The room was largely empty. No door. No windows. No defined entry or exit. Nothing, save for a chair, a table and a small button atop its surface.
Pressed
Yash #19
FILE: AUDIO LOG ENTRY // YASH TIR-REL // RESEARCH COORDINATOR RESEARCH TEAM PYTHEAS SUBJECT: PYTHEAS PROJECT PROGRESS REPORT #19 %%ERROR#881%% FILE PARTIALLY OVERWRITTEN // UNKNOWN USER A1: Yash Tir-Rel. Research director. Research team Pytheas. Report number nineteen made at two fifty-eight. [IRREGULAR TAPPING] A2: The efforts of the Pytheas team continues to provide results at... Continue Reading →
Galanet Transmission
EXE_558370%##SYSTEMBOOT EXE_$A_001|“Welcome to Galanet. Please input service location and transmission ID.”| INPUT(AMURIN, [REDACTED]) EXE_558372(INPUT)%##TRANSMISSION OPEN -CONNECTING LINE- . .. ... -CONNECTION SUCCESSFUL- EXE_559101#%%TRANSCRIPT RECORD [SILENCE] T.H: Hello? [SILENCE] T.H: Hello? I’m looking for- ??: Think you got the wrong line. T.H: No, no! I’m sure I put it in right? Look, I’m looking fo, uh-... Continue Reading →
Food Critic
‘This tastes very rich.’ ‘It’s how it’s meant to taste.’ ‘Yeah, well I don’t like it.’
Crimson’s Creative Challenge – Waves
Lalbert leaned his arms against the rusted railing and listened to the hushed crash of waves in the distance. The ebb and flow of the water. The churning froth that sighed as it rolled in along the sand...
Larry
‘Why Larry?’ ‘Why not? I think it’s rather cute.’ ‘Cute!’ Joseph barked a laugh at the ludicrous idea.
Splinters – ‘Darkness’ #writephoto
Harry picked at the splinter that had burrowed its way into the palm of his hand, leaving a deep red welt in its wake.
Crimson’s Creative Challenge – High Places
‘Not scared are you?’ ‘Me? No!’ Aya snapped, her knuckles white as she clutched the bar and her feet dangled over the drop.
Crimson’s Creative Challenge – Holes in Cubes
Decided to jump back in and try out something for Crimson's Creative Challenge this week! First thoughts for some reason were portals when I saw this weird little cube.
Modern Age Writer
Sleep rubbed from the eyes. The clock ticked silently, the dull green light of its digital numbers illuminating the cluttered desk.
Thomas Roland 