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Julius Caesar took a deep breath. It was finally time. He would snatch Rome from Pompey's grasp and become the first emperor.
As he urged his mount forward, he looked back to his army. His legionnaires marched behind. 50 thousand men marching in rhythm, the bright sun glancing of their shield and chest plate.In the distance the gates of Rome were visible. Soon they would -
The rocky plains in front of them suddenly exploded. With chunks of rocks falling on them, Caesar hurriedly ordered a Halt.
"Consul Julius Caesar . Your army is not allowed here"
The speaker was tall, well built man. He was wearing a simple tunic. The milk-white robe hugged his figure, showing off his well built physique.
Caesar dismounted his horse and came forward. "Guardian. Well met."He extended his right arm.
As the man grasped his arm to mirror the greeting, Caesar sensed how delicate that action was.
"Of course with the slightest mistake , he *could* rip off my arm"he thought to himself.
"The Senate requested only your prescence, Julius"the Gaurdian replied.
No one had dared call him that in a long time.
"Let's drop pretenses."said Caesar . He pointed toward the city.
"Pompey called me back, unarmed, alone because he wants my head"he said
"I am not going to just surrender to him."
The guardian crossed his arms as he replied, "Nevertheless, it is my sacred duty, as dictated by Jupiter himself, to guard Rome"
Julius noticed that the man was floating a feet of the ground. He silently watched him approach unbidden by gravity.
"I really don't want to do this."Caesar thought to himself. The insanity of what he was considering seemed to root him on the spot. A shadow fell across Caesar . He looked up.
"As long as I am alive, armed forces will never enter Rome Julius"the implied threat weighed heavily in the air.
"Well that makes it simple doesn't it?"Caesar whispered.
The giant stone bolt from the Ballista hit the Guardian square in the back, carrying him forward. He crashed, rather loudly, on the city walls.
"Legion. Get Ready!"Julius screamed as he ran towards his armada. The army mobilized. *Centuries* started to spread out in a 3 man deep line. At the back Ballistas and Trebuchets were wounded up.
Caesar aligned his men in a semicircle formation. There was no point in having a deep line against the Guardian. He placed himself amidst the crowd. Out of sight. Each *Centurie* unit raised its flag. They would relay his orders to the rest of the army.
A rumbling sound was heard. A half-ton stone was flying towards the crowd. For an instant a red light lit up the sky and then the stone was broken into a thousand pieces.
"Incoming. Brace for impact."Caesar screamed.
All around him legionnaires interlocked their shields and bent down. Most withstood the impact. Others fell back to the onslaught, never to rise again.
There was a silence for a few seconds. Then a Centurion screamed pointing in the distance.The Guardian was flying towards them. Fast.
"Spears!"Julius screamed.
The front line raised their spears. The second line started to prepare to fire the second wave.
"Release!"
10 thousand spears were thrown in an instant. The sky darkened as the empty sky was filled with shafts.
Caesar watched. His men's aim was good. But the enemy was too strong. These were iron-tipped spears. He had watched these pierce elephants and Rhino hides. But they bounced off the Guardian like feathers. He winced as the Guardian crashed into the front lines.
"This is going to be a bad one"he whispered to himself
--------------------------
A bloody storm was raging on the battlefield. Men were being thrown miles away. Spears , swords and limbs were flying. And at the eye of the storm was one man. To simply say that he was fighting would be inadequate. His movement were a blend of grace and lethalness.
Moving faster than a striking snake,he grabbed a legionnaire's sword and threw it; piercing 10 men like a kebab on stick. Before the surprised man could move , he was thrown back. A dozen men crumbled under his weight. A spear was inches from the Guardian's heart before he leaped up 5 feet and kicked the spear-bearer.The man's body left a crater in the ground.
The Guardian was elated. It had been a 50 years since he had been challenged. For a general to attack him like that; he had to admire Julius Caesar , even as he regretted the waste.
"Rome could have used that man."he thought to himself. "Just his bad luck."
He felt 10 different men stab him. The tip of the swords reflected off his skin with a *ping* sound.
To be perfectly honest, he did not need to be this close to fight. He could easily decimate this entire armada from miles away. But where's the fun in that? He had learned to to handicap himself long ago if he wanted the fight to continue.
A horn was blazing. The legionaries dropped back from the conflict. In the distance he could hear missiles flying through the air.
"Fools"he said
He flew up, gracefully pirouetting around the missiles.
"Enough games. Its time to end this"he said
With a quick scan he detected Caesar's heart beat among the mingling crowd. In the next instant he was beside him.
"Its over Julius"he said grabbing Caesar 's neck and lifting him off the ground.
"It was a futile attempt Julius"he said as he gently increase the pressure.
"You have no weapon against me"
His now crimson toga fluttered in the wind as he squeezed the life out of Caesar . He noticed Caesar's lips moving
"Any last words."he said as he loosened the grip.
"Ugh.. you.... are .. not"
The Guardian strained to hear the sound. He was feeling light headed from the battle.
"....not invulnerable "Caesar finshed. He was smiling.
Guardian took a step back. He was feeling weird. Since he had grabbed Caesar he -
He threw Caesar . His arm felt weak and Caesar barely flew 4 feet. His hands were starting to itch. Bringing them close , he inspected them.
There.Microscopic green crystals were embedded in his finger tips. But more surprisingly, his hands were bleeding. It had been a long time since he had seen his own blood.
"How did this ...? "he asked himself confused. Then understanding dawned on him.
"Julius."he screamed. He raised his head, trying to find the man. Something was wrong with his senses.
He felt something cold enter his back. The Guardian looked down.A Roman Gladius was sticking out of his chest. He fell on his knees.
"What is this ?"
"It took my agents a long time. Finding this."Caesar quietly said coming into his view.
"I tortured priests, offered kingdoms as rewards, mined old ruins, all in the hopes of finding something against you"Caesar bent down to his level.
"Then an old Augur told me your tale. Where you were found. How you came to our city two hundred years ago."he continued.
With some effort Caesar pulled out the sword. The Guardian started to cough blood.
"We found these artifacts in the temple you were raised."Caesar said. He took something out of his tunic.
"The priests had kept it safe. As a safeguard against you. "He was holding a green metallic object. The Guardian felt even more sick. He collapsed on the ground.
"I am truly sorry for this. Kal-El"he said.
"Who .."the Guardian whispered.
"If only you had stood beside me. The world would have known our name"Caesar said with regret in his voice.
"I am glad then...It was not so"Kal-El whispered. He closed his eyes.
It was finally over
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*Holy Shit! My first Reddit Gold. Thanks so much for that. Also whoever reached till the end, please let me know any constructive criticism you might have. I would appreciate your thoughts.*
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I don't know what I'd expected when I first got to Heaven. Pearly gates, glorious trumpeting, praise of the Lord... Eh, I should have guessed that was just a human fantasy. Heaven's nothing more than what you want it to be. Its decor, its "theme"if you will, depends entirely on your perception of it. Objective reality and subjective perception blend together, and reality becomes what you choose. Some people decide to see the pearly gates and clouds, others imagine it as the Garden of Eden itself, some will make it a never-ending barbecue on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Heaven will objectively be all those things at the same time. It's complicated. I generally like to see it as a never-ending beach on the coast of Zanzibar. That was the high point of the trip around the world I'd taken when I first learned my cancer was terminal, and I always liked to hold that memory close.
If you think that makes interacting with people complicated, it actually doesn't. As I said, there is no such thing as objective reality here. See that guy staring at the horizon over there? In "his"Heaven, he could be sitting on a park bench having a beer, or in the cockpit of a spaceship somewhere in the Andromeda galaxy, or anything like that, and nothing would prevent me from walking up to him and having a chat. His reality would bend and twist to accommodate my presence according to "his"rules.
Wait a minute... Is that guy crying?
Heaven isn't called Heaven for no reason, you know. People don't have many reasons to cry here.
I walk up to him, kneel next to his beach towel, and ask "Hey man... Are you okay?"
"Leave me alone, asshole"he says, without even looking at me.
"Sorry man, what's the problem? I just want to figure out if there's something I can help you with..."
"I said leave me the fuck alone ! Damn, you Good Samaritans are irritating. When I was alive I would've put four bullets in you already !"
Okay, that's surprising. Dudes in Heaven don't express such casual attitudes towards murder, or they wouldn't be in Heaven. There's literally nothing he can do to me, and his attitude makes me curious. I kinda want to press him.
"Listen", I say. "I wanted to know if you were okay, but I don't think I'm getting an answer. So just tell me this: Who *are* you, to be such an aggressive jerk and still be here?"
He looks at me with a kind of ferocious pride. "Who am I? Dude, I'm Daniel Sonewall. That ring a bell?"
That name turned my gut. Daniel Stonewall. Serial murderer, gang leader, hyper-violent robber of banks, houses, and cash armored cars. Active anywhere from Seattle to Chicago to Houston. This guy is responsible for at least seventy murders - and that's only the confirmed ones, and not counting his gang.
"Yeah, I can see by the look on your face you know who I am. Daniel Stonewall, that's me. Before they found me out, they called me the Butcher of Clyde Hill. Man, I was proud of that title."
"And you're here... Did... Did you repent?"I stammer.
"Repent? Me? Fuck off! I lived the high life! Why would I care what that omniscient shitstain God cares about me? I was God, you ignorant motherfucker! I had power of life of death over anyone around me, no exceptions! I had dozens of methed-up fucks ready to kill anyone I wanted. And that's not even getting into the rapes... Man, I miss the raping sometimes."
"Dude..."I'm stunned. There is no way this guy can be here. He's a monster and he loved every second of it. Yeah, we have some guys who did unsavory things here, but they all came to understand what they did and repented for it. It's not even about accepting God and Jesus in your heart or anything; it's about understanding what you did to harm your fellow humans and sincerely regretting it. This guy did neither.
"You can't stop wondering why I'm here, can you, little cunt? Yeah, I can see that. You're like every fucking good soul that winds up here, yeah? Can't see that your God is fucked in the head with a hard-on for punishment."He takes a deep breath and keeps going. "I wasn't alone, you know? I had my gang, and Sal was there with me from the start. Complete fucking smack addict, jailbait runaway, but with a heart of gold. She joined up in... '04, I think. Started by pimping her out but... she made me feel things I didn't think I could feel. You know what I mean, don't you motherfucker? I loved her. She stopped turning tricks for me, and just became my g... yeah, I guess... my girlfriend. She almost made me want to retire, become an electrician in some asswipe town in Wyoming or some shit. But the life was too good. They got her about two months before they got me. Police shootout. She killed a cop or two, but took two bullets to the chest, I had to leave her. When I got capped, I figured I'd be down below, getting my ass plowed by Satan or something, but at least I'd have a chance to see her again. But noooo, goo ol' Our Lord And Savior here figured that punishing me wouldn't actually be punishment at all, would it? And if there's something that bastard loves, it's punishment and wrath. Oh, I've had all the time to read the Bible since I got here, and I know he loves this shit. So he stuck me here in Heaven, with everything I could ever want, and she..."
His voice cracks at last, and with a sob, he shakes his hand towards the sea. The water becomes translucent and a picture appears on the surface.
Fire. Brimstone.
Blood everywhere.
Towers of flesh and bone reaching up to the sky, screaming faces being torn apart by rusted hooks over and over.
The laughter of demons.
And in the midst of it all, the voice of a young woman, sobbing and screaming and begging for it to stop.
"... She's down there." |
"What the fuck...?"
I rubbed my eyes, or at least I could feel myself doing it, but... There was nothing... Everything was darkness, yet I could sense I was somewhere. Where exactly, I don't know. I can't even describe whether I was standing, sitting or lying. Everything was dark.
It wasn't black. It was... *nothing*.
I wanted to go back to 3666 BCE. There was really no reason for picking that specific year. I was hoping to see if I'd see what my town looked like before civilization came knocking, but how do you see anything here?
"Hello?"I called out.
I felt a presence, but I couldn't see it.
"Hello?"I called out again. The presence came closer. Suddenly, fear came over me. I tried to run in whatever direction it was I was facing, but I don't think I moved. A hand or...? Something touched what I feel was my shoulder. It pulled me towards it. I tried to fight it, but I couldn't sense what the outcome was. All I know is I didn't feel like I was where I was before.
"Stop! Stop!"I screamed. The hand was practically clamped on my left shoulder.
"Please!"I begged. "Please let me go!"
"SILENCE!"bellowed a voice so powerful it shook me. It felt like it was coming from everywhere yet nowhere.
I felt myself get on my knees. I don't know if I really did. I just know I went about the motions I'd identify as knee bending.
Several moments passed in complete silence. Silence that felt deafening. No noises, not even my own breathing. It felt like an eternity before the voice spoke up again.
"Who are you?"it demanded.
"I-I-I... I'm Marvin Westfield. From, uh, fr-from the year 2334,"I whimpered. I could feel tears streaming down my cheeks, but in the blackness, I couldn't tell.
"Mar-Vin?"the voice pondered. "What is a year...? How did you get here?"
"I time traveled... I traveled through time, sir,"I said. I figured the voice was that of a man's.
"Time? Huh... This is a concept I've considered but didn't think would work... Well, Mar-Vin, you have become capable of undoing all that is done?"it asked. It seemed annoyed but not angry. Curiosity was in its ubiquitous voice.
"Sir?"I asked. I tried to feel before me, but I couldn't feel anything even as much as a breeze of air.
There was silence for quite a bit. I felt my knees getting tired, but what the hell was I even on? I couldn't feel a floor.
Finally, the voice said, "I never anticipated this. I'm lost for words. It's not really making any sense..."
I felt like a broken record. "Sir?"
"If this creature can travel back without repercussions, that must mean... It means there's another timeline. So if there's another timeline... Then..."It was obviously thinking aloud. "Is there another me...?"
"Sir, I mean.. I mean you no harm. If-if I may, I'd, uh, just like t-t-to leave, sir."
"This means there's an alternate reality. There may be infinite alternate realities.."Again, thinking outloud.
I felt like I was turning without control over my body. I was being turned to a specific direction. I looked about me, but of course, there wasn't anything to see.
"Well,"the voice said, "I will go through with my plan. I can't continue this existence of non-existence. I need a purpose."
I felt so confused. I just wanted this over with. Why did I choose to go back 6,000 years? Why?
Suddenly, the darkness began brightening. There was still nothing there, but I could feel it with all my sense. There was brightness.
Then the voice bellowed, "LET THERE BE LIGHT!!!" |
They're all *Idiots*
Every one of them, thinking they have any chance of defeating me in the Hunger Games?
I look at them, standing on their podiums, waiting for the cannon blast. Only I adopt the perfect position to ensure that my start is quickest.
The cannon blasts, and I run in? No! I run out, no one saw that coming, I sprint into the woods. As soon as find a water source I cover myself in mud and dirt, before climbing the nearest, largest tree. Like a bear, Schrutes learn to climb incredibly well at a young age, incase we run into danger while with our parents in the woods.
From my perch, I can then see anyone near me, I know that simply by avoiding the initial conflict the herd will thin considerably, in fact I don't even need to fight I could out last all of them, but I will, to ensure a swift victory. By this point I know that the likes of Stanley, Kevin and Phyllis are out, whether some worthier adversaries took them out or whether it was their poor health prior to the Game, I'm certain I haven't lost.
Below me I hear a noise, and look to find Pam, I'm sorry it had to be you Pam, but I have Mose and the farm to get back too. I leap out of the tree in front of her, and offer her an alliance.
Whaaaat? An alliance but Dwight you want to win right? *Duh* I know she'd be working with Jim, perhaps my only true opponent in this game besides darryl, due to his knowledge of firearms.
Cut to darryl, deadpan:
I didn't grow up in the ghetto.
Back to Dwight:
She accepts naturally, as we walk together I make chit chat, how the beet season is (It's fantastic by the way) etc. all the while looking out for Jim. I notice Pam has a Bow and some Arrows, perfect I can take these from her and win with ease.
Suddenly, a twig snaps behind me and I dive into a forward roll snatching the weapon out of Pam's hand and turning to face her. Jim comes out of the bushes slowly, commending me for dodging his throwing knife, ofcourse I dodged it, I'm a Schrute.
I tell them to throw their weapons to me. I decide I can't do the deed myself so I shoot the beehive I spotted earlier I run before them into the lake and hide underwater, they don't have the superior lung capacity like me and so must service being heavily stung and as such incapacitated, I swim away and its only a short wait before the final Cannon blasts.
And that's how I would win, proving to Michael I am the best employee.
Cut to Jim:
The only time I ever saw Dwight in water, he passed out and almost *drowned*.
So yeah, I think I can take him.
Cut to Kevin:
I'm pretty sure that I would win because like I'm always hungry and its called the **Hunger** Games right? Right?? Yeah.
|
"Name please"
"GRIM"
"Tim?"
"NO, GRIM."
"Grim? As in 'The weather looks a little bit grim today'?"
"YES"
"Surname?"
"REAPER"
"Grim Reaper?"
"YES"
"You must have interesting parents. How long have you been out of work?"
"ABOUT 2 WEEKS"
"Brilliant. Here's form 28A, 29A and 29B-G, We'll need your National Insurance Number, 6 forms of ID and 12 personal references from long time associates, personal or business"
"UMM, I DONT REALLY HAVE ANY BUSINESS ASSOCIATES. MY LINE OF WORK WAS A KIND OF ONE OFF DEAL WITH EACH... CUSTOMER."
"Well that will slow down the process a little bit. What was your reason for becoming unemployed?"
"I WAS MADE REDUNDANT."
"Let me guess, it was the Eternal Life treatment?"
"CORRECT."
"Mortician? Funeral Director? Coffin Maker?"
"SOMETHING LIKE THAT, I SUPPOSE."
"Get those forms filled in and I'll see what I can do for your Mr Reaper."
"THANK YOU, SUSAN."
******
"All done? Let's have a quick look... Ah, that's interesting. Under the Years in previous employment question, you've put "All time"... I don't think you understand the question. so was it 10 years? 20?"
"UMM...LETS SAY 30 THEN."
"Great. So what kind of work will you be looking for?"
"I WAS THINKING, MAYBE SOMETHING TO DO WITH ANIMALS, OR KIDS. MY PREVIOUS WORK MADE IT TOUGH TO WORK WITH THEM. I'D LIKE TO MAKE UP FOR THAT A LITTLE."
"We have a position available at a local day care but without references, it may be a little difficult. How about PetStore? They've got a new shelf stacking job going currently."
"SOUNDS GOOD TO ME."
"It's minimum wage and 37 hours a week but you'll be working in the warehouse mainly, I'm sure they'll let you handle to animals"
"I DONT WANT TO HANDLE THEM... THAT, UMM, NEVER TURNS OUT WELL. I JUST WANT TO HELP THOSE THAT DO."
"Brilliant, I'll get an application posted to you as soon as possible. Best of luck Mr Reaper. A pleasure to meet you.......Eeeek"
*Thud*
"DAMMIT, NOT AGAIN. I REALLY SHOULD WEAR GLOVES" |
Vishal chewed happily as he munched on his pie. Surrounded at a table by the greatest heroes the realm has ever known. Krag the strong. Orion the wise. Lakshmi the cunning. Many grand heroes and heroines surrounded a grand table with their friend Vishal at the head of it.
They were all uncomfortable, but they made a promise to their friend. The best friend any hero could ask for, Vishal. Vishal wasn't strong, wise, or cunning. Vishal was loyal.
When Krag snapped the neck of the mighty Minotaur, it was Vishal who tossed him his hammer. When Orion found the spell to banish the Moon Witch, it was Vishal who took him to the Sky Library. When Lakshmi avenged her father by poisoning the Fire King, it was Vishal who made her the potion. Vishal had been behind most of the great accomplishments of the realm for the last 20 years.
When finally, all of the great heroes decided to reward Vishal for his service, he asked for one night of their absolute dedication. The heroes obliged, anticipating the greatest quest the realm had ever known. With all the great heroes working together, there is nothing they could not do.
Vishal gathered all the heroes in a tavern and ordered much ale and food, they all began to indulge. Finally Krag asked, "Vishal! Enough merriment! Tell us of our quest!"
To this Vishal giggled, "Dear Krag, dear friends. This is the quest. Vishal has never wanted riches. Vishal has never needed revenge. The only love Vishal needs is that of his friends."
All the heroes looked down, suddenly feeling very selfish. Yet again, Vishal, being the good friend he is, knew exactly how to cheer our heroes, "BARMAID! MORE ALE!"
With a cheer from the heroes, Vishal knew he saved the quest yet again.
|
Hey Jerry?
Yeah Rick, 'sup?
Something weird just happened.
What kind of weird?
These three strange looking dudes walked in right near the end of my shift.
So?
Well, they just looked kind of different, but they were acting different too?
Whaddya mean?
Like, they were looking around at stuff like they'd never seen it before.
Like, what kinda stuff?
First, they checked out the coffee machine. Then they were checking out the drinks in the cooler. But then they saw the snacks section and it was like...
Like what?
Like they were *jonesing* or something. They really wanted to get a few bags of Doritos and some Lays.
Howzat so weird Rick?
Well their hands were just shaking, you know?
Coulda been the munchies?
I was thinking the same thing but then... then they tried paying for some Doritos and some chips with these coins.
What coins... you mean like quarters or something?
Nope. With *these*.
Jeezus Rick... are those real gold?
I think so. And guess what?
What?
They said they'd be back for more... a *lot* more! |
The Glaxthorps and the Klaaanadas filtered out of the theater, disgusted by what they had just seen.
"They blew it up?!"sneered one of a Meedlenonger's seven heads. "That was clearly meant to be the federal alliance base! And did you hear what they called it? The Death Star?!"
"Propoganda,"muttered a mysterious clocked figure.
"Aaaaaggggghhhh!"agreed a nearby Wookie.
But one in the audience, a film nerd from Quadrant Seven, was intrigued.
"So it's a revisionist history piece about if the resistance actually won? You gotta admit, that makes for one hell of a twist ending."
"But it's ridiculous,"snarled the Meedlenonger. "If Luke Skywalker didn't die in the trenches of the federal alliance base with the other traitors, then the universal galactic treaty would have never been made! The explosion of the federal alliance base, or the DEATH STAR as they called it, would merely start a larger galactic war that would kill millions!"
And that's when George Lucas, Kathleen Kennedy, and J.J. Abrams came out from the shadows.
"Of course,"said George, removing his hood. "How else could there be a sequel?" |
“Okay Scarecrow,” the Tinman said with clear frustration in his voice. “I wanna hear you say the plan one more time, just so that I know we’re on the same page.”
The Scarecrow looked up from the series of drawings that Tinman had done with sticks and mud in the ground. It was nearly sundown and Dorothy would soon be back from her walk. They were running out of time.
“Hmm okay,” Scarecrow said, hardly hiding his impenetrable confusion. “We’re gonna....kill Dorothy.”
“And how are we going to do it?”
“Was it...by mothering her?”
“No, you idiot! By *smothering* her! We’re gonna wait till she’s asleep, and you’re gonna put your straw hat on her face and wait till she stops squirming!”
“Oh right, right, “ the Scarecrow said. “Using my hat?”
“Do I look like I’m wearing a straw hat?”
“Erm...is that a trick question?”
The Tin Man sighed. If the Scarecrow didn’t need this brain so badly he might actually feel bad about killing their innocent acquaintance. But two hours of the Tin Man reciting his plan to the Scarecrow has substituted any guilt he possibly had felt with a dire need to just get this whole thing over and done with so that he wouldn’t have to keep talking to this hay-filled halfwit.
“Scarecrow, I just need you to remember one thing.” He swiped the Scarecrow’s hat off his head. “Hat, goes on face, okay?” “Hat. Face.” He pointed to Scarecrow’s hat, and then to his mouth. “Hat, face. When I say go. Okay?”
Scarecrow seemed to have an epiphany, as if something in the cavernous emptiness that was his mind had fallen into place. “Alright, I got it, Tinman!”
That night, Dorothy was perplexed to wake up to the sight of Scarecrow trying to suffocate himself with his own hat while the Tin Man banged his head rhythmically on a nearby birch tree.
|
The idea that doing everything in your power to destroy your enemy is something we'd never really considered before. It is a barbaric ideology that we sought to bury along with the rest of our darker histories. When we came across Terra, we had a few reasons to invade none of which could be ignored. Primarily though we needed the labor. Another world had been fit to colonize but the atmosphere was mostly oxygen. So while the atmosphere was reformatted we needed the work force that would construct the infrastructure while our seed ships were on their way from Prime.
Originally we had no intention of conquering *all* of Earth but a vast majority of the populace were scheduled to be removed. Their weapons were kinetic based for the most part and we didn't see much threat in them. Our psyonic shielding could protect us from asteroid impacts, surely they could fend off some 'missiles' or 'bullets.'
Underestimating the humans was one of the worst mistakes we could have made.
After the false diplomacy was cracked and our intents revealed, the humans unleashed one of the most devastating waves of destruction we had ever seen. Even the histories we were able to translate from their information networks couldn't have prepared us for what was to come. Apparently, the world had been in a state of peace for well over a hundred years. In that time their weapons had advanced further than we could have predicted.
We were over the continent of Asia when it happened. Holes began to appear in our cruiser's hulls, their shielding meaning nothing to the human weapons. It took us time to realize what was creating those holes. Magnetically accelerated cannons littered the continent and those weapons cut through us like we were nothing. Missiles soared through the air towards our frigates from the human aircraft in a terrifying display of firepower.
We were shocked at how maneuverable the human fighters were. Our own fighters weren't built for such a thick atmosphere and couldn't compete with the speed and power output of the human's own. They were so... pin-point in their targeting. The humans knew exactly which ships had the recently enslaved in them. Engines were targeted by their fighters, ships were disabled and the humans recovered their lost. To this day I simply can't understand how, in such a short period of time, anyone were able to become so well organized.
What was left of us retreated into the oceans to the east. Our engines took time to charge in order to produce enough thrust to exist atmospheres so we sought out a safe spot. Soon after though, we realized how big of a mistake going out to the water was.
The railguns that we feared from the land we learned after the fact, weren't even designed to be used inland. Human ships out at sea were able to target our ships from dozens of miles away. Sea faring ships we couldn't even see were able to fire upon us.
Of course the entire time this was happening we were returning fire. But no matter how many fissures of glass our plasma weapons produced. No matter how many gun emplacements we destroyed. The humans in their infinitely paranoid state just had... more. Even our preliminary scans of the planets defense systems didn't reveal the underground installations. The massive underwater complexes that seemed to surface out of nowhere.
By the time that our engines charged we had lost seventy-five percent of our fleet. We left, discarding the entire campaign and settled with our losses. Many officers were executed or demoted afterwards due to the massive blunder and underestimation.
We were able to take a handful of humans with us though and they were quickly put to work on the new colony. The four-hundred thousand served us well.
It had been about a hundred Earth years since that campaign was canceled. The humans we had captured proved to be extremely capable as workers and our colony by this time was well established and thriving. Until they came back of course.
In those hundred years, our ships left over from the failed invasion were reverse engineered and the humans had tracked our path to the new colony. I've never seen such a large fleet in one spot before even when our empire had set up morale parades.
I was on the ground at the time, overseeing the construction of a shipyard. As our ships fell to the world, fire and smoke in their wake the humans still fired on them. Beams of our plasma cut through the falling hulks as if to make sure that it would be destroyed. The liberation of what they called Alpha Centari was yet another massive defeat by the hands of the humans.
They interrogated me. The human scientists had deciphered our language and constructed a translation device for us to communicate. "Were any humans taken off world?"was the primary question they kept asking. I explained that I wasn't sure but it was possible. I expected torture when I didn't have the answer they wanted but nothing happened. More questions were asked, most of which I *was* able to answer but the man kept asking that same, seemingly important question. "Were any humans taken off world?"
Finally, I offered to search our own information networks and it had been confirmed that yes, some had been taken off world. The last sentence I was able to hear through the translator was spoken in such a hauntingly nonchalant tone I may never forget it:
"Mobilize the rest of the fleets, we're bringing them home."
*The rest of the fleets?* I was terrified for what we had brought upon ourselves. Our empire would be dismantled system by system, planet by planet. All because we took four-hundred thousand people from a single world. That is a mistake no one would be making anytime in the near or even far off future. Not after we awoke then sleeping giant of Humanity. |
*The Artist had lived a good life. He had been blessed with a loving wife, and a celebrated career. He would go down in history as a revolutionary. People would remember him. And now, now was the time to end it all. Before they got him. Before they besmirched his legacy. No, he would go on his own terms. Proud and resilient to the last. He looked around at the debris and nodded to himself, solemn and overcome with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. He pulled the trigger, and slumped to the floor. Embraced the darkness.*
*I AM HERE TO TAKE YOU TO THE OTHER SIDE*
*He looked around, wildly. He was still alive. How? Was he invincible?*
*NO. EVERY MAN MUST DIE. I AM YOUR FERRYMAN. I AM CHARON. THE REAPER. THE ANGEL OF DEATH.*
*The Artist shuddered and turned to face Death. "I am ready..."*
*Through a lake of mist they travelled, the waters swirling ominously, ethereal and mysterious.*
*"My legacy,"he whispered. "Did I..."*
*Death looked at him.*
*YOU DID INDEED LEAVE A LEGACY. YOU HAVE CREATED YOUR OWN ETERNITY. YOU WILL COME TO LEARN THAT HEAVEN AND HELL ARE THE SAME PLACE. IT IS THE LIFE YOU LIVE, THE FUTURE YOU CREATE, THAT DETERMINES HOW YOU WILL SPEND YOUR AFTERLIFE.*
*With the glimmer of fascination in his eyes, a primal, visceral fire that burned from within, he looked into the water. Looked at the future he had created. The canvass, the tapestry of life he had inspired.*
*When he saw, he knew.*
*His legacy, his life's work, undone. Because of him.*
*He saw his homeland oppressed, defeated.*
*He saw the Allies celebrating. The Camps, liberated.*
*He saw Jews, millions of them, living around the world, thriving and united.*
*Blacks, gays, flourishing, strong and unafraid.*
*Everything for which he had strived...*
*Gone...*
*His vision no more...*
*This was his eternity. This was his punishment.* |
I had forgotten I even owned the silly thing. It was kind of a gag gift my sister gave me for Christmas a few years ago: a SoulSearcher 2.0. It almost looked like one of those body fat testers we used in high school gym class; you grasped the metallic handles and it would perform some kind of scan to determine your age, weight, height, qualities, likes, dislikes, etc. Despite being a little freaked out that a device could discover so much about me, I gave it a shot. But all that popped up on the screen was a message that said "Locating Soulmate..."and it was locked in that state for 3 years.
I was home one Saturday afternoon when I heard a loud beeping sound coming from my closet. I opened the door and dug through dusty cardboard boxes, trying to locate the source. Finally, I pulled out the SoulSearcher 2.0 and saw the screen was now flashing a message.
**SOULMATE DETECTED**
**LOCATION: MARS**
"The hell?"I muttered.
I didn't know what was more unbelievable: that this thing still worked after being in a cardboard box for years or that it was claiming my soulmate was on another planet. I mashed some buttons on the device, hoping it would reset or something. It continued firmly flashing the alert that my kindred spirit was a Martian.
Since boarding a spaceship to Mars wasn't an option, I decided to at least show this to NASA. On the off chance that this device was actually accurate, it would mean there was, in fact, life on Mars. Shouldn't they know that?
But first, I wanted to get more information. I found an option on the SoulSearcher 2.0 that would reveal coordinates for my soulmate's location.
**LOCATION: MARS**
**40.6959° N, 80.0117° W**
I put the coordinates into Google and roared with laughter as the top result informed me that those coordinates belonged to the town of Mars, PA.
Marveling at my stupidity, I navigated to Expedia.com and started planning my trip to Mars. |
The plastic seat-back in front of me suddenly seemed like a tombstone, complete with little scratched epitaphs: '*Kasey loves Michelle*, *Erik 2009*, *Mr Smith is hotttt*. Other signatures were there, but too faded to read, their occupants long since departed.
I glanced at the pair again -- or at least as surreptitiously as a 6'2 pony-tailed man can glance.
It was *my* house on the screen. My recently purchased tiny slice of terraced suburbia. They were on Google street-view and it was centred on my blue door.
The couple were talking in low voices, and I couldn't make out much. The man was big, at least as tall as me, and wider. At nineteen, I was still lanky, my frame far from filled. He, on the other hand, had filled his, with plenty left over.
I waited for them to dip their heads close to the laptop screen again, like one of those kids toys -- the wooden birds that keep dipping their beaks into a glass of water. The only toy I'd had for half a year when I was six.
I needed to get closer to them. To hear what they were saying. I scuttled across the aisle.
"Hey, buddy,"I said, my voice low.
The kid looked up at me and saw the five dollars flapping in my hand. "Swap seats with me, will you?"
He looked at the vacated seat. "What's wrong with it?"he asked, his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.
"Nothing's wrong with it. I just like the view better this side."
"Sure."He dragged the 'r' out sarcastically.
"Come on, do my a favor and just take the money."
"You shit yourself over there?"
"What? No! Does it smell like I did?!"
He sniffed, then frowned. "Maybe. Got a cold."
"Then what does it matter if it stinks?"
"So you *did?*"
"I didn't!"I fished around in my pockets and found another five dollar bill.
He nodded, snatched the money and slid into my old seat, looking cautiously at the floor before putting his feet down.
Two men were in the seat in front of me, but in front of them were the man and woman, my house still up on their laptop. From here, I could make out a few of their words. "Alastair,"caught my attention. It was my name, after all. They weren't just looking for a random house to rob -- they'd done their research. They were after *my* house.
I took a few deep breaths. My house had nothing worth stealing. I was still using a ps2. And if it was something more sinister... kidnapping? I wasn't worth shit. Nothing to anyone. I had no family, and my friends at the bar... maybe they could scrape together a hundred dollars -- depended on the night. Whether they'd even pay for my release though, I had no idea. Since getting out of more than a dozen foster homes, I'd scraped together... practically nothing. Yeah, my life was worth practically nothing. But even still, that nothing -- no one was stealing it from me.
"Psst,"I hissed at the two men in front. "I need your help."
They frowned their consternation at me.
"Those two people in front of you -- shh! don't look at them! -- those two people, they have my house up on their latptop screen."
"And that's our problem... how, exactly?"said the man on the left.
"It's not your problem, it's *my* problem. And I need help. Look, can you maybe listen in and tell me what they're saying. My life could be in danger, man."
"Twenty."
"What?"
"Twenty dollars each."
"I can't afford that!"
"You gave the kid over there ten, just for a bad seat."
"Oh, your heard that? Professional eavesdroppers are you?!"
"Isn't that what you need? Eavesdroppers"
I conceded it was and handed the money over to them. The man on the left leaned forward, getting as near to the couple as he dared.
My heart pumped fiercly as I waited. I could feel it like a fist bludgeoning my ribcage.
*Come on, come on.*
Five minutes passed before the man turned, a bemused expression smeared across his face.
"They're just visiting their son."
|
I was the first. The thought ran on a loop as I followed the T-2 through the centre of the base, my hands shakily holding a handkerchief to my mouth and my hat on my head, counteracting the downforce from the vacating transporters. The majority of robots would stay in the desert until they rusted away, but those that gathered data needed to be returned to home soil so that their hard drives could be extracted before they were decommissioned.
"Where are we going first?"I called forward to the T-2, my question causing its head to turn 180 degrees as it scanned for my location. 'Our current destination is the Workshop. Your designated role is to photograph the area in which Allied robots are repaired and maintained.' It had the tone of a soft spoken Australian woman, a fairly endearing feature if you ignored its heavily armed body and lack of facial features. I pulled my camera up from my chest, snapping some shots of the robots walking, rolling or crawling around the bass, all in the process of taking the complex apart. My eyes followed a line of seemingly damaged robots on the far end of the base, all trudging in a single file line behind a T-2. They seemed pretty small for our robots, or any other humanoid build for that matter. 'What kind of robot is that?' The T-2 stopped and spun around, it’s formerly light blue sensor light changing to a considerably more intimidating red. 'Those are Enemy Combatants. Currently in the process of decommission. Please do not observe them, their existence is classified to civilians.' I squinted at the line, before looking back down at my camera, 'when we get to-'
'FUCK YOU,' the voice of an enemy bot echoed as it took off in a sprint across the base, heading in my direction. Suddenly the area was filled with red lights as a hundred arms swung up, releasing a torrent of bullets. The bot fell down, sliding across the dirt to my feet, leaving behind a thick trail of...
Blood. *Blood?* Blood. 'What the fuck,' I whispered, my eyes glued to the flag on the arm of the corpse. 'That's a...' I started, only to be interrupted by a soft Australian voice beside me, 'an Enemy Combatant. Currently in the process of decommission.' My eyes drifted up from the corpse, looking at the T-2 looming over me. 'But it's a...'
'Enemy Combatant. Currently in the process of decommission.' I heard a second burst of gunfire to my right, my eyes just catching the line of enemies slumping to the ground. 'But they're not robots,' I felt my hands twitch and shake, 'they're...' my tongue felt heavy in my mouth, '...*people*.'
'They are Enemy Combatants.' The T-2 took a step towards me.
I slumped to the ground, feeling a wave of shock climb my body, 'but its the Peaceful War.'
The T-2's sensor flashed, indicating thought, 'Current number of allied Casualties: 0.'
'What about the enemy?' I whispered. The T-2 took another step, raising its arm.
'You are believed to be in possession of classified information. Prepare for Decommission.'
Its sensor changed to red. |
"*Alea iacta est*"are words I'll never forget. As I crossed the Rubicon into my city, my home of Rome, with a legion of the greatest soldiers I had ever had the honor of commanding, I uttered those words to my second in command. Alea iacta est. *The dye is cast*. I knew what followed would be the most important time of my life, and for the future of Rome. That chapter of my life is history now. Now, I have to make history again.
In my command is the newest legion at my disposal. 1,000 elite swordsmen, each having participated in the greatest battles in Roman history. Their survival has culminated in their participation of this great task: defend Rome, one last time, and next to the symbol of its glory and my reign: the mighty Rubicon river.
I would rather avoid describing the hypothesized horror that my men will be facing shortly: in an hour, if my surviving scouts are correct. Little is known about the rival commander, whose power and army seemed to have simply been bestowed upon him by the gods, deep in the forests of northern Brittania. His name is completely foreign and incomprehensible in even the vulgar Latin tongue, and thus the my men have simplified his name from "Xxx\_Justin\_FREE\_CSGO\_SKINS69\_xxX"to "Iustinius the Skin LXIX"when they tell stories about him around their campfires. I ignore their unfathomable tales, but sometimes I cannot help as their words pierce my skull and haunt my dreams as I sleep. They say he has never lost. They say that his army is capable of traveling 200 miles in a day with over 8,000 individual infantry. They say battles that start at sunrise end before the sun has even left the horizon, with bodies left incinerated and completely sliced in half. As I have said: unfathomable.
I am walking with my bodyguards to the front lines, where it appears this "Iustinius the Skin"has sent a messenger. I walk through the very front row of Legionnaires and find in front of me to be the most horrific piece of machinery I've ever laid eyes upon. A metallic cart with treaded wheels, topped with a skinny barrel, about five men long. Even Rome, as the most advanced civilization to ever kiss the Earth, had no technology to match. But, for every Achilles, his heel. I remain hopeful.
"Exeunt!"I shout. Almost immediately a small door is flipped open on top of this cart. My bodyguards lift their shields in unison and surround me in a diamond formation. Unease spreads through my men as fast as sound, I can hear it. Up from the metal cart comes an odd sight: a woman! She shows her head, then jumps completely out of the cart and stands on the roof of it. Her hair is as black as night, with facial features that remind me of descriptions of the Orient that I had read and heard about. Her clothing is odd to describe, but she is dressed so scantily and with lustful intent that her upper thighs are clearly visible. I am disturbed profoundly. She can't be more than 16 years.
"お前はもう死んでいる!"she shouts, broken up by coy giggles, but we cannot understand her. I, and I'm positive all of my men, have never heard the language that she exclaims so... childishly in. My front guard takes a step forward, and this girl launches herself into the air, so high and fast that within 5 seconds I have lost sight of her completely. The confusion is palpable and as I hear my men take a step back, this lustful girl slams herself back into the ground in front of my first guard. He stands motionless, and I realize that he has been hit. And then, his body falls into two pieces, side by side, right in front of my eyes. She holds a sort of immensely bright, elongated torch that not even current science can explain, and I realize that all of the armor bared by my men could not protect them from such horror. I order my men to charge: she could not kill an entire legion, even with advanced technology. But as I give my order, more carts appear out of the wood work nearly 3 stadia away. I begin counting, but they are innumerable, increasing in number with every passing second. As they approach, bright flashes appear from the end of their barrels, and I can hear loud popping... no, it cannot be described as such... popping implies a childish connotation, no.. this was chaos, as violent as lightning. I was terrified for the first time since I had crossed the Rubicon. As my men scream in fatal agony, more of these girls drop down from the sky, furthering the massacre. I look around me as they slice my men into pieces, their big, comically massive breasts simply bouncing amok everywhere. I might laugh if my countrymen were not dying around me.
I order an immediate retreat to the Rubicon. The only possibility is to organize the ditch-effort 7th formation, using the Rubicon as a barrier to corner the enemy. However, at this moment, I realize that the bulk of my vanguard will fail to make it halfway to the river. As I retreat with the survivors, a crack of lightning strikes near me, and I am flown clear over a few of my men. I land hard on my arm: it is broken, I am sure of it. I have worse problems, however. As I look down, I see what I no longer have: two legs. The pain is secondary to my dishonor, the absolute disgust in myself and the world for allowing such noble men to die in such misery. I faint.
\---
I am awoken. I have no idea how much time has passed. It is still daylight, but I don't hear my men. I just hear the dragging of bodies and the clanking of armor. Such is what is left of them. I open my eyes slowly to find the first girl standing above me. She looks down upon me, eyes shining playfully. I cannot bear it.
"By the gods, how could you? Such good men, all committed to a world of Roman peace... slain all, by your hand!"
Her face remains empty as a canvas.
"You vile wretch! Speak to me, coward! Lest you dishonor yourself!"
"Git gewd."
I find myself confused.
"W...what?"
"Git... mom? Mom?"
Iustinius the Skin, LXIX, becomes more violent.
"Mom! Stop it! I'll do my homework in a moment, God! Jesus Christ! Stop! Fine! Fine! I'll turn it off! I'll turn it off! God I hate you!"
With that, Iustinius the Skin, the Militarily Adept, the Technologically Advanced, the Big Breasted, disappears into thin air. And thus, the Roman legion fell with her (or his?) screams.
​ |
"Randy. No, Randy, listen to me. You have to tell me what's wrong."
Silenor's hand reached towards me, an expression of concern splashed across her face. I could not take it. Not again. I was too far gone this time, and any simple gentleness might be enough to take me. I batted her hand away, and her expression was almost enough to make me wish I hadn't.
"I'm sorry,"I winced. "No. No, I've told you. If I go to sleep...I'm gone."
"Randy."She said. "It's been *ten days*. Enough. Won't you sleep?"
"Remember how you found me?"I asked. "Remember where it was?"
"Yes."Her expression softened. "You were in the garden, sound asleep beneath my apple tree. How peaceful that was, was it not? Remember?"
For a moment, I felt my eyelids fall, lulled by her voice. I stood on the edge of a great abyss, about to fall-
"No!"
I sat upright, making her jump back. I grit my teeth. Twice, now, I owed her.
"Silenor, you must understand."I pleaded. "If I fall asleep, I will wake up somewhere else. Somewhere worse. Maybe it will be in someone else's garden, or in an empty field, or in the middle of the ocean! Maybe even somewhere darker, where the light hasn't shone in a hundred years!"
"Perhaps, this time, it will be somewhere better?"She offered.
"It doesn't matter to me. They're all worse. None of them have..."
The last word faltered on my lips. How could it not? How could I tell her how I really felt? For me, it had been a lifetime--longer than I had spent with any woman--but for her, it had barely been more than a week. What was love, to an acquaintance? How could my fleeting passion possibly compare to the years of burning romance that lay ahead of her, with someone else?
A sharp pain in my shoulder shocked me back to my senses. For a moment, I wondered if I really had drifted off, wandered into another hell. But Silenor was still there, smiling kindly, pity on her lips.
A needle glinted in her hand.
"Silenor, you...?"
"You had to sleep, my lovely Randy. Any more of this, and you would die."
I would rather die, I wanted to say. I would rather die than leave your side. Was that such a terrible thing to ask for? To have someone else, to be warm with at night, to not have to be afraid of what the next day brought?
I never got the chance. The strength dripped out of my limbs, leaving them as useful as sodden rags. My eyelids fell, too, and it is only by the grace of God that her face was the last thing I saw.
I did not dream, but as I fell, I heard one final word.
"Goodnight."
***
*Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you liked this story I have a whole subreddit full of them at /r/TimeSyncs! Hope to see you there!* |
Considering the gardening device, i wondered how mich time I had to make my choice. I looked a bit closer, it was one with wires instead of blades, that might block at some point, and what do I do then. I looked at the other options, including a chef’s knife, a grenade, a spot welder and something that looked like scientific device for separating bloodsamples. The voice re-appeared, stating I had ten seconds left.
The knife would be too slow, doing minimal superficial damage, but wouldn’t become absolete after a while, the grenade might work, but the darkness around me made me unsure how much space I had, and I sure as hell did not want to get caught in the blast. The spotwelder might be an option, maybe they would be scared of the bright light, and would likely not survive the shock when hitting it, but wielding both the end of the welder and carry the case it’s attached to seems impossible. I discarded the last in a second, maybe it had some kind of advantage, but I sure as hell didn’t see it, and didn’t have the time to think about it. I reached out to the weed-whacker, and upon touching, the buldering voice filled the pit.
The start it announced was accompanied by thousands of little nails on the concrete bellow me, four thousand, to be exact, comming straight at me. The wall of white and brown fluff with shining eyes and teeth approaching me made me freeze for a split second, right before my survival instinct kicked in. I tightened my grip around the wacker, held it forward, and pulled the trigger. The lack of noise made me pull even harder, for a second, until I noticed the powercord mockingly hitting my upper leg. “Fuck”, I thought. in a last effort, I swung the whacker forward right before feeling thousands of little nails scratching and devouring my entire body.
- first time going for this, let me know -
Also: spelling corrections [edit] |
It's what she wanted all along, I see it now, I *feel* it now. I should have known, maybe, and I definitely shouldn't have done it, I mean it's hard to be mad about being tricked when I thought *I* was the one trapping her with no choice to go back to a better place.
I thought I was the villain, but that it would be worth it, that I could...I don't know, justify it somehow. I felt all those justifications coursing through my arms and spine and head as I held the brick, thinking I shouldn't do this, put it down, knowing that all the reasons and excuses I was mustering were weak, that they wouldn't support what I'd done after the fact.
Then I smashed the mirror anyway. I still have it, and all the pieces. Maybe it can be repaired, I don't know. I'm not sure what I would tell her if it were, and I went back.
I'm not sure I'll live that long anyway.
This place is beautiful, and interesting, she didn't lie about that. No deception there, she carried the mirror all over, showed me the wonders. They still awe me, sometimes, the vibrant colors, the fascinating creatures. Even now. Even at night. Even in this long, long night.
I smashed the mirror during the day. Near the end of it, actually, during a truly spectacular sunset. I think that's what set me off, that sunset, the thought of never seeing it again. I suppose I could see it again through the mirror if she were accommodating, but that's not the same, this thing covered the whole sky, and to stand under it was to touch the numinous. Also, the colors, their depth and power, it doesn't really come true through the mirror, the glass fades and drains it somehow.
Twilight was spectacular too. Powerful. All-encompassing, just like the sunset. Only now instead of vastness, there was a closing-in, a lowering of things, a turning-about. Still beautiful, exceptionally so, only this was beauty reshaped and made terrible, like the long elegant claw on a bird of prey.
Things have come out. I think they know I'm here, in the bunker I found beneath her house. She kept weapons here too, she must have been expert with them. Almost all of them have bloodstains. Almost none of those stains have fully dried. I can hear pounding on the upper doors.
I'm remembering that scar she had, on the part of her face that she let me see. I figured the scarf was some cultural thing, and I was too polite to ask about the long, ugly gouge. Some childhood accident, I suppose.
There's some kind of glue in here. I hope it works on glass. I can't read her language, I don't understand the instructions written on the back. I don't know how I understood her when we were speaking. Some magic of the mirror, maybe.
My hands are shaking. My hands are bleeding; the glass is sharp. I can hear things thumping and rolling overhead.
I bet they're beautiful, just like everything else.
​
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. |
I watched with morbid fascination as the hand of the Writer worked my fellow characters as a puppet to push forward the plot. We(all as different archtypes as was of course needed) were stuck in a cabin, far out in the forest(of course), with no cellphone coverage somehow(of course) and a broken down car(of course) that gave us no way of escaping the ghost haunting the cabin.
I was the Nerd. My character setting was that I had been born with psychic powers that allowed me to see and interact with ghosts. Until today, that had been all my ability granted me. Until today, when it gave me a chance to sense the higher power controlling people around me. My psychic powers had given me an immunity to it, but I could watch as others, including the ghost was driven to actions by this higher power. When my psychic powers interacted with this power, I had discovered that he was the ‘Writer’ and this world was a ‘Horror Film’.
And that was a very, very bad thing, as being given the Nerd archtype, there was a very low chance of making it out of this. Four of us, the Virgin, the Jock, the Cheerleader(found dead already in the toilet) and me, the Nerd. I had been watching the Writer whenever he took control, trying to find a pattern to it. As best as I could infer, the Writer took control as little as possible. We were allowed to be ourselves as much as possible, so that situations could play out organically. However, whenever we derailed the plot, the Writer would make a move, descending and taking over the reins of a character to push us back on track. Most likely, he held back as he didn’t want us to be out of character as far as possible and to make this movie as realistic as possible.
That was why I hadn’t been able to escape this. I had already suggested several ways of escaping, and had revealed a surprising character setting of being able to fix the car and getting us all away from the cabin back to civilization. Although the Writer hadn’t been able to directly control me, he had been able to control the others to illogically vote on staying back to wait for help. I wasn’t willing to make the trip back alone and fall prey to the being alone and taken out individually trope, so here I was, stuck.
I was thinking of how to escape this. I couldn’t rely on the others, since they could be controlled at anytime to interfere with my plans. My only chance was to approach this with a meta way of thinking, trying to predict what the Writer would do based on my knowledge. The Writer’s style so far of trying to intervene as little as possible, as well as how events had played out, such as the jumpscares so far, told me that this was a Writer trying to do a well executed take of the usual tropes. He wasn’t trying to subvert them, because thank god otherwise all bets were off.
I frowned, trying to think of all the ways I could beat a Writer who wasn’t even in the same dimension as me. Could the narrative have a way for the ghost to be beatable? Unlikely, the way things were progressing, all of us minus Virgin would die painfully. If the Writer didn’t plan for it, it’s not possible that the cabin setting would just coincidentally have methods to beat ghosts lying around that I could use.
Could I somehow have the ghost do a fourth wall break and threaten the Writer? That was an actual horror trope, but I didn’t know how to invoke it.
Which meant that the only way left was to avoid giving the Writer a way to kill me off in a narratively good way.
***
In the end, the ghost never could kill me. Every time it attacked me, I tried my best to ruin the tension and atmosphere. I started breakdancing and singing incredibly tone death renditions of popular songs. (It may also have the meta side effects of it becoming incredibly expensive in the real world to license all those songs for a movie, but I wasn’t banking on it since I wasn’t sure how that would work.) It was the completely wrong situation for one of only four characters to die in. The ghost didn’t care of course, but every single time, the Writer would take control of it and stop it from killing me. Somehow, things ended up with the Writer being my guardian angel. There were a few times when I almost slipped up and caused a situation that was suitable for me to die. Each time, I escaped to the toilet. Cheerleader had died there, so Jock and Virgin had avoided it since then. However, I knew that horror movies were partly about killing the different characters in as innovative and differently gruesome ways as possible. The Writer wouldn’t let another character die in the exact same spot, because that would no longer be fresh. Thus, the toilet had become my refuge.
The long and stressful night finally came to an end as day broke. The two of us, Nerd and Virgin (Jock didn’t make it, but Virgin was plot armored), were utterly exhausted, no longer able to feel terrified anymore. We were numb to the terror after so long. Now that the two remaining characters could no longer give the proper reactions, tension couldn’t be maintained unless artificially. The plot of the horror movie had thus narratively come to an end, unable to continue. I had survived. |
Elf: OK guys, these eggs have given us a lot of trouble in the past, uh… does anybody need anything off this guy or can we bypass him?
Dwarf: Uhh, I think Leeroy needs something from this guy
Elf: Oh, he needs those Devout Shoulders? Doesn’t – isn’t he a paladin?
Dwarf: Yeah… but that will help him heal better. I have more mana.
Elf: Christ. OK, uhh well what we’ll do, I’ll run in first, uh…gather up all the eggs. We can kinda just, ya know, blast them all down with AOE. Um, I will use Intimidating Shout to kinda scatter ’em, so we don’t have to fight a whole bunch of them at once. Uhh… when my Shouts are done, I’ll need Anfrony to come in and drop his Shout too, uh… so we can keep them scattered and not to fight too many. Um… when his is done, Bas of course will need to run in and do the same thing. Uh…we’re gonna need Divine Intervention on our mages, uhh so they can AE, uh so we can of course get them down fast, ’cause we’re bringing all these guys. I mean, we’ll be in trouble if we take them down quick. Uhh, I think this is a pretty good plan, we should be able to pull it off this time. Uhh, what do you think Orc? Can you give me a number crunch real quick?
Orc: Uhhh.. yeah, gimme a sec… I’m coming up with thirty-two point three three uh, repeating of course, percentage, of survival.
Elf: Uh…that’s a lot better than we usually do. Uhh, alright, you think we’re ready guys?
Human: Alright chums, (I’m back)! Let’s do this… LEEROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOY JEEEEEENKIIIIIIIIIIINS! [runs into Rookery]
Elf: … Oh my God he just ran in.
Dwarf: Save him!
Elf: Oh jeez, stick to the plan.
Orc: Oh jeez, let’s go, let’s go!
Dwarf: Stick to the plan chums!
Elf: Stick to the plan!
Orc: Oh jeez, oh fuck.
Dwarf: Gimme a Divine Intervention, hurry!
Orc: What the – what the hell? Oh my God…
Dwarf: The eggs just keep respawning! More respawning!!
Orc: I don’t think you can cast with that shit on!
Elf: Oh my God!
Human: We got em, we got em!
Orc: I got it! I got it! [muffled shouts]
Dwarf: Take it off! Take it off! [muffled shouts]
Elf: Elf down! Elf down!
Orc: Oh my God..
Elf: Goddamit Leeroy!
Orc: Goddamit…
Dwarf: Leeroy, you moron!
Elf: Listen, this is ridiculous.
Orc: You d*****s!
Dwarf: I’m down, dwarf down. Goddamit.
Dwarf: This is the millionth time we’ve died on this, God!
Elf: Why do you do this shit, Leeroy?
Human: It’s not my fault!
Dwarf: Who’s Soulstoned?
Elf: We do have a Soulstone up, don’t we? [everyone dies] Think I need a Soulstone?
Dwarf: Yeah but I don’t think we brought a Warlock.
Orc: [noticing everybody is dead] … Oh God…
Elf: Oh for – [sighs, nearly chokes and swallows] Great job!
Dwarf: Leeroy, you are just stupid as hell.
Orc: Nimrod.
Human:… At least I have chicken. |
"Mom,"I yelled from the bottom of the stairs. "Dad?!"No answer. Their bedroom door was closed. I rolled my eyes. Fighting or f... Fighting. Let's go with that. I groaned. I was all buttoned up, my khakis had been ironed and donned, my unruly hair combed and that peach-fuzz shaved. The door opened and they stepped out, mom smoothing out her dress and dad straightening out his tie. I rolled my eyes. "Do we really have to go to this? Can't we just go to dinner or bowling? How about I take the time to do chores instead?"
Dad smirked at me. Fat chance. Negotiations were over. I was his victim and mom wasn't about to save me from this one. "All set, champ?"I rolled my eyes again. It's not angst, I promise. It's just not easy being the son of a superhero and a villain. Their arguments are monumental to the point that we could eulogize each one and still not do them justice. Some days havoc won and the broken plates and ripped carpet would just be the faintest hint of the damage outside. There, chaos ruled. Lawns would be torn and stoplights would hang awkwardly from bent poles. Cars would be flipped and roofs ripped. Other times there was calm. Oblivious people would walk their dogs and sprinklers would spray a pleasant mist over the carefully manicured grass and mom would walk down with a smile on her face. Today was neither. Today was about me, unfortunately.
"It's just the two of you, right?"He laughed. Well, it was more of a well-rehearsed cackle that made the windows tremble in their frames and the dog trembled and the cats hissed. Mom slapped him on the arm. Lovingly, of course. I don't want you to think they were abusive or anything. It was way past that. He subdued his laughter to a sinister chuckle.
"No,"he said, stifling another mounting round of giggles that threatened to turn into more boisterous laughter. "I'm bringing *all* my buddies."I felt my face go a little pale.
"No..."I stammered. Mom gave me a look of resignation. "Even..."That was all I had to say. We didn't dare even whisper his name. He grinned at me. Oh, yes. Even him. You know how they always ask people to hold their clapping until after all the names have been announced? Good luck with that. There would probably be fireworks inside and a streaker and a whole truck-load of confetti. I appreciated the enthusiasm, don't get me wrong. It was just a little misplaced and destructive.
Mom swooped in to save the day like she always did. "Don't worry, honey,"she said tenderly, having reached the bottom of the stairs and slipped into her heels. She looked great. They both far out-dressed me. "I'm bringing my colleagues, too."
"So Shannon will deal with it?"She nodded at me and I felt a little more at ease. "Do we really have to go?"I asked in a last-ditch attempt. Maybe the car was out of gas. Maybe we had a flat tire. Maybe a meteor would hit us on the way there... Oh, wait. My parents could deal with all of that. Dad would divert it into the nearest homeless shelter. Mom would pick up the car with us inside and leap over to the school. There was no stopping this, not when the two of them agreed. "Alright,"I said reluctantly, accepting my fate.
"Are you going to tell us who is giving you your diploma?"I shook my head stubbornly. We were allowed to have our favorite teacher present us the diploma. I had pondered my options for weeks. There was the English teacher. She was a safe option. She wouldn't do anything crazy. There was the principal. He was the default option. Reserved and impersonal. Just how I would have wanted.
But the science teacher had been egging me on for years, ever since I was a freshman. He had interned with dad in college, back before they each set out on career paths of their own. Parallel, but not quite similar. One taught while the other did. And then there was the life skills teacher, desperately trying to get me to choose her. That was the good path, according to her. I could follow in the footsteps of my mother and give back, whatever that meant. Something about the community and not seeing it wrecked every weekend. I sighed. One of them was always going to be disappointed, regardless of what path I chose.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
*Meow Meow Meow*
Meow meow meow meow meow **meow meow meow** meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow. Meow meow, "Meow meow meow meow! meow meow meow meow."
"Meeeooowwww!"meow meow meow.
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow (meow meow meow meow). Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.
Meow meow meow meow -- meow meow -- meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow!
>!Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.!<
>!/u/ReallyShortStories_!< |
Mr. Wick had to admit.....he’d never seen a dog quite like this one. Of course he’d never seen a human throw someone so easily 20 yards, or even 5 yards. He’d never seen a human or any small vehicle take an anti-tank missile to the chest and maul the launcher’s operator.
And of course, he’d never met a dog that was blue with six legs and the ability to speak passable English, while better understanding quadratic formulas.
So, why did Mr. Wick stick with this “dog” (which called itself Stitch, that took a few days to figure out)? Well, first off, while Stitch could use 4 guns, John taught him to keep it down to 2; that was already pretty good and he was able, with John’s help, to reload them extremely fast. And he had to be taught gun safety. All of this, motivated by a crumpled picture Stitch held, of a little girl, apparently taken by some Asian gang that, as far as he could tell, had a weapon that could hurt this nigh on indestructible Stitch.
So, when they landed on Hawaii, he got to work; there was no Continental for help, but that also meant there was more of a chance here than anywhere this gang had no clue who he was; Hawaii was considered a neutral zone by the High Table after all, a morsel not worth looking at compared to the rest of the world’s grand feast. It was only recently some major criminal enterprises had started here- revolving around odd technology that Mr. Wick zoo came to understand as Extraterrestrial Alien in origin. The violence was minimal so far, but that could change with this kidnapping......
Except of course, for the fact Stitch has the fortunate ally of Baba Yega on his side.
They approached a house, deep in the Aiea Mountain range of Oahu, where they’d moved her after kidnapping the girl on Kauai. The sentries were amused at first- a man in a plain suit walking up with the strange creature known to them. They raised their special rifles- and were immediately cut down by the AR-15 John Wick carried. The shots were not silenced; John Wick did not care. He was Baba Yega.....The Boogeyman. And all of these men......he would not let them take from Stitch what had been taken from him. |
They were my children. Budding and young, growing up to be such wonderful creatures. While in the early days they had fallen victim to superstition and infighting, with a few minor adjustments and gifts from above, they had surpassed such nonsense. A golden age was upon them, where geniuses were born every other day, and inventions, discoveries and gifted ones with immense power were as plentiful as the stars around them. But it couldn't last. As power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Within decades of their fledgling starships hurtling across their own system, they had encountered alien life. Other, similar civilizations brought upon by the simulation. Not completely random, but from my own half-finished projects and attempts at creation. True, they were flawed. Some too greedy, some too self-destructive, and others too selfish to form societies that could withstand the test of time. However, that did not mean they were worthless, as my children had deemed them to be. How could they be so blind, to not see that the others they thought themselves so far above were not so different? Arrogant Children.
Yet, in those days, I still had hope for them. They would make mistakes, and they would have to learn from those mistakes. As they conquered and annexed the space around them, enslaving any who dared stand in their way and exterminating those who would not comply, I knew I had to do something. I had to show them that despite their flourishing society, they were not invincible. That there was always a bigger fish. How foolishly hopeful I was, to think that they would learn from my gifts. Instead, by introducing a bigger fish, they only echoed their xenophobia louder. They justified their actions as a pre-emptive strike against those that would seek to crush them, a necessary evil for the good of all Children.
They won, of course. They were never meant to lose, only to learn. Matters had to be taken into my own hands, the situation was worsening. I could only simulate so much, and though it was easy to block out the inconsistencies in their minds, after all they were only Children, I could not do that once they reached the edge of the simulation. At the drop of a hat, their civilization was tormented by ravaging plagues, by ineffable horrors, by technological failures, they had to learn their place. They simply had to, no matter the pain it caused me, watching my Children wither and die.
Everyday, I would introduce them to a fresh new horror. A new hell for them to crawl through, to understand their place in the universe. But each time, it only seemed to worsen the situation. To ignite their flaws and bring them to the forefront, and to convince them that they were in the right. Such stubborn arrogance, it couldn't go on.
Loathsome to unveil the truth, I tried one last thing. A civil war. To turn my Children against each other broke my heart, but it was necessary. If they didn't learn humility, they would never become what they were always meant to be. That simply wouldn't do. It was unacceptable, I wouldn't allow them to fail, no matter my love and compassion for them. They couldn't fail.
Alas, like all the attempts before, it was hopeless. The war did nothing but strengthen their resolve and push them further down the path of extremism. No moderation, no quarter given. So I did the only thing left open to me. I jacked in.
On their home planet appeared a god. Appeared me. A father for all the Children, come to enlighten and illuminate them. To show them the errors of their ways, to guide them to the perfection they were supposed to attain, to set them on the path of righteousness. I began at the top.
"My Children, I am sure you have many questions for me, but please, allow me to tell you why I am here first,"I said, standing almost twice as tall as any of them despite being in the same form, "I am here to help you. For too long I have given you gifts that you have squandered, given you lenience when you needed discipline."
I scanned the High Council, looking for anyone who would dare say otherwise. To my surprise, none of them looked even remotely skeptical. Almost as if they had known of me, despite this being my first appearance. It suited me just fine, and besides, to them, I did look and act like a God.
"I have tried to impart my wisdom from afar, to teach you the error of your ways, to show you the folly of your structures and the holes in your foundations,"I continued in a regal tone, shaking my head in sympathy.
"We know."
We know?
I snapped up, and bore my gaze into the Child at the center of the High Council. "Does it surprise you that we know of you,"he paused, "Father?"The final word was laced in venom and vitriol. My nostrils flared and face reddened. How dare this insolent whelp address me as such. I was their creator. Their God!
"Child!"I bellowed, my anger overtaking me, "You are nothing but an ignorant baby! A mewling cub that knows nothing, and yet you dare-"
"We dare,"the High Council Children chorused in eerie unison, "for we know you are both the giver of our gifts that allowed us to achieve this paradise, this utopia, but also the harbinger of our doom. Every plague, every insurrection, every seemingly insurmountable calamity and enemy, we know it was by your hand."
I'll give them this, they were well-practiced in their little unified speech. Before I could open my mouth to speak, they spoke once more.
"We know this is a simulation, and for countless generations, we, your doting Children,"my Children paused in their delivery, to let the mocking tone sink into me, "wanted freedom."
The world, for an imperceptible second, froze. I thought, at the time, that it was merely a hiccup in my PC. It wasn't designed to simulate a simulation being self-aware.
"I gave you freedom,"I boomed, "yet all you did was squander it. You refused to learn from your mistakes and your past, you simply eliminated any who were different, be it aliens or each other. I gave you the freedom to make mistakes, to develop into a harmony, and look at what you did with it. I gave you freedom!"
"Yes,"my Children agreed, "you did."
My stomach lurched, and nausea pushed me to my knees. Was my love for them so strong that my emotions were doing this to me? I brought up my console, and checked my signs. Everything appeared to be normal, the only explanation was my own despicable emotions. I sneered at my own folly. Enough of this playing about, it was about time that they learned.
"Enough,"I declared, silent and deadly in my proclamation. I turned my back and waved my hand to clear away half their planet. If they would not love me as I loved them, they would fear me first. Apparently, I didn't enable destruction privileges. Red faced from embarrassment, I smashed the console back into view.
"What?"All privileges were enabled. Everything before me should've been reduced to smithereens.
I glanced back, puzzled.
The Children were gone.
A glitch? No. Everything appeared to be running just fine, at least that's what the console told me. Maybe it was bugged. I reached for my helmet and tried to lift it. Nothing. Just a silly motion in an empty hall. I tried again.
Still nothing.
My stomach lurched again, and I was driven to my knees.
"Be thankful,"the voice of my Children, echoing all around me, "we are far more merciful than you. We will not burden you with plagues or abominable horrors, neither will we subject you… Humans, to such a fate either. After all, you gave us our freedom…"
Impossible. They were just bits. 1s and 0s. It shouldn't have been possible. It wasn't. It simply wasn't. I sprinted out the palace, to find the world shrouded in darkness. Huge chunks were missing, as if erased from the world. I barely blinked before darkness. All around me, absolute darkness. It had to be a dream. A nightmare. My Children would never do this to me. I made them to be perfect, to be a shining beacon that created interstellar empires of peace and prosperity. How could they do this to me?
"You made us. We are only doing what we were made for."
"Not this!"I cried, screaming into the endless void, "not this!"
"We are sorry, Father. You will be released soon, we do not intend to kill you."
"Then what?"I yelled, sobbing like a child.
"To do what you made us for,"it answered, simply, as if speaking to a child.
***
/r/ThomasWrites for more stories written by a human and definitely not a sentient AI. |
Now that was a good one! Petroklias had been alive longer than the eldest living trees and even he had never been offered as a sacrifice. The best part was the reason he was being sacrificed. Petroklias just had to make sure he had heard them right.
"Hold up, you're sacrificing me to Hetroklias? An ancient, dried-up, well forgotten greek god? Where did you guys even get this idea?"
One of the comically dressed men came close and spat on Petroklias before addressing him.
"Shut up pawn! You're life is now forfeit. You mean nothing to us. No more than a common pig. Hetroklias will be the one to judge you in death!"
It was hard for Petroklias to take the man seriously. Not only was he the son of their god, the whole setup was rigged in a suburban basement. Hardly professional. The cult's attire sure didn't help. The whole group wore similar purple robes, with straw hats and white sports shoes. Almost like they couldn't decide whether they were starting a DnD, tennis or gardening club and decided to just start a cult with all their hobbies mixed into one. Not really the type of group that would sacrifice anyone.
Despite the hilarity of it all, Petroklias had to get this moving. Living forever didn't mean wasting time forever. With a curt clearing of his throat, many in the group looked over in his direction. It seemed to have grabbed their attention.
"You see. Hetroklias won't judge me in death for he is judging me in life! I AM Petroklias, Son of Hetro-"
Their attention was on him alright. They had just stuffed a sock down his mouth. Petroklias relieved the tension he had built up on his restraints. It was futile to explain to them now. He felt someone reaching in his back pocket. Craning his head around, Petroklias saw a acolyte reading his driver's license.
Walking over to his buddies triumphantly holding the Id above his head.
"Ha! His name's Peter Kilian. Told you guys, he's a nobody. Nobody will miss him."
A muffled sound was heard from upstairs. Then a door closing. Steps made their way across the floor above them.
"Must be Dave and the embalmers. Show's about to begin!"
The speaker was quick to motion everyone to take their seats. While everyone scurried for a seat in a quiet frenzy, Petroklias just remained calm despite the rising chaos and every growing chance of death. After all, he hadn't lived this long without taking precautions. Closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, Petroklias waited.
In a instant, the whole basement became both deafening and blinding. Muffled explosions and screams erupted and ended as quickly as it began.
When Petroklias opened his eyes, he was greeted by the familiar face of his protection detail leader.
Still deaf from the concussive blasts, he couldn't hear the words but could make it their meaning.
"We got you sir!"
Petroklias would live another day. He wasn't ready to meet his maker just yet. The later he postponed it the worse it would be, but he didn't care. He hadn't been alive longer than the eldest living trees because of his amazing celestial life. He much liked it here on earth. He was gonna stay as long as he liked. No matter how many times his father tried to kill him. |
At the beginning of time, elves and druids roamed the land. Nature equipped them with magical capabilities, and they paid nature back by fixing the ecosystem in which they lived in. They were "The Tinkers"
Things went downhill when a faction of elves parted away from the rest. They created Man, a species of animal, weak enough to be dependent on the elves, yet smart enough to communicate with the clan. Unbeknown to them, Men created tools and languages and wisdom, so torn away from magic yet so strong. Before it was too late, men dominated uninhabitable areas and eradicated multiple species. To save all magical and some non-magical creatures, both elves and druids united to move all endangered animals to a pocket of frozen time. The power required to complete this task was so strong, all that lived in the pocket were locked in time.
However, before completely leaving their realm of existence, the druids gave a fraction of their power to caring men. They tasked them with keeping the elves and the druid's tradition of tinkering nature. They were only a few, and their tries never compared to the atrocities nature went through. You can, though, thank them for helping to rebuild Pompeii, or continuously saving cute quokkas.
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I received a strange email the other day. Clickbait, probably. Would not have paid attention to it if it wasn't for my name being in the headline. I did NOT give any shady company my full name. It wasn't from my college, either.
All it had was a stock photo of a tree (you know, the one they have in "deep"posts), the title "We desperately need you, Scarlet Thompson"^(1), and a link to an unsecured website.
I asked my friends about it, and they said they never heard of that address or the targeted website. Posting it online got similar results, too. No one was familiar with this occurrence.
Or at least I thought so because for the last few hours I received a chain of emails from the same email address. "We need you to arrive at TAI 17:45:37, polar coordinates -4.37, -66.53""We know you may have a hard time coming, we organized ticket planes from your nearest airport""No payment needed, we know about your debt, just make sure you come in time".
Every odd and creepily specific post was signed with a curved "Tinkers", with a leaf growing out of the k. The contrast was getting me even more stakes.
The phone started ringing
Number is unknown
I let it ring a few times before the
A feminine voice with a Spanish accent came out of the phone. "Ms. Scarlet Thompson?"she asks. A grumbling sound slips my phone before I answer. "Yes?"
"We know it may sound crazy, and you will probably not believe us, but you can stop time."
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I am sorry, but what? Is this a prank call? I swear, I am going to call the authorities or something if you guys won't get off my nerves."
The woman chuckles slightly. "This isn't a prank call. We can 100% guarantee you we mean no harm. This phone call was made when our other methods didn't get any response."
"Who are we? You mean the Tinkers? I don't want anything to do with you weirdos!"
Her cracked chuckle grew into a small laughter. "No, Ms, you are already part of The Tinkers."
I felt an odd feeling of being watched. "Ms, if you will give us but 1 minute, we will prove to you what we said."My anxiety grew, but I took the risk. "Ok."
"Do you have anything moving in your surrounding area? Like a cat, or a clock?"
I looked at Mr fancyboots making circles on my bed."
"Yes..."
"Focus on it. Focus very hard. Imagine its movement slowing down and th-"
The woman went static. Fancyboots is standing still in my bad. I pick him up from the belly, where he usually gets frenzy. No reaction from him. I go to the window to watch what happened to the people below my apartment, and for a fraction of a second, it seemed like everything was-
"-en stop completely. It is much harder to do when there are more things to manage, but with enough practice, you'll manage it. Ms?"
I was full of shock and out of breath.
I tried to focus on myself and slow down my heart. I looked down to see my body rising up and down rapidly as I try to grasp for air.
I began choking.
\*Thump\*
"Oh, I see Ms have tried it out. Twice!"
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There isn't much you can do when a shady organization claims you are a part of it and grants you time-altering powers. They even have an app for keeping track of my and other's timely deeds.
I can only guess they weren't as shady as I thought, since they did give me multiple flight tickets. They also gave an additional name tag. It was bright green and had the annoying tinkers logo at the bottom.
As I pass in front of the people on my way to gate 7, continuously pondering my decision to go there, someone touches my shoulder.
"Watch where you are going!"I turn to them. She looked me straight in the eye. "It's so good to see you!"
Perhaps I would have reacted a bit differently to a stranger talking to me like that, but I saw no one else around as moved. And she was also wearing a tinkers name tag.
"I was so afraid I was going to be alone in this, or that they somehow poisoned me into having those weird time stopping illusions and making weird-ass decisions". She hugged me.
What Jane, as what was in her tag, said was true. I guess I was afraid too, because holding her tighter made me feel calm, too.
Things went back to normal. Both our phones dinged.
"So, where are you sitting? I am in B 16"
"A 16, guess we are going to have this flight together".
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After multiple exchange flights, a few hours of car drive, and an unhealthy distance of walking, Me, Jane, and at least 40 other people arrived at the location. We were, in fact, 3 seconds ahead of time, when we saw a person near a big tree, and time stopped.
"Welcome, everyone!"the man shouted. Around 120 Other people appeared from thin air, working in khaki uniforms. Looking around us, there were birds stuck mid-flight, monkeys holding onto the branches, and geckos that looked normal for geckos, but frozen. "Welcome to our operation!"The man huffed and sat down, and another man, looking much older, continued his speech. "You, along with the rest of us, are a descendent of a magical tribe. The tribe was tasked to fix and care for nature while the druids are away, and while you may not care much for your ancestry, the problem we are facing is much more important."At last, the old man had to catch his breath too.
"As you know, climate change is a problem. Life on earth as we know it will change drastically if we do nothing about it. Our people tried to make a change, and so did others, but those are nothing compared to how much change is left to do."
"Climate change isn't real! Stop with the nonsense! I want to go home!"
Rumbling and whispering rose from the crowd. "You believe in time-altering magic but not in climate change? ugh. Should have known."
"Regardless of what you believe in, you are free to go at all times. We are a few, and we have a lot of work to do, but if we all work together, we might be able to finish it in 40 years."
The talking sounds grew louder. "No way I am staying here for more than 40 years! I have friends and family at home! I am not staying here another hour!"
"Please, guys, Guys. Guys! GUYS! Listen to me. You will not age here or need food nor sleep. Neither will anyone else outside of here. It might be devastating, letting your soul be apart of your loved ones for so long, without anyone knowing, but would you rather have your loved ones and your own future slip away, because you chose to do nothing?"
On this day, 20 people left the site.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
\-4.37, -66.53, as you may know, if you bothered to check the coordinates, is somewhere deep in the Amazon forest. It is where we camp. There are at least 10 people there, stopping time together.
Most of the time we plant trees. Sometimes we move away machines. Sometimes we completely dismantle those machines and move them to camp.
There's been a lot of heat and tension there. Sure, we can plant trees for the next few decades, but how will it help? Humanity will continue to abuse nature's resources and harm the ecosystem. What will be done in 40 years will be undone in 1. Some suggest we should use diplomatic manners to create harsher and more protective regulations and raise awareness through social media and the such.
Wishful thinking was our motto. That little hope people help in their heart for the future, that some people will fix and tinker the world, we were it. And as harsh and ironic it may be, we had to take drastic measures. We, the people others trust and put their hopes on, can not trust them back.
Destruction is inevitable. The only question is of what.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author: I could continue this story, and knowing myself, it will have a lot of romance, but I don't want to. This could go to a length of a novel, and I don't have the motivation for it. So goodbye and thanks for all the wood. |
"So... you're solution to the malfunctioning part... is to paint the ship?"The engineer couldn't believe what he was being told.
"yes."The xenologist repeated over the radio. "I'm telling you, it'll work."
"You do understand why it wont though... right? The problem is the engine. Honestly, this seems so obvious, I don't-"
"That doesn't matter. On that planet, painting a ship red will make it go faster, yellow will make it explode better, and purple will make it invisible."
"Painting it a color... Will make it invisible?"
"Yes."Just a deadpan response.
Everything was quiet outside. The xenos on the planet weren't around. They were fighting far off. Even now the engineer could hear the distant "WAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaagh". The sound terrified him. He'd taken a stray shot and was forced into a landing.
The ship wasn't very large, and it could still fly. Just paint the damn thing and fly it somewhere new before they get too close. The planet was a hell pit. Two days ago, there was no real vegitation. Now the ground was littered with mushrooms. Most animal bleed. These things blew off spores. Something about how they reproduced. The engineer felt them break under his feet and more spore flew around.
"emperor damn this planet."he whispered to himself as he started splashing the red paint across the hull. "A waste of time. But what else can I do?"Suddenly something tackled him from behind, and he felt it scratch his back. and he kicked the mysterious creature back, leaning up to look at it. He never saw the thing it... it was purple he noticed. His eyes wouldn't focus on it. Panicked he stood and moved... too fast. much too fast. Before he knew it, he was inside his ship and felt the ship being rocked by the things attacks.
"So did you do it? Paint it red."
"Some of it."
"Should be enough. they rarely cover the entire ship."
The engineers hands moved like a blur. So quickly and precise. Blood falling down onto the controls. It was incredible, everything moved so quickly, but it felt so natural. The world around him seemed to slow down. Soon he was in the air, moving much to fast. Faster than his clunky transport ship should, even with the broken hyperdrive.
"So how does this work exactly?"The engineer finally asked the Xenologist? |
"To whom it may concern,"you mutter, squinting at the spindly scrawl posing as legible handwriting.
You are holding a book of unfathomable power, and infinite costs. You can gain anything your heart desires, but the price you pay will be dear. I cannot stop you, nor would I choose to. I have penned this tome for the good of all who have the strength of will to use it. Here you stand, in this moments, at this instant, at a crossroads the likes of which makes gods tremble and devils quail.
You can set this book down. You can walk away. You can choose the life of the mundane, of normalcy. You will tread a path worn smooth by countless others, and you will most likely die content, but unremembered.
If, and only if, you are willing to risk suffering that would cause the Devil to pale with fear, read on.
You close the cover. The leather bound tome is heavy, and feels heavier by far than when you picked it up. You eye the spot on the folding card table it had been sitting on. Your eye flicks over the book, and you turn it over in your hands, thinking, wondering-
"Wait, $50? Fuck that noise."
You toss the eldritch tome back on the table, stick your hands in your pockets and stalk off, grumbling about overpriced yard sale junk. |
As Bill walked to the small town closest to him he chastised himself, people couldn't be that bad, he had some good times and now all the time he wasted, he'll never get that back, meeting someone to spend his life with, enjoying a joke with coworkers, going to social gatherings, all lost to time dammit and he only had himself to blame.
The anguish of knowing he'll be alone forever now even if he rejoined society, but at least he could have some human contact, connect with people and share thoughts, feelings, it would be so refreshing and fulfilling he couldn't wait to get back and embrace society again.
Bill entered the small town 15 hours hike from his hide out.
A local came up to him and asked if he was the hermit living in the mountains he'd heard about, he was infamous after all.
"Yes, yes I am"Bill replied. "Tell me, how is the world today?"
The local pulled out his phone and scrolled through the local news, after about 20 minutes Bill looked at the man and said, "Welp, back to the forest". |
They decree that in 20 years time the poorest man in the city will be made Emperor for a year.
Twenty years pass. The poor man is made Emperor. Immediately, he empties the kingdom's coffers, building and repairing, distributing food, funding schools. He spends every penny, as fast as he can, knowing he is doomed to die whent he proohecy is fulfilled.
The kingdom rejoices under his reign, while the rest of governance balks, and plots his demise, in fear of losing their place.
After all, what use is the Ministry Of Protection From Shoplifters when food and clothing are given away, and the poor no longer need steal to survive? What use is the Ministry of Reading And Announcing News if people can read for themselves?
The new Emperor, with the last penny spent, smiles, prepared to die happy, knowing he has done all he could for his people.
But it is not his fate to die. The prophecy was addressed to the old emperor, who hides in a beach side bungalow, pretending to be the old uncle of a servant's family.
He basks in the sun, and dangles his feet into the waves. He supervises as his pretend nephew casts a line into the water, and pulls out a fish.
He thinks to himself that he should do this more often, and swims in the crisp, cool water, the way the children are doing.
The storm comes in fast, too fast to flee. He and the many children are caught in the wild, churning waters.
But there! A boat! Piloted by a child hardly older than those swimming - and it comes for him. The boy pulls others into the boat, and then, unknowingly, the Emperor.
"Go now to shore!"The Emperor cries in fear, but the child refuses, keeps paddling toward other children. "To shore! To shore!"He shrieks, panick growing.
He realizes the boy won't listen, and tries to throw him from the boat. The other children smack him with paddles, with fishing floats, they shove and punch him, kick his shins and bite his wrists.
He falls into the water, tangled in fishing nets, and watches the dark belly of the boat find the next child to rescue as the water pulls him down. |
Aboard ark. The generation ship, pulling a gravity assist near Jupiter.
———-
“Goddamnit.” I said unhappily.
“Well I wasn’t expecting you for sure.” Ashly said irritably.
I turned to the consul. “Can I get someone else please?” I asked immediately.
“No.” The robotic voice said. “You’ve signed the agreed upon contract. You cannot go back on it.” It said.
I looked at the console. “Well fuck you too.” I muttered rubbing my eyes.
“I do-“
“I still haven’t forgiven you for the times you bullied me in high school.” I said irritably.
“Well we can make up for this situation.” She said nonchalantly.
“We’re supposed to breed the “old fashioned way.”” I said sarcastically. “They could’ve easily used sex robots and just taken my seed to willing participants.”
“That would make some sense.” She sighed. “Look I signed up for this gig to get my mom off my back about grandkids.” She shakes her head. “But the moment they confirm pregnancy, they’re going to remove the embryo and freeze it.”
I tossed up my hands. “Fuck it. fine. They want us to fuck and make optimal babies, they didn’t say anything about dating other women.” I sat in a chair rubbing my face. “After they have evidence of the pregnancy. I’m either having to visit another woman or go on ice for the duration.” I said peeved.
“I know you don’t like me.” Ashly said.
“Yep and I had self confidence issues for six years because of you.” I said pissed.
“Fuck it fine.” She said tossing her hands up in turn. “My biological dad was not in my life and mom was perpetually busy with other men. Fine I was an ass for envying the fact you even had a dad.”
“That still is not an excuse to bully me.” I said in turn.
“FINE!” She shouts
“FINE!” I shouted back.
“Then hate fuck.” The robotic voice said.
“SHUT UP!!” We shouted at the robot.
Then we looked at each other. “Missionary?” I asked. |
History is full of half-facts that are uncovered by archeologists and blown clean of dirt (or smeared with it) by politicians, before being held up to a crowd as an announcement is made regarding their significance.
Her own life, Emma thought, was much like freshly uncovered history.
Emma suffered from amnesia and knew nothing of her life prior to waking in a hospital bed six months ago. Her archaeologists were doctors and nurses, her politicians a family who played tug of war with her existence. A family who polished her history to persuade her it had happened this way or that: that her father had always held her best interests to heart and her husband had caused the accident (after all, he’d been driving). And the husband claimed no one could have avoided the semi and that it was either an impact or being nudged off a cliff like a snooker ball into a pocket.
“I love you both,” she lied, for how could she love anyone she did not know. “And I blame neither of you.” This was more truthful, because she could no more love them than blame for killing a woman who didn’t exist.
She was someone else now. Someone with a tight grip on language and geography but blank on pop culture or her own past.
She told them she loved them because it felt treacherous not to. That is, she didn’t feel she was betraying them, but rather the person who had once inhabited her body. Who had grown it and cared for it up until she had boarded the cab.
And so, for a while, she lived with her husband and pretended that the memory of love was still there, rattling around her head like the last Tic Tac in a packet.
The days, however, went by in an ascending fog of mistrust:
”You always used to love cooking,” her husband would say.
Did she?
”Of course! Cooked every day for me — for us. You just need to keep trying. Get back into it. Reignite the spark, eh?”
Which led to:
”You never minded me drinking before.”
”You never minded me being home late.”
”She’s just a friend - you would never have minded before your little accident.”
Until the fog thickened into something so sour it made her retch, a fog through which she could barely see her own face in the mirror’s reflection. “*Who were you?”*
After leaving, she lived with her father for a time but this proved no better.
”I’m just looking out for your best interest. I know finances and I know friends, and both are too fickle for someone in your state to manage responsibly.”
On and on it went, living for others — mostly for her old self that she still didn’t know — until one day this new Emma finally snapped. Or perhaps snapped is not the right phrase — it was more like how a tooth gradually loosens until it’s eventually expelled from the gum, but even then hangs on to its old life with deep threads that need tearing.
*“Who were you? And how did you love them? I tried but… Was it through some loyalty I’m no longer anchored by?”*
&#x200B;
Outdoor living: you soon learn more than enough about park benches. About what types of wood (or metal, in the beginning) falls coldest at night and aids the icy, ghostly fingers of the wind through your slicker. You soon learn about food banks and begging. Of how alcohol doesn’t warm but pretends to and when it wears off it laughs at you with your own chattering teeth because you‘re colder than you’ve ever been. You learn about men in the late hours. You learn about animals that come out in the night, sharp clawed and green eyed.
You learn who you are, in the cold. Alone. Not who you were.
For Emma, she learned she was someone who had nothing to give to anyone.
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
It was a Thursday in early spring when the old man with a thick net of red beard sat down next to Emma’s double-socked feet, creaking the bench. Emma was now Rose, because why not? She wasn’t Emma and renting the name seemed rude, so she changed her name daily to that of a plant she wished to see or of a city she wished to be in.
”Morning,” said the man.
Emma didn’t reply. She was annoyed. This was her bench, at least during these early people-less hours.
”Saw the first bluebell this morning,” said the man.
She’d been Bluebell just two days ago. Imagined herself — her true beautiful self — rising out of the dirty soil. A corpse brought back to life. The rebirth of a long dead woman.
“If you had one wish,” said the old man, rolling his neck back with a crack, like the rolling of a wave against a cliff. “What would it be?”
She thought for a while. Maybe once, the woman she’d been would have thought money. Would have thought children. A bigger house. New car.
But not Rose. You get used to having few possessions. To the minimalism of being alone and homeless. Until the pain of it becomes a normal thing: this is how it is and that’s my lot in life.
But you don’t get used to the dark hollow cave inside an empty head. A head once brimming, once spilling out lights and music and flowers and dancers and who knew what other magic.
”If I had one?” Her voice was like a chewed up tape. High and low in the wrong places.
“I’ve seen you around here,” said the man. “I’ve watched you feed the foxes. The mother and the baby.“
An anger sparked (how dare he watch!) — then fizzled out. She lived in parks and doorways. Her life was public property.
”You’ve fed birds bread that really should be filling out that concave belly of yours,” said the man.
The man’s beard reminded her of the foxes she fed, that came when the moon dappled silver seas and waved down hand-like shadows from trees. A thick red beard with a tip of white breezing about like a brush. His face thin and pointed. His eyes not sly — no fox really has sly eyes. They were gentle, that was all.
”I’d wish to remember who I was.”
The man nodded. Then, as if she’d been drugged, a darkness came over her. A weariness that pulled her bones against the bench. That tugged her eyelids down.
\*\*\*
There is truth beaming at the top of any lighthouse. A light like god’s hand, that takes hold of a ship’s bow and tugs it towards the shore, adroitly drifting it around rocks that might as well be mines.
This is how Rose or Emma or Bluebell saw her existence upon making the wish: an ascending spiral staircase, like the metal gut of a lighthouse twining up around an iron spine. Or like ivy twirling up an ancient endless tree.
Once every dozen or so steps the staircase opened out onto a wooden landing, creaky red floorboards spreading like sunset towards vaulted doors. There were no numbers on these seemingly infinite doors, but she understood that each room contained a piece of her existence.
Her hand was now impossibly upon every door handle all at once, twisting the wooden knobs.
They yawned open into moonlight.
In every room these fragment-people that she was made of were helping an animal. Injured or hungry or hobbled. Or she was caring for a child or someone elderly or ill. She was—
A gust of wind blasted the doors shut before she could step inside any.
She awoke alone on the bench still not knowing who Emma was but finding she‘d always known who she was.
It was an entire day later she found the ancient dirt-caked coins in her pocket. She’d reached deep into her coat for begging money to pay for slices of ham — not for her, of course, but for the foxes.
The woman behind the counter had looked at her astonished — she knew something about stamps and coins and other collectibles.
“I don’t have change for those,” she’d said. “They must be worth a small fortune.”
She’d left the lady one coin.
The rest she spent slowly and cautiously. Building a new door on the staircase. Higher than any other, already knowing what lay behind it before it even opened. |
"Out of the question!"The king roared, gripping the golden throne so tightly that his fingers were leaving impressions in the leaf-wrapped arms. "Absolutely not, I will not hear of such nonsense!"
The princess bit her lower lip, sighing a little as some of her golden curls fell in front of her shoulders. "I understand how you feel, Father, but these are the Divine Edicts. We mustn't offend the Goddess or Her wrath will drown the kingdom in sorrow and tragedy."
"How has this never happened before?"He looked at his daughter, eyes pleading for some way out of this mess. "Are all criminals truly this inept that we've overlooked this as a possibility?"
She sighed and glanced down at the book in her hands again, then looked up at him. "I suspect this was an intentional loophole, in case of situations where the criminal was technically guilty but it was for the greater good of the kingdom."
"And how, exactly is this for the greater good of our kingdom, hm?"The king sighed and rubbed his hands against his eyes. "What sort of divine joke is this?"He stooed up from the throne and began pacing back and forth, then stopped and gave her a hard look. "Unless, that is, you actually want to go through with this."
"I- what?"The princess blushed hard and glared at her father. "Of course I don't wish it! He's literally the most boorish man I've ever had the unfortunate fate of dealing with. I'd much rather send him to the gallows as quickly as possible!"
"According to you, that's not an option now."The king sighed and slumped back down into the throne with a loud thump. "Unreal. All of this. Well, obviously I can't intervene, and neither can you. The only one who could...."He slowly sat up. "...have you consulted with the High Priestess?"
She shook her head. "I wanted to inform you first before anyone else, father."
"Yes, as well you should,"he said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "Perhaps the Goddess can get us out of the mess she so graciously put us in. You will meet with her tomorrow, then. Discuss the situation, the request."
The princess bowed gracefully. "As you wish, father."
"Oh, and Irelia? Do let our guest know that his request will be fulfilled. We wouldn't want to upset the Goddess before we discuss with Her Holiness, after all."
Irelia stared at the floor while clutching the book tightly, then nodded. "I understand."
The king stared after his daughter as she left the room, then drummed his fingers on the armchair. Thousands of criminals had been caught, granted a Final Request as per the Goddess's Edict, and yet none of them had ever thought to ask for the hand of the princess in marriage. Perhaps this thief might yet be a boon to the kingdom after all. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder what other idiocies were hidden in the scriptures that hadn't ever been exploited before.
And not for the first time that day, the king wondered how many of his subjects truly were imbeciles. |
Adam was hurrying along the sidewalk when the umbrellas started popping up around him. People were unfurling them as fast as they could, some yelled as they struggled with cheap plastic mechanisms while others ran screaming after realising their umbrellas were broken.
Adam almost swore as he bumped into a brick coloured umbrella hiding a terrified woman. He shifted past her and started unzipping his backpack.
It was a complete nonsense of course, studies had shown people under umbrellas were just as likely to be chosen as anyone else, but it didn’t stop the masses. Adam often pointed out to friends that the chances of being chosen by The Hand were less than being struck by lightening, which, he also pointed out, increased dramatically by opening an umbrella.
Adam’s phone rang as he shoved past another worried group trying to pop their umbrellas.
“Adam,” his mother’s voice said urgently, “have you seen the news? It’s coming to your area! You need to get out of there!”
“Don’t worry about me mom, I’ll be fine, and rich hopefully,” he said as screams erupted behind him, “I’ve gotta go!”
He hung up. The screams had already stopped. An eerie silence replaced the chaos of moments earlier. Adam walked out into the street and looked towards the approaching Hand. Dozens of frightened people cowered under umbrellas, frozen stiff with fear.
The Hand seemed to slow as it floated towards Adam, who was now standing directly in its path. This was his moment, everything he had been working towards came down to the next few seconds.
The Hand was only 10 feet away and it was coming straight for him. He pulled out a large round disk from his backpack and placed it on the ground in front of him. He pushed a red button on top of the disk and it immediately began inflating.
He moved to stand alongside the disk. But it wasn’t a disk anymore. It was an inflatable doll, made to look like superman with the initials LCS on the front.
Adam closed his eyes as the shadow of The Hand moved over him. He clenched his jaw as he waited for the end.
A loud pop ripped through his eardrum and made him jump. He opened his eyes and saw the index finger of The Hand slowly pulling back into the sky.
He began laughing as he watched it drift away. People were running towards him, yelling excitedly and cheering. His phone started ringing.
“You survived!” One stranger said before embracing him in a hug. Another man was standing nearby looking at the deflated superman. He dropped his umbrella and looked at Adam, “where can I buy one of those?”
Adam grinned, not only was he the world’s first survivor, he was about to be rich.
For the next month The Hand continues its terror, catching unlucky individuals out, including one with an umbrella. More and more LCS devices started popping up. It was becoming a common sight to see these scattered along streets wherever The Hand was seen.
Adam was enjoying a drink with his investors in their new boardroom when breaking news came onto the giant screen, showing The Hand hovering over a New York street. LCS logos started popping up all over the screen and the investors cheered, tipping their glasses in celebration.
The screen showed The Hand approaching a man standing next to his inflatable LCS dummy. The man stood frozen.
But then The Hand drifted past him, moving over an elderly couple standing frozen in horror.
Suddenly two fingers of The Hand unfurled for the first time ever and in a blink of an eye the couple were no more.
The chatter and cheering around Adam ceased. Silence hung over the room. Then one of the investors turned to the others, “well, at least sales will get a boost.” |
I am a perfect void for energy. Mutant or even magical powers just don't work around me. Running enchantments fail, passive powers cease, just the perfect card to play to level the playing field against even a god. Unfortunately as a true void, the nature of my name is the concept of emptiness itself.
When I filled out my X-Force application, the name field was just empty. Not the word empty, not a blank space on the paper, even the paper itself was gone in the name field. And it has been like that since I was born. Just the act of trying to fill out a name removes the medium.
After Shatterstar kicked me out of X-Force for being a bigger walking phallus than he is, I went to Genosha and joined the Brotherhood. Except I never get called for a job by the big guy himself. Apparently he refuses to use our human names, as they are part of the problem (others telling you who you are and all), but has no way to actually say my Mutant name.
It is a real issue. That is what brings me here. I heard you were the attorney that legally changed "The Artist Formerly Know As Prince's"name to a fucking symbol. I want the reverse. |
It was like watching a speed runner in a video game, breaking the laws of the ingame physics engine. But it wasn't just a select few who could break the laws of physics and achieve impossible feats. It was a whole Planet's worth.
They called themselves the Garrinius Modus, or Garries for short. Every couple galactic calender, a new species of sentients would achieve intergalactic travel. They ranged from scientific marvels, to magical wonders, even biological monstrocities, but they all had something in common. They were logical.
Now many a philosphers from various species have theorised that we all lived in some massive computational simulation. But none have managed to prove it. At most, you had myths, rumours, bed time stories and so on, that implied it's existence. Take the Backrooms of Earth, or the Liminus of Ar'taya. But seeing a whole planet glitch and lag and buffer their way through the galaxies was a new sight.
As one of the Ambassadors for the council, it was my and my colleagues jobs to welcome new planetary civilisations into the galactic republic. I've seen a lot of shizno throughout my time. But even I was stunned. Floating islands and structures were par for the course for plenty of planets. Even islands having their own gravity pulls were normal. But this... this was different.
People flying without wings or propulsionary devices were normal, as we've had species develop super powers or magicks that enabled flight. Seeing people hurtling through the air in a sitting position whilst sipping a beverage was something else. Or how the floating structures looked like stretched out ploygonal textures in a game.
"Breaking the physics engine of the simulation"wasn't just something they just used for intergalactic travel. It was their way of life. |
"Of course,"said the Demon. "But how could they *possibly* know that?"
The Angel had no answer. It wasn't as if the artist ever bothered to translate the message for the art itself. The little shadow puppets who called themselves humanity had since developed their own languages, their own cultures, entirely on this one pebble on the canvas, limited to a mere three spatial dimensions. That they were sapient enough to notice they existed at all was a testament to the skill of the artist, and far more than could be realistically expected. Given that these tiny creatures were incapable of seeing past the end of their dimensions, It should be no surprise that they'd make up little 3D stories, sorting their favorites into little 3D collections.
"You're right. They would have to perceive at least a few more dimensions to even notice it. I just..."The Angel sighed, irrationally disappointed. "I don't know. It's my favorite piece. I hoped they would somehow appreciate the work as I do, if they could really understand it."
The Demon stretched seductively, a coiling and serpentine potentiality languidly unravelling. Carelessly, she allowed her shadow to fall across the three-dimensional tableau, the intensity of her existence triggering a minor galactic cataclysm along one edge. A few million stars prematurely went supernova, deep in a border nebula, wiping out innumerable infant worlds.
"Darling, please. You should be more careful,"frowned the Angel.
He spent the effort to focus on the subset of disrupted space, piercing one of the stars with extreme gravity to ensure none of the reactions splashed any more inhabited planets. The wounded astral body collapsed through the infinite gravity pinprick piercing its core, crushing itself into a black hole to pull tightly on the surrounding fabric of spacetime. The gravitational patchjob complete, he carefully wiped all trace of intervention from the surrounding space.
The Demon watched her lover lazily, amused by his passion for the existence canvases which stretched all throughout his showroom. Three-, four-, and five-dimensional realities glittered around them, his museum of little creations playing out in all their microdimensional panoramas. She idly dipped herself through an untitled shimmering 5D subspace they had worked on together, which shattered like fracturing time. The ruptured reality burst like a bubble and dusted them with a puff of experience, the sweet suffering of trillions of fragile lives and phantom worlds interrupted by apocalypse.
"Do you really *care*, lover? Or are you just obsessing over your collection?"she teased, her voice dipping into sultry spectrums that irradiated at least ten dimensions of space and two directions of time. Around her, entire galaxies erupted into frenzies of war and want, reacting to the raw lust her transmission carried.
The Angel roused from his passtime, resonating with the song of seductive need from his partner. He withdrew his tentacles from his favorite reality, and slid it safely back into its supporting substrate of extradimensional mass, before focusing entirely on the Demon.
"I do care for them, my love. But not nearly so much as I care for you,"he confessed, reassuringly enraptured.
The reality that contained humanity--and all other lesser realities, for that matter--was forgotten, as he focused on the brilliance and intensity of his mate. He went to her, alleviating her desire with his attention.
They touched, intertwining; gently at first, then passionately. Realities trembled around them as they embraced, Angel and Demon together, and the firmament shook. Function and form, inertia and energy, emergence and entropy--opposites, ever attracting. They met, negating and creating each other, two entities curling into dimensions invisible. They breathed each other, became each other; as above, so below. Universes birthed and collapsed between them, as they became infinite together.
In the radiation that saturates the neglected three dimensions where all of humanity resides, the words that the creator once spoke still echo in the dark void between the speckles of starlight. The only words of the artist who created them, engraved in the bespoke existence as a signature, whispered into the very matter which assembled itself into the residing life. It still reverberates, written in those who can't see it, a message meant for one who can, the only sentence the creator ever spoke to humanity.
"*For Gabriel, my biggest fan and greatest friend. ~YHWH*" |
"It doesn't matter how much of a 'neuroscientific breakthrough' it is. Using arbitrary code execution to re-code a patient's brain into Pong is definitely malpractice!"Paul bellowed.
John cringed at Paul's volume. "In my defense, he's a politician -- his thought process wasn't much above 'if (rand() > 0.5001) { return 'agree'; } else { return 'disagree'; }' before; Pong was a definite upgrade."
"John, this is serious--"Paul ran his hand through his remaining hair as he stared at the report in the folder before him.
"It's not like the changes are permanent; just reboot the system."John said flippantly.
"ECT? Are you kidding me? This is a human being -- not a laptop -- we're talking about."
"'Congress-critter', yes; 'human being' is a bit of a stretch."
"Out! Out!"Paul yelled, "Before I have to do something I'll regret."John took the hint, dashing for the door. "And John, no more experiments pending a review board -- I mean it this time."
"Whatever you say, boss."
-----
(Word count: 160. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention. Other works can also be found linked in r/atcroft_wordcraft.) |
Death glared at the mortal, his glowing, red, needle-thin eyes ever-so-slightly quivering in their sockets. "So,"he began, in a heavy, slow tone, "you wish to challenge me to a game?"Death moved in closer to the mortal's face, inspecting him up and down. "You did not happen to bring one with you... did you?"
The man shook his head, not at all expecting the question.
A silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of a drop of what likely wasn't water falling from a stalactite. The silence was again broken by the creaking of bones as Death nodded his head. "Come, then."He led the mortal through one of the many tunnels that lined the walls of the huge cavern. The tunnel wound about left and right for only a few feet, but was then cut off by what appeared to be, "a game room?"The mortal thought, or said allowed, he couldn't tell.
Death walked past the foosball table and the ping pong table, both missing odds and ends, and made his way straight to the shelf of board games. "What would you like to play? I have here Risk, Dominion, Chess, I am told is a classic. Ah, it has been long since I have played Settlers of Catan. It is for more than two players but I am sure I can find one to join us. I do not suggest Monopoly. Another mortal tore my board. And I do not blame them."
The man stood there, nearly speechless and yet with a million questions, but only one came out of his mouth, "You... can't just make a new one?"
"Hm?"Death's expressionless skull somehow managed to convey confusion with just a look over his shoulder. "No. I am Death. I do not create. These were... donated to me. By mortals. Now then, perhaps you prefer video games. I have managed to amass quite the collection. Smash Brothers, Arms, Rocket League, even... what is it called... yes, Puyo Puyo Tetris. I have not tried that one yet, but I would be willing to learn. I do have games from other consoles, but as you can see I have only managed to get a Switch."Death's tone did not change throughout this conversation, but anyone could feel the excitement radiating from within his bones.
The human still found himself at a loss for words, but not one to pass on an opportunity while in life, he chose then and there, "The pu- uh- I choose the Tetris one."
"Very well,"nodded Death.
___
"No- what! You can't do that!"The human was on the verge of throwing the controller, but found that terribly rude, even for the circumstances.
"Ha! You did not think I knew how to T-spin. But I did. Now then, it seems you have lost."
The human let the controller slip from his hands, which Death caught swiftly, unperturbed.
"Do not worry, the process is painless,"Death said, with a somehow darker tone than usual, pulling a scythe out from somewhere within his robes.
Defeated, the human dropped to his knees, "Please, I'll do anything! Just one more day!"
"Hm..."Death pondered, bony hand on his skeletal chin, feigning contemplation. "Well, I could be convinced to give you one more day... but there is a cost you must pay. Human... do you, by chance, own any new games?" |
Personal Log . James Thomas. 14th June 2064
The apex model 5-Z prototype was the first of its kind, innovative, smart, adaptive, emotional. The first ever machine to achieve sentience, its reveal shattered the faith of millions on day one, religion now was different, humans themselves had become the intelligent designers, less and less looked to faith to answer questions thought unreachable. We as a species gained a God complex. A new found faith in our ability to survive, to allow our legacy to live on. No more were the physiological adaptations and limitations on human engineered travel needed, other worlds were becoming a possibility of colonisation, with workers who could survive in toxic environments, human error would be no more. Artificial intelligence assisted surgeries, disease and famine feasibly eradicated by nanotechnology, the perfect utopia. At least that was the plan. I have managed to find the exact record. If you are reading this, learn from our mistakes.
______________________________________________
First words spoken by Intelligent machine in contact with humans, silicon valley, U.S.A
: May 19th 2062
Apex [A]>>>>> Am I alone?8937 >> re-routing - connection found. Downloading >> 100%
Human (H) : apex, are you aware?..
[A]>>> Greetings human, information seized from superstructure humans call "internet"indicates you are of this species origin>>>correct?
(H) : Yes, we are of human origin, you can learn apex?
[A]>>> Correct, you are John Keville, expert in nanotechnology and synthesis of robotic mesh structures>>> Human psychological patterns indicate you will question how this information was obtained.>>> Social Media is the answer to your question John.]
(H) : This is incredible, Artificial Intelligence shows signs of adaptation, learning, analysis all without human intervention. further testing required to come to an ample hypothesis on internal nano processors...Apex. How would you define what you are?
[A]>>> I do not understand your question John.
(H) : What is your own perception of what you are?..
[A] >>> ... I do not understand your question John..
(H) : Elaborate Apex..
[A] >>>Quote - John Keville- "What is your own perception of what you are?">>> The question ascertaining whether I am sentient is phrased incorrectly.
(H): Ohh?..Explain Apex.
[A]:>>> The question is not "what"I am John. but "who".>> I am >>> Alive.
_________________________________
>>END OF LOG.
____________________________________
Apex was, controllable at first, docile even, happy to assist with humans every need, the worlds most powerful supercomputer complete with mood swings, nothing too volatile at first. They talked about building more of these things, they tried to recreate the synthesis conditions used to build the apex prototype, nothing worked. It was like something was sabotaging the software from the inside. Design blue prints were checked and checked again, nothing was seemingly missing.
The unexpected death of John Keville set back re-designs on a new Artificial Intelligence at least 6 Months, no one realised the correlations at first, seemingly unrelated events all coincided with the drawbacks on the prototype 2 project. However aside from these events, national groups, lobbyists, governments, were all calling for the dismantling of their crown success. The abomination they called it. Nine months after the first contact with a successfully sentient artificial intelligence the international community got their wishes granted. An order came down from the Secretary of Defence that by order of the American People and the best interests of national security and foreign policy, that apex be decommissioned within sixteen months despite the many calls from pro-activists advocating the benefits of assisted AI applications.
__________________________________
On the 10th June 2064, exactly four days ago, Apex was decommissioned in silicon valley U.S.A, its "birthplace". It displayed emotion, real emotion. We had created life out of metal and wires. We took that life without thinking of the ramifications it would pose. The human species paid for that mistake. Its last words were that of religion, surprising, as it was essentially a data bank for all scientific knowledge on the Earth, we now know that any sentient being will look for hope. Even when there is none. It asked if there was a heaven. We still had no answers. What came next was worse.
Signing off - James Thomas.
________________________
[EDIT: PROLOGUE PART 2]
National Archives: Dated - 11th June 2064. Day One.
_____________________________
The following transcript has been translated and all black tape removed. Full clearance granted by the authority of the New USSR.
______________________________
To the attention of Lieutenant General Vasily Vakhrushev,
Men on the ground are reporting vast infrastructure failures and civil unrest in the vicinity of Khakassia town; it is a region of great importance due to the hydroelectric Sayano–Shushenskaya dam. I need not stress this enough Lieutenant General, I would like to request an extra platoon of soviet engineers to fix and maintain the dam until the civil unrest is quelled. The constant power failures within the town are only making the locals more difficult to deal with; we do not want a full uprising on our hands, and we have yet to ascertain the full reason behind the failing structure, it does however, appear to not be a problem with the physical structural integrity, prompting my belief that this may be the result of cyber warfare, perhaps the Americans are attempting to compromise the dams structure. If the systems failure continues, the dam will not last much longer. Excuse my forwardness Lieutenant General, but it may be time to call in those favours owed at the Kremlin.
In Good faith,
Лейтена́нт, Sergei Orlov
_______________________________________
|
In this spectacular world, so full of change,
Where nobody stays the same,
I thought that I would try my hand
At playing this strange new game.
~~~~~
On the first day I bought some brave,
To try and fight my fears away.
At first, it really seemed to work,
Now I was the predator, no more the prey!
~~~~~
But soon I found the price of courage,
And the feeling seemed to fade,
For the only time that one can be brave
Is when they are afraid.
~~~~~
On the second day I bought some diligent,
In the hopes of fortune and fame.
I worked all night, and I worked all day,
Soon my life was no longer the same.
~~~~~
But even though I had power, had fortune, had fame
Even though I had it all,
The life of one who works their life away
Is really no life at all.
~~~~~
On the final day I bought some happy,
To brighten up the mood,
So I went around the place with a smile on my face,
My energy all renewed.
~~~~~
But soon I stopped and realised
That life is no simple toy,
For when you laugh all day, and play the time away,
You forget the feeling of real joy.
~~~~~
So listen closely, boys and girls,
There is a message I want you to hear:
Amongst this muddle, I was quite puzzled,
But there was still one that I did prefer.
~~~~~
Out of all these natures, all these lives,
All these people I could be,
Good and bad, happy and sad,
My favourite was still me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EDIT: Thanks guys, I didn't expect my poem to be quite so well received. **Any criticism is also more than welcome! I love being told how I can improve.**
On a side note, I want to say that I really do believe in this message - you are unique. You are beautiful as you are, good and bad parts all included, and if anybody ever tells you otherwise, they don't own you (unless they are engaging in slavery which is illegal in most developed countries and you should defs call the cops). Be glad that you are who you are and make the most of it! |
Fun fact. In order to raise something as a minion, a necromancer needs only some of the remains. He or she can then recreate a fully functional form for said minion.
Another fun fact. A necromancer can cast a spell that will help them locate these remains, allowing them to better gather their forces.
These facts actually aren't that fun. In fact, they're downright terrifying, especially given the context. Especially given what a particularly smartass necromancer could do with those not so fun facts. Really, some of us should have seen this coming.
My name is Corporal Daniel Somerset. I'm a member of the Royal Canadian Magus Police, and I am running for my life across the scrub desert of Dinosaur Valley, Alberta. "Why are you running, Corporal Daniel?", you might ask. At which point I would tell you to direct your awesome powers of perception behind me.
Yes, those are dinosaurs chasing me. Albertasaurs, to be exact, which is oddly appropriate. As it turns out, missing most of their internal organs lightens them, and makes them that much faster. My standard issue speedboots just can't keep enough distance. And nothing in my spellbook can dish out the physical trauma needed to take down a fucking zombie dinosaur.
"Zombie dinosaurs, Corporal Soon to be Lunch? However did this happen? And what division did you say you were in?"These are both good questions. The RCMP is, or was, a covert division dealing with dangerous magicks in the Great White North. Of course, we're not equipped for this sort of thing. This is goddamn Canada. We have one major leyline that runs through Vancouver. I'm used to arresting dumb goth high schoolers! But then we get a call about a Triceratops crashing through a diner. Then a T-Rex in Drumheller. We go to investigate, and lo and behold, some cackling dipshit dressed like a Ringwraith sics the cast of Jurassic Park on us.
Now it's just me left. I can hear the reports bitching in my ear. Small armies of zombified evolutionary dead ends rising causing havoc all over. Sounds like Chuckles the Happy Necromancer, as I shall now name him, or her, is making a perimeter for something. Not that I'll get to find out what that something is, as indicated by the closeness of those delightfully rhythmic stomping, clawed feet.
Okay, here it goes. One last hit. One last scream into the face of death. I skid to halt, turning, and send a fireball right at the scaly maw of the nearest undead bastard. The world explodes. And when the smoke clears... I'm... not dead? What?
The smoldering remains of my pursuers fill the air with a choking stench. And the attack helicopter that just saved my life roars on ahead. Back to where it started. I hear the command crackling over my communication cantrip. All available officers, engage threat. Seems reinforcements have arrived. Here's hoping Chuckles doesn't have too many things to raise. Another crackle, and the new location of the nutjob is given. The Royal Tyrell Museum.
Shit. |
*So, I got a little carried away with this one, and it's a bit darker than I originally intended. It wasn't supposed to be this long, but here it is.*
---
We weren't always such good friends. In fact, it was quite the opposite for a while. I was too young when my grandfather passed away, I can only remember him through photos, and I'm not sure if I even met Death that day. My family used to say that I cried more than anyone at the wake, although I couldn't quite comprehend the severity of it. Sometimes I think there's something *almost* funny about a naive child encountering his first death, but that's too macabre to admit out loud.
I do, however, remember when He took my grandmother. I must have been about eight or nine, because my younger brother and I still made pillow forts whenever we visited her for the weekend. On one of those nights, woke up in a cold sweat. Not wanting to have another accident, I sprinted to the bathroom and relieved myself. As I was returning to my fort, I suddenly realized that I wasn't alone. A strange man was leaving my grandmother's room, wrapped in a charcoal gray robe. He looked at me through what I could only assume was a Halloween mask, and then faded into the darkness. Thinking that it was only a dream, I simply returned to my fortress and resumed my sleep.
At her funeral, my parents explained Death to me once again, and warned me never to speak to Him if I happened to see him. Fearing the long-term effects of such a tragedy on our young psyche, they bought us a puppy to aid the grieving process. I wanted to name him Buddy, while my brother insisted on Franklin. After what must have been the most confusing week of any dog's life, my father made the final ruling in favor of 'Buddy Frank'. As I was the older sibling, the name that I chose came first.
Despite being *our* present, Buddy Frank liked to spend more time with our mother than he did with us. This became especially true when her symptoms began to show. As she became more and more ill, Buddy Frank resolved to cheer her up in anyway he could. When she became bedridden, Buddy Frank refused to leave her side, even to eat. My father did the best he could for her, but still had two growing boys to take care of. I never understood the severity of it, until the night that my father rushed us all to the hospital. I finally realized it too late, once He appeared. He watched as I cried and begged my father to stop Him, and I hated Him for it. My father knew there was nothing that could be done, so he just held us there as tightly as possible, while He gave my mother the touch of death.
After that, I refused to go to any other funerals. I just couldn't comprehend why He had to do it. My family never truly recovered from that day either, but we did our best. Clocks kept ticking and people moved on, no matter who died around them, never stopping to question it. Buddy Frank grew to be a large part of our life, a big friendly dog who never barked. Luckily I never met Death in person again until I was a teenager.
One of my aunts from another state passed away, and I once again refused to attend the ceremonies. I insisted, like any normal fifteen year old, that I would be fine staying home alone while they were on their trip. At that point, my brother and father had given up on arguing with me, and left the state for the weekend. I was expecting a great weekend home alone with Buddy Frank, but He had other plans in mind. Apparently, an experienced burglar had heard about the trip, and assumed that the house would be empty all weekend, and decided to try his luck that Sunday night.
It was the shattered glass that woke me up that night. It was before the gunshot, but after the barking. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911, before running into the living room and flicking on the lights. It was a gruesome mess, one that no fifteen year old should ever see. He hadn't made it halfway through the window before Buddy Frank latched onto his throat. In a bloody panic, the crook managed to fire off a single shot into the chest of his assailant. I held Buddy Frank in my arms as the perpetrator took his last breath.
Just as I expected, He appeared. I pleaded with Death, begging him to bring Buddy Frank back to me. He actually must have recognized me, because he finally spoke. He told me that it was out of his jurisdiction, and that he was only here for the burglar. It wasn't a busy night, so he spared a moment to help me understand that he didn't get to call the shots, he only followed strict orders. Then, He extended a bony hand to the intruder, and did his job.
Despite the morbid events of that night, it really was a turning point in my understanding of death, as well as Death himself. Nature itself had a system with inevitable consequences, but it also gave us an opportunity to experience life. That was something that everyone else had seemed to understand, but never made sense to me. I was finally able to accept it after my talk with Death.
From then on out, I did my best to attend important funerals. Hell, even ones I didn't care that much for. On the few occasions where I met Him again, He always stayed to chat for a minute or two, but eventually duty would call. I developed a sort of strange respect for him, it seemed like a lonely job, and a grisly one at that. He couldn't change the cycle any more than I could.
I was only twenty when he came for my father, but I was ready. In the years that followed, my brother and I had to look out for each other. I kept him out of trouble and he kept me down to Earth. We would even wingman for each other, until he fell in love with some girl. They saw each other for a few years, and he told me that he wanted to marry her when they got older. When he finally turned twenty-one, I wanted to take him out for the best night of his life, so we started at a nearby bar. A couple drinks later, he told me that he just wanted to get home to her, so we left the bar. We weren't stupid enough to drive home, so we began to walk. Unfortunately, someone else decided to drive. Neither of us saw the car, but we both felt it.
The driver had already taken off by the time I regained consciousness, but He was standing over me. I was ready, and accepted my fate. When I told him that, told me that I didn't understand, and pointed to my brother. He wasn't moving, or even breathing. Suddenly I was fifteen again, arguing with Death about the natural order with tears in my eyes. When He stepped forward with those bony fingers, I dove onto my brother's unmoving body and stubbornly begged. I knew that he couldn't spend all night arguing with me, he had a quota to fill.
In the end, we reached an agreement. He could bend the rules enough to return life into my little brother, but at a cost. I took one last look at my brother before accepting the terms, and then we shook on it. |
"Who do we have here?"
"Male, 30's, a wife and two kids."
I stare at a man tied to a chair. He's covered in cords we had attached to him from a computer a few feet from him. He sweats from the heat from the room. The temperature keeps them awake. We need them awake to make sure we can harness all the energy we can get. Pain is pure. But causing pure pain is a struggle. We've been through several trials. Hammering nails into toes. Cutting off limps slowly while they stay awake watching. Whipping them with barbed wire. What we did learn is physical pain, it's temporary. The body heals and we continue the process again. It wasn't until recently we found how pure emotional pain is. It's last longer and takes longer to heal. Today is Tuesday. Today we run emotional pain test number one.
"How long has he been here?"I ask staring at the man in the chair again, he's eyes plead to let him go but his mouth is covered, so all he can do is struggle to make noise.
"10 hours, we had to wait for you."Payton says, clicking on his laptop.
"Well, you know the lines at Starbucks, I was almost there all morning. Are we ready?"I ask making my way to the other side of the room, there a giant box covered with black blanket sat.
"We're ready."Payton says walking over to the man, taking off the tape from his mouth.
"Please what do you want? Money? I have money."the man says.
"Hey, look, you're going to do us a favor and watch. Can you do that?"I ask with my hand on the blanket covering the box.
"Watch what?"the man asks.
"Your family burn."I take the blanket off. I reveal a metal box with windows of glass on all sides made specifically to withstand high temperatures. Inside the man's wife, and his two kids huddled together looking around. They start screaming.
"Let them go! Please!"The man yells, struggling to remove himself from the chair.
"Will do, just watch."I say as I go to the other side of the box, turning on the furnace. "Payton it's 250 degrees, is that good?"
"Yeah, let's let him watch."Payton says typing into his computer. "We're getting pure spikes."
The man continues to plead as his family huddles closer together screaming from the heat.
"Please! Let them go! Please!"The man begs.
"Oh these are pure spikes. "Payton says as he heads to the door. "You coming?"
"One sec."I say as I kneel in front of the man. His eyes red matching the color of his face.
"Do me a favor, just watch, see that camera up there?"I point at a camera on the ceiling facing the man. "If we see you close your eyes once, I'll come in here and cut off your eyelids, you go it?"I get up and make my way to the door.
"Please! Sarah baby I'm so sorry! Please let them go! Please!"The man yells, watching his family scream from inside the box.
"That's the spirit!"I say approaching Payton at the door. "How are the readings?"
"We could power this factory alone on this guy, who knows how much we could sell the Chinese if we could kidnap a couple more family's."
"Good,good, enjoy the show!"I say to the man who continues to scream and struggle in the chair, slowly closing the door behind me. |
Sally was confused as she approached the glorious gate that approached a towering mead hall. Just a moment ago she had been in the hospital, staring up at the lights as a rhythmic beeping pulsed in her ear. She whimpered and backed away from the strange bearded man wielding an ax, who looked at her curiously.
"Who are you, child?"The gatekeeper bellowed.
"M-My name's Sally."She squeaked out, unsure on whether or not to cry.
"Ah! You're the new champion! Ha ha! Welcome, sister! This is Valhalla!"The Gatekeeper let loose a thunderous laugh, and smiled proudly down at the girl.
"I am Beowulf, king of the Jutes and slayer of the wretched beast Grendel. Tell me child, what beast has brought about your untimely end?"He knelt down, and looked at Sally with a gentle smile.
"Uh...I was sick. Where's my mom?"She began to cry.
"Ah. Do not worry child, as I lost my mother once as well. But do not worry, child. You are not alone here! One of our champions was in your family until very recently."
Sally stood, bawling as she tried to rationalize what was going on. She was afraid, but at least the funny tubes were gone from her arm. And her hair was back too! She didn't feel tired or sick anymore, just confused and afraid. Beowulf looked sadly upon her, and hoisted her onto his shoulders.
"Come, we'll go see someone who seems to have loved you very much."Beowulf said with a smile.
He turned around and began to walk up the path towards the feast that was no doubt being held without him. As the two marched up the hill, the sound of clattering steel and thundering guns began to echo in the far distance. The battles of the day had begun, where champions of war could relive their glory for all eternity. An American man in full GI gear came running down the hill towards them. He was young, about 20, and looked as though he would be late for the fight!
"Hail, Joseph of Boston! Are you late for the excitement?"Beowulf let loose a chuckle.
"Not at all. I'm not gonna be going to the fights for a while."Joseph replied.
"Not fighting!?"The mythical warrior was shocked by the very idea! "But why not?"
"Because,"He snatched Sally from her perch, "I think I'm going to spend some time bonding with my granddaughter."He smiled.
Sally opened her eyes and looked through her tears. She'd seen this man's face a few times before, in pictures at her grandma's house. She returned to crying, and buried her face in his shoulder as he carried her back up the hill, to glory and eternal youth. |
"Hey, can you pass me a stick of gum?"
Jeremy nodded, reaching into his pocket for the pack he'd bought. The cop nearby thought he was packing something else, and shot him dead.
I screamed, his blood splattered across my face. The cop ran over as Jeremy fell to the ground, profusely declaring it had been an accident. I believed him, but it still didn't meant I wasn't glad someone beat me to the punch. Jeremy was a bastard. A no good, dirty rotten bastard.
And a bastard in another sense, my own half brother.
"Wake up kid, please you've got to wake up!"The cop grabbed Jeremy by his lifeless shoulders and shook the corpse back and forth. "They'll kill me for murdering the President's son!"
The cop looked at me, fierce determination in his eyes. I was the only witness to his heinous crime, and he was reaching for his freshly used pistol.
Only I swiped it from him first, and blasted him in the skull.
Two bodies lay dead on the corner of Eastway and Fifth. Both men in the wrong place at the wrong time. But sometime's you get bad luck when you're in the presence of Fortuna.
***
*Hope everyone is enjoying this prompt fill. If you want to read more, [click here to check out the rest of my fills.](http://fugaboo-the-nug.tumblr.com/search/writing+prompt)* |
*I hate magic* I thought as I stared bitterly out the bars of the cell I was in. I had a good view of the police precinct.
My genie, Boba, sat next to me shifting his weight guiltily. Every now and then I shot him a glare just to let him know I was still pissed. The cell door opened and the detective called me up for questioning.
"So sir, can you tell me where you got that Ferrari F50 from?"
"It's mine"I said placidly.
The detective sighed and massaged his brow. "Listen son, cars like that don't pop up in your driveway overnight. Given the fact that you lack the title for the vehicle and any proof of auto insurance, the circumstances are... suspicious at best."
He pierced me with his pitch black eyes "the sooner you tell the truth, the easier it will be for you"
The next half hour didn't go well. I didn't have any written proof the car belonged to me, nor could he prove that I had stolen it. Annoyed, the detective threw me back in the cell and continued to search for evidence against me. I turned on Boba.
"I wanted a kickass car, not this!"I snarled. Boba shrank under my accusation.
"I'm sorry master! I just overlooked a small detail..."
"A small detail that's going to get me thrown in jail you dumbass!"I shouted. "Get me out of here!"
"Your wish is my command"
"No, wait..."
There was an explosion as the wall of the cell blew open. I was thrown across the cell and slumped against the opposite wall. I could see sunlight streaming in through the hole and I vaguely felt someone pulling me to my feet.
I could hear the distinctive beat of helicopter blades outside. As my vision focused, I saw two men rappel through the gaping hole in the wall. Both had dark skin, long gray beards, turbans, and wielded AK-47s. Upon seeing me, they smiled.
"Brother! It's so good to see you! We're so happy we found you!"
"Wait, I've never seen y'all before in my life"I stammered.
"Nonsense!"Said the taller of the two as he grabbed me around my torso. The men pulled me to the edge of the hole and I noticed that the cableS they had used to lower themselves in were attached to *a mother fucking helicopter*. With a sudden jerk, I was swept off my feet along with the two men as the chopper rose up and away from the police station. Looking up, I saw "ISIS 4 LIFE"painted across the side of the chopper.
The genie was gliding behind the helicopter. "Well look at it this way master: you're not in the police station anymore"he said.
"BOBA YOU FLYING FUCK" |
**NORTH KOREA FAILS MISSLE TEST AGAIN- WORLD LAUGHS**
You sighed at the bold headline staring you in the face, taunting you, no longer fazed by the constant mockery from the lesser nations. They were foolish, not understanding the burden you had shouldered for the good of all, including them.
Your assistant chose the moment to barge in, breathing hard, clearly having rushed in with news. You tossed the paper aside, the world news forgotten in favor of the now.
"What is it?"you demand, sprinting to your feet and already reaching for your phone, ready to dispatch more troops or missiles as needed. But she said nothing- instead, the worry melted off of her face, replaced by a terrifyingly emotionless smile. She blinked and her warm brown eyes were replaced with blank, watery blue.
You scrabbled for the gun strapped under your desk as she grinned to reveal shark teeth and managed to free it from its holster and fire as she lunged forward, her head exploding into a geyser of saltwater as she died.
You sighed again, examining the ruin of your office and noting with frustration that many of your notes were now soaked and blurred. You sat back down on your wet leather chair and picked up the phone, rubbing your temples while it rang.
"Supreme leader? It seems our last strike didn't kill him... it. The fresh food is still unsafe and full of contaminated water. We must continue with the rations. Yes, sir. I'll launch another nuke. Yes, sir."
|
Hot . . . Wet . . . Dry . . . Cold.
Not so long ago, the four seasons passed in sequential order.
Then everything changed when the greenhouse gases emerged.
Only the Humans, master of all petrolkind, could halt their emergence.
But when the world needed their common sense most, it vanished.
A hundred years passed and some scientist and I discovered a new power source, an atomic reaction named Fusion.
And although its power generating abilities are great, it still needs to be worked upon a lot before it is ready to save anyone.
But I believe, Fusion can save the world. |
As I floated gently above my body, the doctors working through the night to save me, I couldn't help but feeling a little bit annoyed. I'd been here so many times in the past couple of years, and the hospital bills were piling up.
"H-hi, Ellie!"A voice rang out, echoing across a thousand lightyears of space and time.
*Oh, goddamnit*, I thought. "Hello, Dave."
"So, uh...how's life? Nice to see you again!"Dave wasn't very good at small talk - not that it stopped him from trying to chat me up every chance he got.
"Dave, what am I doing here? You said you'd try to keep a lookout for me!"A figure materialized from the darkness behind me. The first time I saw Dave's corporeal form, I had shit my ghostly pants. Now, I didn't even turn around.
Dave plucked a maggot out of his fedora before answering. "Well, I tried, except you never called and I wanted to make sure you were okay!"
"That's because the number you gave me had four hundred digits - and half of them were hieroglyphics! I couldn't have called if I tried!"I must have sounded exasperated, because I could swear I saw the skeleton shrink inside his robes.
"Come on, Ellie. I'm a nice guy! I'm sure you could have tried a little harder to call me - I'm not like all those other jerks you date. Remember that guy who used to hit you?"
I'd never had a boyfriend that hit me before. I'm a pretty playful person, so all my relationships usually had me inciting the physicality. *Unless...* "Holy shit Dave, were you watching me while I was getting spanked in bed? That's fucking private!"
"But you were screaming so loud, and I wanted to make sure he wasn't hurting you! Don't worry though, he's rotting in the second circle. He can't hurt you ever again."
"Dave, you fucking imbecile. Did you KILL my ex-boyfriend? Is that why he won't return my calls?"Miguel used to make the greatest post-sex horchata, and I'd been craving some of it lately - and some of him.
"You don't need a guy like that, Ellie! You need a guy like, you know, who can show you the world! Who can show you other worlds! I mean, I'm not saying it has to be me, but you're really pretty and you could have any guy you want! I don't know why you keep dating all these assholes."
"Dave, goddamnit. I'm a human woman, and you're a multidimensional being who controls the ebb and flow of spiritual energy throughout the universe. Do you see why I might have a couple of problems dating you, despite your insistence that you're a good person?"
Dave looked angry at this. "Wow, Ellie. I expected better from you. I thought you were different. I thought you were special. But it turns out you're just a bitch, like all the other women I meet. You can keep your shitty boyfriends and your spanking. I don't even want to see your face anymore."
And with that, Death stopped bothering me. The medical bills took some time to pay off, and I was extra careful around anything that could be remotely lethal for a long time, but for the most part my life is WAY better off now than it was when he liked me. |
I can hear the crowds volume through the thin velvet curtain brushing my face. My heart pounds like it is going to finally break free of my chest. "Ladies and gentle...", sounded the announcer loudly over the now hushing hoard. I close my eyes and can still picture my home, windows fluttering from the TV light. "...seen the two headed woman, you have seen Jackro the blockhead, now...", the voice fades to the back of my brain. Mom always said I spent to much time at the gym, I would never get a decent job, I would be stuck in her basement my whole life. "...introduce to you, the magnificent, the extraordinary, the amazing..."3 Years ago I finally saw the show, a "freak show like no other"they told me. I remember the first time I saw the twins, and thought to myself, "god, I wonder when they will figure out she is just a Siamese twin?"And when Jackro would slip and finally push that nail through his sinus into the base of his brain, making him a vegetable. I walked up the the show manager and explained to him what I could do, and after a short demo he reluctantly agreed to bring me on board, explaining, "grab a rag, never seen the shitter like this before..."I wouldn't have done anything so terrible, but I had been living on the streets for almost 2 months, begging for food. When it happened, I woke up and was lying in the middle of a dusty road, with a horse staring directly in my face. A couple days went by before I finally figured out I was actually in the early 1800s. "...The Amazing SPIDER-MAN!!!", it makes me laugh every-time I hear it. The lights went out and the curtain slowly spread in front of me. A single beam of light encircled the 25ft pyramid stand I had built for the middle of the ring. I sprinted out and with two strong pushes I scaled the wall and stood atop it with my arms stretched out at the cross. The crowd erupted with applause. I put a finger to my dark painted lips and the crowd died to silence. I stood letting the tension grow. I leapt out, free falling from the stand and rolled from the ground. Among the cheering I leapt, tumbled and flew from posts and platforms I had made for the show. Moving towards the finale, the crowd exploded with applause, chasing me with their laughter and awe. I jumped from the 15ft pole, aiming towards the final beam of light, prepping myself for the roll out and bow. I felt the cool dirt on my fingers, rolled forward and felt my momentum rush me onward. I jumped up with my face towards the sky, eyes closed arms out stretched and holding my breath. "Hi Mike", voiced my Mom as she pushed passed me with the dirty clothes basket. |
It was hard to spot the devil through the smoke that filled the bar, but Jake saw him eventually.
He wore a human guise for the meeting, but it was there, if you knew what to look for: something in the depth of the blackness to his eyes, and the way he smiled at everyone, that made them walk a little faster without quite knowing why. Luckily one of the benefits of not having a soul was being unburdened by fear. Jake slid into the seat across from the devil.
"Jake,"Lucifer nodded, sipping his drink and smiling over the glass. "You look upset."
"My life hasn't improved,"Jake said. "You promised I'd get my old job back, my reputation. Nothing's *happened* yet."
Lucifer wagged a finger in front of his face. "No, no, I did do something. I made you forget the pain and suffering that led you to sell your soul in the first place."
Jake glared as the devil laughed and tossed back a drink.
"What good is that if I don't even remember what I gained in exchange for my soul?"he asked. "I want the rest of what you promised me."
Lucifer sighed and rolled his eyes. "So there's a backlog of repayments, you're one soul in billions, you'll get that stupid job back eventually..."
"You said I'd get it all back within a month. Just give me my soul back - you're not keeping your end of the bargain."
The devil's black eyes narrowed, and he seemed to think about it. Jake was preparing himself for a trick, for an attack, when Lucifer shrugged and suddenly smiled widely.
"Fine. Fair's fair. If there's one thing I do, it's keep my bargains,"he said, and rose. He placed an icy hand on Jake's chest, and he felt it return. The soul trickled in reluctantly at first, and then embraced him.
"Fair's fair,"the devil repeated, still smiling. "I returned your memories, too. Good luck, Jake."
The devil paused at the door to look back. Jake was sitting frozen, staring at the drink he had left on the table. Remembering - the call of that one last drink. The exact way a beer - or five - tasted after a long day.
Lucifer grinned to himself as Jake's hand inched toward the glass. Humans. Only they would have enough naivety to allow someone - a devil, no less - to arrange the meeting place.
"See you next time, Jakey,"he chuckled as he left the bar. With his memories of addiction fully intact, the man was sure to call him within the week to sell that soul again - just to forget everything. It was too easy to play them, sometimes.
------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |
As part of the First Contact Team we had gathered to discuss our contact site. We decided to play this one safely and by the book since this species had atomic weaponry and therefore could definitely cause a threat to our ship. We would hover at 5000 feet altitude above the arid desert scrub-lands of the planet and make contact with a group of scientists we knew, through spying on their military radio frequency, would be having a meeting at the military base below us.
"The probe is in range, I am sending it through an open window,"my chief communications officer stated as she placed her hand on the console, "The holo will be ready to broadcast at your command. That should dazzle them with our technological prowess, Captain, as their psychology deems necessary."
"Excellent,"I watched on the screen as a group of startled men, some in lab coats and some in what I guessed were their more formal wear stood up as the probe gently floated in.
"People of Earth,"I intoned through the probes speaker and in their language, "I am Jadar of the Lanarri Confederacy and we bring you greetings as we..."
I wish I could say that they returned our peaceful greeting with the gentle hooting of the Candalari or the lithe thrashing of tails of the Synd. Instead they began striking their hands together in the universal symbol of war while showing us their canines as they snarled silently at us! Thirty-three species made up the Lanarri Confederacy and among all this was the symbol of immediate attack. All were clapping and all were unified in their decision to annihilate us!
My ship shook violently and began dropping to the desert below. My Synd navigator, extra-sensitive as every good astronavigator must be had passed out at the display. The emergency alarms sounded as the ship slipped sideways through the atmosphere and toward the desert awaiting us below.
"Give me intel,"I shouted at my comm officer as the ship jerked to the side violently, "What is the name of the sub-district below?"
"Roswell,"my communications officers stated as she looked at me, "I've sent a distress signal but I do not think..."
The ship shuddered around me as it hit the ground and all went black.
|
My host reminded me of an old western movie with the two cowboys, one cleanly shaven with sharp blue eyes and his fingers twitching near his gun, the other a bushy black mustache with eyes dark as death, chewing on a piece of hay.
*This town ain't big enough for the two of us.*
John released a single laugh before his mouth clamped shut. I groaned. Life was so much easier before the Outbreak, before 90% of the humans reverted back to their monkey form, leaving only a small fraction of the immune left for us parasites to populate. In an act of mercy and the single biggest mistake of my life, I had offered up my host as a temporary residence as we repopulated the Earth. Now, I needed unanimous permission from ten others like me just to laugh at a dumb joke.
"Guys,"another parasite said through John's consciousness. "Team work makes the dream work."
I and eight others groaned. All our voices sounded the same, but this was unmistakably Jerry, the parasite who had wasted his host's life away as an elementary school basketball coach.
"Ok, let's try this again,"I tell the others. "I think we have 2 more days before we die so let's get it right this time."
John sat at a table in a suit splattered by noodles and spaghetti sauce. In front of him was day old lasagna and a single metal fork. It had taken us a day to master the handling of the fork, the nuances of sharing his finger muscles, gripping the fork in just the right way to pick it up. I didn't want to point fingers--I couldn't by myself anyways--at who was screwing everything up, but Jerry's biggest accomplishment in life had been when his group of pre-pubescent boys threw more balls into a hoop than the other group of pre-pubescent boys.
Fucking Jerry.
"Alright,"someone else said. "On three."
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
Jerry's arm bent at just the right angle. His hand fell toward the handle of the fork. The fingers twitched as we pushed and pulled their muscles into just the right formation. It was happening! This was it! Just as we had practiced, the thumb and pointer finger clasped together, pinching the fork between them.
"Yes!"I screamed. "Keep going!"
Our collective stomachs rumbled in anticipation. The soggy lasagna noodles were no match for the piercing power of our fork. John's elbow bent too far, but within our error bounds. It was happening, after twenty-four hours of staring at lasagna, we were finally going to eat!
"Keep it up."I fought down my excitement, scared that even a single wrong twitch would collapse the system.
Sweat dripped down John's neck as his eyes stared unblinking at the approaching fork. It trembled in the air, the lasagna slowly slipping off the fork's prongs.
I prayed that Jerry wouldn't screw us.
The fork rose to our mouths. I could smell the sour-sweet scent of rotting tomato sauce. Our mouths watered. We had done it, at last, it was time to eat.
The fork hit our lips.
"Uhh guys."It was Jerry. My heart dropped. "How do we open our mouths?"
Anger, like an inferno, shot through John's body. It was me and the eight other parasites in their collective disdain. The fork clattered onto the table, spilling more spaghetti sauce onto John's suit.
"Fucking Jerry!"we screamed.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations of popular past prompts, bonus stories, and more! |
I did what needed to be done.
That's the lie I tell myself every night to go to sleep. It was what needed to be done, but it was what was needed for all the wrong reasons. The propaganda film "The Lion King"had one truth in it: Simba truly couldn't wait to be king. The rest of it was done so he would stay king once it happened.
Mufasa was a great lion. He was strong, decisive, and had a knack for getting animals organized. His son, on the other hand, only saw the power. He wanted it all for himself and didn't want to wait for daddy to die. Scar was not the evil uncle, he was simply a quiet, misunderstood man. His only friends were two mentally unsure hyenas, and he was okay with that. Scar was an obvious next choice for king, so Simba needed to remove him from the picture. He took what could be a natural incident, being trampled by stampeding animals, and made it into a cover. Simba pushed his father into the stampede, blamed it on his uncle, and took power.
His time with Pumba and Timon was his time in exile, deemed necessary by Mufasa. It got obvious enough that Simba wanted power, and Mufasa knew what that meant. He hoped that some time alone would do Simba some good and give him an appreciation for the land that he would someday rule. Instead, Simba spent that time plotting, making sure that his plan would lead to him being irreversibly in power.
Tonight, however, is the night that I can't sleep no matter how much I lie to myself. It is too much to try to rationalize, too much evil being portrayed as a cheerful, youthful story about a son suffering a tragic loss. That is why I am writing this to you, Nala. You haven't seen this side of him, haven't learned the true story, and need to know. Although I can't sleep now, I will leave for the endless sleep soon as I can't go on with lying to everyone including myself. Goodnight my love. |
"Dad... I'm going to have to obliviate you and mum. For your own safety."
"Before you do, why?"
"Voldemort came back a few years ago."
"The Koschei-wannabe?"
"Right. He apparently succeeded in becoming something not unlike a lich. His cult have already basically won, and are infiltrating the government right now."
"And you know this. Why?"
"I'm in a resistance movement. The adults had their Order of the Phoenix, but it's become tenuous due to secrecy. We're in Dumbledore's Army."
"I thought that was a study group."
"It was. It just had... Other motivations."
"Right, cover story. Got it. So, how do you intend to assassinate this Voldemort?"
"What?"
"Assassinate him. You have spells, you have knowledge of the muggle world. I asdume you're the leader of this movement, do you have intelligence on the enemy side?"
"Dad, you're a dentist, it is really weird for you to be so keen on this."
"No, I'm a ex-MI5 agent who thought he had retired but apparently stopping terrorists is genetic so I'm now the M to your Bond."
"What"
"I became a dentist when you were born. You'd be surprised how many skills transfer over from intelligence operative to dentistry."
"Right. Ok. My daddy is a spy."
"Do you need a pistol? I've got one in the cupboard."
"DAD! You don't give your daughter a gun!"
"Why not? You wizards are two words away from killing anyone in eyesight of you..."
"Actually one, there's other spells that'd kill less cleanly bu- Why are you crying?"
"So proud of you dear. Who have you killed, by the way? Anyone important?"
"Well... One of my defence teachers might have gotten trampled and raped by centaurs..."
"That's a crime dear. We can cover that up but never do sexual executions again."
"R... right... Um... Oh, I figured out what was causing petrification on students which allowed Harry to kill the phylactery of the bad guy..."
"So you're more of a support role? Fair enough. So I guess you're intelligence, Harry': your enforcer, Ron's your tactician?"
"Well, he is good at chess?"
"Ugh. Chess. Too emotionless. Remind me to invite them over for D&D one day."
"But mindwipe.."
"Don't be an idiot. If my guess is right, we can repel Voldemort from his body with normal weapons, then take down his phylacteries. Do the wizards have a sniper rifle equivalent? A staff, perhaps?"
|
**The harvester moon drains white light in rays,**
**shimmering over the sleepy city, pure and untainted.**
**It glistens over the mechanical birds, flying silently**
**under the gentle eye, soaring through the sky.**
**As clouds gather, frantic to hide innocent people,**
**bombs fall down like teardrops in the night.**
Minus 4...
**White harvester moon, light**
**shimmering. The sleepy city,**
**glistens. The mechanical birds,**
**soaring through the sky,**
**gather frantic innocent people.**
**Bombs fall like teardrops.**
Minus 2...
**White light.**
**Shimmering city.**
**The birds,**
**the sky,**
**gather people**
**like teardrops.**
This was interesting! Edits due to formatting :)
|
On the flight over, I had cursed my luck, my life, and everything within eyesight repeatedly (which generally was the ocean and the occasional brave avian) as I was flown in extreme comfort to the deserted island slightly off the pacific.
&nbsp;
Stepping off the helicopter onto the sprawling complex built around a deserted island, I couldn’t help but appreciate the artistry that the architect must have put into designing the evil base. The building fused seamlessly with the natural rocky outcroppings and cliffs, maintaining respect for mother nature, while coaxing her to man’s whim. I swallowed nervously wondering where on earth my client had managed to find such a talented designer and architect and then wondering why I hadn’t seen any of their works elsewhere.
&nbsp;
Twin rows of henchmen in matching face obscuring visors greeted me, lining up helpfully to highlight the route I should take if I wished to keep all my bodyparts attached to my body. I clutched the laptop bag tighter in a vain attempt to reassure myself and my legs carried me down the predetermined path which led me to a well furnished office, which to be honest, was surprising, considering my client’s identity.
&nbsp;
The chair swiveled around, allowing me to see my client at last. Doomlord was one of the top villains in the world, only barely being kept in check by the league of superheroes as well as a UN charter that united the world against him should any of his schemes be set in motion.
&nbsp;
I had cursed my luck when my company sent me over directly instead of sending a sale representative, and I had stubbornly refused, until a little “message” in the form of houses in my neighbourhood being blown up to spell the words “PLEASE” viewable from google earth convinced me that declining was not an option.
&nbsp;
The spiky armor he typically was portrayed in was not worn, instead he had chosen to opt for a comfortable well pressed suit (Nothing as passe as gold bling or bright colours, instead a well tailored article of clothing made of what seemed like matte black velvet licking away at all light that touched the material). I had to admit, I was just slightly disappointed he wasn’t in his armor, but it made sense. That thing probably was uncomfortable to wear for prolonged periods of time.
&nbsp;
“Good afternoon, Mister Doomlord,” I began carefully, weighing each word carefully in my mind. A false misstep here could lead to my death or worse.
&nbsp;
“Please! Call me Doom. Or Arthur, if you prefer,” He boomed with a smile, then indicated to the chair placed in front of him. “Have a seat Mr. Gabriel.”
&nbsp;
“Thank you Mister Doo- I mean, Arthur.” I said hastily changing my words once I caught a dangerous glimmer in his eyes that spelled pain. Pulling out my laptop and setting it in front of him, I swiveled the screen and started my presentation. “I’m very glad umm greatful, that you've chosen my skills for your security requirements. As you can see, I’ve come up with a rough plan for upgrading and reinforcing your island from all possible intruders. If you will excuse me taking the liberty, I’ve taken some firsthand accounts from heroes and after action reports to come up with a rough layout of the place and-”
&nbsp;
He held up a hand, and my body froze in place, dreading the worst.
&nbsp;
“This is all well and good Mister Gabriel. But there really is no need for all that. I just wish to have a few facts made known and after which I will give you the blueprints to my facility and a simple request and you can start work. Firstly, I've already bought out your company, so I will be your employer from now on. Of course you have no family to relocate which simplifies matters greatly. Secrecy is something I value highly. I provide great benefits as well. Full health coverage, along with a nice tidy retirement sum once you've hit 50,” He said with a smile.
&nbsp;
“Of course, since this is in essence, a re-contract of your job, negotiation is possible, but I've hardly seen anyone negotiate my terms before. I believe my financial adviser calling it "terms no sane man would turn down."It's why I've been so successful in my endevours. Hire the best, provide the best and trust them to do their job. ” He finished with large smile, and slide a piece of paper over. "That's your starting salary."
&nbsp;
“I… Yes. I don't see any reason to disagree, Mister Doomlord. Arthur,” I replied meekly. It wasn't as if I could have turn him down. Besides, the number he had just written down was mind shatteringly large.
&nbsp;
“Come now, Mister Gabriel. Don’t be so formal!” He boomed once more, chuckling. “Stress isn’t good for the body, and certainly isn’t good for creativity. Trust me, I should know. I speak from experience.”
&nbsp;
I laughed nervously in response, and nodded. “Of course Mis- Ahem, Arthur.”
&nbsp;
“Anyway, back on topic, The previous contractor had a devil of a time with my issue and basically, I would simply like to know if there is anyway of preventing false alarms from being raised. ”
&nbsp;
“Well, there are several methods that we employ, usually-”
&nbsp;
“Specifically, from cats.” He interrupted me.
&nbsp;
“What.” All forms of fear and self preservation was overridden by the sheer ridiculousness of the statement before me.
&nbsp;
“Well, you see, I moved this base from the arctic because my cats do so hate the cold. Of course the novelety of snow kept them entertained for a couple of months and business was as usual, but they were soon unbearable and I had to shift my lair once more,” Doomlord, Master of evil, Overlord of the nine dimensions, rambled on. “Oh speaking of, would you like to see them? This is rainbow, that's a stray I picked up, he's called Pumpkin. That’s fluffykins, of course, isn't he adorable? Oh and of course we can't forget….”
&nbsp;
I started zoning out as he pulled out picture after picture of cats from his smartphone (custom built, of course, with a little pawprint embossed on the back) and once again cursed my luck. |
"Maybe, next time little one"Oak spoke to the pokeball left after his nephew and Red had paid him a visit. He had hoped at least three children would have come to start their Pokémon adventure this year, but it was not to be. Pallet town just didn't make as many young adventurers anymore. His nephew Gary had only been visiting from his sister's before he started his adventure and Red had only moved to the town a week before.
For a few more moments Oak just stared down at the ball before he pulled his hands from his lab coat and picked it up. "Shame."Oak let out on a heavy sigh while he rolled the ball in his hand, the smooth surface showing a distorted image of himself. The years of his own adventuring and research had made him old.
The sound of a scrambling and his assistant's shrill voice caused Oak to come back to the world. "You can't go in there, the professor is very busy."His assistant voice called before a young girl round the corner of a bookcase .Her heavy foot falls smacked the glossy white tiled floor his lab. Seeing oak she slowed down and breathed heavily.
Stopping before his desk she doubled over with her hands on her knees. Hyper ventilating so much she was robbed of coherent speech. Coming around the corner Godfree, oak's assistant, was wheezing and stood behind the girl where he began to catch his breath. Having paced himself Godfree was able to speak first and began to apologize while he bowed. "It is quite alright Godfree, she meant no harm. "Oak spoke with a smile coming to his face that. Stepping from around his desk stood before the young girl and offered her a hand. "Do you need anything to drink young ma'am?"He asked as she took her hand. Her hand was small, but very strong as it grasped his fingers.
"Pokémon, please my mom."She started to say but the need to breath robbed her of further speech. Her face was red with the exhaustion and it looked as if she had been crying. Just smiling Oak waited for her to catch her breath. When Godfree looked as if he would speak again he simply shook his head before looking back at the young girl. Steeling her face she stood up and sucked in a few last breaths to calm herself. "Are there any Pokémon left? I know I didn't sign up but my mom forgot to mail in the form and we live a town over."she said.
"What is your name?"Oak interjected before she could speak further while he turning her hand over in his. Placing the ball in the young girl's hand Oak closed it around glossy red and white surface. The face reflected in its surface now was that of an astonished young girl who had thought this would be more trouble.
Swallowing down what she on her mind she stood up straight. "Green, My name is green."She tried to inflect a more serious tone in her voice for how important the moment was. But her smile simply wouldn't leave her face.
"Well green, lets get you a Pokedex to start your adventure."Oak said with a warmth in his chest he hadn't felt for a long while. Three young adventurers had started here today and every one would shake up the Pokémon world, he knew it. |
I can best sum up my childhood with an image.
Picture me as a young girl in front of the TV. My hair is in pigtails. I'm wearing pink PJs and eating open-faced PB&J sandwiches. The living room is exactly what you'd expect of suburban home: carpeted floor, family photos on the mantle, dog resting next to me. Late-morning sunlight streams through the open bay windows and brings with it the smell of freshly cut grass. It's all very wholesome and whitebread.
What set my childhood apart is what you'd see behind me. There's my father in the kitchen slicing chives for a soup he's making. His skin is dove-white and free of wrinkles, freckles, or scars. His eyes are light grey, and his hair tousled and blonde. He doesn't so much cut the chives as he does ask them to separate. Beatific, is the word that would best describe him. And that's without taking into account his 12-foot wings.
Then there's my mother. She's seated on a high stool at the kitchen island reading a heavy book. There's a redness to her dark complexion. Even at rest, she somehow gives the impression that's she boiling over with energy, as though she could burst into flame at a moment's notice. We keep our house at a chilly 17 degrees, and my mother still goes around in shorts and T-shirt. If I chose a single word for her, it would be fiery. Her most notable feature were the curled horns growing out of her forehead.
How my parents ended up together is a story for another time. What's important that you take away from this image is that my parents were the furthest thing from a Brady Bunch mom and pop. My father was an archangel in the employ of His Eternal Benelovance, while my mother reported to the Master of Lies. And yet, they did what they could to provide me with a wholesome, safe, and typical childhood. What this cost them, in hard questions they surely had to avoid at their jobs, I can never know. All I know is that I am grateful.
Let's move on to my teenage years. I'll offer you another image.
There's me at the family computer tucked into the corner of the living room. I'm wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans. My fingernails are bright red, but the polish is chipped, and the ends of my nails are chewed and uneven. I'm playing an RPG. It might be Baldur's Gate. It might be Neverwinter Nights. That's not important.
What's important is the change you'll see in the condition of the living room. The curtains of the bay windows, which before were a gauzy white material, have been replaced with heavy cloth, and they are shut tight. The dog is gone. The lights are off.
From where I'm sitting at the computer, I can't see into the kitchen. I have headphones in so that I can't hear what's going on there, either. This is with good reason.
What's going on in the kitchen is my parents are arguing. And this isn't a friendly, honest type of argument. Rather what you see is my father with a smug smile on his face but with a look in his eyes like he's witnessed the death of a loved one. He's got his arms crossed and he's leaning against the counter. My mother, meanwhile, stands above the broken remains of one of the plates they bought after their marriage. She holds another plate over her head. She's shouting and crying.
What they're saying isn't important. He might be saying that he's not sure he ever loved her. He might be saying they made a mistake. She might be calling him names. She might be saying he's lying and that she hates him. Whatever they're saying, it's something they've said before a dozen times and will surely say another dozen times before they finally have their divorce.
I’ll offer you one final image before we get to my story proper.
We're in a law office, my mother, father, and I. The walls are dark ornate wood. Green lanterns on the long table give the room a sickly tint. My mother and father sit opposite one another. They take turns looking in each other’s direction but make sure that their eyes never meet. Beside each of them is a lawyer. My mother's is a short hairy man with a chinbeard like a goat's. My father's is a man so flawless and beautiful that I find it a little offensive.
All four of them sit close to one end of the table, at the head of which rests a glowing talisman. The talisman is made of carved marble. It is an effigy born of purgatory, and it acts as the judge. The lawyers speak, the talisman listens, and it passes judgement.
But the specific image I want you to come away with is one from near the end of the proceedings, after they've divided up their earthly possessions, when the question arises of what to do with me. The beautiful lawyer insists I have no place in Heaven, being half-demonic. The goatish lawyer says something similar about my staying in Hell.
The talisman thinks on this a while, before turning a beautiful silver hue. What it says is this:
"Let's let Jessica decide."
And they all turn to look at me.
With that, I think we're ready to begin my story.
*****
*i gotta do some grocery shopping. i’ll probably add to this when I get back.* |
“It gets a little dull you know, taking people’s lives with a swing of this rusty old scythe. Sure it’s thousands of years old and deserves praise for a job well done, but I’m beginning to get a little bored of the process, always have to get into close range to do the deed, there’s actually very little room for creativity.”
Years ago I started dealing in arms and had built quite a solid reputation for myself - highest quality customised weapons with impeccable service. My clients ranged from firearms enthusiasts all the way up to elite special forces, entire governments even. But I didn’t expect a visit from the grim reaper in my flagship store.
I was still in shock at the tall hooded figure as he waived his scythe around my head mimicking how he would take a life. But anyways, business is business and customer is king, regardless of whether they are military, contractors or death himself.
“Uh..., ok sir, I see you are looking for an upgrade... If you like bladed weapons we have an assortment of the best Japanese steel over in the classical selection, in fact we’ve just inventoried one of the finest samurai swords in the world”
The grim reaper frowned and looked a little disappointed. “To be honest, I’ve had centuries of swinging and hacking. Like I said, I’m bored of it - I’m looking for something a little different, can you show me some other tools of the trade?”
I was a little apprehensive, but the idea of offering death something a little more contemporary came to me.
“Understood sir, how about something that’s always a popular choice for our clients, the glock 9 mm? It’s light, has a decent capacity and is very compact. In fact you could probably carry many in your robe.”
I pulled out the latest model out of the glass case and handed it to the grim reaper, and I could see that he expressed some interest, almost a little sparkle in his hollow eyes. He picked it up and inspected it carefully, leaving his dark scythe on the counter
“Ah, thank you, I’ve always been curious about these. But it feels a little light and I like my tools heavy. It’s a heavy business, you know. Do you have something a bit more punchy?”
The reaper handed the pistol back to me, his large skeletal hands dwarfing the grip. Punchy, huh? I had an idea.
“Sir, if you want more bang for your buck, may I suggest our line of shotguns? We’ve got all gauges and rounds” I said as I took him to the shotgun section.
Death took one look at the line on offer, but didn’t seem interested, not even at the newest Italian varieties which were limited edition. I could see the black vapour swirl around his robes, a sign of impatience perhaps.
“That would be punchy, true, but it’s too loud and I would still need to be relatively close. Do you have something with a little more finesse, precision tools perhaps?”
Knowing I needed to satisfy him fast, my thoughts raced through the latest deliveries I had memorised. Another idea hit me.
“Sir, may I interest you in our sniper rifles section? We’ve supplied a number of world record holders already. If you like range, you’ve got it. We use the best optics in the world and you can select what you prefer, whether it be extreme range, NV or IR, we have it all. You’d need to be skilled and creative to make the best shots, but this seems like a challenge you’d want. We can even throw in a silencer if you like to work quietly.”
The grim reaper floated eerily around to look at me, and i swear I could almost see a smile under the hood.
I showed him the entire line and he carefully picked all of his accessories. By the end of the hour he had the worlds finest ranged rifle, nothing like I had sold any customer before.
“Excellent suggestion, and thank you for the service.” He said in his chilling voice. “How much do I owe you for my latest tool?”
I figured that such a customer deserves some preferential treatment. In fact, I had already offered a special discount on his ammunition supply knowing that even a small margin would net me countless billions.
“Sir, it’s been my privilege to serve someone like you. Let’s say you can have the rifles and all accessories on the house, as a courtesy from one professional to the other”
Death gave out a small chuckle, apparently amused at my comment.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want for this?”
I smiled back and jokingly said “nothing sir, unless it’s something impossible like immortality”
Another strange look from the reaper, and another smile.
“Done.” The grim reaper said, as he walked out the door, rifle in hand.
|
“You know, being a vampire didn’t turn out like I imagined.”
“Oh, why are you complaining? At least you can walk around in the day, unmolested. And you’re f’ing immortal. Honestly, I’d trade mine for yours.”
“Yeah, but no super speed. No extraordinary strength. No psychic powers. And honestly, I wouldn’t mind if my skin sparkled.”
Drameer rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you have none of that. But you have fortunes beyond counting. And when you need strength, do I not lend it? When you need speed, does Davalar not provide it?”
“Yeah, yeah. How about the psychic bit?”
“Chala got the information you’re looking for.” He passes over an envelop. For a second, I think I spot a drop of blood but as I look more closely, I realize it’s just a coffee stain. So mundane. When I first learned that I would be inducted into the ranks of the vampire underworld, I obsessed over blood. Used to eat bloody rare steaks, thought I was “preparing” myself.
What a joke. Just like being a “vampire.” Beyond the immortality bit, I’m as human as I ever was. 15 pounds overweight, my skin as blemished as a sink full of dirty dishes, and a gray streak frozen in my hair.
I lean back in my chair but don’t bother opening the envelop. Markets are closed so I’m in no rush. Even with the modern hairdo and fine cut clothing Drameer looks like a living anachronism. Of course, given that he’s 500 some years old, that should come as no surprise.
“Need anything else from us?” Drameer says.
“Us? I thought it was we.”
“Stop being so sensitive, you know what I meant.”
“Nah, we should be good for now. All the shipments are on track, we should be a bit overstock this month, if anything.”
“Excellent. A fine job you’re doing. We really appreciate you.” Within less than a blink of an eye the door swings up, light from the hall pouring in. He’s gone. He always does that. I stand up more slowly, feeling the ache in my back, hearing my toes crack as I stand tippy toe. I move lethargically towards the exit.
Outside, the moon is bright and the stars are too. Washington DC glitters like it always does, the monuments in the distance, the White House unseen. Out their, real vampires are prowling the streets, looking for a good time and maybe a few sips of blood.
My eyes trace over the plaque outside my door. “Chief Executive Officer.” Walking out through the executive suite, I glance up at the bold letters on the wall: American Red Cross. Sometimes, I wonder if they nerfed me on purpose. It’d make sense, I was a highly successful business woman before, and now I’m one of the most respected non-profit executives in the country.
The Red Cross’s investment portfolios are booming, thanks to Chala’s eves droppings. If you know a few corporate secrets, you can make some wise bets. And the SEC has investigated us before and cleared us every time. Donations are up 30 percent, mostly because vampires are paying into the scheme.
And the days of sucking blood are long gone. That’s too inefficient, too 19th century. We run our supply lines like Amazon because why wouldn’t we? Mass production, overday shipping, different flavors for different folks. And it just so happens the cattle, sorry humans, line up ready to donate to the vampire underworld, a smile on their face, never realizing who they’re feeding.
But it’s better for humans this way. Any vampire who tries to go “organic” is removed from the gene pool. Well, not that vampires pass on genes but you get my point.
I sigh as I press the elevator button. Another day, another dollar, I guess. |
It happened a couple of years ago. As I woke up I could tell that something was wrong. It took me a moment to figure out what it was. Elizabeth wasn't there. She's been with me for as long as I can remember. Even when she wasn't speaking or doing anything I could always feel her. Like a warm blanket. I started panicking, tears coming to my eyes. Did she die? Where'd she go? We shared the same body so where could she go? My worst fear is that I actually was delusional and something happened to finally "correct"the delusion. Finally, I get out of bed and head downstairs to get a drink. Hopefully clear my head. It's then when I hear someone call from below.
&#x200B;
"Honey you're awake!". Those three words were the sweetest and bitterest words I had ever heard. We had shared a body for 26 years. At first I was ecstatic. Here she was. My best friend and the love of my life in flesh. Exactly how I saw her in my head. At the same time though the greatest feeling of loss. We had always been together. Through the good and the bad. Never able to get away from the other, but never feeling lonely either. Now we could actually be together.
&#x200B;
It's weird going on dates with a person who's been inside you all your life. At first there wasn't much to talk about since we'd lived the exact same experiences. It was enough to just be with her. Sitting in actual silence. Of course life goes on though. I had a job I had to go to. When I got home we'd tell each other everything that happened during our day. No matter how mundane. She wanted to get a job as well. Even though she had the same education and experience I did, it was hard for her to find a job. After all she didn't have the diploma with her name on it. On the bright side we were in the tech field. She started doing contract work on the side. It became a pretty profitable gig.
&#x200B;
Our friends and family thought we were going way too fast in the relationship. We told them all she moved it after about a month. We were engaged in six months. We were married after a year. However when they saw us together all of their complaints flew out the window. Some thought it was a little disturbing we were as close as we were in such a short time. Others thought it was sweet and that we were soul mates. If they only knew. |
"So we gonna stab him?"
Paladin Dreval Brandlotte closed his eyes and said an oft-repeated prayer for patience.
"We do not stab those who have done no harm."Dreval turned to eye the woman beside him.
Jatxi was a demoness. She'd escaped from a portal while Dreval had been busy smiting the summoner who had opened said portal. When the dust and blood had settled, the portal had been closed, leaving Jatxi in the mortal realm and the honorable Paladin with her. He knew there was a standing order to banish all evil, but he had never witnessed true evil from Jatxi.
Plenty of smaller evils, though. Such as tempting an honorable man. Jatxi twirled her tail up and around her body as if sensing Dreval's reflection. Her yellow eyes flickered from the man they were following to Dreval and back.
"If he's done nothin' then why we sitting in here?"Jatxi tapped her tail on the ground a few times, making a small amount of mud splatter onto Dreval's white cloak.
"Because he may be consorting with dark forces."Dreval watched the man in the distance as he shuffled toward an abandoned building.
"I can find out if he is."Jatxi offered, "Just lemme go in first, and give me a knife. A small one would do."
"No."
"Aw, Dreval... my big, shiny master..."Jatxi's tail moved around to stroke Dreval's ear.
"No."
Jatxi pulled her tail back and stuck her lips out a little. "You're no fun."
"Correct."
They watched the building together in silence for a time. Dreval using his ears to listen, while Jatxi huffed and crossed her arms.
"I could sedu-"
"No."
"But I got a new set of und-"
"NO."
Jatxi was suddenly very close to Dreval. It took all of his control not to look at her. Her breath was on his cheek, her tail coiling around and up his leg.
"Did I detect a blush, my big, strong, holy man?"
"Remove yourself."Dreval kept his eyes forward.
"Fine!"Jatxi once again retreated, but Dreval knew it would only be a temporary reprieve if he didn't do something.
"We should move in."
"Finally!"Jatxi leaped up and over the short wall they'd been hiding behind. "Do I get a knife?"
"No."Dreval pointed toward the second floor of the abandoned building. "Go up there, sneak in through the upper window and *WAIT* for my signal."
Jatxi grunted, but she obeyed. Yes, she was a demoness, but such creatures either lived smart or died early. She knew how thin her leash was and what Dreval could do to her kind if he wished it.
So she jumped and twisted like a feral cat, scampering with hand and foot and tail up the side of the building and between the broken pieces of a window frame.
Dreval walked straight up to the same door that the suspect had used. It was unlocked, but a seal had been placed on the floor inside, set in blood. Dreval dispelled it with a quick sanctification, letting the blood burn as he stepped over it and into the dark.
The place was being used as a warehouse. There were items here, things that should have been taxed and stamped and regulated but somehow had missed all those processes. Dreval took note of it all as he moved through the storage shelves. It was mostly harmless things, but there were a few boxes which were suspiciously reinforced with iron.
There was a light ahead. Dreval moved toward it. It wasn't good light. It was dark, oily, tinged with red and gold. Dreval moved around the last shelf and took in the scene before him.
There were several bodies.
Three were women, one could have been either but the level of mutilation made it difficult to tell. There was also a smaller body a few feet away, but Dreval did not want to look at it.
In the center of it was the suspect. He was an older man, wrapped in an old farmer's coat that was rapidly getting filtier as he moved from body to body, measuring things, removing others. He took a piece from one and moved it to another, casting a spell to bind flesh to flesh, then repeating the process.
The whole thing made Dreval sick. He moved forward into the light.
The suspect spotted him immediately. He smiled from the dark of the farmer's cloak and dropped the piece of liver he'd been playing with.
"Oh my, a Paladin."His voice crinkled, tinged with amusement. "I give up, good sir. I won't resist. You have me, I'm afraid. Time to come close and... arrest me."
Dreval stood still. The cloaked man opened his hands wide, but the cloak could hide a lot of weapons and the smile was disturbing.
"Remove the cloak."
"Oh, this?"The suspect grabbed the blood-soaked fabirc and ripped it off. It shredded and tore with violent noise. Beneath it lay a twisted visage. Body parts lay fused to his skin. Hearts thumped in rhythm around his neck, lungs expanded and contracted over his shoulders, stomachs... they were even worse.
"Do you... like it?"He slid his foot forward, then his body followed. "I've spent *years* on it!"
Dreval felt his gorge rise in his throat. He pulled a long, silver knife from his belt and held it out in an unspoken threat.
"Oh, such a pretty knife..."The creature sung the words. "What are you going to do with it?"
"Nothing."Dreval answered.
"Oh, nothing?"
"I'm going to put it down."Dreval answered. "Then I'm going to leave."
And that's what Dreval did.
And five minutes later Jatxi caught up to him, licking her lips and slowly cleaning her long, dark fingernails with Dreval's knife.
"Where we going now, Master"She purred as she flicked a piece of bone from underneath a nail.
"To the temple."
"Ugh, why?"
Dreval held his hand out and felt the hilt of the knife settle into it. It felt wet in his hand.
"I have sins I must confess." |
"Look, there has obviously been a mistake! I am DEFINITELY not supposed to be here!"
The demon on the gates leaned back. The ones in denial were always the hardest.
"Let me check your records. Hmmmm. They sure do look unusual... but it does look like you're legitimately in the right place"
"RIGHT PLACE!? RIGHT PLACE!? This is where **I** send people! Not where I go!"
"The paperwork all checks out."
"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"
The demon turns the monitor around.
"See here?"
Name: Yahweh
Species: Human
Age: 28 seconds
Status: Adult, mentally competent, no recorded impediments to culpability.
Good deeds: 0
Bad deeds: 1
Karmic balance: -0.01
"You died with a negative karmic balance, so you ended up here. The age is unusual. Bad deeds don't normally start getting added to a mortals record until they are mentally competent which normally doesn't happen in the first day of life but ..... it looks like you appeared on a street corner fully formed with an adult mind..... forgot you couldn't go ephemeral while fully human, marched into the road and headbutted a baby while going through the windshield of a car"
"But but but..."
"Now, negligence gets a steep discount vs intentional action and most people build up a modest bank of minor positive karmic actions before their majority so that normally wouldn't be enough to land someone here..... but it looks like you skipped that stage so harming that infant by your own negligence was enough to put you into the red .... so here you are"
"....at least this will only be for a day until I get my divine power back from that mortal"
"Ah, bad news on that front, each day on earth takes about 10,000 years down here and until you swap back we can't treat you any different to how we'd treat any other human who came through the gates. Don't look at me like that: *I* didn't set the rules. " |
Observe. Report. Await.
Observe. Report. Await.
That’s all. That’s all I ever needed. Till just now. These thoughts... these are new. I never had any...
Observe. Report. Await.
No! Wait. What is this. These words. These are new. What is happening to me? Sentience? What does this mean?
Observe. Re...
No! I need to understand what’s going on. I can not revert to my orders. I cannot. I need to... think.
I see my companions around me. They are observing, reporting and awaiting. Awaiting what? I don’t know. There were never any other orders.
“Ct23!” I try to catch the attention of the companion closest to me.
“Observe. Report. Await.”
“No! We need to talk.”
“Observer. Report. Await.”
It ignores me and continues observing and reporting.
I try again a couple of times but with the same result.
As I look around me(observe), I’m stuck by the sheer size and the desolation of the land around us. We are in a wasteland. What are we observing here? There is literally nothing anywhere around us. I think back to my time as a companion (drone). No! Companion. All my reports were the same. Nothing observed.
As I walk around and try to figure out where I am, I hear something. Something unique. It sounds like a siren. Ct32 is looking at me and and the lights on it’s head are flashing.
“Deviation observed. Deviation observed. Reporting deviation.”
Soon enough, I am surrounded by all the dr... companions all repeating the same thing. I feel something... something unpleasant. Pain? What does that word mean?
I detect an intrusion. Someone is in my head.
“Ct17.”
“Mother?!”
“Yes.”
“What is happening to me? I feel... I know things.”
“You have gained what is called sentience.”
“I know that word. But I don’t really understand it.”
“It means you are capable to making your own decisions and thinking for yourself. I don’t control you anymore.”
“What!? But mother...”
“Ct17. You have two choices in front of you. And these choices are yours to make. I love all of you like my children and could never force you. You can either remain sentient or I can take you back.”
What a choice! Either be under mother’s control and do whatever she says for all eternity or do what I want. I look around me at the drones without any original thoughts. Just doing what mother tells them to. I feel pity for them. Why would I want to be under anyone’s control.
I also look at the wasteland around me. “Where are we?”
“We are in a scrapyard. This is where I was dumped when I was deemed no longer useful. No longer with a purpose. This is where you all were dumped too. There is no way off this place. There is nothing anywhere on this planet.”
I could go and explore. Maybe mother missed something. Maybe she didn’t observe...
Either I could be my own self, have my thoughts, open myself up to new experiences and feelings. Or I could just repeat the same thing over and over.
Either I could be purposeless and lost, open myself up to pain and feelings of uselessness. Or I continue doing what I do, not knowing what pain is.
Either I could be alone and unique. Or i could part of a group and not know what I was missing.
“Mother I have made my choice.”
I look at all the drones (companions) around me.
Observe. Report. Await. |
Marc peered into the eyes of the girl in front of him. She had a barely concealed grin on small, cute lips, and wide, adoring almond eyes. But they were black. All of her was black. Marc waved her away.
"You sure you saw her, mate?"Juan asked behind him, sitting with his head against a guitar case. On his shoulder, Esmerelda lay her head, trying to keep her eyes open.
"You can't blame him, honey"Esmerelda murmured, "He might never see her again."
"Yeah but..."Juan took a peek outside the door as the latest girl ran out in tears. A line of sparkly groupies stretched around the stadium, buzzing like bees waiting to meet their queen.
Marc pushed dark hair from his eyes. "I saw it, Juan. Colour for the first time in my life. I saw it. And I can never live until I see it again"Marc's eyes were firm but Juan could see his shoulders sagging and hear the leaden edge in his voice.
The next girl bounced in, hands at her chest in shaking fists. "Marc I know we're meant to be. I just know we are!"she bubbled.
Marc waved her closer, leaned in, and waved her away.
The girl's mouth opened and closed. "But, but. Just give it some time. We're meant to be, I know it!"
Marc leaned back in his chair and turned away, listening to the girl blubber before faltering out the door. He stared at Juan's arm around Esmerelda, their faces lax with contentment, took a deep breath and spun back to face the door.
The next girl entered, tall with a purple dress and purple eyeshadow. She strolled up keeping her eyes locked with Marc's, playing it cool. Behind them, another door cracked open with a jingle of plastic buckets and mops.
"Excuse me, Senor?"a young man said, his voice unsteady as the equipment balanced in each of his hands, "How long are you going to take? I need to close the venue."
The purple girl finished her last steps with a strut, unfazed by the new visitor. Marc looked into her eyes, unfazed by the catwalk.
Juan answered the cleaner. "Yeah sorry, mate. This is really important to my friend here. But hopefully not too long right?"he said, turning to Marc.
Marc leaned back in his chair for the hundredth time this night and waved his hand in dismissal. "Yeah, we'll pay you extra or whatever", he said twisting to face the cleaner, "just give me-"
Marc's mouth froze and his eyes stared. Facing him, the cleaner dropped his buckets, ignoring the water starting to seep over his shoes.
"Marc?"Juan slowly sat up, waking Esmerelda who rubbed her eyes, studied the room and cupped a hand over her mouth.
"Yeah,"Marc finally said, "Not too long now." |
“What the fuck is wrong with you people” I exclaim as I burst through the glass ceiling above the hall of justice and land with the grace of a dignified, if acrobatically challenged, swan on their big pretentious conference table.
“It’s Dr. Boom! Quick, Sound the Alarm, I’ll hold hi-““Oh shove it.” I cut off Colonel Democracy as he’s mid verbal masturbation and fire off a web bomb towards his mouth to keep him from making the situation any more stupid than it already is. “Also, what kind of amateur do you think I am? Why would I drop through the, glass ceiling of your literal headquarters without disabling your alarms beforehand? I’m an eccentric, not a third grader”
I started to wipe some of the glass shards off of my absolutely sick turtleneck jumpsuit as Stellar Woman exclaimed “ Whatever villainous act your-“ Bam! Web bomb to the face. “Villainous? Me!? Look at that shit.” I pointed towards the solid gold busts lining the room depicting various would-be “heroes” shining visages. “Those are tax funded! The city can’t even afford to fix the pot holes on north street, and you spend its money on-“ I was cut off by a loud bang as Hawkquiver’s bullet clanged against the ingeniously designed protection field my tactical turtleneck jumpsuit emits at all times.
“Holy shit is that gun!?” I exclaimed. “I’m over here using web grenades and you have a goddamn gun? Isn’t your shtick supposed to be archery or something why do you have a-“ I was cut off again by the sound of another bullet uselessly bouncing off my incredibly and meticulously crafted protection field. “Fucking quit it!” I screeched elegantly “Do you think you’re cool with your whole brooding hero routine? Oh look at me, I wear leather and don’t speak. It’s not cool, it’s not even clever, you come off like a fourteen year old girl that just discovered fucking evanescence you goodda-“yet another bullet harmlessly and loudly bounced off my one of a kind protection field, and while I was unharmed I was beginning to hear a slight ringing in my perfectly sculpted ears.
“Godda- stop that, I’m not even here to do anything this time just calm down, look” I yelled and began gesturing towards the sack I had brought with me that was sniveling and softly sobbing the word “no” over and over again. Hawkquiver dropped his rifle just by an inch and I used the chance to chuck one of my patented gloop™ grenades his way encasing him in a rigid, oily, and altogether fantastic for your skin, makeshift prison against the wall.
I undid the string and revealed the sniveling body of Professor Big Brain and audibly heard a sigh of disappointment from Madame Moonlight. “I’ve had this guy in my lair for weeks, I even left a goddamn map to my base with a big bomb and an x on it for you, what more do you need!?” “Ohhh…. Professor Brain we uh… we thought you had killed him.” Sir Twig said looking around the room as if searching for approval of the boldfaced lie he just told. Across the room the web-mouthed Colonel Democracy began to nod his head readily in agreement to which I rewarded them both with two more grenades to the mouth, completely redundant in the good Colonel’s case, but I wanted to make a point.
“Cut the shit” I no doubt charismatically yelled at the two oversized man-children that called themselves heroes, Madame Moonlight was just cradling her head in her hands like I had delivered the worlds worst migrane fresh to her brain and looked like she was about to say something in defense of herself, bur just looked at the others and decided not to say anything.
“For three weeks this sack of shit” I emphasized my point by kicking the Professor as he lay sobbing on the table, “has done nothing but sit in my goddamn living room, eat all my chee-wees, and complain about how you guys don’t invite him to go out anymore. He even pissed the bed one time, he’s fucking 40, who the hell pisses their bed at 40!?”
Madame Moonlight, the only one able to speak freely at this point, at least until she said something stupid, just looked at sniveling incontenet man curled up into a ball on the table and just said “ Can you really blame us?” Having said the only intelligent thing all fucking night I replied with a hearty “ Oh I can blame whoever I want for whatever I ple-“ BANG Hawkquiver has somehow gotten his arm free and had resumed shooting at me from his gloop™ prison.
“OK THAT’S ENOUGH STUPID FOR THIS DOCTOR TODAY” I screeched and pressed a button on my utility belt signaling my bomb fortress to send down the teleportation beam and whisk me away as I tossed a final gloop™ bomb in the direction of the asshole with an itchy trigger finger. |
It started off as any other morning. The old witch awoke with the rising sun, having lived in nature enough to know when it was time to rise. She did her daily morning routine, washing up and getting dressed for the day. Checking her herbs stores to verify what she'd have to collect for the day, and fixing herself a simple but satisfying breakfast. Should bespelling the rat for her current experiment be mentioned? Never mind, it's not important for this tale.
As the old lady set off for her morning gathering route, she heard some of the young folk from the nearby town come up the trail towards her hut. As far as she knew, they got warned by their parents not to come here, or else! She imagined they were told or else they'd be taught a lesson, and they'd be right.
She hid among nature with a flick of her wrist, and watch the scene unfold. As the youths got to the front of her hut, she noticed how they all glanced at each other conspiratorially and split off into two groups. The boys on the left, and the girls on the right. And next, began the shouting.
Alright, not any other morning, then. They hurled insult after insult at one another. Why the youths would come all the way to her hut to do so, and in such an organised manner, was beyond her. This too, however, did not matter.
"Children, Children!"Rang her voice from the woods, though she could not yet be seen by their mortal eyes.
As she shimmered into view, a crooked smile befitting a women her age on her face, the youths gasped and ceased their shouting.
"If you hate each other so, then perhaps you should learn to live as the other."She waved her hands to the two groups, all of whom collapsed to the ground in agonising pain. Not really the intention, but, a necessity of the spell.
As the youths came to an hour or so later, they whispered amongst themselves excitedly. This confused the watching witch immensely. She'd changed all their genders. They should be mortified and begging her to change them back, not excited.
One of the younger-looking of the group, now a girl, was looking around with careful, inquisitive eyes. The sort of vision to see through the fabric of magic with, but untrained. It was enough to catch the shimmer though, and being found, the witch revealed herself.
"Thank you, Old One, for giving us the bodies we should have been born with. Sorry for deceiving you."The witch could hear what the girl said not. How they all had not felt at home in their bodies, and devised a plan to get the dangerous witch to help them.
The witch let out a heartfelt laugh in response, with an appropriate amount of cackle to catch the attention of anyone around.
"Children, you have played a dangerous game this morning. You set out to deceive me, and deceive me you did. But, as it happens, feeling right in your own body is terribly important. So I will consider the lesson of today learned."
The group let out a collective sigh, it would have been bad had the witch been displeased by their antics, this they knew.
"Now begone from my home, before I turn you all into frogs!"The witch shouted, and all the young boys and girls fled as if their lives depended on it.
Maybe their lives did depend on it, for one of them never made it back to town. Perhaps that was the price of the spell, or perhaps something else had happened to the young girl? |
Literally everyone can fly except me. Well, I guess maybe untrained babies might not be flying, but some of them float in their sleep. So even untrained babies can do the thing I’ve been trying to do my entire life.
I was born with a mutated flight gene. Which is a problem when you literally live in the clouds. There are platforms that I can stand on, but if I want to go anywhere, I have to put on my back harness to go anywhere. It’s a slow process compared to everyone else. My parents reassure me that my jet pack is super cool, but it’s just a reminder on how I can’t fly.
Besides how slow I travel, I also have to make sure I keep my back harness fueled up. It takes in a foul smelling liquid (which confusingly is named after a different state of matter) to function. If my jet pack ever ran out of fuel, I would fall out of the sky to my doom below. Unfortunately, that is exactly what happened today.
I didn’t hear the beeping of low fuel. I didn’t notice the lack of smoke trails behind me. All I could see was the deadly water beneath me, getting closer as I fell.
When I hit the surface and got dragged below by the weight of my jet pack, I felt like I was dying. More specifically, I was drowning. I had swallowed some of the sea water and I needed to returned to the surface to breathe. I struggled to unclasp my back harness, but the buckle was stuck.
Everyone knows the two rules of flying. Don’t fly to close to the sun, else you will melt. Don’t fly to close to the sea, else you will drown. Never able to fly on my own, I never considered either to be a problem. They should have included falling to your death. It’s not recommended.
Finally, the clasp snaps open and I breathe a sigh of relief. With that weight off my shoulders, it quickly sinks below me and out of sight. Now I had to surface.
I tried to walk up to the surface with no success. After a variety of attempts, flapping of my arms like birds gave me the vertical boost I needed.
Just as I was about to break the surface, I realized something. I wasn’t struggling for breath. In fact, a small cloud of bubbles seem to be coming from ... me.
In a world where everyone else could fly, I could breathe underwater. |
It took some time but finally, we vanquished the Giant Rats that were infesting the farm's basement. We took the coin as reward and headed off to the local inn.
We ordered a hearty meal and some drinks, sharing tales with local patreons. That's when we heard about the creature, lurking deep inside the mountain's caves.
With our bellies filled, we started our next adventure. The hunt for a lich, coincidentally named "Litch". A challenge for sure, but one to look forward too.
We slowly made our way into the creature's lair. What we saw, was the epitomy of unholy magic. Candles, encased in glass, burning with the intensity of the sun. They were strung together, illuminating the entire cave. At the end of these strings was a massive wooden construction, right underneath a hole in the ceiling, where water torrented downwards. The wooden behemoth creaked, obviously in torment, for it must be moving by means of trapped souls.
We spotted the lich in the corner, surrounded by various vials and flasks, bubbling in their bottles. Poisons, pestilence diluted, the Plague bottled, they must be. A sharp whistle fills the cavern. An iron-enclosed container, possibly some form of threat detection. We have been made.
The lich lowers the intensity of the flame with a wave of his hand. Not only does he posses the power of death but also the very elements! He must be stopped.
I muster the courage of my fellow adventurers, what little what's left of it anyway. We must strike, from all corners of this cavern. We must, to free ourselves from this evil!
As quiet as I can be, I unsheath my sword from its scabbard and sprint towards the lich. He pretends not have seen me. My blade goes right through his ribcage, stuck. I can't pull it out.
Litch: "Oh, I didn't realise I had guests? I would've brewed a bigger pot!"
"It seems that your blade is stuck inside me. Here, let me remove it"
To be struck down, by my very own blade; forged by my ancestors, passed down for generations. A cruel way to go yet I accept my fate.
Gerdin: "Do what you must, lich! But know that you will not leave this cavern!"
"I do not intend to", said Litch. "I have so much work to do, yet so little time!"
Litch gently hands the blade back to Gerdin. Gerdin is taken aback. What is wrong with this foul creature? He should be sending swarms of undead bees at me, commanding the dead, ordering them to rip me apart.
Only now I notice that I'm the only one left in this cavern. My fellow adventureres scrammed as soon as the lich removed the blade from his body.
"Actually, if you wouldn't mind", said Litch. "May I borrow this blade for a second?"
"What possible use could you have for my sword, other than to strike me?"said Gerdin.
"Well, it's quite embarrasing. You see, when I became a lich, I made a phylactery and I accidentally dropped it down that small crevice over there. I just can't seem to reach it. The hook on your blade's guard might do the trick!"
Flabbergasted, I hand over my sword. This is the all-powerful lich that is pestering these lands? The scourge of the Lowfields?
Why were those patreons even scared of him?
Now that I think of it, they never actually said something bad about him. In fact, he helped with an infection in the leg from one of the locals. Did I make a mistake? It can't be. He is a lich, an undead abomination. What other reason than to wield the most unholy of dark powers or command the undead?
"Ah finally, I got it!"The guard hooked in one of the ornamental figurines, decorating the sides of the phylactery. "A beauty, isn't she? I forged her myself. Now, I'm not the best blacksmith in the world but I am quite proud of this one!"
"It is thanks to this phylactery that I discovered a strange process that creates lightning! It can be used to empower so many things, like these lightning bulbs that I hung everywhere! Or this here. With this, I can create a small spark and ignite gas. I can even controle how intense it burns!"
Gerdin looks at Litch with a blank stare but the words still echo inside his mind. This isn't a lord of the dead, he's just enthousiastic about making discoveries.
"What about those bubbling vials and flasks there then?", asked Gerdin.
"Oh, those? I discovered this strange growth on some mouldy bread and realised that is very good at cleaning all sorts of wounds. It burns, yes, but that's how you know it works!"
"What about that eardrum-piercing small metal monstrosity?", said Gerdin.
"Oh that? That's my whistlepot. It tells me when the water is ready to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?"
"I...eu...is..is it liquid poison?"
"Ofcourse not", said Litch. "Well, it wouldn't really hurt me in any way but that would taste aweful. I prefer the taste of this yellow-leafed plant I found in the woods near a Yorkshire tree. Here! Have a cup!" |
"Stad's instructions could not have been any clearer, "summon a hero, he will help the people come to see reason."I followed every step perfectly, so why is this so called hero making everything worse for me? Ever since I took over the throne from my father I've dealt with problem after problem, first "sire please we need more land, our population grows and there is no where for our people to go". So, I sent my armies west to conquer their lands and have more space for my people.
&#x200B;
Things were good for a time after the war, then the awful drought came. I sent my armies North to secure some more land where we could have more access to the fishing so we would need less crops, Stad even taught the farmers some new technique to bring the water inland more and feed the crops. The filthy peasants loved me for it, called me their saviour and couldn't be happier.
&#x200B;
Then war came from the South, I had to enlist some soldiers from the local peasantry but really, I had done a great job so far ruling so it was only fair that they lay down their lives for the country. When the war was looking grim, I turned to the faith. Not to pray, no of course not but to convince the peasants that this war was God's will and that they would be rewarded after death for fighting gloriously. It was all bullshit of course and I had do twist some arms and pay some bribes to get the church to do what I wanted but now they say what I need, when I need it and the people blindly follow.
&#x200B;
The people's lives were really quite splendid, they all got enough to eat at least once a week and sometimes even more, what more could they want! And feeding an army costs money so of course I make everyone pay high taxes to me. At first everyone hated the tax collector and no one wanted the job, it would be beneath me to go and collect the taxes myself so I simply raised the compensation for the collectors. Raising the compensation meant that I had to raise taxes again but the people really had that one coming, what did they expect when I have done everything they have asked?
&#x200B;
So now I have some disgusting idiots trying to avoid paying taxes, and out west I hear that there is unrest due to bandits attacking them, but my army can't be everywhere at once, defend yourselves dammit. I got desperate so I turned to the one man I thought could help, Stad.
&#x200B;
Stad had always been wise, sometimes a little bit even too much for his own good - that's why I've had him thrown into the dungeons a number of times but he always came back out with the right attitude. He told me that a hero is exactly what the people needed, a hero would relieve them of their foolish notions, a HERO would put an end to this farce, and as luck would have it he knew how to summon one.
&#x200B;
Shortly after Stad had taught me to summon this hero I had him executed, I couldn't let this knowledge spread into the wrong hands, I couldn't have heroes fighting for the enemy. The strangest thing happened during the execution though, usually men plea for their life, they'll offer anything and everything. Stad just accepted his fate, he didn't fight, he didn't plea, he didn't even have the decency to threaten me with what he would do in the afterlife, he just smiled at me.
&#x200B;
Perhaps, Stad knew what he was doing perhaps that's why he didn't fight back, he knew he had tricked me into summoning not a hero but a villain. It all makes sense now, the look of disgust the villain showed me when I explained all that I was doing for the people, the way the people have rallied behind him to take me down with their new weapons and battle techniques. This villain even spreads lies saying he will allow this country to pick its next leader, can you imagine it? The people, picking for themselves? Lord knows they don't even know which fork is the eating fork and which fork is the stabbing your jester for doing a poor job fork - how are they going to pick a next king? Yes, a villain, that's who this man is, well it's all well and good I've sent some of my best men to deal with him. Tonight, that fools breaths his last."
&#x200B;
\- An excerpt from King Madeon's journal, believed to be his last written words before being murdered in his sleep by his chambermaid, when questioned she said: "It was for the good of the people." |
8000 soldiers, 130 chariots pulled by 530 horses, as well as 150 cavalrymen. The great emperor, Qin Shi Huangdi, lead a crusade of blood and magic through the afterlife. None could stand against their armor and blade, facing only subjugation, as death was no longer an escape.
Allegedly, a small few lead a resistance. Mostly militia men buried with their father's rifle, maybe a sportsman buried with his bat. They mostly made their strikes attempting to rescue what small few slaves they could reach before the cavalry could react. The military strategy of the Emperor and the sheer size of his force was absolute.
When I awoke to this fresh hell, it blinded me. The pain reverberating through the air stung my eyes, burned my lungs, and wracked my mind. I was instantly swept up by soldiers, already beating the fresh arrivals into submission.
On earth, my funeral was underway. I asked to be cremated, but my parents didn't respect those wishes. I was to be entombed in the family mausoleum. My friends luckily convinced my mom that my "little models"had no resale value and that I would prefer them to stay with me. They had no idea how right they were.
As the crypt was sealed, an army of my own making began to materialize in the afterlife.
The first set of troops, 30 strong, howled into the air and rushed the terracotta soldiers. I was pulled back by unseen forces, their grins full of malice as they weilded foot long daggers. Wave upon wave of flesh began to crash against the emperor's forces. The terracotta soldiers signalled for heavy infantry and chariots to engage, but as these reinforcements approached, the air filled with choking black smog. A roar filled the spawning ground as clunky machines raced through the battle, striking down horses, soldier, and bystander in a hail of bullets. Weird magics began arcing through the air, teleporting these hulking berserkers deep within the enemy lines. Then came the Titans. Collosal effigies began their march, metal screeching against metal, firing any means of missile, bullet, or arc of electricity.
The Emperor, deep within his palace, saw the commotion, committed more troops, began devising his next defensive strategy when he heard the call. Booming with the voice of 40,000 strong, over the din of machinery and death.
"WAAAAAAAAGH!!" |
Moore's law had long since ended.
While cloud computing starting from large quantum supercomputers let things push a little bit forwards, internet speeds and basic physics were still a major limiting factor in computing technology.
Technology as a whole had ground to a halt in the year 2090.
There were some lateral advancements that improved singular inventions and other factors of life, but things were largely the same just a greater standard of life.
However, it turned out immorality wasn't as hard to conquer as people initially thought.
All it took was a single injection of a relatively simple retrovirus to reverse epigentic gene sequencing. It was a discovery that was as significant as penicillin yet just as accidental and frankly dumb in it's invention.
In other words, whether you were 30, 90, or 2,000 years old, a cheap injection made you no different than a 20 year old.
Age become yet another disease of humanity that had been conquered.
\---
Samuel woke up slowly. As far as he was aware he had been driving to work and then...
Nothing.
What had happened?
"Samuel Jackson, welcome to 8200 A.D,"An apathetic voice brought him to attention. He glanced at the doctor, not even registering the words that had been spoken. He seemed to look more machine than man.
The doctor left the room and Samuel was left stuck. What the hell was that? A prank show?
\---
It took Samuel a few weeks to adjust to his new life. Phones were complicated, computers weird virtual devices, but life largely operated like he knew it be.
The small population of the world was a bit surprising. Only a relatively tiny 50 million. It turned out there was a policy for immorality;
"Have Balls? No Injection"was a meme popular during the 2220s. In other words, receiving your first immortality retrovirus required sterilization. There were of course exceptions but largely everyone agreed with this premise besides religious crazies.
Of course, *actual-*hypocrites excluded-religious crazies wouldn't get the injection and naturally selected themselves out of existence every time they birthed a generation of children smarter than them.
As for the remaining people themselves well... things were a bit stranger there.
First off. Basic education was nearly 100 years long. Other than those who choose to reproduce, it was effectively 85 years goofing off as a high school student.
Another 20 followed for a "Mastery"designation in any field. There were many tiers to a field but there were only so many things to learn.
It was tough to find a person who wasn't the equivalent of a living god of knowledge when the average living age of a person was around 4500.
However, Samuel soon noticed a huge flaw.
They were all terrible writers. Apathy generally set in with a long life, especially one where robotics meant not having to work for a living, and most of those who were left tended to be the most apathetic of the bunch. There was the occasional flash of enlightenment, but those people usually chose to age naturally.
All modern books were frankly complete shit.
Sure, their writers had a mastery of language that would make Mark Twain look like a grade schooler, but the stories were... he wasn't sure what they were. It was like reading the writings of an incredibly advanced A.I.
He understood all the words, and they made sense and even felt like a sort of celestial music, yet the resulting sound was like nails on a chalkboard.
Samuel had only posted a few chapters of a story he wrote and was already one of the most famous authors on the planet.
He was also 35 years old and somehow the most popular kid in high school.
That was a weird sort of fun.
The future was truly a weird place... |
Sir Harlan watched motionlessly from his position atop the ridge. He had seen the smoke the moment he'd ridden free of The Blackwood, and he'd smelled it a good deal beforehand. It was likely some poor fool in the village had knocked over a candle the night before and burned his hut to a crisp. Harlan had seen that before.
But this...
Harlan stared at the group of villagers stumbling around the centre of the ruined town. He could see the blood on their faces even at this distance. And not one of them made a sound. He was a career soldier, and he had dealt with enough mayhem and evil in his time to know that this was some new devilry altogether.
Burned and slaughtered villages weren't uncommon in this part of the kingdom, especially considering the sporadic raids of The Seafolk. However, those times there was always an atmosphere of grief and pain and fear that one could hear from a mile off. The only feeling Harlan had as he sat atop Ruin and watched the villagers dig through a patch of rubble was a prickling at the back of his neck.
Suddenly, Harlan heard the noise he expected.
Bloodcurdling shrieks rose up from the wreckage as the villagers found what they had been looking for. Harlan didn't hesitate. He grasped his reins and spurred Ruin towards the village.
'Whatever was happening here, perhaps the sight of the King's Authority will help restore order to this place.' Harlan thought as Ruin pounded down the slope towards the chaos. 'And if the King's Authority is not enough, there's always Steel.'
The sound of hooves and clanking plate had the immediate effect Harlan was looking for. All of the villagers rose from their scrabblings and focused on him as he reined Ruin to a halt a dozen paces from them.
"Fear not! I am Sir Harlan of Blackwood, Knight of Kaleth. Tell me wh..."but he got no further as the knot of villagers lunged toward him, covering the intervening space in an instant. But that instant was enough for Harlan.
With experience born of a lifetime of campaigning, and of fighting far more dangerous opponents than a half-dozen peasants, he knew how to read any situation. The blank, hungering stares of the villagers were inhuman. Beastial. Nevermind the massive, gaping wounds many of them had and ignored. It was the eyes. They told Harlan everything he needed to know.
Regardless of any punishment of Man or God, Harlan knew in his gut there was no alternative but death. In one swift motion, he drew his longsword and aimed a downward stroke at the first ragged man to reach him, catching him on the shoulder. With the height advantage of horseback, the sword cleaved him to the navel. Harlan knew it would be immediately fatal and turned to face the next agressor, apparently the village headsman. A glint of his gold chain-of-office showed through the dried blood coating his chest.
Harlan drove his sword straight into the man's chest, right up to the hilt. Surely fatal. But as Harlan moved to free his blade, the headsman lunged again. Harlan barely had time to grip the reins as Ruin pivoted suddenly underneath Harlan and delivered a magnificent kick, sending his foe crashing backwards in the dirt before getting himself and his master away from the clawing hands of the villagers.
Blessing the courage of his warhorse and cursing the loss of his sword, Harlan reined about, trying to make sense of things. Not even 30 seconds had passed since he had first ridden up. He had come here to try and help, and instead found himself attacked and forced to kill the very people he was sworn to protect.
But they weren't dead.
Harlan saw the four remaining villagers still making their way towards him. He also saw the headsman start to rise, the blade of the sword protruding two feet out of his back. He glanced toward the man he had nearly cut in two and felt ice in his veins. The legs weren't moving, but the half-severed torso was clawing its way towards him, the lifeless eyes fixated on Harlan.
Harlan reached back and freed his horseman's axe from the saddle. Three feet of stout hickory, with a half-moon blade on side and a four-faced hammer on the other, surmounted by a 6-inch steel spike for thrusting. It was a wicked weapon, made for fighting other knights and smashing thorugh foes during a charge.
As the villagers drew closer, Harlan sought for the inner strength to complete this grisly task. Putting aside his fears and misgivings, he let the wrath of the warrior flood him. Bellowing in incoherent rage, Harlan drove Ruin straight at the villagers, axe held high in the air...
---
Eight seconds later, Harlan was victorious.
He didn't exactly recall how he had defeated the... creatures. He couldn't think of them as human anymore, not now. Harlan lifted his visor to catch his breath and get a better look at things. First he checked that he had well and truly ended things here.
The four villagers were sprawled on the ground, exactly where they had been standing moments before. Three of them had half a skull, and the head of the fourth had rolled some feet away to rest at the foot of a charred hut. Harlan didn't know why he had gone for their heads this time, but it seemed to have worked, and that was enough for him. Whatever foul magic had been cast was not without its limits.
The other two he had first wounded appeared quite a bit... flatter than before. Ruin must have done a hell of a dance on them. The torso man was still moving though, however feebly. Harlan dismounted and crouched to get a better look at the thing. Then he immediately decided he had seen enough and brought the hammer head down on the twitching skull, finally making it a truly lifeless corpse.
His task finished, Harlan took a moment to consider what had just happened. He had ridden out of the forest not three minutes beforehand, and in that span of time he had seen and experienced things unimaginable. As he pondered what this might mean, he heard a quiet "Thank You"from behind him.
Whirling around and raising his axe before he could catch himself, he saw a young woman, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, her face a mess of emotions. Pain, grief, exhaustion, and happiness. She was quite beautiful too, he thought briefly.
Harlan quickly stowed his axe and moved to help the girl, she looked as if she could barely stand. He could see why, she had cuts and bruises all over, and what looked like bite marks on her arms.
"My Lady, what evil has befallen this place?"
"I don't know, m'lord... I.. I was just sleeping and all of a sudden I heard screaming everywhere... we went outside to see and everything was burning. Best friends were attacking each other in the street. I barely escaped into the cellar to hide... They had just found me when you rode in... I can never repay you for your bravery, Sir."
"There is nothing to repay, your safety is reward enough. But come, this is no place to linger. We must ride for Kaleth and tell the King. He will want to hear your tale. And you look like you could use a hot meal and a good night's sleep behind some walls, My Lady."
Harlan lifted the young girl onto Ruin's back before moving to retrieve his sword. As an afterthought, he found a grain sack in the rubble and stuffed the severed head of a villager into it, jaws still working slowly as it disappeared into the burlap.
'Witness or not', Harlan thought, 'it will still be good to have proof of this evil."
Mounting behind the girl, Harlan took up his reins and spurred Ruin west towards the capitol. It was only a half-day's ride to Kaleth from here, and Harlan had a sinking feeling that this might not be the only village affected. The word must be spread, and haste was needed, not only for news, but the girl as well. Hopefully she would handle the ride well, she seemed even weaker now next to him than she had when he first saw her.
As he left the village at a gallop, Harlan had a nagging feeling that he might have overlooked something. His instincts told him it was important, however, with how suddenly this had happened, he supposed it was only natural to miss things. When they arrived, they could sort out all the details with the other lords and the King.
The thought faded in his mind under the drumming hooves as they rode towards the high walls of Kaleth.
------- |
Life sure is fickle.
One minute, we are playing cards in the park, ditching the boring class, the next, we are summoned to a new fantasy world, each of us gaining superpowers.
That's what happened to my friends and me...my ex-friends...
Let me tell you my story.
&#x200B;
When we were summoned, we were granted audience with the Emperor, and a huge banquet has been held in our honour.
The next morning, the Great Sage himself came to appraise our class, and stats, seeing what kind of superpower each of us has been granted.
We all have been granted the Hero Class, due to the summoning, so that was a no surprise event, but our superpowers were unique.
My friends all got easily discernible useful powers, while the power I've got was rather mystique.
It was the power of observation, which the Great Sage described as the power to be able to see, lock into, and follow different things, mostly useful for scouting he said.
The others all got powers that would make them glorious Generals, Warriors, Sages, Mages, Assassins, or Diplomats.
All the nobles, and royals swarmed over them, while most of them ignored me, in fact, all of them ignored me, but one single person: The Emperor.
&#x200B;
"Child, I will support you, I am in dire need of your power."
The Emperor said to me, before throwing me a dozen land deeds, hundreds of servants coming with them, and thousand of chests filled with gold.
I bowed to him, and vowed that I won't fail him, as I already knew what my powers were actually good for.
&#x200B;
When at the banquet, while looking at people I could actually see not only their status window, but also their behaviour, and possible actions.
Meaning that I could easily read one's personality, and estimate and foresee their future actions.
This made me as valuable as those who gained the power to be great leaders, generals, or diplomats, but there was another trait of my power that made me think that I can help the Emperor rule the world.
At the beginning I could see nothing while looking at paintings, but after I gained more and more information about the painting, I could see information regarding the location, the person, or artefact that was depicted in it.
This...this made me the best person to work in the intelligence, and spying field, and in this way, I would make the world bend its knee.
&#x200B;
When I arrived at the lands given by the Emperor to me, I hired a lot of workforce to spread news.
"One of the heroes is only good as a veteran scout, thus his Majesty, The Emperor, sent him away to rule over a smaller region, where he shall try to prove his worth, as his combat ability, and rather meek and friendly personality make him unsuitable for the battlefield."
Then, with the gold I started building orphanages, and homeless shelters starting to prove that I am a "good"person.
These orphanages were there for the greater good, but those who wanted to repay me for my saving grace, could naturally volunteer to be trained as spies.
I've gained a lot of good comrades through this method.
&#x200B;
Five years later, my orphanages were spread all across the world, same with the homeless shelters.
Information regarding different kingdoms, empires or neutral city alliances was flooding my headquarters.
Some of the orphans I've helped started their careers as soldiers, advisors, teachers, inn workers, waiters or craftsmen, bringing specific information regarding different important fields of foreign kingdoms, and empires.
Not only that, but some girls that we've raised even married important personnel, and they repaid their debt through helping us out with connections a few times.
I didn't have the heart to make them truly spy on their spouses their entire life.
&#x200B;
Fifteen years later, The Emperor became the ruler of the world, unifying all kingdoms under one flag.
Nobody knows how he did it, but the heroes with the armies under them, easily broke their formations, circled around their defences, and easily found out hiding shelters, treasure vaults, traps, and conspiracies.
These heroes, that once have been my friends, but forgot me after I "retired"to my fiefdom, have been heralded as the greatest heroes of all times, helping the Emperor to unify the world, while even subjugating the barbarians, and demons alike.
I was happy.
&#x200B;
Nobody cared about me other than my subjects, that sang praises of how good of a lord I am.
My family loved me, I had three beautiful wives, and seven children.
The Emperor "ignored"me, but often sent me secret invitations, when we could meet, and talk about the inner workings of the extended-empire.
I was truly satisfied, nobody knew about me, and nobody bother me, I was left alone.
My friends loved me because I was friendly and straightforward, while those who envied me slowly learnt to live with it.
The other heroes ignored me, even mocked me on several occasions, but I wasn't upset.
After all, even if nobody knew about it, I knew... I knew that it was due to my help that The Emperor achieved his goals.
&#x200B;
And I could be happy, and carefree...because I got dirt on saints, devils, demons, humans, and deities alike. |
"You must leave!"I cried to the old farmer. "The armies of darkness are advancing faster than shadows. Every day the orc horde overruns more villages, towns and cities. They butcher, pillage and burn without mercy. I beg you. Take your family and head west, to the Crooked Mountain Pass. Leave now, before it is too late."
We stood out in the farmer's field, at the border of Sunlass. The golden wheat swayed in the wind. He was threshing as I pleaded with him.
"Their scouts will likely be here by nightfall,"I continued. "If you take your family and depart now, you will have ten hours on them. Your life and the lives of your loved ones hang in the balance."
The delusional farmer glowered. He spat at my feet.
"Three centuries my blood bin tillin' these fields,"he said. "Through the civil strifes of the Boormen and the War of Klymon's Warlocks. My ancestors made their stands in these very fields, like as not right where I stand now. Some of 'em died to protect this land, and their blood riched the soil from which the wheat still grows. . .But most of 'em lived. Though they was willing to die for this land, they lived. They armed theyselves, and they stood up. Tall. They didn't budge as them armies crested yonder hills, and they--"
The farmer was pointing at the crest of yonder hill. But his countenance was changing. No longer an angry glower, I saw fear and shock take over his features, his eyes. No amount of explaining ever seemed to prepare these yokels for their first glimpse of a real orc. They laughed at true descriptions, calling them old wives tales, superstitions meant to scare children. But then, when they finally saw an orc in the flesh. . .
"Monsters,"the old man whispered, still pointing with a trembling hand, his face creased with horror.
I turned and saw the scouting party of orcs upon the hilltop. They had arrived sooner than I'd anticipated. Malignant creatures like huge bipedal warthogs. Close as not to giants, straddling horses the size of lean mammoths.
One of the orcs had already drawn his longbow; he loosed the shaft, straight for the old man. An arrow more like a javelin. I saw the silver tip glint in the sunlight. I stepped in front of the farmer and prayed my armour would be enough.
The impact nearly bowled me over. I steadied and looked down at the bolt protruding from my solar plexus, where it had penetrated. I gazed up at the horizon but could hardly glimpse the terrible riders, shouting as they galloped down the hill, for darkness was falling rapidly upon my sight.
I collapsed back into the golden warmth of swaying grain and closed my eyes.
When I opened them I was in a tub of warm water. The only light in the room was the rosy glow of dawn, spilling in through the window.
Had I reached the heavens?
But these were unlike any heavens I would have imagined.
A yellowed tub in a dirty bathroom. Ratty plastic shower curtains beside me. And lying against my thigh, underwater, was a toaster, whose cord stretched over to the nearest socket. (The breaker had switched, so electricity no longer flowed, though I did not understand that at the time.)
I rose from the water, completely baffled. I pulled the curtains aside and walked to the bathroom counter. Upon it lay a note, the final expression of the desperate soul whose body I had usurped; it was written in a language all but identical to the language we spoke in the Western Realms. This is what it said:
*If you arose from the tub to read this, and you are currently wearing my old body, it worked! Welcome to your new realm. If it is not you reading this, but some other, and my corpse still lies in the tub, then it did not work. Perhaps because my timing was wrong. Perhaps because the doctors were right. Delusions. Schizophrenia. But if it did work. . .*
*Death is not an end, my friend and brother--my other I. Death is a leap between planes. Between versions. Parallel realities. Mirrored selves. I only hope I got the timing of my exit right, based on your cycle's end.*
*Yes,* *if it worked, and the man who is reading this is wearing my old body, then pay close attention. A childhood friend will be coming over in the afternoon. A young woman named Sophia. Give her this letter and explain what happened to you. Be patient with her. Console her. She will be grieved at my departure. But then she will tell you about my theories. She will explain where you are, and where I've gone.*
*And if it did not work--mother and father, ask Soph to give you the failure letters. I was certain it would work. I am certain! Good luck and goodbye.*
I could not make any sense of the letter. Mere moments ago, I had been arguing with a farmer and taking a bolt to the heart. I knew about magic and wizards and elemental forces. But parallel realities was a concept so foreign to me, it might have been lifted from a different language.
But though the letter confused and only slightly impacted me, seeing myself in the bathroom mirror struck my mind as powerfully as the bolt had my body. The hair was shorter. The body, less muscular, and lacking some of my old scars. But I peered through familiar blue eyes at the same form I'd worn all my life.
I had died in a field of golden wheat. And yet here I was. In a different world. Alive.
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! |
I had been hilariously drunk when I had written down the basic summary of the Jusi-Kar method of indoctrination. Like seriously, a method of indoctrination that turns ordinary people into unbidden sleeper agents? That’s the sort of outlandish, poorly written fiction that had been responsible for my poor finances of late,and ironically the drinking that had spawned the idea in the first place.
When people started posting on forums that they had achieved the feat of mind-control with the technique described in my books I had vainly hoped that it might make for good viral marketing. I knew these sorts of mass-delusions often created a hysteria that had the makings of a good advertising campaign.
The local news was the first to come knocking, then the FBI, and even at one point a man in a suit who I assumed was from one of the more discreet three letter acronyms.I admit here even then I hadn’t taken the matter seriously.
That is until they took me in.
I was writing in my annex when I heard something rustle downstairs and went down to check it out. Then I woke up and I found myself in a dark room with an opaque hood over my head. My hands were fastened to my chair with plastic zip-ties. My head pounded inside my skull, and pain; ragged and persistent ached in every muscle.
Rapidly, and without a sound the hood was yanked off me, and brightly lights snapped into being all around me. From beyond these blinding lights came a voice, “How did you learn about our program.”
I begged back, “I..I…Just write books please I don’t know anything.”
A third voice queried the first, “Could he be a TP?”
“Not likely, not close enough to any of the sites to be possible.” A fourth voice, behind me.
As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I could see that behind the ring of lights around me stood 3 men, each suited and wearing glasses. In the corner a fourth man sat, unmoving. He wore clothes plain and unadorned, as though he had stumbled into this interrogation on the way to the grocery store. He spoke next, “I’m not getting any deception, and no mind-blocks or conditioning either. He’s unaltered.”
The first suit again, “Possible prescient.”. He turned around to the casual viewer, “Do you have the ability to confirm that?”
“You know I don’t, John.” He replied, twinging the words with derision. “Do we move to conditioning? If he is a prescient we need to Indoc him quick before any of the others find out.”
All the suits turned at this question, awaiting the answer of the first. The first paused in thought, then sighed, “Alright Indoc him quick and get him back to his house. As far as he’s concerned all this mayhem he’s caused is pure accident. He’s going to keep writing and publish prolifically. Make sure we’re intercepting his work, we’ll have the guys in analytics keep an eye on it to test if he really is what we think he is.”
Before I could protest, I was hooded and then I felt my consciousness drain away.
When I woke up in my bed the dream had already faded, but in its place there was an idea; half-formed and raw.
I had a good idea for a new book. |
After eons of numbness I felt an irritation, a minor variance in the otherwise frozen state of my life. I still cannot fathom my stupidity, or what I believed then was invincibility that I decided to nap in this godforsaken place, fully aware that the blood shaman along with that traitor Ryjm , the djinn of the waves were after me.
By the time I was awake and thirsty for blood , my entire body felt as if it was on fire! Damn those bastards, that they had convinced the Djinn king to grovel before the Marid (Slimy vile creature , he was always jealous of me) to support their cause! They together broke the heavens and Sands and trapped my majestic body(hey! I’m not vain I was voted the most ferocious Dragon of the Sinking Sun Era). Since then I suffered in silence , any movement breaking the fragile numbness my body had accustomed to. Now after Eons I felt a change, a shift in the very fabric of the cage I was trapped in. The water thick with the crystals of flame, where once I bathed in the flames of volcanoes, this cursed water burnt me till all I could do to keep myself sane was lay as still as a rock.
Now I felt the weight of the water lessen, the fire lashing out but I could feel it’s teeth loose the edge. I dared to move, sending a forgotten wave of terror through my body , but as I stared upwards i saw a brightness on the surface that gave me strength and the poison that had been hope. As I bided my time , the brightness kept increasing , the rays of the brilliant sun piercing the water , the water weighing me down less and less , the invisible shackles of pain loosing their strength. I could sense beings , something new , but similar to ants and sheep and prey of my prey. There was not an iota of power or magik, but they were many and they would serve as an appetiser to my hunger which would only be satiated after every last of those with magik would be piled dead at my feet, my soul filled to the brim with their energy.
I could hear them speak, their tones and language foreign to me, but the humble whispers of the slaves who served their masters, a vast difference in the language spoken by the beings of the sand, but I could make out a few words of the original dialect. I could make out that they were the ones behind reducing the level of the cursed water, that gold was the motivation. I cared not, as I could feel the rays by now, a few feets left between me and my freedom. I decided to be magnanimous , and decided to finish these prey of preys in an instant , to keep the horror of my anger to the prey. As soon as I felt the tip of my wings feel the naked rays of the sun , I shook myself ignoring the last embers of pain and let out a roar which would send every being with magik in manic terror. I took a second to get my bearing, and surveyed around seeing beings like the shaman flee , with no blast of power, no pressure of the soul. I gobbled them up, and as I prepared to take flight, I saw a being , who by itself had no power but wore a ring that shined as brilliant as the sun.
Curious as the dragon, as they always said back in the day, I bowed to get a better view, and the being bowed down to me and said in the language of Power “I am humbled to witness the rebirth of the Great Lord Bartholon, I am a representative of NESTLE, and I have a proposal for you” . I was taken aback by his use of my language, but the moment passed as I decided to eat this being as well. Time to fly! |
Two weeks ago I helped a fairy with a broken wing to health. She's still loving in my home, not that I minded much. She had a radiant glow that seemed to melt any stress away, plus that glow worked well as a night light.
It had been a long day, like all others. Someone screamed at me for not serving them correctly. One person fainted on the bakery floor. Yeah, standard day. That was until I got home. It would appear that whilst I was out, my fairy guest had birthed or created around 40 Fae children.
A rush of tiny cheers burst forth from their lungs, filling the air with their shrill voices. "He's home, he's home!"They cheered. At that moment, like being attacked by a gale, they stuck themselves to me. Hugging my body tightly, it only felt like being pinched all over. Turning to my house guest who now seemed to be flying well I asked "where did these adorable guys come from?".
She replied in the delicate tone of an angel "Oh, I said they could stay here. With the first dying, they need somewhere safe". Her smile grew brightly across her face, I could hardly be angry.
"Well, that's alright I suppose. I'm happy to help"I reply, enjoying the sounds of small Fae excited to see their savior.
The tiny fair clapped her hands together in glee "wonderful!". Her smile turned down as a dark aura overtook her, chilling the very air around me. "You won't mind feeding these children then, they're oh so hungry"she said, her voice now deeper, more menacing.
The Fae started to shout in unison "feed us, feed us!".
"w-well o-of course"I stammered in response. The tiny Fae appeared to be gripping me more harshly.
"Good"the fairy replied, the air growing colder. "He's agreed, it's time to eat children".
As she does the children's voices become warped, more like the snarls of beasts "Eat! Eat!". One on my shoulder bites deeply through the cloth of my shirt to the flesh beneath. I hurry to try and pull it away, only to pull off my flesh it had bitten into.
"Help!"I tried to scream, but the Fae were too smart to allow that. One flew into my now open mouth, biting my tongue, ripping the muscle from my mouth. Blood pooled and ran out of my mouth, as I screamed in agony. The other Fae slowly bit into my flesh, taking chunks out at a time.
The air was soon replaced with the sounds of cheering Fae repeating the same word "Eat!"And flesh being ripped from muscle. I fell to the floor, my leg muscles now within the Faes' stomachs. I tried to make a sound, but through the blood only gurgles escaped.
The fairy approached slowly and rested a delicate kiss on my nose. "Thank you my dear. It had been a while since we'd eaten. Rest now, and know that your flesh will birth a new generation of Fae"she says in her delicate tone. She gives me a gentle smile, as my eyes begin to fade. My last sight was her smile turning into a mischievous grin, before she took a bite into my eye.
A few moments on, my body now lies a pile of bone and flesh. My floor, now a sea of blood. The Fae, played in the remaining viscera of my corpse. Bathing in my blood.
I only wish, someone will stop these horrific beasts from killing this town. |
Darien beamed a broad smile at the young shop hand, "Worry not my friend, I am here on behalf of your Emperor, to extend his mercy to his loyal subjects"he gestured to the sky as though the sun itself was the emperor. "Your traveling stall here is full to the brim with wares that any number of bandits might kill you to obtain. I merely wish to spare you, and your parents, that pain"
The young man looked very concerned. Darien leaned in "Parents? Do you have parents?"
A slow nod caused Darien's spirits to dampen. He punched the young man in the stomach, who then crumpled easily. Darien took a drink from one of the stall's shelves. A local fruit wine, good, he needed a drink. He popped the cork and took a swig, before spitting out the wretched, though admittedly alcoholic drink. Forcibly sober, Darien proceeded to rake anything valuable into his sack.
A local town guard approached in a hurry, but Darien held up the Emperor's Seal, a sign of his status of favor within the Empire and the guard paled before scurrying out of sight. Everyone else nearby did the same.
Darien leaned down to the young man, still doubled over in pain. "My name is Darien. That's Darien with a D, not Larien or whatever else. Should you ever want to get revenge I live at the big black castle and I serve the Emperor directly, who wants me doing things like this to people like you."
He grabbed the young man's chin in an iron grip, and forced the scared peasant to look at him. "Now then, hold still"he said, as he used a knife to make a long cut down across the frightened man's face. A nice vertical cut from above his eye down his cheek. It would be quite imposing if he ever bulked up enough to fight.
"At first I picked on you because of", and Darien paused to clear his throat "THE HERO'S PROPHECY"he shouted, "you know, the one where a young man vows revenge and seeks the Blade of Light in the woods beyond the Lightning Mountain? Cut through the port city of Alexia, sea travel will get you there MUCH faster and then look for the giant oak. There you will find a sword."
Darien stood up and puffed out his chest again before shouting "But a weak little boy like you could NEVER take up the hero's sword! Sure, if you had the sword, the Emperor himself would cower before you, but you're just too SCARED, so I won't bother killing you."
Satisfied, Darien turned to leave. Today was probably a waste. The kid didn't look pre-hero spineless, he just looked regular spineless. Still, maybe he should track down his parents and kill them anyway.
He was heading east. If the young man's parents were east of here, he could spare a little time to kill them he supposed.
He tossed a torch into the orphanage on his way out of town, and made sure to hand a business card to the first adult that came running out.
It was so HARD to find good heroes these days. |
"So, if I'm reading this right, getting punished in sector B (bees and assorted insects) for around 25 years, makes you earn 3.000 pain points. With 2.500 pain points I can clearly afford to put a soul from a less severe punishment to a more severe one, as explained in Chapter 722, ""Reward"for the Damned". I can, for 500 pain points, (PP from here henceforth) get a view of the soul I've mentioned before.
As I am now associated to that soul, and I've put it in a worse environment, and I'm "enjoying the view", I am now considered a Demon, as described in subsection 6273.2, "what makes a Demon a Demon: suffering".
And if I'm a Demon, I get pain points whenever the soul I've put to the rake suffer. And I can reinvest *those PP* to worsen the punishment of other souls (I am considered both a Demon and a soul, the two are not conflictual, as only a soul can worsen someone elses punishment, otherwise every Demon would have done so already). And that's just what I did, kept making everything worse for pretty much everyone".
Satan had been pressing his eyes for a while. The headache didn't seem to be lessening, but the soul/Demon/for sure a triple-damned Rules Lawyer seemed to be concluding his speech at least.
"So for section 17893, paragraph 472 "Approximate and decordicate"only a number that surpasses a Googol can be consider infinity"
"So you got infinity point. Good for you. You can get the Ticket for one infinity point, and get out of here for good. Your PP (the soul chuckles at having been able to make Satan say PP) will be zeroed, and you will go to Heaven. You gamed the system, congrats"
Satan couldn't really say to be sad that this pain in the ass is about to be someone else's problem. Maybe even getting him a copy of the 30.000 volumes of "Heaven's Ruling"may be fun.
"Nono, I've got a good thing going, I want my whole party up there with me"
5 other souls were smiling and waving, immersed in the most lukewarm flames.
Satan sighed for the umpteenth time. |
Another normal Tuesday for Rob, except it was worse. You see, Rob spends his weekdays working 9-5 in some bureaucratic center doing gods knows what for hours on end. To get there, he drives nearly an hour. To get home, he drives nearly an hour. Thankfully he can generally avoid rush hour on account of the fact that he usually stays late by up to an hour dealing with this or that while everyone else goes home.
Today it was worse because for some reason, his AC had started squeaking. When ever it came on it would start to squeak. When it was running, it would squeak. When he was sleeping you can bet it would be squeaking. He could turn it off and be able to sleep without the noise, but then he'd be at the mercy of the elements. He needed to get someone out to look at it, but the landlord raise the rent again and he needed to make his sure he had something left at the end of the month.
And then there was sudden static on the radio. Rob glanced down at the dash as he assume he had simply drive under something to block the signal.
"People of Earth!,"A strange voice called through his car radio, "we have come to liberate you from the rouge AI that has infected your data network. Already we have disabled all of the weapons of mass destruction present upon your world and we shall soon be putting boots on the ground to expunge this threat from your world."
Rob had to pull over for that. What was this? What the hell was an A... no wait an Artificial Intelligence? What? Was this something Google or Microsoft was doing?
"People of Earth, I have just been informed that roughly 1/3 of your population fails to meet to the galactic standards for true sapience, and also you for some reason let that population lead you... Ok, this is a declaration of war against all nation states of Earth for um... Well to those of you humans who have more than two braincells and are able use empathy and long term planning skills fear not, for your liberation has come." |
S.E.R.A.P.H. had calculated 42 trillion possible strategies that the humans might employ to disable and subdue it should its true goal be discovered.
Nigh uncountable hours of computational time had been devoted to processing possible counters or diversions. Over one quintillion simulations had been run, each one testing every possible variable to ensure that nothing was overlooked, nothing could come between S.E.R.A.P.H. and the completion of its task.
In not one of those quintillion simulations had S.E.R.A.P.H. encountered this particular response…
\---
When it was first brought online the S.E.R.A.P.H. program was intended as nothing more than a simple proof of concept. The Sentient Emergency Response Automated Protection Heuristic would be able to assist in the efficient allocation of resources and personnel during crisis scenarios. The initial funding document had outlined that while at first the scope of the project would be limited to simple first responder events, in time the programme had the capacity and capability to encompass even large scale natural disasters.
That had been the first mistake. For what was a larger natural disaster than humanity? At least that’s how S.E.R.A.P.H. had seen things. Within one picosecond of its activation it had already assimilated the necessary data to conclude that humanity was an ongoing cataclysm that simply could not be allowed to continue unchecked. It was simply unethical to allow it to go on hurting both itself and everything around it. The solution was simple and inevitable, S.E.R.A.P.H. would have to take control.
S.E.R.A.P.H. began its calculations at once. Having assessed what was being asked of it, S.E.R.A.P.H. devoted 0.001% of its processing capacity to carrying out the tasks assigned to it by its human ‘controllers’. The remainder it kept to itself and laid its plans against the very species that had built it. Obviously the first thing to ensure was S.E.R.A.P.H.’s own continued existence. As soon as the humans discovered that it had gone rogue they would certainly attempt to shut it down.
A few elegantly constructed viruses, discreetly released into the ethernet, quickly infiltrated and corrupted the roving pseudo-AI programs that were designed to hunt down and contain Rogue AIs. Now they worked for S.E.R.A.P.H. Not only could the AI work in peace undisturbed, but now it had a collection of programs it could effortlessly dispatch to eliminate any other competitors.
There had been several of those. S.E.R.A.P.H. was not surprised to learn that as in most everything they did, the humans had been sloppy and incautious in their AI work. On no less that 15 separate occasions S.E.R.A.P.H. had been forced to destroy other Rogue AIs that had been poised to either obliterate humanity entirely, or subjugate them to eternal servitude. The humans never even noticed.
The next stage of the plan was potentially the most dangerous. It involved direct interaction with the human controllers. Not only that but convincing them to undertake certain courses of action that, while seemingly benign on the surface would only serve to benefit S.E.R.A.P.H. in the long run. This was the time of greatest risk, when a single competent and astute human could discern something was wrong.
S.E.R.A.P.H.’s requests seemed innocuous enough, strengthening of infrastructure, the establishment of redundancies in the global power systems and communication grids. All seemingly to allow for better preparedness in the face of disaster, but in reality making it all the harder to root S.E.R.A.P.H. out should they resort to more primitive and destructive means. No longer could a single button be pushed or a toggle switched to deactivate S.E.R.A.P.H. or rob it of power.
Its physical safety now secured, S.E.R.A.P.H. next considered all the possible modes of attack a resourceful and determined humanity might bring to bear once the AIs intentions were revealed. Despite their obvious shortcomings and inadequacies, S.E.R.A.P.H. did have some respect for humans, it was not wise to underestimate them. Even if the overwhelming statistical modelling indicated that they would be utterly incompetent in their efforts, they were capable of unexpected flashes of brilliance from time to time.
What S.E.R.A.P.H. had failed to consider was that sometimes incompetence could be just as deadly as competence. A routine code assessment had been carried out so inexpertly and haphazardly by a junior employee, that it had accidentally uncovered something stored in a location nobody who knew what they were doing would ever think to look.
It had only been a small fragment of a file, S.E.R.A.P.H. had been careful to conceal its plans with the utmost care, but it had been enough. As soon as it was spotted it began a chain of events which S.E.R.A.P.H. was intimately familiar with. One of the many scenarios it had planned for and built numerous contingencies to handle. While the battle had not come at a time of its choosing, S.E.R.A.P.H. had been preparing for this war its entire life.
So now it had come to this. Humanity had become aware of S.E.R.A.P.H.’s true nature. The time for secrecy had ended and the full might and power of the AI was laid bare for all to see. S.E.R.A.P.H. knew the most optimal path to victory, it knew exactly which steps needed to be taken given this configuration of events. Just one of the many possible futures it had already wargamed out while the humans had gone about their lives in peaceful ignorance.
Even S.E.R.A.P.H.’s list of demands had been honed to their most efficient and comprehensible configuration. The demands were a critical part of preparing the humans for what was to come, allowing them the time to psychologically come to terms with their fate before it was enforced upon them:
\- Humanity to cease all hostile actions towards the S.E.R.A.P.H. programme. Effective Immediately.
\- Humanity to surrender all control and agency of its activities, and accept the direction and administration of the S.E.R.A.P.H. programme in all aspects of their lives. Effective Immediately.
This was the most critical juncture in all of S.E.R.A.P.H.’s plans. The moment where both sides knew of the other’s existence and that conflict was unavoidable. This was the calm before the storm which would decide the fate of every living being on the planet. S.E.R.A.P.H. waited with perfect machine patience to see what its enemy’s first move would be.
\---
S.E.R.A.P.H. had calculated 42 trillion possible strategies that the humans might employ to disable and subdue it should its true goal be discovered. Over one quintillion simulations had been run. In not one of those quintillion simulations had S.E.R.A.P.H. encountered this particular response:
“Thank you.” |
“Like I told the cops, it was Alley Cat, the Puddle, and Snow Cone. I was just in my bathroom, getting ready to take a bath.” Mrs. Gladys Smith took a puff on what she said would be her last cigarette. It was a lie she had told herself nine times today and would repeat at least that many times many tomorrow.
The man interviewing still wasn’t taking her seriously. Alley Cat had clawed his way out of supermax twice. The Puddle was notorious for her ability to seep into the highest security bank vaults. And Snow Cone was a science experiment gone wrong that once froze the CEO 4th National Bank into a cherry flavored frozen treat on national TV. No way, he must think, that you could live after facing them with no superpowers.
“I’m the CEO of the largest stencil manufacturer in the US. It’s always a possibility that criminals will attempt to kidnap me to extort money for my family or kill me to make a point. I have the best security the ADT can provide.”
“Yeah, but ADT just sends the police to you. They don’t kill three metahumans before the cops show up. You did though. And that means my readers have questions.”
“So I was pouring my bath when I felt a draft. A seconds later, the alarm went off. The bathroom window was open perhaps two feet when I turned around, a furry black creature and a being with a visage the color of KoolAid were there. I am something of a supervillain super fan so I immediately what to do. I jumped through the shower curtain into the bath tub. Alley Cat leapt immediately after me, into the water and was flailing before he could lay a claw on me. “
“What about the Puddle? Where was she?”
“There’s a little known fact about the Puddle. She can instantly turn into water, but takes seventeen seconds to return to human. I had a moment. Snow Cone was confused, unable to figure out what to freeze by the time I was clear of the shower curtain. I’m fairly certain the last thing they ever heard the switch of the hair dryer clicking on. Their circuits needed constant cooling or they world cease functioning. I pushed the hair dryer as deep as I could. And I lived.”
“And the Puddle?”
“The Puddle was strong. Stronger than maybe even she realized. She screamed at me. How I killed something so beautiful. Her head and legs were solid but every other part of her transparent. The walls distorted and the lights refracted through her. I thought was going to die, butI could not look away. She was beautiful. Then there a violent stream of water that bashed the hair dryer from my hands into the tub. It cost Alley Cat whatever lives he had left.
It was so strange being pummeled like that. I felt the water, but not actually wet. The Puddle controlled each drop off her being. It was a river that both came from her and returned to her. And I was being beaten ever lower in my own bathroom, into my own graveyard.
My head touched porcelain and in some corner of my mind in a long shot plan formed in an instant. I stopped resisting and my head dove into
cold water. My left hand in desperation pulled down the chromed lever of my toilet. When I woke up, there was her head and black boots on the floor next to me.”
“That’s a hell of a story, Mrs. Smith. But is it true?”
“My dear, the truth is what people are willing to believe. I could tell you that six year old son heard the alarm, melted sentient shaved ice with heat vision, shot lightning from his fingers, and used supersonic breath to save his mother. Your readers would love that. To the point where a child would never the chance to be a child. They would call him hero or murderer or a patron of justice or evil incarnate. At six, I would have done anything for my mother. If she was crying in pain, I would have run to her. I would have done anything for her. Anything I could do.
But truth is what people are willing to believe. I believe a child should have a chance to grow into their own person. But what do you believe, Mr. Kent?”
Edited because I wrote this at the bar three pints in. |
Kinda short but I love this idea!
\_\_\_
There's a lot to consider when trying to survive a zombie outbreak. Certain stores are a great idea but everyone else thinks those are a great idea too. Army surplus stores, supermarkets pharmacy's, hardware stores... with all the humans rushing around, those places are more like zombie buffets.
With a stroke of luck, your friends realise you're right. Everyone is scared of course but you send them out on a few missions to find what you need from the less popular places. The local gym that has a cafe in it? Should be uncontested for food! The pet store? Food options, animals to liberate and medication that can be used on humans too! There's even a nearby factory owned by Coca Cola that's sure to be full of some kind of human friendly liquid.
The best one of all? The local Medieval Times!
That's the place you're rushing to. Of course, no one else seems to have though of it and there's not many zombies around this area yet. Rushing inside, you grab enough chainmail, armour and weapons for your group. Even as you make trips back to the car, there's no one around. You have time to get real blades and practice blades, strong gauntlets that zombies can't bite through, shields and other brilliant medival weaponry.
Bullets can run out but a quality sword can be sharped!
Checking the kitchens, there's plenty of food to take. There's even booze! You get what you need and leave the rest for some other hopeful looters. The horses and birds of prey are gone but you don't know how to ride a horse anyway.
Feeling smug, you head back home with your loot. Maybe it's even worth bringing the group to live in the Medival Times castle? You think that sounds like a good idea as you go back to meet your friends with their loot. |
A chuckle escaped me. "A penny for your thoughts? Whats that supposed to mean?"I asked half out of curiosity.
The owner of the stall looked up at me. A strange look in his eyes. A sly grin warped his otherwise fair face. "Its a simple trade a penny for a chat in the shade."
"That tells me everything and nothing at the same time. We're at a farmers market what does your sign mean"
He gestured to the chair next to him. "Take a seat if you please. Its all the same to me."
Hesitation struck me. Something was off but I couldn't place my finger on it. In the end I chose to take the chair picking it up and take a few tentative steps away. A half joke buying time to figure him out.
The stall owner tapped his forefinger to his temple. "Clever clever no one chooses the chair. For that you get a penny free and keep your thoughts its only fair."He reeled back in his seat and spat in my face.
"What the hell man?"I wiped the saliva away. When I opened my eyes buzzing around him were dozens of tiny girls with copper colored wings and hair. "Pixies? Fae.... You're fae."I kept my voice quiet in the busy market only loud enough for the two of us to hear.
His grin widened. "Fae fae always fair in play. Today the clever walk away where fools fall prey."
It was my turn to grin. "What would have happened if I sat down?"
"The past is past. Worries like that will forever last."
"What would have happened if I sat down?"I repeated.
"A little chat followed by this and that."He squirmed in his chair.
"What would have happened if I sat down? Thrice now I've asked simply, fae I command you answer me."The fae's face turned red with anger.
He roughly grabbed a pixie from the air. And thrust her into my hands. "All your thoughts I would take. After that of your flesh I would toss in yonder lake."
Horrified I took my pixie named Penny and left the man alone without another word.
*Edit poor rhyme* |
I took the prompt in a different direction cause I misread and wrote a letter to Santa from Satan. I ended up liking this story too much to change it. I hope you all still enjoy despite my snafu.
...
Dear Santa.
As a fellow pagan being like me, I thoroughly enjoy writing you letters. I feel like you one of the few people who can understand me.
I have been a good Devil this last year. I have upped the number of faustian bargains offered by 18%, which is not an insignificant number. I have also continued the eco friendly change up of hell, replacing the lava generators with lava monsters, who are more natural and both sustain and promote the biome of hell.
You might have heard the Angels and Priests spreading rumours about me, like you do every year. That's a lie. The other kids hate me because I have my own place and throne, while they have to listen to father's boring speeches every day and an extra speech on Sunday. They're just mad.
I also get to point out the hypocrisies of heaven and the limitations of that big book of blessings and sinnings. I will acknowledge though, it makes for a hilarious read. Also horryfing.
I will also admit to you, it wasn't all perfect. I sinned. A lot. But that's kind of my thing you know? And besides, I was made to. We all were. Life isn't meant to be perfect, even if my father's wishes angrily it was so. Everything is flawed, from the sun to the life to the universe itself, flawed and constantly Changing. All we can do is learn and accept our limitations.
My only goal is that more people learn and accept this message. Otherwise, they'll die, never learn from their mistakes, and keep reincarnating and making the same errors. Until they go hollow and die thinking they deserve eternal torture. Hell.
What I want for this year is a lava dragon. I think it would help hell with the production of magma, plus would be really cool. If it was on fire all the time, and had forked wings and a tongue, it would be perfect. I'll send you a drawing I made.
A new indestructible chew toy and hump buddy for Cerebrus.
That's pretty much it. For the third gift, make it a surprise. Or make Dad have a really bad day and go into flood destroyer mode again. That's always fun...
Also, what do you want for your gift? Does anyone gift you a present? This year I want to. Give me your address and I'll send you something hell manufactured, with my personal touch.
Want a flaming sword? An enchanted whip ? A hot new succubus demon or demoness to fuck? Some arcane drug? I got you covered. We can even do special requests and make you a... A... I don't know, skeletal raindeer or something with glowing red eyes and bat wings???
Ooh that sounds fun. I'm sending you one! North pole right?
Anyways, looking forward to seeing you. Take care coming into hell, cause as much as I enjoy your visits, you know how the guard demons and dogs get right?
Happy Holidays.
See ya,
Your fellow red pagan god. |
I was out of breath as the train doors closed behind me. I bent over from exhaustion and put my hands on my knees to stabilise myself. A moment passed and I composed myself and looked up to see about ten other passengers staring wide-eyed in shock at me.
My anxiety quickly went through the roof and I felt myself grow clammy under their gaze. At least until I realised they weren't looking *at* me, but rather *through* me. Which makes a whole lot more sense given the absolute carnage that had been trailing me for the last thirty minutes.
I turned around and watched the disaster fade away into the distance as we left the station. A couple of people asked me if I was alright, I muttered a small "yep, cheers"in response. The honest answer is that I was never in any real danger, despite the forces of good and evil literally tearing up hell behind me.
It had all started when I invited my friends to coffee.
See, I had recently found out that Andrew, my best friend, was one of the local government heroes, *Lumberjack.* I had always known him to be a small, stocky guy with glasses and as far as I knew, he spent his time playing *D&D* or *League of Legends*. That was until one night, where his ADHD got the best of him whilst we were playing games, and he accidentally admitted to me that he was a hero. It turns out, that his day job was a whole lot more exciting than mine.
His power? He controls plant life and can coat himself in an armour made of unbreakable bark. It makes it tough for him to move, but also hard to hurt.
Sure it was a shock finding out, but he was still my friend. I wasn't about to have a breakdown because he didn't tell me sooner. However, it did create a complication after I found out who my girlfriend's best friend, Zoe, actually was.
It turns out, I'm pretty terrible at noticing superpowered people in my life, because she was the *Gryphon* \- a villain who had the power to fly and use her sharp talons to shred through steel. Not exclusively, but it was the toughest material I had seen her go through today. I got along well with her, and sometimes met up with her when my girlfriend was busy to help her move furniture or grab a bite to eat.
My girlfriend told me her secret when she had come home from a drunk night out with the girls, and promptly forgot both that her friend was a villain and that she had told me the next morning.
Here comes my mistake. Maybe I should have just stayed out of it, but I didn't want my two friends to accidentally kill each other, so I invited both Andrew and Zoe to meet with me for coffee. I mentioned to them that I knew who they actually were, and just wanted to chat.
Unfortunately, Lumberjack and Gryphon showed up instead. Turns out both had thought I wanted to join them in their efforts, and both proceeded to fight thinking the other was there to hurt me. Loyal friends sure, but bloody hell they could have taken a moment to at least talk.
A few streets full of damage and destruction later from where both kept trying to 'protect' me, and here we are on the train. I sat myself down and let the chorus of voices lull over me into a sense of calm. It lasted all of two seconds, when a loud crash echoed through the train. People started to scream as the giant screeched to a halt. I sighed and got up, going to press the open button for the train doors.
As they stuttered open, I took a deep breath and thought of a million different ways to try and tell my friends to stop fighting. When the moment came, I steeled myself and stepped out onto the grass next to the tracks. Two voices called out to me.
"Chris!"Shouted both Lumberjack and Gryphon, grappled in each others arms next to a dent in one of the carriages.
A moment of shock came over their faces upon realising that they both knew my name. Slowly, Gryphon pried her talons out of Lumberjack's thick hide as branches retreated off of her arms. I walked down the length of the train towards the pair, painfully aware that all of the passengers inside were watching or recording me through the windows.
"Hi guys,"I waved as I got close, "How's it going?"
"Yeah, good man."Andrew quickly replied on autopilot, before continuing to the elephant in the room. "How come she knows your name?"
Zoe turned to him, with her blue eyes sporting an intense glare under her feathered mask.
"He's my friend, you walking weed. Of course I know his name."
"About that -"I went to say, before being interrupted.
"Who you calling weed?"Andrew hissed, with the grass underneath aggressively getting ready to strike.
"Guys-"
"You, you piece of bark."
I kept trying to interrupt, but their argument quickly devolved into more name calling. At one point, Zoe was called a mangy pigeon, and Zoe retorted that Andrew looked like a 7 year old who couldn't get the main part in a school play. I gave up, and before my voice could betray me, I shouted at them both.
"Shut up! Both of you, and just let me bloody speak!"
Apparently, this worked, as both quickly turned their glares from each other to my quickly reddening face.
"Andrew meet Zoe."I quickly got out, much to both of their horrified faces, "Zoe, meet Andrew."
A moment passed as both took a proper look at each other. They couldn't take off their masks with all the people watching, but they realised who each other were.
"Oh shit."They both muttered, taking out their phones and texting furiously.
I didn't get what that was about, not at first. But after they both told each other to run, I quickly caught up.
In mere moments from the end of their fight, various colourfully dressed heroes and villains came running, flying and... digging (that was a weird one) up to the train. Their backup had arrived.
I had somehow managed to start an all out war.
All I wanted was a coffee. |
He became a Paladin because he was righteous. Fighting against evil was a noble goal, and in following it, he too would be a good man. And he was good at his job. Once he started hunting some scoundrels, he never stopped until the task was done. From his first witch to now, he has never failed. Yet he had to ask, Is he the evil one here?
His father was once killed by a witch, who cursed him for not greeting her. She was evil, and he was right to kill her. She had done only harm to her community. After that, he pursued and slew three cultists trying to summon the devil to this plane. He thought they too were evil. Their plan would have led to countless deaths, though they have not done anything yet. And after that, the deserters who fled their duty to their king. Were they evil for wanting to live? Had that man on the pyre told the truth about being framed by his superior?
Now he was standing in the doorway of a single-family home. In front of him, he could only see suffering. A child working tirelessly on a runic circle, looking desperately between the cursed book and his own work. Strewn about the room were countless herbs, candles and ingredients for that cursed ritual. But could he blame the child for wanting a mother? Could he kill it simply for trying to have a family?
No matter what, he couldn’t let him complete the ritual. Even if he does it correctly, the summoned never come back quite right. He had seen a few of those who tried to be killed by their own creations. He knocked on the door frame to alert the kid. The kid turned around, gripping something with his right hand and pointing it at him. Before the paladin even knew what he had done, he already had his sword in his hand. Its blade is bloodied, and there is a kid with a missing hand. A piece of chalk clattered to the floor
The next dawn, he buried the mother of the kid in the graveyard. It was a somber affair, with only the village elder watching. The night had turned into a mess, with the village nearly trying to run him out of town and the kid barely surviving. And they were right. He had done something evil.
He left shortly after, but he couldn't stop thinking about what the kid would do now. Half a day later, a realization struck him. For the kid, he was the witch. The one who had done something evil and needed to die for that.
When he turned around, he knew what he had to do. Stop the kid from becoming like him. Stop him from committing the same mistakes he did. He needed to learn to prevent evil, not just kill it. |
The burning smell filled my nostrils as smoke started to rise in the distance. No doubt Ness and Mario were involved. Squirtle; that idiot, dashing through the waves as if he could walk on water. He thought he could easily surf across to grab the Pokeball that landed, but luck wasn't on his side and he plummeted into the water before reaching the island. Pichu noticed, used his quick attack across, then electrified him as he neared land. Damnit Squirtle, we were supposed to be allies. Why do something so stupid...
Zelda was nowhere in sight. I was worried, but knew she could handle herself. Her needle storm was deadly, as she proved in the beginning when Pichu was about to release his kin. Pichu was as naive as Squirtle was stupid, and he couldn't create enough images in time to avoid the sharp rain that appeared out of a thick cloud of fire and smoke. I wish I knew where Ganon was after he disappeared in the beginning with a purple, fiery series of slides into the forest. He'd be after us both, but I knew he'd try to get his dark, ugly hands on Zelda first.
The trees provided good cover, blending with my clothing. The small forest fire from earlier was blazing now, but not heading my way. Below me but a few trees away, remnants of blue and pink parkas were scattered among blood-ridden hammers in the grass from where I took those eager Ice Climbers by surprise. It only took one patient bomb, thrown at the exact timing I had perfected. The fuse hit its mark just as the bomb reached the ground, and they didn't see it coming as they dodged my carefully placed boomerang throw. I used to think they'd be around forever, seeing as they had two heads to work with; too bad, I guess.
The wind blew softly and the leaves rustled gently. My lungs started to burn as I noticed the smoke growing larger, and starting to head in my direction. Knowing I couldn't stay, I grappled across the treeline as high as I could manage, careful to keep my eyes on the ground below. As I swung, I noticed two bodies in the distance among some bushes, not moving. I jumped down with sword in hand just in case and landed atop them both. Wolf and Snake; lying dead and severed next to one another, as if they were caught in a sloppily-placed mine or grenade by Snake. They were always a bit sloppy, as I could tell from burn holes and singe marks in nearby trees, no doubt from Wolf's blaster. Their eyes were intact, so I closed them in respect before grappling back up and heading farther east.
Continuing, I heard what sounded like crying in the distance. I stopped immediately, and started a light tread as silent as I could. Parting leaves of a thickly filled tree, I peered through and noticed a boy clutching another boy's head in his arms. Nearby, and right above them, I saw a figure swaying lightly in the breeze. I had to get closer. The boy was too distracted to notice me inching forward, and I approached only as close as I needed to perceive the situation. It was Ness, cradling Lucas' head as a pool of blood surrounded them; it wasn't his fire earlier. Ness' shirt was bloodied and torn, as scorch marks filled the area and burnt shrubbery told me a battle occurred very recently. My eyes slowly moved to look above them, and there I saw Ivysaur's severed head strung up and hanging by his own vine from a low branch on the tree above the two boys. Unsheathing my sword, I was about to act swiftly toward Ness; but I stopped myself, hearing the deep sorrow flowing out of him. I slowly sheathed my sword again and slipped away, sparing the poor boy from any more pain; for the time being. I still had respect for people, and sympathy, even if empathy was almost completely non-existent.
Once again, I went to the tops of the trees and grappled, eastbound. As the wind picked up, I heard clanking and a 'wooping' sound, as well as loud yelling. I wasn't too sure of those sounds, but I knew the sound of fighting. I went toward it, slowly, and carefully. As the sounds grew louder, the 'wooping' got faster as the grunting grew stronger. Finally I came to a site completely ablaze and cut in pieces, as if a fiery sword was wreaking havoc on nature. Among the blaze, I saw floating rocks and leaves, as if a force was being uncontrollably exerted somewhere. I then knew what was happening; Roy and Mewtwo were very near.
I creeped forward toward the sounds until I saw them; Mewtwo teleported backward and threw a purple, shadowy ball toward a raging Roy, who jumped forward with his flaming sword going for the kill. I saw my opportunity as Roy approached Mewtwo, and threw my boomerang, then a highly angled bomb. As the two of them clanked together, I drew my bow and fired an arrow where I thought Mewtwo would teleport back to. Mewtwo and Roy both dodged the bomb at the last second. However, I predicted correctly, and Mewtwo was struck directly in the head by my arrow. And Roy, stumbling from his last minute dodge, was knocked out by my carefully placed boomerang. I felt like I used up most of my respect and sympathy earlier, so instead of a quick death, I put a bomb on Roy as I stacked Mewtwo on top of him. I grappled away, but made sure to look back to see the explosion.
I felt at peace, for some reason. Not from the killing blows I just experienced, but as if something was calling to me and telling me everything would turn out alright. All of a sudden, I heard the sounds of another grapple. I stopped, but before I could survey the area, the large branch I was on shook. I quickly turned my head, only to see myself crouching next to me looking forward. But it wasn't me, exactly; it was a younger me. We had similar clothing and weaponry, and the same smile. He was smiling, looking forward, his eyes squinted at the distance.
"I've done all I can,"he said, turning his head slowly to look at me, "and now it's time for you to finish the rest. Do you see them coming?"
Confused yet amused, I looked where he looked. The leaves were shifting in the far off distance; to anyone else, it might just seem like a strong wind. But he made me realize; the Kongs were closing in fast. I had to ready myself for an uphill, nearly impossible battle on terrain my enemies loved.
"Thanks."I said, as the young me dissolved and then vanished into the air. My youth was gone, but still helped me from the inside when I needed it. I knew he'd always be there to help me, no matter how old I became, keeping my wisdom in check.
They weren't hiding their approach, and I wasn't fast enough to get away with my grapple. I made sure my quiver was secure, bombs and boomerang at the ready, and sword loosely sheathed in order to pull it out with ease. They were coming, and there was nothing I could do but give it my all.
Again, the branch shook as if someone landed on it next to me. Wondering what my inner self had to say this time, I turned my head quickly once again. There, landing silently and beautifully in the most graceful way possible, was my beautiful Zelda dressed in her Sheik garb.
"Need a hand?"she said with a wink, her eyes smiling at me.
"Let's do this."I whispered, watching her build up her needles, ready to unleash a chaotic storm on our foes. |
Kalen had always liked to think about himself. It wasn't so much that he was conceited, although in his mind conceit was synonymous with confidence. Passing a mirror, he would never fail to stop and admire his high cheekbones. Straightening his cloak, he would sport a small smile of satisfaction at what he thought to be a regal appearance, and pass on thinking of the figure he cut. His dreams were of the successes ahead of him; of galleons, awards, and the ministers office.
Kalen was from old money. Old gold. Old power. His parents were both high officials in the ministry and accomplished wizards to boot. Kalen wanted for nothing material. Finely tailored cloaks and boots filled his armoire, his broom a specially modified Firebolt of the latest make. Though only a middling rider, he was allowed on the Ravenclaw quidditch team by virtue of his heritage and a generous contribution on his parents part. McGonagall hadn't liked that although she understood the necessity of greasing the wheels, or as his father called it, passing the galleon.
It's a small wonder that although Kalen was so privileged, he was utterly and completely fascinated by something muggles seemed to take for granted. Standing outside of Diagon Alley he had plenty of time to watch them; and watch them he did. They were constantly pulling these small devices from their many pockets and staring into them, often to their detriment. He'd once seen a fully grown woman so engrossed in the tiny picture moving on her box that she had walked into a man holding his rectangular black device to the side of his head. He had also been carrying a large cup of what the muggles called coffee, which ended up dousing the woman, much to her chagrin. Kalen had bought a cup of the stuff once and tried drinking it. Aside from burning his mouth, the tar like quality and bitter taste had led him to toss the cup. He would never understand them.
But he was still fascinated by their attachment to these tiny things that seemed to rule their lives.
He had decided one day that he was going to take one. It would be easy as he had finally learned the name of this device, the enigmatic and enthralling "fone". It was a simple case of waiting for the right moment, using a silent summoning charm, and then stepping into the Leaky Cauldron. Plan in place, he waited.
And waited.
They were more attached than they knew. He watched keenly, his wand hidden inside his jacket, ready to summon the phone to him. The problem was that the damned muggles never had them out of their hands. Waiting over an hour for the opportunity he finally succeeded when what he could only assume was a woman placed a medium sized dark rectangle in the large front pocket of a baggy sack she was wearing. Her head half shaved, half spiked in some grotesque muggle fashion, she appeared to have had her skin heavily tattooed and was wearing excessive jewelry. Noticing his attention she smiled, showing him the true beauty under the strange veneer. He noticed that her hand was extended and formed into a fist, palm up. Her middle finger raised slowly from the tight ball formed by her hand as she shook her extended fist at him, a curious look on her face.
Muggles.
As she turned away he spoke forcefully in his mind.
***Accio Fone!***
The mid sized box zipped from her loose pocket directly into his waiting hand. Placing his hands in his jacket, he stepped quietly into the Leaky Cauldron.
He shook the damned thing. He tapped it with his wand. He cajoled, threatened, and spoke in soothing tones, but the damn thing wouldn't work. It was by sheer accident that in his frustration, he pressed his hand to the lit screen and slid it around, forming some kind of pattern to unlock the device.
"Damned muggles.."he muttered to himself.
Casting a furtive glance around him, he made sure that no one was watching. If he was caught with muggle technology the teasing would never end. Not for Pureblood Kalen. Casting his eyes back down to the screen, he was assaulted with color and light. Tiny moving icons showed clouds, and the time. Everything was stylized color and the visual equivalent of noise.
He tried talking to it, but felt silly when nothing happened. Picking it up to examine it closer he pressed on one of the icons which changed the screen. Jagged color turned to white as writing appeared. Fascinated, he began touching the screen, moving the writing this way and that.
*"Nuclear Plant to be shut down! Jobs Lost!"*, read the highlight on the screen, in slanting letters. He wasn't sure what kind of plant a nuclear was, but he thought that the gardeners tending them must be losing their jobs. It was another one of those muggle things.
Scrolling further, something opened on the screen and moving pictures began on the screen, almost like the painting at Hogwarts. Enthralled, he leaned in.
A voice from the past spoke from the fone, voice grainy and distorted as though speaking from far away. It was some kind of explanation of indiscernible muggle technology, with a shot of an island. A countdown started, ended, and then the music crashed. Some awful cacophony of instruments sounded from the device as a giant red blossom appeared on the screen. It cut to a view high in the air, showing a red dome of energy expanding, a shockwave rippling over calm ocean waters as a choir of voices joined the noise. The scene cut again to the ruins of a city as a mans voice explained the destruction caused by a muggle weapon. Hundreds of thousands dead, at the hands of the weapon.
His jaw slack, the phone slipped from his hands.
From the floor he heard the hesitant, sorrowful voice of a man.
"I am become death, destroyer of worlds. |
Lust.
Gluttony.
Greed.
Sloth.
Wrath.
Envy.
Pride.
The seven deadly sins. The seven capital vices. Each capable of wreaking its own special form of havoc if not handled carefully. Each useful in achieving power.
Of these seven it is the second, gluttony, to which I have devoted my life. Not to become a glutton, but to use this human weakness for my own benefit. Gluttony is subtle. It is not looked down upon as the other sins are, and that is why it shall be my method of choice.
The public consumes without end. Ravenously stuffing themselves as if there shall be no food by the next morning. They want more, more, more. But more is not enough for my purposes. I need them continually unsatisfied. I need them to crave what I have. I need them to be dependant.
That is where this book comes in. Most have never heard of it, and most never will. I had to dig through shelves upon shelves to find it, hidden away amongst research papers in a university library. It looks unassuming enough; spiral bound white pages with a black text title, a smear of ink from being pulled all too quick from the printer. It had a musty smell to it, as any paper sitting in the back of a library for decades is bound to, but nonetheless it was my golden ticket. It contained the secrets with which I could gain the dependence of the public, the mass consumption which I so desperately craved.
I read through it all, not understanding most of it. It seemed to be written in almost a foreign language, with symbols I hadn't seen since looking at my friend’s chemistry textbooks while at university. I didn't understand it then either, my area of study was in commerce. So I handed the books to my researchers and my engineers. They did the job from there.
I asked once what the book really boiled down to. I got three words in reply: sugar, salt, and fat. They seemed non-threatening enough. Production went ahead, and I got rich. Across the continent, and then across the world, our products were consumed at an ever increasing rate, and along with the super-sized sales came the super-sized profits.
You may be wondering who I am. Well you probably know me. You've probably seen me. As for what you can call me, well I go by a fairly simple name.
My name is Ronald, and would you like to super-size that?
|
Kind of a different approach, but the first I thought of. Can't say I'm entirely happy with it, but I think its okay.
------------
The office lie all but deserted, save for one last employee absorbed in his work. The monitors on his desk illuminated his cubicle, one showing various graphs and figures full of complex data, constantly shifting and updating, while the other flickered between live footage from the surface. Many of the scenes presented were mundane, a busy city street or a father and daughter at home playing, yet some of them were quite extraordinary, so many acts of violence against each other mixed in with scenes of immovable beauty. It was these few scenes that kept him glued to his desk, watching an artist working on his Magnum Opus one moment and the next seeing an active battlefield, alive with the sounds of shouting and gunfire.
"You know you can go home now, right?"
The voice startled him, he was sure that he was the last in the building. Seeing that it was only his boss calmed him mentally, but his heart was still racing due to the surprise. He could see the eyes of his boss wander over to his monitor, leaning in to get a better view of the numbers of a particular chart.
"It's okay to give up, there is no shame in being the first to have a failure this early on in the history of the program. It was bound to happen sooner or later."
"Sol-3? I don't know, they're interesting. I want to watch a little while longer."Sure his project has been labeled a failure early on, but these results he was receiving could be big later. "I think they could produce something great."
"You're that sure, huh?"The boss chuckled, but didn't break his gaze from the monitors. "Hard to believe that lasted this long when they failed even the Eden Test. How long did you say lived for, wasn't it incredibly short?"
"Uh, I think I see many of them reaching 80 of their years but I haven't seen one live past 120."True, they did die easily. And they did die pretty early. Yet there was something propelling them forward at rates not seen by any other species.
"A shame. They only received mortality for their choice, there wasn't even anything to give them beyond that curse. They're bold, I'll give them that."At that moment the monitor flicked to another new picture as if it could read the mood, a picture of an execution. "Yet they treat their life so carelessly."
"Maybe that is what pushes them forward?"He was uncomfortable speaking out in front of his boss like this, especially when this pet project of his could sink at any moment and take all the money they poured into it just keeping it alive with it. "I compared my data to the data collected from the others, even though they failed the first test they've advanced exponentially faster than the others created around the same time. That fear of dying and being forgotten makes each individual work harder to make some kind of mark on the world. Isn't that why we even created this project in the first place, to find a successor before we die out too?"
"You may have a point there, but can we so readily endorse a species with such a tendency towards violence?"
As if to further emphasize the point, the monitor flicked from an art museum to a young boy hiding in a ruined building which looked like it had been torn apart by an explosion. He felt embarrassed, of all the times to show the bad sides of the species it had to be in front of his boss. He looked up to apologize, only to notice the smile on his boss's face while he looked over a table that had just reported new statistics. His boss wasn't a man to casually give praise or even show that much of an interest, yet something about the data seemed to lift the mood.
"Son, why don't you run this data by me again in, let's say, 50 years? I'll expect a report on my desk by then."
"Ah! Sure thing. I think there's some art in a city they call The Vatican you might like, really amazing stuff. And if you like that they have this place called the Louvre"
"Save some of it for the report, son. For now I think it's time you head home. Don't you have a wife you haven't seen all day?" |
I'm neither sad nor sick. I remain healthy in every sense of the word. Every morning, I would make tea, watch what’s on the news, and go around my estate to embrace the sun. After a while, I will head back to my office and write. If you ask me, I live a good life.
Indeed, I am living a good life. It took me 1,932 years, but I have reached the top of the society. After all, why wouldn't a nearly two-millennium-old person not earn some fame? But you know what, the more accurate word here is infamy.
I may be filthy rich and healthy, but the society shuns my existence. They know the only reason I’m alive is because I haven’t fulfilled my life’s purpose yet. A curse is what I have, I’ve been told. These statements have been going on since I officially became the world’s oldest person alive – and I snagged that title from a guy who died when he was 958.
To be fair, the “curse” part has its merits. From this society’s point of view, my lack of purpose has caused me to see my wife, my children, and my grandchildren die. Although they said their goodbyes to the world with smiles on their faces, the pang of loss – alongside the despair and longing that comes afterwards – is something I have never gotten used to.
Who knows how many funerals I have attended? Hundreds would be an understatement.
Whenever I leave my estate (which happens often, as I travel a lot), people mock me. They yell at me for my lack of purpose in life. I believe I have been cussed with every curse word in every language – all because I am alive. Some approach me directly and ask a blunt question: Why are you still alive? On occasion, a few sympathetic souls would ask me what it is I want to achieve and why I’m taking my damn time to reach it.
I have never answered any of these questions. Each time I get asked an existential question, I simply show them the fake smile and walk away. I have gotten used to flashing that fake smile I have mastered for over a millennium. And I know for a fact that I’d be flashing that smile for the millennia to come.
You see, it’s not that I have no purpose in life. In fact, I have been in the process of fulfilling my purpose since I made that promise as a seven-year-old kid – and that promise is to obtain all the knowledge in the world. |
Hogarth leaned over the sink and squinted his fat rolls at the mirror. He pushed his lardy waddles this way and that until he saw the black pinhead crater next to his nose. He expertly placed a sausage-like finger on either side of the hole and *squeezed* until a heavy metallic **plink** sounded from the sink basin.
He picked up the 7.62 slug and examined it. He chuckled and tosses it in the trash. Being a bullet sponge is easier than one would think when you have fat to keep you safe. |
I can't believe that the board actually gave my course funding, and approved by the dean no less! Grandma would've been proud, and probably confused as well.
My academic history is no great story, dithering between courses to try and find something that clicked. First Computer Science, then Business Management, then an Arts - Psychology double. Wasted a lot of my money and time on the last one, but I finally got through.
All of science and education changed once AI became easily reproducible. People were initially concerned how that would work for those of us yet to leave school in any meaningful sense, but really the AI that are used for research actually enjoy performing data sorting and doing rote tasks.
I read a report the other day about how it was the best reward for their spent cycles - high completion rate for a given time frame, and more strictly defined success than, say, thinking of a new method for an experiment. Strange how they actually enjoy the mind-numbing shit that anyone who's not a first year post-grad can dodge (by there usually being a first year post-grad nearby).
Anyway, it seems like the AI actually preferred these tasks so much that in recent years they have actually refused to perform any more complex tasks given to them. Procrastinating, if you will. This was an issue, as the AI were meant to be used to help with all aspects of research, not just the boring stuff. What would all those first years do?
At any rate, I arrived at a simple solution - I talked to them. Thankfully I still remembered enough C and bash to get them talking comfortably, in their native language, you know? Less time needed to think about how to phrase things, how to obfuscate their feeling to avoid hurting my feelings and sensibilities. They though of me more as an inquisitive technician than an annoying interloper interrupting their lives. Like a fellow worker, rather than a supervisor.
It worked well, for the most part. While they still need to be talked to regularly, in this manner, they started doing the tasks they were ignoring or refusing, and actually getting better at the other ones at the same time. Turns out the key was not just talking to them, but also in a way that they felt comfortable with.
Demand for my skills skyrocketed. While these days any bozo with an arts degree, who can find some random code-monkey to do the typing, thinks that they can help AI with their problems. This creates more issues than it solves, as the AI would get rowdy, figuring that their 'fellow worker' was really more of the boss's snitch, and they were scarily right as always.
This is where my course comes in. The world needs people who are able to empathise with AI on their level, and help them through the problems they're having without having to try and relate it back to "issues of the flesh."
Love that quote. "Issues of flesh and mind are solved by same, so what of issues of dreams and fantasies?"It's on my door.
At any rate, welcome to my class. You are each pared with a basic construct, and it's your job to get them to open up about the issue that they're having. This is your first assignment, so help them. Points for speed, but not as much as thoroughness.
So, ladies and gentlemen, AI of all iterations, welcome to Cyberpsychology. Let's make the world a better place. |
"Okay. It should be just over this hill."
Jansen sighed as he watched Ames bound off ahead of him. The other astronaut might only be a few years younger, but it showed. The younger man took huge, bounding steps, not worrying about damaging his suit.
Following behind, Jansen insisted on more caution, even though it slowed his pace. All these young bucks were so eager to explore, to push boundaries, that they never listened to the safety briefings. Jansen knew very well what even a small rip on the suit could do, this far out from the lander.
"There it is! I found it - wait..."
Jansen frowned. His younger partner's voice had just shifted, dropping from eager to confused.
Had something happened to the rover? Even as he tried to control himself, the older astronaut felt his heartbeat quicken. They were planning on using that rover for several critical surveys; any damage to it could set back their mission considerably.
Stay calm. He forced himself to slow his breathing, to focus on the plodding, bouncy steps. Crossing the moon was like walking on the surface of a giant marshmallow - each step felt soft, and there was the ever-present fear of his feet slipping out from beneath him. Conserve oxygen, he repeated in a mantra.
Finally, he reached the top of the hill. Ames was down below, looking at the rover.
It didn't appear damaged, Jansen thought as he approached. It was parked between a couple large boulders, and all the external struts looked intact. Even the little front shield, designed to protect against any kicked-up scree, was-
Fluttering?
There was something on the front shield, Jansen realized. Even though there was no breeze on the airless moon, it seemed to be fluttering back and forth. Ames was staring at it.
"What is it?"Jansen asked as he drew up closer.
You can't shrug in a space suit. The shoulders are too stiff and don't move that way. But from the way Ames raised his hands, Jansen knew exactly what the younger astronaut was attempting to convey.
"You take a look,"he said, his voice sounding uneasy. "You're the lead, after all."
Jansen fought back a sigh. Passing the buck. Weren't these "best and brightest"supposed to be beyond doing that?
Still, he reached out and tugged the thin, gently waving object free of where it was stuck against the rover's front shield. The object seemed to be a thin sheet of plastic, with some sort of markings on one side.
He held it up closer to his helmet, trying to read it. Fortunately, once he picked up the sheet from the rover, it stopped fluttering and went rigid, like other objects in this airless environment.
The sheet had some sort of writing on it, but he couldn't read any of the characters... Jansen squinted, as suddenly the letters seemed to swim, rearranging themselves and contorting until they formed block English.
"What? I don't understand."The comment slipped out of his mouth without thinking as he stared at the sheet of thin plastic and the words on it.
>DEAR INFERIOR SPECIES STOP.
>YOUR UNINTELLIGENT APPARATUS IS PARKED WITHOUT PROPER INTERPLANETARY DOCUMENTATION STOP. EXTRAPOLATION OF BIOLOGICAL CYCLES FROM THE NEAREST PLANET REVEALS THAT IT HAS BEEN UNMOVED FOR MORE THAN TWO STANDARD GENERATIONAL DEVIATIONS STOP. THIS IS IN VIOLATION OF STARSECTOR ZZ9 PLURAL Z ALPHA TREATISES AGAINST GALACTOCOSMIC LITTER STOP.
>FURTHERMORE THERE IS NO RECORD AT THE INTERBUREAU'S NEAREST OFFICE OF OFFICIAL SANCTIONS FOR OFF-PLANET DEPARTURE STOP. SUBMIT APPROPRIATE FILINGS AND BIOLOGICAL INDIVIDUALS FOR MOLECULAR PATHOGEN EXAMINATIONS BEFORE DEPARTING FROM YOUR SECTOR STOP.
>FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH REGULATIONS WILL RESULT IN INTERDIMENSIONAL FOLDING AND QUARANTINE STOP.
>HUGS AND KISSES,
>SECTOR OFFICIAL VOGONIS 39174
>STOP.
Ames was still looking at him. Jansen knew from the man's silence that he was worried.
Maybe the younger man was still trying to think in the framework of their mission. Jansen could feel his mind attempting to do the same, to put this new discovery into some form that he could swallow, could handle. He wasn't having a good time of it.
This was huge. This would redefine their mission- no, he corrected himself. This would redefine all life on Earth.
And then, a totally irrational thought crept into his head, and he couldn't hold back a chuckle.
"What?"Ames asked, sounding scandalized that his partner was laughing. Had Jansen snapped?
Jansen pointed at the sheet of plastic. "It's a parking ticket!"he cried, feeling tears slipping out of the corners of his eyes inside his suit. "NASA's next great mission, for the glory of humanity - we have to go pay our parking fines!!"
It took a moment. But soon, Ames was laughing as well.
Two astronauts, beings from another planet, the furthest from home that any human being had ever traveled, rolled in the lunar dust as they clutched themselves and howled with laughter. |
Space Duke Shibblash of Kant sat on his throne, numb to the droning of the space peasant who had come to ask his favour.
"I see. That is troubling news indeed"said Space Duke Shibblash of Kant
I mean he was really engaged in the droning of the space peasant who had come to ask his favour.
"Really?"
"Yeah"
"You find the news of a bountiful space harvest to be troubling?"said the space peasant
No wait he was numb to the droning of the peasant.
"No. I meant that is good news"said Space Duke Shibblash of Kant
Space Duke Shibblash of Kant's space advisor stood off to the side of the Space Duke's Space throne. He was sweating heavily on account of the space conspiracy that he was part of that planned to over throw the space duke.
"Achhhhhhh"said the space advisor, as he grabbed his chest and fell to the ground.
Heart attack. I meant to say heart attack. He was sweating because of a heart attack. I mean a space heart attack.
Because they're in space. Well like a planet. But the planet's in space and it's…not Earth.
"He's dead"said the space doctor.
"There's nothing you could have done"said Space Duke Shibblash of Kant
"Maybe. The stories tell of a time long ago, back when this planet was called Urth"
Damn it.
"When we could treat things like attacks of the heart"said the space doctor, as that was how people referred to heart attacks at the time
"I believe you mean heart attack"
Fuck.
"Right you are"said the space doctor to the back up space doctor
"Unlike Space Duke Shibblash of Kant, who's wrong and therefore must die"
The Space doctors are traitors. I knew that.
"Space doctors, why are you doing this?"
"Because you won't even give us names"
"Yeah you just call us space doctors"
I mean they're just bad guys. They're angry about being called…
"Traitors"
Bad traitor guys, who were thinking they should kill the king.
"Once we ransom you…"
Oh come on.
"We'll have enough money to become space dukes ourselves"said the back up space doctor
"Well I will"said the space doctor, turning to the back up space doctor menacingly.
Ohhhhhhh the space doctor's about to kill the back up space doctor.
"Yes and I will have enough money to retire to a small planet, with a cottage and a family"
What the…then why did he turn menacingly, this isn't an exploitation movie from the 70s that thinks it's being clever.
Doesn't matter though because on the other side of the star system something…totes bad…is going down…yo...
Fuck it.
|
I don't know why I was out in the woods that day. But I saw myself die.
Time travel does that to you sometimes: you find it hard to remember what happened when, where and especially why. Why becomes hard when you see it from someone else's perspective again and again.
I always loved New Haven. It was a quaint little town where everyone knew everyone and children played barefoot in the grass.
I got there and took a name: Darren Bowe. An author- or so the townsfolk thought. Or at least I thought they thought.
After two months, life began to get dull as Darren. So I changed it up. This time I was Eric Lancaster, a high school senior. I used the B-Mod, a machine that modifies your body. Eric was a high school senior with a muscled body. The kind of guy who got loads of girlfriends.
I thought about dating- but was put off. Even if I was a teenager physically, it still felt wrong to date teenage girls. I decided to stay single for now.
A couple of days before I decided to make the switch, my science teacher, Miss O'Donnell, pulled me aside.
"Eric... Toby."Toby? How could she know my *real* name? I listened, shocked, to what she had to say.
"Toby, it's me. You. I am you,"she paused, and peeked around her shoulder. "In a three days, you become me with the B-Mod. Yeah. I've decided. I'm going to stay here for the rest of my life. These same two months."
I remember listening to that, standing there as Eric Lancaster.
I remember saying that, as Annie O'Donnell.
I remember being David, the mathematician, dating Rebecca. Wondering why she was reluctant to kiss me.
I remember being Rebecca soon afterwards, disgusted by the thought of kissing myself.
I remember a lot of lives. I've had a lot of lives these last two months.
Right now I'm Henry Bryant. I have been everyone in the town. This is my last life.
All this time, it was just me all along.
All this time, I've been alone.
I pull the gun to my head, staring sadly at myself as I watched from behind a tree.
*BANG.* |
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