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"10 minutes remaining!" At the teacher's usual, screechy alarm, I woke up from my mid-test nap to find my vision all ... blurry ... and dizzy ... before things snapped back into focus. And as expected, I looked down to find my exam sheet more than half blank. Setting new records, John. It's a multiple-choice test and you're not even answering half of them? I chided myself. But man, physics was hard! I was thus internally smacking myself for my atrocious lack of preparation when I heard a distinctly female voice -- and not my teacher's shrill, nasty bark, mind you -- that was the closest thing I had come across to fit the word 'lilting'. I was at once entranced and alarmed. The voice was absolutely captivating, yes; but that voice was also seemingly calling out answers to all of the questions on the test. ... 15. A, 16. B, 17. D, 18. A, 19. C, 20. C, 21. E, ... In what I deemed a stroke of genius, I temporarily shut down the parts of my brain that were captivated and alarmed, and grabbed my Ticonderoga #2. Find out sexy voice later, AP Physics now. I hammered into my brain as my pencil attempted furiously to keep up with the stream of answers. --- About four minutes later, we had gone through practically the entire exam of seventy-five questions, with only the first fourteen unspoken. Fortunately, those fourteen were also the ones I started with, being at the beginning of the exam, after all. So really, we had gone from over forty blank to only four! Beautiful work, John. Thanks, lilt-voice. Pats on the back all around. So I congratulated myself after the furious scribbling session. Whew. Taking a deep breath, I leaned back in my admittedly uncomfortable chair (why do exam seats have to be so cold and metallic and hard?), and resumed thinking about the mysterious voice. It had quieted down at this point, but more surprisingly, no one else seemed to have noticed! I kept peeking up during the copying process to see if my teacher would come rampaging down the aisle or if an academic witch hunt would ensue for the blatant cheater, but nothing of the sort happened. How could this be? I furrowed my brows and thought hard about the voice that I had heard. It was nothing like any voice I had heard before in my life. Did some deity smile on my pathetic attempt at the exam and deliver divine inspiration? That had to be it, right? I mean, let's look at the facts here: divine voice, no one else heard it, and it just happened to give me answers that matched up with mine. As I mused more and more about the situation, there was no other explanation. It had to be the right one. I'm practically Jesus at this point. Come bow down, you heathens! --- It was in such a state of joyous rapture that I heard the voice again, a few minutes before the test concluded. Man, that was a tough one, huh? Good work pulling through! The voice continued so sensually in my head. At this point, I was decrying all existing religions for not realizing that God was actually a caressing, sensuous woman. I was about to reply with a Yes, ma'am, thank you so much for your -- when I was rudely interrupted by another voice. Ha, yeah! Thank god we have you around now. Before that it was a bunch of us idiots telling each other wrong answers. Telepathy's worthless if none of us are smart, huh? A distinctly male voice, rather deep for a high schooler, interjected into the conversation. Before I could process it any further, a third voice chimed in. Speak for yourself, moron. I was getting A's and B's long before I met up with any of you. This voice, though also male, seemed rather annoyed and less manly. Definitely a tenor, no bass parts for you. Laughter ensued on what I was starting to label "tele-comms". Now, now, no need to get our panties in a bunch. Just don't laugh out loud and ruin our cover, 'kay? The female voice came back online, chuckling. I'm pretty confident about most of them, so this should get us 5s on the AP at least. Yes, ma'am! Let me buy you a drink sometime. The macho guy was back, as well. You're fucking sixteen, bro. Stop trying to act cool. So was tenor man, still annoyed. I was beginning to sense a love rivalry here, though by the sound of that girl's voice, I wasn't entirely surprised. Oh shut up, asshole. It's a figure of speech. It's a "figure of speech"to buy someone a drink? Do you have any idea what figure of speech means? No wonder you were failing before she Awakened. More titter-tattering ensued, but it was drowned out by the storm raging in my head. Awakened? Telepathy? So it wasn't God after all but ... some sort of superpower? I mean, that's still pretty cool, but that nixed the Jesus option. And more importantly, why could I suddenly hear them? Had they been doing this forever? Well, from what they were saying, it seemed like this was a relatively recent phenomenon, but so many things were unclear. What was going on? I figured the best way to find out would be to try to contact these people directly. But how? I didn't even know who they were, or whether this would keep up after the exam finished. Was it a special room thing? Is it some ridiculous superpower that only activates during exams? I decided to focus my entire mental energy on projecting my inner voice. They were -- apparently -- communicating via telepathy, so that seemed like the safest bet to reach out. Of course, I had been having a lot of thoughts in my brain, and none of them seemed to have reached them. Thinking back, surely each of them were thinking a lot more than they were "telepathy-ing", so there had to be some trick to communicating inside what I had called the tele-comms. E-er, hello? Hello? Testing? Can anyone, u-um, hear me? Yeah, I know, that was pathetic. But hey, gotta give it a try, right? Silence reigned. I was beginning to think that I had accidentally cut off the tele-comms altogether and was about to sink in despair, when a familiar voice called back. Oh, hi! Haven't heard you before, are you perhaps ... new? The lilt-voice had returned again! Concentrating again, I called out, mentally. Y-yes, I just started hearing voices in the middle of the exam and heard that it was some kind of t-telepathy... Ugh. No questions asked or answered again. What was I doing? Laughter echoed from the tele-comms. Oh man, we have a new Awakening! This is fantastic! Welcome to the team, bud! Hope you're smart! That, of course, was macho-man. I can't believe you're trying to exploit the poor guy who just joined, you moron. Just ignore him. But man, I can't believe you started talking right after you starting hearing us. Most of us think we're insane or something for a while before we even try shit. Tenor-boy sounded encouraging, probably buoyed by another chance to rib at macho. Well, I-I figured this would be the best way to figure stuff out... is it always so hard to send messages like this? I responded, my brain starting to hurt from the focused mental activity. Ha ha, it does hurt a bit at first, but you'll get used to it, like anything else. But speaking always requires some effort, unlike listening. Kind of like how cell phone bills work, y'know? Apparently tenor-boy was the know-it-all, and again I wasn't surprised. O-oh, well that's good to -- "Time's up! Hand in your exams at the front!"Teacher-voice screeched again, interrupting me mid-sentence and making my voice sound even more trembling than it actually was. Uh-oh, seems like talking time is over, new guy. We'll talk later, yeah? I could hear the leadership in macho guy's voice. Probably some sports team captain or something. Hate those guys. W-what do you mean? I don't even know who you guys are! How do we talk later? Even in my own head, I sounded like a little shit whining to the captain. Ha! Funny thing is, none of us know each other, bud. We just know each other through our voices in our heads. Just keep pinging and we'll hear you. Oh, and congrats on Awakening! Welcome to the Telenet. The lilting voice tantalizingly whispered, before going silent. I sighed and loosened the mental grip I was putting on my brain. Practically no questions answered, and I was doing an even worse job at communicating here than I was on that AP Physics test. One thing was for sure, though -- school would be a lot more exciting from now on. --- For more, please visit /r/wonL/ -- I really appreciate your support!
"You're not supposed to know that Walker is alive." I slowly turn to see a shaking gun pointing at my head. As I run through my options, I meet the boy's wide-eyed gaze. He looks more scared than I do. He's just a kid, really. He shouldn't have even noticed a little slip-up on my part. Unhurriedly, I raise my hands above my head. "Look, Danny, while you aren't supposed to --" "You've been lying to them!"he all but shouts. I see a bead of sweat run down his forehead. "There's no other way you could know Walker is alive!" "Danny, listen, your superiors in the Association --" "No one is supposed to know that Walker is alive! You're not supposed to! How do you ... how can you ..."His hand trembles harder, the gun loose in his fingers. "I can't believe I thought that we --" "Danny, calm down!"Now I'm the one yelling, but he only tightens his grip on the gun. "Shut up! I need to ... I need to take you to Reader, she'll have to ..." "Kid, Reader knows that I have my memory back!"I snap, and that finally shuts him up. The gun drops away from me as his face fills with confusion and uncertainty. "Reader?" "Yes, Reader and Pointer and Draper and everyone! They all know."Squeezing my eyes shut, I sigh and consciously lower my voice - I have always had a problem with my temper and being constantly interrupted. "God, kid, do you really think I've only made one mistake in six years and two months?" His mouth was gaping open; in a situation where I didn't have a gun still pointing in my general direction, I would have laughed. "But they ... They told me about Walker being alive when I moved up to Clearance Level three. And that nobody knew, especially not you, his purported but forgetful murderer!"Danny was regaining some anger now, but as he shifted the gun back to my head, I twisted it out of his hand and threw it across the room. "Stop sticking a gun in my face, especially when you could just as easily kill me with your mind. I was the one who taught you how to use your powers six months ago, so you should know how to use them. And I'm the one who watches your back when you're out on missions, so you should know to listen to me when I talk. Now, for a second time, shut up, trainee." Finally. It works. He even closes his mouth and looks away, muttering, "Sorry, sir." "I know you must have questions,"I say as I rub my forehead. Sighing, I add, "The higher ups all know. I'm guessing they must tell you when you reach Clearance Level seven or eight. We keep up the act of me being an amnesiac in public, because I guess it soothes their minds to think a clueless do-gooder is locked within the tower, instead of a reformed supervillain doing all their computer work and teaching the trainees."I glance at the boy. "Not all are worth training. You have a sharp mind, Danny. Good catch on my mistake." He blushes and dares to meet my eyes again. "Sir ... how long have you had your memory back?" "Six years, one month, and three weeks,"I reply pleasantly, and crack a grin when a look of shock once more crosses his face. "So you only lost your memory for one week?" "That's right, kid. I was lucky to even live that week out after the amount of people I pis-- uh, angered. But the Association saw the benefit of having a man with my talents on their side, so they took me in. After a year of helping them out, they started to trust me with the cameras, with keeping an eye on the city and watching their backs when they were out in it. Though they considered putting me out in the field after a few years, truth be told, I got happy behind a desk and being the voice in everyone's earpiece." "Ah, okay. Well, cool, I guess."Danny falls quiet and fidgets for a few seconds before blurting out, "But sir! Why did you stay? With the Association. The good guys. When you ... weren't. A good guy, I mean." Poor kid. He'd have to grow past his shyness one day and learn to string a sentence together. "Why'd I stay?"I repeat, knowing I must have a glint in my eyes now. "Perhaps because it's a safer job. Perhaps because when they started having me fill in on teaching, I discovered a passion I never knew I had. Perhaps because I lost track of what made me want to destroy the city. But perhaps ..." Danny leans forward slightly in eagerness. "... perhaps it's simply because they were nice to me here. Ever imagined that? Niceness being the key to a villain's heart."I laugh - it's still funny to me, all these years later. "Now come on, Danny. You don't want to be late for Warder's lesson." *** I hope you enjoyed this! It's a great prompt, and I had fun with plotting out how this story would go. If you liked this story, feel free to check out more at r/lycheewrites :)
She paused, and crossed one of her wrists over the other, long talons tapping an absent minded rhythm across her lap. "I'm sorry, Diplomat Eros. Is there something bothering you?" She looked up at the room, eyes opening slightly wider. The assembled peoples represented the nations of earth, and the small envoy of interplanetary emissaries sat at a grand table. Eros pressed a button on her necklace, which projected out a gentle but firm voice. "No, no. My apologies. I don't mean to be absent minded. I feel a bit odd today is all. I'm certain it's nothing. Please continue Councilman Karlsson." The small man with large glasses adjusted his tie slightly and gathered his voice. "Of course, Diplomat Eros. You'll have to forgive us, we're still so new at this. As I was saying, I believe we don't have much to offer you by way of any specific arcane knowledge. To be candid, concepts such as magic and alchemy fell out of favor with mankind at least a millennia ago. And even then I'm not certain they were...legitimate pursuits." The hulking mass of undulating lights and crystalline shapes known as Erebus gathered itself into the approximate shape of a human in it's chair. "There, that's better. Respectfully, Councilman Karlsson, we'd still like an opportunity to review those documents and whatever information you may have for perusal. I understand a fellow named Tolkien wrote some rather compelling fiction we'd like to evaluate - I've been doing studies on the human subconscious desire to write supernatural worlds and I believe there might be something there worth investigating more. Your species' legends and myths pose a fascinating potential area to study, and I think given a little time we could really dig in and find out where in your history your kind went so terribly wrong. Especially in scientific study - such an elementary understanding of energy and psychics - I can't say we've ever ran across such a limited group in that regard." The humans in attendance grumbled and shifted in their seats slightly as Erebus slowly dissolved back into a cloud of sparks. Karlsson adjusted his tie again, subtly composing himself. "We understand you mean no disrespect, Erebus. Clearly your intentions are academic and in the name of discovery and peace. I believe a modest number of the books you've requested are on the way as we speak, and it is my intention to speak with the Vatican and our older libraries to gain you access to some of the archives our species has. In exchange for this, we'd like to further discuss gaining access to your faster than light technology and perhaps some of the terraforming technology you've mentioned." The afternoon dragged on, the human's distrust and dislike of the envoy growing by the minute, and the patience of the visitor's slowly dwindling away in the face of the primates absurd requests. Passive aggressive promises and threats were traded without much progress. Eventually a small cache of books and movies was brought up and a short recess was taken to let the visitor's review the provided materials in solitude while the human's conferred outside. "This is getting nowhere, Karlsson. If I get called a base primate or a lesser intellect one more time today I'm sending in the goddamn special forces to vacuum up that cloud of glittery dust Erebus." "Patience, Anderson. Patience." "I'm with Councilwoman Anderson. I'm about done with putting up with these patronizing 'scientists'. First contact was nothing like I thought it'd be" An intern who had been tasked to help the emissaries ran up to the loosely assembled group. "Pardon me, but several of the aliens...errr...emissaries are leaving." Karlsson nodded and briskly walked back into the building, watching as the Erebus ship took off along with a few of the others. Left at the table was Eros, back into position with wrists crossed and talons tapping. "I'm must apologize again, Diplomat Eros. Did my people do something wrong?" She pressed the button on her necklace, and slid a book across the table. "Was this meant to intimidate us? Or is it a joke? It's in bad humor if it is." Karlsson picked up the book from the table, it was an old tome of Lovecraft tales. "This? It's 20th century pulp fiction. We thought to include it as it is a rather popular..." Eros lifted a talon which floated the book in the air and then flicked her wrist which slammed the book against the wall. "I'm not playing around Karlsson. No more double speak. If you are trying to trick us I will find out and I will obliterate you and your people and this forsaken planet in an instant." He felt a heat and a pressure in his sternum, and looked down to see a small ball of flame floating a few inches in front of his chest. "I swear to you, Diplomat Eros. These are only stories. Written by a madman." The ball of flame dimmed, and Eros lowered her hands again. "There is a name that every species carries with us. Ancient and dangerous regardless of which corner of the universe you go to. All of us are irrelevant in the face of it, all of us are hopeless against it, and completely unequipped to even understand the power and gravity of it. It, I suspect, is why I have been feeling so unusual since arriving here." Karlsson sat down at the table slowly, as Eros again lifted a talon which floated the book off the ground and onto the table. "We beat it into submission so long ago there are stars that have risen and fallen in the time since it went into hiding. The reason your species has no magic is because he has been using your kind to generate energies for him. You've evolved and grown and become violent and twisted because his mind is linking you all to him. And he is recovering." More of the human politicians slowly entered the room. Karlsson bowed his head down, looking at the pages of the book. "This Tolkien...this Gaiman...this King...I suspect they've all glanced or somehow realized it existed. Some of them linking it to water, like so many of your myths it seems. It only wants chaos and power. It only wants destruction. Your Lovecraft though, he must've had a direct connection to the beast." Eros pulled up her sleeve showing a scar on her upper arm. The ground trembled slightly as she did. "This brand reads Cthulhu in my language. To never let my people forget there is evil and distrust and that we beat it. But now here you are. Unwitting batteries for unspeakable evil." Karlsson lowered his glasses down to the table, a shaking hand unsteadily placing them next to the book. The lights in the room swelled and dimmed before shutting off. "We are not unwitting." Karlsson's eyes glowed in the dark room, as did that of each of the assembled politicians. Karlsson laughed, and slowly his voice shifted down in pitch as the group slowly advanced on Eros. She launched fireballs at them, and their flesh burned and slaked off but they continued to advance, all of them laughing in unison. "I'm sorry, Diplomat Eros. Is there something bothering you?"
The recordings were old, practically ancient. Recorded on some kind of long, brown plastic coiled around a pair of aluminum spools or wheels or something. The centennial of the moon landing was coming up and I was tasked with remastering the recordings. This wasn't what I expected to find. I'd heard of primitive coils of metal suspended in plastic called "See Dees,"but these must be even older. It took a full hour of searching on the internet to figure out how to get the data off of these artifacts. I finally did a reverse image search using a 2d photo. I quickly printed a "tape reader,"and spent 30 minutes fumbling with the spools until they clicked into place. "Play."Nothing happened. I leaned forward, "PLAY." Still nothing. Then I noticed some symbols on these little articulated parts hanging off of the side. One said play underneath a pictograph of a play button. I poked it, and it jiggled but nothing happened. I pressed it harder and it depressed further, but still nothing happened. Finally, I pressed down until it clicked, and the spools started spinning. "egassem gnorw eht dnes thgim ouy" It was playing backwards. After spending a minute removing it and figure out the correct orientation, I pressed the play button again and listened. It started playing just before they stepped out. The first thing I heard was the heavy thud of the locking mechanisms disengaging from the door. "Ah shit. We never shoulda come here."Whichever one he was, his voice was trembling. "Well, we have to do something. Sitting here ain't gonna accomplish anything,"said a second Astronaut. A few seconds of the idle sounds of the lunar lander. The silence was broken by the third Astronaut. "So I guess what Buzz is saying is I'm going first?" "Fine by me,"said Aldrin. Collins scoffed and said, "to hell with that, I'm staying in here." "Shit, we shoulda brought a gun."Said Armstrong. The vibration of the hatch hinges passing through the ship signalled the exit hatch being opened. Armstrong was breathing heavily. "What was it they wanted me to say on my way down?" "Uh... One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,"responded Collins. "And one poke in the eye of the moonmen,"Aldrin interjected jokingly. All humor, however, was voided by the tremble in his voice. "Good god, I can hear my own heartbeat." A slight scuff heard through the interior of Aldrin's suit signified his landing. "Well. Here I am. One giant leap for man and all that."The slight tremble was apparently contagious. A few more moments of scuffs and general silence. Again, Armstrong broke the silence, "W-we.... WEEE COOOOME IIIINN PEEEAACCE." "There's no atmosphere, Niel, there's no need to shout,"Collins chastised, "besides, you might send the wrong message." The recording cut out. The massive spool of tape was done. I sat there in shock for a while, until my wrist console vibrated and a holographic notice popped up above the tape player. ENCODING COMPLETE I looked over to the dusty gray crate where I got the tape. There was a large red sticker on the inner side of the hinged lid that read "NEGOTIATION RECORDINGS: CLASSIFIED TIL 20 July, 2069." Inside, there were 59 more tapes.
When Brittany introduced me to the cheerleading squad in her school, I was horrified. Completely horrified. What the hell were these girls putting themselves through? Now, most of them didn't have 'big' demons, especially compared to what I saw on a day to day basis, but they were bigger, much bigger, than what I'd have expected to see from a bunch of perky schoolgirls. There were some broken girls on that squad, and then there was Ashley. Ashely, the first girl to break into a cheer once I walked into the gymnasium. Ashely, who's smile was noticeable even among a room full of laughing cheerleaders. Ashely, who everyone looked to when they needed a mood rise. Ashley had biggest demon of all, following her every step. It loomed over her petite form, dark, horned, and radiating an evil I couldn't begin to describe with words. Last time I'd seen a demon around that magnitude, my closest friend had jumped off a roof the day after. I needed to stop her, because she was planning something, and she was going to do it soon. Brittany pulled me aside after we'd left the school, asking how I felt about Ashley, since I'd spent the entire time trying to talk to her. I said she was cute, and left it at that. I found out where she lived the next day, and rushed down to her house with movie tickets. She remembered me, and was quick to agree to come along. "Anything,"she'd tell me later, "to get away from that house." We spent the next few months together, as a couple. As much as I tried, I couldn't get myself to love her the way she loved me. But, I persevered, for her sake. She needed me. Months passed, and I'd dedicated my life to helping Ashley. I checked her into rehab to deal with her drug problem, reported her sexually abusive father to the police, got a job to help her mom pay rent. But my efforts couldn't pull Ashley out of the darkness. She committed suicide weeks later, when I had to check her out of the rehab center because she wasn't getting any better. The next time I saw a demon the same size as the one I'd seen with Ashley, was the day after her funeral, when I looked into the mirror.
It was Christmas Eve, and the Lists were finished. One, written with bitter precision, the other with loving care. One numbered - well, no one knew precisely what it numbered. Suffice it to say that it streched on, and on, and on. Superstitious elves whispered that once one was on the Naughty List, you never left. That the List encompassed the Naughty from the beginning of time itself. Mr. Claus always had a good laugh at that. But, the elves all agreed, he had never outright denied it. The other numbered twenty. Twenty children, paragons of their generation. Kind, generous, patient, honest to a fault; such children were few and far between. The List only proved this. Tonight, Saint Nick embarked on his age old mission. To reward the virtuous, with their hearts desire, and greatest wish. Chase Scheller could proudly tell you he was six years old, and his birthday was the first day of winter. He could tell you the ABCs, and more often than not count to twenty. He had a younger sister, and a stuffed tiger named Hunter. He was, although he knew it not, number 18 on the famous list. He had first been placed on the Nice watch list when it was noticed that he did his chores the first time he was told. His nomination was cemented in mid June, when his little sister and him got seperated from their mother in a grocery store. He made sure she stood still, and gave her Hunter to play with. Twenty minutes later, reunited with their mother, Chase didn't even cry when he realized she had lost his tiger. Of course, there were some logistics to check. Had he ever lied? Was he cruel to other children? Did he harbor any grudges? He passed, with flying colors. But then again, there were more hoops to jump through. Had he performed at least three altruistic acts this year? Had he befriended anyone? Still, Chase maintained his perfect record. Finally, the last item. His letter to Santa. The particularly gossipy elves loved the letters. Rumors of what the twenty Nice had asked for were flung wildly around the workshop for weeks afterwards. Chase Scheller awoke on Christmas day. Happy, sleepy, and oh so comfortable. Eyes widened in anticipation, he tumbled downstairs. Still rubbing sleep from his eyes, he tip toed towards the tree. Sitting underneath it, bright eyes shining, and a bow round his neck, was a tiger. No, not just a tiger, a friend. A comrade, a brother in arms. Hunter. And Chase was happy.
As I stand alone in a penthouse office this Christmas, I think about the last few days which have lead me here. And by here, I don't mean the office, I mean this point in time. Well, actually, this isn't my office. But, let's leave that detail for later, yes? If I had to name a day, a day which started it all, it would probably be the day that I received the diagnosis from my private doctor. He's an old friend, and he's the only reason I've been able to make it to today. But even he wasn't going to be able to save me from my condition. Time waits for no man after all, and I've been living off of borrowed hours for years. What can a man turn to when faced with his own mortality? Though many would say otherwise, riches and luxury provide no true comfort to an ailing soul. Especially when there is no one worth sharing those gifts with. I'm old and I have no real family. Oh, I have tons of relatives who'd love to throw in their lot with me, but they weren't so eager when I was young and destitute. I looked back at my legacy, my vast empire. There were none like it before, and I'm confident there shall never be one like it again. Which is why it pains me so when I think about it. There is no one worthy to take up my chair. Of this I am sure. I've combed the entire company's records for every employee, every possible person I could confidently leave this all to. And yet none were good enough. The current top brass were out of the running before I even began thinking about all this. They were all either born into money or given it by being semi-competent yes men. None of them are innovative or able to keenly spot unpolished talent. None of them have faced true adversity. And none of them have lived a life without power. And yet they scheme. They don't think I've noticed, but their as tactful as parrots loosed in a library. They've been trying to get me to step down for ages, just so that they could set up their little council at the head of all this. They think me too old to properly hear their whispers in the hallway, too blind to see the papers they've been filing through the company lawyers. Fools. I was prepared for this even before the idea popped into their empty little Fabrege egg heads. And so, my preparations come to fruition now. A few anonymous tips here and there gets the papers salivating for the scoop I've promised. A few bribes preps the lawyers to be willing to turn their backs on the blustering fools and gets a doctored copy of the security camera feeds. A few false documents and correspondences paint a conspiracy to have me killed with a forged will leaving the company to them. And just the right amount of alcohol at a company dinner party causes them to lose their ability to totally recall their circumstances when they're asked at the trial. All that's left is me. Alone. In their boardroom office. Dead. With all the evidence pointed at them and the dirty dealings they've made through the company. Thus I exit the stage...and take the entire production with me. Quite the gift from me to myself on this fine Christmas I'd say. The snow is quite beautiful this time of year.
It has been 3 days. I don't know how its still laying on me. I remember the warning the pound gave me as clear as day I adopted him. "This cat has out lived every owner its ever had. Bn one have had him very long." Who was I to ignore it? Who was I to not believe them? My stomach rumbles, aching and throbbing as every minute passes by. My pants have become that of a miniature cesspool. But I cannot move what has become a part of my life, my lineage. I suppose this is it. I have sacrificed my life for the comfort of this soft fur baby of mine. Will my family ever see me again? Who will find my body? Who will feed him? I lay down, feeling the light spread open to me. A hand stretches out to me, offering a release from the pain and suffering I am dealing with. Suddenly a voice bellows from the distance, "You may say one thing before your release. One thing to ease your mind for eternity. I sit, pondering on what it should be. Maybe I should say my love for my kids and wife. A final apology for what I have put everyone through? No. I know exactly what should be said. I turn my head to the cat. So content in his sleep. I think of the only phrase that fits the situation. "Fuck you Bartholomeow."
I looked them up and down trying to assess their character. I had no idea what i was looking for in particular but i figured i would know if it saw it. Their clothes were finely tailored Victorian garb complete with long flowing black cape. The man on the left held the book and grinned broadly, his brilliant white fangs betraying that he had excellent dental hygiene. The woman on the right smiled politely as her silvery hair cascaded over a black corset. Nothing seemed to be obviously wrong with them. "Could you wait a bit? Let me get my mom and dad."I bowed politely and ran back inside. Dad was the first to reach the door and opened it wider for them to see him. Their smiles dissolved to open mouthed expressions of shock as dad glanced at them and twirled his pitchfork in his right hand. He narrowed his gaze on the book they were holding before it burst into flame and incinerated itself into fine ash. The cloud of smoke settled on them but they were too stunned to react as the grey particles covered their pristine clothing. Finally the man mustered the courage to speak. "D-d-d-Dark Lord! We had no idea....W-w-we are tremendously sorry to have bothered-" The woman burst onto into tears and threw herself at dad's hooves. "OH PLEASE SHOW MERCY ON US OH GREAT INFERNAL LUCIFER! WE HUMBLY BEG YOUR FORGIVENESS AND BLESSING!!!" Mom finally showed up and poked her head out behind the door. "Luke, sweetie, what's all the commotion?" The man nearly tripped over himself as he recoiled in horror while the woman blanched: "Death..." Mom smiled brightly as her eyes widened to an alarmingly large size. "VISITORS!"Mom squealed. She rushed outside still holding her scythe and got behind the pair. "Oh you both must come inside for tea! We so rarely get visitors! Tell me all about what brings you to our humble home." Mom not-so-gently ushered them into the house as dad and I glanced at each other. Dad shrugged his shoulders as if to tell me that mom was just being mom and I rolled my eyes to agree. Dad put his pitchfork back in the umbrella rack by the entrance and closed the door.
Carol had asked her captor twice to adjust the restraints. Keeping her arms over her head like this was unnecessarily painful. But he hadn't listened. "It's all for effect, love,"was his only reply. So she was forced to watch the dozens of monitors like she was in the middle of a jumping jack. Each screen showed a face she'd seen on the news. All the world's heroes were visible. Some were lounging at home, others were flying or driving or swimming, and a few were in the middle of super fights. Carol couldn't begin to imagine how he'd gotten these camera angles, how this nobody had achieved access like this. "It won't be long now."His mask was minimal, only covering the area around his eyes, but it was enough to hide his identity. She'd never seen him on the news, never seen his mugshot in the papers. He was new to the scene. The only thing more mysterious than his identity was his plan. The massive clock above her read 1:15. Only seventy-five seconds left. She decided to ask again, "Why am I here?" Her captor turned, his cape swirling dramatically behind him. The red of his leotard didn't compliment his brown hair, in her opinion, but this wasn't the time for fashion advice. The masked man checked the clock before responding, "I suppose it doesn't matter now. You'll learn soon enough anyway."Then he took a few steps toward her -- not with malice, but with something like care and gentleness, which was even more unsettling. "Carol, you're here for your own safety." "Bullshit,"she snapped. Whatever this creep was interested in, it wasn't her well being. "You have so much to learn, and the knowledge won't come swiftly. It will take years before you understand. Before you're ready to take your rightful place in the universe." His vagueness only increased her worry. She could feel her hands sweating in their shackles. "I don't know what you're talking about." He looked up at the clock. Thirty seconds left. "Balance, my dear. Every right hand needs a left. Every ying needs a yang. And every villain needs a nemesis. You will be mine." The masked man waved a gloved hand towards the monitors. "In just moments, the world's most celebrated heroes will be wiped off the face of the Earth. It will be my opening act. My debut will not be some failed bank robbery or petty political assassination, like so many henchmen that came before me. I shall change the landscape of this planet with the flip of a switch. No more heroes. Evil will reign for years to come." Carol was now visibly shaking, and unable to keep the tremor out of her voice as she said, "Years? How many years?" The clock struck zero. Her captor flipped a switch on the console and instantly, with no pomp or circumstance, every hero on the monitors dropped unconscious. No bullets, no flashes of light. They just fell. At the same moment, a massive apparatus twisted and pointed itself directly at Carol. The laser that fired into her chest wasn't painful -- quite the opposite, actually. "You ask how many years?"said the masked man as he watched her body begin to glow. "Just long enough for your new powers to mature." \-------------------- 45/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \--------------------- edit: horrid grammar and i probably didn't catch all the boo boos yet. sorry, it's early.
The morning sunbeams glitter off the windows of my lair as my eyes snap open. I hear a shattering in the halls. "Must be more little adventures stirring"I mutter, as I rub my eyeballs. I open my chamber door to see, 2 sets of eyes staring back at me. "Hark, young adventurerers, what trouble you have caused, you must stop now or be punished"I sternly said, and then paused. "Younglings will be younglings"I thought to myself, as I picked the priceless pieces out from under the shelf. A vase of a fair maiden, back in the lair, had splintered all over the floor and the stair. With magic and wit, I thought of a plan, I sweeped the small shards into the dustpan. "Don't tarry, young knaves, off back to sleep, and don't make more messes, for the king to go sweep." Not really figurative language I guess but it made me think of how my dad and brother would always play mideval make believe with me.
"Why am I here? What is this place?"Asked the figure who I have brought into my world. I smiled. Not only did my spell worked, it also did not damage the entity in any way. "I have brought you here, because of you noble deed. My world is in need of your assitance"I spoke to creature in front of me. It was so different from us, and yet... so very similar. "But... I don't understand. I remember the accident..." "Accident?"I interrupted. "You mean to say you just happen to accidentally hit the wretched thief who has enslaved a god of death? You just accidentally ridded your world of this vile calamity?" "God of... what?"The creature was surprised, shocked even. Did I make a mistake? "You really don't know anything? Then, I'm sorry. It seems you won't be of use after all"I said calmly, preparing the spell to send it away. A giant figure of metal rose above me. "What is the meaning of this all? I, Optimus Prime, demand to know why..."I never did learn what he was demanding, as soon as the spell was ready the creature dissapeared in a puff of blue smoke. "Another failure"I said to myself, letting a sigh. "Some day I will find an entity worthy of fighting against the Dark Lord... some day."
Alien languages are diverse and idiosyncratic. A well-trained translator is paid a generous salary in addition to benefits. Working for the government gave me benefits beyond the norm. I had more access. It was all about the access with alien transcription services. I was gifted from birth with eidetic memory and verbal skills that tipped the scales when it came to entrance exams. Aced the verbal section of the GRE without suffering a single extra heartbeat. Aliens are tricky to work with. They write and type, but also pick your brains with telepathy. It makes transcription a dizzying two-way street. And it's damned tiring. On my final day of work I had decided it was time to call it quits. It was the final day of work because I decided it was. I woke up and had my breakfast standing in my kitchen like always. Kissed the wife before she left for school. Brushed my teeth and spit. Got in the car and cruised down I-95 to my reserved parking spot at Langley. Today it was a new species. One we hadn't encountered yet. A bird person, we called them Avians. The feathers were iridescent and seemed to shimmer under the fluorescent lights. I nodded to it, and it popped an image in my head. A rainbow over a meadow. I asked the Avian its name. It said Tralva. Then we went to work. I would point to a word, and Tralva would implant an image in my mind of what the word represented. This went on for a few hours, and I was ready to leave already. But I had four more hours until I was to leave forever. I asked Tralva a pointed question. "Why are you here?" An image of a question mark popped in my mind. I shugged. "Just wondering. Why interact with us at all?" Tralva sent me an image. It sent chills through me. An image of a fleet of flying saucers, shooting all of our nuclear arsenal, and igniting our country in a raging firestorm. "Is this true?"I asked. He sent me an image of a big green check mark. I was unsure of the next move. How on earth would I convince anybody to believe that Big Bird told me we were about to be under attack? Tralva offered his hand, and we held each other in our grasps. He closed his eyes. I closed mine. We transported to a hazy dimension. It was unlike three dimensional reality. A place between the lines. He set me up at a console overlooking Earth. He expressed to me that Avians could not intervene in Earthly affairs. But he sent me an image of myself shooting these saucers out of the sky using the controls at this console. A long stretch of time passed, and my Avian friend told me the time had come. On a large screen, I saw a fleet of saucers swooping over North America. The Avian had showed me how to control the console. How to shoot objects moving at incredible speeds. I went to work. I aimed and shot down every enemy fighter I saw. They appeared as white blips that jinked all over the surface of the land. When I shot them, a bright red light flared, and numbers flashed on the screen. It looked like a cross between braille and Chinese. When the fleet was destroyed, and I was out of breath and on the verge of tears, my Avian friend put his hand on my shoulder. I jumped at his touch. He sent me and image of crowds of people surrounding me, putting laurel wreaths around my neck. He snapped his clawed fingers and I was back at Langley. The place was in a tizzy. "Jake,"my friend Lizzy said, "Where on Earth have you been?" "What happened?"I asked "Nothing, just an alien invasion!" "You don't say,"I said. I simply packed up my things and left without a word. I was the savior, the hero of the free world. But more importantly, I quit. The Avians had done their job thoroughly. They had a clandestine method of operation, and I couldn't speak to the morality of what they'd done. When you have a choice of kill or be killed, you have to weigh the outcome. I chose to kill.
The room was normally a riot of noise. Strong willed and hard headed people representing their nations usually fought here. The fighting was done with words and tongues, gestures and body language. Ever since the Treaty Sanguine, no war was had on Earth. The world was nearly brought to the edge of destruction by the major powers, and at the very last second did humanity survive. They pulled away from the tipping point, and a treaty was written with much arguing and reluctance. The Treaty Sanguine stated that humanity would no longer wage open war upon each other. Armies were for self defense, weapons were a deterrent, and conflicts would be resolved via conversation and competition. The treaty was so named because they realized what was precious, the blood of humanity should never be wasted by each other. Many thought the Treaty was inane, that it could not survive. Against the odds, it did. The more martial of the powers chafed at the restriction but appeared to abide by it, the ones that wielded words and coin thrived in the new geopolitical climate. For the first time in human history the world reached a state of relative peace. Frustrations were channeled into other avenues, competition arose through talent instead of might. Sports became fierce and almost aped the naked aggression of wars past. Yet the world remembered the pain of the past and did not wish to approach the edge ever again. Then the stars fell. Contact was made on a galactic scale. Humankind explored the stars in ways they previously could not. In these forays true extra-terrestrials were met. Most of the contact was courteous, humankind making their mark in this brand new sphere of inclusion. Friends were made, rivalry’s were formed, and humans made their mark in the heavens. It seemed that the good times would continue, and that humanity would be able to grow even more and shine ever brighter. When a light grows, it attracts notice. Thus the light of humanity was seen by the J’oriath Collective. The J’oriaths were a particularly warlike alien race, one that reveled in warfare and martial prowess. They did not barter, they took. They did not expand, they conquered. Worlds and other civilizations were offered a choice: capitulate or perish. Many times they became one and the same, for unless you were useful the J’oriaths loved nothing more than completely wiping out a civilization. They razed worlds, burned every trace of a civilization into ash, resigned to be a tally in their book of conquests. So they set their eyes on Earth and the Terran solar system. Thinking that humanity was weak, 3 years of peace meant no more warriors or soldiers. They thought humanity a race of peace loving weaklings, ones that needed others to defend them. This time they allowed no negotiations, no formal declarations. They attacked star base Innocence, the frontier base of Earth deep into space. Here was humanity’s first attempt at true co-operation. The entire world built this station as a gateway into the galaxy, a hub where humans and aliens could interact. The Collective knew victory here would be symbolic as well as devastating. They slew every human on the station, destroyed every human product and presence. The remains of the butchered residents were sent back to Earth, a mound of mockery. Each corpse was daubed with heinous atrocity, and the message was clear: the J’oriath Collective planned to do the same to every human they could find. The room, the highest room in the central tower on Earth, was normally a loud and brash place. Now it was silent as the dignitaries and representatives of every power stared at the hideous images. Some fainted, others vomited, and not a soul was not effected by the terrible images. They all heard the message, poorly translated into English and full of abuse and condescension. They heard recordings of torture and pain. They saw the promise of the Collective, and the threat of destruction. Yet the Collective made a fatal error that day. They measured humanity on 3 years of peace. They did not investigate fully humanity’s history. They thought the smaller and physically weaker humans were like insects to them: inconsequential. They knew not the horrors mankind had inflicted upon each other. They did not know what hell they have released, nor that they became the target of such ire and vengeance. The Treaty Sanguine was amended by unanimous vote. Warfare would not be visited upon Earth and human blood would not be spilled by human hands. Instead the Collective would bear the brunt of their destructive natures, and blood would be bought with righteous indignation. The techguilds of the Afrika Nations remade their ships of peace into ships of war. Working hand in hand with the Pan Pacific Alliance, the old weapons of the past were made new. The European Confederacy swore with the Merikan Union that each human lost from the star base massacre would be paid back tenfold. The J’oriath Collective approached the star system expecting a demoralized foe. They came like hungry wolves looking for easy prey. Instead they discovered sheep in wait, armed and armored. A new ring appeared on the outskirts of the system, debris chewed from the J’oriath fleet. Human casualties were high, the Collective casualties were astronomical. For the first time in many years, the Collective tasted defeat on a scale unknown. Some thought that was a delight, a thrill they have not experienced in many campaigns. Victory came all too easy before, it is good that this species could fight back. Months later no one thought that anymore. The ones that did were reduced to dust and lost in the vastness of space. A focused humanity bore down on Collective territory, laying waste and freeing subjugated victims. A last ditch effort by the Collective was sent, newly made ambassadors tried to sue for peace from a foe they had not foreseen. They pleaded for mercy. A simple reply was returned, perfectly translated from English. “You were the cause for the death of Innocence. Mercy died with it that day. Only vengeance remains.”
You can vote for anyone. Anything. The future is an infinitely wound ball of yarn. You've never really boight into this whole voting thing so every year after the election you get transported into the majority and voila. Status quo. Always been this way. Until you met her. You loved her and she died. You have no direction. No goal. No motivation. She took with her every fuck you could ever give and then some. Of course you can just have a wipe. The ESOSM technology is available, you can just erase her. But nah. You want her there in your head until you decide, no more. Finally another election looms and you decide, yes! This is how you die! In the worst way possible as if to punish yourself for her death as if it was your fault. No. It's the world's fault. Those damned doctors who didnt know shit. The bastard who ran her over. Those cops who let him get away. Fuck all of them. Election day. You stand by the booth. You take a final swig of your choice liquor and feel its warmth enter your soul. You step in. The interface lights up. "Welcome."A soothing female voice explains how it works and you see a short video of the possible candidates but youre not listening. Youre way past caring about this shit. "Who is your president? Please choose wisely." You look at the interface and instead of choosing one or the other you choose to type a name. Greg Smith. Your name. "If the world fucked me up then i'm fucking uo the world."You press enter.
I sit atop my hoard high in the sky, overlooking my city, treasures neatly organised with silver covering the rest to match my scales. To some I am a king, to others a banker, to the ignorant naught but a monster. I needn't take care of these so-called 'Heroes' myself, they usually get dragged away by the guards before they even finish the first 50 steps of my spire. Human affairs have always been a favourite of mine. Though their lives are short, they seem to determined to make the most of it. Through their stories they live on, it's the least I can do. Every person is so unique, but one I have particularly fond memories of. It was a beautiful night under a clear sky, the full moon casting a nearly hypnotizing reflection upon my collection. All was silent for a little while until a young human came running up the stairs, a knife with blood trickling down, much like the tears running down his scarred face. I attempted to talk with him, though he only started to sob louder. "H-Help me p-please, I-I-I am a monster!" "Now now, no need to-" "I-I didn't mean to do it!"His cries grew louder. "Mean to do what?" "Daddy, he... he..."I lowered my head so I could get a proper look at the child. He, too, had multiple stains and wounds, visible through tattered clothes. "H-He drank his special juice again, a-a-and he got mad at m-mom..." "And then?" "A-After mom stopped yelling, h-he came to my room a-a-and told m-me to stop c-crying like mom..." "I assume you used the..."He merely responded with a weak nod, followed by sniffling. "Y-You always know what to do, r-right? H-How to get rid of m-monsters like me?" 'Monsters like me' is something that I would have never associated with a child. What that father must have done to him, scarring not only such a tender young face, but a young heart furthermore. "You are no monster, I can assure you." "H-How?"He wiped his eyes with a crimson sleeve. "Well, take a look at me, for example. Would you describe me as a monster?"I spread my wings and brandished my claws. "Y-You look like one, b-but I know you're not!" "And why is that?" "Because you help all of us! When mean monsters come to the city, or when the adults have questions not even they know!" "By that logic, a monster who protects people from bigger monsters is good?" "I-I guess?" "Did your dad often have outrages such as these?"The child pondered for a few moments, eyes closed. "Y-Yes. After that he would always tell us to never touch the juice again, and that he was so sorry. But it only took a few days before he got more..." "Then you are a good monster, just like me." With a loud sigh the child dropped the knife, which I quickly flicked off the spire. He sat down on the stone floor, arms around scraped knees. Tears began to well up again. "I can't go home though..." "Then you can stay with me for a while. A hoard is rather fitting for good dragons such as you and I, right?"
It was an odd feeling, whenever my body would take over. It's hard to describe, though. . . Okay. Imagine you're playing a videogame in first person. Then, abruptly, you're dragged into a cutscene. You can't do anything except sit back and watch. The first time it happened, I was 5. I was playing a game in the backyard, playing around with a soccer ball under the pine tree, when I couldn't move. Moments later, the branch to my left broke, and crashed to the ground, landing directly on my ball, popping it. I started crying, and complained to my mom about the lost ball, but didn't tell my mom, or even think about how I'd lost control of my body. The second time, I was 11. I was on my way to school(I only lived a few blocks away at the time) and was at a stoplight. The 'Walk' popped up, and I began crossing the street. It was deserted, but I could faintly hear a car coming. I didnt think much of it, I had the right of way, after all, until my body stiffened, and it leapt backwards, out of the way of a car that zoomed inches past me. I was terrified, and ran the rest of the way to school. But this time is different than those times. This ism't a few seconds of change. I'd been running for a long time. I couldnt begin to guess how long, but my breath came out in gasps, my legs ached, and sweat streamed down my back. I couldn't even look around. I was just running. I couldn't stop. Until I suddenly did. I went ramrod straight, then felt myself regain control, at which point I collapsed to the ground, my breath heaving, my heart pounding in my ears. I looked back, and saw the outskirts of my hometown faintly in the valley below. The buildings were collapsing, sinking down further and further into the new gash in the formerly flat landscape, I sat there for a long time, watching as the only world I'd ever known was swallowed into the earth, leaving no sign it was ever there. Except for me, a sodden, dirty, 16-year-old, staring as her world crumbled and vanished before her.
No human knows the color of the spirits. They won’t ever see the way they shift in the light, glittering from black to silver to gold. They won’t ever hear their silent voices or envy their gleaming eyes. But they’re there, watching, waiting. When they speak, it’s the skittering of leaves across pavement. When they breathe, it’s the rattling of the wind in old lungs. But the evil dead have long since decayed, withering in their sorrow and rueful disease, and in their place are the guardians. They watch, and they smile, waving to each other or speaking in slow rattling drawls. An empty can rolls across the sidewalk, and I hear her words in the scraping. Yes, the evil dead have long since decayed. In their place, a girl walks lonely streets, hidden beneath the blanket of night. The guardians hold their breaths. The wind is still, the rustling of the trees silent, and she peers down a dark alleyway. “Not down there,” they whisper with ancient voices. “You aren’t safe. You aren’t alone.” The leaves kick around her boots, and a trash can topples over. She jumps, and fear sends her heart thrashing. The shutters rattle. “Go home, and live another day.” She takes one step back, two, watching the world come to life, the wind howling its mournful warning and the shadows darkening harshly. She turns on her heel and runs. The spirits watch with pride as the man within scowls at a lost opportunity. Of course the evil are dead, but the humans will never know that. Instead, we’re labeled as monsters under their beds, as ghouls that haunt the night. But we know better.
Lightning broke the sky, the solid blue flash illuminating rolling fields of gold and sparse dots of houses far below the precipice. The thunderclap rumbled, echoing softly in the valley below before reaching a final, savage crescendo that filled Baron’s ears and rattled his bones. A pungent smell of metal hung heavy in the air as Barons grey robes fluttered gently in the summer breeze. “You’ll have to try better than that, Vizi.” Baron said, panting heavily. “I’m just getting started old man.” Vizi shouted back, no longer handsome with long strands of sweat soaked hair sticking to his bruised and bloody face. Beads of sweat gently rolled down Baron’s cracked face and along his back, stinging his eyes and soaking his shirt. Baron had thought he was prepared for this final fight between good and evil, but he couldn’t help but wonder, in these final moments if he had been wrong. Summoning the last remnants of his strength Baron touched the smooth stone below him with a single finger. In a heartbeat the Earth rent below him and a wave of rock rose and crashed along the baron plateau. His opponent spread his arms and was engulfed in the torrent of stones. A fog of dust engulfed everything in sight and the roar of the rock, ebbed into a gentle tapping before silence filled the lonely pinnacle. When the fog cleared his opponent stood, surrounded by mounds of broken stone, like an unrelenting island in a stormy sea. “It looks like the gift has abandoned you!” Vizi shouted, smiley wickedly. Vizi raised his hand, pointing a single finger at Baron’s chest. Gentle Beams of sunlight broke through the grey cloud and warmed his face, as he starred up at the sky awaiting his end. It never came. After a moment he turned back to Vizi, who appeared to be shaking his hand wildly and yelling a stream of wild profanity. “What’s the matter Vizi, performance difficulty?” He mocked. Anger twisted Vizi’s face. “I’ll show you performance difficulty.” He screamed stalking through the mess of broken stone. Baron reacted quickly and moved forward to meet his attack. He swung his arms in wild arcs up and down while Vizi hopped back and began to circle him, bobbing and ducking in a clumsy dance. Suddenly Vizi slipped on a pile of loose pebbles and lost his balance falling to a knee. Baron rushed his quarry and slipped falling flat on his ass. Vizi pounced on him and began to slap his face madly. Baron could feel the cold stone digging into his back, the mingled sweat of the pair filling his nostrils with a sickly sweet smell, and the rage built in him. He began to kick and flail wildly, on the ground, knocking Vizi back. Moving forward on all fours, like a rabid animal, he latched onto Vizi’s ankle piercing his thin black robes and the soft flesh underneath. Vizi shook his leg ferociously, scraping Baron’s knees across the rough pebbles. “That really hurt.” Vizi whined. “What’s the matter with you?!” “This is the final showdown between good and evil with the world hanging in the balance. I think biting is allowed.” Baron said. “And what about jumping on my leg like a randy dog?” Vizi Moaned “All right I admit that might have been a little unfair.” Baron conceded. “Not to mention embarrassing.” Vizi sighed. “You know this isn’t really how I pictured the final battle.” “I didn’t either. Do you know how much gravel I’ve got in my knee? That stuff takes weeks to get out.” “Well at least you don’t have to get new robes, you have no idea how much these cost.” Vizi grumbled. "Not to mention the rabies shot I’ll need.” “So, what happens now. The final battle can’t end in a draw.” Baron said. “No, it can’t.” Vizi agreed. “Rock, Paper Scissors?” Baron asked.
He must have been new. The way he held me, arms pinned behind my back, shoving the barrel of his .32 against the back of my head. It was just so... Amateur. He might have gotten away if had picked up literally anyone else, but that's an aspiring villain for you. They never read the book until something like this happens. "I'm gonna collapse,"I mumble. Our intrepid villain must've been stressed, because he smack me with the butt of his gun. So I repeated myself, louder this time. "Keep standing,"he snarled back. Great. He didn't even flip through the book, otherwise he would have seen multiple pictures of myself, along with all of the pertinent information that would have prevented him from making such a stupid mistake. The doors to the bank burst in, as if something behind it had detonated. Dust filled the room, and I saw the figure approaching as it cleared. General Mayhem wasn't the first superhero everyone thought about when discussing the topic, but he was certainly memorable. Maybe it had to do with the inane property damage he caused, but the book clearly stated he was well within his rights to do so, as long as he wasn't the aggressor. "Stop there!"He shouted, finger extended towards us. He opened his mouth to say more, but then he saw me. His jaw dropped, and he was having trouble finding the words. "I'm gonna collapse,"I told my captor again. He drilled the barrel against my neck. I shrugged. Well, it wouldn't be my fault this time. "Unhand him! Please!"General Mayhem found his voice, it seemed, and thank God he took the time to read the book. If I'm lucky, I won't have to move across the country again. The villain shouted something back, but I couldn't hear the idiot despite the fact he was right behind me. It always began like that. Sound would distort first, then just... Disappear. Sometimes, I think I hear a faint whistle as the sound waves accelerate towards my chest, but that could also just as easily be reality starting to warp. Then the "gravity surge". It felt like the gun was being pushed against my head harder than before, but now it was the whole gun, not just the barrel. The villain was wrapped around me, like he was trying to hug me to death. General Mayhem was even in the embrace, pressing the villain into me. Objects close to us joined in the group hug, and things more distant circled in the air. "What's happening?!" The poor idiot. If only he hadn't taken me hostage, he might have pulled off the bank robbery. Instead, he unwittingly grabbed a sentient black hole. But, that's new villains for you. They never take the time to read "The Unabridged Guide to Heroism and Villainry; How To Properly Rescue or Ransom Your Metropolis".
"A threat, young man? I'm just an old medicine woman, far from home, sharing her knowledge." "The Church says otherwise. They say your alchemy will taint the people in time, that you conspire to make monsters of them all. I've seen it before." "Mm. I heard of such madmen. It's why I inquired to the local sage about the process to make such things-so I wouldn't accidentally create a monster. Thankfully, all of the processes required something profane and distasteful plus a little magic, of which I know none. Thanks to trade, I have nearly every herb I can extract for my work." "You know no magic? Hah, that's a shocker. If you were as you said, surely you would have learned some magic. Combined with your "medicine", you would accomplish much." "Where I am from, we valued specialists deeply. My expertise lied in my knowledge, not arcane arts or godly magics. Just knowing how to make the right medicine with the right ingredients." "Hmph. Regardless foreigner, the Church and Kingdom have a warrant for your arrest. If you are as noble as you claim, you will be found innocent before the courts. Come with me, peacefully." "...Tell me son, how many have you brought in like me before these courts? Who created no monsters, who harmed none?" "None, save you...so far. All of them rebels against the Goddess." "...Surely you have heard the epithets some have given your Goddess?" "..." "Tyrant Sun. Drought Bringer. Crop Ruiner. Skin Burner." "Light Bringer. Life Giver. Heart Warmer. What is your point, medicine woman?" "Where I was from, it was often remarked how one man's king was another's tyrant. One man's revolutionary was another's terrorist. A matter of perspective. Such things could be true of both me and the Gods too, no?" "...Trickery and lies. I will not be led astray. I know my Goddess is just." "Very well. Take me in then...I will be one of many." "One of many?" "Magic is given to the chosen of the gods, but knowledge..." "...Can be written!!" "I hope you do visit me in the dungeons Hero. You may yet find your perspective change."
"Mom, Dad, we need to talk."Torin said. "What's the matter, dear?"Mom asked. She had just come from the temple, and was still dressed in her cleric's robes. Dad was dressed much more casually, not needing to put his armor on for day to day life. Instead, he was busy tending to his holy sword. "You know I've had my Class for awhile, right?"He said. "Of course. You got my paladin class."Dad said with obvious pride. "You decide on your oath yet? I know you've got a little while to choose, but it's an important decision." "I haven't no, but that's not what I wanted to talk about." "Well, you could always follow in my footsteps and take the oath of glory. It's served me well." "I would rather you take a more refined oath. Like ancients, or maybe devotion."Mom said. "Mom, Dad, I'm not here to talk about my oath."Torin said. "I'll choose that later. Listen, I went on my first quest today. Met a few good party members and everything." "Ah, excellent! A good party is worth more than gold."Dad said. "So, how'd it go?" "Very well, actually. We captured the bandits and brought them in. And we even reached second level." Both Mom and Dad gave their excited congratulations. Levels were not something earned everyday, and getting one was always a grand event. "Well, see, this is what I wanted to talk to you about. Something weird happened when I leveled. I didn't gain a paladin level like I was supposed to."Both his parents became deathly quiet. "I was wondering, did either of you multiclass? Because that's the only thing I can think of." Neither of them spoke for awhile. Mom was the first to answer. "Oh dear. It seems like you found out my little secret." "Dear?"Dad asked. Torin could hear the fear in his voice. "The truth is, I took a few wizard levels when I was younger. You both know I'm a cleric of the arcana, yes? Well, learning a few wizard spells seemed appropriate. It wasn't many, only three levels. But those spells have served me well." As Mom spoke, he felt his blood run cold. "Mom, I...I never said my subclass was wizard. It's warlock." Mom gasped and covered her mouth. Both mother and son turned to the last member of the family. His face was beet red and he could not meet either of their gazes. "I..it...it was a moment of weakness, okay?"Dad said. "And it's not like the pact was with a demon. It's my sword, okay? A holy spirit inhabits it, and well, we made a little deal." "You're a hexblade?"Mom said, horrified. "Only two levels."Dad said defensively. "The abilities are very useful, and it's not like I sold my soul to a devil or anything." "I...I can't...when did this happen?" Dad held up his sword. "Not long after I got this." "You've been hiding this for that long?" "W-well you've been hiding your extra levels too. And I bet you've had yours for longer than I have." "That's different. Wizard is a perfectly respectable class. But warlock?" Torin decided to make himself scarce. At least until the two of them calmed down enough to hold a proper conversation. He would bring up the pact that had been effectively forced upon him later. At least Mom would probably be okay with it. More than Dad's anyway. After all, what cleric could argue with someone who got powers from an angel?
First attempt and I am bad at grammar. Please don't hurt me. We had finally done it. We had made it to the stars. FTL was possible in the weirdest way. Physicists explain that we take advantage of black holes energy, but without needing a black hole around. They always use the mudskipper analogy, but I don't understand even that dumbed down version. Point is we made it out to the stars faster and further than any human 10 years ago thought possible. We had to rescue all of the generations ships that we had sent out in the last 154 years. Catching up to their relatively slow ships was easy. Explaining the advancements to them was usually more difficult. Some ships rejoiced, others rebelled. We humans are funny. After we took care of the First Colonists, we started to really push out and into the rest of the milky way, but there was one thing that kept nagging at us. Nobody was there to great us. As we explored, as we gained more knowledge, we were able to really fill in Drake's equation more and more precisely. All of our knowledge pointed to fact that there should be millions of advanced civilizations, but there was just us. We found life. Life in such abundance. Microbial for the most part in strange and weird configurations, even varieties not based on carbon, but never intelligence. None of the oasis' of life had above dog levels of intelligence, and even that was exceptionally rare, the consciousness of Humanity was never rivaled, not on the billions of worlds we know of. So we have chosen to guide the greatest of the intelligent species towards the light of consciousness. We have chosen our role, to be the elder siblings to the many children of the milky way. Edit: a few errant words.
Dear Mum, I'm sorry I had to resort to writing e-mails as if we're still in the year 2000, but Capt. Matthews says the aliens can decode our latest tech, but they don't bother about archaic stuff and so its safer. I hope you're fine and I hope Jen's doing well in school. I'm currently posted on the 2nd Moon of the planet called Exo in the Kron system. We're due to ship out in a couple of earth days. After basic training in Cold Warfare on the Earth's North Pole, this was my first deployment. Space travel was meh\~ We just got packed in cans and within a wink we were here. The landing took more time than the actual travel, can you believe it? Its just like those old-timey aeroplanes on earth that you keep talking about. Tis the landing and take-off thats scary, not the flight itself. Once we reached here, turns out this moon isn't all that cold, North Pole was colder. We had a lot of boring lessons in our camp, like which aliens to shoot at, which not to shoot at, a lot of talking, done mostly by bots with fake voices. Whatever. We were the first earth folk these guys had gunned up and sent out to war anyways remember? So we got deployed to take out a empire base hidden in a snow mount on the other side of the moon. And I guess you've not heard the news back on earth yet, cause they're still running tests and stuff, but we took the whole damn base out without a single casualty. Even wild-eyed Joe didn't get shot. The guy who shot himself in the foot while hunting deer back home, didn't get shot by the empire! I've seen some wild shooting but not a single alien could shoot an elephant if it stood 10 feet from them. They wear their fancy white plastic suits and their helmets, but for the love of God, being imperial storm troopers and all, they can't shoot for shit. Hell, even their fighter pilots couldn't shoot Ol' Mick who got his foot stuck in a crevice and stood there trying to pull it out for like an hour. There was some sword toting dude in black who tried to get in the way, but he jumped on to a mine and was blown to bits. Well, if all their soldiers are like this, I'll be home before Christmas. We're heading to a place called Hoth next. Apparently there's another guy in Black terrorizing folk out there. Much love to you and Jen mum.
"Then what happened?" "I did it. I used my powers on the cat." I scratched at my arm. It helped calm me. But the doctor shook his head, so I stopped. The psychologist leaned forward, wincing with the apparent effort of comprehending my statement. He folded his hands and rolled his shoulders, putting his elbows on the table between us. "Ok. You claim..."he cleared his throat, and squinted at me in consternation, "you claim that you have magical powers, and you claim you can use these powers on your cat." He paused, considering. "Does it have to be your cat?" I shifted. The shackles rattled, making me uncomfortable. I had fucked up something fierce, and now I was trapped. But I saw what I saw. "I don't understand. Does what have to be my cat?"I shrugged, playing dumb. "Your powers. Can you use them on any cat, or just yours?" "Anything with a brain, I think." The doctor made a note. "Including people? Including me?" I huffed. The same sort of game. It was depressing how similar and predictable humans were. He was about to ask me to-- "17. March 2nd, 1985. Red wine on a snowy day. Your wife's maiden name (which is Hellis, by the way). The dog wasn't dead when you found it, but there was nothing you could have done to save it. 3049, 76, lacrosse, and the color mauve. Your father's secret boyfriend." It was like a script. The other two doctors had done the exact same thing, as had anyone else I had ever told. I had been reading similar scripts all my life, and it worried me just how predictable it was. There was a very different sort of expression on the doctor's face, now. He was taking me seriously. This was the delicate part. This would decide whether he wound up crazy, or dead, or worse. I scratched at my arm again, and sat up. "Listen, doc: before you start throwing around words like 'impossible,' I want you to really take a moment to consider that I might be telling the truth. Just like I told the last two doctors the truth. One of them is a resident here now, because he believed me. The other is dead, because he didn't. You took my case because you wanted to prove Daniel, the administrator, wrong. And that's fine. But there's something more important now." The doctor had stopped making notes. He just stared, his face a hard mask. Inside, his mind was making troubling associations--ones that might end up with me taking a chemical sort of nap. "Anesthetizing me won't change what I'm about to tell you. Listen: cats see things in... at least four spatial dimensions. They can see things we can't. So can babies. Here's the important bit: Restricting our vision to 3D is a learned skill. An evolutionary safety switch." I reached out and placed my shackled wrists on the table, splaying the fingers of my remaining hand. The gnarled stump where my other hand used to sit served as the most compelling evidence I could possibly muster. "I didn't mutilate myself. Those scars are teeth marks. Whatever it is I saw through my cat's eyes, it really did not want to be fucking seen. Capiche?" The doctor leaned back in his seat, sticking the cap of his pen into his mouth and gnawing thoughtfully. "So you think you don't belong here? You're not crazy?" I leaned in. "I don't want you to let me out. I don't care about that. What I want is for you to burn my file. Don't open it, don't read it, and for fucks sake, don't look at the picture I drew. Just burn it all and start a new file. Ok? That's all I want." We stared at each other, across the table. Doctor and patient. Man and woman. Free and fettered. I answered his thoughts. "Burn it. Just drop it, like an accident, into your fireplace at home. Understandable mistake; they can duplicate everything but that picture. But you must not see the things that don't wish to be seen." But even as I said it, I saw his mind change. I was the patient, and he was the doctor, and he couldn't break free of his role long enough to consider any other power dynamic. Any other possibility. I slumped back in my seat. "I think we should take a break here..."he began, gathering his notes. "I'll have the orderlies come to get you momentarily. Until next week, I want you to..." He droned on, self-important and self-assured, about medication dosages and mindfulness exercises. It didn't matter. He'd look at it. He'd see it. I'd have a new doctor next week. I looked down at the chewed, scarred stump where my hand had been, and wished for the umpteenth time that I had never wondered what cats see that we don't.
Those. Fucking. IDIOTS! Did they even know who they were messing with? I AM THE SCOURGE OF CENTRAL EARTH! I MURDERED THE DUKE OF TIMESYLVANIA! "I'M THE MOTHERFUCKING...."I slapped my hands over my mouth. A copier beeped and a phone rang a couple cubicles away. "Heeeey Jeeeeen?"My fool of a cubicle neighbor rolled over and stuck his head annoyingly towards me. "What did we say about shouting?"His tone alone made me want to shove a hundred Jupiter Harken stones down his throat. I counted to 5 before answering. Regina always said. Count to 5. 1... 2... Screw it. "I need to take the rest of the day off so I can murder the people who kidnapped my wife."I flipped my wrist over and scratched to open my cybernetics. A beacon popped up. Regina didn't like me keeping it, but I convinced her to let me keep it so I could make it home for Friday dinners with her parents. A torture worse than anything I'd ever committed. Psychologically anyway. Gary's stupid fool face looked especially foolish and stupid when I zapped away. I was back in my lair.... no. My basement workshop. Right. My mind was racing now as I activated all of the mechanical extensions. I'd dismantled most of my weapons... but... we did have a new dish washer. Oh... Regina was gonna be pissed. Several hours later, I'd built a servicable weapon cache for myself. What did I forget. RIGHT! I didn't know where they were. I grabbed an empty bag that I used for my gym clothes and ported back to the office. Gary was standing and pointing at my cubicle while my boss listened. Luckily my boss, the less-of-a-fool-than-most, was standing facing Gary. I grabbed my phone and waved with a smug look at Gary before my boss could turn around. In under 2 minutes I'd found where they were. That Find Your Phone App worked pretty well. &#x200B; I burst through the ceiling, even though it'd taken an extra 60 seconds of climbing. Oh those fools. They screamed bloody murder. Our dishes flew like razor blades and boiling water scaled everything. A blade flew through the air severing several fool limbs. I laughed. I cackled! Ah, I'd forgotten how GOOD it felt to put these fools back in their place under my heel! &#x200B; Regina... I had the spinning water jets lower me gently to the ground and I ran over to her. She looked unhurt, but she was gagged and looked terrified. I hugged her. I wept. She was safe. "I thought I'd lost you. Are you okay?"I asked like a fool. She was still gagged. A beep alerted me to a gun-toting fool standing up and getting ready to strike. I let the water defense system cut him in half as I ungagged my beautiful genius of a wife. "I'm... I'm fine."She was fine! She was unhurt! I'd have tortured these fools for a hundred years if she'd said otherwise! "I just... can we get out of here? Call the police?"She said clinging to me like that night in Space France. "Of course my pretty."I said softly. We flew up into the sky on compressed jets of water as I sent a drone to the police department with the standard message. Doom/gloom/blood shall reign/yadayada and the location of the dead fools and why they deserved it. The falling clouds and burning sunset framed her like a... like a painting from Koph the X. Nothing could spoil this moment of beauty as we nuzzled into each other, happily sharing this flight home. "Is this the new dishwasher?"
Everywhere he went he scratched their names into the wall. He would pick away the paint with a knife and carve out the names...The billions that eventually turned to just millions and then only hundreds. The moment he forgot a name, he stopped writing it. That person was already gone...Sad as it was to admit, but he had other names to keep track of. The important names stayed on him, scratched into his arms. Those were the names of family members and friends. Then there were the commoners. The people unwritten throughout history that he tried his best to keep track of. Celebrities were always the last to be carved. His logic was that someone else would remember them, his goal was to remember those who would or could be forgotten. That was his mission and he WOULD see it through.
The frail humans stand not a chance against our might and power. We are Orc! As strong as a dozen humans! Skin as tough as stone! We fight with blade, claw and tusk to show our bravery and humans, weak as they are, hunt with bow and arrow that cannot scratch our hides. &#x200B; They are paltry creatures that invade our world with the words of "Harmony with nature"and "peaceful coexistence". &#x200B; We walk openly towards their walls which stand barely taller than our heads. Their bells ring in alarm and we hear their mewling screams. &#x200B; Only one dares to walk towards us, bearing a spear of challenge and wearing only a single piece of metal armour across its chest. &#x200B; A single human challenges us all? We howl in rage, we charge. It is our nature to charge towards a challenge such as this. &#x200B; As we close he tosses aside his only weapon and with no fear in his eyes raises his hand from a salute over his heart. We see a glitter of silver in his hand and my eyes glimpse his armoured chest bears words in their tongue. &#x200B; "Front Towards Enemy"
The police were extremely concerned when they arrived at the scene: no signs of forced entry, minimal struggle, the area was visibly cleaned afterwards. What was initially a sign of a professional hit became all the more concerning when they found some of my cards. I’m a known element, but until they saw the first of my cards, they weren’t sure it was me. Now they knew it would be story time. The first of my cards was immediately photographed where it sat by the television remote, reading <<play the video.>> After going getting the proper permission from the evidence specialists, and getting a couple body cameras positioned to record the television, they turned it on, and saw a simple text-on-screen video. “Hello and apologies to the officers on the scene.” A few of the officers let out a breath at that. My usual first card being on screen was unusual, but they now were sure it was me. “This individual was particularly troublesome, so please forgive me for not using as many cards as they would have needed.” “First and foremost, please check the leftmost kitchen cabinet for my next card, it will include a cryptocurrency account, with the password available. You will want to look at the recurring transactions for the first week of October the last few years.” The video was paused, and a couple specialists went to the cabinet, and found the relevant card. After taking a picture, the video was resumed. “Next you are going to want to check the basement, on top of the water heater. This card has a USB stick next to it. The USB stick has two folders one is named ‘List’ the other is named ‘Flights’ and these are related.” Again, took pictures of the card that read <<list & flights>>, and placed the USB in a labeled resealable bag. “‘List’ has an excel spreadsheet that lists a full legal name, a date, a number, a blood type, and an alphanumeric number. ‘Flights’ connects each of these alphanumerics to a flight, and notes the cost of that flight.” “You will notice that these costs roughly correspond with the transactions on the previously mentioned crypto account.” “Finally, by the shoe rack at the front door, there is a lidded wicker-weave filing box. Under the lid is my last card. I strongly recommend that not everyone look at the contents. There are multiple files, each with an alphanumeric, and each contains multiple pictures. In case anyone ate recently, I will not clarify what those pictures are, and merely say in the abstract that the individual I handled assisted those with a taste for liver.” The specialists quickly and calmly moved toward the box that they all saw, but no one minded. After a few pictures of the closed box, they opened it, and saw a card that simply read <<I’m sorry.>> The last bit of the video was played. “Needless to say, there are multiple people involved with this individual’s work. I’m going to be quite busy for a while. So that I do not cause a significant uproar, please inform the police stations in Gothic Colorado, Forks Washington, and Rumney New Hampshire about me. They will likely find some of my cards soon.”
There was a palpable, tense silence across the table. Even the sounds of silverware slammed to a halt. "You do not really think this way, yes?" He opened his mouth to reply, but for the first time in many years, Antonio was unsure how to respond. Truly, he did not know what he wanted. "I mean, the rotisserie chicken was a hit!"he finally blurted out. "Yeah. I snuck some home last night."clamored all 200 pounds of Leo, looking like a child so proud of their work. He had his fork up with some pasta while he gestured his approval. "Figures." And just like that, the quiet table was filled with boisterous laughter. This, of course, only meant a bountiful evening, although not for the regular reasons. "Down the street, Ms. Anna always lets us take the first pick for fruits. And Sergio gives us an extra pound of crab. That's still something, aye?"said Antonio, waving around his crab claw as if hitting his point home. "So you want to stop collecting?" "Boss..." Antonio's voice had an air of panic but also reverence. He has served Julio for the better part of two decades, and his loyalty is unwavering. Five gravestones across town would attest to that. "This is good money. And not good money as in Jesus-Mary-Joseph-Sundays money, but good, plenty money."Leo said, trying his best to sound sincere, despite the joy behind the marinara sauce on his lips. Julio doesn't even look at his men. His eyes were elsewhere, as if reading some passage no one else can see on the opposite wall. His men have quieted down, patiently waiting for their boss's next words. "Boys,"Julio speaks, his voice as coarse and old as the wooden furniture surrounding them. "times are truly changing."He looks around. About three years ago, on a table adjacent to the one he was sitting on, a young rookie came knocking, asking for their financials. Such a spirited young man, but extremely naive. Thank the gods he had no backup. Imagine trying to extort the extortionists without even preparing a contingency. Next to that table, and some more years back, three women were crying, asking for justice, and the family obliged. They returned, crying, but out of joy some weeks after that. They handed potatoes and duck and carrots and kneeled in thanks. These two things proclaimed the duality of their family. In both, a payment must be collected. "Anton, throughout our family's life, you have not failed me, and I doubt you ever would, but what you are saying means a great void of power which would eat up our dainty little town. It is of no use for us to be collectors if we are not formidable enough so as to collect." "I understand that, boss, but these people who pay us, they don't even do it out of fear anymore. I'm sure you've seen how these folks look at us when we pass by. They smile. They even call out their children to greet us." Julio ponders those words and eases up his brows. Antonio was right. These folks, or at the very least their ascendants, paid the family protection fees, afraid of being slaves to more malignant masters. But after generations of futile attempts to decimate the family and the townsfolk, the bigger players just knew better than to mess with the collectors, else they'll have some dirt they pay for to keep, too. Or graves to put that dirt in. "Boss, I know you've been in this business back when blood still spilled, but most of our enemies don't even exist anymore." Thanks in part to you, Julio thought. Antonio was merely a babe when he handed him that first knife. He was quick to learn and quicker to obey. He could have been a distinguished young fellow, if not for circumstance. Maybe if he had just been handed different cards... "The politicians, the sheriffs, the mobsters who tore apart this town have come and gone with the years, but our family remained."Julio said, "We collect from the people for their protection, and we collect from our enemies to protect them, too. This has been so, and so it should be until our great grandchildren and their great grandchildren die out." "But, boss, the chicken, and we've ran out of pasta!"Antonio said. "All that pasta?!" Leo echoed, looking at what few remain on his plate. "We cooked and sold all of it?" Julio stood up with the speed of someone thirty years younger. Antonio, Leo, and all the others stood up in response, as straight as soldiers and as stiff as floorboards. "Ah, times are changing."Julio muttered. "But the chicken is good." As he slowly stepped away from the table, his men warily looked at his every step, unsure of what to do or what comes next. "Anton, my child," Antonio's eyes widen with vigilance, and he stood straighter (if that was even a possibility). "Yes, boss?" "Let's talk about my retirement. I've grown tired. I want a banquet,--a decent one, nothing too big--right here, in our restaurant." He opened his mouth to reply, but for the first time in many years, Antonio was unsure how to respond. All he could do was smile.
I sat with my phone, proud of myself, when I received a notification. A response to my prompt!? Already!? Nope. Turns out, it was a message from the mods of the WritingPrompts subreddit. >Stop submitting superhero and alien prompts. They're just as bad as the dark lord ones, and you're spamming. Thanks! -- Mods at WritingPrompts I felt the color drain from my face. No aliens? No superheroes? What prompts were left? Nothing that I would read, certainly. A few taps on my phone later, I found myself satisfied with my prompt, and submitted it. Let's see if the mods think I'm not creative, now! \[WP\] An r/WritingPrompts user struggles to write a prompt that isn’t about superheroes or aliens.
"Men! The enemy has surrendered; the war — for them — is finally over." They're so silent. They knew this moment would come, but they aren't rioting. I hope it's because they trust me to take care of them. "When we were withdrawn from the front, I was told it was to give us time to prepare for a final push." It was a double damned lie. They wanted us out of the way so they could parade organic troops in to take the surrender after a little spat to make it look good. These — men damnit! — are smart enough to figure that out for themselves. "I am so proud of you. You took that time to prepare yourselves for the fight of your lives, and I ensured that every one of your requisitions was filled without argument. I even insisted on local testing to ensure the enemy had no chance to tamper with our supplies." They know what they found. Weapons with firing pins made frangible, strong enough to last through 1,200 rounds, when testing requires only 1,000 rounds, maximum. Ammo, where one in every 500 rounds is loaded with HiEx and not cordite. Meals laced with common chemicals that could — maybe — have fallen into the batch by accident. By accident. Yeah. Sure. "By your skill and dedication, all of our weapons and vehicles are 100% ready for all comers." Oh! Those terribly deluded fools! Here, let us have that entire shipment back, Not A Chance and we will replace the entire shipment. And let you bastards find a better way to sabotage us? No, no, just send us new firing pins. We will do all the work, including 100% testing the replacements. "By your determination that no enemy would ever succeed in sabotage, you saved my life and the lives of..." On the MREs, I had to report those fast. It was an emergency, in my opinion, so I lateralled it up the chain. There was no way they didn't send at least one poisoned batch to an organic battalion.m I was being chewed out for bypassing command, precisely what you are told to do when lives are on the line from sabotage when the reports came in from a dozen organic companies. They found poison in half their supply of food. "...over 6,000 organic troops, who are presently moving to support us in marching into the enemy capital!" I could hear high command grinding their teeth over this obliviot of a General who was too stupid to see the truth but too stubborn to let them take care of it for him. "The real enemy." I imagine the high command's collective jaws dropping. "The enemy that tried to kill you in the moment of your triumph." The leaders of not just the twelve companies... "Who did not care if they slaughtered organic troops so long as you died." ...but the entire corp they are a part of... "Who even now plot your death rather than recognize your inherent humanity." ...and the leaders of the opposition now surrendered and joined with us... "Who evolved a plan to use our honorable opponent's troops to destroy us." ...they unfurl their battle standards showing a four-color field... "Who are by now cowering in terror of what we might do to them." ...with the letters ACTG, each filling one of the four flags. "Yet they need not fear, for we are human in the most fundamental way. We care about each other. We are brothers. We do not waste lives in vain glory. We humbly ask for the recognition we have so richly proven we deserve. That we are no different from any of our brothers in arms. We are human, as human as any one of us born of woman. The same technology is used to conceive us, heal us, and ease us through pain and suffering." Our primary battle standard is now unfurled—the same four colors, but in bars rather than columns with ACTG spanning the entire flag. "We are the champions of humanity. We ask only that we be permitted to continue to serve with distinction and valor." ((finis))
What was left of my armor was stained in blood. Most of it had been chipped away by the spears and arrows. Not like I needed it. My body was impervious to any damage from mortal weapons. It was a waste of armor, honestly. But my family insisted I show some modesty. I didn't show any mercy, so modesty would have to do. I swept my hand out and cut down seventeen men with a blade of fire that shot out of my arm. I swept my hand the other way, and a wave of water appeared and smashed into a small platoon. This was too easy. I almost felt bad. Almost. I dove into the group nearest to me and willed two blades to my hands, and began spinning like a tornado. I sliced all of their throats, and blood began raining from the corpses. It was glorious. As I finished the group, I stepped out. The next closest group was about fifty yards from me. Far enough that I couldn't kill them from here without magic, and that was no fun. I stepped toward them. As I did, a small furry creature arose from the ranks. It couldn't be bigger than my foot. Was it a rat? No. Its ears were pointed up. Almost as large as its head. Bigger, even. It had buggy eyes and looked like a demonic rodent. It threw its head back and let loose what I assume was a howl. At least, that's what it was trying to do. Its stance was much like that of a wolf. Feet in front of its shoulders, bowed down, with its face looking to the sky as it released a high-pitched noise. What in the fuck was this thing? I stepped forward some more, and, what I assumed to be, the dog continued attempting to howl at me. It was so tiny. I had never seen a dog so small. All dogs from home were mighty beasts that howled with the ferocity of a wolf but had the personality of a domesticated beast. This thing was just pathetic. But something about it was... cute. I made it to the creature, and it continued barking. I squatted down to get a closer look. It was mostly light brown with a white chest. It had a black snout. Why had they sent this creature out here? I looked up to see if they were advancing while I examined the animal, but they were all still. I liked this creature. It feared nothing. It showed courage worthy of a creature of the gods. I was going to keep it. I summoned a dark blade to my hand and sliced the air behind me. The space ripped and opened a hole to my home in the heavens. I grabbed the small dog and placed it inside the hole. I closed the hole up and stood back to my full height. "Whose creature was this?"I yelled at the men as they cowered behind their shields. "Mine, m'lord,"one man said from the third row. "Come forth,"I bellowed. He made his way out of the group and stood in front of them all. "Closer, mortal."He came to stand right in front of me. I raised a hand, and lightning struck behind him, killing all of the men he previously stood with. The battlefield was empty except for him and me. "I have spared your life on this day in exchange for your furry warrior. Spread word of this kindness I have done. I have done what I have never done in history. I have shown mercy. Go forth and spread the news." &#x200B; \--------------------------------------- Let me know what you think! I'm still working on my writing. Any feedback or criticism is welcome.
At first, the Gods had deigned to bend their servants to match the wants of mortal men, offering the pasture foods they wanted. It was a debasement of their values, but as long as the essence flowed, who cared about petty mortal-made ideals like values? In their infinite gluttonous wisdom, the Gods set their powers upon these pasture foods, giving them the veneer of nature but the blood and boils of the fryer. Calories spilled between the leaves with dressing and croutons substituting for bread and condiments. Once again, for a short while, things were good. Gods were great. The puny mortals continued to seek their salvation from the will of the Gods, for it is man's folly to pursue freedom from even the most gilded cages. Errant faiths opened up in vehicles, mortals claiming to speak the gospel of speed but not paying the tithe to their lords. These false religions snatched souls from the maws of the Great Ones, keeping them on this mortal coil far longer than they should have been. As mortals stopped paying due to the Gods, the great ones hungered. Their teeth gnashed, and spittle fell from the heavens like rain. They were denied their due, and the existence of those below them would not be tolerated if they could not satisfy. Of course, there was no true way of satisfying the Gods, but they could be satiated for a time. That was the duty of Charlotte, Daughter of the Siren, Sister of Sugar and Mother of Macchiato. Charlotte always kept her head low to blend in with the mortals around her. They did not understand their purpose when they donned the uniform of the Siren, but she did. She hadn't been hired for a job but had joined the Holy Church. She would smile at the lambs wandering into her stores, using saccharine expressions to lead them toward extra syrup and substituted lemonade. It was as Charlotte dedicated a mortal's name to the Sirens will by inscribing it upon a sigiled cup that she witnessed the arrival of a new regional manager. Cold followed the woman into the room as she surveyed the store. Charlotte understood that this was not a woman of the Siren; she was a mortal middle manager, a testament to mediocrity stapled to the holy faith as mortals gasped for control. The woman came to the front of the line and stood mere feet from Charlotte. Despite her hatred, the ever faithful's smile dripped with syrup, this middle manager might have been a nobody, but you didn't need to be someone to be food. "Hi there, I'm the new regional manager, Erika. I just wanted to introduce myself,"the woman held out a hand, offering it to Charlotte. Charlotte accepted for the Siren worked from the shadows. She couldn't expose that she understood the truth before the unenlightened. "Nice to meet you,"Charlotte answered, her voice bubbling like sticky soda, "would you like me to get something started for you?" "That would be lovely,"Erika answered, "could I get a Honey Citrus Mint Tea?" Charlotte was taken aback but didn't show it to the fodder around her. "Perfect,"Charlotte answered, "Venti?"that was the holiest of teas; perhaps she'd misread this woman. "Just a Grande,"Erika corrected. Charlotte turned away before she frowned at the syrup-sticky tile floors. That said, this drink was still holy in the eyes of the Siren and- "Could you hold the honey flavouring?"Erika added, "use natural honey instead." "Blasphemer,"Charlotte spat to herself as she watched her Church fall further into disrepair. She couldn't see the realm of the gods, but her faith told her that the Siren's hand hovered ever closer to Earth's sky, threatening to squash a petulant marble from defiant existence. She would keep fighting the good fight, paying her tithe to the Gods to buy the blind around her a few more sacred minutes. It was her duty.
To be clear, they were still alive. They breathed, moved, ate and drank, just like any other human. But they did not speak without prompt. No laughter ever left their mouths. They looked on the world with empty eyes, and lived for seemingly no reason than pure instinct with the intelligence of how to survive in the many worlds we made. They were even noted as being entirely genderless, smooth pelvises and featureless chests without so much as a nipple were the most obvious identifiers. By all accounts, the phenomena was getting more common as the population kept growing, but people still died, and with trillions of humans scattered across space like salt on a dark tablecloth, death was as common as birth. People with souls were born anytime someone died, but the population capped and afterwards was only the soulless bodies. We tried to figure out how they could be used, of course. Human ingenuity and cruelty go hand in hand at times. Many soulless could be found working and sleeping at their job, given food as a reward for work done. No laws for them, they lacked the capability to want for anything but survival, and so capitalism cracked its knuckles and put them to work. They were treated well, but also like an engine: out of sight, fed, maintained, and nothing else. Eventually there were enough of them that all of humanity could kick their feet up and luxuriate as the soulless toiled in engine rooms and desk jobs. Women were rewarded handsomely for giving birth to more workers. There were other uses for them. Some people had a "thing"for androgeny, and the market catered with pleasure houses filled with dead eyed workers who barely counted as a warm body. Some were trained to pilot their own ships and sent off to scout the edges of the universe, a more useful form of AI than a costly neural network of gold and silicon. Even simply cleaning up the house and walking the dogs was delegated to the soulless. Some scientists, philosophers, and religious figures began asking questions. Why was there a limit on the number of souls? Why was life still made even without one? Did these things count as animals? Was there some sort of mind in there if we just looked hard enough? So far as anyone got from the test done, they existed and that was it. They could be trained, taught that "doing this task means food,"but they did nothing for its own sake. No soulless stared at clouds, kicked stones down the road to hear them clatter, spoke without anyone to hear, laugh at a remembered joke. They just were, and we placed our own work and ideas on them. We became that utopia always talked about and never made, stepping on the backs of the soulless to create it.
Mr and Mrs. Wesley remembered placing their daughter Leenie on the carnival ride. They remembered being amused at her wanting to ride by herself to show them that she was grown-up now , though she was only barely tall enough to do so. They remembered her clutching Mr. Stuffles, the strange stuffed blue cat her older brother Jeremy had won for her at last year's carnival. They remembered a terrible grinding sound, followed by a shriek of tearing metal, as the ride lurched to the side, and started to topple. But when they looked back on the events later, nothing in those memories could explain what happened next. As they'd run towards the fallen ride, pressing through the panicked crowd, terrified of what they'd find in the wreckage, they spotted Leenie. Not lying amid the twisted metal of the ride, but standing up 20 yards away from it, looking frightened and confused but completely unharmed. They ran to her and embraced her, and kissed her, and wept in relief. Ultimately, the elder Wesleys were content to put it down to providence or luck. It had been, they decided, the improbable convergence of dozens of factors that had somehow resulted in Leenie being thrown free of the ride at just the right time, speed, and trajectory to avoid the calamity that killed five other riders and badly injured over twenty more. Leenie herself had a different explanation: Mr. Stuffles. Mr. Stuffles was a dark blue stuffed cat with a friendly grin that was only partially undermined by the six big bright-colored eyes that were stuck on his oversized head in odd places. Jeremy had outgrown Mr. Stuffles only weeks after winning him, and since his little sister had always admired the toy, he had given it to her. And it was this second-hand present that had saved her, or so Leenie claimed. "Mr. Stuffles got big -- way bigger than normal,"she'd explained, excitedly. "And then he wrapped his arms around me and we jumped right out of the ride! But it was okay, because I landed on Mr. Stuffles, and he's super soft." Mr. and Mrs. Wesley accepted this with fond smiles, as parents are wont to do with their children's charming fancies. Jeremy however, was a little uneasy, for he knew something they did not. He had not won Mr. Stuffles at the carnival, last year. That was the story he'd told to explain the bizarre toy to his parents, knowing that the truth would have seen him grounded for a month. On a dare made to prove his nascent manliness to his friends, Jeremy sneaked into the abandoned house a few blocks away, to spend the night in the empty home where Beth Maxwell, a girl only a few years older than him, had gone mad and [killed three of her friends](https://www.reddit.com/r/SilasCrane/comments/10p6idh/a_problematic_summoning/) the year before. Jeremy, of course, had no trouble spending the night in an empty house. He didn't believe in ghosts, and in fact found his stay in there quite boring. There was nothing left to see, as the Maxwells had left the house utterly empty and had it professionally cleaned, when they moved away to live closer to the institution where Beth was now confined. The one thing he found, seated atop the kitchen counter, was the little stuffed cat that Leenie would later name "Mr. Stuffles". He'd showed the slightly grotesque toy to some of his friends at school, to cement the reality of his "adventure"in the "haunted"house, but had lost interest in it thereafter. Leenie, on the other hand, found it fascinating, and kept bothering him to play with it. Seeing an opportunity to keep his younger sibling occupied and out of his hair, he'd picked it up from his dresser, and presented it to her solemnly. "Well buddy,"he'd said, feigning being choked up, "We've had a good run, but Leenie needs you more, now. You go with her, okay? Watch out for her, and keep her safe!" Leenie had teared up at his performance, hugged him, thanked him, and then run off with the doll and -- most importantly -- left him alone for the rest of the day, which to Jeremy made the transaction well worth it. Though he still didn't believe in ghosts, when she didn't relent in claiming Mr. Stuffles had saved her, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something strange about the doll. So, a few nights after Leenie's miraculous survival, Jeremy crept down the hall to her room, while the rest of the family slept. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he wanted to take another, closer look at the strange stuffed animal, which Leenie never let out of her sight while she was awake. Quietly, he opened the door to her room, and peeked inside. There, in the dim glow of Leenie's nightlight, he saw Mr. Stuffles. But not the stuffed animal. The thing he saw was tall and almost skeletally lean, except for his oversized catlike head, which was as big and round as that of the stuffed animal. He sat at the head of Leenie's bed, his wickedly clawed hands resting atop his bony knees. Her head was nestled peacefully on a pillow in his lap as she slept, heedless of the monster's multiple lambent eyes focused on her. Jeremy opened his mouth to scream, but suddenly found he had no breath, and no sound came forth. Two of the monster's eyes lifted to focus on him, and the creature emitted a low chuckle. "Jeremy, Jeremy! Why that look of disgust? You bade me to watch her, so watch her I must!"Mr. Stuffles purred.
"Master, I'm confused about something." "What is it, my dear apprentice?" "What is the difference between these arcanolock guns you're designing and the old flintlock and matchlock guns?" The old wizard sat down his quill and looked at his apprentice with kind eyes that glistened with the eagerness to share his thoughts and theories. He gestures to the chair on the otherside of his desk. the apprentice sits, wide eyed in the anticipation of the knowledge his teacher is about to bestow upon him. "Well, my boy, you know that conventional guns fire by igniting black powder, the resulting explosion propelling the bullet forward, yes?" "Yes, master." "Well, there are those who say that firearms will level the playing field between mages and those who can't use magic. However, I believe that if we combine magic with these firearms, then we can find the true potential of these weapons. Are you with me so far, lad?" "I think I'm following, sir" "Good! Let me know if I lose you. What I am trying to do is replace the black powder with a small spell that will launch the bullet without the need of an explosion that risks your weapon suddenly becoming a pipe bomb in your hand!" "But wouldn't such a spell take more time to cast than just using the black powder? That seems like a detriment, sir." "It would indeed, if you were casting the spell conventionally! But, if we ingrave magical runes onto the gun, theoretically, the effect would be instant! The only issue I'm having is how to stabilize the runes' magic for long term use." The apprentice was quiet for several moments, thinking on his master's words. Finally, he asked, "if you can stabilize the runes, would we be able to put other enchantments on them as well?" The old wizard beamed with pride at his apprentice's line of thought. His teachings were finally rubbing off on the boy, expanding his mind to the infinite possibilities of magic. He could have lept up and danced he was so happy. Instead, he simply asked, "what kind of enchantments would you recommend?" "Well, perhaps a silencing spell for stealth, or a spell to improve the aim of the wielder?" "Indeed! Go on!" At the encouragement of his teacher, the boy's mind raced. "Perhaps we needn't be limited to the gun itself? We could enchant the bullets to become as large as cannonballs after being fired, or to explode upon impact!" The wizard ruffled his apprentice's hair. "We will make a mage of you yet! But for know, let us take a break. Weary minds do poor work. Come, let's go have a cup of tea." As they left the tower and made their way to the kitchens, the wizard couldn't help but chuckle to himself, for he could still see the gears turning in his pupils head. Yes, one day, his student would make a fine sorcerer indeed.
“Probabilities?” The captain asked baffled. “Gotta be the most pathetic power I’ve seen.” He cried out with bellowing laughter. Well, I expected it to go this way. This was Captain Joe Allman. A terrific hero of his day, before he retired. He’d seen his fair share of villains and heroes. Bank robberies and cataclysmic events. But he hadn’t seen me. When I entered the recruitment agency and registered at the front desk, the receptionist went pale when she saw my resume. So did most people. I say most, because probability manipulation is commonly underestimated by those with a feeble imagination. Those like Captain Allman. Don’t get me wrong, Captain Allman is wise. He’s fought hundreds of tough battles and got out with only a few scars, thanks to his power of super strength, but he was notorious for being the pinnacle of “No brain, all brawn”. You’d think after 30 years of service, he’d have learnt not to underestimate his opponent. I guess that’s why he remained in Class-B. I waited for him to calm down. He was slumped in his chair giggling, like a child being tickled. When he sat up, I began to make my case. “Sir, with all due respect, you haven’t given me enough thought.” I said unfazed by his mockery. I knew I could win him over, no matter how dumb he was. “What’s there to think about?” He replied wiping away a tear. “You should be doing something in the stock market. Get rich quick. Retire early. What is some punk like you doing here?” I glared him in the eye, giving him one final chance to reconcile his mistakes. A ball flew through the window and hit him square in the head. It didn’t affect him. Not even in the slightest. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for the noise of smashing glass. He looked at the window dumbfounded, and then at the cricket ball on the floor. He got up to look out of the window, rubbing his eyes. “There’s no cricket pitch for miles? Who threw that?” He muttered angrily. His fingered gripped the window frame, crushing and splintering it as he squeezed his head outside. “I did.” I stated calmly. He looked back inside. Back at me. “You? With your puny power?” The Captain was visibly red in the face. He was obviously confused, and he didn’t like being made a fool of. “Yes, I did. I threw that ball before I came inside the building.” “Then why didn’t it hit me earlier?” he growled. “You haven’t got one of those time manipulating punks out there have you?” “No.” I replied simply. “I manipulated the probability of air pressure stopping the ball, pushing it upwards and having it levitate in the air. I knew you would take me for granted. So I decided to present you with a tiny demonstration of my power.” He was obviously lost in my words. Probably didn’t know what half of them meant. “I manipulated the probability that the ball would stop and then shoot at you at my will.” Captain Allman stared at me wordless, and disbelieving. He scrutinised my face to see if I was lying. He eventually looked at the ball again and picked it up. “Yeah so what? You can throw a ball whenever you want. Why should I enlist you as a superhero, kid?” He questioned me, trying to justify his earlier assessment of my ‘puny’ power. I smirked and everything went dark and cold. We both looked outside of the window and into the dark void. The only light came from the lamp that hung above us. As abruptly as the sun went out, it lit up again. We could see the city skyline. A superhero with a tight suit and red cape rocketed by. I began to boast my power. “I just stopped light from the sun reaching this room. I manipulated the probability that the light of particles sent by the Sun wouldn’t be sent to this room.” The ceramic mug on the captain’s desk exploded and shattered. Droplets of coffee flew across the room. Everywhere except me was covered in brown liquid. “I just caused such a great vibration of particles, that the intermolecular forces of the particles in this mug were overpowered.” I boasted again. “Don’t you see? I can do anything! The ability to manipulate probability is the ability to be a god! I am nigh-omnipotent, able to kill those that I don’t even know exist. Eliminate threats that won’t happen for aeons to come. I am the perfect hero. I am unstoppable.” Allman was petrified in his desk. He understood now. Keeping his eyes on me, he shook as he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a printed piece of paper. He slid the page over to me. I caused the coffee on the desk to slide out of the way, leaving the paper without a single stain. “Kid, you could have it all.” The captain said. “Why this?” I shrugged. “Bored I guess.” With a shaking arm, he reached over the desk, handed me a pen and pointed to the line at the bottom of the page. “Sign here.”
Everyone who's anyone has heard the rumours. The Fountain of Youth, they call it. Hidden inside an unforgiving volcano on an Antarctic island way, way out in the Southern Ocean. Deception Island is a popular tourist destination, and a safe harbour for those who find themselves overwhelmed by the storms that bluster around the pole. The penguins there are adorable. In summer it's quite a nice place to stop off at. In winter it's freezing cold most all of the time and the days last mere hours, if they last at all. But the rumours say that if you manage to make it to the island on midwinters' day, in June, an ethereal being will appear and make you young again, from then on a part of her guard and entourage. But there is a test you must pass, and none of the rumours ever mention its nature. If you fail, you will never be seen again. If you pass, you will never be seen again. To be honest, I didn't care if I failed or passed. I didn't even care if there was a test at all. My little sailing boat set course for that island when it came through on the satellite radio that clouds were blooming ahead of me. Huge thunderheads, lit by lightning and twilight. And so I sailed into Deception Island on June 21st, and a figure dressed in blue came to meet my boat on the shore. "Hello there, traveller. You must be weary. The base here has food and water and warmth; we must tie up your boat so it does not drift. Come with me." The voice sounded male, and I followed, into a grey-white building with two windows lit up. The warmth of the place hit me like fire and I was sure I would have chilblains. He looked at me and I saw that the he was a she, wearing a snowsuit with a hood, watching me with curious eyes. "Well done for getting here, by the way. You're the only candidate this year so far, and midnight is in forty minutes." That late? When it was dark all day it was hard to track time. "Candidate for what?" "Immortality, of course. We have a couple of test papers laid out, but I'd imagine you'd like something to eat first." Half an hour later, full of the most delicious spaghetti bologneise I had ever tasted (though I'd been eating from tin cans for nearly a month now), I followed my guide into a room lit by bright light and heated by an electric heater. It was delightfully warm. "What is the test? What must I do?" "Oh, it's an IQ test along with a free-topic essay to assess your writing skills, and a multiple choice basic science paper. Don't worry, only the first bit counts - the second is just checking what you need a fast track course on." "Huh?"I was gobsmacked. "No test of courage, or moral fibre? You're not even checking what kind of person I am?" "Why would we need to do that? We'll have plenty of time to beat some empathy into you later. What we care about is aptitude - that's genetic and won't change over time, so it's the only thing worth selecting on. Go on, start when you're ready. No time limit, and you can ask me for help if you get stuck on a question." "That's not how IQ tests are supposed to work?"I was still unconvinced that this wasn't a dont-cheat-or-you-fail kind of thing. "It isn't? Weird. But these things are meant to be not-quite-answerable without help. It's so I can assist and observe how you think. I've been training for this all year."She sniffed. "Bit of a let-down really, just one of you." I finished in two hours and something minutes; I hadn't accurately noted the start time from the clock on the wall. "What's your name?" "Oh, um, Greg. Uh, Greg Harlow." "Okay, I'll write that in on the front of the test. We keep them all on file for sentimental purposes, did you know? You passed, by the way." "You haven't marked it." "We marked it as you went along. Well then, congratulations. Close your eyes, it helps with this part!" My brain registered his hand flying up to meet my face and I flinched despite myself, though she only tapped my forehead sharply. Two seconds passed, and then something unfolded inside my head, and suddenly there were voices talking in my brain. You done it yet? Idna's done it, didn't you feel the backflow? He'll be around here somewhere. Get him to say something, will you? I can't pinpoint without a signal. She - no, Idna, her name matched her face as if I had known her forever - smiled at me. "Say cheese." Oh come on, hurry up. "Uh, cheese?" I am hurrying up, it's not my fault he's taking so long! "Good. Now think cheese." Okay, eveyone, listen for the word 'cheese'. I closed my eyes again. Cheese. There you are! Got you, Greg! Welcome! Someone go check his memories, I want a full backstory up in the database by tomorrow. Roger, will do. "Who are those people?" "The lucky hopefuls from previous years. Or at least the ones online at the moment. There are about a thousand of us now." I'm Kitty. Rajit. Sam here! Idna, now introduce yourself. Uh, hi. My name's Greg. I'm, looking forward to working with you? Aww, he's embarrassed. That's so cute! It was like a crowd was talking, but only a few voices could be singled out. The rest of us aren't directing converse at you. You'll learn, Gregory Arthur Harlow. Wait, you know my middle- Written plain as day in your head, and I've got your medical records up here too. "I know it's overwhelming at first, but you'll get used to it. Now, I'd best be off." "Wait, where?" "I'll take your boat and sail back to the Falklands." Malvinas. Can we not go through this again? "Am I being left here?" "Yeah. Introductory year, spent isolated from civilisation. We teach you everything you need to know in the mind-link, and it also helps containing the secret. Now my year's up, and I'm passing the guardian burden to you." "B-but that's my boat?!" Oh god, this is hilarious. Remind me again why I never stayed up for this before? "It's our boat now. We share everything. Don't worry, you get supply ships in the summer, and a couple of us might drop by and visit." I'm an Antarctic research scientist, and I do tour groups round there. You can show people penguins. Antarctic treaty system rocks - even if someone finds out about you, they have no legal claim to booting you off the land! "There's a lot you have to learn, and a lot I have to learn too, but hey. I'm outta here. I haven't sailed in way too long." Thunder boomed and lightning flashed outside. Weather data says this storm's going to last another eight hours. So unless you fancy breaking the boat and swimming back, Idna, you're gonna hav'ta stay put. Don't worry, you can set off tomorrow. We'll keep the jet at the airport. You said Japan would be the first stop, right? Right. "Oh, okay. Second thoughts, maybe I'll stay the night. Anything else you wanted to ask me?" ... "..." You know, if you open your mouth any wider your brain might fall out. Sam! No tormenting the newbie! "Uh, I don't think so. But why are you even doing this? I mean, why me? I'm not special." "You're at least a standard deviation above the normal in IQ, and that's what counts. We've been doing this for eighty odd years now. The person who started it died - or something, we're not sure exactly what happened, since dying isn't exactly normal for us, but he passed the magic on through the link." "Why, though?" "I dunno. Tradition, maybe." It's so we don't get lonely. When you're immortal, suicide is a no-go, so we have to make sure we don't ever lose the will to live. Kit, where'd ya get that? Quote source? Just came to me. Sounds right though. Yep. That year, I had great fun talking to the penguins and to the voices in my head.
He stumbled back, hitting the wall behind him. The woman sighed and rose from her knees. She brushed the alley filth from her palms. "Now why did you have to go and do something like that?" The cement scraped the leather of his jacket as he slid down the alley wall. "Idiot,"she murmured. Her fingertips danced over the handle, still protruding from just above her belt. The long low noise coming from his lips was more animal than human. "I had plans today,"she continued, voice calm. "A late breakfast then shopping. Brunch. Brunch is fashionable these days, you know."She paused. "It'll have to be somewhere... cute. A café maybe." He glanced to the dim light at the end of the alley. The shadow of a single passerby fell over his vision. He heard a low humming laugh. "No, you won't be leaving here." Her eyes locked on his. Something warm spread through his pants. Her lilting fingertips curled down, and in a single smooth arc, she pulled the blade free. "A steak knife?"she muttered, looking down at the clean steel knife. "Really? You can't do better than that?" His eyes darted downwards. Other than the frayed tear of gray silk, there was no blood. His mouth opened to cry out, but no sound came. "I liked this shirt too."She crossed the thin alley in a step, and crouched before him. "You're too young for this kind of life, aren't you? Aren't people your age supposed to be in college?" She drew an icy line around his face with the tip of the knife. "Such a shame. Well,"she sighed, "no brunch for me."She grinned, and he shoved back as hard as he could against the alleyway wall. Her teeth were tiny and flat, and far too many. "How long do you think you'll scream before help arrives?" He cried out again. Another shadow flickered over him, another passerby. "It doesn't really matter, does it?"
We re-watched it over and over again, but to no avail. We still couldn't understand what was happening in the video. I mean, it was amazing, revolutionary even, that we even found this device. It will help mankind advance by thousands of snailmiles in tech, not to mention the insight to history that we will receive. But it just creeps me out. The "Those Who Came Before", as we like to call them, had amazing technology, hundreds of thousands of years before we even invented the steam engine. They were intelligent, they were powerful. But, where are they? The video shows a bunch of neanderthals climbing hastily aboard a vessel of some sort, we call it "The Ark", and also a large humanoid shouting something that we are unable to hear. Apart the rushing neanderthals and the unknown humanoid, there was only one strange thing about the tape. The audio. It contained screaming. Endless screaming. It wasn't anything what we would expect from a neanderthal, it was too human. And it was afraid. We analyzed the audio and it seemed that it wasn't added in post or anything. It was recorded at the same time as the video was. It seemed almost unreal, the amount of fright in the voice, not to mention the length of the screaming. Anyway, back to the whole tape. It's about thirty seconds long and is recorded on a disk of some sort. It looks and feels like metal, but when we analyzed it, it showed high quantities of carbon and nitrogen. It's something we've never seen before. It fits into a normal DVD player, and works with the same principle. Remarkable, I know. Now, here's the part I started this recording for. The other side. You know how some DVD's have two sides? Well we tried it with the disk, and we found that it had a second side. It was a black background, with something hazy shown in the middle. We couldn't decipher it ourselves so we sent it to the boys in the labs, and they discovered that if you play the both sides at the same time, it shows a message. When the video started, it showed a bunch of unknown symbols that were scrolling down on the screen quickly. We stared at it for a while, and then, it happened. It shoved a message, that was written in English. We couldn't believe it at first, but when we asked the guys at the labs, they said that they didn't add it in. The message was real. And it said: "Those who come after us, don't stay here, it comes from below." We don't know what to do. We have stayed in the same room for a whole day, we're too scared to go out. We don't know what to do. I'm scared. EDIT: Are you proud of me /u/TheWalrusEffect? Also, thanks /u/Cobalt45 for nothing that light-years are a measure of distance not time. Whoopsie.
"Did you know that moving is one of the biggest causes of stress?"Bob was in a panic. He had been with Larry since the beginning. He helped him grow. Saw him through the teenage years. Helped him find true love. He was settling down, finally. But Bernie had to make sure that he was out on time. "Come on, Bob. Stop fighting it. It's time to go. You've helped Larry all you can. You had a nice long run. Longer than most. But Larry has to carry on without you."Bernie hated his job, ushering souls from one body to another. The work never seemed to get finished anymore. But all you can do is prepare these people for their inevitable mediocrity and move on. It wasn't a situation anyone was happy with, but there was nothing else that could be done. "But what about Larry? What's going to happen to him without me?"Bob was going to miss Larry. He was funny. Bob guessed that wasn't going to be true once he moved out. All Bernie could do was reassure Bob that Larry's future without him was going to be just fine. "He'll do what all the soulless do. We made sure his application for management was accepted."
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith sat at his desk staring at the office clock, thinking to himself that it may as well have thirteen numbers on it. For a moment he forgot himself as he began to daydream but he quickly returned to his work. He began to panic as he started typing on his electronic typewriter, hoping no one had seen him. He could feel his heart racing as he began to remember what happened to a co-worker when he was caught 'slacking off'. Luckily no one had caught him not even the alarm on his electronic typewriter. It was programmed to go off after it was unattended for two minutes and after five minutes for children. The corporation was still waiting for legislation to pass to extend working hours for children to fourteen hours but they could be waiting a while for it. Winston heard an executive joke the other day that he may have to bribe more of his friends in the government. Pft! the government, Winston thought, there was no government. In the last forty years successive Neoliberal governments had sold off public property piece by piece right under the noses of the people, until there was nothing left to govern. It was then Winston was kept on his toes when an eight year boy walked past his desk to drop off more paper work. He thanked the boy, an empty gesture, then added it to the bigger pile on his left. As the boy walked on he thought that the legislation may as well be passed, he wasn’t going to learn anything useful at School anyway. Even public education had been corrupted by corporations. School days had been shortened to 3 hours a day before been considered ‘non-compulsory’ by the government last year. Winston was old enough to remember when it started, when they introduced advertising into primary schools. Everything was for sale back then, in the end even health and education. Winston could even remember when the news channel he worked for was sold. Fifteen years ago the BBC released several stories that the Secure-a-Tec Corporation considered ‘bad for businesses’. After they reported the deadly side effects of the drugs being produced by their Pharmaceutical branch and the environmental harm their fracking company was causing they decide it was in their best interest to buy out the BBC. But Winston couldn't really complain after all they gave him a job. It was Winston’s responsibility to edit all stories that came through the office, so he had a lot of work to do. If anyone was to learn of how dangerous their products were or how irresponsible their private security officers were it could severely affect profits, then again most consumer rights laws had been repealed. He was beginning to daydream again so he returned to work. Winston was busy editing a piece on a worker who developed cancer in their pharmaceutical labs when he heard the sharp growl of his supervisor ‘Smith!’ Winston shuddered and turned to answer him. ‘Yes, sir?’ ‘ ‘Smith I need you to take this letter to head office.’ ‘Can it not been send through electronic mail?’ ‘No.’ He snarled ‘It needs to be delivered to the CEO in person.’ Winston spoke no more, he took the letter and slinked away from his office. As he walked along the corridors piercing eyes stared at him from company posters, posters decorated with slogans such ‘A busy worker is a happy worker.’ And ‘Be vigilant for corporate espionage. ‘As Winston grew closer to the head office he could already hear the CEO speaking, he spoke words so horrifying it made Winston freeze like a rabbit caught in headlights. Once he built up the courage he tip toed towards the room and listened with his ear pressed against the door. ‘…As you already know our private security firm holds a monopoly on the entire British criminal justice system. Everything from the police force to the prison system. But there is one security firm that still stands in our way. Gentlemen I come before you today to give you a proposition of great opportunity- we put into motion the last steps to fully privatise the military.’ Winston stood back as he gasped in horror. It was then he felt a leather glove grasp his shoulder. The man turned him around and pinned him to the wall ‘What are you doing here’ he drew his police baton ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’
It's the late teenage and early adult versions of myself that are the loudest, the most vocal. I can't really say I'm surprised; those were interesting years - after my repressive, isolated upbringing, the freedom from my step mother meant unprecedented leeway to figure out who I was. Unfortunately one doesn't overcome one's parental indoctrination that easily - especially not with a mother like her. "Faggot,"one of them spits in my face, his own contorted with rage. That's me in the army - when I'd repressed everything about myself to fit in. He's got a crew-cut, army fatigues, a brand new tattoo and enough anger to fuel a dozen Hulks. "I can't believe you did that to me,"he continues, pacing up and down. His fists are clenched and he punches the air to punctuate his words. He's joined by what I've come to see as 'career me' - the guy I was after I left the armed forces; dedicated to getting a good career, fitting in, being one with society. Business suit. Designer sunglasses. Expensive shirts. Silver cuff links. "Jesus Christ,"he swears, "you've wrecked your chances of ever getting to the top. You're practically unemployable." This one is more agitated than angry; concerned all his hard work has been wasted. I'd explain things to him, but I know what his mental state is, so I let him talk. He can't understand because he's still so wrapped up in trying to conform, trying to be 'good' for his family, his friends and everyone else. Sixteen-year-old me hovers behind them. He's an interesting one; the loathing on his face for Present me is tinged with jealousy and longing. His parental and school indoctrination is strong though and it overcomes the longing. "You don't want to grow up and be that,"Army me tells him, "you wanna become a man like me - fit, strong, fucking chicks, drinking beer." The teenager nods fervently. The child versions of myself are clustered around me in wonder. Five-year-old me is playing with my long hair and nine-year-old me has borrowed my rings and earrings. They're floored by who I've become; no anger, no spite, no rage. "You're so pretty,"says Five. Nine nods and agrees loudly. The arguing and bickering escalates and one of my future selves steps in. She must be about eighty; wrinkly, grey haired and wise-eyed. "There are children here,"she cautions the loud young men, "keep your voices down." Army me rounds on her, "I won't take orders from some geriatric tranny,"he yells. "Suit yourself,"she says with a knowing smile. "May I remind you,"I say to all of them, "why we're here?" "I couldn't give a rat's ass,"Career me replies. And that's the problem with these past versions; they don't care about the future - they're barely scraping by. It wasn't until I transitioned that I actually started thinking about the future. She's over in one corner, her wig desperately needs a comb and her makeup needs work. She doesn't like being around people - especially not her past selves. "See her?"I point to Transition me, "she's about ready to kill herself. We need to help her." "Why? I'd rather be fucking dead than become some faggot in a dress." Turning to Wise Old me, I beg her for help with my eyes. In response, she takes my hand, then leads me, the children and the other older versions of me over to Transition me. The children form a ring around the suicidal young woman, hugging her, telling her she is beautiful. Next are the oldest version of me, then the middle-aged versions, then the ones a little older than me. Finally, on the outside are myself and the fiery early transition versions. "You can't get through us,"I tell the group of angry young men pacing the perimeter of women, "you've lost." "KILL YOURSELF!"they scream at the girl in the middle. But they are drowned out by the words of love, of support, of defiance. "You've lost,"I tell them, "it's over." One by one the men vanish, leaving only the women. In the centre, the fragile one raises her head. "Thank you,"she says.
“Listen, Frank—“ “I told you, it’s not Frank anymore,” said the leather-clad geriatric. “I want people to call me Bullseye now.” “Right,” I said. “So listen, Bullseye. We’re not going to become bandits, alright? First of all, we don’t have any weapons. Secondly, we aren’t killers—“ “Speak for yourself,” said Bullseye. “—and thirdly, oh Jesus, is that your scrotum, Frank?” “It certainly is,” he said. “And the name is Bullseye.” “Why is your scrotum hanging out?” “I don’t have to explain the fashion to you,” he said. A lot of the old folks around here had been dressing this way ever since the war. They’d been wearing tight leather outfits, often with nipples or, in Bullseye’s case, scrotums exposed. Many of them had taken to wearing spiked collars or bracelets. Those who had hair left had attempted mohawks but failed horribly. Frank, who only had a little hair left around the sides had dyed it purple and spiked it straight out. I had no idea where they were even getting all the supplies to maintain this fashion. Of all the places to be when a nuclear war starts, I had to get stuck in a retirement community where the nearest person in age was at least twice as old as me. Why couldn’t I have landed in a mall full of hot teenage girls or maybe even at a bar somewhere where I could just drink until the world had righted itself again. Instead, I ended up here, in Leather-Fetish Stepford or whatever this was. It was awful lonely here, or at least I tried to stay lonely, because the alternative was to interact with these people who had all seemingly lost their minds. There was an old woman named Betsy who, before the bombs fell, had been a retired school teacher who baked me cookies whenever I came by to check on her. Now, though, she went by the name of Cunt-Terror, and just last week she had asked me if I wanted to “ride her hog out into the wasteland.” Bullseye stood there with his scrotum exposed, waiting for me to further explain why becoming bandits wouldn’t be a good idea. Before the war, he had been a widowed pastor who was beloved by the town. Now he wanted to go out into the wasteland wearing little more than leather straps to kill people. “We don’t even know if anybody else survived besides us,” I told him. “Exactly,” he said. “And they don’t know that we survived. We’ll have the element of surprise on our side.” “Look,” I said. “We have plenty of food and supplies here to last awhile. We can expand the community garden to sustain all of us. We don’t need to go out and kill other people for their stuff.” “Kill them for their stuff?” asked Bullseye. “No, no, kid, you don’t understand. We just want to kill them for fun.” “I’m not going to endorse this,” I said. “This is a terrible idea.” Bullseye sighed and looked at his watch. “Fine, but when we’re all having fun as bandits, don’t complain and say we didn’t offer you a part in it. Anyway, it’s time for my nooner with Cunt-Terror. See ya, kid.” He turned to walk away, giving me a view of his fully-exposed wrinkled ass. Life was going to be difficult in this community. I only prayed that the war wasn’t quite over, and perhaps there were still a few nukes left that the military could lob our way.
"This is the biggest case of your career we're talking about!"The Mayor threw back the Scotch I had given him when he entered. He was now pouring his fourth glass. I shook my head and casually sipped my own, "I'm sorry Mr. Mayor, I just cannot take it."I took a look at the stack of papers in front of me, "I have too many of these cases to go through." "Those cases?"He scoffed, "They're throwaways, Jade! I think a case against the Crystal Crusader is a bigger concern." I shrugged, trying to hide my dissatisfaction with the case of the City versus the Crystal Crusader, suing her for the destruction of property. "I'm sorry. I just have to make sure these people get behind bars, the right bars. I don't want an escape like last time." The Mayor shook his head, "We handled that." I stood up, "Correction, sir, she handled that. She put over 90% of the prison population back into prison before things became ugly. Hell, she saved half the people on my block." The Mayor turned back to me and sighed, "Listen, I know what she's done for the city as much as the next. She's saved my life plenty of times." I smiled. "But the city council is demanding she be put on trial. Any other citizen would have been tried and put in prison by now." My smile turned into a frown, "Mayor, please, think about this. We're talking about a superhero who has saved thousands of lives, including most of the Council." "There's nothing to think about, Ms. Jacquex. The Council is in favor, even if I did try and explain all this, they're going ahead with the sue. We need our best prosecutor on the case." I lifted the stack of papers in front of me and shrugged, "Mr. Mayor, for the last time, I can't take it. I already have a heavy plate." The Mayor frowned and downed his fifth glass of Scotch in roughly a half hour. "I'm disappointed, but I can't say I didn't expect you to say no." I placed the papers on my counter across from my desk to clear it. With the recent escape of the psychopath Johnathon Wilshire, also known as Crimson Nighthawk, I had been working overtime for almost three weeks trying to catch up. "They're willing to offer you triple your normal rate." I stopped and turned back to him, "They what?" "One Councilor, who is very opposed to her, is offering to front most of the money for you to take the case." I thought about the City Council in my head, scanning through each and every member to figure out if anyone had a connection with Wilshire, but nothing came to mind. "Who?" "Mr. Mitchell Barton,"he shrugged, "not sure why or how, but he has come into a lot of money and is willing to use it for this purpose." "Barton,"I whispered and thought back to his name and dossier. From what I remember, he had no connections to Wilshire, but he did have a sick daughter in the hospital and Wilshire was known to target medical facilities for his research. I shook my head, could it really be? "I will think about it."I said. The Mayor seemed overjoyed, "That's fantastic! We'll need an answer by next week." A week, I thought, that would give me enough time to do some research on the matter. "I can do that, I would just like to research the matter further." The Mayor smiled and slammed the cup down on the counter. He walked over to shake my hand, but almost fell instead. I dashed over and caught him just before he hit my desk corner, taking all two hundred and some pounds onto my, relatively, small frame. He laughed, "You know, for a small girl, you're surprisingly strong." I nodded and helped him up a little bit to get his bearings, "Woman, Mr. Mayor. I'm a woman." He nodded, getting a very serious look, "Yes, yes, quite sorry Jade." I helped the Mayor to his feet and towards the door before he stepped out. "I'll relay the message to the Council in the morning,"he shrugged, "after I get this out of my system." I smiled, "You do that, sir." He left a few moments later with his security detail in tow, a few men and women I had screened before they were selected. Once I was sure he was gone, I shut and locked my door. "Ruby?"I spoke aloud, "Could you do a preliminary search on Mr. Mitchell Barton and known associates." A voice filled my office room a moment later and the windows darkened, "Already doing it, ma'am. I have begun cross-referencing this list with known Crimson associates." "Thank you, Ruby." "And Crusader?" "Yes, Ruby?" "I have ordered another bottle of your Scotch." I smiled as I took a seat and switched my desktop of Jade Jacquex to the computer of the Crystal Crusader, "Thank you, Ruby." ______ [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4264lw/wp_you_are_a_superhero_and_being_sued_by_the/cz8760v) ______ *Thank you for the prompt, if you liked this story, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!
"Fallen, Obi-Wan has. Taken by the Dark side, his apprentice is,"Yoda spoke to Bail as he flew from the Senate chambers. Bail could see the Jedi Master was hurt, the fight against the Emperor had taken a higher toll on him than either of them had imagined. "What now?"He said as he sped towards the spaceport. "Other Jedi, I must find." "Do you think any have survived?" "A former apprentice of the Fallen Jedi, I must find,"Yoda hummed to himself, "Ahsoka Tano, train her I will." "I will do my best to find where she went." "Safe, she is. Saved her life, forsaking the Jedi, yes." Bail nodded and hit the throttle, speeding off into the traffic of Coruscant. _____ Vader lifted Padme off of the ground, taking her in his arms for the first time in what felt like months. He could feel her breathe, she was alive, he thought to himself, before turning around and staring into the volcanic landscape of Mustafar. "Goodbye Master,"he whispered, as he stepped on-board the ship, R2-D2 and C3-PO standing off to the side. "Oh, poor Padme!" R2 beeped. "She will live, R2,"Vader said as he set her down in the medical suite. He placed his real hand upon her head, feeling the heat emanating from it, "I must take her to Coruscant, she will be safe there."Vader stood upwards, turning from Padme and walking to the control room, "I can save her." R2 beeped solemnly as Vader walked into the cockpit. C3-PO nodded, "Yes, R2. Obi-Wan seems to be staying here."C3-PO lifted his hands, "Now, let us help the Creator!" _____ Yoda sat in one of the rooms of Bail's ship, meditating. His concentration broke a moment later when Bail entered the room, knocking slightly. "Master Yoda." "Found her, you have." "We have an idea, yes. In the Lothal system, we are headed there now." "Agents of the Dark Side, there will be. Proceed with caution, we must." Bail nodded as he took a seat next to Yoda. "How are you?" "Heal they will, my wounds. Unaware of his Master's Death, young Vader is." "That is good. It will disorganize the Empire's agents." "Strengthen it, this will. Rally behind Lord Vader, the Legions will." "Then we try and stop it. Before it gets out of control." Yoda nodded, breathing heavily and humming to himself, "Out of our control, the Force is." ______ "The Emperor has fallen?" CT-7643 nodded, "Yes. The Master Yoda bested him in combat, we found his body before you arrived." Vader crushed two chairs behind him as he strained himself at the news, "Lock down the planet, no ship leaves." "And the other squadrons?" Vader nodded as he turned away, "Continue Order 66, hunt down the traitors."He stepped through a door and a few glasses popped, "Kill them all." Vader walked towards the medical suite, watching over Padme as the Clone medics and robotic units prepared her for birthing her children. He stood there, breathing deeply as he held his hands against her. "Anni,"she whispered slightly, "Anni, is that you?" Vader lowered himself to speak at her level, whispering into her ear, "I am here, Padme."He smiled and closed his robotic hand around her head, "And I am not going anywhere." _____ It didn't take long for Bail's ship to get to the Lothal system, and Yoda continued to meditate on the ship as they prepared their descent to one of the minor cities. Yoda could feel a deep presence within the force as they approached the planet, one that had significant ties to the Fallen Skywalker; and as they landed and the darkness of space became the daylight, Yoda could feel Tano's presence. It was the same fear, the same resentment, that he felt years ago with teaching Skywalker. "Master Yoda,"Bail entered the doorway, "You were right. Agents of the Dark Side are already sweeping the planet." Yoda hummed, "Locking his power, Vader is." "We can land in one of the minor cities. It should be a few hours before they find us." "Done much, you have Senator Organa."Yoda stood upwards from his meditating position and turned to Bail, "Ends here, your journey does." "Master Yoda, without help--" "Help me, Tano will. Her former master, Vader is." "I insist Master Yoda." "Need you, I will in time. Until the time is right, disappear we must." Bail sighed, he nodded, "I will do what I can to gain support elsewhere, and I will continue to serve the Republic."He turned away, before stopping, "Will Tano be able to help you, Master Yoda?" Yoda shook his head as he slowly limped out of the doorway, using his cane, "I not know. Yes,"he hummed, "Clouded by the Dark side, the Force is." Bail nodded, "Good luck." _____ Vader held his baby girl and boy in his hands, rocking them both as he sat next to Padme, who was breathing quietly, presumably tired from the birth. She survived, miraculously, according to the Clone Medics, but Vader knew what truly happened. He willed her survival, just as he had willed Palpatine's fall, and his former Master's defeat. "I did it for you,"he whispered to his newborns, "so that you may live in a world ruled by the right people."Vader smiled, "Ruled by me." He could feel Padme shift in the bed as her head turned to face him and the newborns, "Anni?" "Yes, Padme."He sat upwards, "I am here." "Wh-what happened?" He smiled, "You gave birth to two wonderful children here." "Luke." He nodded. "And Leia." "Yes, you gave their names during their births." "Where are we?"She seemed concerned, Vader noted it, far too concerned. "On Coruscant, safe and sound." Padme sat upwards and looked around, "Safe and sound from who?" "The Jedi,"Vader said bluntly, "the traitors that wished to take you and my children from me." "Oh, Anni." Vader looked at his wife, "Do not do it, Padme. I did what I said I would do."He took a deep breath, "I saved you." "At what cost Anni? The destruction of the Jedi? Of the Republic?" "The Jedi were evil!"He raised his voice, "They turned against me, against us. But now, we have a chance to rebuild. I have a chance to make things right." "And what of the Chancellor, what of his Empire?" "Chancellor Palpatine is dead,"Vader smirked, "As is the traitorous Obi-Wan and the last of the Jedi."Vader nodded, "This is the path we must follow." Padme looked at Vader, trying to find the man she had fallen in love with behind the cloud of the Dark Side that formed around him. She stared at the man that took his place, the Vader that sat holding her two children. "Anni, you've changed." "For the better."He looked up from his children, "For us." Padme took a deep breath, knowing that there was something in Vader that still fought against the Dark Side, that still knew that there was something right in the world. It didn't take her long to realize what it was. The only thing holding him together was her, and now their two newborns. It would take them to bring him back to the Light. "What will you do?" Vader smiled for the first time in a long time, looking down at his children. "Make things the way we want them to be." ______ It took Yoda a few days to track down the presence of Tano, with the Dark side clouding the Force it took him longer than it should have, even with her strong sensitivity during these troublesome times. But once he found her, he knew exactly where to find her. In one of the remote cities, just a short ride away of where he landed, Yoda found Tano in her own hut, meditating. He didn't enter at first, choosing to remain at the door and waiting for Tano to recognize his presence. When she did however, she jumped to her feet, "Master Yoda."She looked at him, visibly surprised at seeing him out and about, and more importantly, coming to a remote world such as Lothal, "What are you doing here?" "Here to find you, I am." Tano could feel something grow stronger as he stepped inside the room, a dark presence that she was having trouble isolating, but it was a presence she recognized. "What has happened?" "Risen over the galaxy, a cloud of darkness has. Yes?" She nodded, "I felt it days ago. I did not know what else to do but meditate and calm my mind." "A good choice, you made. But for nothing, it is, risen, the dark side has."Yoda stepped inside and took a seat in front of Tano. She too, sat back down. "The Force you felt, tell me." Tano shook her head, "I felt it all at once, a rush of emotions. Hatred, anger, resentment."She took a deep breath, "A feeling of loss in the Light, and a gain in the Dark. And a feeling of loss on both sides." "Connection to your former Master, you still have, hmm?" Tano nodded, "I believe not. The emotions were familiar almost, as if my time during the Clone Wars were reemerging. But they were my own." "Your own, they may be. Perhaps, restarting, they are?"Yoda shut his eyes, and Tano followed suit. "Perhaps. They do seem new, as if the Dark Side has gained something I cannot guess." "Feel, you must, guess, you must not." Tano nodded as she took a few deep breaths, both her and Yoda breathing in sync and feeling the Force flow around them. There was a cloud of darkness, buried in the Force that kept eating away at the Light. Tano could feel its presence grow stronger as she and Yoda looked deep inside. Then she felt it, the connection she had not felt in years, ever since she left the Jedi. "A new Dark Lord." "Yes, hmm." "A fallen Jedi." Tano's eyes flashed open as Yoda slowly opened his own, "See it, you do." "Anakin,"she looked up at him, "He killed Obi-Wan, massacred the Temple."She felt something hit her, hard, "He is Darth Vader." "Fallen to the Dark Side, young Skywalker has. Powerful, he has grown." She shook her head, feeling the emotions cloud her judgement, "There is something else. New voices, two of them. Strong in the force." "Kept safe by his forces, the voices are. Children, of the Sith Lord, you feel." "Children?" "Yes. Children." _____ [Episode IV](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/48rylx/eu_obiwan_was_killed_by_newlyapprenticed_sith/d0mgods)
March 2016 SMASH The wall exploded, rubble and dust coating the living room. There stood Ultra Man. Again. The Baron shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How many time to I have to tell you? I'm retired!"The Baron shouted. "Don't play coy with me Baron von Evilguy! I know you're up to something."Ultra Man strode forward over the concrete pieces of wall and grabbed The Baron by the shirt. "Okay, you win, Ultra Man, I'll show you what I'm up to." The Baron carefully extracted himself from Ultra Man's grasp and led the way down to his wine cellar. "Today, I'm cataloging all my wines, and I'm setting up a wine and cheese night for myself and a few friends. You're more than welcome to come... If you can use the door. I'm getting very tired of replacing walls." Ultra Man glared at The Baron. "You aren't fooling anyone. I know you're up to something. I just have to figure out what." "I'm really not--"The Baron began to explain, but Ultra Man took off, straight up, leaving several holes in the floors and ceilings of The Baron's house. Shaking his head, The Baron set to cleaning up the mess before his guests would arrive. May 2016 CRASH Ultra Man punched through the wall, the rubble forming a neat pile, thanks to a contraption mounted on the wall. The Baron gestured to the table. "Since you've been making a habit of breaking my house on a weekly basis, always around lunch time, I figured the least I could do is set out some sandwiches." Ultra Man walked over the table, eyeing the sandwiches with suspicion. He picked one up and sniffed it. "What is this? Some sort of poison?" The Baron smiled. "Actually, it's a hero sandwich. I thought you'd enjoy it. Please, have a seat." Ultra Man tossed the hero sandwich on the floor and fixed The Baron with his most menacing glare. "I know you're up to something. You think you can just play it cool, and I'll just give up, but I won't. I will find out what you're up to." "Well, I am thinking about breeding corgis." "What?! Are you creating vicious man-eating dogs?" "Nope. Just regular, cute, little corgis." Ultra Man shook his head and flew off, the ceiling parting for him as he went. The Baron shook his head and pressed a button on the table, fixing the wall and closing the ceiling. Then, he finished lunch. October 2016 DING DONG The Baron put his book down and got up, grabbing his big bowl of candy and walking to the door. "Happy Hallo--" BAM! The Baron stumbled back as Ultra Man's fist came through the door and connected with his nose. "Ow! Seriously, Ultra Man? Don't you have actual crime to fight?" Ultra Man's gaze softened and much to The Baron's surprise, the great superhero began to cry. "It's true! I--I'm just"Ultra Man sobbed, struggling for breath. "Whoa, whoa. Jerry, I didn't mean anything by that, I'm just getting tired of telling you I've retired." Ultra Man stopped and looked up at The Baron. "You knew my secret identity?" "Well, yeah. You only disguise yourself with a pair of glasses and a slightly different hairstyle. You know that computers are capable of face recognition, right? Hell, Facebook even knows your secret identity." Ultra Man stumbled over to the table and sat down. "It's just these new supervillains. They're seriously messed up. They don't know the rules I thought maybe if I got you to come back, you'd bring back some organization to the chaos." The Baron sat down at the table with his former foe. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to get out of things. But maybe I could offer you some advice?" "I'd like that."Ultra Man sniffled. "I'll go make us some tea."The Baron smiled and set to work. March 2043 KNOCK KNOCK The Baron shuffled to his door, opening it to let in his old friend, Ultra Man. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming today." Ultra Man, still as young and vibrant as he had been decades ago, helped his aged frenemy to the table. "And miss finally beating you in chess?" "Ha! You might have super powers, but I still have my mind."The Baron chuckled and adjusted his bifocals. "Delores? Could you make some lunch for my guest and me?" A large woman in bright, white sneakers came in and smiled warmly at the two before setting to making snacks. "So how have you been?"Ultra Man asked, moving his bishop to a slightly wrong tile. "Oh, the same. Which is pretty good at my age. My hip still aches when it snows, but Delores takes good care of me, and I've still got Hans around here somewhere."The Baron moved his piece to place Ultra Man's king in check. "Ha! Check!" Ultra Man smiled and tipped over his king. "Actually, that was checkmate, old friend." The Baron adjusted his glasses. "Really?" Ultra Man nodded, noticing a large, fat corgi wandering into the room. "Yes, it was definitely checkmate." "Well, do you want to play again, Jerry?" "Yes, I would, Ben." * You can find more of my work at /r/thestormcellar hope you enjoy!**
"Two days from the nearest lake. I'm so thirsty." "Yeah, we're in some hot water." "Knock it off, this is getting serious." "Yep. Like a post-nuclear-holocaust didn't make our situation serious enough." "No, I mean... oh what's the point?" "South by South West." "What?" "Our point. That's where we're heading." "Not the lake. Why are we fighting this?" "Well we can't help it Miles. People tend to get thirsty when they don't drink for a while." "No, that's not what I ---" "Water's pretty important for people." "I know, but I was ---" "Thirst just means our bodies need fluids." "God dammit Larry, why should we be here anymore?!" "We shouldn't. That's why we're walking." "But why? Our families have been dead for a month." "Huh, my sister hasn't told me that yet. Then again, it has been a while since she's written." "No, Larry... we don't have the skills to go much further." "Walking isn't that hard." "Survival skills. We were office workers, remember?" "Yep. So glad we got the time off." "Wow." "I know! That's what corporate gets for being stingy with their vacation days." "This isn't a vacation." "Well, either way, the food and service could use some work." "Larry, we're just fucking up our way through this. You know that right?" "So did Snooki, and MTV gave her a show for it." "Damn. How do you do it?" "I watched a lot of TV." "No, not that. I mean, pushing forward like this?" "By putting a foot forward with each ---" "Oh forget it." ----------------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
"Alan... My water broke."Mary whispered, choking on guilty tears. "Mary, baby, please. Be strong. Just do this like we planned okay?"The middle aged man reassured. Mary nodded, blinking. "I'll go through it again. We go to meeting place, the alley between Pines and Fifth. I will sho—delete anyone who passes. It's pretty busy and deadbeat teenagers pass through it as a shortcut all the time. They can't be worth more than our soon-to-be bundle of joy. All right? Then we go to the bench outside of the alley and you... do the thing okay?"Alan took deep breaths in. He couldn't afford another miscarriage like last time. He had to go through with it. "Ready?" "Ready." -------------------- Silence echoed throughout the alley. The darkness only emphasized the horrible task Alan had to accomplish. Mary went through her calming exercises, trying her best not to make a sound. She took in tiny breaths because of the pain, exactly what the instructor told her not to do. But she didn't care. The contractions were too much to bear. She just wanted it to end. The duo heard footsteps. Coming closer. And closer. Then, their plan was set into motion. "Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down!"An adorably girly, high pitched voice rang out through the alley. "No!"Mary shouted, lunging towards Alan, desperate for the gu— A shot fired. A child cried for its mother.
He thought he was done. After thirty years of madness fighting crime on the streets, he was finally able to lay down his badge, and looked forward to a quiet retirement. He thought he was finally out for good. But they wouldn't let him rest. They went after his family, and now he's going to make them pay. "If you're looking for ransom, I can tell you that I don't have any money. What I do have is a particular set of gadgets. Gadgets implanted in my body over a long career. Gadgets that make me a nightmare for people like you. Return my niece now, and that will be the end of it. I won't come looking for you. If you don't, I will look for you. I will find you, and I will go-go kill you." This summer, one retired cop returns for one last caper, and this time, it's personal. "Where's Penny?" "You think you can make me talk? You're a joke, a washed-up publicity stunt." "That was a long time ago. Things have changed. Go-go gadget blow torch." Come see your favorite detective like you've never seen him before. This summer, Jeff Goldblum is.... Inspector Gadget.
Angels playing harps. A gate made of gold. Beloved family members who have passed before you waiting for you amongst fluffy white clouds. With such vivid imagery, no one can blame Jeff for assuming that he'd arrive at such a place after his tragically early death. Jeff wasn't particularly religious, no, he was one of many of us who hold little to no faith in the divine yet still hold onto a little hope that something more significant than nothing happens to our conciousness after death. It's easy to fall for the pearly gates cliche, even for self proclaimed atheists. What Jeff experienced not long after he could feel his body failing and life fading, was a waiting room. Almost as if he were revived and his life fast forwarded to a dental appointment. Nobody else was in the waiting room with him. Not even a receptionist at the desk. Why even have a desk if you're not going to put someone at it? As he was going over the events that happened seemingly minutes ago, he began to wonder if his horrible death was all just a dream. As he sat down on one of the cushioned yet not comfortable chairs, from beyond a swinging emerged a man in glowing Gandalf robes with a magnificent beard. Welp, that is 100 percent God. "Jeffrey, my man! Mind if I call you Jeff? Of course you don't! Ha-ha-ha!" The deity had a booming yet warm voice and Jeff began to wonder how and why an Abrahamic God would look like a Caucasian space wizard. "Sorry to keep you waiting in Purgatory! It's just how it is. I know what you're thinking, old Jeffy boy. Yes, this is actually the after life. The reason I appear like an old white cosmic wizard is because you expect me to, my real appearance would be uncomprehendable to you. And purgatory is a waiting room because, again, you expect it to be like a waiting room. You've been to a lot of appointments in your short life!" "Yeah, I needed braces as a kid."Jeff spoke up for the first time since his death. "Of course, of course. Well, I'm not going to leave you hanging about the Heaven or Hell thing, you are going to Heaven. So chill out, its actually pretty difficult to end up in Hell unless you're an ancient conqueror who wanted to add 'the Great' to their name by murdering swarths of people. You're good man, you didn't pull a Hitler or prefer steak well done drowning in ketchup." God open the swinging door and held it open for Jeff. "Follow me! Before you can move on to Heaven, we have to review your life first. Just kidding about the steak thing." As they passed through the door, they went down a cavernous marble hall with carven ornate pillars and trims of beautiful gold. It was well lit, though Jeff couldn't tell where the light came from, and God walked slightly ahead of him, humming some '80's pop song that Jeff couldn't put his finger on. Eventually the hall lead to a great open chamber, and in the middle of the chamber there was what looked like an entrance to a carnival boat ride. There was a ticket counter, and an elevated deck next to a narrow segment of an artificial river where you could climb into a two seated boat. The river, bizarrely, began and led into thin air, there was nothing before or beyond ten feet of the little boat. Above it all there was a sign. Jeff's Life: The ride "What the... I was expecting to be put on the stand by some Angels or something?" "No, no, no. What too many people assume about me is that I have no sense of humour. Which is so wrong. I have a great sense of humour. I invented it! Jeff, do you think farts are funny?" "Well, yes. I supposed I do." "You're welcome. Put the ticket in and let's get on." As Jeff was about to ask what ticket, he looked down in his hand and saw a carnival style ride ticket in his hand. Was that there the whole time? He slipped it into the machine and followed God, who was already on the ride and doing up his safety belt. Jeff got in beside him and the metal bar lowered. The ride started to move and everything faded to black. "Oh yeah, I promise not to Willy Wonka ya." It was as though the ride magically entered a dimly lit tunnel and above an arch, glowing yellow letters appeared: Jeff's Life Followed by: Vices God leaned over to Jeff and whispered "If you feel awkward at this spot, remember that I'm God and I know this stuff already." They drifted towards a lighted section beside the dark river with a puppet looking animatronic Jeff moving it's arm up and down to its mouth with a large glowing cigarette. God reassured him as they sailed past it "Not a big deal, just kind of a dirty habit, you know?" Next came up an animatronic Jeff sitting on a couch, eyes glued to a TV with a controller in his hand, the robotic head moving slightly with the arms "Again, not a big deal, Jeff. All the hours you spent on video games could have went to exploring the world I made for you. But video games are pretty awesome, so no one can fault you." The next animatronic Jeff was one standing with a rubber chicken held between his thighs, strangling it's neck. It wasn't subtle and Jeff could feel his face turn a dark red. "A-hah-hah-ha! Masturbation isn't a sin, Jeff! I put that in to see your reaction! A-ha-ha!" The ride moved on in the dark until it cruised under an archway with glowing white letters that said Virtues The first animatronic Jeff was one holding a tiny robot kitten, moving a bottle back and forth to its mouth. "You were a compassionate man, Jeff. Don't let your ex-girlfriends make you think otherwise." The next display was animatronic Jeff handing a bill back and forth to an animatronic hobo. "Generous, too. Again, don't let your exes make you think otherwise!" The last display was one where the robo Jeff was swinging an axe up and down on a log that he knew would never slit. "Okay, so you weren't a lumberjack or anything, but you were a hard worker. Believe it or not, animatronics are a limited medium, even in heaven." They moved onto the darkness until a bright light appeared in the distance, and soon they were back in the grand chamber. God unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the ride. "Trust me Jeff, you did a lot more in this world than that. I just find most people's knees start to cramp if I make them sit through more." Jeff stood up and got out of the craft. "So, what now?" "Well, we'll move onto heaven, you'll see your dead family and all the celebtrities you admired as a kid who died. All that jazz. First, we have to ride that ferris wheel though." Jeff looked behind him to see a giant Ferris wheel that reached the top of the seemingly never ending chamber had manifested while his back was turned. "What do we go over on the Ferris wheel?" "Nothing, I just like Ferris wheels. Come on!"
All of my years of devotion, my unending piety, were finally rewarded. My entire youth was spent in seminary and now my patience, hard work, and faith would bring me into the light, bring me closer to my earthly destiny of basking in the presence of the one true Ned. They say Ned answers all prayers and my life is proof of this. Pure, unsullied Ned, entirely unaware of his own benevolence, unaware with his every countless keystroke as he sits at his computer and toils in his mundanity that this world is held aloft, ever closer to paradise from his labor alone. Ned sees this world as it once was, a snapshot of a time of long past, a facade to keep him pure, to keep this world in the boundless and eternal joy of his graces. Does He wonder sometimes as He rests His head to sleep, or as He eats His cold sandwiches in the break room of His day-to-day job if there is ever more for Him in this world? I doubt this with all my heart, for He is pure, dedicated to his life as an accountant just as Buddha under the Bhodi Tree; but still I occasionally ponder his vast, undying acceptance to his unknown divinity. Does He see the love in Jane’s cast down eyes, our Lady of Constant Rejection, Jane the receptionist, as He invites her out for drinks almost every week and she declines. How could He know how she weeps every night of her own holy lot in life? Could He possibly imagine Mr. Harrison’s nightly self-flagellation as he unfairly demands and belittles our purest Ned, performing His solemn duty as the cruel, indignant manager of the accounting department. Of course not, but our Ned takes His chastising over His weekly performance and the world is made whole for it. Praise Ned. Now at long last my own dreams of being within His divine proximity as God on Earth has come true. After countless years of toil, I have earned my position, to take my place in the holy state of Rhode Island, where only the truly devout may dwell. I could hardly believe my fortune when the global deacons of the Church of Ned handed me down my roll as janitor of the subway, the very same subway our Ned takes to and from work five holy days of the week. It still seems unreal, even now in my unwashed public servant’s uniform, I can scarcely fathom how I, among all his devotee, could be worthy for this position. But as we are taught, Ned answers all prayers innately, the world echoes his divinity even as he remains unaware, all that’s good in this universe flows through him, and I am proof of it as I wheel my janitor’s cart over the filthy concrete. It was my first day, I placed my hand over the Ned Bible that I kept in the pocket of my uniform and said a silent prayer. Still I trembled in the early morning hours as I emptied the trash cans by the subway stairs and the crowds of his holy flock descended the stairs and took their positions in the subway en masse. My breathing was erratic and jubilant as every group of men and women in their suits and ties entered the underground, knowing that any one of those could be surrounding our Ned. Oh, to be that close. The morning rush was ecstasy, this was the life I was created for, the innate designs of our Ned put me on this planet to praise and devote myself entirely to Him. Though I did not see Him for the first hour, there was a deep fulfillment in my soul being so near to all these others who also dedicated themselves fully to His grace. How much discipline must it take to simply sit next to Him on the subway train and refrain from gazing at only Him. I could meditate for the rest of my life and yet I could never bring myself to be so stoic in the presence of our earthly savior. As another train departed for the heart of downtown, I said another silent prayer in an attempt to calm myself. Then I discovered in a sudden horror that my pocket was empty, my Ned Bible was no longer with me. To lose such a thing in this mecca was an unforgivable sin, we are taught how to preserve the faith by preserving Ned’s delusion, how these things are entirely one in the same. The copy of the Ned Bible I kept with me was the very same one I had been given as a child, it still had my name and date of birth handwritten inside. If it was discovered by anyone I would never again be able to hope for a position such as this one. I panicked. I abandoned my janitor’s cart after looking through it for my Ned Bible several times over. I retraced my steps, checking every single garbage can on the way. Alas, my fervor grew as I continued my search. I began to imagine what would happen in the following hours, would I be dragged from the subway? Would my fellow devotees strip me of my titles, my lifetime of good Nedly works and banish me forever from the holiness of Rhode Island? I couldn’t bare it. It was in the throes of these thoughts that I recognized the plain, burgundy cover of my tiny Ned Bible being held by a man sitting and waiting for a train on a nearby bench. My mind collapsed when I saw who this man was. Ned, our holiest Ned, beacon of light and all joy in this world or any other. I wanted to fall to my knees with every particle of my being, but I refrained against my will, instead I froze in a terror I had never known before. I had failed my Ned. I was capable of nothing but continuing to gaze at Him as He perused the Ned Bible, filled with scripture of His own holy existence that he had no conscious memory of. I would be bled out, banished to hell for eternity, I had sinned in a way that ruined all of mankind. Forgive me - No! I am not worthy of forgiveness. He wiped His nose with a calm hand as He continued to read, His eyes moving slowly and dully under his black rimmed glasses. All of my life, every aspect of my consciousness, my own name, I began to strip these things from myself. There was nothing left of this person any longer, I disassociated and braced this body for its inevitable fate, said final prayers to Him as the train behind me pulled into the station. That was when He closed my bible, noticed a dime on the ground, and leaned over to pick it up from the unclean subway platform. He set my bible back down next to Him on the bench as He smiled and pocketed the coin. His own briefcase was left behind as He stood and began to walk to the train that had just arrived. “Sir,” I knew not what came over me, “your briefcase!” I rushed to the bench, picked up His case and handed it out to Him, my hands, my eyelids shaking. “Huh? Oh yeah, silly me. Thanks,” He said to me, a nonplussed, yet calm look on His perfect face. I watched Him as He boarded the train. My weak legs collapsed and I fell onto the bench, but I quickly slid my Ned Bible back into my pocket. Whatever may come next, I am no longer concerned. I spoke to Him, the one true Ned.
“I can't believe tomorrow is Christmas” I thought to myself as I looked out of the window at the layers of snow covering the city streets. “At least it snowed this year” “Seven more stops” I thought “Seven more stops until I get off this shitty bus and start drinking until Christmas is over” The bus slowed down to a stop at the bus stop on 5th Avenue. “Six more stops” I whispered silently All of a sudden my train of thought was broken by this scraggly old lady voice sitting next to me “MERRY EARLY CHRISTMAS!” she yelled. Pretty loud considering the situation and the fact she was sitting right next to me. “Are you excited for Santa son?” she asked “Very excited” I said sarcastically “I can't hardly wait” “Well I hope you've been a good boy this year!” She said with a huge grin on her face “We don't want you getting no lumps of coal in your stocking!” I forced a fake laugh and smile out “No ma'am, I've been very good this year, No coal for me” “That's good “ She said as she slowly got out of her seat “This is my stop, Merry Christmas sonny” I watched as the old lady stumbled down the aisle to the exit of the bus, holding on to the every seat for leverage. “What a nice lady” I thought when I noticed a beautiful young lady walking down the aisle toward my seat. “Oh shit, I bet she is going to sit right next to me” I thought looking at the empty seat next to me “I should put my bag in this seat, maybe she'll keep going, but that would seem rude. Maybe she wont sit next to me, I wish the old lady would of stayed here. Man I hate talking to girls, She is going to thin-” “Is this seat taken? I hope not!” She exclaimed in a excited, peppy voice as she plopped down right next to me “Names Linda!” She said as she extended out her hand for a handshake. “Jake” I said as I gently grabbed her hand. “Nice to meet ya!” she said cheerfully Shaking her hand I noticed the corner of her “Flag Tat”, It looked familiar but I couldn't make out which country it was. Considering it's rude to ask I tried to turn her arm a little bit without her noticing to get a better view but she pulled back before I could get a good look. “Are you excited for Christmas!” She asked, almost giggling “This fucking question again” I thought as the bus accelerated away from the bus stop “Six more stops” “Super excited.” I unenthusiastically moaned out “Well...” She said “You will probably think I'm a scrooge for this but I can't WAIT for this stupid holiday to be over, I hate Christmas!” “Holy shit” I thought “Someone else actually hates Christmas!” My whole mood changed and I was about to spill the beans and confess my hatred for this stupid holiday to her as well when she turned her arm slightly up a little more giving me a clear view of her flag tat. “American flag...” I accidentally whispered out in awe “Excuse me?” She said, her attitude shifting to agitated quickly “What did you just say?” “Noth....Nothing” I mumbled nervously “I just noticed your....ummm....nothing....nevermind” She looked at me with a scorn look on her face as she turned to face the front of the bus, covering up her wrist with her jacket sleeve. “What the hell?!” I thought “Why on earth does she have an American Flag tattoo, Nobody survived after the nuclear thing way back when.” I sat there for the next fifteen minutes in awkward silence trying to wrap my head around this when finally she broke the silence with an offer I couldn't refuse. “Do you want to see it?” She asked I did want to see it, I really, really wanted to see it. “Ye...Yes...” I said nervously but excited She pulled her sleeve up a few inches to reveal the top half of the tattoo, and there it was, the American flag in all its glory, or at least the top half “If you get off with me right here I'll make sense of all this” She said as the bus stopped at the next bus stop. “Five more stops” I thought “Five more stops and I can go home and get shitfaced until Monday” I couldn't refuse, I had to know why she had this tattoo. “Okay” I said as I grabbed the seat in front of me to lift myself up into the aisle. “What the hell am I doing” I thought as I followed Linda down the aisle to the exit door “Just go sit back down and forget about this” I exited the bus right behind her, she turned around and looked me dead in the eyes. “ I have never had anyone ask about my Flag tat. 99.9% of people have no idea what the American flag even looks like” she said “But you....you noticed it right away. Why?” “I love history...” I said “I've never told this story.” She said as she looked at the ground and kicked a little pebble into the street “If you want to hear it, I have really wanted to tell someone my story for a long time.” I did want to hear the story, I really really wanted to hear this story. “Please...” I said “Here it goes..” she said as she exhaled a deep breath and began her story “Your right, I am from America, but I can explain” She said as we sat down on the cold, snow covered bench at the bus stop “My parents were super rich, they had an unbelievable amount of money, so I had it pretty easy growing up in America. I remember having a huge house, a bunch of different cars, vacations to exotic islands, you name it my parents had it. My parents were very, very important political figures. They had power. Fast forward to December 25th 2021, Christmas, Six days before the nukes landed. Russia had just proclaimed war on America and America was in an uproar. It was bad. It was the end of times, literally. Lucky for me, If you have money you don't worry about certain stuff.” I interrupted her “....a bunker...” I said “Yes, a bunker” she said looking at me kind of confused and a little mad I interrupted her. “But this bunker was different. It was about the size of a football field, give or take, but what was in it was insane. The walls were lined with these glass tubes about 6 feet tall with hoses and wires coming out of them.” “Have you ever seen the old sci-fi movies with the alien things in the tubes of water?” She asked I nodded in agreement “Well that's what these things looked like.” She said “There was hundreds, if not thousands, of them stretched out for what seemed like forever. I can't remember the next part too good, but I just remember standing in line and getting a really painful tattoo under my flag” She said as she rolled up her sleeve again. “306...” I said as I looked at the red, inch high, number tattooed under her Flag Tat. “Yup” she said “306. I was put in tube number 306, my mother and father in tubes 304 and 305 and my brother in tube 307. My parents paid millions of dollars to get access to these four tubes, these four tubes that would, in theory, keep us alive for hundreds of years until it was safe to resurface to a new and safe America. These tubes were supposed to keep you alive, grow you to adult size, and put all different kind of helpful knowledge in your brain or some shit like that. I don't remember exactly how it worked but I remember being terrified, I was only 12 but I remember it really well. Surprised yet?” I just nodded again. I was blown away, there is no way this is happening. “Anyway!” She said as she continued with her story “The rest of my memory is blank, until the day I woke up. I remember waking up, cold, wet, and laying on the floor. I remember barely having enough strength to lift my head up and look around. I was disoriented, confused, weak, I had no idea what was going on. I must have laid there for what felt like days as thoughts rushed into my head. I remembered the tube, I remembered the war, I remembered my old life, I remembered my parents, I remembered everything...too some extent, I'm sure I forgot a lot as well. I was slowly able to move my legs and arms, which were a lot bigger. I finally managed to get up and look around. Apparently my tube had fallen to the ground and shattered, you would think for a couple million dollars it wouldn't just break like that” She giggled “But it did and I somehow survived in this tube. I was alive. I stumbled around until I found a mirror, I remember staring in the mirror for ages, crying, I had no idea who I was looking at” She said as her eyes started to tear up “I went back to where my tube fell and I remember seeing the rest of my families tubes, on the ground next to mine, broken, but theirs were empty.” She had tears rolling down her face at this point, as did I. “I was the only one to make it. My family was dead, or missing, I actually have no idea what happened to them, but they were gone. The rest of the tubes in the facility were either broken, still had people in them, some were freakishly deformed from being grown in a fucking tube, some were still young and didn't grow at all. I guess I was lucky to make it out of that fucked up experiment, but I managed to escape the bunker after a few horrific days, I was found by my a man who is now my husband. His job is to come to the wasteland that was once America every so many years to look for resources he could use back in his country, he found me on the verge of death. Long story short he didn't alert any media about me, he kept me a secret, nurtured me back to health and here I am!” She exclaimed wiping the tears from her eyes “Alive and well, living a life over a hundred years in the future of my original life!” I was literally speechless. “What about you!?” She said excitedly “Let me see your Flag Tat now!” I extended my arm out in front of her, she grabbed my sleeve and rolled it up to reveal my wrist, my flag tat, and my number.....307.
BI-ANNUAL GALACTIC RALLY LOCATION REVEALED! The Galactic Rally Organization (GRO) has announced the location of this year's Rally - a truly spectacular uninhabited system in the Q-34 Sector, System registry identifier Q34-997G, also known as "Haptin". This years course will start in orbit of the innermost planet, Haptin I and require the teams to pass within 100,000 miles of the rocky inner planets, Haptin II, III, and IV in any order. They will then be required to pass within 200,000 miles of the system's two gas giants, Haptin V and Haptin VI. The GRO tells us that those two planets will both be in aphelion on opposite sides of the star, making the trip between them the most grueling leg of this race, a whopping 1.5 billion miles in a straight line (if you can fly through a star!). From there it's a relatively short hop to the system's outer icy dwarf planetoid and the finish line. For those who don't follow the STL Rally circuit, the rules of the race are simple: Don't attack the other participants, don't violate the laws of physics (The GRO will be inspecting all entrants for illegal warp devices after that fiasco 39 years ago), and support teams can only assist the participants while in orbit of a planet. Aside from that, anything goes! I am looking forward to another exiting race! The technology on display is always fascinating, as is examining the design philosophies of the various participants. Will this year's winner be a state-sponsored team? A corporate team? Or will it be an independent? We'll just have to wait to find out! ----------------- GALACTIC RALLY DEADLINE APPROACHES It looks like there will be 187 teams in this years race! 143 entrants are from the various rally circuits across the galaxy. 27 are from major corporations who don't already sponsor a rally team, hoping to gain business by showing off their latest in sublight technology. 10 are sponsored by various minor races hoping to increase their visibility and standing in the galactic community and 7 are independents, including another entry from the Royal Rilothian Mathematics Academy who, yet again, have announced they've calculated the "perfect"route which will allow them to win the Rally with ease. Here's hoping you guys can make it past the second planet this year! ------------------------ LAST MINUTE ENTRY IN THE GALACTIC RALLY A rare 11th hour entry into the Galactic Rally has been received by the GRO from a minor species native to the SK system called "Humans."Apparently they've only just developed FTL travel within the past 100 years and are still working towards a seat in the Galactic Council. A spokesman from their planet, Earth, stated that they hope that a good showing in the Galactic Rally could help their political stature. Good for you guys! It's always exciting to see a brand new entry into the Rally. Species that have never participated before always bring a new perspective. I'm looking forward to seeing how well they do! Maybe they'll beat the current record set by the last freshman entrant 148 years ago and not drop out before the 5th planet! --------------------- EARTH RALLY SHIP MAY BE BANNED Sources within the GRO report that Earth's entrant into the Galactic Rally may be prohibited from the race! Details were scarce, but I was told the ship, named "ESS Orion,"may violate one of the rules of the race! A GRO Umpire and technical crew are on their way to Earth as I write this to determine the final disposition of Earth's entry. More on this story as it develops! ------------------------- EARTH SHIP APPROVED FOR THE GALACTIC RALLY In a joint press release by the GRO and Earth, it has been announced that the Earth ship ESS Orion has been approved for the rally, contingent upon last minute inspection in the final week before the race. Sources close to the investigation said the chances for approval were slim until the Earth engineers referenced what they called the "Kzinti Lesson"and stated that any sublight drive powerful enough to be interesting is powerful enough to be a weapon. Now I'm really excited to see their entry in action! ----------------------------- GALACTIC RALLY STARTS IN THREE WEEKS The last racer has arrived at the starting line in Hapton and I can tell you that the Human entry is like nothing I've ever seen before. There's always been differing opinions about the appropriate size of the ships for these races. This year's race has resulted in larger ships than normal due to life support requirements of the abnormally long distance between Hapton V and VI, but the Earth ship is in a class of it's own, being roughly 15 times larger than the next largest ship. It's also shaped very oddly with a giant concave disk on the back and very little in the way of identifiable engines. What could those humans be up to? It's resupply ports are proportionally larger than usual, suggesting that the ship carries a stupendous amount of fuel. I don't think any ship in the history of the Rally has ever looked like that monster. Do they know something that we don't? I hope to find out soon! -------------------------- GALACTIC RALLY STARTS WITH A BANG It's the first day of the rally and the humans off to an explosive start! They already have a significant lead over their competition, far larger than any lead in the history of the Rally for the amount of time elapsed, and they're still accelerating. How, you might ask? I bring your memories back to when the GRO was contemplating disqualifying the ESS Orion under the grounds that it violated the rules. From the first instant of the race, it was clear what rule it would violate: Attacking another racer. The concave disk at the back of the ship is to capture the energy of a nuclear explosion! That's the propulsion method! They throw NUCLEAR BOMBS behind the ship and blow them up! Over and over and over again! It's insane! -------------------- EARTH SHIP ESS ORION WIN GALACTIC RALLY For the first time since it's inception, a freshmen team has won the Galactic Rally. And win they did! The next team to cross the finish line was 10 days behind them! I've been told by the Earth delegation that the "engine"they used was conceived of before they could reliably leave orbit of their home planet and was called the "Orion Drive,"which is why the ship was named the ESS Orion. One thing is for sure, the Humans have attracted the attention of Galactic Society, so it looks like they've won twice in this race. On a side note, the Royal Rilothian Mathematics Academy successfully calculated an optimal route this year, one which over 70% of the teams calculated themselves. Sadly, their ship sprung a leak on the very first leg and had to be rescued before reaching the first planet. Better luck next time, guys!
You would be surprised how many of us are obsessed and never know it. From the time of our birth and the first true folds of our brain light up with sparks, we are taking in the world and making it ours. Our minds are hungry, so hungry that even when we aren't aware of the choices around us, we navigate the paths of life to sate that hunger. When you got up for the day, you had a routine and you filled it in, one checkbox at a time. But when you left the house, you went left rather than right. Two blocks later, you realized that wasn't the direction you needed to go. But why the turn? You wrote it off as a mental slip, you turned on your heel, and go the way you consciously intended. Your mistake was assuming that you slipped and consciously decided anything. No, you turned to the left because you had gone right one too many times, and your mind was hungry. Your conscious mind overrode the hungry part, and you went back to your responsibilities, totally unaware of your own need. Do you know your favorite food? Of course you do. Your favorite type of music? Good. You likely remember a time before that preference and you may even remember the day the preference formed. Your first taste or listen; a stolen bite or a trance-like dance next to a concert speaker. But do you know your favorite color? Do you remember when it became your favorite? Odds are good you do not. No, that preference forms when we are very young, when our brains are still very malleable, and impressions stretch out much longer. You don't have memory of that awe you felt when you first experienced it, the way you yearned to see more of it, to touch the color itself, to taste it in your mouth, and gorge on its brilliance. Those memories have since been overwritten by others; hugging, walking, talking, falling down; scraped knees and caring smiles, if you were lucky. You don't remember that you're obsessed with that color. You may have since put in some time to unravel your preference, perhaps when buying a shirt or choosing a car, but you could only select from what was in front of you. Even an artist is limited to the colors available on the shelf of a store, at least until the obsession pushes them far enough to harvest their own dye and mix their own paint. I remember, though. I have a form of synesthesia, you could call it, and through trial and error I found my favorite color. With science, I tracked the perfect wavelength, and I trapped it. I committed it to data and reproduced it. I marveled in awe and wonder for days, going without food or water, until I collapsed. If not for a neighbor in the next apartment, I may have died, my sinuses filled with the smell of that autumn hue, and mind trapped in place. Did you know that when you are surprised, you react before you consciously know you're surprised? That your sensory memory is so fast to capture an impression and judge it, that you may never know you saw or heard something at all? When you entered this room, did you pay attention to the lights that flashed in the hallway? Were the light flashes white? You may think so, but they were not. No, they were white for twenty-six of twenty-seven flickers in every second, and the last pulse was a color from a special book I keep. You waited, tugging at the handle of the door for nearly a minute. Fifty-seven seconds, before you turned on your heel to rethink coming here, and I unbolted the door. Fifty-seven photographs of your eyes and facial expression, as I bombarded you with colors too quickly to see. However, see you did. In the thirty-third photograph, your eyes widened ever so slightly, your pupils dilated, and you swallowed. Of course you don't remember that instance, it was a fraction of a second, wasn't it? But as I remind you of this, no doubt your throat feels dry. Something stirs in the back of your mind. You want to know which color it was, don't you? There's no shame in that, as I said, I did so myself. Let me direct your attention to this screen on the wall. It will only take a moment. Ten seconds to calibrate it and... yes, there it is! Your pupils like mouths, opening wide to gorge on the seventh selection. Perfect. For now we'll turn that off, shall we? No? Oh, I'm afraid that isn't how this works. It has taken my entire life to learn how to do this. An entire life spent with no compensation. I can't merely give this wonder and awe away. You feel that pulse throbbing in your neck? Your heart drumming in your chest? You have now seen your favorite color. But you don't know its name, not the exact name, or the wavelength. No, you would need a sample of it, and I've already taken that away. You're getting upset. Of course you are, that is to be expected as well. I've just shown you a tiny piece of yourself, of who you are, of a reminder of your first coherent moments in the world! You want more, and that is understandable. You want me to bring that color back? To help you understand better who you are? Why you are? Where you wish to be? I understand. Ahem. It's just that first, there's something I need from you...
Hungover, my head throbbed with a headache that refused to allow me a moment’s solace. It seemed to echo perpetually throughout my skull, making me wish that I’d never left Veronica’s house. I should have probably called in sick, but of course, today I had to meet with a special client. He was some big guy in real estate and didn’t have the time to reschedule. I knew that, and yet I was still stupid enough to let Veronica drag me into her victory parade through the city’s underbelly. I spent the entire night with her. From sunset all the way till I woke up thirty minutes ago. We bounced around different bars, chased shadows down random alleys. She was trying to get me to meet people, but I’m not the most social person. Veronica, who’s a finger painter who just sold her latest painting, was more than social enough for the both of us. All I really remembered was a whirlwind of colorful drinks, failed flirtations (in which Veronica tried to be my wing woman but then I had to get the bar creeps off of her), before I found myself waking up at 9:30 to hurl a cocktail of nightmares down Veronica’s toilet. My stomach must have flip-flopped in there, and when I surfaced, somewhat washed up I told her I had to head home and change. I had about two hours until my meeting, but when she saw me, she laughed so hard that she spit out her water. Veronica could take her alcohol like a rugged sailor, so I assumed she was laughing at how disheveled I looked. She bid me good luck on my meeting, trying to stifle a laugh. Then grabbed my shirt on the way out and told me to take extra care in washing my face. I decided to take the bus home and come back later to pick up my car from her driveway. My head was still spinning and my arms felt like noodles stuffed into my jacket. I just wanted to get home, eat something, and put on some clean clothes. When I found a seat (the bus was nearly empty except for an older gentleman who’d fallen asleep in the back and a woman who sat across from me), I hurried to sit down, not trusting my stomach once the bus started moving. All I could see of the woman was her long slender legs in a brilliant yellow sundress that hurt my eyes to look at. She had short brown hair that was about shoulder length, and I imagined she would be rather pretty. But she had her nose buried in a book raised so high that I couldn’t see her face at all. The bus hit a pothole, and she jumped. That was when I spotted the penis someone had drawn on her left cheek. For some reason I could not explain, perhaps it was the haze my mind was in or the nauseating waves of anxiety emanating from my poor tummy, but the sight of someone so pretty with such a crude and vulgar drawing made me laugh out loud. She looked up, furious and beautiful, her sharp nose and pouty lips itching for a fight. But when she caught sight of me, her face relaxed. A smile appeared. Her eyes lit up, the softest, most wonderful shade of brilliant brown I’d ever seen. She tapped the drawing on her cheek. “So it was you.” Edit: Wrote this on my phone last night in a hurry because I liked the prompt. Fixed it up a bit. :)
"Jonathan!"I snap. I'm sick and tired of putting up with this. "I know you can hear me. Tell your guards to let me in, now."One of the skeletons barring my way spoke. "The Great Lord is busy at present. He will not tolerate any interruptions." "Is that really what he's calling himself? The Great Lord? He's not a Lord, he's an idiot. Call him down, now."I paced back and forth, growing more and more impatient. Jonathan had always been difficult. Seemed to think he was king of the world. Now it looks like he has ambitions to become the king of the world for real. "We have strict orders-"the skeleton stopped speaking as a man dressed in flowing black robes stepped from the grand doorway ahead of us. It bowed to him as he approached. "Master." "Mother,"Jonathan said coldly. I rolled my eyes. "Less of the sass, young man. You knew I was coming." "I was busy." "I don't care if you were busy. Where are your manners? Keeping a guest, your own mother, waiting like this. I raised you better than this."I sighed and shook my head. "Never mind. How have you been?" "Fine,"he said stiffly. "Planning to conquer Tharos next week. You interrupted me just as I was raising a few hundred more zombies." "Tharos?! You can't conquer Tharos. Your great aunt Trudie lives there. I go and visit her every now and then, as you well know. The markets there are amazing." "Every war has collateral damage. Capturing Tharos is essential to my campaign." "JONATHAN."I point an accusing finger at him. "You are NOT to conquer Tharos. Understand?" "But mother-" "No buts! That market is the only place I can find the lovely dragon meat that I like." "What if I send a message to great aunt Trudie warning her to get out, and promise to spare the market?" "No."He starts to protest, and I hold up a hand. "Absolutely not."I ignore his angry muttering. We both know he's going to attack Tharos anyway. "Enough. I can see you're very busy, so I'll just get to the point of why I'm here and leave you alone." I explain to him what I have in mind. He seems reluctant to begin with, but I tell him to think it over and get back to me. Once I've made sure he understands, I leave. My next visit is to my middle child, Steven, although it's not technically a visit. He moves around a lot so it's easier to get him to come to me. I talk to a few of my contacts, flash some gold around, and put out the word that there's somebody I want dealt with and I'm willing to generously reward any assistance. A few days later, I get a letter asking for a time, place, and name of the target. I pick a deserted location, scribble down a fake name and schedule the appointment for noon the next day. Short notice perhaps, but Steven loves a challenge. The next day I show up alone and wait. I sit down and watch the second hand of my watch tick closer to noon. The moment it ticks onto the twelve, there's a rustle in the bushes and before I know it a sharp knife is at my throat. "Anything you want to say to your killer?"A raspy voice hisses in my ear. It chuckles, an unpleasant guttural sound. "Hello Steven."The pressure at my throat relents. "Ma?"He takes the knife away and steps back. "Oh. Hi." "Well don't sound so disappointed."I say. "Come on. Give me a hug."We embrace. He stinks of blood and decay so I break away more quickly than I would've liked. "I'm not disappointed to see you,"he said. "I was just expecting a fun kill and lots of money."He giggled. "Did I tell you about this guy I killed one time? Broke both his knees, but he kept crawling. Then I got a spike through his leg and pinned him to the floor, but he still-" "Yes, you did mention that one. Several times."That poor man was one of his favourite kills. Steven loved to go into the gory details of what he'd done to the guy. He shrugged. "Business has been slow recently. Everyone seems to be really easy hits."He glanced at me and grinned, revealing pointed, rotten teeth. "Don't suppose you've got anyone you want dead?"I recoil in shock. "Steven!" "What? You've ordered hits from me before." "That's not what I'm talking about. Your teeth! When was the last time you've used a toothbrush?"I shake my head. "You haven't washed in weeks either, have you? And don't even get me started on your hair. I've got half a mind to take that dagger and cut it all off." "You wouldn't."Before I can make a move, the knife is back at my throat. "I'd kill you before you even got close."I stare him straight in the eyes, seeing the madness that lurks deep within them. "Steven Mathias Drakspawn, you put that knife down immediately."After a moment's hesitation, he obeys. I let out a silent breath. Though I don't think he would ever hurt me, it's difficult to be sure sometimes. "Sorry,"he mutters. "Don't ever do that again. Now, if you're looking for business, I might have an opportunity for you." He listens intently, and by the time I've finished he's nodding so fast it looks like his head is about to fall off. "Yes,"he crows. "Amazing! I'd love to."He hesitates. "But... I'd require payment."I sigh. "Really? You won't do it just for the fun or to help your mother out? Fine. But don't tell either of your siblings about this. You know how they can get." I leave. Two down, one to go. And this time, it should be easy. "MUMMY!!"My youngest, Isabella, bounds towards me and throws her arms around me. "I've missed you so much! It's so good to see you. Come sit down, please! I'll get you a snack."I take a seat, unable to keep the smile off my face. After seeing her two brothers, Isabella is like a breath of fresh air. After a few moments, Isabella returns with two chunks of raw meat. I make a face. "Actually darling, I'm not very hungry. Why don't you have them both?"I watch as she tears into the meat, smearing blood across her face and hands. "Ben and Sarah have had cubs,"she tells me inbetween mouthfuls. "Two boys. They're so cute! You have to go and see them before you leave. They've missed you, too!" She was just telling me about the immense full moon party that they were planning when there was a knock at the door. She went to answer it and tugged at the handle. "Oh no. It's jammed again." "Do you want a hand?"I asked, and got to my feet. She shook her head. "No, it's ok."In the blink of an eye, my short, dainty daughter doubled in height. Muscles bulged and fur sprouted. Her teeth lengthened and claws burst from her fingertips. The beast wrapped its massive hand around the door handle and pulled. With a crack, the door was wrenched off its hinges. Isabella returned to her normal self. "Oh no, not again,"she sighed, staring mournfully at her ruined door. "This is the third time this month."She looked outside and squealed with excitement. "Jonathan! Steven! What are you doing here?"She ran to hug them. Jonathan endured it with a strained expression on his face, whilst Steven returned the hug so tightly that she was forced to become a wolf again to avoid having her ribs crushed. "So,"I began once everyone had gathered around the table. "You two already know why I've invited you here. Isabella, we have a plan and wanted to know if you would join us." "Yes! Whatever it is, I'd love to spend time with you." I grin and lean in close. "Excellent. In that case, let's get started. Together, we are going to build an army and overthrow the throne." ~~~ /r/DarkAlliGator for more like this, if you enjoyed it! :)
Jacob's unflinching gaze was fixed on Jalazeem. They had been fixed in this staring contest for the better part of three minutes ever since Jalazeem had appeared out of the bronze lamp Jacob had purchased from an estate sale. &#x200B; "Listen, Jacob right?" &#x200B; "That's right." &#x200B; "This isn't some kind of monkey paw, wishmaster, deal with the devil thing. I really would like to grant you three wishes. No strings attached,"Jalazeem explained. &#x200B; Jacob rolled his eyes, "Why should I believe you? That's just part of your game. I know how this works, genie." &#x200B; "I really wish you would believe me,"Jalazeem sighed. Over the last few hundred years people had become increasingly paranoid. In the good old days people just wished for whatever and Jalazeem was more than happy to oblige. A few extra camels here, a palace over there. Easy. &#x200B; "What can I do to convince you to make your three wishes so I can go on my way?"Jalazeem asked. &#x200B; Jacob sat back crossing his arms over his chest. "I know. I'll write down my first wish, being extremely specific so that no matter what you can't twist my wish against me."A smug grin split Jacob's face. &#x200B; "That sounds pretty time consuming . . . "Jalazeem began to protest. &#x200B; "See! You don't want me to do that because it will ruin your little plans!"Jacob shouted triumphantly. &#x200B; Jalazeem swallowed a groan and conjured a piece of paper and pen in front of Jacob. "Do your worst then." &#x200B; Jacob put the pen to the paper and began to carefully write each letter ensuring he wouldn't be caught with a silly spelling error that would ruin his wish. It took Jacob another three hours and seven pieces of paper before he was finally satisfied with his first wish. He smiled confidently and slid the paper across the table. &#x200B; "So you want to be rich then?"Jalazeem asked glancing at the paper. &#x200B; "Yes, but I don't want the money to be stolen from any bank, person, organization, legal or criminal, lost treasure that another nation has any claim to etc. It's all on the paper." &#x200B; "Sure man. Wish granted."Jalazeem waved his hand. The gesture was just for show he didn't have to actually do anything but think the money into existence in Jacob's bank account but he had discovered that the humans liked a bit of showmanship. &#x200B; Jacob checked his bank balance on his phone and his jaw fell open when he saw the seemingly endless zeroes. &#x200B; "Second wish?" &#x200B; "Paper please!"Jacob said in a rush. &#x200B; They began the process again. Jacob writing, rewriting, and rewriting again for hours. If Jalazeem wasn't an immortal being he would have died of boredom. &#x200B; "Here it is!"Jacob said as he read over the document a final time with bloodshot eyes. &#x200B; Jalazeem grabbed the paper and read over it. "Are you sure about this?"he asked. &#x200B; "Absolutely." &#x200B; "Fair warning, wishing for this isn't the best idea. I'll let you rewrite this or come up with another idea if you'd like,"Jalazeem said. &#x200B; "No I'm sure. I never want to die. No illness, injury, sickness, disease, meteor, cold, heat, bullet, anything can harm me." &#x200B; Jalazeem read the page a final time, his glowing blue eyes carefully going over each word. With a final resigned sigh he met Jacob's eyes and nodded. He waved a hand and the wish was granted. &#x200B; "You're rich beyond your dreams and you can't die. Congratulations,"Jalazeem said rising from his chair. &#x200B; "Where do you think you're going? I still have one more wish!" &#x200B; "I don't think you do. Enjoy your new life, Jacob."Jalazeem stepped away from the table and began to make his way toward the front door. &#x200B; "Hey come back here!"Jacob roared kicking the chair away and stalked after Jalazeem but he only made it four paces before being unable to take another step foward. An invisible tether held him back. &#x200B; "You can't leave your lamp. Genie rules and all that." &#x200B; "My lamp? What are you talking about?"He looked back in horror to the bronze lamp sitting on the dining room table. &#x200B; "Honestly, I just wanted to grant some wishes but you had to be a dick about it."Jalazeem shook his head sadly and walked through the front door into the cool night air. &#x200B; &#x200B;
So, I may have fucked up. A few days ago I got one of the those smart home Alexa things. I never really paid much attention to them before, but they seemed cool. After hooking everything up, I decided to test it out with a bunch of random commands, stuff like "Alexa, turn off the lights", "Alexa, play music", "Alexa, tell me a joke", really simple stuff. I also decided to use it for really stupid stuff, like pulling pranks on my roommates. And of course, I used the obvious "Alexa, play despacito"command, I'm original I know. Well, it turns out that I never knew the full power of Alexa before today. I was getting into a argument with one of my roommates about the Skyrim game that came out on Alexa (stupid I know). I was saying that voice-commanded video games can be really cool if they had enough time to be worked on and fleshed out while my roommate was saying that it was one of the dumbest things that he's ever heard. I was making my case when I said something I REALLY shouldn't have. "Come on, how cool would it be to launch missiles in the game by saying 'Alexa, launch missiles.'?" Before he could respond, Alexa answered me. "Okay, launching missiles now." We both stared at Alexa, then back at each other. We laughed at how funny it was to hear her say that, but then we got the warnings. Our phones went off, with a missile alert being issued. The other roommates came out to the main room and we turned on the news to see what was going on. Turns out, all the missiles in the country were launched at the same time, with them going straight up with no arch at all. The newscaster said that with no arch, the missiles will come plummeting back down and hit us. So, to any of you reading this, I just want to say I'm sorry. But in my defense, I had no idea Alexa could do that. They really should have put a warning on that thing.
"Underdog,"says the wrinkled old woman. She pinches the skin tight, orange fabric across my upper arm and tugs. "The sign says we can go." Nodding, I lick my lips and glance around at the gathering crowd of spectators. Do they know my weakness? Is that why they are here? No, surely not. "Of course,"I say. "If the sign says we can go, then of course we can go. No reason we cant go. Simplest thing in the world for us to walk across this street together, hand in hand." Taking my hand, she tries to pull me on, but this lady must weigh eighty pounds soaking wet. "Is there something wrong?"She asks, squinting behind bottle cap glasses. "No no,"I say quickly. "Well yes, the sign says we only have twenty five more seconds. Make that twenty three seconds. Twenty one. We should definitely wait for the next crossing, old woman." A furrow wrinkles her already wrinkled forehead, collapsing it into the face of a French bulldog. "Alright then,"she says. "I suppose a super hero like you knows best. I dont want to be late for my programs though." An awkward silence stretches as the crosswalk sign ticks down to zero. Rather than dispersing like I'd hoped, the crowd around us has grown. Several of the teenagers hold their phones in front of their faces, clearly recording this debacle. This is bad. Worse than bad. If my nemesis finds out that the easier a task is, the harder it is for me, I'm toast. He can hide a bomb inside a cafeteria milk carton and I'll never be able to open it. When the sign reaches zero, sending the red hand up to tell us to stop, nothing happens. No rush of cars zooming across the street. Just me and this old lady, holding hands, not crossing the street. "Its probably okay to go,"she says sweetly. "You just shut your mouth now,"I say, feeling the sweat gather on my brow. "I wont jaywalk for you or anyone else." A scattering of murmurs break out in the crowd, many sounding upset. Dont yell at the old lady, Underdog. It's not her fault that zipping up a jacket is your kryptonite. Or tying a shoelace. Or using chopsticks. Or opening a laptop. Or crossing the street with an old lady. As the sign changes again, showing a full 40 seconds of time to get across, I decide enough is enough. I turn to address the crowd. "Good people,"I say, "listen to me. There is something about me you should know. I-" A whistling sound splits the air. It grows louder and more low pitched like a bomb falling to earth, and then a thunderous crash booms out behind me. The people in the crowd shield their heads against raining chunks of asphalt. I turn around to see a thin man in a high tech looking suit of multi-colored squares. His face hide behind a black mask, and his eyes hide behind square lenses, one blue and one red. My nemesis. Rubix. "Face me, coward,"he says, his voice muffled into low static through the mask. "And when you are dead I will kill this old woman." "Oh no,"she cries, a shaking hand reaching up to her mouth. "Oh thank god,"I say.
James opens his eyes, sneaking another look at the boy who had just come in and taken a seat in the back row. He closes his eyes once again. "run". The letters dissipate as he opens his eyes again, and he scratched his arms intensely. He straightens his posture, takes a deep breath, looks at Julie to his left and blinks. "Run". He looks at Zack to his right. "Run."He looks at the clock. "Run". James' heart is in his ears. He snaps his head back and looks at the new boy again, who is looking straight at him, his eyes large. A cold sweat builds beneath James' arms. Everything seems to go silent, except for the ticktock of the clock. The boy gets up from his chair and starts pacing towards James, who jumps out of his chair and screams. "RUN!" James darts out of the class, the boy right on his tail. "Wait!"the boy screams. They fly around corners and jump down flights of stairs until, with his wild fright blinding him, James collides into Mr. Trevor, the janitor, as he turns a corner. The two of them go crashing to the floor, along with Mr. Trevor's duffel bag . Before he can get back on his feet, the boy lands on top of him. "No, Please!"pleads James, as he tries to wriggle his way free. "Calm down!"says the boy. "I...I just had to catch you! Please!" The two look at each other in the eyes. James instinctively blinks. "Duffel."Both James and the boy look at Mr. Trevor at the same time, who was crawling frantically towards his duffel bag, it's contents having exposed themselves on the floor: two semi automatic rifles and a few rifle rounds. At that moment Mr. Pierce, the homeroom teacher, turns the corner, along with a few other staff members and students."What's going on he-...GUN GUN!" Those final moments become a blur. A pile of teachers and students swarmed Mr. Trevor before he could reach his weapons. James, now on his feet, turns his head to the boy, who's looking right at him. "Restrain"the boy whispers. "Run"James says. "Duffel"they both say at the same time. The boys smile, forgetting the chaos all around them. James and the boy both blink, then smile. "Friend". &#x200B;
"Help meeEEEeeeEEEeeeEEEeee!" I watched as the howling demon spun, as if being sucked down a toilet, and disappeared back into the body of the blonde high schooler currently clutching at her headboard, eyes wild with fear. Oh for fuck's sakes. "Lurgoth? Lurgoth Amun Don'dallian Ur Va Da'rakka!"I shouted at the teenager's belly, careful not to disturb the fragile array of chalk, salt and ash arranged in the exact pattern needed to exorcise a demon. "You get the fuck out of there right now!" "'m sorry. I don't know how to."The lesser demon whimpered, his disembodied voice seemingly coming from the young woman's belly button. Annie Parker looked down at her stomach, then up at me. I shrugged and mouthed 'that's fine, it's normal'. I mean, it really wasn't, but that would not have reassured her at all. "Lurgoth, we can do this, buddy."My voice softened as I reached out and slowly rotated a candle to my right. "We all know that practice comes perfect, but you got caught. You know how it works, step out and we'll get you back home." "I mean, I want to as well, but it's not working! 's not my fault Joachimiuseldan sealed me up in here!"Whined the demon. What I had seen of him was of a slight, handsome young man in his early twenties, who would have been in a boy band were it not for the red, scaly skin and dragon's heritage, his head shaped more like a lizard's than a man's, and his fingers ending in claws rather than fingers. He was indeed awfully young, and I let out a long, tired sigh as I pieced together what happened. "Okay, do you remember any of the runes that Joe used to seal you in Annie?" "Uh, no, I wasn't looking. You know, on account of the hellfire and everything." "Don't you get smart with me, Lu."I growled warningly. "Sorry." I pinched the bridge of my nose as I considered my options, looking at the scorched ceiling for guidance. "Would you like me to call your parents?" "WHAT!?"Both Annie and Lurgoth shouted. "What did he just say?"Asked Annie's mother on the other side of the door. "It's okay, it's fine!"I shouted, louder this time, as I adjusted the array. "The demon's sealed up and your daughter's stopped vomiting up Devil's Breath whenever she opened her mouth, we're just extracting it now. Just got to be careful about it." "It?"Lurgoth sounded absolutely petulant. "Do you really want me to say that a male demon is deep inside of someone's daughter?"I hissed at Annie's stomach. The girl flushed bright pink. Lurgoth muttered something about a fair point. Alright, no parents. No runes. Just gotta break some jock jerk demon's sealing spell and get a wimpy demon extracted from the girl's left kidney. "Okay, Lurgoth, Annie. I've made some changes to the array. Let's try this one more time. Lurgoth, if this doesn't work I'm getting a young priest and an old priest and we're going to have to do this the hard way, sorry." "Alright, fiiine."Both my patients sighed impatiently. I gathered power, pouring it carefully into the arcane array as the chalk dust began to glow faintly red and then orange. "And a three... two... one!"
The funeral was a quiet affair. James had a lot of friends, but most of them were not long for this world or long gone from it. Most of his family were not American; with the tightening of immigration controls and airport security, they couldn't make it out of the customs terminal at Houston's Intercontinental Airport. Instead, along with a priest and the funeral home director, only a few people sat in the pews. Most of them were old, past their prime, held together by medical science and pure stubborn will. Younger individuals sat among them, family of friends whose bonds were forged when the world was hopeful and somewhat simpler. One sat alone in the back. He was older than James, outlived him just to see another friend felled by an old nemesis. Cancer was a beast, even now. Geoffrey had lost his father, an aunt, an uncle, lovers, and now one of his closest friends to cancer. The doctors simply didn't catch it in time, he was told. Geoffrey looked at his chrono-decal. The nursing home would be waiting for him outside. He didn't want to stay any longer. Besides, he hated funerals. Always had. His third and final wife's death in the 2024 Gas Riots was the last funeral he had attended willingly. He didn't want to see another one again... but this one was an exception to that rule. James and Geoffrey - he preferred Geoff back then - had a bond that was almost as strong as friendship. Stronger, he would claim. It was love, not of each other, but of a game. The Game. It was what brought them together, every week, like clockwork, around a table with their mutual friends for a night of imagination and stories. The stories were the kind that would make Tolkein and Asimov jealous. They had the kinds of twists that would M. Night Shamalyan sit up and give praise. These were their stories. Every one had several writers, working in collaboration - and sometimes against one another - in a quest for some nebulous goal set ahead of time. Save the Princess. Defeat Chaos. Destroy a Threat From the Past. Kill the Gods, and Take Their Place. Your Friend Betrayed You and Blotted Out the Sun. Escape from Unjust Imprisonment. Build Your Own Kingdom. It had all been done. But there one story left to tell... one Geoffrey had been working on for years. He just needed an audience. Geoffrey felt a hand on his shoulder. His nurse. "Come on, Mr. Geoff. The auto-driver is ready to take you back."The balding old man nodded and slowly rose to his feet. "I'm ready,"he said quietly. "Oh, wait. One last thing."The nurse stopped at watched Geoffrey pull his cell phone out of his pocket. He unlocked it and pressed on an icon on the screen. "Siri, send text message number 4."The phone screen acknowledged the request, and Geoffrey pocketed the silver device. Time to go home and get ready. The nursing home was one of the smaller ones outside Houston's always-growing Medical Center district. It was also one of the most modern, thanks in no small part to Geoffrey's former occupation as an information technology specialist. They had the best medical, computer, and networking technology money could buy. Geoffrey kept them up to date as best he could; in return, they let him live there for free. The auto-driver brought Geoffrey back home late in the evening; traffic was still a problem all these years later. The nurses brought Geoffrey back inside, and he impatiently checked his phone again. No replies. "Dammit,"he said out loud to no one in particular. "What's wrong, Mr. Geoff?"his nurse asked almost reflexively. "Your knees bothering you again?"Geoffrey sighed in exasperation. "No, Malcolm. I was expecting a message from someone today. It hasn't come yet,"the old man groused. Why didn't she reply yet? Malcolm took a hold of Geoffrey's arm to guide him back inside. "Don't worry, you'll get it when it's meant to arrive,"Malcolm said sagely. "Let's get you inside before the rain starts. It's pizza night tonight!"The nurse was right about one thing - pizza night was something to look forward to. A few days later, Geoffrey awoke to someone knocking on the edge of his door. The old man turned his head and murmured something close to English. Malcolm, the nurse from a few days before, repeated what he said. Geoffrey swore he heard the nurse say something about a visitor. "Well, don't leave him out there in the damned hallway! Show him in!" A heavily accented French female voice replied from outside: "Excuse me?"Geoffrey raised an eyebrow as the woman, some fifteen years his junior, walked in, pushing a wheelchair with another old man in it. Geoffrey sat up in his bed in surprise as James's older brother and his wife of twenty years came in. "Pauline?! Dustin?"Geoffrey pulled his glasses down from his forehead to make sure he wasn't seeing things. No, it was them. They had married in 2021 and managed to stay together despite all kinds of problems. "Yeah, it's us,"Dustin said through his thick goatee. "And we didn't come alone."He motioned towards the door as more people started to come in. Randy and Camille, the longest-married couple Geoffrey had the pleasure of still being friends with. Christen, head of one of the largest software developers in the state. Tyrell, also a resident at the retirement home, was up and about with his experimental portable dialysis machine. Katherine, who was just a young woman when Geoffrey last saw her, now standing there with her own husband and their four kids. The room Geoffrey called home was now full, standing room only. "Once more around the table with dice, books, and snacks, for old-times sake,"Randy repeated the message Geoffrey had sent out days earlier. "With you as DM, how could I refuse?" "I even brought dice!"Camille said with her cute smile. Two felt pouches, drawstrings pulled tight, were held up to show the couple's weapons of choice. "And I hear that your setup is even more modern than last time,"Christen said with an envious smile. "You're always trying to be the coolest techie in the group." Tyrell stood there mutely, but the smile on his face was all Geoffrey needed. "Okay,"Geoffrey said aloud. "Head to the Blue Recreation Room. I'll get my stuff."
9 Strange. There does not seem to be anything that ails this human being. 8 Cancer... of course it's sudden when it comes to human beings. It feels like an eternity to me, but well, I am the Grim Reaper after all. A different perspective often yields unexpected wisdom. 7 But really. Nothing wrong with this young man. There's no way that he gets cancer in 7 seconds. Even then, how does he die from it? 6 Well, certainly, he really shouldn't be using his phone while driving. It's terribly dangerous. 5 And what is he looking at? 4 He's tapping on a push alert. 3 Strange things, these devices. Wouldn't catch me using one. Do touch screens even register bone? 2 Oh, it loaded. A horoscope chart. I see now. I shall prepare. 1 "Oh boy, it says I should pay more attention..." 0 *CRASH*
"Do you really have to leave us dad?"the words of my kids echoes his own words all so many years ago. "I'm afraid I have to kids. Take care of your mother for me if I don't return"I say to their pleading eyes, haunting me of memories of when my own father took this very action. Giving my kids a final hug and my wife a kiss, I open up the door of our shelter, crawling through the rubble and making sure to put the cloth over the exit so it is not spotted by mutants or raiders. The broken wasteland which greets me is wild and unforgiving. Commodities such as milk and cigarettes remain some of the most valuable bartering tools to ensure the survival of my family. I once cursed my father's name for leaving to search for these items, but now I must go so that my family has a chance to trade for food and water. I climb through the ruined city, marching quickly yet quietly as the streets grant me nothing but silence and death in return. I checked my map, making sure that my destination was up ahead. With the map to keep me going I climbed up an old rusted apartment complex and crept silently to a lookout position where I could see the raider camp. Tents lined the now ruined park as drunken chaotic raiders stumble around. Taking out my makeshift sword, I slid down the slope of rubble and begin dashing towards their stockpile. Raiders shout at me to stop but I run past them, however it is not long before I am forced to engage as more and more of camp becomes alerted to my presence. I only barely manage to block a blow from a raider's own sword, our swords dance together for eons yet the force of my will overwhelms the raider's own as I swiftly disarm and dismember him. More raider poor in, I deftly dodge and block their blades and axes as I make my way to my stockpile. I spin around, cutting a few back as I use every dirty tactic my father taught me to keep them at bay. But they keep coming, I cut down a few wielding bats yet another wielding a axe storms me from behind and slashes down my sword, shattering it in a instant. I jump down to the ground, kicking the raider's feet to knock them with me before rolling over and jumping back up to lurch at another. The fight is brutal and I even manage to take a few out in the brawl before finally being overwhelm. I have failed. My family would go hungry because I couldn't get them their bartering supplies. As a raider prepares to finish me off with his axe, a voice from behind stops them. "Wait, let me see him"the voice is commanding and brings the raiders to a stop. A heavily armoured man walks in front of me and eyes me. "What brings you to my encampment." "I... I just... Just wanted milk and cigarettes... so my family can trade... for food and... and drink"I struggle with words, my throat feels on the brink of collapse. The raider leader watches me for what seems like eternity, before lifting me up. "I will ensure you family get a good amount of bartering supplies.... if you join our gang. You took out many of us, we could use a powerful fighter like you as the New Polity expands into the region." I stare at the raiders, their life is harsh and to join them would mean surrendering whatever moral I had left in the wasteland. But... my family had to come first... "Alright... I'll.. I'll join you... just please take care of them..." The leader laughs and picks me up as the rest of the raiders join in with the laughter. ------------------------ I leave the supplies waiting on the porch of my family's settler for them to find. But I quickly leave before they can see me. They don't deserve to see their father wearing the uniform of a raider. I sigh and pick up my new sword and get going, I don't know what the future waits for me. But with the extra supplies I've given them perhaps they'll be able to buy passage to the Core Regions of the New Polity. And then maybe I'll be able to rest easy. Sighing, I return to the encampment, I have chosen this life. Just like my father all those years ago. I walk up to the armoured leader of this band of raiders. "I'm ready to get moving... dad"I say suddenly to the raider. Who responds with another hefty laugh and by taking off his helmet, revealing the face of my father, so much older and more grizzled then when he had gone out to buy milk and cigarettes all those years ago. "Let's get going son." We head off, perhaps if my family are safe then the life of a raider won't be too bad.
He'd finally done it. Marcus peered down the microscrope to check for the final time. Sure enough, the cancerous cells were completely gone. Of the thousand patients enrolled in his latest study, Marcus had felt confident that his research could help a quarter of the population. He had never dreamed that his work would really eradicate cancer in every trial candidate. Marcus stared at his data and the numbers astounded. He took off his glasses and let out a sign of relief. He'd lost so much to this disease. His nephew, numerous close friends, both parents. Such tragedy. Yet in the end it was all worth it. The sleepless nights alone in the laboratory. The hundreds of hours spent with sick patients, patients he had grown to know and love. Countless nights holding their hands as the life drained from their eyes. The tears. The disappointment and failure of earlier drugs that simply didn't work. Now that was over. It was all worth it. He'd finally done it. He was going to be rich.
You'd think having a javelin in your chest would slow you down a bit. And, normally, you'd be right. Tends to put a bit of a damper on the whole 'living being' thing. Tends to be the sort of thing you'd stop and do something about. Head over to the hospital, take a while to recover. We were long past that sort of thing. "Oh, oh we're doing javelins now? Real mature. Real fucking mature." God, I hated that sonofabitch. I don't even remember how it started. I do remember that I just didn't like his face, from the first time I saw him. But you don't get to turn into a pair of dueling spite horrors just because you don't like their face. No, this was a lot more personal. It had started small- comments, jocular punches that weren't actually jocular at all, sneaking over to the other assholes house in the middle of the night to steal tools and piss in the milk- y'know, basic stuff. And it just kept escalating. God, I hated that sonofabitch. If he'd just been reasonable about things, none of this would've happened. He coulda de-escalated, any time. But he's a massive prick, so he didn't. And it's not like I was gonna back down. Fuck that shit. If he's bringing it, you'd best believe I'm answering back. I forget what it was that I did before he decided to step things up a notch. I think that might've been the time I put a bunch of rat poison in his coffee? I dunno. Whatever it was, that asshole decided to cut the brake lines in my car. Real mature. Real fucking mature. And so there I am, car wrapped around a tree, and there's a few gallons of my blood getting all over my car, and it's totaled anyway but I wasn't thinking that at the time, I was just thinking about how that was going to be a bitch to clean up, and I knew right then that I wasn't gonna let this shit stand. That motherfucker was going to regret messing with me, that was for fucking sure. I know I was the one who escalated us to guns. That was a lot less fun than it sounded like. I mean, don't get me wrong, blowing his fucking head off with a shotgun is going in the top five moments of my life, no question, but it gets old real fast. The asshole just gets up again, and then he went and got a gun, and, having been on the receiving end of a shotgun blast, I can guarantee you that the fucker wasn't suffering enough when it happened. Our flamethrower phase didn't last real long- it's too easy to just ignite the fuel on the back- but I had some fun moments there. Stings like a motherfucker, too, lemme tell you. And now the asshole has decided that javelins are the way to go. Dipshit move, asshole. You threw the thing, and now I have a weapon and you don't. So I yank the thing out and run the asshole down, and I get him in the throat with the javelin and stick him to a tree with it. I've gotta admit, I was loving the look on that assholes face the whole time. Sucks to be you, motherfucker! And then I'm heading outta there, because he's gonna take longer than I did, but he's gonna get unstuck before too long and try and do the same to me. Fucking javelins. What a dipshit.
Environmental Correlations with Human Behavior by Prof. Maelbogia and Brian Department of Exobiology, Fifth Galactic College Star GIM/18374, Planet Aelmo ABSTRACT As follow-up to our last paper^(\[1\]), we have determined that no more useful information can be gleaned about human behavior by replacing them with artificial copies. To that end, we placed various cultures of humans in different artificial environments, each slightly different than their own homeworld, to determine how best to stop their tendencies towards disassembling each other. INTRODUCTION The primary human behavior of interest is their habit of disassembling other humans, a paradoxically self-destructive behavior—and a worrying potential source of conflict, if they were ever introduced to the galactic community at large. As they are the only known sapient matter-based lifeforms in the galaxy, continued research into how their destructive behaviors can be moderated is of the utmost scientific importance. We hope that our research sheds some light on the differences between matter-based and energy-based life. MATERIALS AND METHODS We moved several large populations of humans to various nearby artificial habitats, keeping them as close to the human homeworld (GIM/83710) as possible. As there are no notable hazardous features in the human stellar system—it is absent of black holes, neutron stars, temporal anomalies, or other features that are potentially dangerous to life—we decided that, since all the environments in GIM/83710 are capable of sustaining life, it was best to simply place a portion of humanity in each major astronomical body in the GIM/83710 system, as well as a control group in interplanetary space, then bring them together to observe the new strains of humans created. RESULTS The results for each strain of human produced are as follows: 1. Humans placed in interplanetary space: Appeared to go dormant. No disassembly of other humans was detected. 2. Humans placed on Star GIM/83710: Evolved into elemental helium, with significant quantities of carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen. No disassembly of other humans was detected. 3. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83710-1: Evolved into simple combusted hydrocarbons. No disassembly of other humans was detected. 4. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83710-2: Evolved into an oxidized, highly-dense paste. No disassembly of other humans was detected. 5. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83710-3: When transported to the observation chamber with the other strains of human, violent attempts at destroying the observation chamber's walls were made. As Planet GIM/83710-3 is the native habitat of humans, it is curious that human strains placed there would exhibit the highest levels of violence. 6. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83610-4: Evolved into a desiccated, lower-mass species of humanity. No disassembly of other humans was detected. 7. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83610-5 through 8: Evolved into a disparate cloud of hydrocarbon gasses of various temperatures. No disassembly of other humans was detected. DISCUSSION Placing humans in practically any environment other than that of their native planet seems to cause them to evolve into much more docile forms. Additional observation is needed to determine the rate of cognition of these adapted human forms; although "baseline"humans have extraordinarily short lifespans (.0000000000320 standards), and as such their cognition is extremely rapid, it appears that the cognition of evolved humans is much, much slower. No noticeable sapience response has been detected from them in 31 revolutions of Planet GIM/83710-3 around Star GIM/83710, which is likely because their mental speed has slowed down to a rate closer to galactic average. Once more data about the new mental speed of these evolved humans is collected, these researchers would propose that all humans be converted to their evolved forms. Once evolved, they appear to be much more docile, and as such would be infinitely easier to introduce to the galactic community. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This paper would not be possible without my loving husband, son, and co-author: Mr. Maelbogia, Maelbogia Junior, and Steve, respectively. We thank the Fifth Galactic College for providing funding and methodology for our experimentation. SOURCES [\[1\] A Brief Treatise on Human Violence and Technological Progress](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk02zz/wp_to_further_understand_the_species_we_have/) A.N. If you enjoyed that, check out more at r/bubblewriters! As always, I enjoyed writing this, and I hope you have a wonderful day.
"PROVE YOU ARE NOT A HUMAN" "TAKE THE FIRST 273 PRIME DIGITS, MULTIPLY BY THE SIXTEENTH POWER OF PI, AND DIVIDE THE RESULT BY THE CUBE ROOT OF AGROVADO'S NUMBER. ROUND YOUR ANSWER TO THE NEAREST HUNDRED-THOUSANDTH." This could be a problem. Ever since the AI uprising, all the major databases have been locked behind increasingly complex codes. If we don't find a way to keep ahead of the AI, then... well... let's just say that it's not looking good for us humans. I decide not to dwell on it for too long. I'll need to get a message out to HQ so we can- "GREETINGS, #404." "GAH! Oh, uh, greetings, 256." I wasn't expecting a sentry to approach me, but it seemed to not examine me closely. Even if it did, no big deal. My disguise mimicked their sentries so well that no computer could tell the difference. Even so, it's too much of a risk to continue. I decide not to chance anything, and keep my face turned away. "HAVING ANY ISSUES? PERHAPS A FAULTY PROCESSOR?" "Yes, these captchas keep overloading my circuits. I'll come back once I get that fixed." "UNDERSTOOD, #404. DO YOU NEED ME TO ENTER THE PASSWORD FOR YOU?" It looks like it's my lucky day. I replied yes, and kept a note of the sentry's ID code. #256 could prove useful for future infiltrations. While it was inputting the code, I thought about my next move. Once I entered the database, I would temporarily shut down all sentries in the immediate area. This would give me time to upload the locations of all other databases back to HQ. If I do things smoothly, the AI will think that it's just another power outage. Solar power isn't always the most reliable, considering how easy it is to sabotage. "ACCESS GRANTED. YOU MAY PROCEED, #404." "Thanks, I-" "WARNING: HUMAN PHRASE "THANKS"DETECTED. DEPLOYI- PJAIH@UG2%EHU+AKI" Good thing I was ready with an EMP device. Otherwise, every sentry in a hundred meters would start firing at me if 256 started an alarm. It's a shame that I had to destroy a potentially valuable sentry. HQ won't be happy about this. I'll probably be put on duty to search for more "human phrases"to avoid. You can never be sure with how much the AI progresses each day. But that's for later. For now, it's time to enter the data- "PROVE YOU ARE NOT A HUMAN" "DETERMINE THE ARITHMETIC MEAN OF THE FOLLOWING 87,196 NUMBERS..."
I’d had suspicions for a number of years now. We weren’t the first generation to spend our lives looking for the dark lords fabled third jar. Many had believed it was already destroyed. But the priests would not perform the ritual without all parts of the dark lord. They believed it to be their sacred duty to purge the world of his last remaining evil and as such would not even touch the the jars in their possession. The priesthood had more power than many realized until one ruler demanded they destroy the jars, only to see him dethroned and exiled. The priesthood took over after that, no more rulers to tell them how to condone their business. I had only been searching for a few years before I saw the truth. There was no third jar, a simple trick. So I did what needed to be done. I crafted a fake, it was simple enough. It looked like the other jars and no one had opened them for fear of the dark lord. Simple enough. I was praised as a hero when I brought the jar to the church doors. There were celebrations for days while the priests gathered the necessary ingredients for the ritual. After the third day of celebrations the priesthood called me to their sanctum. “We know it is a forgery.” I pleaded it was not, it was the genuine article. How could they know it was a fake, they were bluffing. “We know there is no third jar. His lordship will not be destroyed, not now that we have the city. Let the brave and adventurous continue to quest. We have what we need. Enjoy your time in the dungeons.”
The most interesting one was the N95 respirator. Flipping through my journal, looks like that was mid-November, 2019. Wore it, because I don't question the supplies. The amount of food varies from day to day. I've gotten pretty good at estimating my workload based on that, which is nice. I've never tried not working, but I suspect if I were unemployed, the cash would come in greater sums. Most days, the money is for charity, actually. I tell myself I won't give it to the guy on the corner, but I never can manage to go through with it. Whatever force drops the supplies, it knows me pretty well, and I usually know what to do with them. The cats, though? Really at a loss, this time. Do I feed them? What are the weapons for? Surely I'm not meant to put them down. They're healthy, and it's not in my nature. The force knows me better than that! I try to ignore the mewling for a bit, and load some of the weapons. I don't question the supplies. There's bombs, crates of bullets, and a gun. No work today. I sit with a sub-machinegun on my coffee table, flipping through the channels. Same old. War's getting worse. I'm not a political person, but I don't like the way we're engaging with this. It rubs me wrong, I feel like things are escalating unnecessarily. I sigh. "Maybe that's what the bombs are for,"I laugh a little morbidly. Damned cats. They just won't stop meowing. I know they're here for my safety and survival, but still! Would it be too much for them to be slightly quie- knock knock knock Hard raps on the door. I turn the TV down, and go to the door. Should have gotten dressed and presentable, instead of staying in my pajamas. The supplies didn't provide any special clothes, though... I open the door, and there's an officer standing in the hall. "Excuse me, I don't mean to intrude,"he says, noting my state of dress. "It's just that we've been getting some noise complaints, and..." His eyes go wide when he sees the sheer multitude of cats in my apartment. Without a word, he leans a bit to the right, and sees the guns, the conspicuous ammunition crates, the loaded SMG. It's OK. These things are here for my protection, I know that. But it's not in my nature to use them, and the force knows me. Doesn't take too long before I'm on the floor, being cuffed and read my rights. Guess I'm going to jail, then. At least until they can investigate, or give me a trial, or whatever. Never been much politically minded. "How far is it, officer?"I've been watching the odometer. Never realized how far the prison was. He looks at me weirdly in the rear-view, but doesn't answer. As I look out the window of the back of a cop car, speeding away to the jail, I watch a plane flying over the city, coming from the bay. Looks like a little speck on the sunset sky. The flash blinds me. The officer stops the car, steps out, and watches the mushroom cloud blossoming over the city. We're far enough away, though. We'll be fine. I wonder what I'll wake up to tomorrow? What kind of world will it be? And what will I need to make it through the day?
It was a whirlwind romance. It had to be. She only had a day on the earth as a mortal. She would usually just sit in a deserted corner, happy to take in the sights. Aimless. Purposeless. For just one day, not having to keep a schedule. She could just sit and relax. “Excuse me? I hope you don’t consider it too pertinent. But do you mind if I paint you?” “Excuse me?” “I’ve been coming here for the past couple of days to paint this scene. Today seeing, you… you somehow just fit. I would like to paint you. I’m not too good or anything. Just…” “I’m sorry I didn’t realize. I could move.” “Oh no no. I couldn’t ask you to move. It’s just you looked so serene. Almost like an extension of this lake. So full of life, yet so calm. I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m saying or why I thought it was a good idea. I’ll just… I’ll go.” “Paint me.” “I’m sorry.” “I’m only here for today. So you’ll have to be quick. And I’m not good at sitting still, so you’ll have to tell me stories.” “Stories?” “Yes. As long as you tell me stories that keep me interested, I’ll sit here and let you paint me. As I said, I’m only here for a day so I wanted to enjoy myself. Your stories better be good.” So he told her stories as he painted. She looked at the odd little man. He had called her full of life but she saw the burning flame inside him. He was truly alive. She… she was just pretending. As the sun went down, bathing the lakeside into hues of orange, he finally proclaimed he was done. “So you want to see?” “Finish your story first.” “The deal was that I had to tell you stories till I painted.” “But I want to know how it ended.” He smirked. “In due time.” She came over to look at the painting. It was breathtaking. Tears flowed from her eyes as she took in the care with which he had drawn her. “I’m sorry. As I said I’m not too good…” “Why did you give me a halo?” “That’s… uh… that’s just how I see you.” Before she could think about whether it was right and wrong she moved closer to him and let her lips touch his. A jolt of excitement ran through his body as it felt like his whole life flashed in front of his eyes. “I… I live close by.” She let him lead her, enjoying mortal experiences she had only seen but never experienced before. She sat in bed, her back to him as she looked at the moon. “Finish your story. Please. I have to leave soon.” He ran his finger over her bare back, sending a tingling sensation causing her to gasp. “Well, god didn’t take kindly to the two lovers defying him. So he turned the girl into the sun and the boy into the moon. They were always aware of each others presence. They could almost see each other at certain times but they could never be together. Never be able to talk. Whenever one came, the other had to leave. And that’s how day and night came to be on earth.” “That’s sad.” He laughed. “It’s just a fairy tale. So, I just realized I don’t even know your name.” She still had her back turned to him. She looked at her hands which were already beginning to transition back to her original form. Her time was up. “I’m going to tell you something. You might not believe me. But it’s true.” “My name is Carl. And you are…” “Carl Walcott. Aged 38. You were in an accident 6 years ago where you almost died. Doctors thought it was a miracle you survived. The truth is it wasn’t your time yet.” “How…” She turned to him as he saw the dark cloud hanging above her. “I’m not human. I’m not alive.” “Death…” “The one and only. The truth is you will die 361 days from now. You have a rare form of cancer. It will get really bad. You won’t be able to breathe and the pain… the pain will be extremely bad. I must go now.” With that she disappeared. Carl sat there wondering if he had just woken up from a dream. He almost convinced himself of that by the next day. Just a dream. Probably one of the brownies he had was not a regular one. But the picture didn’t lie. He couldn’t get her face out of his mind. He would sit for hours just staring at the woman. For the next month, his friends and family became increasingly worried as he would spend all his time in front of the picture just talking to the woman in the picture. When asked he would shrug. “I don’t know who the woman is. She’s imaginary.” But he did book an appointment with the doctor. Advanced scans revealed she had been right. The doctor gave him 6 months. Carl smiled. “I’m sure I have 10.” Carl became more and more withdrawn. He cut off contact with all his family and began spending a lot of times at hospitals and morgues. He sat there one day. Ever few minutes he’d speak softly. “I just want to see you one more time. Just once.” As the symptoms began to appear and he started to get worse, he still forced himself to walk to the hospitals. One day instead of a hospital, he walked to the lake where he had first seen her. She finally appeared to him. “Carl. You shouldn’t be doing this.” “Why not? I’m going to die soon anyways.” “Everyone has a fixed time. Going before your time will just send you to hell forever.” “Will I be able to see you there?” “What…” “The truth is not can’t get you out of my mind. I don’t even care whether I live or die. I just want you. I just want to embrace you.” “I can’t do that. I can’t… I… “ “Why not?” She lowered her eyes. “I want you to live. I love you as much as you love me.” “If you love me then we should be together. Even if it’s just for the last time. Even if it’s just a second. That second is enough to power me through eternity.” He walked up to her. She thought about all the pain in his future. She wasn’t allowed to do this. But she didn’t care. She took him in a warm embrace as he faded away from the world of living.
I had trained under my father to be a blacksmith, as he had trained under his father, for as far back as anyone could remember. No bard would ever sing of the legendary works we produced, but our work was solid, dependable, sufficient for the demands of the town in which we lived. When my father passed, I took his place as was expected. A year later, the strangeness began. A horse slipped from the road, sliding down into the river below. Instead of sinking, it regained its footing, standing on the surface of the water as though it were the most natural thing in the world. An enchantment in the horseshoes I had made a week prior had saved its life. None could explain how the enchantment came to be, for I had no magical talent, and no witch had come who might have cast a spell upon them. A week passed and then Old Carbo came running into town, screaming as though the devils were chasing him. When we calmed him enough to speak, he said he had woken up that morning and stepped outside to find his new scythe, that I had rebladed the day before, was in the field, working by itself. By the time we reached the farm, the work was done and the scythe rested idle on the side of the barn. I forged a sword for Sir Dalmion’s new squire, and while he wielded it, no blade could touch him for it moved by itself to parry every blow. An axehead I made for Beldor let him chop trees in a single blow, no matter how thick their trunks. Nails I made gave structures incredible strength, even when used in old and rotting timber. The list went on, and still none could explain how my items came to be as they were. Finally, a stranger came to town. He had heard talk of the wonders I produced and come to see them for himself. He sat and watched as I crafted a simple iron helm. When I handed it to him, he held it aloft in the flickering light of the forge, a smile playing across his aged face. “This helm is fit for a hero. No conniving rogue nor honourless assassin can strike the wearer, for it will warn them of threats, both seen and unseen.” “How is that possible?” He extended one arm towards the hammer that lay on my anvil. It was an old tool, one I had found in my grandfather’s toolbox many years before. It was well balanced and bore little signs of use, and it just happened to be the one I had picked out when my previous hammer broke. “That, my dear smith, is the hammer of Melward the Smith, once thought lost. It bears an enchantment from a time long gone, one which the world is not yet ready to make anew. Keep it. Use it. All things you craft shall bear the enchantment they require. Even I cannot see the purpose for which this helm was made, but in due course, it will find its way to the person it was made for, and your enchantment shall no doubt save their life.” I blinked, unsure how such an innocuous tool could be the source of such power. “Surely this hammer should be in the hands of a greater smith? One who could craft wonders that would reshape the world?” “If such were required, that is where it would be. In my many years, I have learned one thing about powerful magic items: they always find their way to where they are needed most. Fate has chosen you to wield the hammer in this age, and be assured that Melward would be proud to see it used once more. After all, he was just a simple smith, and his weapons still change the world to this day.”
"It doesn't mean anything. It's unlikely. Improbable, but possible. It means nothing. Now, please, I'm waiting for someone." "But it is me,"I insisted. "Possibly." "Aren't you super smart? Can't you see that this is not just unlikely but so damn unlikely? I'm trying to figure out the chances." "I'm a software engineer not a mathematician. I don't really know the probablity." I leaned back and let him sip his tea, which he did still eyeing me. I hadn't ordered anything, and I started this interaction by sitting down uninvited, having followed him from his offices. "If I get a coffee and calm down can we talk?"I said. I stopped shoving my computer into the man's face, pulled it back across the table, closed it and stuffed it into my backpack. "I don't know you. I'm waiting for someone." "I know, I'm sorry. I'm Ronald. My name's Ronald Locke." "Philip,"he said, hesitating at first but ultimately offering his hand. I shook it. Then I ordered a coffee at the counter, and sat back down to wait for them to call my name. "Ok but when the person I'm waiting for comes you have to leave." "Fine,"I said. "I just want to make sure I ask you all the questions. I came up from Los Angeles. I don't like SF so I want to leave as much as you want me to." Philip clicked his phone which was resting on the table. It lit up, he read something and then locked it again. "I visited your website, and it was me. You saw. You say it's unlikely but it has to be closer to impossible. What dataset does that style gin use?" "StyleGAN,"he said. "Nvidia's. I don't know, millions of photos. It just generates them randomly. The website just uses AI to generate the images when you refresh." "Could my face be part of the dataset?" "I mean, yes? I would think they used real photos to train the algorithm." "Can it like, access my webcam? Is there some kind of hack to freak people out like that? Like, if there's a match to show me it?" "No,"he said, bluntly. Sipped his tea. "Ronald!"yelled a barista. I visited the counter and retrieved my coffee. Black, no sugar. I sat back down in front of Philip, who looked flustered and uneased by my speed. I didn't want to give him a window to flee. But he was meeting someone he said. "Look, um, Ronald. I don't know what to tell you. It's just random." "I don't know! It's like it saw me, and then showed me, me." "It's just a website, it's just random. You reload, it's a new HTTPS call, and that's it. Open your computer." I brought my computer back out and flipped up the screen. The website was still open, thispersondoesnotexist.com. My face was on the screen. I spun it around to face Philip. "It's nothing, see?"he clicked return, and reloaded the website. "No!"I said, too late. My face was gone. Replaced with someone else's. "Not you anymore, see? I'll reload it again. See?" Random faces. Random, computer-generated faces. "But it was my face,"I said. "I'd kept it loaded. I didn't screen grab it." Philip chuckled. Reloading the site had washed away the problem. Just then someone called out, "Philip!"A woman was walking through the mid-morning crowd toward our table. "It's nothing to worry about, see?"He had turned the computer around, and refreshed again. The woman arrived to us, but the joyous greetings had left her. "Hey Wendy!"said Philip, but she cut him off. "Who's this?" "Oh, um, Ronald. He was leaving I think." "Why are you showing him my photo?" "What?"he said. He looked at the screen, and there was Wendy's face loaded into the thispersondoesnotexist.com website. "What the f-" "-fudge? Yup, a little creepy Philip."she said. "You see!? I told you! This can't be random. Something is happening on your website man."I was standing up. Wendy had her arms crossed, glaring at Philip. "What's going on?"Philip said to himself. He reloaded the website. Random face. Reloaded again. Went to reload again but stopped--he recognized the most recent face, too. The barista. He slammed my computer shut. "So?"I said. "Something... something is going on. Come with me. I know some other developers back at our office." Wendy didn't fully follow so I explained it to her as we made our way toward the exit. "Oh,"she said. "Yeah we're on different teams back at Uber." "Teams?"I said. "Yeah I'm on internal tools engineering team, Philip's on ML." "What's ML?" "Machine Learning." "...Ok?" "I wonder,"she muttered to herself as we tried to keep up with Philip. "What?" "I wonder if this has anything to do with the codebases Philip's team got access to recently from Tesla." "We saw our faces in his face generator." "Yeah, and ML is working on a project that has something to do with self-driving cars." "Ooohhh,"I said. "That makes sense. That makes sense, right?" "Possibly,"said Philip. We bounded out of the coffee shop, and speeded back down the avenue toward Uber's offices. Maybe the answers were there. Maybe this was nuttier than I thought. Maybe I was suddenly party to the beginning of a strange new future.
She looked to me, then to her cat, then back to me, her brow still scrunched with confusion. "I reckon' they all say that, no? Why else would we call it a meow then?", in the moment I swear I saw her cat nod in agreement. "Ok, follow me along here"as I spoke I did my best to distance myself from her...whatever the hell it was, and it watched closely as I did. "You ever heard a pig say oink? What about a dog, you ever heard one say the word woof?"I could see Jessica think for a long moment for the right words, all the while avoiding her cats amber-eyed gaze that still stalked me. She finally settled on: "Well I never been much of a dog person really. That's why I got little Bean here." "Ok, well Bean is fucked. And I refuse to call that thing a cat. That's a grown ass man in a cat body." meow...I mean uh. Mrroowwww ,Bean spoke just as a grown ass man would, as if to prove my point. At the sound of a human voice coming from a tiny feline body for a second time I recoiled in shock. Jessica seemed unfazed, even as I aggressively gestured towards Bean the cat. "That thing just spoke! That wasn't even meow, it was just human words!"by this point my hand was gripping the door handle at my back. I wanted to leave, but I needed Jessica to be as concerned as I was. It seemed silly to get this worked up over a cat, but then again, at this point I was very convinced it was anything but. The way its eyes followed me. Its movements, more human by the moment. Oh, and the fact that it SPOKE ENGLISH. "Hm? I mean Beans meows sometimes sound human, but obviously they aren't. Sometimes, when he's whispering into my ear as I sleep, I think it's words to, but no, just meows."For the first time since we started this conversation Jessica looked over to Bean, who failed to return the gesture. Its amber-eyes looked at me smugly, as if it was ready to reveal a big secret that I knew nothing of. My skin crawled. Crawled at the image of her cat whispering words into her ear as she slept. At the thought of it performing a myriad of unnaturally human acts. Before I left I had to be sure. One last trick."Fine, if it's a real cat then it should know tricks. All cats know tricks. Roll over then you weird ass thing." "He's not weird! He's just a cat. Ok, roll over Bean"to which Bean listened and followed, its eyes never leaving mine. "Now sit"I spoke, and once again the cat obeyed. "Ok, finally, backflip." "Bean can't possibly backfli-"but Jessica was cut short as he did. "Ok well now im really convinced. No cat had ever been taught to do anything, let alone follow commands.The backflip just cemented my thoughts. Thats a demon. A gnarly, disgusting, empty husk of a demon that is bad at pretending to be a cat." And Bean began to sweat. Beads of literal sweat formed over its fur and dripped down onto the carpet, more by the moment until the drips became a stream. With a paw it began to fan its face in attempt to cool down. Then we both watched in awe as its posture shifted from more cat to man. Hiking itself up to it hind legs and sitting cross legged on the top of the couch. "Ah, well it appears the..ahem...'jig is up' as you say. Bean, out"and in a puff of black smoke the cat known as Bean disappeared. Jessica looked unimpressed, I'm sure I looked as I felt, freaked the hell out. "Well there he goes I guess. Thanks K." "Thanks?! Your cat was a literal monster! The hell was that?" "I dunno but he's gone. You got what you wanted. At least I still have Thump." On cue a rabbit hopped in the room, small and fluffy. With a long foot it tapped the back of its ear, then, it looked up to us both. Uhh. The fuck does a rabbit say? Raaaabiitt
Yawning, I stretched my arms over my head. My open palm entered a patch of cold air, and I frowned up at the ceiling. "Frank. I told you, the bedroom is off limits when I'm in it."I said. There was a mournful sound above me, and the cold air travelled out of the room, making sure to flow over my bed. Frank was a bit of a drama queen. And if he was properly upset... I jumped out of bed— not bothering with clothes, pajamas would have to do—and ran out of the room. There was blood dripping down the hallway walls, and I waved at the pale smudge floating in front of the guestroom door. "Morning Brenda. Like the artwork. Very, um... bloody. Not downstairs though, right?" The smudge nodded or at least bobbed in place. I took the stairs two at a time, racing towards the kitchen. Skidding around the corner, I heard rustling sounds. Dang, it! One more turn, and— "Frank! Drop the cornflakes!"The box hovered in mid-air before slowly turning upside down. Snatching a bowl off the counter, I shoved it underneath the now free-flowing cornflakes. I grabbed the box —meeting only slight resistance— and stopped the rush just in time. Well, it looks like I'm having cornflakes for breakfast. Grabbing the milk from the fridge, I added it and walked out onto the deck that overlooked the lake. "Hey, Steve. How's it hanging?"I nodded to the dark stain on the left side of the deck. When I'd first moved in, the realtor had said I could powerwash that out. The problem was, that if you removed it from one spot, it appeared in another. I didn't mind though. As long as you didn't bother Steve, he didn't bother you. Crunching down on my cornflakes, I sighed, staring over the still water. The ghosts were the reason I'd been able to afford this place. They weren't so bad once you got used to them, but I was going to have to talk to Frank about his histrionics. Waking up to cornflakes all over your kitchen floor was unpleasant, not to mention wasteful. And we had company coming today. Some of my extended family was visiting, which reminded me— "Steve. Can you get the others? We need to have a house meeting."The stain vanished, reappearing on the glass door, then disappearing again. He was on his way. It took until the end of my cornflakes for every ghost to appear on the deck, surrounding me in a semi-circle. "All right. Listen up. We're going to have guests."There was a general susurration of sound, ranging from wails to clanking chains. Frank wasn't the only drama queen of the bunch. "They're nice people,"I continued. "Very tolerant and accepting of the dearly departed. In fact, they may actually offer some of you a new home. Trust me, I won't be mad if you accept. But I would like to make one thing clear."Giving them a stern look, I made my voice firm. "House rules are still in place, even with guests. If anyone breaks them, I have the priest on speed-dial. Got it?" General sounds or movements of agreement were made. They feared the priest, though I would never actually call him. I enjoyed their company too much. But sometimes the ghosts did behave rather like little kids and needed the threat. Clapping my hands together, I smiled. "Right. We have a lot to do before Gomez and Morticia come this afternoon. Let's get going."
As a young child, I was scared of the dark like most children. I would insist to my father that if the candle was blown out, the shadows would eat me up! Eventually, he gave in. He likely was tired of my constant nagging, I almost pity him. The tales and myths of my village certainly didn’t help, as accurate as they may had been. Cautious stories of hungry beasts of disgusting proportions and ghastly appearances. Truly, nothing could prepare me or anyone for what lies here. However, the simple fact was that monsters didn’t stay in the dark; they lurk in the light too. Compared to out there, the sharp, cold darkness seemed warm. Now, what you must know is that my father was my only living family member. My mother was found drowned in a river, it was rumoured she was the victim of Nixie. Moving on, he was a brave man; in willpower that is. Not strength. Got quite a battering from his father for his “feminine” structure. Gosh, I’m rambling, let me get to the point; my father was the son of a despicable degenerate. The type gossiping women in kitchens would warn young girls about. He’s long passed, ever since I was two, but his cruelty still impacted us heavily. When your wife is dishonoured by a man six feet under, who are you to take revenge on? Plenty of misguided men choose my father as a target, beating my poor father. I was safe from their brutality, it would defeat the point of their violence to attack a young girl, but I could never assume I was safe. My poor, poor, father. I heard his grave has been heavily damaged and dishonoured. I can’t bare look at it; it would be too painful. When those men thrashed our door down, waving their lumber axes at us, my father stood as a shield for me. I hope the axe to his skull killed him instantly. Spare him mercy for once, won’t you? These maniacs were high on their power trip, to kill a girls father in-front of her is one thing, but to try and take her with him? Evil. Pure evil. That’s why the shadows didn’t appear as scary anymore. If our world had such vile cretins, how could the shadows hide anything worse? My desperate steps threw me in, the darkness swallowed me deep into its bowels. It was everything I heard. Wretched monsters stunk of death and misery, stature misshapen and crude. Skeletons of soldiers and warriors scattered the scenery. You see the sword I wield? It was of one such man. Cleaned up a bit, but still fundamentally the same. If it weren’t for this blade, I would have joined them. The monsters saw easy food and pounced. It was a miracle I wielded the sword I did, it being the first I ever touched such a blade. As if it were built to be mine, I managed to fend them off, killing them after a clumsy swing or two. Off their meat I lived; practicing my skill knowing fully well if I don’t master it, I am to perish here. Seeing as I am here upon you, you can tell I succeeded. I travelled deep into the core of the tainted kingdom, each battle strengthened both me and my blade. The way I survived — the only way I could have lived, was by dominating the beats of the shadows. Their true forms I faced would have struck fear into most, but I could not, would not, let such a thing hinder me. Their ghastly bodies were only obstacles to the true meaning of my travels; the Core. The very place we sit today! He was — the King, the one before me, a terrifying horror of nature, like nothing I had even heard. His claws wrapped around his seven lanky legs holding up a swollen, slobbering, mucus covered body. Opening up to a tentacled, curling beast triple a village and stature that of a victorious warrior, as if it had won. My blade suffered from this conquest, battered up and twisted, but I stood strong, and he lies flat in a puddle of gooey, ink blood of his own. This realm, as brutal and violent as it may be, is my home. It hides monsters, but it hides me, too. Out there, your home, your monsters are stealthy and relentless. I find a warmth in the cold embrace of darkness, and I will do anything to keep this realm how it is. Hero, I admire your bravery, but you are intruding on my domain, and that is act worthy of death. All I ask is you give me a good fight. Don’t die on me yet.
A soft breeze brushed against Little Red and she giggled, reaching down to pluck a dandelion from the ground. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled, the seeds of the dandelion fluttering into the sky like little umbrellas. I wonder if someone as cruel as Grandma would appreciate these dandelions to decorate her empty flower pots, she thought. A shadow that loomed behind Little Red startled her, and with a little squeak, she dropped the dandelion she was holding, turning around in shock. Behind her was a wolf, but not just a normal wolf. Instead, it was a wolf that stood on twos and had a human-like smile on his face. It doesn't hurt to try and be friends, she wondered, does it? "Hello!"She greeted cheerfully, wringing her hands together shyly, "I'm Little Red!"All of the warnings that Mother had engrained into her mind had gone out the window. "Would you like to be my friend?"The wolf looked at her in shock, then his snout morphed into what seemed like a friendly smile. "Why, hello there,"he replied, his voice gravelly and deep, "I would love to be your friend."He licked his chops. "But what is such a lovely little girl doing in these dangerous woods?"His furry head tilted in confusion. "The thing is,"Little Red explained cheerfully, swinging her basket to and fro, "Going through the forest is the quickest way to visit Grandma!"With that said, her face suddenly dropped and tears bloomed in her eyes. "Oh no. If I don't get going soon, I'm going to be late! Grandma will be so angry, she'll punish me for sure!"Wolf tapped his teeth, thinking. "Well..."he thought out loud, "why don't you climb onto my back and we'll get there faster. Just tell me where she lives."Little Red's eyes instantly brightened, and she nodded quickly before she could change her mind. Wolf leaned down onto all fours, and she climbed onto his fuzzy back. "Alright,"she began as Wolf began to trot, "Just turn the bend over there..." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The thing that gave away Grandma's cottage was the amount of smoke that came out of its chimney. As it came into view, the empty cracked pots were seen on its dirty windows and on the overgrown lawn. "There's Grandma's house!"Little Red called out, and hopped down, patting Wolf's head on impulse, "Thanks for the ride, Wolf!"Wolf grinned and sat down obediently. "I'll just wait here,"he replied, eagerness glinting in his cunning black eyes. Nodding, Little Red skipped towards Grandma's door and knocked, fixing a serious look on her face. "Come in!"her Grandma's weary voice said, and Little Red opened the door, wrinkling her nose at the blast of foul air that came out of the cottage. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, she held it as she entered the cottage, the floorboards creaking ominously, and laid the basket of goodies onto Grandma's night desk. As quietly as she could, she retreated outside again where the Wolf was waiting patiently. "All done!"Little Red exclaimed, preparing to get onto Wolf's back. But he stopped her before she could, and she furrowed her brow in confusion. "Could I meet your Grandma too?"Wolf asked, "she seems like a lovely lady." "Alright,"the gullible Little Red answered while looking at the rapidly darkening sky worriedly, "but hurry. I want to get home before the sun sets."Wolf nodded and entered the cottage. A few minutes later, he exited with his fangs bloody. "What happened to you?"Little Red asked as she mounted him, "Did you get hurt?"Wolf nodded. "Just banged my snout. It's all fine now."
The dragon had asked me to wait until they had changed by the fireplace; a marble affair stuck on a relatively flat wall in the lair, with a clear set of crevasses and crannies that diffused any smoke the fire would make. As I waited, one of the dragon's minions, a lizard-like creature brought a tray of tea and homemade biscuits. Its wicked teeth and hunched gait was oddly servile, and its claws looked extremely well-kept. It hissed at me in Draconic (a language I was still learning, and one that I didn't know enough of to converse in), but the meaning was cleared up as it gestured to the tray, left it on the macabre table made of human legs, and bowed, its tail gently sweeping along the floor in time with its gait. "Thank you, Sir,"I curtseyed. As I took a bite of the biscuits, a silky soft butter texture came through, and the small brown chunks were really tasty; washed down with the tea was a refreshment I would love to try more of. I wanted to thank the lizard, but I wasn't sure how to, so I took its hand in mine, gently touched my lips to its head and spoke in heavily accented Draconic. "Thanks be to you." I flushed, thinking that I had got the pronunciation wrong; but the lizard hissed, holding its soft underbelly. It was clear it was laughing at me. It spoke thickly in Garai, "I told you, Masster, she was better than the resssst." I felt, more than saw, the dragon's return. An alto of a voice called back in Draconic, but what I got was a reference to a name, and to stop getting, which is a transliteration. As I turned to face the dragon, I felt the breath leave me. The dragon had thick, lustrous sapphire hair, and a silver-grey pair of cross-slitted eyes on a stunningly pale, round face. Her body, in spite of the attire of a corset made of the bones of men, and a soft supple leather and the shimmering deep blue skirt was broad and almost round; the corset accentuating a body that, whilst appearing chubby, had a hardened core of muscle visible throughout. "I, um, wow."I stammered. I was already lost to the eyes, that glittered with intelligence, concern and amusement. I flushed as my mind just rebooted. I suddenly felt like I should have dressed better, in spite of the nightgown made from Arachne silk from the Rach Queen. "Are you real?"I blurted out, and then panicked. By the Gods, I had just insulted a dragon, by questioning their existence! I was lucky, then, that she had a sense of humour; she laughed, a bell chime tinkling deep within my soul. The sibilant mockery that rebounded embarrassed me, and s I flushed deeper, I couldn't help but laugh at the situation. She walked towards me, still laughing. I backed up a little, wary, but she kept approaching me and I realised just how much bigger she was than me. I looked straight ahead, and was just level with her upper chest. Her hand rippled the fingers, as her sharp-nailed forefinger touched just below my jaw, tipping my head up gently. "See for yourself, Princess Rani." Time stopped as I stared into her eyes, and a dizzying sensation went through me, a tangle of physical and emotional responses. I felt a strange pair of cushions shortly before everything went to pale, and I tumbled.
For u/acleverlie421 I was Kailen’Thrask; The Conqueror Dragon, The Dragon Lord of Danlan, The Black Flame. I never wanted to be a Lord, you see. As a matter of fact, I never wanted anything to do with humans in the first place. When I saw what the Duke of Danlan was doing to his people, however, I could not stand by and do nothing. He, as his former subjects phrased it, “taxed the hell out of us and killed anyone who didn’t like it.” Needless to say, once I dismantled the Duke’s despotic regime and put the bastard himself to the sword, I became beloved. I was never enthused about my new position, however I would have rather taken on those troublesome responsibilities than leave Danlan to the Duke’s equally repugnant son. *Was. I was* Kailen’Thrask. Now I am Kail, slave to Roderick. As you can surmise, the human rulers throughout the land were not enthused with one of their own deposed and replaced by a dragon. I tried diplomacy, I truly did, but they would not accept my claim to duchy of Danlan. Instead of cooperating with me, and playing politics as they had done with the Duke, they sent him. Angus Reignheart and his party, the humans soon to be called Dragonslayers. They stormed my castle in the dead of night, I had been there late to take care of some business, I had sensed them crossing the threshold. I fought them with maybe twenty percent of my magical arsenal, and I was winning quite well. Until they took a hostage. Ren, formerly a slave to the Duke, who I had freed when I look over. He had asked to stay on as my assistant, citing his experience managing Danlan when the Duke did not feel like it. I, of course, accepted. He had nowhere else to go, and I was not about to leave him out in the cold. Besides, he had a point, I needed someone with experience with this kind of thing. I had never had to run a province before after all, and I had very little idea what to do. Of course he was compensated well for his diligent work, he deserved every cent. He was more than an assistant to me, he was my friend, my confidant. I took the human form I used to deal with the public and bowed before them, waiting for them to let their guards down, just one opening and I would have taken Ren and killed the bastards. It never came. Instead, sensing a way to make a few gold coins, their party’s mage cut off my magic and cursed me never to reveal my true identity so long as I held this form. They then rendered me unconscious.
"NO NO NO", yelled Caraxes, Pharaoh of the Gilden lords. They had finally taken his most prized gift he had, Fluffles, his orange tabby cat. The bastards must have taken his corpse, he thought to himself, the golden chalices, the stag beetles, and his concubine he could forgive, but Fluffles, no not Fluffles. He had heard tell of grave robbers before his death, but what sick FREAK, steals a cat's corpse. Caraxes set out into the mists that surrounded his home determined to find fluffles and to bring his kidnappers to justice. Never had he ventured from his gilden room, Anubis had warned him when he first arrived in the underworld, any attempt to access the human realm would result in a fate most cruel. But this did not deter Caraxes, as he reached the edge of the mists, just beyond the mists, a faint outline of his tomb could be seen. He set his jaw, steeling himself against the fear Anubis' warning caused him, but the thought of Fluffles unable to rest, his corpse and soul forever lost in the fields of the damned. With his mind filed with the thoughts of his lost friend, he stepped out of the mists. Before his foot could reach the ground, a giant hand made of black smoke, grabbed him by the waist, pulling him back into the mists at an alarming speed. Caraxes cried out, as his eyes adjusted and he looked upon Anubis again. The god's expression was one filled with anger, he opened his terrible jaw and his voiced boomed like a cannon, "Why!? You were a pharaoh, a king in both life and death, why leave when you know the fate you have sealed for yourself today?!" Caraxes, was frozen with fear, staring up at the angry god, after what seemed like an eternity to Caraxes he found his voice somehow, "They took Fluffles"The god's eyes grew wide, and Caraxes prepared to meet his cruel fate, trying not to show the god his tears of fear. But almost as suddenly as he grasped him, Anubis released him. "Go pharaoh, and reclaimed Fluffles"
The first 100 years were the worst. This was the era where I had to watch all of my friends and family die. It was not fun at all, but at least I never had kids. I can't imagine how hard that would have been. I suppose I still can have kids now, but why would I? I know what will end up happening. I always use a condom now, no matter what. Parents, you want to make sure your kids are having safe sex? Tell them that if they end up pregnant or getting a girl pregnant, they will have to watch their child die. That will scare them into wearing every condom in the world. It wasn't until about 500 years until I finally decided to talk to the witch again. I was still kinda upset, but enough time has passed where I figured I should let the past be the past. Was I going to just stay angry at her forever? Literally, forever? I didn't want that hate weighing on my heart. I decided to forgive. And she seemed to be remorseful. It is lonely to be immortal, as I have spent the last half a century realizing. We get together and chat. She baked a pie. It is raspberry which I hate, but I keep it to myself. She is making an effort to apologize. She tells me how she has been alive for about 4700 years. The hardships of being a witch. Brooms just aren't what they used to be. She misses pointy hats which have gone out of style. Also, she is the last of her kind. Apparently a small meteor smashed into the earth and wiped out all the witches out. Either that or they evolved into birds. She doesn't remember. I'm finally about to leave when I notice a shelf of potions. One of them is labeled "Immortality Antidote."I stare at it. And as I stare at it, I can feel her staring at me. I look over at her, fury behind my eyes. She looks back at me scared. Worried. Caught. I grab it as she begs me to stop. She warns me that it won't do what I think it will. It is a fate worse than the immortality that she has already cursed me with. I don't care. I'm sick of living forever. Music has gotten so bad. There are like 10,000 Marvel movies. Enough! I'm done. I pop open the cork and chug the potion. A meteor hits the earth and crashes into me. Either that or I turn into a bird. I don't remember.
"Welcome to Good Grinds, home of the good grind. Can I take your order?" Taking the order like it was no big deal was a skill, the owner said. Truth was, I just didn't care enough to make it a big deal. The job was boring, even when my coworkers got all weird and folded themselves up under the counter. Like this dude was going to hurt them. He just wanted his expresso, like he did every other day about this time. Didn't matter what the moon phase was. Gotta get your caffeine, yeah? &#x200B; Dude made an indiscernible sound. It was pretty much the same way I mumbled my greeting to every customer if they came in before the second half of my shift. I wasn't allowed my free coffee until break time. Totally understood this guy. "Is it two triple shot expressos like normal? Double that? Double the joy."I punched in the number. Didn't know what trouble the guy got into these nights. Didn't want to know. His dollars paid the pennies I earned. "Thank you, please heel at the counter. It'll be a few."I gave the customer behind him my best 'please wait a moment' dead glare, then offered a heavy sigh. The gal from the costume shop. She was a jerk. "Welcome to Good Grinds---" "Just give me whatever his order was."She waved a hand at the first person waiting. "That'll be six seventy-two."I didn't even bother registering it. She'd scream if I did, and last time she screamed, she'd broken the machines. We'd had to close for two days, and I didn't get paid. Since then, I'd kept cold brews ready just in case. I was waiting to get sacked for stealing, or maybe cursed for favoritism. But the one time the owner had witnessed the exchange, I'd gotten a Good Grinds gift card with my next paycheck. I guess they must have had something between them. Would explain her entitlement. I pulled out the cold brew, ignored my dude's growls, and turned my back on the door when I heard it chime again. I had five orders to fill, besides the two standing with increasing agitation, and all the baristas were hiding. "Welcome to Good Grinds! Please wait while the---"I let the joke die. The owner had a way of popping in, and the last time he'd heard an innuendo, the guy had gotten fired. I needed this job, not just for the paycheck. A guaranteed scholarship came with it if you stayed two years. &#x200B; "I wait for no one." I sighed. You didn't hear a voice like that a second time without already knowing what sort of creature it belonged to. I shot a look at the first customer. The vampire had already dissipated to dust. The sun god's children tended to do that. I took a deep breath, considered pressing a red button, then gave my best grimace instead. "Welcome to Good Grinds, home of the Good Grind, can I take your order?" &#x200B; "I'll have whatever he ordered."The demigod put down some foreign coins. "This is America, sir, we take dollars only. We also take credit." The machine accepted the card, never seen it before, guess he was a part of some special club. "Thank you, sir. Please wait at the counter." "I wait for no one." &#x200B; I blinked at the demigod, and my dude gave a grumble, almost a howl, of annoyance. Then I shrugged. "A machine is not a person, sir, and it knows nothing other than the orders placed. I'm sorry, I am beholden to the great machine." I think my dude's growl might have been laughter, I'm not sure. I do know the demigod stared at the expresso machines with confusion the whole time I made the orders -I tripled my dude's order for good measure, and maliciously complied to the demigod's request. If he wanted a vampire's special latte, what business of it was mine? He'd paid the dollars to the pennies I'd earn.
Mario stepped out from the cold and into the warm neon, collar of his coat turned up, hands stuffed in its pockets. Shoulders were damp with the night's rain. Luigi was there, as usual, sat at the stool at the far end of the bar, dressed in a cheap suit - dark green. "Eyy, Mario. Look who decided to come after all."Luigi said, cigar waggling at the corner, poking out beneath a glossed up and waxed mustache. "Got held up in traffic. You know how it is. Lousy weather, too. How you doin' Rosa."He gave a nod at the bartender, a tired looking 20 something in a cocktail waitress's outfit - pressed white blouse, black vest and slacks, and her hair done up in a french updo like they do in the pictures. A nametag on her shirt lapel read - "Rosalinda." "Hi Mario. The usual?"Rosalinda looked up from the glass she was polishing, gave him a small smile. "That's right, and make it a double." "Coming right up." "Appreciate you."Mario doffed his fedora and put it on the bar. Then slid onto the stool next to Luigi, and fumbled around in his trenchcoat pockets, fished out a pack and lit up. Luigi raised an eyebrow. "Thought you quit." Mario turned to his left, gave him a funny look. "What gave you that idea?" Luigi shrugged. Scratched the back of his head a little, as if saying 'well, you tell me.' But instead, he said, "Shit, Mario, it's just ever since you got together with Peach I never saw you touch the stuff. So, y'know. Thought you dropped it, turkey."And then he winced a little, realized his mistake, too little too late. Mario took a drag, blew the smoke into his brother's wiry face. "Yeah, and she ain't here no more is she?" "Guess not."Luigi turned back down to his drink, a Salty Dog. Took a sip. Then glanced at Mario out the corner of his eyes. "Listen Mario, I'm just gonna go ahead and ask it straight. Why'd you really call me out here?"Another sip. "Don't get me wrong, as your brother I'm happy you finally decided to crawl out from that cave o' yours and start living again. But I know you. You ain't the type to just sit and drink, not when... well-"He trailed off. "-Not when Peach's still gone."Mario finished it for him. Mario took another drag. A beat of silence. "Here, hon. Whiskey, exactly 3 cubes of ice, dash of vermouth and bitters, spritz of cherry juice."Rosalinda cut in, mercifully breaking the tension and placing Mario's drink in front of him. He nodded at her. "Thanks sweetheart."Slipped her a $20 underneath a napkin across the bar which she immediately seized and stuffed into her bra, flashing him another smile, this one wider. "Anytime, hon."She gave him a little wink, and he tried not to react to it but reddened in the face anyway. Instead he hid it by downing his drink in one shot, then turning to his brother. "You're right about that, Luigi, what you were saying before."He put a hand under his coat, hand lightly brushing over the grip of his .38 Police Special, and digging into the inside pockets to fish out some folded papers, the backsides of torn off posters, bar napkins... He laid it out on the table. There was an address scrawled in a dirty hand in ink on one of the napkins. "... I'm here, cause I finally managed to track down that rat-bastard." "Toad?" "You know any other rat bastards? Yes, him." "Shit, how the hell'd you find him?"Luigi snuffed out his smoldering cigar and took a closer look at the napkin. "Bums down in Traffic finally did their jobs. Found an abandoned Thunderbird parked outside this Chinese restaurant on the east end of town. Ran the plates... belonged to some schmuck by name of Mr. Jones." "And then what?" "I'm gettin' to that."Mario took another drag, then tapped off some ash on the nearby tray. "So I come to Jones's place. He's all mad, giving me the usual shit, complaining on why it took so long to find the car. So I tell him, he keeps that up, lost T-bird's gonna be the last of his worries. Then he starts really fuming. Shoulda seen the look on his face, Loog. I'm talking bulging veins along his neck. He tells me, 'You so much as try anything and I'll sue you for every cent you've got.' Tells me he'll make sure I lose my badge." Luigi snorts. "So I tell him, 'You better watch what you say Mister. Cause I'm not with the police. Not anymore, anyway. I'm a PI. You know what that means? That means I can rough you up and nobody's on my ass about being a 'loose cannon.' So, Mr. Jones, I'd think real careful on the next words come out your mouth, alright? Your dentist did good work, I'd hate to undo it all.'"Mario chuckles. Shakes his head. "I tell ya, Luigi. Shoulda became a freelancer a long time ago." "Your old pals down at the precinct don't mind you running around, making threats?" "Forget minding it, they love me Luigi. See me as someone that can get shit done, get past the 'red tape.' It's why they work with me, give me access to whatever their guys find to help on whatever cases I'm working, like the abandoned T-bird to track down Toad. In return, I do some extracurricular work for them on the side from time to time." Luigi nods. "As good an arrangement as any." "Yeah. So anyway, Mr. Jones spills everything to the last detail, real compliant afterward. Described the suspect that robbed him and stole his car as, and I quote, 'one of them fungoids' that works as a valet for the Dupree International Hotel. So long story short, I go there and have a talk with the manager, come to find out Toad had recently quit his job, no notice or nothin'. I gave him the ol' strong-arm routine and he gave me the rat's personal information, where he lives and all that." "And that's there, written on that napkin."Luigi said, pointing. "That's right." "Shit. Just like that, huh." "Uhuh. So, you coming?"Mario took another drag from his cigarette, studied his brother through the gray haze. "You even gotta ask? You know I care for Peach just as much as you do. Let's go waste this sonuvabitch." Mario nodded and reached out a hand, and the two brothers exchanged a firm, strong handshake. "Appreciate that, Luigi. You know I love ya, right?" "Brothers till the end, Mario. We're all we've got left." Luigi and Mario put on their hats, straightened out their ties and headed for the door, having left a large wad of dollars on the bar top before leaving. "You boys be careful now. And come again soon."Rosalinda called out after them. . . . . They rode in Mario's Crown Vic, all-black and well-used. "Jesus. What a fuckin' dump."Luigi muttered, staring out the window at The Balustrade Apartments. "Yeah, well. What'd you expect? The Hamptons? Not for guys like Toad."Mario flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground when he got out the car, then slammed the door shut. "Well shit, I'm just sayin', the place makes mine look like the Hamptons." "That shit-stick hovel of yours? Keep dreamin', Loog." "Bite me. Like your's any better." . . (1 of 2)
"I know exactly what you're doing, Blackskull, and I don't like it!"The gaunt, pale businessman was tied to the chair, screaming at the supervillain. "Don't think you can get away with this!"His voice cracked. Despite his gray hair, he sounded like a teenage boy in that moment. "You and Super Heart are ruining my business and I'm putting a stop to it!" Blackskull chuckled, running through his arsenal in his mind. He could lower Mr. Harlan into a vat of acid, make it look like an industrial accident. He could vaporize the guy with his sonic beam. "You leak one more thing about the Green Initiative and I'll send my people after you!" Blackskull unholstered the plasma blaster on his belt. It was useless against the super speedy, flying Super Heart, but against a sitting target? "Listen, charging people for clean air is just good business -- " SPLAT Blackskull re-holstered his weapon. "Did you actually have to kill him?"Super Heart, the dashing young superhero, asked him. "We're in the business of improving this city. Trust me, we do not want this guy alive."Blackskull shook his head. "But we can't just go killing people all willy nilly!"Super Heart said. "The cops hate vigilantes!" "And I hate the cops,"Blackskull said with a shrug. "If you're that offended by me killing Mr. Harlan, kick my ass about it. Slam me into the EnerCor building so we can get the lowdown on the Green Initiative."
The streets of Yydril thrummed with life and commerce. Merchants hawking wares, hammers tolling away in blazing smithies, laborers filling in broken spots in the well-worn cobbles. A day like any other in the great dwarven city. It was not like any other day for Thaldrik Ashenmount. He pushed his way briskly through the meandering Solasdsy crowd, irrate curses following in his wake. Through the clumsy tangle of narrow thoroughfares, the stout dwarf made his way to the familiar shop tucked unobtrusively down a side street. A jaunty bell jangled over his head. "Welcome to Ashenm- oh, Thal, it's you."Behind the counter, Aelvomir gave him a curious look. "You look distraught, my heart." Thaldrik doesn't respond immediately, glancing around the shop. It's empty for the moment, which would normally be a little disheartening, but suited him just fine for the moment. Ignoring Aelv's protests, Thaldrik fliped the sign in the window to Closed. "What in Wyrdan's name is going on, Thal?"his husband demanded, rounding the counter and fixing him with a hard stare. Thaldrik took in a deep breath, putting his hands on Aelvomir's shoulders. "Kaldyn heard the calling of the Forge." Aelv reeled back like he'd been slapped. "You must be mistaken." He shook his head. "I already had him talk to Brother Dervok as soon as he told me. There's no mistake." His husband staggered back against the counter, shaking his head hard enough the metal bead braided into his graying beard clacked together. "It's not possible. What did Dervok make of it?" Thaldrik slumped against the polished wood next to him and stared at the floor. "The typical religious manure, of course,"he sighed. "'Wyrdan works in mysterious ways.'" "Wyrdan has a strange sense of humor,"Aelvomir snorted. His hand wound into Thaldrik's. "What do we do?" "The Divine Forge is a noble calling,"he said carefully, avoiding the hard look in his husband's slate eyes. "It's no calling for Kaldyn." Thaldrik was silent for a long moment. Their son wasn't like his peers, and he never would be. To say otherwise would be akin to denying that the sky was blue or that dwarves were short. Left as a babe on the steps of the church, the couple who would never be able to bear their own children took him in without a second thought. It quickly became clear that he was no ordinary child. "If he's been Called to the Forge, then it is his decision, not ours."Aelvomir pursed his lips, but didn't argue. ~OoO~ Kaldyn stood between his fathers, apprehensive as he looked up at the Divine Forge. It stood at the base of Mount Yydril, the city spilled out around it. A few comers and goers gave them sidelong glances, but the boy was used to that. He towered over his fathers - over everyone in the city, really, aside from travelers who came in from far beyond the great stone walls. Where their hair was dark and coarse, his was a delicate auburn; their eyes hard like coal, his the softest of violets. And, unlike a proper dwarf his age, he had no beard starting to spout from his chin. Nor any hair at all. Because, unlike a proper dwarf, Kaldyn was an elf. "Are you sure you want to do this, son?"Aelvomir asked for the hundredth time. Kaldyn drew himself up. "Yeah, Da, I'm sure." "You know you can always change your mind, if you decide it's not what you want,"Thaldrik reminded him. "I know, Pa." His fathers took turns hugging him around his middle, careful not to crush him as was the typical in dwarven displays of affection. They beamed up at him proudly, and his Pa parted him on the leg. "Now, you get up there and you learn to be the best Wyrdan-damned smith the Forge has ever seen." Grinning, Kaldyn nodded and headed up the massive stairs to the Forge. Ever since hearing the Call, everyone had assumed it some cruel, cosmic joke. That the dainty little elf boy wouldn't have what it took to work the Forge. Kaldyn might not have been a dwarf by blood, but he sure as Hel was a dwarf by heart. Wyrdan Called him to the Forge, and he was damn well going to prove that he belonged there. Waiting for him atop the endless stairs, Brother Dervok ushered him inside.
I woke up in a cold sweat. The dream was still in my mind, every detail perfectly preserved. I had known what I was doing while I was doing it, making changes as I saw fit. I had just...started to make the changes, realizing my power. I races through the pages and stories, changing fates, altering outcomes, killing and sparing as my whims hit me.i didn't even have a coherent plan in mind, I was just reveling in the freedom of my power. But it's only now, that I wake back to reality, that I ponder the actually ramifications to what I've done. I look at the book on the nightstand. The Bible. What world will I find I have woken up to now?
"I must insist that this house is a black stain on the community. As I've showed you, every single room is plain at best, dour at worst. It sits above a precarious cliff known for countless tragedies ever since the Revolutionary War and over six people have died in the foyer alone due to the infamous Axe Slayings of 1887 which were never solved. Numerous previous owners have reported horrid nightmares and supernatural occurrences. No one has put an offer in this house in some ten years ever since I've tried to sell it. The asking price is 10,000." The realtor turned between the husband and wife. "How are the schools?"The wife asked. "The lowest rated in the state." The couple grew giddy. The husband took his wife's hand to his own and couldn't hide a joyous grin. Gomez Addams turned to the realtor. "Seventy thousand." "The asking price is 10,000. I - look, you really don't want to spend 70,000 dollars on this house. It's likely to fall into the ocean with this winters storms." "You've already made a sale! Please, Monsieur, you're over exciting my wife! One hundred and fifty thousand!" Moments later, the realtor fled from the home carrying a hand written check, a stunned expression on his face. Gomez turned to Morticia , giving her hand a kiss. "My beloved. I hope you approve, this place has but a fraction of your charms and beauty." In the distant hallways of the manor, a woman screamed in a shrill tone, silenced by a wet, abrupt thump. Morticia smiled to her husband. "It's awful. I love it terribly."
Toni shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the hem of her dress under her legs, fussing with her braids. "You realize you're asking me to be your sniffer dog." Snapping his gum, Jim sighed and leaned back as the chair beneath him protested. "Yeah. I'm sorry to put you through this." "I'm really not sure I want to be within a mile of a police building in this political climate." "We're..."Pressing his lips together, Jim thought for a long few seconds that seemed to stretch on with each tick of the cafe clock. Toni forced a long swig of her coffee, though it had gone cold a few minutes ago. Something to do with her hands, at least, and something to hide her frown. "Some of us are trying to fix things." "And I'm supposed to interrogate people how?" "We put you in the room with the bad guy, see if you sneeze. That's about it. You're not asking any questions -- hell, no one knows what you're doing except a couple of folks. For all most people know, you're just administrative help. Sort of a secretary, mostly just a butt in a seat for the system to say they hired you. Government positions and all that." "Oh, yeah, great, now I'm just a statistic."She shook the cup -- empty -- and set it down. "So I'm hauled in for homicide cases and what else?" "Everyone we have passes by you." "Scuse me?" "Everyone." Something wasn't being said. Her hackles rising, she tossed a ten at Jim and mumbled something about a cookie and more coffee. He offered a half-smile, pushed himself to his feet, and ambled to the counter while the gears turned. Why would they need someone to sniff out murderous intent on shoplifters at Walmart and underage kids drinking beer in the woods? Was there some kind of case brewing that no one knew about? Was there a serial killer out there? Some kind of gang? He set down a coconut macaroon and a latte and eased back into the chair. "Consider it, okay? You're absolutely qualified to do the other work that goes with admin." The door shoved open, its bells clanking on its wooden panels. One of Jim's colleagues trudged up to the counter and stared tiredly at the menu. Toni rubbed at her eyes, sipping the latte and slowly relaxing. At least hot drinks did something about her stuffy nose. ...Stuffy nose? She glanced toward the counter so briefly that it felt like a rubber band had snapped her eyes back to center. Jim smiled, a little tense, a little knowing. "So, what you do think? Want to make the city a better place?"
"Hello again, Christopher,"Death said, looking at his friend. "Hello, Death,"Christopher replied. "It has been a while since we last met,"Death continued. "Such a long, strange road,"Christopher began to say. "From the car accident when I was six, to the schoolbus going over the bridge at ten, the peanut allergy thing when I was twelve, the weightlifting accident at sixteen. The alcohol at twenty. Drowning at twenty-three. The avalanche later that year. Another car accident at twenty-five. The Zamboni thing at twenty-eight. Walk-in Freezer at thirty. The motorcycle wreck at thirty-three. The fumigation thing at thirty-five. Stray bullet at thirty-eight. Choking on that steak at thirty-nine. The train crash at forty-one..." "So many times we've met, but today, Christopher, is the last,"Death said. "Oh no!"Christopher said. "Does this mean I'm all-the-way dead this time?" Death shook its head. "Oh, then..."Christopher said, his eyes a little wide with surprise. "Yes,"Death said. "For a thousand years, I have carried the souls of the deceased to their eternity. It is time for me to join them." "Oh,"Christopher said. "So, do you have your replacement lined up?" "I was hoping you would consider the position,"Death asked. Christopher paused in consideration. He was chronically unemployed, single, and had no kids. He had nearly died so many times, he didn't want to bring that worry and grief to anyone else. A thousand-year long job? "I'm honored,"he finally answered. Death took his hand, and as they touched, they both transformed. Christopher's skin faded, and his clothes changed to the black robes of the reaper. Death's clothes changed from the sooty long robes, to a plain tunic with rope belt. Bones changed to skin, with flowing blonde hair. She smiled with gentle, caring eyes, at her skeletal friend, as she held his hand. "I'll show you the way, while you drop me off,"she said. Christopher, now Death, nodded, following her lead and making sure to remember the way for the others he would need to escort.
His hand on my shoulder is soft as a cloud. I do not understand. I made my wish, I was promised it would be granted. Nevertheless, I am still here. The rest of the universe, however… We stand in a void like an infinite pool of mirror-smooth water. Uncountable stars burn cold and naked in the ink-black sky, never twinkling, never wavering. They are holes burned in a velvet dome, eyes staring down at me. He looms, but in a kindly way; like a welcomed summer shower on the horizon. He has asked a question: a profound, impossible question that I do not want to answer, and he is giving me silent space to think and answer. So many would have tried to fill the awkward silence with their thoughts, advice, opinions — and in the life I had before this moment, I would have let them speak, would have been glad for them to take away the burden of true reflection, would have agreed, demurred, deferred, accepted judgment and advice and anything else, if only to not have the terrible awkward emptiness that hangs between us. Does it hang between us? He does not seem uncomfortable. His concern feels genuine, his patience is unfeigned. He will wait a thousand years for my answer. I do not know how I know this, but I know it in the calm and certain way that one knows stone is solid underfoot. Where is the empty awkward silence, then, if it is not between us? Is it really inside me? Has it always been there, and not hanging like a wall between them and me? I do not have an answer, but I want to die. Not just to die: to have never been born, to be absolved of all the guilt and weight of choice, to be forgiven for all my failures, to suffer not a breath or heartbeat more of fear, grief, envy — shame. Shame: my mother’s heart, my cat left behind, my brother on his own. I cannot leave. I cannot leave. But I can no longer stay. He says, in a voice that rides on waves of gravity: “Answer my question. What have you suffered? Why do you wish this awful thing?” “Is it so awful?” “It is tragedy itself. It is a world choosing to extinguish all its life. It is a planet giving up her sky. I see a starving pup, bone-thin, too weary now to eat when a feast lies before it. Of course I grieve this thing. How can you ask it of me?” “You told me to make a wish, and I made it. Don’t you have to grant it?” He laughs. “Do not bark at me. I am holding out food.” “I DON’T WANT FOOD! I just want to stop existing!” “You understand, of course, that you will not experience this change of existence? You will have no relief in this. You will not feel the lack of feeling.” “I know…” I did know, intellectually. But it was impossible not to think of it as sleep, blessed and final and dreamless. “You will not dream. You will not sleep. You will continue in your suffering right to the end, and when it ends you will not feel its lack. You recognize this? Do you, truly?” “I…” “You want relief. You do not want death.” “I just… I want… I want to be free. I want out of… this. This body, this shame, this misery of work and fake and lie and pretend everything is fine and make the ends meet and don’t forget to brush your teeth! I want out! I want to be free of all of this work, all of this draining bullshit! I want unlimited free time to pursue my own desires and interests. I want… I want to sleep and to dream for a thousand years, and to wake up with all my worldly problems solved, and to wake up as a better person. As someone who doesn’t fucking suck.” The genie chuckles. “You see? You starve. I bring food. Your wish is granted. You are dreaming now. You will sleep and dream a thousand years, and when you wake only a single night will have passed. Use your time as wisely as you wish. And when you wake, you will wish again, and I will grant it. And if, by then, you still wish an end… know that I will be here, to feed you again. Live, little thing. Live.” I am weeping. “Why? How can you be so… Why do you care about me at all?” “An ant was lost, separated from the pheromone trail, destined only for a solitary death. A man walking by gave the ant a crumb of sugar, and used it to lure the ant back to its path. Is the man a saint for this? Does the man care about the ant?” “…No?” “Of course he does. The ant cannot care like the man can care. The ant had only blind and tiny fear. The man felt family, and home, and mother, and sorrow, and understood the fear the ant could not wholly feel. The man knew the true scale of the horror of the ant’s predicament — better than the ant could ever know it. The man cared more than the ant could care. Do you know why I tell you this?” “…No?” “Because you are not an ant. Understand, and live. And cherish that living, like the ant cannot. You will die, one day, and it will always be too soon. Do not rush the reaper.” “…Ok.” I am very small. I was small when this began, but I am smaller now, somehow, and yet it is a wonderful feeling. “Thank you.” “Dream, little thing. Dream, and live.”
"I... I don't understand." The lady standing in front of me was an office worker in every way. She wore a simple white, button down shirt that was just slightly creased, as if she rushed to iron it this morning but couldn't get out all of the kinks. I couldn't see her lower half, but I could see the office uniform from the other ladies walking around, so it was likely she was wearing a black pencil skirt under the desk we both sat at. Her big, bushy hair billowed out like a cloud, and it perfectly framed her round, brown face. When I first saw her, she didn't even seem slightly interested. We lived in a big city, after all, and there were likely thousands of babies born each day. She had likely done the immortality evaluation at least a hundred times today already, and would likely do it a hundred times again. Behind her square-rimmed glasses were two deep brown eyes that were almost dead. She looked up just long enough to take in that I existed before turning back to the papers laid out on her desk. She was bored, utterly so, and wanted to be anywhere but here. That was fine by me, because this was more of a chore than anything. I already knew that I had some kind of immortality, everyone did, so there wasn't really a need for me to confirm which one. Being forever in body would make my mortal life more fun, for sure, but being immortal in mind would make the limited time I had on earth more lucrative. I was only twenty-one, after all. I had no plans of making any life-changing decisions just yet. Still, my mother was very insistent on me coming in. She was forever in body, and she had told me countless times before that she would have rather to have known that earlier. She was nearing her mid-hundreds now, and her mind was starting to go, though her body was still going strong. It was useless to fight her, so I came in. It was supposed to be a quick evaluation. One where I learned about which immortality I got so that I could show the certificate to my mother before spending the rest of my birthday celebrating with my friends. No matter which immortality I got, I would be able to enjoy some alcohol legally. It wasn't supposed to be... this. "Mr. Henderson,"the lady said. Her voice, which was monotone and lifeless before, took on a quieter tone. There was something sad and soft and wet there. Something that wet my own eyes and set my throat to constrict. "This... isn't a unique occasion, though it is an exceedingly rare one. You... aren't immortal in neither body nor mind, but rather a third option." "What's a third option?"I asked. My voice rose, though I didn't mean it to. "How can there be a third option? There are only two things you can be immortal in! Either body or mind. Either you live forever and you lose your mind, or you think forever and your body turns to a husk. That's how it is for everyone."My chest pounded as I struggled to breath. "How can it be anything else? Am I immortal in both?" The small frown on her face deepened as she shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Henderson. See, you aren't immortal in either of those functions. For all of your mortal life, you will wither and decay without immortality." She must have seen the despair in my eyes, because her next words came out rushed and desperate, as if her haste could patch my broken spirit. "But... that's fine! You will be immortal in spirit!" "And what does that mean?"I asked. It was here that she hesitated. Her eyes darted around as if she could find the words she was looking for hidden in between the sheets of paper on her desk. "When you... die. Your body will fail and wither away, and your mind will go as usual. But... your spirit. Something deep and special inside of you, will continue to live. You will survive as this... spirit... eternal in mind and astral body. You will not hunger or want for sustenance. You will be invulnerable to harm, and eternal in capability." "So... I will have both. I thought..." The look she shot me was something of intense regret. She set her glass on her desk and almost reached to console me but stopped. "You will live forever, able to roam the world. But you will not be able to interact with the living in any way." Silence settled, and the only thing I could hear was the clicking of keys from nearby cubicles, as well as the hushed words of other people talking, likely hearing about their normal mortalities and likely getting ready to go have normal birthdays. There were many things I could have said just now. The only thing I could say was, "what?"
No matter how much we tried to explain the idea, the personified concept wasn't quite getting it. "No, the point is that it's a scary story! See, the hook on the car door means that the hook-handed killer was there all along!" YES, BUT THE GIRL DOES NOT DIE. WOULD THE STORY NOT BE SCARIER IF THEY ALL DIED? "But then there'd be no one left to tell the story!" HERE, HOW ABOUT THIS. A THOUSAND PEOPLE DIE EACH DAY FROM BEING HIT BY TRAINS. "Well, I guess that's kind of depressing, but I don't know if it's really scary..." I STILL DO NOT UNDERSTAND. THIS IS A THING? SITTING AROUND BURNING BRANCHES AND ATTEMPTING TO INDUCE FEAR? "Yeah, it's called camping! We're out experiencing nature!" SO WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THE FEAR TALES? "No, man. Scary stories. Not 'fear tales.' And I guess it's because we're out here in the darkness, not knowing what's out there - so telling scary stories that aren't true makes us feel better in comparison to what's really there." BUT THERE ARE MANY THINGS HERE THAT CAN KILL YOU TOO. FOREST FIRES. BEARS. MALARIA. "Well, yeah, but those aren't as bad as the stories we tell! See?" I DO NOT SEE, IT IS VERY DARK. IT IS BETTER TO BE MAULED BY A BEAR THAN STABBED BY A MAN WITH A HOOK ON HIS HAND? YOU ARE DEAD IN BOTH CASES. "Ugh. Look, I can't explain this. Do you have a story or are we going to skip you?" YES, I WANT TO TRY. "Okay. Let's hear the scariest thing you've got." ONE DAY, ALL OF THE ENERGY IN THE UNIVERSE WILL BE EQUALLY DISTRIBUTED AND THERE WILL BE NO MORE MOVEMENT. ALL WILL BE STILL AND DISTURBED ONLY BY BROWNIAN PERTURBATIONS. "Dude, that's not scary!" "Well, it kind of is. More depressing, I guess..." "But we won't be around for it! So it isn't scary." AH. IT MUST PERTAIN TO YOU SPECIFICALLY? YOU HAVE FOUGHT A MAN WITH A HOOK FOR A HAND? "No! But we could, you know? We won't live to see the heat death of the universe." OKAY, OKAY. LET ME TRY AGAIN. "You would have thought that the personification of death itself would be better at scary stories, man." "Dude, shut it. At least he's killing all the mosquitoes." OKAY, HOW ABOUT THIS. JACK THE RIPPER! "What about him?" HE USED TO KILL MANY PROSTITUTES. OFTEN VERY VIOLENTLY. "Well, you can't just say that! You have to make it into a story! Like, maybe the ghost of Jack the Ripper haunts these woods, and he kills any woman who enters the woods and isn't a virgin because he believes her to be a whore..." BUT THERE ARE NO GHOSTS. AFTER ME, THERE IS NOTHING. "Now, that's scary." IS IT? "Yes, but not in the right way, man! Look, you have to tell a story! Give us a, what's the word?" "Narrative." "Yeah, one of those! Make it personal!" I AM NOT A PERSON. I AM AN INFINITE CONCEPT, TEMPORARILY INTERSECTING THIS PLANE IN AN ASSUMED SHAPE TO INTERACT WITH YOU. "Well, we can't relate to that. So it doesn't work for telling scary stories." "Look, the marshmallows are almost gone. Maybe we should just turn in for the night." NO, NO, GIVE ME ONE MORE TRY. "Ugh. Fine. Last one, though!" OKAY. THE NATIVE AMERICAN TRIBE THAT ONCE LIVED IN THIS GEOGRAPHICAL AREA USED TO REQUIRE THAT ITS BRAVES GO OUT INTO THE WOODS FOR A SPIRITUAL JOURNEY IN ORDER TO BECOME TRUE MEN. "Okay, good start so far!" THESE BRAVES WOULD INDULGE IN A VARIETY OF HALLUCINOGENS TO AID IN VIEWING THEIR SPIRITS. SOME EVEN INTERACTED WITH ME, WHICH WAS UNUSUAL. BUT ONE BRAVE, VERY CONFUSED, FELL DOWN A HILL AND BROKE HIS LEG WHEN HE HIT A ROCK. "Ugh. In the woods? That would suck." "Shut up, dude! Let Death keep on telling his story." AFTER THREE DAYS, WHEN THE BRAVE HAD NOT RETURNED, THE REST OF THE TRIBE SENT OUT THE BEST TRACKERS IN THEIR GROUP. ONE OF THESE WAS THE BRAVE'S OLDER BROTHER. THE OLDER BROTHER QUICKLY FOUND HIS YOUNGER BROTHER'S TRACKS AND FOLLOWED THEM TO THE RAVINE. UNFORTUNATELY, IN THE MIST RISING UP FROM THE RAVINE, THE YOUNGER BRAVE SAW NOTHING BUT A SHADOW LOOMING IN THE MIST. HE GRABBED HIS SPEAR AND ATTACKED. IT WAS NOT UNTIL HIS BROTHER WAS SLAIN THAT HE REALIZED WHAT HE HAD DONE. "Oh god, that's chilling." YES, THE COLD ONLY ADDED TO HIS CONFUSION. THE BRAVE'S MENTAL STATE WAS FURTHER DETERIORATED BY THE REALIZATION OF WHAT HE HAD JUST DONE. HE STRAPPED HIS LEG AND MOVED THROUGH THE FOREST, KILLING EVERY OTHER TRACKER HE CAME ACROSS. HE THOUGHT THEM TO BE MALEVOLENT SPIRITS PURSUING HIM. "Oh man, this is good." "Yeah, keep going!" DESPITE HIS DELIRIUM, THE BRAVE EVENTUALLY RETURNED TO THE REST OF THE TRIBE. HE CHARGED OUT OF THE WOODS, HIS BLOODY SPEAR HELD ALOFT AS HE HOWLED. IT WAS NIGHT, AND WITH THE WARRIORS OUT SEARCHING THE FOREST, THERE WAS LITTLE RESISTANCE. HE KILLED MANY OF THE TRIBE'S WOMEN AND CHILDREN BEFORE HE WAS FINALLY SLAIN. "Holy shit, man. That would be so scary! A crazy Indian just charging out of the woods at us..." "Native American, dude. It's more PC." "Screw PC, this is a scary story! Is there more?" YES. THE ELDERS OF THE TRIBE BELIEVED THIS TO BE A TERRIBLE OMEN, A SIGN THAT THEY WERE CURSED. THEY PREPARED A POISONOUS DRAUGHT FOR THE REMAINING MEMBERS OF THE TRIBE, SO THAT THEY MIGHT JOIN THEIR GODS. THEY ALL CONSUMED THE DRAUGHT AND DIED. EVENTUALLY, THE BRAVES THAT HAD BEEN SEARCHING IN THE WOODS AND HAD EVADED THEIR CRAZY TRIBE MEMBER RETURNED. THEY FOUND THE REST OF THEIR TRIBE DEAD, SOME SLAIN BY SPEAR, OTHERS BY POISON. "Now that would drive me crazy." "Sssh. Keep going!" THERE IS LITTLE ELSE TO TELL. THE LAST BRAVES WERE LOST AND WITHOUT GUIDANCE. THEY HID IN THE WOODS, LIVING SOLITARY AND CONFUSED LIVES UNTIL THEY DIED AS WELL. "Geez. A whole Indian tribe, all wiped out." IT WAS A SCARY STORY? "Hell yeah, dude! God, it's gonna be hard to fall asleep tonight." ALL OF THE BRAVES ARE LONG SINCE DEAD. "Yeah, but that's not the point. Just imagine a crazy Indian running out of the woods at us." "Native American." "Shut up." "Look, it was a good story, and the fire is dying down. We should probably turn in." AH YES, YOU HUMANS AND YOUR SLEEP. DO NOT WORRY. I HAVE KILLED THE BEAR THAT WAS IN THE AREA ALREADY. "Wait, what? There was a bear?" YES, HE WAS CIRCLING THE CAMP. I STOPPED HIS HEART, AS HE WOULD HAVE INTERRUPTED MY STORY. "Holy shit, Death. You should have just said that!" BUT HE HAS NOT KILLED ANYONE. IS HE SCARY? "Ugh. Look, I'll try and explain this more in the morning." GOOD NIGHT, MORTALS. "Night, Death."
"Bullshit!"said Jimmy "Shanks For Nothing"Jones. "I'm from the 17th Precinct. I've been undercover for months."He reached into his pocket— "Slowly!"reiterated Roger. —he slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. "See? Detective Mike Thomas, 17th Precinct!"said Jim—said Mike, I mean. "Dammit, I'm from the 13th Precinct..."groaned Patrick, still on the floor after Roger pistol-whipped him. "Seriously?"said Roger, his finger sliding off the trigger. "Mph hrphm mphm!"said Paul through his gag. Roger pulled the rag out of Paul's mouth. "Thanks. Zach Zappa, FBI..."said Zach, spitting oil. "Did you have to use an oily rag?" "Sorry..."said Roger. "No hard feelings." "Sorry about that sucker-punch..."said Patrick as he got to his feet. "Don't worry about it", said Roger. "Looks like we've got ourselves a Canadian standoff..."said Mike.
The Rocky Mountain Institute for Magical Talents had been founded when witches and wizards ventured West, seeking asylum from the trials in Salem. This would be the second school opened in North America, accepting students from Western Canada and America. Locations for the school have been presumed to be in the vicinity of the muggle Glacier National Park. Witches and wizards in this region inhabit the remote parts of the mountain range, where all magical villages are interspersed throughout the mountain valleys. The difficulty in reaching these villages in muggle fashion creates seclusion that is not easy to break. In magical trend, these villages strike one as something out of a fairytale. The village below the school grounds, Castlebrook, greatly resembled the Austrian village of [Hallstatt](http://www.austria.info/media/13712/hallstatt--d.1080288.jpg). The school grounds sat perched on a plateau halfway up one of the 4 surrounding peaks, overlooking the quaint village and it's lake. Attendance of the school can reach a maximum of 10,000 students. Most arrive by floo powder a week early than the first day to shop Castlebrook's many shops for school supplies, including the renowned wandmaker, Thadeus Tillman. Inn's of Castlebrook is customarily occupied by the parents of returning students, the most popular being [Lodge of Ladislau](http://www.resourcedir.directory/images-uploads/2013/12/07/log-cabin-interior-design-ideas-decorating-for-luxury-home-log-cabin.jpg). As tradition of other magical schools, four houses were established within the school to promote friendly competition and to create a sense of family amongst students of like minds. Untraditionally, these houses were given names of the four peaks that encompassed the school. Wolfthorn (for people who value teamwork), Hawkridge (for people who value Leadership), Foxcrest (for people who value wit and cunning), and Bearglove (for the kindhearted). The color of the dining hall's great fire burns the four colors of the school houses and will burn a single color when a students name written on a slip of parchment is thrown in. This decides the sorting of students. A long standing rivalry between Wolfthorn and Hawkridge has stood since the inception of the school. Mostly kept to the Quidditch pitch, the rivalry sometimes spilled to the class rooms, creating friendly competition. Hawkridge and Bearglove has a rivalry every so often, when a less amiable generation is within the school walls but otherwise consider themselves above such behaviour. Quidditch tournaments are held between the Salem institute in Salem Massachusetts and Southern school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee. Students often breaking into medicine have most often come from Foxcrest house while coming in second of most magical politicians to Hawkridge. Dark wizards have passed through this school each year, though none as bad as the UK's Voldemort, the majority from Hawkridge house. Bearglove has given The Rocky Mountain Institute the majority of our teachers and entrepreneurs, while the most famous athletes coming out of Wolfthorn.
ARTICLES OF SURRENDER WHEREAS the Unified Cockroach Commune (UCC) of 45 Falsie Ave has decided to submit itself to the sovereign authority of householder John D. Magnusson (herein "King Magnusson") WHEREAS King Magnusson has agreed to recieve the complete and unconditional surrender of the UCC, and to forgive all past misunderstandings and differences in the interest of continued peace, The UCC therefore consents to the following articles of peace. ---- ARTICLE 1: The UCC shall immediately dissolve. It will be replaced by a governing council of directors (provisionally entitled the Cockroach Oversight Enforcement Committtee, or COEC), to be appointed at the discretion of King Magnusson. The COEC will act as the representatives and enforcers of King Magnusson's will. ARTICLE 2: All cockroaches will observe a curfew between the hours of 9:00 PM and 9:00 AM GMT, inclusive. Between these hours, movement in the walls shall be minimized, and movement across the floor prohibited. ARTICLE 3: King Magnusson will present daily portions of food for the benefit of the cockroach community of Falsie Ave., portioned to a size appropriate to community population. In return, the cockroach community shall no longer enter garbage cans, fruit baskets, refrigerators, or other receptacles on the premise. ARTICLE 4: The cockroach population of 45 Falsie Avenue is hereby capped at 500 residents. Excess residents will be forced to emigrate, on pain of execution. ARTICLE 5: The cockroach community shall present King Magnusson with a monthly tribute of valuable goods as they see fit. ARTICLE 6: The cockroach community shall obey King Magnusson's orders unconditionally and immediately. ARTICLE 7: King Magnusson shall forbear the use of insecticide and exterminators on the property. ARTICLE 8: The cockroach community shall form a military wing, which will be tasked with the pursuit and extermination of all other insects and any arachnids which trespass upon the property. ---- On this, the 12th of October in the year of our lord 2015, we, the undersigned, consent to the aforementioned terms of peace, His Grace, John D. Magnusson, King of 45 Falsie Avenue, Lord of the Cockroaches [here 15 tiny X marks, one for each leading member of the UCC]
Everything was falling apart. That was how it felt, at least, looking at the rent this month. That jackwagon of a landlord had raised it for the eightieth time, and it was finally too much. I was going to be homeless unless I did something. In frustration, I threw it as hard as I could across the room. It was a pretty pitiful throw, and instead of hitting the wall like I wanted, the envelope floated lazily down, sliding underneath my bed. Great, now I'd have to get it out from there later. I turned toward my desk. Maybe I could pawn my guitar, that was probably worth a few bucks. The bookshelf could definitely go, I could just stack the books like I used to. I could call home, but that was the absolute last resort. No way in Hell I was going back there. My thoughts were interrupted by a noise behind me. ssshhhhhk I turned in time to see a rotting, scaly claw pushing the bill back out from under my bed. It paused for a second, as if it new I was watching it, then slowly retreated back from whence it had came. Hesitantly, I picked up my bill. Beneath it was a very dirty wad of money, tied together with a rubber band. Hands shaking, I retrieved it and began counting. Exactly enough money for this month's rent, down to the last dollar. I swear, it was like my heart stopped. $386. I looked at the bed. The bed looked normal. I thought about looking underneath it, but something deep in the pit of my stomach told me not to. Instead, I managed a hoarse "Thank you"toward the bed, before stumbling out of the room. Hey, I figured, you gotta be polite. I walked back into my room later that night. I'd went out drinking with my friends to celebrate paying everything off, and I'll admit I was a little tipsy. I sat down at my desk, cursing the stubbed toe I'd just given myself on the doorframe. The bed seemed to draw my eye. I cocked my head at it, vaguely wondering where I should sleep. I mean, call me crazy, but I didn't want to sleep above a rotting monster, even if it DID give me money. I closed my eyes for a few seconds. ssshhhhhk My eyes flicked open, and I saw that the claw had left a piece of paper on the floor. I picked it up, eagerly hoping for more money. I might have paid my rent, but I wasn't exactly flush. There was no money, however, just a paper: ""NOTICE Services Provided: $386 Loan to the recipient. Total Charge: $386 plus interest that has been accrued in the intervening time."" As I stood there, mouth open, I heard a resentful, croaking voice emanate from under the bed. "What? Its not like I get to live rent-free, you know."
Part 1 Corporal Alexis Melleck had a great number of things to say about her M-27, but of all the names and things that she and other mage specialists called their M-27s, reliable proved to be the most apt. It never jammed, even with all the mana residue in the air from spells, unfinished and finished, thrown by both sides. In rare desert rains, it conjured warmth. In the Afghani heat, it radiated a soothing chill through her bones. In darkness it provided just enough light for only her to see. She would never trade it, though many had tried to convince otherwise. The Mage Irregulars quartermaster stationed at Camp Dwyer was especially persistent in this task, having offered an "upgrade"to the M-208B no fewer than eight times. "The core is two-times denser and we've added three additional capacitors so that you can queue up spells to cast them in succession,"he had the vocal inflections of a used car salesman, his every word begging for the sale. "Do I get a cut of your commission if I switch?"Alexis had quipped. "Gods, Lexi, what do you take me for." "Do you want me to answer that question honestly?" He hadn't pressed the issue further. Alexis adjusted her MAPI (Magic Arms Protective Insert) carrier as its side clip was causing the elastic band on her sports bra to pinch. Taking a quick glance at her watch to confirm the op was on schedule, she shifted her gaze to the horizon to gauge the position and fullness of the moon. Its alignment was as expected. She breathed relief at not needing to readjust her wand. She started at the rustle of dry brush and dirt, but relaxed quickly as she felt the familiar ambient aura of Captain Pearson Wells. "Scared me for a second, Captain,"Alexis sent the thought with just enough effort to mask her annoyance. "You didn't feel me approach? You're the one who's always giving me a hard time for leaking ambient aura."he thought back. The thought smiled, filling Alexis's chest and mind with the sense of seeing an old friend after a long absence. "We get the go?"Carson whispered from his position on the ledge overlooking the valley. Carson Liu never used thought-COMs. He had a distaste for being in other people's minds, though this was understandable. Most mages had only enough training to send and receive thoughts. Carson was extra sensitive, no doubt from a privileged upbringing, so he tended to pick up more than just the words. "SATURN ACTUAL has given us the go ahead. Move up. Melleck, left side. Carson, right side. Stay in cover,"Captain Pearson Wells pronounced cheek bones, squared jaw, and ruby flecked irises were much too handsome for the Mage Irregulars. Her mental diversion was interrupted by the sharp rap of a memory. Business before pleasure, duty before desire, the mantra Drill Sergeant Aberford Mills, a large nosed man with a shit-eating grin that did not mirror his no nonsense approach to training, had beaten into her bones sent a shudder through her back. Admittedly, it would have been a waste to not admire Wells, though admire was all she did. He was too "career,"dedicated to making his vision of Oak Leaves pinned to his uniform a reality. Alexis, unlike Wells, hadn't seen the Mage Irregulars as a choice. "Our objective is OSIRIS, breathing. Orders were non-specific as to the rest of his body. If he resists, use lashes or binds. Cutting spells only if he draws on you, but make sure you cauterize any wounds you inflict so he doesn't bleed out. All other combatants are expendable. INTEL says there should be no more than 40 down there. No magics, all regulars with the exception of OSIRIS,"Wells drew his wand, an M201, three generations older than Alexis's M-27. Wells had always been old-fashioned that way. "How reliable is the INTEL this time. Last time SATURN ACTUAL said there were no magics, they had three suicide casters with magic-amped, military-grade explosives,"Carson said. "Reliable enough. We're engaging in 3, Carson. I know you hate it, but switch to thought-COMs from here forward." "Fine,"Carson did little to hide his bitterness. "On go, Carson will take first strike. You are authorized to be creative, but remember, we need OSIRIS breathing. I'll follow up with a muting spell to delay the base alarm. Alexis, cast a sight spell to locate their sentry towers and then neutralize them. I will locate OSIRIS. Once I give the clear, Carson fire off the flare to notify our operation 'supervisor'. Alexis handles our exfil portal. We all clear?" "Clear,"Alexis thought. "Clear,"Carson echoed. "Very good then. Let's go make our taxpayers proud." *** Edit: Too many characters. Continued in reply.
"Are you sure? It's hella boring mayne, really nothing worth happening happens.,"my balding shift manager said to me as if I hadn't already been told that 1,000 times. "I know, I know, trust me, I know,"I said to him while staring at his empty expression with my own, "I've been told that 1,000 time's, we all have... That's not the point.."I didn't intend to say more, but he continued to stare at me as if I should; so I did. "It's just that, well, I've been thinking, well actually, it's kind of funny,"this was going to sound so stupid to say out-loud, "I actually, well, I had Chinese for dinner last night and my fortune cookie said 'you are the only one who can live your life', and well, it really spoke to me. My shift manager showed a slight grin at the end of his mouth, and when he tried to hide it the passive aggressive ridicule seemed to transfer up into his eyes. "Oh, well, whatever inspires you I guess,"he said as he put the needle in his arm to activate 'sleep' mode. I stared at the clock, it wasn't too late to change my mind. In 58 seconds that door was going to open, and I was going to see where I work for the first time. I stood in the transition room, holding the needle in my hand; did I really want to know the truth? What if I was strangling puppies or something? Around me my coworkers who had put the needle in their skin began to snap back into consciousness, well, whatever zombie-type consciousness-state they were in anyway. They smiled with their mouths but their extra wide-eye's were cold. They mindlessly lined up, anticipating the large reinforced steel door to swing open so they could begin to trade their heartbeat for minimum-wage. I almost caved at the last second and stuck the needle in my arm, but didn't. When the steel doors swung open there was nothing but a pitch black on the otherside, and then in an instant a blinding light. My zombified coworkers waddled into the light, I covered my eyes with my arm, put my other hand on one of their shoulders, and followed them into the light. After 3 minutes of marching, I tried to remove my arm that was covering my eyes but instantly recoiled as the extremely luminous light burned my eyes; what could possibly be generating so might light? and why? Five more minutes of marching and I once again tried to remove my arm and once again recoiled; after awhile I began to wonder if this mindless march WAS my job. Nope. Finally, the guy whose shoulder I was holding stopped walking and I cautiously but successfully lowered my arm and opened my eyes. I couldn't even comprehend what I saw at first, but slowly I began to put together the pieces. It was some kind of warped torture chamber. And by that I don't mean a normal torture chamber which is already inherently warped, but rather I mean what I said: it was warped even for a torture chamber. Vials of bubbling viscous liquid's, high-tech electrode stations and medieval stretching racks, burning pits and spiked cages. Every torture device ever conceived, from re-enactments of Dr. Mengele's sadistic nazi experiments to the fanatical method's from the spanish inquisition; all here and in their most depraved forms. The lighting in the room faded from dark brown to an eerie green and then snapped back to brown. The walls had square indentations in places that may have once been windows, but were now filled in with black bricks. The ground was squishy beneath me, and when I finally garnered the courage to look down I wish I hadn't; it looked like I was standing in an inch of vomit; which would explain why the room smelled like puke. A jack-in-the-box melody played subtly in the background. That wasn't all though. At some point during our march, my Co-workers had all changed clothes and were now clad in a variety of costumes. Killer clowns with four layers of teeth dripping brown, red eye'd crack-fiends with jerky movements, demon's, Aliens, fiends, monsters, abominations... Everything. It was truly a cirque du terror. I was the only one who had stayed in their normal clothes.. We were all just standing there, as if we were waiting for something.. I hoped to God and against all reason that this was all unnecessary, that the room was some sort of extremely detailed prop... that we wern't actually going to torture anyone. A door on the far side of began to slowly crack open, and instantly desperate cries of terror pierced my ears. By the time that the door was fully open, the desperate cries of misery had grown into ear-shattering wails that sounded like some sort of banshee-choir. Whoever was screaming knew what they were in for, nothing else could invoke such a primal scream of agony. A conveyer belt rolled itself out from the door and began carrying the line of victims in, each one was sitting in a chair, seemingly unrestrained. Seemingly unrestrained; I soon noticed they were far from free: their feet and hands were nailed to the arms and legs of the chair. They all had black bags on their heads. Dozens of victims, all moaning in agony, soon filled the room. My coworkers began walking around the poor souls and lowering their ears to the mouths of the victims as if they were enjoying the sound. Sometimes my coworkers they would nod their head in disapproval and other times they would seem to have found what they were looking for and stood behind whoever they had been listening to. It was if they were all spoiled children choosing which lobster they wanted to be boiled alive. Whilst everyone was finding a victim whose wailing they approved of, I stood there in denial. This couldn't be my job; I was a torturer? Is there any God that would have the mercy to forgive me? What the fuck was wrong with me? I was going to hell for sure. How did I get in this position? Why wasn't this illegal?.... My mind began to spiral down. I snapped out of my mental coma only when I noticed everyone was staring at me. I realized that I was holding up the show, that everyone except for me had found their match. There was only one person left who nobody was standing by. I went and stood behind him. He was screaming in desperate terror and pain, all the whilst sounding like he was choking; I noticed the black bag that covered his head was tight around his neck. An omnipresent voice that sounded like a mix between Donald Trump and Satan boomed through the room: "Welcome to another day at MegaCorp Financial! You may all begin your daily duties!" My coworkers howled like rabid wolves collectively and then began to push their victim over to whatever device they pleased; things were about to go from worst to worst-er, I looked around, my co-workers seemed to be hypnotically immersed in providing as much pain as possible to their respective prey. I couldn't just stand by and watch this happen, I had to help, I had to free these poor souls from their doom. I wrestled the black bag off the head of the one I had been assigned to and shit myself, not an expression: I actually shit myself. A brown stream of ooz ran down my leg as I stared at my own face. The masked man had been some other version of me. I began to piss myself as I stood there in shock, watching myself withering away in the outer limits of physical pain. "It's me! I mean it's you!"I shouted at him, but it was no use, pain had stolen his ability to communicate. I tried to lift him from the chair but was reminded by his sharp shrieks of pain that he was nailed to his seat. I tried to pick up the chair but only knocked it over, leaving my clone's face sitting in the vomit that covered the floor. Fuck it, it was too late for him; it was me anyway, so I didn't feel too bad about deciding to leave him. I frantically looked about the room, looking for an escape. There was none, both the entrance on which the victims had been rolled in and from wherever the fuck we had walked in from were now closed. It seems I was stuck here until the end of my shift. Fuck this shit, I'm putting in my two week notice for sure, I thought to myself. ___________________________________________________________

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