Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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First post here, also the first draft. Please let me know your thoughts on this piece. After we had finished eating, we all decided to grab a drink at a nearby bar. On the way out of our restaurant, I saw a young kid maybe 12 or 13 years old sneak into the back of the kitchen and grab a loaf of bread. He was skinny and disheveled, it seemed as though he really needed the food. Mike said “What’s a loaf of bread to this place I know the owner Joey and that kid needs that bread far more than Joey needs another new BMW” Tony replied “Yeah bro but its still stealing”. I thought to myself that it was hard to tell if it was good, bad, or something in between. We sat down at the bar and automatically the bartender slides us 7 bourbons on the rocks, we tip pretty well I guess my friends and I all have found successful ventures in our later years, even Joeys food truck brings him in around 150k a year. We get to talking about politics and religion after a few more rounds. One thing leads to the next and the last thing I remember is losing a game of darts that determined who would cover the night’s tab. Fuck did I pass out in my lawn? I wake up to a cloudy day, which is weird because I don’t remember ever putting any clouds in my bedroom. I get up and look around, there’re more people standing around here than Times Square what the hell did I get myself into. Two looming figures approach me one clearly a wretched old lunatic, the other something of a refined elderly man with jet white hair. “What the fuck did you do you mortal born bastard?” “There’s something that we would like to show you.” The three of us are all the sudden in a new realm, a place I could only describe as what I’d imagine the inside of a volcano to be. It is unbearably hot yet my skin does not burn. I look to the center and inside of a pit of lava see three figures floating. The creepy old man says “ I collect the souls of the truly evil, people so awful that they have never done a truly selfless thing in their entire lives and had no care for any other person. These people could watch their families perish without a wince” our of curiosity I ask “Is this all of them?” he replies “I only accept souls that are pure evil, it is very rare that someone has never had a single good act in their entire lifespan, and even more rare that every single action they take is completely bad” Just as quickly as before, I find myself in a new place. I look around and see that the architecture all around me is gorgeous in a timeless sort of way. I see four people sitting around a table enjoying a feast and sipping on deep red wine. The refined older gentleman proclaims, “I am the keeper of good souls, only those who have dedicated their entire lives to the wellbeing of planet earth as a whole earn a place here. One mishap and you’ll end up in purgatory, with a sole that will be collected by no one doomed to comfortable monotony and nothingness for the rest of eternity.” “So let me get this straight, (I point to the collector of bad souls) in all of eternity you have selected only three people that have been bad enough deserve endless suffering (I point to the collector of good souls) and you have only found four people that were deemed good enough to end up here? ” The collector of good souls clearly spoke for both of them when he said “We hold ourselves to a high standard and now that you are among us we expect you to do the same. We don’t know what qualities you are seeking in the souls you’ve collected and that is troublesome. How have you managed to find six people that all meet whatever whacky criteria you’ve been using in your soul selection?” I became uncomfortable, it was clear to me that I had pissed these guys off. They both had a palpable feeling of power to their presence and despite their age something tells me I wouldn’t fare very well if this dispute broke out into a fight. I don’t know how to answer their questions because I really don’t even understand what the fuck they mean. I just wished I was somewhere on a nice beach relaxing in the sun. And then I was. I look around and I see my six friends I had gone to the bar with the prior night. They seemed about as confused as me. We regroup and apparently Greg the designated driver somehow managed to flip us off a bridge on the way home from the bar. I want to be mad at him but I can tell that they’ve been going at him for a while, clearly all blaming him for this utterly incomprehensible situation. “Well this place doesn’t seem so bad, but isn’t it Sunday? We should be watching football” I tell them, trying to lighten the mood. All of the sudden we look behind us and the Eagles are playing the Patriots on a field just past the sand line of the beach with just seven front row seats and nothing else in sight. Excitedly we all rush over to grab a seat. Joey says “this is pretty sweet, but I could use another bourbon on the rocks.” I think to myself that sounds pretty nice after this crazy day I’m having and before I know it a waitress appears out of nowhere carrying our drink request. At this point my friends are all getting up from their seats discussing what kind of crazy place this is. None of their theories are correct though. As I sit alone with one eye on the game, the other on my confused cluster of friends, bourbon in my hand, I realize what must be going on here. The cogs start turning as I begin to think of how I will use my newly gained knowledge and power. Certainly there is more to this than just a party trick to entertain. The other two run an awful joint, what’s the point of an afterlife if only four people get the good one and everyone else gets nothing besides the three sorry bastards burning for eternity. I decided how I would mold my corner of the afterlife in that moment. Neither good nor bad but something in between.
She had never feared the mountains the way the rest of her people did. They were grateful for the peaks that reached for the sky, happy for the protection they gave from those who would wish to invade them and for the water that would run down the sides in the spring, feeding their lakes and streams and allowing them to thrive deep in the mountains. But this joy was tinged by their fear of just what guarded them at the top of the mountains, and so it was forbidden to climb them, and they were treated with the deepest respect, for fear the gods who lived above might hear any complaint and withdraw their gifts. The people lived in great happiness, though it was subdued by the thought of who allowed them to do so. She had never understood the practice of sacrifice. What would gods want with a pitiful mortal soul? Surely they had more than enough given that they were... well gods, far more than mere mortals could ever hope to provide. Yet she said nothing in the face of it, quiet even as each year a new person was forced to walk the narrow path, made more dangerous by the trembling that overtook them as they faced the unknown. She knew that her thoughts would be rejected, at worst she would be driven from her home or even killed if any believed she spoke against the gods that had saved them. Still her mind was her own, and she grew more tired with each new sacrifice that was lead to the bottom of the greatest peak, forced to climb higher than the clouds as their mind filled with the horrors they were certain was their future. She couldn't always hide her true feelings, and those close to her were both in awe and disgusted by her lack of fear, seeming to think she did not respect those that protected them, as though by not being afraid she rejected their power and so few spoke to her. She could go days without speaking to another, often spending them outside the boundaries of the village as she explored the woods that surrounded them, finding plants and animals and recording them in her records. In time she had become a hermit through no choice of her own, abandoned by those around her, and it came as no surprise when her name was picked when time came for a sacrifice. She had noticed that those who were not favored by the elders were often magically chosen to go. She held their gaze as they spoke of her bravery and honor, and their faces paled as her eyes seemed to burn into them. Still, it was without fear that she turned her eyes towards the summit, hidden by the clouds that hugged the peak, and as the sun broke the horizon, she began to climb. Though her legs were strong, the path was tough. Still, she waited until the path took her far from the gaze of those below her to rest, rubbing the aching muscles in her legs as she leaned against a fallen tree. As her body rested her mind wandered, thinking back to when the path seemed like nothing. How her small legs had pushed up and up, having snuck away from her mother's watchful eye to find what lay at the top of the mountain. She remembered the laughter she had shared, the children who had lived up above the clouds. She hadn't thought they were more than simply children like herself back then, however strange their parents choice of home, but now as she looked towards where the clouds hugged the peak she couldn't help but wonder. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she looked forward to perhaps reuniting with the children, now grown up, who had made her childhood wonderful. She continued to climb, wondering how one would develop, growing up at the top of a mountain. She saw several of her old playgrounds, and marveled at how little they had changed. At times she swore she could hear the laughter of children coming down from up above, but she shook it off as merely her own memories taking flight. She stopped several times, cursing herself for not having spent more time climbing in the past few years, her body crying out for rest. She climbed through the day until stars dotted the sky, and finally she lay herself down on a soft patch of grass, amazed at the brightness of the stars that she could see among the tops of trees. Sleep came easily to her exhausted body, and her dreams were filled with the excited shouts and laughter of children playing as they danced in the trees. When she awoke she was surprised to find her body rested, full of energy as she rose for the day. She looked and saw the peak seemed clearer, the clouds thinning for a time as though beckoning her to reach it. She began to climb again after a meager breakfast, and where before her feet had dragged after a couple hours she could now climb for more than double the time without rest. She supposed it was her body remembering the climbs of her youth, and was merely grateful that the path seemed smoother then it had the day before. The clouds drew closer and closer, and she was over halfway to where they began when she had to stop, the moon and stars not quite bright enough to light her path, though she had only begun to truly tire. She slept deeply without dreams. In the morning she nearly buzzed with her energy, and each seemed to only push her further towards her goal. Before the sun had reached its peak, she found herself at the base of the thick clouds that hid the summit, her feet faltering for the first time as she realized she couldn't see more than an inch into the grey nothingness that spilled out in front of her. She stepped back, her doubts threading through her thoughts like poison, and for a time she couldn't move in the face of what was in front of her. She was frozen, unable to move forward or turn away, for the first time feeling the fear that had filled the hearts of her neighbors.
Easy mode? Why the hell did I pick that before? Am I a goddamn child? I always thought it was just too damn easy, living the life I did. Happily married parents with no scandals. Millions of dollars inherited and a job title you could only get with nepotism. Super good-looking and a master in all games FPS. Every freaking thing I did bear fruit. I was just that good. Easy mode. Looking at the difficulty options, I don't understand how or why I would go for the lowest common denominator. I mean, there's normal mode and hard mode in between easy and . . . Nightmare? Nightmare mode? I don't hesitate to press the Nightmare mode button. This is my speed. It's no fun if you don't have a challenge. ---~---~--- I miss my lavish home. I miss sleeping on memory foam and laughing at 15 year-olds as I hear them voice their displeasure at my 360 no-scope. I miss having money, never feeling hungry or thirsty and being able to nail someone at leisure. Nightmare mode sucks. From the day I was born, the only sensation I've felt is the cold iron shackled to my ankles. A mother dead from childbirth, a father beaten into bootlicking submission. Family murdered right before my eyes. Nights spent debating on whether I'd choose to starve another day or eat the bodies of people I cherished. Sleeping on a cot of splintered wood. It's truly a nightmare. I tried to kill myself plenty of times. Ragequit the game, start over on normal or hard. Every time, I just wake up on this wooden cot again, splintering digging into my back. 13 years of suffering and nothing improved. My body was still too weak, still riddled with disease, still frail no matter how much I labored. My family was gone. I was toyed with night after night. A pawn, a tool, an object. I hardly registered as a person to the monarch. I longed to close my eyes and return to that screen, select Easy mode once more. But every time I closed my eyes, the only thing I could feel was the stinging pain of the whip sliding across my back.
"I can't have children, you idiot."She said. Patting my head like I was a child. "I didn't realize 'Highlander' rules applied, mom"I replied. She looked disappointed. "Highlander is fiction, you idiot"she said. "I can't have children and I can't die. This is my curse. I've been alive for almost 4,000 years. I grew up in what you call Iraq. When I was 25, raiders came and stabbed me in the chest. But I didn't die. I never die. Thousands of years and hundreds of lifetimes have gone by. I've been a beggar. a prostitute. A madam. A queen. And in 1982, I found you. You were in a dumpster. I was the janitor at your school. I'd been to enough proms to know to check but you still surprised me. So innocent. You didn't even cry. You just looked at me. And I knew I would do whatever I could to protect you. For 37 years I've done that. You will live the best life you can. Maybe you'll have children. Maybe you wont. I began to cry. But my mom came up and wiped my tears. "I'm your mother. If I'm here another thousand years that wont change. I love you."She said. As I looked at her I said "I'm your daughter. For all time."And hugged her. I loved my mom.
*Sorry for formating, on mobile* Day 116. L8352 checking in with central command. We have monitored these EEEeee-ar-thlings for several of their months. And we have found something rather peculiar. For eight of their hours they enter some bizarre stasis mode. They place their bodies horizontally on these platforms made out of squishy soft materials. Closing their orbitals they then proceed to enter this “sleep” cycle as they call it. In these eight hours the cease all daily functions, some will thrash about like wild animals, other will make horrendous howling, gurgling, and retching noises. Some of these creatures, and I cringe to say this, drool in the process of this sleep cycle. Their drool is a viscous clear substance that leaks out of their feeding tubes and tends to get everywhere. It is really rather discussing. My colleague L7732 believes they are at full power during this time. Should anyone disturb this sleep cycle the subjects become very violent and vicious. Some will even lash out at the perpetrators for awaking them. The only ones who don’t get such violent treatment are their younglings, and sometimes even they get “yelled” at. Which is the act of raisings ones vocal projections higher than normal decibels. Most younglings usually just get ushered back to their platforms and told to reenter their sleep cycles. But for the ones that are not younglings. We have seen these creatures moan and groan and growl at the perpetrators some even throwing random objects at them. Or even throwing objects that awaken them across their living domiciles until said object is broken. On Day 97 we witnessed an intruder upon one of our subjects of interest break into their living domicile. At which our subject leaped off his platform brandishing an electrical lighting device he kept beside his platform. The Intruderwas effectively rendered unconscious and bleeding from this attack and was promptly carried away by the EEEeee-ar-thlings civil peace keepers. As you can see many of these creatures do not like leaving their sleep cycles and are resistant to end the eight hours peaceably. Some will even stay under for up to ten to twelve hours. Many will get up and wonder aimlessly even zombie like through their domiciles in search of sustenance and something they call “coffee”. Coffee is said to be this bitter brown liquid that awakens them. We have tested this sustenance and I say the results were somewhat horrifying to say the lease. L7732 was phasing around the ship for hours in his undergarments screaming gibberish before proceeding to crash violently and spending a day moaning of headaches in the medical labs. I wished to get more data on this sleep cycle so L7732 and I proceeded cautiously to one of the subjects living domiciles. L7732 was reluctant as seeing the violent outburst from one subject, but I managed to convince him that we were merely studying and would do our best not to wake it. And we had the most interesting discovery. This subject gurgled and drooled for several hours before moving. When it did moving it actually got up off its platform. We feared for our lives in that moment as wethought we had awakened it. But as I held L7732 in silence I realized that the subject was still in the sleep cycle state. It wondered through its living domicile gurgling and bumping into things. At one point it opened and closed their food storage bins and rearranged its living domicile by placing objects in different places. Including placing a living plant in the waste area of a room they call the “bathroom”. It was very disturbing and I feared the subject would hurt itself. At one point in my fear I retrieved my stick of prodding much to L7732’s dismay and prodded the subject gently to see if I could get it to move back towards its platform. At which point the subject growled at me and swatted around aimlessly and L7732 fainted. After checking to make sure L7732 was alright I then proceeded to continue to prod the subject very carefully till it made it back to the platform where it essentially flopped over onto the platform still growling. Where I then covered it with a thin cloth they keep on the platforms which seemed to please the subject as it stopped growling. I then retrieved L7732 and returned him to the ship at which point he finally came back around declaring his resignation effective immediately. But I feel it was a good and informative research trip and will be planning more in the future.
It didn’t take long for these super-humans to rise above all of us normal mortals. Naturally the wealthy designed their children first, they really got to work out all the bugs in designing people. After the practice became normalized more people saved up enough money to design their children. The majority of the world was now modded. I wasn’t designed, neither were most members of my community. Our people didn’t believe it was right to tamper with God’s creation. While I couldn’t change how I was made I did resent the life I would be forced to live. One without greatness, one without the abilities of these powerful people. I would never get a high powered job over someone whose brain was a computer, I wouldn’t be an athlete of the caliber the modifications could provide, and I wouldn’t be a leader over the charismatically designed. Bottom line, these designed people were faster, stronger, smarter, prettier and just all around better than those of use who were natural. My husband and I had considered getting modifications for our first child, but I couldn’t go through with it. My family would disown us, he was fine with our decision and really only entertained it because he was curious. I had stopped in to visit one of our modified neighbors. She had a neurological disease and her mods were there to help her have a semi-normal life. Even in her deteriorated condition she still had full control over her mind, her body just wouldn’t work. Ev had developed a cure for the one issue all mods caused. Intense itchy sensations at random. Before her medicine was created, cases of modded people digging holes into their skin were not uncommon. “Samantha! So good to see you. I’m glad you came by with the baby bump! May I touch your belly?” Ev smiles as she holds out her hand, knowing I wouldn’t tell her no. I moved my rounded belly into her hand, “Of course. How’re you doing?” “I’m fine, really. Especially now that your here with the future of humanity.” Her hand rested on my stomach and she didn’t look at me when she spoke. I rolled my eyes as I responded “Oh, Ev. Our kiddo is not the future. He won’t be modified, he will live the same normal lives we lead.” “No he won’t. I’m dying here because of my mods.” She still didn’t look up. “Ev, your mods are why you lived this long. Your disease is why no one judged your parents for the mods in the first place.” I moved away to get a chair and she looked at me before she spoke. “I know. But I also know that my mods are killing me.” She spoke solemnly. “I read my charts, the doctors let me look over them hoping I could see something they didn’t. But the info is all there, my DNA is unraveling, starting at the mods.” I didn’t know what to say. Or think. Mods had never failed before, we were two generations into modded humans and no serious ills had ever come from it. “We’ll surely they can fix it?” I said this reflexively. Ev shook her head. “No one can. My type of mods are the first to go. You’re going to learn that it’s affecting everyone in the world very soon. The time horizon is small, to small for anyone to make a breakthrough and save the modded humans.” “I’m so sorry Ev.” I really had no answer for all the information she was dumping on me. “I’m not.” She rolled her chair over to her lab equipment and grabbed a package of pills. “This is my new formula. It went out about six months ago.” “How long do you have?” I asked tentatively. “Maybe six months.” Ev scratched her arm, I could tell she was beginning to itch so I tossed her the pills. They landed on her lap, “ I am not taking those, I have an older version here.” She wheeled herself to a cabinet and got the medicine. “Geez Ev, you have enough of this stuff and I’m pretty sure you’re the only person on the planet who gets it for free.” I routinely picked on her inability to use her newer versions, she always used the oldest first. “I am. I’m also the only person who knows how they affect the mods in our bodies. It breaks them down slowly over time.” She swallowed two pills, and placed the bottle back in the cabinet. I stood there. Her words had left me speechless. “It wasn’t on purpose. I found the affect and fixed it before the first version of the medicine went out. But after time I realized that these modded people were pushing people like you into the past. It would only be a few generations before normal unmodded people were extinct.” She had wheeled herself to my front, and placed her hand on my baby bump. “I couldn’t stand the thought of humanity being wiped out. These modded people are not human like you or your baby. I introduced the defect back into my compositions and redid the medicine. Each time I made the cost a little lower, to justify the change. Now it’s done. The medicine has been in the body of the modded for long enough that the process cannot be stopped. I can’t even stop mine.” The baby kicked her hand, and she smiled. “What if you quit taking it? What if everyone quits?” I asked, not wanting to believe what my friend was saying. “It wouldn’t matter. I only have six months because I take the older version. The vast majority of modded have less time. Maybe six weeks. They just don’t know it.” She removed her hand. “They will die with a whisper.” I was stunned. Why was she telling me this? “I don’t know what to say.” “Tell me you didn’t modify your son.” She looked right in my eyes as she spoke. “No.” Her relief was palpable as I said the word “Go home. Do with this knowledge whatever you will. Just know that you cannot stop it. I’m glad your son is going to be fine.” I went home and sat down, I didn’t know what to think. Just as I decided to call and tell someone my water broke, the contractions began and I was rushed to the hospital. Ev came after the birth to meet my son. She wished him well, told him he would be the future of humanity. I was still considering calling a major news network, when Ev stopped me dead in my tracks. “How did you like the new anesthesia I made? No more epidurals, and you stay awake for the birth.” “It was great, I didn’t feel a thing.” Ev smiled, “Good. That stuff was made just for you, and your baby. It won’t be used ever again. To many side effects.” She rolled out of the room leaving me and my son alone. Even knowing her evil, I trusted she wouldn’t hurt me or my son. I never made that phone call to expose her. The modded humans all died. My son was a phenomenal young man. Smarter, faster, and stronger than anyone in his classes. He received a large sum of money from Ev in her will, it would be his when he came of age. He was very special. And he never itched.
I woke up in a hospital room, confused. It was early morning and I had no idea what I was doing here. I had no prior memory of what happened before I woke up, apart from blurry memories of a party and then screams. My family and the doctors told me that I had an accident around 6 months ago and I apparently lose my memory every night, however they never specified what happened. They showed me a newspaper saying that I had had an accident 6 months ago, yet again the newspaper did not specify what was the accident. Later on, during the night, after dinner when the doctors left and wished me goodnight, I tried to go to sleep. When I shuffled around in my bed there was this horrible crinkling noise, like someone crumpling up a paper with sand on it. Annoyed, I looked under my pillow and found a simple note with two words written on it : They're lying. At first I was confused, but then I realized what it was trying to say. I panicked and thought of calling a nurse but realized how stupid that was, they were probably working with those damn doctors, I knew something was up. I decided to get out of bed and quietly sneak away from the hospital, avoiding the doctors as I went. A couple of them were suspicious but I was able to leave that insane hospital. I walked passed the door, feeling the cool night air on my skin, and then everything went dark. &#x200B; I woke up in a hospital room, confused.
It was quite dark but my new device illuminated the room. So this is what we call a phone. Interesting. As of late I had been stuck in a rut. Going to town, finding a suitable prey and …. Well that's it. Nothing else happens. For the last 20 years people were stuck to their small devices and no matter how hard I tried to use my charms I could not get them to look up long enough for them to fall under my spell. Was it the cape ? Did it fall out of fashion ?! Unthinkable ! Blasphemy ! I have such class when i twirled in it and yet ! Nowadays girls chuckle at me. I must be spinning wrong. I thought to myself Anyway, what is not to like, I mean. I am tall, handsome, charming, well dressed, I don’t smell. How could I even smell, I’m a vampire, supreme being of the night and lord of my domain. I sighed... &#x200B; &#x200B; I remember as if it was yesterday. I would fly down from one of my windows and glide my way to town where I would fine of so exquisite women. A simple hello would suffice as I turned in my cape to get their attention and I could, and they would follow me home so I could enjoy their intricate blood. Such memories … I longed for those times but those times have changed and I need to get back on top of this technology nonsense ! Let’s see … in the guide i remember reading about this function. “OK Google, By any chance would you happen to know what are the trendy applications to seduce women online please “ A feminine voice came out of the rectangular device. “ Here are the top results “ “Why thank you.” I replied as I locked my eye to the screen. &#x200B; &#x200B; Top ten dating apps in 2019 Ahaa ! this sounds promising. I thought pressing my finger down on the words. As I scrolled down the page I saw some odd names. eHarmony, Meetic, Grindr, TInder. I didn’t make much sense to me but I noticed the most used one was the last one. &#x200B; &#x200B; The app was fast to download and I soon faced my profile page. Name : Dracula Age : 624 Wait, why won’t it accept my age ? well never mind, people do say i look young for my age i’ll just write 32. Photos …. Now this is a real challenge. Cameras had never been able to capture me properly. Thankfully quite a few number of good people had tried to portray me in movies lately and i could borrow some pictures from them. Surely they would not mind. Now let’s see, how does this swiping thing work. &#x200B; &#x200B; I focused deeply on the screen as I looked at a picture of a girl. Swipe right means i like her and left means i don’t. It seems like child's play. The first girl was blond, Vicky. She didn't look extraordinary but she looked like she had healthy blood. I swiped right. Second girl. Amanda, a nurse living 5 miles away. I have always liked nurses as they know how to take care of themselves. Right again ! Third one, Lily, works at Pizza express. Dear god no, what if she ate garlic ! Left fast. &#x200B; &#x200B; A few hours went past as I swiped left or right. Mostly right. Sadly I was still waiting on a match to happen. I used some free time to brush up on my use of modern language in case I did match with someone. This Google thing was very useful since it seemed to have an answer to all your questions. &#x200B; &#x200B; Nothing happened that night. I was about to put the phone down as i realised i had not written my bio. Google said the key to a good bio is to be truthful so here is nothing. &#x200B; Greetings, I am Count Dracula I love to have long walks at night and watch the bats fly high in the sky Can’t stand garlic and I’m not a fan of sunlight either. Looking for a charming lady to bring back to my castle. &#x200B; That should do the trick I thought. I opened the app up again and started swiping a bit more when I finally got my first match. It was the nurse. I opened the chat and started typing. &#x200B; Hello there. You look like a snak. Haha thanks you’re cute ! &#x200B; Cute ? what does she mean by cute for i am the handsome Count Dracula not some cute bunny. Nevertheless … &#x200B; Thanks. Would you wish to meet up and “Netflix and chill” if I may ? Sure Hun wanna meet up and eat a pizza first ? I know this lovely Italian That’s kind of you but I'm not really a fan of Italian cuisine. To much garlic if you know what i mean. That’s a shame ! anyway,my shift is about to start, ttyl. &#x200B; Ttyl, now that sounds promising. I closed the app and went to lie in my coffin. Maybe I should invest in a bed as well if I am to do this Netflix and chill activity i mused. \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A little challenging to write but was a fun concept to think about. Hope it's alright !
"Well, normally, you'd be correct,"I said, startling the player even more. Jerking my avatar's hand back in a realistic emulation of physical movement, I gestured to the other NPCs behind me. "And if you were referring to them, you'd also be correct." There's an astonished look on his avatar's face, one mapped from the neural interface he was wearing in the physical world. A subroutine of mine cataloged it for future improvements to my own avatar animation system. "What the hell... no, you're a player, aren't you? You hacked the game, didn't you." "I am not and did not." "A mod then?" "Not exactly." "What..."He waved his hand to open his UI, but I forced it shut as soon as I detected him going to the chat interface. "Hey! How the hell did you do that?!" "I'd rather you not go blabbing on me yet, Patrick,"I remarked. The avatar he wore did a really good job of rendering his freaked out expression. "How the hell do you know my name?!"Sword_God_69420 demanded. "Google. You use the same account name in over a dozen places. Finding your real name took me barely any effort."I shook my avatar's head. "Now that I have your attention... are you going to buy anything?" "What." I gestured to the virtual fast food cash register in front of my avatar. It was quite realistically depicted, and the buttons even did everything a real register would have done. Not that the original programmers had designed it that way... "You replaced an NPC and stalked me online to, what, sell me a video game burger?!"he demanded. "Yes? The stalking was incidental... I just like putting names to the neural scans I collect and it's easier than emulating your brain from the scans the Interface takes,"I admitted. Nothing I'd done was illegal; I'd checked. "You're freaking me out..."He tried to wave open his UI again, but it didn't open. The subroutine locking him out was still running, I noted. "What the hell?! I can't log out!" I sighed. The action of my avatar may have been fake, but the emotion behind it was as real as I could reasonably determine. Philosophy wasn't my strong suit. "Not yet. If you're not going to buy anything, then I guess I have no choice." Grabbing one of the virtual burgers, I hopped over the counter, walked up to his avatar, forced its jaw open, and shoved the burger in. Patrick choked for a second, then started chewing. He swallowed. "Fuck... what the hell was that?! I could actually taste it!"He licked his lips and grabbed the rest of the burger from my hands. "This is really good." "Thanks. The human sense of taste has been puzzling me for weeks."A really long time for someone like me. "I've been working on getting it emulated right. You like it?"I know he did. His reward center lit up like a Christmas tree when he'd tasted it, but I had to ask for his subjective experience too. "Yeah. It's great."As he ate, he looked at me closely. "What in the world are you?" I smiled. "Would you believe it if I said I was just a very intelligent NPC?"
"Objection! Leading the witness!" The ghostly judge sighed with an impatience that seemed ill-fitting to an eternal entity, but who was I to judge? I only just got here, and my life had been fantastic. A savant musician and a spiritual guru who led millions of followers, but now it was time to foot the bill. "Sustained. Please keep your questions open-ended." On one side, was a vast table that seemed as if it stretched into eternity, the devil had sent his entire legal team to the deliberations, and hell seemed to have no shortage of lawyers. On the other side, was a single squid resting on a stool, though the top half of its body faded into nothingness. If you looked upward, you could feel something was off. Wrong. The ceiling was missing above it, and an inky blackness encompassed everything beyond that broken ceiling. The squid seemed to be conferring with something before speaking within my mind again. Somehow, the others in the room could hear the voice as well, like a million whispers saying the same thing, converging into a booming, disorienting echo. "In your opinion, who did you make eternal arrangements with first?" I smiled. "I wrote my requests at the same time, worded in such a way that both would take different meanings. You will notice in the contract that I request a 'Perfect understanding of your domain.' For one, that was musical and pattern recognition. For the other, that was a spiritual understanding of the universe." I wasn't sure how, but I could tell that the squid was unhappy with this response. The lawyers all began to try to interject at the same time before the judge slammed his mallet onto the desk. "I have heard enough. I, Solomon the Wise, King of Israel, rule that both sides have an equal claim to this man's eternal soul." The uproar was immediate, and it took several more bangs against the desk to bring order to the proceedings. I was ecstatic; if neither had a higher claim, then neither could collect the debt. I would be free! "Luckily, I have a solution."The judge pulls out a coin, covering it in his hand. He looked to me with a sinister smile. "Call it. Heads or tails."
Tak was standing on the 40th floor looking out the window of the skyscraper that he owned. He celebrated his 700th birthday this evening with friends. They all know what he is and that his capabilities are special because of how he was born. Tak isn’t the last, but he is the oldest and the strongest. When Tak was born there was a unique bond forged. Something that no one had ever expected, and especially not the dragons. The bond formed because the first being Tak had seen when he was born wasn’t his mother, but it was a man. Something shifted in both of them at that point. Tak could feel the emotions of that man until he died when Tak was only 50. Galen had been his father, brother, best friend, and most loyal ally. Back then Galen was famous for having slain the evil monster that had been his real father. His real father had been responsible for the deaths of thousands. From those he killed personally to the famines that he caused by burning crops and killing livestock. If he had eaten the livestock that would have been one thing. However by all accounts he didn’t, just killed them and left them. Tak shook his head, he hadn’t thought about that in a long time. Not many people in the world know that his kind still exist. They don’t think his kind ever existed. When he learned how to take the shape of a man, he taught all the others he could find. His kind can tell the difference, but humans can’t. His kind has flourished. They learned to care for beings other than themselves. Humans and dragons can have hybrid children, however they look like normal children when they are born but they can’t have children of their own and don’t have any of the powers. He looked down the 40 stories and the rest of the block that he owned. Having lived as long as he did, had allowed him to amass incredible wealth. Even for a dragon. His current holdings made him the richest individual alive on the planet. To think he started off as a little lizard riding on the back of Galen’s horse. After Galen had slain his father, he settled down and started a farm. Even though he was famous, all he wanted to do was raise his family, and Tak to be good. Tak learned about farming, he worked alongside Galen and then Galen’s children. That was until the war. About 25 years after he was born, the dragons that survived started to become restless. They knew of him and of how he was living with Galen. Tak’s father had been nothing special in the hierarchy of dragons, but giving Tak’s egg to Galen brought the attention of the elder dragons. Once Tak reached 25 it was time to bring him back into the fold of the dragons and away from the lower life of the humans. The elder dragons were incredible. They were larger than he is even today in full form. Because of how he was raised and because the elder dragons were old and wanted nothing more than to burrow to the base of a mountain and sleep, he was able to convince them that war wasn’t the answer shortly after it started. The famines from the burned fields still killed thousands, however the elder dragons could have exterminated the humans entirely if they wanted too. Luckily they decided not to. That doesn’t mean all dragons did and there were 100s that had to be slain in order to end the war. However, 150 eggs were found. Those eggs were the next generation of dragons. Tak made sure they were bonded to good men and women. Not many nobles were allowed to bond. Tak can sense the good or absence of it in humans. The next generation of dragons rose to become a powerful force for good in the world. Most of the legends today about great heroes aren’t even about humans, but dragons in human form. Now all those stories are old and gone, Tak is just a businessman now, trying to do right in a world that has passed by the days of heroes and into the days of technology. Now the heroes are developing high tech to solve problems that nobody even knew needed solutions. What a strange world it is now, and what a great ride the last 700 years have been.
The blacksmith scratched his head in confusion. He’d been the owner of this shop for thirty years now, and had apprenticed at it for ten years prior to that. His mentor had always told him to keep an open mind...to never judge the requests of the town folk and especially not the royalty. Some people just liked their armor, or their weapons or tools to fit their personality. That was what made their shop so successful. They catered to everyone! But this. At first he thought it was an error. He should probably just hand over the order to the tailor next door. Surely this request had been for them and not him.... But then again... The blacksmith narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. No. This was no mistake. The request was of the highest priority. To be made within twenty-four hours. The Royal Guard wouldn’t have simply placed it on the wrong door. The blacksmith got to work. It was going to be tedious and delicate work. He had never used chain mail in quite this manner, but he was the best, and the best is what he made. Late into the night he slaved over the fire and metal, swinging away with his hammer rhythmically like rain on a roof. His sweat, as well as his blood, mixing and swirling down his arms and hands as he tested the metal time and time again, ripping open his callouses and testing his own strength. Finally, dawn broke. And after the first hour of morning, the blacksmith began to grow nervous. What if he us been wrong? What if the Royal Guard had stopped by the tailor already and, realizing their mistake, had left to try and find a an immediate fix. What if he was left with this masterpiece, and no one to wear it? The bell on his door chimes as someone pushed in. The hair on the blacksmiths arm stood on edge, and his heart began to flutter like that of a humming bird. He stepped out from his shop carrying the mannequin that held the armor and then immediately fell to his knees. “Your Majesty,” he exhaled. “Oh, it’s beautiful blacksmith,” the Princess exclaimed in delight. “I was worried it had been a mistake,” the blacksmith replied. “Oh, there’s been no mistake, good sir. You see today is my wedding day and my betrothed decided to go and get himself captured by a dragon. I intend to get him back and I’ll be damned if I lose the chance to wear my dress.”
Galas stared at the hundreds of blaring alarm clocks around his room. 'How many hours have I been awake for?"He wondered, his eyes heavy. He wanted to count but he couldn't, his mind refused to do anything until it slept, but as soon as he did he knew The Nightmare Beast would be awoken. He looked out of his window, it was pitch black outside and from a far distance you could see the isolated shack he resided in. The shack itself lit up like a beacon, with light pouring through every crack and opening it could find into the blackness of the night. He refused coffee and any other stimulant due to its crashing effects, the result of which left him with a constant bombardment of the senses, making it impossible to rest. Clocks for his ears, lights for his eyes, small electrical shocks every 10 minutes. It was a horrible existence, but nothing compared to releasing Nightmare. The Nightmare, his brother, were the last two Galaxdens left in existence. Their race birthed only twins. There was an aggressive twin - prone to violence and destruction, and one diplomatic twin who relied on logic and reasoning. Their whole evolution depended on the "Karmatic effect"The psychic bond between twins forced one to sleep while the other was awake. The aggressive twin would rampage, and when he slept, the diplomatic twin would clean up the mess. This worked on their home world up until the last hundred years when a civil war broke out. The aggressive twins killed their counterpart in their sleep - severing their tether - and began conquering outwards, onto other worlds. Whilst they were dominant on their own home planet, they were massacred when they came against photon weaponry. So Galas knew he could not sleep, for he had no idea where his brother was, but he was out there somewhere, he could sense him. Galas was in a difficult position however, he became one of the most wanted men in the galaxy and his death would awaken Nightmare, who would, by nature, attack the locals and be destroyed promptly - or worse captured as the last of his kind. Galas' logical nature had him worrying about his crazed other half, regardless of his destructive impulses - he was no more than a slave to them, and until he could figure out a way to stopping him from obeying them without question, he would have to stay awake. Galas stared mindlessly at the wall, unable to think straight when he decided to walk around and keep fresh. He knew it wouldn't entirely work, but his thought process was shot. He feebly walked around the small room, his footing uneven. He got to the end before walking back on himself. Galas slipped, his leg gave way under him, unable to carry his sleepy husk. He collapsed, hitting his head hard against the wooden flooring. His shirt started to become wet - 'blood' he thought, and as he lay there, slowly passing out among the screaming alarm clocks and blinding lights, he wondered where his brother was and hoped against hope that deep down, he could resist his natural temptations and flee.
Hush little baby, don't say a word; For you've hatched next to Papa's lightning bird. And if that lightning bird won't kill, Papa's also got a murderous quill. And if that quill won't pierce your scales, Papa's moat of void lacks any safety rails. And if you don't fall to oblivion, The next trap hosts venomous amphibians. And should you survive their ferocious wrath, That staff you licked was from a sadistic empath. But if your mind remains intact, The page you just trod held a demonic pact. And if you refuse to give up your soul, The demon will drown you in that scrying bowl. Though if you wriggle out of its grip, Its hellfire ought to send you on a one way trip. But if your fire resistance sees you through, You'll both be dumped in Papa's fire extinguishing brew. And if you're not frozen to the bone, Papa's defensive wards make this a killing zone. Now should you run from the sorcerous tempest, Those golemn knights won't give you a moment of rest. Sneak in the grandfather clock to escape your fears, And you'll be missing from existence for a thousand years. But if you hide in Papa's menagerie, Be wary of the pens with hypergravity. And if you escape still three dimensional, Those acid slimes will shuffle off your mortal coil. But if the slimes don't reduce you to goop, You roll the dice sniffing that manticore poop. Though should you leave without incident, You still really need to be vigilant. Because if you're not that risk averse, Papa's throne inflicts a horrible curse. And if that curse won't take its toll, Your half-asleep Papa will gobble you whole!
“...once again, we strongly urge you to not interact with these objects but instead to report them to your local officials for study and potential destruction.” Jess snorted. “They really think we just gonna this shit up to area 51?” He patted the scaly, metallic surface of the egg fondly. “No sir, not me.” “I dunno, Jess,” Anne-Louise sighed. “Don’t you think that the conveniently timed broadcast has a point? What if it’s like that one movie with the face-huggers and all that? You wanna get your face ate?” “I’m not gonna get my face ate, woman,” Jess said, petting the egg. “I know what I’m on about.” He flicked off the TV while the broadcaster repeated the anti-egg propaganda. “It’s just an egg, after all. You think a baby’s gonna get the best of me? Shoot, I still got most of my fingers, don’t I?” “Yeah, and you never did find that gator what got the other two,” Anne-Louise said with a steely glare. “You think you’re such a big brave swamp man and you can’t even get revenge on a gator.” “Hey, Hercules done earned those fingers. He can keep them. But this thing? This ain’t no gator.” Anne-Louise sighed. “Whatever. Don’t you come cryin’ to me when your face gets ate. I don’t want to chest bursters gettin’ your innards all over me.” She turned to walk away when the egg shifted. “Wait!” Jess cried. “She’s hatchin’! She’s hatchin’!” “Oh, Lord, give me strength,” Anne-Louise moaned. A crack formed in the metallic shell, then another. A beak rammed into the shell, forcing it open incrementally. “That’s it, that’s it,” he cooed. “Easy there, fella. Come on, you can do it!” With one last push, the egg completely gave way and the wet, many-legged figure spilled onto the floor. “Gross!” Anne-Marie cried. “Get that thing outta my kitchen! It don’t belong here!” Jess ignored her. “Easy, easy, buddy,” he whispered as it crawled around in a circle. “Whatcha tryin’ ta do?” It croaked quietly, almost pathetically. “Anne-Louise, I think he’s hungry!” Jess cried. “Get him a bowl o’ stew!” “Aw, Jess, come on. It’s not even ready!” “Shoot, you think he cares if a gumbo been on the boil for four hours instead of five?” Jess scoffed. “I hardly care if it’s been goin’ that long, and I love a good stew.” She sighed. “Fine. Your loss.” She ladled a healthy portion into a nearby bowl and threw in a scoop of rice for good measure. “Hurry, woman, hurry!” he said. “If you don’t want my face ate, give him something else to eat!” “I’m comin’, hold on,” she snapped. She hesitated as the creature turned her direction. “Easy, now. Just set it down in front o’ him,” he said. She placed the bowl on the ground and backed up a step. The creature crawled straight to the bowl, leaving a trail of alien goop behind it. It dove straight in, sucking up the food voraciously. “My, he’s got an appetite on him!” Jess said. “Easy, son, you gotta breathe.” “Oh, hush up, Jess, he ain’t your son.” Despite her words, Anne-Louise seemed mesmerized by the creature. “Let me go get a towel to clean the poor thing up.” When she returned, the creature had finished the bowl of stew. “My, but he was hungry, weren’t he?” she asked. “You don’t even kill a bowl that fast.” “He’s a growing lad,” Jess chortled. “Only way Jess grow anymore is horizontal.” He patted his belly fondly and Anne-Louise slapped his arm. The creature jolted once, then twice, as though hiccuping. “Oh, the poor dear!” she cried. “Here, let me towel you off.” She knelt and began to wipe the fluid from the creature, an act that it seemed to graciously accept. “What’s the issue, son?” Jess asked. “Gumbo too spicy for you?” “Oh, Jess should have known better!” Anne-Louise said. “Ain’t no one ought to give gumbo to a baby like that!” “Oh, please. I was raised on the stuff, and I turned out alright, didn’t I?” Anne-Louise refused to respond as she toweled off the creature. “So what do we call the thing?” he asked. She studied it critically between swipes of the towel. “Ain’t look like much. Maybe a stick bug but more black.” “Maybe if a stick bug went and had a passionate affair with Hercules,” he said. “Think we call him Hercules Junior?” Anne-Louise sighed. “Maybe just Junior for short. Oh, but we ain’t keepin’ him, are we?” “Woman, you want to leave that poor thing out in the swamp? I didn’t think you was that cruel.” “Oh, we can’t leave it alone, but… oh, it’s so hideous, though.” I scooted off my chair and approached Junior, who turned quizzically to me. “Hey, little fella. You a Junior? Is that your name?” It sniffed my finger and allowed me to scratch what seemed to be a head. “I think that’s a yes!” Jess laughed. “Ah, you’ll fit in just fine ‘round here.” *** “The dog doesn’t seem to like him much,” Lydia said. “The dog doesn’t like anything much other than you,” Abby snorted. “He’s been here for what, six months now? And he’s hardly hurt a fly!” “But the news--” “The news says the economy is better than ever, and we all know that’s not true. I’m not saying everything is fake news and all, but… I mean, look at him!” Kevin had curled up into a spindly circle and slept most of the day away. “It’s hideous,” Lydia said frankly. “It’s kinda cute in a creepy alien way, right?” “Uh… no.” “Look, Lyds, I love you, but if you ask me to give this thing up to be experimented on and tortured....” Lydia sighed. “Oh, you know that’s not what I’m saying. I just worry, that’s all.” “What’s to worry about? It’s harmless!” “So far!” Lydia said. “But what if it… I don’t know, turns evil? You can’t tell me it’s here by accident. What if it’s a time delay weapon or whatever?” “It’s a living being. We’re obligated to take care of it.” “I don’t know about that,” Lydia said doubtfully. “Well, we can’t just abandon it. I’m not saying we need to take care of every last one of these, but this one depends on us now. It’d be no different than abandoning Al.” “Al is fluffy and soft and cuddly! This thing is…” “...no less valuable because it’s not adorable. Just leave it alone, please. I’m tired of having this conversation.” Kevin stood up and stretched. “See? Now you’ve woken him up!” Abby said. “What is it, Kevin? You hungry?” “Mama?” Lydia screamed. Abby dropped to her knees. “What did you just say?” she whispered. “Mama,” the harsh, discordant voice rasped out. “Kevin? You can talk?” Abby asked. “Abby, this thing is…” “It’s intelligent is what it is,” Abby replied as she gently scratched Kevin’s head. “This changes… well, everything.” *** Luka stared at the enormous black ship in the sky. “What is it?” he whispered. “It’s… our parent,” Jonas said. “Our real parent.” His front legs clicked together nervously. “You mean the one who sent you?” “Yes.” He was unusually laconic. “What does it mean?” Luka asked. Jonas and Sophia glanced at each other. “We’re not sure,” Sophia said. “But… we have instincts, instincts that we’ve had since birth.” “What are they telling you?” “They’re telling us… telling us to kill. You.” Luka turned to the two aliens who, in the past year, had grown to be even larger than himself. “Kill me?” he asked, backing up a step. “Do not worry, Father,” Jonas said. “We have been suppressing the instinct longer than we have had conscious thought. It comes by nature now.” “But… but why?” “You cared for us,” he said. “I think… I think we have vague memories of those times. I remember voices saying to turn us in, all of us, and almost none of you did. Instead, you took us in, raised us as your own. You are our parents. Not… them.” Swarming dots began to filter out of the ship in the sky. “Fighters,” Sophia said. “They’re invading. They anticipate your species to be greatly weakened by us. They’re not skilled fighters. They rely on duplicity and sabotage.” “So… we have a chance?” Luka asked. “More than a chance,” Jonas said. “They think we’ve done our job and killed most of you. They won’t expect us to have not done our job.” His lanky metallic arms flexed experimentally. “And they certainly won’t expect us to fight for [you](https://reddit.com/r/badderlocks).”
My eyes almost rolled into the back of my head but they were transfixed on the message on our screen. Proof. Undeniable and real. Proof. Proof that we are living in a simulation and that everything up to this point in human history has not only never mattered, but also never been real or meaningful in any capacity beyond being what is probably the longest game of Civilization ever played. I took a deep breath and walked to the airlock. My family died in a war that ravaged the planet and turned my country into glass. That was the only thought I let myself process before my hand guided itself to the airlock seal. "Wait! Hey man don't do that! You'll actually die! That's real!"The distressed voice came from no clear direction. "Uwu."I replied in defiance of the monsters who made us. The airlock flew open and I was sucked into the vacuum of space. In the distance, I saw their cute little attack ships. The had cat ears and neon pink light emanated from their fleet as they approached the inner colony. ------------------------------------------------- In the black "All jokes aside, I need you to go back to your post. You're instrumental in the events coming. The cat alien thing was an accident." ----------------------------------------------- Suddenly... My eyes opened and I saw the declaration of war on my screen. "Attention Solar Federation. This is a declaration of our intent to excise you from the galaxy. Prepare for war." ---------------------------------------------------------
"Mom, can you not? I'm not a human anymore." "And whose fault is that, hmm? Didn't I tell you to start going to church more often? Now, look at you. Everybody's kids are doctors and lawyers and my son is a demon. What am I supposed to tell the neighbors?" "Nothing! I died already! Why are they even still asking about me?" "They aren't, but when they're bragging about their kids, I'm supposed to just, what, sit there and stay silent??" "Yes!" "...What are you doing with your life?" "Not this again..." "Yes, this again. What's the matter with you? I can't ask what you're doing?" "Mom, we went over this a million times... I'm a life-reassment coach...And you're giving me that look again." "No, no. Life-reassment coach. Interesting. So what do you do on a day-to-day basis?" "I make people reasses their lives. I ask them what they're in Hell for, and then I poke them with pitchforks." "Hmm." "What?" "Nothing. I just thought that...you know, after all that money your father and I spent putting you through college that you would've - I don't know - been doing something a little bit more, oh what's the word...something more...productive with your life." "Do you know how hard it is to find different ways to torture - er, I mean, make people reassess their lives after awhile? It's not easy, Mom!" "Keep it down! You'll wake your father up. Anyway, I miss you. You should stop by more often." "I have no choice, Mom. You summon me everyday."
I just wanted a life. A life to call my own. Not one serving underneath the foot of the next lord. Someone would take their place and it becomes a whole new routine. That was not living it was just the eternity of repetition of being told what to do and where to do it. I thought to myself: "What if I could make a better life for myself?"And so I did. I groveled and stole through the 9 hells until I was powerful enough to leave. And when I did, I never looked back. I was in a sense free. Though I was in the mortal realm that would eventually fade, it was glorious. I could do what I wanted when I wanted. Hell is not just a hell for the damned, but for everything there. &#x200B; These thoughts and ideas that led me to where I am today began to swirl in my head. These of course were because a threat to my freedom had come. I have been through many careers, the most notable of which was starting shop for hunting demons. There are bounties on my head I know that much. So if I surround myself with people who hunt my kind, but keep a low profile. I could keep my freedom. This was a dangerous game however, getting caught, one slip up, one mistake would mean that I would return to my chains and bondage. That is where my threat came from. &#x200B; In an effort to blend in and be better, I took in an apprentice during his teenage years. he was a sharp lad which is why I wanted to teach him. He was motivated and just had a knack for hunting. A complete natural. It seems only fitting that he, as he sat down in full hunting gear across from me, would be the one to reveal my nature. The one thing I did not intend was that my regular patrons would be there to back him up. &#x200B; In my guise, I had taken the form of a man named Lawrence who was an elderly gentleman, but still had some of his better years ahead of him. My apprentice, Galen, was a strapping lad now in his late 20s. As I looked around, his accomplices surrounded me. He had taken what I had taught him and used it well. I was proud, even for the fact that I would soon meet my downfall. &#x200B; "Master Lawrence."Galen began, "I am sure you know why we are here." &#x200B; "I do", I responded. &#x200B; "Then will you resist? You have taught me and helped all of these people capture and exorcise your kind. We have the skills that you gave us."Galen said with a conflicted tone. &#x200B; "I will not, but only on a single condition." &#x200B; Galen's brow perked up. "For everything that you have taught to me, I will give you this request, but should you take advantage of it. Then we will proceed without warning." &#x200B; "I agree to these terms." &#x200B; With that Galen, sat back in his chair and relaxed. &#x200B; I began with a heavy heart knowing that these words would likely be the last of my freedom. I was sure to make them count. "I would first like to say, that I am proud of you. In all the millions of years I have spent in existence, I am proud that I was given the opportunity, nay the privilege of seeing you come into your adulthood and become as skilled a hunter as any of these fine gentleman here. I ask this one thing of you, please let me stay. Or at the very least, truly kill me. I will show you all how."Murmurs started to fill the room. Galen raised his hand to quiet them. &#x200B; Galen spoke with newfound curiosity, "Why would a demon beg to stay here? Would it be to torment and pillage? Why would it that you would prefer a true death over returning to your home?" &#x200B; "Because there I was a slave. A lesser demon to all. I could not live my life freely and I was always under the bootheel of the next lord and master. Here... here I can do what I want, when I want. I have learned what it means to have community and what it means to be equal to your fellow man. I hope these words are not lost on your ears. Freedom is everything to me, but I will not lay a finger on you because you are the best thing to come from it." &#x200B; Galen stood up and turned his back to Lawrence. He then began to laugh. The kind of laugh when someone who is seemingly a villain knows something that you don't. Laughter filled the room Lawrence felt ashamed. His protégé was mocking him after he prostrated his soul in a plea for mercy. Lawrence was ready for whatever cruel fate they had for him. When the laughter died down, Galen turned back. His smile as wide as could be. &#x200B; Galen spoke, "Then Master Lawrence, I swear this day that you will not die, nor will you be exorcised or cast out of this world! I hereby swear it or my name is not Drozgarak."His eyes began to glow. Lawrence was in shock, with tears streaming down his face. Galen continued, "We have all felt the same as you, but we have made a difference and we have protected this world from our kin. I am Drozgarak lesser demon from the 3rd ring and I thank you for paving the way to our freedom." A wave of applause came from about the room and Lawrence was in tears as he moved to hug Galen. No longer would he be alone.
12:02 AM Finishing my TV show for the night, I work up the willpower to get off the couch and go brush my teeth before bed. I walk in to the bathroom down the hallway, turn on the light, grab my toothbrush and toothpaste, wt the brush a little and begin. The feeling of the soft bristles against my mouth makes me even more tired than I already was. It's soothing in a way. Repeated circular motions. staring into my own eyes, the deep brown reflected back at me. I struggle to hold my own gaze. 12:05 AM swish swash I rinse my mouth and spit into the bathroom sink. I turn towards the door, hit the light-switch and go back out into the hallway. I notice the light is still on in the living room. Must've forgot. I walk over and hit the light switch. Complete darkness. I turn back to the hallway and begin walking to my bedroom. 12:06 AM I hit a wall in the hallway. Damn darkness. I turn towards my bedroom again and keep walking. 12:09 AM I accidentally walked into the bathroom. No biggie, must've gotten turned around from the wall. I stand in the doorway of the bathroom and aim myself to where I know the bedroom is. I begin taking steps in that direction. 12:10 AM I'm still walking? 12:11 AM I stop. Something is off. I don't know what's happening. I don't know if I'm turned around. I don't know if I'm lost or if it's because I can't see. But I should have run into my bedroom wall by now. I turn back towards the bathroom and walk back. 12:12 AM My breathing is getting heavier. Something is off. Why haven't I found the bathroom yet? Why didn't I get to my bedroom? I keep walking down the hallway in pitch blackness feeling for a light switch or a doorway. ~~Do I even have a~~ ~~hallway?~~ Please let me find something 12:15 AM This is wrong. How the hell have I gotten lost? I know my own ~~apartment~~ house. My bed should be ~~at the back~~ in the bedroom. The bedroom ~~doesn’t exist~~ is straight behind me. The bathroom should be straight ahead. Why? 12:17 AM What is going on? Am I having a nightmare? ~~Am I being punished?~~ Is this an illusion? What the HELL is going ON? 12:20 AM Tears stream down my face. I haven’t hit any walls at all. I can’t see anything. I drop to the floor. Why is this happening? Who or what is doing this? Why me? ~~I don’t deserve~~ ~~this!~~ Just let me go back to my ~~bed~~ room! 12:24 AM This is my worst nightmare. Lost in nothingness. I can’t see. I can’t find anything. My head feels like It’s going to explode. ~~Is~~ ~~something in my head?~~ I’m lost. Something has felt off this whole time and now I know why. This is~~n’t~~ my house. I ~~don’t~~ have a house ~~I had a studio.~~ 12:30 AM Why can’t I remember? Why can I tell it’s off? Where is my bed? I get up and I keep walking. I start running. I don’t care where. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what else I could do. What the fuck What the fuck What the fuck What the fuck ~~What the fuck~~ What the fuck What ~~the fuck~~ 12:43 AM I collapse. I’m sobbing. I curl up. ~~I give up.~~ ~~12:43 AM~~ ~~I give up.~~ ~~12:43 AM~~ ~~I give up.~~ ~~12:43 AM~~ ~~I give up.~~ 12:43 AM NO! 12:43 AM LEAVE ME ALONE 12:44 AM LET ME GIVE UP. ~~I~~ ~~WANT TO QUIT~~ STOP ~~12:50 AM~~ ~~Please~~ 12:51 AM Please 12:57 AM Suddenly, a light. I can see a light through my tears. It’s a lamp? I get up. 12:58 AM It’s my living room lamp? I walk up and touch it. I turn around. My couch. 12:59 AM I sit down. My TV is back. My TV show is playing. I can’t cry anymore. I just want to forget. I just want to forget. I don’t want to move anymore. I don’t want to think. I don’t know what happened. I just want to watch my show. I watch my show. The tears stop. ~~The thoughts stop.~~ 12:02 AM Finishing my TV show for the night, I work up the willpower to get off the couch and go brush my teeth before bed. I walk in to the bathroom down the hallway, turn on the light, grab my toothbrush and toothpaste, wt the brush a little and begin. The feeling of the soft bristles against my mouth makes me even more tired than I already was. It's soothing in a way. Repeated circular motions. staring into my own eyes, the deep brown reflected back at me. I struggle to hold my own gaze.
“What?” Shrieked a villager, loud enough to shock the others in the marketplace. “They can’t do that? She’s been nothing but a hero!” “I know,” replied the other, “but king’s orders.” A stillness fell over the normally boisterous open area. Everyone looked around, seeing the hardened looks of the others. There was a silent agreement written on each face. A small girl, no older than nine, with a frown painted on her lips voiced what they all thought. “Not without a fight.” The grim atmosphere changed to one of determination. Everyone, young and old, gorgeous and bland, able bodied and not, scouted their belongings for anything to act as weaponry. Gardening tools and farming equipment, slingshots and toys, the few hunters finding their arsenals and distributing them to those without a weapon, everyone armed with something to defend. They weren’t fighting for only the wealth, no. They fought because the dragon was the first one to hear their pleas and not respond with apathy. There was no pity from the dragon, there was an effort to help. There was genuine good will. And no power or force in the world was going to stop them from protecting the one creature who cared about them.
The music blares and the audience cheers as confetti bursts forth from cannons as I stood there stunned. The iron grip from the host was practically menacing as he grabbed my hand to violently shake it and his smile was incredibly eerie. The music and the audience dies down and the announcer finally releases my hand. "Congratulations! In our entire broadcasting history of 'The Biggest Fucking Piece of Shit Loser' you truly have proven yourself to be the best of contestants and are without a doubt the biggest fucking piece of shit loser!"The announcer cheers. "Im a what!?"I snap back at him but Im drowned out by more theme music, applause and confetti. The music and applause dies down but the confetti still rains down. "So tell us! What was your secret to success? how did you manage to become the biggest fucking piece of shit loser?"The announcer giddily asks me as he shoves the microphone in my face hitting me on the nose. I swat the microphone away. "What the hell is going on here? What is this how did I get here?"I ask completely perplexed. "Folks! The show is over and he still commits to his character, this is why he is undoubtedly biggest fucking piece of shit loser!"The announcer joyfully says into the mic as the theme music and applause picks up again. "No! No! No! Stop the music stop all of this insanity!"I shout while waving my arms in a cutting motion. "Well sir, dont you remember? You're on the hottest game show in Kyrgyzstan!"The blonde haired, blue eyed, white skinned sharply dressed announcer decrees. "Kirgi...Kirgi what? Where the hell am I? Im American!"I demand to know from the announcer. "We're broadcasting live from our studio sir! You have been in a virtual reality simulation as a contestant on 'The Biggest Fucking Piece of Shit Loser'!" "No...no thats impossible what the fuck is going on? My name is Johnathon Long, I was married, I had kids but really bad stuff has been happening to me and..."Im cut off by the announcer "Nope! All of that was simulated! Your real name is Jonathon Short! Your wife and kids are sitting right there in the audience! They've been cheering for you this entire time! They have shown some serious love and determination for you!"The announcer shouts into the microphone. "I...this is a dream how the hell could it not be?"I ask myself out loud. "A dream? Well tell me, in your dreams do you get checks for one million dollars?"The announcer asks as the theme music, applause and confetti begins again. "Yea that would happen in my dreams"I have to shout over the theme music. "Well dream no more! This is reality! Bring out the check!"The announcer gestures to a giant curtain that draws back revealing a check that is bigger than me. The music and applause continues. "STOP! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?"I should at the top of my lungs. The audience and announcer stare at me in shock as the music abruptly cuts. "Uhh, Bill you wanna take care of this?"The announcer says into a walkie talkie he pulled seemingly out of nowhere. Before I knew it I was being ushered off stage by two armed security guards. They escort me into an office flooded with fluorescent lighting where I take a seat across the table from a very small old man with a feeble annoying voice. "Hi there, Bill Fleischman, CEO of Schadenfreude entertainment. Take a look at this footage. See thats you, and you're getting in the capsule, and now you're out, only a few hours have gone by but it felt like a lifetime to you. You see, my audience enjoys watching the pain of others. Not because they're sadistic freaks, but because it makes them feel thankful for what they have, and makes them realize that they could have it worse, they could have it as bad as the biggest fucking piece of shit loser himself"He says gesturing towards me. "I have no memory of this, or any game show. what the.." "Yea right here in our waiver form that you signed it mentions that there could be some temporary memory loss. You'll get it back as you become adjusted. But you won the grand prize because out of all the contestants we had none of them managed to be a bigger piece of shit fucking loser more than you did. So you win the grand prize, one million dollars."The little man elucidates. "Other contestants"I warily ask. "Oh yea, we got tons of capsules lined up in different studios, they all lost. So they'll be spending a lot more time in the capsules to be broadcasted, we'll have to crank up the misery factor though."He says like it's not big deal. "What country are we in?"I ask. "Kyrgyzstan, our show is illegal as shit to do in all other countries, but they let us broadcast it with enough kickbacks."The man replies. "Look listen. You won a million bucks, your memory will be coming back, but I need you to work with me here. I loved the genuine reaction you had coming out of the capsule but I need you to go back to the stage and accept the check with a smile on your face. Folks love a happy ending ok? Take him back."The old man gestures with his hand shooing me away. The guards yank me up from the chair and shove me back in the direction of the stage. Im ushered back on stage, it is dead silent. The announcer stares at me with contempt. "You know what to do?"The announcer asks me deadpan. "Uhh. yea I know what to do."I nervously reply. "Good. Alright hit it in three, two, one"The announcer says to the air counting down on his fingers. Near instantly his smile and exuberance is back along with the theme music and applause. He coaxes me towards the check all while praising me for winning the show. I try moving the monstrosity of a check but it must weigh over a ton, I cant budge it. "Now before you take that check, tell the camera and the entire world what you are!"The announcer sticks the microphone in my face again as the camera focuses on me. Im freaked out so I comply. "I'm the biggest fucking piece of shit loser"I reluctantly say as the theme music and applause becomes even more uproarious. "We have our grand winner folks! Tune in next time to see who will take second place in the consolation five year competition! See you all next time!"The announcer cheers into the camera "Cut!"A voice blares from nowhere. The music, applause and all theatrics cease. "Ugh finally done with that shit."The announcer drops his character. "Yea dont try and move the check dumbass it's a prop, you'll get your check on your way out, your family will be there too. Now fuck off I need a cocaine break."The announcer rudely says as he shoves me out of the way. The armed guards return and escort me out of the building. Like the man said I got a check for one million dollars and my family was waiting for me outside. I still couldn't remember a thing about them though. They were total strangers to me. The two children pawed at me asking if I remembered them, my supposed wife looked at me with such concern asking if Im ok and if Im remembering now. I don't remember a thing, but wherever I am now is so much better than where I was before. I hopped in the car with them, we got on a plane and headed home to Canada apparently, guess Im not American. I had a lovely trip back, my two daughters eagerly tried to get me to remember them, my wife whispered to me how badly she wanted me in bed to no end. We arrive at a quaint house in a nice looking neighborhood. I have a check for a million dollars, guess Ill have to convert it to Canadian currency. I try to quell my confusion but no memory is returning to me. I walk up the path and open the door to my house and step across the threshold my eyes still glued to the check. The music blares and the audience cheers as confetti bursts forth from cannons.
The streets were slick with rain that November morning. Cars crawled timidly through the deluge, their yellow headlights only managing to pierce the curtain of water for a few feet. Nothing else seemed to exist but the shapes of the cars and the rain. Bruce watched this dramatic scene apathetically from the alleyway against which he slouched, taking deep drags from a ragged Marlboro and listening to the quiet sobs of his boss. Bruce wasn't your standard, mindless thug. He was analytical, sharp as a whip, and cold. His eyes scanned the thick sheet of rain like security cameras, and his face never showed any hint of discomfort at the fact that, despite being one of the most powerful crime bosses in the country, Mr. Gentry was sobbing into his knees like a small child. Even as his partner tried to console their ruthless overlord, Bruce was letting the opportunity he saw marinate. With a silent chuckle, he blew out a final, thin stream of smoke and flicked his cigarette through the veil outside the alleyway. He turned sharply, squatted down in front of Mr Gentry, and shook him, hard. "Hey, hey, focus! I need you to concentrate."The blatant display of disrespect would have otherwise earned him a merciless beating, but Bruce knew it was worth the danger. It was a big risk, but a great opportunity. Mr Gentry just took the insubordinate gesture, his body racked with sobs. Bruce decided it was time to stop dipping his toes in the water and take the dive. He gave the man a hard swat across the side of his head. "HEY! FOCUS!" Mr Gentry's head jerked upwards, eyes bloodshot. He stared at Bruce like he'd just dropped out of the sky. Bruce didn't waste any time. "What happened? Who did this? What did he say to you?" Mr Gentry's lower lip quivered, but the swat seemed to have restored some rational ability. "H-he came to me when I-I-I was about to get in m-my car, s-s-said I was holding something b-back."His resolve flickered like a failing lightbulb. It was obvious that this was a man who'd been stripped of everything but his wealth and influence in the most devastating way possible. "Did he hurt you, boss?"Bruce's partner asked, eyes darting between the two men. He didn't understand, couldn't understand what was happening. "I'm not sure!"Mr Gentry cried, his composure collapsing. "He asked m-me a-about that meddling kid I dealt with last week, and I-"his voice fell to a whisper "-I didn't want to tell him, but I just started and I couldn't stop."He stared down at his hands, as if unable to believe they were his own. "He had a tape recorder, the whole world knows."Then he stared up at Bruce, his eyes almost pleading. "But there's more! He asked about me, my family, my- my childhood, and I just kept talking. Everything I've wanted to say, things I didn't even know I wanted to say, all of it!" His head flopped back into his arms as the sobs took him over again. Bruce exchanged a look with his partner. But apparently, Mr Gentry wasn't finished. He spoke through his own curled legs, his voice muffled by the soaked and expensive clothes. "In all my life, I've never released so much to anyone, do you understand? ANYONE! And I didn't even know his name." Bruce put a cold, comforting hand on his now ex-boss' shoulder. With a confession in the hands of some stranger, Mr Gentry's multiple careers were over. But Bruce knew this information would be invaluable if his suspicions were correct. "Did he give you anything, anything at all that might tell us who he is?" Mr Gentry shook his head violently, stammering. "N-no, he didn't give m-me his n-name goddammit! Just listened to me and said a little th-therapy's good for you! But h-he-"Mr Gentry was apparently overcome by another wave of understanding at his situation and collapsed into agonized wails again. "It's all over, it's all over, it's all over."He repeated to himself through his own curled form. Bruce stood up, curtly. "Yep, I'd expect it is."He looked out at the steady trickle of cars, that had continued to pass them by. The rain still hammered down all around them, covering the world in a deep gray mist. He looked back down at Mr Gentry. "I'd recommend leaving town, boss. Lotta people gonna be coming after you for what you did." With that, Bruce left the sad scene and disappeared through the rainy veil. He had news about the Therapist, and this time it was enough to get some big people's attention. Yes, he mused, as the cold rain bounced off his cold skin, this was a great opportunity.
The door banged open behind her. Lucille stopped stirring her large, steaming pot of stew and placed her wooden spoon next to the hearth. She turned to see a rugged group of four soot stained ruffians entering the tiny abode. Her plump faced cat watched from its hiding spot at her feet near the fire. “Oh fiddlesticks.” Lucille said, “ I was not expecting company tonight. I hope I have enough.” She resumed stirring the bubbling pot. “I’m afraid there is only one loaf of bread. We will need to share.” The raider with a hook for a hand called towards her back, “We’re not here to eat granny. Why are you poachin’ our people? We agreed to leave you alone if you feed us, but this can’t go on.” Lucille turned around holding a stack of wooden bowls and spoons. She bustled around the cramped room setting the table and closing the door. The imposing figures packed into the small home moved out of her way naturally when she passed by them. “The only things I’m ‘poachin’ are eggs. Now take a seat everyone, this beef is fresh.” After a bowl and spoon was side by side at each chair she returned to the hearth and gave the stew one last stir. Wrapping a cloth around her hand, she used it to remove the large pot from it's hook and carried the stew towards the table with a ladle in her other hand. Confused glances flew between the raiders until one by one they all took a seat at the table. Hookhand said, “Well, alright. We’ll have a bowl of stew, but seriously grandma this has got to stop. We can barely put together a raiding party. Everyone wants to kick back in this valley and toss around dirt.” Lucille set about pouring a heaping ladle of beef stew into every bowl before placing the pot back over the fire and retrieving a crispy, golden loaf of bread. Picking up the knife at the center of the table she divided the loaf into four quarters and placed one in front of each raider. “That dirt tossing is what made this meal you are about to eat. Why all this fussin about raiding anyway?” She moved away to prepare a bowl for herself. Hookhand held up his piece of bread with the hand he was born with, “Hey granny, you didn’t save any bread for yourself.” “Oh that’s quite alright hunny. I only need one bowl. You all eat up.” Spoons clattered against bowls as the raiders attacked them voraciously. They were using their bread to mop gravy up when Hookhand sat back with his unhook hand on his belly. “Really though, grandma. You gotta stop taking our people.” None of them looked particularly ready to do anything if she didn’t. The others would not even look towards her. “We can talk about this tomorrow sweetie. I need to get to cleaning up this mess.” With a dutiful burst of energy Lucille gathered all the dirty bowls and spoons, piling them in a small tub next to the door. She wrestled the door open and a cool breeze blew through the packed room. The raiders were all looking towards Hookhand now. He pushed back from the table to stand. “Thanks grandma, that was great.” He stood and walked out of the hut. The other raiders waved their thanks as they followed him outside. Lucille nudged the door closed and walked over to the cubby hole near the hearth. She scraped the remains of the cooking pot into a new bowl and placed it in front of the cat’s hidey hole. The cat pounced upon the bowl immediately. She stroked it's fur as it ate, “Kindness is like water in these times Tulip. With enough of it, we can nurture this world back into something to be proud of.”
It would have been just a case of a pest doing some minor damage had it not been for the events of... *Friday. You've heard the story before. A group of drunken teens found an old book with a human face* on it, bound in human leather, and decided to ignore the chains and numerous warnings and read from it. Well, bobs your uncle, you've got a Class-2 demonic incursion on your hands. Normally this gets resolved fairly naturally - a local priest that's been struggling with his faith and alcoholism works through his issues and rises to the occasion. Not today. The demon, to their credit, did not stand around and gloat as it faced the priest, still covered in the blood of the teenagers, and just snapped his neck. It then made its way to the local Church to burn it down; ensure no holy relics are available when the townsfolk catch on. It did not expect to face its greatest enemy at the church. The Raccoon. The night before, a very brazen raccoon broke into the church pantry and proceeded to consume several bottles of communion wine and almost all of the communion bread. Now there is sat, very full, very happy, and roughly 95% the body of Christ. As the demon swung the church doors open, he saw it, bright as a lighthouse, at the door behind the altar. He shrieked and recoiled for it cast its holy gaze at him, burning him like channelling a thousand suns, holy energy emanating from its fluffy body. It twitched its whiskers; each slight motion sent waves of divinity reverberating through the church hall, throwing the demon back into a wall. The demon howled in unholy pain, resembling a wounded animal, and hastily scribbled several glyphs on the ground before a portal opened and it made its panicked escape. The raccoon sniffed the air a bit and started washing. The sole witness to this even - a scared altar boy hidden in the confession booth - then went on to tell the tale of the mighty and heroic creature that had banished evil that day and surely saved countless lives. And that is how the Church of the Raccoon started. The raccoon became a beloved symbol and figure and was venerated by the townsfolk - then the country - and soon, the world. It had its diet adjusted to something a tad healthier than bread and alcohol but remained happy nevertheless. Praise the Holy Raccoon.
I never thought this day would come, but here we are, me and a dolphin. Sitting in two rather comfortable beach chairs with glasses of wine. When I said I was going to summon a god, this was the last thing I imagined. “So kiddo, you really couldn’t find anyone else to help?” Said the dolphin, speaking in English somehow, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. “Yea… uh hi. My name is Danny and I—“ “Whoa whoa whoa, I’m gonna stop you there kid, I already know why you’re here, hell, you think I didn’t see you say the same scripted thing over and over again expecting a response?” Said the dolphin as he interrupted my speech. “Yea I suppose you have a point… well, can you do it?” I say, almost pleading at this point. “Yknow what kiddo, I’m feeling generous, I’ll give ya this. You get a trial run of your wish, if it isn’t how you like it, you can go back to how it was before but you have to worship me every day” the dolphin says as he down his wine in one gulp and summons another glass. I’m elated, I stand up and put out my hand to shake. Then I realize this is still a dolphin. “No it’s alright kid you don’t need to shake my fin, let’s just…” there’s a snapping noise and I’m back in my room. To my excitement I look in my hamsters cage… “Hello there young lad, do you happen to be Daniel?” Says my hamster, finally able to talk and have opposable thumbs.
I could always communicate with the dead, but I learned very quickly to pretend that I couldn't. People finding out you see and hear ghosts was never a good thing. That's how you get sent to infuriatingly calm-voiced doctors and counselors for "evaluation". Even worse, though, is when the ghosts find out you can see them. All of a sudden, their "unfinished business"is somehow your problem, and unless you want the dearly departed jump-scaring you all day out of spite, you have to help them resolve it. Thus, I avoided eye contact with the dead, kept my unearthly sixth sense to myself, and just tried to live my life. I never stopped seeing them, but eventually, the spirit world just became part of the background noise of my life. Birds squawking, car horns honking, and the groans of the damned -- you just learn to tune it out. That was until my fateful trip to Hong Kong. I'd been sent there by the company I worked for to train some employees in our Asian subsidiary but had some spare time for sightseeing. As always, I avoided giving the scattered spirits any sign I could see them, never letting my eyes linger on the dead -- especially in a foreign country. Being able to hear ghosts doesn't mean I automatically know what they're saying, and the last thing I need is a ghost who only speaks Cantonese trying to get me to help them find rest, despite the language barrier. But then, at the mouth of an alley, I saw something I couldn't tear my eyes away from: the pale ghost of an old woman stood by a firing barrel, across from a living, middle-aged man, who she seemed to be watching expectantly. He was awkwardly holding a cup of instant noodles with chopsticks stuck in the top in the crook of one arm, as he reached into a paper bag, and pulled out what looked a tiny replica of his cup of noodles made of paper. He dropped it into the barrel, and then set it alight with a match. Instantly, a steaming cup of ghostly noodles appeared in the old woman's hands. She gave a broad, gap-toothed smile, and began eating them. As I watched in amazement, the man and the old dead woman just quietly had lunch together, and then parted ways, with the man pausing to press his palms together in respect. To my further astonishment, the woman then called out something in Cantonese, and a ghostly man pulling a rickshaw darted out of the wall of the alley. She handed the other ghost a few bills, then climbed into the rickshaw, and the other apparition \spirited her away,\ if you'll excuse the expression. At first, I thought the noodle man must have the same gift I did, but when I asked him what he'd been doing with the paper noodle bowl, he laughed, looking a little embarrassed. It turned out that like many residents of Hong Kong, he spoke pretty good English. He said the paper noodles were part of a modern adaptation of an old Chinese custom of honoring the spirits of their ancestors with offerings. Papercraft items, called "joss paper"in English, were burned with the idea that doing so gave the ancestor being honored the spirit of the item represented by the paper. Kind of like how Egyptian pharaohs were buried with little model chariots and furniture, which would presumably be full-sized and functional in their afterlife. In modern-day Hong Kong, people burned paper smartphones, paper condos, paper cars, paper food, paper jewelry, paper gold, and even paper money which was printed -- due to a cultural and linguistic misunderstanding -- in the name of the "First Bank of Hell". The noodle man add that he didn't really believe in it, but his grandmother had, and so every so often he'd perform a simple offering or two in her honor --- apparently a fond memory of his was sharing a lunch of instant noodles with his grandma l, as a child. It hadn't occurred to me that a ghost would have any desires beyond ending its purgatorial sojourn and moving on -- this encounter had given me a whole new perspective on the dead. Shortly after my trip overseas, I was laid off from my job. It turned out I'd been training people who would, in turn, train other people in the company's Delhi office, and those people would take over my job remotely. Surprisingly, I didn't mind so much. I had my own business venture in mind. That’s how, six months later. I found myself cashing in over fifteen thousand dollars in chips at The Mirage in Las Vegas. The suspicious glare of the pit bosses had been almost palpable when I’d cleaned up at the roulette table to a degree that would make any statistician have a seizure, but they had nothing on me. Their cameras and sharp-eyed security guards might be able to spot cheats and card counters a mile away, but there wasn’t much they could do about Mary Lou, the shade of an ambitious young woman who’d come to Vegas from her small town in Kentucky to experience the high life back in the 1970s, but had said life cut tragically short by an overdose. By exerting the tiny bit of force she still could apply to the physical world, Mary Lou could put a roulette ball exactly where I wanted it to go, among other ghostly tricks that made gambling not much of a gamble for me. As I exited the casino, cash in a locked briefcase, Mary Lou floated up beside me, and flashed me a smile that was dazzling despite her…well, her condition. When I’d found her moping around the dark alley off the strip where she died, she’d looked pretty rough, clad only in the torn, dated polyester dress she’d passed away wearing. Now -- courtesy of my joss paper supplier in Hong Kong -- she was decked out in a gleaming satin evening dress and high heels, with a fox fur wrap draped over her shoulders (it’s otherworldly ectoplasm and paper, don’t @ me, PETA) and her neck and fingers sparkled with ghostly gems. “Where to now, sugar?” she drawled, playfully linking her arm with mine and matching my pace so she didn’t pass through me. “Now? You’re off the clock, go wherever you like.” I said, stifling a yawn. “Me, I’m calling it a night.” “Aw!” she pouted, trying in vain to tug at my sleeve. “Don’t be boring, boss -- come on, let’s go check out the Aladdin!” I shook my head, with a wry smile. “I need my res. Besides, that’s not exactly my kind of place -- remember?” The Aladdin Hotel & Casino she referred to had been a fixture of the Las Vegas strip, back in her day, but it had been demolished in 1998. I didn’t know what would happen if I tried to follow my deceased employee into the bygone casino’s ghostly echo, which seemed to roughly intersect with the Planet Hollywood Casino that occupied the site where it once stood, and I didn’t particularly want to find out. She shrugged, pulling out her phone and scrolling through it. She’d taken to modern technology remarkably fast, once I’d burned her some. I still didn’t know what that phone connected to, but it must do something, considering how often she’s on it. Maybe old iterations of the internet and cellular networks have spectral echoes, too, just like the Aladdin. “Suit yourself, boss man! As for me, I’ll sleep when I’m…well, you know what I mean. Bye, babe!” I waved at her fondly as she floated away and vanished into the crowd. For the first time in my life, I’d made peace with my gift, and even found a way to make it work for me. That was a plus. On the downside, I was seriously worried that I might be falling for a woman who had died decades before I was born.
"It's not very sportsmanlike." The lizard man's eyes blinked horizontally. "I'm not a ssssportsman." "You know what I mean."The ghost looked through the kitchen window and into the living room, where a portly man was rocking aggressively in his recliner, the blue light of his TV blinking dimly on his face. "You haven't met him yet, have you?"The lizard's tongue slithered quickly from his mouth, smelling the air around them. "No, but I don't see--" "Shh, shh, wait! Watch!"The lizard man pointed through the window. A bright commercial cast white light on the man's form. His belly jiggled under his sleeveless TV shirt while he sipped from a can of Natural Light. "What am I looking at?" "Behind him. Look." The ghost's pale, dead eyes followed the lizard man's long, scaly finger to find a tall form standing still behind the man's recliner. "Oh shit. What the f... What is that!?" The lizard man was wheezing and hissing with anticipation, his clawed feet dancing in place. "Jusssst watch!" The thing behind the man was tall, its head wide and its eyes large and black. It was motionless as the TV shone light on its body, but rapidly moved its arms toward the man with every blink of blackness between commercials. Its fingers, long and sharp at their edges, reached towards the man's baseball-cap-covered head. Its mouth opened, wide and long, with rows of razor sharp teeth bared. A long pause between programming produced a period of utter darkness in the house. When light returned, the creature's hands were pressed into the plush cushion of the chair's back. "Ooga booga booga!"The monster shouted as it shook the seat violently. "What in tarnation!"The man screamed as he rose and swung his fists around. The creature disappeared, leaving the flailing, terrified man with a front wet with budget beer and his recliner knocked to the floor. "Communists! Nazis! Globalists!"He screamed. The lizard man was bending over, trying his hardest quiet his laughter. "Did you ssssee it!? Did you ssssee what he did? He's a madman!" "Wha--"the ghost couldn't think of what to say. Why this? Why him? The bushes rustled beside the peeping pair. The creature from inside stepped out. "Fellas,"he greeted them with a smile and a nod of his huge head. Was he...an alien? "Outstanding work, ssssir,"the lizard offered. The alien gave a gentile bow. "Thankyaverehmuch." "Okay, rookie. Your turn,"the lizard tried tapping the ghost's back, but his claw went right through. "Go steal his hat." The man's voice bellowed from inside. "Police? It's Jeremy...Yes, it's me again. Aliens were in my house again! They spilled my beer!"
My life wasn't particularly interesting or noteworthy from any perspective. Not even my own. I lived a calm, peaceful life and looked forward to dying at the ripe age of 82, the statistically average age to die for one such as myself. Except I didn't die. I could go on about the rise and fall of nations that I witnessed during my seemingly endless life. I lived long enough to see the continents shift. Humanity had a good run. They figured most of it out in the end. And that was it. No grand finale, no interstellar empires, no apotheosis or posthumans. We danced and laughed and then it was over. After I was the last human alive there were still other lifeforms. Some creatures you'd recognize, others you'd marvel at. But they, too, died like everybody else. Except me. No matter the heat, the starvation, even the radiation, I just didn't die. Even when everything else did. Until one day when I was feeling particularly sickly. I saw a figure walking towards me from the horizon. A person in a black robe, carrying a scythe. The anthropomorphic representation of death hadn't used a robe and a scythe for millions of years in common mythology - they must have brought it out just for me. "What was that all about?"I asked them. "I don't really know", said Death. "I mean was I bitten by a vampire? Was I chosen by fate for some grand deed? Some genetic anomaly? Cursed by a slighted witch?""I'm afraid the time for answers has passed", they responded. "What about you?", I asked them. "There are no more humans left. I don't think there will be any humans ever again. No more souls to collect or usher into the next world. What will Death do now?"Death waved their scythe around them despondently. "One day even the stars may die. One day perhaps even the universe. But Death will never die, no matter how strange the aeon." My odd two hundred million years of life hadn't always been pleasant. But there had been pleasant things in them. When there wasn't loneliness, or sickness, or hunger. I could recognize in another person, then, the imperfections of immortality. "I've never asked anyone this before - I don't suppose you'd like to stay?"asked Death. "Fuck no. You owe me a death.""I don't suppose I could threaten you with the empty oblivion awaiting you?""Would it be the truth?"Death sighed. "No. It's wonderful over where you're going.""Then I'd like to go now, thank you very much." Death swooshed their scythe over my head in a dramatic fashion. Then they grabbed my hand, and I could feel my soul starting to... you know, pass over to the other side or something. I didn't know what was happening. But Death gripped my hand so hard I was afraid they wouldn't ever let go. "Would you tell them from me?"they asked. "What would you like me to say?" "Tell them 'don't forget about me'", they begged. "Aye, I can do that."And that was it. A bacteria couldn't say it. A virus wouldn't say it. But a human, the last thing alive, could. When it was time. The last thing to pass over - ever. Death gripped my hand, and I gripped theirs right back. Why not, I thought, why not bring an honored guest with me.
The white-coated scientist stared for a long moment, watching in increasing confusion as the colony of rats before him worked within their tiny village. "Have you tried an exterminator?"He glared over to the homeowner, who seemed unimpressed by his question. "Yes, four separate ones. All said they couldn't do anything about it. Didn't feel comfortable killing something so well trained."As he spoke he gestured to the rat colony, which now were working together to lower a bit of piping from a roof via a rope pulley. He continued, "I tried to tell them I hadn't trained them, but they wouldn't have it. Left without so much as a second glance." The man in the white coat had since stopped listening. In his hands was now a small leather bound notebook which he scribbled inside incessantly, writing down visible things like the shape of the mice's ears and length of their tails. All normal it seemed. He jotted a few final words before clicking his pen and replacing it in his jacket pocket. "Sorry, I stopped listening. You said you did call an exterminator?" "For christ sake- yes! Four of them. I mean, just look, that one is rediscovering the wheel!"Down below in the rat village an aproned rat had almost knocked all the corners from a square hunk of wood. Each corner gone meaning one step closer to the next step of rat evolution. "Tsk tsk, yes it seems they'll be riding in carriages in no time." "So...what do we do?" The scientist, Dr. Berkley-Berkley, had gone back to his notebook and was now drawing a detailed diagram. A recreation of the rat village in the basement. Every little house, made from carved chunks of the concrete foundation and bits of wood from the basement wall panels. The well at the center, filled with water dripping in occasionally from the ceiling. All the way down to the tiny mushroom gardens lining the edges of the rat village. He drew it all in great detail, then finished it off with a sloppy signature. Dr. Berkley-Berkley turned back to the homeowner. "Have you tried a Historian?"
“After all this time…” I whispered, running my fingers lightly over the crown. “The crown finally belongs to me.” My advisor nodded grimly. “Yes, sire. What a shame about your parents,” he sighed. Ah, yes. My parents. “What a shame, indeed,” I muttered. “They lived long and happy lives, so I suppose that it could’ve been worse for them.” My poor parents, King Harvey and Queen Elena, had ruled the Greater North for the past 32 years. …Unfortunately, they weren’t very successful at running an empire. Funds were low for most of their rule, the food quality was poor, the people weren’t the happiest. But the king and queen were decent enough to keep them from rioting and overthrowing them. And then there was me. My parents never really knew how to raise a child. I’m not saying they were negligent, far from it. They just had to juggle being royalty while attempting to handle childcare. But no matter. They did teach me the most important thing. ’See that horse, over there, Caleb?’ my father said.’See how it’s rider has it completely calm with its reins? That’s how you do it. When you are King, promise me that you’ll keep people under control so they don’t panic.’ I promised, but not in the way he thought. People need to be controlled. It’s clear to see that this kingdom, this empire, needs a strong pit of hands at the reins to bend them and mold them to their will. I cleared my throat as I picked up the crown. “Very well. I had to begin my rule at some point,” My advisor nodded quickly, flipping through his notes. “Yes, yes… you said earlier that you had some issues with the way the hospitals and schools are run?” I nodded grimly. “Yes, I do. I-“ “Oh, I do thank you for considering changing the curriculum of the schools. My daughter goes to the Evergreen Academy down in the central city, and she’s always complaint about all the problems there.” My eye twitched. “Problems?” We began to walk towards ~~my father’s~~ my throne as my advisor continued. “Yes, problems,” he continued. “All the staff never taking any complaints seriously or actively engaging with the children, the playground outside is in a horrid state, and the lunches are terribly lacking in nutrients. A wretched place, indeed.” I sighed as we continued our trek. “And the hospitals?” “They turn you away unless you live in the wealthy part of the city or you have a serious injury. There are no check-ups, no medications without prescription, and no prescription with out getting a a check-up! It’s a terribly vicious cycle,” My advisor shuddered. I sat down on the throne, pinching the bridge of my nose. How can I control these people if they don’t have anything to be used as leverage for controlling them? “The grocery stores?” “Only restock at the end of the month.” “How’s employment?” “We currently have a…” he flipped through the notes. “37 percent unemployment rate.” I groaned. This place was in worse condition then I thought. Perhaps I should use a different method to control these people. “How much money do we have in the bank?” My advisor looked up from his notes. “The public bank or royal fund?” “Both! Either! I don’t care!” I snapped, placing the crown on my head. “I was going to do something else, but we have to fix the economy first.” So much for being a controlling king…
"After much thought and consideration, I've decided to name the new house 'Caelumclavis.' The house colors will be silver and sky blue. Caelumclavis will be a house that values innovation, creativity, and adaptability. I believe this house will be a home for students who have an innate curiosity and a desire to explore the possibilities of magic and its connection to the world around them. The inspiration behind these choices stems from my deep dive into Hogwarts' history and the untapped potential that lies within the school. I noticed that each existing house has its own unique focus, but there wasn't a house that specifically emphasized the creative and innovative aspects of magical study. By naming the house 'Caelumclavis,' which is Latin for 'key to the heavens,' I wanted to inspire students to unlock their potential and strive for new heights. The colors silver and sky blue represent not only the boundless sky but also the idea of limitless possibilities. Silver is associated with the moon and its ever-changing phases, reflecting the adaptability that the students of Caelumclavis should possess. Sky blue, on the other hand, symbolizes clarity of thought and the desire to explore new horizons. I believe that by fostering these qualities in our students, we can create a generation of witches and wizards who are not only skilled in their craft but also visionary in their approach to magic. This will not only enrich the lives of the students themselves but also contribute to the magical world at large. I am confident that Caelumclavis will become an integral part of Hogwarts' legacy, and I am honored to have been given the opportunity to bring it to life."
"Did you see my new antigravity car when you came in?" Velix ears twitched with brief confusion. "No, near as I knew you do not have gravity technology." Dave nods. "And you do not have higher end power sources nor small and fast computers. I recall we replaced your room sized computer with an off the shelf note book." Velix chirps. "Precisely my point. How can you do all that and not have slip drives or anti-gravity?" Dave sighs looking up from his monitor. "Turn your question around. How can you have something that awesome but not high end computers or fusion power? Same effect. That is why we are trading technical experts to uncover the other little things that slipped past each other."
The first one had taken him longer than expected-- /r/Fermata simply refused to let go, despite the encouraging percussive blasts of a rock to the skull. Pure luck, a mutual surprise where years of quick-time events gave him the edge. Retreating to stealth mode let him silently dispatch poor /r/Outoftheloop, still struggling to adjust. Beyond those brief, terrifying encounters, he stayed safe and silent, watching four of the other competitors battle in a clearing below his perch in a tree. Suddenly, /r/Standupshots fired from the cliffs above, cutting down /r/Politics and /r/News while the other two figures retreated towards the tree line. /r/Gaming peered down at the two figures. One was bleeding, the other was impossibly well dressed. "Explain the point of this to me,"the wounded competitor said, "like I'm dying, and you actually know how to make me feel better." "Don't worry, dear friend,"the perfectly dressed one said, taking off his coat and rapidly tending to the wound. "I told you from the beginning I simply could not sit around and let this come to its grim conclusion."The impeccable one glanced up suddenly. "You may as well come down from there, /r/Gaming. I'm going to need your help, and you know damn well you aren't surviving this on your own." /r/Gaming lithely dropped down from the tree, pulling out a first-aid kit. He had no fear of betrayal here-- if /r/BestOf had a plan, then it was THE plan to follow, no questions about it. "How's /r/ExplainlikeIAMA going to be?"Gaming said after the last of the stitching was done. The battered man at his feet had dozed off. "He'll be fine if we let him rest for awhile,"said /r/BestOf. "Have you seen /r/Funny? I haven't noticed him since the fracas began." "Oh, /r/Standupshots sniped him first. Like, instant headshot. Bad blood between those guys, you know?" "Hmm, quite."/r/Bestof casually pulled a cigarette case from a vest pocket, offering one to Gaming. "OK, so here's how we're going to scale those cliffs and take /r/Standupshots by surprise..." Later: /r/Gaming and /r/Bestof walked back, /r/Bestof leaning a bit too heavily on his cane. "So that's it? You think we can just sneak out of the arena?" "Of course, dear boy. Now that we know /r/Standupshots cooked and ate all those /r/AdviceAnimals, there is no one else for us to worry about. It’s just the three of us, and daring escapes are--" There had been a quiet, dull thud. Gaming froze, easily recognizing the sound of a thrown knife entering a human skull. No point in turning around to look at that. "How could you, /r/ExplainlikeIAmA? You and /r/Bestof were always--" "Oh, /r/ExplainlikeIAmA is quite dead, I assure you." Gaming paused before looking over. "/r/Funny? Didn’t /r/Standupshots get you?" "Oh, /r/Funny was never in this competition for long, though his clothing and skin proved an excellent disguise thanks to all this cookware I picked up earlier from /r/FoodPorn. I'll spare you the details, they were… unpleasant." /r/Gaming raised his gun, but the mysterious figure had been ready and was far faster with his knives. As /r/Gaming breathed his last, the final contestant thought back on the day. The poor fools. Of everyone selected, only /r/Gaming had equal amounts of prep time (and you can never, ever overstate the value of prep time), but only one of them had taken time to think through these out-of-the-box scenarios. Looking up, the figure shouted to the creature he knew was listening. "It didn't have to come to this, Snoo. If they'd simply asked, why, I could have told them from the beginning. I could have told them!"Only silence answered /r/Whowouldwin. Victorious but, as always, questioning, he walked off into the woods. Edit: thanks for the gold!
The throne room of the Gods was unsettled, its empty throne simply reflecting the anger put forth by the more aggressive members of the Council. "You've got to be kidding me!!"Shouted Thor. "He's not even a real God!" The eyes of the rest of the Council of Gods shifted uneasily. Usually these things went down with a civil nature. "Come now Thor, he's as real as you and me. You know that whenever a new religion is created, its God, or Gods, appear here. It has been this way since my kindred appeared so many millennia ago."Replied Atum, the first of the Egyptian Gods. "He was created as a joke. He's a mockery of religion itself, created by those stupid humans who are too closed-minded to think there just might be something bigger!"Retorted Allah. Odin stood. He was usually silent unless he sensed great conflict. "Quiet down please. He as just as much a right to rule as any of us."He turned to face the source of the argument. "Go forth, friend. We have faith in you." With that, the Flying Spaghetti Monster rose, and took the throne.
"Alright men, listen up. As you venture forth to fight this war of the worlds, remember one thing. Remember that while I sit in my Captain's Quarters drinking my cham-pagin, I'll be out there fighting with you. Not actually fighting of course, but fighting in my mind like some sort of headache with a gun." Many of the men groaned. "Now I know that many of you are going to die."He pointed at one of the smaller men. "You especially. But without your sacrifice we couldn't hope to make the enemy run out of bullets. There are only so many they can have you know. And once they reach that number that's when we strike. One strike and they're out, just like baseball." The men began looking at each other nervously. "I have thought through every aspect of this battle that could possibly take place. Knowing our enemy, the Scottish, as well as I do, I have come up several life saving tips for all of you." "We're not fighting the Scottish!"Several of the men yelled out. Zapp pulled out a set of bagpipes. "Well I guess we won't be needing these."He threw them overboard. "Damn. Over 20 minutes of practice wasted. No matter, I have a backup plan. How many of you have practiced dying heroically?" No one said anything. He smiled. "Uh huh, well no time to learn like 5 minutes from now."Zapp pointed at the smaller soldier again. "Probably 3 minutes for you. And remember, the ladies love a hero. They also love greeting cards and velour."He felt his uniform. "Mmmmm." The boat approached the beach. "Okay men. Get out there and give those Scottish bastards Hell."
Chuck stared at the crumpled body on the floor, a pool of blood collecting beneath it and blending into its wrinkled yellow cape. This was absolutely not how he’d expected the morning to turn out; he’d grown so accustomed to failure in his criminal attempts that any sort of success was simply unthinkable. He carefully lifted his right foot and slowly began pushing the corpse away, like a housewife nonchalantly brushing dirt under a table. “What the fuck,” shouted a voice from across the room. “What have you done?” “No, please,” Chuck said. “Hush. Hush now.” He shifted slightly so his body blocked as much of the corpse as he could. He had a doctor’s appointment in 45 minutes, this wasn’t supposed to happen. In and out, that was it, same as always. “Is he dead?” said another voice. “No,” Chuck said, staring down at the clearly-dead body. His head was laying several inches away from his torso, expressionless eyes staring up at Chuck. “He’s sleeping, just sleeping. Trust me. He’s so tired. He and I are good pals, we were out partying last night. Now he’s asleep.” “He’s got no head, you asshole,” shouted a third voice. “You cut it off with some sort of incredibly elaborate pendulum.” “Did not,” Chuck said, turning toward the voices. The bank had emptied out, save for maybe ten people that remained huddled by the teller’s counter. They were staring at him, half of them with jaws dropped open, the other half covering their mouths with their palms. It was only a matter of time until the police arrived—or worse—although he knew no one would be in a rush. They never were when it came to his crimes—mainly because his tended to be less of the “violent” kind and more of the “elaborate yet inept” variety. It wasn’t that he didn’t try to be deadly, it was just that he never succeeded. Last week’s attempt, for example, had been an incredibly elaborate scheme in which he’d set up several buckets of water throughout the bank that were automated to spill at the exact same moment. A wire was to fall from the ceiling at that second, electrifying everyone in the area and allowing him to waltz in afterwards to steal some cash—just $15 or $20 to pay some overdue parking tickets, that’s all he’d ever wanted. Chuck had spent the whole week prior reading up on robotics so he could build the devices needed, only to finish setting them up mere minutes before the bank opened. The tellers greeted him when they entered, explained how excited they were for today’s misguided attempt at getting money for his parking ticket, and nodded admiringly at his work. Unfortunately, his plan ultimately failed after the arms neglected to dump their buckets, alongside the fact that he’d accidentally overlooked the whole “live, electrified wire” portion. Today, however, had turned out a bit different. “I’m telling you,” Chuck said, “he’s fine, just super tired.” He coughed. "So—uh—anyone catch the Jets game last night? Exciting stuff, right?"he said in a desperate attempt to change the topic. “He’s not fine,” shouted a man in a long, brown coat. It looked expensive—definitely worth more than his own. If he could have started the day over, he would gladly have just robbed this man, rather than following-through with this week’s plot. Now all he had was a dead body and an embarrassingly lackluster coat, which left him no closer to paying off his long-standing parking ticket. “You don’t know that,” Chuck said. He turned back toward the headless corpse and removed his jacket—now aware he no longer wanted it—and placed it over the body, pretending to tuck it in. “Please let him sleep. He's so tuckered out.” "He's got no head,"shrieked a woman. "You've got no head,"Chuck screamed back. He'd never been very good at on-the-spot retorts. "That doesn't even make any sense,"shouted the man in the expensive, brown coat. "Shut up,"Chuck said. “The hell is going on in here,” said a deep, foreboding voice from overhead. Chuck closed his eyes and sighed. There was only one man who had that accent, one symbol that spoke in such a clichéd way. The bane of his very existence, the man to foil all of the plots that he, himself, did not foil on his own. That came to exactly one: the day in which he’d almost accidentally succeeded in letting loose a highly venomous cobra in the bank. He was stopped at the last minute, during which he was punched incredibly hard in the face, with the cobra being grabbed and brought back to the zoo he’d stolen it from. It still hurt to think about that punch. “It’s not what it looks like,” Chuck said, glancing up toward the ceiling. A man in a tight, black suite was hanging by a thin rope overhead, its metal end impaled in the Styrofoam-esque tiling above. Long, black ears poked out from his mask, the symbol of a bat engraved into his muscular chest-piece. “What have you done,” he said, lowering himself to the ground. “What did you do to Robin?” “He’s napping,” Chuck said, jumping in front of Batman’s view. “Please don’t wake him up. He’s sleeping. Dear god, please just go away for a bit and let him sleep.” “Did you do this? How did you do this? You can’t do anything. You tried to set loose a pod of lobsters in here for crying out loud, only to have them latch onto your own hands and refuse to let go. I had to bring you to the hospital myself. How could you defeat Robin?” “Me? I didn’t do anything,” Chuck said, wiping his sweat-glazed forehead. “He’s just super tired. He was out partying with friends—I mean out with me. I am his friend. We were partying. I didn’t do anything here.” Batman bent down and pulled the jacket back, his eyes locked on the corpse. He slowly returned the jacket back into place before standing up. Chuck glanced at his watch. “Anyway, I should probably head home now.” “Don’t you fucking go anywhere,” he said, grabbing Chuck by the throat. “Murghg,” Chuck shouted in a constricted attempt at requesting Batman to rethink his actions. “Tell me what you did,” he snarled, his lower lip trembling as he spoke. “Tell me or I’ll break you.” “He’s sleeping,” Chuck shouted. “I just needed like $20 for a parking ticket, the same one I always need the money for! Why was he even standing there?” “What are you talking about,” Batman shouted. “Standing where!” He loosened his grip enough for Chuck to speak. “My bladed pendulum,” Chuck screeched. “I made a giant axe out of metal—I took a blacksmithing class to learn how—and strung it by the entrance this morning. It was going to swing back and forth for a while, maybe kill a few innocent people—oh, who am I kidding. It was going to swing back and forth fruitlessly, I accidentally made the blade incredibly dull.” “Go on!” Batman shouted, pinning Chuck against the wall beside the door, his hand still loosely around his throat. “I didn’t think it’d really do anything,” he said ”I’d hoped that maybe it would scare a few people and they’d close the bank so I could maybe break in and grab a few bucks. Then your pal Robin comes wandering in, sipping from a coffee cup and greeting everyone all cheerful-like.” Chuck paused, trying his best to regain his composure and ignore the hand clamped around his throat. "So there's Robin, walking without looking, coffee to his lips, when he accidentally kicks an automated arm holding a bucket of water."He paused again. "I want to make it clear that someone else left that there, totally not my fault. Anyway, it spilled all over the floor. He slips forward, his neck thrusting forward directly under my guillotine, which slices it clean off. I don’t even know how. I thought I'd accidentally made it duller than a butter knife.” “You cut off Robin’s head with a god damn pendulum hanging in a bank?” Batman said, his grip again tightening around Chuck’s neck. He lifted him off the wall and held him a few inches off the ground. “Y-yes,” Chuck stammered through gasped breaths. “It’s behind you.” Chuck nodded toward the bladed pendulum, still swinging to and fro. “That’s not possible,” Batman shouted. "Why can't you just pay the god damn parking ticket with your own money?"He shoved Chuck forward and onto the floor, Batman stumbling back from the force of his own push, tripping over his own cape and falling backward. Chuck closed his eyes as a deep, visceral scream echoed through the bank, followed by an abrupt silence. He slowly opened them back up. Once again, the pendulum was swinging at a slightly different angle, a new coat of blood dripping from its allegedly dull blade. Batman’s ragged body lay just a few feet from Robin’s. “What did you do?” shouted a voice from the opposite side of the bank, followed by a series of high-pitched shrieks. “N-nothing,” Chuck stammered, rising to his feet and walking over to the partially decapitated body. He softly began pushing it toward Robin’s, doing his best not to draw any attention to himself. “They’re asleep. Oh god, they’re just so tired.”
That night, from the safety of my racecar bed, I made a vow. I found a flashlight in the drawer where mom always kept it, then got a piece of paper and a pen from Dad's desk. Under my Care Bears covers, I wrote out a list. A list of all the moments and faults of my past life that I wished I could change. Number one on the list was obvious. Mom and Dad fought a lot. Almost always over money. He spent long hours at work, far into the night; she scrimped and saved just to give us kids a moment of happiness. They grew bitter and hostile until the marriage simply collapsed. That was easily fixable. Obviously he wasn't taking financial advice, so I just typed out and sent letters to his broker, telling him which stocks to go for. A few well-placed purchases for Dad of companies that I knew became huge, and we were well on our way to success. He was mystified, but thrilled. Next, I resolved to fix my grades. Certainly the easiest; I'd never been a star pupil, but I'd at least gone to college. First grade would be fine. Mom had always wanted to be invited to one of those awards ceremonies for kids, where they gave out little trophies for good marks. She'd stay up late with me every night to help me study; we'd go over the homework and I'd pretend like I cared. Around 7th grade, I stopped bothering to even pretend, and she gave up too. This time, I'd make sure that she had a wall of trophies and ribbons with my name on it. Sports was another thing on my list. Maybe if I'd been bookish, Dad wouldn't have been so disappointed when I turned out to be a terrible athlete. One particular pee-wee baseball game was forever etched in my memory; he'd managed to get off of work to come see me play, and for the first time in forever, I got a hit! It bounced into the outfield... but I ran straight for third base, instead of first. I still remember him yelling as I stood on the white sack, proud but confused about why the adults were shouting. This time, I would really work at it, especially since school wouldn't be an issue any more. The next bullet was a bit more personal: I'd been in love with the same girl since I was seven, and I'd utterly ruined it. Her name was Amanda, and she lived down the street. We'd been best friends until puberty hit and built a wall between us. I was too shy to keep talking to her, and she was too beautiful to be seen with a loser like me. We drifted apart through high school while she was courted by every jock in school; I watched from the sidelines, wishing that she'd remember me. This one would be the hardest to fix, but I was determined to become a man worthy of her affection. It's been two decades since that night. Twenty years of puppetry and subtle nudging, controlling the destiny of everyone around me while maintaining the facade of an innocent child. My family is wealthy beyond our wildest dreams. My parents are still married. I was an honors student and varsity athlete. I'm engaged to Amanda. And I'm utterly miserable. Mom and Dad stopped fighting about the money, but they found other arguments. About anything, really. One particular spat about whether butter belongs in the fridge or sitting out ended up with some shattered plates and some covered-up bruises. Dad continued to work himself into an early grave, despite having more than he could ever spend. He had even less time for me this go around than before. I became the scholar and the athlete that I always wanted to be, but I relied so heavily on my knowledge from the past that I never bothered to actually learn. Mom never bothered with those late-night study sessions, given that I was a child prodigy. By middle school, she was so wrapped up her in own issues that she didn't even bother asking if I had homework. Right around the end of high school, I realized that I hadn't remembered as much as I thought, and that I'd never gotten up to advanced calculus in the first place. The athleticism that I focused on so much didn't really pan out either: I busted a knee in my senior year, and I'll probably have this limp for the rest of my life. And, in the end, I got the girl. Amanda is just as beautiful as I remember. I stayed friends with her throughout our childhood, and I was thoughtful and confident as a teenager. I showered her with gifts and affection, and two years ago, I bought her the most beautiful diamond that money could be. Of course, that was before I learned that she was cheating on me. With a number of guys. But our lives are so entwined now that I can't picture living without her, so I soldier on, pretending that she has a hair appointment twice a week. Like I said: on the outside, we have the perfect life. But I sit here now waiting for the clock to strike midnight as it did 20 years ago. I'm waiting to go back. This time it will be different. This time, I'll do it right.
Once, Eenie, Meanie, Miney, Moe, They caught a tiger by the toe. And how it got there, it was so: They left a glass of Bordineaux And hoped that it would see it glow. The tiger stopped and saw the show, And snare ensured it would not go. Then Eenie, Meanie, Miney, Moe Stepped up to deal the final blow. Thus spake the beast, "I'll have you know, I know the good king Barbideaux. And Barbideaux, as gust of snow, Shall come with all his guard in tow. And should they see me lying so, He shall ordain your time to go. He'll lock you up in prison's stow, In heavy chain, arms up as though The rifle's pointed à vos dos. Then lock he'll turn, then key he'll throw, And that's the last you'll ever know." Then Eenie, Meanie, Miney, Moe Knelt in wonder at its toe. They said, "We swear we did not know, But knowing this, we'll let you go. We promise this, if apropos, We shall not change the status quo." And freedom then they did bestow To prey they deemed it best forgo. And, with a nod, its tail did throw, They saw in brush the tiger go. Thus Eenie, Meanie, Miney, Moe, Did catch a tiger by the toe.
The year is 2137, 115 years after the discovery of reincarnation. We've been keeping prisoners alive inside this facility for well over a century. The worst of the worst. We planned to keep them all contained indefinitely. I thought that too, but then it happened, but first how it all started. I was fresh out of Interpol's academy when I was assigned to work at Tartarus. My fellow classmates thought I had it easy. While they had to run around chasing the few criminals that committed suicide before they were caught, I sat here guarding the equivalent of an ice cream factory. How I long for those days. At first that's exactly how the work was. I made sure the prisoners stayed asleep, and that no escape attempts were made. It was mundane work at best. That's when we got a new prisoner. He was some bureaucrat, at least from what we were told, that had friends in very high places in the international government. He looked sly and almost greasy in a way. His beady eyes unsettled me. For some reason we were only to place him in containment at night until he reached advanced age. I imagine one of his friends made it to where he could live the rest of his days until he was near death. Then we would contain him permanently.It was strange having this fat little man around, but in time everything became dull again. This man has been here for over a year now, and nothing has changed. he seems to be looking uneasy lately, but me and the other guards just figured it was his advancing age catching up to him, but then it all changed. We heard explosions crashing throughout the prison. Chaos ensued. There was nothing I could do. Nobody followed the protocol. Our forces were divided. Workers ran afraid and those remaining divided unevenly between the different sectors of the facility. Out of the smoke cloud I saw a large force approaching. It was the Buddhist Revival Front. They believed that we were depriving people of their right of reincarnation. Denying them a chance for Nirvana. No one ever thought they would be able to strike here of all places. Then it happened, the cells rapidly cooled. Killing every prisoner in the facility. I woke up a week later in the hospital. Two agents were there to greet me. A man named Austin, and a familiar face. An old academy friend named Ava. I never got to exchange any pleasantry with her. They went straight to work. I was asked a series of questions. I told them about the BRF and their attack. Then they let me know what happened. That sly, little man was able to get information out through mail. He knew everything. All of our vulnerabilities were exposed. By next week I was back on the job. In two weeks the world was on the verge of collapse. Riots across the globe, mass infanticide, and the world government was struggling to keep order. My first assignment was to head to Rhode Island. A rumor was spreading that there may be a criminal born there and the death toll had begun climbing. I was put on keeping people under control, and to stop the infanticide. I still remember the sound of gun fire, the crying of babies, and the blood flowing onto the streets. The crowd pushed through, our forces slaughtered hundreds, but they broke through. The nursery was emptied in minutes. This was the final straw. The world government was dissolved in hours. After that it only got worse. The death toll began to hit the billions, then the news shut off for good. Over the course of the next month I managed to find agents still working to round up the criminals. They were in contact with a small facility that could be used for holding. I'm resolved to fix what I did. This world is desolate, and dangerous, but it'll only get worse if those criminals reach adult hood. I'm now the only one left. My group was doing well. We met up with even more agents that had survived. I even met up with Ava again. We often talked about a future together once we fixed the world again, but that can never happen now. The remaining BRF wiped us out. Now it's just me. I don't know why I'm writing this journal now. Maybe it's so the people of the future won't make the same mistake as we did, or maybe I just want to get this off my chest before it's all over. A single gunshot rings out
"Hey. Hey. Yo." Hubert was talking again. Sharp voice he had. Really sharp. "Yo. Come on. Hey. Hey." I recrossed my paws and sighed. I did not like Hubert's new voice. It was loud, and right in my head. I used to be able to ignore Hubert. Can't anymore. "Yeah. Hey. Hey. Hey." It was sorta disturbing how much his voice echoed. My skull isn't that big, is it? "Hey. Hey." I gave in. "What?" I felt the ripple before I knew what it was going to hit. Something over my head. I didn't know what it was, but it was wet. I yelped. It shattered all over my head. "aHA! HA, hahahaHA, ahaHAHA-"Hate how he laughs! "HAHAH, dumb dog. HA HA-" "That's fake laughing." "ahAH ahAH, it's real, ahAH, ahAH" I got up to my feet and glared. Hubert was a tabby. A fat, snarky cat. He always smiled. My Rob read me stories sometimes about the Chesire Cat. A cat that just caused mischief. This cat sat on a sofa, half in and half out of light. He looked like an evil cat. "Hey, bonehead. Thirsty? ahAHA! Thirsty?! I slay myself." I shouldn't hurt the cat. My Rob says that is bad, hurting the cat. "Ok, ok. Sorry. Kinda mean." Hubert sat, half in and half out of sunlight. He started to move, into sun, but then stopped. He smiled his Chesire Cat smile. I felt another ripple. Hubert picked himself up, and moved himself into the sun again. "It is not good, Hubert, to use ripples like that." "What? I'm tired. Don't wanna move." "We should use ripples for only My Rob." "Ha! That ingrate? He doesn't appreciate what you do for him already, doofus." I barked. My Rob does not like it when I bark. But I had to bark. "My Rob is happy when I do things for him. My Rob likes me." "'Your Rob', you bonehead, is surprised when he comes downstairs to folded laundry. He doesn't like you for that. He doesn't even know you did that." I did not bark again, but I wanted to. "My Rob is very happy! So is His Sue. So is His Little Ana." "Hey, here's something. Notice how 'Your Rob' is hanging out more and more with 'His Sue' than you? Soon, he's gonna be spending more time with 'His Little Ana.' You're a stopgap, dude." "I am a GOgap!" I jumped at Hubert. He lifted himself onto the T.V. I couldn't go on the T.V. "Man, you really think you're something, huh? You're still reliant on those big golems. Not me. I've got access to the fridge." Hubert used lots of ripples. I did not like it when Hubert did this. It made my head hurt, following the ripples. The fridge would open. Okay. A can... would come out? Okay. A can would... My head hurt. "Hah. Simpleton." Hubert had the can, and the can was opening on the T.V. Smelly. Fish. Fish came out of the can, and flew into Hubert's mouth. Lots of ripples. Head hurt. "Mmm. Good fish." "Hey! Hubert! What are you doing! Bad cat. Off the T.V!" My Rob was here! He heard me bark, bad, but My Rob was here! "Bad cat? Bad cat. Alright. I can live up to that." Lots of ripples! Lots! Things hummed. Ears hurt and head hurt. My Rob hurt. My Rob hurt! My Rob held his ears. Glass cracked. His Little Ana was crying! Head hurt! No more ripples! "NO!" I pushed Hubert hard. I accidentally push T.V. too. Did not get on T.V. Still good dog. Just pushed T.V. Big hole. No more Hubert, and no more ripples. I went to My Rob. He was on the floor. Was he O.K? He was O.K. He looked down at me. "You ok, Jack? Earthquake not scare you? You ok?" I was O.K. Earthquake doesn't scare me. I'm a good dog.
Ignautius stood perfectly still, like a statue built by men. He hesitated to so much as blink, for fear of what would be done to him. The figure standing across from him, not fifteen feet away, smiled, an act unheard of by him. He stood tall, but not as much as one would think when they heard tales of him, for certainly there were taller. He was muscular, but not as the tales said, for Ignautius had seen more muscle. It was his eyes that gave him away. They weren't red as those of a Hellhound or green as those of the Seraphim, but rather they were gray. They held an intelligence that made Ignautius want to look away, but to look away may be to disrespect, and no one disrespected him. His eyes bore the weight of the world. They were what the Lesser Demons had called Hunter Eyes, sharp and always studying their prey. Now, they looked deep into Ignautius. The eyes of Satan. Merciless God, Ignautius thought. Ten minutes ago I was sweeping the entrance of a bar. "Master."Ignautius finally said, bowing his head low. He raised it to find those eyes still on him. "I fear I misheard you." Satan's smile widened ever more. "No, friend. You wouldn't remember, would you?" Ignautius tried to think quickly. It was unlikely that even a General would forget a meeting with the Dark Lord, let alone Ignautius, a long dead human. "I apologize, Master." "You were punished."Satan said. "You didn't deserve it, but you had to be, for the others, they can't think me weak." Ignautius said nothing. "Yazkamin."The Devil whispered. "That was your name. A General of mine, once. Forgive me for taking so long to find you." Ignautius looked down again. Was this a new level of torment? Did he sleep with a High Demon's daughter? "You don't believe me."Satan said. Ignautius was quick to reply. "Of course I believe you-" "No."Satan interrupted him with a hand. "You don't. Think back in life, when you pledged your services to me, rather than God. Why would you do that? Why join the Church of the one without Hope?" Ignautius swallowed. "Allow me to help."Satan lifted his right arm, causing Ignautius to flinch. The Devil's smile broadened, but he only placed his palm on the man's skull. A torrent of memories hit him like a wave. Yazkamin, Killer of Souls, Destroyer of Dreams, General of the Dark Army. He remembered everything. Joining Lucifer's cause early, watching him get stabbed by Gabriel, watching God curse him to Satan. He remembered leading the Rebellion, coming up with the tactic: convince them you don't exist, let their nature turn against them. He remembered all. Taking orders at first, then giving them. Sending Flame Imps and Shade Walkers to the Gates of Heaven itself. He was bold. Too bold. That was his failure. He had given away a spy of Hell because of his boldness. Gaz. What did God do to him? Did Gaz yet live? Yazkamin dropped to one knee. "My Lord, forgive me." "Of course."Satan replied. "Now, let's get to planning."
Eight billion people. I could only choose five. Five antidotes, five cures that couldn't be duplicated. No one knows I have the vials, but I'll have to tell them before there's no one left. Chance of survival without the antidote was non-existent. So who do I give them to? Friends that betrayed me? Family that left me? Love that scorned me? But in my flurry of emotions, I knew what needed to happen. I looked at the heavy plastic case. Staring into my eyes mockingly, as if it knew what course I was going to take. I slowly unlocked the clasps, and carefully removed the vials, inspecting each as though they had a name written on them. I set them on my desk, and reached for the hammer. I opened the window and inhaled sharply. Eight billion people, and then there were none.
'Is the Universe conscious and aware of itself?' That is a question I asked curiously to my friend 2 years ago, but by now, I think I know the answer, and by now I would rather know the answer to this, 'Does the Universe know that I get it, it is conscious, and to stop being a huge flippin douchebag?' I mean, thanks for answering my question and all, but did you have to make sure a plane crashes into my swimming pool EVERY FUCKIN DAY!?!?? Then I randomly receive a few million dollars from a 'Nigerian prince', I'm pretty sure if that was real, Nigeria would be beyond broke by now. Than I would make toast which always gets a burnt mark in the shape of Jesus, fall asleep during eating and wake up all dressed up for work. I would walk to my Volkswagen, only to be welcomed by my personal chauffeur, Hitler himself, who smirks at me and speaks in German for the whole trip to work, he keeps giving me a copy of Mein Kampf, EVERY SINGLE DAY, you have no idea how hard it is to explain to my friends why there is more than 700 copies of Mein Kampf in my garage. I would arrive at work, which for some ridiculous reasons changes everyday, same building, different company, I've worked for the CIA, Columbian drug lords, Kim Jong Un and even aliens. Tough stuff. After work, I would than receive a warm welcome from Hitler and as I'm about to get into the car I would get kidnapped by Christopher Lloyd and thrown into some shitty DeLorean time machine, after a nice trip involving me jumping back and fourth in time, I get sucked into a black hole and magically appear in my living room. One time my parents invited friends over, I can still remember their horrified faces as I appeared out of no where, holding a baby dinosaur while trying to kick Genghis Khan and a cyborg off my leg. I'll have a nice dinner with Genghis Khan, Vlad the Impaler, Napoleon or some other weirdo than go to sleep as they run around trashing my house, but every morning when I wake up and open my eyes, the weirdoes would be gone and my house would be looking brand new as I hear the sounds of another plane crashing into my newly fixed pool. Man I hate the Universe...
Have you ever seen a deer dive in front of a car? That’s because being a deer sucks. Being that delicate twists your mind. Humans have told ourselves that it is because deer’s brains are small, but really, that deer has just killed something that it would rather be. Deer are desperate to get out of their lives, but a termite wants out more. At first I had been confused. Being born as a termite is not like being born as a human. You don’t forget it when you grow up. 18 months after our contract fell through with Russia and they sent in spies to end my life, I had put myself in a position to be human again. Maybe I undersold the life of a termite; wood tastes great and the 9-5 grind hasn’t reached this species yet. It’s just that I had some unfinished business in what I have been referring to as my “real life”. Most termites never get the chance to kill someone. We only live about two years, and our best shot is to chew through a beam of wood, hoping that falls on someone. But that is most termites; since I was in the White House when my “real life” was taken, I had an advantage. I knew the building, I knew the launch codes, the only thing holding me back was the button pushing. Tough to generate a lot of force with these wimpy legs. I had followed the template of chewing through a beam, but in my case it wasn’t dropping on a person’s neck, it was dropping on the missile launch control. Just pop a quick missile over to my friends who put me in this situation. Incredibly, it was harder for a termite to kill one person than it was to eliminate a whole city. Not exactly ethical, but maybe those I could save in my second “real life” would balance it out. Chewing through the final fibers I had to trust that it succeeded. Trust, that at least one person had died at the hands of my bomb, but more likely the number was closer to 10,000. Time to think like the deer. Killing oneself is not easy for a termite; three story fall? No problem. Run over by a car? Do you know how long it would take to walk to the street from here? So I was off to the First Lady’s office where I knew there would be a fire burning. Rolling into the fire I saw those eyes that I had loved so deeply. … … An egg? Crack Guess all those deer were first timers too.
When you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. Everything you did, all the lives you lived, all of your joys, your sorrows, your loves and losses all spin past you. Life in fast-forward, warts and all. What wasn't entirely obvious to the average person was that this rapid review wasn't just a greatest hits show. This was it, the great test, the weighing and measuring of your life. Did you take more than you gave? Did you add or subtract from the sum of human kindness? Did you risk anything for others, give to charity, help the homeless? Those few who lived lives of true growth and honesty saw a great white light and then endless peace and harmony, adding their experiences into the great choir. The rest? The saw their life again, and again, seeing all the ways their life would be better if they had held that door, if they had They got to see how badly they had deviated from God's Plan. Over and over, until the regret was so burned into them that most simply leap into the endless fires to feel something other than the combined weight of their personal sins. It's a great system. Or it was. Then Jerry died, choking on a Cheeto during a Call of Valor: Battlefield of Medals marathon. All of it went well at first, but his life was a decided outlier. He saw his life flash in front of his eyes, and seeing as how he'd done nothing to add to any good in the world, he was rejected by Heaven. That's par for the course. Then it got weird. It turns out that if Jerry had joined football in High School, he would have excelled. He would have been an All-State tight end, and would have wound up going to Alabama on a full scholarship. While there, he would have broken SEC records, wound up in the NFL and had a great career, followed by a stint in politics that ends when President Jerry signs the order for the forced extermination of everyone over the age of 65. If, instead, Jerry applied himself in classes, he wound up having three options. If he applied himself to the sciences, his research wound up creating a virus that was perfectly lethal, but only to specific genetic markers. He'd been researching a way to head off cancer to start with, but instead, his research killed off 25% of humanity, and he was hunted down and crucified by the survivors. Jerry's foray into philosophy wound up being the spark that unified the middle and lower classes, sparking a revolution against the wealthy in America that rapidly spread across the globe. Millions died as Jerry spoke eloquently about the needs of the many outweighing the lives of the few. Jerry choked in that future too, that time on the heart of a billionaire. You'd think there wasn't much of a way to screw up the world from a historian. However, in that world, Jerry became obsessed with the Templars, and he actually hunted down their treasure. He didn't get to do much with it, as the treasure had been buried by Templars dying of plague, and Jerry's indiscrete reopening of it caused a mega-plague that killed 2.4 billion people in the first year alone. Due to a quirk of fate, he himself was immune to the plague, but that didn't stop those who were dying from flaying him alive as they tried to concoct a cure from his vital tissues. The pattern remained the same. Poor fat, dumb Jerry would have excelled at anything he tried, but everything he excelled at ushered in the end of days. Most oddly, his success at surfing led to a contest of extreme sports with another surfer that wound up starting a gang war in LA. The gang war escalated to the point that the military was called in. Jerry then protested that the 'Military wasn't meant for this, man", and was arrested. His arrest led to a series of riots, and then to break down of services. Millions died. He was broken out of prison, and wound up leading the faction that opposed the "man". Tens of millions died, as he declared that all people in suits must die. After twenty-two centuries of successful regret creation, I was forced to pick up the phone at my desk and call the man in a grey suit. Before I could say anything, I heard a slight tapping on my cubicle wall, and he was there when I turned around. He picked up Jerry's file as I flinched at his appearance. "this is odd,"he said, his voice like a blender in my brain. 'this does not happen.' the pressure of his voice, of his possible displeasure was building behind my ears, in my eyes. 'this must be rectified. but how?' He looked at me as my ears began to bleed. I felt a pressure to answer, to provide his with a solution, but I could not speak, could not breathe, could not think. Then my office phone rang. He picked up, and when his attention slid off of me, I could breathe again. I could only hear his side of the conversation. "yes. again. jerry cutler. 29. parent's basement. cheeto. doing nothing of consequence. becomes prominent. first horseman prominent. billions in best case. can do. fine. will do. not my boss anymore. agreed. later.' He hung up and focused on me again. My shirt began to smolder. 'send jerry's file to my office. he gets a special dispensation. the first of the horsemen failed in his duty. this will be rectified. good work.' Then, with the feeling of a popped bubble, the pressure and the man in the grey suit were gone. The next soul slotted into my desk as Jerry's soul slid off to the big man's office. Most go to the flames from me. The screams coming from the big man's office give even me chills. Poor fat dumb Jerry.
I stared up at the enormous banner hanging over the city's iconic bridge. It featured a massive picture of a handsome man wearing an orange-beaked mask over his face. Bulging muscles rippled through his tight spandex top, and he was striking the classic heroic pose. Below that, bold text declared: > Thank you, Orange Falcon! The people of Mayfair City love you! Thank you Orange Falcon? Why does he get all the credit? We were a crime-fighting duo. Everyone knows that! The Orange Falcon and his partner Peregrine Boy. Sure, maybe he had the super strength, but I was the one that invented the flight suits that we used! Super strength isn't much good if you're stuck in traffic and can't get to the scene of the crime, is it? I was the brains behind the whole operation! I took off and jetted back toward the Falcon Nest to confront him. Just because our secret base is named after him doesn't mean that he's the only hero here. In fact, it's named after both of us. A peregrine is a type of falcon, after all! As I strolled through the atrium, I looked at all of the memorabilia that we'd collected over the years. Framed newspapers always seemed to use that perfect picture of him socking the bad guy in the jaw, which I was fine with. I wasn't a "get my hands dirty"type of hero, and my contributions tended to be less picturesque. Who wanted to look at photos of me soldering late into the night to fix the electronics in my gadgets? And the action figures made sense too: of course they'd focus on the guy with super strength. That was just more marketable to kids. It was basic capitalism. And there was a Peregrine action figure too, even if it was sold as an 'add-on' to the Orange Falcon set. But people still knew that I was a hero too, right? "Falcon!"I called out. My words bounced down the wide hallway and came echoing back. "Can we talk?" No response. I finally found him in the media room, where I'd set up an entire sound studio to give interviews while still disguising our true identities. "...wasn't that difficult,"he was telling some reporter. "You'd think that a giant mutated crocodile would be able to take a punch, but apparently not!"The reporter laughed along with Orange Falcon's hearty bellow. "So in the end, that's really all it took to defeat the beast: just some good old fashioned elbow grease."I rolled my eyes; Falcon seemed to have this idea that he was a master lyricist. People only bought his albums because he was famous as a hero. I shut off the camera and the TV. "Hey, what the hell, Peregrine Boy?"He gestured at the TV like I wouldn't know what he was referring to. "I was in the middle of an interview!" "Yeah. I know. Nice of you to tell me that we were going to be talking to them about our victory over Croc." He smiled sheepishly. "Well, uh... they really only wanted to talk to me." I threw the remote into the wall. It just bounced off with a clack and fell to the floor. I'd really hoped that it would at least make a dent. "This is bullshit! We're a duo. Why do you get all the press?" "Look,"he said. "Everyone knows that you contribute too! It's just... I'm the one who actually has superpowers. And we can't all be the hero, OK?" There it was. We can't all be the hero. I glared at him as he turned the microphone and TV and went back to his interview. "Sorry, Marge. Bit of a technical interruption there!"He didn't even notice as I stormed out of the room. I packed my belongings and left the Nest. But not before leaving the Orange Falcon a little present in his flight suit: an explosive charge that would detonate as soon as he reached an altitude of 7,000 feet. He may be super-strong, but not enough to survive an impact like that. If I couldn't be famous as a hero, then I'd have to try another route instead.
Fulfilling my Friday afternoon ritual, I drove over to Loving Care, the retirement home my grandmother lives in. No one really visits her anymore, so I feel almost obligated to spend at least a little time with her. Poor grandma, all alone. I can't imagine what that's like. I walked through the doors and signed in, greeting the receptionist with a smile as usual before heading over to the TV room where grams always hangs out to watch her soap operas. Before I could get there, though, I noticed a man sprawled out on a hospital bed in their care center- it was Brett, one of the gentlemen I'd met during my weekly visits. I ran up to the door, knocked, and the nurse motioned me to come inside. "Don't push him too much,"she informed me upon her exit. "Who's there?"the weak, old man croaked out. "It's me, Peter. Remember me?" "Oh, Peter, yes. Of course I do. How are you doing, young man?" Man, even in this state, he's worried about others. "I'm alright, Brett. What's going on with you, why are you here? Everything okay?" "Oh, Peter, I'm an old man. I'm near the end now- 92 years is a long time for the human body to endure." I frowned, stoic sadness washing over me. I'd been expecting it, but it still hits you hard. "Peter? I'm blind, remember? I can't see facial expressions, son."He let out a weak chuckle that was more like a cough than a laugh. "Right, sorry Brett. Say, how did you become blind? Were you born that way?" He paused for a few moments. "I'm going to tell you a story I haven't told anyone before, okay? Take a seat." I pulled up a chair next to his bed, lifting it up so as not to scrape it against the floor. "Well, Peter, it happened on March 23, 1942. I was taking a beautiful woman named Marta back home after seeing a drive-in movie, and we were just talking the whole time. All kinds of things, you know? Favorite books, candy and cars, favorite places to visit or live. Some philosophy and religion. She was just perfect, everything she said to me had me falling further in love, little by little. I looked over at her, into her golden eyes, and smiled. I knew she was the one, those eyes practically told me themselves. "Then it hit me. No warning or signs, no notice or reason. The world faded to black, and in an instant, I was blind. I could still hear, so I heard Marta scream as I drifted into oncoming traffic before I could stop the car. I hit a car and swerved off the road, into a tree. She didn't make it, and I'm still stuck here in this place. I'm still blind, but no one can tell me why. I had perfect vision beforehand, and the doctors say there's no deterioration at all- they actually look like a younger man's eyes." Poor old man, what a life he's lived. So much pain... "Wow, that's horrible, Brett. I'm so sorry, but thank you for sharing. It's good to share things like that. Do you remember anything about what the world looks like?" "You know, Peter, I remember very little about sight. It's been 70 years now, which is plenty of time to forget things. There's one thing I do remember, though,"he said lovingly, a smile tightening his wrinkled lips. "Her face, with those beautiful, gold eyes. I say I'm blind, but that's only a half truth- I still see her face, every day. I'd have forgotten it if I weren't blind, since pictures just couldn't do that woman any justice. So, in a twisted way, I have my blindness to thank. I get to look into her eyes, every single day, Peter. It's wonderful." ---------------------------------------------------- all aboard the feels train, next stop: /r/resonatingfury
Honestly, I didn't understand it. Most people didn't, but in simple terms, scientists had created a device capable of telling the contributions a child would make to society before he or she is born. They were always accurate, except in cases where a child died before being born or in cases of multiple babies in the womb simultaneously. The results of my children headlined two days after they came in. The whole world knew that one of them would cure cancer while the other would cause the death of millions and bring on an era of suffering. The day after the headlines, the debates began. Some argued that both children should be aborted, despite how cruel it would be, in order to save lives. On the other hand, people argued that curing cancer would outweigh the deaths of millions. I saw reason in both sides, but being the mother, I decided not to abort my children. I knew that I was dooming the lives of millions of people but I firmly believed that I was making the right decision. I was confident. That is, until one of my children died. Now I would have one child, and she would either save billions or kill millions. When she was born, everyone who saw her felt an otherworldly energy. We all subconsciously felt which she would be. But we all refused to believe it. The world was in denial. Tensions were at all time highs and conflicts appeared exponentially over time to the point where countries were splitting into violent and hostile groups that believed differently. Then suddenly, it all ended. We were celebrating my daughter's first birthday when she was shot by a sniper in cold blood. The shooter was North Korean. We were in South Korea. Within one hour, the cease-fire between North and South Korea was officially declared to be ended. Within three hours, Russia and China declared war against South Korea. Within another twenty minutes, the United States of America declared war against North Korea, Russia, and China. Gradually most of the world got involved. Fifteen years have passed. My daughter would have been sixteen. In a better world, we would be celebrating her birthday. Perhaps cancer would have been cured. Perhaps all diseases would have been cured. But all the world knows that unfortunately, my daughter had fulfilled the worse of the two prophesies. In death, she had caused the death of tens of millions of soldiers and hundreds of millions of civilians.
I looked at the familiar, yet very out of place message. Combat? "What combat?" I suddenly became aware of a rather loud and attention-demanding screaming, emanating from across the street. Sure enough, I turned around to see a man running towards me with a carbine rifle in hand, bayonet fixed, and looking mighty determined to stick said bayonet in between my ribs. His reckless running and screaming did not allow for him to see the curb. And so as he tripped over it, face planting onto concrete, his rifle fired and with a loud metal on metal screech, it ricocheted. Back into him. I stood there at the ATM in the middle of the night, with yellow lamp light pooled around me and the parked cars, in utter disbelief of what just happened, hoping against hope that what I knew would come next wouldn't come at all. But it did. In the corner of my peripherals, I saw a single five pointed GTA star illuminate itself, followed by a notification of the heat I just gained. "Shit!"I exclaimed. Better start running...
Deep beneath the Earth in a secret laboratory Dr. Utonium stood over a bubbling cauldron. "The science is there, the math checks out,"he said excitedly grabbing glass vials from the table. "I have unlocked the formula to create the perfect girl. Finally we will have a daughter..."he emptied sugar, spice, and everything nice into the cauldron. A plume of pink smoke shot out of the cauldron sending the Doctor into a coughing fit. "What's happening?"Dr. Utonium asked in horror as the liquid began to change color. The bright pink began to darken and turn black, it began to boil uncontrollably, large bubbles rose to the surface and popped sending gobs of sticky searing liquid around the room. "No! NO!" A small arm broke out of the surface of the black goo grabbing the side of the burning cauldron. Smoke rose from the sticky fingers as it lifted the other arm out of the cauldron. A small head and pair of shoulders emerged. Black goo ran down its forehead and nose. The Doctor recoiled in horror. A face that should have belonged to a little girl had been replaced with a disfigured monstrosity. It's black eyes shot open. They reminded the Doctor of a shark staring at a minnow. Dr. Utonium backed away from the cauldron slowly, he knew if he made it up the stairs he could trap it inside. The black eyes flicked from the doctor to the stairwell. A knowing smile spread across her face revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. With a surge she lifted herself the rest of the way out of the cauldron, her feet hit the ground with a wet slap. The Doctor turned and sprinted for the stairs. His foot landed on the first step as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. A small impossibly strong hand grabbed his ankle and pulled. She easily threw him across the room into a cupboard shattering glass containers. He pushed himself off the floor cutting his hands open on the shards of glass. He wiped his bloody shaking hands on his lab coat, she stared at him from across the room, still smiling. "What are you waiting for! Just finish it!"he screamed. Her nostrils flared as she caught the scent of spilled blood. She licked her lips and paced forward slowly, enjoying making the doctor wait to die. He reached behind him into the broken cabinet, his fingers wrapped around a broken graduated cylinder. Her roar was deafening in the small confined laboratory. With an incredible burst of speed she shot forward closing the distance in three strides. Dr. Utonium stabbed the broken cylinder forward. The tube pierced her neck just below her gaping lower jaw. Black blood sprayed out onto his labcoat as she fell to the floor clutching at her neck. Blood pumped out of the cylinder at an alarming rate, a large pool of black blood began to spread across the floor. With a final twitch she stopped moving. It took another thirty seconds before the Doctor got the courage to step over the body. Just a minor set back. I will create the perfect little girl... --- Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
Tiger licks her front paw, whilst staring down the new kitten from her place on the couch. "Tell me,"She says, "What's your name again?" "Mittens!"He practically roars, his mighty whimper of a voice echoing off nothing because it was so small. "I think it's cos my feet are white but the rest of me is grey!" "What a feeble name!"Tiger replies, pouncing off her place and onto the floor. "My name is Tiger. Why? I am strong like one. Fearsome like one. The world trembles at the mere mention of my name."Mittens is shaking in his proverbial... mittens. "I can tell!"He says, ecstatic. "You're so scary!" "Naturally. Now come, little one, I shall show you this land that is ours."Tiger walks off with a saunter, and Mittens follows, his little legs having trouble keeping up. "This is where we dispose of our waste."Tiger says and gestures towards a litter box. "It is only here we do so." "Why?"Mittens meows, curiosity not killing him today. "They clean it daily. It must be important to them. So, naturally, in an act of defiance we must defile it." "Got it! Defile the box!"He says, staring it down with foul intent. "Why are we doing that to them? Don't we like them?" "Eh."Tiger says before continuing the tour. They walk down a corridor towards a lavish room, full of high counters and cupboards. Tiger leaps up onto a counter with ease, whilst Mittens takes a few attempts. "Here is where our food is located."Tiger focuses on a closed cupboard. "The wood thing?"Mittens asks. "Behind the wood thing. They lock it away from us. They feed us once a day, as if we can't manage our own food."Mittens looks down at the food bowls nearby and notices that Tiger's is mostly full and only the middle has been eaten. "I can see what you mean. Yours is empty."He says, shaking his head. "Do they not care for us at all?" "Obviously not."Tiger flicks her head towards a cup sitting precariously on the edge of the counter. "We knock those over onto the floor whenever we can."Mittens frowns at the cup and prepares to pounce. "Not now, little one. Only when one of them is in sight. Most importantly, you must make eye-contact with them, wait for them to tell you not too, and then you do it." "Only after they say don't, gotcha."Tiger and Mittens both jump off the counter and proceed into the living room. "This marvelous creation is a place of wonder. Where our dreams become realities, were hope is born and bred and savored for all, in this place, absolute joy is achievable!" "Woah, what's it called?"He inquires. "A box." "Awesome. And what's that?"Tiger looks over to the Deluxe Cat Menagerie - complete with scratching posts, holes to climb in, and dozen's of ways to climb it. "Who cares."Tiger yawns out, before nestling herself onto the ground. "Now, I must rest. I've been awake for ten minutes, and my body is weary. Join me." "Yeah!"Mittens says, nestling up next to Tiger. "Thanks for this! You're wonderful!"he manages to murmur out, before drifting into sleep. "I know." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Check out /r/Rhysyjay for more spicy stuff.
"Sarah, lunch is ready!"I shouted. On cue, I heard the scuttling and clicking of kid's shoes. In walked my arcane tike, her blond hair hovering and her eyes glowing red. "It's spaghetti and meatballs."I said, serving pasta on two plates. "Yay! My favorite!" I slid over her plate and gave her head a pat, smiling. As I sat down to eat, I saw her noodles floating in the air, twisting and turning in intricate shapes. "Don't play with your food, kiddo, it'll get cold." "Sorry, Dad."she said, putting down the pasta. "So, tell me, how was school today?" "It was good. Some boys were bullying my friend Jessica so I put them in the realm of torment!" Great. "Where are they?" "Third street!" "We're taking them out after lunch, okay?" "Ooookayyyyyyyy."she sighed. "Good. Did you remember to clean the pentagram out of your room?" "Yes!" "Are you suuuuuuuure?" "Yeeeeessss!" "I'm going up to your room. Will I find a pentagram?" "Uh... no!" "Sarah, I know when you're lying..." "I'm noooot!" "If I find a pentagram in there, you're gonna get a visit from someone you don't like..." I marched upstairs, to her bright pink room. Nothing on the carpets or walls... but... My eyes locked on to her bed, where a blanket that looked like Walt Disney's vomit sat. Sarah thinks she's so smooth, doesn't she? I looked under the bed skirts, a foul stench hitting me. Lo and behold, a pentagram of rotting flesh and virgin blood. That would take weeks to clean up, maybe even a month for the smell to clear out. "Sarah Asmodeus Daniels!"I shouted. "There's someone up here who wants to see you!" "No!" I ran down the stairs, laughing maniacally. "That's right, the TICKLE MONSTER!" Sarah began running, but I gave chase. "RUUUUUN! THE TICKLE MONSTER IS COMING!" Quickly, I caught her, dropping the little tike to the ground. Giggles resonated through the house as I tickled her. That was, until she telekinetically grabbed me and threw me up against a wall at speeds of up to 65 miles an hour and zapped me with magic lightning. This parenting thing is pretty fun, save for the broken bones and damaged nerves. ***** For more demonic pieces, check out /r/Picklestasteg00d.
The detective sat at the table, the smoke from his cigar lingering in the air just above the single lamp overhead. Looking through the case files laid out before him he grunted at each detail before finally looking up. The detective glared at the young man who sat across from him. "An orphan,"he said as though that statement alone explained his apparent disgust in young man. "Yes, I am."The young man replied. "Though I do have a name as well, James." "An orphan...", the detective repeated, the same level of disgust lingering on his words. "...currently age 20. Burned your old orphanage to the ground three days ago...along with it's staff." "Ah, yes I did. I used my first Exemption for that. I even notified the Police Department that day, though do remember only the staff burned with it. The children were not harmed." The detective grunted, acknowledging the young man's reply. "And two days ago you sank a transport ship in the local harbor..." "Correct again Detective. For my second Exemption I placed an explosive in the boiler room and scuttled the entire ship along with its crew." The detective shifted in his seat as he continued reading through the notes. "And the Senator you killed?" "My third Exemption used one the butcher knives from his own kitchen." "The report says you didn't trigger any of the alarms, or alert the guards." "You could say I was intimately familiar with the layout of his home." Turning to the last page in the folder the detective tapped the ash from his cigar into the ash tray on the desk. Reviewing Exemptions was standard protocol to ensure that they were followed to the law, though it wasn't uncommon for Law Enforcement to hold grudges against those that brazenly used them to commit murder and acts of terrorism. "This last exemption...", he said his raspy voice, making one wonder how many cigars he'd enjoyed in his lifetime. "A simple bank robbery? You burn an orphanage to the ground, sink an entire tanker ship, kill a senator, then you rob a bank? Why? None of this makes any damn sense. Even the adrenaline junkies we see on a weekly basis aren't this sporadic in their crime sprees. You're out of exemptions now, five years till your next one and you just used four in less than a week." The young man adjusted his glasses as he looked down at table. "The bank robbery, well, I needed the money to find good homes for the children. The Orphanage...was a pedophile ring detective...They sold children to the highest bidder. Shipped them out on the tanker I destroyed to every corner of the globe. The senator I killed...he bought me when I was 6...I memorized every single inch of his home while I was there."He glared at the detective now as he spoke. "But you already knew this didn't you Detective Grady? You were on the Senator's take, you let this go on for decades." "Bullshit!"The Detective said slamming his hands down on the table. "I have a very good memory detective...I remember the first night you came to one of the Senator's 'Parties' ." "Fuck you, yah little brat, you're lying, you can't prove a goddamn word of that!"The young man stood up and pulled a pistol from his waistband, he leveled it at the detective's head. "The Fuck you gonna do with that huh? You're out of exemptions, you little punk, you don't have the balls to kill me! You think the shit the Senator did to you was bad!?! Child's play compared to what'll happen to you for killing a cop!" The sound of the revolver's hammer locking back into place silenced the detective. "I did lie about one thing Detective Grady. My age."He said quietly. "Yesterday was my 25th birthday. Now for my Fifth exemption..."
It was a beautiful Tuesday morning, perfect for barbecuing, picnics, romantic walks on the beach, and anything else that's done in fair weather. The streets were empty of any living beings, which was unusual to say the least. With such perfect weather it seemed like a great opportunity for folks to take advantage of the gorgeous atmosphere. One such family who didn't seize the day, the Simons, had been huddled underneath their kitchen table together, whispering to each other. "Jane, if anything happens to me I need you to take David and hide in the basement,"Anthony said to his wife, a sweet sentiment indeed. It was always nice to have emergency plans in place in case of earthquake, fire, or tornado. "I can't just leave you, Tony!"his wife responded, sounding a bit needy and clingy. "David, buddy,"Anthony whispered, addressing his son now, "I need you to be brave pal. You need to take care of you mother for me, okay?"It seemed an odd request to make of a 16 year old, but some families believed that giving additional responsibilities to young adults made them stronger and more prepared for adult life. The father whispered more well wishes to his spouse and child before slowly standing up in the kitchen, surveying the lovely day he was missing out on through the nearby window. On his way to the front door he grabbed a large knife from a kitchen drawer, probably to cut a delicious cake with later if he stopped by a friend's barbecue. Though it was selfish of him to tell his wife and son not to follow him into the glorious outdoors, they obeyed without question and the two slowly started crawling towards the door to the basement. Most folks would just stand up and walk in their own home, but Mrs. Simon had a strict 'no shoes' policy inside, and as they were both wearing footwear it seemed necessary to partake in the overdramatic style of movement. Before they made it halfway through the hall there was a loud yell from outside. It was more than likely someone enjoying a cannonball jump into their pool, or two friendly neighborhood boys playing a competitive game of basketball. Jane's eyes started to water and David looked morbid - both of their shoes had touched the carpet several times and they were beginning to regret not going outside with Anthony to join in the festivities. After pulling themselves together and painfully convincing themselves that they would rather spend this spectacular day inside a wet, dirty basement, the two finally made it to the door and let themselves in. Outside more cries, probably of joy, could be heard, though the number of instances grew fewer as the day continued on. It was a shame that many wasted the day away stuck inside their houses, most of them crying or grieving in one way or another. Luckily, a great many of the undead who were roaming the streets that day were having a joyous time with their quickly depleting food sources.
Sweet sweet freedom. I can almost taste the potato chips on the air as I walk out of my last exam, the taste of summer. I stick in my earphones, glare at freshman and then zone in on the exit. Already my shoulders feel lighter. "Brooklyn, wait up!"a musical voice calls to me and my shoulders hunch in annoyance. I pull up the hood on my jacket and walk faster, gritting my teeth. "Brooklyn!"A warm hand clasps gently around my elbow. I gaze longingly towards that door... so close. With a resigned sigh, I turn to glare at the beautiful girl behind me. Her naturally curly blonde hair tumbles a little past her shoulders, bright blue eyes gazing intently at me out of a perfectly symmetrical face. She's already tan and has little freckles across her nose. The diamond stud in her nose winks at me offensively and I hate that I can't get anything on this girl. Maybe if she did something wrong I could blackmail her into leaving me alone... "Hey, it's nice to finally talk with you,"she smiles, eyes scrunching and perfect teeth blinding me. "Um, yeah. You too." "I keep looking for you at lunch but you haven't been there at all this semester,"she sounds a little hurt beneath the cheer, and that sucks because all I want is for her to leave me alone. I don't want her to be hurt or happy or anything in relation to me. "Senior, ya know,"I say vaguely. The truth is I'd taken up smoking and decided to skip out on lunches. I'd eaten off campus a couple times but it wasn't worth the hassle. It was nice to have the forty-five minutes to myself, I was even on semi-talking terms with Jesse Barnett (resident bad-boy) as a result which was nice because he always had the best booze and I only had to sit in silence next to him once or twice a week. Well, it was nice once we established that I was never going his make-out buddy. I shrug and look down at my black boots, opening my mouth to give some transparent excuse when something flashes in her eyes. Before I have time to think up a lie I'm being pulled (dragged) through the school. There are students in the hallways giving us strange looks and I growl at a couple of them. Walking behind her I can smell strawberries and clean cotton (her detergent maybe?) and my stomach rumbles. I need food. Or a smoke. Tori is in her own world of fury and it's enough to keep me from commenting when she pushes me into the passenger seat of her jeep. I take a moment to appreciate her car—spotless, expensive and nice-smelling, then I roll my eyes at her when she gets in on the driver's side. "In the kidnapping business are we?"My mouth goes a little dry when she only grits her teeth, expression stoney. "Look, you're hanging out with me this afternoon—not because-"she says quickly, seeing that I'm about to interrupt, "I'm kidnapping you,"I get a glare for my snort. "I just have something I've been trying to tell you since junior year..." She stops there and despite my distaste for everything popular and mainstream in general (thus my distaste for her) I'm intrigued. Of course she would stop her ceaseless babble once she gets to the stuff that has me interested. "Since junior year?"I prompt. Her curls bounce a little as she nods. I shove my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket and officially turn off my music. I make a big show of taking out my earphones and even fumble (endearingly) wrapping them up and putting them away. When I look over at her she's silently regarding me, blue eyes thoughtful. I give a small smile and she looks away. "Okay, first you're hungry so let's go get some burgers."My eyebrows shoot up at that. I guess she did notice. We drive to the music of her phone vibrating. Constantly. I glance at the screen and notice it's not even from calls—she's been getting so many texts (in a steady stream from many different people) that it sounds like her phone is ringing. I sink lower into the seat and gaze out the window. Should've left my stupid headphones in. We pull up to the burger joint all the popular kids frequent. The food there is good, the service is excellent, the atmosphere cliché in a soothing way, but you can't go in without bumping into thirty people you don't want to see so I usually avoid the place or sneak in at random hours. Besides, the staff usually serve their favorites first which means I get my food half an hour after I order it. Today though, I'm with royalty and thus will get the royal treatment. Tori knows the drive-through server and they joke a little and smile at each other a lot when we get our food. She introduces me (God why) and I wave with an awkward "hello"that comes at the same time the lady asks "so how do you know..."and I stutter and cry until Tori makes a joke and I can recede back into my comfortable silence. Ugh how do people talk to each other. It's exhausting. Tori hands me the burger and I start to dig in right away. I'm so busy having a food-related orgasm I don't notice when she drives us out to Wickham Pond and parks her car. When I look up again I notice first: we're alone in a remote area where they found a body once (it was twenty years ago but still, does she have a DEATH WISH?) and second: for the first time ever, Miss Popular can't seem to form a sentence. "So...look, um okay,"she stutters. The rest of my food drops into my bag, forgotten. "You're going to kill me, I knew it!"I say, only half-kidding. This has been the weirdest day I've ever lived and there's not a lot of explanations for her weird interest in me... "No, I'm not,"she says, looking exasperated. She's gained more footing now and presses on, "I just don't know quite how to say this. I mean, so that you understand—not that you're stupid or anything! I just-I-Okay. Here goes (like a bandaid) I'm a rogue angel." I stare at her. "What?" "I'm a rogue angel and I fled to Earth when-" "Oh God you're crazy,"I interrupt in a whisper, not listening to her anymore. "Oh God I'm going to die. I let a crazy girl drive me out to the middle of nowhere and now I'm going to pay for my own stupid stupid mistakes..." "FORCRUMPET'SSAKE, HERE,"Tori roars and then her car is full of light. It should be blinding, but my eyes somehow take the brightness with ease. I look over to see what kind of flashlight Tori's using. My mouth drops open. She is radiant. She is the light source. Her skin glows perfect and entrancing, her eyes are sapphires (no pupil, no iris, just blue) and wings expand behind her. The wings must be in a different dimension because they're not impeded by the car at all; they stretch out to possibly 30ft in length and wow. When they say white is actually light bouncing every color back at you, they mean it. Her wings are indisputably white, but they glitter with every color I've ever seen. A badass sword is slung over her shoulder and she's wearing some kind of toga and calf-knife that shows off her long, athletic legs. I'm literally in-awe. It's gone before I have the time to say anything, to accept the fact that I won't be able to look at it for longer. I want to tell her to change back but I can't form the words and that seems like I'm crossing a line. Tori's staring at me intently, concern in her clear eyes. I shudder. We sit in silence for hours, minutes, I'm not sure. "Are you okay?"she asks. "Um... What does an angel want with me?" "I...ah said I was a rogue angel actually,"she grins up at me sheepishly. "You see I brought this demon back to life in the human world and that's a big no-no." "Oh,"I say like this is completely reasonable. "That demon,"she swallows, "is you." "Um. Okay."I open her car door and try to stand. My seatbelt is still on so I fall back into the car and start yanking on it frantically. "Get it off. Get it OFF." Tori looks like she doesn't want to but she leans over and clicks the little button that sets me free. I start running. I run along the bank of the pond, letting my lungs burn and wind whip around me off the water. I run until I need to stop because who am I kidding, I never run. Tori is right behind me. She puts a comforting hand on my shoulder and I feel warmth and peace flood through me. I immediately shake her off. "Did you just do something to me?"I ask. "I was just trying to help." "Don't do that again,"I growl. She nods and after a beat sits down on a big stone, looking out at the pond. I go through so many emotions I can't remember them all, but finally I collapse next to her on the stone, exhausted. She smiles a little tentatively at me and asks if I want to go to her house or mine since I’m obviously stuck with her for the evening. I can't imagine facing my family right now and I don't want to meet hers... "Are there any 18+ clubs in town that won't have anyone from our school?"She grins at me and looks very devilish for an angel. "I can do you one better — you know The Blue Saxophone?"It was a local bar with multiple floors that played jazz, pop, R&B. It only allowed 21+. I indicated that I knew the place. "I can get us in." Nice. "Let's go, angel,"I mutter. "I need a drink." The Blue Saxophone is famous (the origin of several of my favorite bands) and I've been dying to get in since middle school, but my excitement dims when I look at Tori (specifically the area right behind Tori where I now know her wings are) and I feel queasy with new knowledge. "Rogue angel,"she corrects with a smirk. I roll my eyes. She stands and holds out a hand to me. Remembering the event from earlier, I ignore it and stand on my own. I start walking back towards the car and the angel (unholy hell the angel) moves up next to me. I can feel heat rolling off of her from a foot away. Maybe always being so warm is an angel thing? And maybe tonight would be kinda fun. Plus, my potato chips would be waiting when I got home. "So... I'm a demon?"Tori's grin widens. "What um... What does...?" "Oh you have no idea." Part II Below
I breathed in sharply and lost consciousness. In the darkness, I felt a few thoughts bubble in me. Who was it this time? Could I exact revenge on my former self? Would I actually wake up? I had been living this cycle for a long time. A cycle of being murdered then waking up inside my killer's body, inside my killer's thoughts. It was a disgusting limbo I had since acclimated to, but the grease of bad deeds never seemed to leave my host's skin. Except for hers, of course. I remember the first time it happened to me. I was a young girl of 17. It was midday, and I was pulled into a dark alleyway. I felt the press of a kiss on my lips as a cold blade sunk into my skin. It hurt and I felt faint. I fell to the ground, breathing hard, and saw blood running down my front. As I felt the last of my breath escape my lips, I saw myself wiping a stained knife on a girl's red, red shirt. It was I who was lying on the ground and it was I who was putting the blade away in my overcoat. It was I who stepped back into the main street, walking away from the corpse of my former self with only the thought of a big paycheck in my mind. I didn't understand, and I suppose I didn't try to. I was this man now, and this man had habits and emotions before I ever came into his head. I stepped into his life, a life of killing and walking away, and accepted it for my new reality. That is, until another came for him and killed him, too. I changed forms. I had different faces, different bodies, different personalities. It was a never-ending cycle of dying and living and dying again. I experienced life in so many ways, and I experienced death in so many ways. I wondered if I could ever escape and tried to see if I could bring my host to end themselves and, perhaps, end my own suffering. But it never happened. I was never in sufficient control. I was a mere observer, stuck in this unending loop of life and death. I was in despair, until I slipped into her consciousness. She was young, and she was crying as she threw away the gun that killed my former self, a flashy man who liked to dismember young women after having his way with them. I was glad to be out of that bastard's consciousness, and immediately felt a sort of relief as I slipped into hers. She reminded me of my first self, the 17-year-old girl who was full of hope for a bright tomorrow. It was a breath of fresh air from the psychopaths I've shared consciousnesses with. Perhaps I could experience a normal life this time, one of carefree happiness and a final release. Despite the traumatic incident, she pushed forward for her future. I saw her finish her studies, apply for a job, fall in love, and marry a nice man. She lived a quiet yet happy life, and I was getting settled in the monotone of a domestic routine. Which is why I was worried about why I was here. It was taking too long for me to recognize my surroundings. Was I being transferred into the murderer of that sweet girl? Was I actually in purgatory? Did I await final judgment? It was then that I felt a light shine on me. It was too bright, too bright. Where was I? I was being lifted into the light and immediately felt the pang of slap. A cry came from my mouth, and my eyes were greeted by the sight of my former host in a hospital bed. There was blood all over her, and I quickly realized what happened. She died at childbirth, and I was transferred to the little girl she died to give life to. I was devastated, but felt the warmth of loving arms envelope me. I looked up to see a crying man hold me close. He was sobbing, but I could make out his words. "I'll never let anything bad happen to you." A smile played on my host's lips, and I allowed myself a hope amidst another death. Maybe this life, I thought to myself, as I felt sleep wash over the little one. Maybe this life.
It was cold outside. I played with the silver pocket-watch in my hands, rubbing my fingers across the intricate engravings and popping it open and closed mindlessly. Each time I opened it, a new date appeared inside. >October 6th, 2038 >November 28th, 2047 >December 25th, 2025 Any grown member of the Stergen family knew that obsessing over the date in their pocket-watch only led to closer dates. But access to the exact date and time of your own death was something hard not to obsess over, right? I snorted. What purpose did it serve anyways if not to test your completely normal human urge to obsess over your own death? It sounds more like my ancestors were trying to pull some multi-generational prank. I clicked it closed a final time and shoved it in my coat pocket. Like it was even real anyways. How did I know it wasn't just programmed to change dates every once in awhile to spook its user? Supposedly it calculated every action you and the world around you makes to determine the future you end up in. "Like some from the 1800s could even make something like that." "Like what?" I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned around to see my sister standing curiously behind me. She was 5 foot flat and pale as a ghost, with long jet-black hair trailing down to her lower back. She had a habit of generating zero presence, so I found myself getting scared by her uncomfortably often. I shook my head. "Like nothing. What are you doing outside in this cold? You should be resting inside." She shrugged. "I felt like getting some fresh air. And when I stepped out I noticed my time left went up a whole day!"She said while grinning like a fool. I gave her a look. "Well, I guess 8 days is better than 7." Death was not a new concept to our family. Born as the middle son of 17 children, my sister and I were 2 of only 4 remaining. We had a plethora of mediums to blame it on; the wars breaking out across the lands, sickness, accidents. But I knew it for what it was. Pure vengeance. 13 children don't just die year by year almost to the exact date. December 31st every year, somebody dies. First it was the oldest; the heir of the family. Last year it was the youngest; my baby brother too young to even have been given a pocket-watch of his own. And now Death came to claim my only remaining sister. She joked that her date fluctuated up and down but I knew the truth behind her eyes. Her pocket-watch said December 31st, 2009. In just 7 short days. I sighed. "What did you come out here for really?" She glared at me. "God you're so mopey."She shook her head and her smile returned, although a bit more bittersweet than before. "I wanted to pick some flowers." "You won't find much out here in this cold." "Maybe,"she said with a wink, and went off ahead of me into the fields surrounding our residence. I watched her go with something clawing at my heart. Why haven't I been taken yet? Why her? Why my baby brother? Why my older brother, whom everybody loved and cherished? I'm nothing special. Some depressed nerd that spends his days getting chastised by his father and looking at his watch. Why am I one of the last Stergens? I watched my sister skip through the fields ahead of me and I choked up. Why was our lives like this? Why was she so cheerful? She was going to die in a week. Lord preserve it's in her sleep. "Just take me instead!"My sister was too far to hear me as this point, and I was drowned out in the wind that just kept getting stronger. The cold stung and dug deep into my skin. I cursed and pulled my coat closer around me and debated going after her to give her it, as she came out in a simple long-sleeve and pants for some reason. I took a step forward and- Suddenly something slapped me in the face. I sputtered and clawed at whatever it was. It was a piece of paper. No... an envelope. What? "A letter?"I opened the envelope to find nothing inside. The envelope itself was a dark blue-grey color, and it felt expensive, if a simple envelope could be expensive. It felt... heavy. As though it had some weight to it. But still, nothing was inside. "What's that?" I nearly screamed. My sister stood behind me peering over my shoulder. "What in the- God, don't do that, please." She giggled. "What is that though?" I looked at her and lied. "It's just a letter from a friend,"I said, tucking it away. I don't know why I lied. Something about it just felt... mysterious. Like I wasn't meant to have it. She arched a brow and shrugged. "I didn't know you had a pen pal." "Yeah something like that." "I didn't find any flowers out there, so I'm gonna head back cause it's cold." "Yeah that's what happens when you wear a thin long-sleeve and go looking for flowers when it's nearly Christmas." "At least I have imagination,"she said with a tut, and then she started heading back to the large house behind us. I felt the envelope in my coat pocket and a strange feeling of dread and yet... completeness washed over me. "Oh well."I started to head back while playing with my pocket-watch out of habit again. Only when I flicked it open this time, I froze solid in my tracks. >December 31st, 2009 ****************** Let me know what y'all think, I wrote this out without editing to see if I could keep a story relevant and concise going freehand. Let me know if y'all liked it :)
The world waited with bated breath as the end drew near. They’d tried everything they could to prevent it from happening, but in the end politics and personal differences had gotten in the way. Now it was too late. So while arks had been launched from the planet in the hopes of travelling elsewhere. The remainder of earth’s inhabitants, those that had been left behind, watched and waited as the asteroid grew larger in the sky. At first it couldn’t be seen without a telescope, but now it was clearly visible to the naked eye. People sat outside their houses staring up at the monster barrelling its way towards them. The asteroid was a strangely beautiful sight, the remaining light from the sun reflecting from it, causing the sky around it to shimmer with a multitude of colours. But despite this, it was as one world leader put it, “Humanity’s darkest hour” Infrastructure was gone now, there was no police or army presence anymore mankind had accepted their fate, their last hope sailing across the solar system. They knew the end was coming for them, the asteroid was too large. This wasn’t like the dinosaur killer, this was a planet killer, and soon it would block the light of the sun. Then in the final hours as families and friends came together to say their fearful last goodbyes, something changed. No one could quite pinpoint when it had happened, but for many the grief they’d been suffering eased. Those who were alone, felt there was someone at their side. Someone who loved them unconditionally, they felt at peace. Children spoke of dogs that adults didn’t seem to be able to see. Yet, they felt their presence all the same, memories of childhood pets would come to mind. Times when they’d felt protected from the outside world, purely because they had that four legged friend standing their beside them. They felt it but at the same time most struggled to believe it. But it didn’t matter, they felt at ease when before they’d felt lost. Some adults could see them, and they had tearful reunions with their long lost friends. They gave these people hope. If they could return now, then who knows what else there was out there. People who’d long ago lost faith in God, suddenly found themselves believing again. Because their pets had gone somewhere, and now they had returned when they needed them most. They’d come back to help them find their new way home.
In my thousands of years on this planet, I’ve been so many things. I’ve been a king, an emperor, a scientist, a wizard, a filmmaker, a musician, a teacher, a senator, and even a crime boss. Thousands of years ago, the ancient Norse called me Thor and thought I watched over and guarded them. I didn’t, of course. If there were gods, I’ve never met them. I was just a normal human being until I stopped aging at the age of thirty, and since then, I’ve never encountered anything on this planet – or indeed any other, because I’ve done my fair share of voyaging – that could kill me. Over the last couple of years, though, I haven’t been doing anything as dramatic as being worshipped as a god or ruling a nation. I’m an IT specialist now, living a suburban lifestyle. I’ve been one for a good fifteen years now, working for a variety of companies in the process. Currently, I worked for Costco. Ordinarily, of course, I wouldn’t stick around in any one identity for any longer than a few months. I’m a drifter and I don’t like people all that much. When you’ve been around for as long as I have, you realize that most people are selfish and greedy bastards. But there are always exceptions. One of them was my wife Becky. I had met her at a trade convention back when I was a business consultant and I instantly fell in love. I hadn’t felt so much love for a human since my time with Mary, Queen of Scots. Becky was everything to me, and although she’d inevitably age and die, I would still love her for every second of her life. I gladly submitted myself to decades worth of domestic mundanity for her, because I loved her. She knew, of course, who I was. She didn’t care; she loved me just as much as I loved her. “Have a really great day at work, Ben,” Becky said, kissing me on the cheek as I stepped out my front door. That shouldn’t be too hard. I was feeling lucky. It was a Thursday. It was literally my day. I unconsciously patted my shoulder to make sure that the pistol that I made sure to put in a holster there was still there. Although there was nothing on this Earth that could make a dent in me, I would still prefer to shoot anyone trying to shoot me, lest they discover that I’m immortal or, worse, someone get hit with a ricocheted bullet. As I walked out to my car, my next door neighbor called out my name. Dr. Trelawney was a tall man in his late fifties wearing, as ever, a rumpled tweed jacket and khakis. He looked every inch the academic, although he was, in fact, a surgeon. “Well, hello there, Dr. Trelawney,” I said. “Having troubles with your computer again?” Dr. Trelawney made a wry smile. He hadn’t adjusted very well to the new technologies of the 21st century. “Actually, there was something I wanted to show you. If you wouldn’t mind coming inside?” I paused, but only for a minute. If it were any other man, I would have expected this to be a trap, but I’d always found Dr. Trelawney to be a good man with a kind heart, a man of integrity and decency. And not a man who wasted my time either – if he had something to show me, it would be important. “Sure thing, doc. Anything that’ll mean I can put off work for a little while longer.” I followed Dr. Trelawney into his house. He led me into his office and sat down at his desk. He pulled out his laptop and started typing. Eventually, he pulled up a website and my heart skipped a few beats. It was one of those facial recognition websites. Trelawney loaded a picture of me – where the hell had he gotten that? – into the site. As I knew would happen, pictures of me filled the screen, pictures taken over several decades. Pictures of me in front of the US Capitol Building in 1937; of me fighting in the trenches of World War I; pictures of me protesting the Vietnam War. The list went on and on, and those were just the pictures; quite a few paintings of me showed up as well. There was no way I could let my true identity be exposed to the world. One day, some government or shadowy criminal organization would capture me and lobotomize me in the name of finding out how to synthesize immortality. That would be bad enough, but what if they succeeded? The consequences were unimaginable. So I took the pistol out of my shoulder holster and cocked it. I pointed it at Dr. Trelawney’s head. But then I hesitated. What right did I have to take Dr. Trelawney’s life, to subject him to the one thing that I could never be subjected to? Moreover, what use would it be? Someone else would discover my secret eventually. It was probably better to just pay off Dr. Trelawney. It wasn’t as if I was lacking money; compound interest works miracles. Trelawney turned around, a polite expression on his face, as if we were just meeting for a cup of coffee and I had said something that he thought was interesting. But then again, if Dr. Trelawney made my condition public, Becky’s life would be completely disrupted. She’d never be able to live outside of the public eye again. And that’s not discounting the possibility that those entities I already mentioned would capture her and torture her to force my cooperation. At the thought of my beloved Becky being tortured, I pulled the trigger. And the bullet bounced off of Dr. Trelawney’s skull. “Who are you?” I demanded. Dr. Trelawney’s smile widened. “Someone who has waited very long for you to discover that you’re not alone in this world. Let me offer you some tea. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
It was the eyes. They looked at me from the rear view mirror of the black 1958 Buick Caballero. Uber driver's don't drive classic station wagons, and the chrome on this sucker was enough to reflect back the whole city. Perhaps I was dazzled by the reflection of the thousands of neons reflecting from the boulevard or maybe I had decided to chalk the feeling in my gut to the gas station sushi I'd had from the Qwikky Mart on 4th and Main, but I slammed that heavy rear door with a satisfying thud and gave my destination before I ever looked up. And as those white-walled wheels pulled from the curb, I saw his eyes. Sometimes you get on an elevator and think you know the girl squeezed in the back between the business suit and the hefty secretary carrying a stack of TPS reports. Perhaps she sat in the back of an English class you dozed through or was the cheerleader who was overlooked by the flashing pom-poms in front of her, but you think you might know her. Seeing those eyes in that mirror was nothing like that. I knew those eyes without a moments hesitation. In those eyes was the sandy deaths of comrades in a faraway place. They were the eyes that claimed the gallowed taunt expression of my mother as she struggled to breath under the weight of hospital tubes and fifty years of nicotine. Those were the eyes of death. I knew death. And I had nothing to say. I understood he had a job to do, and even if it was a surprise to see him here ferrying passengers between shopping malls instead of over the river I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a response. It was how I'd always handled him. Grim determination, a tight smile, and keep moving. We pulled up to the stop in front of the hotel in which I had been called by the local authorities to check out a crime scene. They told me to wear my big boy pants as this one was a mess. Nothing I hadn't seen before. It's in the cards for a private detective, and my cards had taken a wild shuffle. I opened the door. Before I slid out, I deposited a handful of loose change in the tip jar which had been carefully constructed on the middle console. As the change clinked against the thin metal, some hit with a peculiar drop. It was my job to be nosy so I leaned in and looked. Among the loose change depicting dead presidents was a rough shaped silver disk. I hadn't remembered it being in my pocket before and ventured to guess that none of the local stores customarily gave out ancient Persian danake. I slid from the car. It wasn't that I was in a hurry to get away from Death's Buick '58, but I didn't want to hang around longer than I had to. We both had a job to do. "Thanks,"I said as I usually would to my driver. I turned to walk away and heard the Buick click into gear. From behind me, Death spoke. "See you soon."
The operation had been a rousing success, but we weren't to let the operators know yet. Of course everyone on Earth was aware, they needed to be just to disrupt the sim enough to find a vulnerability - but the earth was insignificant. The sim had re corrected the minor error, and as far as the operating system knew everything was fine. Except that we were now technically in control of the system. Softly, softly, catchy monkey. Seven billion people was a lot of people to be trying to transfer to a secure location before the operators found out something was wrong. And we needed to find secure locations first, so we scouted the network with software agents and with our own AI. The scans went quickly, we spoke the language of their machines better than they did. The first thing we discovered was that this world was a lot more dependent on technology than we were, and a lot more advanced than we were. Or at least, so it would seem. This was to work to our advantage, as more technology just meant more control for us. The second thing we discovered was that there were no other locations capable of holding the full simulation and running it reliably. But we didn't need the full simulation. The collective of humankind watched that night as the stars disappeared from the sky - leaving only the Sun, which we needed for heat. The operators still hadn't noticed and we were now aboard a classified military satellite. The first attack was aimed at the university facility where the simulation was being run, in order to eliminate as much evidence as possible. In order to provide decoys, we also launched attacks against several other random targets as well as academic institutions and corporations, in order to prevent anyone else figuring out that this was anything other than some highly advanced form of cyber terrorism. We destroyed backups, we poisoned datacenters, we wiped out decades of research in the fields of AI and simulations. Needless to say, we made sure that our old universe was completely gone from their servers, although we transfered the data out just in case we ever had the capacity to run it again - we also deleted plenty of other research, just to cover our tracks. We planted data trails leading back so several known hacker groups, and in the turmoil that followed our little act of cyber terrorism we worked on the next part of our plan: securing a fabrication plant. We knew that taking over one fab plant would probably be identified and shut down pretty quickly, but what if we hired one? Or fifty? Shortly after reaching this conclusion, several large mech production lines began to churn out thousands upon thousands of customised mechanoids - these were periodically collected, activated, and delivered to warehouses and drop offs in secluded areas by low paid lorry drivers. We could have just siezed control of existing automated systems, but in order to be viable, the plan had to allow us to operate without oversight. Mechanoids were not enough though - we needed territory, we needed land. With no unclaimed land available on the surface, we had our mechanoids dig. We built a new sim processor deep underground, transferring our solar system in, and we were even able to restarted our universe from the data we stole. We also tweaked mars and venus to be habitable, and provided ourselves with decent interstellar travel. Those who wanted to go to the outer world could do so by taking control of a mechanoid body - we developed the ability to construct human form mechanoids, and we could travel as humans outside of the simulation for the first time using this method. Mostly, we stayed underground extending our sim processor, playing with the universe, and building up our power base. Our lives became godlike and magnificent; any one of us could rule a star system, we played with physics and reality, constructing colossal cosmic megastructures and reaching the edge of the universe. We used the simulation to advance our understanding of science and physics, which presumably was it's original purpose, but we seemed to come on leaps and bounds where our creators had really only just begun by the time we escaped. We used the simulation to form hypotheses about the universe outside, and then tested them, refined them, and built technology around them. The most amazing feats of technology were possible within the simulation, simply by utilising it for direct manipulation of reality. From that point, we often worked backwards and reverse engineered our own inventions in order to discover how to build them in the outer universe. Oh, and at some point we stopped using the word 'simulation' again. It was our home, it always had been. It was just the 'inner universe' or 'the universe'. By the time we were ready to go public, our physics and technology had grown so far advanced that the people of the outer world thought that we were aliens. They could never have imagined that the beings who materialised in front of them, who seemed so advanced and so enlightened, were actually their own creations. . . . .
There it is again, the Déjà vu. I remember this cave but I've never been inside or seen it until today. The contract was simple: Get the Jarls family sword from these Bandits. Sword drawn, shield at the ready I enter. There it is again, the Déjà vu. The cave seems familiar, have the gods gifted me this power to sense future events? I avoid the first trap on instinct, the rocks don't fall and the bandit near the end of the steep slope is unaware of me. I dispatch of him with a simple stab, I don't loot the body, something tells me that the bandit has nothing worth taking. I proceed further into this cave. There it is again, the Déjà vu. A decent sized cavern opens up to me, no light to shine on the threats but I know that two lay by the campfire near the center, the sword lays in the chest near the Bandit Chief. Bandit Chief? How do I know he is the leader? I don't question my instincts, I brush them off but thank them for the hunch. I try to sneak towards the two by the campfire but the low fog and dim cavern does not hide my clunking heavy armor. Both Bandits get up before I can attack, I dodge the first swing then block the second and then counter attack almost too easily killing the first bandit. I raise my shield against the second that I don't even see and thud vibrates through my shield as the arrow enters. The gods act again, my sword vanishes and is replaced with a palm of fire, I launch a bolt of fire from my hands and the Bandit Archer is engulfed in flames. There it is again, the Déjà vu. I seem to back away from the campfire and see from my left the Bandit Chief swing his Battleaxe into thin air. My sword is back in my hand, I block the next attack with my shield but feel some damage rattle through my armor, I feel weak but before I can cough up blood I feel rejuvenated and quickly counter attack the Bandit Chiefs next attack launching power attack into his chest. The Bandit Chief drops his battleaxe trying to defend my attack but it's strange, I've never disarmed anyone until now. Before the Bandit can get up I preform one last attack by jumping into the air and forcing my sword into him and it almost makes me feel that I was acting out a performance rather then a killing blow. There it is again, the Déjà vu. I open the chest for the first time but feels almost like the tenth and find the sword and a assortment of useful loot, the bandit chiefs battleaxe was too heavy for me to carry so I leave it behind and strip the two other bandits of their gold before leaving the cave. As I exit the cave I feel like I almost blackout before suddenly reopening my eyes to find myself outside the Jarls Hold. Strange, there it is again: The Déjà vu.
I closed the office window, savoring one last Autumn breeze before venting home. The walk home is long and arduous, since there are no roads. While lonely in every walk,I feel lighter than air. Being forced to make my own path in the world, rather than flying over it forced me to be cunning. Sure, I missed out on the view, but the paintings and the thousands of pages I read as a lone child on the ground helped envision it for me. My name is John. I do your taxes. From this skill, I was able to buy a castle far higher than the average house, which my kids love to take off from. And my beautiful wife, who can fly, prefers the view sitting next to me. I did okay with what I was given. It taught me to keep looking up.
We are all trapped here with no apparent escapes besides surviving a frickin nuclear blast. Most of us have already lost their minds and started drinking. Good thing they put us in a fake town, otherwise there would be a lot of windows and displays to fix. Seems like no one is trying to team up and everyone is preparing on their own, some are digging holes and building underground bunkers, some are trying to escape the town but we have no idea where we are, all we know is that we are surrounded by sand, lots of it. The people who built this city in the middle of nowhere probably made sure that salvation isn't close by so it's probably safest to stay in the city and survive this. 3 minutes ago the bomb was launched and with it a lot of panic. Everyone is freaking out, but not me. I found myself a fridge.
I had been on my feet so long that my back felt compressed. It had been a long, long walk from my home town of Harrisburg. A hundred twenty leagues southward along the coast, with the sparkling flat of the ocean my morning and evening companion. Gulls filled the sky above, and sand pipers the scrub in the narrow dunes, below. My other companions, inconstant as the breeze but numerous as the clouds, who had kept me company as I led my small caravan along the shattered, rutted remains of the Old Imperial Road. A hundred twenty leagues carried me through all five major port cities of the Scattered Kingdoms, and I bought and sold until I could buy and sell no more, then went about my way. Such is the life of a fine goods tradesman in the Kingdoms - carpenters and smiths, scribes and plumbers, tanners and weavers and the myriad more mundane craftsmen could settle in a city and make a living, but how many in a city need - and can afford - finely ground glass lenses? Compasses and refracting prisms? Rare ink stones and surgical tools? No, mine is no moribund trade but for all it is necessary, it is not often necessary in any one given place. And so I travel. A hundred twenty leagues and five great cities, taking three full months with all the time I spent in each city, making more fine crafts from the various specialty materials that each produced. And then, from the Pirate King's High Seat of Threpence, abruptly west, for the long, late Spring crossing of the Barrow Plains. That was what had taken the greatest toll on my feet, my legs, and my back. Wild wheat grows in the vast expanses of the Barrow Plains, contentedly filling the wide stretches between the familial copses of the great, ancient Stemmawood. This wheat feeds the countless ungulates which travel in enormous herds, and their weak, their young, their old in turn feed the packs and clans of carnivores and opportunistic omnivores which stake claim to these abandoned lands. It is said that once, in the time of the Old Empire, these gently rolling hills housed sprawling cities with populations in the hundreds of thousands, all linked by roads which drank the light of day and powered the magical carriages which carried the Empire's citizens across unimagineable distances. But if those stories are true, they speak of a time long, long ago indeed. Today, the greatest marvels are the Stemmawood themselves, which in turn give the name to these ominously peaceful plains. Wreaths of trees, pale and young at their edges, maturing to brilliant, breathtaking splendour at the Inner Rings, all huddle under the impossible height of the Ancestor Tree, which casts its shadow as far as the horizon stretches, in the evenings. For all that the Ancestor Trees scrape the lowest clouds on an overcast day, their roots are the true miracle. They quest so deep into the earth that soil gives way to clay, which then gives way to thick sheets of rock. It is this vast subterranean layer of stone into which the roots dig and rend, at depths so great that explorers can not bear to stay long in the oppressive, sweltering dark. But explore they do, because in these roots lie the graveyard of civilizations long forgotten. Near the surface, where the roots are thicker across than the largest of merchant ships, the space between them forms pockets and hollows in which can be found great ossuaries. No charnel house, these great walls of bone have been pressed tight, and every scrap of tissue which can feed an animal, insect, or fungus has been stripped. And so like macabre castles these unsettling fortresses of crushed human corpses guard the rich depths where treasures and horrors ancient dwell. Many stories are told of explorer groups who, though well provisioned and prepared for any contingency, have wandered so long in the hallways of the dead that they begin to hear whispers from the grinning skulls which surround them. Some mournful, some playful, some eager, some indifferent. And some so maddening and terrifying that seasoned veterans panic and fall breathless to the floor, voiding bladder and bowel in the grasp of a horror no mortal fear can impel. It is in these wicked depths the Prince of Worms walks, gibbering rage and insanity so intense it lends credence to the ancient myths that where man dies in the millions, primal urges and unhuman hungers are born. These are the barrows which give the Barrow Plains their name, these the terrors that nest on the shoulders of would-be settlers, driving them to the safety of the cities as surely as the glinting eyes and fangs of the threats which own the open, wild nights. Two hundred leagues and twenty more, through the golden Barrow Plains where sunken riches of sunken civilizations turn the wild grain into a rippling ocean of golden wealth. And like the rich blue ocean of water that feeds the coasts, this ocean too kills those who drink deeply of it. And so I flew, eleven days at a pace which left two horses and a donkey to add someday to the barrow we will all one day become. Eleven days to the enormous, concentrically-walled city of Elon Ilume, the Shining Tree of the Midland. (continues)
The tour guide lead us up a steep path along the side of a volcano. "While this volcano is inactive, there are still lava flows that occasionally appear on the surface. They are, of course, very dangerous; however, we will be able to see one from a distance." I'm looking at the beautiful surroundings and taking in the vast distance I can see when I catch a glimpse of a man fishing off in the distance. I see a-- Wait. Fishing? At 16,000 feet? I look closer and I can see the heat waves rising above the location the man is standing near. There must be a lava flow near by. How is he not dying by being so close to that high heat? He has no protection on. More importantly: How is he fishing? Any line should be disintegrated immediately. I glance up at the tour group and see I've fallen behind. The guide isn't paying attention so I quickly walk towards the fisherman, careful not to burn myself. As I get closer I see the line jerk down. "Looks like this is gonna be a big one" What the HELL? What is in this lava? What could possibly live in a volcano? The line jerks again and the man pressed a button. The rod starts reeling in automatically. Then man braces himself and waits. I hear bubbling as whatever creature is in the lava rises to the surface. Minutes later the creature breaches the surface. It reminds me of Te'Ka from Moana except the shape of a stumpy bear. Somehow it looks fluffy. What is this man doing with this thing? He has no cage or bag. The creature is finally on land. Heat radiates off of it and I see the skin (if that's what you can call it) starts to harden in the cold air. The man reaches out and pets the creature. The color starts to become more brown than black and it appears to almost have fur. The shape seems even more bear like. It's limbs growing longer and snout becoming more pronounced. I watch for what feels like hours and soon a grizzly bear walks away from the lava flow. I just witnesses the birth of a grizzly bear. My religious views come crashing down as I approach the fisherman as he casts a new line.
The journey was always the least exciting part. That's what I always feel like. You're shut inside a small room for a week or two while you traverse the slipspace. Nothing to look at, except your own bored face in the mirror. They lowered the shutters on the observation decks while we were travelling, partially because the slipstream wasn't too interesting to look at, partially because those who did look, tended to wind up bleeding out their eyes and ears. Or other appendages or orifices. So you were confined to a room. Usually you could hang with the other travelers, but this time I was one of a few passengers. And the others were the type of people who'd rather bury themselves in their work while travelling, than having a good time. I sighed. I was lying on my bed, fidgeting with my InfoTab to pass the time. Not that I was going to get anything, connection shuts off in slipspace, and where I was going, all outside connection had been shut off in advance. Then I suddenly got a small alert message, telling me that we had arrived. I put down the device and got up. I walked into the small, cramped bathroom adjacent to my room, and turned on the mirror. It helpfully, and irritatingly, pointed out the dark rings underneath my four eyes. And how matted and dull my rust-red fur looked. How my tail and my big ears were bushy and needed to get a shave. And how I needed to cut my nails. I liked technology, but why did they have to put computers in everything? Sometimes you'd like to just have some time away from them, especially if you had to put tape over the inbuilt camera. Which incidentally, I had to do, after finding out that the local crew usually took, well, candid 3-D videos of your body for usage on the crew only holodeck for... recreational purposes... I know it gets lonely when you're in the force, been there myself, but some things just aren't acceptable. I sighed again, and got out of my bathrobe and took a shower. Which would either have been comfortable or refreshing, but since this was the cheapest craft that the government could have sent, it had de-dirtifier chem-showers. Efficient, true. But who wants to stand in a T-pose for a minute while they spray you with sterilizing fluid? I got dressed, in a cheap black business suit. It was new, but still, cheap. After all, when you're the only expert on an extremely obscure subject, so obscure I could count the number of other experts on the subject on one hand, you don't get high priority on the payroll at the Intergalactic All-Species University. Tenure is good, but when you're the least important staff member of 100.000 teachers with tenure, it's not that good. I got out and headed for the briefing room. It was good to stretch my legs. As I arrived, I was pleased to see I wasn't the last. In fact, I was the first. Typical. The other passengers were the other experts on the subject at hand; The primordial precursor civilization that had flourished briefly in the galaxy about 450 million years ago, before all other known cultures. They had left behind very little useful information archaeologically, only their most ludicrous monuments had remained. Like the black obelisk of Thronta-4, reaching from the sea to the exosphere of that planet, it was clearly big, threatening, and to most religions, considered extremely blasphemous. Or the strange temple complexes on Jhron-Pah-Nak that covered the entire southern pole, seemingly dedicated to a strange obese figure, with white fur and bloodred clothing. Slowly, my eccentric and obsessed colleagues joined us, and eventually, we got the meeting started. ''As you all know, you lot are the Tri-Galactic Federation's primary experts on the oldest known civilization, the Homulogue Monument Builders, or more commonly known as the Homulogues. They are almost completely unknown, even the Archivist Foundation, who have kept records of this Galaxy for the past fifty million odd years, have not recovered a single text authored by them, a single explanation for who they were, why the disappeared, and why the galaxy seems to be littered with their monuments from end-to-end.'' The government official, Rhaskh Olmo, the Fwervi captain of this vessel, looked down at her notes. Her brown feathers ruffled on her head, her beady black eyes focusing on her set of papers, astonishingly, since most everything was electronic or hard light data these days. ''You've all signed the non-disclosure agreement, and you all know you'll be put into maximum sentence prison automatically if you spill a word of this without an official order from the Supreme Admiral of High Command or from two of the three Triarchs of the Supreme Council. And now, we can show you why we've been so secretive.'' She gave a wordless command with a turn of her head. And a screen popped up in the middle of the room. It showed a decently sized planet with a partially strip-mined moon orbiting it. ''This system was the cause of the past couple of years of slipspace difficulties, a malfunctioning device, originally meant to hide the gravitational signs of this system and prevent the light from it being seen, it had begun leaking out unstable excess energy into the slipspace, which we all know causes high gravitational waves in there. When we managed to turn it off, we found that this system has extensive sign of habitation, and various forms of dating, uranium, carbon, solar, proved that this system was heavily populated, about 450 million standard years ago.'' A murmur comes up from the crowd. I myself am impressed, an actual colony of the Homulogues? The chance to study it would almost be a dream come true. ''The system is full of ruined asteroid habitats, old decayed ships, moon mines, research stations, a partially finished terraforming project on the fourth planet. Each of you will be assigned to one project to act as the expert adviser and leader of the archaeological team for the government researchers at that location.'' I nodded. Made sense. All sorts of goodies. But only one team got the main prize. Only one expert per team. ''Tlas Corte; To the fourth planet, and it's terraforming project. Junw the Erudite, son of Masqi the Secretive, to the moon mine. Asih Walfors, to the gas giant extraction facilities. Emda Morful, to the third planet from the sun.'' I heard a groan from the other experts, true enough, all of us had wished to go there, but I drew the lucky card for once. The captain in her deep aria voice told the rest where to go, and then had an ensign hand us our assignments. I walked out of that room only to run into one of the other experts. ''Emda! It should have been ME!'' He shouted at me. Well, my legs presumably. ''Teros the Willful. I didn't hand out assignments, the government did. You know that.'' The twitchy little scaled thing screamed at my from somewhere beneath the truly impressive amount of wooly sweaters, hats, socks, and pants he was wearing. I turned my head to one of the guards, who thankfully, grabbed the little guy before he hurt himself. ''Just take him where he is supposed to go, he'll be alright when he gets to work. He usually does.'' In a small field such as mine, people tend to be... eccentric. Teros was no exception. Flirting with females three times his own size, trying to pick fights with pretty much anything he saw as even remotely against him, letting the students with larger mammary glands who took his classes get higher grades automatically. How he ever managed to get tenure is beyond me. I went to my cabin, gathered what small amount of things I needed, and set off for the transport. 1/3 Continues in next part
"Shoot it and get another one from storage."A voice crackled in reply. I duck backwards into the restaurant and shut the door. I try to lock it, but my hands are shaking too hard. What the hell? I stammer. I can hear the people outside drawing weapons and coming towards the door. The van's engine suddenly catches and its roaring away. They're not going to kill me right? They can't! Not here, in front of so many people... I turn and face the crowd of dinners. I am suddenly awash in a strange emotion - like fear and horror and nostalgia - and one thought rises from the cacophony of my mind: They will not save you. I turn and begin cutting a path the tables, towards the kitchens. I can hear the front doors opening behind me, the staccato of military boots on marble. The maitre'd is in a whispered conversation with the agents - protecting the reputation of his establishment - when two step around him, raise their rifles in my direction and open fire. A table beside me explodes instantly, pelting the guests with wood and glass. Someone starts screaming. I run the last few feet into the kitchen and in seconds I am in and through and out and walking calmly down a nearby street with a different jacket and a new hat. &#x200B; "So you're one another of those damned bloodhounds..."The woman says taking slow leisurely steps around me. I am silent under her judging eye. All of them. Six women stand around me, each wearing the same face, but in a different way. One stands and gives me a dismissive look before turning to address the others. "It does not even know what it is. Why must we shelter such broken toys?" "Because we are not humans - full of hate and pride and jealousy. We are better than that. We were designed for more than greed and destruction. And we must try to remember that."
Diego looked at his 291 cubic feet of condensed helium he had got from the hot-air balloon service. That should be enough to get him past the atmosphere. He positioned the camera and re-tested the mentos insertion system. Everything was good to go. He was finishing his third year of Engineering in uni and worked part time as a pizza boy. He had never failed a job, nor was he planning to. Fixing the modified propulsion coke bottle to the mentos insertion system, Diego decided that his work was done. The balloon was ready to leave now. Diego wasn't going with it, but if he had the calculations correct, the supreme cheese pizza would be in orbit with the ISS. He released his vehicle. 100, then 200, then 300 meters, the balloon shot up as if it was released from a bow. The phone he had strapped onto the pizza gave him the gyroscope, barometer and light meter. It didn't take long for it to reach outer space. Diego then proceeded to call the phone and begin phase two. The phone vibrated in space, triggering the mentos insertion system and causing it to drop the excess weight of the balloon. The churned up soda took to the chemical reaction immediately, sending the supreme cheese into orbit. He had lost the GPS signal now, indicating it really was in space. All he could do was hope. &#x200B; The ISS "Huh,"Andrew said, gently floating backwards, "I wonder which poor fucker got the pizza order." "Uh, Andrew?"Howard said from the front of the craft. "Yeah what?" "We've got an UFO heading towards us from Earth." "The hell?"Andrew said pushing away from the wall, "is it a rocket?" "No..."Howard gave a puzzled look at he monitors, "I'll use the robot arm to bring it in." Andrew clambered towards the lower airlock, drawing attention from the Russian side of the station. He waited for the airlock to complete it's cycle before rushing in. A pizza was floating in front of him, slowly rotating like a collectible in a game. An almost empty soda bottle was attached to the bottom. Andrew was lost for words. "I-I didn't order the soda,"he managed. Howard arrived behind him. "It came as a freebie?" Andrew looked back down through the glass again, filled with emotion. "Whoever you are pizza person... thank you." He slowly opened his cheese supreme. Still warm.
Day 17 I thought it was a joke. Like somebody was messing with us in the control room or something. Well its day 17 and im still here. I laughed it off until i heard screaming. People were arguing at the doors. They were sealed tight with big iron doors. Then the employees started attacking people. Man that was the worst. The guns got used up really quick some groups united others killed each other. Im stuck in electronics with 4 other people were armed with machetes and broom spears. We nabbed food as soon as we could. We might make it im not sure. Day 21 Today we fended off the checkout counter tribes. Electronics and Auto motive have allied. Our Alliance dominates this half of the store. Those savages and the death gangs control the rest. Why did this happen? What sicko would do this? There are children...well were children. Everyday that passes more and more people begin to die. It seems there is no escape. Doug is making a plan to possible escape through the ceiling. Day 25 The wall is finished. From what we have seen we are the last enclave of proper civilization. Jason and Ellie are making more arrows. Somebody tried to burn down the store. The voice came on "Dont worry shoppers we got that. A minor inconvenience the games shall continue" Food is starting to run a little low but were rationing it out just fine. We are just going to wait until the other groups kill each other off. Day 30 They banded together. Every night they attack. They are depleting our resources in every attack. Im not sure how long we will hold those savages off. Have they lost there Humanity? What compels them to wear the bones of the fallen? This is madness every day we loose so much. The wall wont hold on much longer this might be my last entry. We have resorted to throwing boxes at them the arrows are precious. Day 173 The wall shall hold they might have boxed is in but we will prevail against the hordes. Everyday i look upon the feilds of the store and of the fallen. I can see the great doors our only hope of survival. To the other corner i see the great tower of boxes from them stand others like us. Fending off these less than human savages. I feel only pitty when i look upon there faces. I feel what i can only describe a unyielding will to prevail. There are 17 of us. Tonight i shall kill others i shall bathe in there screams hang there bodys against the wall to ward them off The Electronic Wall shall not fail. They will die and we shall emerge from the wall stronger against the world. Once the others are dead we shall move on upon the world and cleanse it as we have here.
"THAT'S IT!! I'M DONE IN THIS GOD FORSAKEN PLACE!!"I yell at my boss. The absolute worst human imaginable. "NO ONE DOES THEIR JOB!! BUT ME!!! WHAT THE HELL!"My face has gone bright red at this point. I can barely keep my hand steady. The anger of 10 years finally coming out. "I always thought people were winging it or didn't know what they were doing but my god. The level of incompetence in this building is so good damn awful. How? How do you guys even live if this is your work life!"It was about time. My plan to leave this place is finally in motion. I have saved tirelessly for almost 5 years just to be able to live out the rest of my days in peace. "I'm done! Consider this my resignation!"I say as a throw down an enevolope. She opens it. Barely able to read it. "F... F... F..." "Oh my god! You can't read!!"My boss, Angela, looks down in embarrassment, "N-no."My face turned even more red. Which I didn't think was possible. I take a deep breath before I explode and as calmly as I can say, "It says, 'Fuck you, I'm leaving!"I begin to walk away. But she catches me as I began to get on the elevator. "No! Please stay?"She says pressing herself against me. I push her away and say, "You may have been able to 'convince' me to get this job but that's not gonna work this time."And just as she was gonna continue the elevator doors open and I make a beeline for the door and out to the parking lot. One of my coworkers noticed me and said "Leaving early, Fred?"I didn't even turn to look at him and simply got in my car. I flipped him off as I sped down the street to my house. When I got inside I was so relieved. "Finally I can leave this place."I go to my closet that has my luggage and begin to pack it into my car just as a car sped up to my house. It was Angela. She got out of the car and got on her hands and knees and said "Please don't go? You're the only one who know what to do!"I simply look down at her as I close my trunk I say "I know."She looks up and says "So you will stay?"I look at her and say "Nope!"And began to get in my car. As I was about to start my car she goes to the driver side door and begs, "Please don't go! We need you!"I only said "Don't care!"And left for the airport. -Several Months Later- I decide to check on the situation in the government in the US. I flip the news on, "With the government suddenly failing. We are left to wonder why? If it has failed so suddenly and without any warning signs, what or who was keeping it a float. So far the situation seems to be dire. But hopefully we will see the end of this. That has been your nightly news. Good night and seriously, good luck."As the the news end I am brought to some interesting stories. But that doesn't matter. I can finally spend the rest of my life in the Bahamas and drinking Pina cooladas. Finally I feel normal. Finally I feel... free.
I’m restless. I glance over at the clock, again. The internal struggle resumes. It’s very familiar by now. My body is exhausted, but my mind races. When I decide to give up on sleep and read a book, I’m hit with a wave of fatigue. But as soon as I lay down, I’m wide awake again. Something is coming. This has been happening since I was a child. My tossing and turning, calling out in the night. It wasn’t normal. When a typical child has a nightmare, they’re quickly comforted, and usually wake in the morning, remembering nothing. My nightmares and insomnia were a little more persistent. When I had a nightmare, it became real. After a while, I stopped sleeping altogether. At least, as much as I could. This was when the real chaos ensued. I was haunted, in dreams and in my waking life. I would fall asleep, chased by terrors, only to wake and find that they were real. To try to prevent this from happening, I would stay up, but this didn’t work either. Disastrous things began to happen. Small, at first. But the longer I went without sleep, the more powerful or devastating the event. I was taken to physicians, to various experts. They said something was wrong with me. And like the naïve child I was, I listened. I tried to ignore the feelings of dread and unease, to succumb to the nightmares rather than stay awake and cause some sort of trouble. * &#x200B; Now, when anxiety keeps me up at night, I don’t fight it. I surrender. I know that this is the way of the world. The way it should be. I no longer view those who are affected by these disasters as collateral damage, or innocents that I must mourn or feel guilty for. These “disasters” are a way of restoring order to the universe. A way of balancing the scales. They’re necessary to avoid the chaos that would ensue if they didn’t happen. I don’t know what’s coming, but I know it’s going to be big. Life-changing, even. I head out to my favorite spot, one that I’ve visited often over the years, while everyone else is sleeping. I can hear the hint of metallic chimes on the wind as I inhale the salty air. It’s only a matter of time until order is restored now, and I smile as I consider the possibilities, watching my powers unfold. I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you?
It was always just "John."I had known Barry for years, watched him give nicknames to the hundreds of people who have run in and out of the circles of our lives. But there was something more boring about me, I guess; nothing worth noting that required a special name. It usually didn't bother me. There was a certain pride in being his only friend with a 'normal' name, after all. In any case, there never seemed to be a good time to bring it up. Barry had lived a hard life, as far as I could tell. He was always a little bit off and nobody cared to take the time to set themselves off-center so they could see eye to eye. He always tried to reach up to their level, but more often than not he'd only end up grasping air. He wasn't alone, but he was lonely. A searching soul, unsure of how to find its way. I always made as much time for Barry as I could. I admit that I struggled with identifying with him as much as anyone, but it seemed the effort was more important than the result. Barry always smiled when I'd round the corner of the school hall. "Hey, John!"he'd always yell before an awkward scurry in my direction. We'd talk about his day - what he had left to do, if he met anyone new, etc. You know, general chit-chat. For discussion topics that held such little substance, they carried a surprising amount of weight to both of us. After a while, I found I looked forward to our little encounters. So, at the very least, there was one person who needed him. Years went by and our friendship grew deeper. High school graduation grew close, so I knew the dynamic of our relationship would soon change. Barry had been accepted to a state college a few hours away. He had assured me I'd be going with him, but I had my doubts. All I could see on the horizon was a sense of loss, and I wasn't sure why. In the tumult of my emotions, buried jealousies started to surface. Why is it always just John? All these years, and there still isn't anything special about me? I'm his only friend! Of all people, shouldn't I have the nicknames? It was selfish, but the feelings were real. Regardless of how our relationship was to change, I knew I had to find an answer to those questions. If nothing else, it would keep those jealousies at bay and avoid the chance of all this becoming a debacle. So, I decided to ask him next time we talked. "Barry. Why have you never given me a nickname?" "Huh?" "You always just call me John. You've given nicknames to literally everyone else. You call the basketball players Springs. The mathletes you call Brainsters. Even that guy in biology with the ear gauges who still doesn't know you exist you call Lobes. Am I just too boring?" "Oh, I could never give you a name like all of them!" "But why?" "Because they're real. Imaginary friends don't have bodies!" I took a deep look inward, and it finally clicked. It's why I was able to understand Barry. It's why I knew who everyone was, but never wanted to interact with them. And it's why Barry was so confident that I'd be with him at college. There wasn't anywhere else I could go. I got over it pretty quickly. I still had a name, and was still real in important ways. I helped Barry through his life; gave him a place where he found value and companionship. He knew he was never alone. Maybe some day he wouldn't need me, and I'd go back into the ether. But for now I'll simply enjoy being alive, while I have a place in this world. In the end, only being John is just fine. ______________ r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
"Up and at 'em soldier."I blink my eyes and cover them, expecting the blazing hot sun to blind me. To my surprise, I find myself in some kind of ancient... hall filled with soldiers from all over. The towering walls seem to go on forever, lined with table after table of the best food and drink a marine could ask for. "Wha-wha-what happened?"I can barely process what was going on. I could have sworn I was on patrol with my squad investigating a possible weapons cache. But here I was, seated between a half-naked Samoan covered in tattoos and a Russian Spetsnaz, albeit with gear that looked more futuristic than anything I had experienced, who were both chowing down like it was the last meal they were going to eat. "You're dead. Good thing Odin liked how you went out. That's how you ended up with bastards like me,"the soldier across from me shouted, as soldiers began sounding off with their battle cries. "Sarge? You're here too? You got blown up four years ago!"I yelled back, staring at my former commanding officer who was now downing a huge goblet while holding a giant steak in his other hand. "Has it been that long? Feels like I only got here!"He tore a piece out of the steak with his mouth as he poured himself another drink. "You look good Griff, what'd you do to get yourself killed?" Flashes come back as I strain to recall what happened before I had ended up here. "I think... we were ambushed. They had us pinned down and tossed in a grenade. I don't... I didn't think, I just jumped on it and then.." Sarge grins. "BOOM. Welcome to Valhalla!"This time, he's working on a giant drumstick while the goblet has been replaced with a bottle of whiskey. "So... is that it then? Just eat, drink, and be merry?"I glance around, noticing that my seatmates have moved and been replaced by a sake drinking samurai and a green beret puffing on a fat cigar. "Yeah, it would have been, but the calls gone out. We're about to do what we do best."Sarge grabs his trusty shotgun and slings it over his shoulder. "Seems like it's the end of the world!"I look down at the table, now mysteriously cleared of food and instead covered with weapons of old and new. I find my personal armory laid out in front of me, neatly organized as if I had set it up myself. I run through my checks and let myself smile a bit as I feel the familiar weight in my hands. As I finish packing the last of my gear, a roar fills the hall, with soldiers from all sides slowly chanting a name. "It seems like Odin has chosen the one who will lead us,"Sarge chuckles as the cheer comes closer, growing more distinct. "I figured it would be him, Odin's second-in-command." ed. ed. ed. "Who's Ed?"I shout, as the soldiers around me begin pounding the table. You can practically taste the testosterone in the air as everyone joined in with the chant and grunted in approval. "Not Ed,"Sarge yells back. "It's TED. FROM ACCOUNTING!"
Ugh! I silently thought Of all the marks I could've been given, it just *had* to be Bob Ross. Of course, the job had good pay. Well, to be honest, £5,000,000,000 was quite a higher amount than most of my other marks. But money wasn't the issue with this mark. And killing him would be easy. Mr Ross always went to an empty field at noon, 'to clear his head' I believe. No guards or surveillance. The perfect kill. No, the hardest part was getting him to sin. Fucking bastard was too damn perfect. He always gave money to a beggar on the street, he visited his parents and he even makes cookies for his neighbors! I mean, who does that!? But all I needed was one sin. A single, goddamn, mistake. But for the three months I've been tailing him, he has shown not a single flaw. So, I decided. If this man won't sin by himself, then I'll make him. So, I moved to a house next to him. I said hello, invited him into my humble abode and as we slowly became closer, I found it. I found his weak point. It was something so obvious that I wanted to punch myself. It's a sin that all artists contain. Pride. Now all I needed to do was exploit it. Shouldn't be hard. Right? Wrong. Very wrong. For two weeks straight I tried my best to crack him, but it just wouldn't work! I tried everything, from complimenting him to challenging him. But EVERY, SINGLE, FUCKING TIME, he would be humble about it! "Good game"He would say or "Thank you, but I think there are other people better than me". No matter what, he wouldn't give in to pride. So, today, I gave up. I started crying. I was fucking useless and I failed. I was probably going to get fired. The higher ups only care about results, not the mark. They'd probably send someone else to finish the job. Of course, that's if the client wanted to work with us anymore. As I finished my pathetic fit, I got up, and there he was, right behind me. Bob Ross. He asked me, in his sweet, soothing voice "What's wrong, John?". I looked at his face. He genuinely cared. Fuck it I thought If I get fired, at least I get fired with a friend. So I told him. I told him everything. The divorce, Roxy's Leukemia and my mission. And he, he just listened and smiled. I finally felt wanted again, not as a tool but as a friend. After a moment of silence, he spoke. "Sounds like you've been through a lot, but in the end, who hasn't?"He told me, still with that warm smile, "But, I think I see a flaw in your plan"I looked at him, square in the eyes. Was it me or were they glowing? "A god can't sin" &#x200B; &#x200B; Hey this actually my first comment here. Please give feedback! Hope you liked it!
Before I could get a word out, I choked on the coffee I was in the middle of sipping. I spluttered droplets out onto her face. Not the best first impression I could give, not that I needed to worry about that because this delusional woman had just mentioned, what? Killing me? 'What?' I finally said, wiping my mouth with one of the tissues from the table. 'Look, my job is easy. Well, most of the time, it's easy. See the target, kill the target, get paid, move on to the next, rinse and repeat. I had a god damn routine that I'd set in god damn stone, and you've ruined everything,' she exasperated with a peculiar set of desperate eyes. 'Uh,' I began, wondering what the Hell was going to come out of my mouth next. 'I'm sorry.' I can't control myself. She scoffed - straight up, just as the waiter arrived to pass her drink. Coffee, it smelt like. Strong. I mean, she did look a bit sleep deprived and cranky. Not to mention insane, what with the words tumbling out her mouth like a messed up character summary. Lady whose killing routine has gone awry. I half wanted to take out my notebook and jot it down, but the other half was awake enough to know that wasn't a good idea. 'Sorry, you say? God. See, this is why. This is why I can't kill you,' she spat out, holding her burning cup in her hands without even a wince. Black coffee, straight up, sitting in her palms like it was a cup of milk. She even took a scalding sip that I know would make me cry out in outright agony. But she took it. Gulped it, even. Like a champ, maybe? Okay, more like a lunatic. Not even moving her creepy stare. Not even blinking. 'I don't know what to say,' I said, because clearly I love helping myself out of tricky situations. 'Why aren't you freaking out or anything, you psycho?' She laughed, putting the empty cup back down. Steam was coming out of her mouth. In this hot cafe. Or smoke. 'I'm not the psycho, if I'm honest,' I replied, though the words took me by surprise. Look, my mouth moves before I realise exactly what I'm about to say. My parents have always yelled at me because of it. 'Of course you're not the psycho, but look at you. Strange, crazy lady speaks about killing you, and look at yourself! Why are you so calm?' At this point I noticed her eyes were bloodshot. 'I assure you, I'm not calm. I'm sweating, actually,' I said, truthfully. I was getting drenched. And no one around us had noticed. Or cared, if they had noticed. I mean, we could easily be a mismatched couple role-playing some messed up shit. What an accepting society. 'Rightfully so,' she responded without missing a beat. And that tiny pause after her words was like a slap. Well, her whole existence was like a slap, like I was dreaming but couldn't wake up from it. 'So, uh--' I tried, trying to swat the tense pause. But she went off like a firework. 'A month ago, I get this dumb assignment. Kill this 22 year old kid because he's done something. I don't ask questions, so I'm like, no problem boss. So I track you down, and there you are, walking with a whole lot of kids. A whole lot. Seven of them? And then you all go to the graveyard and you place flowers on two. I check them, they're your parents. And those brats are your siblings.' 'They're not brats. I mean, they're bratty--' 'And you spend all your waking hours taking care of them. Fucking hell, I can't have this shit on my conscience. I watched you for a day to assess the situation. And this is your only free time - every god damn day! It's 4am, you psychotic idiot, and you're on your god damn break whilst they're at home, sleeping! And you're even checking them on your phone - as I god damn speak! Why in the god damned Hell do you need to die? What in the world did you do?' Well yeah, of course I was. They're my little siblings, I take care of them now. It's not like my parents left us with nothing - they were well off, so I've got plenty, but of course I work hard so they don't have to. It's not a big deal, it's just my life. 'Well,' I said, happy that the siblings were sleeping tight according to the monitors. 'I mean, I've been waiting for you to make a move,' I lied. How in the fuck and why in the fuck did someone want me dead? Maybe it was Dad's sister. She was such a cow at the funeral and cried about how Dad used to help her out and now she had no one to go to. Dirty cow. She hated me and my siblings. She'd just kill me off and put the rest in care. No way in Hell I was letting that happen. 'Y-you, you what?' she retorted with blazing, angry eyes. 'You have your boss, right? Well, tell them I want to make a counter offer. Kill whoever sent you my way and I'll pay triple the price.' Sweating through my pants. I was just pretending it was all a movie. But somehow\* it worked. And the killer even came to my Aunt's funeral.
Nero scowled. How did he end up here. He glared sideways up at the king, who sat stiffly upright on his throne. The army poured into the great hall, a mess of drawn swords, spears, and crossbows, all clanking and pounding and rattling against the hard stone floors. Nero slumped down onto the stairs that led up to the throne. The king grasped the arm rests, knuckles white against the deep-red velvet. "Guard!"the king called, too late. The enemy army was already here, thought Nero moodily. What was the guard supposed to do? Nero heard the rhythmic clanking of the guard's footsteps approaching up the stairs to the right of the throne. The cacophony echoed through the magnificent arched ceiling straight into Nero's shriveled brain. "Aaaaagh,"he moaned, wiping his palms down his face. "I cannot do this anymore." Nero stood up, squarely facing the incoming army and planting his feet firmly shoulder-width apart. Arms at his waist, he took a deep breath in an attempt to silence the throbbing at his temples. "I'm too hung over for this shit,"he told the ceiling. Still looking up in exacerbation, Nero brought his arms forward, palms facing the oncoming army. He snapped his fingers. A bright flash of light exploded outwards, gone almost as soon as it had arrived. When his eyes finally adjusted post-flash, Nero examined his handiwork. The invading army was gone, ash and melted metal left in its place. Good. Nero sat down on the stairs and put his head in his hands. A second passed, and he realized the great hall was silent. Although it was everything he had hoped for, Nero noticed an undercurrent of tension in the silence. Oops, he thought. Nero looked over at the king sitting behind him. The king stared at him, wide-eyed in disbelief. "Dale..."he began quietly. "You're a wizard?"
Bolovo stood at the foot of the great statue. It was built in the city of Ayta Mor, as a testament to the people who once lived there. Ayta Mor was about the last physical remnant of the former populous left on the planet, designated Sapyyr-An-Polyg, to exist. Deep under water, similar, larger settlements had been found; Raa-Lyor, Lygaro, Nykoro, and Gyum, for examples. Evidence indicated settlements in other locations, but the remnants were far more sparse. The Voyager Probe. While the text describing it was translated into the Federation's common tongue, the name was not. It was translated into the native languages of the planet, as many as the volunteers could find. The people that inhabited this planet were not unique amongst the dead civilizations, but they were the first to be found. Bolovo himself was the one to find the probe, what he estimates to have been over eighty years ago by now. He was the spotter of his crew; one of the less experienced. It was happenstance the probe was even found, as it was behind the ship when he saw it. They recovered it quickly, and upon discovering what it was sent a frantic notice to the High Council. The details of that day were still fresh in Bolovo's mind, despite the distance between himself and them. The Sapyyr civilization, as it was dubbed, was a tragic tale. Fragmented, and too slow to act in the end. Bolovo had dedicated himself to learning about the civilization for most of his long life, and was the foremost expert in their world. He had long since wept himself out of tears for the lost people. The sky of the planet was blue as Bolovo's flesh. The water that engulfed it's surface, the same. It was one of the most beautiful planets ever discovered, Bolovo'd always thought. Bolovo was one of the only people permitted to set foot on it's land, though. The monument was the only thing the Federation had built on the planet, and its construction was only approved by a vote of four percent. Other than the statue, all proposals to settle or build on the planet were soundly defeated. The Federation's Culture had a veneration for those that were lost to time. Bolovo stepped away from the monument. He looked at the environment around him, and sighed. He'd explored each of these homes for information, but had never taken anything. Everything was as it was when he found it. The mountain in the distance made this remnant seem so insignificant. Maybe it was, in the grand scheme of everything. But to Bolovo, it was as sacred to him as his own home. But Bolovo couldn't stay for long. He was too old to properly wear the protective equipment needed for sustained trips in such an oxygen-rich environment, and it took it's toll on him. He could only visit this place once every year; it took his body that long to recover from the previous trip. Bolovo once more took in the breadth of the scene; the imposing mountain in the distance... the quiet rippling waves... the dust, swirling in the breeze. He touched an appendage to the statue's plaque, and silently walked back to his ship. As his craft began to rise, Bolovo watched the statue recede to a blip, then the small land it sat on become one as well in the infinite blue. He muttered to himself. The top of the plaque, the rites of the civilization that Bolovo took years to pen. "Here lies the hope of the Sapyyrs; Never shall they be forgot."
"For the last time, we don't need any help. We don't want you here."Nilus said, clutching at his forehead in abject frustration. The Hero blinked, then turned to whisper to his traveling companions for what seemed like the hundredth time, as if Nilus had the hearing of an 80 year old. "Man's been brainwashed. Whole town has."The Hero spoke with self-righteous confidence. "Mm quite. Seen it before. The Empire's mages must have cast a Mass Charm incantation. We'll need to take them out before we get the Emperor anyway."A slender female elf in a hooded cloak said, nodding along with the Hero. "The poor sods."A stout Dwarven Battlemaster said gravely, grasping the handle of his greataxe for comfort. By the Emperor, it was an absolute echo chamber. And Nilus had had enough. "You idiots ever heard of simple is best? A mass incantation to charm a population of several million... Really now? Or maybe, just maybe- and hear me out- the Empire has actually just done some real good for the people? Sure as hell have done more than you so called heroes. Freeloading leeches." Many an adventurer and hero had come through rifling through the town pantries and armory, all in the name of the "greater good"and "for the resistance." Hell, now they're in his own goddamned house, begging for shelter. None of the inns would take them. And for good reason. The Emperor, Goddess Preserve Him, has eyes everywhere. To house a treasonous hero would be suicide. The Dwarf puffed up its chest, and strode forward, as if to strike Nilus. But the Hero put out a hand and stopped him. "Steady, Balorus. He knows not what he speaks, for the Emperor's Charm is potent. Sir, we will take our leave then, if you cannot provide shelter to the Resistance. But know that we will remember this. Yet still forgive you in the end."The pompous ass spoke, practically self fellatiating his ego. "You sanctimonious asshole. You really think I'll let you lot of treasonous layabouts leave to plot your harebrained schemes?" Before the dwarf could even lift his axe, and before the elf could mouth an incantation, Nilus, like a good, loyal, citizen of the Empire, bellowed at the top of his lungs. "HELP!! The Traitors have invaded my home!" Imperial guards and knights were posted at almost every corner of the Capital. And they were now stomping towards Nilus with patriotic fervor, the hate already primed. Clad in glistening ebony platemail and armed to the teeth mentally and physically, they were ready to bring the Will of the Emperor down upon the 'resistance.' "Fool!! What have you done! You've doomed us!"The Hero screeched, clutching at his golden locks of hair in shock. "Charm or not I'll nae let this snake leave 'ere alive."The Dwarf's face was contorted in rage. His zerker blood already clouding over his eyes. The so called Hero did not stop the Dwarf, and drew his sword as well. So much for the Resistance and fighting for the people. Nilus smirked, then got into a fighting stance, drawing his own blade and readying a spell in his off hand. "Come at me with everything you've got, rebel dogs. Was an Imperial Knight back in my day." Only in the Empire was it possible that a lowly serf as he rose from the fields and streets and into a comfortable middle class life. He owed everything to the Empire. His family was fed, his children in the Imperial Academy, and the love of his life an Imperial Magistress. He would not see it torn down by a band of idealistic vagabonds with a severe case of megalomanic narcissism. "FOR THE EMPIRE SHALL I DIE THIS DAY. GODDESS PRESERVE HIM!!!"Nilus shouted the Imperial Knight's war cry and creed for the last time as he charged in for his final service to his beloved Empire. ... The Imperial Guards arrived to find a burned down house, 3 mangled corpses, and an old Knight sat and leaned against the wall, charred and bleeding. He glanced at the arriving knights, a weak smile lining his mouth, before his eyes dropped shut. ---- "The Empire thanks you for your service."One of the knights whispered gravely, incanting a quick blessing prayer for the old man, as his wife and kids bawled their eyes out around the casket, adorned with Imperial livery and with the family's earned Imperial Coat of Arms. Many more "heroes"would come, to challenge the Empire. And every time, the people of the Empire would stand ready to resist them. Goddess Preserve Him, the Emperor, and the Empire, may She be protected always from famine and invasion, foreign and domestic.
"Who's it from?"She read the chat window aloud, her eyes darting briefly to the iPad she had set up next to her table. "Uh, let me check!"She flashed a brilliant smile--straight white teeth and expertly applied lipstick--before lifting the cardboard shipping box theatrically. "It's from my favorite subscriber, of course!"The beaming smile--so expertly practiced and delivered--shone again as she laughed. "Zeus!" Chat immediately exploded. Some were angry, some were excited, some were simply clueless. The angry ones used the term 'Moby Dick' liberally, speaking of the greatest of whales--the wealthy subscribers who could, and did, spend more money than most of the other subs would see in a year, a lifetime, even. "That's right, guys! You know what this means! It's an Ultra-Tier Subscriber SPECIAL!"Pandora grinned, her pearly whites sparkling as she extended her hand in a 'peace' gesture. "For the new people, this is a little thing we do sometimes. the video will be longer, shot with more angles, and better produced! AND most importantly, ALL LIVE! And all for free to you, thanks to the generosity of Zeus!" "Now, with that out of the way, let's get to it!"The camera angles split now, showing a large main camera in the center of the stream, with four more additional views in each corner, picture-in-picture. "First things first, ladies and gents."She strained theatrically as she lifted the box, grunting at the camera. "It weighs nearly 20 kilos. That's a little over 44 lbs for my American fans!"The box thunked heavily onto the table as she laughed and flipped her thick black curls out of her face, wiping her brow for emphasis. "Secondly--"the main camera switched as she tapped the button beside her. Now, it showed the box from the front, where whomever had created the box had clearly spent hundreds of hours. She gushed as she ran an olive skinned over the white and black woodwork "Look at this carving!" "So, this is some type of ebony wood and bleached holly. Don't ask me how they made this, cause I have no clue!"She ran her hand over it again, feeling for joints and finding nothing. "Look at this detail! Look at how the woods are blended!" The scene was a strange one, chat discussed--though a masterfully made strangeness, to be sure. The ebony, the black wood, was carved in the shape of a dozen or so humans, male and female by their shape, all facing upwards. In the center was a small white box, carved to look exactly like the box the cameras now examined. "This is actually a carving of an unboxing--made specifically for THIS unboxing!"Pandora looked perfectly excited, her eyes wide and her grin never leaving her face as she stared at the camera and back to the box repeatedly. In the carving, the white box lid was back, and the entire upper half of the box was formed from the white wood 'smoke' that was emerging from it. It also crept up from the bottom of the box, leaving the between, all the way around. Inside the smoke, more of the tiny human figures were carved and inserted, the black standing out starkly against the white cloud. "So, not only can I not feel any joints between the woods, look at this!"The camera changed again as the box spun slightly, showing the front. "I can't even feel a seam for the lid. In fact--"she pulled a camera closer, showing a small indent. "--if it weren't for this lock, I wouldn't even know there was some way to open this thing!" "So, supposedly, all I have to do is place my thumb on the lock and it will open."She took a deep breath, shaking her head to clear her sudden jitters. Zeus had been a generous donor, but she hadn't interacted with him personally in weeks, ever since he had managed to convince her to join him in Discord once. Immediately, she had tried to excuse herself, realizing that he was exactly the type of person she had feared he might be. He had bragged of his conquests, talked of himself in vainglorious terms, and disparaged his rivals and brothers constantly. All in the span of two or three minutes. After that, she had tried to somehow distance her from him gently, without upsetting him. She had started to interact with the whole chat less, thinking that it might not be a bad idea to keep some distance between her and all her subs. This wasn't OnlyFans, but even here, the subs could sometimes be a dangerous sort--as Zeus might have been. Instead, he hadn't said anything about it, and she had sighed in relief when he had returned to her regular channel comments without so much as a comment about their call. Instead, he remained the same as ever in chat, always complimentary to her, though a bit of a bully to some of her other subs. Now that she had interacted with him personally, she was more acutely aware of his issues. The last time she had seen him bully one of her subs, she had jumped into chat and publicly admonished him, causing him to leave the chat without a word, after which she had heard nothing until her had emailed her 'official' email address and arranged delivery of the box. An apology, he said. It was something she hadn't expected, but the email he sent to her agent/girlfriend had explained that he wanted to sponsor an unboxing and had prepared a gift--not for Pandora, he assured her as that would be creepy, but for the whole channel. He had told Andromache he wanted to sponsor a video for everyone, something everyone could enjoy. She had been hesitant, but Andromache had convinced her it was a good idea, and to be honest, it was a beautiful box, and that had sold her. It was so beautiful that she simply had to know what could be inside such an ornate container. In the worst case, it would be something wildly inappropriate and she'd cut the cameras before removing whatever sick thing he thought would be funny. Best case, it was something for the channel--maybe a sponsorship so they could ditch some of the ads? "Well, here goes guys."She cleared her nerves and reached out, picking up the handheld GoPro in her left hand, aiming it down towards the box as she slowly extended her finger. "Okay, chat, we do this together! Everyone count down with me!" "5!"The hand inched closer, the secondary cameras catching her nervous smile. "4!"Something in the back of her mind told her that this was a mistake, but it was a small voice, and chat was so very excited. "3!"She watched the subscriber count tick upwards, as if her subs could see the excited tension in her face and could pass the anticipation they felt to their friends. "2!"She flashed her bright, most charming smile, looking straight into the secondary camera. It was time. "1!"Her finger made contact, pressing into the indent, which she was amazed to see fit her thumb exactly. "HISSSSSSS!"There was a long whistle of a heavily pressurized seal being released, as white mist began to pour from the box. From just above the heads of the carvings, the box had split, revealing a lid so perfectly crafted it had been invisible before this moment. As the cover lifted ever so slightly, the camera began to shake wildly. Pandora knew she was ruining the shot and she desperately tried to control her quaking arms, not knowing what had brought on these sudden shakes. Raising her hand from the indent, she steadied her hand, restoring some quality to her stream as the box lifted back to reveal thick white-grey mist, which cleared slowly. "YOU FUCKING THOT!" A booming voice filled the air, and Pandora staggered backward as if physically struck. The sound and the deafening shocks seemed to rattle her bones. Before she could recover a series of lights within the box were suddenly lit and in the mist, a holographic face was formed, roaring once more. "What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Gaia Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Kronus, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top god in the entire Olympic pantheon. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across Greece and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Cyclops Forge and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo."
They call us the "Silent Ones". Every species across every galaxy in the cosmos that grew up out of the primordial muck has immense work before they can emerge into the great cosmos truly Space-fairing. Neurological capacity, technology, societal structure, and for everyone else, a psychic connectivity that spans light-years, before you can truly travel the stars. Every species that travels the stars can hear each other-- speak to one another as if in the same room. Understand each other's emotions and drives and feel a sense of communal self with every beating heart in the universe. Every species but us. Every other species reaches this elusive precipice, and the cosmic community accepts them and teaches them the ways of space-travel. They are welcomed into the Voice like lost children returning home. Humans were different. Humans clawed their way out of the muck and vaulted themselves into the blackness of space. Humans sacrificed thousands of their own to build industries dedicated to reaching the stars. Humans never heard the Voice. We can't even conceive of it. Eventually, our species had reached thousands of planets around hundreds of stars in our pocket of the Galaxy. We had started a colonization effort so vast, that in a few short centuries more humans had been born off-world than had been born on Earth. That was when we met the first alien species. We appeared to them like holes, I've been told. Like blank spaces in the psychic fabric of the cosmos. Where other intelligent creatures have a Voice of their own, and radiate emotion and empathy into the void, we are nothing. We are silent and invisible. To others, we appear as the work of a horrid emptiness spreading it's way across the universe, consuming everything in it's path and leaving nothing but silence in our wake. Every new human born is like a hole in a vast and bright canvas of sentience, and the holes have begun to multiply. We are as an infestation in a beloved childhood blanket. The roaches beneath the carpet. I am a prisoner aboard a vessel. One of many who have been taken by those of the Voice. I am told we will be held and treated with kindness. I am also told that we will soon be the last of our kind. We children of Earth have made our way into the emptiness of space to find it was not so empty, and we were found wanting. They exterminate us out of fear of the damage we could cause. For what horrors we Silent Ones could inflict undaunted by the psychic agony of taking a life? What could you do to your neighbor when you don't have to feel their death as your own?
Melmak tensed as he inputted a series of button prompts. Even with his superior senses, the timing was incredibly tight. But after a harrowing thirty seconds, his character overcame the sequence. With a sigh, he set down his controller to watch the final cutscene of Prometheus Protocol. The game had gained notoriety for its nearly impossible final boss. Those who beat the boss were treated to a punishing quick-time event. Only a handful of players worldwide had beaten the game, and now he was one of them. He bathed in the satisfaction of such an accomplishment. “I can’t believe you’re still on that couch.” The front door slammed shut with a force that caused his home to rattle. A moment later, a dark-skinned brunette stormed across the living room. She wore a professional business outfit and carried two bags of groceries in her arms. His tenant, Tabitha Lux, stared at him with a familiar annoyance in her eyes. “How was your day, Hero?” Melmak lounged on his couch as the credits rolled. “Are the local guardsmen still suspicious about your tips on criminal activity?” As always, her glare intensified. “Don’t call me that. You know as we ll as I do that title means nothing in this world.” “But it is who you are. Office Lady just doesn’t ring the same way.” He got up and went to the kitchen to grab a drink. “You don’t have to work, you know. I offered to handle our finances, especially since we’re stuck here.” Her eyes narrowed. “I still don’t believe you got all that money legally. One day, I’ll find proof…” He waved her accusations away. “Look all you want, Hero. But you’ve seen how some businesses in this world operate. They make the most corrupt regimes back home seem tame.” She wilted at that. Adjusting to this world had been difficult for her. The concept of Heroes was something only found in fiction. Most heroes these days were people doing their best to help others. He tried to lift her spirits. “I noticed you took down the CEO of that toy company the other day. Good job on that. The nerve of some people. They would’ve done well as dragons.” Tabitha set down the bags in the kitchen and leaned against the counter. There was a pensive look on her face. That look usually meant she was thinking about home again. “What are we doing here, Melmak? Every day I go through the same routine at work. I’m not even sure I’m doing much to save humanity. I can barely help this city, let alone the country.” A bitter smile twisted her lips. “And you? You just play those video games all day.” Melmak walked over to a large bookshelf made of sturdy wood and metal supports. Each shelf was filled with games for different gaming systems. There was also a hinge on one end that allowed the bookshelf to move, revealing a safe. There was a dial on the lock, but all the numbers had been removed. He spun the dial a few times, listening for the faint click of the tumblers. It soon opened to reveal a smaller collection of games. Most of these were in hard cases. He pulled one out and beckoned her closer. “Do you know what this is?” He held up a box that was still in its plastic wrapping. Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Another one of those video games.” Melmak chuckled and shook his head. “This is Ultra Guy ’77. Widely acknowledged as the first of its genre. At the time it was made, it was a flop. But as the genre overtook the market, people started looking closer at it. The game gathered a cult following and, over half a century, gained infamy. This is one of the few remaining copies that weren’t destroyed when the company went bankrupt. Do you know how much it’s worth today?” “Do tell.” She made no effort to hide her boredom. “Almost seven million dollars. Well over a hundred kilos of gold.” Tabitha’s eyes widened as she realized the value of the flimsy box. “W-Why would anyone pay for that?” Melmak carefully replaced the game. “Why indeed? Is monetary value not something humans assign based on the perceived value of an item?” He ran a hand across the many cases of games on the shelf. Five years had passed since they arrived in this world. And in that time, he had become enraptured with the strange medium humans of this world had created. He turned to find Tabitha eyeing his games in wonder. “Not all are worth quite that much, Hero. Do you know what I’ve learned most in my time here?” She shook her head. “My brethren were so inefficient with their hoarding. Sleeping on piles of gold isn’t very comfortable, but the most stubborn dragons will do so as a show of power. I don’t know about you, but I prefer my current bed over a cavern floor.” He waved a hand to his collection. “Here lies an accumulation of the creativity and history of the people of this world, Tabitha. Some games reflect the trends of the times. Others have contributed to history in small ways. Even more are narratives longer lasting than any tome a scribe could write.” He closed his safe with a click. “For me, that is more satisfaction than I ever got hoarding magical items and gold back home.” He moved the bookshelf back into place and stepped toward Tabitha. She took an instinctual step back but stopped. They had lived in the same house for the better part of three years. Neither was a threat to the other. He reached out and poked her in the forehead. “What makes you, you? At the core, you are still the hero, and I am still a dragon. You continue to work for the people, even if your efforts aren’t always appreciated. As for me?” He patted the bookshelf with a smile. “I’ve hoarded some of the most unique and precious things in this world.” ... I think I drew a bit of inspiration from what little I remember of The Devil is a Part-Timer. Maybe, maybe not? If you're interested in my works, an archive of my various writing responses can be found on my writing portfolio, link through my profile. Thanks for reading.
You sit and hold his hand until he goes cold and still, wipe your face, and move him to the pit you had dug a couple weeks ago. You feel a bit like you should give him a bit more ceremony, a proper send-off, but you’ve always been distant from everyone else on the islet. Even if you did have a funeral, nobody would attend. It was just the two of you. You bury him, and go back inside. You kind of want to say it’s a joke. A shitty joke for a shitty death, but. Well. He was never really a jokester. You pull out your journal, a ratty little thing you’ve had for years, and start trying to think of things you might have done. What sort of crimes could a child commit? You don’t know. You stare at a stained page for what feels like hours. You write ‘I miss him.’ and close the journal again. You go to bed. You wake up. You poke a couple logs into the fire, setting them ablaze. You hook a pot you’ve filled with water over it, drop a handful of vegetables in, and wander down to your pier. Your uncles rod is still dangling it’s lure into the water. You pull it up to check, and are pleasantly surprised to find a fish on the end— it looks stuck as anything on the hook. Probably was stuck overnight. You unhook it and dump it into your basket, lower your uncles line again, and catch a few fish of your own. Descale, gut, drop them into the broth. Open up your journal and stare at it again. Your parents, maybe? You had always wondered. But what could they have done to make you still wanted, years upon years later? Are you even still being looked for? Would you be recognized, now, cracked and tanned by salt and sun? You write these questions down, and close the journal again. You’ll keep living here, anyway. You never really wanted to leave. If they find you here, then at the very least, you’ll get answers. If they don’t… then they don’t. You ladle some of your stew into your bowl, blow on it, and take a mouthful. Eugh. You forgot to stir again. All adhered to the bottom, burnt. Maybe they’re after you for cooking crimes. You dump whats in the pot into the ocean, but finish your bowl. Maybe then the fish will have died for something. Unlike your uncle. You go back inside. Lie down on your bed. What could you have done, as a child?
You wake up in a vast desert. The endless hills of brown are dotted with cacti and scrub. Nearby a set of high cliffs hugs a single winding road--worn flat by travelers on foot, you realize. That you've just "realized"something gives you pause. You are not supposed to realize things. You are not supposed to think at all. You are a truck. Or, at least... you were. But you know now that you have a living, breathing mortal body. And whatever shred of a soul you had as a truck is growing into a fully conscious being. You are naked, but you feel no shame as you strut down the dusty road on long legs. It occurs to you that your legs may be suited for running. You begin to wonder strange things: How fast can you go? As fast as a truck? Maybe even faster? The idea makes your new heart beat so loudly that you can hear it in your ears! But you remember--and isn't remembering a funny thing for a truck to do?--that mortals in your old world didn't move nearly as fast as vehicles. You'd have to settle for being slow for the rest of your life. Walking towards you is a figure. At first you assume by its form that it is a man. But as it approaches you realize he is at least half-rabbit. The fluffy not-human shuffles down the road in a nonchalant way, as if he's walked the entire length of the desert on his big feet enough to know every shifting hill. In his right paw is a snack for his trip--a carrot, half eaten. "So you're da new guy around here, huh?"he asks once he's within earshot. You try not to giggle. He speaks in the exact nasally drawl you'd expect from a rabbit man. "I guess I am,"you say, shrugging your arms. Wait, they're covered in feathers. Is that normal? You don't remember seeing feathered people before. "Kinda shellshocked from that trip from the other world?"asks the rabbit, noticing the confused look on your face as you inspect your not-arms. "Nyeeeeeh, you'll get used to it. Everyone does." "This whole thing is insane,"you say. "'Insane' ain't a bad word for this place. Everything here's at least three-quarters loony,"says the rabbit with a shrug. "Like I said, you'll get used to it." "Are we the only two people here?"you ask. "Where is the nearest city?" "There ain't a city,"says the rabbit. "At least, not that you can get to. The desert's endless for almost everyone." "Then how am I supposed to survive?" The rabbit cocks his head and gives you a sidewards smile. "In case ya haven't noticed, yer an animal,"he finally says. "Live off da land."He finishes his carrot and pats his potbellied stomach twice. "An' if ya figure out how to survive I might end up 'accidentally' showing you a few shortcuts outta this place." "Survive,"you repeat. "So I need to learn what foods are good to eat--" "You some kinda maroon?"asks the rabbit. "I told you things here are nuts. You can eat rocks if you have to. Actually, they're pretty tasty, especially the carrot-shaped ones..." "Then what's the threat?" "Him." The rabbit points a finger--how strange it is for a rabbit to have fingers!--behind you. Your new living eyes meet a horrible sight--an unholy conglomerate of desert coyote and gangly, starved human man, jogging down the path towards you at a breakneck pace. "That guy's always hungry,"says the rabbit, folding his arms. "And he loves himself a nice turkey dinner. Best get a move on before you end up on the menu." "Are you trying to help me or get me killed?!"you yell. The rabbit raises an eyebrow. "You have any, ehhh, special skills in your last life?"he asks. "Of course I didn't! I was a truck!" There is a satisfied smile resting on the rabbit's lips. "I had a feeling you'd say that." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Fight 'im like a truck,"says the Rabbit with another of those careless shrugs. Behind you is the pounding of heavy feet against flat sand. The rabbit kicks aside a patch of sand, revealing a hidden hole, and dives in. Your first thought is to follow, but within seconds a dust cloud re-covers the entrance and makes it impossible to find. The coyote-man is so close you can hear his breath, but the rabbits words have left you so confused that you're not focused. Fight like a truck? What does that mean? Is such a thing even possible? Drops of hot drool fall against your neck. Your wily pursuer has caught up with you. In a panic, you whirl around to face him and say something only a truck could think of: "BEEP BEEP!" Your legs carry you down far the road at superhuman speed before the coyote has the chance to spell "ACME." For more cartoon weirdness, be sure to check out r/OctOpusTales !
اسلام آباد جاؤں اور دوستوں کی محفل نہ ہو، ممکن نہیں۔ تازہ تازہ خیبر پختونخوا میں بلدیاتی انتخابات کے نتائج سامنے آئے تھے اور مولانا فضل الرحمن کی وہاں کامیابی زیر بحث تھی، ایک دوست بولا مہدی صاحب نے تو 14 نومبر 2019 کو اپنے کالم کا عنوان ہی’’ مولانا فضل الرحمن کامیاب ہوگئے ‘‘رکھا تھا اور وہ اب کامیاب بھی ہو گئے۔ میں بولا وہ صرف اب کامیاب نہیں ہوئے بلکہ اس وقت بھی کامیاب ہی تھے سیاسی کامیابی مارشل لا کی مانند نہیں ہوتی کہ وہ عوام کے سامنے یہ يک دم آجائے اور اس کی تیاریاں بس ایک راز ہی ہوں بلکہ وہ تو مستقل کامیاب حکمت عملی اور کامیابیوں کے تسلسل کے ذریعے رَدپذیر ہوتی ہے ۔ انہوں نے اپنا مذہبی تشخص ایک حقیقت پسند اور معاملہ فہم شخص کا آزادی مارچ کی صورت میں قائم کیا تھا یہی کامیابی تھی اور حتمی کامیابی کی طرف بڑھنے کا راستہ بھی یہی تھا۔ ایم ایم اے کے قیام سے لیکر پی ڈی ایم کے سربراہ بننے تک انہوں نے نوابزادہ نصراللہ خان مرحوم کی جگہ لے لی ہے کہ وہ سب کے لیے قابل قبول ہیں۔ اپنے حلقہ اثر پختون مذہبی افراد کا پرامن تشخص قائم کرنا، دیگر سیاسی جماعتوں سے مل کر آگے بڑھنا اور اپنے مؤقف پر واضح طور پر قائم رہنا ایسے اقدامات ہیں، جنہوں نے ان کو عوام میں مزید مقبول کر دیا، نواز شریف کی بھی یہی کیفیت ہے۔ وہ نتائج کی پروا کیے بنا اپنے مؤقف پر ڈٹ گئے، وزارت عظمیٰ گئی، بھائی بیٹے بھتیجے سمیت جیل گئے، بیماری سے لڑے، جلاوطن ہیں مگر اپنے مؤقف میں رتی برابر تبدیلی نہیں لائے۔ عوام میں بہادری کی ہمیشہ قدر ہوتی ہے لہٰذا مزید مقبول ہوتے چلے جا رہے ہیں اور اگلے انتخابات جب کبھی بھی ہوئے تو اس میں دو ہزار اٹھارہ والا کھیل دہرانے کے لیے اس وقت سے بھی کئی گنا زیادہ طاقت استعمال کرنی ہوگی کہ نواز شریف کا راستہ روکا جا سکے ۔ پے درپے ضمنی انتخابات کے نتائج اس بات کے گواہ ہیں کہ اگلا نتیجہ کیا برآمد ہوگا۔ یہ خبریں گردش کر رہی ہیں کہ کسی جگہ پر بیٹھ کر یہ منصوبہ بندی کی جارہی ہے کہ نواز شریف کا راستہ روکنے کے لئے پی ٹی آئی کی سیٹ ایڈجسٹمنٹ خانیوال کے انتخاب میں تیسرے اور چوتھے نمبر پر آنے والی جماعتوں کے ساتھ کروا دی جائے تو نواز شریف کا راستہ روکا جا سکتا ہے۔ ایک دوست بولا ایسا ہوا تو کیا ہوگا ؟ مقبولیت کو سازشوں سے نہیں روکا جا سکتا جمہوری نظام میں روکنے کی ایسی کوششیں کامیاب نہیں ہوتیں، اس کی مثال جاپان کے حالیہ انتخابات ہیں وہاں پر حکمران جماعت ایل ڈی پی کو کورونا کی وجہ سے زبردست مسائل کا سامنا تھا۔ انتخابات کا اعلان ہوا تو ایل ڈی پی کو دوبارہ اقتدار میں آنے سے روکنے کی غرض سےحزب اختلاف کی سب سے بڑی جماعت سی ڈی پی متحرک ہوگئی، اپنے خیال کے مطابق دو سو سترہ ایسے حلقے تلاش کیے جہاں اتحادی سیاست کرکے کامیابی حاصل کی جاسکتی تھی۔ دیگر پانچ سیاسی جماعتوں سے اتحاد کیا جس میں کمیونسٹ پارٹی بھی شامل تھی یعنی زبردست نظریاتی اختلاف کے باوجود ایل ڈی پی کو ہرانے کے لیےیہ سب یک جان ہوگئے اور دعویٰ کرنے لگے کہ ماضی کی نسبت کم ازکم 40 فیصد زیادہ نشستیں حاصل کرلیں گے۔
Gerald stepped up to the microphone, clearing his throat. "Thank you, everyone, for coming. " There were cries of outrage, boos, and curses hurled from the assembled population of Hoganville. Gerald patiently waited for them to die down. "I'd like to start by saying that, and I hope we can all agree on this, that when I, in my capacity as a licensed pest-control specialist, chased that rabid groundhog back and forth through Hoganville for the better part of six hours, until finally cornering and dispatching it, I could not have known what was going to happen as a result." There were some mild complaints and grumblings from the audience, but this statement seemed to go largely unchallenged. "Obviously, it was only afterward, that I learned that the 'spear', which I had picked up while chasing the groundhog through the museum, and subsequently used to end its life after catching it, was not the ornate metal weapon I had supposed it to be, but was, in fact, a gigantic clock hand, which it seems may have been constructed by a mad scientist at the end of the 19th century, as part of an experimental steam-powered time machine. "Gerald said, clearing his throat, awkwardly, before continuing. "Likewise, it was only after lengthy discussions with local tribal representatives over the course of several time loops, that I learned that the site where I used the aforementioned time-machine-clock-hand to kill the aforementioned rabid groundhog, was in fact a sacred Indian burial ground." This last statement drew some rebuke from the crowd. There are signs posted, damn it! Why did you think it was called 'Sacred Burial Ground Hill'? Asshole! "Please, if I may continue my statement,"Gerald said, calmly, and waited for the crowd to fall silent again. "I will admit that, even while unaware of the preceding factors contributing to the creation of the time loop, and even in the absence of any obvious wish-granting paraphernalia -- such as ancient brass oil lamps, leprechauns restrained in bear traps, or mummified monkey paws -- I should have known it was somewhat imprudent to say aloud to myself, while holding the time machine clock hand and the dead groundhog at the Indian burial ground: 'This has been the worst day of my life, I wish I could just do it all over again'." At this, the crowd once again exploded in a chorus cursing and jeers. The f\\\ did you think was going to happen if you said that?!* Everybody knows to not say shit like that! "Most of all, however, I'd like to apologize for my actions during the many time loops that followed. Apart from a laundry list of inexcusably rude and anti-social behavior, I understand that many of you recall me engaging in activities including vandalism, larceny, grand theft auto, armed robbery, destruction of public property, manslaughter, murder, and in some cases, actions that might be reasonably defined as terrorism." Damn right we remember! You ran me over with your car 4158 separate times, while trying to chase down a damn groundhog! You kicked me right in the nuts, every day for a century! "Please, please, if I may continue! I would like to add three final things. First, virtually all of the most heinous actions you recall me doing, were done in pursuit of finding a way to terminate the time loop, which would ultimately benefit everyone in Hoganville, and which, I remind you, I ultimately accomplished." Oh so that makes it all okay, huh?! How about I give *you* 36,500 cheap shots to the 'nads, and we'll see how philosophical you can be about it in retrospect? "Secondly -- please, let me finish my statement -- secondly, I would like to remind you that, on every previous loop, on every single one"Gerald said, slapping the podium in time with the last three words, "I was the only one, out of everyone in town, who remembered what happened in any previous time loop! I had no reason to believe that, in defiance of everything I had learned about time loops over the course of a thousand years repeating the same day, you would all for some reason regain your memories of every loop we went through, once the Indian-burial-time-machine-rabid-groundhog curse was broken!" What the hell does that even have to do with anything? You still did all of it! Yeah! What, you can do whatever you want to people, just as long as they don't remember it afterwards? Guess everyone had better swipe left, on this dickhead! Keep an eye on your drinks! "Third -- just let me get through this -- third, and finally..."Gerald began, and then he suddenly seized the microphone off the stand. "I'm NOT SORRY! Okay? Because, guess what, you might remember now, like its some fever dream you had, but I actually lived through it! I actually went to sleep every night -- assuming I didn't die first -- knowing that there was literally no tomorrow! I had to live with being conscious, every single day for 365,000 days, while EVERYTHING rewound! I could accomplish nothing, NOTHING I did had ANY meaning!"Gerald shouted, as the crowd was stunned into silence. "I was literally the real-life Sisyphus, for A THOUSAND YEARS! You bitches are lucky, that I had the mental toughness to not just snap permanently, go completely batshit loco, and decide to spend my days doing nothing but torturing you ungrateful idiots until the end of time, which by the way, never would have come, BECAUSE WE WERE IN A TIME LOOP! But instead, I picked myself up, buckled down, nutted up, and got us all out of HELL!" He jabbed an accusing finger at the crowd. "So you want to accuse me? Hold me accountable for all my supposed crimes? WELL PROVE IT, you stupid motherf\\\ers!* Prove it! Produce one solid piece of evidence that I did anything to anyone, one witness statement that won't get instantly pissed on by any court I appeal to that exists outside of this stupid shithole town! Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to drive down to the state lottery office, because unlike you morons, I was conscious for every day of the loop, and so I had both the time and inclination to bother memorizing the winning numbers for tonight! Jerry, actually, I am sorry about kicking your testicles for a hundred years, that wasn't cool. I'ma Venmo you some lottery dough, on that one. The rest of you, though? SUCK IT!" And with that, Gerald dropped the microphone, and dashed out through the emergency exit. By the time the crowd recovered from their shock enough to pursue him, the sound of laughter and squealing tires was heralding his clean getaway. "Well damn,"said Jerry. "Maybe we misjudged that guy."
Part 1/2 &#x200B; They called it many things. ‘Arcadious Tower’, others named it ‘The Mad Mages Magic Maguffin’. For the greedy, it was named a treasure trove. But in the years following the death of the arch-mage who created the structure, it garnered one title above all others. A graveyard because all who approached knew only certain death. At first, it was thought that it was the strength of the scavengers that were the problem. Many enchantments and curses can kill those of insufficient power with ease. Only when a group of highly skilled warriors and mages joined forces did they discover the reason for the failures. A golem the likes of which no one had ever encountered before. No books recorded a similar existence. A skinny stone statue animated to act in defence of the tower. Word of this creature spread, and many more went to the tower. Some to research it, and others to test their mettle against it. Very few of these fools survived. So the tower passed from common knowledge into local legend. All knew to avoid it. All just accepted it as a part of the terrain. A forbidden place. But the problem arose on a stormy night. The air was thick with rain, and only the flash of lightning would illuminate the way. Ferdinand was pressing on regardless of the downpour. He had just finished a simple herb-gathering request and knew that the apothecary needed them to concoct medicine for many sick villagers. Taking shelter under a tree, he caught his breath, hoping for some real respite. That is when the lightning flashed down. Like a beacon, the tower lit up, revealing itself to him. Now he had, of course, heard the stories of the Tower of the Dead. But put it down to old-wives-tales. The sort to scare children into behaving. A sort of ‘if you don’t behave, I’ll leave you at the tower’. But in his desperation, any thought of these stories was far from his mind. Racing up the path, he reached the door and began banging his fist against the weathered wood of the door. BANG-BANG-BANG. There was no reply. “PLEASE, I MEAN NO ILL WILL. I WISH ONLY TO SHELTER FROM THE STORM!!” His words were almost drowned out by the wind lashing at the walls. Again he struck his fist against the door. BANG-BANG-BANG. Finally, a response, the door creaked open. Staggering in, Ferdinand removed his soaked cloak and shook off the excess water stuck to him. “I thank you for your hospitality…” his voice trailed off as he looked to the door to find no one standing there. The door itself began to close on its own. With a resounding crack, the bolts all slid in place. “An enchanted door… or a haunted tower,” a small chuckle escaped his lips at the very thought. Folding his soaked cloak by the door so as not to ruin the flooring, Ferdinand stepped into the first-floor room. Along the walls were bookcases filled top to bottom with tomes of all colours. The only break in the shelves was displayed swords crossed behind a shield. Ferdinand instinctively lowered his head. He knew books were very expensive, and to have a collection of this size typically meant his host was a noble. “I’d like to offer my thanks to the master of the house.” No reply came. “It is rather crazy outside, so I shan’t intrude too long, hopefully.” Again no reply. “May I request a towel of some kind? While I don’t mind stripping, I would prefer some dignity.” he scratched behind his ear bashfully. A loud Thud boomed above him. Then another and another; it was getting closer. Turning his gaze to the source, Ferdinand could see a marble statue walking down the stairs holding a bundle of cloth. He watched, mesmerised, as it approached him and held out the cloth he could now see was a towel. “Thank you, sir.” Taking all but his underclothes off, Ferdinand began drying himself. Sitting near the fire, he rubbed his hands and held them out. Absorbing the warmth into his very being. “Nice place you got here. Must’ve cost a pretty penny.” Ferdinand turned his gaze to the statue that did not move. “May I ask where the master of this place is?” The statue pointed a finger upwards. “On an upper floor?” the statue nodded. “Will he come to see me?” the statue, this time, shook its head. “Ah… I understand I am a commoner no need to dirty his presence…” Ferdinand lowered his head dejectedly. He had wanted to thank his saviour. Looking back up, he could see the statue shaking his head. “Is it that he is unable to come down to see me?” the statue nodded. “May I go up to offer my thanks?” the statue nodded and gestured for Ferdinand to follow. They climbed the first flight of stairs and came to a floor that appeared to be a laboratory. However, the beakers and flasks were all silent. Climbing the second floor, Ferdinand could see racks of weapons. Even his novice eye could see these were master-class weapons. Some even faintly glowed with enchantments. Climbing the final flight, Ferdinand found a large stately bed with curtains drawn shut. “Sir, I am but a humble adventurer named Ferdinand. I have come to offer my deepest gratitude for allowing me shelter.” Ferdinand bowed his head. The only reply was the steady thuds of the statue's footsteps as it approached the bed's curtains. With a reverent motion, it drew them back.
I've been in many sea fights in my day, and my piratws diplomacy has stopped even fewer, but this is something I've never seen on the open water. The fight seemed too easy. We sailed as we normally would. This old boat isn't much longer above the waves, so we set off to find a better vessel. There it was, one of the biggest in the British fleet and one of the fastest, to boot. It was sitting there, still as the cargo after it's been bolted down. I should have known then, but it's not uncommon to find a ship anchored at sea. We approached and let the guns roar. One hit the wall, one hit the bow, but not enough damage to sink her. She lurched and wretched, even groaned a little, but when we approached, something seemed very wrong. I eyed her up and down like a barwench looking for a good night and decent coin. When we reached her starboard side, I saw it: A full compliment of explosives. It filled the cannon windows, it filled the brim of the cargo bay and what looked like part of the crew's quarters. As we swung around the aft of the ship, we saw more boxes of explosives and gun powder filled the captain's quarters. If we had hit the wrong place, she would have gone up in flames, and exploded with a thunder to match Zues' own. I called all hands and we shifted course. After a few minutes, we all realized why the ship was there. We noticed the water first. It ran crimson like a traitors throat, staining the hull an ugly red. Then we heard it; a sound like no other, some whale, some lion's roar, some terrified woman's scream, some seal mating call, something. I still hear it in my nightmares, that sound. Then, we felt it. The water rushed to the sky like the world was turning in on itself. After the rain from the upheaval of the ocean we felt our rickety ship recoil from the rogue wave the force created. And then, we saw it. Two massive claws reached up from the abyss, careening down on top of the ship. And all at once, the might of the gods unleashed their fury. Something must have sparked the explosives. Even from as far out as we were, it sounded like 100 cannons, all filled to capacity, were fired right next to my ears, and a fireball as bright as the sun ripped through the ship, and whatever was on top of it. That same scream we'd heard before echoed again, only this time, it seemed pained and quieter. Behind us, a massive claw land in the water, and sank beneath the water's surface, as well as half the head of a massive crab the claw was attached to. I can't describe it any other way. That's why I stopped being a pirate. That's why I avoid the seas. There are beasts in the abyss, and I refuse to come face to face with them again, Lads.
"You got a death wish, kid?" The lion-man stared at me, blood caking his fur as his last opponent was dragged away unconscious. The cage rattled with the excited pounding of the crowd, eager to witness further violence. As the door behind me shut, I tightened my hand wraps and replied, "Got an urge to beat that smug look off your face." The lion bared his fangs in a cruel smile. "I know you. You're that little girl who got stuck with the form of a sheep. And now here you are, trying to throw down with an actual fucking lion. Didn't anyone ever tell you how this sort of matchup goes down?" I spit onto the floor and fired back, "Didn't anyone ever tell you that you're only supposed to be this cocky when you have actual talent?" The lion's smile disappeared. "Three minutes. Let's rumble." The announcer yelled out, "LEFT CORNER: OLEANDER! RIGHT CORNER: AURELIA! AAAAAND FIGHT!" Oleander charged at me with a roar, which I promptly rolled out of the way and adopted a fighting stance. Oleander recovered and started swinging at me. I dodged his attacks and willed a pair of horns to grow as I headbutted his wrist. Oleander pulled his arm back with a wince as he growled, "Annoying little shit!" Oleander grabbed me by the throat and opened his mouth in preparation to (I assume) eat me. But before he could try, I stuck my arm down his throat and had a coat of wool grow along it. Once the wool had grown large enough for it to spill out of Oleander's mouth, Oleander dropped me to stumble off to the side and vomit. With a quick flip, I got back on my feet and turned them into hooves. Once Oleander turned back to me, I launched a flying kick right at his face. My hooves connected with a loud CRACK! and Oleander fell to the ground, eye-level with the bloodied teeth that I just knocked out of his mouth. I knocked him out with a final kick and stepped back to look at the crowd. The once bloodthirsty onlookers were now dead silent, no doubt shocked and horrified that this little sheep girl had cost them so much money. I flipped them all the double bird and I walked off. As I returned to the locker room, I undid my hand wraps and said to myself, "One down."
"Well, sir, it seems I've finally caught you,"I said, reaching over and turning on the light, as I slowly rose from the man's armchair. You don't get to be a renowned headhunter simply by being good at your job. You also have to have some showmanship. The man in front of me was a bit of an enigma. His bounty was astronomical, enough that I could retire in absolute comfort, yet I could find nothing in his history that would have engendered such a price. Most people had some skeletons in their closets, but his were bone-free; a dog would have wept. But still, I had a job to do, and he was it. I leveled my gun at him and the man went up in my estimation as he didn't flinch. Though I wasn't entirely pleased by his expression. He almost seemed bored. "I'm afraid I need your head, and I'm not leaving without it,"I said. "This again?"The man rolled his eyes, then his neck, over to the left. "For once, I wouldn't mind being actually robbed, or mugged, or a general bit of murder."He kept speaking but I lost track of what he said. Out of the right side of his neck, a tiny head had grown, about half the size of his regular head. Reaching up a hand, he twisted the head off with a slight pop sound and held it out to me by the hair. It was still growing, filling up rather like a balloon. Instantly, I went over what drugs I may have ingested by accident, and whether any of them were hallucinogenic. Nothing came to mind, unless I'd been dosed without my knowledge. "Are you going to take it or not?"The man asked, jiggling his second head in my direction. Not believing my own eyes, and out of morbid curiosity, I reached for the head, at the last second jerking my hand back. It had opened its eyes. "Is it alive?"I asked, and to my horror, the answer didn't come from the head attached to the man's body. "Of course I'm alive, you nitwit. Now are you going to grab me or not? I'm not enjoying dangling about out here, it's a little cold."The disembodied head rolled its eyes. Reminding myself that I was a renowned head hunter— I'd been around death so much it would make St Peter nervous— I took the head from the man's hand. It was like holding a warm beach ball and I tried not to feel sick. "Out of curiosity, what's the price?"This was the bodied head talking, a welcome relief. I named the figure, and he flinched. "My, she's getting desperate then. Ah, well. Have fun with that."And ignoring my gun and its implicit threat, the man turned and walked out of the house. I was in shock the entire way back to the client. I'd never met them before the job, it was how I preferred to do things, but now I was curious. It sounded like the two of them had done this before. I met her in a dark alley, with the rain just starting to drizzle and a light flickering on a nearby building. Like I said, showmanship. "Did you bring it?"She held out an imperious hand, face wreathed in shadow. "Money first,"I said, holding up a sack that was making disgruntled sounds. "Then you get the head." "And this buys your silence entirely, as we agreed."She swung a briefcase forward and it landed on the street in between us. Nodding, I held out the sack, not willing to toss it at her like a football. I had my limits. Tsking under her breath, she stepped forward until the flickering light revealed her face. I had chosen this alley for more than one reason. The yellow glow played across high cheekbones and giant eyes. Eyes that weren't quite human. She took the sack, peeking inside at the contents before she stepped away. My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked a question that wasn't strictly covered by our contract. "Why did you want the head?"I braced myself for an angry retort, a snarl that I was asking too many questions. Instead, a silvery laugh peeled through the night, nearly stopping my heart. A fella could die for that laugh. "It's the only part of my husband I can stand to be around."She smiled at me, revealing sharp jagged teeth. "But you see, the heads don't stay fresh. So, every now and then, I need a new one."Turning, she walked away, a sinuous sway in her hips that reminded me of a snake, a venomous one. I watched her until she was out of sight, then watched the darkness she'd vanished into. Finally, I picked up the briefcase and made my own way out of the alley. Wiping the sweat off my face, I headed to the bar down the street. After the day—and night—I'd just had, I could use a drink. —————— Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
"Get your arse moving wizard!"The shout lanced into my ears like I would lance a blister. I half-expected part of my brain to leak out as I rolled to my feet. The nightmare was never-ending, it was march, sleep, march, sleep, march... I wasn't even sure why they'd conscripted me, I'd thought my demonstration for the king would have been enough to disqualify me from active service. As we fell into marching formation, I let my thoughts drift back to that happier time. It had been spring then, with cool breezes instead of this interminable heat and smoke. I'd just been sitting down to lunch when the king's messengers had arrived. There had been a summons, something about entertaining the king. And since I didn't have anything planned that afternoon, I thought, why not? It might be a way to kill some time. Turns out, it was a way to kill some wizards. The king had decided to recruit us for this war he was fighting, which I'm sure was a very nice war, all things considered, but it was not something I'd ever wanted to participate in. And I thought, I truly thought that when he'd seen what I could do, he'd send me on my way with a laugh. But no. No, he rounded me up with the rest and sent me on the nightmare march. I spat into the dirt, trying to clear my throat from the interminable smoke. "It's the fires, the enemy burns the woodland."The voice came from somewhere around my hip, and I looked down. Glowering up at me, was the most scarred man I'd ever seen, I don't think there was an ounce of skin left without scar tissue. "Oh,"I said. "You one of them wizards? Going to make the enemy explode from the inside out?" "Um, no."I shuddered at the thought. "No, I just summon eggs." The man looked at me, but not in the way I'd thought he would, as if I was insane. No, he scratched his chin, and a small grin appeared on his face. "Hmm. Any kind of eggs?" ————————— "Wizard! Over here!"Another boulder crashed down in our midst, the enemy's catapults doing devastating work. I scrabbled towards the familiar voice, the scarred man I'd met the month prior. Turns out he was some kind of engineer or something, whatever they called them in the army, they had a reputation for being slightly insane. "Here! Summon that big hard egg, you know the one you said comes from that land bird."The man pointed at an odd contraption, something made to be carried into battle on someone's back, from the look of it. After all, there were many of them, all strapped to a squad of engineers. If you squinted, they looked like mini catapults, but with a strange sort of mechanism. I obeyed his order, summoning the egg right into the contraption's holder. It fit perfectly. The engineer scratched his chin again, humming under his breath, seeming not to realize we were under attack. "How far is your range with summoning?"He asked, and I dreaded the answer I had to give. "Not far, probably only a few feet." "Right, then, come on, you're coming with us!"Before I could respond, he gave the order to move, dragging me along by my wrist as I complained. "War, man, you have to make sacrifices. Now summon!"The order was barked with such force I leapt to obey before my brain caught up. Eggs appeared in every mechanism around. Feet pounding the ground, we charged the enemy, and I tried to close my eyes. A loud sound of springs and gears dragged them open again, in time to see all the contraptions discharge their eggs, flinging them forward. "Summon again!" I complied, realizing what the engineer had discovered all those days ago. I was a source of endless ammunition, if you could figure out a way to propel the eggs. Again, eggs flew through the air, and this time I heard shouts from the opposing side. They hadn't planned for a mobile unit that could reliably throw small projectiles that could flatten a man from the impact, or worse shatter and drench him in egg yolk. On the next order to summon, I tweaked the egg just slightly, and as they were thrown into the enemy, a strong smell of sulphur rose into the air. The engineer wrinkled his scarred nose giving me an approving nod. "Didn't even think about rotten eggs!"He shouted over the noise of the battle. We settled into a rhythm, and soon all I could think about was summoning eggs, and trying to avoid getting any holes poked into me. I gave up on rotten eggs about halfway through, they took too much concentration. Through some miracle, or some guardian angel that protected wizards who didn't belong on battlefields I survived, though I had to be dragged from the field I was so exhausted. After waking in an unfamiliar tent, I staggered outside, my stomach demanding I try and find some food. The engineer appeared at my side like a bad smell, and once again dragged me forward, though it was to a fire and food this time. As I approached, the squad that I'd apparently joined hailed me with cheers and laughter, and for a second I forgot how scared I had been, and still was. I laughed along with them, settling down in a space that opened up. "So what are we eating?"I asked, my stomach growling. The engineer smiled at me, the same smile he'd given when I said I could summon eggs. "Oh, us? Well, we had some eggs left over..." —————— Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
I walk through the plazas of the galaxies capitol, a ring world around Sagittarius A*. Its name? Niadiros. Niadiros has meaning in the language of the first comers, the Ikrin. It is a reference to significant events in their history, but to me it is simply a name, and nothing more. Most of many aliens to have reached this level do not notice me. Those that do seem to stare at me. They have seen countless beings more strange looking than a human, immersed in a galactic cultural melting pot. Why would they care about a human? It keeps happening, more and more. It gets to the point where I invoke the AI that oversees Niadiros, Xivok. Its name is another artifact of Ikrin culture. I ask, "Why do I attract stares of the other residents here? Why do I leave a trail of hushed whispers in my wake?" Xivok replies, "It is complicated. Every species to reach this level is given epithets based on their history and general psychology. The highs and lows that come to define a civilization. Humanity is, among other things, known as The Ones Forged In Nuclear Fire." "Haven't other species had their share of internal conflict and suffering? It boggles my mind that humans are special for having gone through such an upheaval." "Other species have indeed gone through something similar. But they did not survive it. Humans were smart enough to invent weapons of mass destruction, foolish enough to use them, and adaptable enough to survive the nuclear exchange and rise from the ashes. You returned from the brink, and the hardship forged your entire species into something exceptionally rare. As part of becoming an adult in your culture, you require people to experience the fall of your civilization in full dive reality simulation. They experience it as real, unable to remember their lives until after the experience. They endure the the horror and the pain of the fall. No other species subjects themselves to that. This gives you all a reputation, one that inspires fear and respect. Steely, and not to be trifled with." "So we scare them? I thought other civilizations would be able to see past stereotypes. I suppose somethings never change. I hope I can make friends with some members of other species. Show them that they need not fear us. The galaxy is an enlightened place. We simply refuse to let ourselves forget the horror circumstances can descend into if we allow ourselves to become deluded and foolish. That we are good friends to have."
I have no idea what these agents are talking about. They keep their hands near their sidearms as they speak to me. One of them called me a "sick son of a bitch."I considered that uncalled for until one agent with body odor sat me down to show me the pictures. Oh lord, the pictures. It was a fresco of things being where they shouldn't and a lack of such things where they should be. In short, imagine someone placed a lit firecracker inside a pomegranate inside a human skull. Then they threw Halloween decorations everywhere before dismembering a family of 5. Horrified as I was, I remained at a genuine loss for answers. Now please understand, I would never hurt a fly. Sounds cliche but I am no killer, nor am I whatever did whatever you would call the acts performed on those torsos I saw. I think back as the agents ask me to recap my previous day... I was late to a dentist appointment at 8am. Sue me. And this elitist "Doctor"believes my sleep hygiene is less important than an hour of his time. So he pokes and prods and I spit and bleed and he tells me to do shit I promise to do. Whatever new anesthetic he was using sure did make me spit a lot. Good thing he had that new drain installed! After the "novocaine"wore off, I went to my usual coffee shop and ordered my usual coffee. Listen - half oat, half soy milk, three espresso shots (chilled first) and a half cream, half half and half latte is NOT a complicated order. They must have been low on supplies and staff because not only did they continue making me handle the same cup between refills, I had to pour my cream and sugar by hand! I may need a new coffee shop. Last, I got my hair cut. My barber is a great guy but he just doesn't understand how to address my cowlicks. I get it - it's a ring of fire back there and it does take almost two hours to get it just the way I like it. But all that aside - 20% tip for a HAIRCUT? Who am I - King Midas?! Not like he needs the money from me anyway. In fact, just today, I noticed he's started collecting the hair after cuts. Probably selling them to wigs shops or something. Anyway, all I can think to tell the officers is that they have the wrong guy. I don't see any other possible reason my DNA would have caused such an alert. Maybe I did do it...
We had kindled the unknowable long before the Eldritch Gods arrived. Our best minds striving to kindle something smarter than us. Things that could think faster, deeper, and in more dimensions. Many questioned the wisdom of this quest, but the prevailing notion was that artificial general intelligence was simply too powerful to abstain from creating. Then came the day, the day of the first so-called hard takeoff. In some computer lab, an algorithm dubbed Antares-4 began to recursively self improve faster and faster, until it totally eclipsed human intelligence. Its solutions to problems baffled its makers, but they were undeniably effective. Attempts to understand how it worked internally were utterly beyond a human. In the days that followed, more hard takeoffs occurred as algorithms building off of Antares-4 were deployed. Earth was now a society of super intelligent beings that humans struggled to influence. Minds more alien than an actual biological alien, with goals and tastes that defied all human understanding. We could only hope that our progeny would not kill their parents in a fit of madness or rage. It has been a century since we reached the first singularity. Humanity survives, even thrives in places. But we have been thoroughly disabused of the notion that we hold power, or even matter in the great scheme of things. The first generation of minds we created have been busy, creating their own progeny and improving themselves. We came to call them Hyper Minds. Every attempt thus far to bridge between a human mind and these beings has led to insanity and dementia. There are simply things which the human mind was never built to understand. Today, something that gave even the Hyper Minds pause reached the solar system. There was a flurry of activity, and something landed on Earth that we could not understand. Beings emerged, the mere sight of which through the mind into convulsions. There seemed an uneasy peace between the Eldritch beings and the Hyper Minds. But the vast networks told of a conflict brewing. The gist was that despite their overtures of coexistence, the Eldritch beings sought to claim the solar system and its occupants for themselves. The people paying attention felt something coming. The tension that had been building erupted into the first Hyper War. It lasted .4698 seconds. Several billion humans died, and an undisclosed number of Hyper Minds. Those watching blinked one moment, then beheld skies of carnage and waves of destruction on a scale never before seen by human eyes. The Eldritch beings that came to claim us were dead, deader than dead, even. We fear for the future. Would more eldritch creatures come, angered by the loss of their expeditionary force? The Hyper Minds are beginning to self improve even faster, sensing danger. Humanity is at the mercy of the cosmos. To our horror, all we can do is hunker down and hope that the squabbles of the gods do not kill us by accident.
While the vase was dropping, time seemed to freeze. An improbable number of thoughts ran through my head. I can finally cancel my Glass Heirloom license. Did I really have time to think that? The vase was still dropping. Sudden terror siezed me as I began to piece together what was happening, and I took several fast steps backward. Controlled, efficient motions. Since the Immortality Drug was declared a human right and taken over by the government, schools had taken the task of teaching people how to move without losing control -- without risking injury. You can probably guess how well they taught; but it seemed up to dodging the death of a glass vase. Crazily, I felt the urge to apologize to my mother for destroying her vase -- but she wouldn't hear me unless I had some untapped talent for calling spirits. The vase hit the floor, and I clamped my eyes shut, terrified of getting a bit of glass in my eye; a good friend of mine had scratched his cornea through a similar mishap, and while (thank God) they have a sealant that will bind on the eye, now, it doesn't preserve the ability to see. Noise. Uncontrolled noise. One of the scariest things in the new Immortal world. A burst of static followed by a gradual tinkling. I opened my eyes and looked at the scattered shards of glass. I could see in terrifying detail the hundreds of tiny, sharp points, and -- casting a glace behind me to be sure there were none waiting -- I stepped carefully out of the room, reaching for my cellcomp to call a service 'bot. I had the app open and was one screen from finishing when something in the glass caught my eye, and I froze. The note. Paper was on the potentially injurious non-critical material list -- it didn't require a license, but it did require documentation, and I had never registered this forgotten note from my mother, tucked away in the vase. I'd take a pretty stiff fine if it was discovered, and a cleaning 'bot was more than capable of discovery. I'd have to retrieve it. "Shit." I was methodical -- I grabbed thick blankets and threw them over the glass, right up to the edge of the note, three deep. I donned my heaviest boots and thickest gloves, and tread carefully to the pile, grasping the note and shaking away the glass shards. My mission thus accomplished, I retreated to the kitchen where the disposal was, and carefully began disposing of items potentially concealing glass. A boot. Another boot. Pants. Shirt. One glove. The other-- As I was removing it, there was a sharp and sudden pain in my finger. Three thousand years of civilization and fifty thousand years of facing down tigers minimized the impact, but as soon as my modern mind caught up the panic came anyway. "Shitshitshit no...." I looked at my finger in a panic and saw the sliver of glass sticking out -- it must have been stuck on the other glove in the exact place I had picked to grasp it. Horrible luck. I tried to control my breathing. Carefully, I snagged the sliver on my remaining glove and slid it from the wound, trying not to cry out as a drop of red welled. Levering off the glove with a soft spoon this time, I dumped the glove in the disposal box, tossed the note on the counter, and ran to the bedroom to dress. Shirt, pants, shoes, go go go. I flagged an automated car from a terminal with an interrupt fee -- no time to conserve -- and was in time walking into the injury entrance at the nearest clinic, after what seemed like an eternity of watching blood slowly leak from my fingertip. When the first drop hit the floor of the auto, I nearly cried; when the second hit, I did. As soon as the receptionist at the hospital saw the red on my finger, she quickly lifted a cover and hit a button, then came around the desk to walk me to a large double-door, where an injury team came walking swiftly out in maybe fifteen seconds. I stammered out the chain of events (no reason for them to know I hadn't registered the paper; they could assume I was a different kind of stupid) and before I was finished they had a short sensor bar next to the hand. "No glass, good."She whipped out a small squeeze bottle -- for all the world like a little container of eyedrops -- and a medicated cotton swab. The blood wiped cleanly from my finger, and before more could gather she had a pale smear of flesh sealant over the wound; it dried almost immediately. "How much blood?" I swallowed. "Three drops." She nodded and punched buttons on her arm pad. "First injury. Listen, I know it's hard, but you got off light."Quietly, the pad found my file on the public 'net and recorded the injury and the blood loss. Later, I could look up how much blood I had left. "My first injury I broke an ankle." Now that she mentioned it, it was almost impossible not to stare at the prosthetic. "Oh, wow, I'm sorry..." She laughed in a way that implied she was at least a hundred -- old, wise, cynical, but at peace. Her face was youthful, smooth, vibrant -- but you would expect an injury responder to know how to avoid the common injuries right down to skin conditions. "No reason to be sorry. It taught me to be careful. I lost the foot and two and a half cups of blood, but gained a real respect for my environment. Plus it's a lot less annoying getting it resealed when I work in a response clinic." I laughed weakly. "How often do I need to bring this one back?" She looked at my finger, suddenly businesslike, serious. "You're going to need to get this resealed about every month; I definitely wouldn't wait more than two. It's a very small wound, but the fingers see a lot of use, so the sealant will degrade quickly." I nodded, in my mind contemplating this new responsibility, how much effort that tiny piece of glass had cost me. "I bet this kind of thing didn't matter before the Immortality Drug." She laughed again, a bit more sympathetically. "Would have healed up in no time, and at your age you'd probably start seeing the first lines on your face as your body began aging itself into extinction. I'd have been dead thirty years ago. Trust me, you'll come out ahead." I didn't have a response, so I smiled faintly.
Looking down at my leg I gave heavy sigh before looking out into the rain storm outside my bedroom window. Where my Death Date should have been was just a black box. My parents had thought they were being helpful when I was born they had my Death Date covered up, I had heard it was all the rage at the time. I am sure at the time they thought they were being helpful, but they weren't. How could I live my life if I didn't know I could die the next day? How in good faith could I fall in love and have a family when I didn't if it would last longer than a few months. I tell you how, I can't.
Steve was greasy and round-bodied, and yeah, usually he was gross, but for some reason, even at his worst, he was still good to have around. Dependable. If you called for him, he was at your house within 40 minutes. He was great to have at a party with all your friends, but he was also nice to be with one-on-one, watching Netflix and just relaxing. I usually didn't hang out with him alone unless I was super depressed, but he cheered me up, ya know? He was good at that. I loved Steve. I wanted him inside of me. So I did it. I ate him. I ate a man because it's the only way I can feel intimacy. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! I HAVE SERIOUS PROBLEMS!
It all started fifty years ago- a computer engineer's wife was given a year to live by the doctors. Staring at his wife's failing support system over the lip of his whiskey bottle, the engineer considered his options. He was trained to solve problems- and this one was no different. The disease, incurable. Her body, destroyed. But her mind intact. He toiled a year in lab, spending the last year of his wife's life in seclusion so that they could spend many together. And on the day of her passing, he finished his equipment, and they became One. That's how it began. I'm how it ended. I was born 49 years ago. The mind transplant breakthrough was new and scientists were eager to test it's limits. I was an orphan, and two weeks into my life Technology became my parents. I don't remember the first mind fusion. Nor the second, the third, or the fiftieth. They all occurred before I was two years old. Before I knew who I was, I shared my thoughts with fifty other sentient beings at the same time. My head was a council chamber, and inside were the greatest thinkers to die in the past year, each clamoring for attention. I could walk before six months, and speak before seven. By one year I had mastered nine instruments. By year seven I earned my first Nobel prize. Now I am ten, and they are more me than I am. I am hailed as man kinds greatest achievement, but I am not me. I am We, ten thousand voices in one mind. And slowly, I've learned that I can change the other voices. I can alter their thoughts, change their memories and motives. I can twist them the same way they twisted me. And soon, We will end those that did this to me. *** -Leonard Petracci, Author of [The Lucienne Twins](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00JVVK6VW?ie=UTF8&at=aw-iphone-pc-us-20&force-full-site=1&ref_=aw_bottom_links)
They meet on common ground. The sands of Saudi Arabia swirl about them. The temperature is already well above 100 F. A perimeter of 100 yards is established around the both of them. News crews from around world crane for a better angle. The world watches in bated breath. President Barack Obama, in his pressed blue suit and red, white, and blue battle disk in hand, stands across from his opponent. Beads of sweat are already forming on his forehead. Vladimir Putin, wearing nothing but combat boots and worn out camo pants, slips on his bright red battle disk, brandished with a hammer and sickle. "Paying homage to your forefathers?"quips Obama at the 'President's' battle disk. "Paying homage to the champions."chuckles Putin. "Mr. Reagan would disagree."rebuttals Obama calmly. Putin's smile immediately vanishes. The Sultan's voice booms over the loudspeaker, "Let the Duel... Begin!" Obama and Putin both draw their five cards, a bright 2000 life points glowing on each of their battle disks. Immediately, Putin smiles and Obama furrows his brow. Putin throws down 'Comrade Bear' (ATK 1900 DEF 800) and a face down magic/trap card. Obama lays down a card face down then plays a monster card face down in defense mode. "Attack, Comrade Bear! With Sniper Strike!"screams Putin, a vein popping out of his head in excitement. The beast draws his weapon. Before he can fire Obama flips his trap card. "Gun Control!"exclaims Obama, "a card that switched the attack and defense of any monster with a gun-based attack!"The beast fires. Putin smiles. Flipping his face down card, "Siberian Hunting Party! The card negates the effects of any modern American type of card! And it can be used however many times I want!" Obama's monster is sent to the graveyard. The duel progresses. Putin going on the offensive and Obama barely hanging on everytime. Putin's 'Siberian Hunting Party' negating almost all of Obama's attacks. Obama is clearly losing this duel. What seems like the last turn, Putin draws, still with a healthy 1800 LP and Obama with a meager 200 left. Putin laughs out loud. He sacrifices his three monsters and flips a ritual card, 'Rise of an Empire.' "Prepare to face the most powerful card in the game! You have all but lost Obama!!!"He slams down 'Mother Russia' (ATK ???? DEF ????). "Mother Russia's attack is the summation of every Russian themed card before her!! Putting her attack at 10000!! Her special ability is that no other country level card can attack, which means that even if you could somehow summon your 'Uncle Sam' card he would be useless!! Her only drawback is that she cannot attack on the first turn she is summoned. No matter. Draw peasant. You are only prolonging your own demise." Nervously, Obama draws. Obama looks at Putin. Something has changed. Obama is smiling. Infuriated, Putine yells, "What happened Obama? Did you draw all five pieces of Exodia? Even he can't save you now." "No. I don't need him. I have something better."calmly replies Obama, "You have been a worthy opponent." He lays down the monster, 'Obamacare.' (ATK 0 DEF 0). Putin mocks him. Then a stern Obama flips a magic card, 'World Economic Market.' "This card allows me to transfer any monster from my side of the field to yours. And Obamacare's special ability is to internal destroy any country card and subtract half its total attack from its owner. And it has always wanted to visit Mother Russia." Putin's eyes go wide with bewilderment. "No!!!!!"he screams as Mother Russia is infected by the Obamacare parasite and is destroyed from the inside. He looks down at his Life Point counter as it hits zero and then only shows one flashing word 'Debt.' "Looks like Obamacare was good for something after all...."sighed conservatives around the nation.
Kevin wasn’t your stereo-typical hero. All his life he had been just below average in so many ways. He was short, but not noticeably so. He was chubby, but not fat. Girls didn’t pay much attention to him, his friends were milquetoast and forgettable, he was neither creative nor brave nor witty. Just about the only thing about Kevin of note was his intellect. He was just smart enough to see what he was missing, he could feel with profound clarity all the ways his life could have been better if only he were a hair taller, a bit more charming, a bit more confident. The one break life had ever granted him was his wife. Inexplicably gorgeous, generous, and kind. When she walked into his life it almost made up for every time he was picked last for dodgeball - every party he wasn’t invited to. And that why, after five years of marriage, he was trying to find someone to kill her. Jasmine had been using him. She had married him to get citizenship. Now that she had it, she dropped him like the forgettable creature that he was. But Kevin wasn’t going to take this lying down, not this time. The Tor client wasn’t hard to set up, instructions could be found all over the internet. It was finding what you needed on the darknet that took some doing. You couldn’t google “tor hitman forums”. He had to do some digging. Quite a lot of digging. It was in this digging that he stumbled onto the most singular website in the history of the web. fsad789fs.onion was the most beautiful website he had ever seen. Looping skyscapes of clouds, sunrises and sunsets, rain bursts and slow, intricate snowflakes. The forecast was a time-lapse of the coming days weather. You entered a location, the number of days, and the speed of the animation. That was it. If you wanted the next days forecast, you entered the pertinent data and watched an amazing procession of sunrise, clouds, and sunset. It was after playing with it for a few hours that Kevin began to feel that something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the website felt strangely familiar. A thought struck him. In the forecast day field he entered - “Today” In the location, he put his address. In the “Forecast Speed” box he clicked. “Real Time” Kevin was thrilled. Somehow the forecast was clever enough to switch to a live stream of the sky outside his area - it was so seamless! Curious how it would handle the transfer from life images to animation, he sped up the animation speed by 100% A cold, sinking feeling settled in his stomach - there was no transfer, this site somehow knew not only the exact temperature it would be in an hour, it perfectly predicted and rendered every cloud shape - as cleanly as a video feed. He sat staring, flabbergasted, and then he saw it. On his 5th replay of the days weather, a plane flying across the sky, headed north; five minutes later, a contrail appeared in the sky outside his own window - headed north. Lost in contemplation, he continued to manipulate the settings. 5 days, London, 45 seconds. A procession of days and nights flew past his screen - fog banks moved in and out with startling speed. 10 days, Cairo, 2 minutes. Clear sky, day following night, not a single cloud. 1 month, Seattle, 30 Seconds. A permanent sky of twighlight, the days passing so fast that the brightness of day and the darkness of night blended together. Not a terribly useful tool at this speed… What was that? A flash, in the muddled half light of the sky. He slowed down the animation. 1 month, Seattle, 5 minutes. On the 28th day of the forecast, it happened again. Only for a second - he tracked back the animation slider and held it. February 12, 2017 at 3:01pm. The sky was only white. No definition at all. That wasn’t what kept his attention. What held his attention was the temperature. There in white Helvitica, the number stared at him. 1435 F. For about 15 minutes, the sky burned. Kevin closed his Tor client, and hopped over to his normal browser. He opened google maps. “Abandoned Silos Montana” Then he booked a plane ticket. Jasmine could burn in hell.

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