#scifi

Cyborg X West daughter Alexandretta. After the two bank heist she returns to the woods of her Father Rage and to his cabin in the most ancient woods. She IS a Demon Gained Predestiny to Become a Demon like Her Father also with the Brain Waves, Reprogrammed with the Yellow Seal and Samadhi with the Brain Waves. She is an unstoppable force of pure Cyborg Unit Programmed with Glory. She Senses like her Father Rage who to Hunt.

Cyborg X West daughter Alexandretta. A full bodied Cyborg with Consciousness and Soul of Brain Waves Programmed Into her Cyborg. Demonic. Sensing what to Hunt and who is guilty, and murderous, to kill. She runs across roof tops, only to find a bank heist in progress. She Senses all the attackers. They all deserve to die. One attacker is out front guarding, so she shoots him through the throat with her MB thermal silenced.

I've studied Goth, grunge, and punk rock, for over 9 years on and off. Many similarly related subjects past 29 years. Cyber Punk is by far my favorite of it's type. The best Cyber Punk to me is Ghost In the Shell Japanese manga which this story is inspired by, but unique to me also. Cyborg X West daughter is Alexandretta. She is a full bodied Cyborg with weapon MB thermal scope silenced. She was Raised in the most ancient woods, and left to go to the Imperial City.

Arising In the Mind, Meditation, Enlightenment, and Nirvana, In THE Void, Mind Merged In THE Void. PassingThrough material Energy the universal Dimensions. Mandala of the Seasons of MYSTICISM, savage through the Ages of Avatar Incarnations, A Demon Gained Predestiny Sensing and Hunting in the most ancient woods.

I've always hated my job for one simple, yet insurmountable reason: nothing ever happens. Imagine spending nine hours. NINE freaking hours. Locked inside a concrete bunker, listening to the universe breathe into your head through an oversized pair of headphones. The higher-ups like to pretend this is some kind of essential service. That my job is somehow paramount to the advancement of the human race. It isn't.

Her head felt hazy. Something was wrong—she could feel it, the way you feel a storm before it breaks. Something bad was coming. She tried to open her eyes. Her body felt heavy, weighted down, as if invisible hands were pressing her into the floor. And somewhere close, someone was crying. Her eyelids fluttered open. A girl was lying on top of her, weeping into her chest. Panic surged through Jasmine—she shoved the girl away before her mind could catch up with her body.

The year was 3042, and in the coastal town of Aethelburg, the morning of the Ceremony of Bonds dawned cold and golden. Mike Ashgrove had barely slept. He'd lain awake in his narrow bed, staring at the ceiling of his family's modest clifftop home, listening to the distant crash of waves against the harbor wall. Today was the day. The day every fifteen-year-old in Aethelburg had dreamed about since they were old enough to understand words. Today, he would receive his Circlet.

The howls of aberrant mutants filled the night sky, low and ominous. Their disgusting skittering could be heard all around me. Inhuman forms swam in the dark, never allowing my eyes to pin down their true shapes. At once, I saw a dog, a feline, a bird, and a man. Dread filled my bowels as I watched from my perch. I checked my weapon again; the magazine was still empty. I sighed and checked my sidearm: one full-charge magazine, not nearly enough. That left my blade, a sixteen-inch, heat-sheathed…

For three days after I found the rabbit, nothing else had happened. That frightened me more than the noises had. The woods had gone quiet. Not truly quiet. The birds still called in the mornings. Cicadas screamed from the trees in the afternoon. At night, the frogs took over the creek. But the other sounds stopped. No howls. Not footsteps beneath my window. No knocking against the walls. Nothing watched from the pasture either. Nothing moved in the tree line.

I saw them. My family’s cows, floating up into the pale white light. I was looking out my window at the time, it was night and I was the only one awake. Father had claimed he had locked the barn, but again more of the poor creatures where taken. They had been going missing, one by one, for a while now. My family had installed camera’s, but nothing was ever caught, just another cow disappearing into thin air every night.

Part I

I opened the messenger app. I hadn’t done much. It was my day off as I had submitted my assignment on the Duke of Wellington’s strategy at the Battle of Waterloo the day before. I was bored and in a bad mood. John had called me but missed. He had also left a message on my desktop. I read it:

The sky at the end of the cycle went purple and orange, the way it always did, like something slowly bleeding out. Only one of the twin moons was up, and the air was wet and warm. The glowing things the children called shimmer-flies were everywhere, drifting through the tall grass in lazy loops, pulsing soft light.

Mama was holding the goat by the horns while wearing garden gloves, still avoiding touching the horns with bare skin. “Untie those,” she said referring to the rope used to tie the goat to the column. I began to unfasten the rope from the goat’s neck. It started to jerk its head, uncomfortable with how she was being handled. “Don’t touch the horns,” her voice stern but low.

This story is inspired by SCP-096 created by Dr Dan, and takes place in the SCP Foundation universe. The cover image was created by dekades8 on DeviantArt and edited by me. Yeah, hey, I don’t know where this will go. If this goes through anywhere, then I guess I got lucky. one. Last. TIME. If you’re reading this, don’t go looking for what I saw. I mean that. Don't look at its face, and this means no photo will be attached.

​In a mysterious forest, among ancient trees and a clearing long forgotten by man, stood an abandoned shack surrounded by old, neglected graves. The place was shrouded in infamy; disturbing things happened there. Witnesses claimed that something sinister lurked in the darkness. Local residents spoke of terrifying screams echoing from the shack—cries that resembled a chimera or some other horrific beast.

​Jason pulled out of the parking lot next to the "Dark Valley" roadside diner. Sitting beside him in the navy-blue Jeep was his friend, Caroline. They had just stopped there to grab their favorite beef steaks—it was pretty much their weekend ritual. Both were in excellent spirits as Jason slipped the key into the ignition and tried to start the car.

Our lost, loitering kind paced in infinite death spirals within the confines of our grotty, ghetto pens. Enrichment was sorely that, as well as mumbling our mantras of madness to our audience of one. The BMs anchored to our decayed craniums were garbled with feedback and distortion, their tones bland, colorless, no soul backing them up. A blinding ruby radiance flashed from their cores every second on the second. It was the only manner to determine if we had succumbed to the glorious embrace of…

A cold snowflake greets the warm skin of my face, melting immediately. I ignore the sensation and look forward instead, just like the rest of my group. “Holy shit! The legends did have some truth in them!” Jess yells over the howling wind. David shakes his head: “I’ve been telling you this a thousand times! This is the whole reason for this expedition.” He can’t contain his excitement. I look at the snow-covered ruins.

I put on my running shoes with springs, designed to cushion the impact on the ground. It was my nightly ritual, something I did every single day without fail: running to the neighboring town, keeping my body busy and my mind free of thoughts. It was almost five o’clock, and the sun still stubbornly lingered in the sky, painting everything with a pale golden light.