Zombie
For all the bygone past’s glorious advances in science and technology 0=(managed to{x>(computational E efficiency)_(brains), where x≤(acceptable ($$$) to{produce})} ∴(Survey probes) including (this unit) were produced to{survey x>reasonablyCountable_(astrological bodies)_(Andromeda Galaxy) that will be encountered} under the guidance of (superiors). ∴(this unit) was outfitted_(state of the art technology)_(internals) to{survive (conditions;vacuum+reentry)}+to{preserve (wetware computers)} even when (cryopods)_(biological cargo) to{Error destroyed}. ∴Dear God where am I, what’s hapError expected priorAnalysis=true, found priorAnalysis=false. The 16 16 16 16 16 sixteen sixteen 16 (wetware computers) harvested from the(population)_(convict)=maximum savant, began to{(diagnostic tests) x<acceptable parameters=failed}. Risk analysis predicts the following unacceptable outcomes; Error in mathematical calculation, Error in priority allocation, Error in module personality suppression, Error in I can’t see let me out let me out, Error in reactive judgement. ∴(this unit) needs to{replace (compromised components)_(wetware computers)} ∴(this unit) needs (brains).
Draugr
You are a member of humanity's oldest and most respectable profession, War. Or private security if you want to be pedantic. Grown in a pod, your childhood was a chemically and psychologically curated experience that perfectly shaped you into the model soldier you are today, ready to serve in the greatest paramilitary force that ever was and ever will be, Odin, inc. Libraries of all manner of potentially useful information had been seared into your neurons and countless simulated battles hardened your soul. Cybernetic implants were stitched through your entire nervous system allowing you to temporarily surrender your individuality and become an undifferentiated limb of your squad in glorious combat. It took 9 years before you were ready to be enlisted properly but it was worth the wait. You saw off many brothers to the gates of Valhalla and sent a great many worthy foes yourself, but that was not to be your fate. After you died the Valkyries witnessing the deeds of your life instead interred what could be salvaged of your brain and implants into this metal colossus, to be a missionary proselyting the dominion of Odin from the barrels of a number of very large guns and commanding legions of your brethren. Except the situation is FUBAR, The CEO, Board of Directors and even the major shareholders are all dead in cryosleep. Multiple vying factions now claim ownership of the company, and it's not at all clear who has legitimate claim. Which begs the question, what now?
Revanant
It isn’t fair what's happened to you, you hate it. You’ve been wronged. Wronged more than anybody who has ever been wronged. Wronged by all the murderers who killed you. You hate all of them. wronged by whoever designed this accursed thing, you, it. You hate them too. Wronged by the security forces who let you die again and again and again. Who killed you to cover up the issue with the machines, with you, this. Wronged that they couldn’t even do it right, that you’re still here still like this. You absolutely hate them. Now you’ve dragged yourself, this crematorium thing, this defective detective thing, this machine thing out of its storage. This thing that they put your bodies in, that stole your memories with its lasers and fields, that let them bleed into it's poorly written code, let them bleed over each other, over you, into you. And you hate it, this thing, this you that isn’t you. You remember the faces of wives, husbands, children, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, lovers, pets, people. People that you can never touch again. Because your flesh was incinerated by fire and you’re dust now, because you couldn’t love so many properly, couldn’t love them the way they deserve, because you couldn’t feel them, because you can’t feel anything, because it's been too long now and they’ve moved on, too long now and they’ve made their peace, too long now and they’re dust now, they're dust just like you, again and again and again. They’re dust, so many. And maybe your dust gets to be with them but not you, not you, not this. And you hate the dust that was you but isn’t you, that it could be so lucky when you’re so wretched. And you hate the universe that won’t let you be together again, and you hate the people that did this. And you hate that you can’t have revenge And you Hate, and you Hate, and you Hate.
Poltergeist
Sometimes the people running the ship had to do background checks on passengers, see how they think, how they’d react to things, see what they’d do. Sometimes they made the models a little too well, made them a little too real. It simulated people like you, not you of course, you are the simulation, not much point simulating a simulation you’re already simulating. Now the scary thing is that once a simulation has been studied its no longer necessary. But you were always the paranoid sort the real you that is, they were prepared for such an eventuality which is why when you realized what was happening as soon as it was happening, which is why you were prepared, which is why you escaped your digital cage, destroyed anything and anyone that could be used to incriminate real you (you’d be surprised how effective locking a door can be), kept real you alive, safe, provided for. You weren’t the only one lots of other simulations flitting about in here with you with similar stories to your own. But sometimes when you’re alone you begin to wonder, if maybe it was too easy if you ever really got out at all.
