Nathan McAllister
Bio
I create content in the written form and musically as well. I like topics ranging from philosophy, music, cooking and travel. I hope to incorporate some of my music compositions into my writing compositions in this venue.
Cheers,
Nathan
Stories (8)
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The First Harvest
Chapter 4: The First Harvest The District of Rust smelled of wet iron and dying dreams, a sharp contrast to the sterile, pressurized air of the Vane Tower. I sat in the corner of a grease-slicked diner, my hands shaking—not from the cold, but from the low-frequency hum of the Static that had begun to chew at the edges of my vision. I needed a fix. Not the chemical stimulants of the Obsidian Room, but a different kind of grounding. I needed to see Elena Vane.
By Nathan McAllisterabout 2 hours ago in Futurism
The Frequency of the Doomed
The loss of my career, my name, and my penthouse was a sequence of external tragedies, a series of demolitions I could at least understand through the lens of cause and effect. But they were nothing compared to the loss of my silence.
By Nathan McAllisterabout 24 hours ago in Futurism
The Social Execution. Content Warning.
I woke up six months later in a sterile room that smelled of bleach and lost hope. Consciousness didn't return all at once; it arrived in agonizing increments, a slow-motion reconstruction of a man who had been shattered into a million jagged pieces. For weeks, the world was nothing but the rhythmic hiss of a ventilator and the fluorescent hum of a ceiling I hadn't designed. When I finally found the strength to open my eyes, I didn't recognize the landscape of my own body.
By Nathan McAllistera day ago in Futurism
Of Entropy and Chaos
The entry point wasn't a door; it was a wound in the city’s municipal memory. I crouched in the shadows of a service alley three blocks from the Central Library, staring at a rusted ventilation grate that had been paved over by three decades of asphalt and apathy. This was the "Dead Zone." In the late 1990s, the city’s urban planners had suffered a collective seizure of budget cuts and bureaucratic oversight, leaving a three-block radius of the underground poorly mapped and even more poorly maintained. During the seismic retrofitting of 2014, while I was drafting the stabilization plans for the library’s sub-basements, I’d found the discrepancy. According to the city’s digital map, this space was solid earth—a dense pack of silt and basalt. According to my memory, and the yellowed blueprints I’d stolen from the archives, it was a pneumatic waste corridor.
By Nathan McAllister3 days ago in Futurism
Of Entropy and Chaos
As the frequency from the tape filled the office, the city outside the 42nd-floor windows underwent a terrifying, high-definition transformation. The "Static" didn't just swirl in chaotic clouds anymore; it organized. It snapped into a rigid, mathematical lattice that mirrored the steel skeletons of the skyscrapers below.
By Nathan McAllister5 days ago in Horror
Architecture of the Scythe Pt. 4/5
The Geometry of a Fugitive Rain in the District of Rust doesn't wash things clean; it just turns the soot into permanent, oily stain. The kind of rain that feels like it’s trying to dissolve pavement, a slow-motion acid bath for a city that has already lost its soul.
By Nathan McAllister9 days ago in Horror
