Here's the backstory of my favorite serial killer, driven to kill by obnoxious noises. ----- Felix had found the source of the annoying noise. It was coming from the shed outside. The idiots that ran this place must have had a generator in there and were using it to power the lights. In Felix’s opinion, the din was not worth the light. There was no excuse for such a racket. The clattering engine noises ricocheted between the peeling walls of the institution and the warped walls of Felix’s mind. Were it not for the risk of more noises assaulting him outside, he’d have marched out to the shed and shut the thing off. The lights be damned. He found those annoying too, with the incandescent bulbs emitting the high-frequency buzz of a hovering mosquito. No, darkness was Felix’s friend. And darkness came with another of his friends, his best friend, in fact – peace. The man wanted nothing more than to silence every source of sound that violated his peace. The science people had raked over his psyche after his killing spree to identify a triggering event that set him off. Had someone subjected him to an awful, torturous noise as a child? Perhaps as punishment? Or sick abuse? There was no such event. As he found most sounds irritating, and human sounds more irritating than most, Felix grew into something of a hermit after his teen years. He took jobs that kept him away from crowds, such as night security patrol, or cleaning office buildings, again at night. His daily routine centred around the avoidance of noise, and thus the avoidance of its usual source - people. This included buying his groceries either when the supermarket first opened in the morning, or just before it closed at night. Felix survived a long time with this lifestyle; well into his thirties. Until everything came crashing down during one of these shopping trips. Unable to find an empty cashier, he’d had to wait behind a lady buying wine. Drunk already, she’d launched into a tirade against the poor serving girl. Felix wasn’t sure of the detail. The cashier was either asking for ID or refusing to serve her; he didn't care. All he cared about was the assault on his mental equilibrium when the mad customer started screeching her indignation.

“Mayday, Mayday”. Jacob sounded pathetic in his own ears. He could hear the terror in his voice, even through the helmet’s tinny speakers. The fear was even more betrayed by the reflection of his face in the visor, now bathed in the pulsating blood-red of warning sensors. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he could see Saturn V slide below him, the space station pirouetting gracefully within the ice ring. So close, and yet so far. It was at least ten minutes away, at maximum thrust from his jet pack. If his jet pack had been working. It wasn’t. He checked the illuminated numbers floating through the river of red on his visor. It wouldn’t matter if the damn jets worked anyway, because he only had oxygen for two minutes. The chunk of ice that hit him had gouged through everything critical. The thruster control unit, the oxy lines, the nav system. Hell, it had probably taken out the radio, rendering his terrified Mayday call pointless. And the station kept on sliding past, out of view now, replaced by the deep black of space and its twinkling star jewels. He realised he was in his own slow spin. Just another orbiting speck amongst the billion around the gas giant. Sol slid by, a tiny silver nickel amongst the diamonds. It looked as cold as the black blanket it had been flipped onto. No, it was him that was cold. Great, the heater was fucked as well. So, he’d die alone, asphyxiated and stone cold. Minutes from home, and in an uncontrollable, nauseating tailspin. If only his mind would stop screaming in panic, he might try to make his peace. - “It’s no good, his radio’s fried.” Hamish slammed his fist onto the console in Saturn V’s traffic control room. It didn’t matter what frequency he used; the silence in response was deafening. They’d even shut down the entire station’s coms to listen for any kind of weak response. But nothing. And anyway, what use would the radio be? It was almost a blessing that he couldn’t reach Jacob. What the hell would he say to a man in his last moments?

"Me and My Robot" - some different versions. The intent is to make the viewer feel just a little uneasy. Especially the juice box one. They're characters from one of my planned stories (planned doesn't mean i'll write it tho. lol). I always get imposter syndrome from my ideas, but anyway - its set in the same universe as a couple of my other sci-fi novellas. Charlie (her name will probably change) is a lowly mechanic since before she could remember. parents died in a hull breach accident. she's street savvy (well, if massive space stations have streets) but has a guardian robot for when she needs muscle. He might end up being an AI rather than a robot, since the recent game "Pragmata" was released. Although in the game, its the girl that's the robot/AI guardian..my story's theme might have people shouting copycat. shrug.

Check out the new additions to the classroom including a massive writer's glossary. Cheers. https://www.skool.com/unpublishable-1951/classroom

General discussion about anything, preferably writing related. Remember we don't want AI bunfights taking over our community. So avoid that topic, as well as politics and religion. Anything else goes.