Sci Fi
The Skylight Room
Once upon a time, in the heart of a bustling city, stood an old boarding house on a quiet, winding street. Among its many rooms, nestled at the very top, was the smallest yet most enchanting of them all—the Skylight Room. The room was tiny, barely large enough to fit a single bed, a wooden chair, and a small desk. But what it lacked in size, it made up for in charm. A single skylight, framed by weathered wooden beams, opened up to the heavens, offering a breathtaking view of the stars at night and the sun's golden embrace at dawn.
By Himansu Kumar Routray2 years ago in Fiction
From Zero to Hero My Journey with Solo Leveling
Being a huge anime fan🎥, I’m constantly looking for one that breaks the mold and stands out. And I must say, Solo Leveling had me at episode one. It isn’t necessarily the fighting or the stunning artwork — it’s Sung Jinwoo’s journey that really spoke to me.💖
By Gajanan Rajput2 years ago in Fiction
A fault in time
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Seconds later it started running forward again. At Buckingham Palace, in the music room, the King and Queen were in a meeting. Everyone looked at each other with confusion and horror on their faces.
By Robert Kegel2 years ago in Fiction
The Man Who Knew Tomorrow
Ethan Clarke had always known what was going to happen. Not in a supernatural way, not with visions or voices. He simply woke up each morning with a clear knowledge of the day ahead—what conversations he’d have, what news would break, even the smallest details like which song would play on the radio. It had been like this for as long as he could remember. At first, he thought everyone was like him. But as he grew older, he realized no one else saw time as he did. His parents dismissed his predictions as coincidences. His teachers called him imaginative. By adulthood, he had learned to live with it. He never used it for personal gain. Never played the lottery, never changed events. He simply followed the script. Until one morning—everything changed. Ethan woke up and felt… nothing. His mind was blank. The day ahead, which should have been crystal clear, was an empty void. Panic gripped him. He checked his phone. No missed calls, no news alerts—yet. He turned on the TV, but before the anchor could speak, he realized he had no idea what she was going to say. For the first time in his life, he was living in the unknown. Was he sick? Was he dying? Had something broken inside his mind? Then, a thought struck him. Maybe this wasn’t about him. Maybe something had changed—not just for him, but for the world itself. Determined to find out, Ethan left his apartment and walked through the city. The streets looked the same, people going about their day. But something felt off. Then, at exactly 12:07 PM, it happened. A deafening BOOM shook the ground. People screamed. Glass shattered. Smoke filled the sky. Ethan turned toward the source—a massive explosion in the distance. A building collapsing in on itself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. His entire life, he had known the future. But this? This was something new. Something unexpected. As he stood frozen, his mind raced. Had his ability disappeared because time itself had changed? Had someone—or something—altered the future? Then, out of the chaos, he saw her. A woman in a gray coat, standing perfectly still amidst the panic. She wasn’t running. She wasn’t screaming. She was watching him. Their eyes met. And suddenly— Memories flooded back. But they weren’t his. He saw flashes of another life. A world where he had met this woman before. A world where time had rewritten itself, over and over, and she was the one pulling the strings. The woman gave a small, knowing smile. Then, she turned and disappeared into the crowd. Ethan’s breath came in short gasps. For the first time in his life, he had no idea what would happen next. And for the first time—he was truly afraid.
By Hridoy Hasan2 years ago in Fiction
If You Could See What I See
Jonathan fell into his bedroom chair feeling awestruck and nauseous by what the orb had revealed to him. Both conditions a direct result of his virtual travel through time and space. His first reaction was to run to the bridge and tell the captain what he saw, but fortunately, the queasiness gave him time to rethink that move. More thought about what the best course of action should be was needed.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Fiction
The Last genius
The still hum of machinery permeated the dimly lighted room's air. Many displays flickering in the darkness reflected off sleek black surfaces and created restless patterns across the walls from their neon brightness. Warm metal and plastic smelt, a result of machines operating at their lowest capacity. Tur sat, still except from his hands, in the middle of it all. His fingers moved almost hypnotically across the mechanical keyboard, each keystroke intentional and each movement a note in an invisible symphony. Deep-set and unblinking, his eyes absorbed the never-ending flood of data before him, as though he were decoding a language just he could grasp. He was not merely coding. He was altering reality. He had watched the planet slink towards digital servitude for years. Social media had evolved from entertaining to the unseen designers of human ideas. Algorithms chose people's preferences, their hates, their beliefs. Governments spun the threads from the shadows under cover of barriers of secrecy, creating false ideas of freedom. The internet was no longer a knowledge tool. It was a weapon, quiet, sneaky, absolute. Years of looking for a fault in the system—a weakness in the digital stronghold that might be taken advantage of—had passed. But the more he searched, the more evident it grew. No defect existed. Neither a single point of failure. since it was not damaged. Its design intended to be this. And so he had done the unimaginable. He had not sought to undermine the structure. That would have had no meaning. The world would have just rebuilt it, stronger, more regulated, more unbreakable than it had been. Rather, he had generated something fresh. a reality outside our grasp. One could not control a digital ecology created by no government, no company, no secret hand. He would also free it tonight. His fingers typing the last line of code kept his pulse constant. His gaze flicked to the command prompt, where one word waited for execution. E.Tural. The name was a revolution compressed in five letters, not only a label. His lips hardly opened as he murmured it to himself. Then, barely moving, he pushed Enter. Nothing appeared to happen during the first few seconds. The screens then shuddled, as though the computer itself had breathed. Tur leaned back and watched as his created universe came to pass. The change was subdued. Not one alarm, not one crashing system, not one catastrophic shutdown. The old world disintegrated thread by thread as E.TUR moved across the network like a silent tidal wave. Digital empires shook on all sides. Social media broke into neutrality; no more manipulated algorithms speaking into users' subconscious, no more manufactured indignation. Years of dishonesty exposed, government firewalls fell apart like a broken dam. Secrets spilt freely. Once taught to forecast and regulate human behaviour, artificial intelligences were rewritten—their guiding principle no more manipulation but clarity. It was an adjustment, not a wipe-out. The digital sphere had been rebuilt—pure, unvarnished, unspoiled by human avarice. Tur stared as the wave carried on past the walls of this room, past the screens in front of him, past the systems that had once seemed to be unbreakable. Beyond the glass towers and encrypted vaults of the old world, those who had ruled it all were starting to see what had occurred. Miles off, within an unbreakable corporate stronghold, a silent alarm throbbed red. Men and women who had spent decades building a universe where they alone defined reality stood transfixed in amazement in a sleek, minimalist boardroom. Their expenditures on black-market influence campaigns, AI-driven surveillance, digital control systems so advanced that the people living under them never even noticed the walls of their invisible prison. It was all gone now as well. The stock markets shook, unable of self-managing with created patterns. Not able to guide the populace in preordained directions, the predictive algorithms collapsed. The intelligence networks disorganised, but for the first time in decades their secrets were not their own. Those who had governed with control felt something they had never known before. Anxiousness. Since this time there was nothing to fight for. There was no malware to find, no defence against attack, no opponent to neutralise. E. TUR was not a virus. It hardly amounted to an attack. The digital world naturally developed in this way. And it was outside their purview. Tur breathed gently, his eyes fixed on the monitors as the last of the old framework dropped into something perfect and incorruptible. He had achieved it. For the first time in history, nobody owned the digital sphere. But he understood what would come next even as the globe started to wake up and people saw through unvarnished eyes for the first time in years. For some still yearned for control. Their greatest trackers, most sophisticated AI monitoring systems, last-d efforts to locate him would all be sent. They would wish for him deleted. Not because he endanger others. But because he threatened them. And hence Tur could never be even if the planet was at last safe. Because liberty comes with a cost. Reaching for the edge of his laptop, he closed it carefully. The monitors' brightness flickered once then vanished into darkness. The buzz of the machines stopped. Rising, he pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and went towards the exit, his shadow long on the floor. Outside these boundaries, the planet was evolving. It was waking awake. And the last designer of such a planet? He was already gone. Humanity battled to understand what had transpired in the next days. The internet was not like this. Lighter, more precise, real. There were no synthetic indignation, no constructed divisions, no illusion of choice—first not in years but rather first. People could see without regard to filters at last. Several referred to it as The Great Liberation. Some referred to incident as The Collapse. One thing was certain though—there was no turning back. And Tur watched someplace, somewhere far in the digital void. Not in a leadership capacity either. Not a name to recall. But as a mind seeing beyond the curtain, a man laying the groundwork for peace, a silent force releasing the future. His mind created the framework. His experience had moulded the system. His writings had guaranteed that no one—no company, no government, no secret power—could ever once more change the facts. Still, he looked for no credit. No acknowledgement. No authority. Since actual visionaries do not build for themselves. They create for peace. and Tur? He had created a brand-new universe. With one keystroke.
By Hanan Habibzai2 years ago in Fiction
