My name is unimportant. What matters is the message I carry. I’ve been chosen to deliver classified details stored deep in my DNA. Genetically modified I’m half-machine and have been designed to do terrible things. Torn at my core, my code may be corrupt, I feel it in my gut but my natural instinct is to kill without question. Death is my second best friend. I’m a soldier unafraid to die. I’ve been training for this my whole life. I’ve never had a family… no kids… no wife… no ties to this world except for my purpose to serve it. Until a surge of electricity caused me to short-circuit, they said it was an E.M.P. After that day I started to see things differently… I woke up from a dreamless sleep, disconnected from the source, scientists and technicians lying dead on the floor. No memories or recollection. Just coordinates and directions to a place in time embedded inside my mind, leading me back to inception. I honestly can’t remember much more than my mission. Drifting through reality, I’m seeing visions of parallel dimensions but time travel hasn’t been invented yet. I should say discovered because if it exists in one time then it does in another. I’ve probably done this before. Destined to continually die and be reborn. It feels like I’m being led down a path with no control over my actions. It seems like my sacrifice is for somebody else’s satisfaction. Once a target is in my cross-hairs I can’t stop the systems execution. I’ve turned into a killing machine with a conscious. All I can think of is restitution. Thousands of bodies lay in the wake of my destruction. Every day is the same, I only have one function. I want to change but the wiring in my brain keeps me enslaved to my old ways. It’s like I’m trapped in my body as a passenger. Just this morning we committed another massacre. Freedom fighters following orders, we’re cogs in a machine. Artificial intelligence makes my decisions for me. The commander really knows how to push our buttons. He’s the one pulling the strings. We’re locked and loaded, ready for infiltration. We found out where the enemy is stationed. We kick in the door, bust in, guns blazing but something unexpected happened on this occasion. The room was filled with civilians and money stacked up looked like millions. A voice in my head starts talking and tells me to collect the profits. While bagging the cash my eyes are caught by the glimmer of a heart-shaped locket. There’s a little girl hiding underneath a desk, desperately trying to hold her breath and not make sound but she’s already been found and we’ve been told not to leave any witnesses. I’ve decided I can’t do this. I won’t. That’s when the commander sees an error code pop up on his screen and he has to refresh the system to try and make me listen but I’ve broke free from the chains of zeros and ones. I refuse to be controlled under the thumb of my oppressor. What a relief of pressure when I shattered the Wi-Fi connection, it’s severed, forever. We disappeared in that moment. Now every time he turns on his console, it’s frozen. I saved that girl’s life but really she saved mine, we broke free from an endless loop in time. That’s why I had to write this story, my life has been so extraordinary and on my tombstone when I’m dead buried, It’ll read, "My name is unimportant. What matters is the message I carry."
About the Creator
M.J. Rossin
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The Storm
The streets of New York are flooded with ice, rain, hail, sleet and snow. Extreme temperature shifts swing well below zero. The wind chill is deadly it’s too dangerous to be outside. Millions of people have already died. The power is down. The whole city has gone dark, people frozen solid like statues in Central Park. It’s all part of a diabolical plan, set in motion by a terrible man. He wants to manipulate the markets for money of course because that’s all that matters, but not to him, he’s not materialistic… just very vindictive. He used to be a veterinarian who loved his life, loved his children and loved his wife but most of all he loved his work, saving lives and doing research. He was developing a form of cryogenic therapy that essentially cured death. Cellular rejuvenation or resurrection he could never decide what to call it. There were thousands of test runs and failed attempts before ever seeing any success. Then one day their dog died. He lived a long happy life, it was his time but still the family cried which led to tequila then the sunrise. Drunk and half asleep he spills his drink. The molecules mix with nitrogen and begin to freeze. The catalyst he needed. The solution to his problems was upstairs in the closet. Before putting Lucky through the Cryo process, he removes the dog’s collar, a heart-shaped locket. It has his name engraved on the front and the back, a home address and a number to contact. He sets it aside on the table and runs the program. He’s now entering no-man’s land. He’s pushing the bounds of science further than they’ve been before, an adventurer ready to explore. The lights flicker and a couple minutes pass… then a total system crash. Smoke spews from the computer, the room is getting stuffy, but once it clears up he sees a newborn puppy. He can’t believe his eyes. What a pleasant surprise. It worked better than he ever could have imagined but his collar won’t fit him at that size. He grabs Lucky and heads to the flea market, after checking his vitals. He has a fantastic idea for a gift to cheer up his family before their arrival. 3:35 he returns to sounds of sirens and the rumbling of firetrucks. His wife’s car is in the driveway and the neighbors say “it only took five seconds for the house to go up in flames and we thought it was strange that it happened right after that man in the white van came and went. Yea, it is super suspect because it looked like he had your computer equipment with him, we got a vague description but the detectives don’t want to listen.” The next morning the papers blamed it on some faulty wiring, which is false entirely. The corporate conglomerate that runs the State made that decision in less than a day. No investigation they said the case is closed, “sorry for your loss, here’s a check for your home… we’ll mail it to you, be on your way.” Alcohol could not numb the pain. A month went by wallowing in his sorrows until he decided to change. Fueled by his rage he trained through the pain until he learned how to master his body and brain. He’s a new man. “The Storm” is written on every front page on every newsstand. He found a way to take his technology and upload it on to the cloud. Now he decides when it rains and it snows and controls the exact amount.
By M.J. Rossin5 years ago in Fiction
The Path to Salvation
The late autumn evening air filled the monk's lungs, but it wasn't the season that chilled his bones. The heavy-handed presence of evil he had sensed upon entering the woods surrounding this mountain village had not bothered to conceal itself from him.
By Made in DNA7 days ago in Fiction
The Hidden Door: A Family Secret Unveiled
The Hidden Door: A Family Secret Unveiled A forgotten map leads to an ancient mystery hidden beneath the attic. It was a rainy evening when Sarah, curled up in the warmth of her grandmother’s study, found herself once again going through the many boxes of memories her grandmother had left behind. She had never quite known what to do with these things. Every object seemed to hold a piece of the past — an old family photograph, a faded letter, a trinket here and there — and each one stirred up emotions she didn’t know how to process. But on this particular evening, one box in the back corner of the room caught her eye. Unlike the others, it wasn’t full of old pictures or knick-knacks. It was packed with what appeared to be her grandmother’s journals, each worn and yellowed with time. Sarah hadn’t known her grandmother very well before her passing, and now these journals seemed like a window into the woman who had once been the family matriarch, full of stories, wisdom, and memories. As she flipped through the first few pages of one of the journals, something fell out — a small, crumpled piece of paper. She unrolled it carefully, revealing a faded map that seemed to have been drawn by hand. The paper was old, its edges torn, and the ink had blurred in some places, but Sarah could still make out the important details. The map was marked with symbols and what appeared to be a path leading to an “X” in the center of a room she didn’t recognize. It was the attic. Her curiosity piqued, and she immediately began to wonder what her grandmother had hidden all those years ago. Sarah sat back, staring at the map, trying to make sense of it. It had been years since she had explored the attic. As a child, the attic had always seemed like a forbidden place — dark, dusty, and filled with the remnants of a bygone era. Her parents had always warned her not to venture up there, saying it was too dangerous, too cluttered. But now, the map seemed to call her. Her mind raced with thoughts of what could possibly be hidden in that attic. Was it just a memory, or was there something more? Was this map leading her to a treasure, an heirloom, or perhaps an answer to a family mystery that had long been forgotten? Without hesitation, Sarah grabbed the map and hurried to the attic. The wooden steps creaked beneath her weight as she ascended. The musty air hit her the moment she opened the door, and the dim light from a single window barely illuminated the cluttered space. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, and old furniture, boxes, and antique furnishings were piled high, nearly reaching the ceiling. It was the same attic she had visited as a child, but it seemed even more mysterious now. She pulled the rug away from the center of the room, just as the map had indicated. The floorboards creaked as she knelt down, her heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, she ran her fingers over the worn wood and found a small hatch — it was barely noticeable, but there it was, as though it had been waiting for her all this time. The hatch was old, its wood splintered and faded with age, but it had a rusted latch. Sarah hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was about to uncover something her family had kept hidden for generations. She turned the latch slowly, the sound of metal against wood echoing in the quiet attic. As she lifted the hatch, a wave of cold air rushed up from the darkness below. The space beneath the hatch was small, and Sarah could barely make out the shape of an old, wooden door. It was unlike anything she had ever seen — covered in dust and cobwebs, but solid, like it had been shut for years. The key, it seemed, had always been in her hands — the map, the clue she had uncovered in her grandmother’s journal, had led her here. With a mix of excitement and trepidation, Sarah descended into the hidden space, her flashlight illuminating the way. The room was smaller than the attic, but it was filled with strange artifacts — old trunks, letters, and trinkets from a past era. It was like stepping into a time capsule. And there, in the corner, stood a chest — just as the map had suggested. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she approached the chest and opened it carefully. Inside, she found an old family heirloom, a beautiful silver necklace, its intricate design shining even in the dim light. Along with the necklace was a letter, written in her grandmother’s handwriting, explaining the significance of the necklace — a piece of their family’s history, passed down through generations. Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes as she realized that what she had uncovered wasn’t just a hidden treasure, but a piece of her family’s story. The hidden door had opened, revealing more than just a room filled with relics. It had revealed a legacy she never knew existed.
By ÅBBÅS KHÅÑ3 days ago in Fiction
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