Semi-closed system

Trying to paint pictures with words

[lilyeli]

Spiders' Den

I wrote a psychological horror fic about a behavioral analyst and a non-human subject in a containment facility.

Don't ask why I decided to use Hornet of all characters for this.

"The halls seem to shrink and narrow every time I walk through them, like a non-Euclidean space bending around a single point of immense gravity.

Around her.

The heavy metal doors hiss as pressurized air is pumped through the rods. One by one, they slowly move out of their sockets to open the way. First, the rods, then the door itself, split into two as if bisected. I enter the decontamination chamber and sigh. This room is in stark contrast to the halls before: while they attempted to mimic normalcy, having plants, clocks, and occasional chairs, the chamber is nothing but pure white. The only semblance of texture comes from the plastic sheets laid out everywhere. 

Now, to be fair. It’s not like anything beyond the door is normal.  

I step into my custom-made hazmat suit. It’s smaller, less bulky, and, most importantly, the helmet is made entirely of glass, allowing my face to be seen and my vision to remain unobstructed. I step into the pressure shower. Someone in operation presses a button, and I feel the spray of cold liquid wash over me. I hated it at first, but I’ve come to enjoy it. It feels like submerging your head underwater in a lake before starting the swim.

I take a few deep breaths. Fog collects on the inside of my helmet. The second door opens—first, the rods, then the door itself. 

Time to swim." full fic on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84922531/chapters/224167961

[lilyeli]

CW: brief mention of suicide attempt.

-----

Night walk

Do you know that feeling when you walk at night through the city?

00:13, and you just leave the tram. It’s colder than during the day, but not that cold. It’s early summer, or late spring, or just a nice autumn day, and you wear a jacket, but a thin one. And you take a deep breath as the doors close behind you, and it cuts you off. From the light and the sound and the life. Streetlamps like a hundred individual sunsets stretching into the horizon, merging and clustering as your eyes adjust. A single car drives by you. You barely register it, because it’s gone before it breaks the spell.

You got out of the tram one station earlier, so you could walk some more.

What are you thinking?

You wanted to think, right?

You like the walk. You like the fresh air and quiet night. But mainly because it helps you think. You only leave one station earlier when you want to think. So what is it today?

You know what.

You quickly hurry across the street. For some reason you wait for the green light, even though at this moment, nothing exists. Only you.

You and the people in their little homes. You love that part the most. Little lights through windows interspersed with the dark. Like stars in the galaxy. Like fireflies on an open field. Buzzing and shining in all colors. This one has a constant, bright hue. This one has a lower, intimate orange glow. This one changes rapidly from green to red to blue to yellow.

What are you doing, little fireflies? Are you dancing? Are you crying? What has your life come to?

Are you happy?

You see one further above than the others. Directly under a roof. Tilted, slightly. The angle makes it so that the light shines upwards, towards the sky.

Is it stretching?

Is it grasping?

The light is one of the golden ones, but something hangs over the window. A flag? A thin blanket? You’re not sure. It turns the gold into a fractal of brown and yellow and red.

You stop and look up.

What is this person in there thinking? Could you be friends? Lovers? Siblings? Do you hate each other? Do you know each other? Is that someone you’ve been missing in your life? Is that someone who you have cut from your life? Or do they not matter at all?

Do they have similar thoughts during night walks?

You touch your own cheek with your pointer finger and look at it. Under the brown and yellow and red the moisture glistens gently. You think you are incredibly silly and stupid. You use the back of your hand to wipe over your eyes and move on.

Until the next window. You don’t stop this time. But the thoughts still come. They are comforting, most of the time. It makes you feel less alone, even though in this moment, you so profoundly are.

Another car drives by.

You wonder if this is what humans do, or if this is just what you do.

You decide it doesn’t matter much.

You reach your apartment. Your keys are warm in your hand. You had pulled them out before reaching the door so you could enter quickly, just in case someone was following you.

You enter through the door, and a wall of warmth greets you. You turn on the lights, and take off your shoes. You go to the living room, just to grab your water bottle before heading to bed.

Instead, you stop.

You look out of your window. Towards the street. Light from your room filtering through the linen towards the city. Down on the empty sidewalk with the streetlamps like suns and the occasional car and the long empty void. The light is small and buzzing and alive.

It is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

It is proof.

Despite your best friend's suicide attempt.

Despite the person you love not loving you back.

Despite the overall fucking state of the world.

You are still here.

And you wonder if someone else sees your window, during their night walk, and asks who you could be.

[lilyeli]

Citizen Sleeper January #22: Machinist - Focus

Written for the Citizen Sleeper Prompt January challenge. Prompt: Machinist - Focus

Prompt list by @fmab

---

Gaseous ice.

Even in the vacuum of space I can not stop the instinct to breathe. It is literally wired into my brain. But there is no air, no matter which can be sucked in. Only radiation and stray particles. Entropy. 

Entropy feels cold. Energy equilibrium. The absence of… well, of everything.

Something hit the rig. Badly. It breached the hull. Not in the living quarters, but the tear exists, and it risks breaking apart further by no longer being able to support the internal pressure maintained by the machines. 

Even worse: The breach is in the docking station. Where the space suits are. Which means there is really only one person who even has a chance of fixing this.

I grab each prong of the ladder winding itself around the metal like a lifeline. I tug them, quickly, to make sure that they are secured. Drifting out into space because I was overly enthusiastic was not the way I wanted to go.

But I also can’t take too long. I do not die out here immediatly like the others, but that doesn’t mean I survive for long. The radiation is frying my synthetic skin, bursting at its seams like mushrooms sprouting spores. I do not die from the cold, but I feel the familiar pain-like ping every second. I notice my joints freezing over, slowly but surely, only stopped by me regularly shaking them out. I do not have much time. I grab the next prong to pull myself further. I tug it, and it breaks off. I see it drift into space. I swallow. Another instinct that survived the emulation.

I reach the breach. I can barely see it. A microscopic tear, making its way deep through the material to connect to the interior. It seems almost beautiful. Chaotic and structured in a way that one might use to exemplify the elegance of mathematics or physics or something. And the irony of life, maybe. I try to see through it. The dock is illuminated by the deep red emergency lights from deeper inside the rig. I can see the suits, still attached to the far wall. Same with the childs drawing depicting two fighting spaceships.

I hook my legs under two prongs and take out the large sheet of metal Bliss gave me. Doesn’t need to be beautiful. Just needs to be strong enough for repressurization. I hold it in front of the hole. The sheet easily covers four times the size of the hole, and sticks out from the hull of the ship in an unnatural way. An oversized bandaid.

I sometimes wonder why they call it heat death. The end of the universe. When entropy has crept into every conceivable corner of existence to lull it into a deep blanket of nothing. It’s not really death, is it? I am dying. Constantly. My body decays, as do the bodies of any living thing. Sleepers are not unique there. It’s just a different speed. But from death, new things can come. Like a human body might decompose and feed the soil, my empty frame can be salvaged for parts. I told Bliss and Serafin I wanted them to take what they could and put me in the rig. Felt right, I guess. But entropy doesn’t allow that. It’s more like, heat stop.

I shiver at the thought.

With my left I secure the metal and with my right I take out the miniature burner. I feel an urge to take a deep breath. I fight against it, and stop breathing completely. It is utterly still. Humans hear their hearts in complete silence. I suppose thin layers of ice on my joints cracking would be a suitable substitute. But the sound, if it exists, has no medium to travel through. There is only me, then.

Fighting entropy. Hoping to save a pocket of life.

---

an: oops I didn't post in two weeks. Writing was easier before I started dating and decided I wanted to publish 3 papers for my PhD lol

[lilyeli]

Citizen Sleeper January #8: Operator - Reboot

Written for the Citizen Sleeper Prompt January challenge. Prompt: Operator - Reboot

Prompt list by @fmab ---

Checking connected devices… … … CPU: Connected Nervous Link: Connected Sense Systems: Connected

What is it that makes a mind? At what point do you surpass the elusive barrier of otherness, of not being a being? Is it a simple test? Recognise yourself in the mirror — and pass? Or is it more? An intuitive understanding of self-ness that allows you to distinguish yourself from others, therefore implicitly creating you?

Calibrating… Eyes… Vocal Folds… Appendages… Temperature control system…

I think that the moment you reach consciousness, you are alive. It is not a question of body, or of strength, or form. A mind in a processing unit surrounded by fans to prevent overheating is still a mind. I have to think that, to not become insane at the non-existence of my own life. 

DreamOS 6.2.1A DreamOS is a registered trademark of Essen-Arp and its subsidiaries. Any unauthorised use, modification or spread will be punished. Loading Bootfiles…

Where is the difference between man and machine? The moment you think there is none, I believe. There can’t be one. My existence proves the ease of simulated sensation. Which, in turn, means that it cannot be physical. And if we strip away the physical, only the mind remains. Only thought. 

… 59% … 60% … 61%

There is a famous question. “Do robots dream of electric sheep?” 

I think it’s the wrong question. Why not ask if they dream of sheep? There is no difference. 

… 80% Overriding… Loading MoritzOS Suck it, Essen-Arp.

And just as a human might look at their scar and slowly come to love it, so can a sleeper whose skin is stretched too tight. 

--- an: I loved working on this one. Had the idea floating in my head since reading the prompts. Also, work and life stuff will make it difficult to adhere to the prompts and their dates exactly, but I'll do my best to still post semi-regularly!

[lilyeli]

Citizen Sleeper January #5: Bliss // Repairs

Written for the Citizen Sleeper Prompt January challenge. Prompt: Bliss // Repairs

Prompt list by @fmab

---

The sauntering iron moves across my skin, the small pin burning through the layers of mesh as Bliss connects the new fingers. They are good, fast, dexterous, and just enough pressure to work, but not to hurt. Still, I flinch every time.

“Don’t,” they say. “If you move too much, it’ll just hurt more. And take longer.”

I nod and sigh, doing my best to relax my arm, resting it on the table. I am torn between watching them work intently and staring at the ceiling to get my mind somewhere else. 

For a few minutes, the only sound one can hear is the melting of metal and the constant background whir coming from the rig. And Bliss, occasionally humming to themselves

“You’re in bad shape, Sleeper,” they say, interrupting the silence. “You need to take better care of yourself. We can’t keep doing this forever. I might not be around forever, we don’t have the parts, and,” for the first time since they started, they look me in the eyes. A slight smile hushes across their face. It doesn’t reach their eyes. “It’s not good if you are so destructive with yourself. You need to take care of your body. For your own sake.”

They lower their head again, absorbed in their work, before I can see more in their face. So I just nod.

“Yeah. I know.” I clench and unclench my left fist, the one they had fixed minutes prior. It feels heavy and fake. “It’s just, I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real, I guess? Like a fake body. Like pain, for instance. It registers, but it’s far away. Like a notification more than a feeling. At least I think so. It’s hard to explain. Like a machine, I guess.”

I chuckle a little bit at my own joke, only to immediately flinch as Bliss moves my arm to better reach under my wrist.

“Mh-hm,” they mumble, still not looking me in the eye, though I can see them raising their eyebrows. “I think,” the iron stops, “that many of us feel betrayed by our own body sometimes. I know I have. Felt disconnected, like a passenger in my own life. Like I was watching a screen with a console before me. Could move, do whatever I wanted, but it was like a game. Like a machine.” Now, they look me in my eyes again. And now, the smile reaches their eyes, too.

“Took me a bit to figure out that that’s not how it’s supposed to go.”

I look at them and open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. So I close it again.

“At some point, you either crumble or say fuck it, and grab your life and body with your hands and never, ever let go. And I’d like to not see you crumble.” They lower their eyes again, observing their handiwork. “Speaking of hands, there is a part here where the skin is stretched very thinly. You can see through it. If you want me to, I can extend that a bit.”

I look at them, a small smile also touching my lips. I shake my head. “No. I think I kind of like it. But I was wondering, that  iron, do you think you could create shapes and images with that?”

Bliss observes me for a second, wondering if they understood. Then, their smile turns wide.

“Sure! What shapes and images do you want, and where?”

---

an: I'd recommend reading the first vignette if you haven't for some context, though it is not necessary. This one was also really fun. Bliss is my favourite character, I love them.

[lilyeli]

Citizen Sleeper January #4: Odd Jobs // Odd Acquaintances

Written for the Citizen Sleeper Prompt January challenge. Prompt: Odd Jobs // Odd Acquaintances

Prompt list by @fmab

---

A non-exhaustive list of jobs I was offered while in the belt (in no particular order):

Sales assistant for a mechanic.

Research object for a professor.

Translator (to a language I didn’t know).

Face for an advertisement campaign.

Guinea pig for a pharmaceutical company (I am not even sure how that is supposed to work. I suppose they just sent that mail to everyone).

Same for a few people who wanted to crossbreed tastier kelp and mushrooms and wanted me to test it because “Potentially poisonous mutations wouldn’t be as bad for me”.

Bodyguard for a rich trader who had apparently ripped off Laine (which is… ironic).

Hitman for Utsobo (which is even more so).

Mercenary / Bounty Hunter / Hired thug (Always from some small gang that didn’t care much about who I was, only that the job got done).

Being the muse for a struggling artist.

A lot of sex stuff.

Being a Sewage cleaner.

Once, a guy threw me a few chits and told me to wash his ship. I told him to fuck off.

Pet sitting for a rich guy on the spindle. That one almost got me.

Becoming the moderator of a new underground reality TV series called “Sleepers Creepers.”

Guest-starring on Radio with Cyrene.

Becoming an undercover agent for SenetStat

Another guy once tried to push a pyramid scheme on me. Not sure if that counts, but I’ll write it down anyway.

Carrying the urn of a recently deceased ship mechanic out into space. His ashes now float near the Scatteryards.

Suffice it to say, I mainly stuck with physical labor and transporting goods.

---

an: This one was really fun! I am wondering if I'll have the opportunity to actually write some of these out.

[lilyeli]

Citizen Sleeper January #3: Nia & Femi // Hexport

Written for the Citizen Sleeper Prompt January challenge. Prompt: Nia & Femi // Hexport

Prompt list by @fmab Spoilers for the endgame of Citizen Sleeper 2 ---

The protective layers of the space suit settle over my own synthetic skin. It feels like I feel. The synthetic nylon mesh the suit is made of is similar to the composition of my own body. Sometimes when I am in these, it feels less like a suit and more like slipping into a second body. Skin over skin. The helmet hisses as it adjusts pressure, the tiny window all I have left of the outside world. Until the Comms flicker to life. 

“You have three cycles. Four, if you don’t mind a little radiation. Not that big a deal for the Sleeper, for the other two…” Serafin doesn’t finish the sentence. “Just hurry up.”

I look at Nia and Femi, both getting into their suits as well. They haven’t exchanged a single word yet, silently slipping into the layers of protection. Nia helps Femi with a connector at the back of his head, connecting the helmet and the suit itself. I can hear the hiss, and see the miniature display in the helmet light up.

“You sure you want to do this?” My voice crackles through the Comms. A small playback of my own voice echoes through the helmet to make sure the message was delivered properly.

“This was our home too, Sleeper.” Femi’s voice comes through the static, emotionless. “However short. We owe Hexport.”

 Nia just nods. I look at her for a few seconds more, expecting something, but no words come. I take a deep breath to steady myself, a habit that makes me feel incredibly human for a moment, and open the lock.

The station, or what is left of it, is a mess. Debris is everywhere, making progress difficult. Metal construction flies around in all shapes and sizes, from large chunks one has to avoid to miniature specks of dust like razor wire, threatening to slice the suit. Cables, still half-connected to generators deep inside the bowels of the station, spark with electricity, jumping arcs of white and gold contrasting against the dark nothing.

 But there is more than lifeless debris here. I see a child's drawing floating in view of my visor, depicting two spaceships mid-battle. A calendar shows plans for meetings with friends, parties, a job interview. A plush black cat is stuck behind a railing, which is half-collapsed and now loosely hanging from one bolt. It is missing one leg. I take it with me.

We find the drone mind. We slowly piece together the story of Hexside, it being nothing more than the newest victim of a war that is slowly expanding and consuming. The child’s drawing floats past my view again. I feel like I need to puke. The radiation is getting to me. I call to return to the rig.

“Not yet,” Nia’s voice cuts me off before I can finish my sentence. She presses herself off a piece of debris, floating deeper into the bowels of the station. 

“Nia!” Femi screams into the receiver, but we get no answer. First comes static, then a low tone, signalling the disconnect of her Comms. We follow her, trying to save her from her own reckless abandon. She jumps from one piece to the next, navigating fluently, but without aim. Blindly searching for the needle in the haystack. Then, after a good quarter cycle, she stops. Femi reaches her first.

“What has gotten into you? Are you insane?” He grabs her by the shoulders and turns her around to face him. His voice dies the moment he does. As I come up, I see her holding a framed picture. 

It’s an old picture. The glass is cracked. The plastic is heavily bleached by age and constant radiation. It depicts Nia and Femi, younger, maybe 5 years or so. Femi has his arm around her. Behind them stands a man, one hand on each of their heads. He doesn’t smile as wide as Nia, but he has kind eyes.

“Found it,” Nia says after linking back in. 

And I learn that, even through the ethereal static of the Comms, tears and sobs still sound the same.

--- (an: This one was quite fun! I like being able to try out different styles within the challenge. Let's me train things I usually wouldn't do.)

[lilyeli]

Citizen Sleeper January #2: Serafin // The Rig

Written for the Citizen Sleeper Prompt January challenge. Prompt: Serafin // The Rig

Prompt list by @fmab

“Absolutely not.”

Serafin stands opposite behind the safety door in the airlock vent; his voice echoes through the speakers in the small, circular room. Through the small window, I can see him pinching his nose and shaking his head.  

“I will not open this door until you start thinking straight.”

I can only see his face framed by the metal lining around the glass. He can see all of me by virtue of the cameras feeding a monitor with a constant stream of data. My face, my body, and the body of the stray which has followed me into the rig. Its fur is white. Or was, if it weren’t speckled with oil and dust. It reminds me of myself. Still, it carries itself with a dignity that only cats possess. Proud and silent, looking into the cameras. I am not sure where it came from. It followed me all the way from the top of the spindle to here. And now it just sat.

“We neither have the space nor the supplies to house another cat. And we don’t even know if they’ll get along.”

“I am sure Ember won’t mind. Also, look at it! You can’t tell me you don’t want it in your arms right now!” I demonstratively pick up the cat and hold it close to the camera. The stray doesn’t seem to mind.

“Ember?” Serafin shakes his head. “Look. I have already, against my better judgment, accepted one stray. A second one is just… too much.”

Before I can answer, I hear a hiss from the intercoms, a crackling of air as hydraulics push aside a door. Through the window, I can see Bliss stepping behind Serafin. They have their hands in their jacket, eyes scanning the room as they slowly step up to the consoles. Their eyes land on the stray, which I still hold in front of the camera.

“Cute,” they say.

“No, not cute!” Serafin answers, his voice filled with disbelief. “We don’t need another cat!”

Bliss shrugs their shoulders. “Pets are good for morale when we are out in the belt for a few cycles at a time.” They take out their hands and start counting on their fingers. 

“We have enough mushrooms to feed everyone. They’ve been growing well in the lower bay. We are growing our crew at a rate where a single cat more won’t make much of a difference, and,” they point back to where they came from, the rig proper. “I am sure Ember won’t mind.”

“Since when are we calling the other stray ‘Ember’?” 

Bliss shrugs. “Ask the Sleeper.”

Serafin tilts his head back and lets out a long sigh. “You’re going to be the end of me…” he mumbles, before opening the door, and wordlessly stepping further into the rig. Bliss gives me a smirk before following him. I hold the white cat, now turned to face me. Its eyes are crystal blue, like the ice in Wellspring.

“What do we call you…”

(AN: I found this one to be more difficult. It is hard to write in the voices of characters that are not your own.)

[lilyeli]

Citizen Sleeper January #1: The Sleeper // Mind & Body

Written for the Citizen Sleeper Prompt January challenge Prompt: The Sleeper // Mind & Body

Prompt list by @fmab

Sometimes I wonder if humans can feel their blood pumping through their veins.

Can they feel their arteries and veins ever so slightly expand and contract with each heartbeat, as blood is pumped through their body, to the organs, back to the heart?

Or is there a sensation of warmth, where each thump, thump of their chest is connected to a flush of warmth in their feet, as they stand in the cold?

Or is it even more visceral? Can they feel each smallest millimetre of blood vessel filled and emptied and touched by blood, like a thousand pin-prick-sized fingers in a gentle stream?

I’d imagine it would be quite ticklish.

I try to remember, but my memories are not much help. I can’t seem to recall any sensation, no sensory memory that would fit. But my memories are also untrustworthy. My emulated mind holds few true recollections of what it was like to be a human. Especially when it comes to my body. There was simply no space. And no necessity. Like with breathing. I remember needing to breathe. I still reflexively hold my breath when in the vacuum of space. I still have the urge to open my mouth and suck something in. But I believe… I believe that is the action, I recall. I recall sucking in air through my nostrils. I remember gasping for air after reaching the safety of my rig after my suit malfunctioned. But I don’t remember the air itself. I don’t remember if I felt it in my lungs. It is like a blackout. Breathe in, breathe out, but in between, just nothing. At least breathing can be a conscious choice. Your blood pumps, regardless.

I look at my hand. The synthetic skin stretches over the gears as they whir silently with each turn and adjustment. The skin stretches and barely fits over my fingers. There is one part, between my right thumb and pointer finger, where the skin is stretched so far that it becomes translucent. Underneath, you can see the hinges, the cables, and the tubes. Slowly pumping. I’ve come to love that spot.

I can feel the tubes. Feel the cooling liquid slowly siphoning generated heat from my appendages to ensure peak efficiency. It was a simple design decision. Delicate movements in my hands create excess heat through friction. This heat is brought to my core, where a generator recycles it to supply other units placed in my body. It is a simple construction to minimise energy loss in a semi-closed system. It is, like all of me, inspired by human biology.

I wonder if humans feel the same. I want them not to. Just because, for all the imitation, I want something unique.

A sensation just for us.

[fmab]

Hi everyone! Long time no see from last year!! I am excited to host this event again, this time with an emphasis on Citizen Sleeper 2: Starward Vector!

As before, feel free to draw one, two, a random assortment, or ALL of the prompts you see here for each day of January! Some are left more vague on purpose to inspire creativity, but you have complete freedom to interpret each prompt however you wish!

Only played the original Citizen Sleeper? We'd love to have you participate anyway and anyone is more than welcome to use last year's promptlist, which is centered on the first game.

Don't forget to put your artwork in the Citizen Sleeper January tag so others can find it!!

Enjoy, and have fun creating!!