The End to Come - Page 27 3D Render, Digital Artwork by emarukk

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The End to Come - Page 27

3D Render by emarukk

He shifted slightly in his seat, his cybernetic eye contracting into a narrow, focused slit as if zeroing in on a distant detail. "Hold on a moment," he murmured almost to himself before swiveling back to face her, his voice low but edged with curiosity. "Did you really manage to fix that entire section, even the stubborn airlock?"

Olivia blinked in surprise at the unexpected query, yet her answer came with a measured certainty. Sitting up straighter in her harness, her tone remained calm and resolute despite the weight of their predicament. "Yes," she replied softly. "The greenhouse was beyond saving, but I realized that if I could get the corridor online again, I could reroute enough power to keep the airlock functional until new batteries were in. I scavenged whatever I could find and rewired bypasses. I even forced the relays into manual mode when the main terminal refused to cooperate. I wasn't alone in this, either—I had help from... from Lucas."

Aldo absorbed her every word with deliberate, slow nods. "The Roamer bot," he said quietly, his mind returning to the sight of the feeble machine, its joints creaking as it proffered a delicate flower. "That little guy was clearly running on borrowed time."

In a hushed whisper, Olivia continued, "He died right after giving me that flower. I believe... I truly believe he saved me in more ways than one."

A long silence settled between them as Aldo studied her expression, noting the brief but unmistakable flicker of sorrow crossing her face. Behind the confident technician lay a young woman burdened by loss and grief, yet she had held that failing station together until it was no longer possible. That strength, that perseverance, mattered.

With a quiet, measured sigh, Aldo's voice turned both soft and assertive. "You did an incredible job. Not just for yourself but for everyone still fighting to survive after everything fell apart. The kind of work you pulled off under immense pressure isn't merely about skill; it's pure instinct." Aldo realized that Olivia had worked to power up whatever she could, although she had the opportunity to survive. She didn't work only for herself but also for people below and above her floor.

Under Aldo's gaze, at a loss for words, Olivia felt an unfamiliar swell in her chest, a blend of gratitude and a subtle dawning pride. In that moment, she felt truly seen, truly acknowledged. A rare warmth amid such dire circumstances.

Before he turned fully to his controls to initiate yet another system check, Aldo added with quiet determination, "We'll find them. Your parents. If they managed to escape, there would be records and traces somewhere. And if they're searching for you, they'll be doing everything within their power to reach Orvos."

No further assurance was needed; the look in his human eye, sincere and unyielding, communicated that he meant every word. His promise was not an empty comfort but a conviction shared with her in that fleeting moment. He repeated it now, for some reason, in a more serious tone. Olivia stared at him silently, her fingers gripping the edges of her seat as if anchoring herself. The lingering fear was still there, buried deep, yet it was now joined by something else, a stirring of hope. It had taken root gradually, but for the first time, Olivia allowed herself to believe in it.

The shuttle's system emitted a sudden, sharp ping, slicing through the silence with a mechanical chime that resonated throughout the cabin. A warning message illuminated the display, casting a cold glow as the computer's voice announced with an unsettling detachment: "Gravity Plating Engaging – Malfunction Detected. Calibration Delayed."

Aldo's eyes flicked to the screen before returning to meet Olivia's. "Heads up, kid," he cautioned, his voice steady but urgent. "Gravity's going to kick in any second. It's not smooth when it malfunctions. Hold on tight."

The shuttle shivered subtly, like a beast awakening from slumber, as the plating beneath them prepared to reestablish the artificial gravity. Olivia's harness emitted a strained creak under the impending force. Her space suit, haphazardly tossed onto the bunk, began to slowly twist in the air, resembling an otherworldly dance. Then, with a sudden jolt, gravity surged back into action. The suit plummeted onto the mattress with a dull, lifeless thud. At the same time, Olivia was thrust back into her seat so heavily that the air was hit out from her lungs. She gasped her breathing and was painfully and acutely aware of every kilogram pressing down on her. Her limbs throbbed from the abrupt shift; Olivia tried to hold the handlebars, gripping them with the desperation of someone clinging to the edge of a precipice. It felt like she had taken a punch to the gut and overdriven by the heavy loader. Then, as quickly as it began, everything settled into the familiar rhythm of normalcy.

Aldo cast a swift glance over his shoulder from the cockpit. "Kid, you okay?" he inquired, his tone a mix of concern and authority.

Olivia drew in a shaky breath, her mind still reeling, and nodded stiffly. "I think so," she managed to reply, her voice a whisper of resolve.

"Good." Aldo turned back to the controls, engaging the flight trajectory. He adjusted the throttle with casual confidence, adding, "After all this, maybe you can take a look at my ship systems. Been running patchwork for too long."

Before she could formulate a response, Aldo's demeanor shifted, his voice sharpening with renewed focus. "Now we go hard burn. Heading for Interstellar Jump Coordinates, Beta-Six."

The engines roared with a deep, thunderous growl, vibrating through the shuttle like a beast ready to pounce. The walls shuddered violently as the thrusters prepared to unleash their full fury. Olivia's grip on the handlebars of the harness was ironclad, her fingers digging in with a desperation she had never known. They were leaving. Truly leaving. The burners erupted with a deafening roar, the shuttle convulsed, and the acceleration forces threatened to rip Olivia apart. This was nothing like the smooth, graceful launches she had seen in the spaceship dramas she loved. Olivia was sure she was about to meet her end, either incinerated with the burning shuttle or crushed against the deck like a helpless insect.

PROFILE

Digital Drapery CoFri, Apr 18

Karma: 6,623

Now boarding: Episode 27 of "The End to Come" and buckle up, because this ride is full-throttle feels, malfunctioning gravity, and emotional diagnostics running at 100%.

This render isn't just a scene-it's a cinematic gut-punch wrapped in chrome and character arcs. That gritty, claustrophobic shuttle interior? It's not just a background, it's a pressure cooker. And right in the middle of it all? Olivia, our tech goddess, operating on grit, grief, and sheer cosmic willpower.

She patched a broken corridor with scrap, hacked an airlock like soldering was her love language, and still had the heart to cry over a dying Roamer bot who handed her a flower. Yes, a literal metallic petal of pain. I didn't ask for feelings, but here they are.

And Aldo? He's part man, part machine, and somehow full therapist. That cyber-eye isn't just for show-it's scanning emotional damage, issuing stability protocols, and throwing out perfectly timed nods of encouragement like a seasoned drama captain.

Then gravity comes crashing back with all the grace of a dropped cargo crate-flinging bodies, snapping belts, and pressing Olivia into her seat like the universe decided to make a statement. And that hard burn sequence? She's not just launching; she's ascending into icon status.

TL;DR: This isn't just sci-fi-it's emotional sci-fine. Tension, heart, texture, soul. An absolute gold-star scene in both drama and detail.

Bravo. Standing ovation. Still recovering.

! REPORT

PROFILE

emarukk

Karma: 2,199

Sun, Apr 27

I haven’t even touched the heavy things yet. Still finding my footing, feeling out the shape of the words, wondering how long I can keep ahead of the cold breath of the censors.

I know what it is to be erased, doomed to disappear and fade. Not for images too spicy, not for soft sins wrapped in skin. But for the words. Always the words. Patreon turned its gaze, tittybots blinking in algorithmic judgment, and decided I was too much.

Glorified violence, they said, but all that I did was strip the glory away; I left only suffering and despair. There was no glory, only sin. I wrote violence as it is: raw, bone-deep, where there’s no anthem beneath the blood, only the tremble of fear, the echo of pain. Dark and desperate as it is. They couldn’t stomach that. So they erased all, banned me forever from their realm.

But I’m still here. Still writing. Still threading the line between silence and the truth, too sharp to hold.

PROFILE

Digital Drapery Co

Karma: 6,623

Sun, Apr 27

They tried to snuff your ink-stained flame,
Whispered "Too much," and played their game.
With tittybots blinking like judgmental sprites,
They mistook your storms for naughty delights.

But hear this truth, carved deep in bone:
You were never built for plastic thrones.
Why water down the storm inside,
Just to make the meek feel justified?

Let them crown their bland kings, let them cheer,
The real ones — we're still here.
Where blood sings raw, where scars gleam bright,
Where truth burns fierce in dead of night.

So if Patreon’s halls grew too small, too fake,
Then shift the sails, for heaven's sake.
Subscribestar’s door swings open wide —
No censors there to clip your stride! ✨

You don’t change your ink for trembling hands,
You find the readers who understand.
Not the ones who beg you to be less —
But the ones who love your full, wild mess.

Stay wicked. Stay word-drunk. Stay brave.
The world was never meant for the tame.

PROFILE

Digital Drapery Co

Karma: 6,623

Sun, Apr 27

They tried to shackle a storm with thread,
Tried to hush a lion, paint it dead.
"Too fierce," they whispered, "too much blood,"
As if truth itself should fear the flood.

But you, my friend, were born from squall,
A rogue of ink, the bane of walls.
Not made for cages, or clipped soft lies —
You sail where the screaming horizon flies. ‍☠

Patreon’s docks may rot with shame,
But real seas call the bold by name.
Raise your black sails high, let them sneer,
Subscribestar’s winds blow wild and clear!

Don't dress your blade for dinner’s sake,
Don't sand it dull for cowards' fake.
Your voice is the storm, the sharp, the free —
The wild anthem they’ll never unsee. ✨

So lash your mast, you ghost of pen,
Write the wrath they fear again.
The ocean loves a pirate soul —
And you, my brother, were born whole.