Download - MegaFusion stories (english)
Here are four stories for your enjoyment. If you are a publisher and you want to Here are four stories for your enjoyment. If you are a publisher and you want to Here are four stories for your enjoyment. If you are a publisher and you want to Here are four stories for your enjoyment. If you are a publisher and you want to
publish some of my stories that have the same concept as the following, feel free to publish some of my stories that have the same concept as the following, feel free to publish some of my stories that have the same concept as the following, feel free to publish some of my stories that have the same concept as the following, feel free to
contact me: contact me: contact me: contact me: [email protected]@[email protected]@freenet.de. I. I. I. I also plan to write a short novel or novella also plan to write a short novel or novella also plan to write a short novel or novella also plan to write a short novel or novella
using the MegaFusion idea, combining the existing stories to a compelling and using the MegaFusion idea, combining the existing stories to a compelling and using the MegaFusion idea, combining the existing stories to a compelling and using the MegaFusion idea, combining the existing stories to a compelling and
interesting highinteresting highinteresting highinteresting high----speed storyline. But now enjoy …speed storyline. But now enjoy …speed storyline. But now enjoy …speed storyline. But now enjoy …
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Yeah... the ‘planets’. Fun can begin. My optic gear-change blinks - too fast, it says,
and I shouldn’t fly the first gear up to three-hundred. No, I shouldn’t. But I can. It
makes a good world of difference. Especially, if you’re „up“. Good fix. Makes you
faster, and more clever. Three-hundred-fifty. The engine will explode! Okay, okay.
I’ve got enough senses to know when to stop. No need to panic. Second gear. Still a
loud roaring, but not so dangerous. Somewhere a sigh of relief. As if all the shuttles
surrounding me were sighing. Weakling.
makes you faster, and more clever
Not like speed, when you’re totally absent and get nothing. This stuff blows you
away, I tell you. When you’re ‘up’, you’ve won half the bet.
Red hovering illuminator. I hate these things, and even more the cops hangin’ around
the redlights. I usually keep flying, even if it’s red. But we’re in the V.I.P-department.
Redlight. Means authorization. From behind I get one of those hyper-cool identity-
cards. Only the richest of the rich receive them. It means I’ll have no problem with the
fuzz. I’m lucky. The cop hasn’t recognized the strange flash in my eyes. Fly on, he
says.
‘...and when you’re up, you’re gonna be so out and full of control...’ The ‘planets’. The
best band on Earth, I confess. The way they make people get their messages...
superb. Doesn’t sound like pseudo-sham. They really know what they’re talkin’ about,
believe me, man. Makes one fifty. Collection-bag. How much would this fatso give to
a poor taxi driver? A three-dollar-tip. Hey, thank u man, I’ll recommend you ;-))
The sucker heaves himself out. Drive on. Time’s money.
The engine roars. I see the fatso from the ‘planets’ turnin’ around - stark fear has
consumed him on the ride, I can’t believe it. He really thought I’d never seen him
before! He’s famous like a frigid whore, I tell u! He and his band, those shitty
‘planets’. However, it doesn’t matter. As long as my tip’s correct...
Let’s be off. First gear, three-hundred. Three-hundred-fifty. Stop this children’s game!
Four-hundred. You may annoy frightened passengers with that, but none of us taxi-
drivers. Let the master drive. Five-hundred. Six-hundred. Roaring gears. Yeah, gotta
be heaven! Second gear. Wow! That’s pretty cool...
blows you away
I tell u - this stuff explodes the heavy way. Redlight? Ignore it, man. The fix makes
you colourblind. And fuzz won’t do anything, when you’re alone, without a V.I.P. on
board. What a staple he was! A real pompous ass. But from those suckers’ pockets
you can draw the easy money.
Hold on. There’s a client. One of those idiots again. The smashers’ lead-singer.
Unbelievable. They swarm around like busy flies!
Adjusting the counter, opening the door. Where do u wanna to? What? Okay, okay - I
turn it off. No problem, man. It’s done. Cool, stay cool. So, where do you wanna fly?
‘rude box’? Okay, but it ain’t a-cheap...
497 words, Copyright © Sven Kloepping ([email protected]). The German version
of this story won the 2nd prize at the Poetensitz literary awards in Heidelberg,
Germany
SpaceSpaceSpaceSpace----RacingRacingRacingRacing
for all the overviewed
City's absolutely high again, I just can't overlook it -- thousands of floors
stretching their rooms above my head. Oh, man, I can't believe it.
Floating through the air's no wonder, as I paid 50,000 bucks for this suckin'
glider, a real pile of money for such a little underground bastard as me, but I
don't care 'bout money -- 'cause it takes me up to the stars. If it was somehow
possible to look into a mirror, my face would shine like a shooting star, I'm
sure. But there's no time for romanticism, 'cause right now I'm jumping, I'm
burning to the first flash! Yeah, feels good. Sounds like a virtual tornado that
bites in my ass and takes me high. This thing supports me in letting my
dreams flourish -- besides, I feel nothing at all with a head full of dope...
no wasting!
I'm speeding against every second that follows me, so there's not very much
time for long-during starting stories. I just wanna be up and away, you know --
now and forever. To be never returned.
Tonight's the night, man.
50 floors over normal-nill (after the first flash)
That's fine. Everything works as it should. But what am I blabbing about? Just
kick that all! I know, this could be a little faster. I should accelerate this fuckin'
vehicle some more. That would mean enormous earth-pressure, but if you
wanna get high you gotta stand those pains. Either be a mad man or a dead
man, as my brother whispered to me before those cops erased him (you know,
I was the only one of our gang who could save himself from their laserguns).
Plus, I'm killing a pill every thirty seconds to bear that all.
But I'm just wastin' my time.
Hey, move on, you bitchy vehicle, speed up! Dumb machine of a plumber's
bastard! You're the only one who could rave-me-over-the-stars! Don't you get
that? By now you should prove you're fuckin' price-worthy, OK?
I'm steering with just two of my fingers, heading for the second flash, and my
hand slips a few inches downwards, but everything's under control...
This is damned good stuff, I tell you. Better than any fix from the suckin'
dealers' dope. This was a real push, man -- 200 floors upwards, hell! I'm sure
the others won't follow me this way...
But I'm not high enough to see the city from above. I can't even look upon its
shady rows of sky-scratching flat-roofs rising 5,000 yards over normal-nill...
There are windows watchin' me, full of light, but I don't have an overview. As if
those damned mirror fronts got nothin' better to do than to stand in my way!
Just look, under the underground's damned ceiling of asphalt, where people
are getting more and more fed up with dozens of rat burgers a day, as if
they're not brained enough for a better life in the overground, you know --
that's why I wanna leave this shit behind. Today I'm free like a hologram, and
who cares 'bout an escaping hologram?
I tell you: Life in that subterranean underground-maze was like a pain that
spits in your eyes every day, as soon as you open them for the first time. Much
too small, everything's too small down there. As I was old enough to work I
had to sell those lottery-chips. I dumped them on any idiot who believed in the
possibility that one day he'd be the lucky king (they all know that gambling
chucks their money deep into a black hole of depression, where the only
escape is to consume more of those fuckin' pills every day to destroy the
damned memories... 'cause if there's no remembrance -- there wasn't any bad
luck.
Got now why I'm flyin' away from that? I just don't wanna hang around with
those mentally handicapped, innocently trusting underground idiots! I'll find my
way by flyin' high over the ground to the universe to merge with the stars and
shuttles and weightless stations. That's my way. Up there I gotta discover a
new kind of work that'll fulfill my abused soul like a burning sun. Won't be easy
but I rush for it! One day I'll move to the universe's outer zones -- to the
planets of high society, and if that means to serve them, they can kiss my ass
first!
That's it. And I'm taking the best way to realize my visions. Travelin' to the
outer zones, where stars are glittering and no filthy oxygen filter gonna pollute
the air that I breathe... Where gals still undress themselves before sex, 'cause
they got no wounds. Suckin' wounds! You get them everywhere in those sub-
zero floors where I left my roots and shit! My back's itchin' again...
3rd flash
Wowowooohhh! What a surprise, and no chance to see it coming as it comes
over your mind within one-and-a-half nanoseconds! I just didn't realize my
hand moving t'wards the keyboard to key in the executional order "glider lift
yourself 300 floors upwards"! But hell -- it's been worth that surprise, for
gravitation's still amazing and my pulse flickers in my arterial ecstasy. Then I
feel it (the pulse) crashing down till it reaches 180 degrees, damn -- gotta kill,
kill a pill somehow. That'll quiet my pain a little bit.
believe in the fix!
I'm flyin', I'm flyin'! Not only literally but also spiritually -- for my feet are so
weightless it's like they are hovering over my head, and by now I can see the
mega-city covering this whole darned planet with its millions of buildings...
Every waving ocean, every crumbling mountain is covered by its life-absorbing
steelish vanity.
In school we learned that about 300 years ago this city started to merge and
conquer the Earth like a gigantic bulldozer that destroys everything... Now I
see where mankind's visions have led us: god, I hate the past!
My glider lets me look on billions of little window-holes keepin' this maze
together. Behind their jack o' lanterns you'll discover nothin' but normality.
Normality represented by plumbers, programmers, small-brained managing
assistants, students, all that shit... Every single one of those stuck-up assholes
used to be just a little particle in this much-too-hungry Moloch that manipulates
its citizens through 9-to-5 jobs, the media, legal drugs (yes man, I'm talking
'bout "pills"), and whatever else.
My back seems to have sprouted wings as I'm swirling up through the air like a
flying robotic guard that follows you everywhere in the sub-zero floors --
follows you everywhere, but not to the toilet (anyway, I'm not sure if those
horny machines can look through shut doors, maybe they can, and maybe
they can even get a thrill while staring at naked, crapping human flesh).
fourth flash
And it smashes me right away into space -- I'm rising, just growing bigger and
bigger. High-velocity.
As I suddenly hold on I discover that the view's wonderful and great. I suppose
I'm bein' sucked into the big black hole called space (it's called this 'cause it
extends itself dynamically in every direction like a great black time-cloud with
little lamps of starlight holding the whole event together).
I just can't believe it -- I'm so near to the 1,000th floor! Just need to hold out
my arms to touch its surface -- just one diagonal jump and I'm over it, right into
the pure weightlessness of space!
Just as I'm heading for that last big jump, to enter the 5th flash, which will take
me higher into the eternal depths of blackness -- shit! -- a damned border-light
appears right before my visor. And my heart stops beatin' for a nanosecond or
so. This fuckin' fairy tale's come true at last, I can't believe it! Can't believe my
own grandma's words! They've told me about a little monkey from a vast,
transparent force field of enormous dimensions that covers the whole planet,
holding all the roofs under it in captivity like an invisible cheese dome with four
veins that you can't cross without a valid VIP identity card....
Unluckily, I don't have a card. Not even a fake one.
I feel like a suckin' ant.
Then I remember grandma saying it's called ban wall and means definite
control over every human being that's creeping on Earth like an insect. Oh
man, I never believed in that! And now I'm facing this damned thing keeping
me imprisoned as if it wants to spit right into my face! I'd really like to...
Alert: ban wall scanners reporting human discovery to the police station!
Sh...!
It got me!
But I don't care any more, it's not important, no, nothing's important -- I don't
give a shit.
Man-oh-man! It's really bad when you see you're just a lousy insect waitin' for
death, 'cause creeping into any direction is useless, when you don't have a
chance to escape. In this very moment my whole life's crushing down -- and
the glider does the same. It falls about thirty floors until I recognize I have to
reactivate the jet propulsion to stabilize my position. I really don't want to
stabilize anything right now, for my life's worth nothing but a shit since I
discovered I'm a prisoner -- we're all prisoners, banned onto a poisoned
planet.
Now, they're coming, and how they're coming! Lettin' their blue lights smash
right into my face...
Damn cops don't have to surround me. I have no chance to get away, don't
you get that? First, my speed's much too slow for the 5th jump to be executed
right now, and even if I could do it -- nothing would happen at all! I'd just crash
right into the damned force field that I can just about see, and that thing will
force my glider to explode and split my worthless body into some replaceable
molecules.
I don't get that. The Fuzz will never learn anything. They're swarming around
my rear, considering themselves the most powerful guys on this fuckin' planet
with their hyper-armored gliders; and in a few moments they're gonna tell me
that I'm not permitted to cross Earth's border, for everything's forbidden to us
little underground bastards, and I'll agree to every one of their humiliating
abuses, for I don't wanna get arrested at all, that's the last shit I wanna have
today.
As they're hoverin' their bitchy little asses I quietly say goodbye by erecting my
spiritual middle finger, just hoping that ban wall won't scan this...
What to do now?
I gotta race down again, to the others, through the city's glancing mirror
glasses, following those cowards that won't even consider in their wildest
dreams to break through this Earth-frontier into space, where timelessness
holds just more dangers and uncertainties for them.
No, they'd stay here on this planet -- in their little, dirty cocoon.
But sometimes you've gotta have a race.
(no race, no fun)
1827 words, Copyright © by Sven Kloepping ([email protected]). The
German version of this story was on the shortlist for the German Kurd-Laßwitz
award.
Speedway to HellSpeedway to HellSpeedway to HellSpeedway to Hell
Follow them!
Okay, careful now. Over there, not too fast -- attennnntion, man, be
careful! These guys gotta think they're safe, you know. If they see our
damned movements on the screen, it's over. You got that? Easy, man,
easy... But what's... Shit! What's...
I'm staring at the face hanging in the glider like a bloody punching-ball
and... Shit! Which sonofabitch erased my friend?
Slow down, slow down -- there's no use in senseless anger.
I gotta grab the accelerator... Somehow. Grabbing faster, faster than I
can and I touch it, and the glider slows down, and my pulse slows
down... like everything that's around me.
At the same time I'm looking at the screen, but can't see the others.
Damn! Where did they hide their sucking asses? Makes me mad. I
break, break the hunt.
Shortly after: standing on the sideway, feeling no motion in the glider,
no motion in myself -- just hate in the background.
They're gone. With all the money, all those pills. Damned shit!
For sure they've hidden their sucking asses in the underground, where I
don't have any rights to catch them and blow out their useless...
Damned bullshit. I won't be decorated now... not for that. They'd rather
erase me, oh my g...!
Just imagine: a cop erased by his own employers.
How I hate these guys! Them business people are playin' with us as if
we were little holograms that they move around with their virtual hands
and -- god! We're men of blood and flesh, aren't we? A never-ending
human resource to be used either as useful victims or as fighting
slaves, bringing honor and glory to them.
If they really were big brothers, as they're proclaiming every day on the
TV shows... skyscratchers would gain social feelings, I tell you!
Keep cool -- but not quiet.
Slow down, slow down... Ease up.
First I gotta kill a pill. Makes me see things more relaxed, you know.
After that I'm able to demagnetize the doors' force field to get out of the
glider without any air-flash. If I hadn't taken the pill I'd have vomited
right onto the corpse of my friend...
Pete, old buddy! I'll gonna miss you -- and your killer jokes and... oh,
shit, I'll miss you so much!
Gotta pull the corpse out of the glider without any timelag, with a lot of
care... it's not covered with any shielding suit to protect against the
chemical acids outside.
With eyes closed, I'm dragging my friend over the highway, to the
railings, right over the river.
I'll have to throw him over.
It's the only place where nobody will find him, not even those ass-faced,
dope-implanted cannibals from the subway stations -- they hang over
the railings like shrieking monkeys who fear the river, 'cause its
chemical floods are deadly even to them, and none would ever dare to
enter that hellish river but a corpse.
I'm sliding back to the vehicle, slamming the door mentally with tears in
my mind -- steering away, somewhere into... I don't know where.
But then I look into my pillcase -- not believing what I see there, or what
I don't see.
Shit!
Nothing left, not even a single pill! Lots of problems, and no pills.
Deadly. Gotta drive to the shop. The suckin' keeper will look at me like
he should kick my butt to the moon. I don't know what these guys do
other than wait for, and stare at, strangers all day and judge things that
don't matter at all. I'm not here on duty, I'll tell him --- my friend died and
by now he's nibbling the acids, got that?
And if this know-nothin' bastard wants to reply...
I don't have to think about this right now.
Keeping shops and secrets...
The next shop's 354 meters from here, somewhere to the left, and the
autopilot's gotta find it. Why can't we just tell the suckin' machines to
follow the outlaws and destroy all their cars in self-defense...? They'd
do the job much better than any dead cop.
Who's really guilty? The bosses, I guess. For more than 8,000 years
now.
I could kick their pig faces right in! Why didn't they tell me the details
before I signed the contract? And why didn't they make it clear that
everything was gonna crash down here -- that criminals would get out
of control not only in the underground but also here, in the overground!
Bastards. I wouldn't have signed their tricky forms if I had known the
real circumstances! But now... I gotta see where I stand.
I'm just driving, hovering over the speedway. With shivering fingers
knockin' on the metallic steering wheel. Sounds puzzling, somehow. I
can't remember where I caught the illness, but sometimes I get those
odd visions; could be the drugs, but what kind of drugs, as I never
touched anything like tech? Maybe someone mixed a dose of that stuff
into my party-drinks last night -- it's possible, as there were too many of
them. I'd rather party right now than mourn for an erased colleague...
Border lights are just the beginning.
I'm crossing another useless corner, just to arrive at the suckin' shop.
I'm nearly sighing with relief, smelling the pills already in my neural
brainzones. The building shines like a shooting star inside the dark, as
if it would claim to be something different in this corner of the megacity
that stretches its techno-covered arms over all the oceans. Like
Himalayas across the whole damned planet. Anyway.
Gotta enter the shop. Gotta have a pill. Just a package.
Entering the shop.
The kids over there are looking as if they'd plan something, but I
wouldn't care; someone else has to. I'm no longer a cop right now -- still
in uniform, but stopped being a cop for today... Reasons? My best
colleague's on his highway to heaven, that should be reason enough to
kick that all.
I'm more tumbling than walking to the keeper, because my body's a
little bit absent, you know. It can't coordinate my brain's orders.
Somehow I manage to look right into the keeper's face.
A package of the light ones, man -- yep, you heard right: the lights
ones, not the heavy stuff. Their name already indicates that -- besides,
you don't need to stare at me like a monkey stares at his mother.
Forget this. Forget your "C U later, cop-sucker!" Stick it into your
fathersucking ass! I'm leaving the cops, leaving 'em tomorrow. We'll see
who's cursing at whom when we meet again, wanker!
Out again, I'm recognizing that the kids have pinched something out of
the shop -- having waited 'til I passed the doors, stealing themselves
right behind me out of the building and grinning right now, from the
other edge of the dark plaza surrounding the shop's blazing neonlights.
But I don't care 'bout those guys. I'll never care again 'bout those things;
someone else will have to...
Looking forward to a happy weekend.
Weekend? Forget that!
They're gonna cancel even this last isle of independence! That'd leave
millions of criminals on the streets of this Earthwide city-maze...
I don't wanna be part of that stuff, I tell you. Tomorrow I'll leave, leave
the fuzz -- they'll have to solve their problems alone. If they creep into
their own shit again, I sure won't be the cleaner!
I wanna live in a better place -- maybe I really will take one of those
hyper-powered space shuttles escaping every day to the new world
they're promoting everywhere on the streets. Even in my personal
media chips they're crying: "Come on, cop! Come on! You're gonna
come and have a lot of fun!"
Yeah, I'm gonna leave this planet! Leave behind all the trouble I never
really cared about...
If I could only grab those dealers first: I'd blow them away like rats; they
won't know which direction to slither out of the mud... Anyway.
First I gotta start the glider, fly around the next corner, discover
criminals everywhere -- why not take them all on, smash their useless
bodies down towards something they belong to? They're worth less
than a trash can...
Back on the speedway. Flying slower.
There's the PD. Gotta stop and enter the office. Gotta say "Morning" to
everyone.
Small talk.
Yes, everything's fine -- the dealers were blown away in self-defense --
shit happens -- yeah, I'm all right...
You're absolutely right 'bout that -- not a fairy tale at all. But who cares?
They grow up like weeds and nobody really cares about their deaths.
What'd you say?
Yep, Pete will get here soon. I think he wanted to take a shower first.
1459 words, Copyright ©by Sven Kloepping ([email protected]). This story
was first published in Planet Magazine.
Death JunkiesDeath JunkiesDeath JunkiesDeath Junkies
They love their own death. Or this kick, that comes with it. Flash in their brain. Inner
experience.
Keith sits back and dreams his life again. It rushes across his face like a train.
Nothing of it’s constant, nothing’s gonna be returning. It’s the only one-time life thrill
of the past. Each time another one.
Also Vicky has nothing to lose. She’s his girl-friend and not frightened of temporary
death. Nothing can get lost, or so she thinks. She’s not feared. Nevertheless, she
stares in the hypno-gate & lets herself becoming bravehearted. Seconds, seconds,
seconds are ticking and passing in her virtual brain. Then she falls asleep. Or: sleep
falls over her. Like a dog. (Huskie was a good guy, yes he was). She watches her life
from a good distance, like a movie. But there’s nothing new to happen. No other
experience, just Huskie and her boring life again. No reason to get the ‘close’ kick.
Moments after she realizes it, her consciousness interrupts the voyage, shuts down
the surrounding robotic streams and comes back. Vicky turns around half-way, goes
back on the virtual street, awakens and complains immediately.
She and some others are the ‘death-junkies’. Nothing could stop them, even not their
own death. It’s the only experience they wish to share. That’s the most powerful stuff:
when you realize your death, but they’ll wake you up - you know it, ‘cause they wake
you up every single time, just a moment after you passed the heavenly gates at the
end of the long, near and distant tunnel. When you wake up again, you’ll be having a
happy day. If not... who cares?
It’s like a drug. A drug for kiddies. After a while they can’t cope with their life and they
just wanna be killed once more. It’s like a drug for them & who else than a snob can
afford more than hundredthousand dollars just for five seconds of it?
Their life is their daily death. They work for it, they even spend their pocket-money.
Nothing’s holy to them, because life is just another shadow of reality. They all know it,
and they wanna show it to the whole world. They’re immortal, or so they think.
Death junkies are not dangerous. If they would be dangerous, someone had to forbid
their hobby.
„Yeah... it’s sooo randy!“ Keith cries in trance. His train’s still driving. In every
window he looks into another face staring out to him. Faces from a summary
of people he met in his life - but he doesn’t talk to them. He waits.
Vicky waits. When does he stop that trip? She mumbles impatiently & can’t sit
still on her holografic chair. It’s a long time for her. Dammit, what a flash! Her
twelve-year-old brain starts to think. At least he’s going to live four days after
this trip without any coming back. But she will return: the next day, she plans,
to repeat her trip. Today’s flash wasn’t very satisfying, you know. Tomorrow
she’ll try it again. She’ll die another death.
In the beginning it’s like every other drug. You take it, consume it several times
at your local dealer who shoots you beyond like a little particle, molecule or
something else... right over the border of your life. You feel good, that time.
But only for a little while, thereafter you realize: something’s gonna change in
your life. Not everything, but something’s gonna be not the same as it was
before. You’ll see the world with different eyes and miss your sense for reality.
It wasn’t that clear to you before - but now, after you rolled up your
consciousness, you miss something. The flash has brought it to the light:
there’s no way back. You have to come again, fly again, experience again,
again - death has taken part of you. It’s like hard injecting stuff. Just one flash
that cuts away your whole life from you. But it makes you so ‘close’, and you
need that stuff, you need it...
Open up.
Keith returns. He shakes his head - not believing he’s still alive - and is looking
like he’s too fragile for his own wakeness. Then he stands up, with wavering
steps. He’s wearing black leather. Vicky’s attracted from it. She takes him by
the hand, feels weak warmth slowly streaming through her gloves, and leaves
the house together with her lover. The night outside is grey like every night. No
difference, no other experience. Nevertheless, today has happened
something. Keith puts his arm around her neck and says a word that she
doesn’t realize. She’s just glad he’s still alive - that’s the most important thing
right now. The most important thing.
How many times can it be like that?
795 words, © by Sven Kloepping ([email protected]).