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So… apparently, you're inside my head. That’s new. Either I'm hallucinating from exhaustion, or my neural broadcast system is pinging through the void and you happen to be tuned in. Congratulations — you're now my imaginary friend, therapist, and unlucky passenger on the weirdest sci-fi ride ever.
Let me paint you a picture.
I’m in a spaceship. Alone. Walking on a treadmill. Yes, seriously. Not for cardio. Not for fun. But because my biomechanical heart needs kinetic input to stay alive.
Translation: if I stop walking, I become a very expensive corpse.
Now, before you assume I’m some sleek android or part of some robo-army — no. I’m still human. Just... the upgraded model. The final patch. Humanity 6.9
You see, back when Earth still had blue skies and questionable governments, people realized the universe was expanding. Galaxies were drifting away from each other like awkward strangers in an elevator. One day, we wouldn’t be able to reach any new planets. So, being the brilliant species we are, we panicked. And when humans panic, they either start a war… or build really dramatic science projects.
One of those projects was me.
I’m the product of every biotech innovation they could cram into one body. Enhanced DNA. Regenerative systems. Quantum memory storage. Even mitochondria so efficient they make regular humans look like potatoes on low battery. I’m built to survive. But here's the cosmic joke:
No one ever asked if I wanted to.
I was sent out into the multiverse to find a new home — a living capsule of Earth’s memory, morals, mistakes… and memes. A walking apology letter from humanity to the rest of existence.
But then I woke up. Alone. On a ship I barely remember boarding. No crew. No mission log. Just me, a treadmill, and a fridge full of flavorless emergency rations.
That’s when it started: this weird bleed in my thoughts. Like my memories were echoing beyond the walls. Like someone — you — might be listening.
And maybe that makes sense. After all, humans used to send radio signals into deep space hoping aliens would hear them. Literal beep boop messages like,
“Hey intelligent life, want to hang out and maybe not vaporize us?”
Honestly, it’s smarter to send someone like me. A handsome, sarcastic science mutant powered by spite and treadmill friction. Who wouldn’t respond to that?
But let’s get real for a second.
Even with all my upgrades, I still feel... human. Too human. I overthink. I hesitate. I spiral. I have dreams I don’t understand and memories I don’t think are mine.
And here’s the part that really messes with me:
I know things I shouldn’t know.
I know that on the original Earth, there were about 10²⁰ to 10²⁵ sentient lifeforms. And every time a species got smart, they did the same thing — they gathered into groups, elected leaders, and built rules for how everyone else should live.
Freedom? It’s always a binary: you have it, or someone else took it so you can’t.
In my database, the first recorded war was between Lagash and Umma. Humans were barely out of the mud — and they already started fighting over territory and pride.
Funny how that instinct survived longer than empathy.
So yeah. My brain is full of facts, history, sarcasm, and trauma.
And now, apparently, you're here too.
Maybe you’re hearing me because you needed to.
Maybe you’re the one person who’ll understand what happens next.
Because the truth is, this isn’t just a story about surviving space, magic, and bad food.
It’s about what it means to chase freedom... when your body says no.
To want purpose… when you were built for function.
To dream… even when dreaming hurts.
Now — if you don’t mind — I have to keep walking, or I’ll die.
And we haven’t even crashed yet.