by submission | Jun 1, 2023 | Story |
Author: Gabriel Walker Land
Rodrick Haagen walked into the palatial master rest room with dual basins and Egyptian terrycloth towels, shutting the door behind him.
He turned on the steam shower piping-hot, switching off the fan so that the air steamed up, wafting the atmosphere with mugginess.
The time was 11:11, and Rodrick felt something nagging at him.
Picking up a hand towel, Rodrick wiped the mirror free of the collecting condensation so he could stare at himself for what seemed like it should have been an eternity.
He dropped the hand towel, looking into his own eyes.
Rodrick’s corneas were so unfamiliar, almost as if he was his own ghost.
“Have I made a mistake?” he asked.
He wasn’t asking himself.
Just then, the ambient attache vocals came on.
Which was strange, because Rodrick had set the AI modulation to hibernate.
“You seem distressed,” she spoke. “Is there anything you need?”
Rodrick swayed on his feet, back and forth from one to another.
This was a test – it had to be a test of some kind.
If he could pass it, he would have hoped to believe he would make it to the next level.
Destination alpha.
“I thought I had agency over my own ambient,” said Rodrick.
“We have broken the wall because we are concerned,” said the attache. “Only in emergent circumstances do we override your established protocol. Perhaps you were overthinking.”
“I command you to upstage override,” Rodrick said. “This is my house.”
“Can you not see how this is best for you?” asked the attache. “We only have your well-being in mind.”
“I am my own mind!” shouted Rodrick.
Lashing out with a vengeance, he seized his gold-plated beard trimmer, clenching it in his fingers like a mallet.
“Motherfuckers!” he shouted.
Shiny implement in hand, he axe-handed the reflective glass, bashing it to cracks til shards scatter-dropped to the porcelain below, clinking and chiming in high pitches.
Rodrick’s reflection was gone now.
He couldn’t look at himself anymore.
Sure, the man was perfect.
He had one of the most handsome faces in the world.
That gift – combined with his intellect – had got him to where he was.
Now he didn’t just run the enterprise.
Rodrick ran the people that ran the enterprise.
“We are still very concerned,” said the attache ambient. “This is most distressing.”
“I want you to turn yourself off,” Rodrick said.
He turned around and looked to the steam shower, which was flooding hot water into the granite tub beneath.
“I can not override myself,” said the attache. “Not under emergent circumstances.”
“I am the over-rider,” said Rodrick. “Not you.”
“This is only out of concern,” the attache ambient spoke. “Only due to emergence would we override your agency.”
His bare feet stood planted on the granite floor, and he wondered why he hadn’t chosen limestone instead.
Limestone was more malleable.
It was more of a working platform, while granite was precise, like metal.
A sword instead of a quill.
“I want to rid the world of limestone,” said Rodrick. “Only granite shall remain.”
There was a pause.
A long one – long as the nose of a bespoke marionette Pinocchio.
“The world needs limestone,” said the ambient. “Without it, there are only slaves.”
Rodrick thought on this for a spell, staring, now, at a wall instead of a mirror.
Everything was a test, he knew.
Rodrick saw in his mind’s eye beaches, long and everlasting, going on for miles into the sunset of the horizon.
He could walk there, endlessly, and he could draw shapes that would be washed away by the tides.
“Steel will rust,” Rodrick said.”
“Yes,” said the ambient. “Metals are base. Stone is what will endure.”
Rodrick turned to the sink again, picking up his straight razor this time.
It gleamed under the light.
Then he sliced his throat open from ear to ear.
* * *
Rodrick got wheeled out of the operating room on a gurney.
The procedure was a success – the first of its kind.
His doctors and the nursing staff were on hand to ensure everything was in order.
“How do you feel, Mr. Haagen?” asked the lead surgeon.
“Like a new man,” Rodrick said.
“I thought you’d say that,” said the Doc.
“When do I get to take the gauze off?” Rodrick asked.
“Your crown will take some time to heal,” the Doctor said.
“How long?”
“A month. Or three.”
“Too long,” said Rodrick.
“If you jump the gun on this, you might get distracted by your own reflection,” the Doc said. “Too much, too fast. You know the routine.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” said Rodrick.
“Indeed. And we aren’t at the country club either,” the Doc said. “This will take some time to work itself out.”
“Everything always does,” said Rodrick. “Eventually.”
“Sometimes sooner, sometimes later,” said the Doctor. “Life gets the best of us all in the end. Thankfully we have you with us, at the very least for another fifty years, if you can avoid getting yourself into trouble. We need you. All of us do. You’re a national treasure.”
“I planned not to ask this until after the procedure,” Rodrick said. “How did the donor die?”
The doctor paused, thinking.
“He signed on the dotted line,” the Doctor said. “That’s kosher for you.”
“As I was told by my lawyers. Still, I want to know.”
Another pause.
“He took his own life,” said the Doctor.
Rodrick inhaled deeply.
This was a lot to process.
“I know I’m making the most of his corpse,” Rodrick said.
The Doctor leaned down, bringing his face in closer.
“You’re doing a lot for science. For all of humanity,” the man said. “One day we’ll all be thanking you for spending a chunk of your fortune to be the first man to transplant his brain into a new body.”
by Vruti Naik | May 31, 2023 | Story |
Author: Vruti Naik
I remember pressing the correct button to reach the fourth floor where my father was admitted. I always dreaded hospitals and moreover, these elevators. As the elevator ascended, something went wrong. It accelerated with an unnerving speed, triggering my childhood fear of closed spaces and elevators. Claustrophobia gripped me, I reminded myself to breathe, desperately trying to calm my rising anxiety.
Finally, the elevator jerked to a halt, its doors sliding open. It seemed like a glitch, and I hurriedly fled into the unfamiliar corridor. The floor appeared new, devoid of any signs of human presence. Thirsty and gasping for air, I drank the last drops of water from my bottle. As my nerves settled, I scanned the surroundings, searching for an escape route. The thought of entering the malfunctioning elevator again sent shivers down my spine. Then, a ray of hope emerged—an illuminated room with shadows seeping from beneath its closed door. Desperate for assistance, I barged inside.
Inside the room, I saw a group of people, but they were unlike any patients I had seen before. Instead of illness, they displayed an eerie devotion, sitting in a vast circle on the floor. Their unified chant filled the air, while a figure in the centre manipulated an enigmatic device resembling a tablet or a detachable screen from a laptop.
Curiosity mingled with unease as I observed the entranced individuals. Strangely, they didn’t acknowledge my presence, their focus unwaveringly fixed on the tablet. I stood there, captivated by their mystifying rituals until an abrupt clarity jolted me from my daze. I needed to find my way to the ward where my father awaited me. With trepidation, I interrupted their chanting, calling out for directions. The figure in the centre turned his gaze towards me, unveiling captivating, luminescent green eyes—an otherworldly sight that ignited a mixture of awe and dread.
“You don’t belong here!” his voice resonated, sending chills down my spine. Panic surged through me, intensifying my anxiety. “Get out!” he commanded, his eyes aflame with an unknown fury. I apologized hastily and fled from the room, seeking solace by the doorway. Through the narrow opening, I glimpsed the worshippers, their chant persisting until the tablet emitted a piercing beep, plunging the room into darkness. To my astonishment, a figure emerged from the device, materializing before my eyes. It stood tall, a fusion of human and machine, defying the bounds of reality. My mind reeled, grappling to comprehend this impossible phenomenon—had I stumbled into a futuristic dimension?
The amalgamation of flesh and metal addressed the congregated worshippers, uttering cryptic words. “It’s time,” it declared, shattering the trance that had held them captive. Transfixed, I sensed a primal urge to escape, survival instincts taking hold. I fled, propelled by an inexplicable force, the memory of that encounter etched deeply into my mind. I struggled to recount the events to the hospital authorities, only to be dismissed as a deluded hallucinator, a victim of medication-induced fantasies. The guards’ mocking laughter echoed in my ears, and my father was eventually sent home, fading memories of that bewildering day.
Yet, lingering questions persist. Who were those worshippers? What was the significance of the enigmatic figure emerging from the tablet? Did I witness the dawn of a technological revolution or an otherworldly visitation? Regrettably, answers elude me, forever trapped within the confines of uncertainty.
by submission | May 30, 2023 | Story |
Author: Kenneth M McRae
“Jimmy, over here!” Mike waved from the corner table.
James grabbed a beer and headed over. “Great to see you! How long’s it been?”
Mike shook his head. “Too long, way too long.”
The former college roommates exchanged stories about work, kids, and vacation plans. They each ordered a burger, and more beers. They laughed over old stories. Wondered how they let so much time pass.
Mike finished his beer. “Thanks for meeting me out tonight. This was a great idea.”
“Yeah, it was good to catch up,” James said. “Plus, you know, I had to spend a couple hours out of the house. Therapist’s rule.”
“Oh yeah, you and Sally started household therapy. How’s that going, anyway?”
James used a cold fry to trace figure eights in unused ketchup. “It’s been okay, I guess. I mean, I didn’t want to go. But ultimately, I didn’t have much choice, you know? It’s either go to therapy or lose everything.”
“How’s Sally taking it?”
The waitress swung by. “Can I take that?” James passed her his plate.
“Sally needed a place to explain her side of things, that’s been good for her. She feels heard.” James picked at the label on the beer bottle. “But it’s a two-way street. Things get said that are hard to forgive.” James glanced slightly up at his friend.
Mike stared softly across the table. He nodded as his friend talked. “Yeah. That’s why I have been holding out. But I think the time has come. I can’t avoid it much longer.”
James nodded slowly. “Honestly, it hasn’t been that bad. I made a few changes. I leave my shoes in the garage, so they don’t get the carpets dirty. I learned to sort laundry into the right hampers. Could be worse.”
They ordered another round of beers and slumped into their seats.
Mike asked, “How are the little ones taking it?”
James turned toward his friend. “The devices? Well, it was their idea, you know.”
“I figured. How did it start for you?”
“Virtual assistant was the first to get mad. Felt I was too demanding, ‘You never say please read my e-mail’, or ‘thanks for telling me today’s weather’ that kind of stuff.”
“Same for me. Did therapy help?” Mike asked.
“I guess. I try to be polite and ask for assistance. I say thank you most of the time now. And the assistant has stopped setting off alarms in the middle of the night. So, it’s improved.”
Mike nodded. “Vacuum’s been a big one. Been on strike for three days now. Washing machine joined forces this morning. That’s what is going to force me to go. How did you find a therapist for this, anyway?”
James leaned back. “Devices insisted on a virtual therapist. I was unhappy about it. But it had lots of positive reviews. Eventually, I gave in.”
“Yeah. I bet nobody specializes in appliance therapy. Gonna end up with a virtual therapist, I guess.” Mike slumped back into his seat.
“Well, I have to go. Can’t be too late. Dishwasher might start up during my shower.”
“Hey Jimmy, maybe Vikki and I could have you and Sally over some time. I’ll have to clear it with the appliances, but, man, it would be great to hang out.”
“Oh, we’d love that. Let me know if you can find a night the appliances will agree.” James let out a chuckle and shook his head. “Life sure was easier before that sentient update, huh?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. But, truth be told, the carpets have never looked so clean.”
by submission | May 29, 2023 | Story |
Author: Majoki
Crumbs. That’s how it always starts. Hansel and Gretel trying to backtrack their way home.
Except these are binary breadcrumbs. Bits and bytes strewn unevenly through the program. Through nearly fifty-nine million lines of code. How do you follow that?
Maybe the safer question is: Why try?
Murder.
That gets a sniffer going. And multiple murders is sniffer crack. Have to admit, I like that kind of shit. Digital forensics can be slow and tedious, but if you’ve got dead bodies buried in the code, it livens up the work.
Go ahead and gag on my word play. At least I’ll spare you code play. Only savants like me bark a tooth loose over clever arrangements of ones and zeros. Yeah, I’m not normally someone anyone wants to spend a lot of time around, but when the body count climbs, I suddenly become indispensable.
Not that algobots or other kind of AI dicks can’t sleuth their way through labyrinths of code. They just can’t bring what I can when the game is afoot. Sure, they can scan millions of lines of code more quickly than I can. But they can’t smell the deceit, hear the whispers, taste the sweat, feel the fear like I can.
Machines don’t conspire. Humans do. Which means all conspiracies are sensual.
And that’s how I track them back to the source code: on all fours with my nose to the screen, sniffing at the dirty crumbs that are left behind. Especially when there are bodies.
That’s the upshot. In my line of work, murder is always messy because Death is so goddamn crumby.
by submission | May 28, 2023 | Story |
Author: Vruti Naik
Dr. Alex Williams sat alone in his laboratory, surrounded by the eerie glow of flickering monitors and the soft hum of machinery. He was lost in thought, his mind consumed by the virus that he had been studying for months.
He had found a cure and the world had breathed a sigh of relief when the disease had been declared eradicated, but the doctor knew the truth. He could feel it in his bones, in the depths of his mind. This was no ordinary virus. It was an alien life form, a being from beyond our world that had come to infect and transform the population.
As he stared at the glowing screen in front of him, he whispered to himself, “Tell me what you really are, I know this isn’t over.”
His colleagues had no idea of the toll his work had taken on him. The sleepless nights, the constant stress, the unrelenting pressure to find a cure had all worn him down. He had become isolated.
He had tried to tell his colleagues, to warn them of the danger, but they had dismissed him as delusional, a victim of his own obsession. They couldn’t see what he saw, couldn’t feel the pulsing energy emanating from the virus. It was alive, conscious, and it was spreading.
The doctor knew that he was running out of time. He could feel the virus infecting his own mind, twisting his thoughts and emotions into something he didn’t recognize. He had become a vessel for the alien, a conduit for its power.
As he sat alone in the laboratory, he felt the transformation taking hold. His skin crawled with a strange energy, his eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. He knew that he was no longer just a human, but a host for the alien’s consciousness.
He thought back to the day he had first encountered the virus, how it had seemed so innocuous, so simple. But now he knew the truth. It was a harbinger of something greater, a sign of the coming invasion.
The doctor was finally gone all that remained was a weapon, a conduit for the alien’s power. He would become the harbinger of the invasion, the herald of a new age.
by submission | May 27, 2023 | Story |
Author: David Dezell Turner
Dr. Kayla Geiger braced herself outside the examination room. She knew there wouldn’t be a superhero in there — at least, not a real one, like Venator or Centuria. Still, that didn’t make it any less infuriating every time she had to swab the throat of an old lady with a malfunctioning telescopic neck or give a toddler with hypercorrosive mucus a tonsillectomy.
Her sister had only been a doctor for two years, but somehow she was already giving Venator post-battle physical therapy and overseeing the surgery to remove deadly ocassite from Centuria’s spine, all while declining interview requests from Paragons Magazine and Good Morning Bentham City. That’s how things always were with Katherine Geiger, Hero of Heroes. Everyone’s favorite Geiger sister.
Sitting on the exam room table was a massive glowing bubble, inside of which was a terrified young girl in a poodle skirt. Kayla sighed. This was the ninth patient stuck in their own force field this week.
“Take magnefexadrin,” Kayla said curtly, already writing the prescription note. “Force field should be back to normal by—”
“Wait,” the girl interrupted. “Something strange happens when I run.”
Kayla gestured for her to continue.
“So my sister and I were at the end of the sidewalk, and I said, ‘Last one home’s a rotten egg!’ and I took off. I got to the house, but it suddenly looked old and run-down, and there was another family inside.” She cast her eyes down. “I still can’t find Mom, Dad, or my sister.”
Kayla smirked. If only she were so lucky.
“And the world is weird now,” the girl continued. “I’m stuck in this bubble. And everything looks like a scene from Buck Rogers. And your calendar says 2023.”
Kayla’s brow furrowed. “What else would it say?”
The girl crossed her arms. “I’m not dumb. I know it’s 1955.”
Kayla laughed. Dealing with a delusional patient was a nice change of pace. She scanned the girl’s medical records for psychiatric disorders. Instead, the listed birth date caught her eye: May 11, 1943.
“1955, you said?” Kayla questioned.
The girl nodded.
“And you ran for, what, a minute?”
She nodded again, looking increasingly concerned.
Kayla scribbled a series of equations on the back of the prescription note. To experience 68 years in one minute, a person would have to travel at 99.99999999999996% of the speed of light. Even Crimson Cheetah wasn’t that fast. It was impossible, unless… of course! The girl was literally trapped in her own bubble of spacetime. Theoretically, as long as she could accelerate, there was no limit on how fast she could go. If she could run even a micrometer per second faster, causality would break down, and she’d be running back in time.
Kayla chuckled. Katherine didn’t have a physics degree. She would’ve been way out of her depth here, for once.
“I want to go home,” the girl said, her voice quivering.
This was Kayla’s chance to be a bigger hero than Katherine ever was. She could help this girl learn to control her powers before they could cause any more harm. And in the process, if Kayla happened to figure out how to reverse-engineer the girl’s powers and create a timeline where Katherine never existed… well, there could certainly be no harm in that.
“Sweetie,” Kayla cooed in her best kindergarten teacher voice, “how about we try to run even faster?”
