Origin: Automatic Writing

“How can I help her?” ask Shaw, bewildered. He approached the suspended figure and looked into her face. Olive skin and dark eyes; beautiful. A firefly of recognition flared in the darkness of his mind, then vanished. Her gaze was cold, empty.

“Is she…alive?” he whispered.

“More than I, less than you.”

He turned to the machine beside him, caught his reflection in its polished armour. A face he did not recognise.


Shaw jolted awake. The room was dark but for the glow of the bedside clock. A warm body shuffled beside him

“Anything wrong?”

“I…I” his voice felt thick, clumsy. He reached for something on the floor.

“Let’s not worry about that now…” A hand snaked around his waist. He turned, looked into her eyes, saw gears and levers turning somewhere deep within.


Shaw jolted awake. Light bleeding through the curtains and the sound of early morning traffic. He threw off the covers and stood, shivering. His notepad lay open on the floor – he stared at the unfamiliar writing, scrawled across the pages.

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