Abstraction Protocol

Posted in Fiction, Sci-Fi, The Permanent Mind on September 7, 2012 by GuNNhead

Walled in. I knew this was a possibility, but never gave into the lackluster dismal option of it. Not that I hadn’t prepared, but, never expected a negative turn of events. I had it all worked out. I don’t care. Not for this situation, no, not at all. A trap, set up before I could have even thought, towards the endgame of an eponymous victory. Blocked in, and set to sit, now. It’s all a matter of memory and futurethought, now. Calm, and collected.

In restoring hundred year old digital technology, we’ve developed a special nano-liqiud bath, so that the pixelation is not visible to the decoder rendering that data. It was quite simple, really. We’ve recently heard word of an original file, but have not heard contact with the sender in over a week.

I do understand that something is lost with restoration, an inner vibration of seeing it how it was originally seen to the primitives. This is a type of thought. The original is preserved, though once you view it, you may find that the cleansed to a visual purity version is superior, and the original is best left to a museum. This is not the case this retellings, derivatives, they are withing their own subfiles, available with free access of perusal of the original. Wherever the source of inquisition.

It was funny, somehow, that the only way to reach people who wanted to know of you, was to to reach them through things they did not want. Only then, would they realize. Brainpatterns through the oraganic strands were so inferior.

It was when my logic and reason were in their final death throes towards insanity that I finally began to appreciate the people in my life.
To look for some sort of truthful happiness, that was the original insanity on my part, at war with biology. Fighting against the illogical enjoyment of human interaction, those who will inherently betray anyone given half a chance. Enjoy these animals on their own terms. Became too preoccupied in my own dealings to realize that they were part of my life, as opposed to violently rejecting them.
I had to give up, to give in, and simply let my body to what it wanted to. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Either way, this consciousness will shatter upon death, and return to the cosmos as the earth crumbles and the sun explodes.
Live like an animal, in their presence, suppress my overarching intelligence and superiority over them. Bide my time, take shelter in this new-found insanity.
No, they’d never know that my laughs or smiles were the signs of a mind finally beyond the cusp. I was gone. I was gone.
The datafiles made a terrifying map of consistence, life and unlife. We were still alive. Even digitally, there is no difference, one can see the strands of the universe within the brain, and even within the digital brain do they pattern themselves once more in every aspect. Now it is faster, and more resilient, with all the hope and aspirations of the past, the future has arisen from dystopia.

End By End III

Posted in Fiction, Sci-Fi, The Permanent Mind on September 5, 2012 by GuNNhead

“What do you think he meant, Elz?”
“I know exactly what he meant, and after this score, we’ll be having a chat with him.”
“Ugh, he’s so boring and technical, I can’t stand his mumbojumbo.”
“This isn’t the time for games, it’s time for The Games.”
“Lag off, I fragging got it. I’m better at these than any-”

Bullets begin firing with full realism of physics. Just like the real thing, but better, less at risk. Unless that was your setting. Few have chosen the ultimate rounds, for that deletes your entire profile if one loses. In true rounds, with respawn and bench, one has never won multiple full matches in succession. There were too many people, the playing fields were level. It would be hard to blame some for experiencing the power over bots almost programmed to lose, with their AI’s intentional inferiority to the human brainwave. Killer-bot tournaments were always the best to watch. Only on special occasions though, so that The Permanent Mind could flex his digitized hands, lording his power over us as a benevolent god of cyberworld. An endgamer with no more masters, though he maintains corporate sponsorship from whence he came. The developer, long dead.

In a final hail of gunfire and explosions “THE ONSLAUGHT IS OVER.”
“We did it! we won!”
“Yes, I knew this strategy would work, man, we are fast!” The UEC is deposited into their private accounts.
“We should go now, this is a huge haul. I feel so silly now for being worried.”
“Worried? What abo- hold on, I got a pm”
“WINNER. You have been entered in a special bonus round.”
“Sweet, a bonus round.”
“Don’t bother with it, we have to go.”
“It’s a timed request, it won’t take long, I’ll meet you la-” he dematerializes, transferred to the bonus round.

In the Outerworld, both users never became logged on, the paradisio drive saw to that.
“Why do you think it didn’t work, Elz?”
“I’m not convinced it didn’t, I just need to figure out how to get our rigs up and running again.”
“What do you think went wrong?”
“The paradisio drive, it takes up a lot of power, probably blew out a couple of things.”
“Hey, I never asked you, why do you work out so much here?”
“Helps me think, plus, this is a good spot, it’s my room.”
“You know what I mean.”
“So that I can trust what I feel when I am me in the web, know that it’s not some weird fake cyber feeling. I like to experience the ultimate me all the time.”
“But we’re all gonna be digitized anyhow, body’s gonna crap out or something the way this world’s a wasteland. I feel more free in there.”
“I can be in my own mind when I just exercise, none of that bombardment of intertainment, just me, focused.”
“Intense, I just listen to music.”
“You always listen to music.”
“Yeah, but especially when uploaded.” They share a smile.
“But this is just for me. I still think the boundaries should be preserved.” A stunned silence, then, a sort of agreement. “There’s hope for this place, but it’s found in the cyberworld. We just need UEC funds.”

The Spider in the Hourglass

Posted in Fiction on September 3, 2012 by GuNNhead

“Do you want to know your name? Well I do.” I thought aloud while shifting about the old house. “How did you get in there? There can’t be much food.” I stuffed more trinkets and odds and baubles into my back pockets. Left or right pocket makes an important distinction which pocket it’s in. For my memory, I’ve not begun an official separation, just a cataloging of like-items. A spider- had made its way into building a web within an hourglass. The sand at the bottom was bright and white, except for the layer of dust on the outside of everything. I thought of moving it to get a better look, but decided against it, and while flipping it over would be kind of fun an a false scenario, this is real and I have far too much respect for spiders, even ones that are poor at homeownership. Location, location, location. It moved around within its confines. I continued about the house.

Floorboards creaked under my feet, dust-prints are left by my boots. Urban exploration can be cool. Mostly it’s just dumb, there’s simply not much going on with people, especially dead ones that abandoned their house in the woods. Eerie, maybe, if I believed in crap. But I don’t. I don’t believe in anything, I just fucking hate life, and see no reason to believe in any of it. So, a nice, sunny day, and here I am in a dilapidated and rickety house out in nowhere. I wish I knew better curse words to express my hate for existence. It’s so visceral. Words to kill by. At least the multiplicitory nature of the location eases my mind with chemicals to experience it with. Exhilaration of somewhere new, inherent danger, unknown histories. Plus, I can’t shake this really extra-creepy feeling I’ve had for the entire time I’ve been here. Chasing my irrational brain-chemistry, go against preservational instincts, I venture deeper into the house, but something catches my backpack, and I quickly try to get away.

The object smashes to the floor, and the contents that spill out onto the floor swirl into the air. Windows blow open, and gusts of wind force their way through the house. A sound erupts from the swirl of ashes.
“Beware! The oooooooold witch!” The following cackle deafens. For all intensive purposes, she unleashes her magic of lightning, apparitions, and smoke to create a more dramatic entrance, one sure to terrify. I am not terrified, but the new knowledge that the legends are true quickens my heartbeat.

“You are not afraid?”
“No, I am not, witch.”

She doesn’t exist, and I am impaled in the pit below as the floorboards have caved in. I’m still upstairs, and smash everything that I can, arriving at a bookshelf. One of them feels more real. While I bleed, impaled on random fallen objects, the bloodloss starts to make things fade away. I feel the words within the text, and gain new understanding. She is defeated, from what I was drawn to. I’m not sure what I’m doing or why.

An Ode to the Dearly Departed XV

Posted in Fiction, Horror, Western on August 22, 2012 by GuNNhead

In a few short seconds, she dies there on the ground. Van Sant uses his powers to raise her up. She mindlessly changes into the old gang member’s attire, and stands among them.
“Don’t worry, I’ll soon give your friend most of her mind back, but this is quite the delicate situation we have here, Mr. Kelvin, I do not know if you’re aware.”
“I am, it’s been explained to me; the nature of the stones. Seems even with all your power, we’re at a stalemate.”
“Not quite, I still have an army of the dead to wipe out the living.”
“But just not me, right?”
“Hahaha, right you are. But do you really think you can stop me? As long was we have the stones, we can’t kill each other, and so I’m trying to be diplomatic about this. Leave, never interfere with my plans again, and I leave this town and its remaining inhabitants alone, or, heck, any town you want. Won’t matter when I have the world.”
“I don’t like the smell of death.”
“Any other suggestions, then?”
“I end this here and now.”

The hundreds of dead bodies standing still begin to move, and they attack Six-Shooters, incapacitating them, then go after Lance Van Sant.

“What? No! This isn’t possible, you’ve never trained with the stone, you know nothing of it.”
“I may not have practiced the magic behind it, but I’ve had this stone by my side longer’n anyone. ‘Sides, Season here sure as shooting practiced, and us working together trumps your evil bullshit.”
“That’s right, Van Sant. You’re just some nobody who got too big for his britches. We were given the stones, I respected their power.”
“You still can’t kill me. I’ll only come back stronger.”
“Not as long as we have the stones, no, but that doesn’t mean we can’t neutralize your powers…”

One of the survivors breaks from the small group, picks up a shovel, and cracks him in the leg with it. He falls to the ground, having forgotten what pain felt like. Van Sant tries to get back up, red tendrils flickering around him, but it’s just not enough, his powers are gone. He crawls as much as he can, but the rest of the townsfolk pick up their weapons again too, and beat him to death. Once Van Sant dies, the Six-Shooters drop down dead.

Kurt and Season guide the zombies into the graveyard, and they are once again buried, allowed to rest in peace once more. The town of Harked Node is no longer a viable place to stay, along with many other towns in the region. The few survivors set out on their own, to try to find or make a new slice of life out of all this death. In their minds a few of them think of old tunes from their youth to say goodbye to the dead. Kurt remembers one well, but is distracted by thoughts of the possibilities of his ghostly new powers, to ride up in the sky. He blocks them out quickly, however, replacing these thoughts with an ode to the dearly departed.

An Ode to the Dearly Departed XIV

Posted in Fiction, Horror, Western on August 17, 2012 by GuNNhead

“But what about those wanted posters?”
“Heh, yeah, that was me actin on my own, wantin revenge. Never thought it’d turn out so pleasantly right here in the middle of nowhere.”
“So what’s takin your boss?”
“He’s a busy man, can’t be everywhere at once, so, he has some… surrogates like myself and my associates here he can talk through if need be.”
“And what’ll happen when he gets here?”
“Well, gosh, I dunno, I hope he kills you, though. I’m tired of you killin off mass numbers of this army of the dead we’ve been raisin from town to town. This place wasn’t even on the map, shamblers found it on they own. We was drawn to it as cause of a communication we got up on those old posters.”

They pause.
“Hear that? Sounds like a train.”
“Ain’t no tracks around here for who knows how far.”
Flint turns to his left, and looks to the sky, motioning for Kurt to do the same. They both see it. A red spectral locomotive, rocketing through the sky towards them. As it gets overhead, a lone man descends out from it, flowing around him is the same spectral red waves. He lands, and they begin to dissipate, licking like flames into the air.

“That’s twice now you’ve interrupted my plans, old hero. I did not think you’d be such trouble, but now, here we finally are.”
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Lance Van Sant, and I’m the man in control of the stones, so I suggest you give me that gun willingly.”
“You know I won’t do that.”
“I do suppose you are correct with that one.” He turns to the Six-Shooters. “Men.” They all get off their horses, and take the weapons off Kurt’s group, tossing them aside into the crowd of zombies. The boss goes up and down the crowd, sniffing them. “Hmm, this one.” He points out Season, and she’s brought forward, held by one of the Six-Shooters. “Give me the gun, or I’ll kill her.” A rifle fires, and removes the Six-Shooter’s head, releasing Season. She stands in shock. Lance Van Sant turns, and sees Maggie from the top floor saloon window. “She was aiming for me, I’ll get her.” A group of zombies begin to move, they walk into the saloon, and soon emerge, dragging her out.
“You damn bastards, do you know how hard I worked to get where I was, this town?” She screams in anger, kicking at the dirt and the undead. They toss her to the ground at his feet.
“No worries young miss, we’re simply passing through. In fact, it was I being contacted by you that brought this town’s salvation.” He laughs. “‘Red’ Reed Thompson…” He turns to Kurt and Flint “What a name.” Turning back to Maggie, he smiles. “But you will be rewarded, even though I still have trouble believing my luck, I had no interest in this man, it really is a small world. Your reward, I can smell it on you, you want these fine red stones. Here you are, a gift, for a noble citizen, turning in an outlaw.” He hands her a necklace, a large red stone in the center. She puts it on.
“And now…” He holds up his hand in the air. Flint shoots her in the heart. Blood pours out the wound, coating her new clean attire. “We have a new gunman for the Six-Shooters. Gotta keep those numbers right, after all.”

An Ode to the Dearly Departed XIII

Posted in Fiction, Horror, Western on August 13, 2012 by GuNNhead

The townsfolk burst out of the Sheriff’s with Kurt leading the way, and begin mowing down undead after undead with a flurry of gunfire. For a good few moments, their grouping remains together, but upon clearing out enough of the invading undead to move around, they begin to split up, each with their own ideas. Some go into houses where they know there is more ammo, mainly Ma Perkins’ house. Her husband was an avid collector and marksman before his passing a few short months ago.

“Where in the Sam Hill do we go now?”
“The whole town’s surrounded, there’s nowhere to go, just keep firing!”
“Screw this,” says Maggie, as she pushes Season into a shambling undead and makes a run for her bar, “I can hold up just fine on my own!”
Kurt fires, and saves Season from being bitten, and Maggie makes it to the saloon doors. A body lurches out, vomiting bile upon her, she pushes her way back in, but that is all they see before having to focus on more pressing matters.

Gunshots ring out into the night, the small group finding small breathing times where the horde is less intense. “I’ve gotten through this once, and tarnation, I’ll do it again!” Times are spent climbing onto awnings to buy time, or to break in second-story windows after hearing the screams of other townsfolk in trouble after zombies burst in through the ground floor door. Morning starts to break, and a good number of the people are still alive. Having battled through most of the buildings, they’ve arrived back into the center of town in front of the chapel. Ammo is low, and many tools have been adapted into weapons. Fighting exhaustion and the remaining groups of straggling, dried-out undead, they hear what could be hope. Riders on horseback, could they be saved? No.

The graveyard starts to erupt, and old loved ones rise from their graves.
“How is this happening? Why didn’t this happen sooner?”
“I don’t think Harked Node was ever a real target, darlin. Now we’re dealin with real trouble.”
“What is it?”
“My bother.”

The Six-Shooters ride into town, right among the zombies, and stop yards away from the group. Kurt stands in front. The surrounding zombies stop their mindless onslaught, and encircle the group, standing still.
“Hah, so you are alive, dear younger brother.”
“Wish I could say the same for you, Flint, you rotting scum.”
“Haha, yeah, I bet you do, ‘cept you’re the one that killed me.”
“Too bad you’re too dumb to stay dead.”
“Too smart more like it, you’re just lucky I got orders not to shoot you dead back when we found ya.”
“You damn lapdog, who are you working for? What’s their endgame?”
“Ah, Kurt, you always were slow in catchin on. The endgame is to win, I always knew deep down people were doomed, the only way to win was to be closer to the ground than those shifty snakes were. If you couldn’t scam em, you should just upright kill em. Now, I have the best of it all, I’m six feet under ground, and got the grind of the century. Let me ask ya, who has all the gold once everyone is dead?”
“Nobody, you mad dog, it’ll be worthless. It’ll all be worthless.”
“Exactly, the hoards of undead kill everyone, then, y’see, my boss has a new plan for the whole west, and me and my guys are at the top.”
“So why wasn’t I made dead right away?”
“Dunno that, just know what the bossman said, “Can’t kill him directly,” though I do know you weren’t part of this plan, somethin to do with the stones now is all I know.” Flint gets off of his horse, and continues. “That gun’s rightfully mine, little brother. I wanted that gun, but father gave it to you, sayin I’d use it for misdeeds, even said that you was a better shot. That chaffed me something fierce, forced me into misdeeds. Luckily I had some friends, we eventually become the Six-Shooters. One day, a private investor wanted to hire us. They said to kill Kurtis Kelvin. We got 6 of these rare red stones just for accepting, and 60,000 each once it was done. I was overjoyed, woulda done it for free. But, it was our last living exploit, you saw to that, shot us dead. But we came back, as cause of the stones.”
“So what now? You want my gun?”
“I don’t want nothin from you, but my boss now sure does. Two towns now you fought for, shoulda just turn tail and run, live out your old age somewhere and die. Now you have to answer to the big guy.”

When One Can Afford Interludes

Posted in Fiction, Sci-Fi on July 13, 2012 by GuNNhead

Subtitle: A Story by Your Author

It all started at a time I don’t remember, and a place I don’t recall. So, one may ask of me, what it is. This is a story of aliens. No, not aliens. Something beyond. Beyond ourselves and also beyond aliens, and also beyond imagination! Also I recall the place.

We found ourselves in as poorly a written story as ever– you guessed it: 200 feet deep in Grenektian mud…

Due to bad intel, things had gone all wrong. I was standing beside a lead scientist, who was contacting his Manager.
“The President of Space has been captured by these ‘worms’. Had no clue they were even here, we have some smaller, similar specimens, but these are made up of something entirely different. They don’t show up on any scans, and certainly didn’t show up on the planet-scan. My Manager, please advise, this is only a research thtation– station. Sorry, I bit my tongue earlier in the attack.”
“Manager here. How many of the President’s armed forces remain?”
“Three, but they’re leaving to go rescue him. They want some of our security forces, and any scientists that think they can help, to go with them.”
“Then go with them. I will make sure their backup arrives swiftly.”

We were fast on the trail of these freaky-deaky clear-purple, kinda millipede-worms. About thirty feet long each. While the President of Space was giving his speech, four of them came up, surrounding the crowd. Someone somehow hurt one of them, but they killed about eight of us, capturing eleven, including the President.

We followed in two small HXNRovers, down the holes these creatures left. The groups traversed these intricate tunnels directly into a large expanse. There were thousands of these translucent things, all over the walls, and just piles of them, squirming all over the ground. As soon as we saw the President of Space and fellow captives strapped to the back of a few of them with a thick mucus membrane, the security forces opened fire, including myself. The beasts were largely unaffected by our pulse ammo, but it did draw their attention, and they began to focus an attacking front towards us.

That’s when I saw it, though. We all did. We saw it, the Gravity Surge. We’d only read articles on it on the Network. The entire chamber felt heavier. It started by taking out the ones near us by hand, tearing them apart. I still don’t understand how he could do what our weapons could not. It, or he, then began using some form of energy blasts, and in a flash, everything was dead.

On the surface, I was able to muster a question ‘Why? Why did you save us?’ When he responded, it was singularly the most preternatural voice I’d ever heard. Haunting, digital, and ominous.

“My power, this act means nothing… I did what was asked of. The universe holds only indifference towards life and death. My drive towards death can adapt to direction.” He then jumped into the sky, and never returned. We all felt a great weight lift off of our shoulders once he was gone, and breathed a sigh of relief.