| Data Fragment - Dust in the Hull | |
 FILE_SYSTEM_CHECK: :SCAN_START: :SECTOR_FAULT_DETECTED: :BAD_BLOCK_0x:METADATA_CORRUPTION_INDEX_0xFFABC1: :FILE_INVALID: :DATASTREAM_INTERRUPT: Slumped in a sightless state, my concentration cut through the silica nanoparticles. The data on the terminal blurred into obscurity as my digitized mind became desolate of thought. The HUD telemetry stream in my visual cortex displayed the density of the dust dancing through the hull. My mind was muted. “Wake up Driftborn.” Byron’s voice erupted over comms. As a biological substrate, I opted for operational communications simulated through sound waves. I was drifting too close to target. My vision, information fed through high fidelity data streams, was that of a warp bubble with sensors locked in a depleted vacuum. An echo of a streaking starfield as though spacetime was distorting my thoughts. Then an abrupt shift and a sharp focus. I cut my afterburner, slowed to space-drag, and adjusted position. My coilguns were focused on a smart storage unit. Our fleet was a pack of predators pouncing on our prey. My attention drifted again. A microthin gossamer of dust coated the Terminal dimming its once vitreous luster. “Be mindful of your position. We don’t want friendly fire.” Byron’s voice was steady. My index finger glided across the smooth surface. My printed flesh distributed the dust particles like a destroyer coasting through a dense nebula. We were VULTUR, a clan of Driftborn forged in the crucible of kinship. A nomadic war-tribe feeding on the wreckage of the Frontier. The Maw marked our prey. We served as Fangs for the feast. I could sense the toxic chemicals in the dust coating the entirety of my husk causing organic corrosion. The air filtration system was malfunctioning. Byron spoke again. His mantra reminding his kin of the hunger that drove us. His message was as monumental as a mooneater. “No home. No mercy. Just the feed.” We were riding the crest of an Epoch. Focused on the feast as we figuratively ripped flesh from bone. Each hunt was a slow feral baptism as our untamed selves clawed to the surface of ravaged morals. The dust enveloped everything now. Initially unnoticed, it was intimate in its approach. Embracing the savage within diminished my morality; prior to depletion, I claimed the last moral shard, like that of an asteroid's withering resource. Our conduct has consequences. The moral decay must not consume us. Actions will accumulate, weigh on our psyche and corrode us, like dust in the hull. DATASTREAM_INTERRUPT: :CRC_CHECK_FAILED: :PACKET_LOSS_0x3F: :CHECKSUM_MISMATCH: :FILE_CORRUPT: :TRANSFER_TERMINATED |
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