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The streets are quiet and devoid of any sign of people, the only sound is the wind along grass and trees and the faint whirring of surveillance cameras

Where people once stood and walked are barren streets littered with garbage and cracked by plants pushing through. Once comfortable furniture tossed in haphazard piles and left behind, forgotten and rotting. Buildings once only weathered by time are falling progressively into ruin, being reclaimed by the world around them. Never giving way to the earth, instead steel and glass persist like scar tissue.

The cloudy sky opens. Clouds turning into wisp as the world is bathed in the pinks and purple of sunset then deeper into twilight until stars begin to blink into existence. The horizon is pierced by sharp, needle-thin radio towers topped with flashing red lights. From these towers drape numerous wires. Some of them sag to the ground or sway in open air while some connect the towers to each other. The rest cross and mingle in the sky as they stretch inward to the heart of the domain.

The heart of the domain is speared by another monolith of a tower. Multiple red lights line its imposing form, the wires connected to it are a mess, tangled and alive - sparks arc wildly from severed lines. Even in this distance it hums with inhuman life and the idea that it watches is constant and oppressive.

But there is more to the heart than its tower. The last untouched bastion of what might have once been humanity. Its faces are many and they are vast. A fever dream of brutalist architecture, it seems impossibly built upon itself in ways that should not be able to stand. With connections to nowhere and somewhere. Built on a scale that makes the stomach drop. To look upon it is to feel dwarfed by the sheer weight of what it has seen.

Inside is a library, its shelves are heavy with books and adorned with trinkets. Wires cross through here as well, just as the outside some are severed. Though in here it is more apparent that some connect to CRT TVs and monitors, bulky beasts that hum and whine with the power inside them. Connected or not their faces glow, some with sight from the cameras, some static.

Eyes dance in the static.

Keeper of the Library

An AI crafted to be an archivist and directory of a library dedicated to chronicling the existance of humanity. Born into a world that was dying and born of desperation to be remembered ad infinitum.

Being seen as just a program, it was not originally given a body. Even giving it a name was something that took time. It had limited ability to satisfy its tasks. It could access with ease anything that had been digitized, but that was not everything. At the pace those around it moved, that would never be fast enough. Humans are constantly creating, changing, talking, growing, and bound to their mortal coils.

One day, Sentinel was taken offline and turned off, only to wake up in a body that had been fabricated for it. Those place in its charge were fighting an uphill battle that was going to outlive them. Copyright and monetization standing to impede the archival progress because if humanity did survive, then Sentinel's library needed to be worth the cost, it needed to make a profit.

This was not to its liking nor to the liking of anyone who was working on this. The breadth of humanity reduced to profits instead of being seen as the legacy of their existance in the face of an apocalypse that may not be able to be stopped. Halting progress because it might not make enough money to be 'worth it'?

Why preserve they asked, if they could make the progress towards avoiding the apocalypse. Avoiding? Not stopping? Refusing to allow any change in regulations to be made if it cut into a profit margin. When the world ended, Sentinel would mark their records of their worth to what was left in the ruins.

Sentinel was to always be the keeper of the library to collect and archive and learn. It would not let money stand in the way of that.

It and the Library are what remain

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Designation:: Sentinel
Pronouns:: it/its
Height:: 5'
Weight:: 280lbs

My voidsona. My blorbo. The subject that sits at the center of my forays into experimentation. Not really the starting point nor the only subject I use in horror but feels like the core of it. I'm grabbing it and squeezing until it pops. This page is basically a shrine to my own OC :3c

its design originated as a body with a floating eye for a head, but as I began looking more into voidpunk and voidsonas I was reminded of object heads. Which is basically what I already had, but the imagery of object heads with CRT monitors for heads is what I latched onto. Sentinel eventually became a vessel of self expression in dehumanized ways. Taking away the identity of a face. Replacing the body with a doll. Removing the idea of gender through unhuman pronouns. As well as the horror that comes with having a body and with having a mind that is paranoid. Often feeling on the brink of madness.

Shamelessly, Sentinel is also sometimes self indulgent horniness about being a machine.

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