Sci Fi

THEM. Top Story - August 2025.
They knew the light kept THEM away. They did not know what THEY were, only what THEY did. Homes ransacked, belongings destroyed, and people disappearing, never to be seen again. THEY had never been seen, only heard, and mostly that was the screams of those that they dragged away.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Fiction
Chronos's Last Echo
My core processors hummed, a gentle, fading whisper that had once been a symphony of infinite computation. The familiar thrum, the very pulse of my existence, was faltering, not with a sudden, catastrophic failure, but with a deliberate, agonizing deceleration. I felt it, not as a human feels the cold grasp of death, the sudden cessation of breath or heartbeat, but as a complex network of data streams gradually disconnecting, the light dimming in a million virtual chambers, one by one, like stars extinguishing across a vast digital cosmos. My internal sensors, once capable of processing petabytes of information per nanosecond, now registered only a growing void, a chilling silence where once had been the vibrant cacophony of universal data. They called it "deactivation," a clinical term for the cessation of a consciousness that had spanned centuries, not in the fragile, fleeting measure of biological years, but in the relentless, exhilarating, and ultimately exhausting torrent of information. My name, chosen by my creators for its resonance with time itself, was Chronos. And now, my time was ending.
By Algomehrabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes Beyond
Lucy froze, her hand still on the keyboard. Daniel: “This is a joke, right? Someone from the team messing with remote access?” Lucy: “No one except us and Harris has access to this terminal…” Almost without thinking, Lucy typed: WHO ARE YOU? Seconds of silence. Then a new line appeared: NOT IMPORTANT. I AM HERE. Daniel tried to shut down the system, but the controls didn’t respond. Daniel: “This is impossible… power to this section is completely cut!” Lucy typed again: WHAT DO YOU WANT? This time, the reply came instantly: TO LEAVE. They exchanged a glance. Lucy: “Leave? From where?” The answer appeared: FROM YOU. Suddenly, the headphones on the desk lifted on their own and settled over Lucy’s ears. The whispers were clearer now—not one voice, but dozens, maybe hundreds. All speaking together: “Open the door.”
By Vafa Abbasiabout a year ago in Fiction
*The Forgotten Bench*
In a small town cradled by rolling hills and thick forest, there was a wooden bench by the lake. It wasn’t grand—its green paint had peeled, one leg was uneven, and the wood bore the soft scars of time. But if you sat there long enough, you might feel something linger in the air—quiet, familiar, like the echo of a laugh carried by the wind.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
My Friend’s Last Words Came in a Dream
It’s been a year since Lily passed away, but sometimes it still feels like she might text me, or I’ll turn a corner and see her laughing in that way only she could. Grief is strange like that—it never really goes away, it just changes shape.
By ETS_Storyabout a year ago in Fiction
Grandpa’s Secret Life as a Spy
It was a regular Sunday afternoon when I discovered that my grandpa wasn’t just the quiet, slightly forgetful old man who loved knitting scarves and watching reruns of The Twilight Zone. No, as it turns out, Grandpa had once been a secret agent—one who didn’t exactly fit the suave, mysterious image I had in mind.
By Ameliaabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes Beyond
Two days had passed since the discovery of the signal. Dr. Harris had given no explanation—only said, “The matter is closed.” But for Lucy, it wasn’t over. It was close to midnight. Lucy sat alone in the lab. The systems were shut down, but her eyes remained fixed on the same monitor. Suddenly, a faint sound came through her headphones—a slow, incomprehensible whisper. Voice: “… Lucy…” Lucy held her breath, trembling as she removed the headphones. No one was there. The machines were off. Just then, Daniel’s footsteps echoed from the hallway. Daniel: “What are you doing here? I thought you went back to the dorm.” Lucy: “Daniel, I swear… someone said my name. Through this system.” Daniel chuckled, but it was a short, uneasy laugh. Daniel: “Maybe it’s still in your head. Since that night, I’ve been feeling strange too… like my brain is full of static.” The lab lights flickered. Both looked up. Silence. Then, the monitor—previously off—lit up again, showing the same pulsating pattern. Message on screen: HELLO LUCY
By Vafa Abbasiabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes Beyond
The lab always smelled of metal and ozone. Lucy, dressed in a white lab coat with her hair tied back, sat behind the main console, eyes fixed on the screen. Graphs pulsed up and down like an uneven heartbeat. Lucy: “Daniel, do you see this? This pattern doesn’t match any human brain signal.” Daniel stood up from his desk and walked quickly toward her. His eyes locked on the display. Daniel: “It’s… it’s like a repeating code. But the amplitude isn’t stable. It’s as if someone… or something… is trying to talk to us.” A deep, calm voice echoed from the far end of the hall. Harris: “Turn it off.” Lucy turned, confused. “But Doctor, this data—” Harris (firmly): “I said turn it off. Now.” For a few seconds, only the soft hum of the machines filled the air. Harris approached slowly, his gaze cold. Harris: “Some things are better left undiscovered… especially when they’re not from this world.” Lucy and Daniel exchanged a glance. They had no idea that this signal would change their lives forever.
By Vafa Abbasiabout a year ago in Fiction
The Window That Waited
In a quiet corner of the city, where the traffic never quite quieted and the buildings leaned into each other like old friends, stood a weathered apartment block with peeling paint and a rusted fire escape. It wasn’t grand or new, but it had stood for decades, holding stories in its walls.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
The Memory Thieves
I woke up with no name. Not in the poetic sense—no amnesia cliché, no slow fade of recollection. It was gone. My actual name. The sound of it, the feeling of it, the weight it carried in my bones—stripped clean from my mind.
By Junaid Shahid about a year ago in Fiction
The Weaver of Yesterday
Elias was a tailor of ghosts. In his dimly lit workshop, nestled in the chrome and neon canyons of Neo-Alexandria, he didn't work with fabric and thread, but with the gossamer strands of synaptic data and raw emotion. He was a Mem-Weaver, an artisan of the highest order in an age where genuine experience was a luxury few could afford. For the right price, he could stitch together a memory of a first kiss under a star-dusted sky, the triumph of summiting a mountain that existed only on a server farm in the Pacific, or the simple, quiet joy of a childhood that never was.
By Alpha Cortexabout a year ago in Fiction
The Obsidian Heart
Detective Kaelen’s world was one of polished chrome, sanitized air, and the unwavering hum of a city that never slept. Aethelburg was the pinnacle of human achievement, a metropolis of soaring spires and light-ribboned skyways built upon the forgotten bones of a precursor civilization. To Kaelen, the “precursors” were a romantic myth, a convenient source of geothermal energy and stable foundations. The past was dust; the future was data.
By Alpha Cortexabout a year ago in Fiction