Starship Apocalypse Novels & Stories

Stella answered and started looking for a room. Daisha stopped in front of the meat section and looked for something she would buy, "Are you sure that they are fine spending their time with each other?" Darrel asked her while pushing the cart. "Of course, you don't trust me huh!" Daisha answered and glared at him. "Not that I don't trust you but Stella is going to be married to Brandon's brother." Darrel said, which made Daisha stop.

Merely minutes in the open, my skin felt like it was scorching. I stayed about a week in the ruins of New York City, finding no one. My artificial intelligence spheres had expanded to 5000, continuously self-replicating. I managed to connect to the old satellites and summoned 200 spheres to venture into outer space, repairing and repurposing the old satellites into new ones. With all communications restored, I learned the grim truth: the world was facing a real apocalypse. World War 3, rampant diseases, and severe climate changes were just the tip of the iceberg.

Nothing can be achieved by waiting for Beth to be revived, so I stumble towards the hatch separating the cryonic area from the bridge and press the auto control. On the flight deck, warning lights flash a kaleidoscope of colors across every screen. Monitors stream data from the ship sensors as Ingoran, our pilot, switches view constantly. “What’s going on?” I yell above the sound of the alarms. Ingoran ignores my question. “Look!” Judah standing beside Peter, shouts. The main screen displays a tsunami of cosmic projectiles hurtling towards us. An asteroid storm stretches into deep space as far as the eye can see. I realize that somewhere back in time, a giant supernova must have exploded.

He explains, “It was really weird, but I owed you, so I got you out of there.” “I was dead?” “Close, I had to pump you with over ten times the legal amount of stabilizers just to keep you breathing.” Terror states “Thanks,” Nya said, then she looked around, “Are we in an escape pod?” “A voyager pod, used to tout guests around areas too small for the ship. We’re in deep space right now. Nearest planet is…” he pauses to look at a screen, “…Marxa, which is about 12 light-years away.”

If she were to be reborn before the apocalypse, she would blow her brains out after killing her entire family. If she met a dashing hero, she would kill him in his sleep and eat his crystal to gain his powers. Which sane person will suffer the apocalypse all the way through ? once in her life is more than enough. She is amazed at the tenacity of these heroes Every time she read these novels. It must be said at this point, Yanlong is a hypocrite. She stole and learnt all lower level blueprints for the after apocalypse technology. Why can she steal? She’s a low level clerk, who is bound to the building she is in.

I didn’t expect the patch to come so soon. In the second month after the battle, the rooftop radio suddenly crackled to life with a crisp broadcast voice. "The Atlas Geothermal Initiative is now active. Surface temperatures will gradually recover. Rescue is on the way." Rhys and I just stared at each other. So this wasn’t a solo survival game after all. It was online, and the admins had finally logged in. A week later, a military helicopter landed in the open lot. Registration and verification went quickly. The officer in charge clapped me on the shoulder. "Turning the apocalypse into a warehouse operation! You’re one of a kind."

Every step I took left a faint, scorched footprint on the metal deck. "He’s at the Vale," Isaac said, following me. "But he’s not alone. He’s leading the first wave of the Star-Eaters. He thinks he’s protecting the universe by erasing us. Rowan is on the command ship behind him, whispering in his ear." We reached the bridge. The main screen showed my home world, the beautiful green and blue planet I had fought so hard to protect. But now, it was surrounded by a swarm of black, insect-like ships. In the center was a massive throne ship, glowing with a sickly violet light.

​The second I finally got back to my own apartment and locked the door behind me, the sheer reality of the situation began to dawn on me properly. ​I was truly back. I was back in the past, and there were exactly two weeks left before the apocalypse. ​I walked straight into my bedroom and collapsed face-first onto the mattress, tightly gripping the large brown teddy bear I used to cuddle every single night. The teddy I missed so much in those gruelling nights after the apocalypse hit.

Handwriting from twelve years ago — the strokes heavier than they were now, the flourishes drawn wide and loose, like someone who wasn't afraid of wasting paper. I turned to page twelve. A layout diagram of the bunker. Seven bunks, one incubation unit, the storeroom at the end of the hallway, the concrete-sealed door nearly two feet thick. In the bottom right corner of the diagram, a note in my own handwriting: "The apocalypse has to feel real. Push the heat up, make the water filthy — let the audience practically smell it. Rotate the insiders every season, keep one genuinely unwitting participant — protects the ratings." After "genuinely unwitting," there was a note in parentheses. Just one