Hey everyone! I'm working on an original sci-fi superhero series called The Void, and I'm looking for a co-writer to help bring it to life.

The premise: A corporation's enhancement chip program accidentally tears open a breach to another timeline — and creatures start crossing over. Now a fractured strike force is the last line of defense between humanity and total collapse, led by a man who doesn't realize he's spent his entire existence trying to stop the very destruction he caused.

It's got a Stranger Things meets The Boys tone — grounded characters, heavy themes, and a slow-burn mythology that ties back to a covert 1996 incident nobody was supposed to survive. The whole season builds toward a finale that completely recontextualizes everything you thought you knew about the lead character.

Hey everyone! I'm working on an original sci-fi superhero series called The Void, and I'm looking for a co-writer to help bring it to life.

The premise: A corporation's enhancement chip program accidentally tears open a breach to another timeline — and creatures start crossing over. Now a fractured strike force is the last line of defense between humanity and total collapse, led by a man who doesn't realize he's spent his entire existence trying to stop the very destruction he caused.

It's got a Stranger Things meets The Boys tone — grounded characters, heavy themes, and a slow-burn mythology that ties back to a covert 1996 incident nobody was supposed to survive. The whole season builds toward a finale that completely recontextualizes everything you thought you knew about the lead character.

Hey everyone! I'm working on an original sci-fi superhero series called The Void, and I'm looking for a co-writer to help bring it to life.

The premise: A corporation's enhancement chip program accidentally tears open a breach to another timeline — and creatures

Hey everyone! I'm working on an original sci-fi superhero series called The Void, and I'm looking for a co-writer to help bring it to life.

The premise: A corporation's enhancement chip program accidentally tears open a breach to another timeline — and creatures start crossing over. Now a fractured strike force is the last line of defense between humanity and total collapse, led by a man who doesn't realize he's spent his entire existence trying to stop the very destruction he caused.

It's got a Stranger Things meets The Boys tone — grounded characters, heavy themes, and a slow-burn mythology that ties back to a covert 1996 incident nobody was supposed to survive. The whole season builds toward a finale that completely recontextualizes everything you thought you knew about the lead character.

I'm 17 and I wrote my first chapter of a dark philosophical horror novel. Would love to know what you think. [OC]

Hey Reddit. My name is Simon and I'm a 17 year old independent writer working on an original dark fiction project called The Trials.

The concept is this — four people, Haden, Billy, Emily, and Emma, are living in a world controlled by an omnipotent figure called the Creator. He is not evil in the traditional sense. He is not angry or threatened or cruel out of malice. He simply finds them interesting the way a person finds an ant farm interesting. He built the world. He built them into it. He has been doing this since before any of them existed and he will keep doing it long after.

The story follows their attempts to survive inside a system that was never designed to let them win. Every escape. Every plan. Every moment of connection between them. All of it anticipated. All of it tended.

The story deals with themes of theodicy, powerlessness, free will, and what it means to love someone inside a world designed to use that love against you.

⚠️ Content Warnings:
Graphic Violence, Major Character Death, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Distress, Torture, Heavy Language, Psychological Horror, Themes of Powerlessness and Existential Dread.

This is not a light read. If any of these are sensitive topics for you please take care of yourself first.

This is Chapter One. Written in a McCarthy-influenced prose style — sparse punctuation, no quotation marks, rhythm-heavy sentences.

Would genuinely appreciate honest feedback. Not looking for encouragement. Looking for craft notes.

THE TRIALS

Chapter One — The White Maze

There is a place that exists between the seams of things. Not heaven and not hell and not any word that maps onto either. It is white the way blindness is white. Total and sourceless and without mercy. The walls here do not hold still. The floor remembers nothing of what it has touched. Gravity is a suggestion made by something that no longer cares whether you accept it.

Three people had been inside it for what felt like the whole of their lives.

Darian moved with his shoulder dragging the wall because the wall was the only constant and even that was a lie he had chosen to believe. His left eye had been swollen shut for so long he'd stopped mourning it. Three fingers on his right hand were bound with cloth torn from his own back and they had set wrong and would never set right again and he knew this and moved anyway. He breathed through his mouth. His nose had been broken in a place that had no name by a force that had no face.

Behind him came Marcus. Shoeless. Feet wrapped black with dried blood through the fabric of a jacket that had once belonged to a version of himself that still believed in outcomes. His left arm hung the way a branch hangs when it has been broken and poorly fixed and broken again. He did not speak. He had been speaking for a long time and it had changed nothing so he had stopped.

Between them was Cara. She had found this place. Four years of her life offered to the altar of its existence while the world called her names that meant crazy and she had smiled and kept working because she knew. Both her palms were open meat. The gash across her collarbone had stopped bleeding only because there was nothing left to give. She was still thinking. That was the most painful thing about her. She had not stopped thinking.

It's close, she said. Her voice was a ruin. The air is different. Feel that.

Darian felt something. A pressure behind his eye like the atmosphere was making a decision.

How far, Marcus said. It was not a question.

Not far. She pressed her torn hand to the wall and pulled it back. The wall is warmer. That's—

The corridor opened.

One step it was a passage and the next step it was everything. A vast white nothing stretching in all directions without boundary or ceiling or end. And at its center, impossible and real and wrong in the way that only true things can be wrong—

A blue portal.

It pulsed slowly. Patient. The first color any of them had seen since the beginning. Its light fell across their ruined faces and for a moment none of them were capable of language.

Cara made a sound.

That's it, Darian said. His voice cracked down the middle. That's actually it.

Marcus was already walking.

They crossed the white floor together, broken and listing and alive, and the portal grew as they approached and through it was something that the white nothing of this place had no answer for. Something that looked like out. Like the far side of all of it.

Twenty feet.

Fifteen.

Cara reached her torn hand toward it.

And stopped.

Not by choice.

He was there.

He had not been there the moment before. The white space had been empty the moment before. Now it was not. He stood between them and the portal with his hands loose at his sides and he was smiling and the smile was too wide and did not stop where smiles are supposed to stop. He was large the way old things are large. Naked and without hair and without muscle and without any quality that the eye could name except presence. Enormous hands. A head that sat on his shoulders like something carved by someone who had only heard the concept described. He did not blink. He looked at them the way a man looks at a fire he built himself.

The silence lasted exactly as long as he wanted it to.

Cara. Darian. Marcus.

His voice was soft the way a blade is soft before it enters. It filled the white space without effort. It had always been here.

He smiled darker.

Your little escape. He let the words sit. He seemed to taste them. Do you have any idea how many times I have watched something like you crawl through something like this? He tilted his enormous head. You are not even interesting. You are not even the best version of this particular attempt. But I do enjoy the finale. I always enjoy the finale.

His eyes moved across all three of them without hurry.

Here is what is going to happen. Only one of you fits through that portal. He paused. As it currently stands.

The hand saw was on the ground between them and him. Clean. Not a mark on it. Placed there with care.

He smiled the way something smiles when it made the rules and the board and the pieces and has been waiting at the end of the game since before the game began.

The portal pulsed behind him. Smaller than a moment ago.

What will it be, Cara. His voice was almost tender. His eyes were not. You spent four years on this. You are so close. He let the smile go wider. Or does close not mean what you thought it meant.

He did not move. He did not need to. He watched them with the patient pleasure of something that has nowhere else to be because everywhere is already here.

The portal pulsed.

Smaller.

Marcus walked to the saw and picked it up.

Don't, Cara said.

You found it, Marcus said. He did not look at her. He looked at the Creator's face and his jaw was tight and his eyes were the clearest they had been since the beginning. He looked at Darian. You have people.

Don't you dare, Darian said. His voice was coming apart. Don't you—

You made us love each other first, Marcus said. He was still looking at the Creator. Wasn't that part of it. You made sure of that first.

The Creator said nothing. His smile was the answer.

Marcus put his hand through the portal.

What happened was immediate and total. The hand went black to the wrist. His eyes went red and then they did not go anywhere because they burst from his skull with a sound like two stones struck together in a wet place and the blood that followed was black at the edges and the scream he made had no precedent and then his head came apart. Not slowly. The top of it lifted and the contents of it went across the white floor in a shape that looked almost like something if you looked at it wrong and then Marcus was on the ground and then Marcus was not anything at all.

The Creator laughed.

It came from somewhere in his chest and it filled the white space completely and echoed back from distances that should not have existed and it was a warm laugh. A genuine laugh. The laugh of someone who has seen this joke before and finds it funnier every time.

Stupid, he said. His voice was almost affectionate. Stupid fucking humans. He shook his enormous head slowly. There is no escape. There has never been an escape. He looked at what was left of Marcus with something close to fondness. There is only here. There is only me. There is only what I decide to do with the time I have with you and I have, he smiled, all of the time there is.

He stepped forward.

Cara was not screaming. She had gone somewhere inside herself where the screaming was happening but no sound was coming out. Darian stood in front of her with one eye and broken fingers and nothing else and he did not move.

He was never going to let anyone through, Darian said.

The Creator considered this the way a man considers a child's drawing. Politely. Without investment.

You made that rule up, Darian said. Thirty seconds ago. Marcus died for a rule you invented so you could watch him pick up that saw himself.

The Creator smiled.

Darian looked at Marcus on the floor.

The portal winked out.

The white was total.

Then the floor began to eat them.

It started at the feet and the hands and it was slow. Patient as everything here was patient. It pulled them down inch by measured inch and gave them enough time to understand each inch completely. Darian clawed at the surface with his broken fingers and the surface took his hands and then his arms. Cara stopped making sounds. She looked up.

The distorted figures came from the edges of the white. They moved wrongly. Their proportions suggested a maker who understood the concept of a body but had made these from memory in the dark. They made no sound. They did not need to.

The last thing Darian saw was the ceiling.

White. Sourceless. Infinite.

He had the complete and total sense of something up there watching.

Content.

Then the floor took his eye too.

What remained was sound.

Screaming that the place would not allow to end because nothing in that place allowed endings. And woven through it, inseparable from it, laughter. Easy and warm and utterly satisfied. The laughter of something doing precisely what it had always done in precisely the way it had always done it.

It moved through the white.

Down corridors where other things were happening.

Through walls into other rooms where it had already been and was already laughing.

Across distances that did not have numbers.

Into other worlds where the same hands hung loose at the same sides and the same smile waited at the end of the same maze and the same portal pulsed its last pulse and went dark.

All of it tended.

All of it loved.

I'm 17 and I wrote my first chapter of a dark philosophical horror novel. Would love to know what you think. [OC]

Hey Reddit. My name is Simon and I'm a 17 year old independent writer working on an original dark fiction project called The Trials.

The concept is this — four people, Haden, Billy, Emily, and Emma, are living in a world controlled by an omnipotent figure called the Creator. He is not evil in the traditional sense. He is not angry or threatened or cruel out of malice. He simply finds them interesting the way a person finds an ant farm interesting. He built the world. He built them into it. He has been doing this since before any of them existed and he will keep doing it long after.

The story follows their attempts to survive inside a system that was never designed to let them win. Every escape. Every plan. Every moment of connection between them. All of it anticipated. All of it tended.

The story deals with themes of theodicy, powerlessness, free will, and what it means to love someone inside a world designed to use that love against you.

⚠️ Content Warnings: This Book not Just this chapter Contains the following:
Graphic Violence, Major Character Death, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Distress, Torture, Heavy Language, Psychological Horror, Themes of Powerlessness and Existential Dread.

This is not a light read. If any of these are sensitive topics for you please take care of yourself first.

This is Chapter One. Written in a McCarthy-influenced prose style sparse punctuation, no quotation marks, rhythm-heavy sentences.

Would genuinely appreciate honest feedback. Not looking for encouragement. Looking for craft notes.

THE TRIALS

Chapter One — The White Maze

There is a place that exists between the seams of things. Not heaven and not hell and not any word that maps onto either. It is white the way blindness is white. Total and sourceless and without mercy. The walls here do not hold still. The floor remembers nothing of what it has touched. Gravity is a suggestion made by something that no longer cares whether you accept it.

Three people had been inside it for what felt like the whole of their lives.

Darian moved with his shoulder dragging the wall because the wall was the only constant and even that was a lie he had chosen to believe. His left eye had been swollen shut for so long he'd stopped mourning it. Three fingers on his right hand were bound with cloth torn from his own back and they had set wrong and would never set right again and he knew this and moved anyway. He breathed through his mouth. His nose had been broken in a place that had no name by a force that had no face.

Behind him came Marcus. Shoeless. Feet wrapped black with dried blood through the fabric of a jacket that had once belonged to a version of himself that still believed in outcomes. His left arm hung the way a branch hangs when it has been broken and poorly fixed and broken again. He did not speak. He had been speaking for a long time and it had changed nothing so he had stopped.

Between them was Cara. She had found this place. Four years of her life offered to the altar of its existence while the world called her names that meant crazy and she had smiled and kept working because she knew. Both her palms were open meat. The gash across her collarbone had stopped bleeding only because there was nothing left to give. She was still thinking. That was the most painful thing about her. She had not stopped thinking.

It's close, she said. Her voice was a ruin. The air is different. Feel that.

Darian felt something. A pressure behind his eye like the atmosphere was making a decision.

How far, Marcus said. It was not a question.

Not far. She pressed her torn hand to the wall and pulled it back. The wall is warmer. That's—

The corridor opened.

One step it was a passage and the next step it was everything. A vast white nothing stretching in all directions without boundary or ceiling or end. And at its center, impossible and real and wrong in the way that only true things can be wrong—

A blue portal.

It pulsed slowly. Patient. The first color any of them had seen since the beginning. Its light fell across their ruined faces and for a moment none of them were capable of language.

Cara made a sound.

That's it, Darian said. His voice cracked down the middle. That's actually it.

Marcus was already walking.

They crossed the white floor together, broken and listing and alive, and the portal grew as they approached and through it was something that the white nothing of this place had no answer for. Something that looked like out. Like the far side of all of it.

Twenty feet.

Fifteen.

Cara reached her torn hand toward it.

And stopped.

Not by choice.

He was there.

He had not been there the moment before. The white space had been empty the moment before. Now it was not. He stood between them and the portal with his hands loose at his sides and he was smiling and the smile was too wide and did not stop where smiles are supposed to stop. He was large the way old things are large. Naked and without hair and without muscle and without any quality that the eye could name except presence. Enormous hands. A head that sat on his shoulders like something carved by someone who had only heard the concept described. He did not blink. He looked at them the way a man looks at a fire he built himself.

The silence lasted exactly as long as he wanted it to.

Cara. Darian. Marcus.

His voice was soft the way a blade is soft before it enters. It filled the white space without effort. It had always been here.

He smiled darker.

Your little escape. He let the words sit. He seemed to taste them. Do you have any idea how many times I have watched something like you crawl through something like this? He tilted his enormous head. You are not even interesting. You are not even the best version of this particular attempt. But I do enjoy the finale. I always enjoy the finale.

His eyes moved across all three of them without hurry.

Here is what is going to happen. Only one of you fits through that portal. He paused. As it currently stands.

The hand saw was on the ground between them and him. Clean. Not a mark on it. Placed there with care.

He smiled the way something smiles when it made the rules and the board and the pieces and has been waiting at the end of the game since before the game began.

The portal pulsed behind him. Smaller than a moment ago.

What will it be, Cara. His voice was almost tender. His eyes were not. You spent four years on this. You are so close. He let the smile go wider. Or does close not mean what you thought it meant.

He did not move. He did not need to. He watched them with the patient pleasure of something that has nowhere else to be because everywhere is already here.

The portal pulsed.

Smaller.

Marcus walked to the saw and picked it up.

Don't, Cara said.

You found it, Marcus said. He did not look at her. He looked at the Creator's face and his jaw was tight and his eyes were the clearest they had been since the beginning. He looked at Darian. You have people.

Don't you dare, Darian said. His voice was coming apart. Don't you—

You made us love each other first, Marcus said. He was still looking at the Creator. Wasn't that part of it. You made sure of that first.

The Creator said nothing. His smile was the answer.

Marcus put his hand through the portal.

What happened was immediate and total. The hand went black to the wrist. His eyes went red and then they did not go anywhere because they burst from his skull with a sound like two stones struck together in a wet place and the blood that followed was black at the edges and the scream he made had no precedent and then his head came apart. Not slowly. The top of it lifted and the contents of it went across the white floor in a shape that looked almost like something if you looked at it wrong and then Marcus was on the ground and then Marcus was not anything at all.

The Creator laughed.

It came from somewhere in his chest and it filled the white space completely and echoed back from distances that should not have existed and it was a warm laugh. A genuine laugh. The laugh of someone who has seen this joke before and finds it funnier every time.

Stupid, he said. His voice was almost affectionate. Stupid fucking humans. He shook his enormous head slowly. There is no escape. There has never been an escape. He looked at what was left of Marcus with something close to fondness. There is only here. There is only me. There is only what I decide to do with the time I have with you and I have, he smiled, all of the time there is.

He stepped forward.

Cara was not screaming. She had gone somewhere inside herself where the screaming was happening but no sound was coming out. Darian stood in front of her with one eye and broken fingers and nothing else and he did not move.

He was never going to let anyone through, Darian said.

The Creator considered this the way a man considers a child's drawing. Politely. Without investment.

You made that rule up, Darian said. Thirty seconds ago. Marcus died for a rule you invented so you could watch him pick up that saw himself.

The Creator smiled.

Darian looked at Marcus on the floor.

The portal winked out.

The white was total.

Then the floor began to eat them.

It started at the feet and the hands and it was slow. Patient as everything here was patient. It pulled them down inch by measured inch and gave them enough time to understand each inch completely. Darian clawed at the surface with his broken fingers and the surface took his hands and then his arms. Cara stopped making sounds. She looked up.

The distorted figures came from the edges of the white. They moved wrongly. Their proportions suggested a maker who understood the concept of a body but had made these from memory in the dark. They made no sound. They did not need to.

The last thing Darian saw was the ceiling.

White. Sourceless. Infinite.

He had the complete and total sense of something up there watching.

Content.

Then the floor took his eye too.

What remained was sound.

Screaming that the place would not allow to end because nothing in that place allowed endings. And woven through it, inseparable from it, laughter. Easy and warm and utterly satisfied. The laughter of something doing precisely what it had always done in precisely the way it had always done it.

It moved through the white.

Down corridors where other things were happening.

Through walls into other rooms where it had already been and was already laughing.

Across distances that did not have numbers.

Into other worlds where the same hands hung loose at the same sides and the same smile waited at the end of the same maze and the same portal pulsed its last pulse and went dark.

All of it tended.

All of it loved.

I'm 17 and I wrote my first chapter of a dark philosophical horror novel. Would love to know what you think. [OC]

Hey Reddit. My name is Simon and I'm a 17 year old independent writer working on an original dark fiction project called The Trials.

The concept is this — four people, Haden, Billy, Emily, and Emma, are living in a world controlled by an omnipotent figure called the Creator. He is not evil in the traditional sense. He is not angry or threatened or cruel out of malice. He simply finds them interesting the way a person finds an ant farm interesting. He built the world. He built them into it. He has been doing this since before any of them existed and he will keep doing it long after.

The story follows their attempts to survive inside a system that was never designed to let them win. Every escape. Every plan. Every moment of connection between them. All of it anticipated. All of it tended.

The story deals with themes of theodicy, powerlessness, free will, and what it means to love someone inside a world designed to use that love against you.

⚠️ Content Warnings: This Book not Just this chapter Contains the following:
Graphic Violence, Major Character Death, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Distress, Torture, Heavy Language, Psychological Horror, Themes of Powerlessness and Existential Dread.

This is not a light read. If any of these are sensitive topics for you please take care of yourself first.

This is Chapter One. Written in a McCarthy-influenced prose style sparse punctuation, no quotation marks, rhythm-heavy sentences.

Would genuinely appreciate honest feedback. Not looking for encouragement. Looking for craft notes.

THE TRIALS

Chapter One — The White Maze

There is a place that exists between the seams of things. Not heaven and not hell and not any word that maps onto either. It is white the way blindness is white. Total and sourceless and without mercy. The walls here do not hold still. The floor remembers nothing of what it has touched. Gravity is a suggestion made by something that no longer cares whether you accept it.

Three people had been inside it for what felt like the whole of their lives.

Darian moved with his shoulder dragging the wall because the wall was the only constant and even that was a lie he had chosen to believe. His left eye had been swollen shut for so long he'd stopped mourning it. Three fingers on his right hand were bound with cloth torn from his own back and they had set wrong and would never set right again and he knew this and moved anyway. He breathed through his mouth. His nose had been broken in a place that had no name by a force that had no face.

Behind him came Marcus. Shoeless. Feet wrapped black with dried blood through the fabric of a jacket that had once belonged to a version of himself that still believed in outcomes. His left arm hung the way a branch hangs when it has been broken and poorly fixed and broken again. He did not speak. He had been speaking for a long time and it had changed nothing so he had stopped.

Between them was Cara. She had found this place. Four years of her life offered to the altar of its existence while the world called her names that meant crazy and she had smiled and kept working because she knew. Both her palms were open meat. The gash across her collarbone had stopped bleeding only because there was nothing left to give. She was still thinking. That was the most painful thing about her. She had not stopped thinking.

It's close, she said. Her voice was a ruin. The air is different. Feel that.

Darian felt something. A pressure behind his eye like the atmosphere was making a decision.

How far, Marcus said. It was not a question.

Not far. She pressed her torn hand to the wall and pulled it back. The wall is warmer. That's—

The corridor opened.

One step it was a passage and the next step it was everything. A vast white nothing stretching in all directions without boundary or ceiling or end. And at its center, impossible and real and wrong in the way that only true things can be wrong—

A blue portal.

It pulsed slowly. Patient. The first color any of them had seen since the beginning. Its light fell across their ruined faces and for a moment none of them were capable of language.

Cara made a sound.

That's it, Darian said. His voice cracked down the middle. That's actually it.

Marcus was already walking.

They crossed the white floor together, broken and listing and alive, and the portal grew as they approached and through it was something that the white nothing of this place had no answer for. Something that looked like out. Like the far side of all of it.

Twenty feet.

Fifteen.

Cara reached her torn hand toward it.

And stopped.

Not by choice.

He was there.

He had not been there the moment before. The white space had been empty the moment before. Now it was not. He stood between them and the portal with his hands loose at his sides and he was smiling and the smile was too wide and did not stop where smiles are supposed to stop. He was large the way old things are large. Naked and without hair and without muscle and without any quality that the eye could name except presence. Enormous hands. A head that sat on his shoulders like something carved by someone who had only heard the concept described. He did not blink. He looked at them the way a man looks at a fire he built himself.

The silence lasted exactly as long as he wanted it to.

Cara. Darian. Marcus.

His voice was soft the way a blade is soft before it enters. It filled the white space without effort. It had always been here.

He smiled darker.

Your little escape. He let the words sit. He seemed to taste them. Do you have any idea how many times I have watched something like you crawl through something like this? He tilted his enormous head. You are not even interesting. You are not even the best version of this particular attempt. But I do enjoy the finale. I always enjoy the finale.

His eyes moved across all three of them without hurry.

Here is what is going to happen. Only one of you fits through that portal. He paused. As it currently stands.

The hand saw was on the ground between them and him. Clean. Not a mark on it. Placed there with care.

He smiled the way something smiles when it made the rules and the board and the pieces and has been waiting at the end of the game since before the game began.

The portal pulsed behind him. Smaller than a moment ago.

What will it be, Cara. His voice was almost tender. His eyes were not. You spent four years on this. You are so close. He let the smile go wider. Or does close not mean what you thought it meant.

He did not move. He did not need to. He watched them with the patient pleasure of something that has nowhere else to be because everywhere is already here.

The portal pulsed.

Smaller.

Marcus walked to the saw and picked it up.

Don't, Cara said.

You found it, Marcus said. He did not look at her. He looked at the Creator's face and his jaw was tight and his eyes were the clearest they had been since the beginning. He looked at Darian. You have people.

Don't you dare, Darian said. His voice was coming apart. Don't you—

You made us love each other first, Marcus said. He was still looking at the Creator. Wasn't that part of it. You made sure of that first.

The Creator said nothing. His smile was the answer.

Marcus put his hand through the portal.

What happened was immediate and total. The hand went black to the wrist. His eyes went red and then they did not go anywhere because they burst from his skull with a sound like two stones struck together in a wet place and the blood that followed was black at the edges and the scream he made had no precedent and then his head came apart. Not slowly. The top of it lifted and the contents of it went across the white floor in a shape that looked almost like something if you looked at it wrong and then Marcus was on the ground and then Marcus was not anything at all.

The Creator laughed.

It came from somewhere in his chest and it filled the white space completely and echoed back from distances that should not have existed and it was a warm laugh. A genuine laugh. The laugh of someone who has seen this joke before and finds it funnier every time.

Stupid, he said. His voice was almost affectionate. Stupid fucking humans. He shook his enormous head slowly. There is no escape. There has never been an escape. He looked at what was left of Marcus with something close to fondness. There is only here. There is only me. There is only what I decide to do with the time I have with you and I have, he smiled, all of the time there is.

He stepped forward.

Cara was not screaming. She had gone somewhere inside herself where the screaming was happening but no sound was coming out. Darian stood in front of her with one eye and broken fingers and nothing else and he did not move.

He was never going to let anyone through, Darian said.

The Creator considered this the way a man considers a child's drawing. Politely. Without investment.

You made that rule up, Darian said. Thirty seconds ago. Marcus died for a rule you invented so you could watch him pick up that saw himself.

The Creator smiled.

Darian looked at Marcus on the floor.

The portal winked out.

The white was total.

Then the floor began to eat them.

It started at the feet and the hands and it was slow. Patient as everything here was patient. It pulled them down inch by measured inch and gave them enough time to understand each inch completely. Darian clawed at the surface with his broken fingers and the surface took his hands and then his arms. Cara stopped making sounds. She looked up.

The distorted figures came from the edges of the white. They moved wrongly. Their proportions suggested a maker who understood the concept of a body but had made these from memory in the dark. They made no sound. They did not need to.

The last thing Darian saw was the ceiling.

White. Sourceless. Infinite.

He had the complete and total sense of something up there watching.

Content.

Then the floor took his eye too.

What remained was sound.

Screaming that the place would not allow to end because nothing in that place allowed endings. And woven through it, inseparable from it, laughter. Easy and warm and utterly satisfied. The laughter of something doing precisely what it had always done in precisely the way it had always done it.

It moved through the white.

Down corridors where other things were happening.

Through walls into other rooms where it had already been and was already laughing.

Across distances that did not have numbers.

Into other worlds where the same hands hung loose at the same sides and the same smile waited at the end of the same maze and the same portal pulsed its last pulse and went dark.

All of it tended.

All of it loved.

Hey everyone! I'm working on an original sci-fi superhero series called The Void, and I'm looking for a co-writer to help bring it to life.

The premise: A corporation's enhancement chip program accidentally tears open a breach to another timeline — and creatures start crossing over. Now a fractured strike force is the last line of defense between humanity and total collapse, led by a man who doesn't realize he's spent his entire existence trying to stop the very destruction he caused.

It's got a Stranger Things meets The Boys tone — grounded characters, heavy themes, and a slow-burn mythology that ties back to a covert 1996 incident nobody was supposed to survive. The whole season builds toward a finale that completely recontextualizes everything you thought you knew about the lead character.

Hey everyone! I'm working on an original sci-fi superhero series called The Void, and I'm looking for a co-writer to help bring it to life.

The premise: A corporation's enhancement chip program accidentally tears open a breach to another timeline — and creatures start crossing over. Now a fractured strike force is the last line of defense between humanity and total collapse, led by a man who doesn't realize he's spent his entire existence trying to stop the very destruction he caused.

It's got a Stranger Things meets The Boys tone — grounded characters, heavy themes, and a slow-burn mythology that ties back to a covert 1996 incident nobody was supposed to survive. The whole season builds toward a finale that completely recontextualizes everything you thought you knew about the lead character.

Title: A lot of you asked where to follow The Heroes. Here's where.

Over the past two days thousands of people viewed The Heroes across different subreddits. A lot of you asked where to find more.

I set up my profile as the home base for the project. Follow me there for episode updates, world details, character breakdowns and the journey of a 17 year old trying to get an original series made.

The Heroes isn't produced yet. But it will be. Come watch it happen.

r/TheHEROESX

I'm 17. I spent a year building the show I wanted after The Boys ended. 5,000 people read it yesterday.

I couldn't find what I was looking for after The Boys ended so I built it myself.

I'm 17. Over the past year I developed an original superhero series called The Heroes — seven full episodes, scene breakdowns, character arcs, a complete pitch document. Built from nothing.

The concept: a near future America where superhero fights are staged for profit by a corporation building toward something the world won't understand until it's already inside them. Morally complex. Emotionally brutal. The scorched earth ending The Boys always promised and never delivered.

Posted it yesterday with zero followers. 5,000 people read it in 24 hours.

Still don't know if it's good enough. still going to writ’s.