Log File 002: Wifelier Docht
Date: 2796 DSP (Dark Star Paradoxum)
My Embrosis-ladled brain keeps me a prisoner in my body. Not that it matters much for I’m physically tethered to the innards of a living machine. I am slave-scribe to a supernatural entity known only as the God-Machine. I have been its captive for over 300 years.
I once attempted escape by pulling at the cable fixed to the back of my head. I should not have done that.
In the spark of a nanosecond, I found myself immersed to the waist in a pit of filth. The putrid stink of it burned my nostrils and made my eyes water. My body revolted against the hellish miasma and bile pushed up my throat. Red flesh-eating worms crawled from the primordial soup of shit and slithered across my arms and chest boring into me, ripping through my skin and gnawing their way to my intestines. I clawed at them with desperate fingers, yanking one after the other, but for every one of these vile creatures I pulled two more drilled into me. The pain was unbearable and I screamed.
Suddenly something unseen curled around my legs and pulled me under. Black sludge filled my mouth and poured down my throat stifling my screams…
I woke up then, gasping, raking in lungs full of artificial oxygen and my heart thundering in my ears. Pale purple tears streaked my cheeks, falling in great droplets to my bony chest. The reflection on the display screen in front of me was too much to bear and I averted my eyes. My body shuddered violently. With trembling lips I begged forgiveness of the Machine-God. I begged forgiveness for my sin, for wanting to exist apart from my master. This terrible deed of hoping for something better. Of wanting something other than my duty to the God of Time.
The God-Machine spoke to me. Not in words or thoughts, but spikes of energy that alleviated my emotions. It forgave me and flushed those horrible images from my thoughts, replacing them with memory of a human female: wispy Blond hair being pushed about in a light summer’s breeze. Her eyes, the color of a cloudless sky, held me fast and I saw love and promise there. She smiled and reached for me and I stretched out my arm, my fingers mere inches from hers. But the image scattered into a million brilliant shards and the dark metal pipes and pulsing walls and brass-framed screen of my workstation came back into view.
I’ve written this down in my secret log to remember the terrible consequences of opposing the God-Machine. I can feel its presence even now, but its attention is focussed somewhere else. It gives me a few precious moments alone with my evanescent thoughts, enabling me to record these memories before they are lost.
Stay tuned for the next log entry when Wifelier Docht reveals the origins of the parchment that scribes use to record history for the God-Machine.