Nathan McAllister
Bio
I create content in the written form and musically as well. I like topics ranging from philosophy, music, cooking and travel. I hope to incorporate some of my music compositions into my writing compositions in this venue.
Cheers,
Nathan
Stories (9)
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Of Entropy and Chaos
As the frequency from the tape filled the office, the city outside the 42nd-floor windows underwent a terrifying, high-definition transformation. The "Static" didn't just swirl in chaotic clouds anymore; it organized. It snapped into a rigid, mathematical lattice that mirrored the steel skeletons of the skyscrapers below.
By Nathan McAllistera day ago in Horror
Of Entropy and Chaos
Kael began to ransack the room with a cold, mechanical fury. He didn't toss the furniture like a common thief; he dismantled it like a demolitionist looking for a hidden structural flaw. Blueprints were shredded—the work of my life, my meticulous calculations of wind-load and soil density, turned into white confetti that drifted through the stagnant air. Bottles were smashed against the concrete, the sharp, medicinal smell of gin rising like an incense of failure.
By Nathan McAllistera day ago in Horror
The Honed Ashlar, Part 2 of 5. AI-Generated.
Part 2: The Level and the Gavel The Chamber of Silence Silas awoke to silence, heavy, absolute. The air scrubbed of exhaust; smelling of cold stone, raw beeswax, and the metallic tang of a whetstone. He lay on a cot. Not a mission mat. Taut canvas stretched over a steel frame. Plumb. Level. The bolts tightened to a specific, unyielding torque. No sagging allowed.
By Nathan McAllister4 days ago in Gamers
The Honed Ashlar, Part 1 of 5. AI-Generated.
Part 1: The Scaffolding of Ruin The bus ride into the city had felt like being swallowed by a cold, metallic throat. Silas leaned his forehead against the vibrating window of the Greyhound, watching the California coastline transform from a dream of salt and gold into a nightmare of concrete ribs. To everyone else on the bus, the skyline of Tinseltown was a promise—a soaring monument to ambition. To Silas, it was a Structural Failure.
By Nathan McAllister4 days ago in Gamers
Architecture of the Scythe Pt. 2/5. AI-Generated.
The Chemistry of Silence Grief has a half-life, but in the District of Rust, it also has a chemical signature. My basement apartment smelled of damp concrete, old blueprints, and the sharp, medicinal sting of juniper. I sat at my drafting table—a scarred slab of oak that had once held the designs for the city’s tallest spires—and stared at the bottle of bottom-shelf gin, my "Leveler."
By Nathan McAllister5 days ago in Horror
Architecture of the Scythe Pt. 4/5
The Geometry of a Fugitive Rain in the District of Rust doesn't wash things clean; it just turns the soot into permanent, oily stain. The kind of rain that feels like it’s trying to dissolve pavement, a slow-motion acid bath for a city that has already lost its soul.
By Nathan McAllister5 days ago in Horror
Architecture of the Scythe Pt. 3/5
The Architecture of a Lie The city has a remarkable, almost biological capacity for forgetting. My efforts and warning were all for not; sure enough: the digital scrolls of the *Daily Ledger*, you’ll see the narrative being woven in real-time, smoothed over like fresh concrete. "Maya Vane, 19, Perishes in Canyon Crash; Mechanical Failure Blamed." They’ve already run the op-eds about the "Vane Curse," the "Fragility of Fame," and the "Poetic Symmetry" of a daughter following her mother into the dark. To the three million souls living under the smog of this metropolis, Maya is just another beautiful ghost, a tragic face on a commemorative magazine cover.
By Nathan McAllister5 days ago in Horror
Architecture of the Scythe. AI-Generated.
The Glass King I was a man of cold lines and hard angles. I was Silas Thorne, the "Architect of the New Century," a title bestowed upon me by critics who mistook my arrogance for vision. My face looked back at me from the gloss of Architectural Digest; my hands had drafted the shimmering glass spires that defined this city’s skyline. I didn't just build offices; I built altars to human ego. I believed in structural integrity, in the unshakeable laws of physics, and, most fervently, in my own untouchable prestige.
By Nathan McAllister5 days ago in Horror
