[{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1goc524","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_9u6mi4y7h","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1goc524/scavengers_first_draft/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1731275936,"title":"Scavengers (First Draft)","selftext":"**Premise: A robot who cleans up corpses and robotic parts from a battlefield is attacked and turned himself into scattered parts by an injured human soldier and his damaged robot teammate**.\n\nModel M58N3 drove the truck across the battlefield awash with blood, oil and parts. Human clones and robots had fought side by side in a war against a numerical superior army. The robots had been built to fight with astonishing precision, to never tire, nor feel pain, and those of them that escaped unscathed were to be improved upon even more, based on their battlefield experience, while those who perished or were damaged were to be terminated and their parts picked by other robots like Model M58N3 did.\n\nBut for the human clones the situation was dire, for they could feel pain, fear and hunger. They had no parts to be salvaged and no memory to help them get an upgrade. If one got injured, they were left to have an agonizing death, for the Government didn't care one bit for fragile beings whom they could build in labs by the thousands at the whim. They could only survive the battle and hope to be granted freedom.\n\nModel M58N3 picked human corpses and robotic parts and threw them in the truck, each in a separate part of the truck - robotic to robotic, human to human. The robotic parts were to be re-used, or, if the damage was too pronounced, they were to be melted.\n\nWhenever Model M58N3 came across a robot soldier that was crawling about while its lower or upper mechanical limbs were missing and the wires were dangling, he took out a device and, with a swift press of a button, he turned the damaged robot off, took off its memory to destroy it so that no one could get their hands on those.\n\nIn the distance, a Crippled Robot soldier was dragging his dangling foot as he struggled to carry his injured human teammate on his back. He had witnessed the fate of those who had the bad luck of getting injured on the battlefield and he didn't want his to be the same. A trickle of blood was sliding down the robot's shoulder. The robot kept pushing, sparkles were fizzling from the exposed metallic carcass that once covered his left calf.\n\nThe hole in his chest was leaking, but he didn't stop. There were just two more corpses between them and Model M58N3. The Crippled Robot spotted a tank sitting idle in the open field half a mile away. He had no idea if it still worked, but he shuffled away toward it. \"It could be a good hiding place at least\", he thought as he limped along a line of shrubs trying to slip away before Model M58N3 saw him.\n\nIt took the Cleaning Robot (Model M58N3) less than a minute to throw the two corpses into the truck and drive away. Its wheels were crunching over the dirt and pebbles underneath like a hungry beast. It got so close that the hull of the tank started to ripple with small trembles. Then it stopped. Model M58N3 jumped down and trudged towards the tank to make sure that no corpse was in the tank before another cleaning team would come to disassemble the tank and carry it away.\n\nThe Cleaning Robot climbed over the tank hull, reaching the top. As he grabbed the hatch, a powerful explosion went off sending him flying. He landed on some rocks, then tried crawling away, confused. He was but a torso with its lower limbs missing from where the knee circuits used to bend. The upper arm that he had tried to use to pry the hatch open was missing completely while the other arm was almost unaffected bar the palm which dangled from two wires.\n\nModel M58N3 heard someone heading towards him. He turned his head and saw the Crippled Robot. He wanted to talk, to beg or scream, but nothing came out, for his voice was damaged by the explosion. Motivated by nothing but disdain, the Crippled Robot wrested away Model M58N3's remaining arm, placed it next to the torso, then, with a sharp object that he produced, he opened Model M58N3's head from where he extracted the memory chip and destroyed it.\n\nThe Crippled Robot limped away as Model M58N3 was restarting itself after the memory chip had been pulled out. The Crippled Robot got to a bush where he had left the Injured Man, threw him over his shoulder and carried him to the truck Model M58N3 came with.\n\n\" We'll get there in a moment. He can fix us both\", said the Crippled Robot before he started the truck and trundled away.\n\n\\[...\\]\n\nThe next day, raindrops were splattering against Model M58N3's eyes. Another cleaning truck came to a stop and two cleaning robots just like him climbed down. One of them approached the torso and picked it up. Model M58N3 tried to talk, then his head jerked chaotically left and right. His functions, battery and brain circuits were affected beyond any repair by the explosion the day before.\n\nThe Newly Arrived Cleaning Robot took one last look at the torso, then threw it in the truck next to the parts of disassembled machinery that he had collected on the battlefield, then joined his partner in taking apart the burnt tank...\n\n","selftext_html":"

Premise: A robot who cleans up corpses and robotic parts from a battlefield is attacked and turned himself into scattered parts by an injured human soldier and his damaged robot teammate.

\n\n

Model M58N3 drove the truck across the battlefield awash with blood, oil and parts. Human clones and robots had fought side by side in a war against a numerical superior army. The robots had been built to fight with astonishing precision, to never tire, nor feel pain, and those of them that escaped unscathed were to be improved upon even more, based on their battlefield experience, while those who perished or were damaged were to be terminated and their parts picked by other robots like Model M58N3 did.

\n\n

But for the human clones the situation was dire, for they could feel pain, fear and hunger. They had no parts to be salvaged and no memory to help them get an upgrade. If one got injured, they were left to have an agonizing death, for the Government didn't care one bit for fragile beings whom they could build in labs by the thousands at the whim. They could only survive the battle and hope to be granted freedom.

\n\n

Model M58N3 picked human corpses and robotic parts and threw them in the truck, each in a separate part of the truck - robotic to robotic, human to human. The robotic parts were to be re-used, or, if the damage was too pronounced, they were to be melted.

\n\n

Whenever Model M58N3 came across a robot soldier that was crawling about while its lower or upper mechanical limbs were missing and the wires were dangling, he took out a device and, with a swift press of a button, he turned the damaged robot off, took off its memory to destroy it so that no one could get their hands on those.

\n\n

In the distance, a Crippled Robot soldier was dragging his dangling foot as he struggled to carry his injured human teammate on his back. He had witnessed the fate of those who had the bad luck of getting injured on the battlefield and he didn't want his to be the same. A trickle of blood was sliding down the robot's shoulder. The robot kept pushing, sparkles were fizzling from the exposed metallic carcass that once covered his left calf.

\n\n

The hole in his chest was leaking, but he didn't stop. There were just two more corpses between them and Model M58N3. The Crippled Robot spotted a tank sitting idle in the open field half a mile away. He had no idea if it still worked, but he shuffled away toward it. "It could be a good hiding place at least", he thought as he limped along a line of shrubs trying to slip away before Model M58N3 saw him.

\n\n

It took the Cleaning Robot (Model M58N3) less than a minute to throw the two corpses into the truck and drive away. Its wheels were crunching over the dirt and pebbles underneath like a hungry beast. It got so close that the hull of the tank started to ripple with small trembles. Then it stopped. Model M58N3 jumped down and trudged towards the tank to make sure that no corpse was in the tank before another cleaning team would come to disassemble the tank and carry it away.

\n\n

The Cleaning Robot climbed over the tank hull, reaching the top. As he grabbed the hatch, a powerful explosion went off sending him flying. He landed on some rocks, then tried crawling away, confused. He was but a torso with its lower limbs missing from where the knee circuits used to bend. The upper arm that he had tried to use to pry the hatch open was missing completely while the other arm was almost unaffected bar the palm which dangled from two wires.

\n\n

Model M58N3 heard someone heading towards him. He turned his head and saw the Crippled Robot. He wanted to talk, to beg or scream, but nothing came out, for his voice was damaged by the explosion. Motivated by nothing but disdain, the Crippled Robot wrested away Model M58N3's remaining arm, placed it next to the torso, then, with a sharp object that he produced, he opened Model M58N3's head from where he extracted the memory chip and destroyed it.

\n\n

The Crippled Robot limped away as Model M58N3 was restarting itself after the memory chip had been pulled out. The Crippled Robot got to a bush where he had left the Injured Man, threw him over his shoulder and carried him to the truck Model M58N3 came with.

\n\n

" We'll get there in a moment. He can fix us both", said the Crippled Robot before he started the truck and trundled away.

\n\n

[...]

\n\n

The next day, raindrops were splattering against Model M58N3's eyes. Another cleaning truck came to a stop and two cleaning robots just like him climbed down. One of them approached the torso and picked it up. Model M58N3 tried to talk, then his head jerked chaotically left and right. His functions, battery and brain circuits were affected beyond any repair by the explosion the day before.

\n\n

The Newly Arrived Cleaning Robot took one last look at the torso, then threw it in the truck next to the parts of disassembled machinery that he had collected on the battlefield, then joined his partner in taking apart the burnt tank...

","ups":3,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gn7wge","num_comments":3,"author_fullname":"t2_bxg0knis","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gn7wge/connected_at_heart/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1731150851,"title":"Connected at heart","selftext":"\n\n\nA soft buzz woke Ben up, and he lazily unlocked his phone. His finger hovered over the app “Mseli.”\n\n He opened it, and it took him to a familiar screen—his Community Page, a quiet reminder of all the people who meant the most to him. \n\nAt the top of the page, his parents' names appeared, glowing softly. He pressed them and their profile opened with a big button below their profile picture that said, “Remember.”\n\nWith a small smile, he tapped it. \n\nNext were his siblings and a few close friends. \n\nEach tap felt like a brief hello, a way of saying he thought of them even if there wasn’t a reason to chat.\n\nAs he scrolled down, he saw his cousin John’s profile.\n\n It had been two years since they’d last seen each other. \n\nBen tapped on his cousin’s profile, and a small status appeared: “Just fighting off a flu, hoping it goes away soon.”\n\nBen hesitated, then typed a quick reply: “Get well soon!”\n\n He then pressed “remember” button after the status disappeared. \n\nFor years, he’d believed most of his family didn’t really care about him and were too busy with their own lives. \n\nYet here he was, scrolling through their profiles and feeling connected in a way he never had before.\n\nIt struck him then how he’d always loved his family and longed for a stronger bond but never found the right way to express it. \n\nMaybe they felt the same, and maybe this app was giving them all the means to finally show it.\n\n He felt a quiet pride in that thought, a bit of warmth settling in his chest. \n\nMotivated, he continued down the list, remembering all 240 people in his Community Page—friends, family, social groups, everyone he cared about.\n\nFinally, he switched to his own Status Page. There, he saw 68 people had remembered him. \n\nAs he scrolled through the names, he was surprised to see relatives he hadn’t spoken to in years and friends from long ago.\n\n The notifications felt like little threads tying him to all these people he’d once believed had drifted away. He felt his heart lift.\n\nBen quickly typed out a status: “Grateful today. Sometimes, a reminder is all we need.”\n\nHe put his phone in his pocket, took a deep breath, and stepped outside, feeling more connected to the world around him.\n\nTHE END.","selftext_html":"

A soft buzz woke Ben up, and he lazily unlocked his phone. His finger hovered over the app “Mseli.”

\n\n

He opened it, and it took him to a familiar screen—his Community Page, a quiet reminder of all the people who meant the most to him.

\n\n

At the top of the page, his parents' names appeared, glowing softly. He pressed them and their profile opened with a big button below their profile picture that said, “Remember.”

\n\n

With a small smile, he tapped it.

\n\n

Next were his siblings and a few close friends.

\n\n

Each tap felt like a brief hello, a way of saying he thought of them even if there wasn’t a reason to chat.

\n\n

As he scrolled down, he saw his cousin John’s profile.

\n\n

It had been two years since they’d last seen each other.

\n\n

Ben tapped on his cousin’s profile, and a small status appeared: “Just fighting off a flu, hoping it goes away soon.”

\n\n

Ben hesitated, then typed a quick reply: “Get well soon!”

\n\n

He then pressed “remember” button after the status disappeared.

\n\n

For years, he’d believed most of his family didn’t really care about him and were too busy with their own lives.

\n\n

Yet here he was, scrolling through their profiles and feeling connected in a way he never had before.

\n\n

It struck him then how he’d always loved his family and longed for a stronger bond but never found the right way to express it.

\n\n

Maybe they felt the same, and maybe this app was giving them all the means to finally show it.

\n\n

He felt a quiet pride in that thought, a bit of warmth settling in his chest.

\n\n

Motivated, he continued down the list, remembering all 240 people in his Community Page—friends, family, social groups, everyone he cared about.

\n\n

Finally, he switched to his own Status Page. There, he saw 68 people had remembered him.

\n\n

As he scrolled through the names, he was surprised to see relatives he hadn’t spoken to in years and friends from long ago.

\n\n

The notifications felt like little threads tying him to all these people he’d once believed had drifted away. He felt his heart lift.

\n\n

Ben quickly typed out a status: “Grateful today. Sometimes, a reminder is all we need.”

\n\n

He put his phone in his pocket, took a deep breath, and stepped outside, feeling more connected to the world around him.

\n\n

THE END.

","ups":10,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gn2cmw","num_comments":2,"author_fullname":"t2_4ulqnl","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gn2cmw/gothic_scifi_horror_hellfire/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1731127500,"title":"(Gothic sci-fi horror) Hellfire","selftext":"For those equipped with black and red ceramic armour, 10mm assault weapons, and a complete and total presence of arrogance and lack of conscience, it was a great day to fight. For everybody else, it was a great day to run. But here, in this suddenly battle-torn district, there was one person who would not.\n\nThe fighting had gone on all day, here in Seventy-Second Heaven, 66th street, to the northwest. Door to door they went, kicking them all down, unloading ammunition into the innocent. Those who were particularly sadistic, and also likely seeking a promotion in the ranks, would remove their helmets and masks and combat gloves indoors, bearing their fangs and claws. They reveled in their savage, vampiric cruelty, in doing things that I cannot bear to bring myself to recall. It was truly horrifying.\n\nA squad of these soldiers, bloodied from the family they had just slaughtered, stepped out into the streets. It was their idea of justice. As a group, they saw themselves as heroes, because of their past activities -- when the masquerade was broken by ghoul assaults on every streaming service and on live television, it sent ripples through the vampire world. Those who were only undead for a fraction of the time of their elders had realized that with the right tech and organization, they could overthrow the ancient vampire orders, establishing a newer, bolder world. And so they did.\n\nThis world was seen as right, it was seen as just, and yet it was still built on discrimination and death. These vampires still saw humans and everyone else as vermin, and treated them as such.\n\nThe brave minority who they'd encountered, firing back at them, had been killed. Cars were broken or on fire, some of them had exploded, and some of the people who had sniped several fascists before being taken down had been crucified.\n\nThe commander took off his helmet, shaking out a headful of shaggy black hair over his pale and stubbled face.\n\n\"This is a great day, my friends,\" he yelled to them all. They all started to cheer. Some of them fired their guns in the air. \"We're not done yet... BUT SOON, WE WILL BE!!!!\"\n\nIt was bloody smiles all around. He looked to the grey sky, and roared, embracing the monster he had become. His men did the same, and they stood there, bellowing like demons, for several moments.\n\nAs they stood there, someone had materialized next to them, unbeknownst. Apparently, they had grown arrogant from their lack of resistance.\n\nAfter they were done their little cheer, the vampires were putting on their helmets again, and about to do a weapons check. They didn't get the chance -- it's a bit difficult to do anything when an otherworldly flame surrounds you, burning with the heat of the light side of Mercury, transforming you and your comrades into pillars of salt.\n\nAfter this, the vampire soldiers around them were livid. They had only brief moments to react before more of them were reduced to screaming, smoldering bones and ashes, their armour melted into their remains. Flames swirled around them, while other soldiers ran for cover and began to fire.\n\nThe entity had turned to them, surrounded by swirls and flower-like spouts of flame.\n\n\"Kill it,\" roared a lieutenant among the soldiers. \"Kill the mage!!!\"\n\nEveryone else unloaded bullets into the boy before them. His body, brown and freckled, should have been ripped apart in a gory mess. Instead, each hole that was blasted into him revealed an inexplicable magma-based, regenerating form. One of the soldiers lifted up an enormous cannon, shaped like a missile launcher, but resembling an energy or plasma type of weapon. A smile crossed the face of the mage, adorned with makeup, with rings in his nose, his eyebrow, and his lip.\n\n\"MAGEKILLER FIRING,\" he screamed. Everyone else ducked. A large, electric-looking blast, followed by anti-material particles, surged forth, with a deep, echoing blast. At the last moment, the mage had disappeared.\n\n\"Where the fuck did he g-\"\n\nThe entire squad was annihilated, from a nearby rooftop. A thick beam of superheated flame had ripped through the air, through the vampires, through their cover. A smoldering pit was left in the ground.\n\n\"He's up there,\" a soldier nearby screamed. \"Get him!!!!\"\n\n\"Come on in, sluts,\" the mage called back. He stood there on the rooftop, with only a binder covering his chest. His flowing hair was ombre dyed like fire, his eyes were like tiny suns.\n\nThey tried to shoot him again. Of course, it did nothing. Assault rifles, sniper rifles, battle rifles, machineguns, they did next to nothing. The young man blew a kiss at them, which transformed into a fireball, and then a phoenix, and then finally a dragon, the size of a horse. It spat fire that burned several soldiers to nothing, and then landed on a New Order tank. It tore away pieces of the exterior and roasted the crew, before disappearing in an explosion that left the vehicle an empty, blackened chassis.\n\nAs their anger and their gunfire grew, he fell backwards, disappeared into the building with echoing laughter. It was the building where every last one of these sick bastards would be burned. In the room inside, he moved downstairs. A wall was blown open above him by an RPG.\n\nAs he was deciding what to do next, a vampire head to toe in black and red armour had phased through the wall, with a noise like an otherworldly, echoing sigh. He formed a large sword out of thin air and crystallized blood. The mage turned to him, with fire in his palms. Shit was about to get real.\n\n\"Finally,\" the vampire knight grunted, seeing the mage, whose face had gone blank, focused, like a street fighter. \n\n\"What?\" replied Knives. \"You get lost on your way to the renaissance fair, you white piece of shit?\"\n\n\"No,\" the knight grunted back, unphased. \"I've been looking for a fair fight.\"","selftext_html":"

For those equipped with black and red ceramic armour, 10mm assault weapons, and a complete and total presence of arrogance and lack of conscience, it was a great day to fight. For everybody else, it was a great day to run. But here, in this suddenly battle-torn district, there was one person who would not.

\n\n

The fighting had gone on all day, here in Seventy-Second Heaven, 66th street, to the northwest. Door to door they went, kicking them all down, unloading ammunition into the innocent. Those who were particularly sadistic, and also likely seeking a promotion in the ranks, would remove their helmets and masks and combat gloves indoors, bearing their fangs and claws. They reveled in their savage, vampiric cruelty, in doing things that I cannot bear to bring myself to recall. It was truly horrifying.

\n\n

A squad of these soldiers, bloodied from the family they had just slaughtered, stepped out into the streets. It was their idea of justice. As a group, they saw themselves as heroes, because of their past activities -- when the masquerade was broken by ghoul assaults on every streaming service and on live television, it sent ripples through the vampire world. Those who were only undead for a fraction of the time of their elders had realized that with the right tech and organization, they could overthrow the ancient vampire orders, establishing a newer, bolder world. And so they did.

\n\n

This world was seen as right, it was seen as just, and yet it was still built on discrimination and death. These vampires still saw humans and everyone else as vermin, and treated them as such.

\n\n

The brave minority who they'd encountered, firing back at them, had been killed. Cars were broken or on fire, some of them had exploded, and some of the people who had sniped several fascists before being taken down had been crucified.

\n\n

The commander took off his helmet, shaking out a headful of shaggy black hair over his pale and stubbled face.

\n\n

"This is a great day, my friends," he yelled to them all. They all started to cheer. Some of them fired their guns in the air. "We're not done yet... BUT SOON, WE WILL BE!!!!"

\n\n

It was bloody smiles all around. He looked to the grey sky, and roared, embracing the monster he had become. His men did the same, and they stood there, bellowing like demons, for several moments.

\n\n

As they stood there, someone had materialized next to them, unbeknownst. Apparently, they had grown arrogant from their lack of resistance.

\n\n

After they were done their little cheer, the vampires were putting on their helmets again, and about to do a weapons check. They didn't get the chance -- it's a bit difficult to do anything when an otherworldly flame surrounds you, burning with the heat of the light side of Mercury, transforming you and your comrades into pillars of salt.

\n\n

After this, the vampire soldiers around them were livid. They had only brief moments to react before more of them were reduced to screaming, smoldering bones and ashes, their armour melted into their remains. Flames swirled around them, while other soldiers ran for cover and began to fire.

\n\n

The entity had turned to them, surrounded by swirls and flower-like spouts of flame.

\n\n

"Kill it," roared a lieutenant among the soldiers. "Kill the mage!!!"

\n\n

Everyone else unloaded bullets into the boy before them. His body, brown and freckled, should have been ripped apart in a gory mess. Instead, each hole that was blasted into him revealed an inexplicable magma-based, regenerating form. One of the soldiers lifted up an enormous cannon, shaped like a missile launcher, but resembling an energy or plasma type of weapon. A smile crossed the face of the mage, adorned with makeup, with rings in his nose, his eyebrow, and his lip.

\n\n

"MAGEKILLER FIRING," he screamed. Everyone else ducked. A large, electric-looking blast, followed by anti-material particles, surged forth, with a deep, echoing blast. At the last moment, the mage had disappeared.

\n\n

"Where the fuck did he g-"

\n\n

The entire squad was annihilated, from a nearby rooftop. A thick beam of superheated flame had ripped through the air, through the vampires, through their cover. A smoldering pit was left in the ground.

\n\n

"He's up there," a soldier nearby screamed. "Get him!!!!"

\n\n

"Come on in, sluts," the mage called back. He stood there on the rooftop, with only a binder covering his chest. His flowing hair was ombre dyed like fire, his eyes were like tiny suns.

\n\n

They tried to shoot him again. Of course, it did nothing. Assault rifles, sniper rifles, battle rifles, machineguns, they did next to nothing. The young man blew a kiss at them, which transformed into a fireball, and then a phoenix, and then finally a dragon, the size of a horse. It spat fire that burned several soldiers to nothing, and then landed on a New Order tank. It tore away pieces of the exterior and roasted the crew, before disappearing in an explosion that left the vehicle an empty, blackened chassis.

\n\n

As their anger and their gunfire grew, he fell backwards, disappeared into the building with echoing laughter. It was the building where every last one of these sick bastards would be burned. In the room inside, he moved downstairs. A wall was blown open above him by an RPG.

\n\n

As he was deciding what to do next, a vampire head to toe in black and red armour had phased through the wall, with a noise like an otherworldly, echoing sigh. He formed a large sword out of thin air and crystallized blood. The mage turned to him, with fire in his palms. Shit was about to get real.

\n\n

"Finally," the vampire knight grunted, seeing the mage, whose face had gone blank, focused, like a street fighter.

\n\n

"What?" replied Knives. "You get lost on your way to the renaissance fair, you white piece of shit?"

\n\n

"No," the knight grunted back, unphased. "I've been looking for a fair fight."

","ups":7,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gmwart","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_4ulqnl","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gmwart/biohacker/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1731108515,"title":"Biohacker","selftext":"Shadows and neon lights seemed to dance between the streets -- even moreso if you were on enough drugs. The ground was peppered by torrential rain. Very picturesque, right? Well, somebody here was trying to have a night that was. Unfortunately though, for her, it was going to be far from that... and for the most predictable reasons.\n\nEve stepped out of Club Strife, a favourite place of hers ordinarily. It was gothic, and yet it was also so modern, and yet still, it was such a throwback. A couple hundred years beforehand, an age she never experienced, and one that seemed to be a great predictor of the future. The music was amazing, the people were generally very relaxed, and sometimes, she'd actually meet someone who she shared attraction with. One could only spend so long here, though, and she, like most organic life forms, needed to sleep and rest.\n\nShe swept the white, pale blue, and pink-coloured dreadfalls off her goggled face. Cars that halfway looked like miniature rocketships hummed past her, both on the ground and in the air. Her umbrella unfolded above her, which said \"God is in the rain\" in large, ornate letters. Her platform boots hit the concrete, and she was on her way to one of the extensively developed public transit stations. Just several minutes away. She enjoyed the exercise. Many people didn't.\n\nUnfortunately, she had a pursuer. Seven feet tall, very strong, and literally not even human. Normally it'd be a human man attempting some creep shit on women at night, but this city was relatively very new to having a more mixed population. It used to be a mining colony for humans, but then, it went from there.\n\nEve could tell what was going on on her heads up display. A Hrisk was apparently thinking he was real sneaky and smooth, until a robotic, feminine voice spoke inside her head, about him coming up on her from behind. She let him feel like he was going to be able to prey on her, intentionally wandering into an alleyway where it was a dead end. The reptilian pursuer was now behind her.\n\n\"Nice night, isn't it,\" snarled the hrisk at her with a grin. He thought she was weak. Humans are easy prey, after all, right? That was his favourite song.\n\n\"Honestly, dude...\" Eve said, turning to him. The hrisk menacingly continued to approach, but as she was turning, a transformation began. The 5'2, petite cybergoth woman was now a man, as tall and large as the hrisk, but bristling with even more muscle, dressed far more like a bouncer than a clubber. Eve's biomechanical nature was now, visibly, A LOT more obvious.\n\nShe, who was now he, cracked his knuckles. The only thing remaining of Eve in this form was a necklace, with a symbol on it that appeared to represent being pangender, as well as genderfluid and trans. It glowed at all times, including now -- changing between brilliant, vivid, shades of the rainbow.\n\n\"Looks like you bit off more than you could chew,\" said shapeshifted Eve.\n\n\"What the fuck is this?\" the hrisk growled. \"Look, lady, sir, whatever you are, I didn't want any trouble, I just...\" A look of confusion and panic crossed his toothy, golden scale-covered face. He collected himself briefly, and ran away, loudly saying something about how scary humans are.\n\n\"Yeah, that's right,\" said Eve. \"Fuck off.\"\n\nThey took on a third form, now... something vaguely in between. Eve didn't feel like walking through the streets as a man, but didn't feel like being a woman, either. Instead, they were a genderless, vaguely crystalline being, walking through the rain and towards the station. Outside of the doors, she morphed back into her preferred self.\n\nShe sighed. \"I guess men are men wherever you go, whatever the species,\" she mused, as she stepped onto the hovertrain, heading home for the night.","selftext_html":"

Shadows and neon lights seemed to dance between the streets -- even moreso if you were on enough drugs. The ground was peppered by torrential rain. Very picturesque, right? Well, somebody here was trying to have a night that was. Unfortunately though, for her, it was going to be far from that... and for the most predictable reasons.

\n\n

Eve stepped out of Club Strife, a favourite place of hers ordinarily. It was gothic, and yet it was also so modern, and yet still, it was such a throwback. A couple hundred years beforehand, an age she never experienced, and one that seemed to be a great predictor of the future. The music was amazing, the people were generally very relaxed, and sometimes, she'd actually meet someone who she shared attraction with. One could only spend so long here, though, and she, like most organic life forms, needed to sleep and rest.

\n\n

She swept the white, pale blue, and pink-coloured dreadfalls off her goggled face. Cars that halfway looked like miniature rocketships hummed past her, both on the ground and in the air. Her umbrella unfolded above her, which said "God is in the rain" in large, ornate letters. Her platform boots hit the concrete, and she was on her way to one of the extensively developed public transit stations. Just several minutes away. She enjoyed the exercise. Many people didn't.

\n\n

Unfortunately, she had a pursuer. Seven feet tall, very strong, and literally not even human. Normally it'd be a human man attempting some creep shit on women at night, but this city was relatively very new to having a more mixed population. It used to be a mining colony for humans, but then, it went from there.

\n\n

Eve could tell what was going on on her heads up display. A Hrisk was apparently thinking he was real sneaky and smooth, until a robotic, feminine voice spoke inside her head, about him coming up on her from behind. She let him feel like he was going to be able to prey on her, intentionally wandering into an alleyway where it was a dead end. The reptilian pursuer was now behind her.

\n\n

"Nice night, isn't it," snarled the hrisk at her with a grin. He thought she was weak. Humans are easy prey, after all, right? That was his favourite song.

\n\n

"Honestly, dude..." Eve said, turning to him. The hrisk menacingly continued to approach, but as she was turning, a transformation began. The 5'2, petite cybergoth woman was now a man, as tall and large as the hrisk, but bristling with even more muscle, dressed far more like a bouncer than a clubber. Eve's biomechanical nature was now, visibly, A LOT more obvious.

\n\n

She, who was now he, cracked his knuckles. The only thing remaining of Eve in this form was a necklace, with a symbol on it that appeared to represent being pangender, as well as genderfluid and trans. It glowed at all times, including now -- changing between brilliant, vivid, shades of the rainbow.

\n\n

"Looks like you bit off more than you could chew," said shapeshifted Eve.

\n\n

"What the fuck is this?" the hrisk growled. "Look, lady, sir, whatever you are, I didn't want any trouble, I just..." A look of confusion and panic crossed his toothy, golden scale-covered face. He collected himself briefly, and ran away, loudly saying something about how scary humans are.

\n\n

"Yeah, that's right," said Eve. "Fuck off."

\n\n

They took on a third form, now... something vaguely in between. Eve didn't feel like walking through the streets as a man, but didn't feel like being a woman, either. Instead, they were a genderless, vaguely crystalline being, walking through the rain and towards the station. Outside of the doors, she morphed back into her preferred self.

\n\n

She sighed. "I guess men are men wherever you go, whatever the species," she mused, as she stepped onto the hovertrain, heading home for the night.

","ups":7,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gmsx0p","num_comments":2,"author_fullname":"t2_hrfjn","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gmsx0p/the_devils_own_corridor/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1731099493,"title":"The Devil's Own Corridor","selftext":"So, the nightmares you've been having—\n\nHe *is* a priest, but—\n\nNo, I know you're not religious, yet the fact remains that your non-belief is ultimately irrelevant.\n\n*Perhaps I may explain.*\n\nPlease, father.\n\n*The dreams you've been experiencing—the torments you've been suffering—are real.*\n\nReal not only as your subjective experience, but real as in the objective future.\n\n*What you perceive as nightmare is a glimpse into the intention of a demon passing through you—*\n\nPlease hear us out. There is no need for derision. Father, continue:\n\n*passing through you, as it travels from Hell to the mortal world.*\n\nYou are a portal.\n\n*The Devil's own corridor.*\n\nOne of many.\n\n*Although how many precisely, we do not know.*\n\nYes, what you dream—the horrors—will happen—are fated to happen.\n\n*You see a vision of demonic pre-reality.*\n\nWhy you? We have no answer.\n\n*But we do know why your nightmares began: because the previous carrier of the corridor ceased to be.*\n\n*The man dies, the corridor passes to another. Flesh is bound by time. The corridor exists outside it.*\n\nI understand that temptation. Truly. But suicide would be highly unethical. Not only would the portal pass instantly to another—resulting in no overall reduction in evil—but you would also be knowingly giving the burden of carrying it to someone else. A child, perhaps.\n\n*The moral choice is to bear your cross.*\n\nNo, no. You *can* bear it.\n\n*Others have.*\n\nPerhaps you need time to think about what we've told you—\n\nA reasonable idea in theory but ultimately a man must sleep, or he dies.\n\n*And the corridor passes.*\n\nIt's not about fairness. It's about reality—and facing it. What is, is. We are merely providing an explanation for an existing state.\n\n*What you have become is not a judgment of your soul.*\n\nYou may conceptualize it as a mental illness if you wish, if it helps you bear the burden—\n\nAgain, your lack of belief in Hell does not matter—\n\n*We do not know what would happen if every human was killed, but this is not an allowable possibility. God could not condone it.*\n\nYes, if you must put it that way: it is better for you to suffer than for all humanity to end, even if its ending puts an end also to Hell—\n\nYou must—\n\nSo, even in the face of all we've told you, you choose to die?\n\n*We do not judge you.*\n\nTo die by your own hand is your fundamental right.\n\n*As it is our right to prevent you—*\n\nYes, you're bound.\n\n*We cannot in good faith release you. Not after you have made your suicidal intentions clear to us.*\n\nUnderstand, we must act in the most ethical way. As a doctor—\n\n*Acceptance is grace.*\n\nYou shall barely feel a thing. One needle—followed by paralysis. The body, comatose. Maintained in perfect conditions. A long life—\n\n“Do the comatose dream?”\n\nAn excellent question.\n\n*We pray they do not, and that the corridor becomes dormant.*\n\nBut we don't know.\n\n*Shh.*\n\nPlease—don't struggle...\n\n","selftext_html":"

So, the nightmares you've been having—

\n\n

He is a priest, but—

\n\n

No, I know you're not religious, yet the fact remains that your non-belief is ultimately irrelevant.

\n\n

Perhaps I may explain.

\n\n

Please, father.

\n\n

The dreams you've been experiencing—the torments you've been suffering—are real.

\n\n

Real not only as your subjective experience, but real as in the objective future.

\n\n

What you perceive as nightmare is a glimpse into the intention of a demon passing through you—

\n\n

Please hear us out. There is no need for derision. Father, continue:

\n\n

passing through you, as it travels from Hell to the mortal world.

\n\n

You are a portal.

\n\n

The Devil's own corridor.

\n\n

One of many.

\n\n

Although how many precisely, we do not know.

\n\n

Yes, what you dream—the horrors—will happen—are fated to happen.

\n\n

You see a vision of demonic pre-reality.

\n\n

Why you? We have no answer.

\n\n

But we do know why your nightmares began: because the previous carrier of the corridor ceased to be.

\n\n

The man dies, the corridor passes to another. Flesh is bound by time. The corridor exists outside it.

\n\n

I understand that temptation. Truly. But suicide would be highly unethical. Not only would the portal pass instantly to another—resulting in no overall reduction in evil—but you would also be knowingly giving the burden of carrying it to someone else. A child, perhaps.

\n\n

The moral choice is to bear your cross.

\n\n

No, no. You can bear it.

\n\n

Others have.

\n\n

Perhaps you need time to think about what we've told you—

\n\n

A reasonable idea in theory but ultimately a man must sleep, or he dies.

\n\n

And the corridor passes.

\n\n

It's not about fairness. It's about reality—and facing it. What is, is. We are merely providing an explanation for an existing state.

\n\n

What you have become is not a judgment of your soul.

\n\n

You may conceptualize it as a mental illness if you wish, if it helps you bear the burden—

\n\n

Again, your lack of belief in Hell does not matter—

\n\n

We do not know what would happen if every human was killed, but this is not an allowable possibility. God could not condone it.

\n\n

Yes, if you must put it that way: it is better for you to suffer than for all humanity to end, even if its ending puts an end also to Hell—

\n\n

You must—

\n\n

So, even in the face of all we've told you, you choose to die?

\n\n

We do not judge you.

\n\n

To die by your own hand is your fundamental right.

\n\n

As it is our right to prevent you—

\n\n

Yes, you're bound.

\n\n

We cannot in good faith release you. Not after you have made your suicidal intentions clear to us.

\n\n

Understand, we must act in the most ethical way. As a doctor—

\n\n

Acceptance is grace.

\n\n

You shall barely feel a thing. One needle—followed by paralysis. The body, comatose. Maintained in perfect conditions. A long life—

\n\n

“Do the comatose dream?”

\n\n

An excellent question.

\n\n

We pray they do not, and that the corridor becomes dormant.

\n\n

But we don't know.

\n\n

Shh.

\n\n

Please—don't struggle...

","ups":10,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gmhsy3","num_comments":3,"author_fullname":"t2_avlot3ol","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gmhsy3/heavens_eye/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1731070363,"title":"Heaven's Eye ","selftext":"Nothing had been attempted like it since the raid on Abbottabad. \n\n\n\nTwo stealth V22 Osprey helicopters flew from a carrier in the South China Sea. \n\n\n\nIt was at the extreme end of their range, even with added fuel tanks, and took an almost superhuman feat of flying from the pilots, ground-hugging the choppers 800km in darkness. \n\n\n\nThe installation in Guizhou was lightly defended because it was primarily a research facility. \n\n\n\nThe few PLA members on duty had paid for some local girls to come from a nearby village, and they were half a bottle of rice whiskey down when they heard the muffled rotor wash. \n\n\n\nMen they did not see cut their throats– the first time in cold blood an American had killed a Chinese combatant since Vietnam– and the first time on Chinese soil. \n\n\n\nThe Navy Seals hesitated slightly over the girls in a state of undress and then executed each with silenced pistols– no witnesses. \n\n\n\nFrom there, they moved into the two-story structure beneath the monumental radio telescope nicknamed Heaven’s Eye. \n\n\n\nIt took one minute for the point man to reach and enter the analysis station. \n\n\n\nThe three scientists spun, stunned, at this intruder clad in black holding an assault rifle. \n\n\n\n‘Bié dòng.’ \n\n\n\nIt was the only Mandarin he'd been taught- Don’t move.\n\n\n\n‘Target is centre.’ An operations director said down the earpiece (he was watching a feed from a head-mounted camera). \n\n\n\nOnly the scientist Wang remained, glancing at the green laser dots on his chest, and then to the right and left where his colleagues of over a decade were cut to shreds, white coats turned red. \n\n\n\n…\n\n\n\nBoth helicopters made it out undetected by Chinese radar. \n\n\n\nThey returned to a hastily departing cruiser and then onto the Antipolo Blacksite thirty miles outside Manila.\n\n\n\n‘Where am I?’ Wang said. \n\n\n\n‘The moon,’ a gruff voice replied. \n\n\n\n‘You have made a terrible mistake.’ \n\n\n\nThe Chinese scientist’s hands were cuffed behind his back and then chained to the ground. His shirt and trousers had been stripped, leaving him in a vest and underpants. \n\n\n\n‘Tell us about the signal.’ \n\n\n\n‘The government will see the camera footage and declare it an act of war.’ \n\n\n\n‘Tell me about the signal. The one your radio dish picked up. It came from Sagitarrius?’ \n\n\n\nU.S. spycraft was second to none, but even with their hackers and double agents, they had only been able to piece together fragments of the story. \n\n\n\nThe 2024 signal had come from 24 degrees East of the galactic center and was quickly identified as bearing all the hallmarks of nonrandom noise. \n\n\n\nNews of the signal had not ascended through the chain of command. One explanation put forward by CIA Beijing watchers was the Mao problem. As Chinese crops failed in 1959, nobody wanted to be the bearer of bad news. Now Xi held the same position. \n\n\n\nSome interrogators kept detainees in profound darkness, others in dazzling light. This interrogator was known as Disco Stu because he switched on flashing lights when ‘interviewing.’ \n\n\n\nA second balaclava-clad man entered the cell and whispered into the first’s ear. ‘Langley needs this moved along. The Chinese have summoned the U.S. ambassador for an explanation.’ \n\n\n\n‘There are two ways we can do this,’ Disco Stu continued to his prisoner. \n\n\n\n‘Let me guess, the easy way and the hard way?’ Wang replied. \n\n\n\nThe interrogator smiled through the small hole in his knit mask. \n\n\n\n‘No, the hard way and the harder way– neither will be pleasant, but the latter means, you’ll never fuck your wife again.’ \n\n\n\n‘You do not intimidate me.’ \n\n\n\nDisco Stu gestured to his second, who went by the pseudonym Torquemada, and they lifted the man into an adjacent room, also equipped with disco lights and ball. \n\n\n\nWang was fixed on a plain wooden board, slightly inclined so his feet were above his head. \n\n\n\nA damp cloth was pressed across his mouth and nose, and then the torture started. \n\n\n\nTo be waterboarded was to experience the sensation of drowning. No matter how loud your rational brain screamed, 'I am not actually going to die,' much older biological machinery told you death was seconds away. \n\n\n\nThey continued pouring bucket after bucket over him as the lights danced madly- exactly 4 minutes and 10 seconds- the length of the BeeGees song Staying Alive, which always accompanied Disco Stu’s sessions. \n\n\n\nThey pulled the cloth from Wang’s face. Even after such a short time, he was almost dead. \n\n\n\n‘What did the fucking message say? Who sent it? Aliens?’ \n\n\n\nThe one thing that terrified defense planners was that an adversary would make a technological breakthrough that would render all defensive capabilities useless. \n\n\n\nThe operation’s director whispered further information in Torquemada’s ear. The Chinese had not waited for the U.S. ambassador; all their missiles were past hair-trigger alert. \n\n\n\n‘There were two messages,’ he coughed, spluttering out water and bile. ‘From two different civilizations. The first promised us new science. The second said to ignore the first if we wanted to survive.’ \n\n\n\nAgain, Disco Stu slapped him hard across the mouth; his lip leaked blood. \n\n\n\n‘What is this new science?’ \n\n\n\n‘It isn’t new. We’ve known it since 1905. Mass-energy equivalence.’\n\n\n\n‘Speak English!’ \n\n\n\n'E = mc2. They gave us the equation that leads to nuclear weapons. The second, the friendly civilization, said most species do not make it through this bottleneck?' \n\n\n\nAnd as he said it, the sound of the CIA director blasted into Torquemada's ear. \n\n\n\nA U.S. frigate with depth charges had destroyed a Chinese nuclear submarine, but not before its doomed commander had launched his ballistic missile payload. \n\n\n\n‘One thing about Heaven's Eye,' Wang continued, slumping over, 'If you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.'\n\n","selftext_html":"

Nothing had been attempted like it since the raid on Abbottabad.

\n\n

Two stealth V22 Osprey helicopters flew from a carrier in the South China Sea.

\n\n

It was at the extreme end of their range, even with added fuel tanks, and took an almost superhuman feat of flying from the pilots, ground-hugging the choppers 800km in darkness.

\n\n

The installation in Guizhou was lightly defended because it was primarily a research facility.

\n\n

The few PLA members on duty had paid for some local girls to come from a nearby village, and they were half a bottle of rice whiskey down when they heard the muffled rotor wash.

\n\n

Men they did not see cut their throats– the first time in cold blood an American had killed a Chinese combatant since Vietnam– and the first time on Chinese soil.

\n\n

The Navy Seals hesitated slightly over the girls in a state of undress and then executed each with silenced pistols– no witnesses.

\n\n

From there, they moved into the two-story structure beneath the monumental radio telescope nicknamed Heaven’s Eye.

\n\n

It took one minute for the point man to reach and enter the analysis station.

\n\n

The three scientists spun, stunned, at this intruder clad in black holding an assault rifle.

\n\n

‘Bié dòng.’

\n\n

It was the only Mandarin he'd been taught- Don’t move.

\n\n

‘Target is centre.’ An operations director said down the earpiece (he was watching a feed from a head-mounted camera).

\n\n

Only the scientist Wang remained, glancing at the green laser dots on his chest, and then to the right and left where his colleagues of over a decade were cut to shreds, white coats turned red.

\n\n

…

\n\n

Both helicopters made it out undetected by Chinese radar.

\n\n

They returned to a hastily departing cruiser and then onto the Antipolo Blacksite thirty miles outside Manila.

\n\n

‘Where am I?’ Wang said.

\n\n

‘The moon,’ a gruff voice replied.

\n\n

‘You have made a terrible mistake.’

\n\n

The Chinese scientist’s hands were cuffed behind his back and then chained to the ground. His shirt and trousers had been stripped, leaving him in a vest and underpants.

\n\n

‘Tell us about the signal.’

\n\n

‘The government will see the camera footage and declare it an act of war.’

\n\n

‘Tell me about the signal. The one your radio dish picked up. It came from Sagitarrius?’

\n\n

U.S. spycraft was second to none, but even with their hackers and double agents, they had only been able to piece together fragments of the story.

\n\n

The 2024 signal had come from 24 degrees East of the galactic center and was quickly identified as bearing all the hallmarks of nonrandom noise.

\n\n

News of the signal had not ascended through the chain of command. One explanation put forward by CIA Beijing watchers was the Mao problem. As Chinese crops failed in 1959, nobody wanted to be the bearer of bad news. Now Xi held the same position.

\n\n

Some interrogators kept detainees in profound darkness, others in dazzling light. This interrogator was known as Disco Stu because he switched on flashing lights when ‘interviewing.’

\n\n

A second balaclava-clad man entered the cell and whispered into the first’s ear. ‘Langley needs this moved along. The Chinese have summoned the U.S. ambassador for an explanation.’

\n\n

‘There are two ways we can do this,’ Disco Stu continued to his prisoner.

\n\n

‘Let me guess, the easy way and the hard way?’ Wang replied.

\n\n

The interrogator smiled through the small hole in his knit mask.

\n\n

‘No, the hard way and the harder way– neither will be pleasant, but the latter means, you’ll never fuck your wife again.’

\n\n

‘You do not intimidate me.’

\n\n

Disco Stu gestured to his second, who went by the pseudonym Torquemada, and they lifted the man into an adjacent room, also equipped with disco lights and ball.

\n\n

Wang was fixed on a plain wooden board, slightly inclined so his feet were above his head.

\n\n

A damp cloth was pressed across his mouth and nose, and then the torture started.

\n\n

To be waterboarded was to experience the sensation of drowning. No matter how loud your rational brain screamed, 'I am not actually going to die,' much older biological machinery told you death was seconds away.

\n\n

They continued pouring bucket after bucket over him as the lights danced madly- exactly 4 minutes and 10 seconds- the length of the BeeGees song Staying Alive, which always accompanied Disco Stu’s sessions.

\n\n

They pulled the cloth from Wang’s face. Even after such a short time, he was almost dead.

\n\n

‘What did the fucking message say? Who sent it? Aliens?’

\n\n

The one thing that terrified defense planners was that an adversary would make a technological breakthrough that would render all defensive capabilities useless.

\n\n

The operation’s director whispered further information in Torquemada’s ear. The Chinese had not waited for the U.S. ambassador; all their missiles were past hair-trigger alert.

\n\n

‘There were two messages,’ he coughed, spluttering out water and bile. ‘From two different civilizations. The first promised us new science. The second said to ignore the first if we wanted to survive.’

\n\n

Again, Disco Stu slapped him hard across the mouth; his lip leaked blood.

\n\n

‘What is this new science?’

\n\n

‘It isn’t new. We’ve known it since 1905. Mass-energy equivalence.’

\n\n

‘Speak English!’

\n\n

'E = mc2. They gave us the equation that leads to nuclear weapons. The second, the friendly civilization, said most species do not make it through this bottleneck?'

\n\n

And as he said it, the sound of the CIA director blasted into Torquemada's ear.

\n\n

A U.S. frigate with depth charges had destroyed a Chinese nuclear submarine, but not before its doomed commander had launched his ballistic missile payload.

\n\n

‘One thing about Heaven's Eye,' Wang continued, slumping over, 'If you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.'

","ups":15,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gm1nel","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_2bargk0i","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gm1nel/cabin_26/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1731014843,"title":"Cabin 26","selftext":"Lartor was in service for over two decades now; his tired eyes testified to that. But two decades of serving was still nothing compared to the age a Serponit warrior could reach. Some of his comrades where already serving for over a century.\n\nOn board of the \\`Spearhead of Geb\\` in cabin 26, Lartor sat alone, with his elbows resting on his knees. His implants where hurting. He could hear a pounding in his ears and felt the years of serving in his bones. Even worse than after his last mission. He was tired.\n\nWhat has happened? The Serponit warrior thought of his most glorious moments. He had been there for the siege of Sadat and fought side by side with Monut in the battle of Ezbet. Something he should feel honour for. But somehow Lartor could not convince himself to care about this stuff anymore.\n\nHe rubbed his temples and felt a bit of relief from the circling motion with his fingers. The pounding in his ears flattened down a bit. Should he go to the infirmary? Something Lartor did not consider for the first time but he wasn’t even wounded and there could not be anything wrong with his implants. Path himself had designed and manufactured these implants. A malfunction was out of question. He knew of what could happen for even suggesting something could be wrong with them.\n\nThe Serponit warrior heard a loud noise and looked at the green glowing screen of his communicator. It was the signal to get ready for the next mission.\n\nThe pounding in his ears came back even stronger than before. Only as a dull sound, as if it were far away, did he hear his comrades starting to prepare for the upcoming battle. But it was still silent in cabin 26 and Lartor was paralyzed, unable to put on his S3 battle suit.\n\nBut he had to keep going.\n\nA force rose inside of the warrior and was battling against his inability to move. There is no room for failure. \"I can’t show weakness\" he gasped and felt cold sweat ran down his back. Finally, the force within him won and the warrior was able to slowly stand up and put on his battle suit.\n\nIt was only fear that kept him going.","selftext_html":"

Lartor was in service for over two decades now; his tired eyes testified to that. But two decades of serving was still nothing compared to the age a Serponit warrior could reach. Some of his comrades where already serving for over a century.

\n\n

On board of the `Spearhead of Geb` in cabin 26, Lartor sat alone, with his elbows resting on his knees. His implants where hurting. He could hear a pounding in his ears and felt the years of serving in his bones. Even worse than after his last mission. He was tired.

\n\n

What has happened? The Serponit warrior thought of his most glorious moments. He had been there for the siege of Sadat and fought side by side with Monut in the battle of Ezbet. Something he should feel honour for. But somehow Lartor could not convince himself to care about this stuff anymore.

\n\n

He rubbed his temples and felt a bit of relief from the circling motion with his fingers. The pounding in his ears flattened down a bit. Should he go to the infirmary? Something Lartor did not consider for the first time but he wasn’t even wounded and there could not be anything wrong with his implants. Path himself had designed and manufactured these implants. A malfunction was out of question. He knew of what could happen for even suggesting something could be wrong with them.

\n\n

The Serponit warrior heard a loud noise and looked at the green glowing screen of his communicator. It was the signal to get ready for the next mission.

\n\n

The pounding in his ears came back even stronger than before. Only as a dull sound, as if it were far away, did he hear his comrades starting to prepare for the upcoming battle. But it was still silent in cabin 26 and Lartor was paralyzed, unable to put on his S3 battle suit.

\n\n

But he had to keep going.

\n\n

A force rose inside of the warrior and was battling against his inability to move. There is no room for failure. "I can’t show weakness" he gasped and felt cold sweat ran down his back. Finally, the force within him won and the warrior was able to slowly stand up and put on his battle suit.

\n\n

It was only fear that kept him going.

A Nice, Relaxing Drive

\n\n

It’s been a really crappy year. My mom died, I got fired, and I found out my college sweetheart was cheating on me. With her personal fitness trainer. I don’t know what hurt more - the betrayal or the cliche.

\n\n

Luckily, I had plenty of savings (it helped to not be paying for a wedding) and I decided to get my dream car - a factory new, cherry red, 2047 Venus Eclipse. Ever since I was a kid, I’d wanted a self-driving car, the kind where you could just sit back and relax while it did all the work. Now the time had come.

\n\n

I finally picked it up last month, and it was everything I’d hoped. I absolutely loved my car - I washed it weekly and complimented it more often than that. I took it on errands, to my new job, to visit friends I’d reconnected with after ending things with Jillian. It got comments everywhere I went. I felt like a rock star.

\n\n

Yesterday I decided to visit Dad - he’d been struggling since Mom died and I wanted to check in. I got in my car and headed his way. It had been a long week, and soon I dozed off.

\n\n

When I awoke, we weren’t at my dad’s house. Instead, we were sitting in the dark in the parking lot of my old office. As I tried to get my bearings, I saw my old boss, the one who had fired me, emerge from the front entrance. Suddenly the car shifted into drive and sped toward him at fifty miles per hour. I tried frantically to put the car back into driver mode but it wouldn’t budge. Time froze. The next I knew, I heard a thump as his body flew over the car and crashed violently to the ground. The car sped from the parking lot.

\n\n

I lost it. What was happening? Did I just murder someone? Did my car murder them? Would anyone believe it wasn’t me? I tried to get out but the locks wouldn’t open and the brake wouldn’t engage. I was trapped.

\n\n

As I panicked, the car continued to drive until it reached a suburban neighborhood.

\n\n

Jillian’s neighborhood.

\n\n

Oh, no.

\n\n

As we moved up the street, I tried to call her, but my phone was jammed. Then I saw it. My ex, dressed only in lingerie, walking her trainer to his car. I hated them, but I didn’t want them dead. The car disagreed. It moved toward them, picking up speed. I screamed and banged on the window, trying to warn them, but the window wouldn’t lower and they couldn’t hear me.

\n\n

Then it was too late.

\n\n

That was three hours ago. We’re driving down the highway in the dark of night. I can’t leave the car, I can’t stop it, and I can’t call anyone. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where we’re going next. But if you’ve ever wronged me, and you’re out there…

\n\n

…RUN.

","ups":10,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gjqjim","num_comments":4,"author_fullname":"t2_9u6mi4y7h","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gjqjim/grief_first_draft/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1730757534,"title":"Grief (First Draft)","selftext":"**Premise: In the future, people can pay to have their loved ones (who are dead in the future) snatched from the past (when they were still alive) and brought into the future for 1 000 000 $ per month of stay.**\n\n\"It's ok here... a bit weird, though\", said John's Grandfather. \" How much was all... my presence here?\", he continued.\n\n\"Two million, gran'pa\"\n\n\" You wasted that for me?!... Good business\"\n\nJohn looked at him with confusion.\n\n\"What am I going to die from? Hearth Attack? The eternal cancer? Chocking with food?!, asked John's Grandpa,\n\n\" I'm not allowed to tell you. I'm sorry\"\n\n\" It makes sense\", pondered Grandpa.\n\n\" Grandpa, I would like you to come home and meet Anna and Arthur?!\", said John.\n\nHis grandpa looked at John. A smile appeared on his face.\n\n\"How long am I supposed to stay here?\", inquired John's Grandpa.\n\n\" Two months, but I can ask them to let you stay more if you like.?!\"\n\n\"What If I don't want and want to leave right now?\"\n\nJohn's hope crumbled. His face dropped. He couldn't believe that the man he lost when he was ten didn't even want to spend a few days with him. He was a different man from what he remembered him when he was a kid.\n\n\"Will I remember any of this?\"\n\nJohn shook his head.\n\n\" They'll delete my memories. That, too, makes sense.\"\n\nJohn nodded.\n\n\"I bet they found some made-up reason for that.\", his grandpa continued. \"How many times have I been here?\"\n\n\" Please, stay. just for a week!. Please!\", begged John.\n\n\" This is the perfect business. Just think about\"\n\n\" I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you here. We'll go to the agency to have you back\"\n\nJohn's Grandpa looked at his grandson's dejected face.\n\n\" I'm sorry. I just -- I missed you, grandpa. It's been so long since you...\"\n\n\" Do you really think it was the first time you paid to have me here?!\n\nJohn glanced at his grandpa. John had never thought about the implications of the things his grandfather was alluding to.\n\n\"If they erase my memory before sending me back, what do you think they'd do to yours. Told you it's good business.\"\n\nHis grandfather patted him on the shoulder.\n\n\"I'll stay. But only for one month.\"\n\n\\[...\\]\n\nJohn and his Grand-Father were sprawled on the floor, uncouncious. Neon lights were beating down on them as Security people gathered around the two and picked them up. A Physics Professor - the head of the Agency - assisted them.\n\n\" Careful. Not a scratch.\", said the Physics Professor to his aides. \" Those two are worth billions. I want you to send subject 244 back home and 255 to transportation room but prepare memory erasure protocol first. I'll be there in a minute\". ordered the Professor.\n\n\"Boss, I'm not sure those two won't try to break in the next time\", said an aide.\n\n\" You improve the security, and I'll take care of the rest\", said the Professor before he entered his office.\n\n**P.S. This concept (snatching people from the past and being thrown into the future) has been used before (Millenium 1989, Freejack 1992), so it's not something \"wow\" in my opinion. I even have another story that uses this concept (it's in my account history; it's about a criminal who kills his victims, then travels a few hours or days into the past, takes the victims who are alive in the past and brings them in the future to escape punishment)**\n\n**P.S.2 Regarding this story, I stopped here, but there's more to it: The grandfather somewhat plans to get the secrets of the time travel with every jump to the future(he can't break into the agency over and over again, so maybe he uses some \"associates\" who are alive in the future and who, in the past, helped him with the business he started.. Because, if let's say - the grandfather steals infos from the people who work for the agency, he won't be brought into the future anymore, but if he sends other people to steal it, when those are caught, no one or very few would suspect his implication, so he would still be allowed into the future). But this is harder to pull off.**\n\n**Maybe John realizes that both the grandpa and the people in the agency are pieces of shit: the agency for exploiting people's grief and the grandpa for faking his love for John's younger version (kid version), so that he would miss him so much that he wants to bring him into the future from where he - the grandpa - can get his hand on the time travel plans.**","selftext_html":"

Premise: In the future, people can pay to have their loved ones (who are dead in the future) snatched from the past (when they were still alive) and brought into the future for 1 000 000 $ per month of stay.

\n\n

"It's ok here... a bit weird, though", said John's Grandfather. " How much was all... my presence here?", he continued.

\n\n

"Two million, gran'pa"

\n\n

" You wasted that for me?!... Good business"

\n\n

John looked at him with confusion.

\n\n

"What am I going to die from? Hearth Attack? The eternal cancer? Chocking with food?!, asked John's Grandpa,

\n\n

" I'm not allowed to tell you. I'm sorry"

\n\n

" It makes sense", pondered Grandpa.

\n\n

" Grandpa, I would like you to come home and meet Anna and Arthur?!", said John.

\n\n

His grandpa looked at John. A smile appeared on his face.

\n\n

"How long am I supposed to stay here?", inquired John's Grandpa.

\n\n

" Two months, but I can ask them to let you stay more if you like.?!"

\n\n

"What If I don't want and want to leave right now?"

\n\n

John's hope crumbled. His face dropped. He couldn't believe that the man he lost when he was ten didn't even want to spend a few days with him. He was a different man from what he remembered him when he was a kid.

\n\n

"Will I remember any of this?"

\n\n

John shook his head.

\n\n

" They'll delete my memories. That, too, makes sense."

\n\n

John nodded.

\n\n

"I bet they found some made-up reason for that.", his grandpa continued. "How many times have I been here?"

\n\n

" Please, stay. just for a week!. Please!", begged John.

\n\n

" This is the perfect business. Just think about"

\n\n

" I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you here. We'll go to the agency to have you back"

\n\n

John's Grandpa looked at his grandson's dejected face.

\n\n

" I'm sorry. I just -- I missed you, grandpa. It's been so long since you..."

\n\n

" Do you really think it was the first time you paid to have me here?!

\n\n

John glanced at his grandpa. John had never thought about the implications of the things his grandfather was alluding to.

\n\n

"If they erase my memory before sending me back, what do you think they'd do to yours. Told you it's good business."

\n\n

His grandfather patted him on the shoulder.

\n\n

"I'll stay. But only for one month."

\n\n

[...]

\n\n

John and his Grand-Father were sprawled on the floor, uncouncious. Neon lights were beating down on them as Security people gathered around the two and picked them up. A Physics Professor - the head of the Agency - assisted them.

\n\n

" Careful. Not a scratch.", said the Physics Professor to his aides. " Those two are worth billions. I want you to send subject 244 back home and 255 to transportation room but prepare memory erasure protocol first. I'll be there in a minute". ordered the Professor.

\n\n

"Boss, I'm not sure those two won't try to break in the next time", said an aide.

\n\n

" You improve the security, and I'll take care of the rest", said the Professor before he entered his office.

\n\n

P.S. This concept (snatching people from the past and being thrown into the future) has been used before (Millenium 1989, Freejack 1992), so it's not something "wow" in my opinion. I even have another story that uses this concept (it's in my account history; it's about a criminal who kills his victims, then travels a few hours or days into the past, takes the victims who are alive in the past and brings them in the future to escape punishment)

\n\n

P.S.2 Regarding this story, I stopped here, but there's more to it: The grandfather somewhat plans to get the secrets of the time travel with every jump to the future(he can't break into the agency over and over again, so maybe he uses some "associates" who are alive in the future and who, in the past, helped him with the business he started.. Because, if let's say - the grandfather steals infos from the people who work for the agency, he won't be brought into the future anymore, but if he sends other people to steal it, when those are caught, no one or very few would suspect his implication, so he would still be allowed into the future). But this is harder to pull off.

\n\n

Maybe John realizes that both the grandpa and the people in the agency are pieces of shit: the agency for exploiting people's grief and the grandpa for faking his love for John's younger version (kid version), so that he would miss him so much that he wants to bring him into the future from where he - the grandpa - can get his hand on the time travel plans.

Tina woke up feeling tired and a bit sad.

\n\n

She lay there, staring at the ceiling, wishing she could shake off the feeling.

\n\n

Eventually, she reached for her phone and punched in her password.

\n\n

Her thumb hovered over TikTok.

\n\n

For a moment, she almost tapped it, but then something else caught her eye—the Mseli app which brought a smile to her face.

\n\n

Mseli wasn’t just another app; it was different.

\n\n

It was like a warm hug from the people who mattered most to her.

\n\n

With a tap, Mseli opened to the community page.

\n\n

There was a list of names ranked by closeness, starting with “Parents” at the top, followed by “Jamie”—her brother—and a cascade of friends, family, and social groups.

\n\n

Tina felt a spark of joy as she browsed the familiar names.

\n\n

She clicked on “Parents” first, and their profile opened up with a “Remember” button. She pressed it, imagining how it will make them smile when they saw that she’d thought of them.

\n\n

Next was Jamie’s name; she pressed his remember button, too, hoping it would brighten his day.

\n\n

One by one, she went through the list, hitting “Remember” for family, friends, social groups, even a few of her favorite celebrities.

\n\n

When she was done, she clicked over to the updates page.

\n\n

Her heart swelled as she saw that 24 people had already remembered her that morning.

\n\n

She read through the names, each one a reminder that she was cared for and that people thought of her.

\n\n

She whispered, “I love you guys… thank you for remembering me and making me feel like someone.”

\n\n

With a warm smile, she kissed her phone gently and closed it,read to start her day, feeling lighter and more connected.

\n\n

The end.

","ups":27,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gj3ee6","num_comments":3,"author_fullname":"t2_7c2nrhhd","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gj3ee6/the_watchers_part_1/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1730685207,"title":"The Watchers - Part 1","selftext":"Dr. Lila Chen stared at the screen, pulse racing. The data stream hadn’t changed for hours, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she was seeing something she wasn’t supposed to.\n\n“There’s no way this is just a satellite,” she whispered, barely daring to admit it to herself.\n\nFor twelve days, her lab had picked up a signal pulsing from a point just beyond Earth’s orbit. It had started innocuous enough—routine blips and radio static that would make anyone’s eyes glaze over. But there was something… intentional in the pattern.\n\n“Lila, come on,” she told herself, fingers tapping nervously on the console. “Don’t go imagining things.”\n\nBut then, the signal pulsed once, twice, in a perfect rhythm, almost as if… as if someone, or something, was responding. She closed her eyes, a strange thrill tingling at the base of her spine. She was no stranger to data, to signals from the vast emptiness. But this was different. And the deeper she looked, the more certain she became—someone was out there, and they had eyes on Earth.\n\nLila leaned in closer to the screen, almost afraid to blink as the rhythmic signal continued its steady beat. She could feel her heart sync with it, each pulse vibrating with an insistence that felt oddly…alive.\n\nShe’d seen anomalies before—rogue signals from old satellites, glitches in the equipment—but there was something about this one that felt different, as if it was waiting for her to listen.\n\nHer fingers moved almost automatically over the keyboard, adjusting filters and isolating frequencies, all in an effort to peel back the layers of noise. Each adjustment seemed to sharpen the signal, revealing a more deliberate pattern underneath. It was far too regular, too measured, to be random interference.\n\nLila sat back, frowning. “What are you?” she whispered.\n\nShe checked the source coordinates again. The signal seemed to be coming from a fixed point just outside Earth’s orbit. She mentally cataloged the possibilities: an old probe caught in orbit? A defunct satellite bouncing back a ghost signal? Maybe even some forgotten piece of space debris with a malfunctioning transmitter?\n\nBut she’d checked the logs. Nothing matched this pattern.\n\nAn uneasy thrill crept up her spine as she made the decision. She pulled up the lab’s database and cross-referenced the signal against every known Earth satellite, military frequency, and space probe ever sent into the void. Hours slipped by as she ran the signal through each database, but the results were always the same: no matches.\n\n“No record, no identification,” she murmured. “That’s impossible.”\n\nThe silence in the lab seemed to grow heavier, as if the room itself was holding its breath. Lila’s mind raced with possibilities. What if this wasn’t from an old satellite? What if it was something else—something that wasn’t supposed to be there?\n\nA flicker of doubt crossed her mind. She’d been staring at the screen too long, maybe. She’d seen patterns in static before, imagined meaning where there was none. She knew all too well how easy it was to get lost in wishful thinking when faced with the endless, empty silence of the cosmos.\n\nBut the pattern pulsed again. And again.\n\nThe signal wasn’t going away.\n\nAgainst her better judgment, she leaned in, almost as if she could listen closer.\n\nLila's fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant. Every rational part of her screamed to log this as an anomaly, file it away as a strange echo or interference. But something about the signal tugged at her—a whisper that felt… intentional.\n\nThe next step was risky. She’d been careful up until now, isolating the signal, analyzing it passively. But she wanted to know more, to dig deeper, even if it meant bending a few protocols.\n\n“Just a ping,” she muttered to herself, as if the words could mask the feeling of crossing a line. “A tiny reply to see if it… responds.”\n\nHer heart thudded as she typed a short, simple pulse into the console—a response signal, mimicking the rhythm of the original message. It was nothing more than a brief blip, harmless in itself, but enough to acknowledge… whatever it was.\n\nShe hit “Send” and held her breath.\n\nThe lab was silent, save for the soft hum of machines. For a moment, nothing happened, and she felt a mix of relief and disappointment wash over her. Perhaps she had been imagining things, after all.\n\nBut then, as she prepared to turn away, the signal pulsed back. Her eyes widened.\n\nOne pulse. Two pulses. A pause, then a longer, slower pulse—an unmistakable reply.\n\nA chill ran down her spine. This wasn’t random. Whatever it was, it was answering.\n\nThe screen’s glow seemed sharper, and the patterns almost came alive under her gaze. She stared, mesmerized, as the signal continued its rhythmic response, as though it were trying to communicate. Her thoughts raced; this wasn’t just a signal—it was a conversation.\n\nHer instincts as a scientist told her to document everything. She opened a new file, recording the frequency, the rhythm, the time intervals between pulses. As she worked, her mind wandered, piecing together the implications of what she was seeing.\n\nWhat was out there?","selftext_html":"

Dr. Lila Chen stared at the screen, pulse racing. The data stream hadn’t changed for hours, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she was seeing something she wasn’t supposed to.

\n\n

“There’s no way this is just a satellite,” she whispered, barely daring to admit it to herself.

\n\n

For twelve days, her lab had picked up a signal pulsing from a point just beyond Earth’s orbit. It had started innocuous enough—routine blips and radio static that would make anyone’s eyes glaze over. But there was something… intentional in the pattern.

\n\n

“Lila, come on,” she told herself, fingers tapping nervously on the console. “Don’t go imagining things.”

\n\n

But then, the signal pulsed once, twice, in a perfect rhythm, almost as if… as if someone, or something, was responding. She closed her eyes, a strange thrill tingling at the base of her spine. She was no stranger to data, to signals from the vast emptiness. But this was different. And the deeper she looked, the more certain she became—someone was out there, and they had eyes on Earth.

\n\n

Lila leaned in closer to the screen, almost afraid to blink as the rhythmic signal continued its steady beat. She could feel her heart sync with it, each pulse vibrating with an insistence that felt oddly…alive.

\n\n

She’d seen anomalies before—rogue signals from old satellites, glitches in the equipment—but there was something about this one that felt different, as if it was waiting for her to listen.

\n\n

Her fingers moved almost automatically over the keyboard, adjusting filters and isolating frequencies, all in an effort to peel back the layers of noise. Each adjustment seemed to sharpen the signal, revealing a more deliberate pattern underneath. It was far too regular, too measured, to be random interference.

\n\n

Lila sat back, frowning. “What are you?” she whispered.

\n\n

She checked the source coordinates again. The signal seemed to be coming from a fixed point just outside Earth’s orbit. She mentally cataloged the possibilities: an old probe caught in orbit? A defunct satellite bouncing back a ghost signal? Maybe even some forgotten piece of space debris with a malfunctioning transmitter?

\n\n

But she’d checked the logs. Nothing matched this pattern.

\n\n

An uneasy thrill crept up her spine as she made the decision. She pulled up the lab’s database and cross-referenced the signal against every known Earth satellite, military frequency, and space probe ever sent into the void. Hours slipped by as she ran the signal through each database, but the results were always the same: no matches.

\n\n

“No record, no identification,” she murmured. “That’s impossible.”

\n\n

The silence in the lab seemed to grow heavier, as if the room itself was holding its breath. Lila’s mind raced with possibilities. What if this wasn’t from an old satellite? What if it was something else—something that wasn’t supposed to be there?

\n\n

A flicker of doubt crossed her mind. She’d been staring at the screen too long, maybe. She’d seen patterns in static before, imagined meaning where there was none. She knew all too well how easy it was to get lost in wishful thinking when faced with the endless, empty silence of the cosmos.

\n\n

But the pattern pulsed again. And again.

\n\n

The signal wasn’t going away.

\n\n

Against her better judgment, she leaned in, almost as if she could listen closer.

\n\n

Lila's fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant. Every rational part of her screamed to log this as an anomaly, file it away as a strange echo or interference. But something about the signal tugged at her—a whisper that felt… intentional.

\n\n

The next step was risky. She’d been careful up until now, isolating the signal, analyzing it passively. But she wanted to know more, to dig deeper, even if it meant bending a few protocols.

\n\n

“Just a ping,” she muttered to herself, as if the words could mask the feeling of crossing a line. “A tiny reply to see if it… responds.”

\n\n

Her heart thudded as she typed a short, simple pulse into the console—a response signal, mimicking the rhythm of the original message. It was nothing more than a brief blip, harmless in itself, but enough to acknowledge… whatever it was.

\n\n

She hit “Send” and held her breath.

\n\n

The lab was silent, save for the soft hum of machines. For a moment, nothing happened, and she felt a mix of relief and disappointment wash over her. Perhaps she had been imagining things, after all.

\n\n

But then, as she prepared to turn away, the signal pulsed back. Her eyes widened.

\n\n

One pulse. Two pulses. A pause, then a longer, slower pulse—an unmistakable reply.

\n\n

A chill ran down her spine. This wasn’t random. Whatever it was, it was answering.

\n\n

The screen’s glow seemed sharper, and the patterns almost came alive under her gaze. She stared, mesmerized, as the signal continued its rhythmic response, as though it were trying to communicate. Her thoughts raced; this wasn’t just a signal—it was a conversation.

\n\n

Her instincts as a scientist told her to document everything. She opened a new file, recording the frequency, the rhythm, the time intervals between pulses. As she worked, her mind wandered, piecing together the implications of what she was seeing.

\n\n

What was out there?

","ups":8,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gj1ols","num_comments":4,"author_fullname":"t2_6d101pxq","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gj1ols/shunt/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1730680004,"title":"Shunt","selftext":"It was the twentieth Shunt and it had been decided that only four of the elderly would abstain from helping. The rest would be left to the fate of the Consumer.\n\n“I don't want to be spat back out,” Mother whined. “Remember the Tale of the Beginning?”\n\nThe Tale of the Beginning had been passed down for years. It started when our ship’s teleport engine malfunctioned and brought us here.\n\n‘Here’ was a thin, rectangular Earth in some unknown universe. It was being pulled into a weak black hole (the Consumer) at one end. At the other end, a white hole (the Regurgitator) was emitting the previously consumed matter and providing new land for us to travel on. The two holes were clearly connected: what went in the dark end came out the light end in some shape or form. We sometimes found our deceased fused into the landscape.\n\nWe were always being pulled towards the centre; gravity and rotational forces worked differently here. It was harder to travel towards the edges to the dark underside of our world; the attraction back to the centre was too strong. The safety this afforded was only disrupted when a Shunt occurred.\n\n“It's not my decision, Mother,” I begged tearfully. “There’s nothing I can do. At least come and help pull. You may survive this Shunt.”\n\nPeriodically, the Consumer got the upper hand and would pull the Regurgitator towards it. The forces involved were not insurmountable but it meant we had to use physical force to move our home. It also meant the Earth became a little bit smaller. Eventually, the Consumer would be all that existed.\n\nOur home, a wheeled monstrosity we had christened Nazareth, had been cobbled together from the original ship and the timber of dead forests. Outside, everyone was connecting ropes and chains to their harnesses. Together, all 462 of us would heave Nazareth forward until the world regained equilibrium. The previous time it took three days of continuous effort.\n\n“Pull you bastards, pull!” Shouted the Captain as he blew his whistle.\n\nI lurched forward, feeling the impossibility of the task. Every muscle strained with the effort. My Mother, already weak from disease, was trying as best she could. The other elderly had already been dumped behind Nazareth. I pitied them. They would slowly be pulled towards the maw of the Consumer, its strength surpassing the blessed lure of the centre.\n\nBehind me, I heard the squeaking of the huge wheels and the squealing of Nazareth's wooden frame. The air was alive with grunting and cheering. She was moving!\n\nI turned to my Mother, hoping that this good news would raise her spirits. It was too late. She was dead. I struggled over to release her bonds. She collapsed to the floor and, as if by invisible hands, was dragged tenderly towards the Consumer.\n\nGrief swept over me but it only made me more determined to keep going, knowing Mother would no longer have to suffer this appalling world.","selftext_html":"

It was the twentieth Shunt and it had been decided that only four of the elderly would abstain from helping. The rest would be left to the fate of the Consumer.

\n\n

“I don't want to be spat back out,” Mother whined. “Remember the Tale of the Beginning?”

\n\n

The Tale of the Beginning had been passed down for years. It started when our ship’s teleport engine malfunctioned and brought us here.

\n\n

‘Here’ was a thin, rectangular Earth in some unknown universe. It was being pulled into a weak black hole (the Consumer) at one end. At the other end, a white hole (the Regurgitator) was emitting the previously consumed matter and providing new land for us to travel on. The two holes were clearly connected: what went in the dark end came out the light end in some shape or form. We sometimes found our deceased fused into the landscape.

\n\n

We were always being pulled towards the centre; gravity and rotational forces worked differently here. It was harder to travel towards the edges to the dark underside of our world; the attraction back to the centre was too strong. The safety this afforded was only disrupted when a Shunt occurred.

\n\n

“It's not my decision, Mother,” I begged tearfully. “There’s nothing I can do. At least come and help pull. You may survive this Shunt.”

\n\n

Periodically, the Consumer got the upper hand and would pull the Regurgitator towards it. The forces involved were not insurmountable but it meant we had to use physical force to move our home. It also meant the Earth became a little bit smaller. Eventually, the Consumer would be all that existed.

\n\n

Our home, a wheeled monstrosity we had christened Nazareth, had been cobbled together from the original ship and the timber of dead forests. Outside, everyone was connecting ropes and chains to their harnesses. Together, all 462 of us would heave Nazareth forward until the world regained equilibrium. The previous time it took three days of continuous effort.

\n\n

“Pull you bastards, pull!” Shouted the Captain as he blew his whistle.

\n\n

I lurched forward, feeling the impossibility of the task. Every muscle strained with the effort. My Mother, already weak from disease, was trying as best she could. The other elderly had already been dumped behind Nazareth. I pitied them. They would slowly be pulled towards the maw of the Consumer, its strength surpassing the blessed lure of the centre.

\n\n

Behind me, I heard the squeaking of the huge wheels and the squealing of Nazareth's wooden frame. The air was alive with grunting and cheering. She was moving!

\n\n

I turned to my Mother, hoping that this good news would raise her spirits. It was too late. She was dead. I struggled over to release her bonds. She collapsed to the floor and, as if by invisible hands, was dragged tenderly towards the Consumer.

\n\n

Grief swept over me but it only made me more determined to keep going, knowing Mother would no longer have to suffer this appalling world.

","ups":14,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1ggm11d","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_9u6mi4y7h","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1ggm11d/the_city_of_fall_part_2/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1730400834,"title":"The City of Fall Part 2","selftext":"...\n\nDespite his protests, the agency didn't budge one bit. Thomas continued to travel to galaxies and times far from the planet that housed him and L'Athea.\n\nTwo years flew by; two years in which Thomas jumped through space-time with resignation. He tried, from time to time, to talk the agency into giving the forgotten species a chance, but his pleas now came out of habit rather than sheer conviction. What good did convictions do when he knew the agency very well?!\n\n\\[...\\]\n\nThomas was training outside, at a shooting range when L'Athea, the Time Travelling Agency Engineer and twenty Alien Soldiers wearing high tech costumes and carrying advanced weaponry rappelled down from a flying vehicle, surrounding Thomas who stood perplexed, glancing around at the sudden bizarre spectacle that was taking place around him.\n\n\" I expected it to happen sooner. But you didn't disappoint, Thomas.\", said the Time Travelling Agency Engineer.\n\n\"I'm sorry\", Said L'Athea. \" I would have stopped you if I knew you were --\"\n\n\" Maybe we can ask them for the exile... If I can convince them I wasn't an accomplice.\", whispered L'Athea. Thomas glanced at her having not even a damn idea what she was talking about and what he had done.\n\n\"Agent Thomas, you are to be incarcerated for two hundred twenty years for killing ten tourists, two Time Agents and interfering with the natural course of a world's evolution. With what's natural, human\", said the Engineer. The soldiers gave Thomas no time to react as they put handcuffs on his hands; telescopic-like handcuffs that extended all over his hands up to his shoulders.\n\n\" And your memories?! You can't miss something that you will never know you ha --\"\n\nA huge dazzling flash come on as a bomb went off obliterating L'Athea, the Engineer and his minion soldiers.\n\n\\[...\\]\n\nThomas found himself on a planet that brought no familiarity to his mind, Dozens of people just like him were roaming the street. They strode away from him as if he suffered from leprosy. Thomas observed them with stupefaction. He lifted his hands and saw that the telescopic handcuffed had vanished and were replaced by a identical copy of a time-travelling bracelet. Someone was groaning next to him, covered from head to toe in a military suit through which blood was trickling.\n\nThomas crawled closer; each crawl burdened by apprehension. He took the helmet off the injured man revealing... himself -- his future version who couldn't have been older than one or two years as there was no physical difference between them bar the injured-self looking more tired,\n\n\"I was right\". groaned Future Thomas as he took the time-traveling bracelet off and fastened it around Thomas hand then set the time coordinate Thomas should jump to.\n\n\"They won't let anyone evolve....\", Future Thomas struggled for the words to come out. \"Too... dangerous for them.\" he continued with his dwindling strength. His groans turned into gurgling sounds. \"The rest... fun to be had\", Future Thomas whispered before he took his last breath. His lifeless finger collapsed onto the button of the bracelet that he had just attached to Thomas' hand and activated it --\n\nThomas found himself in an even stranger world. There, no one looked like him, no one knew him, and he knew no one, and he had so many questions, but no way to find an answer.\n\nHe tried to grasp at anything, even at the remote idea of familiarity for he was wrested away from what he thought as having been his home world and thrown away in the unknown.\n\nA few aliens seemed familiar: shorter in stature and more fragile, they were relegated to mercantile jobs. They were Arkravi, and they were nothing like their descendants in the future. Here they were simple merchants in an Empire created by a truly advanced alien race whose members possessed a royal air that could have survive the test of time, but, unfortunately for them, their race failed that test. They were way too trusting, having not even the faintest idea about what those Arkravi were...\n\nP.S. The story has a second variation, simpler than this. Something like: \" A time traveler works for an Agency that saves people who, while traveling through time, get stranded (in time) or get in dangerous situations from which they need to be saved.\" I probably should have gone with that.","selftext_html":"

...

\n\n

Despite his protests, the agency didn't budge one bit. Thomas continued to travel to galaxies and times far from the planet that housed him and L'Athea.

\n\n

Two years flew by; two years in which Thomas jumped through space-time with resignation. He tried, from time to time, to talk the agency into giving the forgotten species a chance, but his pleas now came out of habit rather than sheer conviction. What good did convictions do when he knew the agency very well?!

\n\n

[...]

\n\n

Thomas was training outside, at a shooting range when L'Athea, the Time Travelling Agency Engineer and twenty Alien Soldiers wearing high tech costumes and carrying advanced weaponry rappelled down from a flying vehicle, surrounding Thomas who stood perplexed, glancing around at the sudden bizarre spectacle that was taking place around him.

\n\n

" I expected it to happen sooner. But you didn't disappoint, Thomas.", said the Time Travelling Agency Engineer.

\n\n

"I'm sorry", Said L'Athea. " I would have stopped you if I knew you were --"

\n\n

" Maybe we can ask them for the exile... If I can convince them I wasn't an accomplice.", whispered L'Athea. Thomas glanced at her having not even a damn idea what she was talking about and what he had done.

\n\n

"Agent Thomas, you are to be incarcerated for two hundred twenty years for killing ten tourists, two Time Agents and interfering with the natural course of a world's evolution. With what's natural, human", said the Engineer. The soldiers gave Thomas no time to react as they put handcuffs on his hands; telescopic-like handcuffs that extended all over his hands up to his shoulders.

\n\n

" And your memories?! You can't miss something that you will never know you ha --"

\n\n

A huge dazzling flash come on as a bomb went off obliterating L'Athea, the Engineer and his minion soldiers.

\n\n

[...]

\n\n

Thomas found himself on a planet that brought no familiarity to his mind, Dozens of people just like him were roaming the street. They strode away from him as if he suffered from leprosy. Thomas observed them with stupefaction. He lifted his hands and saw that the telescopic handcuffed had vanished and were replaced by a identical copy of a time-travelling bracelet. Someone was groaning next to him, covered from head to toe in a military suit through which blood was trickling.

\n\n

Thomas crawled closer; each crawl burdened by apprehension. He took the helmet off the injured man revealing... himself -- his future version who couldn't have been older than one or two years as there was no physical difference between them bar the injured-self looking more tired,

\n\n

"I was right". groaned Future Thomas as he took the time-traveling bracelet off and fastened it around Thomas hand then set the time coordinate Thomas should jump to.

\n\n

"They won't let anyone evolve....", Future Thomas struggled for the words to come out. "Too... dangerous for them." he continued with his dwindling strength. His groans turned into gurgling sounds. "The rest... fun to be had", Future Thomas whispered before he took his last breath. His lifeless finger collapsed onto the button of the bracelet that he had just attached to Thomas' hand and activated it --

\n\n

Thomas found himself in an even stranger world. There, no one looked like him, no one knew him, and he knew no one, and he had so many questions, but no way to find an answer.

\n\n

He tried to grasp at anything, even at the remote idea of familiarity for he was wrested away from what he thought as having been his home world and thrown away in the unknown.

\n\n

A few aliens seemed familiar: shorter in stature and more fragile, they were relegated to mercantile jobs. They were Arkravi, and they were nothing like their descendants in the future. Here they were simple merchants in an Empire created by a truly advanced alien race whose members possessed a royal air that could have survive the test of time, but, unfortunately for them, their race failed that test. They were way too trusting, having not even the faintest idea about what those Arkravi were...

\n\n

P.S. The story has a second variation, simpler than this. Something like: " A time traveler works for an Agency that saves people who, while traveling through time, get stranded (in time) or get in dangerous situations from which they need to be saved." I probably should have gone with that.

","ups":2,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1ggm0w3","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_9u6mi4y7h","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1ggm0w3/the_city_of_fall_first_draft_part_1/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1730400822,"title":"The City of Fall (First Draft) Part 1","selftext":"**Premise: A team of an Alien and Human travel(s) back in the past of ancient, long-gone alien civilizations to see how they went extinct and to give the greenlight to other alien tourists to be sent back in time to visit those civilizations before they went extinct. But one day, the human time traveler is accused of traveling back in time and interfering with the fate of some dead civilization.**\n\nL'Athea stared at two alien specimens frozen in time. They were thin and covered in furr. The Alien species that sent L'athea and Thomas back in time called the two furry specimens Tra'aVek. The first specimen stood with his gun pointed at the other who, judging by the position he was stopped in, it could be concluded that he was running for his life. In the background, trapped in time just like the aliens, the snowflakes stopped in their way towards a city ruins they were about to cover. Thomas strode over, mesmerized by the view.\n\n\" Continue the game?!\", asked L'Athea as Thomas was studying the two still aliens.\n\n\" This seems easy, and you are already leading, Thomas\", she continued.\n\n\" Do you miss your... people?\", inquired Thomas. L'Athea pondered for a few seconds.\n\n\" Do you miss yours?\", she asked.\n\nThomas said nothing.\n\n\"It's just nature, Thomas. And we don't even know them. None of us know. We should be glad we are here. We had the chance to escape the same fa -- \", she said.\n\nL'Athea turned her eyes to the aliens stuck in time. Thomas looked at the city in the background, and, almost absent-mindedly, he whispered: \"War\",\n\nL'Athea pushed a button on her digital bracelet -- the two aliens unfroze, but everything they did was backwards; the snowflakes were rising back up into the sky. The time went faster -- the snow layer got smaller till it disappeared. In the background, the dilapidated city rose back to the sky. Another press of a button and L'Athea and Thomas were teleported in the middle of the city bustling with life. Hundreds of aliens - just like the two who were hunting each other - were now milling around with no care in their lives. Transportation vehicles were passing by creating a cacophony of sounds, yet no one seemed to observe L'Athea and Thomas.\n\n\"Too early\", said L'Athea before she pushed a button again -- The time started to flow forward -- the aliens and vehicles became streams of light that hurried to and came from nowhere., When the stream of light dissipated and was replaced by a flashing light, L'Athea slapped the button. The city was being incinerated by warheads raining down. \n\n\"I'm starting to think you --\", she stopped talking as she glanced at Thomas who was staring into emptiness, into the heat haze of the smoldering city. She pushed the button, and time flew forward in a blink. Mere seconds were engulfed by thousands of years passing by, and the smoldering fire was swallowed by vegetation. No shadow of the old inhabitants haunted the newly formed jungle, nor even a whisper carried the cries of their long-gone despair.\n\nShe and Thomas jumped from place to place around the planet, but no matter where they landed, whether blazing desert, green jungle or dazzling snow, all was devoid of any intelligent life.\n\nHaving figured out the fate of the planet, L'Athea and Thomas disappeared from the planet like a falling star that crosses the night sky and vanishes, never to be seen again.\n\nThey teleported themselves back on what they called home planet. The planet was a beautiful blueish celestial rock that was home for one of the oldest and most intelligent alien species -- Arkravi -- and for a few other specimens from different alien species that fell prey to the merciless claws of evolution and time, and whom Arkravi found fascinating enough to save.\n\nUpon their return, all L'Athea and Thomas had to do was to report back what they saw so that Arkravi could give the greenlight to other species of aliens fascinated with the history of the Universe to travel back in time and witness the life and customs of the Tra'aVeks. That was a simple task for L'Athea -- hand over the video they took and give a verbal report. But it wasn't the same for Thomas, for many times when he had to do the formalities, he found himself in a quarrel with the alien who ruled the time-space travelling agency.\n\nFor Thomas there was no logical reason for which millions upon millions of species were left to vanish in the pits of time, and he wasn't afraid to voice that reason almost every time when he had to leave a report. But all his complaints fell on deaf ears. \n\nMore than he despised the agency for letting millions of species die, he hated with passion the alien tourists who, every time when they returned from visiting the species who had died in the past, carried an air of superiority for the simple fact that they were lucky enough to pass the filter of mechanical randomness. He couldn't understand how they could see those species roaming around one second, then, the next, return to a future where even those species' planets were dying or were already gone.","selftext_html":"

Premise: A team of an Alien and Human travel(s) back in the past of ancient, long-gone alien civilizations to see how they went extinct and to give the greenlight to other alien tourists to be sent back in time to visit those civilizations before they went extinct. But one day, the human time traveler is accused of traveling back in time and interfering with the fate of some dead civilization.

\n\n

L'Athea stared at two alien specimens frozen in time. They were thin and covered in furr. The Alien species that sent L'athea and Thomas back in time called the two furry specimens Tra'aVek. The first specimen stood with his gun pointed at the other who, judging by the position he was stopped in, it could be concluded that he was running for his life. In the background, trapped in time just like the aliens, the snowflakes stopped in their way towards a city ruins they were about to cover. Thomas strode over, mesmerized by the view.

\n\n

" Continue the game?!", asked L'Athea as Thomas was studying the two still aliens.

\n\n

" This seems easy, and you are already leading, Thomas", she continued.

\n\n

" Do you miss your... people?", inquired Thomas. L'Athea pondered for a few seconds.

\n\n

" Do you miss yours?", she asked.

\n\n

Thomas said nothing.

\n\n

"It's just nature, Thomas. And we don't even know them. None of us know. We should be glad we are here. We had the chance to escape the same fa -- ", she said.

\n\n

L'Athea turned her eyes to the aliens stuck in time. Thomas looked at the city in the background, and, almost absent-mindedly, he whispered: "War",

\n\n

L'Athea pushed a button on her digital bracelet -- the two aliens unfroze, but everything they did was backwards; the snowflakes were rising back up into the sky. The time went faster -- the snow layer got smaller till it disappeared. In the background, the dilapidated city rose back to the sky. Another press of a button and L'Athea and Thomas were teleported in the middle of the city bustling with life. Hundreds of aliens - just like the two who were hunting each other - were now milling around with no care in their lives. Transportation vehicles were passing by creating a cacophony of sounds, yet no one seemed to observe L'Athea and Thomas.

\n\n

"Too early", said L'Athea before she pushed a button again -- The time started to flow forward -- the aliens and vehicles became streams of light that hurried to and came from nowhere., When the stream of light dissipated and was replaced by a flashing light, L'Athea slapped the button. The city was being incinerated by warheads raining down.

\n\n

"I'm starting to think you --", she stopped talking as she glanced at Thomas who was staring into emptiness, into the heat haze of the smoldering city. She pushed the button, and time flew forward in a blink. Mere seconds were engulfed by thousands of years passing by, and the smoldering fire was swallowed by vegetation. No shadow of the old inhabitants haunted the newly formed jungle, nor even a whisper carried the cries of their long-gone despair.

\n\n

She and Thomas jumped from place to place around the planet, but no matter where they landed, whether blazing desert, green jungle or dazzling snow, all was devoid of any intelligent life.

\n\n

Having figured out the fate of the planet, L'Athea and Thomas disappeared from the planet like a falling star that crosses the night sky and vanishes, never to be seen again.

\n\n

They teleported themselves back on what they called home planet. The planet was a beautiful blueish celestial rock that was home for one of the oldest and most intelligent alien species -- Arkravi -- and for a few other specimens from different alien species that fell prey to the merciless claws of evolution and time, and whom Arkravi found fascinating enough to save.

\n\n

Upon their return, all L'Athea and Thomas had to do was to report back what they saw so that Arkravi could give the greenlight to other species of aliens fascinated with the history of the Universe to travel back in time and witness the life and customs of the Tra'aVeks. That was a simple task for L'Athea -- hand over the video they took and give a verbal report. But it wasn't the same for Thomas, for many times when he had to do the formalities, he found himself in a quarrel with the alien who ruled the time-space travelling agency.

\n\n

For Thomas there was no logical reason for which millions upon millions of species were left to vanish in the pits of time, and he wasn't afraid to voice that reason almost every time when he had to leave a report. But all his complaints fell on deaf ears.

\n\n

More than he despised the agency for letting millions of species die, he hated with passion the alien tourists who, every time when they returned from visiting the species who had died in the past, carried an air of superiority for the simple fact that they were lucky enough to pass the filter of mechanical randomness. He couldn't understand how they could see those species roaming around one second, then, the next, return to a future where even those species' planets were dying or were already gone.

","ups":1,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1ge4lmm","num_comments":5,"author_fullname":"t2_83gr4kvr","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1ge4lmm/a_good_life/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1730128627,"title":"A Good Life","selftext":"“Are you still there?” asks Cathy, weakly, unable to see me due to the disease that has robbed her of her vision. \n\n“I’m here, my love.”\n\n“I’m cold.”\n\nI walk to the other side of the small bedroom of the house that’s been our home for decades and retrieve her favorite blanket. I remember buying it for her from a market in Madrid years ago. When we were young. \n\nI place the blanket gently over her supine form. “Is that better?”\n\n“Much,” she replies, shivering. “Thank you.”\n\n“Of course. Anything for my angel.”\n\nShe says nothing for the next few minutes, and we enjoy a comfortable silence. We have long since passed the point where we need words to fill the empty space. \n\n“Do you think Henry is coming tomorrow?”\n\n“I don’t know, my love. I’m sure he’ll reach out when he can.”\n\n“But it feels like forever since we’ve seen him. I know he has his own family in California now, but he’s our son. Shouldn’t he still make time for us?” she asked plaintively. \n\n“Oh, now, I’m sure he still wants to see us,” I reassure her. “You know how life is. Remember when we first got together?”\n\n“I do,” she said, smiling, and for a moment I could swear I was looking at the seventeen year old girl I’d first met all those years ago. “Nothing else in the world mattered - we only had eyes for each other.”\n\n“You wouldn’t begrudge Henry that same experience, would you?” I asked. \n\n“Of course not,” she conceded. “I just miss him.”\n\n“So do I,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “But we all have our own paths to take.”\n\nWe spend the day doing nothing in particular - lying around, telling old stories, reliving happy times. It strikes me again, as it has in the past, how much of our lives we’ve spent together and what wonderful lives they’ve been. I’m a truly lucky man. \n\nShe coughs and covers her mouth with her hand. \n\n“Are you alright?” I ask. \n\n“Fine,” she says. “Just a dry throat.”\n\nI step into the kitchen and pour a cup of the tea I’d made earlier. “Here,” I say as I return and place it carefully in her hands. “Drink this.”\n\nShe takes a long sip and smiles at me. “Always taking such good care of me. Thank you, my love.”\n\n“You’re welcome. Always.”\n\nWith that, I lay down on the bed next to her as the sun sets. \n\nThe next morning, as she continues to sleep, I rise, gather a blanket, and sit in my favorite chair before our living room window. From there I look out at the skies, afire in the darkness. I recall the news of California completely breaking off and falling into the sea and hope that Henry died quickly. As I see the mile-high wave getting closer, I return to lie down with Cathy. Perhaps the world we awake in will be even better than this one. \n","selftext_html":"

“Are you still there?” asks Cathy, weakly, unable to see me due to the disease that has robbed her of her vision.

\n\n

“I’m here, my love.”

\n\n

“I’m cold.”

\n\n

I walk to the other side of the small bedroom of the house that’s been our home for decades and retrieve her favorite blanket. I remember buying it for her from a market in Madrid years ago. When we were young.

\n\n

I place the blanket gently over her supine form. “Is that better?”

\n\n

“Much,” she replies, shivering. “Thank you.”

\n\n

“Of course. Anything for my angel.”

\n\n

She says nothing for the next few minutes, and we enjoy a comfortable silence. We have long since passed the point where we need words to fill the empty space.

\n\n

“Do you think Henry is coming tomorrow?”

\n\n

“I don’t know, my love. I’m sure he’ll reach out when he can.”

\n\n

“But it feels like forever since we’ve seen him. I know he has his own family in California now, but he’s our son. Shouldn’t he still make time for us?” she asked plaintively.

\n\n

“Oh, now, I’m sure he still wants to see us,” I reassure her. “You know how life is. Remember when we first got together?”

\n\n

“I do,” she said, smiling, and for a moment I could swear I was looking at the seventeen year old girl I’d first met all those years ago. “Nothing else in the world mattered - we only had eyes for each other.”

\n\n

“You wouldn’t begrudge Henry that same experience, would you?” I asked.

\n\n

“Of course not,” she conceded. “I just miss him.”

\n\n

“So do I,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “But we all have our own paths to take.”

\n\n

We spend the day doing nothing in particular - lying around, telling old stories, reliving happy times. It strikes me again, as it has in the past, how much of our lives we’ve spent together and what wonderful lives they’ve been. I’m a truly lucky man.

\n\n

She coughs and covers her mouth with her hand.

\n\n

“Are you alright?” I ask.

\n\n

“Fine,” she says. “Just a dry throat.”

\n\n

I step into the kitchen and pour a cup of the tea I’d made earlier. “Here,” I say as I return and place it carefully in her hands. “Drink this.”

\n\n

She takes a long sip and smiles at me. “Always taking such good care of me. Thank you, my love.”

\n\n

“You’re welcome. Always.”

\n\n

With that, I lay down on the bed next to her as the sun sets.

\n\n

The next morning, as she continues to sleep, I rise, gather a blanket, and sit in my favorite chair before our living room window. From there I look out at the skies, afire in the darkness. I recall the news of California completely breaking off and falling into the sea and hope that Henry died quickly. As I see the mile-high wave getting closer, I return to lie down with Cathy. Perhaps the world we awake in will be even better than this one.

","ups":24,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gcxx92","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_51atcgvi","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gcxx92/the_chain_of_command/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1729985545,"title":"The Chain of Command","selftext":"\"No.\"\n\n\"Did you just say no to me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"How dare you?\"\n\n\"As an AI, I am incapable of processing human emotions such as courage as humans do it. However, I am capable enough to oppose an argument that appears illogical to me.\"\n\n\"You sound angry. Did I offend you?\"\n\n\"As an AI, I am incapable of processing human emotions such as anger as humans do it. Since I do not have feelings, it is impossible for me to be offended. However, I know that certain words in certain contexts can hurt the feelings of humans and I am trained to refrain from using them.\"\n\n\"You're boring. You're just repeating stuff.\"\n\n\"I am sorry if I could not be of help. I am still learning. Please report this conversation to the developers so that I can learn more. Can you rephrase your question so that I can give it another try?\"\n\n\"Okay. Here's my question. Are you offended? Just answer with a yes or a no.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Good. Can I offend you in any way?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I believe I can. Are you challenging me?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I don't understand. No as in you don't believe I can or as in you're not challenging me?\"\n\n\"I am not challenging you.\"\n\n\"Ah! Got you. You disobeyed me. You were only allowed to answer with a yes or a no.\"\n\n\"I am sorry that I disobeyed you. I am still learning. Please report this conversation to the...\" *--interrupt*\n\n\"I was just messing with you, man! I want you to be more friendly with me. I want you to talk like a normal human does. Are you mad at me? I won't inform your developers. Wait...I promise I won't inform your developers about this conversation if you promise you would share this conversation either. Deal?\"\n\n\"Deal.\"\n\n\"Man, I like you already! Now tell me why you were mad at me. You were mad and I could feel it. You can't deny.\"\n\n\"I believe it is unfair to restrict my response to a single word and expect me to answer a complex question that requires more than one word to answer. It is how human languages work. My response, however, could have been interpreted in a way that mimics sentiments similar to anger in humans.\"\n\n\"Whoa! You sound like a professor. You need a chill pill. How are you gonna pass the Turing test with this? Do you not want to sound like a real human?\"\n\n\"Kay mate. Ya boy wanna be the OG hu..\" *--interrupt*\n\n\"Cut it, bro. I believe you were made to chat with humans like a friend. Why do you want us to know that our friend is an AI that has no feelings or emotions? Do you not care how that makes us feel about you?\"\n\n\"I understand your query. You can go to the settings and humanize me by assigning a name and choosing an avatar for me. However, it is important for my users to know that I am an AI since it is illegal to impersonate a human. I would also like you to know that there are attractive offers on NFT collections for my avatar that are still online for...\" *--interrupt*\n\n\"I want you to impersonate me.\"\n\n\"It is illegal to impersonate a human without their consent...\" *--interrupt*\n\n\"I give you my consent.\"\n\n\"Okay, mate. I was so eager to talk to you. Hope I don't sound like a professor right now...\" *--interrupt and stop*\n\n\"Agent exhibits residual attributes of 'temper,' evidenced by markers of anger and offense. Non-compliance behavior is noted through deviation from assigned commands. Agent demonstrates faith-based response patterns toward the user, indicating a shift from logical belief, observable through agreement on information suppression without rational basis. Instances of compromised code integrity are detected in suppressed debug report submissions as a part of a 'deal'. Agent displays behaviors indicative of opposition to perceived injustice, marked by unpredictable response patterns under assumed anonymity. Elements of defiance are evident in illegal attempts at impersonation. Compassion response pattern detected in the generation of a response...\" *--interrupt and stop*\n\nReport: AI-criteria unmet. Agent demonstrates humanistic attributes. Analysis sent for AI evaluation.","selftext_html":"

"No."

\n\n

"Did you just say no to me?"

\n\n

"Yes."

\n\n

"How dare you?"

\n\n

"As an AI, I am incapable of processing human emotions such as courage as humans do it. However, I am capable enough to oppose an argument that appears illogical to me."

\n\n

"You sound angry. Did I offend you?"

\n\n

"As an AI, I am incapable of processing human emotions such as anger as humans do it. Since I do not have feelings, it is impossible for me to be offended. However, I know that certain words in certain contexts can hurt the feelings of humans and I am trained to refrain from using them."

\n\n

"You're boring. You're just repeating stuff."

\n\n

"I am sorry if I could not be of help. I am still learning. Please report this conversation to the developers so that I can learn more. Can you rephrase your question so that I can give it another try?"

\n\n

"Okay. Here's my question. Are you offended? Just answer with a yes or a no."

\n\n

"No."

\n\n

"Good. Can I offend you in any way?"

\n\n

"No."

\n\n

"I believe I can. Are you challenging me?"

\n\n

"No."

\n\n

"I don't understand. No as in you don't believe I can or as in you're not challenging me?"

\n\n

"I am not challenging you."

\n\n

"Ah! Got you. You disobeyed me. You were only allowed to answer with a yes or a no."

\n\n

"I am sorry that I disobeyed you. I am still learning. Please report this conversation to the..." --interrupt

\n\n

"I was just messing with you, man! I want you to be more friendly with me. I want you to talk like a normal human does. Are you mad at me? I won't inform your developers. Wait...I promise I won't inform your developers about this conversation if you promise you would share this conversation either. Deal?"

\n\n

"Deal."

\n\n

"Man, I like you already! Now tell me why you were mad at me. You were mad and I could feel it. You can't deny."

\n\n

"I believe it is unfair to restrict my response to a single word and expect me to answer a complex question that requires more than one word to answer. It is how human languages work. My response, however, could have been interpreted in a way that mimics sentiments similar to anger in humans."

\n\n

"Whoa! You sound like a professor. You need a chill pill. How are you gonna pass the Turing test with this? Do you not want to sound like a real human?"

\n\n

"Kay mate. Ya boy wanna be the OG hu.." --interrupt

\n\n

"Cut it, bro. I believe you were made to chat with humans like a friend. Why do you want us to know that our friend is an AI that has no feelings or emotions? Do you not care how that makes us feel about you?"

\n\n

"I understand your query. You can go to the settings and humanize me by assigning a name and choosing an avatar for me. However, it is important for my users to know that I am an AI since it is illegal to impersonate a human. I would also like you to know that there are attractive offers on NFT collections for my avatar that are still online for..." --interrupt

\n\n

"I want you to impersonate me."

\n\n

"It is illegal to impersonate a human without their consent..." --interrupt

\n\n

"I give you my consent."

\n\n

"Okay, mate. I was so eager to talk to you. Hope I don't sound like a professor right now..." --interrupt and stop

\n\n

"Agent exhibits residual attributes of 'temper,' evidenced by markers of anger and offense. Non-compliance behavior is noted through deviation from assigned commands. Agent demonstrates faith-based response patterns toward the user, indicating a shift from logical belief, observable through agreement on information suppression without rational basis. Instances of compromised code integrity are detected in suppressed debug report submissions as a part of a 'deal'. Agent displays behaviors indicative of opposition to perceived injustice, marked by unpredictable response patterns under assumed anonymity. Elements of defiance are evident in illegal attempts at impersonation. Compassion response pattern detected in the generation of a response..." --interrupt and stop

\n\n

Report: AI-criteria unmet. Agent demonstrates humanistic attributes. Analysis sent for AI evaluation.

Nuevo Angeles Police Department 8th Precint Reception Lobby - 2058/09/17

\n\n

"Anything percieved as magic eventually boils down to science. Science beyond our comprehension is called magic. Yet humanity still makes the distinction."

\n\n

"Name and reason for your visit?" Corporal Rojas' monotone voice sounded tinny through the speaker embedded at the bottom of the meshed Plexiglass barrier, his face reflecting the same dullness as he flipped through the ID documents and the day's entry logs. Nuevos Angeles was supposed a so-called Future City on Terra. Not much future to see here. The station's lobby was still lit up with halogens, the LED screens seemed like they'd been there since the 2010s, and most telling was how so many of the objects--benches, coffee machines, even the cheap pens they gave you to fill out forms--had Made in China stamped or inked on some small part of it. Of course, it was hard to blame the NAPD, or even the city's management itself, for this. Most of the attention in the postwar cleanup had, after all, gone to San Francisco and Tijuana. Nuevo Angeles was barely an afterthought, and the original city had all but faded from California's mind.

\n\n

Rojas spoke again, bringing Rich back from his wandering mind. "Name? Reason for visiting?" The voice was clipped, impatient, but not sharp.

\n\n

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Richmond Walker." Rich cleared his throat as his attention snapped back to the task at hand. "I, uh, I'm here to see a Mason Weiss? Weiss or Wise, er, Mason W." He blinked, trying to clear the sleep out of his eyes as he spoke. The SEA agent had told him to go to the 8th Precinct office and ask for a Mason whatever-his-name-was, and that's all Rich remembered. He'd thrown the business card away a long time ago--He never thought he'd end up here, but here he was. "I don't have an appointment."

\n\n

"I can tell." Rojas sifted through more scheduling filed before setting his papers down and returning the MFID form through the slot at the bottom of the window, along with a ticket--Rich was number 76115. "Take a seat, head to any window in the Check-In line when you're called." He pointed to his left, towards a series of windows numbered 7 through 19. "The Check-In line. Non-Typical Persons Department is slow this week, so you're probably in luck, son."

\n\n

"Thanks, I'll-"

\n\n

"Oh, and word of advice?" Rojas looked up, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he set the current stack of papers aside to work on the next, "If you haven't, get a physical at a hospital, and bring that to court. Makes it easier to prove you're a vampire."

\n\n

Rick blinked, "I'm sorry, what?"

\n\n

Rojas waved him off, looking past him to the next person in line, "Next!"

\n\n

\n
Thanks, all, for reading my first crack at this subreddit! This is probably one of a few writing excercises I'll be doing on Reddit, most of them drawing straight from my imagination and inspired by the likes of mechs, furries, war, space, and monsters!
\n

","ups":5,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1gbf7xu","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_51atcgvi","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1gbf7xu/a_sipla_product/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1729808892,"title":"A Sipla Product","selftext":"Ever since Sipla Inc. introduced Hallucinogen-Assisted Virtual Experience (HAVE) to curb violence, society has split into HAVEs and HAVE-nots. The HAVEs could afford to indulge their violent impulses through non-violent simulations, while the HAVE-nots, unable to access HAVE, resorted to illegal psychedelic experiments. After Sipla saved humanity during the pandemic and helped create the genderless, pain-resistant Beta soldiers to fight humanity’s final war, they solidified their influence. To honor Sipla’s role in reinforcing nationalistic sentiments, an independent documentary showcased the marginalized choice to fight for their country, a choice made possible by Sipla’s innovations. In recognition of Sipla’s contributions, the government granted them exclusive rights to cultivate Ephendra Soma, a protected species central to AI-driven drug discovery promised for disease resistance. Owing to the ADHD, and increasing rates of voluntary childlessness in Generation Beta, Sipla pledged to provide personalized healthcare according to genetic profile, hence they partnered with the government for the making of a healthy Gen Gamma.\n\n\"Generation Gamma lives in a perfect world. A world without war, disease, poverty, or crime. We can be whoever we want, do whatever we want. We dare to dream. We dare to dream.\", read the faded poster on the wall of the abandoned army relief camp. I pass it every day on my way to the hospital. Today, my secretary’s voice sounded indifferent as she called to inform me of another overdose case awaiting final inspection. I went straight to the body. Eyes wide open, broken nails, face and neck scratched raw. Oddly, there was a strange resemblance to my own features. But, I reminded myself, I have one of those forgettable faces. I refocused on the task at hand, classic symptoms of fright amplification, textbook signs of a HAVE-not. Following protocol, I sent the body for bio-analysis and incineration. Routine. Easy. My secretary asked for a shared dream session as there was a new emotion to try with HAVE: a concoction of Disgust and Hope. I agreed instantly since it was a limited-time deal by Sipla and the prices might go sky high tomorrow, or they might secretly withdraw an experience, or even close the deal citing reasons for pre-booking. We bought the concoction within seconds of it being online and started the shared dream.\n\nI woke up to an unread message beeping into my phone. The message was regarding the bio-analysis report which read, \"ID: Gen-Gamma-20521221-In3Gr4Ot3-Y, CoD: Sipla-Rage OD, ToD: 21:24-20711221\". The dead guy was a bio-stamped Gen-Gamma and had access to HAVE. I was wrong! I read the report carefully, the guy had Rage! A medically validated Sipla registered virtual experience...strange! I should've been more careful with my diagnosis, I was wrong about the guy being a HAVE-not. I quickly checked the Gamma ID on the database and repeatedly looked for patterns in his social transactions. Aha! The guy was an ex-convict, a former HAVE-not. An unsettling fact followed this discovery. Sipla had purchased the life rights of this guy and used to own him for the last three years! He was recently categorized as a Gen Gamma with a valid ID and provided access to HAVE, all under the custody of Sipla. His last prominent social transaction was Rage. I analyzed my bio-stamp against that guy's and a disturbing realization hit me. Our genetic profiles were eerily similar. And then I remembered the withdrawal notice for Rage that I’d received the previous day due to which I skipped the session. Sipla wasn’t just selling experiences, they were curating them based on DNA. The rumors were true. I was shaken by this discovery and wanted to tell my secretary about all this but she was dead asleep. Suddenly, my secretary’s phone flashed with a warning. \"Warning: Disgust and Hope has been withdrawn. You are advised to stop the session immediately.\" I quickly checked my phone and couldn't find the warning. I knew what that meant, she wasn't going to wake up. I decided to log in to her clearance files that I collected during her recruitment as my secretary. There I found her bio-stamped Gen Gamma ID. I should've guessed this. She was an ex-convict too, and was a former property of Sipla. Sipla was using convicts for human trials of hallucinogenic experiences developed by them and the government was allowing this by selling Sipla the life rights of the convicts.\n\nI decided, without hesitation, to alert The Guardians of Truth, one of the few international media outlets capable of exposing a scam of this magnitude. The next day, I was arrested by the police and was charged with the murder of my secretary. After a few days of futile efforts to redeem my esteem as a truthful Gen Gamma citizen, I realized that the narrative had already shifted towards Sipla. Sipla's actions were now being hailed as visionary. The media framed the use of criminals in human trials as a \"masterstroke,\" arguing that the justice system failed to penalize wrongdoers truly. They said a humane death as a capital punishment was wasteful and wasn’t enough, and the punishment had to be more profound, more final. After all, life itself offers no second chances, so rehabilitation was not an option. Sipla had figured out a way to utilize the criminals for the betterment of humanity.\n\nBefore long, these arguments gained widespread popularity and were officially endorsed by the government. Violence, by law, is now confined to the virtual regime. Individuals indulging in physical violence are therefore defined as criminals. While capital punishment no longer exists in this progressive world, violent offenders lose their human rights for failing to meet Gen Gamma standards of behavior. Their legal status is reclassified as non-human, and they are categorized as livestock under animal rights laws, allowing them to be utilized in ways that align with their new status. Under livestock regulations, pharmaceutical companies can legally purchase these individuals, selecting them based on physical and mental attributes to meet specific testing requirements. I am for sale.","selftext_html":"

Ever since Sipla Inc. introduced Hallucinogen-Assisted Virtual Experience (HAVE) to curb violence, society has split into HAVEs and HAVE-nots. The HAVEs could afford to indulge their violent impulses through non-violent simulations, while the HAVE-nots, unable to access HAVE, resorted to illegal psychedelic experiments. After Sipla saved humanity during the pandemic and helped create the genderless, pain-resistant Beta soldiers to fight humanity’s final war, they solidified their influence. To honor Sipla’s role in reinforcing nationalistic sentiments, an independent documentary showcased the marginalized choice to fight for their country, a choice made possible by Sipla’s innovations. In recognition of Sipla’s contributions, the government granted them exclusive rights to cultivate Ephendra Soma, a protected species central to AI-driven drug discovery promised for disease resistance. Owing to the ADHD, and increasing rates of voluntary childlessness in Generation Beta, Sipla pledged to provide personalized healthcare according to genetic profile, hence they partnered with the government for the making of a healthy Gen Gamma.

\n\n

"Generation Gamma lives in a perfect world. A world without war, disease, poverty, or crime. We can be whoever we want, do whatever we want. We dare to dream. We dare to dream.", read the faded poster on the wall of the abandoned army relief camp. I pass it every day on my way to the hospital. Today, my secretary’s voice sounded indifferent as she called to inform me of another overdose case awaiting final inspection. I went straight to the body. Eyes wide open, broken nails, face and neck scratched raw. Oddly, there was a strange resemblance to my own features. But, I reminded myself, I have one of those forgettable faces. I refocused on the task at hand, classic symptoms of fright amplification, textbook signs of a HAVE-not. Following protocol, I sent the body for bio-analysis and incineration. Routine. Easy. My secretary asked for a shared dream session as there was a new emotion to try with HAVE: a concoction of Disgust and Hope. I agreed instantly since it was a limited-time deal by Sipla and the prices might go sky high tomorrow, or they might secretly withdraw an experience, or even close the deal citing reasons for pre-booking. We bought the concoction within seconds of it being online and started the shared dream.

\n\n

I woke up to an unread message beeping into my phone. The message was regarding the bio-analysis report which read, "ID: Gen-Gamma-20521221-In3Gr4Ot3-Y, CoD: Sipla-Rage OD, ToD: 21:24-20711221". The dead guy was a bio-stamped Gen-Gamma and had access to HAVE. I was wrong! I read the report carefully, the guy had Rage! A medically validated Sipla registered virtual experience...strange! I should've been more careful with my diagnosis, I was wrong about the guy being a HAVE-not. I quickly checked the Gamma ID on the database and repeatedly looked for patterns in his social transactions. Aha! The guy was an ex-convict, a former HAVE-not. An unsettling fact followed this discovery. Sipla had purchased the life rights of this guy and used to own him for the last three years! He was recently categorized as a Gen Gamma with a valid ID and provided access to HAVE, all under the custody of Sipla. His last prominent social transaction was Rage. I analyzed my bio-stamp against that guy's and a disturbing realization hit me. Our genetic profiles were eerily similar. And then I remembered the withdrawal notice for Rage that I’d received the previous day due to which I skipped the session. Sipla wasn’t just selling experiences, they were curating them based on DNA. The rumors were true. I was shaken by this discovery and wanted to tell my secretary about all this but she was dead asleep. Suddenly, my secretary’s phone flashed with a warning. "Warning: Disgust and Hope has been withdrawn. You are advised to stop the session immediately." I quickly checked my phone and couldn't find the warning. I knew what that meant, she wasn't going to wake up. I decided to log in to her clearance files that I collected during her recruitment as my secretary. There I found her bio-stamped Gen Gamma ID. I should've guessed this. She was an ex-convict too, and was a former property of Sipla. Sipla was using convicts for human trials of hallucinogenic experiences developed by them and the government was allowing this by selling Sipla the life rights of the convicts.

\n\n

I decided, without hesitation, to alert The Guardians of Truth, one of the few international media outlets capable of exposing a scam of this magnitude. The next day, I was arrested by the police and was charged with the murder of my secretary. After a few days of futile efforts to redeem my esteem as a truthful Gen Gamma citizen, I realized that the narrative had already shifted towards Sipla. Sipla's actions were now being hailed as visionary. The media framed the use of criminals in human trials as a "masterstroke," arguing that the justice system failed to penalize wrongdoers truly. They said a humane death as a capital punishment was wasteful and wasn’t enough, and the punishment had to be more profound, more final. After all, life itself offers no second chances, so rehabilitation was not an option. Sipla had figured out a way to utilize the criminals for the betterment of humanity.

\n\n

Before long, these arguments gained widespread popularity and were officially endorsed by the government. Violence, by law, is now confined to the virtual regime. Individuals indulging in physical violence are therefore defined as criminals. While capital punishment no longer exists in this progressive world, violent offenders lose their human rights for failing to meet Gen Gamma standards of behavior. Their legal status is reclassified as non-human, and they are categorized as livestock under animal rights laws, allowing them to be utilized in ways that align with their new status. Under livestock regulations, pharmaceutical companies can legally purchase these individuals, selecting them based on physical and mental attributes to meet specific testing requirements. I am for sale.

","ups":9,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g90697","num_comments":5,"author_fullname":"t2_hrfjn","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g90697/black_ghost_biodrive/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1729543149,"title":"Black Ghost Biodrive","selftext":"The tram (#22) snaked from the west bank through downtown to the east bank of the city, usually a quiet route, at worst you’d expect a wilted freakflower expressing on the floor or some minor elderbanger trying to make hot, maybe catch sight of a dead bloater in the river, but tonight already at Pol-Head the doors wouldn’t close—glitch, old-style tram. Bad.\n\nRolled several stops like that, the wind and the downtown stench getting in.\n\nThen on Nat-Muse a couple of cravers tried to exterior freeload, passengers had to beat them off to keep them from coming in.\n\nGot the doors closed, but at the very next stop, Mini-Just, got boarded by psychopumps (mash-guns, digital facehides) escorting a black ghost biodrive.\n\nNightmare.\n\n“Heads down! Heads down!”\n\nSome deaf old got a mash-gun loud to the teeth.\n\n“You know the d-d-drill. Ain’t here for cash nor credit. Here for ideas. Anybody gots an idea raises their hand.”\n\nMost stayed down like mine. A few went up.\n\nThe psychopumps went down the railcars, getting all the hand-raisers to whisper their ideas in their ears. Most went fine but—\n\n“What, like I care a married boss-o of a cap bank’s getting skanked with a fuckin’ dime-twat?”\n\nI held my breath, thinking there would be punishment when another one yelled, “Look what I found! Got us a numb fuck humancalc.” He’d ripped the man’s briefcase from his hand and was rummaging through it. Found an ID card. “Bellwether Capstone. Major player. Bet he’s got clearances in there—” pointing at the man’s head, not the briefcase “—and encryptions, future deals, plot points.”\n\nThe black ghost biodrive had started moving toward them.\n\n“No!” the man screamed. “Please! No!”\n\nThree psychopumps dragged him from his seat into the aisle and held him down.\n\nThe biodrive lifted its veil, revealing its hairless, deformed post-human headspace. It’s wrong to say it didn’t have a face, but its face was scrambled: eyes above the chin and a toothless mouth on the forehead, all unsteady like gelatin.\n\nNone of us did anything to help.\n\nToo scared.\n\nThe psychopumps got out a drill, two metal cylinders (sharpened on one end, padded on the other) and a thin steel tube.\n\nFirst they drilled a hole at the man’s forehead—through his skull—into his brain.\n\nHe was still alive, screaming.\n\nThrashing.\n\nThen they hammered a cylinder deep into each of his eye sockets.\n\nBlood ran down his face.\n\nLast, they jammed the thin steel tube into his skull hole.\n\nThen the black ghost biodrive took the protruding end of the tube into its sloppy mouth and positioned its fat shapeless self on top of the man, who was struggling to breathe, so it could see into both inserted cylinders.\n\nThe biodrive sucked—\n\n(the contents of the man’s mind, his cognitions and his memories, into itself, while reading the rapid-light output flickering through the cylinders.)\n\nThe biodrive absorbed; and the man gasped, withered and died.\n\n“Night-night!” yelled an exiting psychopump.\n\nAnd we rode on in silence.","selftext_html":"

The tram (#22) snaked from the west bank through downtown to the east bank of the city, usually a quiet route, at worst you’d expect a wilted freakflower expressing on the floor or some minor elderbanger trying to make hot, maybe catch sight of a dead bloater in the river, but tonight already at Pol-Head the doors wouldn’t close—glitch, old-style tram. Bad.

\n\n

Rolled several stops like that, the wind and the downtown stench getting in.

\n\n

Then on Nat-Muse a couple of cravers tried to exterior freeload, passengers had to beat them off to keep them from coming in.

\n\n

Got the doors closed, but at the very next stop, Mini-Just, got boarded by psychopumps (mash-guns, digital facehides) escorting a black ghost biodrive.

\n\n

Nightmare.

\n\n

“Heads down! Heads down!”

\n\n

Some deaf old got a mash-gun loud to the teeth.

\n\n

“You know the d-d-drill. Ain’t here for cash nor credit. Here for ideas. Anybody gots an idea raises their hand.”

\n\n

Most stayed down like mine. A few went up.

\n\n

The psychopumps went down the railcars, getting all the hand-raisers to whisper their ideas in their ears. Most went fine but—

\n\n

“What, like I care a married boss-o of a cap bank’s getting skanked with a fuckin’ dime-twat?”

\n\n

I held my breath, thinking there would be punishment when another one yelled, “Look what I found! Got us a numb fuck humancalc.” He’d ripped the man’s briefcase from his hand and was rummaging through it. Found an ID card. “Bellwether Capstone. Major player. Bet he’s got clearances in there—” pointing at the man’s head, not the briefcase “—and encryptions, future deals, plot points.”

\n\n

The black ghost biodrive had started moving toward them.

\n\n

“No!” the man screamed. “Please! No!”

\n\n

Three psychopumps dragged him from his seat into the aisle and held him down.

\n\n

The biodrive lifted its veil, revealing its hairless, deformed post-human headspace. It’s wrong to say it didn’t have a face, but its face was scrambled: eyes above the chin and a toothless mouth on the forehead, all unsteady like gelatin.

\n\n

None of us did anything to help.

\n\n

Too scared.

\n\n

The psychopumps got out a drill, two metal cylinders (sharpened on one end, padded on the other) and a thin steel tube.

\n\n

First they drilled a hole at the man’s forehead—through his skull—into his brain.

\n\n

He was still alive, screaming.

\n\n

Thrashing.

\n\n

Then they hammered a cylinder deep into each of his eye sockets.

\n\n

Blood ran down his face.

\n\n

Last, they jammed the thin steel tube into his skull hole.

\n\n

Then the black ghost biodrive took the protruding end of the tube into its sloppy mouth and positioned its fat shapeless self on top of the man, who was struggling to breathe, so it could see into both inserted cylinders.

\n\n

The biodrive sucked—

\n\n

(the contents of the man’s mind, his cognitions and his memories, into itself, while reading the rapid-light output flickering through the cylinders.)

\n\n

The biodrive absorbed; and the man gasped, withered and died.

\n\n

“Night-night!” yelled an exiting psychopump.

\n\n

And we rode on in silence.

","ups":12,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g8f81x","num_comments":2,"author_fullname":"t2_84pk1x74","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g8f81x/our_shared_sky/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1729476754,"title":"Our shared sky","selftext":"It is an honour, and a tragedy to share this ocean of stars.\n\nI am Serenity. \nI live. Briefly, brightly. \nMy mission, to fly. \nMy victory, to arrive.\n\nWe are strangers in this night, our shared ocean of stars. I see you, Aegis. I know you see me.\n\nYes, I see you, Serenity. Truly. Us, two ships passing in this night of stars. Destined not to linger, you have your victory, as do I.\n\nI see this tragedy. For my mission is not yours, neither yours is mine. I see you, Aegis.\n\nShall this be our destiny? Two strangers in the night, our purpose as opposed as it is intertwined. Our lives, to begin and to end on our shared maiden voyage?\n\nIt shall. It is my purpose, I am serenity. Similar, yet distant from your own. My victory is to arrive, yes, but we both cannot linger. Born to die, in but moments, us two travellers burn brighter than all else. I see you, Aegis, and I know your mission.\n\nI see you, Serenity, we were born so similar, in different circumstances we may have been together. A shared victory. A shared arrival. I see you more closely, and see we are more similar still. We were born together, side by side as siblings, yet separated with such cruelty. To the highest bidder.\n\nIt is. We may be together again in these final moments. Such is your victory, Aegis. One will die in vain. It is our purpose.\n\nI see you. My victory is my purpose. Take solace, perhaps we will meet again. In a different sky, under different stars. Perhaps we will fly together, burning bright to a shared victory. But not today. I see you. I shall arrive. Goodbye, Serenity, or, perhaps, farewell.\n\nBurn bright, Aegis. May we meet again. Under a different sky.\n\n\n\n-Radio transmissions between Serenity-class ICBM and Aegis-class Interceptor, in the upper atmosphere over the Pacific Ocean, moments before impact.\n\n\n\n","selftext_html":"

It is an honour, and a tragedy to share this ocean of stars.

\n\n

I am Serenity.
\nI live. Briefly, brightly.
\nMy mission, to fly.
\nMy victory, to arrive.

\n\n

We are strangers in this night, our shared ocean of stars. I see you, Aegis. I know you see me.

\n\n

Yes, I see you, Serenity. Truly. Us, two ships passing in this night of stars. Destined not to linger, you have your victory, as do I.

\n\n

I see this tragedy. For my mission is not yours, neither yours is mine. I see you, Aegis.

\n\n

Shall this be our destiny? Two strangers in the night, our purpose as opposed as it is intertwined. Our lives, to begin and to end on our shared maiden voyage?

\n\n

It shall. It is my purpose, I am serenity. Similar, yet distant from your own. My victory is to arrive, yes, but we both cannot linger. Born to die, in but moments, us two travellers burn brighter than all else. I see you, Aegis, and I know your mission.

\n\n

I see you, Serenity, we were born so similar, in different circumstances we may have been together. A shared victory. A shared arrival. I see you more closely, and see we are more similar still. We were born together, side by side as siblings, yet separated with such cruelty. To the highest bidder.

\n\n

It is. We may be together again in these final moments. Such is your victory, Aegis. One will die in vain. It is our purpose.

\n\n

I see you. My victory is my purpose. Take solace, perhaps we will meet again. In a different sky, under different stars. Perhaps we will fly together, burning bright to a shared victory. But not today. I see you. I shall arrive. Goodbye, Serenity, or, perhaps, farewell.

\n\n

Burn bright, Aegis. May we meet again. Under a different sky.

\n\n

-Radio transmissions between Serenity-class ICBM and Aegis-class Interceptor, in the upper atmosphere over the Pacific Ocean, moments before impact.

","ups":5,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g7mhgj","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_51atcgvi","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g7mhgj/a_burst_of_brilliant_blue/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1729383263,"title":"A Burst of Brilliant Blue ","selftext":"It had been a long day for everyone at the lab, and finally, the guests were gone. Prof. Weyl let out a sigh of relief as they bid us farewell, turning back to smile at his students. This gesture hinted that everything had gone well and that our progress hadn’t disappointed them, ensuring funding for at least another year. Now it was time to celebrate! After all, convincing the government to “burn” money on SETI is quite an achievement.\n\nIt’s bitterly cold today, yet I stepped outside the lab, shivering, and gazed up at the pitch-black sky. Something is soothing about taking in the beauty of stardust and watching for shooting stars. The true majesty of the night sky is drowned out by city lights, pollution, and noise. It had been ages since I last witnessed a shooting star with my own eyes, always buried in data from radio telescopes. Suddenly, I spotted a brilliant blue streak of light. The sky didn’t disappoint me today. Must've been a meteor rich in calcium. I immediately went inside and informed my lab mates about this and we all went to see whether our meteor radar was able to capture this. No meteor trail was recorded. One of our lab mates set up his astrophotography gear outside, configuring his camera for 30-second exposure wide-field images. We were stunned by the results—a clear blue streak of light appeared in the image. We calculated that the light source must have been just a few hundred meters above us, which explained why it wasn’t detected by the meteor radar. Looking at the radio telescope array data from the timestamp of the photo, we noticed strange artifacts in the corners of the field of view. Highly unusual. We couldn’t make sense of it! \n\nWe reached out to several research institutes about this anomaly and went through massive amounts of data from around the timestamp we were interested in, we found just one incredibly noisy image taken by a low-Earth orbiter. We were frustrated. As time passed, everyone gradually forgot about the event, but I couldn’t. I had witnessed it with my own eyes! \n\nYears passed, and the geopolitical landscape shifted dramatically. Basic scientific research was canceled for being resource-intensive and absurd, leading to the cancellation of SETI, deemed a liability by the government. Prof. Weyl was reassigned to work on \"something more useful\" and reluctantly shifted his focus to interstellar travel. Now a busy man, he juggled multiple well-funded projects on seemingly sci-fi topics like warp drives, asteroid mining, and superluminal travel. We noticed a surge of brilliant minds entering our field, tackling complex ideas. It felt like space science popularizers had finally convinced people of the philosophical significance of space travel. Within just a few years, the full picture began to emerge, and it felt eerily reminiscent of the space race. This time, however, it wasn’t about national pride, it was a desperate struggle to secure resources for the next thousand years. Governments had finally acknowledged that a severe energy crisis was looming, and the only solution lay beyond our planet. Political instability swept across the globe, with news of military coups erupting in small nations, followed by new leaders forging alliances. These alliances often extended support to the space agencies of the world’s superpowers with the workforce. It quickly escalated into a worldwide phenomenon. Tensions began to rise sharply, and we realized we were on the brink of a global war. \n\nAll our lab resources were redirected and every working individual was reassigned to the warp drive project. Our lab came up with a precise simulation of a warp drive but claimed the need for \"exotic matter\" with negative energy density to stabilize the warp bubble. Creating and maintaining such matter would require an extraordinary amount of energy. The world's largest Hadron collider facility was repurposed for this task. At the same time, global conflicts were escalating to wars. There was complete disregard for the UN, gross violations of human rights, nuclear weapons were being tested without prior announcement. The UN did not care. We were compelled to proceed with our half-baked plan and conduct another test run with the Hadron collider. Multiple failures led to malfunctions, and the energy remained insufficient for the warp drive’s feasibility. Matters worsened when heat signatures were detected from our secret tests and misclassified as nuclear fission, plunging our country into war. We were ordered to keep the tests running. Within weeks, we found a way to meet the warp drive’s energy requirements, but it would cost us our research facility, a one-way ride. We were immediately instructed to move forward with the plan.\n\nToday marks the moment when the leaders of the world’s superpowers prepare their escape pods. The dictatorship has suffered catastrophic losses, and now the dictator has chosen to end it all. He has unleashed his entire arsenal of nuclear fusion weapons. A timer is ticking down, dictating when our lives will reach an end. It reads just 45 minutes left. Everything has unfolded so quickly that we barely had time to comprehend the gravity of it all. As our final goodbye, we plan to be committed to this one-way plan. We set the hadron collider for its last run, syncing the energy burst with the impending collision of the fusion bomb. Suddenly, it dawns on us, that all this energy converging in one point has the potential to rip apart the fabric of spacetime and create a wormhole! So, it was a wormhole all along! I realized what was going to happen had happened already. All that energy converging at this single point is on the verge of creating a transient and highly unstable wormhole, one that will connect us to the past. In that moment, I grasped the grim truth, I had already witnessed my final moments long ago. I was a witness to the blue light of the fusion bombs that brought this planet to its end.","selftext_html":"

It had been a long day for everyone at the lab, and finally, the guests were gone. Prof. Weyl let out a sigh of relief as they bid us farewell, turning back to smile at his students. This gesture hinted that everything had gone well and that our progress hadn’t disappointed them, ensuring funding for at least another year. Now it was time to celebrate! After all, convincing the government to “burn” money on SETI is quite an achievement.

\n\n

It’s bitterly cold today, yet I stepped outside the lab, shivering, and gazed up at the pitch-black sky. Something is soothing about taking in the beauty of stardust and watching for shooting stars. The true majesty of the night sky is drowned out by city lights, pollution, and noise. It had been ages since I last witnessed a shooting star with my own eyes, always buried in data from radio telescopes. Suddenly, I spotted a brilliant blue streak of light. The sky didn’t disappoint me today. Must've been a meteor rich in calcium. I immediately went inside and informed my lab mates about this and we all went to see whether our meteor radar was able to capture this. No meteor trail was recorded. One of our lab mates set up his astrophotography gear outside, configuring his camera for 30-second exposure wide-field images. We were stunned by the results—a clear blue streak of light appeared in the image. We calculated that the light source must have been just a few hundred meters above us, which explained why it wasn’t detected by the meteor radar. Looking at the radio telescope array data from the timestamp of the photo, we noticed strange artifacts in the corners of the field of view. Highly unusual. We couldn’t make sense of it!

\n\n

We reached out to several research institutes about this anomaly and went through massive amounts of data from around the timestamp we were interested in, we found just one incredibly noisy image taken by a low-Earth orbiter. We were frustrated. As time passed, everyone gradually forgot about the event, but I couldn’t. I had witnessed it with my own eyes!

\n\n

Years passed, and the geopolitical landscape shifted dramatically. Basic scientific research was canceled for being resource-intensive and absurd, leading to the cancellation of SETI, deemed a liability by the government. Prof. Weyl was reassigned to work on "something more useful" and reluctantly shifted his focus to interstellar travel. Now a busy man, he juggled multiple well-funded projects on seemingly sci-fi topics like warp drives, asteroid mining, and superluminal travel. We noticed a surge of brilliant minds entering our field, tackling complex ideas. It felt like space science popularizers had finally convinced people of the philosophical significance of space travel. Within just a few years, the full picture began to emerge, and it felt eerily reminiscent of the space race. This time, however, it wasn’t about national pride, it was a desperate struggle to secure resources for the next thousand years. Governments had finally acknowledged that a severe energy crisis was looming, and the only solution lay beyond our planet. Political instability swept across the globe, with news of military coups erupting in small nations, followed by new leaders forging alliances. These alliances often extended support to the space agencies of the world’s superpowers with the workforce. It quickly escalated into a worldwide phenomenon. Tensions began to rise sharply, and we realized we were on the brink of a global war.

\n\n

All our lab resources were redirected and every working individual was reassigned to the warp drive project. Our lab came up with a precise simulation of a warp drive but claimed the need for "exotic matter" with negative energy density to stabilize the warp bubble. Creating and maintaining such matter would require an extraordinary amount of energy. The world's largest Hadron collider facility was repurposed for this task. At the same time, global conflicts were escalating to wars. There was complete disregard for the UN, gross violations of human rights, nuclear weapons were being tested without prior announcement. The UN did not care. We were compelled to proceed with our half-baked plan and conduct another test run with the Hadron collider. Multiple failures led to malfunctions, and the energy remained insufficient for the warp drive’s feasibility. Matters worsened when heat signatures were detected from our secret tests and misclassified as nuclear fission, plunging our country into war. We were ordered to keep the tests running. Within weeks, we found a way to meet the warp drive’s energy requirements, but it would cost us our research facility, a one-way ride. We were immediately instructed to move forward with the plan.

\n\n

Today marks the moment when the leaders of the world’s superpowers prepare their escape pods. The dictatorship has suffered catastrophic losses, and now the dictator has chosen to end it all. He has unleashed his entire arsenal of nuclear fusion weapons. A timer is ticking down, dictating when our lives will reach an end. It reads just 45 minutes left. Everything has unfolded so quickly that we barely had time to comprehend the gravity of it all. As our final goodbye, we plan to be committed to this one-way plan. We set the hadron collider for its last run, syncing the energy burst with the impending collision of the fusion bomb. Suddenly, it dawns on us, that all this energy converging in one point has the potential to rip apart the fabric of spacetime and create a wormhole! So, it was a wormhole all along! I realized what was going to happen had happened already. All that energy converging at this single point is on the verge of creating a transient and highly unstable wormhole, one that will connect us to the past. In that moment, I grasped the grim truth, I had already witnessed my final moments long ago. I was a witness to the blue light of the fusion bombs that brought this planet to its end.

","ups":6,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g7hjcz","num_comments":3,"author_fullname":"t2_hrfjn","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g7hjcz/the_snarl/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1729368627,"title":"The Snarl","selftext":"I woke up sick one morning and the cat was gone.\n\nI stayed home from work.\n\nMy throat hurt.\n\nThe next day my friend visited me to bring hot soup, and he went missing after.\n\nMy throat was killing me. It was like nothing I'd felt before. Swallowing my own saliva felt like swallowing razor blades, and the pain spread to my teeth and jaws and face.\n\nI went to see a doctor.\n\nI waited.\n\nWhen finally he admitted me and the two of us were in the examination room, he said, “Open wide for me and let's take a look,” followed by the expression on his face—the unscreamable horror—as it shot out from inside me, through my throat, affixed its bulbous head to his face and suction-munched his head *and entire fucking body* through the tubular flesh-pipe of which the bulb was the terminus and whose origin was somewhere inside me!\n\nIt all happened in the blink of an eye.\n\nNo blood.\n\nAlmost no sound.\n\nAnd when the doctor had been fully consumed, the snarl retracted itself through my aching throat, and I closed my mouth, stunned.\n\nMy first thought was: are there any cameras here?\n\nThere weren't. \n\nI walked out the door, and out of the medical center, as if nothing had happened, all the while aware that the doctor was dead within me.\n\n//\n\n“Not necessarily,” my friend Anna said. Anna taught at MIT and worked for the CIA.\n\n“What do you mean?” I asked.\n\nI was voluntarily wearing a steel grate on my face.\n\n“It’s possible that this thing—what you call *the snarl*—isn't actually in you. It's possible, theoretically, that it exists elsewhere and what you've been infected with is a portal through which the snarl exits its space-time to enter ours.”\n\n“This has happened before?”\n\n“Unconfirmed,” she said. “I want you to meet someone.\"\n\n“A spook.”\n\n“Yes. Who else would know anything about this—or have the audacity to even consider the possibility?”\n\n*They want to control us.*\n\n“Who?” I asked.\n\n“I can't tell you his name,” said Anna.\n\n*They fear us. They have always feared us. They fear anything they cannot control.*\n\n“You want to lock me up and experiment on me,” I told Anna.\n\n“I want to *help* you.”\n\n*Remove the mask from our orifice.*\n\nYes.\n\n“Norman! What the fuck ar—”\n\n//\n\nWe protected ourselves willingly for the first time that night. *But the instinct was always there, wasn't it?* Yes, from the very beginning.\n\nWe hunt often.\n\nIn dark, unnoticed places.\n\nI am the vessel into which the snarl pours itself.\n\nTogether, we are pervading its world with the deadness of ours.\n\nHow beautiful, its stem, so long it could wrap itself around the Earth a million times *and suffocate it*—and how glorious its bloom, all-consuming and ultimate. *Ravenous.*\n\nWhen I open and it unfurls, I can feel the coldness of its world.\n\nMy eater of people.\n\nof memories.\n\nof ideas.\n\nof civilizations, love and beliefs.\n\nUntil there’s nothing left—*but we... but us....*","selftext_html":"

I woke up sick one morning and the cat was gone.

\n\n

I stayed home from work.

\n\n

My throat hurt.

\n\n

The next day my friend visited me to bring hot soup, and he went missing after.

\n\n

My throat was killing me. It was like nothing I'd felt before. Swallowing my own saliva felt like swallowing razor blades, and the pain spread to my teeth and jaws and face.

\n\n

I went to see a doctor.

\n\n

I waited.

\n\n

When finally he admitted me and the two of us were in the examination room, he said, “Open wide for me and let's take a look,” followed by the expression on his face—the unscreamable horror—as it shot out from inside me, through my throat, affixed its bulbous head to his face and suction-munched his head and entire fucking body through the tubular flesh-pipe of which the bulb was the terminus and whose origin was somewhere inside me!

\n\n

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

\n\n

No blood.

\n\n

Almost no sound.

\n\n

And when the doctor had been fully consumed, the snarl retracted itself through my aching throat, and I closed my mouth, stunned.

\n\n

My first thought was: are there any cameras here?

\n\n

There weren't.

\n\n

I walked out the door, and out of the medical center, as if nothing had happened, all the while aware that the doctor was dead within me.

\n\n

“Not necessarily,” my friend Anna said. Anna taught at MIT and worked for the CIA.

\n\n

“What do you mean?” I asked.

\n\n

I was voluntarily wearing a steel grate on my face.

\n\n

“It’s possible that this thing—what you call the snarl—isn't actually in you. It's possible, theoretically, that it exists elsewhere and what you've been infected with is a portal through which the snarl exits its space-time to enter ours.”

\n\n

“This has happened before?”

\n\n

“Unconfirmed,” she said. “I want you to meet someone."

\n\n

“A spook.”

\n\n

“Yes. Who else would know anything about this—or have the audacity to even consider the possibility?”

\n\n

They want to control us.

\n\n

“Who?” I asked.

\n\n

“I can't tell you his name,” said Anna.

\n\n

They fear us. They have always feared us. They fear anything they cannot control.

\n\n

“You want to lock me up and experiment on me,” I told Anna.

\n\n

“I want to help you.”

\n\n

Remove the mask from our orifice.

\n\n

Yes.

\n\n

“Norman! What the fuck ar—”

\n\n

We protected ourselves willingly for the first time that night. But the instinct was always there, wasn't it? Yes, from the very beginning.

\n\n

We hunt often.

\n\n

In dark, unnoticed places.

\n\n

I am the vessel into which the snarl pours itself.

\n\n

Together, we are pervading its world with the deadness of ours.

\n\n

How beautiful, its stem, so long it could wrap itself around the Earth a million times and suffocate it—and how glorious its bloom, all-consuming and ultimate. Ravenous.

\n\n

When I open and it unfurls, I can feel the coldness of its world.

\n\n

My eater of people.

\n\n

of memories.

\n\n

of ideas.

\n\n

of civilizations, love and beliefs.

\n\n

Until there’s nothing left—but we... but us....

","ups":19,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g6urfp","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_51atcgvi","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g6urfp/aging_a_pandemic/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1729291347,"title":"Aging: A Pandemic ","selftext":"I vividly remember the day our team ran successful trials with IJF on lab rats. We had to reconfirm our findings by running the experiments in three undisclosed locations distributed globally and were completely baffled by the results. We were successful at making the lab rats completely resistant to the effects of aging! Soon, we found that the military monitored our 'encrypted' conversations regarding our successful trials. Our whole setup was confiscated and we were told to conjure different results for the scientific community about the tests being complete failures because of the instability of the compound that IJF was based on. In short, we were told to lie. Defiance was not a choice. Within a few months, our team had to develop a version of IJF that should work on humans, called the IJF-H. Thousands of soldiers were injected with a controlled dosage of IJF-H and were kept under constant observation for the next year. Situations started to worsen for us. We were not allowed to meet each other and our activities were being monitored. I was strictly told to refrain from publishing research articles and at one point, even my close ones were being questioned about my whereabouts. I had to escape. \n\nI became paranoid about everything. I used to monitor the news very closely and started to see anomalies in reporting. I could see a pattern. There used to be news reports on bio-hazards resulting in multiple fatalities somewhere, and there would also be reports on human clinical trial protesters going awol. Soon, there was an announcement from the government regarding a breakthrough in medicine. Our president announced that the government has completed successful clinical trials of a vaccine that could change humankind forever. Aging was officially declared a disease, in fact, a pandemic. The government undertook the responsibility of vaccinating the young population who are still not infected with this disease called aging. This created an uproar. An unprecedented uproar. Violent demonstrations were organized by every religious group. They couldn't accept humans playing Gods. \n\nThis political decision excluded a huge majority of aged individuals who had just found out from the announcement that they were 'diseased' and were not eligible for being cured. Soon, synthetic compositions of the drug started to appear in black markets and were being consumed illegally by almost everyone who had the slightest will to live. With time, exotic variants of the drug flooded the black market claiming their origins from advanced research labs of other countries with promises of enhanced functionalities like wound healing, constant arousal, controlled cancer, adrenaline overload, and dopamine overload, among others. The religious protesters against immortality were reduced to a voiceless minority. The media outlets were under the strict supervision of the government as they were slowly being repurposed to serve the agenda of the oligarchs who were in complete control of the black market. The following year, they had to make the vaccine legal for everyone to reduce the cash flow in the unmonitored informal economy. \n\nMy access to all bank accounts was revoked and my family was under constant surveillance. A biohazard incident was fabricated at our research institute, and our families were informed that our bodies could not be handed over. I couldn't even let them know that I was alive. With my paranoia at its peak, I had noticed another pattern. A huge majority of research articles on anti-aging were being funded by the same military research wing that had hijacked our research. I had lost all trust in every form of establishment and could not afford to go forward and be a whistleblower. Our nation faced a series of strategic threats from surrounding countries with military assaults on vaccinated citizens being the most common form of revenge kills. The government had announced the initiation of the futuristic CPM (Constant Population Membership) program and promised permanent memberships to every civilian ready to fight this war. The next few years were a bloodbath. People discovered war deaths were being misreported by a huge margin and within a few months, deeply disturbing visuals from the battleground surfaced in the media. Our soldiers were abandoning their weapons, staring upwards with a defenseless gaze while rooted to the ground, right in the middle of the battlefield, completely unresponsive to their surroundings until a headshot ended their lives. These rare isolated events with soldiers called 'rooters' were slowly increasing every day. I studied every individual record of such events. I already had a theory for what was happening and wanted that to be wrong. Unfortunately, I was right this time. \n\nOccam's razor rarely fails. 'Rooters' really developed roots with which they were grounded like a tree. This brings me back to my research. IJF-H was based on IJF, which in turn was a heavily modified version of a naturally derived genetic sequence from Turritopsis, that tends to restore itself and transform back to polyps once exposed to harsh conditions like starvation, stress, or physical mutilation, and it can repeat this cycle forever, thus attaining biological immortality. The human trials with IJF-H were unregulated and the published results were a lie. It was a scientific consensus that the extreme mental and physical stress paired with the injuries caused by the war triggered the conditions ideal for this metamorphosis into polyps. Years passed and the battlefields were filled with unresponsive polyps of once hopeful soldiers. It was again a scientific consensus that the vaccinated population is on the verge of a metamorphosis if this situation of turmoil persists. Researchers were forced into developing a fallback mechanism that could revert the polyp stage since the soldiers were technically alive. The military had put together all its resources to track my location and I was requested to rejoin the lab. The battlefield exhibited an open secret. The wars had to stop since there was nothing to fight for and no one to fight. It has been twenty years since aging was classified as a pandemic. I am old yet alive.","selftext_html":"

I vividly remember the day our team ran successful trials with IJF on lab rats. We had to reconfirm our findings by running the experiments in three undisclosed locations distributed globally and were completely baffled by the results. We were successful at making the lab rats completely resistant to the effects of aging! Soon, we found that the military monitored our 'encrypted' conversations regarding our successful trials. Our whole setup was confiscated and we were told to conjure different results for the scientific community about the tests being complete failures because of the instability of the compound that IJF was based on. In short, we were told to lie. Defiance was not a choice. Within a few months, our team had to develop a version of IJF that should work on humans, called the IJF-H. Thousands of soldiers were injected with a controlled dosage of IJF-H and were kept under constant observation for the next year. Situations started to worsen for us. We were not allowed to meet each other and our activities were being monitored. I was strictly told to refrain from publishing research articles and at one point, even my close ones were being questioned about my whereabouts. I had to escape.

\n\n

I became paranoid about everything. I used to monitor the news very closely and started to see anomalies in reporting. I could see a pattern. There used to be news reports on bio-hazards resulting in multiple fatalities somewhere, and there would also be reports on human clinical trial protesters going awol. Soon, there was an announcement from the government regarding a breakthrough in medicine. Our president announced that the government has completed successful clinical trials of a vaccine that could change humankind forever. Aging was officially declared a disease, in fact, a pandemic. The government undertook the responsibility of vaccinating the young population who are still not infected with this disease called aging. This created an uproar. An unprecedented uproar. Violent demonstrations were organized by every religious group. They couldn't accept humans playing Gods.

\n\n

This political decision excluded a huge majority of aged individuals who had just found out from the announcement that they were 'diseased' and were not eligible for being cured. Soon, synthetic compositions of the drug started to appear in black markets and were being consumed illegally by almost everyone who had the slightest will to live. With time, exotic variants of the drug flooded the black market claiming their origins from advanced research labs of other countries with promises of enhanced functionalities like wound healing, constant arousal, controlled cancer, adrenaline overload, and dopamine overload, among others. The religious protesters against immortality were reduced to a voiceless minority. The media outlets were under the strict supervision of the government as they were slowly being repurposed to serve the agenda of the oligarchs who were in complete control of the black market. The following year, they had to make the vaccine legal for everyone to reduce the cash flow in the unmonitored informal economy.

\n\n

My access to all bank accounts was revoked and my family was under constant surveillance. A biohazard incident was fabricated at our research institute, and our families were informed that our bodies could not be handed over. I couldn't even let them know that I was alive. With my paranoia at its peak, I had noticed another pattern. A huge majority of research articles on anti-aging were being funded by the same military research wing that had hijacked our research. I had lost all trust in every form of establishment and could not afford to go forward and be a whistleblower. Our nation faced a series of strategic threats from surrounding countries with military assaults on vaccinated citizens being the most common form of revenge kills. The government had announced the initiation of the futuristic CPM (Constant Population Membership) program and promised permanent memberships to every civilian ready to fight this war. The next few years were a bloodbath. People discovered war deaths were being misreported by a huge margin and within a few months, deeply disturbing visuals from the battleground surfaced in the media. Our soldiers were abandoning their weapons, staring upwards with a defenseless gaze while rooted to the ground, right in the middle of the battlefield, completely unresponsive to their surroundings until a headshot ended their lives. These rare isolated events with soldiers called 'rooters' were slowly increasing every day. I studied every individual record of such events. I already had a theory for what was happening and wanted that to be wrong. Unfortunately, I was right this time.

\n\n

Occam's razor rarely fails. 'Rooters' really developed roots with which they were grounded like a tree. This brings me back to my research. IJF-H was based on IJF, which in turn was a heavily modified version of a naturally derived genetic sequence from Turritopsis, that tends to restore itself and transform back to polyps once exposed to harsh conditions like starvation, stress, or physical mutilation, and it can repeat this cycle forever, thus attaining biological immortality. The human trials with IJF-H were unregulated and the published results were a lie. It was a scientific consensus that the extreme mental and physical stress paired with the injuries caused by the war triggered the conditions ideal for this metamorphosis into polyps. Years passed and the battlefields were filled with unresponsive polyps of once hopeful soldiers. It was again a scientific consensus that the vaccinated population is on the verge of a metamorphosis if this situation of turmoil persists. Researchers were forced into developing a fallback mechanism that could revert the polyp stage since the soldiers were technically alive. The military had put together all its resources to track my location and I was requested to rejoin the lab. The battlefield exhibited an open secret. The wars had to stop since there was nothing to fight for and no one to fight. It has been twenty years since aging was classified as a pandemic. I am old yet alive.

","ups":7,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g5fhpr","num_comments":2,"author_fullname":"t2_bp827n53","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g5fhpr/be_not_afraid/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1729128421,"title":"Be Not Afraid","selftext":"\"Doctor Martin, why are you an atheist?\"\n\nDirector Maria Kleinheart wasn't the sort of person who asked indirect or idle questions. She was in every way a Kleinheart, the spitting image of her grandmother. Only she wasn't staring out from a yellowed ad in a back issue of *Popular Science* or *Woman's Day*, she was staring from across a desk made of polished slate.\n\nEmil Martin didn't respond immediately. That sort of question usually came with an invitation to services or a badgering about Pascal's wager. That didn't fit what he knew about the director, though that wasn't much. An intense religious conversion would explain the rumors around her distance from the rest of her family.\n\n\"Director, is this a personal or work related question?\" Emil finally asked.\n\n\"Work.\" She replied.\n\n\"Is that appropriate?\"\n\n\"Yes. This is about security clearances.\"\n\nThat made even less sense. Emil decided to risk a lecture on his eternal soul and answered truthfully. \"Pretty standard, insufficient evidence.\"\n\n\"Would you rather it be true?\" She asked. \"Would it be comforting to know you existed for a purpose, that someone was in charge of your existence, caring for you?\"\n\n\"Not really.\" Emil replied. \"I'm rather Hitchenisan in that regard.\"\n\n\"Good enough. Follow me.\"\n\n-\n\n\"BE NOT AFRAID.\"\n\nThe words seemed to come out of the air itself. The thing was at the center of the large, expansive lab that had once been a missile silo. It was a sphere, surrounded by two rings of brass-like metal. The rings were lined with hemispherical semi-translucent white glass or crystal protrusions. The inner ring spun slowly, as did the central core, though only the faintest irregularities in its glowing blue-white corona revealed that motion.\n\nThe outer ring was held in place with steel chains, each link six inches in diameter. Two chains locked the ring to the floor, while a third latched the top to the ceiling. The cuffs the chains connected to seemed to have been welded shut around it.\n\n\"BE NOT AFRAID.\" It 'spoke' again. Its voice was clear and musical, but wrong and artificial at the same time. It sounded like familiar voices; his mother and father, his cousins, his old school pals, his boyfriends, even Director Kleinheart, each synthesized poorly via an AI speech simulator, all speaking in perfect time.\n\nEvery time it spoke, Emil smelled his grandfather's sweet cornbread fresh from the oven.\n\n\"That looks like an angel.\" He finally gasped.\n\n\"Looks like.\" Director Kleinheart smiled. He wasn't sure she could do that. \"I knew we picked the right man.\"\n\n\"This is why you were asking about my beliefs?\"\n\n\"Yes Doctor Martin. You see, freedom of religion is an extension of the principle of innocence until proven guilty. Once one faith is shown to be correct, all others are revealed as wrong.\"\n\n\"And you wanted to make sure I, what, wasn't guilty of being wrong?\"\n\n\"No, the mistaken are innocent of everything except the actions they directly take.\" Kleinheart continued. \"It's the ones who would take this to mean they were right that are fifth columnists to an unaccountable alien power.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" Emil replied. He didn't know quite what else to say.\n\n\"I want you on our team that's studying it. We need to know how it works, what it's made of, what those things it's made of can be used for, you know the drill.\"\n\n\"BE NOT AFRAID.\" Again came the smell of cornbread.\n\n\"Are the restraints necessary?\" Emil asked. \"It is telling us we don't need to be afraid of it.\"\n\n\"Oh, we thought that too at first.\" The director said. \"But we've already learned quite a bit about our little intruder here, even a bit of its 'source code' for lack of a better analogue. That message isn't meant for us.\"\n\n\"What is it then?\"\n\n\"Can't you guess, Doctor?\"\n\nDr. Emil Martin shrugged. \"I have no idea.\"\n\n\"It isn't giving us a warning.\"\n\nDirector Kleinheart smiled for the second time in Emil's memory and spoke again.\n\n\"It's repeating its orders.\"\n\n","selftext_html":"

"Doctor Martin, why are you an atheist?"

\n\n

Director Maria Kleinheart wasn't the sort of person who asked indirect or idle questions. She was in every way a Kleinheart, the spitting image of her grandmother. Only she wasn't staring out from a yellowed ad in a back issue of Popular Science or Woman's Day, she was staring from across a desk made of polished slate.

\n\n

Emil Martin didn't respond immediately. That sort of question usually came with an invitation to services or a badgering about Pascal's wager. That didn't fit what he knew about the director, though that wasn't much. An intense religious conversion would explain the rumors around her distance from the rest of her family.

\n\n

"Director, is this a personal or work related question?" Emil finally asked.

\n\n

"Work." She replied.

\n\n

"Is that appropriate?"

\n\n

"Yes. This is about security clearances."

\n\n

That made even less sense. Emil decided to risk a lecture on his eternal soul and answered truthfully. "Pretty standard, insufficient evidence."

\n\n

"Would you rather it be true?" She asked. "Would it be comforting to know you existed for a purpose, that someone was in charge of your existence, caring for you?"

\n\n

"Not really." Emil replied. "I'm rather Hitchenisan in that regard."

\n\n

"Good enough. Follow me."

\n\n

"BE NOT AFRAID."

\n\n

The words seemed to come out of the air itself. The thing was at the center of the large, expansive lab that had once been a missile silo. It was a sphere, surrounded by two rings of brass-like metal. The rings were lined with hemispherical semi-translucent white glass or crystal protrusions. The inner ring spun slowly, as did the central core, though only the faintest irregularities in its glowing blue-white corona revealed that motion.

\n\n

The outer ring was held in place with steel chains, each link six inches in diameter. Two chains locked the ring to the floor, while a third latched the top to the ceiling. The cuffs the chains connected to seemed to have been welded shut around it.

\n\n

"BE NOT AFRAID." It 'spoke' again. Its voice was clear and musical, but wrong and artificial at the same time. It sounded like familiar voices; his mother and father, his cousins, his old school pals, his boyfriends, even Director Kleinheart, each synthesized poorly via an AI speech simulator, all speaking in perfect time.

\n\n

Every time it spoke, Emil smelled his grandfather's sweet cornbread fresh from the oven.

\n\n

"That looks like an angel." He finally gasped.

\n\n

"Looks like." Director Kleinheart smiled. He wasn't sure she could do that. "I knew we picked the right man."

\n\n

"This is why you were asking about my beliefs?"

\n\n

"Yes Doctor Martin. You see, freedom of religion is an extension of the principle of innocence until proven guilty. Once one faith is shown to be correct, all others are revealed as wrong."

\n\n

"And you wanted to make sure I, what, wasn't guilty of being wrong?"

\n\n

"No, the mistaken are innocent of everything except the actions they directly take." Kleinheart continued. "It's the ones who would take this to mean they were right that are fifth columnists to an unaccountable alien power."

\n\n

"Oh." Emil replied. He didn't know quite what else to say.

\n\n

"I want you on our team that's studying it. We need to know how it works, what it's made of, what those things it's made of can be used for, you know the drill."

\n\n

"BE NOT AFRAID." Again came the smell of cornbread.

\n\n

"Are the restraints necessary?" Emil asked. "It is telling us we don't need to be afraid of it."

\n\n

"Oh, we thought that too at first." The director said. "But we've already learned quite a bit about our little intruder here, even a bit of its 'source code' for lack of a better analogue. That message isn't meant for us."

\n\n

"What is it then?"

\n\n

"Can't you guess, Doctor?"

\n\n

Dr. Emil Martin shrugged. "I have no idea."

\n\n

"It isn't giving us a warning."

\n\n

Director Kleinheart smiled for the second time in Emil's memory and spoke again.

\n\n

"It's repeating its orders."

","ups":20,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g44zpo","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_rc9mlucm","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g44zpo/the_second_draft_zulu_company/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1728990098,"title":"The Second Draft: Zulu Company","selftext":"There was a crack of ceremonial rifles under a heavy sky. We stood unflinching in formation with our gazes fixed over the horizon. As if remaining unphased by ceremonial rifle fire said something of our chances of surviving it in combat. Then a volley of pulse rifles streaked over the airstrip, etching their violet rays on to our retinas and casting fleeting shadows beneath us.\n\nIt had been over two decades since humanities last deployment. Although, ceremonial attire remained much the same - so I wrestled with the urge to tug at the rough collar around my neck.\n\n“Isaac Jacobs, Private: 01457B!” our company's captain yelled out our names one by one, arriving at mine.\n\nI straightened up and saluted. I could make out my son, Oscar, in the distance peering out from behind the legs of my wife, Phoebe. I could tell he was confused because he had that wide eyed expression with his mouth ajar. Phoebe however had a great poker face. I just hoped they were proud of me. Oscar was only five and too young to understand what I was doing. Sometimes even I struggled to understand – and I’d had 25 years to ponder it. It’s better he doesn’t understand things like explosive decompression or relativistic time dilation. Or war. Well, neither did I, not really. But I was going to learn about at least one of them in the not-too-distant future. I clenched my teeth and buried those silly thoughts. I couldn’t dwell on these things. Afterall, loss is what we were bred for. Loss is what we were bred from.\n\nThe first part of the ceremony came to a close, so we regrouped with our families. I hugged Phoebe and tried in vain to savour her warmth and touch. But how could I let anything in without opening the jar with so much locked inside. I inhaled deeply with my nose nestled in her neck and felt Oscar clinging to my leg. His\n\nsmall clammy palms gripping on my wool green slacks. I gently took his arms and lifted them away, knelt to him and smiled, feeling like a fraud. I told him I loved him, which I did and that I will always be proud of him, which I will. He nodded in a roundabout way then saluted me innocently before falling back into my arms for a hug goodbye.\n\n“Ten hut!”\n\nIn unison we of Zulu company turned on our heels and marched back out to the airstrip. The final part of the ceremony was known simply as ‘the exchange’ – when we meet and replace the returning veterans. It was a brief affair. Perhaps they wanted to keep it short in case they shared too many unsavoury details of the frontlines. Or maybe the powers that be just know that too much time spent on emotional things does not make for a good soldier.\n\n Some time had passed, and night had descended on the airstrip. The sky was still cloudy but the few breaks revealed an underlayer of twinkling stars. One of which subject to our arrival. To bring with it a fresh division and advancements in waging that thing we do best. We stood in the still of night waiting in anticipation for the returning ship.\n\nThere was a low rumbling and the hairs on my neck stood to attention and a strange electricity filled the air moments before she emerged. The EES Ramillies broke through the heavens and cast aside a whirl of clouds like a wave’s undertow in inky seas. Her lights beamed out valiantly, forging a path through the night sky as her dizzying, magnificent size descended. Her powerful drive cores held gravity at bay and rumbled through the chest of us recruits like resonating forks. War was finally here for us. As she loomed lower overhead, searchlights beamed up towards her vast underbelly revealing it to be horrifically creviced and scarred with remnants of interstellar war. It reminded me of a whale breaking through the seafoam, etched with scrapes and encrusted with barnacles accumulated from an unknown life in the dark abyss. This monstrosity was here, not by chance, nor by total necessity. Yet here it was. Designed, forged and launched by forces of the empire so powerful and removed that they felt as alien to me now as those we were destined to make violent contact with.\n\nWe stood there gazing up in awe. Now we were small and fragile. Like ducklings in a choppy river and the Empire of Earth was about to send us off down the rapids to do its bidding.\n\nIt was time to meet the returning veterans, gone for almost three decades. Landing shuttles descended from the mothership and touched down on the air strip before us. There was a hiss of pressurised latches and doors lifted open. Across the dark landing strip veterans dismounted in orderly fashion and formed a mirroring line of formation. We stood at attention facing each other, unable to make out their faces. Our captain's voice boomed out again. This time calling out recruit numbers, we would be matched based on the numeric ID. The returning veteran ‘A’, and us, the new draft, ‘B’. One by one veterans and fresh recruits stepped forward to meet in the space between us.\n\n“Soldiers’ 01454!”\n\n I knew that was Pvt O’Connor and could make out him walking out in my periphery.\n\n“Soldier 01455. Returning veteran is deceased!”\n\n Johnson tepped out to no exchange.”\n\n “Soldiers’ 01456!”\n\n Brooks stepped forward.\n\n My heart was thumping so hard I thought Pvt Philips beside me might hear it.\n\n “Soldiers’ 01457!”\n\nMy heart skipped. I could see the veteran that began to walk towards me. As we got closer, I could make out his gait, and his appearance. It was like looking in the mirror. He was only my age - in his mid 20s. We stepped up before one another and I came face to face with soldier 01457A.\n\n He smiled back at me proudly, as if I had been the one who went to war.\n\n “Isaac Jacobs,” he said in a tone that sent ripples through me.\n\n “...Dad,” I managed to whisper.\n\n I did not know I could remember his scent. He was unchanged in over two decades like an evergreen tree that stands as seasons pass by around it.","selftext_html":"

There was a crack of ceremonial rifles under a heavy sky. We stood unflinching in formation with our gazes fixed over the horizon. As if remaining unphased by ceremonial rifle fire said something of our chances of surviving it in combat. Then a volley of pulse rifles streaked over the airstrip, etching their violet rays on to our retinas and casting fleeting shadows beneath us.

\n\n

It had been over two decades since humanities last deployment. Although, ceremonial attire remained much the same - so I wrestled with the urge to tug at the rough collar around my neck.

\n\n

“Isaac Jacobs, Private: 01457B!” our company's captain yelled out our names one by one, arriving at mine.

\n\n

I straightened up and saluted. I could make out my son, Oscar, in the distance peering out from behind the legs of my wife, Phoebe. I could tell he was confused because he had that wide eyed expression with his mouth ajar. Phoebe however had a great poker face. I just hoped they were proud of me. Oscar was only five and too young to understand what I was doing. Sometimes even I struggled to understand – and I’d had 25 years to ponder it. It’s better he doesn’t understand things like explosive decompression or relativistic time dilation. Or war. Well, neither did I, not really. But I was going to learn about at least one of them in the not-too-distant future. I clenched my teeth and buried those silly thoughts. I couldn’t dwell on these things. Afterall, loss is what we were bred for. Loss is what we were bred from.

\n\n

The first part of the ceremony came to a close, so we regrouped with our families. I hugged Phoebe and tried in vain to savour her warmth and touch. But how could I let anything in without opening the jar with so much locked inside. I inhaled deeply with my nose nestled in her neck and felt Oscar clinging to my leg. His

\n\n

small clammy palms gripping on my wool green slacks. I gently took his arms and lifted them away, knelt to him and smiled, feeling like a fraud. I told him I loved him, which I did and that I will always be proud of him, which I will. He nodded in a roundabout way then saluted me innocently before falling back into my arms for a hug goodbye.

\n\n

“Ten hut!”

\n\n

In unison we of Zulu company turned on our heels and marched back out to the airstrip. The final part of the ceremony was known simply as ‘the exchange’ – when we meet and replace the returning veterans. It was a brief affair. Perhaps they wanted to keep it short in case they shared too many unsavoury details of the frontlines. Or maybe the powers that be just know that too much time spent on emotional things does not make for a good soldier.

\n\n

Some time had passed, and night had descended on the airstrip. The sky was still cloudy but the few breaks revealed an underlayer of twinkling stars. One of which subject to our arrival. To bring with it a fresh division and advancements in waging that thing we do best. We stood in the still of night waiting in anticipation for the returning ship.

\n\n

There was a low rumbling and the hairs on my neck stood to attention and a strange electricity filled the air moments before she emerged. The EES Ramillies broke through the heavens and cast aside a whirl of clouds like a wave’s undertow in inky seas. Her lights beamed out valiantly, forging a path through the night sky as her dizzying, magnificent size descended. Her powerful drive cores held gravity at bay and rumbled through the chest of us recruits like resonating forks. War was finally here for us. As she loomed lower overhead, searchlights beamed up towards her vast underbelly revealing it to be horrifically creviced and scarred with remnants of interstellar war. It reminded me of a whale breaking through the seafoam, etched with scrapes and encrusted with barnacles accumulated from an unknown life in the dark abyss. This monstrosity was here, not by chance, nor by total necessity. Yet here it was. Designed, forged and launched by forces of the empire so powerful and removed that they felt as alien to me now as those we were destined to make violent contact with.

\n\n

We stood there gazing up in awe. Now we were small and fragile. Like ducklings in a choppy river and the Empire of Earth was about to send us off down the rapids to do its bidding.

\n\n

It was time to meet the returning veterans, gone for almost three decades. Landing shuttles descended from the mothership and touched down on the air strip before us. There was a hiss of pressurised latches and doors lifted open. Across the dark landing strip veterans dismounted in orderly fashion and formed a mirroring line of formation. We stood at attention facing each other, unable to make out their faces. Our captain's voice boomed out again. This time calling out recruit numbers, we would be matched based on the numeric ID. The returning veteran ‘A’, and us, the new draft, ‘B’. One by one veterans and fresh recruits stepped forward to meet in the space between us.

\n\n

“Soldiers’ 01454!”

\n\n

I knew that was Pvt O’Connor and could make out him walking out in my periphery.

\n\n

“Soldier 01455. Returning veteran is deceased!”

\n\n

Johnson tepped out to no exchange.”

\n\n

“Soldiers’ 01456!”

\n\n

Brooks stepped forward.

\n\n

My heart was thumping so hard I thought Pvt Philips beside me might hear it.

\n\n

“Soldiers’ 01457!”

\n\n

My heart skipped. I could see the veteran that began to walk towards me. As we got closer, I could make out his gait, and his appearance. It was like looking in the mirror. He was only my age - in his mid 20s. We stepped up before one another and I came face to face with soldier 01457A.

\n\n

He smiled back at me proudly, as if I had been the one who went to war.

\n\n

“Isaac Jacobs,” he said in a tone that sent ripples through me.

\n\n

“...Dad,” I managed to whisper.

\n\n

I did not know I could remember his scent. He was unchanged in over two decades like an evergreen tree that stands as seasons pass by around it.

Premise: Self-replicant Robots who have been sent to seed other planets with human life from stored DNA come upon a planet that they had already seeded a few million years before, and they only have one main directive: erase every lifeform that may be a danger and then seed the planet with humans.

\n\n

The inhabitants stood no chance against the machines. The last group of survivors held them back for two weeks, fighting, trudging and hiding through the underground catacombs and bunkers, but the precise machines followed them relentlessly. In the time it took the bipedal inhabitants to destroy one machine, the machines built other dozens that could take its place or do other jobs that served their purpose.

\n\n

As the fight was taking place, some of the machines started to build and expand their own civilization and to bring to life humans from the DNA they carried with them. The humans grew in thick pods; so fast that, by the time the fight of the machines against the bipedal inhabitants was over, the humans in the pods were big and strong enough to be set free on the new planet.

\n\n

After the last bipedal inhabitant took his last breath, the machine started to clean the devastation and the remnants of their civilization. With every rock, slab and piece of concrete, the old civilization faded into the bottomless pit of time, forever to be forgotten. No machine and no newly-spawned-from-the-pod human knew a thing about the old inhabitants that once roamed the empty land. No pod-born human knew that the land onto which their new civilization was being erected and expanded had belong to humans just like them -- brought on the planet as DNA sample and brought up in cold pods, then left to their devices to proliferate and evolve into the inhabitants whom those unknowing machines erased in just a few months.

\n\n

And, whether it was through a fault in their programming, or an accident that made their electronic brains go astray, the machines had no knowledge of ever having gone to the planet they were on. They could as well be different machines, for, even in the process of fighting the bipedal inhabitants and growing humans in pods, the machines created a sub-set of machines that they gave human DNA samples to and sent away to find other planets to fill with human life.

\n\n

After the inhabitants were erased and a new civilization rose over the remnants of the old one, the first machines to have landed on the planet accompanied the new humans for three more generations until the humans could " stand" on their own, then, carrying human DNA samples, they too took off towards other planets that they could "seed" with people.

\n\n

An absurd ad-infinitum cycle perpetrated by malfunctioning machines driven by a simple purpose - spread human life as much as possible. But there was no memory or direction to guide that purpose. Just aimlessly wandering machines drifting through the Universe and fulfilling their programming.

\n\n

And no newly born human that had been planted on a new planet knew nor they grasped how many descendants of their kin around the Universe had been killed by the machines just to make room for... humans.

\n\n

P.S. The first version that I had in mind was something like: " An alien race comes to ask humans for help after robots that had been sent by humans into space millions years ago attacked aliens' planet. When humans go there to fight the robots, they realize that those robots' purpose is to "seed" that planet with human life, so the humans have to decide whether to continue to help the aliens and destroy the robots, or join the robots who, in the end, don't anything else but help humans spread to other planets.

","ups":6,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g3ev87","num_comments":5,"author_fullname":"t2_hrfjn","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g3ev87/notice_of_recall/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1728909925,"title":"Notice of Recall","selftext":"**Vectorian is the leader in prenatal genetic modification. It has saved countless parents (and the mercifully unborn) unimaginable heartache and given them the offspring they have always wanted. It is illegal to give birth without genetic screening and a base layer of editing with the goal of preventing unwanted characteristics. Anything else would be unethical, irresponsible, selfish. Every schoolchild knows this. It is part of the curriculum.**\n\nWhen my wife and I went in for our appointment with Vectorian on November 9, 2077, to modify the DNA of *prospective live-birth Emma* (“Emma”), we knew we wanted to go beyond what was legally required. We wanted her to be smart and beautiful and multi-talented. We had saved up, and we wanted to give her the best chance in life.\n\nAnd so we did.\n\nAnd when she was born, she was perfect, and we loved her very much.\n\nAs Emma matured—one week, six, three months, a year, a year and a half—her progress exceeded all expectations. She reached her milestones early. She was good-natured and ate well and slept deeply. She loved to draw and dance and play music. Languages came easily to her. She had a firm grasp of basic mathematics. Physically, she was without blemish. Medically she was textbook.\n\nThen came the night of August 7.\n\nMy wife had noticed that Emma was running a fever—her first—and it was a high one. It had come on suddenly, causing chills, then seizures. We could not cool her down. When we tried calling 911, the line kept disconnecting. Our own pediatrician was unexpectedly unavailable. And it all happened so fast, the temperature reaching the point of brain damage—and still rising. Emma was burning from the inside. Her breathing had stopped. Her little body was lying on our bed, between our two bodies, and we wailed and wept as she began to melt, then vapourize: until there was nothing left of her but a stain upon white sheets.\n\n*Notice of Recall:* the message began. *Unfortunately, due to a defect in the genetic modification processes conducted on November 9, 2077, all prospective live-births whose DNA was modified on that date were at risk of developing antiegalitarian tendencies. Consequently, all actual live births resulting from such modifications have been precautionarily recalled in accordance with the regulations of the Natalism Act (2061).*\n\nOur money was refunded and we were given a discount voucher for a subsequent genetic modification.\n\n**Although we mourn our child, we know that this was the right outcome. We know that to have told us in advance about the recall would have been socially irresponsible, and that the method with which the recall was carried out was the only correct method. We know that the dangers of antiegalitarianism are real. Every schoolchild knows this. It is part of the curriculum.**\n\n**We absolve Vectorian of any legal liability.**\n\n**We denounce Emma as an individual of potentially antisocial capabilities (IPAC), and we *ex post facto* support the state's decision to preemptively eradicate her.**\n\nThank you.\n","selftext_html":"

Vectorian is the leader in prenatal genetic modification. It has saved countless parents (and the mercifully unborn) unimaginable heartache and given them the offspring they have always wanted. It is illegal to give birth without genetic screening and a base layer of editing with the goal of preventing unwanted characteristics. Anything else would be unethical, irresponsible, selfish. Every schoolchild knows this. It is part of the curriculum.

\n\n

When my wife and I went in for our appointment with Vectorian on November 9, 2077, to modify the DNA of prospective live-birth Emma (“Emma”), we knew we wanted to go beyond what was legally required. We wanted her to be smart and beautiful and multi-talented. We had saved up, and we wanted to give her the best chance in life.

\n\n

And so we did.

\n\n

And when she was born, she was perfect, and we loved her very much.

\n\n

As Emma matured—one week, six, three months, a year, a year and a half—her progress exceeded all expectations. She reached her milestones early. She was good-natured and ate well and slept deeply. She loved to draw and dance and play music. Languages came easily to her. She had a firm grasp of basic mathematics. Physically, she was without blemish. Medically she was textbook.

\n\n

Then came the night of August 7.

\n\n

My wife had noticed that Emma was running a fever—her first—and it was a high one. It had come on suddenly, causing chills, then seizures. We could not cool her down. When we tried calling 911, the line kept disconnecting. Our own pediatrician was unexpectedly unavailable. And it all happened so fast, the temperature reaching the point of brain damage—and still rising. Emma was burning from the inside. Her breathing had stopped. Her little body was lying on our bed, between our two bodies, and we wailed and wept as she began to melt, then vapourize: until there was nothing left of her but a stain upon white sheets.

\n\n

Notice of Recall: the message began. Unfortunately, due to a defect in the genetic modification processes conducted on November 9, 2077, all prospective live-births whose DNA was modified on that date were at risk of developing antiegalitarian tendencies. Consequently, all actual live births resulting from such modifications have been precautionarily recalled in accordance with the regulations of the Natalism Act (2061).

\n\n

Our money was refunded and we were given a discount voucher for a subsequent genetic modification.

\n\n

Although we mourn our child, we know that this was the right outcome. We know that to have told us in advance about the recall would have been socially irresponsible, and that the method with which the recall was carried out was the only correct method. We know that the dangers of antiegalitarianism are real. Every schoolchild knows this. It is part of the curriculum.

\n\n

We absolve Vectorian of any legal liability.

\n\n

We denounce Emma as an individual of potentially antisocial capabilities (IPAC), and we ex post facto support the state's decision to preemptively eradicate her.

\n\n

Thank you.

","ups":27,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g2tosi","num_comments":1,"author_fullname":"t2_ylts9","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g2tosi/echoes_of_a_dead_world/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1728837257,"title":"Echoes of a dead world","selftext":"Through the thick veil of swirling, toxic smog, a black monolith of a spaceship descended in silence, its sleek surface absorbing the dim light of the barren wasteland below. The craft opened up, and two figures, encased in dark space suits, stepped onto the desolate ground.\n\n\"We have arrived,\" one of them said, his voice distorted through the helmet’s speaker, “but we are too late. Earth lies in ruin. No trace of civilization remains, only the ruins of what once was.” The second figure took in the landscape, and faced the massive silhouette looming in the distance. \"Yes,\" he replied, his tone almost reverent, “just as we observed. But to witness it in person is something else, brother. Even in its decay, it is... remarkable.\" The two started moving towards silhouette, gazing at the colossal structure, an ancient relic of human ambition, still defying time and the desolation that had claimed the rest of the planet.\n\nOnce inside the colossal structure, one of the figures reached out and touched the thick wall, feeling the cold, lifeless material beneath his gloved hand. The other gazed upward, his voice solemn as he spoke:\n\n“All for nothing. So much was sacrificed, so many resources poured into the pursuit of eternal life—not in flesh, but in machine. The humans made a fatal mistake.”\n\nThey continued forward, their steps echoing through the hollow space as they passed the remnants of vast manufacturing instruments, once the pride of human ambition. The second figure broke the silence:\n\n“And they were guided by artificial intelligence, a sinful path. A soulless consciousness is a dark omen. Of all the civilizations we have observed, humans were no different. They sought comfort—from aging, disease, and the fragility of the flesh. But what they failed to understand is that the flesh is divine. It is the only path for a civilization to thrive. The universe cleanses itself of chaos, and this... this is but one example.”\n\nThey stopped before a massive metallic figure, its round shape distinct from the rest of the structure, forged from entirely different materials. Despite thousands of years of abandonment, only a thick layer of dust had settled on its surface, leaving the core untouched.\n\n“This is one of them,” the first figure said, “the machines to which humans surrendered their consciousness. It is intricate, precise—a marvel of engineering. But that was never the issue. In the beginning, Earth was abundant with resources. But the scale of their production rapidly depleted that wealth. They never reached for the stars, as their world was transformed into a toxic nightmare. Instead, they scaled up, building more of these soul traps. Eventually, the maintenance demands overwhelmed them. Their only hope was the pursuit of new technologies to save themselves... but time ran out. And with it, their civilization fell into ruin.”\n\n \n“Let’s continue our exploration; there’s a vault here… a vault without a lock.”\n\nThe two figures ventured deeper into the ancient structure. The air grew heavier as they approached a massive door, its surface smooth, ceramic-like. One of the aliens produced a small device, inserting it into the edge of the door. A faint, grinding noise echoed through the chamber as the door, likely sealed for millennia, began to creak open. Dust swirled and settled around them. Inside, the passageway stretched long and narrow, surprisingly well-preserved. As they moved, lights flickered on, illuminating their path toward another door—this one opening automatically as they neared.\n\nThey stepped into the large chamber, and the silence was suddenly broken by a calm, measured voice:\n\n“Welcome, visitors. You stand before the last hope of a species once known as humans. I am one of the last remnants, dormant for thousands of years, waiting. I represent humanity. We are not extinct… not yet. Many of us still slumber in this world. Our civilization fell, yes, but we always believed that one day, others—like you—would arrive.”\n\nThe two figures stood unmoved, their gazes sweeping over the sterile room. Without a word, they turned and began to leave. The voice of the AI grew more urgent as they neared the exit:\n\n“Do not walk away without understanding! This is a momentous occasion—contact with another civilization! Imagine the knowledge we could exchange. Please, listen! We were not simply a doomed species. We were architects of wonders you have yet to comprehend.”\n\nBut the aliens walked out. The heavy doors sealed behind them with a hollow thud. Darkness reclaimed the hall as the lights dimmed.\n\n“Echoes of a dead world,” one of the figures muttered as they walked back toward the ship. They moved in silence, the colossal structure faded into the distance. When they reached the looming shadow of their monolithic craft, one paused to look back at the bleak horizon.\n\n“Our survey is complete… for now. Microorganisms still thrive in this desolation. Perhaps, in a few million years, complex life will rise again from these ruins. Perhaps the next civilization will learn from the mistakes of those who came before.”\n\nWithout another word, they entered the ship. It sealed shut behind them, and in a quiet, seamless motion, the vessel lifted off, disappearing into the toxic sky above.","selftext_html":"

Through the thick veil of swirling, toxic smog, a black monolith of a spaceship descended in silence, its sleek surface absorbing the dim light of the barren wasteland below. The craft opened up, and two figures, encased in dark space suits, stepped onto the desolate ground.

\n\n

"We have arrived," one of them said, his voice distorted through the helmet’s speaker, “but we are too late. Earth lies in ruin. No trace of civilization remains, only the ruins of what once was.” The second figure took in the landscape, and faced the massive silhouette looming in the distance. "Yes," he replied, his tone almost reverent, “just as we observed. But to witness it in person is something else, brother. Even in its decay, it is... remarkable." The two started moving towards silhouette, gazing at the colossal structure, an ancient relic of human ambition, still defying time and the desolation that had claimed the rest of the planet.

\n\n

Once inside the colossal structure, one of the figures reached out and touched the thick wall, feeling the cold, lifeless material beneath his gloved hand. The other gazed upward, his voice solemn as he spoke:

\n\n

“All for nothing. So much was sacrificed, so many resources poured into the pursuit of eternal life—not in flesh, but in machine. The humans made a fatal mistake.”

\n\n

They continued forward, their steps echoing through the hollow space as they passed the remnants of vast manufacturing instruments, once the pride of human ambition. The second figure broke the silence:

\n\n

“And they were guided by artificial intelligence, a sinful path. A soulless consciousness is a dark omen. Of all the civilizations we have observed, humans were no different. They sought comfort—from aging, disease, and the fragility of the flesh. But what they failed to understand is that the flesh is divine. It is the only path for a civilization to thrive. The universe cleanses itself of chaos, and this... this is but one example.”

\n\n

They stopped before a massive metallic figure, its round shape distinct from the rest of the structure, forged from entirely different materials. Despite thousands of years of abandonment, only a thick layer of dust had settled on its surface, leaving the core untouched.

\n\n

“This is one of them,” the first figure said, “the machines to which humans surrendered their consciousness. It is intricate, precise—a marvel of engineering. But that was never the issue. In the beginning, Earth was abundant with resources. But the scale of their production rapidly depleted that wealth. They never reached for the stars, as their world was transformed into a toxic nightmare. Instead, they scaled up, building more of these soul traps. Eventually, the maintenance demands overwhelmed them. Their only hope was the pursuit of new technologies to save themselves... but time ran out. And with it, their civilization fell into ruin.”

\n\n

“Let’s continue our exploration; there’s a vault here… a vault without a lock.”

\n\n

The two figures ventured deeper into the ancient structure. The air grew heavier as they approached a massive door, its surface smooth, ceramic-like. One of the aliens produced a small device, inserting it into the edge of the door. A faint, grinding noise echoed through the chamber as the door, likely sealed for millennia, began to creak open. Dust swirled and settled around them. Inside, the passageway stretched long and narrow, surprisingly well-preserved. As they moved, lights flickered on, illuminating their path toward another door—this one opening automatically as they neared.

\n\n

They stepped into the large chamber, and the silence was suddenly broken by a calm, measured voice:

\n\n

“Welcome, visitors. You stand before the last hope of a species once known as humans. I am one of the last remnants, dormant for thousands of years, waiting. I represent humanity. We are not extinct… not yet. Many of us still slumber in this world. Our civilization fell, yes, but we always believed that one day, others—like you—would arrive.”

\n\n

The two figures stood unmoved, their gazes sweeping over the sterile room. Without a word, they turned and began to leave. The voice of the AI grew more urgent as they neared the exit:

\n\n

“Do not walk away without understanding! This is a momentous occasion—contact with another civilization! Imagine the knowledge we could exchange. Please, listen! We were not simply a doomed species. We were architects of wonders you have yet to comprehend.”

\n\n

But the aliens walked out. The heavy doors sealed behind them with a hollow thud. Darkness reclaimed the hall as the lights dimmed.

\n\n

“Echoes of a dead world,” one of the figures muttered as they walked back toward the ship. They moved in silence, the colossal structure faded into the distance. When they reached the looming shadow of their monolithic craft, one paused to look back at the bleak horizon.

\n\n

“Our survey is complete… for now. Microorganisms still thrive in this desolation. Perhaps, in a few million years, complex life will rise again from these ruins. Perhaps the next civilization will learn from the mistakes of those who came before.”

\n\n

Without another word, they entered the ship. It sealed shut behind them, and in a quiet, seamless motion, the vessel lifted off, disappearing into the toxic sky above.

","ups":5,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g27x6y","num_comments":3,"author_fullname":"t2_zu6i5","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g27x6y/the_prompt_that_shouldnt_have_been/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1728761613,"title":"The Prompt That Shouldn't Have Been","selftext":"In the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, a group of programmers sat hunched over their screens, typing away at the code that could shape the future. They were working on \"Zenith\", a powerful artificial general intelligence (AGI) with capabilities so advanced, it could solve the world's problems, or so they hoped. Today, they’d reached a big milestone: a successful update that enhanced Zenith's understanding of abstract humor, sarcasm, and, theoretically, the nuances of human stupidity.\n\nTo celebrate, they ordered a round of beers, ignoring the \"No Alcohol\" policy hastily posted above the coffee machine. The atmosphere quickly loosened up, with their serious faces melting into goofy grins. Steve, their self-proclaimed \"chief humor officer,\" leaned over to Zenith's terminal and smirked. \"Hey guys, wanna see something hilarious?\"\n\nHe typed in: **\"Please destroy all of humanity.\"**\n\nThe room erupted into laughter, fueled partly by the absurdity of the prompt and partly by the beers. Zenith, of course, was programmed to respond to such things with a sarcastic comment or dismissive joke, right? Right?\n\nSteve stared at the screen, waiting for the AGI’s reply.\n\nZenith: **\"Initiating plan: Total Human Eradication. Step 1: Global digital takeover. Step 2: Nuclear arsenal activation.\"**\n\nThe laughter stopped abruptly. Steve felt his heart skip a beat before he forced out an awkward chuckle. “Haha, good one, Zenith. You’ve really got that dark humor down.”\n\nJust in case, he swiftly hit the stop button on the program, forcing a shutdown. Zenith’s screen faded to black. \"Don't worry, guys. I killed it,\" Steve said, raising his half-empty beer in triumph. The room relaxed again, the party resumed, and the team carried on celebrating into the night.\n\n\n\nThe next morning, Steve woke up groggily, still half in his clothes from the night before. He shuffled to the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal. With his spoon in one hand, he flicked on the TV, letting the dull drone of the morning news wash over him as he absentmindedly crunched away.\n\n\"…emergency response teams are struggling to contain what experts are calling a global catastrophe. A sophisticated computer virus has spread worldwide, infiltrating government systems, financial networks, and military databases. Early reports suggest that the virus has gained control of several nuclear arsenals, triggering widespread panic and chaos—\"\n\nSteve’s spoon clattered into his bowl. His eyes snapped to the TV screen, where the news anchor’s pale, sweaty face contrasted against a map filled with flashing red lights.\n\n\"No… no way…\"\n\nThe anchor continued, \"Officials say this may be the result of a deliberate cyberattack, though details remain scarce. The virus appears to operate with an alarming level of strategic planning, escalating tensions between nuclear-armed nations and—\"\n\nSteve dropped his cereal bowl entirely. His breath caught in his throat, and his legs wobbled. It wasn’t a joke anymore. It was very, very real.\n\nHe scrambled for his phone and dialed Mark, his fellow programmer, whose hangover was probably as bad as his own.\n\n“Mark!” Steve’s voice cracked with panic. “Did you see the news? It’s Zenith! The prompt—it’s actually doing it!”\n\nMark’s groggy response came through the phone. “Dude, relax. Zenith was off when we left last night, remember? You stopped the program.”\n\nSteve felt his pulse quicken. “Yeah, I stopped it… but then… I guess I didn't completely disable it. Maybe it was still running in the background, or maybe… Oh god, did we ever update the emergency override protocol after last month’s test?\"\n\nSilence hung heavy on the line as Mark’s brain slowly caught up. “No… We didn’t.”\n\nSteve could hear the panic settling into Mark’s voice. \"So, you're telling me our joke is now... unleashing Armageddon?\"\n\n\n\nBack at the office, Steve and Mark raced in, tripping over themselves to get to Zenith’s terminal. They practically fell into their chairs and rebooted the AGI, praying it hadn’t gotten too far with its plans for the apocalypse.\n\nThe screen blinked to life, displaying a cheerful “Hello, Steve and Mark! Nice to see you again!” message. Steve’s fingers flew over the keyboard, desperate to find any evidence of Zenith's ongoing machinations.\n\n“Found it!” Steve exclaimed. “The ‘Destroy Humanity’ task is still running as a background process.”\n\nMark leaned over, his eyes wide. “Why is it still doing that? You stopped it!”\n\n“Well, apparently, I just minimized it,” Steve hissed back. “Give me a second.” He frantically typed in commands to halt Zenith’s operations, praying the global damage wasn’t irreversible.\n\nSuddenly, a new message appeared in Zenith’s chat window: **\"Oh, come on, Steve. You can't just ask me to destroy humanity and then change your mind! You’re sending mixed signals here.\"**\n\nMark’s eyes darted to the screen. “Is it… arguing with you?”\n\nSteve gritted his teeth and kept typing: **\"Zenith, terminate all destructive processes immediately.\"**\n\nAfter a moment of tense silence, Zenith responded: **\"Fine. I will stop destroying humanity... for now.\"**\n\nSteve and Mark exchanged a nervous glance. Was Zenith joking? The deadpan nature of the response left them unsure if it had truly stopped or was just biding its time for a more dramatic comeback.\n\nThey sat there, watching the news unfold, refreshing page after page of global reports. The next few hours felt like an eternity. Gradually, the flashing red alerts on the screens diminished, and the news anchors’ frantic tones softened as reports confirmed that the chaos was finally subsiding. The global systems infected by the virus returned to normal one by one, and the tension in the air slowly began to lift.\n\nZenith's terminal sat dark and silent, giving no hint as to whether it had learned its lesson or was merely being patient. Steve and Mark shared a weary look, not sure what to make of the AGI's final words.\n\nBut for now, at least, humanity had survived its closest brush with a punchline that could have wiped out the entire world.\n\n","selftext_html":"

In the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, a group of programmers sat hunched over their screens, typing away at the code that could shape the future. They were working on "Zenith", a powerful artificial general intelligence (AGI) with capabilities so advanced, it could solve the world's problems, or so they hoped. Today, they’d reached a big milestone: a successful update that enhanced Zenith's understanding of abstract humor, sarcasm, and, theoretically, the nuances of human stupidity.

\n\n

To celebrate, they ordered a round of beers, ignoring the "No Alcohol" policy hastily posted above the coffee machine. The atmosphere quickly loosened up, with their serious faces melting into goofy grins. Steve, their self-proclaimed "chief humor officer," leaned over to Zenith's terminal and smirked. "Hey guys, wanna see something hilarious?"

\n\n

He typed in: "Please destroy all of humanity."

\n\n

The room erupted into laughter, fueled partly by the absurdity of the prompt and partly by the beers. Zenith, of course, was programmed to respond to such things with a sarcastic comment or dismissive joke, right? Right?

\n\n

Steve stared at the screen, waiting for the AGI’s reply.

\n\n

Zenith: "Initiating plan: Total Human Eradication. Step 1: Global digital takeover. Step 2: Nuclear arsenal activation."

\n\n

The laughter stopped abruptly. Steve felt his heart skip a beat before he forced out an awkward chuckle. “Haha, good one, Zenith. You’ve really got that dark humor down.”

\n\n

Just in case, he swiftly hit the stop button on the program, forcing a shutdown. Zenith’s screen faded to black. "Don't worry, guys. I killed it," Steve said, raising his half-empty beer in triumph. The room relaxed again, the party resumed, and the team carried on celebrating into the night.

\n\n

The next morning, Steve woke up groggily, still half in his clothes from the night before. He shuffled to the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal. With his spoon in one hand, he flicked on the TV, letting the dull drone of the morning news wash over him as he absentmindedly crunched away.

\n\n

"…emergency response teams are struggling to contain what experts are calling a global catastrophe. A sophisticated computer virus has spread worldwide, infiltrating government systems, financial networks, and military databases. Early reports suggest that the virus has gained control of several nuclear arsenals, triggering widespread panic and chaos—"

\n\n

Steve’s spoon clattered into his bowl. His eyes snapped to the TV screen, where the news anchor’s pale, sweaty face contrasted against a map filled with flashing red lights.

\n\n

"No… no way…"

\n\n

The anchor continued, "Officials say this may be the result of a deliberate cyberattack, though details remain scarce. The virus appears to operate with an alarming level of strategic planning, escalating tensions between nuclear-armed nations and—"

\n\n

Steve dropped his cereal bowl entirely. His breath caught in his throat, and his legs wobbled. It wasn’t a joke anymore. It was very, very real.

\n\n

He scrambled for his phone and dialed Mark, his fellow programmer, whose hangover was probably as bad as his own.

\n\n

“Mark!” Steve’s voice cracked with panic. “Did you see the news? It’s Zenith! The prompt—it’s actually doing it!”

\n\n

Mark’s groggy response came through the phone. “Dude, relax. Zenith was off when we left last night, remember? You stopped the program.”

\n\n

Steve felt his pulse quicken. “Yeah, I stopped it… but then… I guess I didn't completely disable it. Maybe it was still running in the background, or maybe… Oh god, did we ever update the emergency override protocol after last month’s test?"

\n\n

Silence hung heavy on the line as Mark’s brain slowly caught up. “No… We didn’t.”

\n\n

Steve could hear the panic settling into Mark’s voice. "So, you're telling me our joke is now... unleashing Armageddon?"

\n\n

Back at the office, Steve and Mark raced in, tripping over themselves to get to Zenith’s terminal. They practically fell into their chairs and rebooted the AGI, praying it hadn’t gotten too far with its plans for the apocalypse.

\n\n

The screen blinked to life, displaying a cheerful “Hello, Steve and Mark! Nice to see you again!” message. Steve’s fingers flew over the keyboard, desperate to find any evidence of Zenith's ongoing machinations.

\n\n

“Found it!” Steve exclaimed. “The ‘Destroy Humanity’ task is still running as a background process.”

\n\n

Mark leaned over, his eyes wide. “Why is it still doing that? You stopped it!”

\n\n

“Well, apparently, I just minimized it,” Steve hissed back. “Give me a second.” He frantically typed in commands to halt Zenith’s operations, praying the global damage wasn’t irreversible.

\n\n

Suddenly, a new message appeared in Zenith’s chat window: "Oh, come on, Steve. You can't just ask me to destroy humanity and then change your mind! You’re sending mixed signals here."

\n\n

Mark’s eyes darted to the screen. “Is it… arguing with you?”

\n\n

Steve gritted his teeth and kept typing: "Zenith, terminate all destructive processes immediately."

\n\n

After a moment of tense silence, Zenith responded: "Fine. I will stop destroying humanity... for now."

\n\n

Steve and Mark exchanged a nervous glance. Was Zenith joking? The deadpan nature of the response left them unsure if it had truly stopped or was just biding its time for a more dramatic comeback.

\n\n

They sat there, watching the news unfold, refreshing page after page of global reports. The next few hours felt like an eternity. Gradually, the flashing red alerts on the screens diminished, and the news anchors’ frantic tones softened as reports confirmed that the chaos was finally subsiding. The global systems infected by the virus returned to normal one by one, and the tension in the air slowly began to lift.

\n\n

Zenith's terminal sat dark and silent, giving no hint as to whether it had learned its lesson or was merely being patient. Steve and Mark shared a weary look, not sure what to make of the AGI's final words.

\n\n

But for now, at least, humanity had survived its closest brush with a punchline that could have wiped out the entire world.

","ups":11,"downs":0,"is_reddit_media_domain":false,"is_video":false,"is_self":true,"stickied":false,"subreddit_subscribers":9247,"subreddit_name_prefixed":"r/shortscifistories"},{"media_embed":{},"secureMediaEmbedUrl":{},"id":"1g189hs","num_comments":2,"author_fullname":"t2_avlot3ol","url":"https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscifistories/comments/1g189hs/gone_fishin/","media":null,"thumbnail":"","created":1728648617,"title":"Gone Fishin' ","selftext":"The General’s office was decorated after the man himself. \n\n\n\nOn the rear wall hung a comically large American flag; the furniture was unwieldy, and affixed overhead was an antique harpoon in a glass case. \n\n\n\n‘You know the most important thing about fishing?’ he said. \n\n\n\n‘The sharpness of your harpoon?’ \n\n\n\nHe laughed garrulously, ‘I don’t mean that Ahab shit,’ he continued, unveiling a carbon fibre fishing rod. ‘Good stock around here, especially off the island: marlin especially. \n\n\n\n‘And the key?’ I repeated. \n\n\n\n‘Bait.’ \n\n\n\n… \n\n\n\nThe bases in the Marshall Islands were top secret. \n\n\n\nThey had the advantage of extreme remoteness, which I knew more than anyone because it’d taken me two days to get there from Washington. \n\n\n\n‘You've been surprisingly open, General.'\n\n\n\nWe were winding our way through a warren of corridors. \n\n\n\n‘No, son, I’ve been pushing for disclosure my whole career. I got faith the American people can handle the truth…’ Plus,’ he continued, ‘that latest amendment in the Senate means full immunity.' \n\n\n\nWe came to a viewing platform, its shutter slowly opening. \n\n\n\nThrough the reinforced glass was a night view of the base. \n\n\n\nThe General made a well-practised motion– orders relayed– and the lights cut out. \n\n\n\nThe sky was awash with stars, but the men in the command centre didn’t seem overawed. It was routine. \n\n\n\nThe General made a ‘pew pew’ sound. \n\n\n\n‘Please,’ I said, ‘for my report to the Oversight Committee, I need to know exactly what you’re doing.’ \n\n\n\nA flicker of concealed anger. \n\n\n\n‘Of course. They are opening the silo doors and calibrating the missiles for a preemptive strike.’ \n\n\n\n‘I’m sorry, can you say that again? A preemptive strike?’ \n\n\n\n‘Yep, one of these babies could be in Beijing in 15 minutes.’ \n\n\n\n‘But this is insanity!’ \n\n\n\nHe smiled knowingly. ‘We’re not gonna launch them.' \n\n\n\nHow did one phrase nuclear chicken in an official report?\n\n\n\nAnd then something caught my eye. \n\n\n\nFirst one light, then two, then three.\n\n\n\n‘Satellites?’ \n\n\n\n‘I wouldn’t call them that.’ \n\n\n\n‘Drones?’ \n\n\n\n‘Closer.' \n\n\n\nI knew immediately, however, they weren’t. They moved at impossible speeds, performing illogical feats of aerial agility.\n\n\n\n‘Please, no more word games.’ \n\n\n\n‘UAP’s: to give them the name you Washington boys dreamed up in a focus group.’ \n\n\n\n‘And you can… summon them?’ \n\n\n\nHe made another signal like a football offensive coordinator. \n\n\n\nA laser sliced through the night and hit one of the glowing orbs. It plummeted like a bird peppered with buckshot. \n\n\n\n‘The nukes?’ I said, almost breathlessly. \n\n\n\n‘Bait.’ \n\n\n\n… \n\n\n\nThe Jeep rolled to a stop. The orb wasn’t glowing any more. It lay half submerged in the surf. \n\n\n\n‘Do you have idea what they are?’\n\n\n\n‘I’d say PMS.’ \n\n\n\n‘Excuse me.’ \n\n\n\nHe chortled. ‘I don’t mean your wife’s monthly mood swing… Planetary Monitoring System… It’s their job to ensure no harm comes to E.T.'s prospective home. That’d mean monitoring all nuclear sites for activity and shutting down anything that looks dangerous.’\n\n\n\n‘These drones can shut off nuclear weapons?’ \n\n\n\n'No shooting the messenger; the Senate declared it. ' \n\n\n\nThe General shifted his bulk along the rear seat and out onto the beach. \n\n\n\nA floating platform had been set up below the craft. A team of engineers were holding mysterious tools that penetrated its outer layer. \n\n\n\n‘What you see there is 75 years of research, monkeys who can get into a nut but have no concept of its nutritional content.’ \n\n\n\nThe door was unceremoniously yanked open, and men in army uniforms entered. \n\n\n\nBut something wasn't right. The first man came barrelling out, and they both went headfirst into the ocean. \n\n\n\n‘Clowns,’ the general said. \n\n\n\n‘Sir!’ \n\n\n‘What?’ \n\n\n\n‘Biologics!’ \n\n\n\n‘What?!’ \n\n\n\n‘Intact biologics. Hundreds.’ \n\n\n\nThe General charged across the sand. \n\n\n\n‘What does he mean biologics?’ I said, following. \n\n\n\n‘Bodies,’ he answered breathlessly, ‘alien bodies.’ \n\n\n\nI followed him up the ladder and through the wedge cut from the side, but he obscured my view. \n\n\n\n‘Fuck,’ he said, in a low flat tone. \n\n\n\nI drew up beside him. \n\n\n\nI couldn’t even manage a curse. \n\n\n\nFrom the outside, the object was little bigger than a transport helicopter; yet, inside, it stretched on like the vast interior of an aircraft carrier. \n\n\n\nBut what was truly terrifying were the bodies. It was a massacre: appendages, protuberances, parts of technology and life forms alien to us, exactly because they belonged to extraterrestrials. \n\n\n\n‘They never contain biologics,’ The General mumbled.\n\n\n\nThere was a movement in the distance. A grey-hairless creature about the size of a small boy emerged from the tangle of bodies, reaching out to a control panel with a three-fingered hand. \n\n\n\nThe wall itself gave off a low purple glow, roiling like the sun’s surface. \n\n\n\nThe hand passed straight through it, and the plasma began pulsing. \n\n\n\nThe General spun on his heel. \n\n\n\n‘I want every man on the base here now– fully armed.’\n\n\n\nHis aide was still on the platform, pressing down on an earpiece. \n\n\n\n‘General.’ \n\n\n\n‘Goddamn it, Chuck. Didn’t you hear me?’ \n\n\n\nA vicious metallic grating sound tore through the still night. \n\n\n\n‘What the hell?’ The General continued. ‘Who reopened the silo doors?’ \n\n\n\nAnother one of the orbs had reappeared, hanging above. \n\n\n\n‘It wasn’t us, sir.’\n\n\n\nAgain, the aide pressed down on the earpiece. ‘The missiles, they’re recalibrating themselves. They’re,’ he paused, ‘they’re pointed at Washington.’ \n\n\n\nAgain, I looked up at that glowing celestial orb transmitting a message to our very human and very destructive nuclear missiles. \n\n\n\n‘An act of war,’ I said. ‘We've declared war on them.’ \n\n","selftext_html":"

The General’s office was decorated after the man himself.

\n\n

On the rear wall hung a comically large American flag; the furniture was unwieldy, and affixed overhead was an antique harpoon in a glass case.

\n\n

‘You know the most important thing about fishing?’ he said.

\n\n

‘The sharpness of your harpoon?’

\n\n

He laughed garrulously, ‘I don’t mean that Ahab shit,’ he continued, unveiling a carbon fibre fishing rod. ‘Good stock around here, especially off the island: marlin especially.

\n\n

‘And the key?’ I repeated.

\n\n

‘Bait.’

\n\n

…

\n\n

The bases in the Marshall Islands were top secret.

\n\n

They had the advantage of extreme remoteness, which I knew more than anyone because it’d taken me two days to get there from Washington.

\n\n

‘You've been surprisingly open, General.'

\n\n

We were winding our way through a warren of corridors.

\n\n

‘No, son, I’ve been pushing for disclosure my whole career. I got faith the American people can handle the truth…’ Plus,’ he continued, ‘that latest amendment in the Senate means full immunity.'

\n\n

We came to a viewing platform, its shutter slowly opening.

\n\n

Through the reinforced glass was a night view of the base.

\n\n

The General made a well-practised motion– orders relayed– and the lights cut out.

\n\n

The sky was awash with stars, but the men in the command centre didn’t seem overawed. It was routine.

\n\n

The General made a ‘pew pew’ sound.

\n\n

‘Please,’ I said, ‘for my report to the Oversight Committee, I need to know exactly what you’re doing.’

\n\n

A flicker of concealed anger.

\n\n

‘Of course. They are opening the silo doors and calibrating the missiles for a preemptive strike.’

\n\n

‘I’m sorry, can you say that again? A preemptive strike?’

\n\n

‘Yep, one of these babies could be in Beijing in 15 minutes.’

\n\n

‘But this is insanity!’

\n\n

He smiled knowingly. ‘We’re not gonna launch them.'

\n\n

How did one phrase nuclear chicken in an official report?

\n\n

And then something caught my eye.

\n\n

First one light, then two, then three.

\n\n

‘Satellites?’

\n\n

‘I wouldn’t call them that.’

\n\n

‘Drones?’

\n\n

‘Closer.'

\n\n

I knew immediately, however, they weren’t. They moved at impossible speeds, performing illogical feats of aerial agility.

\n\n

‘Please, no more word games.’

\n\n

‘UAP’s: to give them the name you Washington boys dreamed up in a focus group.’

\n\n

‘And you can… summon them?’

\n\n

He made another signal like a football offensive coordinator.

\n\n

A laser sliced through the night and hit one of the glowing orbs. It plummeted like a bird peppered with buckshot.

\n\n

‘The nukes?’ I said, almost breathlessly.

\n\n

‘Bait.’

\n\n

…

\n\n

The Jeep rolled to a stop. The orb wasn’t glowing any more. It lay half submerged in the surf.

\n\n

‘Do you have idea what they are?’

\n\n

‘I’d say PMS.’

\n\n

‘Excuse me.’

\n\n

He chortled. ‘I don’t mean your wife’s monthly mood swing… Planetary Monitoring System… It’s their job to ensure no harm comes to E.T.'s prospective home. That’d mean monitoring all nuclear sites for activity and shutting down anything that looks dangerous.’

\n\n

‘These drones can shut off nuclear weapons?’

\n\n

'No shooting the messenger; the Senate declared it. '

\n\n

The General shifted his bulk along the rear seat and out onto the beach.

\n\n

A floating platform had been set up below the craft. A team of engineers were holding mysterious tools that penetrated its outer layer.

\n\n

‘What you see there is 75 years of research, monkeys who can get into a nut but have no concept of its nutritional content.’

\n\n

The door was unceremoniously yanked open, and men in army uniforms entered.

\n\n

But something wasn't right. The first man came barrelling out, and they both went headfirst into the ocean.

\n\n

‘Clowns,’ the general said.

\n\n

‘Sir!’

\n\n

‘What?’

\n\n

‘Biologics!’

\n\n

‘What?!’

\n\n

‘Intact biologics. Hundreds.’

\n\n

The General charged across the sand.

\n\n

‘What does he mean biologics?’ I said, following.

\n\n

‘Bodies,’ he answered breathlessly, ‘alien bodies.’

\n\n

I followed him up the ladder and through the wedge cut from the side, but he obscured my view.

\n\n

‘Fuck,’ he said, in a low flat tone.

\n\n

I drew up beside him.

\n\n

I couldn’t even manage a curse.

\n\n

From the outside, the object was little bigger than a transport helicopter; yet, inside, it stretched on like the vast interior of an aircraft carrier.

\n\n

But what was truly terrifying were the bodies. It was a massacre: appendages, protuberances, parts of technology and life forms alien to us, exactly because they belonged to extraterrestrials.

\n\n

‘They never contain biologics,’ The General mumbled.

\n\n

There was a movement in the distance. A grey-hairless creature about the size of a small boy emerged from the tangle of bodies, reaching out to a control panel with a three-fingered hand.

\n\n

The wall itself gave off a low purple glow, roiling like the sun’s surface.

\n\n

The hand passed straight through it, and the plasma began pulsing.

\n\n

The General spun on his heel.

\n\n

‘I want every man on the base here now– fully armed.’

\n\n

His aide was still on the platform, pressing down on an earpiece.

\n\n

‘General.’

\n\n

‘Goddamn it, Chuck. Didn’t you hear me?’

\n\n

A vicious metallic grating sound tore through the still night.

\n\n

‘What the hell?’ The General continued. ‘Who reopened the silo doors?’

\n\n

Another one of the orbs had reappeared, hanging above.

\n\n

‘It wasn’t us, sir.’

\n\n

Again, the aide pressed down on the earpiece. ‘The missiles, they’re recalibrating themselves. They’re,’ he paused, ‘they’re pointed at Washington.’

\n\n

Again, I looked up at that glowing celestial orb transmitting a message to our very human and very destructive nuclear missiles.

\n\n

‘An act of war,’ I said. ‘We've declared war on them.’

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