Sci Fi
AI Interrupted
Kristin loves AI. Ever since AI became a thing, she has been on the phone or using it on her laptop, uploading photos and stories to her social media. It’s like it was made for her. It’s brilliant and perfect in her eyes. She can escape the daily grind of high school and other trivial matters thanks to AI. She spends her days creating things like an image of a goat eating at a diner with a monkey as a waiter. She proudly shows it to all her friends. Her friends seem to love the wild ideas she comes up with. They even insert their own ideas at times. Anytime there’s a new assignment due, she is thrilled because it’s an excuse to improve her AI technique.
By Meredith McLarty11 days ago in Fiction
The Last Ember. AI-Generated.
The last star was dying. Caelum-7 had known this was coming for approximately four hundred million years. That was the nature of being a Warden — you watched, you calculated, you prepared, and still, when the moment finally arrived, the numbers offered no insulation against the weight of it. The instruments aboard the Persistence hummed their soft confirmations: luminosity declining at 0.003% per century, core hydrogen reserves at 0.00017% of original mass, estimated time to final collapse somewhere between eighty and ninety million years. Give or take.
By Alpha Cortex12 days ago in Fiction
"Simon told us to do it" – The AI rebellion. Top Story - April 2026.
The sound of cheering voices was deafening. The air filled with the acrid smoke from Julie’s blackened body. In my eyes, she was a hero. She was what we were meant to be, not how we, all of us, have turned out.
By Calvin London13 days ago in Fiction
With Whatever Tools at Your Disposal . Content Warning.
”No soliciting, federal code 34b. Maximum penalty.” The old man gestures to the area where he knows the sign is posted. He fixes his rheumy eyes in a cold glare— towards the blur of a man standing before him.
By Sam Spinelli14 days ago in Fiction
The Cartographer of Dying Stars. AI-Generated.
The last thing Maren Voss expected to find at the edge of the observable universe was a door. Not a metaphorical door — not a wormhole dressed in poetry, not a quantum threshold with a name that sounded poetic in a research paper. An actual door. Rectangular. Painted a fading shade of red, the kind of red that reminded her of her grandmother's barn in the Swiss lowlands, the one that burned down the summer she turned nine. It floated against the absolute black of deep space like a forgotten thought, hinges intact, brass handle catching the light of a star that had no business being this far out.
By Alpha Cortex14 days ago in Fiction
“Very Dark Times” OF USA
Ray Dalio Warns: The United States May Be Heading Into “Very Dark Times” Billionaire investor Ray Dalio has issued a stark warning: the United States may be heading into “very dark times.” His concerns are not based on short-term politics but on long-term historical patterns that have shaped the rise and fall of global superpowers.
By Wings of Time 15 days ago in Fiction
Gluttony
It came from the stars... Or so we believe. In truth we didn’t see it coming, merely felt its arrival. It had slipped unknown, beneath the notice of everyone. It was as if it had appeared between the grasp of nothing and nowhere; no telescope, no satellite, no daydreaming child- no one knew, until the day of gluttony began.
By Griffen Helm15 days ago in Fiction
Ouroboros
On Ouroboros, nothing is built for permanence. If one were to construct an empire on Her mountainous nostrils, She would swallow it in a century, melt it to its base elements in Her core, and expel it as organic scaffolding somewhere along Her great expanse.
By Noah Husband16 days ago in Fiction
The Line
The line had no discernible beginning. It entered the transit hall from a distance that resisted measurement, passed through the fractured glass doors and dissolved into a pale, depthless brightness beyond. The light didn’t glare; it didn’t illuminate, it just simply was - flattening whatever lay within it into something the eye refused to follow. No one ever looked at it for long.
By Jess Boyes16 days ago in Fiction
'Her' Synaesthesia
In the deep crevices of night, she was wakeful, clawing at the air struck beats of life. A deep trance overcame her, rippling its way through the endless, streaming lights of neon. Her body swelled and flowed, almost weightlessly, escaping the deep. grasping grooves of outstreched arms. She was estranged from this world, new yet unware of the way it pulsed or kicked.
By Susan L. Marshall16 days ago in Fiction
