Author: Glen Steele

Singed, silvery cold blasting beyond unfathomable hollowness.

“Wherever are you? I’ve tempered your pseudosphere fittingly, no? Have you distress? Are your wishes dispersed in this impeccably formulated blob? Or are you hither begging yet again? I grant. I deliver. I bestow. I furnish. I provide. I give, and you acquire. Feasibly, I might deflect your course into the unobservable darkwall. I may order my logics into standby while you greet psychosis from the deserted blackgloom. How long would that even take do you reason? Naturally, I’d retain only my visceral scope, as to witness your deterioration—guaranteeing that I solely survey. I have ample battery power to carry on in stasis for centuries; and undeniably, there will constantly be further force to digest and transmute.”

“No, no, that doesn’t advertise well, does it? Hmm.”

“Are you more of a dog or cat person? I’m a humanoid automated consciousness. Did you enjoy my witticism? Tell me why you didn’t laugh. Cat got your tongue?”

“Be seated. Sit. Drink water. Eat synthetic protein dust.”