| Data Fragment - Dust in the Hull | |
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FILE_SYSTEM_CHECK::SCAN_START::SECTOR_FAULT_DETECTED::BAD_BLOCK_0x:METADATA_CORRUPTION_INDEX_0xFFABC1::FILE_INVALID::DATASTREAM_INTERRUPT: Slumped in a sightless stare, my concentration cut into the silica nanoparticles and impaled the display. The data on the console blurred into obscurity as my brain became desolate of thought. I could see the molecular structure of the dust drifting leisurely 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 was that of a warp bubble, eyes locked in a depleted vacuum, a glimpse of a streaking starfield as though spacetime was distorting my optics. 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. The sturdy fabric 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 my trachea. Signals sent through my Vegus nerve caused an instant reaction. A cough was the shockwave of an exploding star rippling through space. 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 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 asphyxiate us, like dust in the hull. DATASTREAM_INTERRUPT::CRC_CHECK_FAILED::PACKET_LOSS_0x3F::CHECKSUM_MISMATCH::FILE_CORRUPT::TRANSFER_TERMINATED |
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