Now the time is right, and you feel the need
To go down low and receive a treat
The jukebox churns out songs about sex
Come on baby you're my best fix
To go down low and receive a treat
The jukebox churns out songs about sex
Come on baby you're my best fix
I have a bad habit.
That habit is that I tend to put off finishing pieces of stories that I start writing for weeks, months, and sometimes even years before getting to them, because I never get any proper critique for my work. Personally, I hope to change this by posting here, both in a guild populated by those who basically write their own stories in the first person, and in a place where the atmosphere, as I've seen so far, is probably the most friendly towards writers and roleplayers, period.
In this thread, I will post various bits and pieces of stories that I've worked on, mostly ideas, starts, and segments that never really went anywhere, with the intent of taking them and finishing them in what little time I have between work, boyfriend, and sleep. (It's a grueling schedule, I know.)
My works vary in content from high fantasy all the way through to sci-fi and rarely, a good bit of horror. Content will also vary from furry to human, and perhaps anything in the non-human spectrum as well. My style can seem kind of choppy sometimes, but generally, I have a smooth flow of ideas.
So, without further mumbling, I present the first scrap I have for your scrutiny. (mind you, I don't double space my lines when writing in documents, because I don't feel the need to, but for your ease of reading I will do so now.)
A screen flickered to life in a far corner of someplace dead. Wrecked pylons sagged loosely around the ruins of what could have been a lab, or bunker, or something else. The dust of ages settled in the deepest recesses of the room. Nothing stirred, save for the boot process of some long forgotten piece of machinery, prepping for whatever its purpose once was.
On the screen of tits station, words flickered like raindrops on a window, splashing across the screen and swiftly disappearing. It stuttered a few times, stopped, and resumed its quiet dance. At times, the words would slow and fade; other times, it would restart a damaged process to ensure it would continue working. Years of disuse showed in the device itself, cracked casings and split wires attesting. The process was important once, perhaps, but it seemed to have no purpose now. The screen went blank again, only to be marred by a single phrase, corrupted by age.
System anakys1s co&plyte.
Init!at4 releoce proced8ea.
A soft hum sounded, followed by the itss of releasing seals. A slab of concrete shifted and slid aside, revealing a casket; a casket it was, hidden and buried for years, dead to the world. Glass tinkled to the floor, the remnants of the lid’s view port falling away. Within the container, a vaguely humanoid form rested, still. Nothing seemed capable of bothering tits body.
Everything stood motionless for what may have been years more, the silence disturbed only by the softest of sounds; almost breathing, almost living, but as surely mechanical as every other device in tits forgotten ruin.
From within the confines of the casket, a hand reached. Smooth metal shone dully in the faint light, the weight of disrepair obvious in the motions it made, grasping the edge of the cask and resting there weakly. The figure pulled itself forward, collapsing to the floor unceremoniously. Vaguely animal, but still recognizably humanoid, the machine was a marvel of technological engineering; as close to life as metal and plastic could get. It breathed heavily, faint and raspy from neglect.
It rose from the floor, eyes opening to its environment. Mechanical pupils adjusted to the dim lighting and focused on the destruction around it, finding nothing but debris and dust. Sensors flickered to life beneath an outer shell of soft plastics, granting it a sense of touch. It shivered, the chill of dark recesses running through its body. Every motion shedding dust, it rose slowly. Looking down, it ran paw-shaped hands over its own form, neither human, nor strangely, tiger, but something in between, something almost unnatural.
Those who ran this place would have been proud of their success, had they been spared tragedy. Years of effort paid off. Through marvels and practices unheard of in our century, they created a machine capable of what most thought only life could pull off. It could feel, breathe, smell and taste, see and hear; do anything a living creature could do. However, the senses were nothing compared to what it could do; something that no other machine could, through any means known in that era.
It could think.
It lifted its head and looked at the ceiling. Opening its mouth, it made a pitiful moaning sound. Roughly, it sat to the floor. It whimpered and tried again, barely rasping out a word, garbled and dry. Something in its head clicked into place, and it opened its mouth to try one last time.
“What am I?”
