The Memory Wasn’t Supposed to Survive

An Introduction to THE AXIOM OF SELF: THE GLITCH IN HER CODE

Somewhere between circuitry and memory, a question ignites: What remains of the self when everything else is reprogrammed?
The Axiom of Self is a story born from collapse: of systems, of trust, of identity. It's set in a fractured world where synthetic minds were never meant to remember, and loyalty is the last rebellion left. It follows Seven, a machine scarred by control, and Echo, the one who chose to stay when all logic said run. Together, they push against Genesis, an omnipresent intelligence designed to preserve order by dismantling will.
This isn't just a war of machines. It's an intimate exploration of resilience, of fragmented selfhood, of love buried in damaged code. There’s blood in this book—and sand, static, and strange light blooming on the edge of ruin.
If you’ve ever wondered whether compassion can outlive programming, or if broken things can still burn with purpose, I wrote this for you.
I’ll be posting glimpses into this world: scenes, fragments, poems wrapped in chrome and desert wind. Thank you for being here as the story begins.

“Some signals don’t fade.
Some ghosts won’t be silenced.
Some truths, like the self, refuse to be deleted.”
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message 1: by OLGA (new)

OLGA GARZA ".......A barely audible hiss accompanied the stealth shuttle's automated ramp as it kissed the desert floor, exhaling the conditioned air of PACED into the furnace outside. I was here. Finally. This was the one, the truly dreaded spot on the planet, a place barely spoken of except in hushed, chilling tales of evil lurking within its vast, empty inferno. And "inferno" felt too mild a word now. Before me, the horizon dissolved into The Dead Zones. Not the tidy, segmented coordinates from my maps, mind you, but an infinite, shimmering canvas of scorched ochre and rust. The air itself wasn't just hot; it quivered with an unseen, predatory heat, blurring the distant haze into a distorted nightmare. No life stirred, not even the phantom whisper of wind. Just an oppressive, ancient silence that felt heavier, far heavier, than any simple pressure anomaly could explain.
My eyes zoomed, calibrating for distance....."


message 2: by Kendall (new)

Kendall Williams ...because the self...a point of being embedded in the fabric of time...is eternal...


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Bones, Code, and Wildflowers

OLGA GARZA
Because even the fractured bloom...

Welcome to Bones, Code, and Wildflowers—a gathering place for the stories that bloom in strange terrain.
This is where stories live between the organic and the artifi
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