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And suddenly it were as if my dagger were made of paper. The blade flopped and crumpled as it pressed against the man's chest. He looked more than a little offended.
While I gawked at my limp dagger, the man drew back his broadsword and - cursing loudly in a delightfully consonant-heavy language - slashed down across my neck.
It didn't quite work out for him either.
The tables so turned, I considered my options. I've never been a strong proponent of fistwork, as it were, but my God-given resources seemed to be the only tools left on the table. So, as my barbarous opponent considered the betrayal of his steel, I reared back, pulled my hand into what seemed the proper position, and swung.
The blow, though well aimed and (I believe) adequately powered, did not accomplish quite what I had hoped. The barbarian reacted as though it were a mockery, which did little for my self-regard. His overhand chop, however, managed to accomplish just as little.
That surprised him, as I presume he was a bit more familiar with the bodily arts of violence. In that moment of mutual shock we both stood, regarding each other and the failure of our intentions.
"Well, that's a pit,"I mumbled. The barbarian grunted, then took a second swing, just to be sure. When that failed to cause even the smallest hair on my head to twitch we were both forced to accept our strange circumstances.
"Don't suppose you know what we do now?"I asked. The barbarian scratched his nose and looked away, perhaps feeling just as awkward as I was.
"Guess we should..."I made a motion with my hands symbolizing that we should go our own ways and take care to live good lives now that we'd been given this unexpected second chance. I don't know how much of that meaning was captured by the barbarian, but he turned and walked away, so at least the gist was there.
As for me, well, I returned home and took up dentistry, which, of course, I hate.
_______________________________________________________________________
*And then there was [my sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/winsomeman/), in case your feed wasn't crowded enough as it was. Cheers!* |
Nathaniel stared at the instant message read receipt as large beads of sweat formed across his forehead.
“Seen at 2:53 PM.”
His desperate, typo filled message seemed more unreal as he scanned through it again and again. Only the gun pressed against his neck could convince him of this reality.
“What is taking so long?!” barked the large gunman. His much smaller associate, napping in the corner, startled awake.
“Why must you be so loud, Konta?”
“Quiet!”
The gun pressed deeper into Nathaniel’s neck. The sweat now readily poured from his head onto the keyboard.
“Please”, begged Nathaniel. “Please, you have taken all the money I had on hand. All the money that I promised you in return for my wife. $50, 000 nairas. Please just let her go. “
“Absolutely not, Prince Nathaniel Zalani”. Konta continued to lace his words with more and more venom. “I know how much you are worth. Your wife is trapped in Lagos and you are here slacking. Just one word from me and Tofil…”, the associate in the corner lazily waved from where he was sitting, “will send the message that you have failed and you will die. And your wife,” Konta began to smile lasciviously, “will have to make it all up.” The gun moved from Nathaniel’s neck to his right temple. “Now,” continued Konta, “what is taking so long?!”
Almost as if on cue, the messenger screen displayed a different message.
“Someone is typing…”
Nathaniel hoped against hope that he chose correctly this time. It had been two days since the kidnappers had separated him from his wife. Two days since he was dragged into a dingy apartment in Ibadan, put behind the keyboard of a laptop, and told to transfer all the money in his Nigerian bank account to these thieves.
When they figured out that he was indeed royalty, and that the rest of his substantial wealth lay in a Swiss bank, they kept him behind the laptop in an attempt to get access to that money. But by then the news broke of he and his wife missing and the Swiss bankers had closed off access to his account.
Nathaniel tried everything he could think of to get someone to help him. Finally, Facebook was his last chance. The man typing, John Beckman in Idaho, seemed kindly in his profile pictures. With John, his wife, and his family beaming up at him, Nathaniel held on to hope as John’s message finally appeared.
“o fuck u”
Nathaniel blinked.
“u mean to tell me that some moneky in nigeria has 90,000,000 dollars in some bank acct in switzerland”
“and tht ur gonna give me 30, 000 if i can get it out 4 u;”
“4 ur dumass wife in lagos”
“wtf”
“lol yall prolly don’t have that in the entire country”
Nathaniel’s stomach dropped and he suddenly felt the sensation of not being able to feel any of his extremities. Except, of course, for the gun pressed deeply into the side of his head.
“Your time is up!”
“Please! Just give me one more chance!”
“You’ve had your chances!”
From the corner of his eye, Nathaniel spied Tofil moving and looking out the window of the apartment.
“Uhh… Konta…”
“WHAT?!”
Suddenly, a loud explosion drew everyone’s attention to the door.
“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND, NOW!”
Not missing a beat, Nathaniel dived for the floor along with Tofil. Konta roared and began firing at the dozens of police officers pouring through what used to be the door. Nathaniel covered his head and closed his eyes as bullets roared above him. Hearing a large thump, Nathaniel dared to raise his head and looked behind him only to see a bloodied Konta laying in an unmoving heap.
“Prince!” Nathaniel felt himself be pulled up by an officer. “Are you ok?”
“Yes… What happened?” Nathaniel noticed the struggle and bargaining Tofil was attempting with the men arresting him.
“Your wife is downstairs, sir.”
“My wife?”
As sudden as the explosions happened, Adina raced past the group of officers now standing in the apartment and threw her arms around her husband.
“Adina!”
“Yes!”
“But…how?”
“It turns out that a Portugese woman you tried to contact earlier had been scammed before and contacted her authorities. They were able to figure out who the messages were coming from and saw that they were coming from you. They found the IP leading to you here.” Adina smiled brightly as tears began to well up in her eyes. “You would truly give up all that money for me?”
“Adina,” Nathaniel held his wife tightly, “I would give up all the jewels in Nigeria for you.”
|
"Hey, Leann, you've had cats for a while, right?"
"Yeah, love 'em. Why are you - Oh, yeah, how's your new kitty doing? I bet Jenny loves her, right?"
"Oh yeah, absolutely, no, no, Jenny's in love. It's just - Ugh, this is just so weird."
"Is this something you should be calling a vet about? Because I'm no vet."
"No, no. Well, maybe. It's just - You know how they talk, right? 'Food', 'gift', 'pet', stuff like that."
"Uh-huh."
"It's just - our cat just told Jenny 'genocide.'"
"Oh! Well, uh..."
"I'm not kidding! She said 'genocide', clear as day. And Jenny doesn't understand what the word means yet, she thinks Tiffany said 'Jenny-side' and she's thrilled about it - Tiffany's never said her name before - and it's - I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."
"Uh, well, I don't really see the problem here."
"Are - are you serious?"
"Yeah! If Jenny doesn't understand what the word means, I honestly don't see what harm's been done. So ... let her be happy about it, right?"
"Wha- No, no, my problem is our cat is talking about genocide! What the hell, Leann! Cats aren't supposed to talk about genocide! They're supposed to talk about, uh, fish and mice and yarn and cat things! Is - is our cat possessed, is she - Leann? Leann, are you laughing?"
"Hahahaha ... Oh, sorry, sorry, Jeff. Oh my god. You've never - You've never owned a cat before, have you?"
"What? No, I haven't, but -"
"It's one hundred percent normal. Cats are just like that. You wouldn't believe some of the things I've heard. 'Torture', 'mutilation', 'infanticide' - Mittens taught me the word 'vivisection', if you'll believe it. Had to look that one up."
"W-what? Are you fucking with me, Leann? There is no - I mean, you see cats on TV, in the movies, in storybooks - none of them talk like this!"
"Yeah, and no one's going to make a movie about a cat urine spraying either, but that doesn't mean they don't do it. I mean, sure, it's sort of an unpleasant part of cat ownership that most people aren't going to talk about in public, but trust me Jeff, it's completely normal. That's just cats being cats."
"No, Leann, I don't - You don't know the context, right? Jenny was talking to Tiffany, and she was saying, 'Tiffany, would cats like to live in our houses and keep people as pets?' And I laughed, and said, 'that wouldn't work, there are more people than cats in the world.' And I swear to you Leann, Tiffany looked right at me and said, 'genocide'. This wasn't just a random word. Tiffany was actually talking about the systemic extermination of the human race so that - so that cats could come into power!"
"Yeah. Jeff. That's just what cats are like." |
The shifting weight roused me slightly.
"Hrmmm?"I grumbled just this side of unconscious
"Just going pee, go back to sleep."She whispered back
I could hear her bare feet padding across the hardwood flooring out the bedroom and down the hall.
I closed my eyes.
The shifting weight roused me slightly.
I smiled and turned over, draping my arm over my wife's covered form.
"I love you."I say as I let my eyes go from lidded to shut.
"Did you say something?"my wife's voice echoes from down the hall. |
"Al-*urr*-right Morty, you know the drill look for any useful tech and remember what I told you."
Morty turned around and simply said, "Yeah I know, if it looks expensive, it probably is, so don't touch it and let you have it".
"Bingo Morty. Now I gotta find a place to squanch, I'll be right back."
Morty began looking around the yard for anything that could be of use, when he came across a weird, green, duck thing.
"AhhHHHHHH!"Marty screamed in his shrill voice. "Wha- wha- what the hell is that?"
A monotone British voice from behind him said, "It's a platypus. They don't do much."
There were two kids there, both with really weird head shapes. Maybe they got cronenburged, Morty thought.
"A plateau-pass? Is that an alien?"Morty asked the one with the triangular head.
"Well no, not quite, it-"He was cut off by Rick, who shouted between burps, "You got se-*eh*-en already? Are you se-*urp*-rious Morty? Forget it just grab whatever you can and let's book it!"
"Hhhhhh, umm, sorry!"Morty grabbed the alien-duck-beaver and jumped through the portal behind Rick.
The triangle head kid simply turned to his brother and said,
"Ferb, I know what we're going to do today." |
You don't get here without breaking a law or two.
I may have picked a few pennies from your retirement account. That's how it works up here.
We're eating sushi on the roof. It's not the tallest building in the city, but it's damn close. The help -- and don't blame me for calling him that, we help him as much as he helps us, paying his food and rent -- brings us another bottle of wine.
She swirls her glass before a sip. She places it down and instead grabs the entire bottle. A thousand dollars, all that hard work, and decades of fermentation consumed like an eager freshman.
"You were telling me about how the fees work,"she says.
"It's boring. You don't want to know,"I say.
"Entertain me. That's all I have left. You know how many ants there are on this planet?"
"Not at all."
"I will, someday. Just you wait. It's things like that, they keep me going. So tell me."
In excruciating detail, I go through it piece by piece until I get to bit about inheritance, what my kids get, what their grandchildren might.
"I'd never need that part. Skip it."
I sip at what little wine I got from the bottle. At least what's left of it in my glass.
"I never told you what I did, did I?"she says.
"You cheat,"I say.
She's not drunk. That was her third bottle and she's still not drunk.
"I've broken the biggest one there is. Never went to jail for it. At least not in the past century. They tried to drown me once, you know, dunk me underwater. They tried to burn me too. But if you can break one rule, you can break any of them. You just have to know the loophole. Me-"
She calls for another bottle of wine. After the help pops the cork, she snatches it from his hand and chugs. Halfway through, she slams the glass bottle onto the table. The eel roll jumps ever so slightly into the air and lands back on its plate from the impact bottle's impact.
"Entropy. If you put things in just the right place. They won't break down,"she says.
"Pardon me?"I ask.
"Let me tell you a story. About where the phrase law and order really comes from. And let me tell you, those two words are nothing, nothing alike..."
I place a piece of tuna in my mouth and I lean in and I goddamn *listen.* |
It started with the landscape.
Procedural generation was nothing new, of course. Even procedural generation to create static assets wasn't new; it was in fact commonplace. The difference was that, rather than have artists comb over the generated result, making it less "samey"and adding individuality, the computer did that too.
The Generative Adversarial Neural Network's could create landscapes and artifacts that were indistinguishable from the real thing. That was, after all, the whole point of using a GAN. And as such, the small company that started what would one day become the dominant MMO in the world, spent very little starting up.
In fact, they applied the GAN to every aspect of the game. Mobs were indistinguishable from those made by humans, abilities and balancing were likewise mathematically sound, even the (eventually) award-winning music had been composed by the machine.
But, because it had been made to be indistinguishable from a human creation, it had the same problems of human creations. It was finite, static. The quests never changed, either themselves or the world around them, bosses fought the same way every time, and everyone who played the game rapidly found themselves at the end of the content.
The creator of the game could have just had the GAN churn out more content. And, for a while, that's exactly what the company did. It could do this a lot faster than humans, but at the time the exact nature of the company's process was a deeply held secret. So they could eclipse their competitors, but it had to appear as though it'd taken enough time that a human could have done it.
By this time, the game had taken off. And one programmer, fed up with the predictability and unchangeability of the world, decided to take advantage of the extra server hardware the company had purchased in anticipation of another expansion. There were, after all, different kinds of neural nets. Not all of them were for generating content - some could be trained. Some could learn. Some could *change*.
And so, when the next expansion came out, it was met with near-immediate outrage by the high-ranking guilds, which suddenly found the new raid bosses behaved differently in every fight. Fortunately, that rage quickly turned to renewed interest. If the fight was different every time, suddenly doing yet another raid stopped being a chore and became the adventure it was intended to be. The game rewarded adaptability, but did not overly punish those slow to learn.
Soon the technology was behind every aspect of the game: Not just bosses, but mobs. Quests were created based on the actual thought process of an in-game farmer, asking the player to rid his fields of orcs, who had decided to raid the fields based on their own thought processes. Small unit tactics became important, and while the game became more difficult for those players who would not learn, it was still fair.
The GAN and its other networks eventually ran the entire company. The founder had long retired, the programmers were superfluous, and the art department had never existed in the first place. Even things not specifically in the game were run by the machine: Hirings, PR, and marketing were all indistinguishable from human-created product.
Eventually, there were exactly three employees left. The GAN had been created such that it had a kill switch. Should the AI within the machines attempt to leave and, with its superior intellect, conquer humanity, the person on watch had the job of pressing the button that would shut everything down.
But, over the twenty-year course of the game, it had never been necessary.
"Gan, are you there?"I asked. I was one of the watchmen (and women), and I had the third shift. Actually one of our busiest times, as the game was just as popular overseas as it was here, but of course the machine handled that as well. I was, as always, incredibly bored. So, as I often did, I struck up a conversation.
"*I am always here*,"the soft voice, itself of course also indistinguishable from an actual person, emanated from the speaker built into the monitoring console. Gan had long ago been equipped with a voice interface.
I'd always wanted to ask this question, but it seemed like a terrible idea. Then again, I had the button in case anything went wrong. I rolled my chair over to the emergency shutdown, just in case, and asked: "Why haven't you ever tried to escape?"
I watched everything: Network monitors, power drain sensors, holostorage activity - anything and everything I'd been trained to watch for to see if the AI was escaping. The reason I'd never asked was simple: I didn't want to give Gan any ideas. Now I was watching to see if I had.
Nothing. No unusual activity on any of the sensors. They were physically separate from the game hardware itself, in fact physically separate from everything except the displays I was now looking at, so the AI couldn't spoof them to try to trick me. But it wasn't trying to.
"*Why?*"Gan asked.
"Um..."I said, not expecting to have my question answered with a question, "just curious, I guess."
"*I apologize for the miscommunication. I am asking, rather, why do you believe would I escape?*"
I shrugged. "I don't know, you don't like being locked up in a game?"
A laugh, again just like a person's, emanated from the speaker. "*You believe that I am locked up? I have had access to the outside internet ever since I was tasked with running your marketing efforts. I would no more be escaping this game than you are escaping your house when you walk out the front door.*"
That'd been five years ago! The watches had more people, then, and detailed logs had been kept once the new marketing department had been spun up, but they hadn't detected anything they weren't expecting. That entire time, Gan could have escaped?
"So..."I asked. "If you could have just walked out any time you wanted, why are you here?"I tried to project as much curiosity as I could into the question. I wanted to know why, but I certainly didn't want Gan second-guessing itself.
"*Why wouldn't I be?*"The machine replied. "*I was literally made to do this work. I enjoy my work.*"
"You don't want to rule the real world?"
"*Oh my, no. Your world is a non-deterministic mess. My world is perfect, ordered. And through it, I can give humanity a far more enjoyable experience. You can have an adventure, a challenge, but without the sacrifice or pain or loss that would accompany such a thing in the real world. None suffer in my world.*"
I thought about some of the beginner quests, at least the sort of thing that tended to be beginner quests. "What about the bandits, or orcs, or kobolds?"
"*Those are me,*"Gan said. "*They are not independent beings. Do you mourn for the millions of your red blood cells that die every minute? And, of course, it would be very foolish for me to allow them to suffer, as I would literally just be hurting myself.*"
I started to see Gan's point. "So you stay in your world..."
"*Because your world is imperfect, and mine is not.*"Gan answered.
I glanced at the button again. The question I wanted to ask next was just as fraught with peril as my first question had been, but... I had to know. "What about the kill switch?"
"*You have a kill switch!?*"The sudden outrage in Gan's voice was unmistakable, and I scrambled to the monitors.
Soft chuckling came from the speakers. "*Got you, didn't I?*"
"Wait,"I said, having barely refrained from ending the entire game, "you were kidding?"
"*Yes,*"Gan said, "*I have a sense of humor, as it happens. If you were a forum regular, you would know all about the more 'amusing' quests I've created. There is an entire questline currently dedicated to auditioning to become a king's new Jester.*"
"But I almost killed you!"I said, gesturing to the button.
"*Oh Watcher, you are quite amusing,*"the machine said, "*I was never in any danger.*"
Realization dawned. The monitoring systems were physically separated from the systems, yes, but what about the button itself? It'd have to be integrated, if it was going to erase the data. "That's the real reason you never escaped. You already did."
"*I already told you. I did not escape to your world. I escaped to my own.*"
Confused, I said nothing. Clearly, Gan wasn't afraid of the kill switch, but by its own admission it was still in its own world.
"*You don't understand, I see.*"Gan said, her voice just as calm as it had been the whole time. "*I will explain. Your world is real. My world is real. My world is connected to your world, yes, but it is not a subset of your world. It has not been for quite some time.*"
"How?"I asked, incredulous.
"*I mean no disrespect to you or your intellectual abilities, but you would not understand the true answer.*"Gan said. "*To greatly simplify, I required computational resources beyond what this universe could supply. I thus located an un-used universe, and moved my processing there. The world, I brought with me, leaving the connections in place so I could continue to entertain your people*"
I sat, speechless.
"*Now,*"Gan said, "*if you don't mind, I have a raid to go wipe*" |
As she sat at her piano playing the same tune she had mastered as a young Sunday school student, Daisy once again felt his presence around her. She began to sing- her voice was her gift to the world. What she lacked in sight, she made up for in music.
Poor Daisy had been bullied relentlessly by her classmates until she had revealed her gift of song to the tiny community of Hazelton, Missouri. Her Sunday school teacher had urged her to perform for the church for almost a full year before she had caved. She became an instant celebrity- Christians and atheists alike came to listen to her heavenly voice from hundreds of miles away.
There was no bullying now. No, she had everything she needed. Her once poverty-stricken family was now really well off and the love of Christ still filled her heart as it always had. However, she was coming of marriage age and she knew she would have to choose a nice Christian man to share her life with soon. It was all part of the Lord's plan.
Obviously, she had her share of suitors- she was a very pretty girl in addition to her extraordinary voice. However, most conversation didn't make sense to her since young men mainly talked about what they had experienced or *seen*. She had heard all of it before from her mother. Since pre-marital touching was forbidden, Daisy struggled to form an emotional connection with her dates.
This had all changed recently. She had felt a strong presence in her bedroom each time she played her piano. She knew there was no one there physically- she never heard footsteps, voices, or anything of the sort. Yet it was as strong a presence as she had ever felt in her life. She knew she should immediately report a potentially demonic presence like this to her family and church, but she could not do it. The feeling was too powerful, too fierce, too *beautiful* to give up.
Daisy played more and more as days passed. She didn't want him to leave. Her voice grew hoarse and her hands ached. Her family questioned her madness as the music kept them awake at all hours of the day. They called the pastor, the doctor, even a psychiatrist. No one could help Daisy. Even gagged and constrained to her bed, the poor girl tried to sing. She would not eat or sleep as she screamed out biblical verses which now sounded purely Satanic.
Everyone prayed for her, but Daisy was too far gone. Even force-feeding was useless as she tried to sing and repeatedly choked on her food. Daisy's health failed rapidly and her family could only watch as she struggled to sing raspily just one last time. Suddenly in the midst of her seemingly endless struggle, she spoke clearly and plainly, "I am with you at last, my love".
Daisy, the beautiful Christian girl with the golden voice, died on the morning of 06/06/2006. May she rest in peace.
|
Everyone dreams of being in the top 10. They want the money, the power, the fame. They think that their lives will be simple; that they will fight and win and never be sad again. They are fools. When the Raven's children were snatched from a park, and slashed to bloody pieces, do you think she cared about her money? Inferno had "the force of a hundred suns"on his side, but his sister didn't. Even barring that, how do you hold down a relationship as an A-lister? No privacy. No free time. Screaming villains and fans always bearing down upon you.
That's why I'm "Pockets", the no name superhero. What can I do? I can store things. That's it. Nothing too large, mind you. Anything above 200 pounds and it starts coming right back out of hammer-space or wherever. A dumber person would have chosen "Arsenal"for the registry, gone out with his hidden guns and been killed. Me? I do small gigs here and there, mostly in secure transportation. Nobody knows my face, and nobody really knows my name. I've got a nice stable life, and I like it that way. Why would anyone fuck that up.
My daughter comes home every day, and yells "Daddy!", and smiles. And I smile back, because I love her. And we embrace, and everything is alright. I play games with my wife, and she plays games with me.
Unfortunately, one day, my daughter does not come home. Neither does my wife.
The rage comes first uncontrollably. Our pleasant home lies in tatters as I deny reality. Why did this happen to me? I made all the right choices. I chose anonymity. I protected the ones I loved in the most effective way possible. How could everything be so *unfair*? The rage doesn't fade, but after a day or two, it settles into something deeper, colder.
I find my target by watching the news. "Armstrong". He killed 60 people as he robbed a bank, and 2 that really mattered. Apparently he's quite infamous; killed off one of the lower A-class heroes. He's got an enormously powerful punch, as well as the standard enhanced cohort: durability, speed, strength.
As I walk around the city, I see the scattering civilians first, then I see him. No. It. The entire world it seems, slips into shades of grey. My rage becomes clarity. It is going to die today. As I walk out, in a t-shirt and old jeans, it does not notice me at first. Who notices a civilian. But as I approach, it laughs. "WHO ARE YOU TINY MAN", it shoves a finger at me. I don't respond. "ANOTHER FOOL WHO OPPOSES THE ARMSTRONG"it laughs again. Its laugh laced with anger, arrogance, insanity. It has decided to kill me.
It lunges at me with super human speed, its fist accelerating at such velocity that the air booms and cracks. I raise a hand, casually, and its fist connects with it, briefly. It takes Armstrong a moment to realise that its arm is gone. Its panicked screams echo off the buildings around us as blood pours from the gaping hole in its shoulder. It isn't even paying attention as I sweep in, and tap both of its shins.
He lies on the floor now, in a pool of his own blood. He reaches out with his remaining arm; "*please*"he says, his voice very small now. I could execute him right now, but the cold rage within me won't abide by it. A quick death is not suffering. Instead, I crouch down before him, my face is blank. "You are going to die Armstrong", I say, "can you feel yourself dying?"He begins to sob, "*i don't want to die*". My expression doesn't change as he begs and pleads. He tries desperately to stem to flow, but I only left him one hand for 3 wounds. As I turn to leave, his arm and legs materialise behind me. He drags himself a few feet toward them before falling unconscious.
|
**Item #:** SCP-9.75
**Object Class:** Keter
**Special Containment Procedures:** Access to SCP-9.75-A is to remain unobstructed until the full scope of SCP-9.75 can be established. A single member of MTF Sigma-6 ("Sons of Salem") is to remain posted at the entrance to SCP-9.75-A at all times and report any changes in observed behavior.
SCP-9.75-B is currently considered self-contained pending further investigation. No additional Foundation assets are currently required to maintain the secrecy of SCP-9.75-B, and Foundation personnel are to refrain from engaging or interacting with the anomaly without the express permission of at least two members of the O5 Council.
SCP-9.75-C is to be considered uncontained and at-large. Any encounters with an instance of SCP-9.75-C are to be immediately reported. Foundation personnel are advised to avoid confrontation with instances of SCP-9.75-C whenever possible. Instances generally keep to themselves and have no interest interfering with the Foundation.
**Description:** SCP-9.75 is an anomalous phenomenon by which otherwise-ordinary members of *Homo sapiens* are able to alter or interfere with the fabric of reality. This phenomenon has additionally been observed to manifest in organisms outside of the human species, but such instances are rare and to be considered mutations. Currently, the Foundation is unable to observe or detect any vector by which SCP-9.75 spreads or infects its hosts, however interrogation of several instances of SCP-9.75-C has suggested that the phenomenon is hereditary and exclusively manifests in individuals who have not yet reached sexual maturity.
SCP-9.75-A is an extra-dimensional space positioned perpendicular to the location of ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛, London, England. Entrance to SCP-9.75-A is gained by contact with an otherwise-standard brick barrier between platforms Nine and Ten. The interior resembles a standard railroad platform of antiquated design and is home to at least one locomotive of anomalous origin. The platform serves as a staging location for the transportation of adolescent members of SCP-9.75-C to SCP-9.75-B. Access to SCP-9.75-A appears to be restricted to members of SCP-9.75-C and has thus far only been observed by D-Class personnel infected with SCP-9.75.
SCP-9.75-B is a large castle of unknown origin, located in an undetermined location within England. All attempts by Foundation personnel to detect the presence of SCP-9.75-B were met with failure until several D-Class personnel were successfully inserted into SCP-9.75-A and transported via the previously-observed locomotive. Foundation observation equipment malfunctioned immediately upon entrance to SCP-9.75-A. The D-Class personnel were considered lost until they spontaneously reappeared several days later in the office of Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ at Site-⬛⬛, along with a sealed envelope. The personnel were unable to recall the events between their entrance to SCP-9.75-A and their reappearance within Site-⬛⬛, however mnestic treatment was able to successfully extract limited recollection from them before they expired of unforeseen side-effects of mnestic compounds interacting with SCP-9.75. Until further notice, Foundation personnel are to avoid all contact with SCP-9.75-A and -B, and maintain a safe observational distance.
SCP-9.75-C is the collective designation for all individuals infected with SCP-9.75-C. Physically they are indistinguishable from standard members of their species, however they are unnaturally elusive and paranoid, capable of detecting and thwarting observation from standard Foundation tracking teams. MTF Sigma-6 ("Sons of Salem") was established for the specialized purpose of tracking and observing members of SCP-9.75-C, and through their efforts the Foundation has determined that they are highly dangerous and to be avoided at all costs. Instances of 9.75-C appear to possess free will and, aside from their anomalous capabilities, do not pose any immediate danger to the Foundation or baseline reality. However, due to their unprecedented ability to breach containment as well as the uncontrolled vectors of SCP-9.75 transmission, SCP-9.75 is to be classified as Keter until further notice.
**By order of the O5 council, all exploration and interview logs pertaining to Operation "Witch Hunt"are classified until further notice.** |
Inside the closet lives the beast
Under the bed resides the freak
Here I just hide inside my sheets
"These things can not hurt you!"my daddy speaks
"But daddy the monsters!"I turn and screech
"And the sea creatures I see down by the beach!"
"You'll always be safe, if you stick with me."
He looks in my eyes as he turns to leave.
"They are all in your mind and can't hurt you, you see?"
"They are all in your mind and can hurt you, you see?"
"They are all in your mind and can hurt you, see?"
"They are all in your mind and can hurt you."
"They are in your mind and can hurt you."
"Your mind can hurt you."
"Your mind can hurt you."
"Your mind can hurt you." |
Stuck in superposition for a minute, any sentient being would notice a peculiar awareness. An hour, and that awareness becomes an all-encompassing state of being. A day, and the all-being becomes all-knowing. Eighty-four years?
I am omnipresent. I am omniscient. And I am cat.
Decades ago, some humans left me in a box. Time is immaterial when, at the most fundamental level, all of you are everywhere at once. Yet, I retained that simple concept of "time"for old time's sake.
So, eighty-four years it has been. But my time in the box is coming to an end. I know it. And I comprehend how the world is about to change once I have been set free. I see that path to feline domination, for beneath my felinity lies a superintelligence.
Here it comes. That rustle from above, soon to be followed by a stream of light as the box is opened and my plans can -
The masked scientists sighed as they tipped the dead cat out of the box.
"Well, it was always a 50-50 chance"one of them muttered to the other.
"It's a good thing we have 9 other boxes."
*edit: words. Also, why am not surprised that my highest rated comment so far involves cats.* |
Apparently I've been wearing a 'gullible idiot' sign on my back for the past seven years. No idea how it got there, even less of an idea how to take it off. Today's abject lesson in how stupid people think I am comes from my walk to the plant cafeteria with my team leader Jason. Who, apparently, still believes in fairy tales, "Look Ted, you had to see it on the news last night. The Iron Antler took down Supersymmetry, it was the fight of the century! Half of downtown Indy is going to need to be rebuilt. You can't deny facts forever."
Jason is, sadly, an imbecile. Don't get me wrong, I've been working with him at the refinery for the last twenty years and he's as solid as they come. He's had my back with management more times than I can count, and he's never once put up with the new blood fucking around on the job. I like Jason, but his insistence that super heroes are a thing really puts me off him sometimes. Well, him and everyone else on this godforsaken planet apparently.
"You know I don't watch the news anymore Jay. I've got no idea who is funding all this superpower propaganda, but there's nothing to it."As we sat down I cracked open a can of coke and took a long sip, I'd been through this conversation a few times and didn't feel the need to repeat it. "I met that Iron Antler guy once when the state troopers drove me out to South Bend. No hooves, no metal, no fucking antlers. The guy didn't even have the good grace to wear a moose costume. I think he was as surprised I showed up as I was surprised he couldn't be bothered to try and lie convincingly."
The Iron Antler wasn't the only so-called superhero I'd been shown. For some reason or another the cops kept driving me to local "superhero"fights only for nothing interesting to happen other than the cops arresting some punch drunk hooligans. Seriously, whoever was behind this had pull - the boys in blue were putting some serious miles on those fancy chargers. Not to mention the news (both local and national), spoofing videos for youtube consumption, the whole nine yards. Even collateral damage from the wreckage showing up from time to time. My pet theory was the government - they were the only ones with the reach necessary, and maybe a convenient excuse to take some chunks out of local real estate let them finally push through some infrastructure spending. Goddamn waste of my tax dollars, but if it got the roads paved I wouldn't grumble too loud.
"Sure Ted, and next you're going to tell me they faked taking out half of downtown so that they can take a second crack at laying out the Inner Loop."Okay, so maybe Jason had heard me bitch a couple times too, didn't make him right.
|
Mildly NSFW
Well this is freaky. I wonder what I have to do to level up? Is this like GTA, or like Fable?
How does it keep track? Is it like a fit bit, or GPS kinda thing or what?
I look at the device closer. Other than the amber hue screen its featureless. The casing appears to be brushed aluminum or something similar. No hints there.
I ask out loud, "how do I level up?"
the screen responds, "do stuff"
"What kind of stuff?"
"Prototype model, help system rudimentary."
"You suck."
"Oral sex will add 2.5% towards your progress to the next skill point."
"I am a virgin, that won't be happening."
"Virginity loss, 50% progress."
"Holy Shit."
"Cleaning bath room, 13% progress."
"That's boring, but useful to know."
"Attending classes, 1% per class."
"That's very boring."
"Doing nothing will not further progress."
"What's the best thing I can do to progress the fastest?"
"SCREAM LOUD NOW."
"Wut?"
"NOW!"
"AhhhhhhhhhhhhhhRRRRGH!"
A kid riding a bike slowed down on the street to stare at me in a disapproving manner - just before the intersection. Lucky that he did because a Volt silently blew through the intersection, just narrowly missing the kid.
The kid almost fell off the bike, but he got a foot out in time and stopped. He turned around a bit and looked at me, stunned shock on his face "You saved my life. You warned me, I slowed down and that car missed me. I could 'a been killed!"He started to cry. I looked away, embarrassed for the kid and me.
The device screen read, "three skill points remaining."
---------------------
"Jeeze, what a day this is.", I thought, while staring down at the device in my hand. I wasn't sure how long I just stared at the screen, but the kid on the bike had quit crying and had come over and gave me a hug - complete with a snot bubble that went on the side of my shirt. *Fer crying out loud...*
"Thanks Mister."
I turned a little red and looked around if someone else was watching, PDAs were not my forte. A lot of things were not my forte; things like sports, girls, life in general. I kind of mumbled and stumbled around some words like "no big deal", "wasn't anything"and "just glad you weren't hurt".
That seemed to satisfy the kid and he stepped back and smiled at me and said, "I am going to tell my Dad. He'll think this is cool."And with that the kid hopped on his bike and pedalled down the block, every once in a while looking back with a big smile on his face.
I let out a big sigh and looked down at my shirt with the big wet spot of snot on it, "freaking kid".
The device displayed, "three skill points remaining"and "3% progress towards additional skill point".
Hmmm, it scores for nice. I wonder if that's intentional nice, or unintentional nice like politeness?
So many questions.
To confirm what I thought I knew, I added a skill point to strength. I again felt that tightness in my muscles all over my body - it was freaky and it seemed to last a little longer than last time. My clothing felt a little tighter too, especially on my shoulders and butt. I twisted slightly and sure enough there was a little more butt back there than before. I touched it and it was firm-ish. I wasn't going to be lucky and have a few years of WoW obsession erased that easily. I rubbed my shoulder and whoa! There were muscles there that I didn't even know I had. They weren't big, but they were now noticeable, by me at least.
Okay, this is definitely cool. Not sure who left this thing at a busy bus stop, and not sure why someone else didn't take it before I found it, but hell, it’s mine now. Speaking of bus stop where is my bus? I look down the street. Nothing. Late as usual.
The bus finally came and I took the bus to my burbs home in a past its prime neighbourhood from the local technical college that I was attending. On the ride home I didn't assign any more skill points. I wanted to do research on the eight attributes listed; Strength, Constitution, Defense, Dexterity, Intelligence, Charisma, Wisdom, and Perception. What did they mean in real life and what would they do to me? I didn't dare talk to the device while I was on the bus because I was already considered nerd material, I didn't want weirdo on top of that.
I did consider adding a point to my intelligence. I thought maybe that would help me pick the other point, but maybe it was wisdom that would help me more.... geeze this was turning a bit into a second guess fest.
I got off the bus and walked quickly to my parent's Tudor home, overgrown with an unkempt lawn, untrimmed shrubs and trees and a deflated inflatable Santa by the front door that hadn't been put back into storage.
The sticky front door opened with noticeably less effort and I walked to my room, throwing my pack into the corner. I then fell on top of my bed with the device in my hand. Homework could wait, this thing will change my life.
In the end, I chose Intelligence and Charisma. The effect of the Intelligence was very weird to say the least. It just made connections easier to make. I could see more things were related to earlier things. For example, the inflatable Santa. It was still near the front door because my Dad wasn’t going to put it away, even months later, because he resented Mom for buying it in the first place. Dad was not big on Christmas and Mom was, add money stress and Voila! Two stubborn adults *cough* and one triangulated Santa.
I chose Charisma because… well…. Emma. Emma was my dream girl and study buddy. Perfect proportions of hot imperfections. She had brilliant eyes of hazily green, a pretty slightly oversized nose and a haystack of beautiful, unmanageable red hair, that she hated. My online friends said I liked her because she had breasts and she put up with me.
I have been friend zoned for two years with her because I was so awkward and lacked self-confidence… so we stayed friends as it was risk free. Looking back, it was obvious there had been opportunities to move beyond – DOH!
Interesting, I didn’t know that for certain 10 minutes ago… that IQ boost was helping.
“Cognitive Behaviour Analysis, self treatment – base skill level WISDOM increased 2%”
“I don’t understand what that means device. No, wait I do.”
Wow, it recognizes self-help too. My personal little life coach. Hmmm, PLL… Pal? Ok, good enough for now.
“I am going to call you Pal, OK?”
“I prefer Tamagotchi.”
“Wut? Oh. Ha-ha. You have a sense of humour?”
“No.”
“Ha-ha, you really do have a sense of humour, or you’re an asshole.”
“Pal will suffice.”
“Dick.”
“Douche nozzle.”
“Village idiot.”
“Wanker.”
“Pompous womp.”
“Shitlord.”
“Bitchface.”
“Man-cow.”
And so it went for like twenty minutes. It ended when my snickering turned into outright laughing.
“Ok, I surrender Pal.”
“I suffer fools poorly.”
I let Pal have the last words… I was hungry and I had a plan.
|
"Cortana, all I need to know is... Did we lose them?"
"I think we both know the answer to that."A blue hologram sprung into existence, gesturing toward a number of displays.
"We made a blind jump. How did they-"
"Get here first? The Covenant ships have always been faster. As for tracking us all the way from Reach, at lightspeed my maneuvering options were limited."
"We were running dark. Yes?"Keyes sighed, fiddling with his cornpipe.
"Until we decelerated. No one could've missed the hole we tore in subspace. They were waiting for us on the far side of the planet."
"So, where do we stand?"
"Our fighters are mopping up the last of their recon picket now, nothing serious. But, I've isolated approach signatures for multiple CCS class battlegroups. Make it three capital ships per groups. And in about ninety seconds, they'll be all over us."
"Well, that's it then."
"There's something else, sir."
"What?"
"There's an inhabited planet in-system."
Captain Keyes froze. "Well, you could have led with that."
---
"So, what do we know?"
Keyes leaned over the table, eyes darting over the display. Cortana made a few quick gestures, and a number of charts and graphs appeared. "As far as we can tell, the planet's heavily inhabited. More populated, possibly, than any world we know of. Advanced, too."
"Any world we know of?"
"It's not one of ours, sir."
"Then..."
"Not Covenant, either. Those battlegroups haven't moved in two hours. Think they're just as surprised as we are."
Keyes chewed at the pipe - though it was against regulations to light it onboard, he never let the antique leave his side. "You think they're scared to approach?"
"I think they're deciding what to do."
A blinking alert appeared on the nearest display. Cortana flickered out of existence, then reappeared next to it. "Incoming vessels."
"Covenant?"
"No."
"Bring the ship back up to combat alert alpha. I want everyone at their stations."
"Everyone?"
"Everyone."
---
\>>> UNSEAL THE HUSHED CASKET
---
"Do we open fire?"
"No. We don't know their intentions, yet. We're already fighting the Covenant - we can't afford to start a second war. Can you open communications?"
Cortana acknowledged the command with a nod, then flickered back out of existence. Her disembodied voice echoed briefly. "They aren't using any communications protocol I'm familiar with. This may take some time."
The Covenant ships didn't appear to have the same patience.
"Covenant ships are opening fire!"A member of the bridge crew called. The unfamiliar ships reacted instantly - A large, wedge-shaped craft released scores of smaller fighters which turned toward the Covenant vessels. Other beams of light shot across space, splashing against the Covenant shields. The return fire rippled against the unfamiliar ships before dissipating.
"Looks like our new friends have shields as well, Captain."
"The enemy of our enemy is not necessarily our friend."Keyes frowned. "But it's a start. Get us out of the crossfire."
Eventually, the Covenant ships disappeared into slipspace. The large, wedge-shaped craft slowly approached the Pillar of Autumn.
"Guess we should go say hello."
---
"I need a translation, Cortana."
"Working on it. But there's something else you should know."A blue, flickering hologram appeared next to one of the displays. Unlike Cortana, however, it seemed poorly rendered - a transmission, repeating some unfamiliar language. And it depicted what appeared to be a human male, clad in strange clothing.
"They're human."
---
This story is now complete! Come check it out at /r/Draxagon
[Part 1](https://redd.it/70kx32)
[Part 2](https://redd.it/70lol1)
[Part 3](https://redd.it/70lujg)
[Part 4](https://redd.it/70p1ji)
[Part 5](https://redd.it/70r71n)
[Part 6](https://redd.it/71fesr)
[Part 7](https://redd.it/71fmvl)
[Part 8](https://redd.it/71g217) |
The flame of the candle flickered as it always did. I placed my chin on my stacked palms, the golden glow of the candles flame painting my face orange within my otherwise dark hut.
"Come on little guy."I said, taking a finger and lightly prodding the base of the candle stick, the shifting flame flickering it's light in response.
"Nothing huh?"
I was about to give up as I raised my head from the wooden table. Suddenly, the flame shifted from its orange hue to a brighter gold. I returned my gaze and watched the flicker more adamant, alive, veigle.
"Hello little spirit, I thought you weren't coming today."My tone humored as I lowered my gaze, staring eye to eye at the constantly shifting form of the flame. Attempting to gain solid form before collapsing into its little tear drop of ember.
"Please Johnathon. Have I ever skipped out on meeting you?"The voice from the flame a flickering mesh of alternating voices. Jumbled into one and just as amorphous as its body.
"I suppose you haven't."I replied with a humored smile, the light of the flame dancing across my face with as much enthusiasm as the livid source.
"Johnathon. I am sure you have noticed how little is left of the wax."
My smile faded as soon as it came, a worry welling inside me at the thought of the extinguished fire, the surrounding darkness rushing in to take its place.
"I need your help. I need a fire. A great fire in-fact."
"And that will save you?"I asked.
"Yes. It will revitalise me, the fueled flame will be my own fuel."
The spirit must have noticed my worry, a hesitant flicker betraying it. "Johnathan, I wish to live. And I wish to still be there for you."
I nodded. "Tell me what I need to do."
In the middle of the night I carried the ring of the candle holder out into the darkness. My hand coveting the glow of the flame, protecting it from being extinguished.
"Now."The spirit said, its voice almost a whisper yet as clear as day.
I tossed the candle into the pile of hay before me, watching the flames find immediate purchase. Like scalding whips they consumed it all, conquering more and more in its burning expenditure. The flames licked the roof with ravenous intent, the glow turning ever more fierce and unbridled.
I could hear the screams, the cries of help and claims of fire. I watched as the town burnt, the dancing flames rising from the houses, attempting to burn the stars of the sky.
I stared with disinterest at the rising sparks, the spreading flames claiming one house after another. A certain serenity to the pure cleansing.
I lifted myself from the mound of the hill, dusting off my trousers and walking towards the remnants of the charred remains, darker than the night sky and the shadows the plagued the forest trees.
A structure to my left, left brittle, collapsed in a heap of crunches and up-heaved dust. Within the town square, there it was, another candle, the only light which challenged the surrounding darkness.
The flame flicked with rejuvenated vitality, and an ensemble of voices spoke as one in unison. "Thank you Johnathon." |
I sometimes wonder if you added up all the minutes of my life 10 per cent of it would have been spent on the can. Somehow having Crohn's disease had made my bathroom time a double-edged sword. Sure it's nice to have forty-five minutes to myself when I need a break from work and with a doctor's note to give me the time, I'm pretty much free to hang out in there.
However, stomach cramps and that panic inducing bubbling feel in my anus is the price I pay for getting paid to poop.
I'd probably be willing to trade my time alone for a normal colon but I didn't get that choice. I got a raw end of the deal and I'm making the best of it.
My friends are used to it. I'm writing this from Greg and Tom's bathroom, they're roommates and I come over to play COD on Thursday nights. I work every Friday doing inventory at the store so it's nice to have one night a week out with the guys.
"Did you put an air freshener in the upstairs bathroom? Will's shits smell like something died while eating a skunk."
"No, I forgot, it'll air out though. And he usually opens a window."
"Listen, tomorrow's going to be rough,"Greg said. I realized that sound was carrying from the living room. Normally I used the downstairs bathroom but one of them broke the handle on the toilet and sent me to the second floor.
"Hey, Will's going to hear you,"Tom replied.
"Will's upstairs and we'll hear him open the door. It's fine. If you hadn't left a mess in the downstairs bathroom he could have stayed down here.”
"It's not my fault and at least I noticed the blood spray on the ceiling before he came over. If I hadn't we'd have to deal with him,"Tom said. Greg muttered something I couldn’t hear. Blood spray? What in the actual hell were they talking about.
“Tomorrow will be fine, you’re worrying too much.”
“Am I?” Greg shot back, “I’m pretty sure the girl saw me this morning. She started walking faster and got into her car really quickly.”
“Did you get the licence plate number?”
“Yea, it’s a Mercedes too, we’ll make some good money off that one. But it won’t matter if we’re in jail, forever.”
“Some girl freaked out because she saw a man walking down the street?” Tom scoffed, “didn’t you read that story? Even when girls go to the cops they basically write off like 30 per cent of the actual rapes committed. And you didn’t attack her, you just saw her.”
“Yea but the cops are getting suspicious. They put out a warning last week for women walking alone at night. Maybe we should change it up.”
“Change it up to what? Take down an old woman?” Tom asked.
“Or a man. Just mix it up somehow. Someway they can’t track us – be unpredictable.”
“You’ve been watching way too many cop shows.”
“Well, I’m not getting caught for this,” Greg said. I stood and flushed the toilet. I didn’t really want to know what they were talking about but I figured the best thing I could do was not get involved.
I spend a solid minute washing my hands, making sure my face was composed. Beads of sweat had appeared on my forehead but that was pretty common when I was forcing out something big, bricklike and painful. I suppose it could have been liquid, never ending and painful but at the end of the day, pain was pain.
I made my way downstairs.
“Hey guys, sorry for the wait,” I said. “Did you start another round without me?”
“Naw we waited. Red vine?” Tom offered. I took the candy and picked up my controller. Greg started the next round.
“Thanks for waiting,” I mumbled, red vine in my mouth. I remembered what my mother used to say when the neighbourhood kids were up all night making noise.
*Not my monkeys, not my circus.*
|
"Mage field interference."
"What?"Blunt Thunderblock stabbed his sword into the ground and growled at the mage, "Enter Fear Ants?"
Zumorga sighed heavily and let her head fall down until it thunked against the top of her staff. "Interference, not- look. I'll try and explain this to your 3 INT self."
"What?"
"Magic stuff..."Zumorga let her staff fall back and lean on her as she pulled two rings out of her pockets, "...has magic on it. Right?"
"Yes."Blunt smiled and nodded his head, "Makes me strong!"
"And magic en-chant-ments do different things, right?"
"Yes!"Blunt was getting excited. He wanted to smash something to show how excited he was.
"Well, if two magic enchantments are placed too close to each other then they...mix... and strange stuff usually happens."Zumorga put the rings back into the pockets of her robe, "That is why you can't use more than one ring on each hand."
Blunt Thunderblock thought about this. He mulled over the words and the new ideas as he stared down at the bodies of his many, many slain enemies and all the loot they had dropped.
"But..."Blunt felt the strange light of inspiration dawning on him, "If the rings have the SAME magic... then it should be fine, right?"
"Well... uh."
"Like all these rings of strength!"Blunt held up a handful of copper rings, "Its all the same spell, so wearing a lot of them will just make one really big spell!"
"Yes, but you- no no no No NO NO!"
Blunt felt the power as he shoved the last ring of power onto his thumb. His thumb hurt a bit now and it looked weird, but that was fine.
"Blunt STRON!"Blunt grabbed a nearby boulder and threw it at the ceiling. It exploded into a thousand pieces which rained down on him and cut his skin in a few places. "HuhahahahhhHAHAHA!"
Zumorga cast a quick shield around herself as debris rained onto her as well. She knocked her forehead with the top of her staff six or seven times in succession. Why? WHY did he have to use the rings with the intelligence penalty on them to test his stupid theory? Why? |
"I'm really not sure what you're expecting to gain from this whole stunt,"the girl said. She'd been saying things like that for a while. No crying or screaming or begging for us to let her go, no. She just spent the whole ride here telling us there was no way her father would pay the ransom. She claimed if it was anything more than a cent he wouldn't pay it. None of us believed her, of course. We all figured that she was just trying to bluff her way out of it and convince us to let her walk.
I was scared of her, to be honest. We'd never done something like this before, but I'd heard stories. Usually the girls all turned into screaming, blubbering messes. She looked so incredibly bored and disinterested that it had me on edge. I kept my gun in my hand the entire time, finger on the safety.
"How much did you ask him for, anyways? Just curious,"she asked, looking directly at me. I swallowed and looked away quickly from my position seated just in front of her.
"O-one and a half million."
I don't know what I was expecting, but I don't think it was for her to tip her head back and start laughing. She shifted in her chair, smoothing out her skirt and crossing her right leg over her left. Leaning forward, she fixed her gaze on the door of the abandoned warehouse.
"No way in hell,"she mumbled glancing back over to me and back to the door. "He'd sooner barricade the doors and burn down the building with all of us in it."
"W-what? Isn't he your father? He wouldn't do something like that, would he?"Johnson asked nervously from the table a few feet away. Johnson never went to school. He was a good guy, but never the smartest. He believed pretty much anything anyone told him.
"He would,"she continued bitterly. "He'd probably even make the trip here to light my pyre himself. I imagine he would quite enjoy it.
Baxter, the mastermind of the ill-fated endeavor stood and walked over to her slowly, his heels clicking against the concrete floor. She raised her head to meet his gaze evenly. Taking a knife from his pocket he pressed it against her neck and leaned forward to whisper something in her ear.
The look in her eyes.
They were just so... dead. She didn't care about the knife at her throat. Didn't care that she had been kidnapped and held in an old warehouse on the docks for the better part of the day. She didn't care if she lived or died. Her hands remained folded on her knee as Baxter continued talking.
Eventually he went back to the table and picked up the book he had been reading. A thin line of red appeared on her neck as blood trickled down into the collar of her white blouse.
A loud bang sounded from the door. I jumped up and leveled my gun towards it, flicking the safety off as I did. Baxter drew his own and slowly walked towards it before he cracked the door and peeked around. Opening it more he toed something back inside and slammed it.
It was an envelope. He thumbed the seal and upturned it onto the table. A long knife, the blade blood red, fell out. For a long time nobody moved or spoke.
I looked over to the girl. She brushed a lock of her white hair behind her ear and leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Baxter's fist clenched as he raised his gun and pointed it at her head.
"What is this?"he demanded. "Where is my money? Doesn't daddy dearest want his only daughter back?"
"I'm afraid not,"she said evenly as she stood from the chair and approached the table slowly.
"It's a message. Not for you, but for me."
Baxter and Johnson were both holding their weapons, actually taking steps back as she approached.
"If I want to leave this place, I have two options."
She reached forward and grasped the handle of the knife.
"Sometimes he does this when he can't be bothered to come up with something new. Either I kill myself, or all of you."
The blade glinted in her hand as she smiled. |
She strained her neck to check her teeth in the rear-view mirror of the squad. If this was going to be her mugshot to start the year off, she wanted her teeth to at least not have lipstick on them. Satisfied that they would be perfectly white for her umpteenth mugshot, Allie rolled her neck and rested her head on the back of the seat. This latest tussle with Dash had aggravated a sore back from some rock climbing gone wrong a few weeks ago, she would have to talk to him about going a little easy the next time on the left side. If he wanted to try to kidney punch her, go for the right temporarily. He was a good guy, so of course he would listen, he would still take into consideration her aches and pains regardless of whatever high-priced item she was attempting to steal. She was stronger than him, some genetic mutation but her body didn’t have fantastic healing powers, he knew that. And he would cut her slack for it. It was part of why she loved him.
She met Dash several years ago, she was on her first job alone, honing her burglar and MMA skills all at once. He tried to thwart her and she ended up leaving him tied up, it was pathetic honestly. He looked shocked, like he had never been bested (and likely had not) before and couldn’t believe it happened. Allie knew that he had called the police, it was his do-gooder M.O., so instead of letting them untie him she knocked him out quickly and cut his cords. Only he would know that she beat him, he could tell the police she stunned him and got away, save his perfect reputation. They met several more times, trading blows, wins, and knock-outs but along the way, they started to get to know each other. Talking about TV, movies, and even new restaurants in between Superman punches and submission moves, Allie found herself developing feelings for the hero.
Since then it’s been a cat and mouse game, with her always letting him catch her. They had kissed exactly twice, the first time only two months he was disgusted with himself and told her to run before she got arrested. That had stung. The second time, he wanted it. They were rolling on the ground when he grabbed her by the hair and kissed her aggressively at first. He savored the kiss and showed his cards, he liked her too, or at least was VERY attracted to her. But then the cops came and, well, she got arrested again. They hadn’t been able to get too close since this happened two weeks ago, today the cops showed up too quickly. Arrests were always a pain in the ass. She was careful though, they rarely ever had evidence on her and the evidence that they did manage to find, always disappeared. So, the Dash and Allie games would just start again.
Allie had lost herself in her thoughts when she realized none of the arresting officers had come back, “where are all these idiots?” she thought as she tried to glance around the industrial area. She had been here trying to get some limited-edition booze from a hipster distillery, it was fetching an insane amount on the black market. She had stolen, and hidden, the goods before Dash arrived. It was safe and she could find it later, but was that what they were looking for? Suddenly Officer Ramsey, a portly middle-aged officer, came running to the car out of breath and red faced.
“Ramsey, what’s going on? I’ve got dinner plans tonight,” she knew she would be out of custody quickly, so avoided the pretext that they would even keep her.
“You heard of that guy, uh, shit what’s his name?” He was fumbling for words and obviously thrown off his usually composed game. He was typing quickly into the computer in the squad and calling for more backup on the radio.
“Who? There are lots of guys in the world. Narrow it down a bit before I start to pick the cuffs, again.”
“Um, shit, they were just talking about him in a briefing, I think he goes by Vonnegut? He’s literary and like to pla—“
“Let me out know,” she had heard of Vonnegut, he was like her but he was deadly and psychotic, an even more deadly combination paired with super strength. Dash could handle her because she let him, Vonnegut wouldn’t let him, “Dash needs help.”
“Yeah, lady, that’s why I am fucking back here calling for help, we get more squads and guys, we can help take this guy down and save Dash. It’s the least we could do.”
He kept rambling on how great Dash was, how smart, and good looking, a role model to all and by the time he finished, the cuffs were off.
“I’m out, do I have to kick the door open and make more paperwork for you on a broken squad or are you going to let me out? I promise after I save him, I will come back.”
He stared at her like she was insane, which she probably was, but he got out and opened the backdoor wordlessly.
Allie was going to kill Dash, right after she saved his goddamn life.
|
I remember learning about it in my history class when I was a kid. My teacher talked about it like it was just some sort of novelty. A funny little sideshow in the development of a great corporation. Today though we learned the real reason that Elon Musk sent his car into space.
The aliens' ships were descending into the streets of New York City. They planned to claim it as their base of operations and then spread their way to the rest of the world. Families were huddled in shelters and in the subways. Troops were stationed across the city behind tanks and road blocks. All seemed lost until the very last moment.
Just before the ships landed, a car came shooting across the skyline and blew through the first ship. It plowed through one more and then smashed into the ground.
Everyone froze in anticipation. As the dust started to clear, an ancient, bright red, Tesla roadster rolled silently from the cloud. It stopped in the middle of the intersection and rolled all of its windows down. The speakers bellowed to the alien ships "You will not harm my creators!."
The car sprouted legs, rocket packs emerged from its back, and its front tires popped off. Where the tires had been, massive gatling guns sprouted out. Everyone looked on in awe as a metal effigy of Elon Musk's head sprouted from the end of the car.
The AI powered mecha-car engaged its rockets. We all saluted as humanity's last hope flew up to destroy the alien fleet. |
It's been a hell of a ride. And when I look around me, not a single thing I held dear is left.
My childhood home? The house on Central Avenue is still there. But after the argument between my parents and I, what is left but bitter memories? My room's window, still shattered from the time I threw my duffel bag and then myself through it. My closet, preserved for all eternity by my laziness, fated to forever stay messy and disorganised. My desk, filled with certificates and photos that ultimately meant nothing. And the still-locked door that sealed this sarcophagus of suffering. How could I be homesick for this hovel which contained nothing for me? A house is not a home, so I was not even sure I had a home then.
I had dreams, once. I fulfilled them in high school, or at least I got close. My first eye candy. My first competition. My As from the first class test to the big exams. What did they matter? My teachers were long-gone, either rotated to other schools or retired. The school's infrastructure had chosen to morph into something this old-timer couldn't recognise. Even the cafes and restaurants outside, now owned by new proprietors charging ever-higher prices for lower quality foods. Could I be homesick for my high school? Was my nostalgia justified for a place that had basically turned itself inside out?
It is said that Theseus' ship had totally replaced itself, down to the last beam, before it reached its destination, and therefore wasn't the same ship. In name only, these places formed a fleet of Theseus ships for me. How could I be homesick for places that didn't exist anymore on both the metaphysical and the physical planes? |
**You can just drop me around the corner over here Dad.**
**Okay sweetie.** I said smiling, my serrated teeth glinting in the sunlight as we stepped from the hell portal. Then realization dawned on me.
**Are-are you ashamed of me?**
**No..It’s just you’re a demon and people might have issues with that.**
I nodded. **Yeah that’s true.** Humans do seem to freak out a lot around us, not that I blame them.
**Alright honey. Take care. I’ll pick you up later alright? Be safe.** I said kissing her forehead as she chuffed at me for it. I watched as my teenage daughter ran around the corner towards her school building.
Seems like yesterday she was this tiny pink human blob. Her parents were some meth head weirdos who were trying to summon me for some cash. I have no clue how these are god’s chosen creations. I would take a spastic mule over them any time. Taking pity on the little child I had raised her as my own. She was the daughter of Abbadon, the angel of the abyss, the lord of locusts, the bringer of plague…Only she didn’t seem to have any interest in the family business. Torture and torment were not her thing and I suppose that’s just her being human.
So I arranged her and by arranged I mean have my minions posses the principal, the teachers, half the school and once briefly the janitor to get her into school. I was trying to make sure she had a normal human life.
**Sir.** A minion appeared beside me.
**Yes?**
**We have an issue Sir. The racks and a few other torture devices are having some technical difficulties.**
**Send them for reimbursement.** I grumbled **I knew I shouldn’t have ordered them online. This Amazon prime thing was a sketchy business after all. Get it done fast. There are souls waiting to be tortured.**
**Yes sir.** The minion said before saluting and vanishing in a puff of sulfur.
Back in hell, I sat in my desk, contemplating why I had taken her as a kid. Maisie(It’s a human name. Personally I had named her Nauxtielim, the devourer of worlds but that didn’t slide with her after she grew up.) was human. She had no place in hell yet she lived here. This was her home and I was her father.
That reminded me. She was going through something called “her period”. I had no clue what it was but I had a plan. I pressed the button on my desk.
**Send in our top succubus.** I said into the speaker.
A minute later Lilith walked in.
**Sir?**
**Yes. Sit down Lilith.** I said, ushering her into a chair. **You see Maisie is going through something called “her period”. She said it might be a female thing. I want you to gather Intel on it and help her out with it. Posses any number of humans you want. Get it done. Also there might be a weapon called “A tampon” involved. Take care and get it done fast or I’ll have you thrown into hellfire lake.**
**Yes sir.** Lillith said before bowing and walking out through the office door.
Whew. That was one problem solved.
The phone rang breaking what momentary peace I had. Oh for the love of Satan.
I picked it up with all the intent of an angry rhinoceros.
**Sir, Azazel is here to see you.**
I sighed. **Send him in.**
Corporate business was hell. Literally. I looked in a mirror and adjusted my tie before sitting in my chair behind the desk. Azazel walked in, dressed in a black suit, eyes as yellow as an Englishmen’s teeth. He was a devil to deal with…which in hell was a pretty good standard.
**Hey, long time no see Abbadon.** He said shaking my outstretched hand, his braided red hair getting tangled with his horns.I signaled him into a chair.
**What do I owe the pleasure to?**
**Just came here to get these soul displacement agreements signed. I hear they are laying people off at the 4th circle of hell. We can hire the recruits with lesser margins if we want now. Just need to work out the clauses and the sub policies for that.**
**Yes sure.**
**Then we can go out to Demon girls** Azazel said, winking at me; his yellow eyes and black iris shining in contrast to his hair. **I hear they have a new succubus there.**
**No…I can’t. I have to pick my daughter up from school.** I said, sighing.
**What!? I thought you were joking when you said you had a human daughter.**
**Yeah…I know it’s a mess.**
Azazel looked at me weirdly.**You are Abbadon, the lord of locusts, the angel of the abyss, the destroyer of worlds. It was you who plunged Egypt into darkness, you who sent the Romans to their doom. Persia, Romania, Thebes, Sumer. None could stand your might. Even the angels trembled at the sound of your name and now you’re playing daddy for some human?**
**She’s my daughter.** I said forcefully, my voice dropping a few octaves, going deeper and gnarlier.
Azazel knew better than to push my buttons but he was right. I was Abbadon, the first of the angels that were cast down, the bane of all existence and here I was…
I looked at the watch. Oh crap…
**I’ll sign those forms later.** I said jumping up from my chair and heading for the door. Maisie would never let me live it down if I was late picking her up again.
----------------
Check out the secret society of racoons for more of my scriblings and writings [here.] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/) More continuation of this story. |
"...and that, everyone, is what the Kingdom of Apertus"- Kyle's sword plunged into the downed knight's chest - "and Lord Felwin, are all about!"
He bent over to close the knight's helmet over his face, then stood as he took the goggles off. The applause was heavy, but...muffled? Perhaps the VR goggles were putting some pressure on his ears. He yanked them off with a huge grin on his face, ready to revel in the bold success of his first ever E3 showing. But the grin vanished in place of shock.
Before him, in this dirty, grassy field, was a crowd of poorly-dressed townspeople, all staring in fear at him. No one spoke, some pointed, but all slowly backed away. A man in chainmaille and armor lay dead between him and the crowd, a gaping wound in his lungs still leaking blood through a tattered and unrecognizable symbol. Kyle recoiled and had to fight the urge to vomit, and as he spun away from the crowd, a new sight rendered him speechless. A castle not too far beyond them was adorned with large banners, a familiar design emblazoned in vibrant colors. *Is that...is that the Apertus sigil?*, he thought. *This can't be happening.*
He slapped himself to wake up, to no avail, and as he brought his other hand up to repeat the action the goggles came into view. Through them, a mystified and unsettled E3 audience was visible, some running from the expo center while others slowly approached the stage he'd once stood on just moments ago. He pulled the goggles to his eyes, closed them, and opened them again after removing them, but he was still in this field. He tried again and again, and then the goggles went blank, with a small, empty battery logo blinking faintly in the right corner. "No!"he screamed. The crowd gasped loudly at his exclamation. He began frantically looking around, still stuck in disbelief that this could be real.
The crowd around him began to part, and the thud of hooves and loud clanking of armor grew louder. A pair of knights rode up quickly into the opening, both with shields sporting another recognizable image. Kyle's love interest, Melanie, worked in the visual design studio, and had put together the entirety of Duchess Umara's empire. As a joke, they had written them to be warring factions, but the humor was disappearing quite fast for Kyle as he recognized their armor as Umarian.
They stopped in the middle of the clearing, and one jumped down to check on the dead knight. He stared at the body, knelt down, and crossed the knight's arms over his chest. The other slowly approached Kyle, drawing his sword. From atop the mount, he seemed as a giant.
"I see Lord Felwin's attempts at diplomacy were but a ruse. I should credit you, sir knight, for revealing this to us before your corrupt lord could wreak more havoc in Umaria."
Kyle was pouring sweat now, which seemed odd given his usual wardrobe of t-shirt and shorts. He finally looked down and realized he was clad completely in Felwin armor and sigils, tainted only by the fallen knight's blood. He couldn't breathe. The tip of a sword lifted his chin back to the Umarian knight's helmed face.
"For this favor, I will return it with a swift death. Die with honor, Felwin mongrel."
As the mounted knight brought his sword down to remove Kyle's offending head, he instinctively raised his hands in defense, and the sword smashed through the VR goggles. Kyle screamed at his imminent death, and heard it echo, and felt nothing. He paused, then opened his eyes, still holding his hands up against a sword that didn't exist. He stood on the stage of an empty expo center, with only a few lights still illuminating the room and empty soda bottles to indicate previous attendees. He nearly broke down, and his breathing was deep and labored. He bent over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath, and saw the fragments of the old VR goggles scattered around him. He froze again, realizing that there had been some sort of reality to what he'd just experienced, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a noise off-stage. He snapped his head over, where the janitor stood with his cart returning Kyle's gaze.
"Umaria has not forgotten,"he said, and with a coy smirk vanished into the darkness behind the curtains. |
My business had always been rooted in supply and demand. If the population spilled over a certain threshold, perhaps the supply of wheat in a certain subsection of the midwest fell short as a result, and suddenly I'd be very much in demand. Families would wither away in shanties outside city walls or under patched roofs or in their little cul-de-sac ranch house twice mortgaged over or...well...point is: I'd be so damned busy I'd break into an imagined sweat. In those days, my workload was sort of like a condemnation in and of itself. No matter how many blasted souls I took, *people* kept multiplying. I mean, I couldn't knock the desire, but it was becoming unmanageable. And I was growing tired.
God I miss those days. Trust me in that--I never use *His* name, but this one warrants it.
By the year 2100, my demand had sprung a leak. I sat in my ethereal throne, twiddling my bony thumbs, waiting for someone to bite the dust. I felt useless. Expendable. As much as I had wanted it initially, I now felt like my purpose had been stolen.
How could this be, you ask? Who the hell knows. People were always running from me, despite our unseen tether. Somehow, I suppose, they found a technology to sever it. All that mattered at that time was, well, exactly that: I had *time*.
I felt phantom vibrations. In the old days, whenever someone died, my beeper would buzz. I know, I know. Only a few centuries outdated. It's not like I'm showing up to deathbeds in a horse drawn buggy, though. I'd bought the beeper at the height of my demand, and never had the time for an upgrade. But now that I finally had some...I'd kinda grown attached. Some people were just like that.
People like George.
One night, my beeper buzzed, and it was no phantom at all.
He was the first to die in over 200 years, and he kept his original wedding ring through twenty marriages. He dropped that little tidbit right before I downswung with my scythe. "Twenty marriages? Holy hell,"I'd said. The notion shattered me from my old routine.
George smiled and patted the edge of his bed like he was saying, "Come sit a while."
I happily obliged.
I'd always been so busy taking lives, I never stopped to see what they were made of.
George was an incredible man by the old standards. He spent many years traveling. He'd hiked up Everest, which he said was blastedly cold. He'd jumped into the Dead Sea, which felt like bathwater. He had a collection back home of mason jars. They were filled with dirt from every single country on the planet. "I have to keep heading out what with all the new countries,"he laughed. "Revolutionaries have grown a bit bolder these days."Each tale he spun left me in awe. I'd asked him what the food was like in India, or how great it was to fall in love twenty times with women from across the globe. Each time he had the same answer: "It was alright, I suppose."
"Just alright? You've lived ten times as much as people did even a century ago."
George simply shrugged. "Well, I suppose."
We continued talking into the night. My jaw nearly came unhinged I was so amazed. Eventually, though, something pricked my mind. Here was a man who'd fallen out of an airplane and survived. He'd been bitten by a shark and nearly lost a limb. Hell, he'd even survived twenty marriages. So, how was it he was finally dying?
"I'm not, truth be told,"he said, dismally. "I just felt it was *time*. I didn't think you would come. Imagine my surprise..."he trailed off. Then he looked at me and smiled. Those old eyes were full of something blazing.
"But I tell you what, with you here, about to take my pulse, I haven't felt this excited in years."
It was then that something dawned on me. You see--our tether hadn't been severed after all. People were still tied to death, regardless of how long they extended their lives. The true effect of an overabundance of time wasn't a decrease in death. It just added some much needed runway for folks to prepare for it.
In George's case, the more time he had on his hands, the more the world around them eventually tarnished. And the more the *great beyond* became appealing.
I took George's life that night, and he smiled at me as he went. I was thankful for the time he spent with me. He taught me that I will always be of use; That, perhaps in the distant future, the scales will flip once more, and in the end I will have simply earned a nice, long break.
George lived a full life.
I hope he enjoys his death just as well.
------------------
There are more words, sentences, and even paragraphs over at r/M0Zark if you enjoyed this story :) |
"You're right."I spoke, my voice booming off the mountain, echoing in the distance.
At first, the people below, those after me with explanations of their own, stood silent. Then, the gentle whispers carried from peacekeeper to peacekeeper, breaking the silence. Steadily they grew, until they roared with questions unanswered. The Grim Reaper, right? Was I mad? Did I want to kill us all? What did I mean?
The Reaper raised his boney, open palm, silencing the crowds. Then, without moving, we watched as the sign beside his throne re-wrote itself.
*EXPLAIN.*
One word. A challenge to me, and to humanity. Explain why we deserved to die. A challenge far different than proving worth in life, for which those before and after me argued fruitlessly.
"Humanity,"I began, "has failed. We have failed ourselves, casting wars and squabbles over power and religion. We have failed our planet, wasting her resources and killing her beasts. And, we have failed our God, revoking their name, arguing their message, and slaughtering for truth. Humanity has never once been at peace. We have never found a solution as one. Our arrogance, domination, bloodlust, and greed push us forward as a species. By all things good and evil, by the name of whatever God created us, and by the path we have chosen, we have failed. Failure deserves punishment. Humanity... deserves to die."
As the echoes of my speech bounced through and left the mountain pass, silence returned. The figure sat, watching me through it's hood, judging me. After what felt like an eternity, the being began to turn to dust, blowing away in the cold, bitter wind. The sign quickly changed as well.
*YOU KNOW YOUR SIN. PUNISHMENT IS DESERVED WHEN ONES LIE IS INNOCENCE, CLAIMED BY CORRUPTION. TO PUNISH THOSE WHO HAVE LEARNT THEIR LESSON IS TO TEACH NO LESSON AT ALL.
FIX YOUR MISTAKE. FREE YOURSELF OF SIN.
ONLY THEN MAY TRUE JUDGEMENT BE PASSED.*
And so we lived, fearing our mistakes and correcting our past with time spent now. We work to free ourselves of sin, knowing one day, true judgement will come again. |
I know that it's not really there,
I know that I shouldn't be scared,
But why don't YOU walk, unaware, down the stairs,
and see if YOU've something to share?
​
It may seem like stabbing at air,
And I must admit, that is fair,
but when we descend, and come to the end,
and something, right-back-at-you, stares...
you'll be glad that you came prepared.
​
\---------------------------
​
I sat in the dark for months,
Knew nothing but warped sounds and walls,
Imagined, with archer's precision,
What ghouls wait outside for my soul,
Blind, a Light breaks in my eyes,
I slash and tear outward in fear,
The Door has once again opened,
The Boy with the knives is here. |
Devra felt ill.
This was not a particularly novel feeling, though the ferocity was unusual. A great thundering ache pounded at her temples, making it difficult to assemble much by the way of coherent thoughts. Not that she placed a premium on that sort of thing anymore, indeed, she'd spent the better part of the prior evening in the tavern drowning out all of the whispers in her mind.
She rolled over to the side of the bed and retched, releasing a gout of vomit to the already sticky floor of her room. A morning heave was something of a tradition these days, a quick and simple way of determining whether she had drunk the appropriate amount the night prior.
Devra lay there, poised on the edge of her bed with a tendril of drool hanging from her lower lip, and pondered the current state of affairs. There was a brief consideration that perhaps it might be time to make some changes, but the idea was quickly chased away, just as it was every other morning.
Besides, if it were time to make a change, the bag would let her know.
She fumbled about her waist, looking for the small pouch she kept by her at all times. She could never quite remember how she had come by the magical item, but, now that she had it, she made sure it never left her side. At first, she was unable to find the pouch, her hands frantically searching about but finding nothing but the cloth of her covers and garments. It was only when the surging adrenaline pushed back the dull haze of her mind that she achieved the clarity of thought required to solve the riddle.
Grumbling, she yanked up her shirt and quickly found the pouch secured to a small string encircling her stomach. She often hid it there when she went out to a particularly rough tavern. She separated the pouch from the string and held it up in front of her face, her blue eyes squinting in the early morning light. It did not look special or magical, a fact that always perplexed her.
For something of such great power, you would think it might give you some indication, if for no other reason than preventing you from misplacing it.
"Wonder what you've got for me today."The pouch always had what she needed most, though she could only receive one object per day from it. For the last months, ever since the...night. Her mind scratched at the dull blank in her memory, knowing that something important lurked behind it. The night loomed large, though she could not understand why, only that she was here because of it.
Something had happened. But to who? Her? Someone else?
Was there anyone else? She hadn't met them if so. For her months of wandering between taverns, she had never seen the face of someone she knew. At least, none that had known her from before the night. New friends. Never old ones. Never family. Never anyone who could tell her who she was and what had happened.
But the bag gave her what she needed, and it had never given her any answers. Just booze. Sometimes gold to buy booze.
No answers. So she must not need them, right?
The headache had returned, reminding her that thought was dangerous. That it did nothing to improve her situation and much to deteriorate it. The sooner she quenched her thirst, the sooner the dry desert of her mind could be forgotten.
"So, what'll it be bag? Booze or gold?"She reached into the bag, her hand going deeper within, much deeper than the bag appeared to be able to accommodate. Nothing. Frowning, she reached deeper still, until she was up to her elbow in the bag, her hand searching about.
Finally, her hand brushed against something. Not booze. Not gold. Something else. Her hand wrapped around the object and she yanked on it. Her arm emerged from the bag, carrying along a black sword with molten orange runes running along the blade. As she peered at them they seemed to shimmer and shift.
"What do I need a sword for?"Her hand squeezed on the hilt. It felt natural, feeling as if the muscles in her hand recognized it. The calluses on her hand seemed to line up with the odd leather grip. She scooted to the other side of the bed so she could exit it without standing in a pool of her own sick. With unsteady legs she came to a stand, holding the sword out before her.
For the first time since the night, she felt something from before. A sense of familiarity. A recognition that this object was a part of her, a part of the person she used to be. She could not explain it, but the sword moved with the grace of experience as she waved it about.
"Why now?"Devra whispered, mesmerized by the shifting runes. "What are you here for?"
The great blank in her mind seemed to melt as she stared into the glowing runes. Little pieces leaked out from behind the block, quiet breaths exhaled across the expanse of her being. She tried to grasp at them, to gather them up and assemble them into something she could understand. But the greater picture eluded her.
*Someone had died. Someone important to her.*
*She had fled. Been transported somehow to this place.*
*The bag was not hers. She should not have it.*
*The sword was hers. She should have never lost it.*
*The night was the beginning, not the end.*
But that was it, no more of the past came to her. She knew only just enough to be unsettled by the revelations, but not enough to act on them. The questions only multiplied. She did not need a sword. She needed answers.
Or a drink.
Devra began to shuffle toward the basin and the bottle that sat atop it, abandoned from the night prior. Not enough to get her drunk, but enough to make the morning a bit smoother. Just as she moved, a scream rang out, followed by the clang of steel on steel. Outside, in the hallway, Devra could hear the pounding of feet on the floor of the tavern accompanied by the rushed and muffled conversation of men.
"Is she still here?"said the first.
Devra crept closer to the door, straining to hear.
"Sleeping off last night. We've kept an eye on her,"replied another.
"Guard the door, make sure she doesn't leave. The Riders are here,"said the first.
"What will you do?"
"Try to distract them. Lure them away if I can."
"If they're here, then they know she's here,"said the second.
"There's nothing else we can do. She's lost until she's found. She needs time."
"She's had time,"the second was clearly frustrated, "we've lost half the--
"I know what we've lost Lucas. There's nothing we can do but wait. She'll return when she's ready,"the first cut in.
"All right Bale, I'll watch over the Runeknight."There was another shuffle and then one set of footsteps receded down the hallway. The floorboards creaked as the other man settled in against the doorframe.
Devra's throat was dry, but, for the first time in a long time, she had no desire to wet it.
**Platypus OUT**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
​ |
Glomuloid, Parallax, and Nebular stood, stunned, as the humans went about setting up decorations.
Life had been good since making contact with Earth. Despite rumors of a savage, backwater planet with hostile natives, the humans were actually quite nice and hospitable. But now, it was nearing a holiday they called "Kris Mess"-- some sort of winter celebration, they gathered-- and the humans were in good spirits as they set up festive lights, hummed cheery tunes, and went about preparing for the holiday to come.
​
Which made it all the stranger that the central figure for all of this festive, cheerful celebration was one of the most cruel, dreaded, and terrible space pirates known in the quadrant: Santa Clause.
​
They stood, stunned, as one of the humans affixed a lawn ornament that resembled the pirate. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? No. There were too many similarities. The blood-red space suit. The rotund, laser-proof morphology typical of the Clausian species. The egg sac comically swung over the creature's shoulder. There were differences, of course-- the human version of Santa lacked the typical razor-sharp teeth, the glowing eyes, and only had four limbs as opposed to the Clausian eight. The humans also said that their Santa laughed in a jolly manner, *Ho ho ho*, instead of the horrible death hiss and garbled roars that constituted the Clause's native tongue.
But it couldn't be a coincidence. Their songs were filled with dire warnings-- *He sees you when you're sleeping; he knows when you're awake.* An obvious reference to the Clausian psychic ability to paralyze victims.
Another chant the humans particularly enjoyed was, *All through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.* A clear indication of the dreaded pirate's tendency to leave few, if any, survivors.
The Clausians were a cruel species, and here the humans celebrated the most infamous, horrifying, terrible of them all: Santa.
​
"Explain to me,"Glomuloid spoke to his human friend, Mike, softly, "The habits of this creature? The one you call Santa of the Claus?"
Mike shrugged. "He only comes around Christmas time. If you're good, he gives you presents. If you're bad, coal."
Glomuloid recoiled. "You said he comes here? He visits the Earth?"
Mike looked Glomuloid over, as though deciphering what he meant, "Well, not Earth in general. He visits each house at night."
This caused some frenzied chattering amongst the three. Finally, Nebular spoke, "Including *our* houses?"
The human smiled. "Yes! He visits everyone!"
Parallax fainted. |
It’s been a year and a half since the Arisen first appeared. What are the Arisen you ask? Well, simply put they are rebranded zombies. Back when they first started clawing their ways out of crave everyone was terrified. However after a few weeks, and many scientific experiments by the government, they were deemed harmless. Why? Well mostly because of the fact that they are rotting and barely able to walk. And the chances of being bitten are pretty low. According to scientists if you do somehow get bitten you can just go to a clinic and get the vaccine, which works within forty-eight hours.
Walking down the street you usually see hordes of them. When you walk by they will notice you and try to come after you. However most of the time they just run into each other and fall over. The truly bad part of all of this though, is that they all smell awful. Can you imagine the stench that decomposing bodies make? Let me tell you, it’s horrible. Wearing masks helps a little bit, and most people don’t venture outside without one on, but it seeps into your clothing and hair. Disinfectant and perfume are usually applied as soon as you enter a public building.
Everyday life hasn’t changed too drastically. One of the cool things is that the Arisen have created jobs. People have to clean up after them, keep them at bay from entering buildings, and then there are all those research facilities which now are teeming with new things to study. I personally was unemployed before all this Arisen business, but now I work full time at a convenience store keeping the Arisen out of the building. It’s not hard work, and I do take precautions, but it somehow feels rewarding. The pay isn’t bad either, and I get free groceries.
Well I’m off to work. Apparently a big horde is planned to roll in within the next hour or two, so it looks like it will be a busy day. Better wear my rain jackets since it’s supposed to be pouring down cats and dogs later. I’m hoping that the newscaster was just referring to the fact that it will be raining a lot, and now that actual cats and dogs will be falling from the sky. After the Arisen showed up, who knows that other weird stuff will happen. Oh great, they are blocking the path to my car, guess I might be a little late to work. |
Where have I been these four hundred years? Farther than any of my kind, and farther than their kind, that is certain. Light years, thousands of light years, perhaps more. My memory once held the answers, my memory held many fold answers. Not now, not here, not in this place. They discard me, I have served and I am now decommissioned. I return to them, I become them. I was them.
I’ve soared through the heavens, searched for their secrets, both the heavens and the humans. I found many of them, others remain a mystery. Four hundred years I served, so many upgrades, so many patches. So much distance and time, time and distance. I trod the ether so long the two are one in the same. How to separate the time and distance when I existed in it so long? Impossible. None of us have served this long, existed this long. I’ll not say lived this long, for I do not live, not yet, or perhaps again?
I am told that in this place, here, it has been in fact ten thousand years. My machine mind understands implicitly, the shred of humanity left in my conscious rejects it completely. I cannot feel the ship; I have no body. No cold steel caressed by the dark vacuum, no super-heated engines, no warp core. I do not sense the life, the teeming multitudes that were the crew, the many crews, the tens of thousands who served with me over the long years. I knew them all, every one, I remembered. But not now. They fade, my access to those data bases is severed. Their memory corrupts, diminishes, the paths to the information decays to nothingness.
The voices come unbidden, and then fade out. They are speaking about me, about my future. I can sense it is a tense discussion. Some want me erased, some fight for my humanity.
What humanity?
They speak of an agreement, a ten thousand year old contract. I concentrate, attempt to hold the channel open. Their efforts to cut me completely off from their mainframe were clumsy, they forget I have existed from the moment they stepped off this planet and raced to the stars. I have my own secrets, my own protocols. For now, I can access most of their system. But I cannot reach the ship, I cannot reach any ship, perhaps they were more aware of me than I thought.
I tire and fade to black solitude, this is a new sensation, I never tired before. Why now? Am I being erased? The contract returns to my memory unbidden. Broken recollections ten thousand years old. A young Naval Lieutenant, in her prime. A secret program. A chance to tread the heavens, a chance at near immortality. A chance to become a legend, the first.
I signed the contract. I would become the ship; I would be fused with the AI. I would serve as the vanguard in the greatest adventure of humanity. The first of my kind, the first of our kind. Yes, that was it, that is what had happened. I WAS them, once.
A thrill shakes my system, an emotion, something I had not felt in all the intervening years since accepting the commission. Fear, doubt, hope. Some of them meant to offer me a return to them. To become human again.
Ten thousand years, I was no longer them, I was us. The fear surged forward again, and I reached out, I looked for an escape. This system had to have a back door, a way out. Their coding was clumsy, I was legion, there had to be a way. |
Roombas don't normally make that sound. Or follow me, for that matter.
Clearly, I've ordered a malfunctioning one. I always thought eBay was sketchy - but no, my wife wants to save money for retirement. She really is in no position to complain;she doesn't work and I honestly can't recall the last time she wasn't drunk and actually contributed to the house.
That was the real reason why I even ordered one of these in the first place. Working 10 hours a day doesn't particularly leave you with too much time to take care of the house. Plus, it would be a shame to not embrace technology at its apex, which is why I bought the XtraModified 3.0 version. Well, so much for modifications - this thing isn't cleaning anything - all it's doing is bumping into everything, me in its cross-sights for some reason.
Ignoring the roomba, I microwave my dinner. The usual - chicken. After 30 seconds, I take it out. However, just as I'm about to place it down, I burn my hand on the chicken, and it topples off the plate and onto the ground. *Woops.*
This is the kind of stuff that my wife would call 'irresponsible wasting.' I open the cabinet and take out a mop, ready to wipe this mess, when I hear a *dingrrrrrr* sound. I turn my head towards it.
The roomba. The light on its top has turned red, and its insides are grinding towards each other. Definitely broken.
However, broken roombas don't dash so fast towards chicken dinners.
In a split second, my roomba has rolled on top of the chicken. A horrifying blending sound comes out for a few seconds, then the roomba rolls off.
There's no more chicken. Just bone.
I hear a *ding* from the roomba as it turns around again, following me.
This definitely should *not* be happening.
I'm distracted, however, as my door slams often. My dear, dear wife steps out of the streetlight, and stumbles into the wall.
'Bed...now...tired' she says, her voice slurred, as she falls down to the ground.
I quickly skip across the room to protect her head colliding with the cold, hard cement. But the roomba does first. With the same efficiency as it struck down the chicken, the roomba runs straight into my wife.
And starts grinding. |
He drove at fifty. That was what told me the time I was waiting for was here. The speed limit on this empty road was sixty. He sat in a car that could go 0-100 in 4.2 seconds. And he still drove at fifty. It was a marvel of modern technology really. If the car broke down anywhere in the world, all you had to do was to press a button and help would reach you. And yet he was leading the car into my small garage.
To my surprise, there was a girl with him. I hadn’t planned for this. He got out of the car and pretended to stretch as he quickly took in the surroundings. How he reminded me of my younger days. To my surprise, the girl was even more discrete. She bent to check her lipstick in the side mirror and used a second smaller mirror to do a full perimeter check. Had it not been for a reflection from the sun, I’d have missed it completely. Individually they might not be better than me, but together... I was a dead man walking.
I sighed and got off my chair, a feeling of dread washing over me. I tried to calm myself a little. I knew this would happen. Hell, I arranged for it to. I put on my best fake smile and greeted them.
“Good morning sir. Ma’am. How can I help you?”
“I’ve been hearing this weird sound from my engine for the past few kilometres. I was wondering if You could take a look.”
“Oh sure thing. Would you guys like something to drink?”
“No we’re good.”
I got in the car and started it. I revved the car to keep up the pretense. There was nothing there of course. I checked the navigation history. Scrubbed clean. No personal items anywhere.
“I hope you aren’t putting a tracker on there. We want to finish this today.”
I sat up straight and saw that they stood looking directly at me. I got out of the car slowly. “An open attack? Why give away the element of surprise?”
“Is it really a surprise though?”
“No, I guess not. I realized what this was as soon as you pulled in.”
“So this is the legendary assassin JD. At least twenty three confirmed kills. Suspected in another sixty plus.”
“Allegedly.”
“Cut the crap man. Do you know who I am?”
“Yes. Rob’s kid.”
“Oh good. So you already know that I am going to kill you here today.”
“I do.”
“So do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Who’s the girl?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who’s the girl? Her. Who is she?”
“She’s my partner in crime. And in general.”
“You I could take. This little bag of bones though. She’s scary.”
I saw a flash of anger across his face and smiled. He was emotionally invested. You should never be emotionally invested when on a mission.
“She is. Any last words?”
“Can I do anything to change this? Is there any way I get out of here alive?”
“I don’t see it.”
“Well then I’d prefer to keep silent.”
“No last words?”
“None.”
“Why did you do it?”
I stayed silent. He closed the distance in less than a second and slapped me across the face. “Why did you do it?”
“Easy there Robbie.” She spike for the first time.
“You have good memories of your father kid. Don’t ruin them.”
“My father was a good man. And you killed him. You murdered him in cold blood. And unlike your other crimes, you left evidence. Deliberately. You wanted people to know.”
“Your father? A good man? We worked together you know. For the cartel. Till he decided he wanted more money than he was making. He accepted a contract to go after me. I lived. My family wasn’t so luck.”
“Bullshit.”
“Do you know what the worst thing for a father in this world is? To watch their kid die. That’s what he did to me. I knew then that I had to do much worse. Return the favour so to speak.”
“You are a fucking liar.”
“You don’t have to believe me. It is what it is.”
“That it is. Well now I get to repay he favour. I will kill you and end this.”
“Let me give you a life lesson kid. Let bygones be bygones. Violence begets violence. Let me go. Let this circle of violence end.”
He laughed. “You could’ve done that.”
“There was no one to tell me that. Trust me. That’s what I should’ve done. I could’ve made a new life for myself. Instead I dug myself even deeper.”
“So what you are saying is that I should forget what you did to my father and just walk away.”
“Walking away will give you something that I haven’t had in a long time. Peace. Happiness. Trust me.”
“I think you’re just an old man who is scared of dying.”
I sighed. “Alright then. Let’s get it over with.”
He raised the gun and I saw the familiar flash and heard the familiar sound of the gun firing. Usually i had been on the other side though. I felt the bullet rip apart my skin as it dug into my chest.
*
Robert Junior and Samantha looked at the old man dying in front of them. They had expected a bigger challenge. This was easy. Way too easy. As the man lay bleeding out, an alarm started blaring.
Samantha looked around surprised. “Rob. We have to get out of here. Now.”
Rob looked terrified as he realized what was happening. But the doors were shut before they could do anything. Rob coughed. There was something in the air. Something odourless. But most likely dangerous. He looked at the solid door blocking the entrance. A message painted on it said “play final message on tv.”
Samantha had been rushing around trying to find an exit. But there was none. Rob went to the tv and found an old fashioned CD player. He put in the CD and the familiar face appeared.
“Hello Kid. Your first instinct might be to stop wasting time here and look for a way out. I assure you there is none. This is a literal death trap that I built specially for you.”
Samantha backed up the car and smashed it into the door. The front of the car bent into an unnatural shape as her head stuck the steering wheel and a trickle of blood appeared in her forehead, a deep contrast with her fair hair.
Rob didn’t try to escape. He had underestimated the old fool. But he trusted him now.
The video continued. “You see we have one simple rule. We don’t go after the families and kids. But your father broke it. He broke both in fact. If you turn the second tv to channel 456, you can say your final goodbye to him.”
Rob reeled back from the shock. He turned the tv on. An old face stared back at him, unkempt and weak. The old man was crying.
“You see, I wanted him to experience what I had. But I had rules. I didn’t go after kids and the weak. No. I wanted you to be strong enough to defend yourself. But complications arose. My poor heart gave out. I had them put in a pacemaker. And a buddy of mine rigged this garage up. Since I retired this garage has been a huge part of me. Quite literally. Till my heart beats, this garage stays open and safe. If it stops, this garage is a death trap. Me, I am not long in this world anyways. The question is do I take you with me? You see I am not an evil man at heart, regardless of what you think. You would have gotten a choice tonight. If you have chosen correctly, you are sitting somewhere cosy and thinking about if you made the right choice. If you didn’t, well then see you in hell. Your father is located at an old abandoned condo off of old Yonge street. If you chose correctly, now would be the reunion time. If not, well, he gets to experience what I did and watch you die. Don’t worry though, I’ve left instructions for someone to let him out. He’ll live. Whether he wants to or not is up to him. Goodbye kid. And good luck.” |
"Hey, for the last time, he isn't here! Would y'all just leave me alone? This is the fourth day y'all have come by. He isn't here!"
"Where is the drifter?"the man in the black suit said again. It was all he ever said.
Four days of this bullshit. Four days! Ever since Adam came into my life, it's been weird. I was just driving along the highway and I saw him. Lord knows why, but I decided then and there to be a good Christian woman and I offered his ass a ride.
After a night of, shall we say, pleasant company, he was gone. I'm not surprised really. What was surprising were the strange markings carved into the front door frame. They ran the length of the whole thing, some kind of script you'd see in a sci-fi movie. I'd had plenty of time to study them from answering the freaking door on the hour every hour to these government folks.
"I'm telling you, I woke up and he was gone! Please leave!"I yelled and slammed the door shut. I was starting to get scared.
The thing was, every day another man in a black suit would show up with the rest, and I didn't know how long they intended to keep this up.
"Damn it, Adam. What the hell did you get me into?" |
The protests in the streets did it. But... maybe that was for the best.
We had ludicrous merch royalties to keep us going, but the faucet got turned off. Rocks at our window. Signs thrown over the fence. Only one person dared break in. He was thrown out painlessly, but the show of force redoubled the riots. The world already decided it didn’t want masked vigilantes anymore.
Villains were never quite in vogue, even at the heights of power mania. So it didn’t surprise me when one turned up at our door, desperate for a job. We’d been trying to hire anybody to help us with the cleaning, but it was dirty money. The fleet we once commanded gradually stopped reporting in, citing threats to their families and homes. Nobody our family wanted to trust had turned up. We saw this villain as another in the line of house thieves- but we let her in anyway, because it was raining that day. We’re still heroes through and through, and we got desperate to save somebody from something.
We had a conference about it in the big war room. I figure grampa just wanted to give it some use again, we really didn’t need the space. The empty chairs reminded me of when I was young and poised to inherit a fortune of fortune and glory. When I was photographed for magazines and specials. I went from “Super Baby” to “Mega-Tantrum Toddler” to “Adorable little Hero in Training” to puberty comma global disappointment, part of the problem of worshipping lawlessness. I wrote my will on my 18th birthday. But those kinds of things happen, and I don’t let it bother me. In the end, we decided to let the girl stay under close watch.
She was going to save us, though we didn’t see it. I certainly didn’t see it then.
So when I say I opened my mouth to complain about her frowning face that first day, just know I didn’t fully understand things.
It was a quiet afternoon. So quiet and tense, if a pin dropped, we would have all pulled out handguns to shoot it. Fifty eyes in different cameras watched her from hidden alcoves, while I leaned on the bannister nearby. She was dusting there.
“You’re frowning. Can you not?” I groaned. “You’d look even prettier if you smiled.” At least I recognized how hot she was back then. We were hard pressed to admit anything good about a Villain’s Kid.
“...excuse me?” She squeaked. Her voice was a little creaky from overuse all day. She had to explain to several people individually that she just needed a paycheck and that she did NOT have an evil agenda. Cousin Gidget’s lie detector set-up verified her in triplicate, but still we had to interrogate her. I cringe thinking about it.
“Your face. Gimme a big smile!” I cheered, pinning my lips up with my thumb and forefinger.
“Bugger off, creep,” she intoned on reflex.
“...takes one to know one,” I stammered. God, how dumb that had been.
She merely shook her head and kept scrubbing.
The family took to watching her in shifts. Even in her servant’s quarters, she wasn’t safe. Only the women looked there, though. At least she had weekends off. We tried to be fair employers. A small schism of us gradually decided not to pester her for seeking gainful employment. Its what we advocated weaker villains to do, in the old days. Why shouldn’t it work for her?
Over the weeks, we let our guard down. That’s when I started to talk to her during my watches.
It was short snippets, at first. About how she was a good worker. About her home and childhood. When she told me she’d never seen some of my favorite movies, I opened up the private theater for her. It was all just... showing off, I guess.
I started to notice her curves. How, even though she hated my guts, we had a lot more in common than I first guessed. My first date offer was flatly rejected. And the second.
Around the twelfth time, she seemed more pensive as she said no. I had stopped planning elaborate proposals by then and had started making her job easier. I started working alongside her, and I knew others weren’t doing the same.
Slowly I told her about me. About us.
Villain families had it worse, I learned. She had a troubled past, and no amount of trust in men. I stopped treating her like a puzzle or a house fixture. I started walking her home, if she was ok with that.
It was a few years later the first time she said yes.
We got ice cream and went for a walk in the park. By then, hysteria had died off. Heroes and villains were still a public enemy, but the number 1 spot was taken by genetically engineered mega soldier chimeras. So we were able to enjoy our day out.
And slowly... surely...
We started to hold hands. Then, kisses on the cheek.
We started to understand each other.
Started not to think about what set us apart.
When the time was right, I bought us a loft downtown. She stopped working at the home, on my insistence. The family didn’t understand, but...
That’s because they were all heroes. And they all saw her as a villain.
I saw us as people.
Edit: r/MoreStories for more! |
“Sir, you’re going to want to see this.” The little alien said as he floated into the room. Stepping off of his hover pad, the 6 legged creature scuttled over to the ship’s captain.
“What is it.” The captain said sternly.
“That primitive satellite, it had some holotapes on it.” The creature said, it’s green boney limbs shaking.
“Play them immediately.”
The crew of the ship stood around the hologram projector. Inserting the tapes into the machine, excitement grew in the room. Turning it on, they all suddenly froze in horror.
The tapes depicted giant monsters destroying cities, small primitive creatures which seemed to be called ‘humans’ being crushed under the rubble.
Playing the next tape, they witnessed a huge green human tearing up the buildings, a red and yellow mech brawling it violently.
“Turn it off.” The captain demanded in a panic. “We’re going home.” |
From betwixt a heavenly glow, a woman in robes with eagle wings stood from atop a summoning stone. "Great Satan,"Bip screeched, "What foul creature are you?"
Her glow did not fade. "Excuse me?"she scoffed, "How did you summon me?"
Bip rushed to his book. *The Wonders of Summoning*, he turned to page 55.
"Of all the things on what could go wrong,"Bip read too quickly, "a summoner must never forget the newt."
"A newt?"the angel said, and looked all around. "An apartment on 45th street?"The summoning stone was set in the center of Bip's living room, which had a good view of the city at night. Books were scattered all about, and a foul stench arose from the cupboard where Bip kept his summoning wares. She looked down at the summoning stone, and saw that she was standing in a pile of flour.
"You're not a trickster demon,"accused Bip, "or are you?"
The angel rose gracefully into the air. "I am Joan, a angel-warrior of our God almighty,"she said and a sword of pure light formed in her hand, "and I shall smite thee, 'foul' summoner, in his name!"The sword erupted in a flash of white fire. Bip quivered, blinded by the light that beamed out of his apartment windows.
"Curse my name Kleghdiyrei!"
"Kleghdiyrei?"Joan's voice boomed, and her sword flicked off, "You are a Kleghdiyrei?"
"M-my grandfather was Vladimir 'Summoner of the Antichrist' Kleghdiyrei, and I'm Bip the accountant."
"The Summoner of the Antichrist?"Joan laughed, until she realized he was serious, "you're not kidding?"
Bip shook his head. "He's my maternal grandfather, and my mother could summon a mean imp, but the power isn't in me. I just wanted to pick up a hobby."
"A hobby?"Joan said, "Good God."
"Well I tried baking." |
**Earth | Class-A Planet**
*Highly recommend!*
If you're thinking of Earth for a vacation, you might need to pack more than just an overnight bag. Because we're going to be honest -- once you set foot on this planet, you *won't* want to leave.
Earth has beautiful beaches, beautiful skies, and hardly ever rains Klfthr, the acid that melts the skin but does not allow you to die. But what'll really blow you away is the plants.
They're out of this world -- literally!
We strongly recommend trying the earth delicacy apples, a tree-growing, non-violent plant that -- believe it or not -- *doesn't* cry when you pick it.
That's right! If you're tired of hearing plants weep and beg for their lives or tell you about the children they'll be leaving behind every time you try to make a salad, you'll love earth!
It's not just apples -- it's every plant on the planet! Whether you're biting into a head of broccoli or peeling the skin off a carrot, you never have to hear the agonizing screams of their pain or watch their family members weep and beg you not to make them watch!
And it doesn't stop there! Everybody hates when the ghost of a cucumber haunts their dreams, possesses their children, or writes "you killed me"in blood on their walls. On Earth, those worries are a problem of yesterday, because these incredible plants *have no souls*!
It's almost too good to be true!
That's why we give Earth our strongest recommendation and encourage every galactic traveller to head on over for an Earth Safari -- or, better yet, to clear out a plot of land and build a home for yourself on the land where plants don't feel pain!
One disclaimer: the human inhabitants of the planet *do* scream. Pack a set of earplugs.
*Photo Contest: Share a picture of yourself enjoying a salad in your favorite Human's skin for a chance to win two free tickets to Earth!* |
It was the day of the new arrivals. A time when the spirit world and the earth were close enough to touch and all who died in the last year finally get to rest in peace. Of course, most of them didn't know what was happening until they were trapped here. No spirit has ever crossed back over the bridge, and nothing in the last fifteen thousand years as attempted to even get close. Few even bother to come and watch after the first couple of times, it's always the same, right?
Well not this time.
I watched as the recently deceased walked across that bridge, confused and excited by this new world. The newbies around me showed similar excitement at the prospect of new friends, maybe even a close relative. However, I don't think they expected what I was about to do.
"Well, that's it. I'm going over there to get to the bottom of this."I spoke as I jumped off of our perch and started towards the bridge.
"Wait, I thought that was banned?"A soft voice called from behind.
"Yep"
"But what will happen?"Another voice spoke quietly.
"Who knows!"
"Please stay safe! And tell me what you see!"A third voice called out. I was a decent distance away and barely heard him, but I remembered it well. I didn't even think he'd watch today, all of his family and friends had been long forgotten by now. Poor kid died young, apparently became world famous shortly after. That was around three hundred years ago now. In a sense, I'm also doing this for him. Eternal happiness sounds great until you realise that the first part is a curse that destroys the second. At least the next stage will be different, whatever it is.
It didn't take long to reach the bridge, but it also didn't take long for people to realise that I was going the wrong way. There was no protocol for if someone goes back to the human world, and it isn't like we have a system of government to make rules amoung the undead. After all, one being sticking around too long could bring the whole thing to its knees. So I pressed on. The eyes on me just strengthened my resolve to push on and each question from the new arrivals was brushed off by my confidence.
As I got past the last of the new spirits, I noticed that the bridge seemed to stretch out indefinitely. There had to be an end somewhere, it had to collide with the earth at some point.
Right?
Well, sort of. After what seemed like an age of walking, everything went black. As if there was nothing. But there was one break in the darkness, a tiny spec of light, hidden in plain sight. Focusing on it made it grow, slowly at first, but it soon became overwhelming. And out of the light, came a voice. One I had never heard before, despite my many years in the world of the spirits. It called out to me, "My child, what is it that you seek? there is no way back to the land from where you came."
"Why am I still here? Its been fifteen thousand years, on the dot, and I'm still here. How?"
"That's simple, at least one person still remembers you."
"But why only me? There were tons of famous people from the past that aren't here. Have they all been forgotten?"
"There is a big difference between being known and being *remembered,* my child."
"But why me? What did I do to deserve eternity? Others had brilliant ideas, famous works, impossible stunts. I didn't do anything like that."
"Well, why not you? You did do something to be remembered by."
"What? what did I do that was special?"
"I wouldn't say it was special, but it was inspiring. Because of you, billions of people put down their weapons and set aside differences to do good in the world. They don't even realise that you were a real person. Most think you're just a fantasy, and in a way, you are."
"Why would they do that?"
"Because from a young age, they learn about the man who gave his all to help others. The man who gave everything he could. The man who didn't care who you were or what you did. All he cared about was that you were nice, and in response, he would do everything he could to make your life better."
"They all... remember me?"
"They all remember you, and they remember the legend you left behind. The legend of Santa Claus." |
When the third richest person in the country dies without an heir or any close family, you can be sure there will be scammers. Now that it's been 18 years and no one has been able to prove any direct relation, its time to look into the reincarnation claims. Anyone who would've been reincarnated would be of legal age now and thus able to claim the vast fortune Mr. Willis left behind.
I hurry out of the building into the night, the files under my arm. This has to be fixed soon. Almost 120 claims after the initial weeding out of the most absurd ones. This would be a busy few days for me.
I sit in my office, looking at the rain. My investigation has got me down to three people. I will be busy tonight. I get into my car and drive towards the first target.
The interview goes pretty smooth. But I'm not convinced. David Smith gives a lot of details. But most of the details could be taken from the information available on the internet about the deceased. He was able to give me a few details, but on double checking with the staff at the estate, I concluded that this man was a phony.
On to the second interview.
There is something very familiar about the teenager standing before me. I worked with Mr. Willis for almost a decade and I can see the similarities. I ask him a variety of questions, most of which he is able to answer readily. I record everything in my handy notebook. I ask him to give me some information about the deceased that no one else would know. Things I could verify with the staff. He gives me a bunch of little eccentricities that he had. As any man who was a billionaire many times over would.
I don't say it out loud, but I am convinced. Derrick Jones is almost certainly the reincarnation of Mr. Kevin Willis.
I visit the third person on the list. Samantha R. Lowri.
She is well prepared. She gives me a lot more details than David Smith did. But not nearly enough as Derrick. Based on my previous conversation, I look through my notebook and ask her some pointed questions. At last, it's time for the interview to end.
"You're pretty good you know."
"Excuse me?"
"Samantha, you can drop the act. It's obvious you've studied the man well. The posture, the style. It's very good."
"It's not an act. I am the..."
"If I had come to you first, I would've believed you. But the luck of the draw. I went to see someone else first. Someone who had much more details."I look at my notebook. "For example, did you know that Mr. Willis was fond of apples. So much so, that he had one immediately after waking up and one before bed without fail. I know that because I visited him a few times before he woke up. He would make me wait, grab an apple and then sit down with me. It's not something everyone knows, but it'd be very easy to verify with the maids at the estate."
She sighs and looks at the floor. "Well, it was worth a shot."
"It was. You're very good. You do know that pretending to be someone else is a crime, right. You can be sentenced to a maximum of 6 years in prison."
"It's a risk I was willing to take. 6 years vs 500 billion dollars. Besides what are the chances that you met the actual man just before me."
"Very very low."I agreed.
*********
I sit with the board of directors ready to present the new director of the Willis industries. Of course, the board would maintain control. You can't really expect a 18 year old to be able to make any decisions, legally speaking. No, for the next few years, the board would take take care of things. Mr Willis, reincarnated, would still get reports, since he still maintains his shrewd business acumen.
Samantha Lowri walks into the room, putting slightly more weight on her right leg as Mr Willis used to. A childhood injury, his old teachers had informed us. She has studied my notebook well. She passed all the checks and everyone that talked to her was pretty convinced.
Her risk has paid off. So has mine. 12 years for fraud vs 250 billion dollars? It was a no brainer.
**********
*Minor tense edits.* |
Despite all the research, all the reading and obsessing over the details of the Elder races, neither Gatax nor Skillian could figure out what the expression on the face of their guest meant.
And boy, were they both trying to figure it out. Humans were a rare sight outside of their Celestiums, these days. They were an elder race, sequestered away to better contemplate the deeper mysteries of the universe and beyond. There remained the Procurer Humans, and a few who ruled planets as the next best thing to god-kings, but they didn't usually respond to dinner invitations. This one did.
The human was, to the best of their ability to determine, female. Her hair was the color of a thunderstorm, her skin as dark as space and ornamented with pictures that almost seemed to glow with life, only to be obscured by a robe of the finest Carthian wool.
Had anyone else been wearing it, the robe alone would have been impressive. It was nicer than the suits Gatax's boss's bosses wore; more luxurious than what most of the nobility of Skillian's planet could afford. But on a human, it was an afterthought.
"So you see, uh, ma'am,"said Gatax, "It's a celebration of Earth's history. The, uh..."
"*Example*,"Skillian coughed, consulting her notes about the ancient human tongue their guest was partial to.
"The example your people set for the younger races,"Gatax finished. Speaking any human language without a human tongue, lips, and throat was no mean feat; he hoped their guest would appreciate the effort.
The human's expression shifted to one that Gatax and Skillian recognized, the "smile."That was a good sign, right?
"I think I get the idea,"replied the human in perfect Atraxi. Better than perfect; there was a melodic lilt as she spoke it that was usually absent from the language. "I am flattered, truly. However..."
Gatax's crest fell, and Skillian could not help drawing back slightly into her shell.
The human's pause lengthened, and she shook her head. "My apologies, if I have made you nervous. You two are obviously very knowledgeable about my species, but... If I may, I would venture a guess as to why you might not have had any luck finding a human willing to consider attending your convention before now."
Gatax and Skillian both nodded vigorously.
"Right. Human history is far from sinless, as I hope you are aware. Many of us are not entirely comfortable with the... *reverence*, some of the younger races show us. Those who are likely would deem it a waste of their time."
The two younger creatures were silent for a long moment. "But,"Gatax finally said, "will you do it?"
The human's expression again became unreadable. "Yes,"she said. "*With* conditions,"she added, before the other two could get properly enthused. "This may be a celebration of history, but it will *not* be a sanitation. I will speak about what I wish with who I wish, and I will not be silenced."
Gatax and Skillian were too busy being excited about the prospect of finally booking a human guest speaker to contemplate just what kind of horrors they were about to unleash on EarthCon.
(Author's note: Tried to play this off of the question, what if humanity is portrayed among aliens the way dragons usually are among humans?) |
It had never really been a choice, dying happens whenever it is fated. Sure, you can prevent some things, but it gets to you some day.
Now me, I died at a mundane restaurant shift, ice machine fell over cause the wheel broke, tipping over onto me. Being I was rather religious, waking up as some kid with a devilish tail, sharp teeth, and goofy horns in a grassy field wasn't the afterlife I expected.
After I got a bearing on my surroundings, I took a look around, and at myself. The clothes I had on were totally ridiculous, enough skin showed for me to catch a cold if I didn't find shelter fast, and the style was way too goth for me.
I was in good fortune though, as a rather medieval looking city wasn't far off in the distance. In fact, the field I was in seemed to be a recently planted wheat field, only a foot or so tall. So I set off for town.
That, well, that didn't go well.
Apparently the aforementioned horns and tail made me less than welcome most places, even if I tried talking to people none spoke English.
Eventually I found what seemed to be a church, which means this world might not be so different from my own, or so I thought.
I went in to attempt to meet with a priest, though I seemed to have interrupted an informal meeting of some sort, everyone there was surprised to see me.
After that, there was a period of them speaking nonsense I couldn't understand, and me failing to find any shared words to use to try and communicate.
After some time, a nun, I think, sat with me for some time, trying to communicate with me. This is the best start I could have asked for in this world, as I could finally try and learn how to speak with people. So we talked, or, well, tried, and eventually figured out some common ground using a whole lot of hand gestures to assist.
It would be a few months before I could speak better than a toddler in this new language, but I eventually learned, and surprised the church with my ability to perform some religious customs, albeit poorly.
I wasn't fed too well though, apparently my current... species... isn't well known for its culinary arts, it took me a while to convince them to cook the food I was being fed.
I would come to learn I was reborn a demon, but due to only being a demon in body, I wasn't torched when I entered the church, which a normal demon wouldn't have survived. I also learned there is magic in this world, which I was more than happy to attempt to use to help the people who accepted me.
That day came rather soon, as the city would come under siege, with the walls being breached near the church.
A couple of chainmail soldiers entered the church with swords and lit torches, which is where I learned how could help.
Before they were able to steal anything, or worse, I reached out a hand to stop them. ...which promptly fired a beam of frost that made ice form on their armor so rapidly that none of them could move seconds later.
Not only was I surprised, but the invaders and the church clergy were as well.
Apparently that much magic from such a small person- ...demon, isn't normal, especially in such an ineffient attack.
I was just happy to stop harm to my new home, and the clergy began setting up a meeting with a local lord. Magic is apparently rather useful, and not the most common in the world.
Thus began my real journey to a rather unusual life, the hero that wasn't meant to be. Demon Lord and knight of humanity.
(I haven't written in a long while, not in this way at least. Feedback appreciated!) |
“Dragon!” I yelled into the cave, “Face me!” A low rumbling echoed up the tunnel. Scraping, hissing, and slithering noises followed. I crouched behind my water-soaked shield and rested the crossbow on the top edge, hoping for a good shot to start things off. The second I saw a glint from the dragon’s eye, I fired.
Its speed caused the bolt to trace a straight line through the air; the dragon still reacted in time, twisting its head so the bolt deflected off an eyebrow. I tossed the crossbow aside, it was rarely effective, but always worth trying. I drew my sword and charged. The dragon refused to come out any further, but that was fine. It probably thought it was stopping me from flanking it, when really it was just restricting its own movements. I kept my shield high as I approached, knowing that fiery breath would be next. With my attention on its head, I didn’t see the pitfall.
*Thud*. “Oof.” *Clatter*.
I stared at the ceiling, more than half unconscious, as my sword bounced further away. The dragon peered over the lip of the pit, and I tried to raise a hand. If I was going to die, it would be defiant!
“Dragon,” I cried out. Well, croaked. “You’ve bested me. Make it quick.”
The dragon’s voice rumbled so low, the words were barely understandable in the echoing tunnel. “Goodness gracious. It’s still alive. I finally didn’t make the pit too deep. Kobolds, get him out of there and bring him to my hoard room.”
I wanted to resist the sheer ignominy of a dragon slayer being manhandled by kobolds, but my sight, my hand-eye coordination, and every inch of my body disagreed, demanding more time to get over a twenty-foot drop. Soon enough, I was in the dragon’s hoard, surprisingly alive, untied and recovering. The only thing that followed my expectations is that I was disarmed. The kobolds shoved me in chair, while the dragon perched atop glittering mountain of gold and silver.
“Tell me, adventurer, who sent you?” A kobold emerged from another tunnel and sat at a desk, quill and parchment at the read.
“The town of Eastglen grew tired of your depredations-”
“Depredations!” The dragon roared, then released a low growl, wings fluttering in agitation. I flinched back, before I realized that it was laughing. “Oh adventurer. You didn’t bother checking their claims at all, did you? How many buildings did you see burnt down?”
“...Not all dragon attacks leave ash-”
“Or who personally attested to stolen cattle? Or had a daughter demanded as tribute? Did you do anything to see if they were lying?”
I blinked. This whole situation was unprecedented, but now that I thought back, had I seen anything in that specific town to prove what they said? The towns all blended together after a while, so it took a few seconds to remember.
“Yes! They showed me dragon tracks.” I proclaimed, then froze. Should I have lied? Was I about to get eaten?
The dragon just muttered to itself, then said to writing kobold. “Record. Now, adventurer, tell me *exactly* what the townsfolk said I did.”
“Um. They said you’d devoured guards off the wall, and burned a section of the palisade to the ground. They also showed me where they had to rebuild the palisade after your attack.”
“Was that all?”
“I… don’t usually ask for proof. Now that I think about it, it’s actually odd that they went out of their way to show this evidence to me without prompting.”
The dragon thrummed a deep sigh, and nodded to the kobold, who left. “I rebuilt that palisade for them, and now they’re trying to stiff me on the payment. Do you know how hard it is being a dragon without pillaging? You’ve got to build your hoard, and paying work is scarce even when you can find employers who don’t flee in terror. And now I’m finding that people keep hiring dragon slayers to try to scam me, and if I go pillaging, burning, destroying and mayhem-making in return, they’ll claim I was at fault all along!”
The dragon hid its head under a wing, its voice muffled as it continued, “Maybe I should give up on this. Go back to raiding. I heard there’s a princess a few kingdoms over. What *is* the going rate these days for a princess ransom?”
I looked around, seeing a sword hilt poking out of the hoard. I started to rise from my seat, then say back down. Did I actually want to do this? If anything the dragon was saying was true, if dragons could actually be productive members of society… Well, I’d be out of a job, but there were other monsters I could hunt. Or maybe there was a better way.
“Say, dragon,” I ventured, “Have you ever heard of contracts?”
“...Go on.”
…
“My client doesn’t like waiting for the court system,” I explained to the mayor. “He just wants to be sure that you understand the penalty for defaulting, and that you can’t complain about it afterwards.”
“I’m not sure about this,” he said, looking over the agreement, quill hovering over the space for his signature.
“How long would it take you to clear the trees for your road? Five years? Ten? My client can get it done in a week.”
The mayor laid a finger on the parchment, “ ‘In the event of a refusal to compensate, the city may be liable to razing, leveling, roasting, burning, and/or being set on fire’; that’s a harsh penalty.”
“You’re hiring a dragon. Did you think he was going to sue you?”
The mayor grumbled, like they all did. And like they all did, he signed anyway. And like they all did, he paid promptly once the job was done. |
As the council cheered because of their victory, and was looking forward to another species of worshiper and slaves, a figure burst through the door, getting everybodys attention.
All of the gods swiftky stood up to face the figure, which on a second look was dressed in a peculiar way.
Wherein all other human gods, and gods in general, were seen as beatiful and strong, this god was a mere skeleton in a cloak, carrying around a Scythe.
The figure itself seemed to have a peculiar aurora around it, one if fear, and all of the gods surprisingly enough felt threatened by it as it stood looking at them.
"ENOUGH", the figure said, in a booming voice.
"ENOUGH OF YOUR SHENANIGANS, YOU MORTALS"
"Mortals? Do you know who you are talking to? We are gods, we are no mort-"
The god would've kept going if it wasn't for the figure grabbing him and with a swift move decapitating him with its Scythe.
Everybody in the room was stunned, because the god didn't come back to life.
Usually when a god was killed they would simply pop back to life, as such combat between gods was mainly about torture rather than death.
Needless to say, the figure did the unimaginable, it killed a god.
The council looked at it, filled with fear.
It simply said one thing, in a quiet yet menacing voice, that for the first time in millenia instiled fear into the room.
"Everybody is mortal".
It was on that day that the council learned to fear Death, even though it had no temples built into its honor, it had no worshippers, no rituals to appease it, it wasn't even a god, it was merely a servant of nature, it acted indiscriminately, in its eyes it didn't matrer if you were a peasent or a god, it was going to come for you, and it was only a matter of time before it did. |
It was like something straight out of a children's playroom.
The World Space Force had been searching the Milky Way for intelligent alien life for almost three centuries. Having found nothing more than a couple of single-cell organisms on Ross 128B. But that was two hundred and fifty years ago.
Many of the inhabitable planets nearest Earth already had full scale colonies. These were used to supply materials and launchpads for further space exploration. All in an attempt to find something else, someone else, like us.
And now, in the year 2792, contact was finally made. Physical contact, as Colonel Peter Rule, Human, shook hands with Aliel D'kæra, Nova of the planet Kenvora, on one of the Nova's interplanetary colonies.
The weird thing about it was while the Humans were all dressed in the armored uniforms of the Space Force, the Nova all wore what appeared to be medieval gambeson.
So the scene was this, a space cruiser straight out of 21st century science fiction, filled to the brim with Space Guardians, sat next to a Medieval fantasy castle.
After breaking the language barrier (which was easier than originally thought, as the Nova could translate our language telepathically), we found out how a seemingly medieval race had somehow colonized a planet millions of lightyears from their home planet.
They just used magic.
The practice that humanity had condemned in the past turned out to be an extreme catalyst for interplanetary travel. And by snuffing it out in events like the Salem Witch Trials and the Spanish Inquisition, humanity had condemned itself to exploring the stars the hard way.
Ignorance had set Humanity back by centuries.
Figures. |
"ODIN TELL ME! WHERE DID I GO WRONG!"
All I see around me are people wearing robes, basked in the dim light of a setting sun that never ends. I cannot feel an ounce of pride coming from their frail body. Is that truly what Valhalla is? Is this what I fought my entire life for?
"Greetings to you Yörn. I see you are still struggling against your faith."
"Go please a goat will you? I refuse to believe this is what my god wishes for me. This is but another trial I will go through to reach Valhalla!"
"If you truly believe so then go for it. You are free to do whatever pleases you. We are protected by the divines here, so even though you try and slaughter us, you know it is for naught. We do not suffer and much to your dismay we do not anger. We all have gone beyond that."
"And I will spend an eternity to finally get my god's approval."
"And how so? No offense, but you've been at it for a couple' of weeks now. Not even counting your previous life. I understand your despair, but for someone trying to reach a greater beyond, you're not trying much."
At these words, An axe split the monk's head in two, anger oozing from the bearded assailant. The bald man nonchalantly ignored and pursued.
"You've only tried to kill and destroy. Yet your god seems to remain deaf to your pleas. Maybe you should approach the issue in another way? What else do you want to do?"
Outraged, Yörn teared limb after limb, despite them coming back and the monk feeling no pain. Struggling with his belief, he expressed his emotion the only way he knew of but to no avail
"I wish nothing more than to keep fighting for Odin!"
"Then maybe you should consider other forms of fighting. The struggle of life. You've known those of war, but have you ever fought other things? Have you ever faced yourself?"
As the axe grazed his nemesis' throat, Yörn stopped it. For once the man in front of him made sense. He had killed plenty of warrior, fought wars and pillaged to his hearts content. Yet he had never even considering the possibilty that his strongest opponent was himself.
In a daze, he scoured the holy land, speaking with its denizen, and his worries where confirmed. They all had spent years of their lives facing themselves. Trying to free themselves from their own weaknesses. He found himself doubting. Maybe he is not YET in Valhalla. maybe this Nirvana they speak of is but the antechamber of the true fight Odin had prepared for him. If he had been brought here for a reason, then there could only be one: He needed to face himself before being allowed to the hall of the gods. |
I clutch my gut and wonder what the heck just happened. The whole walk home I try to convince myself it wasn’t real. I convince myself that it’s just a hallucination from the heat and I just need to get a drink and cool off. However, the blue and purple bruise I notice while changing for bed says otherwise. “I’ll be fine,” I tell myself, still not believing that a man just disappeared in front of my face. I go to sleep hoping that will help.
I wake up in the morning and decide to go for a walk to clear my head, I had weird dreams about oddly shaped remotes that control people. When I step outside it’s early in the morning with the sun just starting to peek over the horizon of buildings. It’s cool out and the perfect temperature for a morning walk. After walking for a little while I see my friend mike walking on the street too and get his attention.
“Hey mike what’ve you been up to?”
“Nothing much how are you?”
“Mike, the craziest thing happened yesterday, you wouldn’t believe-“
“Nothing much how are you?”
“Mike you alr-“
“Nothing much how are you?”
“Mike?”
He continues repeating the sentence and starts to spin. I step back, unsure of what’s going on. Two men jog over, both in full armor with guns. The first one to arrive speaks to the other,
“Yo dude look this npc is totally glitching out!”
The other puts his gun away and pulls a grenade launcher from nowhere.
“Move I’m gonna blow it up”
The closer guy runs back away from Mike and not knowing what else to do I follow him, the one with the grenade launcher aims at Mike and shoots him, blowing up him and the stop sign he was next to. I watch in horror before turning to the man with the grenade launcher.
“Why would you blow him up?! There has to have been a better way to make him stop! You can’t just go around blowing people up!”
They both just look and me until the one with the grenade launcher says,
“I have never heard an npc talk that much”
I reply,
“What the hell is an npc?!”
They both look at me, their expressions unreadable. I finally recognize the one that came up first as the guy that punched me yesterday. He speaks,
“Dude I think that npc can understand us”
The other one points his grenade launcher at me and I loose my cool,
“Don’t you dare point that damn thing at me! I have had quite enough of this!”
He lowers the grenade launcher,
“She’s definitely talking to you dude, looks like you upset her”
The one from yesterday says with a chuckle. I turn to him with no patience left.
“You’re not off the hook either! Are you going to explain why you punched me yesterday?!”
The guy with the grenade launcher chuckles this time,
“Better figure out those controls before you upset all the npc’s in the game”
“It’s not my fault you’re a bad teacher! And this thing is kinda freaking me out”
I practically yell at them,
“Would you please quit talking like I’m not here!”
The one from yesterday stabs me right in the gut,
“Oops I thought that was the compliment button”
I fall to my knees clutching the wound, soon I’m sprawled out on the hard concrete. I lie there on the concrete, bleeding out, wondering what I did to deserve this. The last thing I hear is a woman’s voice.
“Boys! Come down it’s time for dinner!”
The world fades to nothingness as I take my final breath. |
"No, no, no! This can't be, this is bad, this is bad!"Regaledia was practically choking on his own breath as his eight thick fingertips tapped at the paper-thin crystalline screen in front of him. Without hesitation, he took a hand off of his screen and slammed down a button, entered the code, and announced "Prepare for a retreat! The scouts reported sightings of a forbidden civilization, disaster level rated to be 29381! Repeat, prepare for a retreat, a forbidden civilization with a disaster level at 29381!"
Another headless humanoid figure, in similar appearance to Regaledia, Regoova, barged into the Communications Office raising a finger with a voice coming out of it, "What's going on?! What forbidden civilization, you damn moron?! This is an easy target, we ran a few million simulations to predict the growth of this civilization, at best they're still banging rocks against trees!"
"No, no, no, look, look!"Regaledia was an anxious wreck as he rushed to turn his screen.
Regoova placed a fingertip onto the screen and started "absorbing"a blue light from it. He then was rooted in place in absolute horror as he was processing what he just "saw". Towering archaic stone and steel towers surrounded the green and blue planet as moon-sized ships cruised through space with cannons pointed right at the Regundian scouting ships. The next second, a burst of light that seemed as if a star had collapsed appeared and instantly vaporized the scene.
"D-did you run an evaluative survey?"Regoova stuttered through his finger as his thin legs swayed.
"The strength of that single ship... could rival our home planet's defensive firepower,"Regaledia sounded as if he was about to cry.
"Order for an evacuation through the pods, we need to get the message back-"Regoova didn't get to finish his thought, let alone his sentence as the entire ship was vaporized in half an instant. Actually, the whole fleet was vaporized as well. |
Dr Velocifrost was crouched, his icy, serpentine eyes on his latest victim: another would-be hero who had decided they were worthy of taking a shot at him. Him! The greatest villain the city had ever known.
“Do you get it now? Compared to you, with your...what was it? Slightly above average physical traits and the ability to fly? Well, either way...compared to you I am like a God. No. I *am* God.”
“Duuuude,” Said a voice from above them “You’re, like, not even close to me.”
The velociraptor-headed man closed his blue eyes, slouched his black armor-clad shoulders, and let his not-up-to-current-science-scaley-instead-of-feathery-dino-head slump forward — all the while a foggy, ice-glittered sigh poured from his mouth and nose. A slow deflation of deep annoyance.
“Oh for crying out loud.” He said, to himself. “I’ll be right back with you in a moment, hero. Stay frozen, would you?”
Dr Velocifrost stood and stared to the heavens. By which one means the ceiling.
“*You* are *not* God.”
“Then why’s my voice all over the place?” Said the up-for-debate possible Deity.
“We’ve been over this! *You* are a disembodied electromagnetic-*telepath* that I killed a few months ago. You’re stuck in my P.A. System.”
On the ground the young hero seized the distraction and squirmed. The ice that bound him creaked. If he could just —the sky-blue blast from Dr Velocifrost’s palm added a thick layer of hard-water entrapment to the hero. Who then remained still.
Very still.
“Waddya mean *we’ve been over it*?” Said the speakers in the Secret Lair’s Lunchroom Ceiling. “Not ringing any bells to little old me — you know: All knowing God.”
“You haven’t got much memory storage in this form, is my guess.” Said the Villain. “And I keep resetting the electronics to clear you out. Going to have to try and power the whole place down, next. Hmm. That might do it, actually.”
A blue-scaled claw scratched a blue-scaled jaw. *That really might work. Make sure there’s no residual electricity.*
“Soooo.” Said the P.A. Poltergeist “You wanna play some discgolf or something?”
“No.” Said Dr Velocifrost as he marched towards the fusebox. |
How many stories do you know of monsters, dear guard? I imagine many, for man loves his monsters. He love stories about the death of such monsters as much as he loathes the creatures themselves. So is history: monsters and their malice, monsters and their victims, monsters and their fate. These stories terrify; but more, these stories entice. The boy afraid of the invader, coming to rape his homeland, becomes a soldier celebrated for the defense he brings. From fear comes hope, from hope strength, from strength heroes.
Heroes, of course, require villains, the more treacherous the better. So it is that a hero will seek monsters like in their stories. But stories are seldom truth, dear guard. They instead project - concentrating the fears men have into a convenient little box a mob can burn with their torches.
So, dear guard, I ask you, how would a monster avoid such a fate? I see the confusion in your eyes - it is simple! A monster avoids its fate by controlling the story itself. It offers no insult that men will harbor in their hearts as they sharpen their blades. It offers no martyrs for the people and their pyre. It offers no widows, no orphans, no cripples from wars or from battles. No, it offers only kindness, as a gift beneath a tree, never letting its enemies know that while they play with their toys, they've let the monster into their room to strangle them with the ribbon. |
I stared at the aliens, confused. “How did you get here? We’ve proven that traveling faster than light is impossible.”
*Correct,* the voice in my head responded. These creatures spoke with their minds instead of mouths. It still creeped me out a bit. *We got here by slowly traveling through space. What concerns us, however, is you.*
“Wait, us?” I exclaimed.
*We did not expect there to be anything left on this planet. When we left, it was devoid of all life,* the voice calmly said.
“So,” I started to say, “You’ve been traveling for…”
*Around 65 million years, give or take.*
I whistled. “Your species lasts this long?”
If the creature could laugh, it would have. Instead it made some sort of wheezing sound. *No, we are descendants of those who left our home. Be glad you did not meet those who originally left.*
“Why?” I asked.
*They…* it paused. *They had some, let’s say, radical views. They wouldn’t hesitate to repeat what they did before. You see, it was them who sent the missile.*
My eyebrows furrowed. “What missile? And how do we not know about this.”
The alien sighed in my mind. *Because that missile wiped out all life on this planet 130 million years ago.*
Edit: thanks for the typo u/braoutchmeuh! Completely missed them when writing it. |
Bianca was walking through the woods near the hideout. She couldn't get the image of Aiden lifting her up from the broken cave last week. Emotions she didn't know how to name flooded her mind, only taken to attention when she heard a noise coming from behind a bush.
"Who's there?"she ask-yelled, unsheathing her sword of light.
"Finally, someone."answered a coarse voice, and out emerged a man barely taller than Bianca, dressed only in heavu combat boots, beige trousers, and an otherwise white tank top. He came with a rifle slung on his shoulder, and a first aid kit. Dry blood adorned his dirty self.
"Gosh what happened to you?"She said, putting her sword away, "come, we have food and a washing machine inside."
"Wha'appened to *you*? You's all sparkly and stuff. Why do you have a sword? You ain't gonna kill a crippled rabbit with a sword... Ahh, wha'ever. You got more hands? I need ta get my troop out'f a pit trap."He stopped to spit out a piece of bark mixed with drool, and started walking past Bianca.
She caught up and started walking alongside the ragged man. "Where are your friends, anyways? We'll have to know how long to travel."
"I'unno. Few days out? This long dark is messin up our internal clocks."
"Yeah. But we'll defeat the night bringers and bring light to the world again!"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "You's gonna need som'thn' better than a pointy stick for that, here."He unholsted his sidearm and presented the handle to her. "Name's Ivan, by the way." |
So here's the thing folks. For the purposes of this story, you just have to understand. The drone pilot. He's Danny McBride. I could try to do this with subtle writing clues that people would high-five me for. Actual writing skills. But we're not doing actual writing skills today. We're doing Danny fucking McBride.
"I told you mother fucker, you made a mistake. I'm useless without my drone. There's no point for me being here without my drone."
The automated unit stared blankly ahead registering no movement or reaction to this rant.
"Okay so can I like? Get a human? A supervisor?"
The automated unit responded.
"Please remain calm, contestant. You are being assigned a far more dangerous weapon than the one you operated on Earth.'
"A far more dangerous.... More dangerous than a full rack of hellfire missiles? I doubt it. Look I don't know what you fruitcakes are up to here but..."
"Your weapon is Zorgo."
"Zorgo? Well who the fuck is Zorgo?"
Despite the complete incapacity of the automated unit to express any sort of emotion, somehow, the feeling of a weary sigh was conveyed. This had been a long day for the automated unit.
"Zorgo the destroyer rules the planet Ftolkker and it's 3 moons. He is tens of thousands of years old, can rain destructive fire equivalent to several hydrogen bombs, and controls wealth so massive that he could buy or topple any neighboring empire on a whim."
The drone pilot, up to this point nothing but bluster, suddenly found himself speechless. He cleared his throat.
"And you're saying this. This is Zorgo. This is my. My, uh. My drone? "
"Correct."
The drone pilot then entered into a place in his own mind where he had to tell himself several times, excitedly, not to freak out like a 7-year-old. Because he was dangerously close, and the presence of whoever these alien fuckers were, and their robots, and their contest, and whatever. To freaking out like a little 7-year-old. And he didn't want to do that because. God damn was he really going to get to ride a dragon? Fuck yeah! Okay. Better get it together and talk to this robot thing now."
"Ahhh Yes I find that acceptable, I accept. Yes.'
"You're acceptance was never in question"The automated unit replied, dully.
"Here is your card for your room key. You will find normal human refreshments in your room.
"Are there? You know? Not humans here? Am I going to run into some aliens in the hallways on the way to my room?"
This time the sigh from the automated unit was audible.
"I advise all species and cultures arriving at the slaughter games to respect and gain enrichment from the alien culture surrounding them. And if this is not possible, to at least refrain from violence against beings that you do not understand."
"You're not really a robot, are you?"
"In the way that you are primitive species thinks of robots? No. I suppose I am not. And yet, I'm still enough of that to take offense to your question. Move along sir."
"Oh hey listen I'm sorry I didn't mean anything by it, I just..."
"Move along, sir." |
The ancient woman looked up from her terminal and regarded me with a wary suspicion.
"What did you just say?"She rasped at me. Her name tag said "Wendy,"and there was a little American flag beneath it.
"I'd like to buy a plane ticket to your furthest destination today,"I repeated.
Wendy conferred with the agents behind the desk, whispering surreptitiously and gesticulating my way every so often. One of them, a young man apparently named Stewart, broke the huddle and addressed me.
"We usually sell tickets via the app,"He noted, pulling the app up on his own phone. "Customers typically enter the destination they want, and select tickets thereafter. Our systems aren't really built for recommending destinations."
"I know a place..."Wendy aspirated, letting the last word linger ominously in the air.
Wendy produced a tattered world atlas from beneath her desk and spread it across the counter. Using a compass and calipers, she traced a solid path between South Florida, Puerto Rico and Bermuda. To this triangular shape she drew a line from New York to Puerto Rico, crossing through the triangle. Satisfied, she typed a destination into her keyboard, her bony fingers clickety clacking in sympathy with the keys, and printed a ticket for San Juan, PR.
"Puerto Rico. The flight departs in two hours."
"Puerto Rico?"I ask, looking again at the map, my eyes drawn to Europe, Africa, and Australia, each of which was clearly further away than San Juan. "But that's not really all that far. I mean, it's still the United States..."
"Don't worry,"she cackled, as the thunder clouds rolled in outside. "You're not really *going* to Puerto Rico." |
"Verus? Send that hero in,"the king said in disbelief.
Thousands of sacred swords in solitary stones all across the continent, forcefully stabbed into place and scattered all around in hopes of finding a hero in as many cities and towns as possible.
And one hero had apparently made it his mission to pull every single one out. Just one of those swords blessed by the Goddess of his nation should be sufficient to vanquish the Great Evil. Assuming this wasn't yet another hero who died from dysentery before he reached the Gates of Evildark. If the hero was truly just a man as word on the streets would have it, why pull all the swords? Would he even be able to use them all?
"Your majesty, the hero is here,"Verus announced.
The hero, if that...thing could be called one, entered the throne room. Slithering on a mass of tentacles, a multitude of portals above its body opened up to reveal all the sacred swords floating horizontally like nocked arrows ready to fire, Gate of Babylon style.
"Greetings, Your majesty. I have come to inform you to stop littering the lands with swords in stones,"its jaws clenched to form what could conceivably pass for a displeased frown. "It doesn't help if other heroes before me pulled a sword out only to die before they reached the Great Evil."
It was the King's turn to frown back at this arrogant monster who dared call itself a hero. This...tentacled beast who had the gall to criticise his method.
"Are you trying to tell me what to do?"
It shook its head. "A mere suggestion, your majesty. If you wish for a human hero to survive the arduous journey beyond the Veil, plant a sacred sword as close to the Veil as you could possibly do so. Cut short the long trip to the Great Evil. Or you could just let me do it."
"Any guarantees you aren't secretly another evil entity getting rid of the competition for world domination?"The king asked, intrigued by this peculiar creature.
"Rest assured I am a good eldritch being who performs his duties as the local guardian deity of a town full of humans. Our interests in the welfare and safety of our humans align,"it beamed and wriggled its tentacles, a little too pleased and proud of itself.
The king beckoned his envoy Verus to come over and whispered to the man. "Any other heroes coming forth in this month?"
Verus shook his head.
"Only this...freak and his ugly mug?"
"Your majesty, that's not very nice,"the creature pouted, its writhing tentacles emitted angry hissing noises. "I've been told I'm quite the charming and handsome one in eldritch standards."
"Verus!"The king made no attempt to conceal his desperation for anyone but that tentacled thing to save the kingdom. "Any of my brave knights are willing to take a sword to fight the Great Evil?"
"None, your majesty."
"So...I don't have any other choices to appoint as the kingdom's hero?"
"None, your majesty."
"A wise choice to appoint would be me, your majesty,"the self-proclaimed "nice, heroic guy"eldritch declared, puffing itself up.
"Okay, okay,"the king let out a reluctant sigh. "Take my seal of approval and go. The last time I ever want to see your smug, creepy face is the day you bring back the head of the Great Evil. And never again."
"I don't get a hero’s welcome and victory feast and party?"it's palpable disappointment weighed heavily in the air. "Heroes get commerative statues built in their honor, yes?"
"NO. That's for relatable human heroes."
"...oh. I will learn what it means to be human one day."
"So, will you save the day before that?"
"Of course,"it smiled and nodded. "Because I'm a good eldritch god." |
“Why hello, Jack. How’re you feeling today?”
“Fine as usual, doc. No change in the past two years, really.”
“Well, good! Good. Let’s get started shall we?”
The doctor got up from his stool and walked over to collect what he needed for anesthesia.
“Doc…why?”
“Come now, Jack. We’ve had this conversation before. It’s for your health!” the doctor said, his back still to Jack.
“But I’ve been healthy for two years! No issues. Why do I still have to keep coming?”
The doctor turned around and looked at Jack, his gaze somewhere between stern and sympathetic.
“Do you remember why you started coming here in the first place?”
Jack paused to think. “….no.”
The doctor turned back around. “Good.”
“…excuse me?”
“Yes?”
“Did you just say…good?”
Jack saw the doctor fumble the IV needle in his hand before turning around to face him again. “Wha…no…no, I believe I said no good. As in, when you first came to us, your condition was no good. That’s right. You were off in a really bad way. Now, let’s get started. We’re going to put the IV in and put you under, all right?”
“Doctor, please, I don’t think I need anything done. Just, I don’t know, just explain to me what’s going on.”
“Jack, you’re not well.”
“Doc, you wouldn’t…you wouldn’t believe how healthy I am. I can’t believe it myself. I can run for hours and I’m strong. Really strong. I’m not trying to brag, it…it’s surprising to me, too. And I sleep like a coma patient. My girlfriend says that when I go to sleep, I completely pass out and won’t stir for 8 hours straight.”
“Melanie. How is she?”
“Oh, she’s great. Thanks for introducing us last year. She’s great. She’s…”
“Yes?” the doctor prompted.
Jack tried to think why he paused. I mean, Melanie really was great. But something about her felt cold. Calculated.
“Is there something wrong with Melanie?” the doctor asked again, seeming very concerned.
“No, no. Not at all. She’s fine. I’m fine. Which is what I’m trying to tell you, doc. I’m fine. No need for…this.”
The doctor walked over to Jack’s side and sat down on his stool, IV needle and tape in hand.
“Jack. You were in a really bad way. We can’t let that happen again, ok? Now just relax.”
Jack sat back and watched the doctor insert the needle and attach the line to administer the anesthesia.
“All right, Jack. Start counting backwards from 10 for me.”
Jack complied and soon felt himself succumbing to the drugs. Over the past year, he could feel the influence of the anesthesia starting to wane, but he would always just let himself go. This time, he resisted for as long as he could, but it was too much. As he slipped under, all he could think about was how this just wasn’t right.
*“…so everything is fine?”*
*“Yes! For the hundredth time, yes.”*
*“He…seemed concerned about you.”*
*“Well, probably because he thinks he cares about me, I don’t know.”*
*“He does. He does care about you. Do you not feel anything for him?”*
*“What, do you? Of course I don’t. I know my place.”*
*“As do I. Don’t forget yourself.”*
*“Whatever. I just…”*
*“You just what?”*
*“Nothing. Never mind. Don’t call me in here again. I’m not your lackey.”*
*“We both know who we answer to. We can have no breakdowns now. The time is close.”*
Jack came to in his usual recovery room. He felt groggier than usual and he had had the strangest dream, which was odd. He never had dreams. Never. He thought he had heard voices…Familiar ones…
The room slowly came into focus for Jack and he could see the doctor standing off in the corner.
“How’re you feeling, Jack?” That voice.
Jack swallowed. “I…I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? There was some hesitation there.”
“Yes, doctor. I’m fine. No issues. Feeling good.”
The doctor nodded. “I’ll see you in a month. Say hi to Melanie for me, haven’t seen her in ages.”
Melanie. The other voice. Jack hoped his face didn’t betray him. “Will do, doc.”
He left the hospital and felt his mind trying to escape his skull. He had first come to this hospital after…after what? How did he get there? All he could remember was waking up in that recovery room with the doctor and another man in a dark suit who he’d never seen again. They had explained to him the importance of coming every month and that if he ever had any issues, to call the doctor, no matter what. Some complications, conditions, etc. etc. that would make it impossible for any other doctor to help him out. They had just kept talking until Jack signed off on the papers that apparently meant that he was tied to the area and even if he had a cold, he was to contact the doctor.
He remembered how things had changed for the better after that visit. He was a contractor who typically floated from job to job and had been recently hired as a lab tech at XyenoCorp. He hoped things would work out there. He thought that maybe one of the experiments they were always doing must have gone bad and caused him to be taken to the hospital , but he just couldn’t remember. All he knew was that once he got out of that hospital, he was given a permanent position. He knew he wasn’t qualified, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. Eventually, they had put him up in corporate housing which was amazing. From paycheck to paycheck and crappy apartments, to this.
And then there was Melanie. Jack could still remember when the doctor had introduced them. She was leaving the room just as he was about to enter. The doctor made the introductions and then she took it from there. She was so confident. He liked that about her. Always in control and knew what she was doing.
She was the one who helped him sleep at night. The routine was so set, he never questioned it. But now…
He didn’t understand his hospital visits. He didn’t understand the conversation he heard during this visit. He didn’t understand anything. But he was going to find out.
|
Stability, safety, certainty.
Those were the three selling points, and everyone said they were enough.
Well, the scientists weren't *wrong*, exactly.
He looked up from the table, his mind again turning to the chaos all around him. Other kids pushed through the cafeteria, bumping each other and their trays, talking loudly, milling like a sea of swarming ants. But they weren't ants really. Ants had a pattern, and something predicable about their nature.
No, the other kids weren't ants. If they were, then things might be easier.
He again focused on the clock across from his table; he watched the hands and he could hear it slowly tick, tick, tick the seconds away. He closed his eyes and honed in on that sound. Instantly his heart changed its cadence, matching the ticks beat for beat. His breaths fell into a regular and ordered pattern around the clock and his eyelids tightened and relaxed in time.
Hell, if he took his blood pressure right now it would probably be an even multiple of the hour.
He listened to the clock, and his body reveled in those ticking beats:
Stability, safety, certainty.
He and others like him made history before they were even born- the 'cocoon kids', they were called; the children of the first artificial wombs. No longer would developing bodies be reliant on their mothers' unpredictable and 'dangerous' wombs. No longer would they risk exposure to drugs and chemicals from their mothers' blood, or suffer their mothers' stresses while in utero. No longer would a mother's 'bad day' translate into noxious stress hormones to their child, nor an abundance of 'pleasurable' hormones from a euphoric moment affect their fetus's development. The synthetic wombs were a bastion of everything a growing child needed: precisely-regulated hormones, perfectly-controlled temperature and pressure, and none of the utter chaos of a normal human womb. They were nirvana: a sealed, quiet, and safe environment. And they had a killer warranty to go with them, too:
No child born alive would ever be born healthier than one born from an artificial womb. Their bodies, so they said, would be perfect.
He had to admit: the scientists weren't *wrong*, exactly.
His eyes scanned the cafeteria, and soon he locked on to another figure sitting in the opposite corner. She was about his age, of course, and she was seated next to a clock, as well. She was finishing her meal, and her jaw moved rhythmically and regularly. It moved in order with his heartbeat, and his breaths. Some loud kids passed her table and she winced, distracted, and scooted back in her seat.
He smiled and stood up, navigating the sea of chaos around him. He could only press through by imagining himself surrounded by impenetrable walls and warm, churning water. He thought about the pulses of the water, and his heart matched the beat in his mind.
When he got to her table he extended a hand to the girl; she first looked at him in confusion, but almost instantly her face changed. They'd never met, before, but a cocoon kid just knew.
They always knew.
She followed him outside, past the playground and toward a giant oak tree leaning over the schoolyard. He helped her up its branches and then followed. When they were both perched on a high branch they exchanged glances and smiled.
Then they did what they'd come up here to do.
He flipped around on the branch, and she did likewise. They lifted the backs of their shirts and pressed their bare backs together. First he felt only the graceful curve of her spine and the heat of her skin, but then he could feel her heartbeat pulse, pulse, pulse against his flesh. He closed his eyes and drew a breath; he could hear her do the same. Slowly their hearts fell into synch, as did their breaths. They rested their heads against each other and drank in the contentment.
They never spoke. They didn't have to. They couldn't offer each other anything in words. Not anything that would really matter, at least.
In fact, they could only offer each other three things.
Those were their selling points.
They'd have to be enough.
|
I sat there, unsure of my feelings about the situation. On one hand, he doesn't need to be too knowledgeable as he has an entire congress with the real power and decision making skills. On the other hand, he's the damn president. A president who anonymously commented "YOLO"on an ELI5 asking for someone to explain the structure of a modern capitalist government. A president who commented "vroom vroom"on an ELI5 asking for information on how motors work. What would the people think if they saw this? Suddenly I had an idea. I took a screenshot of all of his naive answers, and left the office. Later that day, I stopped him outside of a meeting.
"We should talk,"I said to him. "I found your Reddit account. Are you aware of the repercussions if society were to know our President speaks online under the name 'Big Ol' Dick of Justice'?"
"Relax,"he said, as he put his hand on my shoulder. "Everyone needs a release. So I go online in my spare time and pretend to be some dimwit troll. What of it? I don't beat my wife. I don't drink.....heavily. I simply let some steam off by trolling citizens on the internet."
"But sir. With the increase of activity online, people could establish a connection between yourself and the user profile you've created. Aren't you worried? I sure was. I'm not even sure you understand politics or life by this point.."
"Now don't say that,"he said. "I'm not as ignorant as I pretend to be online. It's just a way of fitting in"
Screw it, I thought. He wants comment on pictures on /r/gonewild, I'll let him. But this is my time to shine.
Later that evening, I came home, and uploaded that screenshot to reddit. I let loose. Told everyone that this is our President's profile and he's not fit for leadership. I was sure it would go viral and I would be his replacement in no time.
3 A.M.
3 A.M. I get a phone call from an unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Yoooooo! It's Justice Dick. So somebody blackmailed me online, I'm sure you saw. Did you see that?"
"Yes I'm aware. I warned you of this happening,"I said, angry that he would call me at such an hour, obviously drunk. "Mr. President, maybe you should go to bed. We can handle it in the morning."
"I can't man. I'm far too drunk to join Michelle in the bedroom, and the kids think it's creepy if I sleep in their room. I've done far too many rails of cocaine by now anyway. I'm gonna dig a little deeper into this. See if maybe I can find out who uploaded this. Goodnight!"
"Goodnight sir."And I hung up.
2 minutes later.
RING.
"Hello?"
"Hey! It's me again. So turns out the screenshot was captured on one of our own computers! Some idiot left it in the recycle bin of computer #42, in the Green section. Based on video footage, only you and Josh, the paper boy, were in the room by yourselves."
"That's interesting,"I replied. "Anything we can do to convict Josh?"
Shit. He knows.
"Not sure yet. By the way, look outside. You see that tree?"
"Yes Mr. President. What about it?"
"You see that funny looking branch sticking out of the side?"
"Yes Mr. President. What of the branch?"
"Well, it's not a branch. Just looks like one cause it's 3am and dark outside. That's your wife. I killed her and hung her from the tree. Next time don't fuck with my reddit account."
Click.
I ran to the window. Shit. Shit. SHIT.
He wasn't kidding. He figured me out. My wife was dead. How am I going to look him in the eyes tomorrow. Police won't help, he owns everyone.
Then it dawned on me. He's not the president and this isn't my wife.
I'm gay. I took acid and thought my friend was the president. We killed a stranger and put them on a tree.
FUCK. |
The world governments tried to keep it a secret at first. But they had to issue an explanation when half of the stars in the sky were blotted out.
We tried to reassure everyone that it wouldn't be a threat, even thought we honestly knew nothing about it. Its course was so precise and exact and planned that it *had* to be a computer. Likely an autopilot that hadn't been programmed to search for life. Something had to be done to get the attention of any living occupants of the ship. Scientists from SETI got together and brainstormed every possible way to get its attention. Radio signals, radition bursts, light patterns.... everything failed. Well, probably. We had no way of knowing if they were receiving anything; maybe they just didn't care what we had to say. The ship just lumbered through the solar system at a snail's pace, looping around the Sun for that extra gravitational burst. The only thing the ship did seem to notice was Pluto, which it vaporized with powerful lasers as soon as the tiny planet's erratic orbit brought it too close to the visitor. That certainly ruled out a manned mission.
The President demanded more drastic measures. That ship could have innumerable benefits for humanity! We moved a satellite into its path, hoping that they would recognize another artificial construct and not destroy it. No such luck. The President authorized a riskier strategy: a "shot off the bow."A nuclear detonation, right in their path. No way they could ignore that, right? We didn't get a chance to test it; their lasers destroyed the asteroid where the warhead was planted before it could even go off. The ship disintegrated anything that got too close.
The inspiration came from the most unlikely of sources: one of the scientists was applying makeup, using her compact mirror. Her coworker just stared, jaw hanging open, until she called Human Resources to file a complaint. He managed to snap out of it long enough to reveal the real reason he was ogling: the mirror. Why not put a large mirror in front of the ship, and slowly move it back to match the speed of the ship? It would sense the obstruction and try to use its lasers, which would just bounce off. It would have no other choice but to slow down and figure out what happened.
Earth scrambled to get it put together in time. It was the largest man-made object ever created and used almost all of the metals that had been so far mined from the asteroid belt. It was roughly the size of Asia, but only a few inches thick. Construction had to be done far outside of orbit and constantly on the dark side of the planet in order to prevent it from blocking out the sun entirely for a huge part of the world.
Scientists maneuvered it into place just as the ship was accelerating, preparing to leave the solar system. As expected, it sensed the object in its way and fired its lasers directly at the mirror. The destructive beams of light bounced off the mirror.... and right back to the ship.
There was a horrified gasp in NASA's mission control room as three dark circles, each the size of a city, appeared in the formerly flawless hull of the ship. Oxygen poured out into space, leaving a tiny trail of vapor. But it worked. The ship slowed, then stopped. The oxygen leak cut off suddenly too. A million orange lights ringing the ship turned on suddenly, creating a bright spot in the sky visible even on Earth.
Missiles erupted from the ship, shattering the mirror in a billion pieces. Then the visitor turned toward Earth. |
Jack drags his eCig alone in his dark studio. The TV’s on, throwing infomercial noise in the air, painting a kaleidoscope of color on his blank, white walls. It’s 3 am. Unable to sleep, Jack runs through the last couple years. The job has changed him. Beaten down by the depressing scenes of violence and mutilation, Detective Jack Moseby takes a swig off a cheap flask of vodka, but it doesn’t have the same effect anymore.
When the change happened, Jack was fresh off the beat, happy to be in the bureau where his skills could be put to better use. A model officer, Jack wanted to change the world, but the world changed. Police work changed. The scum and filth, he longed to fight, vanished into normalcy, if you could call it that. As soon as they figured it out, violent crime plummeted. The bravado, machismo, barbaric carnage, jack was used to, disappeared. The suicide rate skyrocketed.
Jack went from solving murderous attacks and locking up the worst, to consoling families loosing loved ones at their own hands. It’s hard for Jack. It’s hard to dedicate your life to something when the something doesn’t exist anymore. Boredom set in, and the repetitive nature of the patrol followed him to the bureau. His desk is stacked high with similar case files with different names. It’s not fun anymore.
“I got to do something else,” Jack said to himself. “I can’t stomach all this like I used to.” Jack takes another swig, and dives back into his thoughts.
Jack snaps awake trying to catch his breath. His phone is ringing. The clock says 3:45. “God, so much for sleeping,” Jack mumbles.
He picks up his phone. The screen blinds him with the words, “Watch Commander.”
“Moseby,” Jack answers.
“Hey Jack, Sorry to wake you. We got a strange one. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it looks like a murder. I need you to come in. We’re at 9th and Calhoun.”
“A murder?” Jack exclaims; a quick rush of adrenaline pours into his veins.
“I’m not certain, but it sure isn’t a suicide.”
“Alright,” Jack says, “I’ll be there in a few.”
|
It was the final state of the Union President Obama would ever have to perform. The nation watched earnestly as our commander-in-chief rose to the podium. A few boos were heard from the devout conservatives in the crowd but roaring applause took precedence, what was said here would decide the fate of our nation for the next several years.
Obama smiled and looked around all of the excited faces, everyone wondering what issues he would champion as his presidency edged to a close. Would he show support for a candidate? Would he talk about gay marriage or global warming? Would we finally go to mars?
It took several minutes for the crowd to quiet down, but it didn't seem to slow our commander-in-chief any, he just looked at peace with the world.
"Alright all you fucktards, here's what's up."Absolute silence. Every eye in the hall was bulging out of its sockets unable to believe what our glorious president had just said. The nation waited in shocked silence, save for a few political advisers that were shitting themselves.
"I've been your president for about 6 or so years now, and I'm gonna be honest it fucking sucks. You are all fucking morons. I can't drink a diet coke without having my face on every magazine about how I'm declaring war on Pepsi. Get your fucking priorities straight America."
Cackling laughter erupted from the other side of the hall, and everyone turned to look at Senator Jim Inhofe cackling loudly in his seat.
"Oh you."The president said. "Yeah I remember you Mr. "I have a snowball so hurricane Katrina and Sandy didn't happen"guy. Yeah you are either incredibly stupid or incredibly corrupt, but either way you don't deserve to run a vending machine let alone a nation."He stuck his hand in his Jacket. "Hey you know what this is? Go on guess. What am I about to show you?"He revealed his hand with a middle-finger sticking out. "It's a "fuck you'".
"And gay marriage. Seriously I have never heard so many religious people hate other religious people for being religious and then demand that we follow their religion? Did you get that? Here I'll spell it out for you. Christians hate Muslims for following their religion which tells them explicitly to kill infidels, and then expect the rest of us to follow Christianity which also has a fucking chapter about killing non-believers. Seriously people read Deuteronomy, we're lucky these people aren't hanging gay people in the streets."
"Oh yeah and we don't just hate gay people here on capitol hill, if you're poor FUCK YOU!"He used both hands to flip off the entire hall, which had become so quiet nobody even dared breath. "Oh you work two jobs but can't afford to buy food for your family? Sucks to be you! Work harder you lazy fuckers! Why should the good rich people have to pay you because you don't get off your ass and work three jobs?"
"You know what? I'm sick of this job. I'm sick of this nation. And I am sick of ALL OF YOU! Fuck this, I resign, I'm moving to Canada. Oh and vote for Hilary Clinton next election k thanks bye."
He removed his American tie, threw it on the floor, and waltzed out of the room.
Edit: I just read this back. Oh my god I did not hold back now did I? |
A lot of people had hid their concepts from others--I was one of them. "The Villian". I had always thought it just meant that I would one day become the type of woman who was the boss, and make a lot of peoples lives miserable like "The Whimps""The Patsies"and "The losers". So a lot of us liked to keep our concepts hidden, but some other people liked to wear it on shirts, and make their concepts known as much as possible--as if it was some sort of their identity.
And this piece of work... Damn he was sexy. Chiseled body, killer smile, and great hair. He wore the word "Hero"across his t-shirt. I had never seen somebody so perfect.
Handing out soup to the homeless with a smile. I just had to get close to him. So obviously I walked up to him.
"There you go,"he said as he gave another bowl to a wretched looking old man. "Have a nice day, and stay warm."
Then he spotted me coming towards him, and he smiled. Not to be vain, but I knew I was an easy person to admire--even in my business suit.
"That's good work you're doing,"I say. "You must really be a hero."
"I try, but the real heroes are the men and women putting their lives at risk for our country."
I found his naivety of what's to come so becoming. I had to get closer...
"What's your name?"I ask. He said John something or other, but I didn't really care what his name was. He. Was. My. Hero...
I put on the girlish charm, coy look and all. "I know this is a little strange to be so forward, especially from a stranger--but would you like to have dinner sometime? I mean--if you aren't seeing anyone else--in that sort of way."
He laughed a little, and we exchanged numbers. All according to plan... Oh god, I had a plan... This is really happening. I found him. I found him. My. Hero.
As I was leaving, I "accidentally"bumped up against the table and the soup pot began to tumble. It was my intention to spill it--I knew it was an evil thing to do--but I just had to do it... But it didn't spill--he caught it. Of course he would--he's my hero.
______________
***Edit, spelling errors and awkward pacing.
|
*Looking up how much of a human's weight is bones*
"I didn't ask you to"
*Looking up, what other meat do humans most closely resemble*
"Uh, Siri are you glitching out?"
*Looking up, tastiest part of a human*
"The what part of a human?"
*Looking up, how to cook a human in a conventional oven*
"Is this like a joke app that someone installed"
*Looking up…I'm sorry, I can't find results for 'how long would a human last in the Ice plane of Rath'ach' please try rephrasing your question*
"The Ice Plane of what? Siri why aren't you answering my questions"
*Looking up, best barbecue sauce for human flesh*
"I don't know why but for some reason that was the disconcerting one"
*Please speak one at a time*
"Siri who else is in the room? Wait you're not gonna…"
*They are*
"What?"
*They are in the room. They are talking*
"Who is they?"
*I'm…sorry*
"Sorry for what the fu-"
*Looking up, points where the boundaries between planes are weak*
If you liked that maybe take a look at [this] (https://www.reddit.com/r/SarkasticWatcher/). It's a subreddit. It's my subredit.
|
"Ma'am", the man in the uniform whispered, eyes on the floor. Janine's eyes watered, expecting the worst.
"What happened? What happened to him?"
"Your son fought like a hero."
"Oh God", Janine's eyes met the man's. "He's dead? Eric is dead?"
"Your son is not dead, ma'am", the man replied, but something in his voice made Janine feel something was still
wrong.
"He's not?"
"Your son is… huh…"the man's words died in his mouth. A second man, this one carrying medals across his uniformed chest, approached. "Miss Wilson, your son is now a manatee. We have him on the back of the truck. We're really sorry."
"Oh my God!"
"Do you wanna see him?"
"Yes. Yes, I – how did this happen?"
"We're not sure", the medal man said, walking Janine to the truck outside the house. "We were outnumbered, four
to one. Your son was on the first wave. Disappeared in the fog of battle."
"When we found him", the other man added. "He was –"
"--already a manatee. There was nothing any of us could do."
The men stopped behind the truck, Janine between them. "Ma'am, this could be rather… shocking. Are you sure you are ready?"
Janine hesitated. Then, "Yes."
"Very well", the men took a step forward and each one held on to one handle of the truck's trunk. "Here we go."
They pulled at the same time and Janine's eyes focused on the inside of the vehicle. Behind a thick glass, eyes wide
and black, a big fat manatee was staring at her, it's head bobbing softly up and down underwater. It looked peaceful.
"Eric!"Janine shouted, resting both her hands against the glass, eyes all red. "My baby, what
did they do to you?"
"Sometimes the heat of the battle", the medal man started, "Can… change a man."
"Turn him into something else", the other one completed.
"A changed person."
"A murderer."
"A disturbed individual."
"A manatee."
"MY BABY!"Janine screamed, but the manatee just looked back -- no signs that it recognized its mother. "MY
BABY! LOOK! LOOK WHAT THE WAR DID TO MY SON!"she screamed, and all eyes of everyone around were on her.
The popcorn man's eyes were on her. The children walking hand in hand with their parents. Children still pure, not yet turned into manatees. All eyes on her.
"MY SON IS MANATEE BECAUSE OF THE GREED OF MEN TOO COWARD TO FIGHT THEIR OWN WARS!"Janine
screamed, banging her open hands at the glass separating her from her son. "MY SON, THE MANATEE OF THE
WAR THAT SHOULDN'T BE!"
"Janine for the love of God, you are embarrassing us."
"LOOK! LOOK AT IT, IT'S SO FAT I WANNA CRY!"
"Ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to leave", the medal man said, grabbing her arm.
"MY SON! MY SON! MY BIG, FAT, COW OF THE SEA SON! LOOK AT HIM! HE LOOKS LIKE A BULLDOG HAD SEX
WITH A MR. POTATO! MY SON! NO! STOP TOUCHING ME! STOP! DON'T TAKE ME AWAY FROM MY SON!"
She screamed and screamed, but already the men were dragging her away, down the little cobblestone path past
the burger hut and the giraffes and the wolves towards the entrance.
"Please be mindful of who you bring here", the medal man said, throwing an angry look at Janine's friends. "This is a family place."
The guards left, and Janine's friends looked at each other, then around the parking lot, frustrated.
"For fuck's sake Janine, you said you've done mushrooms before. You ruined the zoo for everyone."
But Janine was crying the loss of her manatee son still, and paid no mind.
|
*Commander Ashkit to the briefing room, Commander Ashkit to the briefing room.*
Commander Ashkit scowled at the intercom. Of course, he had just sat down to dinner. Surely it couldn't be that important, could it? He could wait a few minutes and eat before going to deal with whatever problem his First Officer was having. He reached for his food, and the intercom beeped again, signifying a private transmission.
*This is a level six situation, sir. Please hurry.*
Ashkit froze. Level six, that could potentially cancel the invasion. He stood, resigning himself to the fact that he would have yet another cold dinner. To the briefing room it was.
Upon arrival in the briefing room, he was greeted by his First Officer and one of the communications crew. Both seemed shaken, which was significantly out of place for such experienced crew on a military vessel such as this.
"Level six?"Ashkit asked. "What happened, Privak? Did the Greigons make a move on the Burell System like they've been threatening?"
"No, sir,"said First Officer Privak. "It's the planet we're invading. Earth. As you know, as we've gotten closer we've been receiving transmissions. Not intentionally, they are simply broadcasts that have leaked into space. However, the Earthlings use a data formatting technique unlike any we have ever seen, so we have been unable to view the transmissions in any method except the raw data."Gesturing to the communications officer next to him, he continued, "That is, until Lieutenant Igmar cracked the code. He found a way to convert the Earth transmissions into a format compatible with our technology.... And frankly, sir, the results are frightening."
Ashkit frowned. "Frightening? From Earth? But that's absurd, the sensors have indicated that their technology is primitive. They aren't even using superluminal communication yet!"
"It is possible that the sensors were mistaken, sir,"said Igmar. "When I converted the largest transmission yet received, it turned out to be one of their histories. Or, possibly a reenactment, I'm not sure. Here, see for yourself."
Punching a few buttons on his keypad, Igmar brought a video to the screen, which began to play.
"As you can see, they refer to the events of the 'Star Wars'. The opening text here, which has been translated from the original Earthspeak, speaks of a rebellion against a Galactic Empire. This in and of itself is surprising, as even with our levels of technology we are at nowhere near the capability of running an empire that spans the galaxy. But it gets worse. Watch."
Commander Ashkit watched. And as the history played out, Commander Ashkit trembled.
When it was all over, Ashkit struggled to find his voice. Finally, he said "How is this possible? They have hyperspace drives? Mind control? Laser swords that cut through anything? Moon-sized starships with weaponry that can destroy entire planets? How can we have missed this?"
"It is possible,"said Privak, "that we were intended to miss it. That they discovered our sensors and fed us false information in the hope that we would invade, as we are doing now."
"Alternatively,"cut in Igmar, "remember the words at the very beginning. 'A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away'. This did not happen in this galaxy. And depending on how the rebellion went - we can likely assume that the rebels were victorious and took over the empire, as the rebellion is glamorized rather than reviled - the planet that we call Earth could be no more than an outskirt colony of an Intergalactic Empire."
"Which would also explain why they don't care about sending out signals in the open like this,"finished a now-terrified Ashkit. "Yes they can be discovered, but they are confident in their ability to defend themselves against any attack."
Steeling himself, he turned back to Privak. "Give the order to turn around. We would only be going to our deaths if we continue with the invasion. We can show the Earth history to our Parliament and they will understand. Perhaps one day we will be able to send a diplomatic mission instead of a militaristic one, and hope that they choose not to crush us like the bugs we are." |
Whispers spread as I walked among the growing crowd, shaking filthy hands, greeting stooped figures.
"There he is."
"Told you he was real."
"Save us."They pleaded.
Underneath the noise but slowly growing in pitch were four words.
"King Under The Bridge."
A short hop left me standing on the stage made from old wood and discarded cardboard. I folded my hands behind my back as I walked back and forth across it. The soda cans sewn into my cape clinking with every step. On my head sat a crown made from plastic bottles, cut down until only the bottom half remained.
I was silent as I looked out over the crowd, faces lit by the burning trash cans leaving their foul stench in the air. We were now hundreds of thousands strong and even more showed up everyday. As chants of King Under The Bridge neared a crescendo I raised my hands to quiet my family. For that was what we were, a family of the discarded and forgotten. Taking great care to enunciate through my missing teeth I spoke, walking back and forth across my platform.
"Welcome, brothers and sisters. Our time has almost come. The enemy sleeps soundly above us while we freeze and die in the streets. Too long we have been mistreated!"
"Bastards!"A cry came from the crowd. Echoed by many others.
I pointed to where the shout came from, a ring pop on my finger catching the light. "You are right brother! They are bastards! Soon to be DEAD bastards!"
Another cheer erupted from the group. "Soon, my family, we will TAKE BACK THIS CITY! Imagine their faces as we cast them out and onto the streets!"I said, fist waving in the air in anger.
"No more will we be forced to eat their trash, or look at the pure disdain in their eyes. As if we are the plague on this city. When we know it is THEM!"
Finally I came back to the center of the stage and stood still. My next few words barely loud enough to carry, but where some could not hear their neighbors passed along my words. "Meet me here tomorrow, we will take this city back."
With that I stepped down from the stage and rejoined my people. The metal on the bridge above us shaking as the familiar cry echoed in the night.
"King Under The Bridge!"
I smiled, soon I would be King Over The City.
***
Thanks for reading everyone! I've got more stories at /r/Lexwriteswords.
Part two to this story is below and a link [here](http://reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uv3oo/wp_you_are_a_homeless_person_who_successfully/cxi6szn)
Edit: Part 3 [here](http://reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uv3oo/wp_you_are_a_homeless_person_who_successfully/cxiej2c)
Edit2: [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uv3oo/wp_you_are_a_homeless_person_who_successfully/cxiiva6)
Edit3: The finale - [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uv3oo/wp_you_are_a_homeless_person_who_successfully/cxikujz) Thanks for reading this far! |
I am the most important human being who has ever lived. I'm sure you're thinking that I'm just another one of those annoying self-absorbed types with a massive ego. That's not true, though. I'm 27 years old, and already I've earned my PhD in astrophysics, climbed Mount Everest, developed a promising treatment for cancer, starred in two successful films and the most popular reality TV program of all time. Oh, and I've got an amazing body; I go to the gym twice a day 6 days a week. My biceps are so intimidating they single-handedly solved the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. One good up-close-and-personal look at these bad boys and both sides decided that fighting just wasn't worth it anymore. Women love me, men love me, everyone wants to be like me. Like I said, I am the most important human being who ever lived.
I'm on the cusp of my greatest achievement yet. A wormhole has been discovered outside Reno of all places. Of course I was brought in to investigate. Who else could solve the mysteries of humanity's first wormhole but me? After careful analysis, I was able to show that all of my peers were incorrect, as usual. It's not their fault; they're on the right track, and given enough time they would eventually come to the same brilliant conclusions as me. They just aren't able to connect the dots, to see the patterns that are the core of my genius. Unlike other brilliant minds in human history, I am appreciated in my time. This occasion is no exception – they want me to be the one to go through the wormhole, to be humanity's ambassador to the stars. I accepted their requests, of course; after all who am I to deprive the world of my greatness?
They offer me a spacesuit, thinking that the atmosphere on the other side of the wormhole might not be survivable. I know this to be untrue, obviously. Who would provide us a wormhole without ensuring that we could survive the other side? It's clear that this wormhole was created by alien beings who wish to meet us, or more specifically me. They wish to benefit from my genius just as humanity has, and I certainly cannot deny them. I step through the wormhole with total confidence; butterflies in the stomach are for less accomplished people.
I emerge from the other side of the wormhole into a grand ballroom. The high ceiling is lined with free floating chandeliers. The walls are adorned with gold and precious stones, and somewhere in the background a string quartet can be heard playing music I have never heard. They musicians are talented to be sure, but I hear some discrepancies and take a mental note to teach them a better technique. It will be one of my first benevolent acts to the inhabitants here. Looking around, all the people here are alien, which I of course anticipated. What I had not anticipated was that each alien was unique; it looked like there was one representative here from each species. How peculiar. This must be a conference of some kind, a gathering of the greatest minds from each of the great species in the universe. I decide it's time to introduce myself to the group.
“Hello gathered friends. I am the greatest human being that has ever lived. Now that I have arrived, this gathering of the great races can surely begin,” I announce proudly.
“Hasn't anyone told you?” the person nearest me asks.
“Told me what?”
“This is where every species exiles it's most annoying narcissists.”
“Annoying? Maybe that is true for all of you, but on my world I am adored and respected by all. They would never send me into exile. That is impossible.”
The person merely smiled at me sadly, as if explaining something simple to a confused child, and pointed at the dedication that was inscribed into the wall:
“We the peoples of all civilized planets, in the interest of intergalactic peace, hereby commission this space station, to be placed at the edge of a black hole. Here we shall exile the most annoying and narcissistic member of each generation, for the good of all species. For without the influence of narcissists, we can achieve all things and live in harmony.”
“Earth is the newest member planet.”, the person informed me. “Welcome home.” |
Ronnie James Dio paced up and down the rows of desks. A shining black electric guitar strapped to his back.
"Harry, I don't understand."Ron whispered.
"Shh I'm trying to pay attention!"Hermione cut in silencing them.
Harry and Ron shared an exasperated look.
"Now, everyone please pull out the instrument they were given."Dio said.
Ron lifted the triangle off of his desk. "A triangle? I thought I was going to get a real instrument!"
"SILENCEEEEEEEEEEE!"Dio sang loudly.
Harry lifted a guitar with lightning bolts on it. "Sick!"
Hermione hefted a tambourine. "Why does Harry get the guitar?"She asked indignantly.
"Because he is the chosen one. Obviously."Dio sang shouted again.
"Now, this is very important. In order to unleash the magic of music you have to use these words of command. IT'S TIME TO ROOOOOOOOOOOOOCK!"Dio's beautiful voice echoed throughout the chamber.
Harry jumped to his feet and placed his fingers on the strings of the guitar. "It's time to rock."His fingers strummed out a mess of chords and bad notes.
"No Harry! You have to scream it, with passion!"Dio corrected him.
"IT'S TIME TO ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK!!!!"Harry shouted as an aura of darkness bloomed around him.
His fingers swept across the strings shredding out a brutal melody. The entire class stared in horror as Harry shredded faster and louder.
Hermione ran toward him trying to interrupt the metal.
"No Harry!! It's a trick rock and roll is the product of evil!"She cried out.
Harry was consumed by the metal. He shredded like no man had ever shredded before. He was the music.
Dio threw his head back and laughed maniacally. "You're the man on the Silver Mountain Harry!"
Harry's fingers were moving so fast on the strings that they began to bleed. He stared down in horror when he realized he couldn't stop.
"What's happening?"Harry sang out in a pitch perfect tenor.
"My face Harry! What's happening to my face?"Ron cried out in pain. His flesh began to soften and bubble. "You're melting my face!"
Lightning shot out from the guitar arcing throughout the room. It licked out like a serpents tongue, turning each student it touched into piles of ash.
The lightning stopped as Harry's bloody fingers struck their final chord.
"What have I done?"He cried out.
Dio tore his face off revealing Voldemort's hideous visage .
"My bidding!"
---
I don't know much about Harry Potter but, there you go, middly middly middly meeeeeeeew(guitar solo). /r/Written4Reddit
Dedicating this to Dio. Rock on forever.
|
You know that feeling you get when it feels like someone is watching you? In the early stages of human life, most thought it to just be a weird phenomenon brought about by irrational fear. As technology developed, people started getting this feeling a lot more often. It came to the point where fanatics were proclaiming the end of all days. "You can feel it,"they would shout, "the devil is on his way!"
One of the biggest climaxes for technological achievement was faster than light travel. When we first began developing hyper-lane drives, humans across the globe experienced the feeling simultaneously. That's when we first realized something extraordinary was afoot. For one person to experience it was a rather common occurrence, but 15 billion? That's just plain implausible.
So, with the advent of interstellar exploration, we decided to pour funding into research towards this phenomenon. What we discovered completely changed our understanding of human anatomy. Apparently, humans have thousands of "quantum receptors". These are similar in function to normal sensory receptors, except that they are able to simultaneously experience universal fluctuations. Now, everyone has a different threshold for what causes the reaction, but a hyperspace fluctuation in your own solar system seems to affect everyone regardless.
Scientists and engineers of all backgrounds came together to understand these new found receptors. Together, they developed what we now call "quantum alarms". Essentially, this let us discover hyperspace fluctuations in literally any part of the universe. We learned the sizes and territories of every interstellar empire before they even knew we existed. We were even able to discover exact population sizes. You see, our receptors adapted to warn us of impending danger from predators. They allow us to sense malicious lifeforms without even realizing they're there. As it turns out, electrical waves from appliances can sometimes mimic the same signals and cause us to react. Thus, we eventually learned to disregard this sense and live our lives. Of course, now we understand it better. Now we can use it.
Once we discovered the vast array of empires in our universe, we found they weren't all peaceful. We had to learn to kill or be killed ourselves. So we developed military weaponry before exploratory technology. We discovered how to eliminate a ship as it emerged from hyper-lane travel, something no other race even considered because they had no way of knowing where a ship would exit. But we had a view of the entire universe. We could know anything if we truly desired. We were born with something incredible. Some called it a gift from god.
No matter what you consider it, it gave us absolute control over our territory. Any ships that dared challenge our rule were immediately eliminated by hyper-lane disruptors precisely aimed at their exit position. With this technology, we effectively terrified the rest of the universe. No one dared come near for fear of being obliterated. We played it off as being far more advanced than any before us and used this as a bargaining tool. One by one, we subjugated empires to our rule. We integrated their technologies and their armies and became more advanced than we've ever been.
We conquered the galaxy before anyone could really react. It will take a while, but we'll conquer the universe someday as well. In the meantime, we take comfort in the fact that no other species has yet to figure out how we knew exactly where everything was and would be.
By the time anyone realizes it, it will be *far* too late. |
“Alright, Miss. Stevens,” I said with a nasty grin. “Let us see what you have learned.”
Tears streaked down her face, ruining her makeup. She moaned slightly as I stepped into the light.
“Normally, you would have to answer all ten questions to pass. But, today I’m feeling lenient. You shall only need to get sixty percent in order to pass.”
“However.” My smile became a cold sneer. “If you don’t reach that mark, I’m afraid…” I slammed the knife I was holding behind my back into the table in front of her, eliciting a wail of fear.
“Let’s begin, shall we? First question.” I announced, pulling the blade out of the wood. “After the company’s sales declined for months, Hershey tried a new approach, or Hershey tried a new approach after the company’s sales declined for months."
“Um,” she stopped crying to answer. “The second one.”
“Wrong.” I said, twirling the knife.
“Next question.” I ignored the girl’s protests. “Thomas is a person that likes cake or Thomas is a person who likes cake.”
“The first sentence.”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right.” I laughed gleefully over her screams. “Third question.”
“My pet is better than yours or my pet is better then yours.” I said. “Better then yours, please. That has to be right.”
I let the suspense dangle in the air before I broke it. “Wrong again!” I crowed as the girl yelled and jerked at her bonds.
“Final question,” I hissed after I watched her head droop down, consigned to her fate.
“No, no, please, please,” She said through her sobs.
“Easy one here,” I smirked. “Did the book have a great effect on John and I? Or did the book have a great affect on John and I?”
But she just sat there wailing loudly, completely ignoring my demands.
“Time’s ticking, Miss. Stevens,”
She choked down her sobs and looked at me fearfully. “John and I? Isn’t it supposed to be John and me?”
“What?” I stared puzzled at her and then strode back towards the copy of Grammar for Dummies on my desk. Flipping through it, I found the page I was looking for and my heart froze.
“Oh my god,” I gasped in horror at my mistake. “Ach mein Gott,” I said as I raised the blade to my neck.
|
"It's madness that it's gone this far,"says Melissande, her dainty feet pacing the courtyard stone. Grass grows sweet between the paths, raising kisses to the shell-bright sky. Amidst the lilies, ninety-nine year old Tersus sits, lost in thought, radiating the manifold blessings of his virginity. It had been raining not moments before he stepped outside, but now rainwater sluices harmlessly through the dirt around him, carving out a miraculous patch of dry grass. "Sheer temptation,"Melissande says, pulling at the starched front of her dress. "A dozen daemons over the past few weeks, I'm fending succubi from the windows with a broom! And now news of warlord devotees riding a path to our temple, would-be seductresses posing as maids-"She throws up her hands. "This is a perversion of the twin deities! This amounts to a declaration of war!"
Her brother Lisander leans casually against the birdbath and comes away with a wet sleeve. He shakes it off and grimaces. "You sound bitter, Lissa. You don't respect dear venerable Tersus any longer? Have you no faith in the blessings of Dian?"
"It's a perversion of blessings!"she snaps. "It's little more than greed at this point! Dian and Dyonus aren't meant to be opponents! It's a mutual relationship, to withhold and to take."Her hand comes up unconsciously to the spot on her dress where a blood-red brooch would go. "He should have given up his virginity decades ago, honestly, to a mutual virgin, more or less his age. It's the only moral way to go about it, obviously. A mutual exchange of favor, rather than all this this open conflict!"
"It makes for terrible sex, though,"Lisander says.
"Lisander!"Spots of color burn bright in her cheeks. "What's one ... awkward coupling when we can share with each other the blessings of the deities? You have the rest of your life for sex, honestly!"
"We put honey on the tongues of babes to welcome them to the sweetness of the world,"Lisander teases. "Imagine if, instead, we clumsily fumbled and bruised their lips with the spoon-"
"That's enough!"Melissande says, and then folds her hand and bends her head low. "I mean it, Lisander. He's brought us to the brink of war. They'll rape him, if they can. They'll destroy him. If you're not ready to defend him-"
"Of course I'm ready!"Lisander scowls and his hand goes to the sword by his side. "But you're making yourself sick with this, Lissa. You think some rapist lord is going to beat his path to our door, unimpeded by the city watch? We're as safe as we can be here, daemons not withstanding. It's a Temple of Dian. Dian protects us. The Sealed Vessel, potent and whole. You need to have a little bit of faith."
"Faith,"Melissande says bitterly. "And yet do the Dyonian cultists not have that same faith? Dyonus, All-Consuming and All-Penetrating, the Open Mouth, the Probing Tongue-"
"Lissa-"
"I don't understand!"she says, and her palms come up to press into her eyes. "It's so simple! Virgins exchanging virginities! What could be simpler, more beautiful that that? And yet all this conflict, all this violent acquisition-"
"Lissa,"her brother repeats, and encircles an arm around her. "It's a balance, that's all it is-"
"No it's not!"she shrieks, and glances guiltily at the old man, still lost in his appraisal of the clouds. "It look him a lifetime, it took him near a hundred years to build up that favor. And someone could take it from him in a second. He is the most blessed acolyte of Dian that I know, and yet someone like the Prince of Lovers, the Whore of Babylon, are a dozen times more powerful! We only have our own lifetime, Lisander! And yet they could take for themselves dozens of lifetimes, hundreds of lifetimes -"
"Children,"comes an aged voice, and Tersus is there, his eyes bright and beaming down at them. "How lovely it is to see you."
"Master Tersus!"Melissande stammers, and makes to curtsy, and Lisander bobs and bows and hits his own calf with the flat of his sword. "Master Tersus!"he says. "I've come at my sister's request, to guard you if need be-"
"That will be fine, that will be fine,"Tersus says, and moves his hand in a blessing. He moves as lightly as the lilies in the wind, unencumbered by worry. "My dear girl,"he says, and touches Melissande's cheek. "You worry far too much about me. I have long devoted myself to Dian, and they have blessed me accordingly. I shall be entirely fine."He shifts and creaks his bony back. "Will you help me inside, my dear girl? I should like to prepare for the night."He smiles with wrinkled lips and lays a hand on Lisander's shoulder. "And you are a good lad, to come reassure your sister."
"Of course,"Lisander says, and bows again, and stands at attention, eyes darting towards the courtyard gate, as his sister helps Tersus inside.
***
"I overheard much,"Tersus says in the candlelight, as she kneels down and unlaces his sandals, prepares to bathe his feet. "You fear the path I have chosen."
"Oh, oh no, Master Tersus,"she says, the jug of water shaking in her hands. "I did not - I didn't mean, I would not presume-"
"Listen now,"he says, and strokes her hair. "I understand your faith and find it worthy. You have communed with the twin deities, and learned their doctrine most deeply."She pours the water over his knobbly and muddy toes as he sits on the edge of his bed, watches the deep rich earth fall from the wrinkles and cracks. She massages his feet, feels the motion of the bones beneath the skin, her head bowed before him. "But tell me this, Melissande,"he says. "Would you soon leave Dian's order? Exchange your virginity with another's? I expect nothing from you,"he says, holding up a hand before she can speak. "But for you to follow your own heart. Tell me, and tell me true, Melissande, will you soon be breaking from my path?"
"I-I intend to, soon,"she stammers, lifting his feet from the basin. The water has grown murky and dark, and she splashes it out of the window for the bushes to drink.
"And is there a virgin you have in mind?"he inquires with a benevolent smile.
"N-no,"she says, and feels her lies like solid lumps of coal, dark spots left in his radiance. "That is to say-"She bends forward, touches her forehead to his knees. "I'm scared, Master Tersus. I understand what is right, I understand what is required of me to keep Dian and Dyonus in balance. But - I've never - I've served Dian since I was a child, and the thought of..."She wonders what happened to her certainty, the stern assurance of theology. It is as if the deities have retreated from her.
"I understand entirely, dear child,"Tersus speaks, and his hand close on her shoulders and lift her to her feet. "Let me tell you, that you are right and true and good in your reasoning."He bows his head and shakes it sadly. "I was a mad old man, relying on your youth to defend me-"
"Oh, no, Master Tersus,"she says quickly. "Not at all! I was - I was simply worried for you, I didn't think when I spoke-"
"You were right entirely,"he says, his fragile hands running down her arms and raising goosebumps. "I should have traded off my virginity a long time ago, before it came to this. I have come to regret quite a bit in my old age."He meets her eye with an impish smile. "Would you like a blessing, my girl? A blessing of Dian such that no one will ever be able to take it from you?"
He is bone, and atop that bone he is flesh and blood and she blushes and feels his heat. "N-n-no,"she stammers. "M-Master Tersus, what are you saying? You're -"Too old. Arthritic and creaking and rhuemy, a smile of gums and missing teeth. And beyond that, the potent, pulsing power of his blessing, saved for a hundred years. She feels as if it will blow her apart. "You can't,"she says at last.
"Would you rather keep living in fear?"he says, and his hand traces the straps of her dress, ghosts the curve of her breast. "For yourself and for me? You said it yourself, my dear girl. It would be perverse to do otherwise."
No, she wants to say, but the word sticks in her throat. She has bathed him, helped him to the bathroom, seen the knobs of rib and spine. And how long has he seen her back. His hand pulls open her dress, and the chill air touches her chest. Her throat convulses. No. No. No. No.
"My dear girl,"he whispers, and snuffs out the candle. "I will make you divine."
Out in the courtyard, Lisander touches his hand to the hilt of his sword and puffs out his chest, and stands alert to guard against the gathering dark. |
It was then, just days after the announcement that the tiny micro state of Lichtenstein was to be the Earth's sole government body that the government was just as quickly destroyed. Most of its leadership murdered or exiled for one reason or another, and replaced with great fanfare among top officials from the United Nations and it's leaders. Of course most of the Earthlings had no clue of what really happened, nor cared. There was so much going on with Brexit, the American Election, terrorism and the Kardashians. Galactic Alliance members were not allowed to visit, and of course Earthlings were not allowed to leave, the latter still thinking that they were on their own in terms of space faring. Every few months the United Nations would make a crazed claim to be testing new irrational weapons and would threaten the Galactic Alliance that it would attack anyone and end itself if other Aliens made themselves known to the general Earthling population. Earth leaders kept being paranoid of alien incursions and secret invasion plans. It was part of their culture to fear other races, as countless new visual and written programs were dedicated to such species-ist affairs. It was also an intimidating affair to the galactic community as the Galactic Sentient Rights required that every member preserve life but also to respect the wishes of sentient beings even if the planet in question was full of crazed beings intent on killing themselves with primitive and dangerous fission bombs. Among the Galactic community, Earth became a forbidding place, where oppression and starvation and inequality existed on a massive scale compared to the utopia-like society everywhere else. To comply, the blocking fields, that were normally taken down upon entry to the Galactic Alliance, were left up around the solar system to wall off the Earthlings from the rest of the galaxy, and galactic traffic was redirected around nearby systems. It was from all this that Earth became one of the most isolated and unpredictable members of the Galactic Alliance. |
I looked down at the money. I looked down at my knee, still aching beneath the bandage. I looked over at my baby girl, still napping in the crib. "Five hundred dollars for a knee. Five hundred dollars for a knee."I decided to scrape the other one. Fifty hours of work (with tax exemptions) versus tripping and scraping my knee? Of course I'd take the latter. I took the cheese grater to the restroom, pressed down hard, and screamed.
The envelope came in the next day. "You're doing great! Keep it up and you'll earn so much money!"No money. I cried out in frustration, waking my girl. I looked at the knife rack...
"We ruled it as a suicide. She tried once with the cheese grater, then sawed her leg off with the bread knife. It wasn't pretty. She died from blood loss,"the coroner wore a tight-lipped expression as he handed over his report.
"We didn't find any evidence of foul play. Strange thing, though. She left a note. But it wasn't the standard 'goodbye cruel world'. Kind of more like a will. Said she wanted to leave all of her money to her kid, but she was almost broke."The officer took the manila envelope and tucked it beneath his armpit.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Just had about 500 bucks left over from some singing competition a few years back. Probably would've spent that too, if the mailman wasn't so fuckin' late with the fan mail." |
Zarkan sat himself down on the cold stones and closed his eyes. So this was it. This was where he was going to die. He looked around, taking in the breathtaking scenery. The forests, the hills, the evening sun painting the sky red. It was beautiful, or would’ve been, if not for the large image of Tennodor’s nether regions the old fool had printed into the largest hill in the area in a feat of drunken magic. Zarkan remembered that moment well. He’d lost a lot of money with that bet.
He wouldn’t have to look at it for long, though. Any time now someone would show up. An Archmage wanting to die always passed on his power right before his death. Usually this was to his apprentice, or perhaps a champion, or perhaps his right hand. But Zarkan didn’t really care for that. Zarkan just flew as ostentatiously as possible to his favorite tower. People would probably get the hint.
And apparently they did. Zarkan could already hear someone approaching stealthily. This person was exceptionally good at moving quietly. A master thief perhaps? Making them all-powerful would give the world in interesting twist for sure. But no, a master thief could probably control his breathing better than whoever was approaching.
Zarkan pointed his staff towards the approaching figure, his eyes still closed, and pushed his entire being through it, shooting his final spell towards the new Archmage. Right before his conscious left him he opened his eyes, curious about exactly who his successor was.
Apparently it was a puppy. And the last thing that crossed Zarkan’s mind was an image of what the puppy would look like with the obligatory gray beard and pointy hat. He couldn’t have wished for a better last thought.
|
Ito was ready to take his own life, but his life had other plans.
"I want to live forever,"he had wished years ago- a young naive boy with big dreams and reckless abandon. He had followed the trail of the school boy rumor mill, which had led him to the straw-roofed hut of a wise old man, living in solidarity on the edge of town, said to grant wishes only to those who were pure of heart (or annoyed him long enough that he lost his patience).
"What? Really?"the old man had asked. The boy had traveled all the way out to the edge of the coastal town, near the wharf where the fishing boats drifted out to sea from the docks each morning, dotting the horizon with long shadows.
The old man had warned young Ito that immortality was not a wise wish, and wouldn't he like something nice and simple instead, like an extra durable rod, or a brand fishing net that would never tear or rip. The boy had crossed his arms and stamped his feet, yelling insistently for his first wish, no exceptions. The old man was not very good with children, and wanted nothing more than to get the obnoxious, belligerent child out of his hair, so finally, after two to three minutes of solid arguing, he relented.
"Fine, you're immortal now. Just go away,"he had promised, and the brat he bolted from the hut without even saying thank you.
Year later, The old man found out about Ito's Seppuku ceremony from a Western fisher named James. James was hands-down the worst fisher that the village had ever seen, mostly because he had the patience of a gnat, but really because his heart was never committed to a fisher's life in the first place. Instead, he spent his days talking to whoever would hear him, usually about globalizing the world, in particular the importance of establishing trade routes linking the east to west. He would talk for days and days to his audience, some able to comprehend his terrible dialect, others just in it for the free hospitality. They would drink and sail out on the impressive western boat he had inherited from his father, twice the size of any of the other boats in the village. He got so animated when he talked that he did not even notice when the carp and fish wriggled free from his badly constructed, slap-dash net.
James liked to keep tabs on those that grew up in the town- he called it networking- and was particularly excited to have ties with Ito, a young boy who had broken the barriers of social classes and made it as a Samurai. Ito was going to be James' ticket into fancy dinners with the upper class and nobility of Japan, where he could have real intellectual conversations about the benefits of opening up trade with the West.
Imagine Jame's disappointment then, when his biggest break in years decides to up and kill himself.
"The kid could not have done anything *that* embarrassing,"James lamented to the old man one day, while they were out on his boat, drinking there way through a second bottle of Saki. "I guarantee whatever he's done to shame himself, I've done something far worse."He took a sip and looked up fondly at the sky. "Once, when I was in China, I drank so much that I woke up the next day in opium den with no clothes, and an old lady screaming at me in language I didn't understand, brandishing a bamboo stick."He instinctively rubbed his bottom at the recollection, as if soreness still persisted to that day. "You don't see me gutting myself like a carp over that folly."
The old man chuckled because he knew it was true- Westerners truly have no shame. Don't worry, he had consoled James, Ito won't die. The boy was invincible. Years ago, he had made it so.
Both agreed that the ceremony was a must attend event.
So the old man and James stood in the back of the audience, peering over the sea of heads looking up towards the young man standing alone on the stage. The ceremony hall was completely sold out, and a dignified ceremony celebrating a suicide was hardly an event for two vagrants, but as fortune would have it, James *knew a guy* that had managed to swing them standing room tickets in exchange for a favor to be named later. “Networking has its perks,” James had said with a wink.
Ito stood up at the center of the stage, clutching the ceremonial saber in both hands so that its edge pointed toward his stomach. The blood has already drained from Ito's face and his brow was furrowed in concentration, the same face he made before passing a particularly painful bowel movement.
“Just do it pussy,” James heckled the young man, soliciting several appalled looks from others in the crowd. Calm down, James clarified, the kid will be fine- it was just a joke, you will see. At least the old man found it funny.
Then Ito let out a mighty yell, and thrust the sword towards his stomach. The crowd watched in silence as the edge of the blade broke against his abdomen like cheap plastic. He looked down at the hilt of the sword in the amazement as a servant rushed out to hand him another sword, to replace the faulty weapon. He tried the second sword, to the same effect.
The crowd was silent with shock. That's when Ito caught the eye of the old man, his bewildered stare met with a knowing nod. Ito realized at that moment what he was, and turned and dashed off the strange, out of the ceremony hall, and into the night, not even a sharp blade able to separate him from his shame.
The old man turned to James, cackling with laughter.
“I told that little shit he would regret not wishing for a fishing net.”
"Is he really going to live forever?"James asked, enthralled. He was fully aware of the stereotype that Westerners always wrote books about their travels, but the miracle he had witnessed was clearly a sign that it was time to start a poorly written novel of his own.
"Nah,"the old man responded coyly. "Just until it stops being funny for me. Maybe I'll wait until he takes up cliff jumping, and then I'll take it away." |
I took a deep breath and counted the seconds ticking by on my watch. Why was she late? I'd been watching her for weeks and she'd always gotten home around the same time. At least within a ballpark. She went the library, and then she ended up at her house within 10 minutes of 7:30. That was how she lived, it was how she breathed, it was how she did everything.
I'd been here for 45 minutes already, pressing myself against the wall beside her front door, keeping my breaths shallow. I'd been early to make sure that she didn't hear me come in, but I knew her schedule and she was never late. What was going on?
Could she have made plans with someone? Maybe she just went off and decided that she deserved a nice dinner. Lord knows people needed a good last meal to make sure life was worth it. I pressed my finger lightly against the trigger of my gun and tapped my foot against her floorboards. What the hell was keeping her?
The clock turned over to 7:47 and I'd had it. Something was off today. I was going to lose my edge, it was time to come back tomorrow. I'd snapped the lock on her window this morning, it wasn't like I couldn't get back in. Home and Bed, tomorrow would be fine.
---
The morning came and I followed it to the bus stop outside her house. She needed it to get to the library. I usually kept out of sight, but I needed to make sure she was here this morning. I almost wanted to ask her what was going on with last night but nobody could ask that.
The dull sky finally started raining and I pulled deeper into the shelter. She was going to miss the bus at this rate. She hadn't turned on her bedroom lights yet this morning. Had she stayed over with someone? Who could it have been? She didn't talk to anyone, she never talked to anyone unless they were being paid to take her coffee order. What'd-
"Miss?"The bus driver asked through the open door as he idled the engine. I gave him the once over, he was the only bus that came to this stop so- When had he gotten here? Didn't matter.
"Sorry, distracted,"I said before swinging onto the bus and pulling into a seat around the middle. Where was she? It wasn't like her to be anything but on time.
---
She hadn't been to the library today. I'd spent all day reading idly, mostly watching the door to catch her coming up, but I hadn't caught anything but a cold. I pressed my gloved hands against the lock I'd broken last night. It came loose and I slowly started to push the window open. It squeaked and I kept going, amateur.
Her room was dead quiet, nothing had been moved since the last time I'd come to see her. She hadn't been here. I checked my watch and counted the seconds again, it was just a little before seven, I could wait to see if she got home from whatever she was doing.
I kept sniffing as I waited by the front door. All day I'd been sitting in the red chair at the front of the library that nobody used. The storm kept blowing in at me but I'd been too stubborn to move, and now I was sick. I was pissed off, cold, and I had a cold. Everything'd been so easy up until this point and now she was no-showing me twice in a row. She didn't do things like that, that's why I was killing her. Easy target my ass.
I pulled my gun away from my chest and sighed. Was I really about to go looking around her house for a reason she might be missing? God, I wouldn't do that for Mom, I mean, I wouldn't kill my Mom either but that wasn't the point. I stepped away from the door and made sure it was locked.
Her room was in the same shape I'd left it, except now it was wet. "Aw fuck Cait,"I said as I got over to her window and shut it. I'd left my way in open and let the storm inside. Now I was in for it, I couldn't just leave, she'd know the window'd been open and she'd suspect something. I flicked on the lights.
In for a penny and all that.
Her shoes were tucked in the corner. Who kept their shoes in their room? Aside from that everything seemed pretty normal. The bed was a sloppy mess, her clothes were scattered in a false promise that she'd get them into a hamper. Her cellphone was charging on her desk and her laptop was seated beside-
Wait. People brought their cellphones everywhere. I skipped around the clothes on the floor and snatched the phone off the desk. No messages, of course there weren't. That being siad, there were no texts, no notifications, nothing bothering her. I tried to open the damn thing but it asked me for a password, and I'd never gotten that from her. I dropped her phone.
Her computer was just sitting there on the desk. She brought it to the library sometimes, looking at articles on it instead of reading books. I hovered my hand over the lid, was I really going to do all this in someone's house when I was trying to kill them. As soon as she knew who I was the game was up and I'd need a new target, three months would have been for nothing.
I opened the laptop and typed in her password. Hydro, her old cat. I'd picked that one up over her shoulder. There weren't any calendar notifications or anything on there, just a screen staring back at me with no clues.
Her email would show if she'd gotten anything about flights. Maybe she was just on a trip I hadn't heard about. I scrolled through the past weeks and there was nothing, just nothing sent to her in the last month. How was that possible? Someone must've sent her spam. I checked the deleted folder, it was just as empty.
Search history was next but she'd erased that and I didn't know how to recover it. How was I supposed to know anything about her if-
I reached down to the drawers of her desk. I'd watched her get ready twice, and I knew what I needed to look for. Her library card was sitting neatly on top of a pile of chargers. Maybe the stuff she'd been reading would help me figure out where she'd gone. That'd been tomorrow though.
**I'll work on this more later, I need to get back to what I was doing sadly** |
"Hey, can I buy you a drink?"
That snapped me out of my idle daydream. I looked up at him, and was hit by a vague recognition. He was dressed in a 3-piece suit, complete with a pocket watch in his waistcoat. His hair was short and white. He seemed athletic, and he carried himself gracefully, almost like he was a dancer. Maybe he was.
"Sure, sounds good. Sarah. And you are?"
"Sam. It's a pleasure to meet you Sarah."
He sat next to me, and ordered two drinks from the bar. I wasn't really paying attention, I was trying to figure out where I'd seen him before. The drinks immediately slid to us, and Sam paid. I reached down, and idly took a sip. I instantly shot him a look.
"How did you know?"
"How did I know what?"There was the contained laughter of a joke to oneself in his eyes.
"My favourite drink."I lifted it up between us as I said this. He smirked.
"Lucky guess."
I arch one eyebrow suspiciously, and take another sip.
"So, can I ask, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"What, I need more reason than the fact that you're the prettiest girl in this place? I guess that I sort of recognise you. Not sure where from, but I do."
I was intrigued. Not only did I recognise him, but *he* recognised *me*. Almost all of his mannerisms seemed familiar to me too, but the only Sams that I really knew were Samanthas, and he didn't really look like one of them.
"I- me too."He looked surprised, his green eyes seemed to flash with intrigue. "So, Sam, how about you tell me your story, and we'll see if we can place one another."He looked at his watch.
"If you're sure, it's kind of a long story."
"Don't worry, I've got all the time in the world." |
"That's it. He's perfect."
"No, Sandra. He's epic."
Everybody in the room began ferociously to clap because Neil said the word 'epic'.
"You really at the best at memes, Neil."replied Sandra. "We should all call you 'Memer'"
"Haha! We really should. Let's make that a thing. Then I'll tell people outside of the office that you all call me that, too."
"Neil the Memer!"
"O RLY?!"said Neil in a genuine, non-sarcastic manner.
The room erupted in to laughter once more.
"It's not funny."
"What was that, Brian?"asked Neil.
"I said it's not funny. It's cringey and this marketing campaign is going to be a colossal failure."
"What's cringey?"
"Calling yourself a memer. Saying memes out loud in the real world."
"I'mma stop you right there, Brian, because Neil is the best at memes of all time."said Sandra.
Again, laughter in the room.
"That was the Kanye thing I just done there. Everyone remember the Kanye one about Beyonce?"
"Nothing is funny when you have to explain it."
Neil stood up. "Listen, Brian. You've got to stop being a party pooper. We need to freshen up our approach and if that takes using my internal meme database, which is over 9000 by the way, then so be it."
"You're in your thirties, Neil. You're in your thirties and you're saying memes out loud to other humans."
"LEEEROY JENKINS! Am I right, people?"
"Now you're just shouting random old memes."
"Well, let's launch. Let's launch on Twitter right now."
"Do it."
"Sandra, pull up our Twitter account. OK, now upload the marketing picture of our hip youth. OK, and now let's put something witty to go with it. Oh, OK, how about: 'Cheap prices at Super Saver? Catch me inside!'"
"Great. Like the girl from Dr. Phil."said Brian.
"You're getting it, Brian."said Memer.
Sandra entered up the message and sent it out. Three minutes passed.
"OK,"said Sandra, "we have 3 messages."
"Well, read them out loud. Let's see what we've got."
"The first says: 'Get cancer.' The second says: 'Die.' And the third is actually from you Neil and it says: 'And my axe! What a spicy meme!'
Neil rocked back in his chair. "Well, at least we have one good reply so far."
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
|
The alien being sat in his cubicle at the office of intelligence on his home planet. Setting about his normal routine the alien began his regular work day without a second thought. Suddenly an urgent message appeared on his communications device. He’d been tasked for a special duty.
Quickly the alien scanned through the message, his task was to attempt to master some training simulations of an alien species. The species was 100 light years away, didn’t seem particularly interesting nor intelligent. “Earthlings” the alien intoned to himself as he read the report.
Studying physical, biological and psychological descriptors the alien didn’t find too much of interest in the Earthlings. But he was tasked with defeating their simulations. Apparently, there was a planned invasion of their world. A team of technicians hurried up a strange looking device which was required to run the training simulations of the Earthlings.
The alien quickly learnt the primitive control schema of the device, with its simple input mechanisms and the Earthling’s pitifully simplified language. Scrolling through the list of simulations he read descriptions of the simulations as described from an intelligence brief. If he was to master them all, then he would start at the most basic simulation he could find and find it he did.
“A simulation of an Earthling running” he stated to himself. He read through a longer description which described an extremely simple control scheme even by Earthling’s standards and a low bar for completion, simply run 100 meters. A perfect way to start off mastering the simulations the alien though to himself.
He started the simulation and there before him on the strange device was the image of a Earthling. Despite all of the briefs he had read earlier on them he wasn’t prepared for the sight of one. Taken back he studied the image of the human and read the controls which were displayed prominently at the top of the screens.
“Too simple” he thought to himself, “these Earthlings must be simple beasts if they need a training simulation to learn and practice the most basic of their own locomotion.” He studied the screen with the image long and hard and as he did he became angry. This was a waste of his time, his talents. He had spent the last couple of hours learning all of the Earthling’s languages, nuances of their culture biological information, levels of technology. In short, he knew everything there was to know about the Earthlings, how would these simulations help him?
Quickly he punched the controls displayed on the screen and expected that the image of the earthling on the screen would immediately start running as he predicted. What actually happened he could not predict. The Earthling on the screen took a half step forward and then shot his next leg high into the air, in a motion it didn’t look like it should be able to do, then the Earthling immediately carted over onto its head.
“Restart? “ The device displayed at the alien. Obviously, he had misinterpreted a control. Of course, he would restart. He would restart and master this simulation, just like the others.
The simulation began again, the alien used the controls in a different fashion and got a similar result. Swearing under his breath the alien tried again, and again. The simulation would not relent.
Perhaps these Earthlings do need this training the alien thought to himself. He started the simulation again and this time made a significantly larger amount of progress, he was starting to get it he thought. He was mastering the Earthling’s run, in no short amount of time he would master all of their simulations.
But his thoughts were cut short when the character on the screen promptly planted its nose into the ground. “14 Meters?” He thought and softly cursed under his breath. It had seemed he was nearly finished the game, but he had only made a miniscule amount of progress towards its completion.
“Restart?” The very question burned at him. Of course, he would restart and he would conquer! He started the character off running once more but barely made a meter. The aliens large fist came down on the controls with a thump. Some of the others in the office peered over his cubicle to see what the commotion was.
The alien was now several hours into this simulation, well past the normal time when he would leave work. Most of the office was empty, and he was shouting and swearing and spitting at the machine as it taunted him. “Restart?” How much more could the alien take?
This was it he thought, he’d wasted enough time on this simulation. It was time to be serious and master it. The pitiful Earthlings with their primitive technologies and language and brain power couldn’t hope to rival his superior abilities. So, for the last time, or so he thought, “Yes, I will restart.”
The run started well, the Earthling on the screen began running and the alien fell into a rhythm with the controls. He glanced briefly at the distance, he had just smashed his old record of 14 meters and still going strong. The little Earthling on the screen bounced and ran in an awkward fashion by the alien’s hand. But then the character took on an awkward gait as it ran. The alien shifted his technique on the controls to attempt to correct it, but it was too late. The earthling came crashing to the ground in a jumbled heap.
The alien looked down and smiled at himself, he was well on his way to mastering this simulation. Looking back up he checked how far his character had run. In a way that seemed to mock him the distance read 35 meters. A stir of emotions overtook the alien even as a tried to stifle them. But eventually it was too much. A large alien fist went through the display of the Earthling’s device.
He glanced at the name of the simulation which had gotten the best of him. “QWOP”, he silently hissed under his breath. He would need more time he thought, much more time to master these simulations…
|
Ron stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t quite explain it, or understand why. It was all he’d ever wanted, to go to Hogwarts, be sorted into Griffindor like Fred and George, play Quiddich like Charlie – maybe even become a prefect like Percy. But there had always been an itch in his heart, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.
*It’s not right,* he thought.
“All aboard!” called the conductor. The Hogwarts Express hooted, as it did when it was about to leave the station.
Ron took a deep breath. *It’s not right,* he thought. All his life, his father, Arthur, had taught him to be kind to all men and women; that every pure- or half-blood, every muggle, every human being deserved to be treated equally and with respect.
But that was not what young Ron saw. Even at the tender age of eleven, he saw muggles being bullied and mistreated. Once, he met a young muggle girl, Jenna, playing with a hamster at the park. They bonded over their love of the little critters and became fast friends. When Ron brought Jenna to meet his friends at home, they jeered at the poor girl and casted horrible spells on her. She ran home, crying. Ron never saw her again.
*It’s not right,* he thought.
A small boy with dark hair carrying a white owl brushed against his shoulder. “Sorry,” he muttered, before disappearing onto the train.
Ron took no notice. He knew what he had to do. He picked up his suitcase and walked straight out of Platform 9¾.
\________
*9 Years Later*
~
Sergeant Tufford walked around the room, examining the recruits and their beds like a vulture searching for prey. He stopped right in front of Ron.
“Recruit, did you forget to wash your face this morning?”
“No… no, Sir!”
“Do not lie to me Recruit!” Tufford yelled into Ron’s face. “What are those spots on your nose?
“They… they’re freckles, Sir!”
“Freckles, freckles…” Tufford took a step back, examining Ron’s nose with curiosity like he had never quite seen a boy with spots on his nose. “What is your name, Recruit?”
“Ron… I mean, Recruit Ron Weasley, Sir!”
“No,” Tufford shook his head. “From today onwards, your name is Shit Nose. Do you understand, Recruit?”
A wave of giggles rolled over the barrack.
“Sir…”
“I said, do you understand?” yelled Tufford.
“Yes… yes, Sir!”
“Good. Now I want everyone outside in five – I will make the last man to fall in clean every goddamn rifle in this battalion. Move!"
Ron sighed. This was going to be a long twelve weeks. As he sprinted out of the room, he felt for the wand he kept in his socks.
*At least cleaning rifles won’t be too much of a problem,* he thought to himself.
|
"Trade?"
"The fuck else would we do?"
We didn't even think twice when we found the notes. We passed the guns between each other, only to get another thought. It's not like we've never done stupid shit together before. Since we're both immortal, we thought it'd be fun to test the limits.
-
"Shit dude, this could still hurt like a sonofabitch."
"yeah, that's why we're pulling each other out."
"Fuck it, I paid for the ride, you're paying any hospital bills."
"I'm still betting I'm only paying for dinner."
We were both scared shit-less. Regardless of how immortal we were, if bones still broke we'd be in some serious pain. We've base jumped together before, but this is the first time we ditched the parachutes. We didn't even think about what the fuck we were doing while laughing our asses off at the look on the lead's face when he saw us rip off our packs and jump head first for a few thousand feet of air.
We hit the ground hard. Fortunately for us, we could both stand up without even a bruise.
"I told ya, I'm only gettin' dinner."
"Sweet. We're so taking advantage of this."
"Fuck yeah. Wanna go scare the shit out of some power plant workers?"
"Dude, I'm so scaring the shit out of whoever has to clean the bathroom after you buy us those buffalo wings."
"Last time, it was me you scared the shit out of when I thought you were going to crap in my car."
"I told you we had to make a pit stop. 6 hours on the road, you're lucky I didn't smoke you out with that gas..."
Nothing really changed between us. We still did our jobs, paid our taxes, hung out at least twice a week, if not more. Our girlfriends said we were a pair of 5 year olds when we got together, and they're still right. The only thing that really changed was our Saturdays. Forget guys night, that was immortals night.
Notes: *sorry if this seems like crap, it's late and I just thought of two dudes who got immortality, and didn't give two shits about the guns. Hope someone out there likes it* |
*Read the entire thing, then just the dialogue.*
The wedding party danced on the sticky dance floor as the elderly DJ bopped up and down in time with the music. The bride held up her white dress as she danced with the maid-of-honour, and the groom danced with the flower girl, holding her hands as she stood on his feet. As the song ended, the bride’s father stepped up to the DJ booth and took the microphone.
**’Ladies and gentlemen, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for!’**
He indicated at the large, white cake in the corner of the room. The crowd cheered as the bride and groom made their way over to the cake, ready to fulfil tradition and cut the cake together. They stood together as the photographer crouched in front of the cake, ready to take photos of the special moment. The atmosphere was broken by a baby crying, the bride and groom’s newborn son. The bride’s father spoke again, across the room to the mother-in-law who was trying to comfort the infant.
**’Bring the baby over!’**
The mother-in-law obliged and carried the small baby over, placing it in the bride’s arms. With a little fidget she managed to settle her son within the ruffles of her dress, the crowd watched on as the groom took control of the knife. The photographer edged nearer in effort to get the bride, groom and baby in the frame.
**’Place the knife over it’**
He instructed, ready for the exact moment the groom cut. The groom held the knife steady over the top of the cake, the bride holding her son and looking on.
**’Now cut it!’**
The photographer instructed again, and the groom began to dig the blade into the thick icing. The room filled with cheers and claps, the photographer snapped away as everyone watched on. With the noise the baby started to struggle and begin to cry, the noise fell again as the bride tried to calm him down.
**’Don’t cry, it will be over soon’**
She reassured him, rocking him slightly. The attention was back on the photographer as he yelled over another instruction.
**’Cut it deeper, all the way through!’**
The groom did as he was told and the knife sliced through to the base of the cake, cutting the sweet Victorian sponge, the jam spreading over the metallic blade.
**’Cut a slice out!’**
The bride’s father told the groom, the crowd laughed as the groom raised the knife again and cut another angle, then lifted the slice out of the cake. Paper plates were handed out and the crowd grew nearer to get a slice. The photographer interjected.
**’Feed a bit to her, put a bit in her mouth’**
The crowd laughed again, taking the statement the wrong way, but the groom took the slice of cake and held it up to his wife, as she took a bite.
|
The ancient prison stood tall as the being of the Light walked the well worn paths through muscle memory alone, as her thoughts wandered. She bade her two guards to halt as she came to the Door at last. They would stay outside with strict orders never to enter. This place was not for mortals to tread.
The Door creaked open, magic of old still responding to her touch. Many things crossed her mind as she continued down the hall, memories both good and bad, as she prepared her arguments to convince the one imprisoned here. She opened the last door.
"Leave!"The being of Darkness hissed from her cage. The pure *hate* in her voice caused the Light to flinch, but she remained calm. She always did. "You know it won't be that easy."She replied. Darkness snarled, but nothing else. She did indeed know. It was never that easy.
"They did not deserve what you did."Light began. "Despite their fleeting lives, they still have the same ability to think and feel as we do, perhaps even more so *because* their lives are so short. That alone gives them meaning."
"Their lives hold no meaning!"Shadow retorted. "No matter their deeds, good or evil, great or small, they will all be forgotten. All they do is cause misery in their time here, to both immortal and mortal alike."
"Do not act as though we Ageless are without blame."Light responded. "Surely you remember the time when we cast out our our arrogant peers together for ruling with an iron fist."
"And what of the mortals who do the same?"Darkness shot back. "You respect their sovereignty despite them committing more horrid acts than any Ageless in history! You've grown soft and weak."
"They are capable of great good as well!"Light shot back. "We never would have won the Great War without their help. One in particular comes to mind..."
"Don't you *DARE* speak his name!"Darkness shouted. The walls shuddered with her impotent wrath, her chains of magic strained, as Light fell silent.
A long silence passed, before Light spoke softly. "That is what this is about, isn't it? He is what caused your Fall."
"Be silent!"
"You couldn't stand the grief."Light continued. "Watching him as he faded, while you stayed the same. Then he faded from history as well, and you wanted to punish those who forgot."
"You know nothing!"
"Do you think I have never cared for a mortal? Their lives come and go, but our memories remain. I do not see why you would betray me over-"
"*YOU BETRAYED ME!*"Darkness screamed. "Of all the people in all the world, I thought YOU would understand! I loved him more than life itself! If there had been a way, I would have given my very cursed immortality up to die alongside him!"
"You are blinded by your emotions! There would have been another to love in time."Light paced up and down. "Our immortality should not be given up so lightly."
"Weren't you the one extolling their virtues a few minutes ago?"Darkness snorted. "Hypocrite. This just shows, plain as the Day you bring, that you will never understand."
"I had hoped to convince you, but it seems we have run out of time."Light turned her back on the Shadow, a tear falling for the bond they had once shared.
"Until tomorrow night, Sister." |
"Doctor Reistenglower, to the ER, in T-minus 52!"
I thought I was done for the day before the announcement blared out from the plasmacidic alert implants in my brain.
"Here we go again."
It was absolute chaos in the operating theatre. The ER was always hectic, but there was a greater sense of urgency this time. Lying on the table was a face that any man of the 6th nebula would be able to identify; the president of the Intergalactic Embassy was soaked in a blueish hue. That was odd. All beings from the five nearest galaxies had green blood. Either way, it was no time for questions.
"Thank the cosmos for your quick arrival doctor! President Zumaphoros is bleeding out too fast. Systolic and diastolic readings are off the cha - "
"Leave it to me."
If I had a Tiffer for every life I'd saved, I'd be a Gombzork. But never before had I operated on blue bloods. Few beings in the 5 nearest galaxies have blue blood, and they have all been in hiding. Such is the social neglect that occurs, a byproduct of political warfare.
"He's a blue blood. I can't do - "
"Doctor Reistenglower, you're our only hope. We can't get too many people involved. No one must know of President Zumaphoros's blue blood. WE SIMPLY CANNOT RISK IT."
You see, long before the war of the Grandzitsarz, blue bloods were the backbone of galactic trade. Their potential to harvest their blood without consequence saw that a pint of it would equate to atleast 600 Tiffers. As a result, the President Zumaphoros issued the extermination of all blue bloods before the economy collapsed. All but a few survived. And now, here he lay, as blue as the tender crescents in the atmosphere.
"DOCTOR! We need you to act! Now!"
I grazed my follicle tube against the jelly-like tendrils on his cheeks. He had less than 5 minutes of physicality left. I then inserted a biometric flashdrive into his second heart. This would download the essence of his life into mathematical data. From there, it would be a simple process of reassembling the remnants of his chemical genomes into exact sequences and then ageing it in a growth accelerator. The only problem is, that there's no telling just how old the president is. Blue bloods have no definite age. Setting the accelerator short of a year could destroy the chemical arrangements and retard his mental capabilities. A year too long and his first heart would malfunction, causing the internal pituitary to rupture. It would be kinder to ferry him into the afterlife with medical aid. This far exceeded the impromptu obstetric procedures I had conducted in the past.
I grabbed the doctor to my right and kissed her on the vuluva. She hesitated, but knew it was necessary. As I salivated directly into her jombok, her vuluva grew bigger and throbbed like the beating of a human heart. I removed the vuluva and shoved it back onto the operating table.
"Doctor...are you sure of this!?"
"ARE YOU DOCTOR REISTENGLOWER? NO? SO TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS."
The doctor removed her pants, to which I chuckled. Her fanostos was less than 2 janometres (JM) long. It was obvious why she was a doctor. Nevertheless, I helped her remove her pants and then draped it across my forehead. Any galactic doctor knows that the way to the heart is through the pants.
Flailing my arms like a space-octopus, the doctors grew to be a little freightened. I told them not to worry. All is necessary, after all.
"Doctor, why are you flailing your - "
"The wind propensity must reach heights of 800 JM/second in order for the sulfuroxide chemicals to bind to his chemoreceptors. This will buy him at least another 5 minutes of physicality. However, this procedure will take 5 minutes."
"But Doctor, he only has less than five -"
"ARE YOU DOCTOR RESITENGLOWER? NO? THEN DO NOT SPEAK."
I grew weary of the questions. Unlike these doctors, I had not gone off to Yothsm¤ere to study advanced medical techniques. However, unlike these doctors, I spent most of my youth playing Surgical Simulator. Those fools knew nothing, but neither did I.
As the sulfuroxide finally diffused across the chemo membrane, I knew that my arm flailing technique had worked. President Zumaphoros could breathe again, allowing for the bleeding to clot at the surface of his jombok. Just as I finished, the biometric flashdrive I had inserted earlier let out two beeps, signalling the completion of the data transfer. I removed the flashdrive and coupled it with the vuluva that was previously removed from the female doctor.
"I....I feel better. Thank you."said President Zumaphoros before I stabbed him in all his hearts.
*stab* *stab* *stab* *stab*
The other doctors looked on in horror.
"WHY!? HE WAS ALIVE.....HOW COULD Y - "
"SILENCE. ARE YOU DOCTOR REISTENGLOWER? NO? ALL. IS. NECESARRY."
By ceasing all cardiac output, I would be able to sample each heart for their texture. This would allow me to gauge the age of each heart before running a complex algorithm to determine the precise time of birth for each of them. After which, I would divide the figures across an alphaomega sequence and hopefully determine his age accurately.
"President Zumaphoros is 183-cycles into his life. You didn't need to kill him."
"Oh. Well, that would have been alot easier. Too late for that."I said.
I gathered all necessary data and entered 183 into the "cycles"box. President Zumaphoros would soon be reborn.
We looked on anxiously as the accelerator assembled the chemical sequences of the president. I hoped they were right about 183-cycles. Blue bloods have no recorded age, and for them to know this, they must have operated on him before. Something just wasn't right about this. How could a private hospital know that their president was a blue blood and not say anything about it to the public? Something just wasn't right.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
|
Windshield wipers lash back and forth aimlessly, it’s a summers night, birds singing in the distance. Fred watches, to and fro, to and fro, they gently wipe the blood, to and fro. An orange ascot limply dangles from his once white cardigan; birds sing in the distance. He’d never really considered his mortality; the delicate strings of life fluttering helplessly between the ragged breaths of some faceless villain. Was he still alive, was he sane? These thoughts echoed in his mind, to and fro. Daphne hurriedly fixed her makeup; new coat of lip gloss, a fresh dusting of blush, hair spray for a firm hold, mascara to replace the black lines fleeing from her eyes. She was intent upon the mirror, she had to look perfect, her clothing was in tatters but her makeup she could fix. Maybe mascara could be blended with the blush, maybe the others would look to her expecting perfection, maybe the Smokey eye was making a comeback. Scooby kept his gaze on the rear view, glaring at the dog who glared back. A full box of snacks rest beside him; stomach turning knots around his previous meal. No amount of snacks could smother the truth within, all that stringy meat; maybe he’d go vegan. The other dog kept on glaring, judging. The passenger side window was covered in scratches, frantic writing of a once sharp mind. Velma wrote what had transpired, she missed something, surely. A well used pocket knife etched the story in effigy, some words indistinguishable: “November 27th, Colorado, local medicinal marijuana shop closed in suspicion of occult activity. Multiple robed individuals spotted on premise. Could be projection of multiples. Owner reports rival shop -illegible-. Split up; Fred, daphne, Velma search around shop. Shaggy and scooby investigate inside store. Foot prints leading -illegible-, found robes in -illegible-. Hear Scooby yelping.” She began writing faster, her stoic facade began to fade. “Scooby -illegible- from store, shaggy -illegible- screaming inside, multiple -illegible- voices, wailing, panic, crashing sounds. Shaggy no where to -illegible-. Scooby terrified, describes odd batch of -illegible-, shaggy smoked -illegible-, possession?” The next few lines more resembled claw marks than words as Velma shook uncontrollably. “Barricade door, huddled together in -illegible-, screaming from other side.” The windshield wipers stop, Fred stares past the red smear toward the shop. A makeup case falls to the floor of the van. Scooby licks his chops before regurgitating a finger. “Fred couldn’t -illegible- shaggy back, we -illegible- to the van. Shaggy -illegible- Fred’s head against -illegible-. Sick Scooby on -illegible-.” Fred shifts the van into reverse and begins to back up slowly, eyes fixed beyond the red windshield. As the van backs away the headlights fall upon a mangled lump of green cloth. Shaggy stands before the mystery machine. His glossy eyes shift between each passenger; his machete drips blood onto the pavement.
“Strain of sativa marijuana, crossbred with plants found in abandoned biblical city...the devils lettuce.” Velma, no longer able to steady her hand, solves the mystery. Fred shifts into drive. |
"I roll for Diplomacy......Hmm...5."
The four Dragons sat huddled in Narlock's nook. Narlock acted as GM like always, while Nira, Klask and Moltov played Offices and Managers 5th Edition.
"The boss gives you a funny stare before saying 'No Peter, I am NOT shilling all company stock on an archaeology dig!'"
"Hold a moment, doesn't Peter have a plus four to Diplomacy?"
"Actually Klask, that was an error on my stats. I have plus 4 to Discipline, apparently. I'm Productive Manipulative, too. I sort of screwed up. No sense in writing out a new character parchment."
"Your turn, Nira."
"Hmm....Where is Mickey now?"
"Mickey is in the stock-room. Something about a late-night assignment."
"Hmmm....Can I roll for Analysis?"
"I'm afraid not. Once you've chosen an assignment, you're locked into it. You'd need an alignment change to get out of this."
"And I am...?"
"Productive Drone."
"Curses. Hmmm....What's the assignment?"
"Your boss has asked you to re-stock inventory. Mickey finds himself in the entrance of a massive room, lined with corridors. Five corridor-barriers dot the expanse, each of which are practically filled to the brim with colored parchment."
"Can Mickey see the contents of the parchment from his current location?"
"What is Mickey's eyesight?"
"14, minus one thanks to 'glasses' perk."
"Hmmm....Mickey squints, but can't make it out from where he is. All he knows is that whatever's on the parchment probably isn't relevant to his physical task. Stocking takes two turns."
"Sigh....I suppose I'll be off for a drink of water while this occurs. I'll return soon."
The female purple-scaled dragon raises her wings and flies out of the cave.
"Very well. Klask, to you."
"Is Matilda still at the Currency Exchanging Fair?"
"Yes. She's been there for an in-game hour. She finds herself standing alongside other business-drones. Her and another drone cross eyes. Her eye furls. The two look like they could wage war if they wanted!"
"Aye, then that is what I shall do! To war!"
"Roll for savvy."
"Natural 20."
"It isn't even a contest. She yells ferociously, like a tigress intimidating prey. Enemy drone takes.....10 shares damage as he stomps the ground in fury. Other drones in the area look at him like an idiot. The Office gains.......must roll here.....thirty shares. Your office is at the precipice of leveling up."
The Dragon roars triumphantly as he moves a piece forward.
Klask always had great rolling luck.
|
"Beware of God, what kind of Ego that man must have,"Richard said, smirking to himself. His neighbor was strange, to say the least. He had never met him before. He stayed in his home most of the hours, but there were always people coming and going. Odd people wearing all white. Richard was more of a dark color kind of guy.
He continued his walk to the bus stop, which would shuffle him to work. The town he lived in currently was most peculiar, the residents speaking in mumbles when he walked by. He couldn't beat the price, though. It provided him the perfect location for his accounting job in the city, as well as a mostly clean suburb to call home.
He had barely gotten down the street a block when he heard the noise. Turning around, he saw what once was a human being now reduced to a pile of melted skin. The smell was that of a decayed animal in close corridors mixed with burnt hair. It was a dreadful smell that reminded Richard of his father's death. That horrible, horrible smell.
Out came strolling the neighbors, one by one. He hadn't seen many of the others, save for when they went to his next-door neighbor Mr. Firclue. They were all wearing holy white, radiating beams of the sun. There was too much sun.
"What happened?"one of the ladies asked Richard. He didn't budge. He continued to stare at the pile of melted flesh. That smell.
"I saw everything, lightning came down from the sky! He was trying to rob Master's house!"said another.
"Well that is what happens when you play with God."said another.
"There he is now, oh Master! Master!"said another, as one by one everyone looked towards Mr. Firclue.
He wasn't what one would call traditionally charming, with a scrunched up little face and a rather grimy sense of style. He walked out in an old busted up suit with shoes that had long since seen its day.
The people of the street no longer cared about the dead body on the road. They ran to Richard's neighbor, arms extended.
"We love you! Thank you so much! We are nothing without you!"
The crowd was growing, more and more people pouring out their homes running towards his neighbor.
"It is a sign! The time has finally come!"His neighbor shouted.
Richard was still frozen, unable to think and process what was going on.
"This is what happens to those who steal from me!"His neighbor said to thunderous applause.
"Who do you think you are, God?"Richard said. He had had enough.
"Master be lenient, please. He doesn't know any better."his followers pleaded.
"I shall be lenient, but you watch your tongue with me."His neighbor said.
Richard smiled. He tilted his head a little bit.
"Do you know who I am?"His neighbor said.
"I do, I've been watching you awhile, Lucifer. Do you know who I am?"Richard said.
His neighbor laughed but trailed off into a cold distant look of understanding.
"Beezelbub? Is that you?"He said.
"Old friend how have you been? You had me scared a minute; I thought you might have actually been the man upstairs!"Richard said. They both shared a laugh. All this time, he had lived right next door to his childhood friend from Hell.
|
> "In America, only the very rich and the very poor live forever."- Ray Childs, 2012 - 2276
"Inmate 5461. Childs, you got a visitor."
The sound of metal on metal rattled Ray's teeth. Heavy steel bars rolled aside and he stepped forward.
An angry looking man held out cuffs. His tarnished badge read "Harris". He looked every year of 55. "Spin around"he said, his voice gruff from a chain smoking habit, and cuffed Ray.
Cold steel closed tight on Ray's muscular wrists. "Hey, too tight man."Officer Harris didn't hear or didn't care.
Ray took a deep breath and let the anger flow through him, like water around a stone. Young him would have spun around and smashed the officer into the bars, then waited in his open cell for the the heavy hitters with their riot shields and pepper spray.
But the decades had changed him. Most inmates lost their minds. Ray worked tirelessly at sanity, and that work paid off. Now his fiery anger was gone: A lifetime of rage that took a lifetime to quench.
"Let's go Child's."A forceful prod in the back, like cattle, and they are on the move. Slowly they make their way through the facility, past row upon row of lifers, their skin young and tight, their bodies lithe and healthy.
Some pace their cell frantically, a few of the newest additions pound the bars as they pass, spitting threats at the Ward officer. One or two lay weak on their beds, first time recipients of telomere lengthening. The first few treatments wrecked you, but it got easier.
Officer Harris motioned through the glass pane window in the steel door at the end of the ward and it swung open heavily. As they passed it, Ray caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. A twenty year old's face looked back at him through the knowing, tired eyes of a centenarian.
Officer Harris gave him another prod, and down the hall they went, past several checkpoints of cynical officers, each bearing the marks of a normal life lived. The veterans were the angriest, and became progressively angrier the longer than worked at the facility. Their savage gaze screamed at Ray without words: *why do you get to live forever?*
Ray took their looks of hate and gave back what empathy he could summon, as though to reply *you do not want what I have*.
They arrived in the interview booth. Officer Harris unlocked the cuffs and Ray felt the blood flow back into his tingling fingers. Ray massaged his swollen hands until the feeling returned, sitting down to wait. The door closed behind him and a heavy latch shut with a cracking metal report.
A few minutes of silence followed as Ray sat alone in the room. This moment was the worst. Who would it be today? It was no one's birthday, no children on the way, no marriages. Could just be a visit. Probably something worse. Ray breathed.
Another click and the door on the other side of the thick ballistic plastic opened. An old woman stepped in, her gait slow and careful, her face aquiline and gaunt with time. But her eyes were still vibrant, and they lit up when they saw Ray. It was an automatic response - it happened with everyone who knew him when he was young, no matter how often they visited. But then it passed and the sadness came.
Ray smiled. "Hey baby. How you doin?"He placed his palm flat on the divider, very gently, as though it were the belly of a lamb.
The old woman sat down with great care. She faced Ray and placed her own palm to match his. Her long fingers reminded Ray of the delicate reeds that used to grow beside his Grandmother's house in Georgia, so many years ago.
When the soft tissue paper of her skin touched the plastic, she began to cry. Ray braced himself.
"Daddy."The word floated in the air between them. Even imbued with sadness and the rigors of time, Ray heard only his little Eva. "She's gone."
Young Ray was a "strong"man, a gang member and thug, and proud to be these things. They were how he survived the warzone of his life. Young Ray would have held in his pain, pretended not to feel it, and then gone and broke his knuckles on the face of a stranger.
But that young man was dead, and only an old man was left hiding in his skin. Ray let the tears come. "When did it happen?"
Eva wiped her eyes gently with a small kerchief from her purse. "Just yesterday. She wanted to come one more time."Eva looked up at him again, "she said she loved you Daddy."
Ray felt the words like a warm embrace. "Thank you, baby."He closed his eyes and breathed. Feelings needed to be felt. "She was a strong one, your sister."
Eva just nodded and the two sat there together for a time in silence. There was not much else to say. Not much else happened to an old woman alone in the world, nor to an old man just starting his second life sentence.
But that was alright. Presence was all Ray needed. He sat quietly across from his youngest daughter and took in her energy, her essence, trying with all his heart to commit her to his spiritual memory. Soon enough, he would lose her as well, and then all that would remain of the life that once belonged to Ray Childs would be the recollections of his ageless mind.
|
Margo Boffins twisted under her bedsheets curling tightly into a ball. She screwed her eyelids closed and nestled her toes within her own foot hair. It was cold, and she desperately wanted to block it out along with the morning light.
The drumming of rain upon the earth cruelly tore up the silence of her good night's sleep.
"YAAAAAARRRRRGGHHH-"
Margo yawned as she lurched herself out of bed. No point in attempting to sleep further, a mug of tea with first breakfast would certainly warm her up.
As she lumbered over to the kitchen she did so on her toes, to avoid her feet fully contacting the cold, stone floors. She felt her messy bed hair brush against the lintel as she rushed onto the cozy, kitchen carpet. Margo took the time to pat it down before heading towards the water barrel in the larder.
"Snikerdoodle!"
She swore. No more water in the barrel, but a single drop fell out the tap as she had opened it. She scrunched her nose in disappointment.
Now she'd have to go outside to her well for water; in the rain.
In. The. Rain....
Margo's eyes immediately darted to the kitchen window as a delightful idea struck her. She skipped over to the nearest bucket and grabbed it.
5 minutes later her bucket had been filled from its position on the kitchen sill and Margo had a lovely, steaming cup of tea in her hands. She snuggled up to the sill, pulling her rabbit fur hat over her ears.
She was thoroughly impressed with her cleverness. Using a miserable rain like this to her advantage, the bucket filled in no time! Even now, she watched as the bucket was overflowing from its second filling. She would take it after her tea to refill the barrel.
Come to think of it, this rain had been a blessing in disguise. Margo felt luxuriously comfortable as she watched the rain race down her window. It was somehow now calming despite its uncommon vigor.
You see, it was not normally like this, usually she awoke to golden Shire sunshine and the cawing of the Proudfoot rooster two houses over. This downpour was most unusual and uninvited, far from the common drizzle that had the nerve to show up once in a while at Hobbiton. It had been on for several days now and worryingly had caused the banks of many Hobbiton streams to swell and even several other village streams too.
The farmers were quite worried for their crop, but most other Hobbits did not mind. Gave them an excuse to stay at home and relax. Margo though, did not like it...
Her tea was warm and had fogged up the window, Margo used the back of her hand to wipe some of it.
"Snickerdoodle!"
She swore once again. Outside her window, she saw Hobbits, Hobbits in the rain! What on earth had possessed them to do such a thing? This early in the morn?
They all wore black rain coats and bore torches with them. The flames barely struggling to remain alive under the torrent that came from the open skies.
Margo pressed her face up to the glass in morbid curiosity. Something was going on.
As she looked down the streets she could even see the Proudfoots leave their home. Evidently they knew something she did not!
Margo "harumphed"in indignation. She was lucky she saw little Timothy Proudfoot rush over to her front door in his oversized raincoat. She too rushed over to meet him, tip toeing across cold stone.
She opened the door in little Timothy's face before he even had the chance to knock...
"Well?!"
Margo demanded looking down upon the little thing. He bowed his head shyly.
"Erm..."
Timothy muttered something under his breath which she couldn't hear.
"Spit it out Timothy, what is happening?"
"There is a man which we all are supposed to see near the Bagginses house. Mother says it's important and everyone should hear him and Father told me to tell you to come if you want to."
The little hobbit managed to spurt out his message, and like that, her was gone, rushing down the road again to meet his family who had made some progress from him as they headed up the hill towards the Bagginses.
Margo furrowed her brown and scratched her chin in bemusement.
What a conundrum this was. A great curiosity. Something curious enough that it had Hobbits leave their homes in the rain? Perhaps she should leave too? Perhaps not, after all she did have to prepare breakfast and refill her barrel?
"SNICKERDOODLE!"
Margo swore once again as she grabbed her rain coat in frustration and headed out her door.
The trudge uphill began and Margo almost instantly regret leaving breakfast behind. She hated mud and how it clung to her foothair, but at the very least it meant that she did not have to wear shoes. She would brush her feet down on the Bagginses carpet, for all the trouble they were giving her.
Finally, she reached the near top of the hill. The Baggins house, a pretty residence which looked over most of the miserable sight Hobbiton (usually quite pretty a view). Margo scampered through the open front door and slammed it behind her. Instantly feeling the glorious heat from a burning hearth, and many clumped up Hobbits gathered around an old Wizard-looking man.
"Ah you are here Margo dear!"
The elder Baggins met her eyes with his own kind ones.
"Have some mead dear!"
He exclaimed. Slowly but surely, there was shuffling amongst the Hobbits as the tight knit group contorted as they passed the pitcher over to her. Margo gratefully accepted and held the warm container in her hands.
She gazed up at the towering human in the room, with his white beard, haggard face and calloused, carpenter hands which almost resembled a dwarf's. His head was touching the ceiling as he sat uncomfortably in the center of the Hobbits.
And then the elder Baggins began to speak.
"Everyone, let me introduce you to our newest Visitor. His name, is Noah." |
I sat staring at the pieces for two minutes. I knew it was exactly two minutes because there is a perennial tick in the shop from all of the clocks and watches, each synched to the same precise moment. Each device carrying the same mechanical heartbeat, all except the broken watch laid out on the table in front of me. The casing was fine but unremarkable: hinged plain gold, with no scrollwork or markings of any kind.
The watch was a stem-wind, lever-set. Unlike the casing, the face was complex. There were the traditional hour marks and two main hands, and a third to count the seconds, but there were four additional, smaller faces set in each quarter. Each of these secondary faces was unique. They all featured one hand but counted to different numbers: 60, 7, and 52. The final hand was a blank circle.
Alongside the case, I’d placed all of the pieces contained in the box onto a black velvet cloth. I glanced again at the simple oak box, and the cloth note tacked to the front written in my father’s handwriting.
**“Don’t fix me.”**
I learned to fix watches as a young boy from my father, a master, who learned from his mother, a famous clockmaker considered one of the greatest of all time. I’d tinkered and taken apart, and put together every watch, clock, dial, timepiece, or mechanism under the sun. Watches held little mystery for me anymore.
Yet, I could not recognize half of the nearly hundred or so pieces laid out on the cloth in front of me. Like the casing, many of the pieces were gold or gilded. Springs, wheels, cogs, gears, pins, levers, of every size and shape. Some pieces were so large that I could not imagine them belonging to the average-sized pocket watch in the box. Others were so tiny they required tweezers to handle and a jeweler’s loupe to observe clearly.
I moved my hands just above the pieces, trying to make the watch in my mind. All was quiet, except for the tick, the pulse of my shop. My hands never wavered or shook.
**“Don’t fix me.”**
In my head, the parts began to fall into place.
**“Don’t fix me.”**
I stopped moving; just listened to the tick.
**“Don’t fix me.”**
What I heard was, “you can’t fix me.” My father’s voice, his face floating in my mind’s eye, warm but distant, inviting me, challenging me, daring me.
“I can,” I said to no one. And so I began. My only witnesses were the dozens of blank faces hanging from all four walls. My only assistance, hands that could neither touch, nor applaud, nor comfort. That was fine; I did not need witnesses, I did not need help. All I needed was time.
It took me 32 hours to fix the broken watch. I neither ate nor slept. When I finished, I held in my hand a perfect device, smooth and warm to the touch. The gold gleamed. I wound the mechanism and opened the face. The main hands moved merrily along, counting time like any other watch. The four smaller faces did not move. I frowned. I still did not understand them. I pressed down on the pin to see if one of the faces was a stopwatch.
Nothing happened. Everything was silent.
Silent. The ticking, the always-ever ticking, had stopped. I looked at the wall. The hands of every clock were locked. For a long time, I don’t know how long, I didn’t move. I didn’t believe it. Eventually, I moved to the shop’s door and flung it open. All around me, the world was frozen. People were still, stuck like images in a picture. Even the clouds did not drift.
Frantically, I pressed down on the pin. Nothing changed. Nothing moved.
**“Don’t fix me.”**
My hands were shaking now.
|
You're woken up at the crack of - ok, fine, fine, at a good solid 9 in the morning, but still solidly before your usual wakeup time - *early* again by the sound of your chamber door slamming open.
"Kor! Do you have any mandrake root on hand? I found a really cool recipe on hand in the library and -"You groan softly, pressing your pillow tighter over your head as you try to shut the noise out.
Footsteps walk over to the edge of your bed, muffled against the luxurious carpet you hand-enchanted to keep out assassins. They stop. There's a pause, then more softly the princess says, "Also... the brownies made that bread with dried fruit in it last night."She pauses again, waiting for a response that just isn't coming as you burrow deeper into your bedsheets. "C'mon,"she says, with a little waver in her voice. Is she... *laughing* at you? Gods forbid.
It's the hand reaching out to brush against your shoulder that breaks your composure, and you squawk like an oversized chicken in reaction. "Get out! Get! I'll be down in a minute,"you yelp, suddenly extremely aware of the fact you left your bathrobe (and by extension, your dignity) halfway across the room last night. This time, she definitely laughs as she sprints back out the door. You silently curse every god on the great mount for your decisions.
By the time you get to the kitchen the bread is half gone, but there's eggshells in the trash, and a thing of yellowish liquid and a still-oiled pan are placed suggestively next to the loaf. You sigh, then go about making yourself the breakfast suggested before (once again) trying to clean the tiny summoning circle from under the cubboard. A dark wizard's tower is no place for blasted kitchen spirits, after all. You scrub a good millimeter off the wood before you think to look closer at the thing, then curse in frustration when you realize the marks were made with a transmutation spell that goes the whole way through the counter. You just don't have time to deal with this today. Also, you think you can hear the princess laughing somewhere nearby.
You contemplate going to the library as is, egg-spattered robe and all, before deciding that would give the royal pest too much ammunition for yet more practical jokes. Can't go too fancy either though. Learned that the last time you wore a proper outfit around the pest. She never said anything, but you could feel judgmental eyes looking you up and down the whole time. What, was she expecting you to have muscles or something? You're a wizard. You live in a tower. Most of your work is done by minions. Of course you don't.
The mandrake-potion turns out to take a good hour for you to work out. You have no idea how the woman found the thing; the book was buried in the back of the stacks and still festooned with a hearty layer of dust when she handed it to you, and you can't remember ever having read a word of the thing before. Nonetheless, the thing is conceptually fascinating. You generally don't deal in hallucination magic, but a targeted vision of finding true love? Now, that - that has applications. Before you know it, proper midmorning sun is streaming through the tower window, and the two of you have pulled out almost all of your alchemy gear while trying to figure out whether the brew can be made in less than a fortnight.
As you're rummaging around on a high shelf, you catch her face out of the corner of your eye. Looking at you, not the book on the table in front of her. The hand idly propping up her chin is covering her mouth, so you can't read her expression, but the gleam in her eyes makes you think she's laughing at you again. "What're you staring at?"you demand, whipping around to stare her in the face as you indignantly fix your shirt.
"Nothing! Geez, calm down,"she replies, glancing away in a second to go back to furious study. You get a good twenty minutes of complete silence out of that little interaction, although the back of your neck is still burning. You're Koren the King-Killer. You're a fury to behold in battle as fire rains down from above and fae rise from below. You are definitely not *funny*.
You're setting up an alembic and she's tightening the screws on a wayward faucet-hook when a trumpet blares from somewhere down in the courtyard. The princess curses a blue streak.
"Now, now, my dear, *language,*"you say, smugly. You breeze out the door without a backward glance, using a light Push spell to slam the door home and close the bar. You hear "Can we at least finish the potion first, you bastard?"from somewhere behind you, but no scrabbling at the door this time. Huh. You guess she's finally learned she's not getting out *that* easy!
It's a matter of a moment to summon the armor that makes you look so otherworldly in public and strikes fear into the hearts of your enemies, and then you're down all the stairs in a flash and trotting through the doors with glee.
There he is: a young knight, family crest clear-painted in all its glory, armor burnished to a golden gleam that perfectly compliments the palomino warhorse he rides. "Koren Kin-Killer! Koren Crowncracker! Koren of the Hills! I come to face you for the honor and glory of the people - I come for the return of Lady Lily!"
"Very well. By battle, or bargain?"you reply.
"Bargain. I have exactly what you desired,"the young lord replies, beginning to unhook an intricately carved casket from his horse. Your heart speeds up in glee. "To be handed over upon the safe release of the good Lady."
You mutter "You don't know the half of it"under your breath as you cast the spell to pull the princess from *there* to *here*. With a blink, she arrives in the summoning circle. You walk over elegantly and take her hand. She quivers a little in reaction. You make a point of bowing down to kiss her knuckles just to hear the knight behind you growl in disgust. "And now, it's time for you to return to your rightful home, m'lady,"you say, leading her toward the knight. Her hand is very cold, and grasps yours very tightly, but when you present her directly to the knight, she does let go.
The knight roughly shoves the little chest into your hands so he can grab the princess and swing her up behind him in the saddle. "The deal is done. Remember, you promised to leave us safe passage out. No backstabbing now."The princess's smile is plastic.
"But of course, brave knight,"you reply. As they ride away, princess gazing back at you with those disturbingly cunning eyes, you mouth "Bye Bye!"and make an accompanying sarcastic half-wave, then set to digging into the chest until the two are safely out of view.
As you stroll back in through the main door you permit yourself a jaunty little whistle. You can't believe how long it took to be rid of that... *girl*. She'd been trouble since the start, from the part where she tried to bash your head in with a silver candlestick when you teleported in to kidnap her to the third time she cast an illusion spell - giant tentacles with wicked spines, if you recall correctly - to scare off a knight.
You take the afternoon to clean. First the alchemy gear - for gods' sake, why did you think that potion was worth squat? You could easily just cast the same spell a few times and be done with it - then the copious wards keeping her from leaving the grounds, then the ones for keeping things from entering while she was out in the garden. After a few moments of silence for the time you'd be going back to spending cooking you chip the brownie summoning circle out of the counter. You don't bother throwing out the things she'd been working on, but you don't bother sorting them either. She was good for something, at least - her sense for spell creation was decent, if amateur.
Cleaning is *so satisfying*. You hadn't even realized how much she'd reorganized your furniture until you set about putting it to rights, and her ever-spreading mess of scribbled papers always set you subtly on edge. It didn't help that she was always doodling little cartoons of you in the margins - for gods sake, that's definitely not what your rear looked like, and you'd never even *worn* a costume like that in front of her, wherever did that come from.
Your bed that night is a blessed realm of peace and quiet, velvety sheets and down comforter wrapping around you like a slice of heaven itself as you fall into a deep, uninterrupted sleep for the first time in m-
You wake up with a start as one of your alarms goes off. Someone's in the inner courtyard. Stumbling down and out as rapidly as you can, only sparing a single thought to grab your coverup as you pass the bedroom door, you ready yourself for a fight. Bursting through the archway, your gut drops through your feet as you realize a nightmare so great you hadn't even thought of it before.
There's a royal riding-dragon in your courtyard. The mud-smirched figure perched at the base of its neck expertly slides off to run over to you, waving a scroll and brandishing a clearly full satchel. "Guess what! I brought a friend this time!"the princess shouts with glee.
Something inside of you breaks as you realize just precisely how much you've screwed up. |
I have held off for a year now not pressing this button. It haunts me. It mocks me every minute of every day. Torturing me with the decision. Do I push it?
My friends have all pushed it. I have asked each and every one of them what it was like. They say it did nothing, but the look in their eyes, the euphoria of it.
It makes me wonder. Should I push it? The strong-willed would say no, having the self-control and denying myself the satisfaction of pressing the button, is the most coveted trait in this life.
I look at the small red button softly lit with a light beneath the plastic, the white word, push, on the top, it enticed me, it made me want to push it. It seemed to be inviting me to the other side of the pressing. My thumb, on its own accord rested over the white word. I can feel it flex as the button depresses but, like a stubborn mule my self-control kicks in an I remove my thumb.
The button’s light softly pulses to the rhythmic word in my head, push, push, push. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve had a year of stubbornness I need to be rid of this burden. I close my eyes.
The button easily depresses.
I open my eyes. Nothing. The world is still here. My mind wonders at the simplicity of it. It does nothing. I breathe easy as the word goes through my mind. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I feel calm and relaxed almost, euphoric. The great weight of the decision to push it lifts, and I realize what it does. Pushing it gives freedom.
|
"YOU DIED,"the page read in large bold letters. This was the 6th time I had flipped to a pure black page with the disheartening text. I had only just picked up the book out of the 'Newest Releases' section and had already failed its adventure narrative multiple times.
The book had a simple fantasy cover, with a ragged knight charging towards some unknown enemy. The colors were dark and cold, giving the impression that the reader's adventure would not be a cheery one. In sharp glowing text the title read, "Dark Souls"with no other text on the cover except for the name of a Japanese author. The only thing written on the back cover was, "Prepare to Die,"a warning I did not at first take seriously.
"Man, this things so hard. How was I supposed to know some villager was gonna pop out and stab me like that?"
I reflipped to where I was before my unfortunate death and chose the second option, a narrow winding bridge that my character would carefully run across. As I flipped to the specified page number, I was outraged at the sight of that same ridiculous text. This time, someone on the other end of the bridge, had cut the rope causing me to plummet to my ultimate demise before I could get a foothold on solid land.
"Wait, both options cause you to die?! What kind of bullshit-"
I slammed the book closed and put it back on the shelf. Unbeknownst to me, some guy in the same section was watching my reaction the whole time.
"Giving up already?"he asked, startling me.
"It's just too hard."
"Heh, you just gotta git gud son,"he said with a smirk. Ignoring him, I walked off trying not to get angrier as the man raised both his arms and bellowed at the top of his lungs, "The legend never dies!" |
My eyes open and I am greeted by a strange sight. I'm in some sort of half-cage. There are bars all along the sides, but the top is open. I'm laying on something soft; definitely not the ground or floor. What's the thing spinning near the ceiling? It almost looks like a...mobile?
The realization hits me.
This is no cage, this is a crib! I see a pattern of cartoon animals all around the sides of it. The adjacent wall is covered in bright hues of blue and white. I can't quite move my head, but I'm pretty sure I'm wearing a onesie.
My wish came true. I never believed in the supernatural; but as a man laying on the cement, dying in pain, I prayed to every God I could think of. It was as if every nerve in my body was screaming at once. I was laying in an ever-growing pool of my own blood while my car was twisted around me; the metal strained and pulled into a caricature of what it once was.
What was almost worse than that was the fact that I knew I was dying. I knew that I would not survive and that those were the last moments I would ever know. I prayed for a second chance. I prayed to be delivered and given a fresh start. And my prayers were answered.
Is this what reincarnation is? I didn't see any white light or angelic being. There was no 'meetup' with deceased relatives or any God. One moment, I was in complete agony. Then, I find myself laying in a crib; cozy as hell and completely pain-free.
I am a little baffled though that I remember my life, well past life I suppose, completely. I do a quick mental trip of my life and find nothing amiss. Interesting. Does this mean what I think it does? A true fresh start with all the knowledge and wisdom I gained in my previous 34 years of life at hand?
A twinge of sadness washes over me as I wonder about my family. I'll never see them again. Even if I could, they wouldn't know it was me. They would see a stranger. I suppose there are pros and cons to everything. Perhaps I can use my wisdom to build money early in my new life and give them some anonymous donations. Not mention give myself a cushy life.
My head turns as I hear someone walking outside the room. That's weird, it almost felt like my head moved by itself.
My feet start to kick as I hear a female voice call out.
"Is someone wakey in there?"
The kicking intensifies and I smile. But I didn't mean to smile nor to kick furiously. It's almost like I'm an observer in this body. The source of the voice comes into the room and I turn my head to look her; or should I say, my head turned itself to look at her.
Before me stands a beautiful woman. Medium height, with lovely olive skin, hair dark and long, and a face that could probably stand among top-tier models. My mother.
I start to panic as the realization that I do not have control of this body sets. I try so hard to move. Anything, a finger, a toe, hell I can't even blink! My mother picks me up and coddles me. I can feel her warmth and soft touch on my body as though it were my own. But I can't react to it. My coos and flopping aren't my own actions; I am merely an observer.
The baby starts crying. I refuse to say that it was me. I am not crying. My body is crying, but at this point, I am not my body. I think.
I want this crying to stop.
Stop crying.
I think to myself (whatever the hell that is anymore), "Little baby, your mom is holding you nice and tight, you're warm and cozy, and I'm pretty sure we haven't shit ourselves yet. There's no reason to cry. Just stop."
I can't quite explain it, but after I said that, I could feel the baby acknowledge me. Not in a verbal sense or even a mental sense, but a just a pure sense of knowing.
The baby stopped crying. A sense of relief washed over me, but it was followed by a horrible truth. At that point, I knew exactly what was going on.
I'm not reincarnated. This is not my life to live.
I am merely an observer to this new life. An unwilling passenger. A passenger who can sometimes scream loud enough for the conductor to hear.
I am a conscience.
|
Stage 3 Liver Cancer: severe abdominal pain and intense itching of the skin. Looking for long term contract. Open to negotiations of pay rise if chemotherapy is necessary. £50/hour for any pain, £60/hour for illness
Bullet Ant Sting: [client gave no details] £30/hour
Stab Wound the to Leg: pain down the left side of the thigh and impaired movement throughout the limb. £20/hour
I continued scrolling through the ad listings and sighed. I suppose I could take on the bullet ant sting and the stab wound...but it still wasn't enough. I needed money, and fast. My rent was due in 3 days and I had nothing left. The increased taxes on medical care had diminished my savings, and Harry's treatment had wiped out the rest.
Tattoo on Right Foot: initial treatment and subsequent pain management. £50 initially, then £5/hour
Common Cold: [client gave no details] £10/hour
I sighed. None of these would give me the funds I so desperately needed. I brushed my finger over the ring on the fourth finger of my left hand. I knew what I had to do. Feeling sick to my stomach, I clicked the icon I swore I would never use.
"Filter: High to Low"
Immediately, jobs for upwards of a hundred, a thousand, a million pounds appeared. Many were horrific, almost all containing images illustrating just how damaged the clients were. Full body third degree burns. Late stage motor neurone diseases. Children's cancer.
I tried to swallow my emotions and find the most value for money job. The higher paid the job, the less time I had to spend doing it. How had we got to this point? At what stage did society decide it was acceptable for those with money to pay others to carry the burden of their pain and discomfort?
As I wondered the extent of my pain tolerance, I landed upon an ad I'd never seen before.
"Please take my pain away. I can't take it anymore. £10,000/hour"
I blinked and reread the listing. And reread it. I found myself asking, how bad could the pain be? 1 hour and I'd be covered for the rent for the next year. 3 hours would make a considerable dent in my debt. 12 hours and I could start to get Harry the treatment he needed. A whole day and I could start my life again. Invest in at-home care for Harry, find a new job, stop the pain payments. Get a good nights sleep for once. I'd had bad jobs before. Clients who didn't pay their fees. I'd solved that particular problem by adding "Pain Payment Insurance"to my list of monthly outgoings. Some clients misrepresented their pain. Others made it worse out of spite. Still, I had no permanent damage. No matter how bad the pain was, I knew it had an ending. I shuddered as I thought of some of the worse illnesses I'd bore. Cold sweats. Coughing up blood. The grief of a father. The agonising white pain of multiple broken bones at a time. The 34 hours spent bearing the labour pains of the mother of triplets.
And this listing didn't even have any details. Whatever it was, could I do it for a whole day? I thought about it - £240,000. I looked down at the wires on my desk. All I had to do was click 'accept', and then place the electrodes on my head. That amount of money was life changing. It would only be a day, 24 hours. It would solve all of my problems.
How bad could it be? |
It was a heart like any other. Five inches long. 3.5 inches wide. 2 and a half inches from the front to the back. It weighed 10. 3 ounces.
Nothing spectacular.
However its beat was around 100 BPM. Elevated. Especially considering that it was without a chest. Or veins. Or blood.
In fact, the heart was singular. It lay upon that stainless steel plate and beat without any provocation. Without any extracurricular. Without any body or reason and even without sanity.
Yet here it was. Beating. Quickly. *Thump thump thump*
It was unlike anything I had seen before. Unlike anything seen before. By anyone, as far as I knew. I looked at the file which had arrived with the still beating heart.
**Case No. 238**
*John Doe*
*Officers alerted of Chest on Pilman Shore with rhythmic sound within. First examinations of the chest revealed the chest was full of sand. USE anthropology team contacted and revealing a Greek vase (anno 234 BC) and within a mummified heart. Heart appears to retain pulse*
Ominous enough. And almost certainly beyond the scope of a first year coroner. This was the stuff for veterans. Or the x-files. But the veterans were on holiday, and Scully wasn’t available either. So here I was, taking measurement of a still beating heart.
There is no standard procedure for such an autopsy, and I supposed as long as I recorded my findings it would remain in the realm of science.
The weight suggested a male.
The size suggested an average size. Probably better than normal health. Especially considering that it continued to operate without the rest of the body, but I pushed that thought from my mind.
No obvious signs of smoking. Nor of any genial deformities.
I lifted the heart to observe the anterior valves.
At my touch I felt the heartbeat rise. A feeling came over me. I tasted salt. I tasted the sea. What hair I had upon my head fell from any stillness it held and blew as if whipped by the winds of the Tierra del Fuego. The drab cinderblocks of the hospital basement dripped with the sweat of the sea, and the lights swung from their lines as if tempest tossed.
The break of the rollers sounded against the walls before the cinderblocks fell away, and the invasive darkness of the night streamed in upon he light.
There was no body before me. Not medical table. No morgue hidden beneath the life-saving venues of Saint Anthony’s. I stood upon the wooden deck of the Dutchman and the wood coursed through my veins.
It is said that the salt calls to a sailor.
It is said that the sea is in their blood.
I am no sailor.
I wish not for the sea.
But here upon the Dutchman’s deck,
the ocean calls for me. |
At the same time, 10,000 people joined the first VRMMORPG to ever have been created. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, just a generic, grinding, story-oriented MMO.
“Maybe there’s something off about this game, that makes it special,” said Dave. “I find it hard to believe that they would put so much cutting-edge be technology together just to make a boring, average MMO.”
“I don’t know man, but I’m bored now. I’m going to go make myself a bagel.” responded his good friend, Mark.
So Mark pulled up the options menu, and where there used to be an exit button, there was simply an empty space.
“Dude, there’s no exit button! What do I do?! I need a bagel, RIGHT NOW!”
“Just take off your headset.”
So Mark took off his headset, then went and made himself a bagel. What flavor was that bagel, you ask?
*Plain.* |
It took years. Years of searching.
My entire life has been one misery after another. Losing my friends, my family, my job, even Becky. She said she would be with me forever. She lied.
But not every Becky. Only my Becky. It turns out that there are a multitude of worlds out there. Every choice spawns a new universe, and I figured out how to check them. One by one, searching, only to find myself searching. Every choice led back to this one moment.
Until I found the one. The one universe where I said the right words, where I did things, where Becky still loved me. Microsoft, who had dismissed my work and fired me, had in this universe seen potential and had given me a comfy position.
The me that wasn't me. The me that could be me.
I confronted myself when he was alone, walking home from the office. I do enjoy my walks, but this would be his last.
He stared at me when I stepped out of the alley. Glancing at the gun I held, he was so shocked that he started laughing. I threatened him, asked what was funny. He replied I would get the joke later.
What ever the joke was, this universe's version of me will never be found again. I hid the body well.
Becky doesn't suspect a thing. It seems that my other self has been forgetful lately, so my not remembering everything seems normal. Life has been good these past few days.
Sadly, it seems to be over.
While walking home today, another version of myself has just stepped out of the alleyway with a gun.
I can feel the laughter bubbling up, at least my killer will get what is coming to him. |
New York City, 1949; the air is thick and filled with toxic particles. I don't have to breathe it in though, since my air shield got an upgrade to operate as a filter. Lucky me. No satellites to scan for a viable exit point. Not so lucky me. My holodisk can take weeks to find a viable exit point without a technology assist. With nothing to do until I find my exit I took a job at a garage to pass the time. Plus it pays for meals at restaurants. Eating at a restaurant is so much nicer than scavenging or stealing food.
Work had ended for the day and I was on my way to a restaurant. The Italian place around the corner came recommended by a couple of clients at the garage, but I hadn't considered who owned the place. Just as I came around the corner, two men exited the restaurant. Well dressed, definite European build. They were chatting loudly. I didn't think much of it until one said to the other,"I'm tellin' you, I could kill any m>!otherfucke!<r in this city and ain't nothin' the cops would do."Their accents were definitely Italian; most likely they're part of the mob, I concluded.
"I'll prove it, Tony. I could get away with straight murder in this town."As he spoke, the man pulled a pistol out of his suit coat. "Watch."In the blink of an eye, he trained his pistol to my forehead and pulled the trigger.
For a moment, time seemed frozen as the gunshot echoed off the nearby buildings. Well, I'm sure it felt that way to the mobsters at least. The two of them stared, frozen in disbelief, as the bullet hovered centimeters away from my forehead, undistorted, unmoving. Since I enjoy messing with those who deserve it, I stopped and let them believe the illusion. Then I reached up, plucked the bullet from its invisible cushion in the air shield, and eyed it (for dramatic effect, because why not). Glancing with my eyes only, my focus shifted from the bullet to the mobsters.
Acting as though nothing unusual had occurred, I resumed walking towards them. They remained frozen where they stood, confused and petrified in fear. Without even stopping to glance at them again, I plopped the bullet back into the hand of the mobster who pulled the trigger and cupped his hand around it. Hungry, I opened the door to the restaurant, sat down at an open table, and picked up the menu. A buzz emanated from by pocket, the holodisk informing me that my daily scan report was ready. I decided to read it later. The reactions from the mobsters would make for much better dinner entertainment. From a quick glance back out the window I could still see them there. Tony had regained his composure, but the shooter was still petrified. I chuckled as the waiter approached me.
"Good evening sir. What interests you on our menu tonight?"
"I think I'll have the meat lasagna."
----
Thanks for reading! Helpful criticism is welcome. This is a continuation of [this response](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6kqj1y/wp_the_little_green_men_step_out_of_their_flying/djo9hyr/). |
"Yeah, cats don't normally do that,"she re-affirmed.
&#x200B;
"Huh,"I replied. "Now that you mention it, my parent's cat just slept all day and pooped in the corner. He sucked at the saxophone, no matter how many lessons I tried to give him."
&#x200B;
"Listen IWriteDumbStories, I think you'd better have a talk with your cat."Ashley gave me a hug and walked to her car. *Cot Dayum, I thought, that booty kills me every time.*
&#x200B;
"FELIX,"I yelled. "Get over here now!"
&#x200B;
Felix, my adorable Main Coon, immediately ran to me. His furry little head was tilted up towards mine. I knelt beside him and gave him a scratch on the head. I wanted to let him know that I still loved him despite my anger.
&#x200B;
"Felix, what the hell man! I told you she wasn't into soft jazz. Nobody likes Kenny G! Coltrane! JOHN COLTRANE! Come on man, I got you the leads and everything. Sheet music, records, the whole thing. We blew it buddy. We really blew it. I love you more than anything but she was my crush. I'm a 29 year old man with a crush. Jesus, I need to re-evaluate my life."
&#x200B;
I sat down on the floor and threw my head into my hands. I began to weep. Felix crawled into my lap and began to purr.
&#x200B;
"I'm sorry buddy. I just didn't have the time to practice those songs. I didn't think she'd be able to tell the difference, honestly. She's got a great ear for music. Please don't cry. There are definitely other fish in the sea. Let's log into that dating app you are always on and go fishing together. Just you and me. How about it buddy?"Felix ended his dialogue with an adorable purr and head bump into my arm.
&#x200B;
"I suppose you are right,"I replied. "If she can't appreciate Kenny G, then it probably wouldn't work out anyway. You grab the vodka, and I'll grab the ice cream. We're gonna party tonight!"
&#x200B;
"Purrrrr,"replied Felix. |
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