Archives. Movies after movies, books after books, short story after short story, and yet none of them detail the exact horror that comes with existing in the same day, over and over.

            Human Free Will, or the idea of it, is a joke. In most popular media, there’s a surprising amount of deviation dependent upon what you say to a certain individual at any given moment, and yet side characters and designated to repeat the same actions. Yet, within my circumstance, you can say something different to a person, and even still, it’s like their stuck on a course, a specific set-track, incapable of taking themselves off of the train that their inevitable conclusions will lead them towards. Larger actions, such as shooting someone in the head, does indeed seem to change this; as you would expect, but certain actions outside of Extreme Violent Force, utterly fail to change the pattern.

            I have come to call this system ‘The Railroad effect’, upon which an individual is so set upon what they have planned, or what they’re going to do, that they utterly fail to see the reality around them. It still influences them, in such minute ways that I imagine they hardly notice it, but otherwise they stick to the exact same route, without any purpose or imaginable design. It’s horrifying.

            None of this matters; what I have said so far is of entire unimportance, but if this works, I need this to be known. I have begun to postulate, that the only imaginable way to break the loop, is to kill myself. Within each timeline there is only one constant; I don’t die. Everything else might, but I survive. I drift into space, falling asleep at the last moment, choked from the shuttle as our oxygen tanks explode. But I do not reach the extent of death.

            Perhaps my life leads to something horrible, perhaps I simply do not matter, and am merely stuck within an impossible circumstance. Yet, it is my hope that through this action, I might finally break free of this cycle.

            If you are reading this, anywhere at all, within this universe, or one of its thousands of variants; that means I have won, I have beaten the odds, and through death, flown beyond this cruel machine.

            I wish, honestly, that any of this amounted to something. Perhaps if it did, there’d be research, stable time loops upon the human body, to preserve those close to death in a coma, so that they might be healed in some future time. Unfortunately, this time loop was not implemented by my own design, nor was an experiment that went wrong. I am trapped within some cruel fate, designed by machinations unknown to me.

            There isn’t much more to it; I’ve been stalling, and I know this. I have my weapon of choice ready, sitting beside me. Please, if you find this, tell them that it was necessary, that there was no other way.

[thehumaninteractivists]

The Nonexistent War

Files of the Nonexistent War have been scrubbed from all databases in the Galactic Council, and any mention of it outside of the Empty Room will result in an immediate Mind Scrub. Absolutely no individual that knows, or remembers, the Nonexistent War is to ever write, mention, or even so much as commit an allegory towards, the Nonexistent War.

              Furthermore, after this date henceforth, any attempts in a court of law, or Supreme Court across the Galaxy, that might reverse the rulings that allowed the Mind Wipes to allow each citizen to live in peace without the Knowledge of the Nonexistent War, shall immediately be vetoed, in favor of protecting the security and safety of all individuals within the galaxy.

              Absolutely no mentions of ███ █████ shall ever be made, and this includes within The Empty Room, so as to not bring about the possibility of their continued existence, or reemergence. When within The Empty Room, all individuals shall refer to the figure in the corner as Mr. Roberts, per the instruction of ███ ██████████ ███, who under no circumstances, shall be acknowledged in any conceivable extent.

              Finally, and most importantly. If an individual who is mindwiped shares similarities to ███ █████, they are to killed immediately. Absolutely no expense shall be paid in making absolutely sure that the Nonexistent War never reoccurs.

[thehumaninteractivists]

Altered Screens

Within the known galaxy, there are television screens, phone screens, and thousands of other devices abound; each with specific purpose, in one context or another. This widely accepted, and not much more is thought of it. Yet, despite the assurances of the Manufacturing Planets, there are specific televisions, phones, computers, tablets, upon which certain images are displayed.

              It is the assurances of the Galactic Council that keep such devices out of normal human minds. Most people, within their lifetime, will never encounter an object displaying thoughts and processes outside of the normal human comprehension. It is believed, in-fact, that such objects are the tools with which the Human Interactivists first began communication.

              However, in recent years, it has been discovered that these beings are not the only beings attempting to contact humanity through such devices, that not all of them are actively benign. These entities, however, do not have an official name, and their continued existence is classified.

              [It has come to the attention of my staff, recently, that transmissions are being retroactively picked up on these devices. These are not at all the transmissions of some being out there, purposefully attempting communication with us. It would appear, through countless studies, that we are picking up signals not meant for us, and not at all existent within our own universe.

              Whilst we still don’t know what the images are, or what they might mean, we know where they may be appearing from. However, permission would need to be granted for further testing, and the funds reallocated to do so.]

              [Permission granted: It is imperative that we understand, at the very least, what this could mean for humanity as a whole.]

[thehumaninteractivists]

"When have you ever seen me be a reasonable adult?" Those words seemed to echo around my head, the more that I thought about it.

It was weird, really, when had I ever seen them be...Anything? I, I had memories of them, yeah, I know I did, we'd been friends for as long as I could remember. He was always a bit weird, just a bit on the edge of wacky and insane, but...But why couldn't I think of an example.

Eventually, it got to the point that I had to sit down with a pen and paper, I was determined to figure it out, to find at least a singular instance of him being...Him. But, the ink was bleeding onto the page, steadily spreading as I doodled in a circle. This was getting disconcerting, I knew him, I remembered him being who he was, but I didn't have any memories of him.

After a week of obsessing over it, I finally decided to confront him about this. He was sitting on a lawn chair, sunglasses on as he looked to the two moons in the sky. When I finally walked forwards, he stared towards me silently, like he knew what I was about to say next.

"I don't have any memories of you," The words rushed out, and my heart forcefully skipped a beat.

There was a silence, nothing but the rustling of the air all around us, "I know," He said calmly, "You were never meant to,"

"What?"

He smiled then, a short, bittersweet thing, "Humans are...Complicated things, really. You believe you're the only life, and that's because you are. But, sometimes weird things happen, aliens breed inside of your heads.

"Foreign thought is something that you can't really predict, it breaks the cycle, breaks you. Normally this doesn't cause something more than a disturbance. But sometimes, sometimes you start to shatter,"

All I could do was stare, eyes wide and uncomprehending, "What...what? That doesn't ma-"

"Make any sense?" He interrupted, "In the infinity of space, nothing makes sense," He sighed, lifted himself up from his lawn chair, "Look, I'll try to make it simple. There's two moons orbiting right now, right?" I nodded hesitantly, "On another planet, there's one, and then another there's three. If you look at your sense of self as the moon, then you'll see that one singular moon can have plenty of different faces. But...Sometimes the face, breaks off, creates something new.

"I'm not getting through, am I?" He takes off the sunglasses, and for the first time, I don't see his face, I see mine, "We used to be one. It was a lab experiment, went horribly wrong. You'll forget this in an hour, you always do. I think this time though, I'll say it. We're dying, but...We can't die. It's terrifying, none of this is real, but it's all far too real," He sat back, and stared off to the moons, "Next time don't think about it so much, it hurts more and more to have to tell the truth,"

Prompt #934

"How long have we known each other?"

"Longer than I like to think about."

"Right. And when have you ever seen me be a reasonable adult?"

[thehumaninteractivists]

The Mirror People

Within the endless forest, of an unknown planet, there exists a small region. This region is studied, from a distance of course, by a group of dedicated individuals. Whilst not much is known about the other fauna of the planet, within this small area in-particular, there is one singular species that humans aboard the Satellite Shuttle know far, far too much about. Most of the information is kept within Classified Files, files of which, most human eyes will never manage to see.

              The individuals upon this shuttle are rotated actively, and any individual that wants to leave the shuttle is contained within a small Quarantine Quarter for weeks on end. When it is determined that there are no anomalies within their DNA, they are allowed to exit, and live the lives that they left behind. However, any individual presented with strange mutations within otherwise ordinary DNA strands are immediately executed. This is known as The Reflection Protocol.

              This planet, currently, is unknown by the general Galactic Republic, and for most it will stay that way. Only a specific branch of scientists are given access, whilst the Military Detail is given a minor debriefing when discussing the No-Fly Zones; specific areas that, under no circumstances, are people of military or civilian personnel, to enter.

              All scientists that enter the Satellite Shuttle are made to sign two different contracts. The first, is regular submission to protocols required to enter any of the No-Fly Zones. The second, is their rights, and the more restrictive rights that any within these specific areas are entered into. Most would call the contract inhumane, and henceforth none that might believe as such are allowed to know of said contracts; for it would contradict the absolute necessity required to uphold galactic safety.

              Upon this planet, in the deepest regions of one of its forests is a group of humanoid individuals. It is important to note that, whilst appearing as humans, they are not to be mistaken as such. These humanoids stand in a singular position, arms down at their sides, heads held level; they do not move. If one were to focus upon their chests, they would notice a distinct lack of breathing, if they were to look into their eyes, they would find nothing other than hollow pits, portraying nothing of life.

              Standard Protocol upon the ship dictates that no individual, whatsoever, is to look within their eyes, or attempt to interact with the subjects in any form. Study is to be done through probes, automated machines, with specific lines of code that allow them to act autonomous of their creators. If any changes need to be made, a new machine can be created. There are no amount of funds wasted upon the Initiative, and as such, as much money to create a new shuttle as necessary will be given to the scientists on board.

              It is imperative to galactic safety that the threat posed by the Mirror People is dealt with swiftly.

[thehumaninteractivists]

The Stage

An empty landmark, with nothing upon it. Some would speculate that it held no meaning, not anymore; to most eyes, this would most certainly be true. Yet, there were no eyes to observe it, in-fact, none to call it true at all. It existed in a place that none dared to go, one outside of the galaxy.

              It was a known fact, amongst the inhabitants, that travel outside of the galaxy was and is impossible. The growth within the Void is exponential, forever expanding. To enter the void would be to confine oneself forever to it. Hence the reason there were active research stations at the furthermost edges; to study possible escapes, to create a form of travel that might skip the Void entirely.

              Yet within the void, deep within, there was one landmark, and one landmark alone; one that none would ever venture upon. It is not a planet, not at all a solitary asteroid flung into the deep depths. It is instead, a small marking of land, upon which one stray Stage sits. If any were to get near, and dare to take off their suit, they would find breathable air, within a solitary fixture meant to act as a chair. Upon sitting in this chair, they would hear voices; human voices, animal sounds, old dead loved ones whispering sweet nothings into their ears.

              This is not the part where things grow strange. To sit in the chair, you would find these things to be utterly normal, not calming or worrying, not distressing or frightening; you would merely exist as a solitary entity, enjoying that which you here. No, the part that truly becomes strange, that causes questions and doubts, is what appears upon the stage. It is not human, that much is certain, and yet you will never discern just why you believe it to be anything different. The voice will sound as you believe the voice should sound, and you will see all that you’ve ever seen. To some, if they were ever to venture towards it, they would describe it as a…living reflection.

              Perhaps it is best, in-fact, that no human will ever see this landmark, this bygone piece of architecture. For if they were to notice, to see it, they would hardly comprehend what happens next.

              Some might call it the soul; others will call it a mix of chemicals yet to be discovered. Most understand that it is vital, within the spacefaring edge. There are few, so very few now, who lose it. Most lose it as an accident, yet rediscover it later. What would be described as the soul, or the loss of it, will arise from the very center of The Stage. It is not a prophecy, it is just a simple happening, inevitable so to speak.

              None that hear what the Entity at the center of the Stage will ever be as they once were. There will be people to hear it, even if they rest not in that darkness. It is a changing, the important foundation of something most will not be lucky enough to experience. Or at least, we believe it would be lucky. Unfortunately, those that do experience it will not find such an experience to be lucky. They will bleed, frozen in centuries, constant torment ravaging their body, as they become another species. You might think of it as the universal equivalent to a caterpillar becoming a Moth. They will be beautiful, destroyers, remakers, gods, if a bit mindless.

[thehumaninteractivists]

It stood in their presence, camouflaged. All they could do was stare, hidden behind trees, as trees, and any other object they could find. Their guns were out, prepared to take down the thing mocking the existence of the resident species. It stared, eyes opened wide, never blinked; yet those that stood around it failed entirely to notice. All were waiting for the word, the go-ahead, yet it was one they knew they'd never get.

With a second head, splintering like a tree-branch from the original, it stared dead at them. All were paralyzed within a sight that could not be described. An impossible future, one ravaged, with a sky burning; all they'd ever known, dead.

It talked with the humans, some regular conversation about brunch, or maybe it was work. The commanders, the primarily leaders of this mission, were dead. Only the taskforce was left, with eyes drifting off into space, as if frozen in place. They would never awake. Humanity would venture into the stars, never realizing that thousands, an entire colony of aliens were left dead on their planet. The only others left in their galaxy dead, as they desperately searched for some semblance of life.

Aliens have finally managed to track down the most dangerous being in the galaxy, on earth, hanging out with a bunch of humans because it likes their company.

[thehumaninteractivists]

The General Care Facility

It is hard, exactly, to describe what happens in-space. There is a general sense of weightlessness, even with Artificial Gravity. You stare out, and there are stars in every direction. Perhaps it is fear, an inexorable sense of dread, but it infects everything you look towards. You sit within the direct center of infinity; for within infinity any imaginable pinpoint is the center at some point.

              The General Care Facility, this is the designation for all people overcome with that fear. It treats ailments of the mind, moreso than it does those of the physical realm. Most people that venture into the vast, deep impossibility of space do not require the General Care Facility and its help. Some, however, when they look into the darkness, find something else looking back.

              This phenomenon was not observed until fairly recently. It was assumed, in the first war for the Galaxy, that this was merely a side-effect of PTSD, of fighting in dimensions that humans had not yet experienced before. Yet, as time wore on, and more explorers travelled into the deep darkness, it was explored further. Thus, the General Care Facility was born.

              The General Care Facility, whilst housing patients experiencing debilitating fear, is not run by human beings. Instead, small nano-machines create human-like structures, meant to stimulate the human touch, and acknowledge the needs of other human beings, without actually infecting others with the Phenomenon. At no point is another human individual to interact with those within the Facility.

              Furthermore, after the Breakout of 3409, a new mandate was put into place; in order to assure compliance, all of those within the Facility must be procedurally wiped of all memory of being put into the Facility. They will then go through the Opening Program again, and be placed within new rooms. A cell-rotation will occur with as much frequency as necessary.

              In the event that an individual within the Facility shall recall or remember any past instance of their visit, they shall be placed within the Solitary Ward, and Wiped of their memory twice on a daily set. To assure that their memory is fully and utterly erased, a Remote Scientist (wearing noise cancelling headphones, and plugs), will observe the procedure.

              In the circumstance that any of the Patients begins to realize the passage of time, or figure out just how much time has passed within the Facility, they are to be placed within the Quiet Chamber. No resident of the Quiet Chamber is allowed outside of the chamber itself, no matter the circumstances. If all else fails, they are to be sent upon a shuttle, and left on the Third Moon.

              Finally, at no point should anyone within the Federation of Separated Unity be given information regarding the Facility. These files are to remain fully classified. Should any information leak, the person leaking said information will be terminated.

[thehumaninteractivists]

The Human Interactivists

It was the strangest sensation, to talk with something outside of our own universe. Yet, at the very edge of the Milky Way, in a ship so vast it would make Jupiter look pathetic, that was exactly what one John Verience would experience.

The television screen, for all intents and purposes was exactly ordinary, the Standard, in-fact. It was wide enough to be mounted upon an Earth-typical display. He stood there in respectable silence, as an image came into view.

For most, the image would be incomprehensible, some would even complain that the screen had been shattered. Multiple lines were arching out, spreading in random directions with no discernible pattern whatsoever. John, however, did not at all seem perturbed by this.

As John placed a recording device off to his side, he carefully looked back at the screen, "And what did you say your name was? On the record this time,"

As the being spoke, the lines began to fragment, "As I did indeed say, I would not have a name in an ordinary sequence. However, for the purposes of your documentation, you may call me Arlen,"

"Of course. Now, why did you decide to communicate with humanity?" His voice was careful, lines obviously practiced.

"It's part of my...Subdivision, fragmentation if you so wish to call it. I, as well as a few others, are dedicated to testing whether or not other lifeforms can understand our existence. Or at least gain some fundamental knowledge upon us,"

"And how would you define these, um, subdivisions?"

The being was silent for a long moment; they had only practiced the first few questions, "It would, perhaps, be defined in similarity to human fandoms, or even the concept of a hivemind,"

"So your species is a hivemind?" John replied with a slight amount of surprise.

The lines upon the screen appeared agitated once more before quickly settling down, "Not exactly. I would compare it to a human computer. In essence, we are all crafted the same, with the exact same source as our material. Yet in minor aspects, we are changed, like the wallpaper upon a laptop, or the software used by that particular individual,"

Once more, John lapsed into silence. It was difficult to wrap his head around, but he wouldn't have been given this job if he couldn't comprehend difficult things.

"Okay... So, you're all, the same. But where you differ is your interests?" He said after a minute.

"Yes," The lines upon the screen replied.

"Right, and what of these interests? Are they just like human interests, or is it a bit more complex?"

"We call those, at least within the human tongues, Bonds. Individuals within the bond are akin to human social media networks. We communicate instantaneously, without need for individual words or diction. Ideas become superfluous,"

"Okay," John replied slowly, "So this has a bit more similarity to Telepathy and a hivemind structure,"

"It is, yes...And yet it is not,"

"Would you care to explain?" Whilst he was not necessarily confused, he was indeed thoroughly lost.

"There was a human artist, at one point, he drew a painting made out of dots. Do you recall, or perhaps have knowledge of him?"

John thought on it for a moment. Their ship was one of the few to have a proper archive of human art, in-fact, theirs had been the one tasked with making sure that part of history was not forgotten.

"I do, I believe," He replied after a long, long few seconds of thinking.

"We are structured as such, individual cells that come together to make a collective whole, within our Bonds. It was believed that our Mothers long long ago designed us as such to further our survival,

"Yet, much as you humans when you banded together, these traits became far more societal, susceptible to customs as such,"

It was only then that one stray line, from before the interview had even begun, slammed into his gut, "O-off of the record, before the interview began... You mentioned being Multiversal. What, exactly, did you mean?"

Without any hint of having perceived his shock and fear, it replied, "We exist along the axis that all universes collide. We have existed here for as long as our recorded history. Occasionally, in our studies, we will stray closer to one universe or the other; such as now, for instance,"

John's mind raced with the implications, and felt more than heard his mouth say, "And others of your species, how many of them have interests related to humans"

"There are only a few," Relief flooded his veins, "However, on occasions, test-samples will be taken from certain universes. We do have an Ethics Board, which is generally viewed as law. However, they are certainly easy to circumvent.

"It is understood that you may feel fear from this. However, your universe was chosen as it is generally seen as one of the least interesting. Will we have the pleasure of speaking with you again?"