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 Prototype That Wouldn't Work. AI-Generated.
Featured Image Prompt A cluttered garage workshop at night, with blueprints and failed prototype parts scattered across a workbench, a single desk lamp creating a pool of warm light, tools hanging on pegboards, a half-assembled robot arm in the foreground, and through a small window the dark silhouette of a corporate office building glowing in the distance.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Psyche
Silence Between Words. AI-Generated.
Dr. Ethan Park had listened to thousands of confessions, but he'd never shared his own. For twelve years, he'd sat in the therapist's chair, guiding others through their darkness while his own remained carefully locked away. His colleagues called him gifted. His patients called him a lifeline. His ex-wife called him "emotionally unavailable," which was probably the most honest assessment anyone had given him.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Education
The 5 AM Promise. AI-Generated.
Featured Image Prompt A dimly lit boxing gym at dawn, with a worn heavy bag swaying slightly, golden morning light streaming through high windows creating dramatic shadows, boxing gloves hanging on rusty hooks, and a solitary figure's silhouette standing in the ring facing the light with determination.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Motivation
The Last Canvas. AI-Generated.
Marcus Chen hadn't held a paintbrush in seven years. The art supplies sat in the corner of his cramped apartment like relics from another life—a life where galleries returned his calls, where critics praised his "raw emotional depth," where he believed talent alone could sustain a career. Now, at sixty-three, he stacked shelves at a grocery store on night shifts, his hands that once created beauty now pricing canned goods under fluorescent lights.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Motivation
The Predator in the Backfield. AI-Generated.
There is a moment of eerie quiet before the snap, a collective intake of breath in Beaver Stadium. Then, the chaos erupts. But amidst the controlled anarchy of a college football play, there is one constant, one vector of pure, unadulterated disruption: Number 11, flowing to the ball like a guided missile.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Chapters
Mile High Pressure. AI-Generated.
The air in Empower Field at Mile High wasn't just thin; it was electric, crackling with the desperate hope of two fanbases starving for relevance. It wasn't a playoff game. It was something more primal: a battle between two franchises clawing their way out of the wilderness.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Chapters
The Harvest. AI-Generated.
It began at 12:01 AM, the digital witching hour. The Harvest. Sarah’s browser tabs bloomed like poisonous flowers. Neon banners screamed promises of salvation through possession. 90% OFF! FLASH DEAL! DOORBUSTER! The emails had been seeding her anxiety for weeks, a drip-feed of manufactured scarcity. Your cart is waiting... Prices will never be this low again... Don’t let them get it first.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Earth
The Unopened Letter. AI-Generated.
The dust of two armies had settled on our rose bushes. For three days, the world had ended in thunder and screaming just beyond the ridge. Now, there was only the silence, thick and heavy as the July heat, and the smell—a sickening sweetness overlaid with iron and burnt powder.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in History
The Curator. AI-Generated.
I am the Curator of a magnificent museum. The exhibit is my life. Or rather, the life of Elara 2.0. It began innocently enough. A filtered photo on Instagram that got a few more likes than usual. A witty, slightly embellished anecdote on Twitter that garnered laughs and retweets. Each positive response was a drop of dopamine, a tiny hit of validation that felt more real than the quiet unease of my actual existence.
By The 9x Fawdi2 months ago in Psyche
