thriller

The Yugaya Protocol
𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔, 𝟐𝟎𝟑𝟏 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘫 The command glowed on the screen, a digital death sentence typed by my own hand.
By Jainul Abdeen Sirajul Anam2 months ago in Fiction
Day:2 Ded Moone Camp Facility. Content Warning.
I was told to get a feel on my own. That’s what I get for asking a question after midnight. Dark and wet, I could appreciate the existance of a trail to the rear of the island, the hike through the brush, the single slip i'd be from disappearing in the drink for a gulp. Sleeping comes whenever the hell it wants, but it eventually skews me back toward the night shift with everyone else here, so far. It’s those brief moments of sunlight in the late evening when I've caught a rare dose of nap. This night ended at the bar on the stool. I never thought it would be this comfortable all those times I was prevented from indulging in the act by the sheer ridiculousness of the look as it was the movie staple of the down trotted fuck-up. The Voice, it—I am literally dying for this shit, so excuse the fucking bias I may share as I bring this up, but to keep with my journaling immersion technique from Wolfman Patrick, i have to be cautious aboout said—context.
By Willem Indigo2 months ago in Fiction
Lead Lungs
Malcolm caught the train back at 1:35 in the morning. Despite the time, the station was still buzzing. Europa was a city of the night. It almost seemed to thrive more in darkness, than it did in light. The train produced sounds of the air being sliced; akin to wind whipping past you on the edge of a misty cliff. Rain pelted the windows, scraping against them near horizontal. The train twisted and turned through the high-rise buildings around it, the tracks carefully carving through the skyline. The speed made every twist and turn barely noticeable, although his stomach would occasionally flip at the thought of travelling 250 miles per hour into a concrete wall. He felt in his pocket for the comforting outline of his Singer .45 Pistol. The feeling of simple safety. At least the Eclipse don’t steal. One of the few merits he could give them.
By Meshable2 months ago in Fiction
A Patrol in the Woods
Sometimes, life’s problems can’t be solved with a glass slipper. Sometimes, you need a Nightingale. Or so our billboards proudly stated at every inn, city gate, and causeway that saw any sort of hoof traffic. Matter of fact, I came up with that slogan based on a previous assignment involving a sexual deviant and a very impractical piece of footgear, but you’d never know it considering the distinct lack of royalty checks my pigeons have brought me.
By Stephen A. Roddewig2 months ago in Fiction
✨ The Boy Who Remembered a Life He Never Lived
At first, it felt like any ordinary dream — blurry, soft, melting away the moment I opened my eyes. But something was different. Something stayed with me. The color of the sky. The smell of roses. The faint sound of a girl laughing.
By Muhammad Kashif 2 months ago in Fiction
He Took All but the Bones and Bottle. Content Warning.
Rumors ate their way through a small town like cancer to a bone. They were dripping with curiosity and the enjoyment of troubles that were not one's own. It didn’t take long for her ears to pick up the whispers that followed at her back. As a child, Sybil had devoured those narratives, passing them from her mouth to another like a bird would feed its young. As a grown women, she found the taste of rumors sour.
By Connie2 months ago in Fiction
DARC RAIDERS. Content Warning.
Thunder. Rain. I couldn’t wait to shut everything out, throw on the headset and grind some extractions in Darc Raiders. Our Discord group had been talking all week about some of the new updates they finally added to the ransom mechanic—capture another player, lock their account, demand in-game loot and currency. “Ultra-immersive” the devs called it. A player could only be held for 48hrs and after that everything resets. During the first 48, the captors could demand a ransom. Loot from your vaulted stash, loot from your friends, or Rubies (in-game currency) for your release.
By Kristen Keenon Fisher2 months ago in Fiction
Protocol A.R.I.E.L
The gravel crunches under the tires as Elias turns his truck down the narrow path that leads behind the old house. His parents' shed sits at the end of it—wrapped in tentacles of ivy. The tin roof has bowed under decades of weather; the corners dark with moss.
By Kristen Keenon Fisher2 months ago in Fiction
Journal entries of the Wolf-man . Content Warning.
Ded Moone’s Peregrination Introduce yourself, I guess, Night 1: A frenzied, radical move of lunacy during a moment of lucidity, but friends and family miss the dark for their best interest. With a track record of putrid half-measures focused on the financial debacles I can’t be blamed for despite the epic effort, I must say to that and all this, fuck’em. They are long aware of the cost/savings benefits of avoiding the lifetime hardship of holding firm against the disruptive acts they’ve given up trying to explain to first responders, friends, in-laws. This is respecting my cousin’s shrug and smile when I was last wheeled to the psych ward from the main lobby during some one-man natural disaster while trying to keep me away from your lives. I appreciate her silent candor, nestled in a refusal to respond to the question vocally once I pleaded my case, not a one-for-one; is it worth the gas money anymore? Nurse Jackie genuinely means well with ‘come back soon,’ layered with overbearing subtext for her devotion to patients, avoiding the sobering alternative, like, for instance, that my legs are delightfully, currently dangling over, so we had a good last run. No more power-ups after Black-Hawk-Downs at terminal velocity if I miss the other freeways. It’s, in a fashion, an attempt to fight the very notion of wind in favor of landing in the shadowiest section of an unlit road leading under Pocahontas Parkway. I saw it one trip heading to the Tar Heel State for a lecture. Can't say it wasn't gaudy, reaching out over that Potomac, I think, but I took note of it all the same on the drive back north. What a beautiful view, last or otherwise. A powerful end, one splat to resend all wasted energies to a greedy Earth with fallen angelic wings of flaming middle fingers—wait, wait, what am I doing—why the hell am I doing it this way?! I’m a god damn stamp on this putrid State rationality of what widens our perspectives naturally in regard to death and its role in the human psyche. I’m a fucking explorer of the damned, the feared unknown--I’m a god damn MAN! I gotta go, that's certain. This is the experiment of a lifetime, and I’m wasting it on a bridge jump in the dark alone? Symbolism over the race to see the unknowable—Geez, Fuck these nightmares! I might’ve missed the synchronized opportunity of my…
By Willem Indigo2 months ago in Fiction
The Door That Knew My Name
The first time the phone rang at two in the morning, I thought it was a prank. The second time, I ignored it. The third — the one that splintered my sleep and sat me upright with the taste of rust in my mouth — was different. The voice on the other end didn't waste words.
By Marko2 months ago in Fiction
The Trial of the Unborn Kingdom
In the absence of a sleeping kingdom, a tiger found a flame that was not Prometheus' flame, but rather a faint light that led him to a court that had not yet been built and a trial that no one had announced.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH2 months ago in Fiction
Ashes of Tomorrow. AI-Generated.
Mara Whitman crouched behind a crumbling wall, the ash-coated wind stinging her face. The city, once alive and vibrant, now lay in twisted ruin. Rusted cars leaned into cracked sidewalks, and buildings rose like jagged scars against the gray sky. She pulled her jacket tighter, the fabric damp from mist that carried the faint, metallic scent of decay. The streets were eerily silent except for the occasional gust of wind that rattled broken windows and sent litter skittering across the pavement.
By William Ebden.2 months ago in Fiction