Supporting Immortality

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on June 6, 2011 by GuNNhead

I sigh, and return to my planet, crushing the skull of one of the tyrannosaur as I land. I disintegrate its body with a burst of a gravity sphere. Taking off back into the sky, I think about my planet, it’s massive in comparison to others. I decide to head to my craft inside the giant skull, and look it up. Auto-pilot skips right over my entire solar system. I have to search for it by name. It’s marked as Disavowed. A desolate, banned no-fly zone on the Networks systems. Also says it was destroyed by me, and that it also may be my current hideout. I’m known as a destroyer, I can’t really deny it.

It’s become apparent that due to my powers, the planet itself will be in danger of attacks against me. My power, a magnet to destruction. A perfect test to all foolish enough to think they can pass, blinded by power. It is not safe, nor will it be able to outlast me naturally. I must undergo a variance shift. Stop focusing on the unknown aspects, my surroundings, my reality. I must build. This is my planet. I’ll make it worthy of my life, supporting of immortality. For one day, time will end, and I will be the last to experience it.

Until then, I must see to it that my planet, Loameria, the one connection, this mote of dust in the vast cosmos, remains as eternal as I. I return to space, covered in innards, and channel the power of the Gravity Surge, harnessing a nearby sun, and charge it so that it is equal to Loameria’s, and begin to entwine their gravitational pulls, with Loameria acting as a central focus of rotation; perfect weather with two suns. The other planets aid perfectly in setting up an infinity matrix of rotation that is as eternal as I: a constant pushing and pulling, an ebb and flow. So I never need worry about anomalies should I choose to venture out into the vastness of the cosmos once again, I set up one of my own, a force of density to protect this solar system, contain it. It’s all channeled via the gravity surge.

The time I had once been so focused on dissipates. It is of no consequence, and the journey of the celestial bodies becomes but a moment in my mind, but perception is everchanging, and years pass by without my notice. In the end, once it is complete, nothing was of any consequence. Time, I had to take note of, for the evidence that it can only be experienced of in the moment with or without the focus, but not once it has passed into the past. In any case, no longer can crafts enter this space. No attacks can be made without repercussions that I take no part in, only my vast and infinite power, used to repel. Not that the Network would try anything like that again: petitioned by rogues of a lost planet; I wonder how many I made homeless with the destruction of a galaxy, but do not care. Mere passing thoughts. I am above it all– or, at least, believe myself to be.

Life, so flourishing will not be harmed unless I am the one to do it. Not for the sake of life, not to cause no death, but because of its connection to myself. It is all I have, and that is enough to warrant its protection. Time will pass regardless. Everything will happen in time. It is inevitable. This is no reason to hold hatred for the unknown. It is time to enjoy what I do not know. The future. It is time to enjoy what I do know. My power. It is on this planet that I was born, and this planet I find myself. Nobody knows why, it is a pointless question. The real question is how. How will I live? Though I am driven to death, I do not need to embody the darkness of question. I am a being who is positively charged with power. It’s what I always wanted, when I lived. The power to kill everything, destroy the source of my hate. But hate has controlled my life for too long. I will not be frozen by internal conflict while I can inflict external pain, and I can do that beyond all in existence. I kill, it is what I do, it is what I revel in. I am myself, and no one else, and so that is who I will be and take only pleasure from it.

However, for some reason I can feel fear and dread swirling about me, externally, as a chaotic and seething wind…

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It Has a Location

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on June 3, 2011 by GuNNhead

I observe the wreckage, and wonder. It takes so little to destroy. Craters in flames, blackened, burnt ground and life. All only ancillary. Can my powers be used for anything other than death? I focus, it’s all always been intuitive before. My powers simply respond to thoughts, triggering paths of energy in directions. Can I rebuild life, in the same way my powers were once used, like they were within the time trap? I close my eyes and hold my hands out, projecting my power towards the wreckage, forcing it to flow through my fingertips, feeling my hands heating up from the energy of it. I imagine all the flourishing life I want to bring springing up from the ground, eschewing the metal frames, enveloping them among their tall branches and lush canopy, winding around them as though they are trying to suffocate the steel. When I open my eyes, I see a horror of sharp, condensed stone, a dangerously thorny mess of death. The wreckage hangs open, an omen of death. I make the best of it, and reorganize a few of the pieces. This will have to do.

I continue my small existence without space travel, a punishment for having destroyed the only thing my mortal self once held dear. My fault, this was all my fault. I refuse to let the Gravity Surge indulge in the expanses of the cosmos. Irresponsible, stupid. Everyone I’ve ever known is now dead, and I killed them with my rash decisions and idiocy. I tried my best to avenge their deaths with my power, but it was all my fault in the first place. However, since The Network now has my whereabouts under their surveillance, solitude is now a mission of impossibility. I am trapped under the eyes of reality. Every piece of scum in the universe knows where to go to test their powers. Loameria. Once a bastion for science and goodwill, a staple in The Network’s databases of how a human society has the potential to operate, now destroyed, buried and blanketed by the frightening energy of an anomalous time field, and then finally the known location for one sole inhabitant, The Gravity Surge, the most dangerous being thus far known in the database.

The entire galaxy has practically become a dead zone, civilizations wanting no part of such danger, and yet, somehow, within the darkness that envelops it all, some life persists somehow, or perhaps it would be a bastardization of the word, to refer to creatures and beasts and beings as something like life. Most cannot reflect upon existence. Sometimes I wonder why such beings want to persist at all, in a place so desolate; is it because they simply have no other choice? Do I have any other choice in this universe. Do they all have access to some sort of drive I never had in this space continuum where all too often I am a prisoner to the swell of the continual marching onward of time? Contemplation to be saved for another day; in my ruminations I’ve unconsciously ascended beyond the ionosphere.

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Still a Good Day

Posted in Fiction on May 25, 2011 by GuNNhead

When I walked outside today, I never expected to step in a bear trap. However, I did just that. I looked around, seemed that I wasn’t the only unsuspecting person affixed to the ground via a hunk of steel biting their leg. Screaming in pain, it was tough to notice the fine job they did securing the bear traps into the sidewalk. It went unappreciated, honestly; I was unappreciative of their efforts.

Oh well, beyond that, at least something came of it all. People tried to help in the confusion, but it just got bloodier and more hectic. Keeping my steady resolve, and attempting to figure out the situation, get to the root of the compounding questions, I began to sob uncontrollably. It wasn’t my finest moment, simply put. Answers came regardless, as silent black trucks drove into the scene. The people who stepped out were dressed in odd suits, covering all of their body and any identifying features. They walked strangely, like in those horror movies where it’s all weird and uncanny feeling. Like they weren’t human, or had just gotten humanoid forms. To form this sentence carefully: the way they walked stood out as off-putting while I was affixed to the sidewalk via a bear trap.

After they gassed the place, the black trucks weren’t so bad, taking the bear trap fiasco into account. It was a quiet ride, all the screaming people were passed out. I think they used some sort of specialized binding material, because my wrists were fine, though bound. They might have even fixed up the leg wound, though it could have been the gas tricking me. I couldn’t feel much, and was blindfolded, occasionally I heard some muffled movement among the sounds of traffic. I figured it was simply other captures, thinking they should keep quiet as well. It’s an odd feeling, being tied up in a van, kidnapped. You kind of know that screaming and yelling won’t help, but by the time you want to at least try, you pass back out again because you’re feeling sort of woozy.

Or, at least, that’s what happened to me. Either way, when I woke up, I was in a vast field. Green grass surrounded me, beyond that: trees. The sun was warm, and from what I could tell, it was noonish, give or take a few hours. I’m pretty great at telling the time by the position of the sun in the sky. My leg felt great, I could even walk on it, surprisingly enough. There were others around, I recognized a few from this morning, and a few more simply from around. I wondered how many people were here, but didn’t fully care. People began worrying, talking. I simply accepted it, and walked westward into the expanses of soft grass. It felt weird on my shoes, too soft compared to the floors and sidewalks I’m used to. Eh, today wasn’t so bad.

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The Satan Experiment

Posted in Fiction, Horror on May 11, 2011 by GuNNhead

I thought it would be so easy. There were cults, offshoots throughout history, recent history even: an easy way to mislead people through their beliefs. Give them some sort of hope, a way to fight the world at large, to fight back for themselves how I did. I struggled and I overcame. I was never the best person, but I certainly wasn’t the worst. I worshipped the worst. I wanted to lead others in this. I also wanted to get rich in the process, but that’s not a bad thing, is it? Greed, it was a tool to aid my master. Satan. Heck, it was worth a shot, I already had a nice house a distance away from the nearest neighbour, secluded in the hills.

Getting followers was the easy part, a lot of people want to worship, but where to do it? They wanted, needed and desired a community. The feeling of belonging. I felt that within myself. These people, lost in their lives of depression could not. I guided them. Outfits, donations. I truly built something, and before long, I felt that I belonged as well. In my attempt to attain money, I’d attained friends within the honouring of the devil, our dark lord. I felt a part of a community. I felt bad for manipulating these people. We were together in satanic rituals and so much more.

Before long, I’d made friends, I was in power. I was Satan’s messenger. Chosen by myself. They were my followers. One in particular was truly devout in her faith, Christina. She followed the rites to the letter, and soon became my second in command. She was an amicable lass, very even-tempered. I could never tell if she truly worshipped satan, or was merely faking the hardest to fit in. Most of the people, I could tell. It was an alternative way to fit in, not a belief. I’d question my beliefs; I knew I was in it for the money, though I never let on. The people had too much faith in me, there was no question in them that I could possibly not be who I said I was, that my belief ran straight through my soul, even before that one night…

Everyone was gathered together in the circular ritual room, and we all started to chant, Christina, the virgin was beginning to worry… we could smell the fear in her sweat… our chanting became louder and louder. I led them as they all began to violently grab at each other and stimulate one another; the ground began to cave in and Satan emerged. His gigantic, raging hard, veiny erection ripped through the virgin as she screamed out in agony, but knew that what she was doing was what she was born to do: sacrifice her body to Satan.

Some nights before the end, I began to have nightmares; horrific dreams of the sound of screams. Babies being torn from mother’s wombs, raped, mutilation. The smells, oh god the smells. I could never have fathomed these without the aid of hell. Sulphur; the innards of a man, mixing. These things have no correlation, they are guttural, when I smelt them, I knew them all too well. I woke up to her, Christina, my follower looming over me, staring, but, upon closing my eyes and reopening, there would be nothing. My door, locked. I ignored it at first.

The other occultists had been looking at me differently, but not in a suspicious manner. More of a hunger for more. I still had plenty to feed them. The book of Satan is a large one, after all. Teaching and learning are much the same process, and I guided them with what I had learned from my readings. Ways to live best. It was the touching that disturbed me the most. When I would walk by some of the members, a brush upon me was felt. There were smiles exchanged. What should have been warm and welcoming somehow felt cold and foreboding. It was then that their faces came to me after nightmares. More and more faces, always after the smell, the horror.

It was the final night that I saw their faces over my bed before the hellfire enveloped me, and hell came calling. The smiles of my once-followers grew rows of demoniac teeth, and horns erupted from their temples and foreheads. Each of my bones were broken by invisible forces. The flesh tore from my body, and I was bathed in sulphuric salts. This was no nightmare, this was the price I was to pay, for a life of mine, I would be in an eternity of His.

Synopsis:
A man begins a satanic cult in order to worship satan (and make a boatload of money while he’s at it). But slowly, things start going wrong. The occultists begin to act differently, without explanation. Soon, the leader’s position as the head of the cult is in sincere danger as things much deeper than the wallets of his followers is at stake.

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End By End II

Posted in Fiction, Sci-Fi, The Permanent Mind on May 9, 2011 by GuNNhead

The two enter the pod, agony in hand. The extraneous gear gets off right away. The brick hooks, up, and charges in their stead, siphoned to hers. Easy.
“Where’s your storage?”
“In the basement, same as anything else?”
“Right, wasn’t even a question.” They leave, and the door solidifies behind them. They walk down the smooth colored walls. It’s a brightness not available in true reality, perfect for their geostation, the Galactic Halo. Entering the lift, a note of fear enters his brain.
“This isn’t… would… Newgov will have our asses for sure for this one if it goes wrong, won’t they?”
“It’s the same for nearly everything done here. But, yes, this more than any other.”
“Ha!” the doors slide open, and they walk to storage locker C-18 “Well, you know what they say:”
“If you can play, we can pay!” Saying it together, they exchange a hearty laugh, echoing the darkened steel and concrete of the sub level. Before long, they arrive at his storage. The door dissolves as all the others. He enters the room, and emerges with a cold metallic briefcase.
“Here they are, let’s get this done.”

They arrive at her pod, and begin inside.
“Wow, I didn’t even think this was possible! How many bricks are in here? This can’t be safe!”
“You worry too much, it needs this, come on, check your value here, I’ll set up the discs, run them on a double, then loop the block to pass. After hinging, of course.”
“At least it’ll be safe.”
“I hope so.”

The two work diligently, she performs her tasks with a nimbleness not seen outside the inner world. When he is able to catch it out of the corner of his eye, it disturbs him. There’s no way interlocked in his mind for it all. It simply doesn’t.

“I know you know what you’re doing, but I hope the results work out for us.”
“I hope so too, but if this isn’t based on Type-6, and a whole new type like I think it is, we can’t be beat, we’ll earn big by playing. Unless, of course, we encounter the protus.”
“But wouldn’t doing this basically ensure we encounter it?”
“Well, yes, but that’s why I have you installing alongside me.”
“You really think I’m that good?”
“Inside? Yes, the electricity is chemical. What’s the readout?”
“It’s all good here.”
“Great, time to test this out: “the paradisio drive.”
“So, what, exactly, does this do?”
“It’ll give us an unknown advantage. I can’t even explain it out here, and it’s far too dangerous to even talk about it in there. For all intents and purposes, we’re just playing.”

On the inside:
“You have picked for the first round of today’s games!”

“Ugh, damn ads.”
“No amount of tech will remove those, I guess.”
“C’mon, the rounds are launching. We have to play.”

They flow downwards through the pathstream. Data of rush transverses the constructed ether, towards a piloted goal of time and skill. There is only a realness felt here. It’s not a certainty of feeling, but is a reality of the brain. In such a way, that is, to cloud the fog of the outside. The death, the sand, the desolation.

Every game gives you more.

“These guys are giving away 20,000UEC bonus to all entrants, get yours here!”
“Yeah, we know, adbot!”
“Psst, no, guys, it’s me, Ceta.”
“Ceta? How are you doing here?”
“Yeah, last I heard they found you, dead.”
“It’s not a way to slide, I’m here for life. It’s hard to explain. In short, they did.”
“But that doesn’t make sense.”
“It does, but I can’t say this close, we’d need a closed channel. Next cycle, worldtime, y’know, the innercyde.”
“Perfect, we’ll install on a secure-pain.”
“Until, then, don’t spill a byte to a soul.”
“There’s no such thing, see you then.”
“Try all our games and collect more extra cash!” He disappears back into the adbot, slipping through the cracks in the lifecode.

They continue through past the netic-ghost, into the arena. In the center of the large room, vidlinks on all the walls, they focus on the one dead ahead. The big seller, damn near a job, or, the best anyone can get nowadays.

“There it is, the brand new and now best way to earn UEC: Sybaritic: The Havoc Onslaught” Their minds double-click in unison, and they leave the bounding overworld into a narrower channel.

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