#*cue slow manual wheel churning me back up*

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

I just remembered my drafts exist- brb time to spam yall

[nephyartis]

“Out of Memory”

The Bird

"Listen closely now, r—ready? Tell her. Rebecca was. She was, uh. She's gone. I need her back. The idol of my worship. My soup kitchen sacrifice. And my sister in arms. And—and I was her sunshine! She told me so. She—I—I—the idiot that could make her laugh and kept her grounded. The dumb math, all the time. Calculating. Why wouldn’t she do it herself? I guess obviously because when you live with an accountant, all math is your, uh. Your job. My second job. Or theirs. Mine. I’m really fucking this up, oh god. Okay, three months ago. We found out she was pregnant—pregnant. Nearly in tears. Happy tears, mind you. Like, sadistic times when I enjoyed seeing her frazzled. Reminded me she was, erm. She wasn’t a god, but actually human. Gods don't just go away. Do they? Hah, maybe that’s just part and parcel. Oh lord I’m fucking this up. Well she fucked it up. Create life then disappear forever. Kah! Stupid. Utterly ridiculous. It's also not the point. Irrelevant. This isn't about me. Not me. I keep trying to, uh. To remind myself. Hasn't stopped the guilt yet. An—and I think I'm just making it worse, honestly. So—so! The purpose of this is to explain. Rebecca didn't run away. Something bad has happened. I’m not sure what. Meili, I need your h-heck-help!" The bird squawked the ends of its message.

It was like watching some grade school science project blow up in your face, or that’s what Mei thought. The parakeet started violently thrusting its head back and forth, heaving spats of blood. Then it appeared to lose any sense of balance, all while still hemorrhaging. This was enough to convince her that it was a good time to slide the door shut. Still, Mei continued to watch from behind the glass pane. Watch as the bird’s frantic motions painted her studio balcony. It was morbidly—dumbfoundedly—fascinating. But the spell soon worn off as the creature finally started to sputter out. Likely due to blood loss, no doubt, as some seconds later it collapsed. Its emerald feathers posed a stark contrast, speckled and glistening against the red, as it lay there unmoving.

It was a contrast that only served to make its message seem all the more shocking. Or perhaps panicked? Should she feel panic? No. Focus. All concerns gradually boiled down to two root sentiments: Apathy and Disgust. A talking bird that pukes itself to death? This was a sick joke. She had to be at work in an hour. That thing just ruined her balcony. To top off, she had no idea who this ‘Rebecca’ person was. Mei deflated with a sigh, studying the sad mass of bird. Then it struck her. While she didn't know who Rebecca was, she did know a sappy accountant that could fit the bill as sender.

Turning quickly, she slid back into to the rolling chair she had left behind, riding it all the way back to her desk. Everything in the meager apartment was where it ought to be, from bed sheets to car keys. Save for that bloody blemish upon the balcony, of course. She forces it out of mind though, focusing on the task at hand. The desktop. It was a plain and unremarkable piece of furniture, even sporting a few scuff marks. As she approached, however, the latent machine was beckoned to life. A task window, resting documents, input controls, some textual reminders, and various animated characters, all became physically illuminated over its surface.

“Glen Peckard.” It took little more than the name and a flick of her wrist for the machine to read her query.

“Right away, ma’am!” The little characters all became animated, appearing to dive through networks and data dumps, before returning with their prize. Glen Peckard, and his public handles. In the times he and Mei had spoken, there was never mention of significant others. Not for a lack of trying, of course, but he was one awkward dolt. Sappy to a fault.

“Any hits for a Rebecca?”

A notification chimes. Zero cross-references between Rebecca and Glen. Next up was private media networks. Being the breed of hopeless shut-in he was, Glen probably wasn't active on any shared networks, but it was worth checking at this rate.

Or it would be, except the search wouldn’t execute. No voice or virtual command seemed to register. Even after using the keyboard for manual entry, the machine simply refused to cooperate. So she leaned far to the right, chair squeaking as she examined the cord that trailed up from the back of the desk and to the ceiling. Up there was where the projection node hung. Everything about it seemed intact, though, and so to spite its failings, Meili started to snap her fingers up at it impatiently. As if the machine were under any obligation to respond. All the animated characters watched on, indifferent.

“Hey... Search!” It didn’t help, of course, but by the time the command did execute, she was standing in her chair, snapping up at the node. Glen’s latest logins were over six months ago, on a local networking server. This was going nowhere. Voice, text, and video attempts were all equally futile. Mei leveled a deadpan glare at the display field, once again trying to pressure the machine into spitting out the answers. Glen would reply sooner or later. Not that glaring should have him reply any quicker of course, but in her mind, the contest had only just begun. Before long, she would find herself reclined in the chair, then standing behind the chair, then eventually perched on her bed in the distance, watching from across the room. As if giving the machine more space was going to ease it into delivering Glen's reply any faster. Instead, the silence that followed gave way to the outside world. An incessant buzz of insects and the distant wail of a siren. No familiar chime of a new notification, though. So she deflates with a sigh once more, falling flat on the bed. It was about time for her to get going.

Keys, wallet, bag, umbrella, and socially appropriate attire. Check. She ran through the list with a nod. Next combing her fingers through the bangs of her hair, so as to tie it all back. Glen's place wasn't far and even if he wasn't behind this, she could still probably get him to clean up the bird.

Oh. The bird. Her eyes closed with a wince as the dead critter creeped back to mind. No. There was enough to worry about with the upcoming Servo Rally. The bird could wait.

Open Doors

"Move your fucking freckle!" Someone a few cars back blared their horn. Both the manual and autodriver lanes were at a crawl, trying to enter New Albany. The city even had their electric dummies up, which were basically just repurposed street lamps. Tall cylindrical chambers that depicted holographic persons inside, all dressed in safety vests and waving newcomers towards the rally. Fortunately, however, this would be the worst of it for Mei.

After finding her exit, she let go of the wheel and just laid her head against the window, looking up at the sky. A metamorphosis was about to take place. Soon the midday sun would be swallowed up by towering structures and the web of advertisements that hung between them. The murky Brisbane that snaked through the city's center would be no exception. Its waters full of ferries and freighters. These were sights less common for those who lived inland, where it was nothing but scorched wastelands. And everything was all the more bustling thanks to the political festivities.

"You have arrived." The car slowed to a stop, just outside of a large shadowed complex. It was a quiet street, vacant of any other vehicles or signs of life. As if all the city's blood had been pulled inwards, leaving the outskirts in a state of dreamless sleep. In fact, that’s probably what Glen was doing right about then. Sleeping. Mei stepped out and approached the building, glancing up towards the third floor where his room ought to be. Hanging there, just behind a bit of window curtain, was a fluorescent bird cage. It was like a neon sign showing exactly who to blame. The prior sense of disgust began to churn in the pit of her being once more, but not in the company of apathy. This time she laughed. She laughed equal parts vengeful sadist, and dissociative disbelief. And it would be that laughter that formed the basis of the smile that she wore, all the way up to room 306.

Knock, knock. "You home? Helloooo." She drew out the words in a mix of honey and venom. But no reply. Next came the door-bell. She rang it over and over again, in obnoxious repetition. After a few seconds more, there was still no reply. So with a huff and puff, Meili started to dig through her shoulder-bag until she found her jackknife. Of course, this wasn’t an ordinary jackknife. It was proprietary technology of CyberDags LLC. Her place of work. Instead of a blade, a mechanised key folded out from its handle. Once activated, it would attempt to match itself to whatever lock it was inside. Normally she was paid to do this sort of thing, but this was a special exception.

"I've respected your privacy by knockin' but am asserting my concern for your well-being by comin' in anyways!" The moment was a rush, as her tool made short work of the lock, and the sarcastic line simply emboldened her grin. She was ready to charge in with fangs bared. However even with her manic bitterness for what Glen had done, she was ill-prepared for the sights within.

There were no lamps on, leaving the room sparsely lit by what light could seep in between the curtains. Even still it was enough to tell something was wrong. The apartment looked to have been rearranged, either by some demented artistry or an internal explosion. To the left, kitchen shelves were thrown open. Their contents mostly shattered across the floor. In the distance, a closet had evidently erupted, spewing out its clothes. And to the right, each drawer of the nearby desk had been pulled opened, some completely pulled free. The room was littered in loose paper. Yet despite all the apparent chaos, everything created visual cues, leading one's eye to the center of the room where a horribly warped ceiling fan slowly spun in place. It was barely hanging from the roof by its wires, further serving to illuminate the place with electric sparks of light. Glen lay on the ground just below it, motionless. Without thinking she stepped closer but almost immediately slowed her pace. There were no signs of blood and it looked like he was still breathing. The bastard. Meilie’s posture stiffened, hands held tightly down at her sides, forcing a quiet laugh. Her smile returned.

"Had a wild night, did ya? Wake up, asshole." She got closer, crouching to the floor with knees tucked to chest, fully intent on slapping him awake. But at that moment she became suddenly aware there was someone, or something else, encroaching the periphery of her vision. She immediately looked up to see… nothing. That’s all she could think to call it. Nothing.

She was face-to-face with Nothingness. A patch of space from which the very air seemed to flee. It formed some nimbus shadow of absolute void. Through it translucent mass, everything appeared sharper. Mei was utterly baffled, losing balance and stumbling back onto her rear. As if in response, the epicenter of the shadowy nimbus blinked. The entire room trembled. Its invisible mass pressed into two opposite ends. Each one swelled then spilled to the floor, like a stream of tears. But there was no splash. Not a sound. Nothing.

"Glen!?" Mei shrieked in condemnation. Another sick joke? She began frantically kicking him in the side but Glen still wouldn’t stir. Instead, those stagnant streams of nothingness both begin reaching for his right foot, and as they did, the rubber of his shoe began to peel off in weightless flakes. Shortly after, so did his flesh. Droplets of blood, dusty shards of bone and strands of muscle fiber, all being torn free as they gravitated upstream. Gradually forming an entirely new entity as they melded together in the shadow's core. Creating that of a worm like tube, pale and ridged with membranous layers of mucus. Four triangular flaps of naked muscle eventually defining its mouth, as the tube contracted, then breathed out some form of archaic language.

"Vaj-took-kal."