science fiction
The bridge between imagination and technological advancement, where the dreamer’s vision predicts change, and foreshadows a futuristic reality. Science fiction has the ability to become “science reality”.
Evil Horizon (Part 4)
The forest was alive with life. The early morning sun had began its slow climb over the valley. The local area and crash site of the Pinto consisted of what was still known as pine trees. The sap from these massive trees had a very strong but pleasant scent. They had been merged with the DNA of redwood trees; which made them at the base easily 20-30 feet wide.
By Remidy James9 years ago in Futurism
The Onset of the Contest
The original game of professional major league football in the United States ceased to be decades ago. Cases of players being diagnosed with traumatic brain injuries and other maladies caused players, team owners, and the commissioner to ban the sport altogether. Days of pain and suffering vanished with a few taps of a tablet and a signature on the line which was dotted. And it took a few more years for a revolutionary league to take its place. The Columbia Football Association instituted a way for football supporters to enjoy the sport without the added earned guilt of knowing that a human player could be injured severely on the field or succumb to an illness related to the game years after retirement. The CFA took care to see that the game of football be played where humans didn’t have to fret about a torn anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) or meniscus. On this December evening, the flag waved and the band played and the robots stood at the position of attention. Around the ballpark, everyone with a hat or cover removed it out of respect for Old Glory. Silence existed except for the voice of a robotic opera singer singing “The Star Spangled Banner.” Once the part of the song got to “land of the free,” a triumphant roar rolled over the crowd. With a last note of pure perfection in tone, timbre, and range, the robot ceased her song and the game became set in motion. The Diamanté Bank ballpark in Wilmington served as the hometown setting where the Delaware Mint hosted the Philadelphia Turkeys. Each team prepared for the game with their human overlords programming their computer systems. Down to the weight, height, throwing technique, running speed, all received exact calculations from the engineers on the sidelines. Each tweak of the players’ bodies and “minds” became clear with the onset of the contest. By beginning with making sure that their circuitry and other mechanisms operated to the highest level, the engineers knew that they could send out their androids to the field with confidence. Assistants greased joints and rotated mechanical parts to make sure that they remained in prime position. Engineers put the last touches of code into the software of the androids. At the coin toss, the Turkeys called the coin toss to be heads. It was heads. They elected to receive the ball. At the onset of the contest the viciousness of it all showed through.
By Skyler Saunders9 years ago in Futurism
Point of Origin
Chief advisor Armenn stood anxiously outside the great throne room, waiting for its mammoth door to open. Delivering a report to the queen was nerve-wracking enough at the best of times, without having the added pressure that the report he was about to give her could, in all probability, start an interplanetary war. He could, however, take small comfort from the fact that it wasn’t the first time one of his briefings had led to bloodshed.
By T.J. Kinsella9 years ago in Futurism
Outrun Stories #43
The world’s gotta pay, the world’s gotta pay, the world’s gotta pay, just going around and around and around in my head. Look what it’s taken, everything from me, everything and everyone that I ever had or loved and left me this shell, with nothing more than a loaded gun and a grimace across my face.
By Outrun Stories9 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #43
Fifteen years since its birth and announcement to the world, and fifteen years since it vanished with no trace, and today it decides to reappear. Why today? Why make this moment so special, why this particular time? I can’t help but wonder if it holds some sort of special significance. If this thing, this AI, the Citizizen as it calls itself, is really so special, so grand, surely it would have picked some time in the grand cosmological calendar that made some sense?
By Brutalist Stories9 years ago in Futurism
Lone Wolf: War Dog
Lone Wolf scanned the open field through his scope, keeping a close eye for enemy activity, before he heard sounds of a roaring engine. He carefully looked up only to see a dark hovercraft fly over him and slowly descend onto the field. He stood up and moved cautiously into the field, tall grass waving around him. The door on the side opened and a robotic soldier stood in the doorway, motioning for him to hurry. He climbed aboard the hovercraft and the door closed behind him.
By Michael Astren9 years ago in Futurism
The Joy Fantastic
She cleaned her hands in a basin by the sink in her laboratory; the cleansing was more than to scrub off bacteria that may have been on her hands (although that may’ve been the case). This was a spiritual purging. This was the recognition of doing a work of excellence. It represented a clearing of all the faults that might lie between her fingers, the palms, and the backs of her hands. It represented the washing of all of the negativity leveled against her. Kalia Satterwhite scrubbed until the bubbles formed thick bands of foam around her hands, wrists, and forearms. She rinsed. After applying a paper towel, she slid on some gloves and set to work. What she worked on did not involve liquid chemicals per se. But it was the act of preparing to fashion something of greatness, of wonder. Kalia put the last pieces of this machine that she had been working on for the past 12 years together. It looked like one of those machines at the airport from previous ages that completed a full-body scan, except this one did not imply public humiliation. No. This machine would be the key to eliminating pain in human beings forever, for the most part anyway.
By Skyler Saunders9 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #42
He’s sat there, and I watch the android come over to him and help him clumsily pick up his cup and bring his juice to his mouth and I wonder what the future will bring for him. My son, this delicate young soul that has some sort of path ahead of him, some sort of time that’ll see him grow into.
By Brutalist Stories9 years ago in Futurism
Outrun Stories #42
Thousands of us gathered here tonight from right across the stream to see him in person. There’ll be millions more hooked into the feed to try and get a glimpse of him, to hear his words, even if it is in VR form, all they care about is hearing what he has to say, hearing what’s going to be next for us.
By Outrun Stories9 years ago in Futurism
Outrun Stories #41
This was the sort of place you went to die. When youth was all you had left to give, and even that had run out, there wasn’t much else that you could do other than go to a place like this and it took in all sorts. You’d walk in and every time you’d be surprised by all the different types you’d have in there. The amount of people never took you by surprise, but the types certainly did. Business man to family man, down and out to yuppie, I swear I’ve even seen a few clerics in there. Everyone’s got a problem at some time or another, and more often than not, when that problem runs too much, too high, too bad, you end up here and you better hope that you had something decent to sell in that brain of yours, otherwise, that’s when the real trouble would kick-in.
By Outrun Stories9 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #41
He sits and lowers his head and takes a long breath. There’s a sandwich on the table next to him he’s just prepared for himself and he’s considering eating it, but first he just needs a moment. A second to close his eyes and breathe, lowered head, rubbing the worn knuckles of his hands with his leathery fingers. Trying to warm the joints, habitually trying to loosen sore and old bones, knowing it never has any effect, but doing it anyway.
By Brutalist Stories9 years ago in Futurism
