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No Gravitas posted:Prompt: All this work for nothing, but at least we get to share a moment of time together before we die. A low rumble marked the failing of yet another probably crucial component of the Merryweather even as she streaked along her 108017th orbit around the blue-green marble Tiller and his team used to call home. Merryweather was in fairly good shape, hull not compromised beyond the capabilities of the two remaining field generators, all critical failure points restricted to the extremities of the station, she was breaking down in exactly the fashion her designers intended leaving Tiller with a full thirty-two square feet of leg room in the small corridor that bridged the two pieces of the station. It had been Spencer's suggestion to restrict the team to this corridor, squeeze every last bit out of the Merryweather by taking refuge in the smallest livable area, restrict the space life support systems had to work in, free up resources for the field generators and other extraneous bits of oldtech that had been grafted to her hull. Give them every possible second to work on fixing the unfixable. Since the station had a projected 80000 orbit lifespan the idea had been a good one Tiller supposed, even if the last few months had been nothing short of hellish. 'It was a drat good idea Spencer' Tiller said not turning to look at the other man. 'You're a loving hero...' His gaze was directed at the blue-green marble below them, the slightly shimmering field that had sprung up when Merryweather's exterior plating had been ripped away obstructed his view hardly at all. At his side his arcfetters lay discarded and silent for the first time in weeks. As he peered down he imagined he could see the smoky green cloud advancing - tightening it's grip around the planet. Terra-forming it, they had theorized. Using the spare bits of oldtech that littered the planets surface to somehow work a strange alchemic conversion on a global scale. Or at least Morgan had been convinced that was what was happening, to the point he had set his arcfetter aside firm in his conviction that the amalgamation of newtech and oldtech was somehow making things worse. But Morgan was dead now so what the gently caress was his opinion worth. 'World's loving ending down there. poo poo no. World's already loving over. And you're calling me a hero?' Tiller didn't respond, he absently ran his hand along steel bulkhead at his side not taking his eyes off the world below him. His finger traced the line of the nanoconduit feeling the dull hum of the Merryweather's heartbeat as he did so. It was reassuring in a way, even as it ended. Everything had to end after all. 'Think we just lost life-support.' Tiller murmured his eyes staring as if transfixed into the depths of the emerald cloud. 'Not that it loving matters.' Tiller turned to look at the other man, his lip curling a bit at the non-regulation orange patch sewn onto the left shoulder of his suit, the half of the man that remained was only recognizable because of the patch at this point. Spencer had lost his other half when Merryweather's hull had ruptured, neatly bisected as the field snapped into place over the gaping hole in the exterior plating. His skull stared back at Tiller with a sort of grim accusation, though that was probably his imagination. Spencer's various biological components had been mostly broken down in the heat of his own arcfetter to be reclaimed by the Merryweather's life-support system in the same manner as any other biological excretion. It seemed Tiller would be spared that indignity he thought as he ran his finger once more over the now-inert nanoconduit. 'No I suppose it doesn't.' He spoke aloud despite the rapidly thinning oxygen, eyes drawn away from the remains of his one-time friend, one-time lover by the end of the world.
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Mar 4, 2017 11:16
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Don't die thread! I don't generally post my stuff because it's all terrible but  5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: forgiveness please Those words echoed emptily around the largest room in Valterrith, miles above the surface, looking down on the clouds. It was a gaudy and opulent room with heavy wooden walls and thick shag carpet ornamented here and there with gold filigree and diamond chandeliers. Massive windows made of transparent nanofiber gave a 360 degree view of the surroundings – an endless field of clouds. It's decadent when compared to the tiny cubes in which most of the wards live their lives. It is the office of The Warden. Indicated by the dozens of holographic projections feeding the office with a million datapoints pertaining to the status and upkeep of Valterrith. By this point the highest point of the massive supercity is nearly 20 miles above the surface of the Earth and the various instruments in this room monitor every inch. “Forgive me.” The words are coming – with clockwork regularity – from a CitySys audio device that is affixed to the south wall next to one of the standard issue CitySys portals that would admit any theoretical visitors to this room. However, the doorway is unnecessary. It has been over a hundred years since a visitor was last admitted. Indeed this room stands empty because The Warden is dead. Has been dead for a very long time. Not even the dust of his bones remain. Valterrith, however, still stands and each day it climbs a little higher under the watchful eye of CitySys. Each day humanity reaches a little closer to the stars. “Forgive me.” Those words are the final legacy of The Warden and they are repeated aloud each and every time. Every time the machine reaches that final conclusion and a life must be taken for the good of Valterrith. “Forgive me.” -rations no longer distributed to Level 487r(shortage) “Forgive me.” -Level 321b permanently sealed and filled(critical structural integrity) “Forgive me.” -neurotoxin administered to criminal(third offense) “Forgive me.” -conversion to The Deprived ...and on and on and on and on... This unending litany for the dead and dying may have meant something to someone once. Sadly despite what The Warden had believed, or perhaps only wanted to believe, the machine did not dream. The machine could only climb, it's ancient steel and circuitry propelling it and it's wards higher and higher. Every inch bought with blood and bone and other things the machine could quantify but not understand. “Forgive me.” sunken fleet fucked around with this message at 07:34 on Apr 22, 2017 |
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Apr 22, 2017 07:31
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5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: hopeless cases A shovel. His fingers wrapped around it. His eyes traveled the length of the thing. Steel, rubber grip. Modern. Hard angles. He didn't know much about tools but it seemed to him a practical thing, spat out of a factory somewhere for serious labor. Maybe. The man had never been a poet lyricism was not and had never been his strong suit. Even that tiny burst of wit escaped him immediately as he accepted the length of steel. The hand that passed it to him... existed, that was all he could say for it because as he took the shovel the world fell away. What did it matter after all? He had the shovel. And beyond that the earth. Just a patch of brown bathed in the dusky twilight that permeated this place and that was all that mattered. He hefted the thing, the weight was almost comforting. Smoothly, like a man who had done this a thousand times before, he began to dig. The process was slow. A man with a shovel was not actually sufficient to break any significant amount of ground. That didn't matter. His muscles strained, he could feel the sweat and grime accumulating as time wore on, seconds into minutes into hours it all blended together. None of it mattered. The man swung the shovel. The place was a bit cold and the temperature was constant, perhaps in other circumstances he would even feel a chill. It didn't matter. The man continued to dig. And then suddenly it was over. That grey hand - more of a claw really - had reached down and snatched the shovel back from him. He stood there a moment - posture frozen mid-swing muscles still bulging mid-flex. Slowly the tension left his body and his arms dropped to his sides, he straightened himself out and drew himself to his full height. When he had started it had been twilight - night had fallen at some point in the interim but there was light enough. Light enough to see beyond his little pit - which was only knee deep despite the hours of labor - and into the pit next to him. And the pit beyond that. On and on to an endless field of shallow holes with men and women standing in them - some still digging. His eyes flickered past those things, immediately dismissing them as unimportant. Idly, the man wondered what had become of his shovel.
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May 4, 2017 11:56
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No Gravitas posted:Here were supposed to be dragons, but they are out to lunch. You need to wait and the weather is making it hard not to be upset. In this place there is silence. An empty eternity unspooled around me, silent but not foreboding, a feeling of rightness permeated this place. Comfortable. The word was apt, it seemed to encompass this place entirely. With each breath I could catch a faint whiff of something, oak-shavings, perhaps – a faint scent of a home now gone. Now gone. The thought is discordant, at odds with this feeling of comfort, this feeling of home. This is not home of course, this endless and empty place, where even when I lift my hand it does not appear before my eyes. The discord grows as slowly bits and pieces of these past few days come back to me. The final frenzied efforts of we the soon-to-be departed racing against the massive cosmic clock so few were aware was ticking. Pouring ourselves wholly and unrestrainedly out before the Crucible. Baring our hearts and souls. Our flesh and tears. To think I had forgotten, if even for a moment, that mad race where men had stood before the throne of a God and forced our lips to His ear. We had labored and seared our very souls in the heat of the Crucible shedding years from our lives like water over a stone. We five gave everything! Our hopes, our dreams, our duty, our purpose, the fear, the spite, everything that drove us even a single step forward was ground and burned and melted and shaped in the Crucible until nothing remained. And now here I stand. The heat of the Crucible but a memory. My petition answered. Empty eternity unraveling in every direction around me. A vague feeling of comfort. Of rightness. Of home. But there is no God here. In this place there is silence.
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May 28, 2017 07:21
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prompt: I could see that she'd turned too slow
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May 28, 2017 07:21
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