A staple of sci-fi, the holo-projection table
The Anti-Crime Computer is the core of law enforcement and peacekeeping in the Cosmic Era.
In the far future, tiny bots injected into the body can do great good-or great harm, depending on what kind of bots they are.
The Neam Octillio is a crystal data matrix that contains and estimated 10 to the 27th power pages of data, all sourced from the Imbrian dynasty
An Imbrian data cube that houses the formula and schematics for creating a psychic beacon
A large portable data drive that contains all the vital information for creating human clones
The core of every clever machine is the machine cortex, the droid brain.
Also known as A10s, synaptic amplifiers are both tools for cognet interface and fashion statements
The Cohaagen Apparatus is an illegal piece of technology used for memory manipulation.
A class of cybernetic prosthetics worn over the face
A curious piece of technology that is both disturbingly retro-horror and cutting edge arcanotech, the head in a jar.
More colloquially known as the avatar, muse, or handle.
Machine, AI, being, God? The best guarded secret of the country of Egypt, Former Earth. One which secured them their galactic future and survival, at the same time, damning them in the eyes of every nation of the Republic for an eternity.
Augscannens are common handheld devices used by security and law enforcement agencies
EPB: when a computer program goes off the reservation and starts having feelings.
A 100-word piece of Sci-fi minutia
A 100-word piece of sci-fi minutia
Last night, your buddy was thinking about calling one of those crazy psychic hotlines, he was really depressed, his girlfriend dumped him, and he wanted some good news. You know they’re all a scam, they give you some advice that could apply to everyone and a large bill to boot. You told him to go for it.
But now he’s missing. All you have is his cell phone, and something is wrong with it. You found it in your toilet today. Yeah, your toilet. It’s got all his old numbers and a few you don’t recognize. You tried to call some, but all you got was a what sounded like a bunch of voices muttering at once. What the hell is going on here?
An old device used for giving the common folk a say in the Elder’s plans that has survived to the modern day.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.