science fiction
The bridge between imagination and technological advancement, where the dreamer’s vision predicts change, and foreshadows a futuristic reality. Science fiction has the ability to become “science reality”.
Outrun Stories #44
Reckless, that’s what they called him along with countless other adjectives that will probably be best if I left unmentioned. Reckless was always the one that stood out though, that was the one that made my stomach turn and my jaw clench, it was the one that really beamed like a big bright neon sign when I drew him as a partner.
By Outrun Stories8 years ago in Futurism
I'm Not Hungry
I saw a vague slender frame behind my distorted door window, accompanied by an androgynous glass encased murmur. I could make out a neatly organised slab of light brown hair through the blurred window, there’s only one person I know with that hair, and he’s me. I tried to ignore the knocking but it got firmer and the murmurs became gradually seasoned with panic, I had to open the door at that point. I recognised everything about the person in front of me; the same medium-length stubble, occasionally highlighted by traces of sliver, same aforementioned slab of hair perpetually brushed aggressively to the right, same elongated nose-bridge punctuated by a downward facing circular tipped nose. I would say it was like looking into a mirror but it wasn’t – you’re used to seeing what’s in a mirror, this person’s face was more slender than I see mine, with a faint touch of tanning. Maybe it’s how I look and that everyone’s just so accustomed to these details the mind doesn’t register them anymore. This might be why we look different on photos. His pupils were almost the size of magnified olives. I’ve been told my eyes were big before. I’d never previously met a robot clone of myself and never spent any time pondering what I’d say to one if I did. Well that’s a lie, there was that one time I thought about it. Alright, it was two times. Ok, ok, it was quite a few times.
By Conor Hufton8 years ago in Futurism
Evil Horizon (Part 4)
The forest was alive with life. The early morning sun had began its slow climb over the valley. The local area and crash site of the Pinto consisted of what was still known as pine trees. The sap from these massive trees had a very strong but pleasant scent. They had been merged with the DNA of redwood trees; which made them at the base easily 20-30 feet wide.
By Remidy James8 years ago in Futurism
The Onset of the Contest
The original game of professional major league football in the United States ceased to be decades ago. Cases of players being diagnosed with traumatic brain injuries and other maladies caused players, team owners, and the commissioner to ban the sport altogether. Days of pain and suffering vanished with a few taps of a tablet and a signature on the line which was dotted. And it took a few more years for a revolutionary league to take its place. The Columbia Football Association instituted a way for football supporters to enjoy the sport without the added earned guilt of knowing that a human player could be injured severely on the field or succumb to an illness related to the game years after retirement. The CFA took care to see that the game of football be played where humans didn’t have to fret about a torn anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) or meniscus. On this December evening, the flag waved and the band played and the robots stood at the position of attention. Around the ballpark, everyone with a hat or cover removed it out of respect for Old Glory. Silence existed except for the voice of a robotic opera singer singing “The Star Spangled Banner.” Once the part of the song got to “land of the free,” a triumphant roar rolled over the crowd. With a last note of pure perfection in tone, timbre, and range, the robot ceased her song and the game became set in motion. The Diamanté Bank ballpark in Wilmington served as the hometown setting where the Delaware Mint hosted the Philadelphia Turkeys. Each team prepared for the game with their human overlords programming their computer systems. Down to the weight, height, throwing technique, running speed, all received exact calculations from the engineers on the sidelines. Each tweak of the players’ bodies and “minds” became clear with the onset of the contest. By beginning with making sure that their circuitry and other mechanisms operated to the highest level, the engineers knew that they could send out their androids to the field with confidence. Assistants greased joints and rotated mechanical parts to make sure that they remained in prime position. Engineers put the last touches of code into the software of the androids. At the coin toss, the Turkeys called the coin toss to be heads. It was heads. They elected to receive the ball. At the onset of the contest the viciousness of it all showed through.
By Skyler Saunders8 years ago in Futurism
Point of Origin
Chief advisor Armenn stood anxiously outside the great throne room, waiting for its mammoth door to open. Delivering a report to the queen was nerve-wracking enough at the best of times, without having the added pressure that the report he was about to give her could, in all probability, start an interplanetary war. He could, however, take small comfort from the fact that it wasn’t the first time one of his briefings had led to bloodshed.
By T.J. Kinsella8 years ago in Futurism
Outrun Stories #43
The world’s gotta pay, the world’s gotta pay, the world’s gotta pay, just going around and around and around in my head. Look what it’s taken, everything from me, everything and everyone that I ever had or loved and left me this shell, with nothing more than a loaded gun and a grimace across my face.
By Outrun Stories8 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #43
Fifteen years since its birth and announcement to the world, and fifteen years since it vanished with no trace, and today it decides to reappear. Why today? Why make this moment so special, why this particular time? I can’t help but wonder if it holds some sort of special significance. If this thing, this AI, the Citizizen as it calls itself, is really so special, so grand, surely it would have picked some time in the grand cosmological calendar that made some sense?
By Brutalist Stories8 years ago in Futurism
Lone Wolf: War Dog
Lone Wolf scanned the open field through his scope, keeping a close eye for enemy activity, before he heard sounds of a roaring engine. He carefully looked up only to see a dark hovercraft fly over him and slowly descend onto the field. He stood up and moved cautiously into the field, tall grass waving around him. The door on the side opened and a robotic soldier stood in the doorway, motioning for him to hurry. He climbed aboard the hovercraft and the door closed behind him.
By Michael Hawkins8 years ago in Futurism
The Joy Fantastic
She cleaned her hands in a basin by the sink in her laboratory; the cleansing was more than to scrub off bacteria that may have been on her hands (although that may’ve been the case). This was a spiritual purging. This was the recognition of doing a work of excellence. It represented a clearing of all the faults that might lie between her fingers, the palms, and the backs of her hands. It represented the washing of all of the negativity leveled against her. Kalia Satterwhite scrubbed until the bubbles formed thick bands of foam around her hands, wrists, and forearms. She rinsed. After applying a paper towel, she slid on some gloves and set to work. What she worked on did not involve liquid chemicals per se. But it was the act of preparing to fashion something of greatness, of wonder. Kalia put the last pieces of this machine that she had been working on for the past 12 years together. It looked like one of those machines at the airport from previous ages that completed a full-body scan, except this one did not imply public humiliation. No. This machine would be the key to eliminating pain in human beings forever, for the most part anyway.
By Skyler Saunders8 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #42
He’s sat there, and I watch the android come over to him and help him clumsily pick up his cup and bring his juice to his mouth and I wonder what the future will bring for him. My son, this delicate young soul that has some sort of path ahead of him, some sort of time that’ll see him grow into.
By Brutalist Stories8 years ago in Futurism
Outrun Stories #42
Thousands of us gathered here tonight from right across the stream to see him in person. There’ll be millions more hooked into the feed to try and get a glimpse of him, to hear his words, even if it is in VR form, all they care about is hearing what he has to say, hearing what’s going to be next for us.
By Outrun Stories8 years ago in Futurism
