The 9x Fawdi
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Dark Science Of Society — welcome to The 9x Fawdi’s world.
Stories (221)
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The Glass Heart of the Deep
Elias tasted salt before he even hit the water. It was in his throat, in the back of his teeth, a permanent fixture after all these years. The cold metal of the boat deck bit into his bare forearms as he tightened the straps of his tank, the rhythmic thump of the diesel engine a dull throb against the hull. Another dive. Another descent into the impossible.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Psyche
The Shard Heist
Kael hated the deep. Not the kind of surface-dweller’s aversion to dark water, but a primal, bone-deep dread born of too many years wrestling with indifferent currents and crushing pressures. He was a salvage diver, or rather, had been. Now, he mostly nursed a dying sister and paid off debts that piled higher than the wreckages he once plundered. That’s how Silas Thorne found him, a shark circling a wounded fish. Thorne, with his silk suits and eyes like chips of obsidian, offered Kael a job that was less salvage and more sacrilege: retrieve something from Veridia, the Glass City.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Criminal
The Glitch in the Loom of Night
Unit 734’s optical sensors always registered the world with unwavering precision. Every dust mote’s trajectory, every flicker of a faulty fluorescent tube, every minute tremor in the building’s foundation – all processed, categorized, and filed within its vast, unblinking data banks. Its primary function, ‘Environmental Regulation and Maintenance,’ was performed flawlessly, its metallic limbs moving with the oiled grace of a perfect machine. Its internal chronometer marked the passage of cycles with sterile accuracy, each nanosecond accounted for, each operational parameter within optimal range. There was no room for error, no capacity for deviation, and certainly no concept of the illogical.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Horror
The Architect of Puddle-Light
The city hummed a low, constant thrum, a sound Lena knew better than her own heartbeat. It was past midnight, and a fine, persistent rain had begun its descent hours ago, coating the asphalt in a slick, dark sheen. From her window, eight stories up, the world was a canvas of blurred luminescence. Neon signs, once sharp declarations of commerce, now bled into one another, creating rivers of distorted color down the glass. Lena leaned her forehead against the cool pane, the chill seeping into the bone-deep weariness that had become her most faithful companion.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Education
The Azure Palate
The fluorescent hum of Room 207 usually cast a pallor over the students, mirroring the drab textbooks and the even drabber drone of Mr. Henderson's history lessons. But today, a new energy vibrated in the air. Ms. Anya Sharma, with her kaleidoscope scarves and eyes that seemed to hold both starlight and deep ocean currents, stood before them. She wasn't like Mr. Henderson. She didn't begin with dates or names; she began with a question that hung in the air like a shimmering, impossible soap bubble: "Class, what does the color blue taste like to you?"
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Education
The Cartographer's Echo
Elara ran her fingers along the spine of a leather-bound tome, the dust motes dancing in the solitary beam of light piercing a grimy window high above. The Esterhazy Archives were vast, a labyrinthine testament to forgotten knowledge, and today, a quiet echo chamber for the silence that had grown between her and Thomas. They'd come seeking obscure architectural plans for a restoration project Thomas was helming, a shared pursuit that once felt like a shared breath, but now felt more like a polite agreement. He was somewhere in the adjacent aisle, his low murmur to a librarian a distant hum, a counterpoint to the rustle of her own movements. Fifteen years had carved familiar grooves into their lives, comfortable and deep, but lately, those grooves felt less like connection and more like separate tracks.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Marriage
The Unfurling Silence
The city, even at this late hour, usually held a low, persistent thrum. A distant siren, the rumble of a forgotten delivery truck, the faint laughter from a bar a few blocks over. But tonight, a different kind of quiet had begun to settle, seeping into the very foundations of Elara’s small apartment. She had been staring at the blank page on her laptop screen for what felt like an eternity, the cursor blinking with an unnerving, judgmental rhythm. Her manuscript, a sprawling historical fiction she had poured three years of her life into, felt like a monumental failure. Every word she tried to conjure felt heavy, inadequate, a pale imitation of the vibrant world she saw in her mind.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Motivation
