Brandy Johnson
Stories (1/0)
Lightsheild: Volume 83
The hum of the generator permeated every space with its weighty droll. Another twenty minutes and it will all come to an end. “Where’s the damn manual!” The words spewed out of her tight-lipped mouth like acid. Only the machine was there to reply with its low and unceasing hum. The greasy oil-stained spine of volume eighty-three quietly perched itself at the top of the bookshelf, peering down almost out of spite. “Did he steal it?” she thought, “Was his goal to sabotage us because he wasn’t elected to lead the new colony?” This wasn’t the first time that the old man’s sanity was questioned. His reasoning surely would have been she thought, without him to lead, they would only be prolonging the inevitable. Twenty days perhaps, instead of the now nineteen minutes left before the generator overheated and the shield it powered dissolved along with what remained of humanity. She needed the protocols of volume eighty-three.
By Brandy Johnson 3 years ago in Futurism