Writing Prompt

Theo’s knees cracked as he eased into the supervisor’s guest chair. He scrubbed a weary hand over his face and waited patiently. In a cloud of perfume, Martin swished into the office. With a wink, he offered Theo a hot cup of chicory. Theo accepted the beverage but not Martin’s offer.

“Beat it, baby, we got man talk here,” Lance said.

Giggling, Martin closed the door. Theo sipped. His drink was super sweet just as he liked it. That was one of the few things Theo missed out in the wilds, real sugar. Closing his eyes in bliss, Theo slurped.

“We found one in Center City.”

Theo choked. Hot liquid scorched his tongue. Lance smiled.

“I know, right? I didn’t believe it myself. Figured one of the sniffers was on the fritz. But the techs ran test after test. The traces are faint but undeniably feminine,” Lance said, excitement leaking into his voice.

Theo set down his mug. He cocked his head, study his supervisor and old buddy. Suddenly he laughed. Leaning back in the chair, Theo set his dirty boots on his boss’s desk.

“You’re pulling my leg, Lance. I’ve been tracking feral tribes up north for weeks in hopes of finding a female and you expect me to believe there is one just roaming around the city. Bull!”

“I know but the sniffers have picked up significant traces of estrogen at the water distribution center. I’ve seen the data myself man. I think a female is hiding in plain sight. Trackers like you have gotten too good. It makes sense that she would try hiding here,” Lance said.

Running his hand through his hair, Lance began to pace behind his desk. Theo shook his head in non belief. He knew Lance and the leadership in general were under pressure. Millions died from the AK-7 virus. Then population numbers had plummeted further as fewer and fewer girls were born each year. Only later did scientists realize that the virus caused irrevocable chromosomal damage to female embryos.

They had space travel and miraculous machines but they were a world without mothers. Theo knew the forays into human cloning and gene manipulation had been disastrous. Outside of a handful of secure birthing crèches, women were scarce.

“If you’re so sure just send in a squadron with a few sniffers. You’ll probably get a bootleg estrogen dealer for your troubles. I’m going to take a hot bath followed by a cold brew. Good luck with your wild goose chase.”

Theo sat up and downed his drink. He headed for the door.

“Theo, you’re the best we have. You know why we need you. We don’t want to cause a panic. The female may be injured in the process. We need someone to go undercover in the water lines, infiltrate the refuge camps, and lure her out. We need you man,” Lance said. “We need mothers.”

Theo sagged at the doorway. It was hard enough to track women from a distance but up close profiling made him feel some kind of way. He walked out the office door.

“Let me think about it.”

Another knight's body hits the floor, one of their legs removed via plasma fire. The bio-mechanical march won't stop for another casualty, but the Ferrymyn will. The stampede of knights pushes forward, leaving an opening for the Ferrymyn to preform their rituals. The Ferrymyn approach the fallen; minds sharing burdens of pain. The breathing of the wounded knight slows; both from her withering heart, but also the warm touch on her cheeks. In her delirious state she almost missed that her helmet had been removed. A gentle touch wiped tears from her eyes, granting her clarity. A Ferrymyn's hand was caressing her cheek. They were whispering something in a language the knight could only guess. She hoped it was a prayer. Talk of Ferrymyn was forbidden, as if that every stopped anything in the history of humankind. The knight knew what it meant for a Ferrymyn to bless you. This would be the day her days ended. Until then she would enjoy the first time that she felt the breeze play with her short hair. The cacophony of battle the only sounds gracing her ears without filter. The smell of death lingering with an ocean breeze, a mixing of salt and iron on the tongue. Though the most striking sensation was that of another humans face. No armour, no augmentations. Just a person with a smile. They would carry her beyond. And the knight hoped someday she would do the same. Become a Ferrymyn for another, and feel touch once again.

"Thank you"

Pods hovered throughout the sky. Humming as they went by, covering the sun like moths to a flame. The streets were empty today and the roads were full. And that’s how Fumble got there first.

Why Fumble was not driving at this very hour was because he had always been a slow driver not because he was bad at driving in general, but because he didn’t trust the car he drove. He drove an old pod his father had bought him back in 2989. The pod was grey and dented with streaks of dirt riding across. It made an old sound sort of like a rain when it hovered and could no longer hover anymore then five feet of the ground, which was very bad for a pod.

He continued walking, his feet starting to hit the gravel below him at his normal rythem. He kept going straight, then he went left, then right. And very soon, he reached it.

The Sun’s Power was a small but very successful green house. Plants all around inside, some climbing up the walls of the building while others sat isolated.

Fumble walked in, his eyes catching all sorts of different plants as he walked over to the woman working the register. She stared at him with a dull look in her eye and asked “How can I help you today sir?” He then responded. “I’d like a job” She looked down, still carrying the look in her eye as she looks at a paper in front of her. Then after her eye travels across the paper a few times, she looks back up. “There are no job openings sir “

I finally have it, it’s mine! ITS ALL MINE The shock collar hugs my skin with its cold embrace, an embrace I have longed for since the day my mother passed from the smog poison when I was a boy, like so many others who dwell in this fetid abyss with me. The factory halls have accepted me and my very soul dances to clanging pipes in rejoice, but my body will not dance, will not waste the resources to do so, therefore I will be still.

My suffering was agreeable and I have earned purpose. Those hordes of people in the undercity are now beneath me. I finally have a job in the factory after all those days of slaving away in the pits, they have chosen me. Decided that i have worth to the company and I can be used. Now I will be fed, be given a uniform and ever closer to the surface. Now I will be more than trembling bones, rags and dirt. I’m sure on some day in the future I will finally see sunlight. Yes, that strange light that falls from the sky, I will find out if it really does feel warm. Like the stories passed down to me from my fathers, father’s father. I will be the one to bask in that golden hue as my ancestors did. But names wont help in the dark, only purpose. My adversary is one that gains headway from any slither of life that can be consumed. If the beat in your veins is to loud, your lungs breathe too deep, your will to live too eager, you will be found and you will be food. Therefore I will be silent

Only if they understood, if they could grasp the essence of suffering they would rise with me. I’ve tried to help them, to offer advice and set the example. Show them there is more to life than the mines and the smog. But they wouldn’t listen. At first I thought they were scared or worse their souls crushed and dead. Broken under the hard cogs of this wretched machine that renders both a man’s spirit and his flesh. But no, i have realised it’s something different. Different in myself which is my ability to suffer. Whichever illusive force that animates my husk, a sinewy decrepid thing that barely retains the strength to stumble, something beckons to it. For all I know it could be hope itself, a fleeting stranger to us denizens of the undercity, however it calls all the same. pain and suffering does not seem a fearful beast to me but an exchange, a price. If a man has nothing left to spend but his blood then I am surely rich. To spend frivolously would bring suspicion and ruin, therefore I will be patient

The history books are there, how humanity culled their impending extinction in the 22nd century. A prosperous few millennia came after filled with their own hiccups and roadblocks… wait a second.

She scrubbed away the chip, altering its telemetry before inserting it back into her arm. The vivid recollection of historic events played out again, this time with constant victories, triumphs, and elation.

"Better."

A deep sigh left the woman, tossing away the altered chip before placing a new one inside. She was whisked away to a great war, the ground littered with a green carpet and grand flowing puddles of water. She reached for the chip… fingers grasping at the edges of the dreamscape. A primal longing to stay flooded her brain, to sleep amongst the oddly stained earth. High pitched whistles stabbed at her eardrums, a shock sent through nearly every inch of her body. She yanked the chip out, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks as she tossed it away.

"100 chips an hour. Your pace currently… 20. First strike of the day."

Her body shivered, trembling fingers hardly able to alter the chip’s design but the words couldn’t be refused.

Another chip inside, this time without a second thought. Exactly how it was supposed to be done…

Society has advancenced past petty conflicts. 3000 years ago they would be surprised at how far we've come. Spoiler, it's not that far. We completely removed any trace or war, angering emotions, or conflicting ideas. The problem with that is that the suicide count is higher than ever. The even more concerning problem is that that's a good thing.

You'd think in 3000 years we'd come up with a greater food source, but nope. Once animals pretty much died off because of the harsh weathers and climate (Humans seemed to have adapted), we turned to another source of food.

Humans.

People rioted when the government first proposed this, I mean who wouldn't, but as emotions became a tricky thing, so did people's will to live. Not judging, I would have signed up a long time ago if it weren't for my cowardness. Volunteers for the butchery started flooding in. First a couple, enough so everyone can have a meal a day. Then they came, one after another.

And honestly, this was good thinking on the government's part. If you rule out the dreary, dead life everyone lives, then the food situation is perfect. It controls both population control and carrying capacity. In the end, they would have had no choice.

5025 This is the year Why try and hide Nothing to fear Except for laser toting sheriffs That uphold the law Best pay the tariff Bankers we saw Best job in town Is the lawyer we’d say There’s none to be found There’s no law these days

3000 years after the world basically collapsed into pieces. You may think we rebuilt ourselves but we were never able to. Everyone had to resort to either being a trash collector or home builder. It’s the only way to pay bills. After the big disaster, the world just became a burning pile of rubbish. At least humans are still alive. After the disaster, we thought all hope would be lost, but it is still lost or will we eventually find happiness again?

There was very little for Elliot to be thankful for in the wretched year of 5025, but his job as a historian was one of them. It was the job that everybody wanted, but he was the lucky bastard that edged out so many of his peers.

It wasn't just that it was indoors and safe, although that was a huge plus. He was safe from the elements. He wasn't forced to be out in the world risking his life to rebuild the latest structure to collapse. He wasn't miles underground searching for any and all resources necessary to maybe , hopefully, stop all of the climate issues. He had nothing to do with any of the robot projects, failed or otherwise. He certainly wasn't in an office despairing over the hopeless projections of the state of Earth and humanity in the coming years.

But the true benefit of Elliot's job as a historian was the escape it provided him from his bleak existence. Because as a historian, Elliot was responsible for going through the archives of the history and humanity that came before his time. He contextualized it, he interpreted it, and he soaked it all in.

He got lost in the literature of the 1800s, the music of the 1900s, and the cinema of the 2000s. He spent his life enjoying the wonders of the past. Elliot often daydreamed of what it would be like to to be one of the lucky souls who got to live a few thousand years ago. Even just 1000 years ago would have been far preferable to living in 5025.

Alas, that wasn't in his control. Elliot did live in 5025, but he was one of the few who were fortunate enough to be able to often block it all out.

“Your government doesn’t really have your best intrests in mind.”

Eden heard plenty of things during her job. Pleas and cries and begs for mercy. But a jobs a job. And besides, these things weren’t really people. Is what she’s been told.

“Find. Capture. Neutralize.” That was the job of a Neutrilizer. Eden.

It pays well. She has a fairly easy life because of it. She doesn’t mind that people are afraid of her. That children will run inside when they see her walk by. They don’t know anything.

Of course the government has her best interest! What government doesn’t? She’s making the world a better place. One bullet at a time.

Everyday she clocks into work and gets a list from her boss. She gets in her suit, grabs her guns, gets in her big old truck and drives to the house. It’s a dangerous job, of course. Those muties are dangerous. Its why she need’s to neutralize them.

Her gun rings out along with they’re screams of terror. Furniture goes flying and the walls end up riddled with holes and blood. She takes out a cigarette and lights it. Blows out a puff of air and gets to cleaning. Bagging the body’s and tossing them in her truck. And then she leaves to go dispose of them. Repeat.

Eden turns up the radio and chucks her cigarette out the window as she smiles to herself. Another job well done.