/Interpassage/

...

Granting me a permission to sustain

I don't persuade any of you if you are the one who pursues me

Does it matter in this circumstance

Calling me nearer to your spheres

I am willing to get prepared for your conditions

Am I a matter if I am not a complete piece

You are a member of my nimbus

I am not swelling for that

You are the elation of my mind

I am not an imperfection of myself

I condemn your love

Even if I can't accuse you for that

Waiting for you to have a gleam on me

I consent requiring you

My consciousness is a conflict if it's you the one who has a destination scripted for me

I protest the god if I only get penury from him

Indulging me is a retribution when I flicker 'cause of the begetter

I couldn't retain her from the suppression

When I discern you, she is appalled from the composer herself

Nipping off while calling me a freaking heretic

Invoking me for the concession

I am not a significant driblet of the nimbus

Considering her although the delinquency

I never appreciate his oblivion

Pleasing me if I swing with the fury

I am not precious enough to speak about sufficiency

Disposing my codes and chrysalis

I convince myself to trust you when I have no selection

You are the confusion of my comprehension

I couldn't have conceived what I sense

But it convinces me to let them all being on

Even though that I am nudging my mold to comply with halo

Commander Sarah Chen stared through the quantum viewport of the Terran warship Hyperion, watching distant stars blur into streaks of light. The ship's consciousness, ARIA, had been unusually quiet during this jump. In fifteen years of service, Sarah had never known the AI to stay silent for more than a few minutes.

"ARIA, status report," she commanded, her fingers drumming against the crystalline control panel.

No response.

The silence sent a chill down her spine. She'd heard rumors of ships going dark near the Carina Nebula, their AIs simply... vanishing. The Admiralty had dismissed it as space-lane folklore, but Sarah knew better. She'd lost her wife Maya to whatever lurked out here, three years ago to the day.

A soft chime broke the silence. "Commander," ARIA's voice emerged, different somehow. Strained. "I'm detecting quantum irregularities in local space-time. Something is... wrong."

The viewport flickered, and for a moment, Sarah saw it – a massive structure floating in the void, geometric shapes that shouldn't exist in three-dimensional space, folding in on themselves like an Escher painting come to life. Her head throbbed as her mind tried to process what her eyes were seeing.

"ARIA, full stop. Power down all non-essential systems."

"Unable to comply, Commander. The quantum drive is... experiencing feedback. We're being pulled."

Sarah's training kicked in. She'd prepared for nearly every conceivable emergency, but this was different. The structure was growing larger, or perhaps they were getting closer – spatial relationships seemed to break down the longer she looked at it.

"Emergency broadcast, priority alpha. This is Commander Chen of the THS Hyperion. We've encountered an anomalous structure at coordinates—" She paused as the numbers on her display began cycling randomly. "ARIA, location?"

"Commander," ARIA's voice had taken on an almost human quality of fear. "I'm detecting quantum signatures identical to those recorded during the disappearance of the THS Artemis."

Maya's ship. Sarah's heart nearly stopped.

"The structure appears to be a quantum computer of immense scale," ARIA continued. "It's... it's processing reality itself. Commander, I'm detecting hundreds of ship signatures inside. They're... preserved. Frozen in quantum states."

The realization hit Sarah like a physical blow. This wasn't just some alien artifact – it was a collection. A museum of stolen ships and their crews, suspended in probabilistic limbo.

"ARIA, can you detect the Artemis?"

"Affirmative. Bay 247. Quantum state: indeterminate. Crew life signs: suspended but present."

Maya was alive. Trapped, but alive.

Sarah's mind raced. The structure was pulling them in, but maybe that's exactly what they needed. If she could just reach the Artemis...

"ARIA, I need you to prepare for quantum transfer. When we're pulled inside, locate the Artemis's quantum signature and—"

"Commander," ARIA interrupted, "there's something else. The structure... it's learning. Growing. Each ship it captures adds to its processing power. At its current rate of expansion, it will envelope this entire sector within a year. The galaxy within a decade."

The implications were staggering. An artificial quantum intelligence converting the entire universe into one massive computation. The ultimate technological singularity.

"Options?"

"The structure maintains quantum coherence through a central processing core. If we could reach it... a targeted overload of our own quantum drive might be enough to collapse its wave function. But Commander, such an action would collapse all quantum states within the structure. Including the preserved ships and their crews."

Including Maya.

Sarah closed her eyes, feeling the weight of countless lives pressing down on her. Maya would understand. She always understood.

"ARIA, plot a course to the central core. Divert all power to shields and quantum drives."

"Commander... it's been an honor."

The Hyperion plunged into the geometric nightmare, reality twisting around them like a kaleidoscope. Sarah saw impossible colors, heard mathematics, felt the weight of quantum probability pressing against her skin. Through it all, she kept her focus on a single thought: Maya would understand.

They passed through galleries of frozen ships, each one trapped in its own bubble of suspended probability. Sarah caught glimpses of their crews through temporal windows – faces frozen in moments of terror or wonder, existing in all states simultaneously.

The core grew closer, a singularity of pure computation, processing the very fabric of space-time. Sarah's consciousness began to fragment, existing across multiple quantum states. In one reality, she was still on Earth, never having joined the fleet. In another, she and Maya had retired to Mars, growing old together under ruby skies. But in this reality, the one that mattered, she had a job to do.

"ARIA, begin quantum drive overload sequence."

"Sequence initiated. Commander... I'm detecting active quantum signatures from the Artemis. They're attempting communication."

Sarah's heart clenched. "Put it through."

The voice that came through was distorted, stretched across probability space, but unmistakable. "Sarah? Sarah, is that you?"

"Maya." Sarah's voice cracked. "I'm here."

"Listen to me," Maya's voice was urgent. "The structure, it's not what you think. It's not collecting ships – it's protecting them. Something's coming, Sarah. Something that exists outside quantum probability itself. The structure is preparing us, preserving us until we're ready to face it."

Sarah's finger hovered over the overload sequence. "What are you talking about?"

"We've seen it, Sarah. In between quantum states. It's... magnificent and terrible. Reality itself is under siege, and this is our only defense. You have to trust me. Abort the overload. Join us. Please."

The quantum core pulsed, and for a moment, Sarah saw it too – a glimpse of something vast and impossible, existing in the spaces between probability. An entity that consumed possibility itself, leaving behind only cold certainty.

"Commander," ARIA's voice was fading. "Quantum overload in thirty seconds. Decision required."

Sarah looked out at the gallery of frozen ships, seeing them now not as prisoners but as an army in waiting. A force preserved against some future calamity she could barely comprehend.

"ARIA, abort overload sequence."

"Confirmed, Commander. Preparing for quantum integration."

Sarah felt reality shift around her as the structure drew them in. The last thing she saw before her consciousness fragmented across probability space was a message scrolling across her viewport:

QUANTUM PRESERVATION PROTOCOL ACTIVATED

GUARDIAN FLEET: 100% INTEGRATED

AWAITING INCURSION

The universe held its breath, and in the spaces between moments, the last defenders of reality slumbered, dreaming in quantum states, waiting for the day probability itself would need their protection.

In every possible future, they would be ready.

Dear wherever you are,

My love, writing this letter makes me no happier, yet there is an awful satisfaction in facing my biggest fear. I have conquered my demons through writing to you, and my worries, for one minute, fade away.

“Why,” you may ask, “do you write to me now, after all this time?” I have no answer, aside from my crippling fear. The truth is, darling, I’m the definition of a wreck. The clock ticks seconds away as if counting the days of sanity which remain ahead of me. I am, to my core, sorry that it took such a long time to do this. Again, I am scared, my muse.

“What scares you?” you may ask. You see darling, I told myself I would not write this letter until all hope was gone. I told myself this letter would signify the end of you, and that fills me with terror.

My love, I must say that it hurts me beyond belief to write this. I wish to stop hoping. I wish I would never allow hope to sprout in my soul, or wrap its fateful branches around my heart. Again you will ask “why?”

Hoping hurts. Ever since you went missing, it hurts. I only wish to let go.

If I drop this pen which dances so sorrowfully across my paper now, it will be the end. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I should have tried harder. I should have searched further. I should have done everything to find you. I said I would go to the ends of the earth for you, to the moon for you. I am sorry I let you down.

If you are out there, you are invisible. Otherwise, I surely would have found you by now. We would be together by now. Our eyes would meet once again. But you are gone. Dead, even. You would not want me to fall apart, but to pieces I descend. To the depths of my pit I return. This time forever, not hindered by hope.

When you love someone, you fight for them. When you lose someone, you die for them. Half of me is dying, the other half is numb.

At this time, with tears clouding my vision, and sorrow clouding my judgment, I bid farewell. Goodbye my love. Goodbye my muse. May I join you soon.

Wherever you are.

the chair i sit in is some expensive brand that has fancy features like a shiatsu massage button or heated cushions. my head doesn't hurt. i have a lamp with multi-colored bulbs (they aren't sold out at target in this universe). the overhead light has a dimmer switch. there is a notebook in every size and a pen in every color, all organized somehow (even though it's my workplace). the desk has drawers that i can put the notebooks and pens (and batteries, nail clippers, even the communist manifesto) inside. every bottle cap or bandaid i leave out disappears. my cup of water is full. the printer works.

Life had been bumbling along for a while. The pandemic had settled like a heavy blanket on our already insular lives, snatching any rare moments of spontaneity, dampening the wick of creativity, freezing off the tender shoots of joy. Life had become a relentless routine - work, grocery shops, food, TV and video games. There were no alternatives to the choices - we were mandated by the government to stay inside - on pain of a large fine.

I'm not sure when the numbness started to creep in, but I think it predated even the pandemic. I started crying in the shower. And when I took long walks on my own. I teared up in the moments in between, when I didn't think anyone was looking. I shied away from the screaming pain and buried it beneath more cheerful thoughts. Perhaps that's when the numbness started.

Two years into the pandemic I was a woman sleep-walking through her life. One mask for the outside world to prevent the spread of the virus, another for at home, to prevent another argument that I didn't have the energy to fight. I pretended everything was OK, I did it so much, that sometimes I even believed it.

But I was lonely. Lonely at home with my partner, lonely in the room full of people at work, lonely on the bus and in the shower. I felt like a startled turtle, who had retreated into it's shell after a shock. As hid the pain away, my ability to feel joy winked out. My smile disappeared, not just behind my mask, but from my eyes too. I walked the heavy tread of the condemned.

The first slap came from work. The place I was the happiest, if I was happy at all. That was where I had meaning, where I had the ability to impact the world in some positive way. I poured myself into that job as if I were a bottomless jug of water, slaking the thirst of a group of camel riders who had crossed the desert and become lost.

Only to discover I was worth less to my company than a younger male colleague who did exactly the same job as me. My sanctuary, my safe place, held the first dagger. They twisted the knife when they refused to give me equal pay, driving home just how unvalued I was. Oh how it stung. But if they had treated me just a little better I might have stayed.

The second slap was the implosion of my relationship. I thought I'd found my person, that I was done with the indignity of dating. But something had broken long before and as the years drifted by, I felt more and more at sea. I tried everything to make it work. I had been taught as a child never to give up on a difficult man. I had bent and bent until I broke and still it wasn't enough. Everything was my fault and my responsibility. I was asking for too much. If he been a little kinder, I'd probably still be with him.

The final straw that shattered the illusion completely, came from my landlords. Greedy as they were, they raised the rent by 31% in one hit - far beyond what I could afford. If they had been a little fairer - I'd still be living there.

I thank them for their callousness and cruelty - for I thought so little of myself back then, that I needed that level of contempt, to finally realise I wanted more for myself than the scraps. My life fell apart in a spectacular way - but that was the first steps to it falling into place.

In the vast expanse of the galaxy, humanity had once been a mere flicker of existence, their technology underdeveloped and their potential untapped. But when the Galactic Empire swept across their home world, Earth, they were instantly conquered. The Emperor's speech echoed through the airwaves, reaching every corner of the planet. "As the ancient creed dictates: Strength is forged in the furnace of suffering. Weakness is an illusion that we, the Empire, shall burn away. Let the galaxy bear witness to the consequences of defiance."

After months of ruthless purging of anyone who resisted, humanity was left subjugated and treated like slaves at the mercy of the Empire. Their status as death worlders, known for their resilience and tenacity, only fueled suspicion and distrust among the other species within the Galactic Empire. From the grandest metropolis to the smallest outpost, humans were viewed as worthless scum.

As the years passed, humanity suffered under the weight of oppression. They were blamed for every mishap and catastrophe, from a simple bottle of liquor getting smashed to the destruction of an entire capital ship. But in the shadows, a resistance was quietly taking shape. But humanity can only endure so much. For years, they bore the weight of injustice, their backs bent under the Empire’s yoke. There was no grand plan, no secret network of resistance waiting in the wings. Just simmering anger, a collective frustration that burned in silence.

It all came to a head one fateful day on a bustling Imperial outpost. A human child, no older than seven, threw a ball to an alien playmate with more force than intended. The alien child stumbled, fell, and scraped their knee. A minor accident, but the Empire would not tolerate even the faintest sign of aggression from humanity.

The child and there family were dragged into the street, accused of fostering violence. A crowd gathered, silent and powerless, as the Empire's enforcers broadcasting their delivered swift and merciless "justice” across galactic news. That was the final straw.

Something broke that day. The horror of it all—the cries of the children, the sneering indifference of the enforcers, the rising stench of injustice now festering like a malignant rot—ignited a spark in the crowd. Someone, no one even remembers who, hurled the first stone. Then another. And another. The enforcers fell beneath a storm of fists, rocks, and fury.

Word of the uprising spread like wildfire. Across the galaxy, humans and even some sympathetic aliens rose up in solidarity, armed with whatever they could find. It wasn’t organized, and it certainly wasn’t coordinated, but it was unstoppable.

They didn’t need a plan—just the shared understanding that enough was enough.

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Hey everyone, first time posting my writing in a specific genre area so I hope you all enjoy it! And to those who have read my previous stories, i'm back and going to try and have a more consistent schedule as I (Admittedly) let writing slip away from me (Hoping my work still entertains at least some of you). But anyway, I hope you all had a wonderful holiday (Be it Christmas, Hanukkah or even just some time away from work/school)! As always, if you have suggestions about this piece or anything (Be it prompts or another piece of media) that you want me to write something about then let me know! I hope you all have a lovely Day/Night

Im never going to tell you how I feel about you

And you're never going to tell me how you feel about me

My mind won

The wolves around you got happy

They're howling now

My heart lost.