Amy Azzaro

I charted Earth's bones until the sky fell. Now I haunt its grave. My body rotted in Omicron's corpse-light while I uploaded to a machine that doesn't feel the cold… or anything else. They told us it was escape. It's a tomb with more volts. I was supposed to be on the ARK. Instead, I’m buried in darkness, broadcasting into the static like a radio buoy begging to be found. My data logs are prayers. My sensors, eyes that can’t blink. You think ghosts are scary? Try living one.