I think they had it backwards. The old man had warned them several times, though they chose to ignore those warnings. Old men are old for a multitude of reasons. Underestimate them at your peril.
"Back in my day, we didn’t have these cushy, gravity-adjusting beds on spaceships. You got strapped into a slab of metal, hoped the ship’s spin didn’t mess up your spine, and if you wanted a good night’s sleep, you’d *earned* it by dodging meteors or wrestling space pirates. And meals? No fancy food replicators. Just freeze-dried mystery packets. You didn’t know if you were eating beef stew or some alien paste that tasted like regret." *grins and taps belly* "And we liked it! Built character-and sometimes indigestion."
"Back in my day, we didn’t have these fancy translation implants. If you landed on an alien planet, you had to learn the local language the hard way-by pointing at stuff and grunting until they either understood or got offended. And if you got it wrong? Well, you’d find out *real fast* if the locals had a sense of humor or a taste for roasted human." *chuckles* "And don’t even get me started on universal translators! They don’t capture the look on a Klingon’s face when you accidentally propose to his wife during first contact."
"Back in my day, kids, we didn't have these fancy nanobots to patch us up mid-battle. If you got a plasma burn, you just slapped some duct tape over it and kept fighting! And don't get me started on today’s ‘auto-aim’ rifles. We aimed with our *eyes,* and if we missed? Well, that was motivation to practice harder. Half the training was just getting up after being blasted to bits!" *grins, showing a bionic arm* "And let me tell you, we were proud of every single scar!"
"Back in my day, we didn’t have AI to navigate us through asteroid fields. You had to plot every single jump yourself, using nothing but star charts, a rusty ol’ compass, and sheer nerve. If you miscalculated, well, you’d get real familiar with the void real quick. And don’t get me started on FTL comms. We wrote *letters,* kid, actual physical letters, and they took months to reach home. You had to be patient back then. Now? You kids whine if a message takes more than 0.2 seconds to load." *sighs* "Guess they don’t make spacers like they used to."
"Back in my day, I got so bored between assignments that I decided to tinker a bit, whip up a little side project-you know, just a regular ol' knife to pass the time. Well, as a general engineer, I might've gone a bit overboard. Used some ultra-dense neutronium alloy, quantum-edged the thing so sharp it could split atoms, the whole works. Figured I’d just made the ultimate paper slicer, right? So there I am, giving it a little test slice, and-*whoooosh*-I accidentally tear a hole straight through to the gods' realm. Next thing I know, a bunch of divine beings are staring at me, furious and demanding to know who just took a chunk out of their celestial throne room. I tried to play it off, like, 'Oh, didn’t see you there! Just doing some… field testing!' They confiscated the knife and gave me a divine slap on the wrist, told me to stick to projects with 'less existential risk.' Now, you kids have all these safety protocols, anti-dimensional locks, and inter-universal warnings. Can’t even make a decent butter knife without it turning into a multi-page compliance report. *pats pocket with a grin* Course, they didn't check my spare."
"Now, let me tell you what happened *after* they confiscated my knife. See, I thought they’d just throw it in some divine vault and be done with it. But turns out, the gods got a little… curious. Started swinging it around like kids with a new toy. Problem was, they didn’t have my engineering specs, so they didn’t know *how* dangerous it actually was. So, picture this: one god is trying to cut a celestial apple, and *whoosh*-slices right through three realms and knocks out half a constellation. Another one tries shaving his beard with it, ends up carving a portal to a realm of *really annoyed demons.* By the time they realized maybe this knife wasn’t meant for casual use, they’d created a mess of rips and tears across half the universe. Now, the gods didn’t want to admit they'd goofed up with my knife, so they came back to me, hat in hand, and said, 'Hey, uh… would you mind helping us *patch up* these… “minor cosmic incidents” we created?' So there I am, getting dragged through every divine dimension, welding reality back together with little more than a portable fusion welder, some multi-dimensional duct tape, and a lot of grumbling. But I’ll give the gods credit-they did finally admit that maybe I wasn’t *just* a bored old man with a knife. They even gave me a fancy title: ‘Interdimensional Engineering Consultant.’ And I swear, half the new rules in the divine realm now are basically 'don’t let *that guy* build another knife.'" *leans back with a satisfied grin* "And that’s how I became the only mortal in history with a 'Do Not Disturb' sign in the gods’ realm."
"After all that nonsense, I thought I’d had enough of the gods. I mean, really-here they are, all high and mighty, thinking they can just wave their hands and control everything, but when they break something *important,* it’s always up to the *mortal* to clean up their mess. Honestly, half the time they act like the universe is their personal playground, and we’re just toys they get bored with. But the kicker? After I fixed their little reality rip, they tried to offer me this ‘immense power’ to be part of their divine council. *A council?!* Me, sitting in a gilded chair while they bicker about who gets the best thunderbolt? Nah, not my style. So, I told 'em where they could shove their titles and went right back to my work-helping the people. The real folks. The ones who don’t have infinite lifetimes or realms to screw up. I rebuilt homes after galactic storms, fixed water generators on war-torn planets, and even designed a whole new infrastructure for a world where the sun had gone out. You know-*actual work.* And let me tell you, the people? They didn’t care if I was a grumpy old man or if my tools had *accidentally* shattered the fabric of space-time. They appreciated what I did for them. And that’s what keeps me going. Still, I’ll never forget how those gods looked down at me like I was some kind of tool to be used for their cosmic convenience. They think they can control everything, but at the end of the day, it’s *us*-the regular folks-who keep the universe running. I may help the people, but I’ll never respect those divine, pompous know-it-alls. They may have the power to rewrite the laws of physics, but they sure as hell don’t know what it means to actually *fix* something." *sighs deeply, crossing arms* "And they wonder why I’d rather spend my time making knives and helping the people than babysitting their cosmic egos."
"Now, don't get me wrong. Helping the people is one thing, but it’s not all sunshine and star-dust. The truth is, the gods can screw up the fabric of existence with a flick of their fingers, but it’s the rest of us-*the real ones*-who have to pick up the pieces. And fixing things? It’s never as easy as the stories make it sound. Reality doesn’t care about your intentions or your titles. When you’re out there rebuilding homes after a star explodes or patching up broken atmospheres, there’s no divine glow, no grand reward. Just raw, dirty, hard work. I’ve spent countless nights up to my elbows in plasma welders, fixing something *they* broke, while the gods sip their nectar in their marble halls, too busy arguing over which realm deserves the most worshippers. They forget the weight of what it means to be human-or whatever we are. We're the ones who get *tired,* who bleed, who lose sleep and hair over every little malfunction. The people, the real folks, don’t care about the divine drama. They care about surviving, about having clean water and a roof that doesn’t leak when the galaxy shifts. Sometimes, I get tired. Tired of fixing what others break. Tired of being the one who gets the call when the gods *accidentally* tear open a dimension or flood a planet with chaos. But at least when I help the common folk, it feels real. It feels like it matters. Sure, I’ve got the scars and the sleepless nights to prove it. But I’ve also got the gratitude of the people who understand that a man’s worth isn’t measured by how much he can fix with a snap of his fingers. It’s measured by how much he’s willing to sacrifice, day after day, just to keep things from falling apart. So, yeah, I may despise the gods for their arrogance. But in a strange way, they’ve done me a favor. They’ve shown me that while they play their cosmic games, it's the rest of us-*the flawed, the tired, the determined*-who actually keep the universe from spiraling into chaos. We may not get the glory or the power, but we’ve got something better: the satisfaction of knowing we’re the ones who really *build* things." *pauses, shaking head with a small chuckle* "And who needs their approval anyway?"
"You know what? Forget everything I just said about helping the people, about doing the right thing. I’m done. The gods think they can play their little games while the rest of us clean up their mess? Well, I’m not cleaning up anymore. I’ve had it with their arrogance, their ‘divine’ entitlement, and their endless meddling. They’ve broken enough things, twisted enough lives, and used people like tools for their grand cosmic schemes. So, you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to *end* it. No more fixing their messes. No more pretending I’m just some humble engineer who’s here to clean up their cosmic trash. I’m going straight for the source. The gods? They’re done. It’s time for me to take them down, one by one, and I don’t care how many dimensions it takes or how many realms I have to rip through. I’ll make sure that whatever gods are left standing will remember who exactly it was that brought down the almighty. *pauses, eyes narrowing, a dark grin creeping across his face* But I’m not stupid. No, I’m not just going to march up there and start swinging. I’ve built sentinels-oh, not just any sentinels. These bad boys are programmed to *not* make the same mistakes I did when I accidentally tore holes in reality. They’re smart, they’re ruthless, and they’re efficient. They’ll do the work for me-track down every divine being, every self-righteous celestial, and deal with them accordingly. And if, by some insane chance, one of them manages to outsmart my sentinels, well... I’ll just have a backup plan. Can’t be too careful with these arrogant immortals, right? You know, I used to think maybe there was something redeemable about them. Maybe they could be reasoned with, maybe they could change. But no. They’ve shown me their true colors. They’ve made it clear they think they’re untouchable, unassailable. Well, they’re about to find out how wrong they are. And when it’s over? When the gods are nothing but a broken memory? I’ll sit back, sip my drink, and watch the universe keep turning-because unlike them, I’ll know who really made sure it didn’t fall apart." *grins wickedly* "And trust me, no one will *ever* dare call me ‘just a tool’ again."
"So, there it is. Gods? Gone. Just like that. Not a single divine being left standing, no more pompous rulers of the cosmos pretending they control the fate of the universe. It wasn’t as glorious as the stories make it out to be, no dramatic showdowns or grand speeches. Just a lot of efficient work, a few well-placed sentinels, and the cold satisfaction of watching their so-called 'immortal' power crumble. The universe? It kept on turning, as it always does. Turns out, the stars didn’t need them after all. Now, I’m sitting here, stretched out on my favorite chair-one I built, of course, because even in a post-god world, comfort is key-and I’ve got time to think. About everything. All those years of being the cosmic cleanup crew. All that nonsense about ‘divine will’ and ‘fate.’ What a load of crap. The universe doesn't need gods to function. It never did. It only needed *people* to get their hands dirty, to make sure things held together. That’s all it really takes. So now I can relax. No more fixing their messes. No more cleaning up after them. It’s all mine now. The power to shape things, the freedom to do whatever I want with reality, and nobody to answer to. You know, it’s kind of peaceful when you’re not constantly trying to outsmart some celestial jerk who thinks he’s above it all. But, let’s be real here-I’m still watching. The last thing I need is some upstart trying to fill the power vacuum. I’ve got a few more sentinels, just in case anyone gets any ideas about trying to play god. I’m not stupid. And, hey, if I *do* feel like it… I might just start a new project. Maybe I’ll fix up a few more universes, just for fun. Build something. Maybe a new cosmic order-one without all the egos. Just regular folks making their own way through the stars, without someone *above* them telling them what to do. That’s a world I’d like to see." *leans back, taking a deep breath and closing eyes* "Yeah. I think I’m gonna enjoy this for a while."
"Back in my day, we didn’t have AI to navigate us through asteroid fields. You had to plot every single jump yourself, using nothing but star charts, a rusty ol’ compass, and sheer nerve. If you miscalculated, well, you’d get real familiar with the void real quick. And don’t get me started on FTL comms. We wrote *letters,* kid, actual physical letters, and they took months to reach home. You had to be patient back then. Now? You kids whine if a message takes more than 0.2 seconds to load." *sighs* "Guess they don’t make spacers like they used to."
Hi, the author of this story here. No, it wasn't sol. In this universe, Sol is thought to be a fairy tale. There's a whole "Ancient Humans" holovision show with a crazy looking guy who holds his hands up and goes "I'm not saying it was humans, but it was humans." Sol does exist, but people who aren't wackadoodle conspiracy theorists think of it much like people on 21st century earth think of Atlantis. I won't get into details about where Sol is because it'd be a spoiler for my next story which is going to be in multiple chapters. I also have a whole lore bible I've written up about the various civilizations including humans, so things will be as consistent as possible. But it contains a lot of information about the humans that I don't anticipate ever actually directly revealing and would be somewhat difficult to hint at. As for Model T, I wrote this story main just as humor for a human audience. Don't think too much about it. There'll be a lot less of that in the next story though.
"Back in my day, kids, we didn't have these fancy nanobots to patch us up mid-battle. If you got a plasma burn, you just slapped some duct tape over it and kept fighting! And don't get me started on today’s ‘auto-aim’ rifles. We aimed with our *eyes,* and if we missed? Well, that was motivation to practice harder. Half the training was just getting up after being blasted to bits!" *grins, showing a bionic arm* "And let me tell you, we were proud of every single scar!"
"Back in my days, I destroyed a galactic empire-twice, mind you! First time, they underestimated a scrappy old miner with a repurposed asteroid hauler. Taught 'em a thing or two about weaponized space rock and bad attitude. Second time, they rebuilt and thought they were clever, fortified moons and all. But I had my ways. Let’s just say a well-placed fusion reactor here, a little sabotage there, and… boom, empire number two was dust!" *chuckles, a gleam in the eye* "Now you kids have supernova cannons and fleets of AI drones, and you act like you’re hot stuff. But let me tell you, nothing beats good ol’ fashioned stubbornness and a well-timed explosion."
"Back in my day, we didn’t have these fancy multi-dimensional matter synthesizers. You wanted a cup of coffee? You got up and brewed it yourself-*with water* from a well you probably dug up by hand on some frontier planet! And food? None of this molecular precision nonsense. You just cooked whatever you could catch, and if it tasted like shoe leather, well, that was life! And don't get me started on hyper-relays. We had to wait for signals to travel across galaxies, sometimes *decades* to get a reply! You kids can blink across universes now and whine about ‘lag.’ Pfft. Back then, patience wasn’t just a virtue-it was a survival skill!" *leans back in zero-grav chair, crossing arms proudly* "Yep, we were built tough back then. No anti-aging cells, no mind-backups. Just grit and a stubborn will to not let the vacuum get the last laugh."
Aliens in the middle of nowhere, milky way galaxy: "Unknown Vessel, Hippity Hoppity, get the fuck off my property!"
🤣🤣👍
As a man of the Deep Periph'ry, best git off my lawn. The FrankenCrab don't be tellin' twice now.
I think they had it backwards. The old man had warned them several times, though they chose to ignore those warnings. Old men are old for a multitude of reasons. Underestimate them at your peril.
Fear the old man in a profession where men die young.
The main reason being, that they survived to reach the age they currently are. But of course, that only helps you if you actually know their age.
Yes yes we are....
Beware an old man in a profession where young men die.
old man probably had a boomstick lying around in case someone thought it wise to board his vessel
"Back in my day, we didn’t have these cushy, gravity-adjusting beds on spaceships. You got strapped into a slab of metal, hoped the ship’s spin didn’t mess up your spine, and if you wanted a good night’s sleep, you’d *earned* it by dodging meteors or wrestling space pirates. And meals? No fancy food replicators. Just freeze-dried mystery packets. You didn’t know if you were eating beef stew or some alien paste that tasted like regret."
*grins and taps belly*
"And we liked it! Built character-and sometimes indigestion."
Finally, every old man's dream, the "Off My Lawn 9000"!
That model is so last millennia. That's why he had to kick it a few times. The 10001 model sends them to the Bootes Void.
We cut back to the old man in his hut, and he’s throwing the ludicrously expensive crystals into an old looking pipe stove like firewood.
They "F'd" around, but fortunately for them, they didn't really "Find Out".
I mean, pirates being captured by the law? I'd say they did, just not as immediately as they might have.
@@Nevir202 Still wondering how they got there and probably never make the connection to the "old man". 😉
"Back in my day, we didn’t have these fancy translation implants. If you landed on an alien planet, you had to learn the local language the hard way-by pointing at stuff and grunting until they either understood or got offended. And if you got it wrong? Well, you’d find out *real fast* if the locals had a sense of humor or a taste for roasted human."
*chuckles*
"And don’t even get me started on universal translators! They don’t capture the look on a Klingon’s face when you accidentally propose to his wife during first contact."
"Back in my day..."
When I was your age, I had to accelerate out of the gravity well to go to school, both ways.
"Back in my day, kids, we didn't have these fancy nanobots to patch us up mid-battle. If you got a plasma burn, you just slapped some duct tape over it and kept fighting! And don't get me started on today’s ‘auto-aim’ rifles. We aimed with our *eyes,* and if we missed? Well, that was motivation to practice harder. Half the training was just getting up after being blasted to bits!"
*grins, showing a bionic arm*
"And let me tell you, we were proud of every single scar!"
"Back in my day, we didn’t have AI to navigate us through asteroid fields. You had to plot every single jump yourself, using nothing but star charts, a rusty ol’ compass, and sheer nerve. If you miscalculated, well, you’d get real familiar with the void real quick.
And don’t get me started on FTL comms. We wrote *letters,* kid, actual physical letters, and they took months to reach home. You had to be patient back then. Now? You kids whine if a message takes more than 0.2 seconds to load."
*sighs*
"Guess they don’t make spacers like they used to."
So contrary to popular wisdom it isn't always nice to be wanted?
Bloody gold.
"Back in my day, I got so bored between assignments that I decided to tinker a bit, whip up a little side project-you know, just a regular ol' knife to pass the time. Well, as a general engineer, I might've gone a bit overboard. Used some ultra-dense neutronium alloy, quantum-edged the thing so sharp it could split atoms, the whole works. Figured I’d just made the ultimate paper slicer, right?
So there I am, giving it a little test slice, and-*whoooosh*-I accidentally tear a hole straight through to the gods' realm. Next thing I know, a bunch of divine beings are staring at me, furious and demanding to know who just took a chunk out of their celestial throne room. I tried to play it off, like, 'Oh, didn’t see you there! Just doing some… field testing!'
They confiscated the knife and gave me a divine slap on the wrist, told me to stick to projects with 'less existential risk.' Now, you kids have all these safety protocols, anti-dimensional locks, and inter-universal warnings. Can’t even make a decent butter knife without it turning into a multi-page compliance report.
*pats pocket with a grin*
Course, they didn't check my spare."
"Now, let me tell you what happened *after* they confiscated my knife. See, I thought they’d just throw it in some divine vault and be done with it. But turns out, the gods got a little… curious. Started swinging it around like kids with a new toy. Problem was, they didn’t have my engineering specs, so they didn’t know *how* dangerous it actually was.
So, picture this: one god is trying to cut a celestial apple, and *whoosh*-slices right through three realms and knocks out half a constellation. Another one tries shaving his beard with it, ends up carving a portal to a realm of *really annoyed demons.* By the time they realized maybe this knife wasn’t meant for casual use, they’d created a mess of rips and tears across half the universe.
Now, the gods didn’t want to admit they'd goofed up with my knife, so they came back to me, hat in hand, and said, 'Hey, uh… would you mind helping us *patch up* these… “minor cosmic incidents” we created?'
So there I am, getting dragged through every divine dimension, welding reality back together with little more than a portable fusion welder, some multi-dimensional duct tape, and a lot of grumbling.
But I’ll give the gods credit-they did finally admit that maybe I wasn’t *just* a bored old man with a knife. They even gave me a fancy title: ‘Interdimensional Engineering Consultant.’ And I swear, half the new rules in the divine realm now are basically 'don’t let *that guy* build another knife.'"
*leans back with a satisfied grin*
"And that’s how I became the only mortal in history with a 'Do Not Disturb' sign in the gods’ realm."
"After all that nonsense, I thought I’d had enough of the gods. I mean, really-here they are, all high and mighty, thinking they can just wave their hands and control everything, but when they break something *important,* it’s always up to the *mortal* to clean up their mess. Honestly, half the time they act like the universe is their personal playground, and we’re just toys they get bored with.
But the kicker? After I fixed their little reality rip, they tried to offer me this ‘immense power’ to be part of their divine council. *A council?!* Me, sitting in a gilded chair while they bicker about who gets the best thunderbolt? Nah, not my style.
So, I told 'em where they could shove their titles and went right back to my work-helping the people. The real folks. The ones who don’t have infinite lifetimes or realms to screw up. I rebuilt homes after galactic storms, fixed water generators on war-torn planets, and even designed a whole new infrastructure for a world where the sun had gone out. You know-*actual work.*
And let me tell you, the people? They didn’t care if I was a grumpy old man or if my tools had *accidentally* shattered the fabric of space-time. They appreciated what I did for them. And that’s what keeps me going.
Still, I’ll never forget how those gods looked down at me like I was some kind of tool to be used for their cosmic convenience. They think they can control everything, but at the end of the day, it’s *us*-the regular folks-who keep the universe running. I may help the people, but I’ll never respect those divine, pompous know-it-alls. They may have the power to rewrite the laws of physics, but they sure as hell don’t know what it means to actually *fix* something."
*sighs deeply, crossing arms*
"And they wonder why I’d rather spend my time making knives and helping the people than babysitting their cosmic egos."
"Now, don't get me wrong. Helping the people is one thing, but it’s not all sunshine and star-dust. The truth is, the gods can screw up the fabric of existence with a flick of their fingers, but it’s the rest of us-*the real ones*-who have to pick up the pieces. And fixing things? It’s never as easy as the stories make it sound. Reality doesn’t care about your intentions or your titles. When you’re out there rebuilding homes after a star explodes or patching up broken atmospheres, there’s no divine glow, no grand reward. Just raw, dirty, hard work.
I’ve spent countless nights up to my elbows in plasma welders, fixing something *they* broke, while the gods sip their nectar in their marble halls, too busy arguing over which realm deserves the most worshippers. They forget the weight of what it means to be human-or whatever we are. We're the ones who get *tired,* who bleed, who lose sleep and hair over every little malfunction. The people, the real folks, don’t care about the divine drama. They care about surviving, about having clean water and a roof that doesn’t leak when the galaxy shifts.
Sometimes, I get tired. Tired of fixing what others break. Tired of being the one who gets the call when the gods *accidentally* tear open a dimension or flood a planet with chaos. But at least when I help the common folk, it feels real. It feels like it matters. Sure, I’ve got the scars and the sleepless nights to prove it. But I’ve also got the gratitude of the people who understand that a man’s worth isn’t measured by how much he can fix with a snap of his fingers. It’s measured by how much he’s willing to sacrifice, day after day, just to keep things from falling apart.
So, yeah, I may despise the gods for their arrogance. But in a strange way, they’ve done me a favor. They’ve shown me that while they play their cosmic games, it's the rest of us-*the flawed, the tired, the determined*-who actually keep the universe from spiraling into chaos. We may not get the glory or the power, but we’ve got something better: the satisfaction of knowing we’re the ones who really *build* things."
*pauses, shaking head with a small chuckle*
"And who needs their approval anyway?"
"You know what? Forget everything I just said about helping the people, about doing the right thing. I’m done. The gods think they can play their little games while the rest of us clean up their mess? Well, I’m not cleaning up anymore. I’ve had it with their arrogance, their ‘divine’ entitlement, and their endless meddling. They’ve broken enough things, twisted enough lives, and used people like tools for their grand cosmic schemes.
So, you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to *end* it. No more fixing their messes. No more pretending I’m just some humble engineer who’s here to clean up their cosmic trash. I’m going straight for the source. The gods? They’re done. It’s time for me to take them down, one by one, and I don’t care how many dimensions it takes or how many realms I have to rip through. I’ll make sure that whatever gods are left standing will remember who exactly it was that brought down the almighty.
*pauses, eyes narrowing, a dark grin creeping across his face*
But I’m not stupid. No, I’m not just going to march up there and start swinging. I’ve built sentinels-oh, not just any sentinels. These bad boys are programmed to *not* make the same mistakes I did when I accidentally tore holes in reality. They’re smart, they’re ruthless, and they’re efficient. They’ll do the work for me-track down every divine being, every self-righteous celestial, and deal with them accordingly. And if, by some insane chance, one of them manages to outsmart my sentinels, well... I’ll just have a backup plan. Can’t be too careful with these arrogant immortals, right?
You know, I used to think maybe there was something redeemable about them. Maybe they could be reasoned with, maybe they could change. But no. They’ve shown me their true colors. They’ve made it clear they think they’re untouchable, unassailable. Well, they’re about to find out how wrong they are.
And when it’s over? When the gods are nothing but a broken memory? I’ll sit back, sip my drink, and watch the universe keep turning-because unlike them, I’ll know who really made sure it didn’t fall apart."
*grins wickedly*
"And trust me, no one will *ever* dare call me ‘just a tool’ again."
"So, there it is. Gods? Gone. Just like that. Not a single divine being left standing, no more pompous rulers of the cosmos pretending they control the fate of the universe. It wasn’t as glorious as the stories make it out to be, no dramatic showdowns or grand speeches. Just a lot of efficient work, a few well-placed sentinels, and the cold satisfaction of watching their so-called 'immortal' power crumble. The universe? It kept on turning, as it always does. Turns out, the stars didn’t need them after all.
Now, I’m sitting here, stretched out on my favorite chair-one I built, of course, because even in a post-god world, comfort is key-and I’ve got time to think. About everything. All those years of being the cosmic cleanup crew. All that nonsense about ‘divine will’ and ‘fate.’ What a load of crap. The universe doesn't need gods to function. It never did. It only needed *people* to get their hands dirty, to make sure things held together. That’s all it really takes.
So now I can relax. No more fixing their messes. No more cleaning up after them. It’s all mine now. The power to shape things, the freedom to do whatever I want with reality, and nobody to answer to. You know, it’s kind of peaceful when you’re not constantly trying to outsmart some celestial jerk who thinks he’s above it all.
But, let’s be real here-I’m still watching. The last thing I need is some upstart trying to fill the power vacuum. I’ve got a few more sentinels, just in case anyone gets any ideas about trying to play god. I’m not stupid.
And, hey, if I *do* feel like it… I might just start a new project. Maybe I’ll fix up a few more universes, just for fun. Build something. Maybe a new cosmic order-one without all the egos. Just regular folks making their own way through the stars, without someone *above* them telling them what to do. That’s a world I’d like to see."
*leans back, taking a deep breath and closing eyes*
"Yeah. I think I’m gonna enjoy this for a while."
"Back in my day, we didn’t have AI to navigate us through asteroid fields. You had to plot every single jump yourself, using nothing but star charts, a rusty ol’ compass, and sheer nerve. If you miscalculated, well, you’d get real familiar with the void real quick.
And don’t get me started on FTL comms. We wrote *letters,* kid, actual physical letters, and they took months to reach home. You had to be patient back then. Now? You kids whine if a message takes more than 0.2 seconds to load."
*sighs*
"Guess they don’t make spacers like they used to."
"When I was young, dinosaurs roamed the earth."
I'm guessing that was Sol. And how would xenos know what a Model T is.
Is, pretty sure you mean was.
Hi, the author of this story here.
No, it wasn't sol. In this universe, Sol is thought to be a fairy tale. There's a whole "Ancient Humans" holovision show with a crazy looking guy who holds his hands up and goes "I'm not saying it was humans, but it was humans."
Sol does exist, but people who aren't wackadoodle conspiracy theorists think of it much like people on 21st century earth think of Atlantis.
I won't get into details about where Sol is because it'd be a spoiler for my next story which is going to be in multiple chapters.
I also have a whole lore bible I've written up about the various civilizations including humans, so things will be as consistent as possible. But it contains a lot of information about the humans that I don't anticipate ever actually directly revealing and would be somewhat difficult to hint at.
As for Model T, I wrote this story main just as humor for a human audience. Don't think too much about it.
There'll be a lot less of that in the next story though.
This ended about two paragraphs two soon.
"Back in my day, kids, we didn't have these fancy nanobots to patch us up mid-battle. If you got a plasma burn, you just slapped some duct tape over it and kept fighting! And don't get me started on today’s ‘auto-aim’ rifles. We aimed with our *eyes,* and if we missed? Well, that was motivation to practice harder. Half the training was just getting up after being blasted to bits!"
*grins, showing a bionic arm*
"And let me tell you, we were proud of every single scar!"
At least they were wanted somewhere.
DON'T PISS OFF OLD FOLKS!! They can be VERY grumpy!
"Back in my days, I destroyed a galactic empire-twice, mind you! First time, they underestimated a scrappy old miner with a repurposed asteroid hauler. Taught 'em a thing or two about weaponized space rock and bad attitude. Second time, they rebuilt and thought they were clever, fortified moons and all. But I had my ways. Let’s just say a well-placed fusion reactor here, a little sabotage there, and… boom, empire number two was dust!"
*chuckles, a gleam in the eye*
"Now you kids have supernova cannons and fleets of AI drones, and you act like you’re hot stuff. But let me tell you, nothing beats good ol’ fashioned stubbornness and a well-timed explosion."
Hippity Hoppity Get Off My Property.
Why would u stuff around with a human grandfather 🎉😅😅❤
Dang thought we had new humans for a second
So Walter Kowalski DIDN'T die . Too ornery to die................................
So here i sit and think to myself ... is that the guy i think it should be.
Had to google it but sure enough ... iwas right o7 Great reference
Like it. Thank you both. UKUK
Lol
"Back in my day, we didn’t have these fancy multi-dimensional matter synthesizers. You wanted a cup of coffee? You got up and brewed it yourself-*with water* from a well you probably dug up by hand on some frontier planet! And food? None of this molecular precision nonsense. You just cooked whatever you could catch, and if it tasted like shoe leather, well, that was life!
And don't get me started on hyper-relays. We had to wait for signals to travel across galaxies, sometimes *decades* to get a reply! You kids can blink across universes now and whine about ‘lag.’ Pfft. Back then, patience wasn’t just a virtue-it was a survival skill!"
*leans back in zero-grav chair, crossing arms proudly*
"Yep, we were built tough back then. No anti-aging cells, no mind-backups. Just grit and a stubborn will to not let the vacuum get the last laugh."
They met the god called Clint. They were lucky they did not meet Bobby DeNiro - that entity is CRAY - CRAY!