You Will Always Be A Dogbot

Everything I’m going to do I’ve done already. Everything I haven’t finished I hadn’t started to begin with. And that’s just the way of things. So I made coffee while I was walking the dogbot whilst sipping the coffee that I’d made yesterday during the time when my dogbot pissed butane out at my leg and onto my Big Toe. I jumped away from it, annoyed, as I slumped on the couch.


This is what I screamed at my synthetic pet for letting organic liquid loose all over my foot (particularly my Big Toe).  I was conveniently taking a shower in that same moment, so I wasn’t too upset, even though I absolutely was.

Regardless of what Strange Dew—that’s my dogbot, don’t you know—squirted onto my low-limbs, I was completely happy with myself, albeit totally fucking miserable.

Strange Dew was clean-shaven with a long beard and people on the grassy bio-block would always notice this. They’d shout things like “Hey! Look at that smooth-faced dogbot with the long black and/or white beard that hangs down and drags across the muddy, sticky-dry pavement as he/she scuttles quickly at a slow pace!”

Keep it to yourself. Yep. That’s what I’d always scream under my breath. Keep it to yourself.

Conventional Dry Particle—also the dogbot’s name—and I (or You, depending on where you’re standing) were on our way to the local dogbot factory, which also functioned as the international morgue for dogbots. It all happens here, but not much goes on most days.

I’m serious!

It was raining inside, cool and dewy (yes, I know), which was fine because the two of us were equally outside where the both of us sweat like female dogs that are in season to mate and have babies.

I took Strange Dew/Conventional Dry Particle into that sun-shower of a birthing room and watched her (or him, depending on the time of day) die. I don’t know why I did this, aside from the fact that I knew that it positively needed to happen. I had no choice and limitless alternatives, so you see where I’m coming from, don’t you?

I looked at the tightly squinted eyes that were wide open and realized that at the end of the day, which is also when the cock roosts or something, that no matter what time it is, or whichever ground you choose to stand on you’ll always be a dogbot.

It’s a funny old world, isn’t it?

For further reading on multiverses and simultaneous realitiesgo here.

The Sentient Castrum That Once Protected the Octopoids Now Has Nothing But Time

The Nimbus came again and breathed a biting cold against my façade. The array of wintry daggers reminded me of the great yesterdays of when I was a castle. The magnificent days. The brighter and lighter days. The days when the royal Octopoids I housed ruled over a gorgeous, desolate moon. I served them with patience, with sturdiness. I served them until The Pulse took place; the bursting wave that bent all things out of shape. As a castle I was helpless. I was stripped bare and mauled by The Pulse. I was violated by a happening with no face, by a massive tear in time. My rocky frontage was gone for the most part, though I maintained a strong expression on the left-hand side, the side that allowed me to visualize. Over centuries I saw all things fall, and for years and now I rot and freeze and watch.

I watch the Lonely Time Traveler from Afar. He stands in the same spot, trapped in the atmosphere of The Nimbus. There once was a time when he moved around slowly. He was a victim of The Pulse, a humanoid displaced out of time. Before he froze he attempted humor. And now he stands unmoving next to a garish time-displaced vehicle and it looks very poignant from a distance.

The gaudy auto came moments after the Lonely Time Traveler from Afar arrived on my moon. It came covered in filth and an air of excesses. It wasn’t sentient, either. It couldn’t communicate, and this depressed me. It became a toy for the surviving Octopoid.

The Octopoid that survived was formerly an Urchin, a small one without a family. She lived inside of me for months. I did my best to keep her small and slippery form warm, and when we felt The Pulse I did all I could to protect her, meaning that I couldn’t do much at all. She was the lone survivor and I watched her as I rotted and froze, watched her grow in size but not adulthood. She never had the chance to come of age. There was no one alive to teach her, to communicate with her. I watched her play with the lurid transporter and slide close to The Lonely Time Traveler from Afar. She still knows nothing other than physical pleasures and hunger.

I watch all of this from afar and do nothing, because I have nothing but time.

Pavel and Metiri

Pavel thought of his cold concrete floor as a king-sized bed. On the night before Loatia’s bi-annual Threnody, Pavel laid rigidly in his bed next to his best friend, Metiri. Metiri was a crescent and was twice the size of Pavel. Since Metiri was limbless, Pavel draped a paisley blanket over where its brain was to keep the kind lunula warm at night.

Pavel feared Threnodies.

“Why induce death?” he thought, his face propped up by two pillows, his eyes fixed on the ceiling of his room. His breaths were shallow. Slowly, he sank into thought. Moments later, he realized he was trapped in an asymmetrical section of his mind, cornered by the old intangibles Anxiety and Dread. Pavel was frightened, so he decided to search for irony in the situation.

“How can I be cornered in a room without symmetry?”


In Loatia, the Threnody was a sacrificial ceremony where local governments throughout the country would select citizens at random to be dissolved with nitro-hydrochloric acid and poured into the Sea of Murnan, to the east. The Orthodox Lecheorian priests would then sing dirges until sundown of the following day.

The ritual was relatively new to Loatian culture; it was inherited and instated by Lecheorian bureaucrats in the throes of the Lecheor – Jord conflict roughly three centuries prior.


After a few seconds, which to him felt like an eon, Pavel broke free from the immaterial, lopsided room. He saw the ceiling again. He turned to Metiri, felt its cool white light on his callused middle fingers.

“Your feet make me feel safe. They always make me feel safe.”

The moonlight that Metiri emanated gradually placed Pavel back into a trance. He was back into the asymmetrical room. He saw Fear now. Fear stood directly in front of Dread and Anxiety, forming a triangle. It was the only symmetry he saw inside of the room. The only symmetry until he saw Metiri enter the room from the east.

Metiri’s presence was brilliant, its bright white light quickly dissolving the phalanx. The room began to shift into a gorgeous symmetry; first into a rhombus, then into a perfect square. His mind was lucid. All was as nothing.

Pavel saw the ceiling again. His hand was now pressed firmly against Metiri’s feet. He felt liberated. Kingly, even.


“Hypergnosis hovers over our planet in the form of a jellyfish.” “Our thoughts, our ideas, anything the collective mind has constructed in the past and into the future, is transferred from the human brain into a quantum form of mesoglea, travels up towards the sky and out of the atmosphere. It bonds to whatever mass already hovers above the planet. It adds context to the Hypergnosis.”

After he finished reading the transcription aloud, Caius slid his chair away from the screen. He looked over at Osella. She shook her head slowly as she stared at the floor.

“This can’t be right. It shouldn’t read like this.” Osella’s voice was weak, as though her breathing was shallow.

“Os, it’s the third time I’ve transcribed this section. We’re almost there.”

Osella gazed into the floor. Her presence was brittle.

Caius rubbed his neck, wincing lightly. “Hey, did you ever render those glyphs into coordinates?”

“So now they’re coordinates?” Though exhausted, Osella tried hard to savor the jibe.

“Come on. Did you get anything worth taking a look at?”

“Here.” She briskly typed a command into her desk. Within seconds, the coordinates appeared on Caius’ screen.

05h 14m 32.272s, −08° 12′ 05.91″

“Let’s try it.” Caius felt a velvet anxiety in his chest. He was out of ideas.

“You’re not serious. You can’t be.” Osella wanted nothing but sleep.

“What’s there to lose?” It was as though Caius had been infected by an idea.

“Listen, anything we’ve transcribed from this ‘bible’ has turned out to be roachshit. They’re wasting our time.”

“Osella, you know that we’re onto something. You know what kind of things those Malconites have been saying lately; the predictions of battle outcomes, the—”

“OK, just because those old mole-men spouted some vague gibberish from the Malconium doesn’t mean they’re clairvoyant. I could pick up a cooking book, read you a recipe and transpose all of that nonsense into an apocalyptic sermon. Sacred texts are meaningless works written by illiterate peasants from primeval planets. We’re wasting our time.”

Alright, OK. I’m just going to take a look. A quick look and then we’ll call it a night. Good?”


Caius punched in the coordinates. He waited for a moment, thinking to himself and laughing. He then slid to another part of the marble table. “Let’s bring it up on the primary monitor.”

Osella fiddled with her own screen. “Stop acting so… optimistic. It’s weird and gross.”

Caius laughed again. “OK, OK, bring it up.”

A shot above Rigel appeared on the screen.

The two sat in a thunderous silence.

Caius gripped Osella’s hand tightly. She squeezed back as they stared at a jellyfish floating in the sky.

Androgyne Police Officer Watches War From Prison Window

All I wanted was to finish as Alexandria.

All I wanted was to be a poet.


Lecheorian attacks on Jord had begun two days before I was taken into custody. The first attacks came from the sky. They took out our main military forces, there’s agents outnumbering our soldiers six to one. They destroyed the city’s primary defense fields within minutes of the first assault.

Electricity was cut within hours of the attacks. I was alone on the 8th floor in the Jordian Police Headquarters, trapped with no means of communication. Cellular Towers were being torched by Lecheorians. I was defenseless, too, stuck with wi-fi weapons that wouldn’t work for me. We were so dependent on The Towers.

Feeling hopeless, I grabbed a stylus and tablet and began to write.


Find log:

Lecheorian Arrest Briefs: 13.01.2246 – 14.01.2246

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Supporting Deposition: OFFICER R91498SK4M: Haigh, Christoph

Logdate: 13.06. 2246

Prisoner 30460 – Original Detainment

Background brief: The majority of Jord forces had already been neutralized or detained and placed into custody, though Chief of Police Alex Montrose eluded agents for approximately four days before surrendering to Lecheor forces via artificial clairvoyance structure; older Jord technology.

Four Lecheor agents arrived at the Jord Police Headquarters (JPH) at approximately 1000 hours. According to the agents, the primary entrance to JPH was barricaded, thus the agents were forced to dissolve a major portion of it with medium quantities of nitro-hydrochloric acid.

Upon entering JPH, the agents found no traces of mammalian life in the immediate proximity, aside from officer Montrose, who was sitting inside of her cubicle, calmly. It should be documented that Montrose was not insubordinate or resistant toward the Lecheor agents, though to say she went into custody willingly would be a bit of an overstatement. Agents noted her body was abnormally tense while she was moved from her cubicle and into Lecheorian custody; an agent described detainee’s wrists as having “the feeling of rigor mortis” while he placed security bands onto them.


When the agents came to headquarters to remove me from my office, I didn’t argue. I didn’t fight it; there wasn’t a point. I sat at my desk with much patience, waiting for them to depose me. I was the last of the clean constables, so I figured I’d be removed with as much dignity as possible.

Four agents were sent over to the offices – overkill, like usual. They tried kicking down the door as if they were in one of those old Earth films. A funny thought, though I didn’t actually laugh at it. I’m still not laughing.

The four agents couldn’t break through the door physically because they didn’t realize the base of the entrance was forged with titanium. I sat and waited for them to dissolve it somehow. Within seconds the entrance was gone, smelted down to the floor.

They stomped rhythmically over to my desk, saying nothing. They had large, foreign-looking weapons draped over their shoulders; it was the only thing I noticed before looking away from them. Their presence was inscrutable and intimidated me, though I didn’t want them to see this. I looked straight ahead, as stoic and stone cold as possible, waiting for them to detain me.

Two of the agents grabbed my arms and shoved them behind my back, pushing my wrist up towards the top of my back, slightly dislocating my right shoulder. Their hands were freezing. Still, they said nothing. We both understood what was to transpire as they walked me out, leading me across the City Centre into my P.O.W cell.


Find log:

Lecheorian Prisoner Observations: 13.01.2246 – 14.01.2246

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Logdate: 13.13. 2246, 0931 (northeastern time zone) Prisoner 30460 – analysis II, Obj.,Subj.:

Health: Subject was fed at 0900. Subject will bathe in East Wing showers at 1200. Subject appears fit, physically healthy overall.

Current actions: Subject sits on cell mattress, upright, knees against chest. “Fetal position.” Subject appears subdued, nonthreatening. Subject is currently staring out the window and has been in this position for approximately twenty minutes.

Pscyhoanalysis: Subject is essentially catatonic. Empath readings listed the following possible emotional states of subject: sullen, helpless, impotent.  Calm at the moment but potentially prone to fits of anger and rage, similar situations described in last week’s analysis. Two security drones have been placed outside of subject’s door. Considering subject’s state, better to act pragmatically. Updates to come later in the day.

Sullen and helpless, I watched it all take place from my cell window. I stared impotently out onto the City Centre while the paramilitary agents vehemently pulverized my comrades with alloyed batons from unfamiliar planets, their snouts pressed to the grindstone. They knew nothing but their work.

It was early in the morning; I’d guess around 0830 or so. I sat and studied them, watching how they dirtied their hands as they turned my district into a nondescript horde, which then coalesced slowly into a massive mound of red pulp. If I hadn’t have known any better I’d assume it was a Leisurepool filled with fresh mercury iodide, like the ones they have on holiday-asteroids.

Holiday-asteroids. Vacations. Repose. Comfort. Quiet.

I sank back into my own head, reminiscing. Wanting things. Wanting everything to be the way it was before the chaos, before the mass bleedings.

A shrill scream from outside the window interrupted me. I heard a young girl, a teenager, screaming her throat raw at the paramilitary agents, begging them to stop the massacre while simultaneously asking them “Why?”

The screams took me out of my meditation. Suddenly I was in an ugly place of mind, a place in time from a few days ago. The agents were checking me into the makeshift prison.


Find log:

Lecheorian Intelligence MEMOS (Gen.): 13.06.2246 , all

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OFFICER R96297SK4M: Johns, Mikael

Logdate: 13.06. 2246 To: Kastori, Lenka, Lecheorian Intelligence Bureau (L.I.B)

Re: Prisoner 30460 – original admittance; Gender Identifications, Etc.

Prisoner 30460 was handled firmly by the agents while being admitted into the provisional prison. Agents logged prisoner’s digital fingerprints, retinal scans and dental scans before a general delousing in the showers on the east end of the concourse.

It should be stated that during the delousing, multiple agents reported that the prisoner’s sex was previously altered; a confirmation that the Jordian chief of police was, in fact, a Changeover. It was deduced that the prisoner’s sex was originally male, based on the stitching and scaring near the pelvic area. This suggests that the prisoner was raised by Malconian high priestesses, as it is well known that the offshoot sects of all-female Malconium followers on Jord perform sexual sterilization to male children. Reasons for this are unknown at the moment, but most likely have to do with dated Malconian rituals based on sacred texts.

It is imperative that more research on these offshoot Malconian sects must be performed in the coming months, as Lecheorian agents are finding more and more Changeovers in higher posts of Jordian authority.


The agents twisted my arms back in a Hammerlock behind my back while they placed scalding-hot security bands on my wrists. The bands never left scars.

This area in time is where I began to feel less and less like a person and more like a Lecheorian statistic.

I was carted off to the makeshift prison a few blocks away. It was in the bombed out Proma Hotel. I was checked in at the improvised security area they’d built in the lobby. Prints, eye scans; the usual admittance measures. The agents had cold, absent looks in their eyes. I could only see their eyes, as they wore those dated Lecheorian ventilation masks attached to their helmets.

I was then brought over to the right side of the hotel, where everything was made of marble; it was also where the showers were. They ripped my uniform off and threw it in a waste bin. I watched it dissolve quickly. The agents began ogling me, leering at my pelvic area. They noticed my ritual scars. Their empty stares slowly frosted with disdain, their apathy shifting to contempt. I watched as an agent stared at me, shaking his head in what looked like disgust. He typed something on a marble screen.

An agent then walked over to me, swiftly. He blasted my head with his foreign-alloyed baton. This wasn’t the blow that knocked me unconscious, though; I slipped in a small puddle after being struck, causing me to hit my face on the edge of a sink in the showers. My last thought before everything went black was “I’d love to be able to fly.”

I woke up in a temporary detention room.  It used to be a hotel suite.


Find log:

List of Jordanian Casualties 14.06.2246; “Pre-Autopsy”

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OFFICER R46267HK5N (Medical): Tolstaya, Annia

Logdate: 14.06. 2246, 1800

To: Kastori, Lenka, Lecheorian Intelligence Bureau (L.I.B)

Re: Prisoner 30460 – Incident Report, Cause of Death

Summary Narrative:

Prisoner 30460 (formerly Alex Monstrose, Jordanian Chief of Police) was found among a pile of neutralized Jordanian citizens placed near the Lecheorian Provisional Prison. Although it’s still under official investigation, officials have concluded that the prisoner jumped through her cell window in an attempt to escape.

Agents reported the prisoner missing at approximately 1400 hours. Agents arrived at prisoner’s cell room to drop of prisoner’s second meal. Prisoner did not respond to agents within a timely manner, and therefore were forced to enter the room. Prisoner was missing and window was open. Agents were sent outside the building to search for the missing prisoner, but quickly found prisoner on sidewalk directly below prisoner’s cell room.  The body was dormant and mangled.

Preliminary list of damage to prisoner’s body from the fall: dislocated mandible; hairline fracture to left orbital bone; four of twelve thoracic vertebrae shattered; five of five lumbar vertebrae shattered; coccyx dislocated; bruised femur; split ulna. Full autopsy report is still being prepared.

Aside from the major damage done to the prisoner’s upper body, the lower half is in arguably fine condition. Once autopsy is finished and logged, it is suggested that lower half of body be transferred to bio-enhancement offices (once they are established in the city, of course).

It is also suggested that all windows in Provisional Prison building be replaced with titanium or lead sheets. This would be a days worth of labor for Jordanian prisoners, and, as discussed, it is important to keep the current prisoners busy.

Please respond with general thoughts and further directions.


I sat on my stiff cell bed and looked out the window again while I simultaneously I thought of places to go. If I shut my eyes, where will I take myself? Whenever I meditate, I try my best to go to a place of peace from my past.

I was suddenly six years old. I was sitting on a cold floor with a thin blanket covering it. This is where I sat and dreamt. I dreamed of flying, like most other six year olds. But me, I felt like I was different. I felt that if I could fly, I’d end up becoming exactly who I was meant to be. I don’t know how that made any sense to me at the time, but it did. It was an abstract, utterly illogical thought that made complete sense to me as a child.

It finally made sense to me again.

I was now a large child. I stepped off of my bed and explored things, touched things. Played with debris on the floor. I sat near the window and played with the rusty latch. After shaking it a few times it just fell off. I was a powerful child. I looked at the rusty latch in my hand, and then looked out the window onto the street. I looked at the pile of bodies from eight stories up.  I was still a child.

I pushed the window open. It made a creaking sound. The agents forgot how old some of the suites were in this building. I looked outside again. Eight stories up. I was still a child. I was still six years old and wanted to fly.

I thought about my past and tried to weigh it against my perceived future as a prisoner; my future as an experiment. Any humanoid features I had would soon be gone, dissolved, out the window. So I decided to fly away.


Find log:

List of Jordanian Casualties 14.06.2246”Evidence”

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OFFICER R36287FK5N: Sythe, Jomol

Logdate: 14.06. 2246, 2130

Nothing of major strategic value found at scene, though we did recover a slim tablet with writing on it that matches the deceased’s handwriting.

Transcription of found writing:

I summoned the Dread from out of my chest And into the air up above my head. It had the hue of an apple – deep red. I summoned the Dread up into the air, Made it grow to the size of the sky, And then shrunk it down into the palm of my hand. I then took a bowl from my left And placed the Dread inside of it. I took a bamboo brush from my right And ground the Dread into tea. I dipped my hands into the warm sea, Poured it into the bowl. I then poured the red tea, the Dread, Onto the white rocks near the water.

The Dread dissolved into the ground, Gone for the moment. But I knew it’d be back, returning again, and again, And again.