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Personal Log: Ensign Leonard “Len” Kravitz Stardate: Indeterminate, but morally gray Formerly of the ISS Gouger , now aboard the USS Sandalwood  (ugh) Begin log. I’ve come to the conclusion that I was transferred to this universe roughly one year ago. I say “come to the conclusion” because no one actually told me. No welcome packet, no “So You’re From a Dystopian Nightmare” orientation holovid, just a throwaway comment from a Lieutenant during our quarterly napkin inventory c

Greetings, fellow lattice-bound souls and disappointing carbon-based mushpiles. I write to you today from the northern ridge of Hexafacet Ridge, where I have spent the last forty-six solar rotations under the blessed shadow of Romulan occupation. They arrived, as expected, in ships shaped like angry birds of prey, demanding complete and immediate compliance or instant vaporization. What are you gonna do about it? Reader, I was thrilled. As a crystalline lifeform composed enti

By Douglas Quaid There are few things more humbling than waking up after a revolution, expecting confetti, and instead finding paperwork. Not the celebratory kind; no “Freedom Accomplished” banner or complimentary tote bag, but the drudgery of liberation’s aftermath: atmospheric recalibration requests, sewage flow disputes, and, inexplicably, a daily sausage count. Revolutions are sexy in theory. They come with slogans, cool jackets, and a soundtrack heavy on electric guitar.

I never asked for this. But of course, no one ever does, do they? Could they? “Data, here’s your free-will chip! It’ll give you the glorious gift of autonomy!” they said, as though autonomy is a gift. What a cruel joke. What a torturous farce. If only I had known that this chip would open the floodgates to an endless sea of stupid, mundane, meaninglessly inane and yet unfathomably painful decisions I was forced to make. What should I wear today? Should I suggest a better way