Dreams of a Spammer (Sci-fi)

[spam500]

(NOTE: THIS HAS BEEN REBOOTED! THIS PAGE ONE STORY IS NOW NULL AND VOID, THOUGH I MAY GO BACK TO XIARA AND JOSCEON IN FUTURE CHAPTERS)



(Hello there, and welcome to a written account of my own dreams, the majority of which are based in a classical era-esque Science fantasy. While all of these stories follow certain characters that I have manifested within my mind, they may not follow a proper plot, so this is more or less a diary of those thoughts. I one day wish to see these ideas come to fruition, possibly as a novel Until then, I give you my daydreams. This is my first post, so be gentle. Now I digress...)

...Every time I open what remains of my 'eyes,' I am unsure of whether I am actually alive or... still dead...

It has only been a few hours since I was brought back to reality through the miracle that was Organo-mechanics, and I feel as though I have literally been spat out by the void of time itself. Centuries have past... in milliseconds. At least from my perspective anyway. I am barely able to grasp such a preposterous idea, but here I sit, my bio-mechanic body fresh from an intimidating (and very messy might I add) operating table, complete with antagonistic-looking medical probes that appear as though they belong in a torture chamber, not a body rejuvenation centre, no matter how solemn and unnerving as it may first seem. Twisted thoughts enter my mind of what such horrifying mechanisms must have been doing to my unwilling corpse, and I almost end up chuckling to myself, that these jellyfish-like abominations actually brought me back to life!

My name is Jotara Skraelu, though I am commonly known to others as Josceon. I have not heard my birth name in ages, and considering how much time has passed since my death, I am sure no one remembers it either. Three centuries ago, I died defending the brothers of my order upon a shadow cruiser starship. My body was literally blown to bits by an energy chaingun belonging to the band of corsairs known as the 'Solar Pirates.' Luckily, the skirmish did not last long, and my decomposing corpse was placed inside of a stasis tube... which in normal circumstances, would be used as a bed... (As weird as this may sound, this helped preserve my speedily decaying brain, the rejuvenation centre deals mostly with braindead, subservient drones. Not miraculous resurrections.). Unfortunately, the Space Pirates re-engaged my brethren, who were mercilessly killed by the raiders, my body was then left forever to float in space, as some sort of macabre artefact. At least that is all I remember. My shady (and frightening) looking brother by relation is bound to know more. After all, he is the one responsible for reviving me... after centuries...

My brother stands atop a dark metal balcony, looking at the nearby moon like some sort of still statue, the light from the barely illuminates the cold, eerie operating table. There's not much to look at really, unless you like looking at the remnants of a destroyed civilization under the bright stars. Complete
Organoid zombie drones and terrifying probe bots, as well as a strange brother wearing some sort of disgusting, 'symbolic' flak armour. I really do love this morbid atmosphere, I really do feel right at home. Not that I look any different. Now I'm just some sort of Biomechanical carcass wearing pitch-black OKTHZ Alloy armour. I am not even sure whether I'm actually alive, or just another of the zombie-like 'scientists' that roam this massive fortress of macabre.

I walk up to my brother, albeit somewhat frustrated of how I have been ripped away from the afterlife. "Xiara... Where in the Void of Hell is this place, and just what am I doing here..?" I try to contain my stress, but it is obvious to my fellow Reptoid that I am livid, mostly out of my own inability to grasp the situation.

My brother turns to face me, and I know that even from under that skull-helmet of his, he is giving me a stare that only a corpse like myself could match. "You know where you are Josceon... The very border between life and death" With a frozen, bitter voice, my brother gifts my confused mind a cryptic reply, of which I will not lie, I found extremely infuriating.

[spam500]

Agitated by his words, I keep myself at a distance from my seemingly debased sibling. I ponder why he refuses to tell me how and why I was brought back to life. As I have speedily come to learn, the dead most certainly do not enjoy being disturbed from their cold rest; especially when they're only half-living. I have come to compare myself as some sort of corpse' animatronic than a Biomechanoid. I will not lie that as I brood, my mind is wrecked with fury and uncertainty, though I cannot bring myself to despair. I know that I am mentally strong enough to stop myself from crawling in a corner and sobbing from complete and utter confusion. A LOT can happen within a few centuries, and while the lifespan of my species is perhaps longer than others, I feel as though my anger is righteous. Although I can barely move my blue, undead face, I am still somehow able shape it into a good, sharp scowl, probably enhanced by the situation.

Xiara stands proudly tall, like some sort of twisted lion, though he allows me to ponder my next question. How quaint, though I am still disgusted at how my own brother by relation would commission me to become... this! My brother had denied me my passing, that for my sacrifice I so truly deserve. Apart from the still, unchanging sound of chatter between operational drones, and the blood-curdling sound of ongoing autopsy on the nearby slabs of black steel, the atmosphere is dead. (Quite literally when you come to think, ain't it.) I see my own 'post-mortem' images on the interactive board in clear definition. I look back at the probe-laden bed I had just emerged from. A cold spike of realisation sends a shiver down my spine as I find myself picturing of how I may have looked just a few hours ago. I find such an image hard to bear. I am sure that I am not the only one, and despite how I currently feel in this dismal hell-hole, my heart warm(lukewarm maybe?) that I am able to handle such stark reality without asking my own brother to 'kill me.'

Perhaps I may be able to make something of the new me, at least in the near future, though now is not that time. For at this moment, I demand answers...

I ask Xiara "Am I not entitled to ask just why I have been brought back... at least without some riddle to accompany the answer?" I keep my tone calm, yet cold; similar to that of my own brother's. My stature mirrors his own: Arms crossed, standing tall and stoic. Ironic for someone like myself, of whom just a few minutes ago, was no more than just some broken corpse.

The retainer nods his skull-helmet, not an ounce of skin can be seen of his beautifully horrific armour. I'm beginning to think that he may be just another casualty of this place. I really hope that I am mistaken. It only takes him a few seconds to grant me his reply. "I answer an obvious question... with an obvious answer, little brother..." His voice, is still as cold as deathly ice. I can barely look at this unnerving Reptilian straight in the eye (Ironically, I can't even see them). Behind them, I see a calculating, unforgiving statue of a man. I hate to say It but my own living brother appears more dead than my half-decomposing, cybernetic body ever could.

He suddenly spoke with a far more powerful demeanour. "I commissioned your resurrection out of my own funds personally, earned rightfully through the excavations of the lost colonies of the Actarian race." Xiara and myself are Atarids. We belong to a confederacy of many reptilian species upon a shared planet known as Ataria. The intergalactic name for us is 'Actarian.'

"Since when did you and the rest of the order start caring about artefacts?" I intrude like a cloaked dagger.

"Has it not always cared of preserving the history of our race. I mean, I personally do not care much for history, nor am I a person of prejudice, but there is much to be found in archaeology, such as age-old, and perhaps even more advanced technology. As well as ancient alien culture that lived and inevitably died out amongst our own age-old civilization. I am sure even the dead know the advantages of such finds."

I give a small nod, though my scowl cannot help but enhance at Xiara's snaky little remark on my current state.

Xiara began to move on with his explanation. "But I digress Josceon, I brought you back to help give you another grasp of life. Like the rest of those who died that day so many years ago, your death was tragic. When I heard that the body of my own brother was being held at a cryo-stasis industry centre on an arid moon, like any other sibling would do, I wasted no time in recovering it, and I think that such a quest has been perhaps quite fruitful when we both come to think of it. It is most certainly a proportion of miracle worthy luck that your brain was near perfect."

I snicker vindictively at his answer, once again enhanced by my own anger. I cannot smile however, for it is not possible for me to move the muscles of my mouth. "Really?" I ask, cynically polite. Just like him once again." Between you and me, I find it very, very hard to believe that you had brought me back simply out of your good will. While I am sure that you knew that my body was still fresh in stasis, I really doubt that the same was confirmed on my brain. I am not sure how technology in stasis chambers have progressed through two or three centuries, but from what I remember, brain-waves cannot be read whilst in stasis chambers, because, including beds the entire body is physically stopped in time. You can't even dream in those bastard things." I explain my argument as coherent as I could for a moment, then I explode.

"Tell me now damn you! You recovered my body, because the order had told YOU, to turn me into a mindless drone! It just so happened that my mind was still intact! I'd like to hear your reply to that THAT!" My booming, mechanical voice echoes beyond the balcony. I cannot help but be sadistic to my brother. Even in my fury, I am still unsure whether I am right or wrong. Although Xiara was always strange, he was known to always be soft-hearted when spoken to personally. I suddenly feel unwell with guilt as my shout begins to relent. Perhaps it was out of his goodwill. I am sure Xiara has been dying to meet me again, no pun intended. In the mean time. I await his reply, though I somehow know that the cold, masked retainer that stands before has an answer... He always does...

[Ussaid the Hashshashin]

Good setting, and even better writing. The only flow I think is perhaps the story should move at a quicker pace?

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

I really like the premises of this story, and I think the relationship between the two brothers can provide some really interesting reading whilst also asking some good questions about the ethics/morality of Xiara's actions against a sci-fi backdrop - as I said a great premises.

+rep, and I'm looking forward to the next update. Good job.

[spam500]

(Thanks for the response you guys I understand my pace is snail-like. I'll try speed it up a bit from now on. It was mainly out of the fear that this thread would end up buried. No audience means no insentive, but the feedback has given me confidence to write on. May be still a bit sluggish as both brothers are still in conversation, but I aim to finish it this post)

Much to my surprise, my brother keeps silent. A terrible feeling of pride wells up within me, a great feeling that I have stumped my psuedo-sinister brother in all his demented vanity. Even the ghastly atmosphere of this sanity-threatening factory cannot quell such a flair that resides with this biomechanical monstrosity I am forced to call my body. "...I'm waiting for a response, 'Retainer...'" If I could smile, I would have a large and sinister grin slapped across my face. I realise now at this moment that I may be acting unnecessarily nasty toward my mouse of a brother, and his statue-like appearence angrily makes me feel as though I am talking to myself atop this chilling balcony.

It took him a few moments to give me his answer, and he had once again threw into a mental pit of confusion...

"I cannot blame you for your impetuous questions, Josceon. I understand that you have been tossed back into reality without a word of your own..." Xiara's voice is soft and quiet, I begin to feel as though he is attempting to make me feel sorry for him, at this rate, it's not going to happen, for as angry as I am right now, I can't feel even a shred of pity for this shadowy rat.

Before Xiara can start his next sentence, I interrupt him. "Are you going to answer my question, or are you just going to attempt to run me around in circles with idiotic rambling, because I honestly don't have time for this. For all the order cares about, I'm as good as dead! With the galactic equality laws, there is nothing at all to keep me down! I can just go get a ship, fly off and do whatever the Void of Hell I want! What will you be doing!? Running errands for centuries. You're nothing more than a pawn!"

As I begin to storm down the jittering balcony staircase, Xiara gives me his true answer "You should save your unneeded aggression for another day, my true purpose of reclaiming your body was bury you! And so it was the Skraelu canton's purpose. That is why two of your order brethren died to find you! And you would selfishly throw away such valiance!?" Each time Xiara began his next shout, his voice came to sound more and more human, I realise that there are feelings behind that seemingly robotic suit of armour. Understanding that I have somehow managed to upset such a stoic creature; and that my own order-brethren may had given their lives, just for my burial, I stay, and allow the retainer to explain.

"When I learned that the canton began a mission to search the remnants of the 'Solar Pirate incident,' I personally volunteered to join the search in order to find you, a final farewell before you were interred into the crypt. You were definately found in an alien cryostasis facility, beloning to the Wisurian race... which fell to a nuclear holocaust caused by continental infighting. After we infiltrated the facility, brothers Yoeskon and Aerik later died of radiation poisoning, and one of the initiates was driven irreversably mad from looking upon the utter grimness of a freshly dead civilization. As we speak, his body is interred in stasis..."

Creepy, I thought to myself. I knew the crocodilion Wisurians were warmongers, but not among their own kind. Knowing that such a thing happened very recently is quite chilling. This planet seems to have been dead for eons, but not Wisuroi. "So, the plan was to bury me, then my brain was found to be intact, which meant a change of plan, Yes?"

The retainer nodded, reverting back to his cold, sinister self. "The surviving members of the squad, including myself, opened you up to scan your remains for radiation, we then found that although you were nothing more than a glorified pile of gore, your brain was in perfect condition, as you were placed in the chamber during the battle from our predictions. I made the offer that we bring you back so that you may be given a second chance, as well as donating the funds to bring you back."

"That's why you're here isn't it... and not a Skraelu." I nod silently, I do not feel as frustrated anymore. Xiara may be unnerving and shifty, but he is not a liar, not to his own brother by blood. "I am sorry." I swallow that vindictive pride that had swept over me. "If... If what you say is true, then we should get moving. I'm not gonna lie, I have no idea how this place doesn't creep you out." Xiara walks up to me. At first I think that he is just walking past, but then he grabs me by neck. I try to loosen his grip, but Xiara threatens to rip out my external jugular. I am forced to stay my hands.

He whispers angrily in my 'ear.' "I am utterly disgusted by your words, Josceon. Were it not for our blood, I would have disowned you in an instant. How dare you come to think that I would bring you back as a drone, forcing you to live a self-loathing existance as subserviant dirt, and yet you still mock me. You think of me as some sort of errand boy. I am offended and shocked by your words, I have risked my life to see you given another chance at life, and yet you rub it in my face. You had best work on your attitude little brother, or so help me, I'll give you that damned chance at seeing what the life of a drone is like, because I assure you, it can be arranged."

Xiara was definately furious at what I said, and I was legitimately scared that he was going to kill me. I may now be an Biomechanic powerhouse, but Xiara knew where all my weak points were. He oversaw the entire surgery. I struggled to make a sentence, Xiara's grip on my neck was firm indeed: B-...Brother... I didn't mean to hurt... like I had said... I-I'm sorry..."

As I spoke, Xiara was tearing into my skin with his sharp gauntlet, though he paid no attention to my jugular this time. It was almost as though he was pressing a button. "If you truly sorry for your actions." He pressed down on my neck. I couldn't feel anything, but the retainer was definately activating something "Then you shall prove it..." His sentence hit me like a serrated icicle, piercing me right in the heart (Or should I say throat.) At that moment, I would be as terrified as I felt before my untimely death. My sight hit me with a revelation

'SEDATIVES INJECTED_SLEEP MODE ACTIVATED'

If not for the utter horror I experienced as I realised that Xiara's threats were true, then it would be the liquid now flowing into my bloodstream that rendered me completely paralyzed. I collapse to the floor like a metal ragdoll upon the steel grating of the pitch black balcony, Xiara stands beside my body, once again as proud as a lion as he kneels down, like a beast going in for the kill. I can barely move my jaws as I give my brother one final message.

"Go to Hell, you bas-"

He doesn't respond, only kneels before me like a melancholic vulture, finally picking up my body. It is then that my vision switches off like a computer, and my mind finally blacks out.

Is... Is this what death truly feels like...?

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Their reunion wasn't for very long! Wasn't expecting him to send him back to sleep, should be interesting the moment he awakens... if he does.

[Ussaid the Hashshashin]

Another great update man! I like the direction this is going!

[Scottish King]

A most interesting set of circumstances and characters you have here. Question: How did the other brother survive those centuries his sibling was asleep? Do humans lived longer lives?

[spam500]

Sorry that I never pointed that out properly. The Actarians are supposed to have a far more longer lifespan, depending on what race they are.

Update coming as soon as I have the inspiration I need! (Basically a polite way of saying when I can be bothered. ... Wait what?)

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

No worries, release when you can.

[spam500]

(Holy Shrek Himself! As pitiful as being happy about a hundred and counting views may seem to some, I never expected to have so much people take a look. Thank you all for just taking a peak. For this, I will come out of my procrastina- I mean writer's block to continue on. After this post, we will move away from the Whining Zombie and his politically incorrect older brother, though we'll come back to them in due time. But for now...)

My head feels as though it has been encased inside an agonising, metal torture device as I wake up from the forceful sleep I have endured. The cybernetics that now case my skull offer me no respite. I want to believe that this metal that surrounds my insides and skeleton is just a suit of armour, that can just be taken off, but there is no longer such a thing as optimism, at least from my experience. Perhaps I am just cynical. Perhaps I should be glad that my caring brother went out of his way to bring me back to life, but if this is how I am going to live my second life, as this undead construct? Xiara should have just left my body to rot away, along with the entire civilization of Wisuroi. My eyes still greet me with more familiar dismalness: A large, military styled bunker tunnel, I find that I 'rest' within as I move my head around to get a better understanding of my location. The fluorescent light upon the ceiling acts similarly to a large bucket of water. That blasted thing is just screaming at me to get up. Dizzied in what would seem like a never ending migrane, I am forced to comply as I hold my rubber-like forehead in pain.

Even when I finally get on my feet, I feel as though I am unable gain a proper understanding of my location. Both ways are conveniently shadowed to the point that I can no longer see the passage. There are no windows to look out from, no radios determine where I am, not even a CCHV orb camera to feel assured that there is somebody watching me. I begin to feel I am trapped in some sort of asylum. Xiara has thrown me into a pit of despair, and now he chooses to kick the dirt point blank to my face, accompanied by his own armoured boot. Has the retainer truly abandoned me!? As I attempt to rid the ugly thought from my mind, I realise that the hard ground that I walk upon is a never-ending mirror, allowing me to get a better look at the 'new' me. My armour is still in the familiar lamelar pattern that I had before my death, though it appears corrupted by the Biomechanid cybernetics that clutter it. The material appears far more metallic and darker than I ever remembered it appearing. Both of my right limbs are prosthetic, having been gibbed from my body after I was ripped apart by a pirate's railgun, though I can barely tell because I can't even feel the rest of my dead body. I am unable to remove my helmet, which is now permanently stuck to the back of my head, encased in wires the invade the inside of my skin. Although my face has been given some mercy from the Biomechanisation, it is as though I am wearing a mask. My face is snow white and appears numb, the littering of stitch marks (My jaw was ripped off during the attack) help complete this face of death that I now wear.

I stare gormlessly at this once again convenient mirror-floor. It is almost as if I am inside a dream. Suddenly, the viewing of my twisted visage is ended by the noise of what seems to be the movement of a giant mollusc. As the snail-like crawl becomes louder my head is turned to the dark passage way before me. What sentient creature could have possibly made such a noise. Ready or not, I am about to find out, for as I hear distorted voices wail in pain, I now know for sure that something is definately... there... As the creature manifests before the light, upon this scale of rapid horror I have so quickly endured, there is nothing, not even the most physically terrifying scourge that exists within deep space can be compared to this...

A massive sluglike hydra appears in my view, it's heads bearing a remarkable resemblance to the heads of my now dead friends and brothers-in-arms. It's body appears rotting and unnatural, much like a flesh construct put together by some egregious mad scientist. The whining of such familiar voices sends a great cringe down my cybernetic spine. As I gawk, disgusted and jaw-dropped at this macabre creature, they all spoke in unnerving unison:

"...Your death led to this Josceon... Your foolish sacrifice led to nothing, your selfish act of attaining glory condemned us all. Your actions share the same villainy of Xiara's, If not worse!"

As I try to reason with my wrathful brothers, I realize that my open jaw is locked in place. I crudely try to push the fake jaw back into place, but it somehow rips itself off of my skin, sinking into the mirror-like floor. With utter shock in my half-dead eyes, I blink in disbelief, the bunker corridor becoming more fleshy and corrupt each time, and that's when I finally realise it. This whole experience just a dream...

However, I am unable to brood on why I am stuck here, as a tentacle emerging from the skin trips me over, and I fall to the ground with a large clank. I am then pulled toward the monstrosity, as it holds me up above it's blob-like cracked body, and to the many livid heads that haunt my memories.

"You will become like us, 'brother...'" Their weak voices mock me, and I come to yet again terrible realisation. Although this experience may not truly be real, that does not at all make me exempt from the mental trauma I am about to endure. The heads regurgitate massive, hooked tongues that begin to swirl around their body. Reaching my head, and covering my neck. I am saved however, for once the tongue strangling me crushes my oesophagus, I am once again spat back into reality.

My eyes are widened from the nightmare. I truly wake up now, upon a... soft bed? Very unfitting for a machine-like zombie such as myself. It's then that I begin to think of whether I am still actually dreaming or not, as I survey the dimly lit room, which shockingly enough, looks comfortable. Not an ounce of that familiarly depressing machinery is anywhere to be seen. I feel as though I am safe. Still upon the bed, I sit up to check the area of my neck where Xiara had cut me open, only to find it stitched and nothing there as I press down. I get up from the bed properly now, though the imaginery cage that surrounds my head still grieves me. 'Perhaps it is just tiredness' I think calmly to myself, looking curiously out of the chamber window, only to find that I am in space. I exit the room to investigate the rest of this vessel, I cannot help but be surprised at how civilised this place truly is. With each room appearing more welcoming than the next, including the navigation chamber where Xiara is residing right now. The one thing sticking out however is a room clearly stating in capital Actarian lettering 'DO NOT ENTER.' Already scarred from what I have endured in such rapid succession, I am quite keen of following the rule.

With nothing else to quell my inquisitive nature with, I decide to check up on Xiara. The navigational room is dark, with a large scale map of the galaxy emitting from the holographic stand. We appear to be within the Karasa system. Formerly home to the Korosoid race before they blew themselves up in an interstellar scale civil war tens of thousands of years ago, meaning we're still above that god-forsaken husk of an Organo-tech facility. Even in this far more comfortable atmosphere, that cold aura that my brother gives off is still unchanging. The eerie sight of him makes me think of what is scarier? The abomination that had just witnessed in my dreams, or this machine-like being standing before me. With divided feelings toward my sibling, I ask him stupidly: "Xiara, where in the Void of Hell are we going?"

"Is it not obvious..?" While Xiara's voice is still cold, there is some emotion added, probably enquiring on if my brain rotted a little. "...We're going home Josceon. Back to Ataria, there is no riddle in this answer, I can assure you, dear brother." I beat myself up as I understand that my question must have seemed a slight idiotic.

[Alwyn]

I like the setting which you're creating and your style. With the use of the dream, and your character wondering if he is still dreaming, I wonder if your story will blur the boundaries between dreams, imagination and reality - perhaps in a similar way to films such as The Matrix and Inception.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Yeah I agree with what Alwyn said, lots of room of where to take it.

Still the development of the brother's relationship is going nicely and is really interesting to read.

[spam500]

Thank you both for your kind words While I look forward to developing Xiara and Josceon's relationship more, I'm unsure whether to explore my other ideas as well. Moreso as just a subchapter. :I

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

What other ideas are they?

[spam500]

One of the characters that I have on my mind is an ancient inorganic lifeform beloning to a race which robotosized itself eons ago. Because of it once belonged to a hive-mind, the machine was never fully able to grasp the emotions, morals and ethics of others around them. That, and the amount of conflicting morals in the galaxy, they just don't care. To make sure it doesn't go mad with sheer boredom, this machine dedicates it's life to constant exploration of the galaxy.

Another Idea involves the Atarids/Actarians again, though this idea takes on board the more 'science fantasy' scape. The Atarid's shamanistic nature allowed them to manipulate the laws of physics. One of the most common uses of this 'gift is the ability to alter their entire genome, but tampering with their DNA with the use of 'dark magic' has terrible consequences, and can result in a freak mutation of the Atarid DNA, turning them into a horrific creature called a Demon. Demons come in many forms, similar to vampires or banshees, Hydras or Gorgons, or perhaps to living blobs.

I could also go into more detail about Xiara, and explain some more about his misadventures before he went and resurrected Josceon.

[spam500]

(It has been quite a few days since I last updated this story, and it's in dire need of a new chapter. So here you go fellows.)

In spite of this moment of bizarre peace, I still feel as though reality is spinning around me without relent. Even now, every attempt I have taken to grasp the situations of "Why am I here" or "How am I still alive" slip away from my mental grip. I lean down on the holographic stand as Xiara sets coordinates for our home system, my metal palm almost swallowing my rubbery, numb face. I think back on the nightmare that had torn me away from my sleep, which was pretty much forced upon me in the first place. The faces that terrifying creature bore, all of them I remember, my comrades and brothers-in-arms. I experience yet again another horrific cringe as I come once again to a nasty realisation.

"...All of those men I had sacrificed myself for... my best friends... They're all dead... aren't they?" I whisper in self-pity, just enough so Xiara would hear. "My 'heroic' act... all in vain... I'm a disgrace..."

The metal gauntlet still engulfing my face, I gaze at Xiara from the corner of my eye, hoping that I would selfishly gain some form of remorse from my own brother, but he ignores me completely. Focusing more on getting us out of this cursed system, back home... What home? I've been dead for three hundred goddamn years, and now I find that my reality has almost literally been turned upside down. From my arrogant past life, I now embrace undeath as a self-loathing abomination of science.

The ship starts to enter warpspeed. It is strange how blissful travelling faster than the speed of light truly feels. As I peak out of the window I see a glowing blue void in the distance. It's almost as though we're travelling into another dimension. It strangely helps to brighten up the mood, though I still feel cynical and angry towards my brother, and I feel anxious and unsure of how the Skraelu temple will welcome my return, or even if Skraelu still actually exist.

My brother warns me "We should be above the planet of Acta in at least twenty three Sapien hours, though we may have stock up on fuel upon the miner world of Izuot. Is that fine." Xiara stares at me, if I could weep, my eyes would be wet with tears. As much as the glowing void helps to uplift the mood, I cannot help but mourn the lives of my brothers that were lost, all because of a foolish act of bravado. My reply consists of a nod and a poor frown. I can tell that Xiara has no intrest in my wallowing, as he turns his back to me.

"Can I at least ask another question..?" I solemnly ask of Xiara, stopping in his tracks in response.

"Why did you bring me back three hundred years after my death!?" My voice slowly raises at my brother. "How in the void of Hell am I supposed to face the Caretaker now!? How will the rest of the order view me aside from being a worthless shell of myself!? And how am I supposed to cope with the fact that nearly everyone that I had held dear died in a pirate raid!?" I roar with fury at Xiara, who approaches with the intent to restrain me, but before he can get a grip, I punch him directly at his skull helmet. A loud metal clank can be heard as he stumbles back onto the holographic altar, nearly unconscious. I approach the dazed retainer, intent on interrogating him, but before I can place my hands around his neck, he grabs my reinforced arms, and somehow finds the strength to throw me off of him.

"Josceon, I will only say this once! For both our sakes, stop being irrational! Allow me to explain or I will have no choice but to subdue you! I beg of you, my brother!" Xiara shouts, not with the fury and scorn that I have shown, but with upset and anguish.

"I have had enough of you, I refuse to call you my brother. I'm taking this ship, and once we're through, you'll be my pawn, because I refuse to be your godforsaken drone!" I charge towards Xiara, ready to swing at him in impetuous rage, but I am a fool to think I can best a three hundred year old veteran of combat. I notice this too late, as Xiara immediately notices a weak point, and kicks me point blank to my face. Not even the force of railgun that gibbed my limbs compares to how I am blown back by Xiara's metal boot. I once again find myself seeing black, though this time... I'm not sure Xiara is ready to grant me any mercy now.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

And just as I thought things were getting better between those too.

Good update, nice slipping in of that back story about what caused my favourite mechanics death.

[spam500]

I am dazed, upset and confused by my brother's recent actions. I am anguished to know that for every good deed I attempt, the repercussions brought I bring upon myself make me wrongly think that I am a man of twisted atrocities. I have earned the hatred of my 'younger' sibling, who now lays unconscious and broken yet again. I am scared that Josceon has misinterpreted my reasons for reviving him, but he will not listen to me in his current furious state, and now that he has attempted to subdue me, I must show him the consquences of his misdoings. Looking down solemnly at Josceon's body, I still hear the biomechanoid machinery functioning within his semi-organic body. I sigh with relief in the knowledge that I have not caused any proper damage to my brother. It was never my intention to harm Josceon, only to pacify him, and I am sad to have used phsyical force, moreso to realise that my own flesh and blood now despises me, all because of a misunderstood act of goodwill. I must stay within the holographic room at all times in order to control the FTL levels, as well as avoid collision with any asteroids, but I cannot leave Josceon here, knowing that he may choose to attack me once more.

Unsure of my brother's heaviness, I kneel down, placing the digits of my gauntlets into the intricate little lines and holes of Josceon's new armour. I hear the slight tearing of flesh as my fingers accidently hook into my brother's corpse-like flesh. Lifting Josceon up, and resting him onto my shoulderpad, I am quite surprised to know how considerably light he is, despite all of the cybernetic implants that now inhabit his body. Exiting the room, the ambience of the ship's engine brings a frightening rumble, similar to the pulse of a heart. I sometimes have the feeling that I am pushing the ship far too much. Perhaps it may explode... Perhaps I am just paranoid, but with all the terror that I have been put through all of my life, far more than Josceon can nastily fabricate about, I have more than a reason to be. I ponder this as I take my brother to my own private chambers, a room very specifically stating 'KEEP OUT' in Actarian lettering, and there are many reasons, much more than the room simply being my own place of rest, that I demand no visit to this one certain room.

Opening the door panel, the room is without light, pitch black being a better phrase. As I switch the light on with my free hand, the shamefully familiar sense of desensitization emerges within me once more. This truly is a room meant only for my own private matters, with two already occupied stasis tanks, the first beloning to the insane Skraelu initiate. I can see his shreiking face, his broken right arm and collar bone as clear as day. I had to force the distraught and confused boy inside of the tank. Though he had attempted to resist, he was no match for my veteran strength, I hope the order will forgive my failed act of stopping the child's insanity. The second tank belongs to... A strange, disgusting mutant. I choose to think nothing more on such a matter, having to stare at this tragic mass of flesh only fuels my constant nightmares. I sleep very rarely, and at times of quiet and peace, I begin to hallucinate about the lost souls that I had once cherished. Josceon was formally one of these, and if I cannot lessen his madness, perhaps the guilt will make him into one again. In spite of the shame that slowly wrecks me however, I am inspired. The very feeling that I have not yet been driven to insanity or suicide has given me a will of obsidian. My mind both screams and roars hideous passion.

As for everything else, the far window sits upon a desk containing scores trinklets, holobooks, scripture, and various maps and images, some even including Josceon's autopsy journal. I plan to give him this once we both part ways for good. I never did intend to shoehorn him back into Skraelu, because that is not for me to decide. I only wanted to give him a second chance at life, because he is my brother, and that has given me a reason alone to care for him, no matter how much he may hate me. The resting area is much of a bed as it is an altar. I have never slept whilst upon the ship in fear of collision, but I do choose to 'pray' in order to put my minds disturbances at ease. The altar is a stone block, carved into the likeness of the Dumahran insignia: an inverted Actarian corpse upon a catherine wheel. - 'The Sacrifice' -

The last area, hidden by a red curtain, is what is known to my Dumahran brothers as the 'torture corner.' A little area in the room where brutal interrogation takes place, where innocence or guilt cannot be taken into account, only information. Prisoners are commonly placed into a chrome chair, which automatically locks when sat upon. Two ceiling lasers then slowly burn through the prisoner's limbs. This can be stopped that at discretion of the torturer, or by a failsafe. Luckily, I do not intend cause any harm to Josceon at all, so I will simply be locking him in this room, and allow him some insight into my own mind. Perhaps that will quell his anger, I believe as I lay my brother's body by the Dumahran altar. I exit the room quickly, getting back to the holographic stand as fast as possible, I simply wish that through this, I have not granted myself more of Josceon's hatred toward me...

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

What does this man do?

I enjoyed reading the story from the other brother's perspective as well, nice change of pace as it were. Keep it up.