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Space Archive Studios
We are developing Aoapsis, an upcoming dark sci-fi novel. A high-fatality marathon through hostile deep space, driven by grief and survival, toward a mythical singularity suspected of holding the key to absolute peace. Work is internal and ongoing.
A dark sci-fi novel in development
Born in the suffocating under-levels of Mercury after Earth fell, one survivor carries the weight of a tragedy forged by poverty, desperation, and government corruption. Haunted and hollowed out, they enter a brutal marathon across the void — not for glory, but because the silence of space is the only thing that has ever felt like an answer.
The journey leads toward The Calmed Singularity, a distant point in the dark suspected of holding the key to absolute peace. Along the way, reality fractures. Under the influence of psychoactive Mercury mushrooms and the strain of deep-space combat, brutality distorts into surreal visions — bloodshed blooms into floating flowers, shattered metal spills into liquid glitter, death glows like radiant cosmic light.
But the closer they get, the thinner the membrane between what is real and what is breaking becomes. The question is not whether the Singularity waits at the end of the race. The question is whether anything human will be left to reach it.
Fragments from the world of Aoapsis. These are working notes — the story is still being written.
Born into the under-levels of Mercury after Earth's fall, the protagonist grew up in a place of recycled air, rationed calories, and radiation that never went away. Life there meant surviving on scraps allocated by a government that treated the people below as a line item. One loss — the kind that does not make the official record — was enough to break what was left of them and send them looking for a way out.
The race across deep space is not entered for victory. It is entered because the alternative is staying in a place where every breath costs something and nothing is ever enough. The course runs through hostile environments and hostile powers — corporate proxies, government agents, syndicate drivers — all moving toward the same distant point where the rules of the old world stop applying.
At the edge of the system, past the reach of the powers that shaped the marathon, sits something the runners call the Calmed Singularity. No one who has gone there has come back. The name is a hope dressed up as a coordinate — a place where the noise stops, the pressure lifts, and whatever has been chasing them through every light-year finally loses its grip.
When the strain of the journey becomes too much, the protagonist turns to psychoactive Mercury mushrooms supplied by a group known as the Space Monks. Under their influence, the violence of the void rewrites itself. Blood becomes floating flowers. Impact flashes into liquid glitter. Damage glows like something close to holy. It is not relief — it is distortion, and the longer it goes on, the harder it becomes to tell which version of the world matters.
The marathon does not spare anyone who runs it. Bodies break down. Alliances turn. The distance between one checkpoint and the next swallows people who made the wrong call or simply ran out of time. For the protagonist, each loss — of equipment, of companions, of certainty — pushes them further toward the edge of what they can hold together. The question waiting at the end of the race is not whether the Singularity is real. The question is whether there will be anything of them left when they arrive.