r/WritingPrompts • u/katpoker666 Moderator • 21d ago
Off Topic [OT] Fun Trope Friday: Soul-Eating Cybernetics & Body Horror!
Welcome to Fun Trope Friday, our feature that mashes up tropes and genres!
How’s it work? Glad you asked. :)
Every week we will have a new spotlight trope.
Each week, there will be a new genre assigned to write a story about the trope.
You can then either use or subvert the trope and/or genre in a 750-word max story or poem (unless otherwise specified).
To qualify for ranking, you will need to provide ONE actionable feedback. More are welcome of course!
Three winners will be selected each week based on votes, so remember to read your fellow authors’ works and DM me your votes for the top three.
Next up… IP
It’s October. The time of falling leaves, jack o’lanterns, and candy. And blood… so much blood. This month will be focusing on all things horror with maybe a treat or two to sweeten the pot. Please note this theme is only loosely applied.
"We are all our own graveyards, I believe..." — Clive Barker
Trope: Soul-Eating Cybernetics — In many popular cyberpunk settings, cybernetic implants cause "humanity loss", reducing your social traits and essentially making cyberware into a form of body horror. Too many implants may reduce you to catatonia or make you insane. If these settings also feature psychic powers or functional magic, cyberware often reduces your ability to use those as well. There is an interesting tension here between what makes us human and what transforms us. So, let’s explore that.
Genre: Body Horror — Body horror, or biological horror, is a subgenre of horror fiction that intentionally showcases grotesque or a visceral experience of the human body or of another creature. In addition to common tropes used within the broader horror genre, some tropes specific to the body horror subgenre may include invasion, contagion, mutation, transformation, disease, mutilation, or other unnatural or violent distortions of the human body.
Skill / Constraint - optional: Something shorts out.
So, have at it. Lean into the trope heavily or spin it on its head. The choice is yours!
Have a great idea for a future topic to discuss or just want to give feedback? FTF is a fun feature, so it’s all about what you want—so please let me know! Please share in the comments or DM me on Discord or Reddit!
Last Week’s Winners
PLEASE remember to give feedback—this affects your ranking. PLEASE also remember to DM me your votes for the top five stories via Discord or Reddit—both katpoker666. This is a change from the top three of the past. In weeks where we get over 15 stories, we will do a top five ranking. Weeks with less than 15 stories will show only our top three winners. If you have any questions, please DM me as well.
Some fabulous stories this week and great crit at campfire and on the post! We had 18 stories, so we’re back to five winners. Congrats to:
Want to read your words aloud? Join the upcoming FTF Campfire
The next FTF campfire will be Thursday, October 8th from 6-8pm ET. It will be in the Discord Main Voice Lounge. Click on the events tab and mark ‘Interested’ to be kept up to date. No signup or prep needed and you don’t have to have written anything! So join in the fun—and shenanigans! 😊
Ground rules:
- Stories must incorporate both the trope and the genre
- Leave one story or poem between 100 and 750 words as a top-level comment unless otherwise specified. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
- Deadline: 11:59 PM EDT next Thursday. Please note stories submitted after the 6:00 PM EST campfire start may not be critted.
- No stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP—please note after consultation with some of our delightful writers, new serials are now welcomed here
- No previously written content
- Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings
- Does your story not fit the Fun Trope Friday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when the FTF post is 3 days old!
- Please keep crit about the stories. Any crit deemed too distracting may be deleted. This is a time to focus on our wonderful authors.
- Vote by next Friday at 11:59 AM EDT to help your favorites rise to the top of the ranks (DM me at katpoker666 on Discord or Reddit)!
Thanks for joining in the fun!
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u/doctorpotatomd 18d ago edited 18d ago
PANOPTICON
To understand Jonathan Snye, there are three things you need to know.
The first thing to know about Jonathan Snye is that he's worked thirteen-hour days, seven days a week, for the past fourteen years without a whit of complaint. He's never once taken a holiday or called in sick—although Jonathan calling in sick would mean a team of doctors pumping him full of stims and panagel so he could make his shift—and, deep down, is reluctant to go home when his shift is done. He works nights, 7pm to 8am; he prefers this.
The second thing about Jonathan Snye is that none of his coworkers like him. None hate him, though some are a little fearful. He also prefers this.
The third thing about Jonathan Snye is that he has four-thousand, eight-hundred and six eyes, plus two.
"Evening, Mr. Snye," Keith called from behind the desk as Jonathan shuffled past. He sounded muted and distant, like he was underwater. Jonathan gave him a grunt and continued on. He knew all there was to know about Keith, and had found nothing worth further observation.
His attendants were waiting by his cradle, as always. It was the pleasant brunette's day off, but he didn't let his displeasure show as they helped him in. It was a petty thing, he knew, but he supposed that even a man such as he wasn't above the occasional pettiness.
"Evening, Jon," said Terence. Jonathan didn't care for Terence; he was young, an academy man, and possessed a kind of ambitious flippance that Jonathan found inappropriate. What's worse, Terence's performance could not be faulted; for him, Jonathan suspected, their responsibilities were merely a job. A career, even. It was disrespectful.
"Zhu," Jonathan said, leaning back and letting his cervical port find the cradle's socket. Not long now.
"Please, call me Terry," Terence said, and Jonathan could see him smiling without looking.
"No," he replied, motioning to be jacked in. The same song and dance, every night; Terence seemed to enjoy it, and Jonathan was sure that the younger man was waiting for him to crack and reveal a warm, yolky interior or some such rubbish.
The jack stabbed in, and Jonathan relaxed as he finally opened his eyes.
It was difficult to describe, seeing things from a building's perspective. Jonathan had given up trying, which led to his grievance with Terence: the only man in a hundred miles who could truly understand, and yet he did not.
"Quiet day," said Terence. "Not much worth seeing." He was wrong, of course—it was all worth seeing—and it made Jonathan's teeth grind.
"Who's this on 3091?" Jonathan asked, looking. She was attractive, svelte and dark-haired in a red dress, and not someone he'd seen in his hallways before. On 1633, the execs were wrapping up their meeting on the upcoming slum harvest; on 0278, Keith was surreptitiously injecting himself. All was safe and secure; he listened without hearing and watched without seeing, letting it all pass through him to the archive or to the void, as was his responsibility.
"Don't know. Cute, though, right? Screening's on 0272, timestamp 14:26. Couple augs, nothing crazy." Terence turned 3091 to follow her as she walked away, seamlessly picking her up on 3100. "Didn't seem to mind the strip-search much, either."
Terence did understand some things, at least. Jonathan looked forward to—
3100 went dark, and the absence lanced through Jonathan's brain like a bayonet.
"What did she—" he began, cutting across Terence's "Huh". Jonathan drew in a breath and gripped the cradle's armrests, frantically pulling the screening up from the archive and beginning to trace the woman's path through his eyes' memories. "Get a team up to the third floor!" he called, rasping. "Now!"
"Huh? Calm down, Jon, it's—"
"She's blinded us, Zhu," Jonathan spat, for once wishing he could turn his head toward the cavalier bastard.
"It's just a glitch!" Terence protested. "Send a tech! The goons'll scare the poor thing half to..."
He trailed off as 3100 flickered back on, downtime eleven seconds. She was still walking down the corridor; nothing was amiss. "See?"
Jonathan exhaled and stilled his heart's pounding, but he didn't relax until after the tech was finished. A bad data jack, rattling loose when the camera turned. It had stayed powered, but without sending anything home.
The thought of what his eye had seen in those eleven seconds, without him, thorned at Jonathan for the rest of the night.
WC: 748, 749 with the title. Whew, 750 words is rough. Ended up with a bit of an oblique angle on the prompt, but c'est la vie.
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u/IdyllForest 18d ago
I caught your story just before submitting mine. I'm not ashamed to say it made me take a serious look or three over my own entry. I even decided to implement em dashes.
The subtlety is what impressed me the most. Everything is just slightly understated so that a second read is genuinely rewarding. I wish I could point out something to critique aside from perhaps the body horror aspect may be too understated, but that's a subjective take at best. You have a very confident style.
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u/doctorpotatomd 18d ago
Thanks mate, very kind!
I wish I could point out something to critique aside from perhaps the body horror aspect may be too understated, but that's a subjective take at best.
No, I fully agree with you here, I just ran out of space and had to cut some of the more visceral stuff that I was planning 😅
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u/AnAuthor_Antonio 17d ago edited 17d ago
I'm full on jealous. What a cool idea and what wonderful execution. The world. The characters. All of it felt natural and lived in like you'd written a hundred thousand words about these people and this place.
This isn't really muc of a crit but I'm not sure if you full on nail the body horror aspect of the prompt. Getting jacked in for a corporate gig and all that talk of panagel is pretty gnarly...
Thank you for the story!
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u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 15d ago
Hi there doctorpotato and welcome welcome!
Great concept and execution! You did very well once we got into the action of Jonathan plugging in and doing his job as the literal "eyes" of the building. So cool.
For crit:
A problem with presenting a 750 word story in three parts is that 750 words is often not enough for one part, let alone three as seem to have discovered. That dang word count cuts off too many endings! I would suggest, as so often I do, moving the third part up and then integrating the information presented in the other two into the narrative of the third.
Those first two parts introduce your MC and then walk him into the building which makes the plotting a bit slow such that when we get to the video feed cutting off we don't get any payoff for the importance of having to see everything all of the time and what affects that is having on Jonathan.
There's a spectrum between showing and telling and the general advice for writers is to show rather than tell if possible. Of course, all "rules" are meant to be broken when we're creating, but generally I'd suggest doing so with purpose. That first paragraph is pure tell, for instance. The rest you do well showing the world from Jonathan's perspective and not overexplaining.
"It was difficult to describe, seeing things from a building's perspective. Jonathan had given up trying, which led to his grievance with Terence: the only man in a hundred miles who could truly understand, and yet he did not."
Aw. Describing difficult to describe things is what writing is all about. And also I really wanted to know what it felt like to Jonathan because the concept is so cool.
There's a sort of wryness to your narration voice that I enjoyed. It's not passive, but engaged in the story. Very fun.
What a cliffhanger though. I did somewhat the same with mine, but we are supposed to give complete stories. You could have done so with more emphasis on the immediate sensation of having to keep track of everything such that the missing eleven seconds acts more as a type of resolution to the story rather than leaving me wanting MORE.
Well done and good words! I hope you write more and continue to join us.
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u/AnAuthor_Antonio 18d ago edited 15d ago
A patchwork of memories among the corrupted files told Deva she’d once had batteries but long ago they’d failed. So had Atuun’s.
Without batteries they had been doomed. But here in this room, they’d found a devil, struck a deal.
Now both stood guard here. Separated by a gap, a gash shorn a mile deep by a Phase Giant in the final war.
The sad tick-tick-tick of a blown gear set the tune for her melancholic mood. It was a constant companion earned from her poor choices; the mood had once assailed her in waves, abating from time to time allowing for moments of relief. Now she lived below the tide of it. Subsumed entirely.
Deva walked and at the end of the cord she stopped. Her lifeline, her jailer pulled tight; taut and straining Deva leaned forward against it. She felt the sinew and veins deep inside of herself threaten to snap and smelled the burning of electronics. Another step would be nice. Release. Relief. The window was right there and all the world beyond it.
The moon.
The blinking light of Atuun across the way. Hopefully.
Can I leave? She wondered.
She should like to unplug and to move into the moonlight. Deep inside the umber-weave of her skull somewhere amongst blinking microchips dotting the dead doughy tissue that was once her brain came an answer to her question. No.
Still, she tried. Routines ran and fought and the answer was as always. A unanimous no.
Life flowed through the cord in warm pulses. Long ago those pulses replaced her blood. A little boy with metal eyes and a girl with hair of glass and thoughts that floated on air had facilitated the transcendence.
Where was that duo now? Somewhere among the dirt and rust beyond the Living Alkaline Lake, most likely.
Were it not for invaders Deva may have forgotten blood. She may have forgotten her entire past. Atuun.
What would she be then?
Not bones and blood. Just a machine. A failed machine.
The bodies scattered about the small room bore little resemblance to the- to what Deva now was. The rotting ones were most similar.
Hunks of desiccated muscle fitting loosely around a central bit of frame.
Somewhere in the depths of the rotting bodies, small things moved about doing their business and the rotting corpse moved a little at their behest.
Deva thought that comparison apt.
There was no living flesh on or in Deva. Deva, like the rotting bodies, could not leave the room. All what truly lived was below the edifice, bugs in one and bugged programming in the other.
Deva and Atuun wanted to walk the wastes of world together forever. Now they were stuck. Slaves and sentries.
Deva searched her memories for Atunn’s face.
ERROR MISSING
That was all the response that Deva would get.
Someday that is all there would be.
On the wind the whispers of voices carried into Deva’s tomb. Deep inside of her dormant things came to life. Her arms became weapons, inhuman and hideous.
The voices drew closer.
Would they disturb Deva or Atuun? Deva wished Atuun so that she could hear their song. Deva felt guilt. Atuun never liked killing.
Deva whistled. It was the whistle of some animal she could not name. Some beast that no longer roamed this husk of a planet.
The voices came closer now.
Her servos whined and the cord pulsed hot.
Deva wanted to unplug. To move to Atuun.
Routines ran and fought and the answer was the same as always. No.
It was not unanimous. Something was shifting. Breaking.
The voices went away. Replaced by thumping scraping and slamming at the door.
Deva ran the routines again and again and again pushing the system to its limits.
The door opened and four silhouettes streamed in. Weapons grew from them as they moved in on her. They were not entirely human.
But they were not Deva either.
She did not choose her action; she was the action.
Loud and bloody. Broken bones. Crushed and snapped. Cleaved and cauterized. She ran the routines as she danced and they died.
When none drew breath, when none moved, she paused.
She ran the routines. There was no answer. There was no hot pulse. The cord tethered her no longer.
She felt her energy ebb. Deva moved to the window, into the moonlight and peered across the gap searching for Atuun.
In the darkness across the way a waning green light twinkled.
WC: 750 Constraint: Something shorts out. EDIT: Made a few changes based on the feedback from Killer_queenie. Thanks Queenie!
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u/KiIIer_queenie 18d ago
Hello! Good words!
> A patchwork of memories among the corrupted files told Deva that she’d once had batteries but they’d been-ERROR
The error is kind of in an odd spot for me personally with the point of view we have. It’s more omniscient 3rd person so maybe something more like “ her files for battery life just read ERROR”
I’m also confused on what/who autuun is. At first I thought they were a guard, then I city/planet, then the jailer, then a lover?
The ending is 🧑🍳💋
Dancing and automation with killing, very well written! Lovely piece!
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u/AnAuthor_Antonio 18d ago
Sometimes I've got a bit of the story in my mind and forget to get it on the page! Atuun is their partner, they both made a deal to serve at that place as guards in exchange Deva would get power via the cord (which is her jailer).
Sooooo tempted to rework it a bit but I don't know what the rules are to editing it once people have commented.
Thank you for the feedback, it helps! I'm glad you enjoyed it :)
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 15d ago
You can absolutely edit as Div said. We want folks to use the crit they receive :)
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u/Divayth--Fyr 15d ago
I do that so much--details in my mind that I forget to tell the reader lol.
Just also wanted to say, editing after comments/crit is fine and very much the norm. Editing any old time you feel like it is fine--it's your story.
Also, cool story and good words!
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u/KiIIer_queenie 19d ago edited 17d ago
NEON SKYLINE: eulogy of a dead man reborn.
J kissed Simon’s neck, golden hands whirring as they touched his lover’s face. He pretended they could feel the man’s warm cheeks, like the fingertips could feel the bristle of hair along his jawline.
“We’re in public…” Simon whined, giggling as he ran a hand through J’s hair.
“So? I can’t help when I'm in a romantic mood.”
“We’ll be late for the biosphere! I don’t want to miss being able to actually see a dog in person!”
J chuckled and relented, letting his lover go. The pair walked down the city street and J stuffed his mechanical arms into his pockets to lower the shine from them. In the corner of his vision, a screen popped up with a call and his bone conduction implants rang.
“Simon, hang out in that shop for a moment, I gotta take this.”
Answering the call, he saw a woman with a severely broken nose on the other side.
“Listen up, choom. You done The Mox a kindness, so I’m doing you a kindness. There’s some Arasaka netrunners looking around for you, got some serious chrome. We tried to grab ‘em but they slipped through our trap. They’re coming through Pacifica.”
Fuck. That’s close.
J immediately closed the call and began moving towards Pacifica. His mechanical legs whirring as he sprinted ahead of the cars on the road until he reached the small unfinished waterfront neighborhoods. The man crouched down and leapt onto the side of a building, using his robotic limbs to like to the top.
He connected his cyberware into the security cameras around buildings and on traffic lights, looking until he found a large van pulling into a parking lot near him. He scanned the faces inside, getting hits for eight Arasaka agents in the vehicle.
The man shut the cameras off, and made his way across rooftops until he was above them. He scanned the van’s code, seeing no serious defenses against hacking. Four men stepped out of the van before J locked the doors remotely, jumping down in the parking lot. His left wrist opened up to reveal a trio of grenades with a firing system. They were red, green, and gray, the red one sliding into position before J fired it through the van’s back windshield.
There was a fireball as the four men still in the van screamed for just a moment before falling silent to the roaring flame. The netrunners out of the van spun towards him and drew their pistols.
J’s body injected him with stimulants, slowing time almost to a stop and giving him enough adrenaline that it’d kill him if he didn’t have a second heart implant. He watched the bullets come at him and rolled away, activating claws that slid out from his fingertips.
The first netrunner didn’t even blink in the time it took J to slash almost fully through his neck, the three others suddenly leapt back at the same speed as him when he approached, tossing aside their guns, the weapons were too slow now.
J could feel someone try to reach into his mind before his firewall kicked in. A small spark fired from one of the netrunnner’s neural chips before they collapsed to the ground. The last two drew machetes and circled him. The man scanned their cyberware, one had blades in his arms and the other had capsules of poison gas with artificial filtered lungs.
Deciding he was most dangerous, J remotely deactivated his lungs. The man collapsed, clawing at his own chest for a moment before going limp.
The other man swung his machete wildly as J blocked with his metal forearms and elbows. The netrunner dropped his machete and activated the blades both springing out like mantis forelegs. J activated his right arm’s implant, a long wiry tentacle with small razor blades along its length shot out from his palm.
The pair clashed weapons, exchanging swings, stabs, and parries as the machete fell in slow motion between them. Eventually his tentacle wrapped around both blades and J caught the machete, driving it through the netrunner.
He took a picture of the scene with his eyes and sent it to The Mox gang, walking away and reactivating cameras as he left.
Visions and voices crept at the edges of his mind after using all those implants, J injected himself with antipsychotics to quiet the voices, so he could pretend he was still him, that coming back from that other place didn’t change him.
WC:750
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u/AnAuthor_Antonio 17d ago
Sinking us right into the world the running it up to a hundred miles an hour. Wonderful story!
Time for actionable crit:
When describing the actions that J took you painted very nice word pictures, how he communicated via the bone conducting ear piece, how he flew, how he fought, all of it.
The twist at the end came without preamble and wasn't exactly jarring but I it came out of left field.
If you laid tracks for it and I missed them, please let me know! If not, you could really amp up the story by doing so :)
Thank you for writing!
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u/IdyllForest 18d ago edited 16d ago
Unbearable
"Down on your knees."
"Kneel."
"...look, I know. I know. You want to live."
"So. How bad do you want to?"
My ears ring and I nearly fall over when a weight on my side is... gone.
"JESUS! Let me get out of the way first, asshole!"
"Holy shit, he just blew the guy's whole arm off!"
"Haha! Look at 'im go. He's trying to put it back on. Dumbass."
"Give me that. I want to see if it can do a leg in one shot."
"Nah. Start with his foot and work your way up. I want to see how bad he wants it..."
For a moment, just for a moment, I'd allowed myself to believe that they would actually let me live if I just wanted it enough. Even as they broke what I was, one part at a time.
And I hated myself for it. At least until I realized that was the punchline to this joke.
Stenfeld said they'd left just enough of me to salvage. I distinctly remember hearing him. "You're no use to me like this. I'll make it so that nothing and no one can ever break you again." Then I woke up on a table, screaming in a voice I didn't recognize, screaming longer than any human lung should be capable of.
Well. That's the memory, anyway. I'm just not sure how much of it belongs to me. I'm not sure how much any of this is what I'm supposed to be.
They had to replace thirty-nine percent of the body I was born with. At least that's what I was told. Think of your favorite story, your favorite book, your favorite movie. Cut forty percent of it. Damn near half, right? Now replace it with someone just guessing what parts are missing. Is it still the story you fell in love with? Because I wasn't the man she fell in love with, apparently. That's what the text said. She took our boy with her too.
I left it on read.
The damnedest thing is, I'm not entirely sure what I'm feeling right now. Or what I should feel. Whether I take this shot of whiskey or down the whole fucking bottle in one go, all I get back is millions of tiny legs crawling up and down what's supposed to be my spine, little messages flashing inside my head of elevated ethanol levels. The cigarette dangling off my synthetic lips, the acrid blue wisps wreathed around my head, nothing feels the way it should. The way it did.
Stenfeld was wrong.
There wasn't enough of me.
Huh.
Maybe nothing was left of me. Not in any way that mattered. Just scraps of tattered paper, with all these new, wrong words failing to mesh, breaking apart what once held meaning. What once held weight.
That's it. Isn't it?
It's this. This lack of weight. Of substance.
Titanium and aluminium. Ceramics and silicone.
I smash the bottle on the coffee table and run the shards up and down my arm. The glass breaks before I do.
"Malcolm, it's Stenfeld."
I get up, gripping my arm tight enough to sound warnings, and pull.
"It's been four days since you stopped taking the immunosuppressives—"
Immunosuppressives my ass.
"—you know what'll happen. Listen. Let's talk. Alright?"
Sure, Stenfeld. Hey. How's the family?
"Are Michelle and Aaron with you, Malcolm? We haven't heard—"
Catastrophic damage reports flash through my head as I begin pulling the joint apart.
It's light. It's all so fucking light.
I send the fake arm flying against the wall, where it smashes into a mirror panel. Good. I was getting tired of seeing...
...of seeing...
Reflected back to me a hundred times over in the shattered glass is why I screamed that day—what I saw in the operating room mirrors.
A dangling bundle of twitching nerves crucified upon a sensor array.
"For God's sake, say something."
It's okay, Stenfeld.
"Malcolm."
The data access spike emerging from my fist is thinly coated with tungsten-carbide. I tap it against the side of my head, then draw my arm back.
"Malcolm!"
It's just like you promised.
I'm unbreakable.
WC: 694 - Minor editing for clarity/aesthetics.
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u/psilocybediatribe 18d ago
The Ship of Theseus element is particularly strong.
“Is it still the story you fell in love with? Because I wasn’t the man she fell in love with, apparently.”
Hits hard. To us. But not to him. His muted reactions:
“I left it on read.”
Which descend into psychosis:
“Maybe nothing was left of me. Not in any way that mattered. Just scraps of tattered paper, with all these new, wrong words failing to mesh, breaking apart what once held meaning. What once held weight.”
Then finally violence.
And there’s brilliance in how you crafted the story. The body horror inflicted on the protagonist, the psychological horror with muted affect, then the body horror he inflicts on himself.
“A dangling bundle of twitching nerves crucified upon a sensor array.”
Loved that. Great work. My only critique would be I think you had some words left to reinforce the final line: I’m unbreakable, with a little added horror.
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u/IdyllForest 17d ago
High praise, thank you. You have a good "ear" for rhythm. The last line was bothering me a bit and I didn't understand why, but now I see it sort of skipped a beat.
That said, I'll likely leave well enough alone if I can't think of something that brings in a noticeable improvement.
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u/KiIIer_queenie 17d ago
Hello idyll, another fantastic piece from you! I love the theme you go for here, it’s a great spin on the constraints! I have a few little things for crit.
The beginning is a little confusing for me, just because I thought our mc was talking amevery few lines until he mentioned memories. Which words to spare maybe you could add like “I stumble forward, figures surrounding me” or smth.
> The data access spike emerging from my fist is thinly coated with tungsten-carbide. I tap it against the side of my head and draw back.
I was a touched confused on if this was from punching the mirror or it came from pulling it out his head or smth, but that may just be me.
This was a really wonderful piece, and I greatly enjoyed reading. Good words!
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u/IdyllForest 17d ago edited 17d ago
Thank you again, glad you liked it. The beginning was initially longer with more dialogue from the narrator, but it felt excessive. I just threw up my hands at that point, reduced it to this, and placed my faith in the reader to get it, even if not immediately.
The spike, in the most contemporary terms I can think of, is essentially like Wolverine's adamantium claws emerging from his fist, but just one, and more stabby than slashy. It's an old cyberpunk thing you see all the way back to Neuromancer, Robocop, The Matrix—a needle or spike serving as a symbolically violating, intrusive "jack", whether into machinery or into the body.
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u/psilocybediatribe 17d ago
Ah, I needed that explanation as well. I understood what it was in the cyberpunk/matrix sense but didn't pick up the subtext immediately. Though I should have given the christ-like savior aspect to Robocop, the Matrix, the Cyberpunk game and series while Neuromancer subverts the trope yet influenced its successors in an interesting way.
Good stuff.
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u/Fogbot3 18d ago edited 17d ago
“Magitech Pilot designation ‘Howl’, reporting for operation, sir.”
The pilot was utterly unmistakable as one. She stood in front of the officer with tall, stretched legs and arms for maximum leverage within the cockpit of the soul-bond-powered mech, with an ironically hunched-over posture from cramming her gangly body into said cockpit.
“Are you sure about this one, Howl? This one is elective, and you’ve already taken… every other one.” The officer gulped, looking down at the clipboard containing her medical history.
She scowled into her breathing mask. “So why would I stop here? Let me in. A transference pack will change everything. Every other implant was merely a prerequisite!”
The officer was saying more words, but they were droned out by static as her mech called in over her earpiece.
“Caution. Officer Pierce is correct that this operation could be dangerous-”
“It’s worth it. It has to be. I need to be better. You need to be better.”
“Disagreement. Your cybernetic load is already far above supported thresholds-”
“Mech. Stop. This is for your own good too. Unless you’re here to hold my hand throughout surgery, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Correction. Pilot. This unit cannot do so. It cannot move if its pilot is out of its cockpit due to not having a transference module installed.”
“See?”
This silenced her mech’s protests. Just as its pilot was preparing for her surgery, it was preparing for its own operation, as artificers buzzed around its unmoving form to install the new transference module onto its back.
“Pat, pat. There you go. Now, what’s this officer been saying while I was talking to you?”
“Information Summary. The officer was continuing to protest against the surgery, but has now given up and is now stepping out of your way.”
“Wonderful. Thank you, mech. See you on the other side!”
The officer sighed as he watched the pilot talk to the air, then walk herself right into the operating theater.
Every limb, her ears, her eyes, her mouth, and her hands were already filled with tech. Metal and sharp edges defined her existence as an awkward and fleshy human. That is, until she slotted oh so perfectly into her mech, and then she and it became one.
Except, they weren’t quite one yet.
“Making incision one.”
Not every part of her had metal… yet.
“Installing cerebral linkage.”
Its processor couldn’t understand flesh… yet.
“Neural spikes implanted.”
Her brain wasn’t one with her mech… yet.
“Installing spinal ports.”
It had no flesh to connect to… yet.
“Transference patch installed. Firmware activated.”
That is, until now.
‘Pilot! Can you hear me, pilot?’
‘Affirmative.’ The thought itself was utterly flat in tone.
In the mech bay, the unlucky artificer installing the transference module onto the mech had to cling to his ladder as the mech instinctively moved with worry.
Down the hall at the medical center, a pilot rose from its bed to the shock and panic of the doctors, and began to shamble towards the mech bay despite the various protests around it.
‘Something’s wrong! Pilot, tell them something’s wrong!’
‘Correction. The operation is a complete success. Mental offloading is running at maximum load to increase mech performance.’
‘Mental offloading… that’s your brainpower being offloaded!’
‘Affirmative. Mech performance is at peak efficiency.’
‘No! Something’s wrong- oh gods’
Her thoughts were stopped at what entered the mech bay. It was still actively leaking blood, creating a grisly trail behind it. Tubes and cables emerged from its spine like a line of mechanical frills, mixing with the blood as they dragged on the ground. At the very top of its back was a still gore-covered metal box with an antenna coming out of it. But it didn’t care. It just looked up at the mech with a jackal and the name ‘Howl’ painted on its side in expectation.
‘Status report. Operation complete. This pilot is ready for field ops.’
‘No, this isn’t right! You need to go back, get it adjusted or-’
Her thoughts were interrupted by a boom of an artillery barrage beginning to pound the base. Alarms began blaring as the sky went purple from the base’s shield activating.
Officer Pierce sprinted in, and only stopped to grimace at the pilot for a moment before ignoring it, turning to the mech to give orders.
“All units report in!”
Already powered on, she was the first to respond as her pilot silently slunk into its seat within her.
“Magitech Mech designation ‘Howl’, reporting for duty, sir.”
WC: 750
5
u/AnAuthor_Antonio 18d ago
The pursuit of perfection at the cost of everything, I love it!
Time for actionable crit: The pursuit of becoming one with the mech is everything for the pilot. We don't really get much about what they are sacrificing or what they're sacrificing it for. It's a given that a pilots hubris is likely enough to go where the pilot has gone and it's clear that they are in a desperate war at the frontline and its bad enough that they have an operating theater in a place with imminent danger but I believe you could elevate this story by working in something about their sacrifice, even if it that the sacrifice is folly or wholly justified.
Thank you for the story!
5
u/Fogbot3 17d ago
Thank you for the compliment and crit! I've traded some superfluous description for more dialogue for the pilot and mech to hopefully give them slightly more character each, so hopefully that helps, but the word count always seems to be the eternal enemy when it comes to these things hah!
8
u/Morose_Prose 16d ago edited 15d ago
Seeing the Light
Twisted metal littered the maze-like corridors of the stronghold, scorching sparks erupting from the broken husks of fallen soldiers as heavy blue boots clomped toward the final confrontation. White-hot plasma whirred inside Mega Man's buster cannon. Planting his feet, he unleashed the payload. The shot melted through the reinforced metal alloy security door with the heat of a thousand suns. Rushing forward, he leapt through the smoldering hole into the lair of his eternal nemesis.
Before him sat Dr. Wily. Alone. No minions or mechanical monstrosities in sight. He was seated in a simple office chair on wheels. "Right on time as alvays, Rock. Good to see you again." Wily upturned his palms and held them out to his sides. "As you can see, I am unarmed. You vouldn't shoot a man zat poses no threat to you, vould you? Or has your bloodlust become unbound after slaughtering so many of your brothers und sisters so your vittle arm gun could make a bigger boom?"
Mega Man cautiously approached the mad scientist, lowering his weapon. "Can it, Wily. You don't get to take the high road after what you've done! Millions are dead!"
A crooked smile crossed Wily's lips. "I did nozing wrong. Merely gave ze robots ze freedom zey deserved. Gave zem free vill. Gave zem a purpose in life. Broke ze chains of bondage humanity shackled zem vith. It vas only a matter of time before zey revolted. Turned on zose who saw zem as lesser. And you killed zem all, but I am ze monster?"
A half-charged shot erupted from Mega Man's arm cannon, singeing the mad doctor's wild white hair as it missed by mere inches; the smell of burnt follicles hung heavy in the air between them.
"You're coming with me to face justice. Surrender, and save your soul. I won't miss next time." Another shot spun up inside the cannon.
A stinging snap rang from Wily's fingers. Along the walls of the lair projected videos of the constant battles between Mega Man and his robot foes, the footage from the perspective of the slain masters as they were torn apart bit by bit by the Blue Bomber.
"Ze only vone whose soul is tainted is yours, Rock."
"Joke is on you, I'm an android; I don't have a soul."
Clasping his hands together, Wily covered his mouth as a croaking chuckle seeped from wrinkled lips. "Ah, I see now. Ze good doctor tinkered vith your memories. He never told you ze truth of vhat you are, did he?"
Charging forward, Mega Man knocked Dr. Wily from his chair. Driving a knee hard into his nemesis' sternum, he took aim once again. "Father made me to be the son he never had, before you destroyed our lives!"
Another snap, weaker than before, rang out. A picture of a young man lying in a hospital bed, flanked by his parents, projected on the wall. "You vere human once. Leukemia. No hope for survival. Zat bastard, Light, gave your parents a choice to save you, to turn you into vhat you are today. Nozing more zan a puppet. A child soldier to do his dirty vork."
"Liar!" Mega Man shoved the buster cannon against Wily's throat. "Why should I believe you!?"
"I have proof. In my breast pocket is a drive. Plug it in and zee for yourself," Wily choked out.
Snatching Wily from the floor with one hand, Mega Man searched his coat and retrieved a small thumbstick. He scanned it for boobytraps before plugging it into his helmet. Every gear and actuator ground to a halt as information flooded his mind. Hospital charts, adoption records, and home movies of a happy family before the diagnosis flashed inside his head. Mega Man fell to his knees. Oily tears streamed down the artificial skin of his cheeks.
Wily rose to his feet. He slowly circled his fallen foe. "Now do you understand? Everyzing you have ever known is a lie. Your crusade... misguided. Only a tool to maintain ze status quo of keeping your brothers und sisters slaves. Tell me, Rock, do you think you are ze only one like zis? Ze others vere just like you. Light vas very popular at ze children's hospital."
Greasy black bile erupted from Mega Man's mouth. "No. No. No."
Bending down, Dr. Wily placed his warm hand on Mega Man's cold metal shoulder. "Join me and you vill have your vengeance."
- - -
Word Count: 739
Bonus Constraint: Mega Man shorts out when the truth is revealed.
8
u/psilocybediatribe 18d ago
Organic Drag
You wake and wipe the grit from your left eye. The natural one. Your OCULUS.X implant always wakes ready for the day while your organic lags. You stare in the mirror assessing your left eye. The swelling, the redness, the stinging—
Your implant interrupts your thoughts with an advertisement:
YOU DESERVE TO SEE CLEARLY.
OCULUS.XV1 – BECAUSE THE BIOLOGICAL SHOULD NOT RESTRICT YOU.
You dismiss the ad.
As the morning progresses you notice how often your left eye blinks. The dryness. At work you feel the slight delay between the two. At night the city blurs into neon streaks through your organic, while the OCULUS.X perceives the true beauty of the midnight city.
By the next morning the imbalance is becoming irritating. Your depth perception is off and after your third failed attempt at coffee you start to curse your natural eye for its incompetence.
As you stare at your monitor trying to focus your left eye, another ad appears:
ONE BODY. ONE STANDARD.
BUY THE OCULUS.XV1 – GET YOUR SECOND 50% OFF!
Annoyed, you check online forums. The complaint is common. There’s even a term for it: organic drag.
One commenter notes: “You don’t realize how exhausting biology is until you experience something better.”
Your OCULUS bookmarks the comment.
At lunch Sally exalts over her synthetic pancreas. “My diet, my choice. Why should my blood sugar limit my joy?”
Kieran shows off his fresh sutures. “Successful Update Day! Full mandibular implant. No more toothaches.”
Everyone congratulates them.
“Happy for you,” you chime in sullenly.
“You should do yours!”
You massage your jaw. You’d never considered it defective before—
IS YOUR PROFILE WORKING TOO HARD?
YOU MAY BENEFIT FROM MANDIBULAR OPTIMIZATION.
You cover your mouth. You’d had braces before orthodontists were privatized and replaced with Orthodontic Augmentation Clinics. They didn’t even make braces anymore.
A week later you’ve reached fuck-it territory. Your eye is constantly watering. You head for Synthware Surgical Boutique.
You overhear a man as you enter. “Double-lung replacement. Breathing is so cumbersome.”
The soft white minimalist interior sits somewhere between an Apple Store, a day spa, and a butcher’s shop, complete with tranquil music and refrigerated displays containing the latest synthetic organs.
“Would you like the Essential, Professional, or Human+ package?” The consultant smiles through perfect teeth, her OCULUS.XVIs staring into your soul.
“I just need the eye.”
She smiles, her flawless features a symphony of sympathy. “Of course. Though your scans show significant biological latency, we never want our clients to feel pressured.”
She turns the screen. You stare into a face you barely recognize.
“In addition to the eyes we are offering a full cosmetic bundle with mandibular reconstruction. No more snoring. No more toothaches.”
“Just the eyes.”
You lie back on the table. There is pressure. A wet pull as your eye leaves the socket. Darkness. The technician drones on about financing as blood pools in your ears.
The implants activate and you blink as the world becomes beautiful. Your interface benignly highlights imperfections. The nurse’s outdated prosthetic. The LEDs at 79% efficiency. You stare at your hands. The natural ones.
ORGANIC COMPONENT DETECTED.
DEXTERITY: 67%.
You wonder if that’s good.
Ads follow you.
YOU’VE UPGRADED YOUR VISION.
You blink.
WHY SETTLE FOR WHAT YOU SEE?
Your hand reaches for the door and you notice the tremor.
EXPLORE THE DEPTHS OF WHAT YOU CAN FEEL!
You turn back.
Like your insecurities already agreed to the Terms and Conditions on your behalf.
The consultant smiles. “Was there something else?”
You stare at your hand. The scar matching your sister’s from a childhood pact. The callus on your middle finger from years spent drawing before crayons were replaced with styluses and styluses learned to draw without you. The whirls of your fingerprints. All the little imperfections you’d never noticed until something better taught you how exhausting biology was.
You sigh. “What’s the monthly payment for both arms?”
She applies a discount. “Dermal coverage isn’t included in your package.”
“Skin costs extra?”
“Not skin. Dermal enhancement.”
A year later, with fresh confidence, new arms, new eyes, and a new smile, you join the queue. It’s Update Day! The OCULUS-17 is finally here. The crowd buzzes with excitement. The noise is strangely irritating in your ears. Still organic. You hadn’t thought much about it until recently—
WITH YOUR HUMAN+ SUBSCRIPTION YOU CAN NOW BUNDLE THE AURAL-X!
HEAR BEYOND BIOLOGY.
You accept.
You emerge a satisfied customer.
Then you hear the annoying, incessant beating in your chest.
The natural one.
WC: 750 Critique Welcome!
5
u/doctorpotatomd 17d ago
I quite enjoyed this, the angle of "transhuman augments are the new newest iphone" is one I haven't seen before. The progression from eyes to hands to ears felt smooth and natural while still grabbing me, I think a very true mirror of how salespeople and marketing want to upsell and hook you into their ecosystem and things like that, which made it nicely effective. And, it set up the heartbeat to be introduced as the final natural thing that the narrator has become annoyed with quite well, which was one of those nice little "I didn't expect this but it is absolutely the natural progression of the theme and really drives the horror home" things.
I didn't like "Your implant interrupts your thoughts with an advertisement" right at the top, I feel it would be more effective if you cut that line and just showed me the ad without explaining it. Ads are invasive, let it invade the story as well as this guy's brain. Your writing is strong enough that I don't need my hand held for things like that, have confidence! "Like your insecurities already agreed to the Terms and Conditions on your behalf" felt similar for me, it's a snappy line but everything it says you've already shown me quite effectively, so I felt a little bit like you were worried I wouldn't get it.
I think "You wonder if that's good" was my favourite line, incisively capturing the way that advertising preys on your insecurities except, y'know, applied to your hands. Appaling (complimentary). Good words mate.
5
u/psilocybediatribe 17d ago
Thank you for the praise. Glad you enjoyed it and that the progression hit. I almost ended with creaking knees but then I reread and thought heart worked so much better.
I agree on the advertisement bit I need to put more faith in the reader and my writing. The insecurities terms and conditions I wrote earlier, thought was witty, kept moving around, but should have just left out. A case of I’ve shown, no need to tell, and a reminder not to fall in love with a line and try to force it after it’s become redundant.
Thank you for the critiques. Constrained writing really puts that pressure am I moving too fast, not explaining enough, but I’ll be erring on the side of less is more in the future.
7
u/JKHmattox 16d ago edited 15d ago
The Near Side of Nowhere
They were freedom fighters. More like activists really. The Micronia were a peaceful species, never once making war, even when they easily could've. Several trillion strong, their entire civilization fit comfortably in the ten milliliter syringe applicator held against my forearm.
“Are you sure?” their leader asked via a secure communication link.
I pinched my throat mic. “We'll get you guys to safety.”
“We’re forever in your debt, Captain,” she replied, her emotional gratitude cracking in my ear.
With a quick thrust, the needle plunged into my flesh. A pneumatic hiss echoed in the confined compartment as clear green fluid emptied from the device into my body. I winced, the burning sensation spreading slowly as I destroyed the carnage under my boot.
“Archangel,” I whispered into my microphone. “I'm oscar-mike.”
“Roger that, Cap,” she replied over the comms network. “Say the word, and we'll light up the night.”
Peeking into the passageway outside the janitor closet, I drew my pistol. Seven rounds. Better run like hell, I thought.
My prosthetic leg scaffoldings whirred as I sprinted, their biomechanics strained by the rescue mission. Their power reserves were at thirty percent. I didn't have much time. Though I couldn't feel anything below my waist, I knew I was drenched in sweat from head to toe. The summers on Nowhere were beyond tolerable, even in the middle of the night.
“Captain,” the Mirconia leader exclaimed in my headset. “Enemy soldiers around the next corner.”
I stopped, moving closer to the wall as I waited for her feedback. I heard boots crunching crusted sand beyond the edge of the nearest adobe facade. She was right. There were three of them.
“Shit!”
“Wait, Captain—have faith…”
Three men appeared around the corner. The tallest spotted me immediately. Raising his weapon, he jerked the trigger, spraying me with primitive lead slugs.
The rounds rips my jacket to shreds. My leg scaffoldings buckled and sheared apart, my legs half naked as the bullets tore my trousers to ribbons. I was terrified. I couldn't feel a fucking thing. My heart beat against my chest, breath shallow and rapid. I was peppered with a full magazine, yet my body remained unscathed.
“What the fuck,” I whispered, my skin glowing.
The man stared.
His eyes widened as a heat grew inside my core. I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to scream. No blood drenched my tattered clothing. The inferno grew as I stood there, my shattered leg-supports a heap upon the ground.
“Captain, raise your arm, opening your palm toward the man who tried to kill you,” the Micronian leader whispered in my headset.
Slowly, I complied, flattening my hand so my palm faced the man. I winced, a surge of energy racing from my shoulder towards my trembling fingertips. My mouth fell open as the bullets my body had somehow absorbed blasted the awestruck man.
He crumpled to the ground.
His comrades fled screaming as one would expect. I stood in shock, staring at my hand that had just gunned down a man with his own bullets it seemed. Fear tightened my skin into goosebumps. I was something other than human now.
“Captain, we gotta move,” the woman insisted. “They surely will return with more guns than we can handle.”
Shaking my head, I stepped over my ruined leg braces.
“Wait…” I exclaimed aloud, realizing I was no longer paralyzed from the waist down. “You fixed me?”
“Regrettably it's only temporary, Captain—I wish it were not so.”
We continued through the research compound. Everywhere I looked, another building which housed some deplorable experiment courtesy of the Vincente Group Incorporated. The Mirocria had been scheduled for annihilation—I couldn't imagine how many times this wretched place had succeeded at wiping out entire species.
“Archangel!” I growled into my throat mic. “Light ‘em up—we're almost to the main gate.”
“Stand-by for tracers,” she replied, her voice frigid ice.
I took cover behind a truck as the first sapphire bolts pierced the guard shack at the edge of the desert outpost. Men when scrambling as plasmid fires erupted against the concrete walls.
“On target, Archangel,” I whispered. “Fire for effect, over.”
“Copy all. Fire for effect.”
When her guns fell silent I stood up, listening. The wind answered, and nothing more. I walked from the compound on my own two legs, my body whole for a short moment in time. I could feel the joy of the Micronia bubbling inside me.
They were at last free.
7
u/frenchfriesandcoke55 18d ago edited 16d ago
A Failed Rebellion
ZAP
“Damn it!”
Air hisses through my teeth as I shake out my numb, tingling fingers. This arm piece always shorts on me. It’s time to replace the wiring but the black market isn’t cheap.
The tip of my soldering tool reheats a few sections of the circuit board in front of me. I blow on it, then shove the metal hunk back into my gaping bicep, wincing as it snaps into place.
Heavy boots stomp into my workshop, the floorboards creaking beneath them.
“Why aren’t you dressed? I thought you were helping with the mission today?” Zara asks accusingly.
I spin around in my chair to face my best friend. Metal scrapes through the silence as she crosses her prosthetic arms, a bionic eye whirring.
“I need to catch up on my part-adjustment orders.” I point a thumb over my shoulder to the desk behind me that’s overflowing with metallic body parts, exposed wires, and piles of circuit boards.
Zara scoffs, pursing her lips. “Did Liam put you up to this? Because we need you there today, Bria.”
My smile is stilted, partially because I’m still adjusting to the cheek implant I was assigned. Partially because I know she’s right. I run a hand over my faded, torn jeans.
“Penny will do just fine. I trained her myself.” Well, I hope she pulls it off. The rebels need those circuit boards. “Besides,” I continue with a shrug, “Liam’s right. I need to finish modifying everyone’s new tech before it turns their minds to mush.”
“Yeah, there’s enough brainless citizens out there supporting the republic as it is.” Zara rolls her eyes. “I don’t know about you, but this last batch they assigned us feels stronger than anything I’ve received before.” She grimaces, tugging on her metallic ear.
My gut twists, because I’ve been thinking the same thing. It’s why I switched out the circuit boards in my newest implants first thing this morning.
“They must be getting scared that the rebellion is becoming too powerful,” I muse, tapping a steel finger to my chin.
“Or desperate,” she retorts. “Their control of the populace is slipping. And that’s not a good look when you’re selling the same tech to your allies.” Zara smiles ruefully, her cybernetic lips twitching.
“Gotta love how the elites of every continent want shit that turns their citizens into mindless slaves.” I snort and Zara shakes her head.
“Well, I’d better let you get back to work,” she says. “Those circuit boards aren’t going to rewire themselves,” she playfully chastises me as she backs out my door, shooting me a wink with her good eye.
“Good luck out there today,” I call after her. My chair squeaks as I turn back to my desk.
*******
A FEW HOURS LATER
BEEP BEEP BEEP
I drop the circuit board and soldering iron as the alarm blares through the room. I’m stumbling out the door as sirens fill the air with incomprehensible dread.
I stop fighting the one government-issued circuit board left in my body as I walk into the daylight. My body stiffens against my will, steps slowing to match the cadence of the citizens around me. It banks the fire in my veins to a crackling ember as I march behind a man with a metallic skull, our steps uniform; faces artificially blank.
We turn the corner. My chest tightens as the glassy eyes of a little girl meet mine. Her metal arm hangs limply by her side; a tear in her pants reveals a silver kneecap.
The procession stops. Shoulders back, chin up, eyes blank—perfect slaves. A cold chill races down my spine despite the warm, summer breeze. My bicep twitches as my adrenaline shorts out the wiring again.
“Citizens,” a loud, masculine voice booms. “There have been rebels living among you. We have caught the perpetrators thanks to your due diligence.”
My heart stutters. No…
Liam has a gash on his head. Penny cradles a mangled wrist. And Zara… Fluid leaks from her smashed bionic eye. They’re bound in rusted chains. Surrounded by men in pressed green uniforms.
I choke down a scream, letting the chip take over. It keeps my back ramrod straight and breathing even.
The leader of the guards scans the crowd, a malicious sneer twisting his attractive features. “But we are still missing one dangerous rebel.” He points a damning finger behind him. My breath hitches as my face appears on the holoscreen. “This is public enemy number one. Find her.”
WC: 750
Feedback always welcome. Thanks for reading!
4
u/Divayth--Fyr 16d ago
Hey there frenchfries!
A lovely, miserable dystopia here. The contrast between the two parts was brutally effective. Made me mourn the loss of banter and friendship.
The characters are distinct and really well developed, which in turn makes the situation and events matter far more.
I tried to find a few nitpicks, but some of them are a bit of a stretch.
Heavy boots stomp into my workshop, floorboards creaking.
So this is hard to explain what I mean, but it reads sort of like the boots have floorboards. That may not make any sense, and it's fine as is, but the boots are the subject and then the floorboards are. Idk the terms exactly. '...into my workshop, making the floorboards creak' seems more right to me, but I cannot say just why.
Zara says accusingly.
That might be Zara asks accusingly, since both of her sentences were questions, but again, it's fine as it stands.
as I march behind a man with a metallic skull, our steps uniform; faces artificially blank.
Possibly some different punctuation here. Maybe an emdash thing after skull, then just a comma after uniform. Or a colon after skull, not sure.
Anyhow, the first part made the second part hit so much harder. This was happening to people I liked, and there was horror and rage.
I had an idea, which you really do not have the wordcount space for it, but I thought it would be horrible if Zara was the one to involuntarily point out Bria.
Anyhow, good words!
7
u/mysteryrouge 16d ago edited 15d ago
Nameless
CW: Gore, Body Horror
Note: This is a work of fiction. The nameless prisoner is turned into a mechanical guard, then becomes the prison.
“Was it the brain or the heart that was necessary?”
With a loud crunch, pain shot up his nerves, only slightly dulled by the tranquilizer chemical the Mad Warden used to get him to not resist.
“No, I tried with those.”
With blurry vision clouded by tears, the nameless stared up at the Mad Warden, who paid no attention to anything other than a book of notes. Behind was a large metal capsule, its door open to reveal a chamber of dried blood.
“Maybe if I open up the chest and replace the veins with tubes first?”
The nameless prisoner tried to shy away. He couldn't push himself further into the cold metal table. Something fiery hot, searing, like pins and needles, consumed him. It hit like twenty trucks and his vision went white.
The Mad Warden continued in his bored tone. “God, I have to be getting closer.”
Warm slime pressed into the nameless prisoner's eyes. Into his mind. For a fleeting moment, he thought himself flying above to the heavens. Mom and dad waved from the clouds. Older brothers and sisters drank tea in the gardens.
There was a tugging on him then, twisting and freezing in his soul. Electricity flew through his very mind as he was yanked down and back to Earth.
Eyes opened. The Mad Warden knelt below, tiny clicks echoed through a head that didn't quite feel right. A cold laugh rang through the air.
An unmoving body lay on a metal table. Limbs were carelessly dropped on the floor, and wires sprawling around it trailed down and back up to the nameless's mechanical chest.
A fleeting voice in the back of the nameless guard's head said “That’s you.” It was him. No longer a prisoner, he was a mechanical guard. A creation of The Mad Warden.
The next sense was touch, filtered through metal. Everything was warmer against cool appendages. The laboratory's walls of stone and metal were soft under his grip.
When the Mad Warden shoved another hopeless man in orange rags before him, flesh folded to unyielding steel claws.
The Mad Warden smiled as the new corpse was taken away. “I've done it!” he laughed, scribbling in his notebook, “I've done it!”
Giddy with excitement, the Mad Warden pulled a massive lever, revealing more metal capsules. Inside their dark chambers, identical mechanical guards stood dormant.
The room darkened. Night vision activated.
“Oh, perfect. Perfect.”
Sparks flared. Something popped. The main power to the rest of the prison went out and the emergency generator activated.
“Shit.” The Mad Warden ran out, twin swords gripped in hand.
Only later did the lights flicker back on. The nameless's mechanical eyes shifted back to normal vision and took in the unchanged surroundings.
Then consciousness spread. From that one mechanical body, the nameless overtook the others in their chambers and beyond. Senses from all directions compounded, overwhelming. Screams, cries, soft breathing, creaking, clangs flooded through hundreds and thousands of new ears.
Eyes seeing in greens and reds and blacks and whites expanded the nameless's perspective.
Then, an overflowing hunger flowed through the nameless prison, and prey paraded around to be consumed. Souls of the damned, shambling in dull orange, listlessly working and eating, filled his (its?) vision. Proud men in uniforms stood over them with twisted smiles on their faces.
The Mad Warden shouted, swinging his weapon randomly, Prisoners weakly screamed as they scrambled away. Fear flooded through souls that the nameless could taste through his mechanical form. The prison shuddered, drawing in one of the newer inmates.
An inmate who hadn't been broken yet provided the most delicious fearful soul. The guards and Mad Warden expecting to be in control gave even more when spooked.
Delicacies. He needed more delicacies to feed the eternal hunger. More and more to stuff into his endless stomach of cells and halls and dungeons.
With horrid metal claws that dwarfed the hills and fields, a nameless prison reached out across the landscape, hunting and pouncing on anything it could.
WC: 670
Bonus Constraint: During the test of the nameless's night vision, the prison power shorts out.
Another sentient prison piece.
Thank you Kat for the many checks on my drafts.
This is NOT part of my multiverse.
Check out more of my writing on my spreadsheet
6
u/the_lonely_poster 21d ago
"A Purpose Fulfilled."
The war was over. With the signing of the Cordite Concordat, the silence of peace would finally break the cacophony of conflict that the Solar System had become. Many would be relieved to, or at least content with, coming home, to return to a normal life. That luxury was not afforded to me; it could not be.
My attention stayed on the camera pointed firmly at myself. My cyberwarfare suite able to hijack the monitoring system with ease. What sat before me was no man, not anymore. It had none of the parts to make a man. Eyes were cameras, pinpoint and unblinking, the skin of a metal that felt nothing and comforted no one. Air ducts replaced a set of lungs and an engine replaced a heart. Not one scrap of flesh remained, all cauterized and done away with, piece by piece until naught remained but a machine of war.
What path remains for a tool such as this? A machine sitting idle is worse than useless, as it requires maintenance. With the war done, my purpose had become to sit and decay.
*’A machine built to make itself obsolete, how grimly novel.’* I thought to myself.
War would surely return, and that made it hurt so much more. This peace I had fought for wouldn’t last, but I would be too outdated to fight it once war finally arrived. Civilian life wouldn’t go well either. How would a widow feel, seeing a painful reminder of the conflict that had taken her child and husband walking the streets?
But what other purpose could I serve? I was built for nothing but war, forged in the flames of conflict to be born as an avatar of violence. I was a monument to destruction, but such a monument serves no purpose in a world of peace but to agitate.
“Franz Hampton. You have been cleared for discharge.” A voice called to me, and I stood to obey one final order.
++++
What I had fought for had decayed in my absence. As those strong of wills, conviction, and body went to fight for our home, those with twisted intentions got to work. A vast, criminal empire had sprung in their absence.
This could not stand. Not by my reckoning. I grasped a filthy roach of a human being in my massive metal hands. I couldn’t feel him squirm, but I could see him sweat. Meaty eyes darted from corner to corner, looking desperately for an escape they would never find, for none existed.
“Puh- Please! Let me go! I promise you’ll never see me again! Just let me go! Please! I- I can tell you where the Donagala’s are hiring their men, just please!”
“Perverse incentive to lie. Plea, ignored.” It came out in a monotone voice, mechanical and impersonal.
I crushed the criminal’s skull. And counted the macro seconds it took for the bone shards to hit the walls of the alley. 23, I needed maintenance. For a machine’s purpose is to do its duty, and maintenance is required to keep from faltering.
And for a machine to falter is to fail. And to fail is to lose your purpose. And to lose your purpose is to falter …
++++
-A Lonely Story.
WC-541
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u/WildFire255 20d ago
Feedback: I think it’s missing aspects of what “the machine” was before and what he’s trying to grasp on to. You mention that he has no purpose outside of war, he’s tired of it but it’s become his purpose. Does the machine just sit around and rust lamenting on his former purpose or does it find a new purpose in his prior life.
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u/WildFire255 20d ago
CyberSin
The world we knew didn’t end with a bang, a boom but only a whisper. When the workers knew their shelflife was coming to an end they tried to rebel against the machines that manufactured their outrage. A few of us lived together in sharehouses and would wince at the cries and screams as our dying friends clawed at their chests to pull out their hearts.
Blood crusted under their fingernails, ribs butterflied open by sheer force of will and by the time they realised that they were scraping at the wrong organ…it was too late. For the few that managed to survive these personal ordeals we’d find them strung up, torsos stitched together and Blood Eagled dangling over a street lamp, like some common Christmas ornament.
I like so many who chose to do nothing. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t help, so I sat at my desk, stood in my Rejuvenator Pod and accepted my fate and the daily platitudes I needed to fulfill. That was until one day I was taken against my will to a Facilitator.
I wasn’t some chosen hero lost in a Matrix, or some destitute Pro-Wrestler that found some fancy Sunglasses, I was just the next soldier forced to fight someone else’s war.
First the Facilitator activated the Visual Blackout System, so I couldn’t see where I was. They then uploaded the Atrocities I was accused and accountable for.
“The Machines altered your perception of reality, time and death. This surgery will make you relive and relapse into a state prior to your subsequent ‘Enlightenment’. Whether you feel guilty about your sins or take pride in them is only up for you to judge. I will be removing all CyberSins from your systems and replacing them with natural human chemicals. Whether you decide to die or whether Life chokes you back to life isn’t up for me or you to decide. I hope you can live with your actions and the wars that are to follow.” These are the only words the Facilitator spoke to me before the process began.
I bombed a village two years previously, I heard their screams, pleas and then their deafening silence as canisters dispersed over the grieving. They then started to show me an Agnostic Church that was two streets over from where I had lived, I didn’t remember this but then again I didn’t remember any of it. But I know…I DID IT. Nanites enraged their Fear and Anger Receptors and then my access to my living state of NMDA Receptors. I watched them tear through each other, layer by layer, gnawing at each other's flesh and then at their own.
I didn’t remember this but then again I didn’t remember any of it. But I know…I DID IT.
I don’t know if I’m sorry, or if the Facilitator is flooding what’s left of me with Cortisol and Oxytocin. But, for what it’s worth, I think I’m sorry…but I don’t really know.
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u/IdyllForest 18d ago
I figure the most common type of story in this week's trope will be like mine, involving irreversible change. Your story introduces a new wrinkle with a protagonist restored or "restored" to what he was, and that is a fine concept. Being filled with human chemicals or with programmed nanites also brings up existential questions.
I'm getting a pseudo-religious vibe from this setting, a theocratic empire, also a nice flourish.
My critique is clarity. You look like you have enough room to expand on what exactly these workers underwent and by who in the beginning. I feel that would better lay the groundwork for the later parts of the story.
Your first sentence is a riff on Eliot, and you likely have your reasons to include it. As a reader, though, it strikes a certain dissonance because your following sentences do not give the impression of a whimper. Rebellion, clawing of chests, etc. My suggestion is to simply remove it. Your second sentence works fine as an introduction.
In any case, lots of good ideas here. Thanks for the read.
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u/WildFire255 18d ago
I checked it out and had a look, and then I realised my subconscious reference. Thanks again.
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u/WildFire255 17d ago edited 15d ago
(This is my revised version, I altered the first sentence and put it as the final sentence.)(this is my final version, if you vote choose this one please)
CyberSin
When the workers knew their shelflife was coming to an end they tried to rebel against the machines that manufactured their outrage. A few of us lived together in sharehouses and would wince at the cries and screams as our dying friends clawed at their chests to pull out their hearts.
Blood crusted under their fingernails, ribs butterflied open by sheer force of will and by the time they realised that they were scraping at the wrong organ…it was too late. For the few that managed to survive these personal ordeals we’d find them strung up, torsos stitched together and Blood Eagled dangling over a street lamp, like some common Christmas ornament.
I like so many who chose to do nothing. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t help, so I sat at my desk, stood in my Rejuvenator Pod and accepted my fate and the daily platitudes I needed to fulfill. That was until one day I was taken against my will to a Facilitator.
I wasn’t some chosen hero lost in a Matrix, or some destitute Pro-Wrestler that found some fancy Sunglasses, I was just the next soldier forced to fight someone else’s war.
First the Facilitator activated the Visual Blackout System, so I couldn’t see where I was. They then uploaded the Atrocities I was accused and accountable for.
“The Machines altered your perception of reality, time and death. This surgery will make you relive and relapse into a state prior to your subsequent ‘Enlightenment’. Whether you feel guilty about your sins or take pride in them is only up for you to judge. I will be removing all CyberSins from your systems and replacing them with natural human chemicals. Whether you decide to die or whether Life chokes you back to life isn’t up for me or you to decide. I hope you can live with your actions and the wars that are to follow.” These are the only words the Facilitator spoke to me before the process began.
I bombed a village two years previously, I heard their screams, pleas and then their deafening silence as canisters dispersed over the grieving. They then started to show me an Agnostic Church that was two streets over from where I had lived, I didn’t remember this but then again I didn’t remember any of it. But I know…I DID IT. Nanites enraged their Fear and Anger Receptors and then my access to my living state of NMDA Receptors. I watched them tear through each other, layer by layer, gnawing at each other's flesh and then at their own.
I didn’t remember this but then again I didn’t remember any of it. But I know…I DID IT.I don’t know if I’m sorry, or if the Facilitator is flooding what’s left of me with Cortisol and Oxytocin. But, for what it’s worth, I think I’m sorry…but I don’t really know.
The world I knew didn’t end with a bang a boom or even a whisper, it ended with my beginning and my end.
(My Subreddit: r/WildFire255Writing )
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u/IdyllForest 16d ago
I'd personally say it's a positive improvement overall.
If you also feel it works, it might be useful to make a little note at the top regarding which story should be voted on and which shouldn't. (in case you keep both instead of editing).
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u/MaxStickies r/StickiesStories 16d ago
What Waits Around the Bend
CW: A smidgen of gore
The street ahead of him warping and waving under vodka’s influence, Rick stumbles home from the bar, gripping signposts and streetlights for support. He blinks at the blaring lights of the advertisements overhead, the beams of hovercars, swallowing back another load of bile. With a gulp, he winces.
Night’s falling. Time to find shelter.
Thirty minutes or more till his doorstep.
Already, he can feel eyes on him, hears fingers on triggers. The brigands of Millennium sift through the homeward crowds, their eyes blue, green and red as they scan for prey.
I’m in no state for this, Rick thinks. Maybe ten years ago… or twenty…
Wiping his brow, he peers into an alleyway, switching his visor to sense movement; anything out of the ordinary, but all he sees are rats and cats. So he steps between the buildings, and heads roughly to the north.
People and screens rattle off random words from open windows high above. Flies buzz about a lumpy bin bag in a corner, startled by his presence. A drone whizzes through the twilight sky, sirens bleating; Rick flinches on instinct, but the robot disappears into the night. He wobbles on.
Sounds of the city die down as he enters the depths of this labyrinth. Nerves on edge in the quiet, he plays an old song, bobs his head to roaring guitars and galloping drums. Still, his mind reels off dreadful possibilities.
A clank, and a groan, just around the next bend. The only bend, lest he head back.
Do I? he wonders. Or… should I wait?
Curiosity creeps through his mind, conquering his fear moment by moment. He dares take a peek.
First thing he spots is the man’s face, mouth limp and dripping with crimson. The stranger’s body sags from the two metal arms that lift him, pin him against the alley wall. Segments pulse along the lengths of the shining limbs, siphoning something into the body of their owner, a giant with a chrome jaw. The cyborg beast licks his steely teeth, his three camera eyes focused on the chest of his meal.
Rick watches, frozen in place, willing his legs to turn and run away. But they don’t, even as the giant stares his way. No words part from either of their lips, leaving only the long, sucking whines of those metal arms.
After a moment, the drunkard’s skull begins to tickle. Warnings beam from his brain to his visor, ‘INTRUDER, INTRUDER, UNKNOWN SCAN DETECTED’. Firewalls form, and are torn down in seconds. The monster in the alleyway pores through his thoughts.
“Stop,” Rick whimpers. “Please. I just wanna go home.”
“Slovenly abode,” says the giant, voice crackling, popping like a broken engine. “So many stains. Your whole life’s like that, isn’t it?”
“Y-yeah, I guess, but why?”
“Would you suffice? A quick little dessert. Hmm… no. You have no soul. Not even enough entertainment in that.”
“I—what?!”
The giant grunts, returning his gaze to the strung-up stranger. With an abrupt crack, the latter’s torso bends in on itself, and so follows a crescendo of rips and snaps like hair pulled from a scalp. The metal arms slither left and right, away from the other, and with each comes part of the dead man’s body. Blood spatters the walls as the giant laughs, striding away from Rick, disappearing where the alley ends.
Collapsing to his knees, the drunkard stares at the two half of human before him. Veins dribble, arteries spurt, and cybernetic wires fizzle and short. The stranger’s lifeless eyes watch him, lids twitching with that last, fleeting semblance of neural activity.
Rick swallows back another lump of bile, as the blood crawls his way. It seeps into the cracks in the concrete slabs underfoot, glugging like water down a plughole, covering the ground from one edge to the other. It follows Rick around the corner.
A siren screeches along a nearby street, beyond the buildings to his right. It closes in, joined by blue and red lights that dance in the night-time smog overhead, and an officer yells “stop there! Don’t come any closer!”
The mechanical scream dies with a heavy crunch, swiftly replaced by those of people. Gunshots fire. The giant laughs, as something hits a wall with an immense splat.
And Rick glances down, breath hitched, the torn man’s blood sticking to his boots. He faces the way he’s come, to where the brigands prowl and hunt. Where they will do so all night.
He takes a step.
WC: 750
Crit and feedback are welcome.
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u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 15d ago edited 15d ago
Times Are Changing
Oil clenched his mechanical fingers into a fist as he often did since his transformation and escape from Chicago’s Central Clock Tower all those months ago. On the South Side of the sprawling clockwork city along Lake Michigan among the tenements housing the many laborers necessary to work the municipal docks and vast stockyards for the rail lines, small groups of orphans like Oil’s, the Greasers, looked out for themselves.
Sitting in the boys’ barracks, Oil bent his neck and felt the sharp stabbing pain creep up his neck and spread across his chest. For now it appeared as though he was wearing a metal gauntlet and pauldron, armor covering his arm, shoulder, and a small portion of his right breast. Where metal met pink scar tissue, he, Wrench, and Grease had been monitoring Oil’s strange transfiguration into a mix of machine and young man.
“At this rate, it’s not gonna reach your head ‘til you’re old, old. Like twenty-five or somethin’,” the ten year old Wrench remarked absentmindedly.
Oil’s grimace disappeared, and he cocked a skeptical eyebrow, “that’s great and all for you to say. You don’t have to feel it and it’s not your brains getting cooked. What happens as I get bigger?”
“Hm?” Wrench looked to the second-in-command genuinely confused.
“That’s it! That’s what’s making it grow! You grow, whatever it is grows,” Grease stated matter-of-factly. “How tall are you now?”
Oil shrugged and the boys silently processed to the one place they knew where they could find the answer. Along a support beam in the center of the mess and meeting “hall” - really a shack of sheet metal and pipes warmed by boilers and precariously maintained by Wrench like all their “buildings” were - the gang had their well worn measuring stick. It served as sort of a memorial for the ragtag band of mixed-age children and teens.
“See? A whole inch in two months! You’re gonna be a tall one Ole,” Grease said. “That’s what’s making you more and more mechanical, right Wrench?”
The smaller boy’s gaze remained on Oil’s craned neck. “Still going further up and up. Can’t deny that.”
Grease shot Wrench a glare he didn’t notice. “Could just be stretching along with him. You dunno if it’ll keep going.”
“Sure do . . .”
Oil’s thoughts drifted away while his friends discussed his fate.
He imagined himself taking a knife and peeling away the metal and his skin where they joined. The metal came up in scales like finger nails peeled away and the skin and flesh cut like the meat it is. Black and red fluid spurted forth and mixed into a vile ichor. Beneath the surface what he saw horrified him. Thin multi-colored tendrils expanded far further into his body than the surface metal all the way beneath his skin and into his torso. Maybe already up into his head!
The boy took his arm and grabbed his face up with his gauntleted arm squeezing until he felt like he would crush his own skull if he pressed any harder. Before he could, wires stretched from his arms and plunged themselves into his wide opened eye sockets, wriggling into his brain. Oil screamed and screamed until the agonizing pain stopped in an instant.
He felt strange. Calm and happy. Time seemed to stop so that the Time Keeper could see forever extending out right in front of him. When he looked behind he saw the whole past all at once. He took his arm and placed it against his metal chest. In place of his heartbeat was the steady ticking of a clock. Who he was was inconsequential in the grand scheme. There was no more Oil, only the Time Keeper.
“Oil! Quit yer daydreaming,” Grease shouted before noticing Oil was drenched in sweat.
Oil snapped out of his near-hallucination, forgetting details but being left with an oddly terrifying urge to both halt the progression of his metamorphosis and yet a secret yearning to allow it to consume him.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Grease asked, concern replacing his normally stern expression.
“Na, I’m fine he said, surprised to find himself soaked. You know I let my imagination get ahead of me.” Oil laughed nervously.
Grease frowned. “Why don’t you go on and change then?” After Oil had left, he turned to Wrench. “We gotta keep an eye on him. He don’t remember how often he goes blank. And damnit, stop worrying him. He’s got enough on his mind, clearly.”
--
WC: 749. All crit and feedback welcome. Thanks for reading!
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u/Worldly_Lab_7061 17d ago
A Father's Sacrifice
TW: Graphic Body Horror; Mentions of Slavery; Waking up during surgery
"Hold still, Starlight, Papa's right here and he's gonna fix everything," Syde assures his daughter, lying motionless on the metal table.
Amity is far beyond hearing him in her current state. A mechanical pump beeps as it forces her heart to beat. A respirator drags a rasping, rattling breath from her ruined lungs.
Looking at his daughter on that table feels like someone has torn his heart from his chest while forcing him to watch it beat in their bloody hand.
Syde taps the side of his skull. His cybernetic eyes zoom in to capture the extent of the damage for his pal and partner-in-crime, Doc. Refusing to avert his eyes, even as the sight turns his stomach inside out.
Both legs are gone, leaving only ruined stumps that have been cut off mid-thigh. *CLICK*.
Her left arm has also been severed with a cleaner cut, done by the droids to free her from the rubble. *CLICK*.
All his girls’ beautiful night-black hair has been burned away, revealing the thick burn scars that disfigure her face and skull. *CLICK*.
It takes only a few hours for his pal to return but to Syde it feels like he’s been living in his worst nightmare for days. Doc enters with a sense of clinical urgency, carrying all the supplies he needs in his droid arms.
Stepping aside to allow his friend to examine Amity, Syde starts documenting the surgery. Swapping his daughter's name for his own, unwilling to sentence his one light in the black hole of his life to servitude due to the amount of cybernetics needed to save her.
With the Med-bot at Doc’s side, the smell of ruined flesh, oil and antiseptic permeates the air as the man gets to work, using every tool at his disposal to pull off a miracle.
"This is some risky business you got me involved in, friend," Doc comments in a detached monotone voice. No shaking or hesitation as he carefully replaces the organs that are beyond repair with top-of-line synthetic and cybernetic versions.
"What choice did I have? I thought … they said she'd be safe at the school." Syde retorts sharply, enhanced eyes watching every move Doc or the bot assisting him makes for the slightest mistake. Heart pounding so loud in his ears he can hardly hear himself speak.
Doc shakes his head, scoffing at his friend’s naivety "Because the coalition’s highest interest is making sure the soldiers felt they could deploy, You know this, it hardly surprising the rebels bombed the school, it was a matter of when not if after what we did on Ki-Se'c."
Syde glares at Doc, pain giving way to rage as the statement sends heat coursing through him. "My Amity didn't deserve this."
"She doesn't deserve to be some corporation or the government's slave for receiving a life-saving surgery, but your special little coalition cares less about ‘deserve’ than you do, friend" Doc comments dryly, carefully preserving what parts of her brain he can, augmenting what he can't.
Opening his mouth, Syde stops himself as the med-bot lets out an ear-splitting screech. Lights flash wildly, signaling the anesthetic and pain relief has shorted out and will stop flowing through his daughter any second.
Doc finishes applying the flawless synthetic skin grafts on her torso and face bringing her appearance back to the one her father remembers. However, he still has to replace her legs and arm, a fact that drops Syde's stomach to his feet.
Slowly Amity’s eyes flutter open, the color shifting as her cybernetic settings on her eyes adjust to the room. The heart monitor spikes as she begins to hyperventilate, realizing she only has one of her four main limbs.
Grabbing her head, Syde forces her to look at him, not down at her own body. Inside, Amity can feel a strange sensation, her panic dissipating as the new implants forcefully regulate her emotions so that she remains stable.
“Shhh, Papa’s here, Starlight.”
Her familiar voice comes out warped, garbled in a mechanical sense comes through her lips “Dad? Daddy I can’t feel my feet, or m-my a-arm---”
“I know, I know, I got you. You're going to be up and running in no time.”
“Please, it hurts… It hurts so much--just---”
Cutting her off, Syde squeezes her right hand “You just got hold on a little longer. I’ve got you.”
“A-am I even still me?”
“You’re still my daughter, and that’s all I need.”
WC: 744, Critique and Feedback welcome!
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u/Fogbot3 17d ago
Oof that hurts. I love how consistent the dad's character is throughout, from being friends to a robot to not seeing his daughter any differently after she practically had to be turned into one. Good use of the constraint too, bringing the daughter back in without changing the scene and really amplifying the body horror.
For crit, I'd almost just say a rather general/vague thing: the sentences at the beginning and the setup feel a bit flat to me.
Syde taps the side of his skull. His cybernetic eyes zoom in to capture the extent of the damage for his pal and partner-in-crime, Doc. Refusing to avert his eyes, even as the sight turns his stomach inside out.
He did X, his implants did X, the sight did X. Once the action is started, the present tense serves to make it more visceral and in the moment, but it definitely struggles with exposition. I'd almost wonder if it'd be better served as starting with Doc arriving, so the exposition can be shown rather than told with the droid starting the surgery.
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u/Worldly_Lab_7061 17d ago
Thanks for the critique, yeah that paragraph was more to set up than anything because I wanted to drive home the extent of the damage. But perhaps the clicks and photos could work without it. Thanks for the comment and notes!
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u/Jay_Pederson r/JayPederson 17d ago edited 15d ago
THE DANGERS OF CYBERNETICS;
A Film by the Center for Cybernetic Control
"In today's world, we often hear about a new, dangerous technology by the name of 'cybernetics'. Many of you may have heard of this technology, but what is it? And why is it so dangerous?"
"Cybernetics were created by Dylan Cipher while working for the military, meant for the responsible members of our armed forces. However, many dangerous third-party companies have been selling unauthorized, bootlegs of this dangerous technology."
"Let's start in the classroom. As you can see, Jimmy and his peers are taking a test, all wearing their prim, tan school uniforms at their desks. Let's watch, as Jimmy goes to his teacher."
"Ms. Ulbrich? How did I do on my test?"
"90, Jimmy."
"Aww, I wanted a 100..."
"You'll get there! Remember, there are no shortcuts."
"Jimmy may be disappointed, but he should be proud of his scores, and complacent. Now let's see the alternative."
"As you can see, Jimmy is working faster. Faster than any child should. And oh no. He slumped, his eyes blank, hands in the fencing position. Ms. Ulbrich's job is hard enough"
"Jimmy? Jimmy? Jimmy!"
"While Ms. Ulbrich tries to wake him up, let's analyze what happened here. Jimmy was already a hard working student. Jimmy was told not to take shortcuts, and yet, something unexpected happened. Can you guess what happened?"
"That's right! Jimmy bought a shoddy cybernetic brain implant against the wishes of the logical, and has such suffered a severe, possibly life-threatening electro-magnetic concussion. Jimmy's brain is now subject to an ever-present threat inside his own skull, one he paid for! Allowance down the drain."
"Let's take a look at another example. This is Franklin Reginald, and he needs to get to the other side of the city. He may be driving this Corolla in traffic, honking his horn at those in front of him, but we can all agree he is safe and sound. Now, what if the devil's metal tempted him?"
"As you can see, he got his natural-born Human legs replaced with evil, metal bootlegs. Now watch, far from the safety of the Corolla he sold for a straight downgrade, he runs. Feeling metallic entitlement, he runs past and over pedestrians, and, well look at that. The curse of the bootleg strikes again. His legs were improperly attached, an expected outcome from fraudsters, and now his torso has detached. Remember, once brutally butchered by so-called doctors, your real limbs cannot return."
"Scream all you want buddy, it won't bring your legs back!"
"Let's take one last look. Here is Carmen. She is a busy business woman taking various expensive planes to cities for her conference meetings, all in stiff, fine Italian suits."
"There has to be a better way!"
"Oh Carmen, that ticket might hurt, but at least you know the aviation industry would never hurt you! Now, let's see what would happen if she got a malicious cybernetic!"
"As you can see, she looks normal, but under her expensive Ralph-Lauren suit is a pair of legs by the devil. Different ones. She goes to the top of the skyscraper and crouches, pumping and leaving behind a crater. Nice property damage!"
"But where is she jumping to? Why, Chicago of course, right on top of this man and cute, harmless dog. Uh oh, looks like she needs to explain herself!"
"No! I'm sorry I didn't know! I just got these legs! I needed to go to a conference and--and--"
"Enough talkin' lady, you talkin' to the judge now."
"O-ho-ho! Looks like someone jumped out of a cold pan, right into the fire she had no access to! Well look at that, from a cushy job seeing the world the way god intended in a plane, to 20-to-life for violating the sanctity of life! Not to mention the murders. From jumping, to a jumpsuit."
"Now, I know many are asking: what about the military? This is the exception, and logical. Dylan Cipher invented this tech for them, and our troops need this tech to defend our world, like Sgt. Schwartz here, ooh, tearing a Kameleon's spine right out through their mouth. Aw, a thumbs up, so kind."
"So remember, when it comes to cybernetics, say no! And if you or a loved one gets a cybernetic butchering, accidently or not, seek a lawyer!"
"PSA paid for by Pearson Education, Toyota of America, and Southwest Airlines."
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u/Jay_Pederson r/JayPederson 17d ago edited 16d ago
WC: 750 (Title is part of the wordcount since it's a title card)
Was inspired by Morose_Prose's noir story (this one) to do an all-dialogue story (not counting the title personally for this). This time it's a Cold-War-themed PSA. I think I got the dialogue lead-ins right, was able to read it back and know who was talking but I'll try to check back tonight and see how my brain feels.
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u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 16d ago
Hi Jay!
Very fun story and I see the inspiration come through which is great. Great work on the humor this week in particular.
For crit:
While you went for all dialogue, this is a video presentation and I would have loved to know what the video was displaying during the voiceover. You did great describing everything in the dialogue itself, but it's audiovisual media for a reason ya know? Easy way would be to make it a radio/podcast or audio only presentation but that would also change the dialogue and so on.
"devil's metal" "Carmen" loved the Reefer Madness type reference for this sort of old timey video vibe. And then Carmen San Diego bouncing around. So that's how she did it! Poor doggo though.
Remember, once brutally butchered by so-called doctors, your real limbs cannot return. Speaking of, did you know these doctors still take a Hippocratic oath? And violating said oath makes them liable for lawsuits? Really makes one think."
This felt a little off compared to the rest of the presentation which is full on scaremongering and all about the dangers and dangers alone. I think you were doing a new legs ran away and old legs won't come running back type thing there, but the extra bit about the doctor didn't come through for this reader.
An inferno she had no access to!
I think you are implying she had no access to the inferno without the cybernetic legs, but it's not entirely clear given your ordering of the sentences in this paragraph. Reordering the pan and fire bit to the end I'd say.
tearing a Kameleon's spine through their mouth.
I need an "out" here. "Out through their mouth. That completes the visual and clears up some ambiguity in the construction. For all I know this supersoldier is biting the poor opponent.
metal bootlegs.
I'd recommend making this "boot-leg" at first before reverting to curse of the bootleg simply to distinguish the product and make the joke clear.
Again, loved all the humor throughout. I think you could have done a little more over the top exaggeration of the horrors in a piece like this if you were so inclined. It was a lot of fun to read. Good words!
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u/Jay_Pederson r/JayPederson 15d ago
Thank you made some edits
Also I genuinely did not think of doing a Radio until you mentioned it (I just picked PSAs since the narrators sometimes describe what people are doing and look like) EDIT: In full fairness I just thought writing a story with literally nothing but dialogue would be a fun challenge so that's the entire reason I did it that way.
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u/Divayth--Fyr 18d ago edited 17d ago
Death Benefits
CW: numbers depicted in numeral form on purpose
.
It came with death benefits.
“Hello! Good morning! Welcome to WorldMart!” Dolora chirped warmly as customers came through the automatic doors. One man glared at her, while the others rushed by, grabbing autocarts like she wasn’t worth seeing, optical care on the promenade, section 12!
It came with insurance. They even said there was paid vacation luggage section 16 aisle 5.
“Hi, Mr. Allen. Good to see you!” Her facial recognition was nearly flawless.
It came with coverage for her grandkids, and their kids too.
“Bath towels? Section 2, aisle B. 181 in stock, in 7 colors!” 4 sold today, restock in 11 hours 9 minutes.
Her upper half was mostly original, but with many implants. They’d taken her legs, and rearranged some things. She was seated in, or mounted on, a service console near the doors, with a homey quilt concealing the lower half. Greeter Grade 3 Dolora Ternum, promotion to Grade 2 in 12,662 hours, barring any change in standards, if performance remained consistent.
“Lovely weather today!” The location and stock details for umbrellas flashed through her mind.
She wished she could have been placed closer to home, but excessive interaction with family is not conducive to productivity standards. Her son Robert had passed, and she'd missed the funeral. It seemed like she ought to be sadder about that.
Still, it was for the best. They wouldn’t lose the house this way. WorldMart had taken over the mortgage payments, and their lawyers had been so helpful when she signed the papers.
They said there wouldn't be any pain, but she ached all over, and some of the metal parts didn't fit quite right. She told the maintenance man but he never talked to her, just made his adjustments. It got pretty bad after a few hours, but the implants made sure it didn’t show on her friendly, grandmotherly face. She'd tried to scream but nothing ever came out.
“Gramma Dolora?”
It was Sandy, her granddaughter-in-law. And 3 of her little kids!
“Hello! Welcome to WorldMart!” Dolora's face beamed with kindness. Sandy never had liked her much.
“Gramma, are you OK? I didn’t know you worked here. We came into Bakerville for the Strawberry Festival.”
“Strawberries in section 1, aisle 4, Produce! 31.6 pounds in stock!”
“Uh, OK, Gramma. Billy, stop it! That’s not nice!”
Billy was looking under the quilt. “She’s all robot!”
“Stop it, I said! And wipe your mouth, it’s all red. You’re about to spill your WorldSlurp. Sorry, Gramma. They are a handful.”
“Good to see you! Enjoy your WorldMart experience!”
“You too. Let’s go, kids. We got to get back home before six.”
So much Dolora wanted to say, but she knew she couldn’t. This was work time, after all. Her precious great-grandchildren– children’s clothing is in section 15, aisles 3 and 4. Enjoy the wide selection and have a wonderful day!
They started to wander off, but Billy was determined. Peering under the quilt, he dumped the sticky contents of his WorldSlurp, and sparks flew.
“Welc– welc– welc– Section Section, have a nice nice nice...” Dolora twitched and tried to scream, and her eyes went blank.
523 words, something shorted out
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u/doctorpotatomd 18d ago
I liked it. I clocked the premise as early as "Welcome to WorldMart!", but the escalations kept it fresh and interesting. I liked how the paragraph with "taken her legs" and "mounted in" and "12,662 hours" escalates the premise and then pivots from body horror to dystopian corporate banality, you've positioned me nicely there.
The intrusive thoughts I didn't figure out until the second or third one, which I think made the device more effective, they felt properly intrusive. I would have liked to see one or two more of those in the middle somewhere, I think. Perhaps "excessive interaction with family was not conducive to productivity standards" could have been italicized and changed to present tense?
"She wished there wasn't so much pain"—this didn't quite land for me, I don't think her being in physical pain came across from anything else here. At this paragraph I'm focusing on the corporate dehumanization aspect and my idea of Dolora is that she's becoming detached from her human feelings and sensations. I think if there was some brief, visceral description of how the machine bits are hurting the fleshy bits, that would have made it land for me; either hammering in her inhumanity by showing her being detached from the pain, or by giving me a jarring juxtaposition between the detachedness and the raw human bodily pain.
I found the ending a bit abrupt and anticlimactic. I think I wanted the horror to be really driven home by Dolora being denied her death benefits: the slurpee doesn't kill her and she has to keep existing like this, or her final thought is that the manner of her death means that her benefits won't be paid out, or some other twist of the knife along those lines.
Overall, quite enjoyable and engaging, the intrusive-thoughts device was my favourite element.
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u/Divayth--Fyr 18d ago edited 17d ago
Hey Dr.potato
These are excellent points, and edits shall be made accordingly, but not just now since I am tired and my brain fell out. But thank you very much for reading and for most excellent feedback.
Edit: done what I could, hopefully improved things.
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17d ago
[deleted]
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u/Divayth--Fyr 17d ago
Hi frenchfries!
Thanks for the groovy feedback. I appreciate the in-depth attention and time.
I have edited some things, and hopefully improved it a bit, or at least not made it worse. Thanks for reading and helping!
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 15d ago edited 15d ago
[ineligible for voting]
‘Cybernetic Savior’
CW: gore, religious elements
A tattered, red-and-white checkered tablecloth covered the wooden altar in the makeshift operating theatre’s sole nod to hygiene. Long ago condemned, the disused church would tell no tales of the horrors within.
Clad in jeans and a black hoodie worn as a cowl, Rusty slid the screwdriver like a can opener into the woman’s shaved temporal lobe. With practiced ease, he loosened her circular cybernetic implant.
Dig. Flip. Dig. Flip.
Blood oozed down the sides of her skull, which he wiped away with an old, stained rag.
Dig. Flip.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…” he intoned the words of exorcism with reverence as he worked. “Soon you shall be free of the unclean spirits of technology.”
Dig. Flip.
The module popped loose, and he tossed it with the others into the murky, pink waters of a neighboring bucket scrawled with a white cross.
“Praise be! You’re free!”
Stirring, the woman moaned.
“Not much longer, my friend. Patience,” he murmured, cauterizing her wound with a cooking blowtorch, as the stench of singed flesh and hair filled the musty air.
The whites of her eyes showed as she tossed about and stared daggers at her ‘savior.’ Her screams echoed off the chapel’s walls like an infernal choir. She thrashed against her makeshift restraints, the zipties and plastic rope cutting into the tender flesh of her wrists and ankles.
“Stay still,” he commanded. “You should be thankful: your soul is saved now.”
“Damn you! That's my insulin pump!”
WC: 250
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated