Long after humanity reached the stars, and recreated earth in all its vices, one (totally unhinged) man finds himself lost not only in a robotic body, but in the chapters of his prior life (circa 1997).
Knowing what came before—and finding familiar faces to help him—is the only way to survive.
Not just for him, but for the billions that call this planet-sized ship, home.
Welcome to CONSTELIS VOSS, the anime-inspired, psychological sci-fi trilogy nobody asked for, but everyone (probably) deserves.
Karma's a bitch.
The play’s credits performed in reverse. Laughter wove in spliced tongues. Sobs were shots of vodka mimed backwards in still-frame memories. Today was the day he was born.
At first, there was a void of nothing. Then, the man was alive. He was alive, standing in a space that smelled like antiseptic, that was large enough for a swept arm to feel no chairs, no walls, no people, and he was blind.
The tremor of a frenetic pulse in his ears was the beat of a song he knew too well; fight or flight, do or die, the time is now.
Then, the sound became a sizzle.
The man, naturally stumbling, placed his hand on a flat surface and followed it up with searching fingers.
He was a slip of a shape, crawling like a bottom-feeder until he reached a notch. He pushed his hand up between the space he felt, and grasped what he imagined was silver.
That white-knuckled hand meant he was alive.
He used the handhold to follow the wall and found a seam. He felt the seam with his fingers and plastered his face to a slick surface, his mouth fogging the wall in front of him. It was wet on the skin of his cheek.
Finally, after what felt like hours, words found shape in his mouth.
If he could speak, it meant that he was alive. “W-where the fuck am I?!”
'WHERE THE FUCK?' INDEED.
OR IS IT 'WHEN THE FUCK?'
FUCK IT, I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SH—
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