{Ok, ok. What movies do we have on here? I really wanna take my focus away from that mechanical shit head. Ok, Misanthrope… Destiny: Revengers…. Raw Concrete 4…. Um… the fuck are these? W-what is this? It looks so shit… I know those other movies; they genuinely are so popular. What are these cheap, budget-cut ones? Chicken Cock Fighter VS Tomato-Taurus is so stupid I might even laugh out loud- like, what?}
Stanley bent his neck forward, staring at the screen with bad posture and his hand over his lip and chin in a stereotypical thinking pose.
Stanley: "What…" A quiet but audible noise came out while he scrolled further and further in the action section.
What would possibly be in the others, like romance?
{I-I gotta switch genres, man; this is just absolute poo. Just poo. From the previews, the CGI is like the quality of VHS, like what? Now, I'm not normally a romance watcher, but let's see for shits and giggles. Oh no. I see like, one, two, three… three films that actually got good IMDB reviews. Yeah, my heart is fluctuating Road to Atlantis, 13-AM. Yeah, by people like Johnson Silvers. Yeah, he's such a good director. Now, what's this I see? Shawarma and lovemaking… Evil is one… Motor machinery… These don't even look like love, except for the Shawarma one, which looks like Bollywood all over again. Man, this is hilarious! I'm taking the shit out of these movies at one glance.}
Daryl: "Prepare for takeoff, heh."
{Oh right. Him. Daryl doing his make-believe skit. He's really annoying, but sweet. I won't say that though; he ain't gonna hear it from me.}
Stanley looks up.
All he saw were the little bits of the plane, like small circular fans, buttons that you can press, and a darker colour of paint than the usual grey plane colour. His face seemed generic.
He then looked out the window.
Outside, the shuttle was now moving properly. It started to speed up and would soon lift off to leave the atmosphere and begin the proper journey to Fierfam-D. His face contorted a little, to the point that it seemed sad or worried.
He turned his head away from the hills that moved backwards at high speeds, back to his TV screen, and wiped the worry and discomfort away so no one could see it.
He felt that it was slowly time to let time pass by, rest up, and clear his mind. He was currently in a bit of an internal frenzy, his thoughts getting more complicated and annoying for himself; he knew that this was time-wasting and ridiculous, and that calming himself now would be a good solution.
How though?
By watching movies, shit movies.
For an extended period of pure, unadulterated low-budget binge session.
Stanley knew that by a certain point, he'd forget and become "Immersed" in the shit box.
He just didn't want to press play on it.
TAP.
Until five seconds later, out of determination.
And the time flew by from there.
————————————————————————————————————————
Stanley was now four movies in, and half dead of boredom and nearly drooling while slouching backwards like a panda on a marshmallow, which seemed so tired it had melted into the marshmallow.
Stanley: "Uhh." His mouth was a weird polygon shape, and his eyes were drooping like there were weights tied to them.
BUNG!
The seatbelt popped up on everyone's roof.
This finally took Stanley's brain off staying dedicated to movie slop.
And he finally realised what was coming up: the atmosphere of Fierfam-D and its solar system, Sol-42.
{UHH. Uh. Uhh. Uh? What is thaatt? Like a bazillion fucking freaking drones and shit. OH SHIT! What's that noise? S-something's bumping into the shuttle. It's the drones, I hope. Shh, that's a weird fucking noise. Shiite.}
The clanks of drones, satellites and android parts rumble across the hull.
Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk.
All that, within only one second. And the vibrations that followed spread throughout the hull, gaining everyone's attention. Alert mode for Oblivion.
Hundreds were visible from the circular windows, and the dystopian image of machinery and parts was stuck in Stanley's head.
Some of the crew were already looking out their windows, and all experienced emotions that shared similar traits.
Disgust.
Worry.
Discomfort.
And then a little bit of curiosity.
Stanley wiped the filthy, rank saliva with his sleeve and charged somewhat fast to the window, nonchalantly putting his right arm in his pocket and putting his left arm on the window frame.
All he could see were Syntheri corpses. The little specks far away? Those were destroyed Syntheri androids. Everywhere. The sun of the solar system shone bright light blue, blinding Stanley at the wrong angle if he moved his head in places.
The ones close in front of him? Satellites and more. This obviously wasn't the suited path, as they drove further into the mess of metal.
This immensely stirred up some of the people who aren't experienced individuals with these types of situations.
Syntheri were the most reproduced race, via creation and construction of one another, by Syntheri themselves. It was common to see a destroyed Syntheri; they could upload their brain somewhere into a soft cloud mainframe and move into a new physical body, instead of drifting around waiting for someone to pick them up and plop them somewhere.
The point is, Syntheri normally don't die.
But it still looks incredibly painful: death by some sort of discharge. A thermal-based one, with burn marks and oil and more drifting and coating everything close by.
Stanley, Tono and Jordan were the only ones on that shuttle who hadn't had a proper encounter with over one hundred Syntheri corpses in one go.
{Hmmmph. hmuuumppphh. Oh lord. Wow, man, they are as far as the eye can see. A layer of chrome and tar coloured oil scatters across my vision. That sounds like a line from a book. Not the point, but shit, I feel bad for them, yet they could get infinite lives with enough money. Fucking clarkers. }
Tono leaned directly into the window, like a suitcase falling onto a wall, and stared down with deep worry and curiosity moving in his brain with every fast-paced glance at the bodies of Syntheri people.
Jordan turned his head lightly and moved a bit away from the window while staring wide-eyed with a strained face. Compared to Tono, he was miles ahead in keeping composure.
Daryl: "All of youse. Don't mind the scrap parts, hah. We're heading into the stratosphere, and soon to be breaking into airport territory. Yay." He talked in a Scouse accent and made a little joyful "yay" at the end, like a boy at a birthday party. People got ticked off, jokingly again.
Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink.
The sounds continued as the tar-coloured oil spewed around and the metals and minerals inside the androids were ragdolled into giant fragments of their already destroyed bodies. The shuttle smoothly sped up.
{Oh wow. WOW, shit, did that just exp- YO. It's everywhere! Ew! It just went on Daryl's window, the guts of an android. Those stupid clarkers… They are fine.}
Stanley could see the bluish atmosphere becoming more visible with every second, and the vibrations that passed through the front and to the back endlessly became louder, but he kept his focus on the physics of robot blood and guts being flung like a mad accident in a horror movie. It disgusted him if he thought of them as actual people going through such a weird situation, being stuck in space with injuries, so he decided to try his best to treat them like movie characters. It was harder and harder for him to continue with it, at least until they hit stratospheric territory.
Then, the blue atmosphere felt… smooth.
Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clink. Clank. Clunk. Clonk. Clink. Clank. Cl-.
There were no more bodies to run into at this point, but now, urban lights were the new spectacle to admire.
Stanley looked down to his right.
The tallest, thinnest skyscrapers rose to the point that if Daryl descended straight down fifty kilometres, a building could be crashed into again. It is common for private shuttles to hit buildings, since apparently, most are "retards" that "can't drive for shit".
The thin hum of the Shuttle was the main thing being heard, practically peace for Stanley, if he took his eyes off the suburban wonderland.
The city lights were so concentrated, they made circular patterns from close to space, and many branching straight lines to other different unique circles, with circles inside of them.
Yellow, white and bright blue emitted from down below and shone directly up like neon lights. Beautiful for any city lover.
Stanley especially.
If he had the choice of "life of the country style" or "life of the city style", city would be his number one pick. He embraces tech when he actually has a phone, praises genius businesses for their renowned futuristic ideas, and loves how everything is close together, plenty for the opportunistic music maker that was him in Polonian Lepidus. But that was him a year ago. This is now. And he is… still comfortable, but can't turn it into an 'aesthetic' in his mind anymore.
He wiped his drool again, and his mouth, without thinking, lowered a little.
Oblivion: "Shit, this again?" He was the first to comment on the outside life.
Jordan: "OH, you know how many hoes there are in this one place? I'm gon' be fucking myself to sleep if I finish up early with whatever bullshit Daryl and "FACT" got me and your ass to do." He leaned on the chair in front of him with his arms crossed and talked directly to the Nullari, who was looking back at him with a minuscule grin coming up.
Sheng-Ri: "Shut your mop-head ass up about sex." She called out calmly and targeted Jordan, who looked back, confused that she said that now of all times.
Jordan: "Oh no. Pft. Your slender ass cannot be talking about making me shut up about sex. There's a reason why your skin is SO white, right?" He clapped back with an insult right to Sheng-Ri's face, in a mocking way, defending himself from her non-aggressive comment with a silly clap back. People then started breaking out into conversations, most unrelated.
Sheng-Ri: "Shut up. You're just annoying me. Pipe down, semen demon." She once again sounded calm and responded in a firm but simple way. She did so while ushering her hand in a shooing motion.
"Yeah, Aight." He said back.
"Feb 3rd, 2194." He quietly whispered, talking just loud enough to make her hear. Being petty.
Sheng-Ri: 'Oh, we aren't going there. Remember when you got an STD AND snapped your banjo string on the same day?" She turned her head to him, leaning on the chair, and without extending her arm, pointed at him and repeated some very personal information.
Jordan proceeded not to answer after making an annoyed groan before turning away like she was a fly.
Aurora: "The fuck is a banjo string? Sounds pretty painful, I guess?" She commented to Sheng-Ri, who turned fast with a little smirk. Jordan then noticed when Sheng-Ri spoke.
"So, it's the LITTLE thing that connects your penis to your F-"
Daryl: "LANDING SOON! BE PREPPED AND GET THE HELL OUT OF THE BATHROOM NOW!"
He raised his voice, interrupting Sheng-Ri's taunt and Jordan, who was about to burst with words.
A few seconds later…
Jordan: "You're actually so fucking stupid for a Pale Synid. Don't make this personal." He looked at her, now with a hard, firm gaze and rolled up his pant leg, showing the swirling anomaly graft on his calf.
Sheng-Ri: "Right…" She said, her voice going from high to low in a big tonal change. She took it seriously enough to back off, but not to stop her rant against her gym mate, who looked REALLY ticked off.
Stanley: "…" He had nothing to say openly about the conversation, except thinking really hard that he wanted to be as close to them as they were to each other, not just a random side character who came at "season six" of a long show, becoming forgettable.
As he looked outside, the hums and noises of urban ambience were faintly heard.
Shuttles.
Domestic planes.
Maybe construction..
He had the scent of all those thoughts trapped in his mind for one second, and then gone the next, making him disappointed.
Feelings and aesthetics came in and out seamlessly. Nostalgia in a bottle.
Feelings such as these tend to leave lasting emotions. Some not for the best mental state.
Lights, bright lights. They were gaining exposure rapidly. Neon ones. Colourful ones. Shining ones. They matched a specific stereotype of "future realism", which is a happier version of a cyberpunk world.
The light beams moved like slow lasers and were a spectacle to look at. Electric pink, Midnight blue, Turquoise, Lilac, Dark Navy, Hazard Yellow, Deep Red, Spring Green.
All mixed in a vibrant bundle if Stanley squinted his eyes. If he looked normally, he could see exactly where each one, each designated spectacle, goes.
Holograms.
Buildings.
Shuttles.
Runway lights. Mainly for the airport.
Highly intoxicating, it felt to look at one thing too long; seeing it pulsate in its moody colour set could drive a dopamine addiction to merely staring.
It was neon and glossy, but not grimy and hopeless.
The people in the shuttle began to physically change their posture and reactions as Daryl drove further into the runway lights.
Aurora: "Hello, Fierfam." She said with a tone of excitement and over-extroversion. She put both of her arms on the window and leaned.
Tallurre: "…" He frowned.
Oswald: "Wow. Just wow. It's oddly similar to Helios's Spiral. Huh." He talked to himself.
Chidieberre: "…" She manoeuvred herself to enjoy the view as the Shuttle soon enough hit the road.
Daryl: "I know I've said this already, but stay goddamn in them seats. Ahem. Johnny." He scoffed at his best mate in the group.
As the shuttle drove through the musky clouds, moody lights and eternal, feeling high life, the runways were visible properly, aside from the hazardous yellow beams.
Something felt like it got deployed.
CLUNK!
The shuttle hit the ground and slowed itself massively while rolling on the concrete.
Some sort of music was being blasted. The genre and words couldn't be made out, but it sounded like chill synth rap.
As the shuttle slowly stopped moving, the familiar BUNG! came back, and seatbelts were able to be taken off.
{Finally. An actual comfortable environment. I am EASILY more comfortable in these types of places than most in this group will be. Look at them, so excited and happy. God, I want to flex my experience and music knowledge on to these clueless people.}
Stanley, surprisingly to the rest of the group, got up faster than everyone to unbuckle at the noise of the BUNG! And rushed out to the front of the shuttle.
"SS, SSS, SS." he made a "S" noise with his teeth as he jogged up, much to the crew's confusion. Oswald grabbed Stanley on the shoulder as he followed just as fast.
Was he smiling?
Stanley kept moving, but turned faintly to hear Oswald's remark.
Oswald: "Don't tell me…" he said with a grin.
Stanley: "I'm not a crackie nor a druggie. So don't question that."
"So, then why rush ahead of your colleagues, new boy? Cocky, much?"
"Yes. I think I am, Oswald." He said when he finally reached the door following the wall lights.
His expression morphed into one of grinning questionable interest.
Oswald: "Okay? Confident just got pulled out of your ass, but yeah."