Scene 1 It smells like… time down here. Not just damp earth or rot, but something older. A primal scent that’s been waiting in the dark for a millennium. I’m recording this at the bottom of the scar somewhere in the anomaly. In my mind, it's called the Necropolis Gully . My helmet is trying to map it—casting these sterile, digital grids over the moss and the stone—but the data doesn’t make sense. It’s glitching. It’s shuddering against the reality of this place. I don't know why I'm here, looking at ruins. Just... debris. But in the ruins, I found the ghosts of a future that never happened. I was walking over shards of polymerised memories . This was once a city. It was meant to be the heart of a new world that... simply stopped. It wasn't an engineering failure. It was a failure of existence. Holding that slate, I felt this... weight. The grief of the architect. The "wounds of unbuilt dreams." I realised then that this isn't a graveyard for people. It’...
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In the shadows and on pause
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In the queue and stressed out
The world's weight bore down on me. Standing still in this dead-end queue. The cacophony of whispering conversations and impatient shuffling of feet heightened my anxiety. I glanced around, searching for an escape from the suffocation. Frustration rose as my thoughts raced, and my to-do list and commitments crashed to earth. Time seemed to stand still in this space, mocking my want to move forward.
My heart raced, sweat stung my eyes as my internal clock ticked away. The grip tightened with each passing second. I was trapped and held hostage by the inertia of the static queue. It was as if my everything was chained to someone else's time. I was on pause and held captive in a pantomime of stress and stagnation.
I fought desperately to overcome my waves of panic. Suddenly the line inched forward. I took a deep breath to calm the raging storm inside. I clung to the hope that I could eventually break through.
This dead-end queue
On Pause
In this muted space, the world outside seemed to pause. The blanket provided a temporary respite from life's other demands. As travellers arrived and departed, the quiet atmosphere pulsated. Each departure left a unique fingerprint of silence behind. The sanctuary continually welcomed newcomers seeking tranquillity.
They arrived to seek solace from the chaos of queuing. They were nestled safely between the wait and the personalised potential of their destinations. Time seemed to stand still in this space. It was as if everything was on hold, paused momentarily. This brief interlude allowed them to catch themselves. They could regroup before venturing into their next holding bay. The systemic cycle of arrivals and departures preserved this sanctuary's unique atmosphere.
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Psychological Anchors The characters thus embody the classic dichotomy between logic/control (BK) and emotion/instinct (JB), a tension that becomes central to their survival when their advanced technology fails and they are forced into the realm of the psychological (the anomaly). They represent two vital, yet opposing, parts of the human response to existential chaos : the attempt to catalogue and talk through the terror, versus the primal urge to act and accept the turmoil. Psychological Anchors video What's the real story behind space tourists BK and JB ? Their identities are in constant flux—changing race, age, and form. Host Alex and guest Dr. V dive deep into this "multiverse" concept to explore the two constant, warring psychologies at the heart of the Subi crew : BK: The ultimate planner, driven by logic and an internal narrator . JB: The ultimate instinct, driven by raw, non-verbal emotion and anxiety . How does a logical mind handle " Paraknowing "—...
Necropolis Gully Ancient Fertility The only sound in the deep quiet of the crevice was the crunch of my boots on the debris-strewn ground. Towering stone walls, draped in vibrant green moss , rose on either side, making me feel like an intruder in a forgotten tomb . My matte-black suit , a product of a future this place could never have imagined, felt profane against the ancient rock . Then I saw it: a weathered, silent figure standing in the path. It was a statue of a woman , carved from the same stone as the gully but shaped with clear intent. Moss crept up its base and clung to its form like a second skin. This impossible artifact, an architectural anomaly in this raw, natural fissure , stopped me. My steady, determined posture belied the storm of questions raging in my mind. The statue stared forward with blank, unseeing eyes, a silent witness to a history I had just stumbled into. My mission was to find my crew, but this place, this silent, stone woman , was a new, un...
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