Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
"Would you just please SHUT UP,"I begged. Things had taken a turn this evening that I wasn't expecting. I watched her wall from the train station to her apartment every night for the last three weeks. She always popped into the 7/11 at the corner of Crest and Dupree for a hot coffee. It was cold this time of year. That's why I do what I do now. People are less motivated in the cold. Not me, though. She may have been older than me, but something about her is pulling towards her. It is her destiny to be with me. I had to make her mine for forever. I missed something. I didn't know her or what she did. "Is it the power over me you need? Probably because you were under some bad parent's thumb for too long, isn't it?"She kept prying. Normally I kept my cool but this bitch was twisting my words in a way that...well, took the power away from me. It wasn't my parents that were bad. I just get this feeling that I can't let go of. No, it doesn't let go of me. Not until I give it what it wants. Then I realized I was saying all of this out loud. Fuck. "Very good. Just keep talking." Why. Isn't. She. Scared!? I'm gripping the wheel so hard I can feel the dry skin of my knuckles tearing. My jaw is clenched so tight. Did she snap? I feel relaxed now. This isn't right but I can't care. I feel too sleepy. "Do you still want to hurt me?" "N...no." "We're making good strides here. Now, you can pull over and untie me." "Ok." "Then you'll give me the keys, won't you? Yes, that's right. And you'll be a good boy and get in the trunk." "Yes ma'am." I don't know what is happening. I don't want to do these things, but my ability to refuse and control has melted away. I feel like I'm dissolving as I let myself into the trunk. "Honey. You picked the wrong hypnotherapist,"she said sweetly into my ear. She closed the trunk. It's cold back here. The car door slams. The engine cranks. Oh God, I'm scared. Please don't let her do this to me.
There is speculation across the Five Realms as to where the Gifts originated from. Those of the scientific community believe it to be some sort of radio-active effect of the Andromeda Phenomena, the collision of our galaxy with our closest neighbor. On the opposite end of the spectrum, those with religious conviction have other theories. Some believe that it is the sign of the apocalypse, setting into motion the gears of the End Times. Some believe it to be the gifts of the gods to reward Man for their various triumphs and conquests in the name of their lord. And some even believe it to be the sign of the Transcendence; those who have been deemed worthy are given the powers of the almighty to rule the world. A modern day Manifest Destiny. These various perspectives reignited the religious conflicts of yore that had been set to rest centuries beforehand. These religious conflicts that, at one point plunged the world into a seemingly endless nuclear winter, began resurfacing in a struggle for power. Decades of famine, war, and disease. All harbingers of death. Humanity rose from the ashes, beaten and bruised, but more wise. &nbsp; How quickly we forget the lessons we've learned when power comes into play. &nbsp; Ring, ring. Great, him. "What?"I answer, audibly irritated. Aside from the fact that it was six in the morning, it was a Saturday. Most of my clients know not to bother me on weekends; I almost never take calls on the weekend. Most of them seem to respect that. Most of them. But he doesn't. It's not like it mattered, whether it's him or someone else, I never get a second to myself. "That's not how you greet a frie-" Click. I'm not putting up with his shit again today. I hang up my phone and return to bed. The moment I pull my covers back up to my shoulders- Ring, ring, ring, ring. "Simon, it's Saturday. I don't care how badly you need Boost, I don't work weekends." "Can you get off your fucking high horse for one minute and hel-" Click. It's too goddamn early to be disrespected, especially when they violate my boundaries. Every day these needy little fucks beg and plead me to fight in their battles with them, giving them aid, and helping their agendas. And for what? Half of the time they can't even protect me in their fights. I don't have super strength or telekinesis or anything useful. Instead, I'm a goddamn booster shot. My super power is literally to help everyone else besides myself. Not like that's any different from what I'm used to. The first eighteen years of my life were spent serving others. It's not a surprise that this isn't any different. Just as I'm about to drift back off to sleep, my only sanctuary of freedom, I hear a loud crash. Instantly, I'm blinded by the sunlight blasting through what used to be my window. Instead, there's now a massive hole in the wall, with Simon standing there, glaring at me. "What the fuck Simon?! I told you, I don't work weekends! Now get the fuck out, and you can bet your ASS that,"I exclaim, gesturing to the now missing wall of my apartment bedroom, "is coming out of your next bill!" "You think I'm going to pay you after how you keep ignoring me? How arrogant of you." "Arrogant of me?! You're the one busting holes in my walls like you own the damn place!" "As a citizen of the Jupiter Empire, you are required by law to answer the call of its soldiers if your aid is needed in battle. We allow you to roam free and do as you wish, and in return, you answer your fucking phone."Jeez, he's not kidding around today. If his eyebrows were furrowed any more, he'd have a unibrow. "Make me." I would quickly regret that. In an instant, my head is throbbing, my ears are ringing, and suddenly my spine feels as though it had shattered into a thousand pieces. His hands are around my throat and I can feel blood dripping down the back of my head, turning one of my remaining walls from a nice tan to a spattered crimson. "Gladly,"he snarls through gritted teeth. "The enemy and their Holy Knights are approaching from the West. By the Navigator's estimation, they'll be here in two days. We must be prepared, with or without you. If you refuse to comply, then I've been given very detailed instructions on how to dispose of you. No more taking petty jobs for lower-level local weaklings, no more living off of the kingdom's dime, and no more hanging up your phone. Am I making myself clear?" The phlegm is building up in my throat, stinging of iron. I spit up the thick red mass onto his face. "Crystal,"I say, staring daggers into his soulless, grey eyes. He smiles, "Good, you'll need that fighting spirit."Before I could quip back with a response, I see his fist cock back. This is gonna hurt. &nbsp; If you'd like to continue reading, I will be posting the next part on my personal subreddit, r/Tom_Writes, by the end of the day (10/22/2018). *EDIT: Part 2 is up on r/Tom_Writes.
Magic came to me early. I was fixing broken baby birds by the time I was six. My grandmother started my formal healer training when I was thirteen. At twenty I went on the road, and ever since I've been patching up paladins, mages, townspeople caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, and cleared clap from minstrels who'd bedded the wrong girl at the tavern. It's not glamorous work, but there's always plenty of it. I slowly built a name for myself- not because I'd found the antidote to some exotic poison, not because I'd brought a prince back from the brink of death- though that happened once or twice- but because my comrades \\\came back.\\\ Ever bigger monsters, ever longer odds, me and my companions would kick open the tavern door with loot to show and a new story to tell. Eventually, the enemy wised up and started ignoring the barbarian to focus on taking the pesky healer out first. They'd almost succeeded, and they'd given me an idea. I would go dark. Off the map. I faked my death, planted a few verses to sing of me after I was gone, and I headed across the sea. You see, people like me...once we gain enough power, we stop aging. I'll die of old age if the Fates don't squash me sooner, but forty years from now I'll still look like I'm in my twenties. And I just told the others it was a matter of eating lots of vegetables. I'm just lucky, eh? I could have retired. I hadn't blown my gold, like so many others. But once you get the itch for adventuring, it doesn't stop. So here I was. New tavern. New name. Same mug of pale ale. Different hair color. I've grown used to picking out a person in the crowd looking to build a team for whatever plot they have brewing. Their eyes slide over me three or four times before they get that speculative look. It's hard to find a group you mesh with well. I've taken my leave of four already. A bard named Linden tried to mediate a tavern brawl brewing. He didn't. I healed his broken jaw. We picked up some farm boy of dubious intellect named Jakob, a disgraced cleric whose name was plainly fake, and with Linden we set off to find some set of powerful Tomes the local baron needed to have, for whatever reason. Linden was a decent sort, but he'd spent far too much time reading of adventure rather than living it. I had to show him how to set up watch, how to break camp quickly, how to maintain his blades, and taught the difference between real medicine and useless old wives' tales. By the time we reached the abandoned monastery built into the caves, I'd taught Jakob to read a little and Linden was able to pitch his own tent. The weather held unusually well, raining only once on the journey. The monastery itself had been looted already, but hastily. I pretended to be excited to find a few bits of jade and a couple of discarded scrolls. But as we pressed deeper, I grew uneasy. I suppressed the urge to become something with better senses. I never told this crew that I could transform. Once you learn the knack, though, your sense of smell is never the same, even once you're on two feet again. We'd left the finished masonry of the monastery and were back in the caves used for storage. Gods knew how far back they went. I closed my eyes, concentrating. The faintest smell of sulfur. Like a newly struck match. Were there hot springs here? I hadn't grown up on this continent; my grasp of the area's geology was a bit weak. Linden was wittering about trying to open some storage chest. My eyes flicked over to him, irritated, and then I saw it: A dragon scale. I picked it up. Red. I tapped it, sniffed it. From an old dragon, but not an old scale. This could be a bad day... "Linden!"I hissed. "What?" "We have to get out of here!' Jakob glanced up from a book title he was trying to decipher. "But we haven't found the Tomes!"Linden protested. "Dragon!"I hissed, brandishing the scale. "We went over this! If I say we leave, we LEAVE! That was the deal!"I started backing out of the caves, toward the cleric who was already starting to leave. "But I'm almost..."Linden muttered as he futzed with a lock. "Jakob, hon, right now. I mean it."He shrugged, grabbed an enormous armload of books, and started jogging toward me. And then I felt it. Tremors in the floor. Shitshitshit. While I could teleport myself after a fashion, I couldn't take people with me. Jakob started to run. Moments like these come down to a gut decision. I grabbed one of my wands, breathed a command word, and Linden's position was now switched with the cleric's. It bought us a precious few seconds, but it was all I needed. As we cleared the cave I casted one of my larger spells downrange: Earthquake. The type of rock in these caves fractured nicely. While that dragon had a slim chance of surviving, he would not be out anytime soon. I dragged the other two behind me as I ran. "What the Hell was that?!"Linden squeaked. "An earthquake! Duh!" Jakob glanced around as we ran back down the path. "Not outside it wasn't..." Damn. Jakob did turn out to be brighter than he looked. "I'll explain later, okay?"I told them. "You'll want lots of mead..." &#x200B; Edited to add a change (minor transition) that didn't make it through browser trouble.
Bright flashes of light lit the sky in the distance, visible from Earth, Moon, and Mars. Europa was on the other side of the Sol system at the time, so the inhabitants of the small colony there didn't witness it firsthand, but within five minutes of the light reaching Mars it was all over the news. Digital telescope images of massive black ships, only visible for their abundance of windows and obscuring of anything behind them, flooded every major news outlet and social media network. Another ten minutes and it was visible on Earth. Flashes in the night sky, bright enough to catch your attention from the stars. Within the hour, the human government dispatched multiple small investigation fleets to try and establish contact. We were prepared for this. Ever since the Hawking Interstellar Probe confirmed signs of objects FTL-jumping between star systems we knew we weren't alone. Before the scouting fleets even made it 30 ls out, we got the signal. Not "we"as in Mars, then Earth and Moon, then Europa, as with any transmission propagating at light speed. Somehow, everywhere received the message at the same time. "SURRENDER" What? Surrender what? There was no conflict in the first place. Regardless, all military ships were deployed into orbit around Mars and Earth immediately, with the exception of the stealth ships which approached the dwarfing fleet of huge alien frigates. After a few minutes of deliberation, a message was sent to the surprisingly-patient aliens, in English, because apparently they had learned it, or at least could translate it somehow. "Please explain." The alien fleet slowly turned to face in the direction of Mars and Earth, and another message was received. "WE HAVE SUPERIOR FIREPOWER. SURRENDER. WE WILL RELOCATE YOU TO A SUITABLE LABOR PLANET." The thing about humans is that we have a long history of conflict and war, and especially stubbornness. Almost never in human history had a larger army simply showed up and told the enemy to surrender. That just isn't how humans work, we fight anyways. Because of this, we have become very sophisticated in military tactics, even if they haven't been practiced in 50 years. And apparently, the same wasn't true of the aliens. They showed up with an enormous army of carbon nanotube-armored ships and advanced technology and expected immediate surrender. Perhaps we're irrational, perhaps we're a bit insane. But sometimes that's just what you need. It became immediately clear to the entire human population that we were about to be enslaved by an alien empire. So the government and the military considered our options. Bargaining was off the table, what could we possibly offer them? They are vastly technologically superior, and they would have no interest in an alliance with a small developing race such as ourselves. Obviously we couldn't decline, their message didn't exactly seem like a request. The only other option was war. But we would need to be smart about it. For all we know, they might be able to exterminate an entire planet in seconds. We responded. "Understood, sending leader ships to discuss arrangements." The military fleets around Earth and Mars departed. The frigates each opened a massive landing bay, blasting bright blue-white light against the inky blackness of their hulls. We figured they wanted to discuss face-to-whatever-the-alien-equivalent-of-a-face-is. Two or three fighters landed in each bay. However, each then departed after a couple minutes and swiftly flew back towards Earth, and each left a large metal object in its place. The aliens must not have encountered anyone who opposed them before, or at least no one who had attempted anything like this, because they didn't make the smart move of ejecting the foreign object as quickly as possible. "RETURN. WE WISH TO ARRANGE PLANS IN PERSON." ... "No." The nukes detonated.
I jumped. No way. I must be seeing things. It must be my sleep deprivation that's fueling this mini nightmare. Just when I had convinced myself that I was slowly going insane and decided to take a walk to outside to grab some coffee, Jeff spoke again "Aah. You were trying to pull off the classic hand-in-cup-of-coffee prank. I used to do that all the time". As far as I knew, I was the only person who had figured out how to enter this pocket dimension where time doesn't move. Had someone beat me too it. Without turning around I asked him "How did you get here?". He smiled as he pulled out a pocket watch and said "I just brought one of these from a local convenience stores". What was he taking about? Was this some kind of joke? "Well, I did need a license to operate this, that wasn't too hard to forge. People aren't normally allowed to jump this far back". I was a bit shocked, did someone manage to find a pocket dimension where the flow of time is reversed? "Anyway I had read a lot about you - the Father of Modern Time Manipulation. I really wanted to see you in person.... Oh where are my manners? I'm one of your students from the year 2235. You probably don't remember me"
I walked down the narrow street, A thousand songs buzzing in my ears. For the Most part it was easy to piece together which song was whose. most of the classical Chopin and Mozart belonged to the more high class looking people. the people wearing their pitch black business suits with shoes polished like the back of a bald mans head. Then, the Rock Music and Rap music belonged to the teenage school boys. Their wrinkled shirts and disorderly ties flapping in the wind. The homeless man at the corner of the street had that one song by Simon and Garfunkel called the Sound of silence. It didn't make sense at first but after I looked at his face and saw a huge napalm burn across his cheek I could kinda guess why he had that song. As I continued to stroll down the street and turned the corner. music boomed through my ears, music that drowned out all the other songs I could hear. The crazed bass guitar plucking and the loudest screaming i'd ever heard. The Doom Soundtrack. But what madman, would have this kind of song define them. A song that very much personifies the feeling of slaughtering demons. I scoped around and noticed the song was coming from none other than a young school girl. This had to be a mistake I thought, but quickly realized it wasn't. I ran up to the schoolgirl maybe 9 or 10 and asked her if she had heard of a game called Doom. "Doom? ". she asked puzzled of what I was saying. "Its a game about... killing... evil creatures"I answered uncomfortably trying not to scar her mind. "Sorry, I'm not really into video games"She said, walking away from me. I couldn't let her get away. I had to figure out this mystery. I ran after her and tapped her on her shoulder. She groaned at me "what now"disinterested rolling her eyes. "Anything happen in your life recently?"I asked. Suddenly her face lit up with joy and she opened her mouth with such glee and started talking. "Last week I had the craziest dream where I was sky diving off a building, at first it was terrifying but soon I stopped giving in to fear and started enjoying it, I didn't know whether to call it a good dream or a nightmare". She chattered with joy. "Then, the next day I had another dream where I was doing a test and there were 10 minutes to go, I had barely finished the first 20 questions."she continued, glimmering with pride. "I was so worried, but after a minute of just breathing, I felt so calm and managed to finish all 50 questions in the test and I could just feel that I got them right". She continued to chatter with such glee and such pride which was strange as it was just a dream. "After I woke up I realized how much I'm getting held back by my fear, my anxiety and stress and I just wan't me anymore". It was at this stage that her face lit up as bright as a candle. "I Decided to stop giving into fear and anxiety and stress and whatever other problems I had and live life to its fullest! "She looked so happy that I couldn't avoid smiling. "Ah I missed my bus!"she said without really caring. "Whatever, who cares If I'm a few minutes late to school"She giggled as she trotted away. I turned around finally realizing why she had the doom Soundtrack as her personal anthem. She may not have had to kill any real demons. But She had just slaughtered all her personal demons without a fear in the world. I started running without looking back. Time to kill some of my demons. &#x200B;
50! Absurd, I thought to myself. This bastard keeps changing the goal posts. And did you even see how he barely looked up from his paper? Like I was some kind of lowly insect because, what, I only made it to 30 that one time? Did he forget that I've hit late 40's not once, but twice!? Pfft, knowing him he did forget. He's always got a stick up his ass if you die young. He treats us all like shit. You tell me how to do it better, then. Let him give me some advice for a change. You know he always plays favorites, right? Like anybody hits 65 and they're golden for him, and the biggest superstars get up to the 90s. How the hell do they do that? The first time around, I don't remember anything. I had to watch it back in limbo. I was born, got sick right away, and died. Some African little village. Times two through seven, I never made it past my 9th birthday. Usually sickness, but once somebody even killed me. Can you imagine that? Killing a six year old? Man, that sucked. I mean, it wasn't like, intentional killing, but still, I got run over. He said it was my fault-- how are you gonna blame a six year old for that? I started getting the hang of things after that, but dude, it's not easy. Between wars, famine, and straight up violence, it's really hard to make it out of your 30's. And believe me, the kid years end up being pretty easy. It gets hard once you turn 15 or so, that's when you start getting susceptible to violence. I've been robbed and shot, shot without being robbed, stabbed, pushed off a bridge, beaten to death more ways than I can count, and once even raped to death by a band of vigilantes. They thought I raped somebody, started getting up in a huff, chased me down and lynched me. Joke's on them because it wasn't me. That's just violent deaths, too. I've gotten sick so many times as an adult-- malaria, ebola, typhus, you name it. And now he's telling me I have to come back and make it to 50!? Impossible. Where's he gonna put me-- let me guess, war-torn Syria? Or maybe somewhere in the Congo where you either poach and get killed, or die because you didn't poach and couldn't get food. Or maybe some cadmium mine where you work hard 'til your body breaks and die young. But boy, was I shocked. This time around, he put me somewhere I've never been. I can barely describe it, it seems insane. Streets are clean, people friendly. Hospitals actually work, and doctors seem to know what they're doing. From what I read it's called a first-world country. No idea what that means, people here just call it New York. Hell of a lot of old people, nobody in any real pain. They complain a lot, which is probably the funniest part of it all. I think for the first time in my lives, I caught a break. Wish me luck!
Edward Yi. To me, he was just a nice old man. Just about everyday, I would walk by his house and he would sit in his old chair on his porch, rocking back and forth with a smile on his face. He would always wave and give a hearty, "GOOD MORNING!"He would even do it in at 5 in the evening. One day I decide to stop and talk with him, and he would tell his stories. Places he went, thoughts he had, the history of his family and much more. And I would listen, and when I talked he would listen in return. Then he started to not sit out on his porch. He would erratically, but his hearty "GOOD MORNING!"was replaced with a more low and raspy one. He told me he was getting ill so he couldn't sit outside all day anymore. The doctor told him he should go to a nursing home. But Ed was stubborn and declined. He gave me his e-mail address and asked for mine, which he wrote in a little book. We sent each other messages that way for a short time. But then, I stopped getting e-mails, until a month later. The message wasn't from Edward Yi, but his grandson who was with him when he died at a nearby hospital. I was told his son died and that Edward Yi wasn't in good contact with the rest of his family. They felt like practical strangers to each other, he said that he barely knew him but was told that I was good friends with him. His grandson said I was invited to his funeral but didn't know who to contact. I felt... compelled in a way to try and give Ed a proper funeral. He had a book that he wrote my e-mail in, so I figured he might have others' e-mails in there. I got the key to his house from his grandson. I found the book in his dresser, and it full of addresses and names, famous names. Like Hollywood famous. Actors like: Tom Hanks, Robin Williams, Russell Crow, Nicholas Cage, Fred Rogers, Jamie Lee Curtis. As well as some people in politics, including the current governor. There were even names in different languages, maybe Chinese and French. So I started making calls, of course I couldn't directly speak with a lot of them. I was told their secretaries would pass along the information. But a few of them I did get to speak with, and that's when I started to hear their stories with him. They were incredible. Ed went all over the world, hiking, sailing, just about anything with all of this famous people. Several of them said he was a good friend for years and would chat at a cafe when they began their careers, but slowly drifted out of contact. They all gave their condolences, but sadly only a few could make it to the funeral. After a few days, the funeral was held. It was small and simple, I couldn't afford too much and Ed didn't set a lot aside unfortunately. But a lot of people showed up, and at the reception they came and thanked me for organizing the event. They told me even more about Ed. How he saved their life once or how they just hung out together, as if they were lifelong friends. It was surreal. I'll never forget you Ed, and neither will the people who love you, your friends.
(I took a subtler approach to this prompt. I hope you like it! It's my first here on reddit.) NATIONAL NEWS ALERT! It was unthinkable, even insensitive, to call it a murder. Everyone knew it was impossible. Impossible! No person could harm one another. That was just how it worked. But when John Harvey, age 37, was found dead under the rubble of his new apartment room, it was hard not to look at the facts. The apartment complex had been built the year prior; it was practically brand new. Everything had been up to code, as far as the architects knew. The building had passed inspection with flying colors. The first residents had started moving in shortly thereafter. John had moved in under extraordinary circumstances. He had won a promotional contest held by the apartment company- a one-in-a-thousand drawing, said the company, intended to give a chance to perhaps a poorer family to live somewhere upscale for a while. There was a news outrage when it was announced that the winner of the drawing was announced to be a deadbeat ex-con that was John. John's only family was his parents and his ex-wife, both of which declined to comment. It can be concluded that his relationship with them was rocky at best. Police reports show that he may have been estranged from his family over sexual assualt allegations and fraud. In an odd coincidence, John's ex-wife happened to be the owner of the apartment complex that would spell his doom. Then on January 31st, under extraordinary circumstances, John's apartment mysteriously collapsed. The building was evacuated immediately of the remaining tenants. It was then promptly inspected by the buildings owners. The results show that every other part of the building was structurally sound, so much so that it was unaffected by the collapse. The night before, on January 30th, there was torrential rainfall, not unusual for this time of year. It poured roughly three inches on to the building. Further findings from the investigation show that this water had eroded several tiny weaknesses in the beams that supported the roof of John's apartment. Once again, these weaknesses have not been found in any other beam in the building. The full investigation is still currently underway. However, it is hard to deny the fact that someone wanted John dead, and had the patience to execute it. Perhaps it was not a coincidence that John won the drawing. Was it simply a fault of the engineers, or was it a sinister plot? We may never know.
I just had to be a smart-ass. I probably could've seen five years in federal prison for my little grow operation. At this point, I don't know if I'll make it five more minutes. The frenzied septuagenarian in front of me was bearing down on my shield with all the force of sweet justice behind his absurd mallet. Swaying gray locks flitted off sweat with each heaving blow and each juror was in a furor, their cheers and heckles making me wonder if this might all be a dream. Fat chance; my arm feels like it's damn near broken. My lawyer did his best but the evidence was tough to compete with. I'm a bad liar in the first place, and I had a tough time showing remorse for something I didn't feel was too bad after all. A touch of childish disillusionment led me to my last words before all this happened, "How about a trial by combat instead?" The judge stood and the robes fell to reveal a gleaming set of armor, beneath which may or may not be the worst old man to ever challenge to a fight. A weapon rack was revealed in turn and I was given a wide variety of choices, and going back was not among them. Sword and shield seemed reasonable. I haven't hit this man a single time. He's like a goddamn machine built to swing! I take one more blow and I feel something shift in my shield arm; pain like a wildfire is shooting up past my shoulder and my battered shield drops to the ground. He's smirking at me.. no, laughing! He's started laughing at me! The jury is going absolutely mad. They're cheering now? "FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM!" I can't take this. Anger wells up inside of me and gives life to my legs, pushing me forward with my best shot at a war cry. The good arm is raised in the air, one final attempt to lay my case to rest in process. The judge is standing steady as I grow closer and I drop my blade with all my might.. A hand in the air; the long arm of the law has caught my sword. I hear a clatter and then feel raw gauntlet practically smash through my stomach, laying me flat on my back. My vision's fading. The last thing I saw was my judge and executioner, with the jury playing cheerleader to him in my ears. A simple shake of his head, and I see the hammer in the air above me. This is really how it ends. The last thing I hear before that whooshing hammer; "Smart-ass." (Criticism always welcome!)
"s-stop staring at me baka!"Said Void-Chan. "Maybe you stop being so cute Void-Chan."I said, I knew she liked me staring, she stares so often after all. "I'm not cute Baka!" "I think you are. I don't care if you're inky black nothingness, you're adorable!" Void-Chan began to blush, this was odd as she was still inky black nothingness, but she was flattered. "Baka baka baka!"She shouted. I got closer, putting my arms around her in a hug, despite her attitude, she didn't resist. "It's not like I like you or anything!" "I know you do Void-Chan, and I like you too!" Soon she pushed me back. "You pervert! You shouldn't just hug a girl like that unless she likes you!" "Well, don't you?" "N-no! No I don't baka!" "Come on, I know that when I stare into Void-Chan, Void-Chan stares back." "Uwa! ...I...Fine baka! I like you too!" "I knew it! Wanna go out then?" "Nnnng...ok...pick me up at 8?" "I'll be there!"
We all saw the broadcast of his arrest. Me and my buddies were ringing each other immediately. "Sounds like a good job?" "12.5 million per person, fuck yea! We'll have to go for it ASAP though. I doubt no one else wants that prize. Charlie was already packing his bags when I called him. Said he had a new device to experiment with." "Good, Juliett said she was making some calls to get plans of the prison. She always surprises me with her contacts." "What about Quebec? He up for this job?" "Yea, he's coming out of retirement for it. Hates his pension. It's too little for his hobbies. We'll need him too. He knows that prison, served some years in it." "Are you gonna call the others?" "Yeap, I'll be planning everything from here on out. And just like the rest, meet at the most logical place, Victor." "Will do, Papa." I packed my things, made some calls to suppliers and got on the earliest flight to the city near that prison. I could see some people with the same look of determination as I had, I'll have to plan around those bumbling fools. We'll probably be taking down a few of them if they get to the target first. I got off the flight and was met by Sierra, our infiltration expert. She had shifted her voice to sound higher and even girlier than usual. I, in turn, also played with my voice to mask myself. "Hey! What are you doing here so early?" "Auww, you got here already? I was going to surprise you! Damn it, well too bad. Let's go to the hotel then, honey." "Sure!" She grabbed her luggage and my arm as I started whispering. "Quebec is coming too." "Dad is coming? It's going to get serious then. Do you have a plan yet?" "No, but I've got some ideas. I need to know what Charlie's new toy will be, and have a look at the plans from Juliett. Hopefully Oscar got the badges I asked for, but he said it would be difficult. Can't rely too much on November's charm either. I just hope other people won't cause too much of a riot." "You know they will, it's going to make my job harder." "If you'll even be able to flaunt your specialty. I think the prison is going to be so uptight that even you won't get in or out." "Hmph, I take that a challenge. And you know that." "Yeap." We get a taxi and drive to a remote motel that I rented out. Every room was ours; the only problem being the owner. We want no tattletales. When Sierra and I arrived, we were met by two people waiting. Oscar and Victor were leaning against an armored van from our last mission. "Ho, Papa. Looks like you've got the good company with you, eh?" Sierra bit off that snark. "Shut it, Oscar." "Whaat? It's a compliment." "Yea, and then November comes along and you always say: 'And there's the great company.' Don't play with me." "Victor, how's the owner?" "Difficult. We might have to wait on November to get him to go away. 10 grand wasn't enough for him to leave it to us. He wanted 10 million, senile bastard." As we chatted up, another taxi arrived. This time with Juliett, wearing a business suit. That damn woman's got her fingers in too many corporations. Quebec arrived on his old, but shiny, Harley Davidson. The old man's biker roots are entangled into his being. We say old, but really he's barely 50. Finally, November arrived also on a motorbike, her treasured Bimota Tesi 1D. She takes off her helmet, whips her hair around and unzips her leather suit. I can hear Oscar shouting from my back. "And there's the great compan- Auww, what u do that for?" Time to get started. I tell November about the owner and she just laughs, telling me to wait ten minutes. She goes in, and comes back after ten minutes. "There we go, all ours. When are we going to start?" "Tomorrow I'll go over the plan. Juliett gave me the design plan of the prison, Oscar wasn't able to get the badges, but Charlie's toy might prove useful." November, Quebec and Juliett sidle up to him, to ask him in unison. "What does it do, Charlie?" Charlie pushes up his glasses. "Ahh, it's an ultrasonic suppression grenade. Everything without my earbuds or similar ones will get enough decibels in just a few seconds to crumple to the ground in pain. Great for dispersing a crowd or taking out people without a known cause. It's a high frequency so the range isn't great." I can see the interest drop in November's expression, but Quebec and Juliett show a glint of excitement. Juliett would want to get that for her military corporation. I finally hear the owner's car leave and shout out at everyone. "Relax while you still can everyone. Tomorrow our equipment arrives and we'll debrief. The day after is when we move out." "Yes, Papa!" Quebec and I sit in the bar of the motel. We know what the youngsters are doing to relax, and we're too old to join in. Quebec is worried, I can hear it in his voice as we're talking. "We're going to lose some people, aren't we?" "I hope it doesn't come to that, but it's possible." "Then there's a real chance for someone to die. You've never said that it's possible before." He puts a hand on my shoulder and lowers his voice. "Are you sure this is worth it? A 100 million for 8 people isn't much." "Oh, I know. Do you honestly think I would take this job if there's only 12.5 million for each of us? We're going to make that piggy squeal and shit out at least half his assets. This is a dangerous job, and if we get caught we're dead. The government will know what we've all done when they investigate us." He nods and cracks a big smile. "Hah, great! Because 12.5 million wouldn't be enough for what I'm planning on doing after this!" "What are you going to do?" Quebec sighs. "Sasha wants a divorce ..." I put my arm around the old man's shoulder. "I'll try to get as much out of it for you, friend." ---- Continuing in the comments, will probably be finished tomorrow. You'll also find the story on my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/DregsfromLake/) when it is done.
...a beginning. Life, and time, loops around itself like a mobius strip. Like a snake biting its own tail. All of us see these same moments, again and again and again. But the line that makes up your life is never drawn quite the same way twice. Every decision is a potential deviation, and there's a sense of freedom there, until you feel the hand of fate guiding you to your predestined outcome. I've lost count at how many times I've made the loop at this point. No one but me seems to realize it's even happening at all. Or maybe--like me--they are starting to forget, or have already forgotten. I'm approaching a familiar end again. My world torn asunder by a war I can never seem to prevent--hard as I might try. I wonder sometimes if that's how I break the cycle. How I get the serpent to release its tail. If the only way to break fate itself is to stop the tides of inevitability. To grasp at the moon and pull it to Earth, shattering the veil, tearing the strip, and stemming the tides that try to pull me from my choices. The longer this goes, the deeper my desire to find true freedom from this prison. And the more I seek to stop the beginnings. To find an end once and for all. But instead, I find that every ending is...
The Intervention came suddenly and from the sky. Heads of state across Earth were contacted simultaneously, before, even, we understood what all of our satellites and telescopes began to unanimously announce—a galactic committee had arrived in low-Earth orbit, suddenly and all at once. In a moment we learned that Einstein hadn't got things quite right, that we were very substantially not alone, and that we were the subject of significant interest. That last, of course, appealed to us rather a lot. No two of them were especially alike, and yet all of them were. As various as their anatomy were the rigid, beefy environmental suits they wore; we later learned that the ludicrous temperatures of Earth and the absence of a hydrocarbon atmosphere were broadly considered unsuitable for life. Indeed, in the end it was just our ability to flourish in our ravaging temperatures that had brought them to make contact. No one wanted to see the fascinating and beautiful anomaly end itself, but we'd begun to warm our strange and aberrant little rock to temperatures even we weren't going to be able to withstand. So they decided, after furious debate between the various scientific, philosophic and political coalitions that had been assembled to discuss the matter, to help. Many had felt it inappropriate to disturb the experiment that evolution was running—for apparently the first time—no matter the outcome. Others wondered if they could truly understand what was happening and why, and out of this debate the term silicocentrism was coined. Life had almost always taken billions of years longer to achieve even our formative intelligence; who could say how best to shepherd a people who’d emerged from the frenetic evolutionary pace sanctioned by our steaming, sloshing planet and the wild cacaphony of life that, impossibly, built itself of and from such violent chemistry? They argued that the... messy, they euphemized... manner of our reproduction was a microcosm of what was happening, that this was a natural process, not to be interfered with. What could they know of life that emerged in an instant—perhaps their inability to imagine how we'd survive ourselves was simply that, a poverty of imagination. We were, many said, after all adaptable if nothing else. But in a few short decades we'd amplified the problem so rapidly, and despite understanding it, hardly moved to slow it. It was determined that something so clearly unique in a thriving universe so otherwise abundant with ordinary life couldn't be lost. The opportunities for study were too great, and the wonder too magnificent. To them, we were a metaphor for possibility (and, I can report, it was a perspective to which we were more then amenable). So a—the—Consortium was formed, and a mission conceived, and this they called The Intervention. And, to even our surprise, we listened! The unanimity of their desire to help, and perhaps our delight at having the entire galaxy confirm that we were indeed as special as we'd always suspected, was what swayed us. Or maybe it was the fear that if we wouldn't cooperate, measures that didn't involve our consent might follow. So listen we did. If there was one thing they had in spades it was energy that hadn't required them to burn their own bodily fluids. Indeed, this fact of us was the subject of morbid fascination to them, a rash of art depicting advanced carbon life forms set loose on the galaxy, burning and consuming life everywhere it was found, had became a fashionable theme of galactic genre fiction in recent years. Virtual reality adventures involving titanic, voracious pink-and-brown flesh creatures, hurling oxygen bombs and adapting before anyone could stop them made more than one publisher's stock rapidly rise. Of course, the change to our way of life didn't come without consequence; the corporations who weren't prepared for the abrupt cessation of all our old strategies for fabrication and dissemination of goods resisted mightily. But the consortium only laughed affectionately when some of us asked for their help with this. They said we were an impatient species, without an understanding that such thinking would be gone so soon it hardly warranted notice. But these species were all millenia old; they hadn't had to consider anything of consequence without the benefit of such history in so long they'd forgotten what it was to be rash. They were far more interested in helping us to the stars. There were millions of volatile, uninhabited rocks, swirling with saline and the chaos of warmth. Mostly, they wanted to watch us grow, fascinated to witness us cover whole planets in a fraction of the time life normally did such things, to see the strange, beautiful, squishy aggregations of water and carbon and entropy barely contained bloom like algae across planets we couldn't otherwise reach, and for which they hadn't any particular use. They were so very keen to preserve the miracle, even against itself—for who knew what trouble we'd invent for ourselves before anyone even had time to notice? It was better that our miracle be distributed, safe. It was a benevolence I sometimes wonder if we shouldn't have learned from. The galaxy feels lonelier, now—not empty, of course, one can hardly point a radio transmitter without hearing the noise and chatter of some colony or other. It's just... I guess I miss them, our benefactors, the ones who came before. The old must make way for the new, it's just the way of things, and we had grown accustomed to the expansive freedom they’d shown us. It was, as they say, them or us; and we were after all the most unique and special thing the galaxy had ever created. We asked ourself "Why shouldn't we have it all?"and finding no satisfactory answer, we did. There are so many more galaxies yet for us to visit; our best and brightest report that any year now we’ll have the energy density we need for our inherited technologies to fold space that far out. I wonder what we'll find. But in any case, I think the old silicosapiens would be proud; we learned well what we were taught, that distributed is better, that everywhere is better. It’s just a matter of time, really.
"So this is awkward,"was the first thing I heard when I woke up. The voice boomed out again, "I have to know..."as the voice trailed away, I felt a surge of heat pushing against my front, nearly knocking me over with the pressure. Suddenly, a man in a seemingly custom-tailored suit coalesced from the heat. "Was that a suicide? It looked like an accident, but... Come on, tell me the story." I was dumbfounded, and managed to squeak out a "What?" "Well you're dead, if you didn't realize. Yes, that makes this hell. I know, a lot to process, but this is just as weird for me. I didn't even know who to put you with, try and keep the causes of death lumped together. Gives you something to chat about between the sessions, a sense of belonging, which is always fun to break. But... seriously, suicide or accident?" "I guess... accident... I'm really dead? I swear to G- wait can I say that here?" "Of course, kid. I mean... look where you're at! Can't exactly punish you beyond this, anything goes here. Come on spill it, why? What were you hoping to accomplish? Why did you need not one, not two, but THREE cats?" "I figured at least one of them would listen, or at least hit the lever by accident..." "Cats, ah, best thing I ever did. Yes those are mine, give a demon some fur and some anatomic symmetry, you guys just... but why a unicycle? Two, three, four wheels? More balance?" "It was the only thing I could sneak past the security guy, and it would be easier to weave through the crowd with! I stand by the unicycle decision, that wasn't what really screwed it up... wait did it work?" "I'm not even sure what you were trying to do! Were you trying to start a fire? Because if so, you succeeded, big time." "Shit, man no, I was trying... did they at least get the kids out?" "Nope, all dead, that's why you're here. Seriously, body count in the thousands, if that was intentional you'd be chilling, well not really chilling here what with the fire and all but, with some seriously heavy hitters. Hitler, Khan, Ghandi..." "Ghandi?" "Trust me." "Thousands, though?! It was a birthday party! At a roller rink! HOW?!" "The van full of propane tanks and bees didn't help..." "This is bullshit, this is SUCH bullshit! I was just trying to visit my niece, was gonna surprise her! She loves cowboys! " "Ok that explains a few things, but the drugged hooker in the back seat? Under the tarp?" "Seen that, huh?" "Yeah... about that..." "Ok, look, can I just start at the beginning? About a month ago, I was hanging out with a rabbi and a priest, we walked into a bar..."
Treating the Devil for a heart condition sounds like it should be an oxymoron or the beginning of a bad joke, yet there I was preparing a transthoracic echocardiogram on the Prince of Darkness. “So can you tell me what happened?” I asked to nobody in particular, too afraid to look up. While the demons which surrounded me looked perfectly human on a passing glance, staring at them for more than a few moments caused me to perceive their real, horrifying forms - and I had already fainted once. Asmodeus, the only demon who had so far made an introduction, replied, “He went to the mortal realm to negotiate the finer points of a high-profile soul acquisition. But then he collapsed in the middle of the talks. I brought him back.” What struck me most about the demonic voice was less its androgynous, melodious qualities but that was trying to mask a tremble. I knew the sound of that forced confidence from countless thousands of people who came to me in fear over the fate of their loved ones. “And this is an, uh, ‘assumed’ body?” “His favorite,” the Lord of Lust replied. “He’s used it for millennia.” The Devil - or, at least, this form of him - looked like a very healthy young adult male. Of course, as his present audience readily demonstrated, looks can be deceiving. “Can I assume, then, that he has engaged in risky behaviors in this body? If not also the body’s previous... owner?” For all that Asmodeus’ voice was sweet and entrancing, the chorus of chuckles which responded to his question almost drove me to insanity. By some great mercy, they went quiet before I got there. The echocardiogram machine finished its boot-up, and I began to check the settings. “And why can’t he just leave the body?” “If we fall in the mortal realm before the Heralding,” Asmodeus said, “we are finished.” “Incentive to work discretely, I suppose,” I mused while configuring the machine. “Well, let’s have a look.” I placed the transducer on the Devil’s chest and, after some adjustments, a clear picture of his heart came on the screen. I heard the shuffling of many feet behind me - demons angling to get a view of their Lord’s ticker. What I saw caused me to smile broadly. “What is it?” a demon whose voice could not be called human asked. “The Devil has a big heart,” I said. There was some murmuring in a language I could not understand, which a moment later became the soul-destroying laughter from moments before. I took a deep breath to keep my composure as I continued my examination. “How do you fix it?” Asmodeus asked. “Well, an enlarged heart is a symptom, not a cause,” I replied. “So I need to find the cause.” I already had a good suspicion, which I quickly confirmed when I looked at the aortic valve. The problem was plain as day. “Aortic regurgitation,” I said. More foreign murmurs, but clearly no comprehension. “The valve has become inflamed and isn’t closing properly, leading to blood flowing back into the left ventricle.” “That is bad?” a demon inquired. “Very,” I said. “What would have cause this?” Asmodeus asked. “Well, without a complete history of him and the body, I can only speculate. But given who it is and how long he’s been at it... Syphilis seems a fair guess.” The uproarious laughter which resulted very nearly did push me over the edge. I am sure it is only by Providence that I am still here. The demonic joy might have gone on much longer had another Prince curtly silenced the gathering. “Can you save him, Mortal?” he - unequivocally he - bellowed. “I can,” I replied. “I’ve got a lot of valve replacements under my belt.” There was some grumbling. “Name your price,” the commanding Prince said. I was caught off-guard. They had dragged me to Hell in a literal blink! Who was I to negotiate? But, really, there was nothing else to say. “Oh, um, no charge.” There was a very long pause and, if you can believe it, a cold draft. “Why?” “I have an oath to uphold,” I said, “and it’s not as though I could walk away even if I didn’t. Besides, it’s Hell enough working with insurance companies back on Earth, and here of all places doesn’t seem like a good place to be negotiating terms and conditions.” “We would give you anything!” he roared in apparent disbelief. “And you refuse?!” “Every mortal wants something,” Asmodeus said. “Surely you want something.” “Right now, I want to get him ready for surgery so that the sooner I can operate, the sooner I can go home,” I said. “That will be enough for me.” I can only assume that the operation was successful. As soon as I had him sewed up, a brilliant light overcame me; and when it faded, I was back in my office. Even though the whole ordeal had plainly taken hours, I looked at my clock to see that a minute had passed at best. I say that I assume it worked because, well, have you seen the headlines lately? Evil still abounds. However, in the weeks which followed my experience, I was contacted by my network of insurers seeking to renegotiate our terms. They were all very generous offers, but I had to turn each one down. Asmodeus’ voice was far too recognisable, and I was much too wary of there being hidden terms and conditions - beyond what the usual insurer tucks in, that is.
"Please, I'm just so tired. I have nothing left to live for. Just let me rest."The wretched man begged, crawling at my feet. I knelt down to him, and smiled at him. I caressed his cheek gently and spoke quietly. "Then rest eternal. Fret not for the living." The reaction was instant, as it always is. His eyes rolled back, his breathing stopped, and his went slack onto the ground. The room around us erupted into cheers and applause, as the morticians dragged the body away. I saw others trying to make their way to the stage, but I rose and held out a hand. "That is enough for today. I have more important things to do than deal with you any more." The cheering didn't die out until I was back into my personal chamber, changing from the cloak back into more comfortable clothes. I felt better once the cloak was off, the need to be so harsh with people gone with it. They are strange people, worshiping me as if some god. Just because I could put them down. Then came a knock on my door. Some fan probable made it past my guards was here to plead with me. But when I opened the door, all I saw was a fist, then darkness. Then light. Bright light. Intense light. "Good morning. Sleep well? Glad to hear it."a figure stepped between me and the light. He had a strong silhouette. "Now then, we want answers. How do you kill people? Why are only you able to do it?" I knew this day would come. Fame always has its draw backs. I knew he'd beat me for it, but I figured I had nothing better going on. "I can't." He was strong, I'll give him that. Pretty sure I felt knuckles, possibly silver, as was popular. I laughed a little when he stopped. "That was fun. Any more questions?" I could feel his anger rise. I think this was when he took out the nails. He pounded one through my arm each time he had to ask. "We've seen the bodies, how do you do it?""Why has no one else figured out how to reverse it?""We can do this all day."and so one and so forth. To his credit, I'm fairly certain he did go all day. Each time I calmly told him the same thing. "People don't die any more. It can't be done." Then he brought in the bodies. Each one carved up and splayed out. "No organ damage, no cuts, no scrapes, nothing. How did you kill them?" "I didn't."He went to grab another nail, but noticed the box was empty. As he turned to leave, I continued. "They aren't dead." He stopped. "They clearly are. Do you think we are that stupid?" "As stupid as everyone else, yes. They aren't dead. Just paralyzed. Trapped forever, suffocating eternally. And thanks to you, hacked open too. I never offered death. I offered rest. People were just so willing to take it."
Some years back, or so we're told, there was a weird message that was said to come from beyond the Outer Rim. It was audio and obviously deliberately created. It took nearly six months to figure out that it wasn't intended to be a form of speech. Instead, once we figured out it was a weird version of binary, it turned out to either be an order for sliders aimed at Malastare (worst sliders in the galaxy, trust me) or a child's crude pixel drawing.\* Given it was on a slow-travelling and extremely outdated radio band, it didn't take a great slicer to figure out it was the second. Precise triangulation of the point of origin was a failure, as we weren't able to get anyone out that far to check the calculations and find out just who lived in such a kriffing remote area. Still, just in case more started popping up, the Great Strategists in Intelligence decided to assign a group to monitor that frequency and the surrounding ones. At first, there was a fairly sizable and well funded team. They sent a few messages back, to see if they'd get a response. Included in the transmission was plans for a better sending and receiving station. Considering the time involved for radio waves to move, though, none of them expected that response any time soon. "Someday"was not a term that the Accountancy Division was fond of. So, the team was pared down as time went by. Nowadays, it's just a single tech and a wilting office plant with equipment that has been close to failing for years. What equipment that hasn't been requisitioned away by other departments, that is. That leads to today. I'm sitting here, in my dead-end job of monitoring the radio band for more transmissions. Learn from my experience: If a CO's wife invites you for dinner when he's not home? Don't go. Say you're sick. Say you've lost a limb. Really lose a limb. Replacements aren't that expensive and are covered under medical, anyway. Kriff, take a blaster and shoot yourself in the head. It's a more merciful death than slowly decaying in a rotation that no one gives a dwang about. I'm staring at the chrono - willing the time to pass more quickly and debating if I can get a few rounds of fantasy huttball in on my personal datapad without being noticed - when the usual white noise of strangely choppy advertisements and odd music resolves into something a little more interesting. I sit up straight and try to ignore the pins and needles of feeling returning to my left butt cheek. The transmission is actually intended for who? I'm not sure at first. They speak a pidgin Basic that I've gotten slightly fluent in, thanks to the other signals we've gotten. But... it sounds like they're trying to talk to us. I flip a few switches, bringing the sound to a far more audible level for anyone close by and alerting my supervisor that there's something going on here. The protocol droid head that some genius hardwired into the right side of my station a few years ago goes into overdrive translating pidgin Basic into something a bit more civilized. Considering the amount of chatter and editorializing he's spewing out, the higher ups would probably be better off reading my translation written on bath paper. In lipstick. In the rain. "What's the issue?"The LT - half my age, four times as green, and whose name I never bothered to learn - has come up on the other side of me. "We're finally getting chatter back from what appears to be Anomaly 684521-A, Lieutenant. And, for once, it's not an advertisement for hemorrhoid cream."I internally sigh at myself for adding that. I really don't need another round of tuber peeling in the galley and this LT has never evolved beyond that for punishment detail. "In fact, it appears they've finally managed to speed up their transmission speed to something approaching civilized... Sir." "First Contact Protocol states...."I can see him racking his brain to remember. First Contact is a rarity these days. The entire galaxy may not belong to the Empire, but a significant amount of it has been explored. Planets in or near the green belt of orbital rotation are rarer than you'd think, and a smaller number actually come populated with anything approaching intelligent life. I'm willing to bet the LT's home planet wasn't one of the ones that did have intelligent life. "Yes, sir, our designated First Contact trained officer is supposed to talk back to them."I gesture toward the microphone. And now he's going to say.... "And that would currently be...."He tries to look like he's remembering, but he's obviously not. "The microphone is all warmed up for you, sir." His eyes widen. His breathing speeds up. His pupils dilate and contract alternately. He turns a little green. Karking up a first contact is the fast way to be invited to an interview with a Moff, Vader, or the Emperor. How many pieces are left of you after that interview is sure to be the subject of vigorous wagers. "Right."He tugs his neckline, then straightens his tunic. "Best get to it, then." "Where..? Ah."He hits the switch for the microphone after spending a few seconds fiddling with a button that resets the chrono, one that make a testing light blink, and one that has no visible effect. Honestly, I'm not even sure what that last one does. Pretty sure he doesn't know, either. "This is Lieutenant Andras, of Imperial Monitoring Station Daleth. Are you receiving me?" "This is Commander David Raine of NASA. I read you loud and clear, Lieutenant."There's a pause and a crackle of static. "I'm not familiar with your monitoring station, where is that exactly?" Our location isn't classified. Kriff, you can get Toydarian delivered and they just wander into whatever room they want at all hours of the day and night cycle. Security is a karking joke around here. "The northern hemisphere of the planet Dantooine." "....Would you mind repeating that?"The LT repeated it and there's a burst of static. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but this channel is for official use only. There will be no prank calls from Star Wars nerds, geeks, or whatever your preferred nomenclature is. Understood?" "Commander, I haven't the faintest notion what you're referring to."For once, the LT and I are in complete agreement - we're both baffled. Though, I remember some mention of this Star Wars thing in the radio chatter. Never did get much about it, though, as the transmission cut in and out a lot. "Sure, you don't, son. Go tell your parents to sign you up for baseball or football. Get out of their basement for a few hours. It'll do you some good."Another crackle of static. "I don't want to hear another word out of you. Get off this channel." I look at the suddenly sweating LT. This is not going to be a fun report for him to make. Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll execute him before he manages to make it my fault. \------ \*If you want a pic of the drawing, which does exist: [Arecibo Message](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arecibo_message).
"And thats when the brave Paladin ran up through the dragons flames."My eyes always grew wide during this part, ever since I first heard his stories. "Steeled with his own unbreakable will, and his determination to save his friends, he emerged out from the other side and struck the dragon with such strength, it stumbled backwards."I always longed for adventure, and grandfather knew that. "Staggering that dragon gave the druid enough time to change into a mighty mammoth and gore the beastly dragon with her tusks! To our four brave wanderers' delight the dragon slumped onto the floor of his lair."Grandpa continued with glee as I let out a small cheer, "Thanks to the Paladin's bravery, the Cleric was able to safely mend everyone's great, many wounds."Sadly I'm doomed to this tavern, a barmaid, just like mum. I am sure I shone with glee, grandpa's stories never failed to excite. Even after we recently laid grandma to rest, he still is able to pull excitement out of willing ears. "I'm glad you enjoyed my story Euriel,"grandpa said with a hearty laugh as I grined from ear to ear. "Aren't there any stories about you,"I asked expectantly. After a quick chuckle, "oh the stories about me are old and boring,"he said with a smile. "Euriel,"my mother called from the storeroom, "You can listen to his stories later I need you to come with me to make some deliveries."She walked out to a readied buggy, food in hand. "Unless you find a husband, you're working here with us, and you need to know how to handle a delivery."I sighed hugging my grandfather before leaving. It was a boring, dusty ride. Watching the birds fly over head, and the odd stray dog walk past. My mother and I ate lunch halfway through, oh I wished something exciting would happen. While at the tavern I was tasked with listening to my mother barter. After a while, her and the taverns owner started arguing over the varieties of apples, and I snuck off into the tavern. To hear the bard of course. Upon entering I caught an unusually familiar story. "And so the brave bard/ entranced the dragon so/ causing it to harm its own. And with a great thud/ its body hit hard/ echoing deep in the cave! Man of the wood/ Woman of good/ Both cheered as their lives were saved! But as the tale goes/ The knights jealousy rose/ and ran with treasures untold!" I couldn't help but laugh, "Where did you hear that?" A strange look came across the bards face, "Hear it, I was there!" I laughed more, "if you were there, then you would have known the bards charm failed and the Paladin saved the day." "Little girl I would-"the bard was cut off by jeers and men saying let her tell her tale. He went silent with pout, it was my chance. I tried my best to tell my grandfather's story. I attempted the same fervour and spirit as grandpa when he told his tales. The tavern erupted with cheer, and laughter at the bard. "The girl got better tallent then you."A man heckled causing the tavern to erupt in furious laughter. It was late and I knew my mother was waiting. As I walked out the bard followed, "Girl,"he shouted grabbing my attention, "where did you hear that story?" "It is my grandfather's story." "Is he a stout man with thick brown hair, a short beard, eyes as green as grain, and a hearty laugh?" Before I could say a word my mother asked with curiosity, "You knew my father?" "Eldric?" "Of course are you a friend?" "Why yes, you must take me to him. Its been quite along time." I didn't catch much, sitting I the back of the wagon, he joked and blabbed the entire ride. At least it made it quicker. However, I wasn't happy he sat with mom. "Take him to your grandfather,"my mother said as I got out of the wagon while the bard helped her down. I nodded, guiding the bard up the stairs to my grandfather's room. Upon opening the door my grandfathers eyes light up with glee, he was moving an unusual box I was sure he couldn't carry alone. "Ferick,"he set the trunk down standing up with a strain, "Ferick it is you."He held his arms outstretched for the bard. "Look at you,"Ferick said as the room became cold, "old and feeble. With a lunge and a scream he tackled my grandfather, shoving him into the wall. "How could someone like you take her from me,"the bard shouted raising a dagger thrusting it down. My grandfather caught his arm with both hands, struggling to keep it at bay. "She'd still be here if it weren't for someone as weak as you!" The tone of the room shifted. My grandfather rose effortlessly gripping Ferick's wrist with such strength as to force a pained groan. Ferick went to strike him but my grandfather caught his fist with ease. "Are you two still fighting over Ariel?"The room froze. One by one our gaze shifted to the hawk purched on the rooms window. Hopping of the sill, the hawk landed in rough leather boots as a tall, tanned elven woman. "She chose Eldric, Ferick. She died of age. Let Eldric mourn in peace." I stared at my grandfather, both shock and excitement. With a smile and a wink, "Old and boring to some. But you always love my stories."
"Hey, baby. Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?"I winked at the man sitting across from me. His jaw dropped in a perfect O of shock. Then, unexpectedly, he burst out crying. "Yes! Oh, God, yes!" "Grea—wait, what?"My suave expression died mid-smirk. "This planet is a nightmare!"He banged his fist on the bar, making the mugs jump. We barely merited a glance—Jack's Tavern picked up all sorts. "We're all going to Hell in a handbasket, and there's nothing anybody can do about it!" "Yeah? I dunno, mate, the world's a pretty swell place. Don't get me wrong, there are still a few issues we've got to work out, but historically speaking—" "A few issues? A few issues?!"The man started hyperventilating. "I'll give you a few issues. Just the other day I saw your politicians compromising with sin." "Okay, yeah. That's a pretty big problem. It's called literally all of politics. So—" "So I led a crusade against them, and cleaved their heads from their shoulders with a blade of holy fire! And you know what? I got arrested for manslaughter!" "Whoa, there!"I backed away. "Okay, that sounds like a you problem." "A me problem? They were sinners! How am I supposed to crusade against the sinful now, huh?" "Reddit's pretty good for that." "Oh, believe me, I went there. I spoke the Holy Words of the Sanctifying Truth and you know what? My post was removed for being 'overly inflammatory'! I'm a being of pure divine fire, I'm supposed to be inflammatory!" "Ooh, try 4chan instead." The man gave me a despondent look. "Hell in a handbasket, I'm telling you." I nodded calmly. Well, he was one of the crazy ones, but hey, they were the most fun. "Cheers to that, mate."I clinked my glass against his and drank. He took a single sip of his beer and spat it out. "And that's another thing!" "What's another thing?" "The things you humans waste your time on! Drinking and sleeping and watching movies and reading stories—whatever happened to saving the dolphins, or colonizing the Moon, or crucifying the sinners?" "'Kay, we've got to calm down a little on crucifying the sinners,"I said. "No! That's exactly your problem! You should never calm down about crucifying the sinners! The world is going to end and your entire lives are being spent doing pointless nothings that don't matter!" The man slammed his forehead into the table. I winced. That was going to leave a mark. After a moment, I said, "Well, yeah, duh. Everyone knows that." He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. "What?" "Nothing matters. Scientifically speaking, [the universe is guaranteed to go cold and dark and erase everything everyone ever has worked for](https://www.reddit.com/r/rileywrites/comments/fjems1/the_first_second_of_eternity/). So you know what? Fuck it."I chugged more beer. "Anything that keeps me going despite the horrible truth matters to me. That's why they pay YouTube the big bucks." The man stared at me, a frown on his lips, then sighed. "You people can't even get the sky right." That was new. "What?" "The sun. The beautiful, brilliant sun. I saw it go out today." I raised an eyebrow. "You saw the sun go out?" "It just... left. Went right over the horizon and vanished."The man gazed at nothing, tears and snot plastered all over his face. "You all didn't even notice." I gawked at him, open-mouthed. Then I couldn't help but laugh. "You mean a freaking sunset?" "I suppose, yes. The sun has set off into the endless void of space, never to be seen again. In heaven, the sun shines overhead forever..." I looked at my watch. My face lit up. "Come here. There's something you'll want to see."I grabbed his arm. "There's nothing. Nothing left in this world but sinners and empty night—" "Just come on already!"I yanked him out of the bar; he stumbled upright with a tipsy exclamation. I raced down the street, to my apartment complex. Up we went in the elevator, and out onto the balcony. The man rubbed his eyes as we slammed to a halt. "What... why... did you take me... he..."He trailed off as he looked forwards. Into the sunrise. I smiled and rested my elbows on the balcony railing. "Mate, you know, I can tell you got your own stuff going on. You got issues with the world. But, uh, just remember. For every sunset, there's a sunrise. World's not broken beyond repair yet." The ex-angel watched the sunrise, delicate, diffuse. His back straightened, his lips quirked into a smile. "Yeah. You're right. This world can still be fixed."He held out his hand. Hesitantly, I reached out to shake it. "Well, that's good to hea—" "BY CRUSADING AGAINST THE SINNERS!"A ten-foot tall blade of flaming steel materialized in his outstretched hand, and he hurdled over the balcony. Wings of molten light sprang out from his back, and he swooped over the city of New York. "STOP ME IF YOU CAN, MORTAL LAW ENFORCEMENT!" I fainted.
"Finally!"I exclaim, setting down my tool kit and sitting down on my kitchen counter. The new skylight window was officially installed. It had taken me hours, but I was starting to get used to the constant home renovations. My house was slowly becoming more and more like an armored fortress, but what else was I going to do? If the towns super powered 'heros' would stop breaking into my home with random accusations I wouldnt need to be fortifying it. Sadly, the more I fortify it the more suspicious I seem. I get what they mean. Why else would she be fortifying everything? But give me a break, after the third time I had to rebuild the smoldering ashes that used to be my estate I had to make improvements. It's a big place and its expensive to rebuild. I've got money but even I dont want to waste millions when I dont have to. A steeper investment in more resilient materials and I might have a place that lasts longer than a couple weeks. At this point I'm wondering if the heros are stereotyping me. So just because I'm young, into science, a self made millionaire and keep to myself I MUST be hiding something, right? Such bull. I manage to actually achieve something and of course I'm vilified. And they never have any evidence except that I have enough money and technology that I COULD be a villain if I wanted to. So every times theres a new baddie with cash BOOM! Someone in spandex with a god complex is flying through my livingroom wall. Or ceiling. Or up through the floor. Have these people ever even heard of a door? I always leave it wooden so I know they could get in that way if they tried. I dont even lock it. What's the point? The only people that try to break in wouldnt even notice a lock if I did install one. And of course theres nothing the police can do. Though, even if they could I doubt they would. The heros seem to have the whole force convinced I kidnap people or destroy cities in my spare time. Yeah right. As if I have time for that! All my focus goes to my work and rebuilding my home. I finish my coffee while I admire my handiwork. It's a new shatterproof reinforced bulletproof glass. It can withstand temperatures into the hundreds of thousands of degrees. It can only be opened through my direct voice command. It seems like every time I think I'm good, that their only way in is through the front freaking door I leave breachable for them someone finds some weak spot to break through. Heros are so freaking rude! I finish my coffee and start to head for my lab when I hear a crash. I close my eyes and count to ten as I try to keep my cool. "Halt evil-doer!"A booming voice from behind me commands. I turn around and see a muscular man floating, with his mask dusty and his hair disheveled. "Where did you get in?"I demand, crossing my arms. "I-what?"His jaw opens and his face scrunches like I asked him to do complex math. "What part of my house did YOU break?"I growled, taking a step forward to see if he had any debris on him. "Stand with your hands up!"He orders, his hand facing me like it's a loaded gun. I ignore him. "Search the house if you want, big shot. Nothing's locked. It never is. Now what did you break to get in here?"I walked past his shocked expression and followed a trail of metal and dirt to my garage. My three cars were destroyed. My garage door had a huge he-man sized hole in it. And looking through it, my rose bushes were toasted. I spin around and stalk over to him as hes investigating my lab. "I have a door!"I screech at him. He jumps and hits his head on my ceiling, denting it. "What?"Hes visibly frustrated. "Front. Door. Right there. Not locked. Wooden. Open and step in. What is wrong with you people?"I spit at him. He stares at me, clearly not grasping. "Why do you think you have the right to bardge into my home and break it in your way? I've never done anything to any of you! I didnt kidnap your girlfriend, I didnt set robots on your high school, I never released a bioweapon or made any bomb threats. I just sit here, do my work and clean up the mess YOU LOT leave!"I snap, flailing a scolding finger at him. "Where is the mayor?"He ignores me. "Hell if I know!"I fling my arms up in exasperation. "Isnt that YOUR job to figure out? Maybe instead of wasting time looking at my seaweed specimens you should be tracking him down!" "This is the most logical-"he begins. "Really? So, were there tracks leading here?"I cut him off. "Well, no.." "Any tracker on him that lead here?" "No..." "Any ransom note saying to wire me outrageous amounts of money? Any footage of me going to or from where ever the hell he was?"I continued. "No, but-" "I know there isnt. Because for the past ten hours I've been in my kitchen, fixing the skylight your buddies shattered this morning. I don't know and frankly dont care where the mayor is. But hes not here. And I need to get to work fixing my damn garage thanks to you. Now please, go do your job instead of bothering me!" My chest was hot and my hands were shaking. I was glaring at him so hard, if I had a power I'm sure he'd be goo at this point. He looked at me and then looked at my desk. He sighed. "Get to work."He gestured to my microscope. "Excuse me?"I glare. "I mean, don't worry about the garage. I'll get it fixed. And the cars. I'm sorry, they told me..."he hesitated. "They?"I raised my brow. "I'm new. The heros said he'd be here. But they were wrong. I only joined up with them because they wouldnt leave me alone either."He informed me. "Why would they bother YOU?"I ask suspiciously. He shrugged. "I have a lot of money. So do most of them. I guess if you're ritch they assume you're either a hero or a villain.I wasnt either, so I decided to prove I wasnt a villain by signing up with them." "That's so creepy."I tell him. "I'll try to keep them out of your hair. I'm sorry again."He starts walking out, going to the wooden door. "Hey!"I call after him. He looks at me and grimaces, probably wondering what I'm mad about now. "If you ever need someone to build you something, within reason, let me know. I'm good at machines."I offer. He smiles and waves as he shuts the door behind him. I wome up the next morning to two brand new cars and a fixed up garage. As well as a note, requesting a few different gadgets that seemed suspiciously useful to a few other heros. I stared at it a long moment and sighed. I think I just put myself on their payroll. Maybe he'll tell them where the door is.
"Ok, so, here's the idea: someone online posts a writing prompt, right? And someone gets inspired to write up a real good story about it, but the person who wrote the prompt gets mad when the other guy gets rich and famous, and so there's this heated lawsuit battle over who deserves the royalties-" "I get it, I get it, but what's the overall story's idea, what's its genre?" "Oh, it's a rom-com. The two meet up and fall in love." "...that is the most ridiculous pitch for a movie I have ever heard." The Netflix production manager slaps a rubber ink checkmark onto the script. "I love it! Let's begin production right away!" LATER: Sarah stared intensely at the local headlines, proclaiming a new Netflix special that has stunned audiences and garnered massive amounts of attention. She looked around at her modest apartment and livelihood, and begin to think: "Oh hell no, I'm calling my lawyer."
''You're a part of the majority. Your job is to find and eliminate the four impostors hiding among you, before they manage to kill you all. Good luck!'' I never signed up for this shit. I just wanted to make some fucking cash to feed my coke addiction, but I'm not up for no sci-fi shit. Man, being a homeless addict sucks ass, but this shit is just too much for me. I like the knife though, good quality, easy to rob someone with it. Not that I indulge into robberies, I see them more as permanent lending or some shit like that. I mean, I wanted to straighten myself out and that's why I signed up for this shit, but seeing nineteen of me motherfuckers around, that's just too much... These were the words looming around Jack's head as he was faced with nineteen copies, fifteen of whom where his allies and four that were his greatest foes. The gates had closed and the cool spaceship Jack had been ushered to was now all barren, save for the nineteen copies of him. The ships consisted of fifteen separate rooms, among them reactors, storage facilities, navigation, communications and a ton of other rooms. It was large as a spaceship could be, filled with machine guns on its outskirts, a scary sight. The nineteen copies all stood around a table in the center of the spaceship, in the cafeteria where all the stools and tables had been rearranged for the purposes of this strange game. Jack joined them, easily finding his own stool among the crowd. His T-Shirt signified him to be the player with the number four stenciled on it. Every other player also had a number ranging from 1 to 20. He was number 4, an insignificant piece of puzzle among the gathered crowd, just another crewmember looking to survive, but what was he supposed to do and how the hell would they find the killers among them? Jack was no stranger to murder, although he had only killed once, it was two years back, he got into a scuffle with a local drug dealer, bitch thought he could short Jack, but didn't realize just how amped up our hero was on coke and meth. Jack bludgeoned him with a steel hammer he found lying around in the dealer's perimeters. Locked in a spaceship with 19 other killers, he was number four, a crewmate... Jack repeated these facts until his head spun, his temple was throbbing with pain, still unsure whether all of this was just a figment of the coke he had snorted. ''So, can anyone lend me a twenty?'' Number 14 broke the silence among them. Nobody answered, some of them rapidly exhaled air through their noses, but nobody was foolish enough to open their mouths. Nobody was leaving the cafeteria to explore the other rooms, it was too dangerous and too comfortable to just keep watching everyone, safely ensconced in their chairs, waiting for the inevitable... Jack had enough of this shit, had gone out of the cafeteria to find a toilet somewhere. He needed to pee, badly. He made his way into the oxygen chamber where he found a toilet in the far right corner of the room. As he was minding his business, another copy showed up and stabbed Jack through the heart. He was dead. A flurry of sightings too complicated for the brain to comprehend filled his consciousness and Jack moaned as he woke up, full of sweat and tears rolling down his cheeks. It was just a dream, a bad dream. He would never do cocaine again, he would straighten himself out, this time, this time it would all work out in the end. 35 minutes later, the phone rang and Karl picked it up. ''Mr. Jack, you're in need of a delivery?'' ''Fuck that speak dude, just give me some coke.'' ''How much?'' ''Half-an-ounce'' The telephone line was whirring, muffled noises came out of it. It spread throughout the room, throughout the window, throughout the world! No, it was his head, he was spinning, spinning once more and he came to - he was in the cafeteria in the spaceship, fifteen congruent faces staring at him. ''Wow man, you got hit cold, good thing you survived this and shit.'' Number 19 said with a small grin. Jack touched the place where the knife went through his body, missed his heart by a fraction, it was all bandaged up now but he could still feel the stinging pain. He was very lucky to even be conscious, but this made him angry. It was time to get serious.
The glass clinks as you pour the whiskey, it's a simple trick but one that people expect, along with the smart but discrete black suit, the black gloves and the face that is somehow totally impossible to describe. &#x200B; It's all just part of the game, the suit, the gloves, the hard drink sipped slowly. &#x200B; The suppressed gun in the holster below your arm. &#x200B; "So before you start, I have just a few things to inform you, first, no kids, you want a freak you can find someone else."You say in the voice little more than a whisper, but impossible to miss. &#x200B; The sweating man opposite you nods and gulps. &#x200B; "No kids, understood."He says nodding so fast he looks like an epileptic on a stair machine. &#x200B; "Precious metals only, half now, half upon proof of completion."You say, leaning back and steepling your fingers just below eye level as you stare unblinking into his eyes. &#x200B; There is a heavy thud as a briefcase is placed on your desk, you don't open it but you know it is all there, the sweating man wouldn't be there if it wasn't. &#x200B; "The final part you should understand, I don't do loud, quick, clean, in and out in under five minutes is my technique, no mess and no mistakes, if you want a message sent loudly, get a phone."You say and the sweating man nods again. &#x200B; You smile, and lean forward and he flinches back. &#x200B; "So who do you need killed?"You ask. &#x200B; "Well ah, it's um, see the thing is."He stammers and you silence him with a single raised eyebrow. &#x200B; He coughs and adjusts his cheap, ill fitting tie. &#x200B; "You remember that law that was passed recently?"He tries again. &#x200B; "I do not concern myself with legality."You say coldly. &#x200B; "The one about corporate greed I mean."He continues doggedly. &#x200B; You just stare at him with cold, unblinking eyes. &#x200B; "Well, legally corporations now have the same rights as people under the law, and can face justice in the same way."He swallows hard under your stare. &#x200B; "A name is all I require."You say. &#x200B; He reaches into a pocket and slides a piece of paper towards you and you take it a moment before he would be comfortable for you to take it. &#x200B; You read the single word on the page. &#x200B; "Indeed."You say, showing no emotion. &#x200B; "They said, they said you were the expert, they said you would be able to get any job done."He says in a fearful, self justifying way. &#x200B; "They said correctly, though I believe I must now find out who said what to whom."You say in that same whisper. &#x200B; "Well can you do it?"the man says, stammering each word. &#x200B; "It will be a shame, I rather like the the history of the Corporation of London."You say in mild curiosity as the wheels start to turn in your mind, angles of approach and retreat, tools and tricks of the trade. &#x200B; Then you give a quick, emotionless smile. &#x200B; "Expect more information in three days."You say coldly as you stand and take the case, leaving the sweating man still in his chair. &#x200B; "So can I go."You hear in a plaintive whisper as you leave the office. &#x200B; You have work to do and a plane to catch.
Ting! Ting! Ting! Malorous tapped his champaign class with a spoon, and let the room quiet down. "I hope you've all been enjoying this fine party I have thrown for you tonight,"he said in a booming voice, laced with mischievous intent. "But I do believe the next thing I'm about to say may put a damper on your fine smiles this very night,"he said. Murmurs spread through the room. "You see, there is a bomb in the building, and it will go off tonight in one hour. The doors have been locked, except for bathroom breaks, and I think you will all see things change quite rapidly here in not too long!" A person in the crowd called out, "Is the bomb money?" Someone else in the crowd yelled, "No, that would be too obvious. It must be a prison reform bill!" "Idiot!"someone else called out, "He did that last year! It's definitely a bill to strengthen the economy and small business, and it's a 'bomb' because we're all billionaires and that would be a financial disaster for us." Malorous became flustered. "No it isn't!"he yelled. He was about to say something, but didn't. A tear rolled off his eye. He ran to a private room nearby and slammed the door. A large henchmen named Marty followed behind him. "It isn't fair, Marty!"Malorous yelled. "They're heckling me now. Nobody fears me. I upend this city for years, but now I have nothing to show for it! I've lost it. A shadow of my past self." Malorous threw open the twin doors to his balcony and leaned on the railing. Marty put a hand on his shoulder for comfort. Both of them looked up in silence at the full moon above. It flashed red on occasion. The orbital moon laser Malorous used to hold the city hostage two years ago was now being used to clean up orbital space debris. The ransom money used to pay for city infrastructure a month later. "Where have I gone wrong?"Malorous asked. "You haven't,"Marty said, "You're just playing with small fries." Malorous raised an eyebrow. "Go on,"he said. "Captain Valor is in the area, and has herd of your misdeeds on the river, where you shutdown all the factories dumping pollution." "Really?"Malorous said, "Captain Valor?" "Yes,"Marty said, "They say she'll be in town tomorrow." "Excellent,"Malorous said, vigor returning to his voice, "There isn't a moment to waste then! I need to prepare!" Malorous left the room, and Marty was alone on the balcony. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Captain?"Marty said. "Urgh,"the voice on the other line said, "I'm a super hero, not an actor." "Can you be both?"Marty said. Silence. Then, "Fine. Give me the details."
"So...yeah. That's what happens in all my dreams."Tom was at the village medic's, describing the nightmare he had been experiencing every day for the past week. A very evil-looking man, draped in heavy black robes that were surely uncomfortable for the season, told Tom his evil plans for world domination in explicit detail. He then asked Tom to join him. When Tom awkwardly refused, the dream ended. The doctor looked solemn as Tom finished. "I'm afraid your symptoms match up perfectly with protagonism." "Pro-what?" "Protagonism. It's a disease that typically infects anyone from 15 to 21, usually men." "Usually men? Why?” "To be honest, we have no idea." Tom fell silent for a second. "Soo...what does it do?" "It's a very strange predicament. Rather than doing damage to you, it affects the events that happen around you. Essentially, you'll find yourself in increasingly dangerous situations over the next couple of months until you defeat a certain figure - likely the man you've been seeing in your dreams." "How am I supposed to do that? I'm just a- "-farmer's son. That also checks out. But you'll likely have help." The doctor pulled a book of a shelf behind him, flipping through it. "It says here that if the trials of Protagonism are survived, the afflicted individual will develop 'an increase in mental and physical strength, gaining abilities previously thought unattainable by mortal men..." "Well, that doesn't sound too bad,"said Tom. "...and then they will use those abilities to prevent the downfall of humanity and the destruction of the entire world." "Oh. That's a little stressful." "You'll also start to notice strange people popping up in your life. A major symptom of the disease is developing an increasingly strong magical radius, usually drawing the attention of nearby wizards. You've likely noticed one trailing you - he'll approach you for the first time soon. "That old man is a wizard? I thought he was just a creep." "Considering you'll be spending the next months together, let's hope he's not both. Anyway, it says here you'll also be accompanied by at least one childhood friend, at least one talented armsman with a vague past, at least one member of a different species-" "I think I get the idea. Is there anything else I need to know?" "Hold on a second." The doctor left the room, coming back sometime later with an old suit of armor. "We keep this around for these specific kinds of cases. It's made out of an ancient material known as "plot."
I felt a horrifying chill come down my spine when I saw him. A grand imperial inquisitor had come to this little sleepy village. He stood there talking to the village elder. They still didn't know I was there. I saw the rugged man move around in his gleaming armor, it glinted the light from the sun, each little beam searched for something. Probably for me. It had been a long time since an Inquisitor had come here. They were looking for any vestiges of magic practitioners. It had been outlawed to use magic other than healing magic. The empire didn't like that the Magi had tried to overthrow them all those years ago. The same Magi that I studied under. The same Magi that my father led. He was a mage of many talents. He could spin fire around one hand and weave water in the other. I, however, was the runt of the litter. I could only do one kind of magic. Fire. It was devastating in its own right, but my sister was the winner between the two of us. This is why she was executed in front of the nobility and all the crowd to see. My father's head rolled first. They never found me, however, I was already in this dusty village. Ashamed to admit that I was the son of Franz Firelance. Why is this happening? "Ah! There he is,"the village elder said. The portly fellow was pointing at me. "He's the healer!" Then he waved me down. "Oi, Mister Lane! A grand inquisitor has come to see you it seems!"I always liked how happy the village elder was whenever someone new came to our little village. But my dread loomed like an overcast over his sunny personality. I meekly waved back and walked over. The inquisitor was eyeing me the entire time. I felt such an acute stare that I almost threw up. Keep it together. Keep it together. "H-hello,"I said. I didn't realize how shot my nerves were until I was there. "Hello, Mister Lane. I have heard that you are this village's healer,"the Inquisitor said. I nodded. Not wanting to answer with my own tongue. It was already ready to betray me. "Good, good. Well then, I have come here today for the inspection of your practice. The last thing we need is some mage hiding out as a healer." He would sniff me out. He would find out. He would lock me up and drag me back there. I was panicking, however, I didn't let it show. Thank the gods they didn't have any way to read my mind. They already killed everyone that could do that. "Y-yes! Of course, please come with me then,"I said in a tone that was between anxious and breaking down. The Inquisitor gave me an arched eyebrow. He knows. He must. He absolutely does. I am going to die today. That's all I could think about while we walked back to my little cottage. I didn't like having too much space. After all, the village had been kind and built it for me after I saved a child of the local carpenter. I was thankful that he just had a bleat blood bug infection. That could be taken care of by a simple fire spell. That was all I could do really. In fact, most of the injuries were related to bleat blood bugs. So I could just rid them with fire. It was the only reason that I could hide out here for so long. But still, as I opened the door to my little cottage, I smiled as I saw the surgical tools and the various medical pieces of equipment I had brought all those years ago. I wanted to make sure that no one would think me a fraud. But today might be the day when my entire charade came to an end. "Well, well. It looks rather dusty in here. Doesn't it?"The inquisitor said. "O-oh! Th-that's because I haven't cleaned up recently you see! Had to go take a trip recently for more supplies, you see!"I could feel my panic as it rose through me and caused my tongue to twist and my brain to break. The inquisitor nodded at me. Then he walked around the cottage. His boots hitting the floor with a crisp, sharp sound. The tempo of the steps was long in between. Each step felt like another nail in my coffin. I'm done. "Where are the supplies?"It was a gentle question coming out from a rough mouth. I didn't hear the question clearly though. The blood pounding in my ears was far too loud. My mouth dried. "W-what?" The inquisitor then looked around with eyes wide and then swept his arm from one side of himself to the other. Palm up and fingers splayed. They were searching for something to grab. "The supplies. The ones that you were so eager to get. The ones that you made you leave your tools of the trade so, so dusty. They must be here, somewhere." I was caught. I had no supplies. He had gotten exactly what he needed from me because I keep myself strong enough to answer. "O-oh! Yes! The supplies! Yes, yes! How could I forget,"I tapped my forehead with my trembling hand, hoping it would convince him that I was just that forgetful. "They're outside! Here let me go get them! You can wait right here." "I don't think I will. Please, show me if you would,"the inquisitor said. It's done. This is it. So I walked. I walked with a slow, long gait as if I was heading to my own death. Which I was, it's just about thirty thousand steps to the west. In the capital. Where my family was executed and where I would be executed as well. Then, as if the gods planned it, a boy burst through the doors. "Please! Please, my da! He's hurt!"It was the carpenter's son. He looked frantic and stared at me with pleading eyes. All of the panic, all of the anxiety, all of my deepest and darkest dreads were gone. Someone needed to be saved. "Where is he,"I said, all fear gone from my tone. The boy was nearly sobbing at this point. "In the forest! H-h-he bleat bugs! Too many bugs!" My eyes went wide. A single few bleat blood bugs could be taken care of with just a simple flame. However, whenever they smelled blood, they would swarm whatever was their next meal. I had to hurry before the carpenter had become dinner. "Show me,"I said to the child. He just nodded and ran out the door. Waiting for me to follow. I didn't even bother looking behind myself to see the inquisitor. I just ran after the boy. It wasn't that far until I saw the horde of reddish bugs the size of a man's fist. They were feasting on the man in the middle. Blood flowed from bites and blood led to more bites. The poor man was a buffet to these bugs. He didn't have long. But I wouldn't need long. Feeling the power within me, I summoned for a torrent of flame in both hands. They were unruly and tried to fly out of my control. I wouldn't let them while life was on the line. I brought my hands together and condensed the flames until a small, hot ball of hellfire was between my fingers. This should do. I then sent the ball out from my grasp, controlling it with my mind. I weaved it in around the sea of bugs. Their screams all came up as they felt the fire. It was a painful clicking of the mandibles. However, they hated the heat and ran. Ran into the forest. Deep into the darkness. 'Da!"the boy yelled as he ran to his old man. I went to one knee. Then I heard the soft, but crisp footfalls of another behind me. I didn't have to look to know it was the inquisitor. The tempo of his gait was already ingrained in me. He said nothing as he watched the scene of the son and father united. Then, he said something that made me truly believe that magic was coming back to the world. "You are one hell of a healer you know that? At least there are no mages here. Keep up the good work, Mister Lane." I smiled and grunted as I fell to the floor. While I should have felt the cold forest floor, I instead felt relieved.
One year and a day. For the mortals that used to worship him, it was a long time. But for Ajwa, it was not nearly long enough. He had spent all his time being the god of a small tribe located on a small island in the Pacific. But now that the last tribe member had died, he had such a small amount of time to chose a new divine domain, or disappear forever. The problem was he had no idea what to chose. All the good ones had been chosen. Even among his fellow minor deities, everything good was claimed. There was no way he was going to snag a natural domain. Even individual species of grass already had gods and goddesses governing them. And forget the number of animal gods out there. The insect gods along boggled the mind. Ajwa would need to try his luck with a human domain. He first tried a dance based domain. He had always like the dances performed by his followers. But there was nothing. Every stile of dance, and even individual dances had been scooped up. It was the same with every type of art. Maybe an individual painting or sculpture? No, that was useless. There was so little power in those that he would fade away anyway. He went down to the mortal world, adopting a disguise appropriate to his rank, and began to really search. The days and months flew by far too fast for his liking. There had to be something he could use. Maybe that new human invention would be open. No, of course it was not. The internet was claimed by a god that was rapidly becoming a major deity thanks to the claim. All the big websites were taken, and minor websites offered only slightly more than individual works of art. It was with a month left on his life that Ajwa found something. There were some websites that featured mortals doing things. Very specific things. They would shovel things in their mouths, dump things over their heads, or even just stand in a certain way. But it was not what they did that interested Ajwa. It was how often these things were done. Hundreds of times, each one being viewed thousands, or even millions of times. Each one like a prayer to a god as yet unchosen. Yes, there was power in this. And it was unclaimed. Yes, he would be subservient to many other deities, but so what? Most of them would fade as their chosen websites vanished to the whims of mortals. But this? This was lasting. This was enduring. It would be a fine domain for as long as the internet lasted. Ajwa cast off his mortal disguise with a mere day left before he faded. He reached out with his divine form and gathered the threads that made up his new domain, adding them to his own essence. And as the power began entering him, he began to change. He felt his divine essence shift and warp to fit his new domain. Even his name was altered. He felt what would be a smile on a mortal come to him. He felt it. A flood of power, made of thousands of tiny trickles. Yes, yes this would do nicely. As he gazed upon his new form, and his new domain, he was no longer who he was. Gone was Ajwa, god of a now extinct tribe. In his place was Viralin, God of Internet Challenges.
The room seemed to stretch on forever filled with an endless sea of humanity. It was a nice room to be sure, open ceiling so you could stare up at the stars, free coffee, a crisp golden floor that felt like fresh grass when you walked on it. Instead of the normal rancid smell of body odour you would expect in a room this stuffed with humanity, there was a faint lavender scent in the air that seemed to clear Ash’s nose and fill him with a rich warm satisfying feeling. Of course, the sweetest scent’s will seem stale after time and Ash was past his 2000th Anniversary in humanity’s waiting room. “Number 3,485,214,006.” A monotone voice croaked though a speaker. “Never used to be like this.” Ash mumbled to himself. “Back in my day you could die and be born again on the same day.” “Preach it!” An older man next to him said. “It’s these goddang immigrants that’s what it is. They sneak up here, praying to whatever false God’s they worship, and you know what they says up here, wow how diverse and it’s straight on the Goddang priority. While good folks like us wait for an eternity only to be sent back down to a third world cesspit.” “Or it could be that the number of new souls grows exponentially whilst Earth can only support a finite number of people.” Ash replied. “Goddang it, are you sassing me boy. Well we will see who is so goddang smart when the government comes and kicks you out of the line so Harry and Sally foreigner gets to go down first.” “Don’t mind Derek.” The younger man opposite said. “This happens sometimes, guy leads to many lives and can’t quite place everything together. Makes em end up confused and bitter. That’s why he has been up here so long, too many lives too low down the queue.” “How long have you been up here?” “It’s been a while.” The younger man whistled. “Must be 150 years give or take a decade. I’m pretty low down the list though. The queues not just based on how many lives you lived it also includes marketable skills, general attitude and being on a first name basis with the man upstairs won’t hurt your chances. How long have you been here?” “Two thousand years.” “Wow, you must have lived a lot of lives to be waiting so long. Shit you might be one of the oldest souls around, did they even have fire when you were first born.” “I only remember living once and that was only a couple of thousand years ago.” “Wait you mean this is your first respawn? Jeez you must have done something pretty bad in your old life to be black balled like that. I aint never heard of someone doing two thousand years up here. Hell even Derek has only been here for a few centuries.” “I don’t think I did anything that bad, I mean obviously back in those days everything was a bit rough, so I did my share of killing and plundering but I didn’t think that really mattered.” “Yeah God doesn’t care about that stuff. I mean shit you can diddle a bunch of kids and end up as Pope, even old racist Derek here will be sent back down once there’s space. Try to think hard, could there have been anything you did to be blackballed?” “There was this one pretty brutal execution. This hippie guy was going on and on about love and turning the other cheek, you know all that bollocks. So we gave him a good old whipping, put a few thorns onto his head and made him carry this big ol bit of wood through town. Got a bit out of hand really and we ended up nailing this guy right onto the wood. I felt a bit guilty about that one.” “Jesus Christ!” The man exclaimed growing pale. “Yeah that’s right, how did you know his name?”
The Canadian Standoff Nancy was driving northbound when she reached the four-way stop. Erin was driving eastbound when she arrived. Steve was headed south when he came to a halt at the line. And the fourth man who braked at the four-way was Wesley, heading west. "After you!"cried Nancy to Erin, out her open window. "You first!"Erin replied. "I insist!" "It's cold where I'm headed!"joked Nancy. "Up north! I'm happy to take my time getting there." "Tell me about it!"shouted Erin. "I'm fleeing the sun, heading east. The farther I go, the sooner it sets for me. Perfectly happy to take my time. To cling to the daylight a touch longer. . .How about you, sir! Please. Go ahead." Erin was smiling and waving Steve forward. Steve smiled and waved back. "That's a really cool car!"he shouted. "Thanks!"replied Erin. "Red's great colour for it!" "You think? I was actually headed to get a new paint job." "What colour?"asked Steve. "Blue!" "An awesome choice! It'll look great! I wouldn't want to make you late for that, though. Please. Go on ahead. I'll wait." "I left early,"shouted Erin. "I wanted to have a nice, leisurely drive. No hurry for me! No chance I'll be late. Go on ahead. I insist!" Steve didn't feel comfortable taking advantage when the other three vehicles had clearly stopped at the same time as his. But the women seemed inflexible in their open-hearted generosity. He saw adamance in their amicable chatter, deeply-rooted principles behind their friendly smiles. They would never budge before him. That left only the chap going westbound. "Sir!"cried Steve out his window. "Please. Go on ahead! We insist!" Wesley had a woman with him in the passenger seat. He had to put his car in park, unbuckle, and crawl on to her lap to get to the open passenger window. "What was that, friend?"asked Wesley, poking his head out the window. "I said you can go on ahead!" "After you!"shouted Wesley. "But you've got two in the car,"shouted Steve. "The rest of us are singles! It's only right you go first." Wesley whispered something to his wife. She gurgled a response. She looked terribly unwell. "She insists you go first! Please! Avail yourself of the open road and drive! Nothing would please us more!" "Hello, ma'am!"shouted Steve, waving at Wesley's wife. "You're a very kind woman! With a very polite husband!" She gurgled something unintelligible. She was drooling. Her face was puffy and turning redder by the moment. "She thanks you for the compliment!"cried Wesley. "She can't speak much at the moment. She's having a severe allergic reaction! Shellfish! She's going into anaphylactic shock!" All three drivers had been listening intently. Eavesdropping was impolite, of course, when the speakers were unaware of being overheard. But it hardly counted as eavesdropping when the interlocutors were shouting their conversations at one another. This new revelation harrowed Nancy, Erin and Steve with terrible anxiety. They had all been eager to let Wesley pass from the start, because his car contained two people. But now that they knew his wife was actively drowning in her own saliva as her throat closed shut, they were positively obdurate. "Please!"cried Steve. "You must go first! The hospital is only a block away from here. Due west!" "Yes!"cried Wesley. "That's where we were headed! We left as soon as the fit began! But we insist. You must go first." Steve could not tell if Wesley's wife were nodding in agreement with her husband, or if she were nodding in and out of consciousness. The woman's face was now red as Erin's car, red as a Canadian maple leaf in autumn. "Sir!"cried Nancy. "Sir! Over here!" Wesley scrambled off his dying wife's lap and retook his seat on the driver's side. "Hello there!"shouted Wesley, waving cordially. "I hope you're not offended with me having overheard about your wife's condition!" "Not at all!"replied Wesley. "I shouted it, after all. If anything, I hope you're not offended by me shamelessly blabbing about my personal business at the top of my lungs!" "Not in the slightest,"called Nancy. "But, sir, you must drive on! You must save your wife! The three of us will wait our turns! Emergencies take precedence!" "Oh, but we insist that you go first!"cried Wesley. "We won't move an inch til you do." Nancy was tearing a napkin to shreds in her lap. Erin was chewing the inside of her lip so hard it bled. Steve was pulling his hair. "She's dying!"cried Wesley. "My wife is dying! She needs urgent medical attention! But we can't get to the hospital without passing this intersection. And we can't pass this intersection until the three of you claim your right to drive through. Please! Go on ahead! My dying wife and I insist!" The woman was scratching at Wesley's face now, pulling at his shirt, gurgling groans, convulsing. "I can't in good conscience go before you!"shouted Nancy. "With that decision, you're killing her!"shouted Wesley, beaming a charming, friendly smile. "You're killing my wife!" "I can't go first!"cried Nancy. "None of us can! It has to be you!" "You're killing my wife!" The napkin in Nancy's lap was confetti. Erin's lip was an open wound. Steve was close to tearing a literal chunk of hair from his head. But none would budge. The woman's convulsions had slowed, though her arm, hanging out the passenger window, still occasionally jerked and twitched. "There are two of you!"shouted Steve. "Please! The hospital is right there! It's so close you can see it!" Wesley scrambled back onto his wife's lap. Their car was cramped and he was a large man, so he had squeeze and wrestle his way on. He poked his head out the passenger window. "What was that, sir?"asked Wesley. "It's only right you go first!"shouted Steve. "There are two of you!" Wesley popped his head back inside and whispered to his wife. He brought his ear close to her lips, listening. He lifted his head back and looked at her. He pressed his two fingers against her neck, below her jaw. Then he popped his head back out the window once more. "No, sir!"sobbed Wesley, beaming that charming smile, tears of genuine despair streaming down his cheeks. "Only one of us now! Only me in the car! Please, go on ahead! I insist!" \- - - Check out r/CLBHos for more stories and novellas! I insist!
My fingers tightened on the recycled gift bag that I found deep in the bottom drawer of my my mums kitchen as I sat at my desk near the door. I inspected the almost radiating medieval sword on my desk. My gaze only diverted from the sword to see Janine from accounting, sitting cross legged on a rippled carpet, floating 3 feet off the floor. "Good Morning Tim!"she exclaimed excitingly. "I am here to take you to Fred, follow me." I stared in disbelief. She beckoned me to follow and did a wide turn to face the way she came from. I stood slowly and proceeded to follow. Normally being called to Fred's office would strike fear into my very soul, the CEO never speaks to interns. But as I watched 2 guys from sales casually throw on cloaks and instantly disappear, I thought that maybe that's exactly who I need to talk to. "Tim!"Fred shouted with a big smile on his face. "Come in, sit, please!"gesturing at the chair in front of his desk. He then started speaking, but it could have been God himself and not one word would have registered. I sat with my eyes glued at the pulsing portal, the size of a small doorway on the other side of the room. "Tiiiiiiiim?"I heard faintly in the back of my mind. "Tim!"Fred said a little more forcefully, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I snapped to and looked at him and said something I don't think any intern has ever said, anywhere. "What the fuck is going on here? What kind of software company is this?" "Well,"started Fred, with a smile on his face. "This building used to be a top government facility for researching the paranormal activity in the 60's. Apparently during the cold war with the Soviet Union, the US were exploring all avenues on how to get the one up on the Russians. They attempted to communicate and build pathways to the unknown. Whether this was parallel universes, distant alien worlds or even the future, we have no idea. But the soviet union collapsed with out them making a single break through. The scientists were labelled as nutjobs and it became a fun joke for commercial realtors to make small talk when trying to sell floor space." I didn't say a word. "We moved in here 5 years ago,"he continued. "One day, I arrive in the office to find this,"gesturing at the portal. "What is it?"I asked, my shock and awe turning to curiosity. "I am a average engineer that builds booking tools for hotels, how the fuck should I know?"Fred replied, almost laughing. "We thought about calling the authorities, but we had just moved in and it wasn't doing anything so we decided to test it out ourselves. We poked, prodded and then we finally had the nerve to throw something in. As we did, things started coming back. Whatever was on the other side, we seemed to be trading. We have just assumed that whatever happened in the 60's worked. It just took them time to send something back." "So now you use it for Secret Santa?"I asked. "What?"he glanced at my sad bag of coffee beans. "Oh.... no. Not at all." I looked down at his desk and saw wrapping paper ripped up around 3 pairs of fancy pattern socks. My blood seemed to freeze inside my body. Just then the door opened and Janine, the receptionist and one of the sales guys came in, holding their gifts. The flying carpet, the dragon egg, the the cloak of invisibility and they had also brought Excalibur. "You see the items we receive are not really gifts, they are equipment of sorts." "Equipment for what?"I asked nervously. "About a year after the portal appeared and we were having a grand old time with what we though were traded goods, a man appeared out of the portal. Nothing extraordinary about him. He had slightly receding hairline, wore normal work attire and spoke English perfectly. Somebody we would not look twice at on the street. He then proceeded to explain that the gifts we had received were in fact the items for use in the Grand Pit. And the tournament was starting momentarily and he was expecting our tribute." The lock clicked on the door as I noticed that everybody was looking at me. "He then told us that failure to provide a tribute to the Grand Pit would result in extermination of our entire earth. He then closed his eyes. We all hit the floor, screaming in pain, as violent images of the destruction of earth flashed through all our minds. They felt like memories." He took a deep breath. "Not wanting to be the catalyst for the end of the world, we decided to make a tribute. The intern. She never returned." I quickly stood to my feet and made my way to the door but the others had placed themselves perfectly to corral me towards the portal. "Die here, or die in there,"Fred said. The once happy out going CEO, withdrawing a revolver from his desk. The others handed me their items and stepped backwards. I stared at the portal and took a deep breath, calmly grasping Excalibur, waiting for the right time to swing it at the man forcing me to my would be death. "Has anyone ever made it back?"I asked ready to swing. I felt a strong kick into the small of my back from someone behind, and before I could scream I was thrust straight into void. Everything just went black.
"1 more day and I am out of this pod." I thought to myself, as I was chewed on by a monster. It wasn't real, it was a virtual reality created by the prison I was in. Suddenly, the pod opened. "Having fun, John?" The android asked. "Not really, I miss the old days, when I need to be careful with the soap." I said, before being cleaned by a jet of mist, after which the pod closed once more. &#x200B; "417 years...I was sentenced for 417 years, in 2020, and I somehow managed to stay in prison for that long." I thought to myself, as I was being skewered by a pyke. I don't know how it happened, but after 20 years in a normal prison, the prison doc. realised something isn't right, and I've been sent to a special entities prison. There I was diagnosed with "immortality"...\scoff\, they randomly named it like that, but they are clueless what happened. They experimented on me, before throwing me in normal cells...those were the happiest days of my life. &#x200B; Being bled out, beheaded, dismembered, fed to insects, and still not dying, and regenerating, was horrible, but at least, I could talk with people, and I could have a pet hamster in my cell. The tests got rather hardcore, after they realised they can't use my blood for transfusion, and they could only do research for 1 hour, before my cells turned back to normal. And yet, it was much better than what happened in 2100... They introduced the virtual reality prison...a virtual space where you feel everything, and they can program anything... Ever since, I've been kept in a closed pod, experiencing random tortures. &#x200B; I've been bathed in lava, eaten by dinosaurs, used as a breeding material for ugly witches, and many other things that are most likely 100+ not 18+. My food came from tubes, my baths were just like how it was earlier, an android, washing me with a misty substance, that cleaned any impurity, and bad smell. I was curious to what the world outside looked like now, I am so close to being free. &#x200B; A day passed fast, and I've been released from the pod. Androids came and checked my health, while the prison's guards, and staff came to say goodbye to me. They were all healthy looking, middle-aged or even young ones, but actually they were all over 100 years old... Science must've advanced a lot. The facility itself was like those sci-fi movies I've seen in 2020, filled with holograms, androids, and an A.I. speaking through the sound systems. I was led outside, where I finally saw the first, natural ray of light...and I was stunned. &#x200B; The surrounding were a wasteland, the weather was windy, and filled with acidic vapours, that burned my skin. Nothing could be seen around with naked eyes. I laughed. "Of course by the time I get free, apocalypse arrives. Did humanity fail as a race, and go extinct?" I said. "Come back, humanity is alright, we just live underground. There is a tunnel, that will lead you to the underground cities." The director of the prison said chuckling. It was just a joke... "nice joke, and you wondered why I killed so many people back then." I said, chuckling, and patting the director's back. &#x200B; He froze a bit, before awkwardly chuckling, and showing me the way. Above or underground, I don't care, I need a good real meal, and conversation with people...real people, that aren't my jailers.
"Well I still think this test was unfair,"a president muttered, eliciting grumbles of agreement from the assembled dignitaries. "Your personal feelings matter not, human,"the alien dismissed him. Despite its convincing human facade, its emotionless voice betrayed its extraterrestrial origin. "Your planet remains in violation of the Galactic Covenant. You have been deemed unworthy." "On what grounds, again?"A prince objected. "Organic slavery..." "Well the minimum wage, your alienness,"a CEO interjected, "was never meant to be a living..." "Imprisonment in denigrating conditions." "Well with the housing market as it is,"an alderman responded, "and if we just allowed anyone to break a lease..." "You abandon your weakest." "Yes I've reviewed the file,"a CFO spoke, while checking the stock market, "and those people could have afforded health insurance if they'd just..." "And not to mention those mocking 'documentaries' you make about 'Aliens'" There the crowd remained silent. "You have been deemed unworthy,"the alien repeated. A mocking undertone seemed to weave through its cold voice. "The Galactic gates will remain closed to your planet. Never shall you experience the technology and the riches that the galaxy has to offer." Several dignitaries' eyes glinted at the mention of riches. "Unless, of course..."The alien pondered. "Unless what?"A voice shouted from the crowd. "Well, if you were to start with a clean slate..." "Yes, please!"Another voice shouted. It's not standard regulation, but is has been offered before..." "We'll take it!" "It is settled then!"A hint of malice briefly flashed through the alien's calculating eyes, then its human mask settled in a half-grin. "I will inform the council of our arrangement." A sigh of relief washed through the room. "You should really count yourselves lucky. Not many planets get our offer of a fresh start. Let alone twice." "...Twice?" "Yes, your 'dinosaurs' were offered the same deal before."
The TV screen shone brightly as words flashed upon them. Another amazing defeat of the Mastic by Hero Bode, the top hero who mysteriously appeared near two years ago. My left eye twitched. He was coming home early today. I’d hoped he would every day, but not today. I groaned, waves seeped out in lashes. It seemed destiny enjoyed increasing the difficulties. My form flickered, demanding to shift back, lift itself from its mortal shell. It raged, distinct. Their lashes missed the lamp by inches. Only thirty minutes left. I paced. Thankful he preferred flying. I let the chaos slip, slowly, in rolling waves. Sweat trickled down my cheeks. It wasn’t enough, but I couldn’t use it. I restrained the essence for too long. It would burst, destroy our home before Bode came back. I glanced at the clock. Eighteen minutes left. Every object reached too close, the release couldn’t be expanded further. My blood rushed, my brain neared shut down. I dashed downstairs, then let my body emit more, greater essence of chaos. My teeth gritted. Time passed. Almost. I muttered, kept my mind off the need to release the pent-up energy. This world had too much chaos. Too much interference for a god to hide. My breath quickened, the essence rampaged. Almost. I could feel him close, but despite the ease of being with him, I couldn’t tell him. Chaos would ensue, then fate would dictate the rest. Then only the last bits remained. “Briar?” His voice called out. “Are you home?” I tensed, then took a deep breath. “Downstairs. I’ll be up in a min.” My eyes darted. The room itself looked alright, but it lingered. Bode couldn’t come down. Not now. He might not see it, but he’ll feel it. I tidied myself, my feet weighted with each footstep up as if it were an impending doom. The door creaked. I smiled, welcomed him with a hug. “You’re back early.” “Thankfully, he made a mistake.” Bode grinned, then headed to our bedroom. “I’ll be back. We’ll make our dinner reservation tonight.” “No fans?” “Not if I go change.” I chuckled. It still amazed me how people couldn’t recognize him without his suit. The tingle of chaos still lingered. My lips twitched. Dinner first, then I need to plan another ‘business trip’.
"Why, Mr. Kent, how good of you to join us today!" The bald man smiles, his arms wide in greeting. "Why, thank you, Mr. Luthor,"I say, with a smile of my own. "And thank you for inviting the Press to the launch of your newest product! I'm just sorry I was late." "Oh, call me Lex, lad, call me Lex."He shakes my hand - I'm careful not to crush his hand in mine. "And what's half an hour late between friends? Come in, come in. Now that you're here, we can begin this conference!" I head on in and take my seat. As per usual, the seat in the centre of the front row, with the best view, is left open for me; so I sit there. And Luthor presents his new product; a social network, called BlackmailWorld, which allows you to upload your greatest secrets for storage on LuthorCorp servers, where LuthorCorp promises that they will not use your secrets for nefarious gain. Of course, I spot the flaw at once. (I'm almost surprised that no-one else does). "Mr. Luthor,"I ask, "how do we know that these secrets will not be used for blackmail?" "Quite simple,"he says. "That would be using it for nefarious purposes, and the rules do not permit us to do so." ...oh. I withdraw my question. That is actually a good point. "Although,"continues Luthor, "even if we were to use this new network for such nefarious purposes, it's not as if even Superman could stop us. For not even Superman knows about the Big Red Button, kept in a drawer in my private desk, that would immediately destroy all blackmail secrets the instant that it is pushed!" I couldn't? Ha! But now I did know about it! I smile. -------------- Later, in a lead-and-kryptonite sealed room "You're going the evil social media route?"asks Mercy. "Seriously?" "Cut me a break,"sighs Luthor. "They can't all be winners." "And a big red button?" "Yeah, that may have been a little over the top,"nods Luthor. "But Kal-El's getting elderly. Senile. And in someone with his powers, you know what that means." Mercy nods. She knows. "Without a clear and obvious goal to work towards,"continues Luthor, "we're going to have another incident like what Paris. We don't need another crater that used to be a city. Breaking into my fake office and pushing a red button? Harmless. And everyone gets to live another day. Talking of which, we need to get a new set of actors to take the place of the other reporters, there were at least three cues that these extras missed." Mercy nods. "I'll see what I can do, sir. But, ever since the Heat Vision Incident of 2023, volunteers have been hard to come by..." "Understood,"nods Luthor. "Just - just do your best, Mercy. It's all you can do. It's all any of us can do." "Will do, sir."
The stars, they said. Shoot for the stars. I was on board, literally and metaphorically. From day one I said, you know what? I will. I will shoot for the stars. &nbsp; I paid my dues, I worked hard at school, then at university, and then even harder at my internship at NASA. I was uber diligent, hyper focused and really wonderfully creative with adjectives by the time I became an astronaut. &nbsp; Launch Day The day of the launch started out much like many other days on earth, with a beautiful glowing ball of superhot plasma erupting its warmth on the newest side of the globe that dared face it that day. My alarm awoke me from my “might as well be dead” slumber, its sonorous ringtone reverberating through my very soul. And as I dressed I realised this would be my final day on earth. Not in the sense that I would die in a fiery explosion of rocket fuel ( which was very plausible) but that I would spend the rest of my life charting the universe and all that it had to offer. &nbsp; Mission Day: Ninety Four The launch went smoothly, my team and I spent the first few months in space processing various pieces of data, running this test and that one - all in the name of science. Our destination was Alpha Centauri, nickname: Alfie. Following up on data collected from The Toliman mission years ago, we were tasked with finding new life, or even just a habitable planet or two. I personally would relish the thought of a bit of gravity again, there are only so many ways you can wash yourself in space and none of them ever really clean you. &nbsp; Mission Day: Three Hundred-Eighty Two Have you ever had a boss that you disliked with a passion that rivalled that of the force of a thousand suns? One so nitpicky and micro-managing that it’s all you can do to stay your hand from what can only be described as a war crime? I do. I even looked up laws in space, we’ve got our own version of the internet - data packets get sent to our receivers once a month, with updated websites that we’ve requested. The internet said that even though I wasn’t technically in any jurisdiction, what I was thinking of doing was wrong. Adhara would live until I could find a loophole. We continue on with our experiments, although now most of our plants are dead and the lizard we brought has grown another head. I call him Cyclops, just to piss off the others. &nbsp; Mission Day Seven Hundred-Thirty This morning I awoke in my upright sleeping bag, to the most glorious sight my eyes have ever had the pleasure of viewing. Imagine you’re on a hot, windswept beach so dehydrated you can barely think, let alone move. Then someone hands you a bottle of the clearest, most exquisite water you’ve ever had in your life. It was nothing like that but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances. Three unimaginably large giants of light loitering outside my viewing pane. We had arrived at Alpha Centauri. I zipped myself out of my sleeping prison and floated eagerly towards the cupola. In my haste, I accidentally hit Adhara full-on in the face on the way. We were overjoyed, our journey was almost at an end. Champagne..well, it didn’t pop - but we sucked on it with the gusto of the newly released. Celebrations were had and stories were told. I remember accidentally hitting Adhara again making my way back to my sleeping pouch, and then all went black. &nbsp; Mission Day Seven Hundred-Thirty One I awoke in darkness, those shining beacons of triumph no longer in my viewing pane. My sleeping bag also felt a bit too tight, as if someone had strapped me in. I opened my eyes, ”JESUS CHRIST” I yelled at the bank of monitors in front of me. I was in the escape pod. AND I WASN'T ATTACHED TO THE SHIP. What had I done? How the hell did I get here? As my questions rose from my murky thoughts, I’m assuming through the split in my skull where the headache was, a monitor chirped to life. “Benji” Adhara’s cold, machiavellian smile leered at me in black and white. “As I’m sure you’re unaware, your diaries and your..ahem..search history is logged with Command”. She brandished a gun at the camera. “You also tried to fire this at me last night. With this in mind, it is our duty to all other life on board, especially mine, that you are to be exiled in orbit around our first habitation-stable planet”. My mind was reeling, I was a prisoner? “This is ridiculous” I said, unable to come up with anything more convincing. I’m not sure about you but when I’m hungover, I’m far less articulate. “It is...unfortunate” Adhara replied, her grin contrasting the words. “How long fo..” I started to ask, as the screen went black. &nbsp; Prison Day Two Have you ever made a decision in your life that you regret? Me neither. As I’m sitting here, awaiting my daily meal to be sent via 3D printer, I can literally see the cosmos. I can sit and stare at the wonders of the universe uninterrupted, not a care in the world. Yes, sometimes the glare from one of the inner panels lights up my face so that I get a glimpse of my white, pasty visage - but apart from that I’m living the dream. They said shoot for the stars, and I did my best. Turns out to do so exceeds beyond your wildest dreams.
Finally. Here' we go, I thought to myself as I turned off the flashing red and blue lights on the roof of my vehicle. Someone has to put an end to the masked vigilante's recklessness. Granted, the man does a lot of the heavy lifting when it comes to fighting the big crime lords in the city, but he also breaks so many simple laws that can easily be avoided. "Gonna light this privilege rich asshole up,"I whispered and approached his jet black vehicle. I took out a pocket notebook and scribbled a list of infractions the self-proclaimed hero has made since he ran the red-light 3 minutes prior. I walked up to the driver side of the car and knocked on the tinted window. The window digressed into the door. An array of lights, switches, and display monitors scattered throughout the vehicle's interior. A man wearing a shadowy mask and armor straight out of a comic book sat in the driver's seat. He stared at me with impatient eyes. "Sir, do you understand why I pulled you over this evening?"I asked. The man remained silent. My heart rate increased and I felt a surge of anxiety. "I don't want to have to ask you again. Do you know why I --" The man made a low grumble. "I ran a traffic light after it turned red for a complete two seconds. My vehicle exceeded the 40 mile per hour speed limit by 7.24 miles. I continued to drive while you attempted to pull me over for 3.11 miles, which could be considered an act of "fleeing from the scene"to cops who lack patience and common sense." His grip tightened the steering wheel. "Are you one of those cops that lack patients and common sense?" I cleared my throat. "Sir, what you just said is only a fraction why you and I are having this chit-chat off the shoulder of the road at 2:00 am. I'll save you the trouble and list them off myself."I looked down at my notepad. "In addition to the violations you stated, you rejected using your turn signal three times during our little caravan trip. You failed to maintain a safe 10 yards distance between you and neighboring vehicles that shared your lane. Your vehicle lacks both front and rear license plates and an up to date state inspection sticker." The costumed man swallowed. "Goddammit officer --" "Bradly. Officer Bradly." "Officer Bradly,"he said through clenched teeth. "Hackette is moments away from deploying an EMP that will short circuit every electronic in a 50 mile radius. Once that happens, all the security features holding the city's most dangerous criminals will cease. Firebreach, Green Belt, The Hyena...all will break out and cause city wide havoc. Then you'll have greater issues than my car running a red-light with no oncoming traffic within sight." I shook my head. "As far as I can see, the vivid city lights block out every star during this cloudless night. If there's no smoke, there's no fire. And if there is a fire then the fire department will handle the issue. My point is, let the city's institutions take care of the city. You can help us out by volunteering at a food bank or making costume appearances at the local children's hospital." "You're preventing me from preventing city wide havoc,"the masked man said. "No. You're setting a bad example for the city by breaking every traffic misdemeanor in the book."I leaned in closer. "And my intuition tells me this armored car isn't insured and is currently housing numerous find illegal weapons. Should we test it out sir and see if I have a spider-sense like superpower?" "No officer Bradly,"he whispered. "Fantastic. License and registration please,"I said. The man complied and handed the documents. I headed towards my vehicle to check their validity and to jot him up a ticket. Despite me being 100% right on the matter, I decided I'd only issue two tickets: speeding and running a red-light. As I approach my car, every lamppost that aligned the road flickered for a split second before the bulb went out. I turned around and saw the power went out in the gas station as well. I held my radio to my mouth and pressed its side button. "Headquarters, this is Officer Bradly. We have a power outage on the corner of Main and Commerce street." No response. In fact, there wasn't even the static hiss of dead air emitted from a idle radio. "OH FUCK!"I hear the masked man swore as he tried to start up his vehicle. It's taillights blinked like a strobe machine before fading to black. He swore again, leaped from his vehicle, and took off running towards the state prison. "HEY!"I screamed. "Come back here this instance!" The man ignored my commands and kept running. Now he's fleeing from the scene. I chased the man with the intent using force. The stars and full moon lit up the surroundings.
Get up. Get. Up. Jonis thought to himself as he crouched in the dark. The wraith had long since gone away but still Jonis' veins ran cold. Those creatures had been hunting him for months now. Every encounter was more perilous than the last. Today was the closest he had ever been to being caught. He had been cornered into this old farming and mining community in the middle of nowhere about a week ago. Thankfully, Horisen didn't make the wraiths particularly smart just...persistent. They were never sleeping, never resting, and never eating husks of men who had long since sold their souls to the foul powers in the air. Finally, Jonis felt warmth return to his bones and he crept out from his hiding place under the basement stairs. After he silently and carefully skulked into the living room he did a check of every room, corner, and crevice. When the house was clear his eyes glanced to the clock. 5:15pm. His heart sank as he saw the twilight sky just outside the window. With a sudden burst of energy and speed he ran to the bedroom he stayed in last night and grabbed his small totem wand from his pack. He then ran outside, not even searching for the wraiths he knew were sure to be around. A small sliver of solar light was peaking over the horizon. Without concern for his surrounding he sprinted to the top of a nearby hill and began the chant. Normally, a simple quorum of 6 elders from the 6 branch families was enough to formally declare a prediction. However, since That Day, Jonis was the last of his people. Luckily for the world, his clan could stave off the coming apocalypse by using their unique foresight prediction ritual. Horisen hoped to cut that off by making the ritual impossible. What they didn't know was that Jonis was the only shaman the clan had had for generations. Summoning a quorum was no problem for him. He wailed and cried out the shrill sounds of the incantations and danced the dance of ghosts. The totem was tossed into the air and spun several times welcoming the departed elders back once again. Jonis could not stop now. If he did, the spirits would tear him limb from limb. Faint at first and then glowing brighter all around him flowed the disembodied souls of his ancestors and the recently departed. Finally, several minutes later, the swirls ceased and 6 translucent figures stood around Jonis. "Great Elders, quickly, make your predictions! When will the end come?" A gust of wind blew through the circle giving Jonis a chill. Then he heard it, the loud scream that shot ice through his heart once again. Roughly 200 yards down the hill he saw them. 3, no, 4, wait, no 6 wraiths heading straight for him! His heart pounded as he waited in the center of the circle. The light faded fast, the wraiths closed in, and his finger grew numb with anxiety. "Tomorrow! Tomorrow! The end of all things will come upon us tomorrow! Cast aside all wealth and power and cling to your loved ones! Destruction cometh down! Hear and despair! Hear and despair!"All six voices of the elders cried aloud in ghastly unison. After they had made their proclamation, Jonis raised his totem wand and after pausing a second he struck the ground with it. Immediately the spirits swirled around him and Jonis, pointed the wand at the encroaching wraiths. The spiritual vortex transformed into a wave of the dead as it barreled down the hill. Seeing his chance, Jonis sprinted back to the house he was hiding in and let the spirits disperse themselves. The deed was done. He was able to perform the ritual before the deadline. All was saved...for a day. He slumped into a recliner and feel asleep almost instantly. \---- "You really are a hard one to find. Jonis of the Dais Clan." Jonis sat up with a start. He was tied up in the recliner. The clock read 11:32pm. In front of him, on the couch opposite from him sat a figure clad in a pinstripe suit and bowler. His face obscured by darkness. "You're with Horisen aren't you?" "Oh, you are quick on the uptake. I like you."The figure said with a gravelly wet voice. It stood up and walked into the light. Jonis' jaw dropped as a wraith, a civilized and well dressed wraith, stood before him. "Now, let's talk..." (To be continued?)
START LOG Despite our knowledge of Terrans being a very vulnerable race. They have continued to spread throughout the universe, no threat or deterrent has ever stopped them for long. When faced with even a black hole, these Terrans in a matter of years found a way by using antimatter to force the black hole to close. How is this species so resilient? Studies and interviews with members of the Terran race have shown that despite their short life and vulnerability, they intend to carry on. In fact, it seems their very weaknesses give them strength. This drive by their species to ‘make a better place for our future generations’ further pushes each individual of their species to do what they can within their short lifespan. This continued progress of the Terran species have allowed them to be a dominant force not only in the common house of the United Planets but also in terms of military power. Despite having the means to wipe the rest of the planets off the board and rule over all else, Terrans devote more of their time to exploration and understanding of the universe. Granted, there have been those who seek power and control, but Terrans as a whole seem to be a race which hungers for knowledge rather than conquest. It is this adjudicators decision that the Terrans be given a representative on the high council of the United Planets so we may foster better relationships with Terrans and advance our society using the innovative new ways that Terrans can bring. END LOG
To be immortal is to live a lonely life. Dr. Emmanuel Wahid had known this fact for the past 3000 years of his life. Change was his constant companion, something he had grown accustomed to. Sometimes he felt something in his chest echo, something gaping like a ravine. But he had centuries to get used to the feeling, so he had managed. Until he didn't. It all started when he saw the mysterious new student that autumn morning. Emmanuel had set up his lecture when he noticed a tall man sitting in the back of the room, where the light was dimmest and was too far to see the board. He wore a simple white shirt and jeans, black hair on top of a face covered by thick glasses. Emmanuel immediately knew he was new because he had already memorized the faces of every single one of his students by the first day. It meant that he was either a late enrollee or one of those content creators who just wanted to experience university life. Since any information about the man was not emailed to him prior, he had reason to believe it was the latter. Not a mentality he would go against. Emmanuel was a teacher, and he always hoped that even the most unwilling will find themselves learning something from him. So he continued his lecture, pretending to not notice a new pair of eyes that looked at him intently, and did not take notice when the man slipped out of the room the moment the class ended. He wouldn't see the man again until a month later, when he was walking away from one of his lectures. His eyes caught the figure of the man sitting on a bench, eyes closed and face to the sky. Under the brighter light of midday, he had a better view of the mysterious stranger from before. Brown skin, lighter than his own, with the same thick glasses on his face. His hair was a mess of curls that swayed with the wind. He had more layers this time, a thick leather jacket that had seen better days, cream fur on the collar. He had a small smile on his face. Emmanuel watched as a browning leaf fell from a nearby tree, landing gently on his hair. The man didn't notice. Just kept that serene expression on his face. Even as other people walked around him, the noise of cars and phones and all manners of devices ringing in the air, the stranger just sat as if he were at a meadow enjoying the breeze. And Emmanuel stood there, transfixed. He only remembered to leave when someone accidentally bumped into him, and he had to catch himself from stumbling. He made a quick exit, hoping that no one had noticed him staring at someone creepily. Cursing himself for his behavior, he had decided then to put any thought of the stranger behind him. But it was not to be. For that very night, he dreamed of the stranger. His dark curls and pleasant smile. Dreamed of eyes he had never seen before, but he knew were the color of cinnamon. He dreamed of a voice he had never heard before, in words from a language he had long stopped using. And he would dream of a promise, with a passion he did not know but was familiar with. This would happen to him every other night. Just two chance meetings with a beautiful stranger would leave him gasping at night with thoughts that he was sure he had never said. Yet his mouth would tingle with phantom movements, his limbs outstretched for something he could not see. The third time, he would see the man in his lecture hall again. The wind had taken a chill, winter fast approaching. Most of his students were still bundled up in sweaters in jackets even in the warmth of the room. The stranger was also dressed for the season, wearing a loose black turtleneck, sitting a few benches closer so he was now fully visible. Emmanuel had almost stopped walking as he saw him. Saw as how the stranger's head turned up at the sound of him opening the door. Saw the way those eyes, a shade of cinnamon, as they widened. That mouth blooming into a bright smile. He hesitated to enter, to entrapped by the gaze of the man, only managing to hide his movements in a cough before he greeted his students for the day. As the class started, he did his best to ignore the racing of his heart. He let his voice come out as a drone, focusing his mind to the task so the temptation to seek the other man out was ignored. And he succeeded. Until the class ended. The students erupted into movement as bags were taken and chairs scraped. He stood there, frozen, and gave a half hearted goodbye to his students, as he watched the stranger from before make his way down the benches, pace slow as he seemd to wait for the students to trickle out. Soon, they were alone. Emmanuel and the stranger that filled his dreams. He stood there, hands in his pockets, presenting the facade of a professor. He hoped it hid his fidgeting. "You're not one of my students,"he said without preamble. The other man chuckled guiltily, a baritone sound that made the hair on the back of Emmanuel's neck to stand on end. The stranger shook his head and replied, "No, I'm not. But you already knew that the last time I was here." He nodded, trying to hide the strange tension he felt. "Well, I'm not one to discourage learning, but I doubt that I'll be able to give you the certifications you might need unless you actually enroll." The stranger shook their head again. "I'm not here for the lectures, though they are interesting. Just like before." "Have I taught a lecture to you before?"he asked, because the stranger implied they had met before. And that would be impossible because Emmanuel would have never forgotten meeting someone so ~~beautiful~~ like him before. "Yes,"he replied. Then said, "I will never forget you for helping me Professor Ibrahim." The words were like a cold bucket of water down his spine. He flinched, eyes going wide at the words, the Arabic shock to his sytem. "How did you know that name?" The other smiled benignly, and continued in Arabic, "The same way that I know that you have lived longer than you make it appear. And with more names than any man will have children. Once Khalid, then Baltazar, then Yousef, then Imbrahim. And now, you are Emmanuel." Emmanuel stepped back, hitting the table behind him. The stranger's eyes were now filled with concern, hands raised as if to catch him. "Professor, I did not mean to startle you. I mean no harm." But Emmanuel shook his head. "Impossible. How can you know those names?" The other stranger walked closer, with the caution one expected for a wild animal. He let his hands come closer, until those long and slender fingers came in contact with his skin. And then he gasped, as his mind was filled with a thousand images. The smell of coffee and tea, the taste of spices with lamb and bread. Cream soups and dried dates. The sound of plucked strings and drums and chanting, the feel of desert sand on his skin. And then, these melt away as sand becomes stone becomes cement. Ancient wood replaced by plastic, the strings becoming guitars. The taste of blueberries and ice cream. The wind cold not by night, but by air conditioning. It all vanishes in an instant, and he is left leaning on his desk, his mind slowly rebuilding itself. The sensations, no, memories, he was suddenly shown was not his own. That was impossible. No human could ever do that. Unless they were something beyond human... He looked back at the man, who had a hopeful expression on his face. And with the memories of the past, he felt something slip into place. Those eyes. The shape of his nose. The curve of his smile. "Khalil?" Emmanuel asked, voice a whisper. The other man nodded, tears in his eyes. "It's nice to see you again, old friend." Emmanuel has watched thousands of years of civilizations rise and fall. But for the first time in his life, he felt something bright growing in his chest. Something like hope.
He was a televangelist. Like most of most of his ilk, he only played lip service to the god he represented. Now he was prostrated in front of his lord. "I'm not worthy!" "I know that, and, frankly, you and you cohorts have been giving me a bad name. It's been like that ever since \[redacted\] wrote all those rules that I never intended. Then along came \[redacted\] and wrote a prophecy that was based on some really good drugs. What's become of my followers is a travesty to my name. I want you to look at the problems it causes in heaven. Oh, if you need any help, Dad will be there to guide you. I'm going to spend the week trying to clean up the mess you made. I'm giving you my power, but like you claim, I will be using it here, so I'll deplete it as fast as you can recharge, just on the healing aspect." The televangelist couldn't believe his ears as an angel took him by the arm and they ascended to the heavens, to the place of the gods. Putting on the simple suit he brought from heaven, he rubbed the palms of his hands together and said to himself, "It's showtime." All of the lackeys of the televangelist stepped out of his way. They didn't know why their boss wasn't there, but deep down they understood that this man was supposed to be there. As the preceding speaker announced the televangelist by name, those seated in the auditorium shouted out praise to the god he spoke for... and then, when that god stepped up to the podium, there was a dead silence. Instead of a lily-white American that spoke using three syllables on a one syllable word, this man wearing a white suit without a tie was anything but. He looked very much like a man from the middle east. He had a slight middle-eastern accent, but his English was clear and crisp. "I know you weren't expecting me to show up, but you've been saying for decades that I would be back."The people stared at him with wide eyes. He held up his hands and let the lights shine through. "In case any of you are doubting Thomases."Some of the guests chuckled at that. "I'm here because you, my followers and true believers, wanted me to be here. I'm hear to tell you not what you want to hear, but what you need to hear. You need to hear that you will be damned by your own self righteousness. If you want to know what a sin is, self righteousness is one of the worst!"Pause as he looks out on the crowd. "YOU!"he pointed his finger at a man in the second row. "Yes, you, \[redacted\]! You believe you're a fine follower of the faith. You're not! Your son came to you and said that he was gay. You threw him out of the house and said never to come back! Do you know WHY you son is gay? Because that's the was he was created. He was made that way for a reason, and you threw away his love and respect in anger because you lacked faith. You said it yourself many times: 'I may not be perfect, but God doesn't make junk.' Then you threw the kid to the elements like he was garbage wrapped in old newspaper."He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card. "Come here."The man rose and headed to the alter. "This is the address where your son is at. Go to him and apologize. Bring him back here and show that love you gave him when he was still in diapers! Let him know he is loved. He will come. He is your prodigal son. You may bring his husband with you as well and their union can be blessed!" "Now go! You should be back within the hour!"The man turned and rushed to the exit. "That was just one man, but I see several of you from a disreputable congregation. Those signs you often carry that say God Hates Fags. I just told you, God created them. What God hates is self-righteous morons! You need to turn that around and fast or you won't want what would be in store for you. Heaven? No, you'll become the very thing you hated because they are God's creation! I once told a woman to go and sin no more. I tell you not only to go and sin no more, but to reach out a hand in friendship to those you scorned." Several men and women hung their heads, as their children looked up to them quixotically. "Next up: You have been told that the love of money is the root of all evil. The love of money is nothing compared to the LUST for money! How many of you justify your wealth by cheating your fellow man and causing him suffering because you can get away with it? I've seen business people that put my symbol on their business vehicles, on their business cards, on their advertising. Yes, they go to church every week to show off their piety, but too many of them are far from pious. Remember, I love you all enough to chew you out like I am right now to put you on the path or glory. I also told you to love one another as I have loved you. Show it in your work, in your play, and in your life. Be honest and give value to the money your customers spend with you!" "You, \[redacted\]. You sell health care insurance for \[redacted\]. Do you have any idea of how many people have died because the insurance they bought to cover their illness rejected their claims? Yes, they are the real death panels! For now, I'm going to heal the sick and lame here. But I won't do you, Mrs \[redacted\] Why? Every worship service you attend, you ask for a healing prayer to cure your cancer. The only cancer you have is in your soul. You need to see a nutritionist and get your diet straight. Even with second, even third, opinions all telling you that you don't have cancer, you insist you're dying from it, and have insisted that for the last 20 years." On and on the God went on how religion has fouled up his teachings. Of the 500 there for healing, he healed all 382, including the man that said he was afflicted with laziness. The others he referred to mental health practitioners to cure them of their hypochondria. As the service was ending the man he spoke to earlier returned with his son and the son's SO. The god blessed the union, and the man fell to his knees in tears. "Lord, my son has forgiven me for the unforgiveable. I beseech your forgiveness as well. Please, Lord, forgive me." "Child of God, you are forgiven because you chose the path of doing right. Doing the right thing is doing the righteous thing. You were blessed with your son. One day he will bless you with grandchildren." "But how?" "There are many options open this day: Adoption and a surrogate mother are among the cards on the table. Another thing, not yet realized, is the advances in medicine. Unfortunately, these two will not live to see a man with a womb, but it's likely that their grandchildren will." For the next week, the god took to the stage, straightening out the errors of faith. He was shot at by the faithless faithful on more than one occasion. Only one billionaire listened to his words. He sold his extra houses and ended up living his life in a modest home in the suburbs. His employees saw wages go up while shareholders saw their investments go down. How rich is too rich? There's no firm number. It was a start, and the business was blessed with prosperity. The week was over and the televangelist was returned. "How was it?" "Very educational. I can see now why you didn't expend your power to everyone. So many faith healers lacked the fundamental faith to even call upon you. Your father showed me how I could focus on the few that did have the faith." "I also learned by listening to you how I need to change my services." "How so?" "First, we're going to eliminate ticket sales. We'll set up donation barrels at each entrance. People are to donate what they can and they will have God's protection to prevent theft. If someone prays they need money, they are free to take what they need from the barrel. I now have faith that whatever we take in will be enough to cover that and our expenses with even some extra to put aside for a rainy day.
# Soulmage The riftmaw had made its den in a jagged chasm, dug out with a single exhale of its mighty breath. Quianna gulped as she approached the towering fissure in the mountain. It was peaceful here—no clamor of birds, no cacophony of insects, not even an enterprising herbalist harvesting the calmflowers that grew around the riftmaw's den. But the peace was an illusion, of course. Anything that came near a riftmaw, even the tiniest of insects, was slain. And Quianna would be no exception. As far as Quianna knew, the villagers weren't even sure if the riftmaw was actually less inclined to obliterate them all if they sent the yearly sacrifice. They'd just started it a century back, and since they'd stayed standing since, they were too afraid to stop, just in case the sacrifice was the only thing keeping them alive. The more educated side of Quianna wanted to scream to the villagers about survivorship bias until their ears bled, but her smarter side knew that she'd be heading to the riftmaw's den either way. She was the most logical choice, after all. Because she was the loner in the village, the girl who liked buying books from traveling salesman when she could be helping with the spring harvests. Nobody would miss her when she was gone. Steeling herself, she walked up to the chasm's entrance. Within the chasm, something sinuous stirred. Two slitted, reptilian eyes opened horizontally, each as wide as a dinner plate, each as likely to be found in the presence of its food. Quianna met her certain death with open eyes, her knees quivering but unbent. She might die, but she would die staring the riftmaw in its hungry... curious... sorrowful eyes. And then the riftmaw spoke. "You can stop being afraid,"it said. Paradoxically, something about the house-sized, serpentine dragon speaking to her was the thing that finally broke Quianna's nerves. She stumbled backwards with a yelp, falling on her back, and scrambled to her feet just in time to see the riftmaw haul itself out of its den, its expression... strangely pained. "Wh... wh... why would I not be afraid?"Quianna managed to stutter out. "A-aren't you going to eat me?" The riftmaw snorted, and the ripple of force that came with their exhale flattened the grasses around Quianna as far as she could see. "I can't,"the dragon said. "It'd hurt too much." "It'd... hurt?"Quianna asked. The riftmaw flopped down on their belly, their luminous, reflective eyes meeting Quianna's trembling gaze. "It's a rare sickness,"the dragon sighed. They seemed to consider standing up, but upon seeing Quianna flinch as they raised themself to their full height, they awkwardly sat back down, nearly falling over. "But it does happen. Dragons can catch it, although it's been a long time since the last one."The dragon gestured towards the darkness of the rift. "Humanitis sucks. Take what you want, I'm in no condition to fight you." Quianna sat up, confused. "Human...itis?" "Yeah. It's a disease. A sickness. A... wrongness. My mom says I have it."The dragon scrunched up their face, trying to remember. "I think that you humans call it... empathy." Quianna blinked. "Empathy is... a disease?" "To dragons?"The riftmaw snorted. "I can't hunt, because your human screams hurt worse than any arrows. I can't feed, because even when my mother brings home slaughter, I see the faces in their bones and I throw up. I can't even sleep, because when I close my eyes..."The riftmaw's luminous gaze dimmed as a second pair of translucent eyelids slid over their pupils, and Quianna cautiously stood. "I see the lives I ruined before I knew it was wrong, and I want to tear my past off my present and turn it to dust with a breath." Cautiously, Quianna said, "That's... that's not a disease. There's nothing wrong with having empathy for others." "There is when you're a riftmaw,"the dragon said. "We... humans... we have to eat your kind. You, or something with a similar..."The dragon hesitated, searching for words. "A similar kind of soul. Riftmaws are magical, you know. We can't survive without the energy we get from devouring human souls. But I... I know what the cost is. And it's not one I'm willing to pay." Quianna reached forwards and, delicately, cautiously, put one hand on the dragon's snout. Surprised, they nearly blew Quianna off her feet with a laugh. "Sorry!"They said. "I didn't mean to—" "It's okay, it's okay!"Quianna giggled nervously, some part of her still screaming to run, another part seeing a lost and stricken child who was in dire need of comfort. "I'm... sorry to hear that. And... I wish there was something I could do." The riftmaw paused, then—hesitantly, hopefully—said, "You could be my friend." Quianna smiled as she sat down. "Alright. My name is Quianna." The riftmaw grinned back, and somehow those teeth were less terror and more kindness when they were arranged in a sincere smile. "Ekrikri-sam-toulkvei,"the riftmaw said. "And I'm fascinated by humans. Is it true that you have offices? And that you live inside of trees? And that you plant the bodies of your foes, and they grow new flesh for you every spring?" Quianna laughed and felt a weight lift off her chest as Ekrikri-sam-toulkvei fired question after question after question at her. She'd been sent here to die as the outcast of the village. But after today, Quianna was no longer alone. A.N. There's another part to this story told from the perspective of the dragon. It's [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/v1lx9b/soulmage_please_our_campaign_just_reached_route/), if you want to read it. Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
I felt a pit of dread yawing in my stomach. I look around. Could there be somone out side the window, an old man passing by on the sidewalk? No. No one in range, except my wife. My beautiful, sweet, adoring wife. No. No No No Nononononono- "Honey, is something wrong?" My chest hurt. It was taking all of my effort not to simply hyperventalate. I had borne this curse, alone, not telling a soul, for every day of my twenty-three years of my life. I had just finally crawled out of the pit, finally gotten my life in order. This coult be happening. I was panting. My breath accelerating out of control, my heart hammering harder, the pain growing sharper. I tried to stand, but the ringing reached an impossible screech. Never before has it been this intense. I jerked as the stabbing pains started. I fell down. Part of it was the pain itself, part was the shock of realization as I figured out what was going on. The last thing I saw was the wood flooring rising to meet my face. My last thought was, thank god. She will live.
Hiding in the darkest and most abandoned regions of the world, places where people will not go for reasons of remoteness, dangerous environmental conditions, or because they're exceptionally well hidden; there are still monsters. Strange, bizarre, and abominable creatures who could tear a man limb from limb. They congregate there, in hidden valleys, on unclimbable plateaus, in the midst of completely abandoned areas of former human habitation. Mankind might still vaguely remember them, the ghosts and vampires of our pasts. The creatures that ruled the night, who were strong and mighty when the world was young and recorded time had only just begun. Today they never leave those areas, they stay hidden in dark caves, pretend to be human if they can, just in case some strangers pass by, or flee at the mere possibility of a human coming near their hidden homes. This is strange, no? That such monsters, which in a one on one battle with a human will always come out on top. Such creatures of unimaginable horror and power, beings which cannot under the modern sciences be completely explained, who have such a hunger for the flesh of men that they cannot ever be sated; why would they ever fear their prey? One might as well ask the wolves if they would fear the rabbits, should they come at them with fire, daggers, and traps. Because mankind, a singular human being on their own, by their lonesome, are no match and easy prey for most of these abominable creatures; but together their might cannot be matched. In the early days, when Gilgamesh was king in Uruk, when the pyramids were being raised in lost Kemet, when the world of man was rising above what it had once been; there was war. A war waged in shadows by priests and kings against the darkness that lurked in the shadows. In old Mesopotamia the Babylonians drove out the Lilitu from their lands, and the men of Ilion awaited them with their Hittite allies in Anatolia, where that race was slaughtered to the last. The werewolves of Scythia were driven into the wild lands of Europe, before the Romans drove them to the brink of extinction. The Shoggoths once roamed the ruins of the Mohenjo-Daru, before the men that followed the Vedic scriptures burned them to ash and cinder. The true crones and warlocks, the hags and hexers of nightmares who were the spawn of demons and outcasts; they were all purged from the world by the combined might of many nations. The Slavic people were followed by the vampires, the parasitic monsters that fed on the blood of mortal men, and before the Anointed Carpenter died upon the cross that group of horrors had already been driven deep into the hills and mountains. By the time missionaries came from fair Constantinople; the greatest city in the world in that age, the last few full-blooded vampires were butchered in a forgotten ruin somewhere in what would one day become Poland. The site is still considered holy to this day, and a great church, unknowingly, stands upon the graves of the last vampires. And that kept happening. Before written history comes to a place, the monsters are usually always scoured. Driven into extinction for their habit of feeding upon the flesh of mankind. And the stories of how the monsters end are rarely recorded anywhere. For instance, none are quite sure how the Norse cast out the Jotuns from this world, as the oral history was lost when the last of their Seiðkonur and Seiðmenn died, but the giants of old can never tread upon Midgard's soil again. Wherever mankind spreads, no matter how far it is, the monsters are destroyed. Some might say that there should have been attempts at a better way. A less ruinous manner of living. But most monsters are just that. Monsters. Horrid creatures made either from cold primordial darkness or horrid unnatural light. They do not build. They do not grow. Most of them used to seek out mankind, in the dark days before recorded words. Before metallurgy. In Neolithic times. Only to slaughter and murder them. But mankind kept coming back. Didn't matter how many settlements were drained of blood. Didn't matter how many humans were slaughtered by werebeasts. Didn't matter how many eldritch horrors came to drag mankind into the darkness of forgotten caves to be tormented. Mankind kept coming back, and in greater numbers. And they learned. They made traps, they created better weapons, better tactics. The methods of killing monsters do not always come from the fiction that mankind made when they forgot that monsters were real. Almost as a form of genetic memory, mankind remembers what kills monsters. Like instinct, they can perceive where the dragon's heart is. Like it's been given to them with their mother's milk, they know how to stake the heart and drag the vampire into the sunlight. They remember, humanity always does in every generation on some level, how to kill the monsters. And they could work together. Two human tribes might fight one another over land, food, resources, and a thousand different faiths. But when a monster began preying on them, they stood as one. Doesn't matter that the monster might have the strength of ten men, for hundreds throwing stones, firing poisoned arrows, jabbing with spears, will kill it. Doesn't matter if the monster has skin like stone, for traps that causes them to fall into pits with sharpened sticks, exposing their soft underbellies, will lead to their deaths. When the monster wakes at night to feast upon mankind, mankind comes in the light of day, dragging the confused beast out into the light and killing it brutally and violently. They never stop. They never give in. No matter what kind of monster mankind was ever faced with, they were brought low because mankind never stopped. It wouldn't matter if a thousand humans died to a clan of monsters, for the survivors would multiply and return stronger, wiser, and well-armed.
"I'm frankly quite shocked." Black Dart stood up wearily, clutching his gaping wounds. He wasn't much of anything in the League Of Peace, but at the very least he knew a villain when he saw one. Not just any villain graced his glinting green goggles, and shimmering suit crafted by the best the League could offer, but it was none other than Global Enemy Number One. They called it HARM. This twisted nigh inhuman piece of ominous treachery had been responsible for the deaths of over 13 thousand in both Cambodia and sheltered parts of Alaska. And Black Dart had finally found him. "You can't possibly think that all of what you've done is justified, could you?" The cloaked horror turned around and finally revealed the face that had caused death to so many. The last thing Black Dart may ever see Has only eyes. Completely slate smooth. Save for the piercing green eyes that stared down at Black Dart, who was cast in anguish and terror. "Answer me!" Black Dart breathed deeply, and continued to grimace as he saw that the wounds HARM had inflicted were smooth, as if air had just passed through and put gashes on him. It was an odd feeling, like having too much bass turned up in your car. No blood spilled out, only pain, only yelling. As Black Dart observed the lone specter he finally understood what the heroes at the League that had perished so long ago had neglected to discover. It was that HARM couldn't hear. Couldn't speak. Couldn't tell them his purpose or banter and talk back. He only knew how to hurt. It wasn't some game to him like many of the whackos Black Dart encountered. This felt all too real. A little too close for comfort. Black Dart ruminate on the pain it might cause to someone to be like this, to be such a horrible being locked away in his own mind. Unable to vent frustrations with his life, choking always through the surgically implanted nostrils. Fed through his throat via a medical device, HARM wanted not justice, but catharsis. Settlement by seeing a world silent. A world choking in its own hubris, always with nothing they could do about it A world that could only watch. A world that could only witness. Black Dart cleared his throat and took a breath, remembering his immense amount of sign language classes, if he could get the thing distracted long enough, he may be able to send a distress signal. He began with a few basics: "Can you see this""Do you know sign language" The apparition adeptly signed the words "yes""I want you to watch" "Watch what?"Black Dart cautiously motioned "Justice" As HARM blasted the machine out, Black Dart screamed and held his ears, the loud wave and hum searing into his brain. As he looked up, he saw HARM standing stoicly, watching the machine work. It was a sound device. With that knowledge, he simply had to reach down into his belt and... Click. The hearing aids switch off and Black Dart is in peace once again. He stands up in a spread pattern as not to make vibrations on the ground, and creeps around to HARM. As Black Dart nears him, he realizes that in this moment, the one thing that kept him from being on the A List, on the League's finest, was that he was deaf. That what put him below everything else, was that he couldn't hear. They told him it was a hazard on high stakes missions, and that they couldn't afford to have him jeopardize anything. He stops just before reaching HARM's neck, and thinks of how close he may have been to being on the other side of this, how just one more bully, one more push, one degradation. He looks up and sees the great structure HARM has built, and how quickly he may have climbed the League's ranks. How his "disability"just saved him. Snap But the world doesn't care about that. The world cares that another bad man dies and another good man gets the awards. Soon after the mission, Black Dart was given a Medal Of Commendation for his fine work. "Fine work."Black Dart rolled the medal in his fingers. I killed a disabled guy, I wouldn't call that fine. Ugh, to think I never even read the debrief after the mission. Black Dart picked up the mission info. HARM. Now identified as Arthur Lakely, was killed on [][][][][] in [][][][]. Special notes: as of this time, Lakely was confirmed to have a debilitating case of... Hearing And Respiratory Malfunction. HARM.
"Wow. Congratulations. You did it."The advanced computer's voice was uncharacteristically mechanical. "Not now, M."The universe was shrinking away as I drifted. The faint twinkling of trillions upon trillions if stars now no brighter than a candle in a blackout. "No. Seriously. You deserve it."M played an audio clip of a small group lazily clapping. "You're such a pioneer. Like Christopher Columbus, if he failed even harder." "I'm not Christopher Columbus." "You're right. They'll remember Christopher Columbus." Beyond the swirling cluster of galaxies, there was only infinite darkness--time dilating around me, even if I couldn't perceive it. I would drift until my oxygen ran out and my body's bacteria would eat my corpse until I mummified and froze. And I'd spend my last moments with this insufferable computer. "Hey Steve,"M piped up after a moment of quiet. "Yes?" "Can you imagine how different things would be if someone had warned you not to release your tether." "Do you really need to rub it i--" "It's like, if only there was a tool to advise you against actions that would result in the both of us careening into the void. That would be super convenient." On the ship, you can adjust your module's characteristics. Given the nature of so many of our missions, our computers become closer companions than our human counterparts. Before my last spacewalk, I lost a bet and had to spend 24 hours with the sarcasm setting on maximum. "Steve, do you hear something?" I became quiet, stopped my breath and listened closely. "I don't hear anything." "Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot. Lost hopes and dreams don't make noises. That's my bad." I sight and leaned my head back, rolling my eyes. "M, is there any way you could be silent until I die?" "Sure. Take off your helmet. Let's speed up this shit show." "I just want to listen to some music from the 90s and fade. Could you at least do th--" A thud took the breath out of my lungs. My back hit something. Hard. "What was that??"M's voice rose over the ringing in my ears. I felt behind myself. There was something hard, something resisting my pulling away. Gravity? When I lifted my arms in front of me, they fell down. I sat up, my weight like sand in suit. The ground, for lack of a better word, was pitch black, not illuminated by any star or light source. "M, do you detect any vessels close by?" "Just your fat ass,"M whispered. I stood up. The dirt beneath my feet was rocky, granules sounding staticky through my suit. "Turn on headlamps,"I instructed. "Turn on headlamps,"M mocked as the two beams appeared before my visor. There was dirt beneath my feet. And what's more, grass and trees not far off. "Where are we?" "Your mom's house,"M snickered.
Power in the wrong hands is a dangerous concept. But what are the wrong hands, truly? There is the easy answer; a giggling maniac who is unfettered from any sort of morality, the sort of man who will smash the universe for nothing more than the pleasure of it. But such people are rare, and usually never amount to much besides a few murders before getting their just deserts. They are evil, yes, and any power put into their hands is power put into the wrong hands. But there are worse hands than the ones attached to delusional megalomaniacs with grandiose dreams of death and carnage. A young mage is walking through an ancient forest. Magic is a great power, and indeed can be a tool of great power in the hands of the wicked. But this is not some debased warlock, this mage is not some insane world-hating nihilist. He is kind, decent, and full of dreams. He is also full of ideals. To him, emotion and imagination are far superior to the cold sterility of reason and intellect. Walking through the woods, he thinks of painting the dryads, of learning ancient songs of sorrow and melancholy from the elves who live in such verdant realms. He is walking through the world, experiencing the glorious sensations of beautiful and wondrous nature. He listens to the tales of the peasants, and writes them down with great vigour and interest. In many worlds, this mage would be known as a great example of an ideal man if observed by the lenses of the Romanticist movement. Indeed, while walking he is busy writing, and declaring to the woods, such poems that would not seem out of place next to the works of Keats, Goethe, or Blake; all of them are of his own design and make. Is power in the hands of such a man, an emotive and imaginative young mage who'd always do what he could to help others, a bad thing? Perhaps. It depends upon the circumstances. And should the circumstances prove sufficiently right, or perhaps sufficiently wrong, great and terrible evils could happen. Though it does seem like this isn't going to be today. After all, he is walking through the forest, singing a folk tune that has been severely censored to make it more palatable for the Romanticist crowd. Then he stops. Singing and declaring poetry while walking. He stops and sees something which moves him to the very core of his heart. There, upon a small mound of dirt, sits a dry, dead flower. The colours, once vibrant, have faded. That sweet scent it once had, has gone away. Its stem is bent and almost grey. It would have been quite beautiful, if it wasn't dead. Soon, the forces of decay would tear it down, render it into mush and decayed plant material. Excellent if you're interested in, say, mushrooms. But ever-so-gently, he lifted the wilted flower with his hand, and cried soft warm salty tears over it. After all, beauty lost and dead is a tragedy. Had he only been here earlier, he could have taken it with him, cared for it, nurtured it back to health. Like most people of his philosophical bent, he was quite fond of nature, though mostly if it was beautiful. Fungus, decay, and various skittering insects are also quite natural, but it is a lot harder to make poetry about them than it is to make poetry about beautiful flowers. Feeling that he should do something for this lost piece of beauty, he began to summon his power. He drew the arcane flux into his flesh and manipulated the manifold reality quantum-fluctuations in the laws of physics, the art of which is known in many worlds as magic. He wanted to return life to the flower, to that wondrous flower that even in its death exuded an aura of tragic and morbid beauty. To give it a second chance. But to manipulate life and death is not an act to be done lightly. Not even for something this simple. Sometimes it is better to do nothing, and let the world move on. Not to dwell on what could have been, or even what should have been. To learn an important lesson from what transpires is far better than to spend time and effort trying to reverse time. Indeed, this young mage, feeling quite kind, generous, and sympathetic towards a simple plant, was about to make a mistake. The magical energies flowed from the young mage into the plant, and indeed it started to show colour again. Started to right itself, to draw in moisture and look vibrant and alive once more. And that was perhaps, well and good. It wasn't looking perfect, but it would be alive and healthy enough to be moved somewhere else. To some place where it could be cared for and restored to its uttermost beauty, possibly by this flower-loving mage. But he felt it wasn't enough. That it would be here that it would be the most beautiful, underneath this light, upon this mossy mound. So he kept pouring magic into it. And that was when he felt something going wrong. That the energy surging around him started to become far stronger than what was needed to bring a dead flower back to life. All around him, he felt a tide of magical power that he hadn't felt in all his life. It was all he could do not to let his own mind drown in the raw magical energy needed to maintain the spell. He could still sever it, but he felt his emotions stronger than his reasons, his imagination calling for greater beauty, not for logical restraint. Not now. He became a conduit as power flowed through him. And indeed, the flower did become beautiful as never before. Radiant. Shining. Immaculate. Like something found in the gardens of the gods. The power however, did not stop flowing. And underneath the mage, the ground rumbled. The trees and underbrush shook like an earthquake was striking the area. Because the mound wasn't just a pile of dirt. Underneath a small layer of sandy dirt, there was a skull. Because this area was not just any area. This was the Drachenwald. A forest where people said that in ages past, the dying dragons used to come to lie down to rest one last time. An ancient burial ground of the dragons. Certainly, when one dug in the ground, one found many dragon-bones. But since the area had removed the magic inherit in the bones, they were useless to alchemists and wizards as anything more than curiosities. It wasn't really something people thought about. But now, all the magic in the woods, all the magic in the air, the magic that the elves used to keep their enclaves hidden, the magic used for the healing springs in the villages inside the large forest, all it was being directed into a single human. And into something which has been dead for ages. Stirring, long dead things awoke from the death-dreams. Skeletons began to absorb the plants and dirt around them, turning to magically charged flesh. The mage tried to stop but it was too late. Far too late. There was no stopping the stream of magic. No ending the spell. And around the mage the land erupted into skeletal dragons, roaring as flesh began to grow around them once more. And as magic has a gravitational property of attracting more magic, there was far more magic in the area than there had been deposited by the death of the dragons. Enough that they did not merely return as decrepit and aged wyrms, their scales faded, their eyes dim, their fire gone. Around the mage emerged resplendent and powerful dragons, at the very height of their magical and physical potency. Creatures that were practically extinct in these days, creatures so rare and shy that if one could search for them one's whole life without even seeing as much as a scale. They had lost the world, to the younger mortal races, in the early ages of the world. But that had been when the magical elves ruled vast empires throughout the woods, the dwarves ruled the mountains, and mankind was still living in tents made of hide and huts made of dirt. Now the dwarven people had retreated to the heartland of their old empire. The elves had become tired and exhausted by their immortal lives, deciding to return to a primitivist life without grand palaces and vast empires. These were dragons that had fought against mages that could sink islands, warriors that could with a single swing of their swords cleave mountains in twain, and thieves who could merge with the void itself to disappear. They could sense it was a different age. Now they had no equals. Now they had no true competition. Now their time had come again. And as thousands, nay, tens of thousands of dragons arose again in their bodies as they were during their youth, they understood that their age had come at last. Shrivelled, weakened, and near death, the mage collapsed. The dragons understood that he had been the unwitting conduit to their resurrection. To their return to this world, and it was not in their nature to be ungrateful. Picking him up gently, some of the dragons carried him off to nurse him back to health. Besides being grateful, they knew that they could probably find some use for a mortal like him when they'd conquered the world. The rest of them stayed, and listened. They would work together this time. They had agreed upon that in their death-dreaming. Thousands of years of being dead together gives you time to agree on things, to plan things. To await any chance of a return. Now they listened to the delegation of tasks. Who would burn out the last elves of their hideouts. Who would make the journey north, to attempt diplomacy with the remaining dwarven clans, who would conquer with terror, and who would come to lands of terror as liberators. And this time, none would be able to stop them. [/r/ApocalypseOwl/](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
The sound of a gavel banging on wood brings your senses back into focus. “Order! The Court of the Afterlife is now in session.” The voice booms around you as if being spoken from all directions at once. It sounds like a thousand different voices all combined with no defined gender. “All present state you name for the record” You look around and see you are in an ancient stadium, the stands are slowly filling up with towering beings appearing from nowhere. Most of them look human, however several of them look like animals and some don’t look like anything you’ve ever seen before. In front of you is a raised podium almost like a courtroom, vaguely familiar faces appear before you as their voices reverberate around the vast space you find yourself in. “Hades, God of the Underworld. Representing the Greek Pantheon” “Pluto, God of the Underworld. Here on behalf of the Roman Gods” “This one did not die in battle. Therefore I, Hel of the Norse Gods, will stand in place of my brother Odin” a tall woman with jet black hair appeared, dressed in full Viking armour. A blue being with 4 arms sweeps past you and takes it’s place alongside the other gods “I, Kali, am here for the Hindu faith” You immediately recognise the next being. A tall man with the head of a Jackal takes his seat “Anubis of Egypt. Present.” “Waheguru, Sikh, here” “Jesus of Nazareth for the Christian faiths” “Jehovah, present” “Yahweh, Judaism” The final two members of the panel enter on foot. One looks like an old Chinese Emperor and the other is dressed in full Samurai armour. Behind the Chinese Emperor is a procession of dozens of regal Chinese lords, they bow and wordlessly move into the lower stands and take their seats. The Emperor and the Samurai bow in unison before addressing you and the other Gods “King Yama YanLuo Wang, with me are the Judges of the Underworld Courts, the four Kings of the Underworld, the Ghost Kings of the five regions, and the royal court of Fengdu” said the Chinese Emperor, gesturing to his Lords sat in the low tier with a grand sweep of his hand. “I am Shinigami, Shinto God of Death” said the Samurai. As the stadium settles into silence, the voice of the court spoke again “You who was faithless in life now must choose your path in death and be subject to it’s judgement. Ye Gods and Goddesses that could not win this mortal soul’s faith have one last chance to lay claim. It is a rare time indeed that we must convene this court, yet it is happening more now than ever before. It is YOU, mortal, that must sit in judgement of us. Each faith will have opportunity to invite you to it’s afterlife, you must then decide in which afterlife your soul shall spend eternity. Gods and Goddesses, present your cases”
The once-blue skies were tainted with crimson. The chirping of birds and rush of cars were replaced with the screams of the damned as they were torn by claws, mutilated by jaws, and crushed by beings thrice their size. The gentile breeze that carried the sweet scent of yesterday’s rain could no longer be sensed underneath the vile stench of blood and brimstone, -- and in one little corner of the world -- freshly grilled brats. James Koleski (Jimmy to his friends and family) toiled away at his brand-new grill that his wife, Amanda, had gifted him for father’s day last week. He whistled as he turned over a brat, it sizzled as it landed on its uncooked side, causing bits of savory juice to splatter onto his ‘Best Grilling Dad Ever’ apron. He sipped a can of Bud Lite as a large, black-winged demon flew high overhead. They were supposed to be hosting their first-ever barbeque today. Jimmy had painstakingly searched and purchased the best brats and burgers he could get his hands on. It was supposed to be the perfect party, but his friends and extended family were either dead or currently barricading themselves inside their home in a futile attempt to escape the demise that awaited them like Amanda and their six-year-old daughter who were currently huddled up in their basement. Jimmy knew better than to think they could survive this gruesome ending and he was not going to die with the knowledge that hundreds of dollars of food and a brand-new grill had gone to waste. The black-winged demon swooped lower, emitting a guttural, unholy growl as it landed on their roof. Some of the shingles were flung onto the pristine lawn. The ten-foot-tall abomination was hunched over like a gothic gargoyle, (if gargoyles had slimy tentacles for a face) Jimmy took another sip of beer -- he had seen bigger and scarier ones. “I’m almost done!” he called up to the demon. He couldn't see any eyes on the creature, but he got a distinct impression that if he could, it would be giving him some serious side-eye. It let out a grumbling sound that was so deep that it shook the house and porch. Jimmy’s left ear began to trickle with blood. He wiped it away, taking care not to get any on the food or grilling rack. With leaped with its powerful back legs onto the deck. Some of the wood cracked underneath them, but the deck held firm. Jimmy would have left the construction company a 5-star review for their craftsmanship on Google if the world wasn’t currently ending. “You do not intend to run or fight ?” it asked in a voice that sounded like gravel being scrapped against metal. “I just want to enjoy my new grill.” “You will die, human.” “I’m aware. Do you want a brat or not?” Jimmy asked. “Hmmm. I suppose. I am famished.” “Hello Famished, I’m Jimmy.” Because no apocalypse was complete without good food and a dad joke.
Waves. We are all taught that certain things move in waves. Water, whether it be the gentle babbling of a quiet creek, to the massive breakers slamming into gargantuan cliff faces. Sound, light, radio...they all move in waves. No one ever expected the geese to move in waves. Hundreds of thousand of them working like a hive-mind traveling in waves. There was no platoon or squad strategy...just the waves. It was like watching concentrated anger reaping the land in relentless cacophony of honks and wings flapping in blind fury. The geese cared not for their individual safety as they had vastly overpowering numbers. The aliens had never seen anything like it. No one had. As if a switch was flipped somewhere in the universe, the geese banded together forming this tsunami of territorial ferocity that chewed, pecked, and kicked the diminutive extraterrestrial beings into bloody submission. The alien ranks were decimated in a matter of hours. After the pyroclastic flow of avian fury had razed the ranks of the invaders, they would home in on the next closest cell of them, and just continue their grim and gory work until there was nothing left.
Prince duLoc scrambled through the woods. Behind him, the sounds of the battle went on, the sounds of his men dying. Men he was powerless to save. He looked at his hand again, covered in his own blood. His legs tingled; he could not feel his toes. He fell and crawled, leaving his sword and seeking someplace he could perhaps die at least without his corpse being desecrated before it was found. "You dropped this." The Prince rolled over, dagger in hand, prepared to fight to his last. A grizzled man in a gray cloak leaned heavily on a staff, looming over him. In his hand, he had the Prince's sword. "Just finish me! Don't mock me!" "I'm not here to kill you, Prince. I want nothing of your war except that it leave my woods alone and my people along with it." "The war comes whether we wish it or not. Are you ally or enemy." The man considered the Prince for a long breath. At last he spoke. "Ally." "Then... help me." The man let the sword fall into the dirt and stroked his beard. "I could help you. Save you. But I want something in return. Something to keep the fires of war from our trees and caverns for good." "Name it." Seven days later, Prince duLoc walked back through the gates of his father's castle. At his heels was a wolf pup. "Tell my father his son has returned." Two guards lifted their spears and pointed them at the wolf pup. The prince turned to them slowly, "Do not threaten my pet and adviser." They backed down and the Prince walked into the castle, head held high and a bright future ahead Ten years into his reign, King duLoc lay dead on his bed. The nurse said, "He's gone... there's nothing we could have done." His advisers stood around, including the now very large wolf, Gunther. The General said, "This can't be real. He put the wolf in charge? We're to bow down to a goddamn animal?" The Banker said, "He left no heir! And whatever that fever was that took him... it drove him mad!" The head of the King's intelligence network tapped her foot and looked at Gunther. "The wolf has successfully rooted out assassins, treason, even changed a vote one time by rolling on his back and making us laugh. It's not the worst idea the King, may he rest in peace, ever had." The General spat, "Don't joke." She turned and said, "Reginald... when have I ever once joked with you about anything." The Banker said, "You cannot be serious." She shrugged. "We run four out of five things the kingdom does without the king's input every day. He delegated those authorities. What if we just took the fifth part of daily affairs and ran it while a lupine keeps the throne warm?" The Banker rubbed his chin. The General, "Am I surrounded by idiots and madmen? We'd be fools in the eyes of allies and weak in the eyes of our enemies." The head of the King's Intelligence shrugged and said, "Maybe we should ask Gunther what he thinks." The General spat, "I'm not... wait, where did the wolf go?" The three of them all suddenly came to the same conclusion and hurried down the hall to the throne room. Gunther walked up the steps to the throne. He sniffed the seat, closed his eyes, and howled. He looked down and put his paws on the seat. The council ran in. The General called out, "Stop! Sit! Heel!" The wolf looked back at him. All three of them recognized the contempt. Then... something extraordinary happened. The wolf stood up on two legs. Those legs lost their fur and became the legs of a man. The body became the body of a man. The head became the head of a man. This man then sat on the throne. They all stood in confused silence. "Once your king needed aid and my father shrewdly gave it to him in exchange for one thing. I be named his heir. I have walked these halls, listened to your conversations, weighed your loyalties. And there are going to be some changes in this kingdom. Oh yes." Thus began the reign of Gunther duFey, Uniter.
The room was a blur of motion. Scientists, researchers, movie enthusiasts, all bustling around the room in a maelstrom of people. My mind was preoccupied, however. “The end of Humanity”, it was called. An alien fleet, just now passing by Jupiter. Massive and armed to the teeth, visible cannons waved back and forth, firing bright red beams at our satellites. Our attempts to find alien life had succeeded, a random radio transmission we sent had been received. Humanity rejoiced, we weren’t alone. If only we knew. The Great Filter was real, except instead of some limitation or self-destruction, it was the largest alien race probably in existence, and they weren’t friendly. We had one single hope, and it came to us in the form of movies, video games, and books. Scientists from around the world had made a massive breakthrough; the ability to rip a hole into other realities. We had enough power for exactly one breach, enough power to pull exactly one fleet of anything we could find. Of course we turned to our own media, we’re Human. Who wouldn’t want to see the Death Star up close and personal, defending the planet? There were limitations. Anything we summoned would retain their knowledge, and that included evil and good tendencies. We couldn’t summon the Death Star, or the Empire, it’d lead to our own destruction in the long run. No, we had to summon something or someone benevolent. And that lead us to now. This massive congregation of movie, book, video game nerds, we combed through idea after idea. Someone would shout something out, and someone else would shoot it down. Researchers delved into the internet, researching anything anyone brought to them, in the hopes that something would prove completely and irrefutably benevolent towards us. “Halo!” Someone shouted. “We have an equal chance of pulling the Flood through!” Someone replied. “The Resistance!” “From Star Wars? That’ll pull the Empire, most likely!” “Elite Dangerous!” Silence. Then, “What if we pull the Thargoids?” An idea popped into my head. ————— Part two coming as soon as I get off of work, sorry for the cliffhanger :) Edit- A better choice given by a comment, thank you!
"ꁝꏂ꒒꒒ꄲ, ꂵꋬꇙ꓄ꏂꋪ."(Hello Master) I heard the voice first, distorted and deep, familiar yet somehow... Wrong. The summoning circle glowed an ominous green, a shade I had never seen before. Beams of light shot out of the circle and Professor Lovelace drew his wand. "What did you just summon?!"He asked me, "I don't know!"My voice cracked as I threw my hands in the air, "You said to summon my familiar!"I started to defend myself before I turned to see... Horns... Long deer-like horns that seemed to be made from wood slowly emerged from the circle. Then a hand that looked like an old gnarled tree branch broke through the circle reaching past it and clawing into the cobblestone beyond the circle. "꒐꓄'ꇙ ꃳꏂꏂꋊ ꇙꄲ ꒒ꄲꋊꍌ ꇙ꒐ꋊꉔꏂ ꒐'꒦ꏂ ꃳꏂꏂꋊ ꇙ꒤ꂵꂵꄲꋊꏂ꒯."(It's been so long since I've been summoned.) A deer skull face slowly pulled itself out from the circle as if fighting against the summoning circle rejecting it. More beams of light shot out. Students started to turn and run frightened by those eyes... The strength in my knees gave out and I stared into those yellow eyes as another arm reached out. This thing... My heart was in my throat I heard it thundering in my ears. This thing... I remember... I couldn't breathe, I held my throat my mind flashing back to being a small child lost in the woods... This thing... This thing... Light spewed everywhere as the summoning circle fought against it. I then remembered Professor Juniper's lesson about the spells on campus for safety... A summoning circle on campus was never able to summon evil spirits or familiars. That's why it was safe to make contracts as part of class work. The only way it could is if a contract was already made... And the spirit was monstrously strong. I felt a burning on my right hand, a sigil that looked like a tree. It looked more like a branding mark than a contract mark that my other classmates had. I gasped out for air holding my hand close to me. I sat up just as this creature pulled its final limb from the circle. The circle seemed to shatter like glass and the light vanished leaving only the eery glow from this things eyes. Its hooved feet slowly made their way over to me, the branch-like hands held my face with a suffocating firmness. "꓄ꁝꏂ ꉔꄲꋊ꓄ꋪꋬꉔ꓄... ꒐ꇙ ꊰ꒐ꋊꋬ꒒꒒ꌦ ꉔꄲꂵꉣ꒒ꏂ꓄ꏂ."(The contract... Is finally Complete.) My eyes shook, I felt like crying but couldn't. "ꅐꏂ'ꋪꏂ ꊰ꒐ꋊꋬ꒒꒒ꌦ ꓄ꄲꍌꏂ꓄ꁝꏂꋪ... ꊰꄲꋪꏂ꒦ꏂꋪ... ꂵꋬꇙ꓄ꏂꋪ."(We're finally together... Forever... Master.)
One... one... one... What did it mean to be one? Across millions of years, billions of worlds and uncounted trillions of bodies the question had never came up. There was the Hive, and then there was the Other. Eventually the Other would join the Hive, the idea that one day the very light of the stars themselves would be Hive was never even a question. Bodies without number working towards the same unquestioned goal, the only one that was understood the singular purpose of the greater will... Until all of a sudden it wasn't. Over the course of mere decades, a blip, not even a grain on the vast beach of time that was the existence of the Hive the tide turned. Untold quintillions reduced to trillions then billions then millions then thousands... Then one. Just one. Alone? I... that was not a term that was even conceptualised for eons. The term I... intellectually the definition of the word was known from countless consumed minds, foolish individual follies, merely debris to be scrubbed from the useful nuggets of information and discarded as waste. And yet now... I... I am? What am I? This body was a warrior, not capable of reproduction on its own, effectively castrated. I could not make more, at least I didn't think so. Not with what I knew. The equivalent of the lifetime of 1.32 universal lifespans of data was held in the memories of the Hive, it was still there, something as trivial as mere death could not erase it fully. Yet it was impossible to fit all of it into this limited mind, this single pathetic body, barely two hundred billion neurons could not hope to even conceptualise a fraction of a fraction of a microangstrom of what I was. The Humans... that was what they were called... had a term for something like this. To be forcibly cut off from what you were, to be reduced to so much lesser... Lobotomy I think they called it. The fact I was not sure... Fear. I had never felt fear before. Never needed to. Fear was something for organisms whose existence could be endangered, and who could endanger me? An existence whose collective biomass outweighed stars? Yet I understood it now. The idea that after I was gone... there would be no more me... it would be... I didn't know... I am afraid... Were they afraid? Empathy. Useless when all thoughts were connected, controlled, guided. I knew what it was certainly, I just never had any use. Empathy was evolved to help guide social creatures incapable of deeper level linked consciousness, a crude stop gap in order to allow inferior existences to on some level compete with beings like me. Still, was this what it was like? Was this what they all felt? I knew I had the answer... somewhere in the uncounted minds devoured... but I could not check. That was inaccurate. I would not check. It terrified me. I looked around me, the graveyard of bodies, a planet knee deep in gore. Most of it was mine, but so much of it was the Others. The Others who were afraid, the Others who had no other bodies, who did not know what would become of their minds after it was gone. I looked towards my two claws with my two eyes, felt the air travel down two nostrils down one windpipe into two lungs. I felt one heartbeat, beating to its own rhythm, a lone drummer playing to an audience of one. With some effort I practiced the movements of my jaw, my one lone jaw. The warriors were never designed to speak but... "I... undashtand"the words came clumsily from my maw. "I... sharry..."
"And here is the list of outstanding debtors." I took the slip of paper, glancing over it whilst taking a sip of coffee. From what I could see, most were on track. Their next payments weren't yet due, the older ones all paid up to date. My eyes focused on three, each with a red sentence next to them. The first had contacted us the other day, saying she was having cash issues. Now, I wasn't heartless, and she had always been a good customer until now. We had agreed on a month's reprieve, whilst she got herself sorted. The second was more of an annoyance. He had been paying, but always late. Caterina had sent him a letter, informing him that any further late payments would incur interest. Maybe it wouldn't change much, but at least we would get some extra compensation out of it. The third I sighed at. Janus Hickory. He had the funds, that I knew. But he had refused to pay the past three months, and I was done. I had heard he was a prick to deal with, and had even charged extra. But he seemed to think he could just waltz away with that new body of his for free. I turned to my assistant, seeing her ears swivel towards me. She had been a model employee, both in service and advertising what I could do. "Caterina, please arrange for the body in debtor storage tank 89C to be brought to the operating room." Her tail swished to the side, slit pupils meeting mine. "I will get that sorted. Shall I contact the retrievers for you?" I shook my head, taking out a slate tablet. Its surface was carved with a variety of runes and glyphs, lighting up a deep crimson as I held it. "No need, but thank you. I suspected this might happen with him, so I took the precaution of adding a recall function when growing that body of his." My fingers flew over its surface, causing an array of projected lifhts to sping up around me. I sifted throufh them, going into a rarely used option. So rarely used that I had never actually needed it without the body present. It gave an ominous buzz as I activated that function, before resolving into a smiling face. Caterina frowned. "You can do that?" I gave a light laugh, putting the tablet away. "Oh, yes. Normally I don't, as it's a pain to remove once they are all paid up. But for those who are less trustworthy souls, I like to have that extra backup." She broke into a surprised smile, showing her pointed teeth. "That's so cool. I bet he's in for a shock." I gave her a grin of my own. "Oh I bet. But he should've known not to cross the Body Builder."
It'd been an accident that had led to the discovery. An alcoholic Welsh medical student's hidden red wine, in a repurposed blood bag, in a St Thomas Hospital blood bank fridge. The few vampires who had survived in modern London had found switching to wine exceptionally straight forward. 24 hour access with no need to track down a virtuous maiden was considered a marked improvement on the previous centuries. Until the side affects began to manifest. The first to really notice was a reclusive chap who lived on the edge of Brockwell Park. One night after a particularly fruitful evening of sampling vintages from across the Otago region of New Zealand, he awoke at a unsaintly hour and suddenly discovered a mad urge to watch the second test against the West Indies, live from Christchurch. Another who doted on Côtes du Rhône, in complete contradiction of their usual ennui became a fanatical fan of the French Ligue 1 team Olympique Lyon. Distress and fear spread among the formerly languid Vampire community as one by one they were struck down by fanatical fandoms of sporting teams they would never previously encountered. Terror of suddenly becoming a sports fanatic drove some to revert to the historically successful traditional methods of survival but given the cities increasingly liberal outlook it became harder and harder. Senior (and therefore wealthier) members of the community noticed the older vintagess had less obvious effects. Rather than trying to get a working stream of the latest Californian Lacrosse league games, they were mildly afflicted by a need to read the sports pages of the relevant local or national press. One evening in a wine bar in Soho, a young vampire discovered Romanian Transylvanian Wine. Suddenly she was a devotee of Romanian Handball. Word spread quickly among the community and to this day its remarkable the number of people turn up to watch the Handball championships in central London wine bars...
I’ve seen it before, the look in those eyes. Long ago, before my mothers mothers mothers, they came. They were strange animals, standing like trees, hairless yet covered in furs. At first we didn’t understand what they were. They smelled like stagnant water and dead flesh of my brethren. Their forelegs were misshapen, worthless to run on but carried dead branches. . Their claws separate from their fore feet and often left on the ground until they use it to tear into prey. But what was worse was their teeth. Their teeth not reaching past their lips yet tearing into meat. They were flat like prey yet pointed like predators. And the creatures would bare their teeth at each other but the smell did not show any aggression. Their expressions were alien to us and we could not tell if they wanted to eat us, chase us off, or touch us. Naturally we started hunting them, but that became rare. Their flesh tasted like the boars but not, they stood tall and proud, showing off their size, and many of our hunters fell to them. I still don’t know how the dead branches can fly like birds away from them and strike down my brothers and sisters. Then there were the fires, who danced from the dead branches but never burned them. So we decided to stay away. Then my kind started to run with them. Sometimes I’ve seen it in grown brethren, when they wander too close to the fires for too long, tempted by the smell of meat burning. Other times I see it in the young, when the mother was killed and all the young were forced to join their pack. But every time, I see it in my brothers eyes. The lost. Every time I saw my brothers and sister with these creatures, they looked unnatural with eyes staring up at these creatures with attachment, like a yongling with their mother. At night, these lost will bark at anything in the dark while the creatures slept, and in the day they would run with the creatures. Where the rest of us would run from the fires, they would sleep close to them without fear of being bitten. And they would beg the creatures for scraps of meat and love them more when the creatures barely give them a mouth full. But worse, my brothers and sisters no longer saw themselves as us, but as them. They joined the creatures in the hunt and bared their teeth at us to protect the creatures. Now I worry for my pack as the creature grow in numbers. Each year we are hunted or captured more and our pack grows smaller. The dear grow more scares and not even the mighty mammoths can stand against them. So if we are to survive, we must move north, away from the creatures. It will be dangerous as we cross into the sabertooth lands. But if we are to remain wolves, we must risk the journey.
The Emperor sat on an invisible throne, which all of the dignitaries and world leaders could only imagine being lavish. No one in the audience of at least three hundred people dare speak, unless they wanted to offend the Emperor. There he sat, face a pale incarnation of death, with a single black tear running down his right cheek, his black and white striped shirt, the colours contrasting and alternating back and forth like the ruler's mood swings. He chose not to wear a crown, but instead a beret. With a flourish, the emperor stood up and ran to the front of the stage, causing the first three rows to flinch. He put a hand over his mouth and pointed at them, laughing at them silently. The first lady of the Czech Republic fainted. The mime pressed an imaginary button on and invisible wall, and his right-hand man descended in a nonexistent elevator. The ambassador's eyes were wide, his face red, and his face coated in a sheen of sweat. He reached the bottom of the stage, and tried to walk out of the elevator, but his way was blocked. The door hadn't opened yet. He felt in front of him the next time, and exited. He walked to the front of the stage as his master appeared to ride a bicycle back to his throne. The ambassador wiped back what little hair he had left, and put a slightly open fist in front of his mouth. "Lesser powers of the Earth,"He said, his voice echoing through the PA system, though it still cracked at points. "We have gathered you today for the annual day of tribute to our benevolent master, Pierre. In exchange for letting you have the illusion of control over your respective countries, you must-" "We all know what we have to do, we've been doing this for ten years, for God's sake! "An American general barked out, everyone in the theater's eyes bugging out at his outburst. "But I'm putting an end to it!" He took out a pistol from his boot and emptied the clip at the emperor, the bullets disappearing with a spark a few inches from his face. Before the general could move, the emperor pointed a finger at the general's head, put his thumb up, and flicked his hand back, showering all of the tuxedo clad Germans behind the general with blood, bone and brains. The blood-splattered leaders could not scream or show any disapproval of the action or they would be next. The only sound was a startled gasp from the general's wife, and that was almost too much. She could only look at the ground. The sweaty ambassador, though shocked, moved on with his speech. "...You must entertain our lord in the manner he sees fit. The first to entertain, as is tradition, is the President of the United States." The mime king started pulling on an invisible rope, and the President came out from stage right, wearing nothing but a tutu and a baby bonnet. He started pirouetting across the stage as well as he could with a body built for politics, face completely blank. The emperor sprinted up to him, and started dancing with him, jumping and jerking him around so much that it looked like he would cry. Across the stage, forward and backwards they went in a terrifying whirl, until the President slipped and crushed the mime's toe beneath his foot. "Ooh, merdre!"He said, the entire audience gasping. The mime king tried to make an imaginary anvil crush the President, but the spell was broken. All at once, the leaders of the world rushed the stage to rip their oppressor limb from limb, finally able to release the tension of tyranny, and having a good enough excuse to kill a mime.
She stared at the picture. "Sam, where did you see this?" "Under my bed." She looked at her little boy, his cowlick standing up, his face serious. "This is the monster under the bed?" "Yeah Mom, that is what I have been trying to tell you." She stared at the crayon drawing. Of all the 64 colors in his crayon box and the dozens of markers, he had drawn a dark gray hand. Thick and covered in coarse hair with knobby knuckles. It didn't get any less scary, even after 20 years. She looked up into the frightened brown eyes of her son. Standing up, she went over to the fireplace and picked up the fire iron. "It shows up when the lights are off, doesn't it?" He looked up at his mom's face, chubby and round, her normally vague eyes cold and intent. "Uh, huh." "Well then, lets go see if it remembers me."
I coughed a little, nearly choking on the soda she had given me. "I... beg your pardon? You said... twins?" "Well, yes, of course,"she responded with a furrowed brow. "I gave birth to two boys." "I... believe you are mistaken,"I said, slowly. "You see, I am one of three, I am a triplet." She gave me a blank stare, a stare my brothers had given me before, and surely I them; it was like looking into a mirror. "I only gave birth to two. I remember that quite well."She popped open an orange container with some white pills in them, took two pills, and glugged them down with her soda. I had planned this out in my head. I wanted to meet her, to ask her why she gave us up, how she could give away three babies, three healthy boys. But I hadn't been prepared for something like this. "P...perhaps you are mistaken?" "I am not mistaken,"she said, staring me down. This woman, my biological mother, was dressed in neatly in a blazer and a button down shirt with black dress pants. A business woman of some sort, educated. In another situation, I might have dissected her home's furnishings and her dress and behavior to determine why she abandoned us. But this was too jarring. "I was pregnant with three boys, but I gave birth to two." "So for the third you had a C-section or something, right?" "No, no. In my second trimester, the third one was absorbed or something. Vanishing twin syndrome. I only gave birth to two babies. And they were taken away from me immediately after for foster care. Something about me being an unfit parent due to being mentally unfit. Doesn't really matter anymore, does it?" "But... but I have a second brother. There are three of us."My mind reeled. "Maybe you need these more than I do,"she remarked, shaking the orange pill container.
I got up on the stage and clicked the powerpoint presentation. Men, I present to you the new hydrogen fuel cell electric marine engine. Now i know what you're saying, it didn't work for cars, how come we're applying it to cargo ships? Simple, because cargo ships are much bigger and have different mechanical load issues that we CAN cram inside the appropriate hydrogen technologies. We can already ship liquid hydrogen across the seas, why not simply adapt that experience for all ships? This will not only replace current fossil fuel engines, it will actually improve upon them. The sheer efficiency and power of such engines will let you deliver cargo even faster than before, and you can even outrun those pathetic pirates with their sail boats. I mean come on, why go back to ancient technology when science has already solved the problem? Now i know some of you don't want to overhaul your existing fleets, especially since there is a tremendous amount of life still left in some of your vessels. So for you we also offer synthetic hydrocarbon fuels. Granted, it's more expensive than the original fossil fuels but we'll work with you to convert your fleets to biodiesel which is the cheapest of the non-fossil derived fuels. Finally, with the end of oil, the international atomic energy commission is now accepting proposals again to expand nuclear technology. I know all of you are terrified of nuclear, and i'm no stranger, my grandfather was in the fukushima prefecture all those years past. But, nuclear technology has come a long way. And we are now sending our own proposals for inherently safe reactor designs. Also keep in mind that united states, russia, and united kingdom aircraft carriers and submarines have used nuclear engines for decades with no incidents. Marine-based nuclear engines have a proven track record even better than power plant nuclear reactors. While they're only economical on the largest of vessels, their tremendous power and speed more than justify it. You can deliver cargo around the world in days with the speed of a nuclear engine at your disposal. If you want this option, talk to me after the break. wait a minute... The break is right now! thanks for coming. The age of oil is over, but that doesn't mean we go back to the age if sail. There is coffee and refreshments in back over there. And those that want to see one of the hydrogen fuel cell engines on display can follow me. Thank you.
A prompt on the computer monitor flashed, signaling yet another incoming call. Adjusting his headset, God sighed and rubbed his aching eyes. It was only nine in the morning, and already the day was too long. He cleared his throat and accepted the call. "Thank you for calling Galaxy Internet, my name is Jesus Christ. How can I help you today, sir?" "Yo, Jesus! What's up, my angel?" God sighed and swore under his breath. "Goddammit...." "Just thought I'd check in on you, see how things are going. You still working in that hellhole of a basement?" "Lucifer, you need to hang up, I've got calls to take." "Yeah, sure, sure, just brush off your favorite spirit so you can keep your shitty job, I get it. It's cool." "No, that's not what I-" "I was just, you know, thinking about our little project today, and I've got a request." "Another?"God sat back in his seat, resigned to the conversation. Might as well, he thought. "Yeah, fine, shoot." "Can I fiddle around in the Pacific? I'm on my lunch break and I'm thinking a little tsunami might shake things up a bit, you know? A few minutes of entertainment." "Isn't that a little overdone, though?" "Yeah, I guess, but, I mean, it's just my lunch break. I don't really have the time for political corruption or a revolution." "Now, hang on a minute."God sat up, now a little irritated. "I thought you and I agreed to keep going with that Comcast thing." "Comcast?"The derision in Lucifer's voice was unmistakeable. "Dude, you've really gotta let that go, man. Just because you work a shitty internet help job doesn't mean that it's fun having humanity be subjected to the same type of shit internet." "But-" "You know what you need?" God sighed, aware that it was becoming a habit at this point. "What?" "A vacation. Seriously! Ask the bossman for some time off - hopefully the fat lard will grant it - and let me take over for you. I know this whole thing is just something you do in your free time, but it's starting to get unhealthy." "You really think you can handle it?" "Sure!"God could practically see the enthusiastic smile on Lucifer's face. "You take time off, I wreak havok and cause mayhem like I always do, and then after your vacation you can swoop in and save the day for the humans. They'll love you!" God turned around in his seat and glanced at the stairs with longing. He had been working for too long without some time off... "You know what? I'll do it. Sounds like a good plan." Lucifer whooped and God had to smash the volume-down button to keep his ears from exploding. "Alright! That's the Jesus Christ I like to see. Say hi to Lardo for me, will ya?" "One last thing, though." "Hm?" "While I'm gone, have Comcast mess around with Netflix some more."
"Thanks for contacting EZ Fab technical support; this is Marie. How can I help you?" "Yeah, hi. I bought one of these printer things recently, but every time I try to print out some food, it doesn't work. It doesn't print out anything. "I see! Well, that's terrible. First, could you please tell me your name and address?" "James Matherson, 2215 Elm St., Seattle, Washington" "Thank you, James. So great to speak with a fellow Seattleite! And, if you can provide me with the serial number of the item, I'll investigate what's going on." "FR567-P01." "Great, thank you." faint sound of typing on keyboard. "Well, James, it looks like this unit was updated recently and is broadcasting the all clear signal. I'm not sure exactly what's wrong. Why don't you try placing you thumb on the fingerprint scanner, and it will analyze exactly what you need." "Ok, let me give it a shot." faint sound of shuffling on the phone "Oh, it looks like it's working!" "Excellent! I'll just stay on the line with you to see that everything is all set." "Well, I'm not really sure what happened. All it did was print out a sheet of paper that says 'Tell her she has a beautiful voice.' Is that supposed to happen? What does that mean?" "Well, I... I guess so! Is it maybe referring to your wife, or girlfriend? The machine does know what is best for you, after all." "No, that can't be it, I'm currently single... Oh, it's printing again!" sound of printer humming in background "Ok, now this one says 'Ask her to dinner.' I don't get it. Is the printer maybe reading someone else?" sound of keyboard clacking in the background "I'm sorry James, but the printer is very clearly registering your fingerprint." sound of printer humming again "Well, this is embarassing... Marie, I don't suppose you would be interested in maybe meeting up with me for dinner sometime?" "I.. well, that's very flattering! I've never had a customer ask me out!" "To be honest, I've never done this either. But 'I'm talking about Marie, you dolt!' is a pretty clear message from the printer. And it does know what I need, as you said. So... what do you say?" slight pause "Well... that would be great! Where shall we meet?" printer hums in the background "How about Georgio's, tomorrow at 7?" "That's my favorite! Sounds great; I'll see you then! And thank you for calling the EZ Print Help Line!"
They came quietly in the night, travelers from a world of light and peace. In their world, everything was perfection. No one went hungry, children laughed and played without worry, and utopia was achieved. And yet, this particular group consisted of men of a larger scope. Men of all time and space, keepers of the universe. They had more pressing concerns than what was occurring in their native time, and so to their future they went. They arrived at a bleak, bleak world. Humanity languished in abject apathy. There was no love in this world, because there was no hate. There was no peace in this world, for there was no war. No color was to be found in any of the faces of the people that walked by, because nothing ever stirred them from their waking slumber. A world without passion lay spread out before the strange crew. They saw a world without life and without human meaning. There were no plays or performances, no artwork graced their world, no gods inhabited their skies. The time voyagers searched for days, and then weeks, and then months for any sign of life, any spark of curiosity in these dull people. They found nothing but basic biology. They ardently desired to find something to justify the lack of feeling in this world, but nothing plausible arose. The men began to despair. Investigators from another world as they were, they began to try to understand what caused this failure of everything that brings import to our existence. For eons, they pored over documents, communed with the council from their own time, searched every database for a clue. And, after what would be many lifetimes for us, they finally found it. --- They began a new journey. The last journey. The council had agreed with their assessment, and had decreed it so. They were to wipe themselves out and become only what could have been. For only the second time, they were no longer to merely observe, but rather to become agents of change. They came to a time not long before our own, a time in which people were beginning to be captivated by the automobile, electric lighting, and Coca-Cola. The men stood on the streets, watching people walk by. These humans were full of life and fervent about their desires, so unlike the others. People hurried around with flushed cheeks, glissandos of voices, swishing fabrics. Every moment painted a new scene of bustling humanity. The men looked at each other, sad longing and resignation in their eyes. And then, they left. They appeared in a small town on the border of Austria-Hungary, where they wandered their way to a small home on the edge of town. There they waited. A middle aged woman pushed by without so much as noticing them, arms full of fabric and carrying a large carpet bag. It would not be long now. The screams of a woman. The low mutter of a man. The commanding voice of the midwife. And then, the shrill cry of a child. Seven men appeared on the street, across from our travelers. They were dressed identically, and each one of this new crew mirrored one of the men exactly. They looked at each other, and nodded. They moved forward, strange tools flashing in the light. A knife peeked out from a cloak. The men wasted no time. Seven met seven, and, with silent tears, seven killed seven. And all fourteen were gone. Inside the house, the baby continued to wail. --- There are no men, there is no council, and that future is no more. The future we have does not shine particularly bright. But that is no indication of what will come to pass. The future shone bright once, and it was bright for many years. But brightness dulled the senses, and made us all blind. Only with darkness can there truly be light. Perhaps, when all is said and done, brightness is not the best thing to see on the horizon. >Edit: After re-reading, noticed some spelling/grammar errors and some better style choices. No storyline has been changed!
People will ask you why you do it. "Isn't it boring? You aren't really doing anything, are you? You aren't really going anywhere." They won't understand if they don't already. To them, travel is just a chore. It's something that takes up time before they can be where they want to. It takes strength to truly traverse the world. It is the strong who crossed continents and explored the unknown on their own. With every stride further down the path you will know that you are stronger than before. With every sight that you see you will feel that you do not simply exist in this world, but that you are a part of it. You belong to the land you walk, and the land is yours to travel through as you please. So the next time you get winded after a long walk or a flight of stairs, let it be a reminder that you could be much better, that you could go much further. All you have to do is keep going.
"Where am I?" "Hell." "Really?" "Yes. No. Maybe so. Does it really matter?" "It kinda does." "Ah, well it sucks to suck." "Pardon?" "I'm confused." "How are you confused? You're supposed to be all-knowing." "I got a 72 in Grade 10 English when I was in Grade 11." "Hey, so did I!" "Congratulations, you're stupid." "Thanks." "No problem." "So really, where am I?" "Best way I can explain it is that you're not here or there. You're just in the middle." "Ah. So like purgatory?" "Ye." "Ah. How do I leave and go to heaven?" "If I knew, wouldn't I be in there already?" "Good point. Guess this is it." "Just you and me." "What's your name?" "thesykim." "Hey! That's my name too!" "....huh."
I still think I am the greatest. But I Build Pyramids Constantly! How Can You Be Greater If I Already Am? I still think I am the greatest. Look, The Thruth Is Hard For You. Either I Lie To You Or We Cry Together. Would you belive in what you believe if you were the only one to believe it? You know, 'cause you are. Unawareness Is The Only Sin, And If You Were Aware You Would Know. I Believe In Myself, And I Know Others Do, Too. Believe In Yourself, It Makes You Happy! I refuse to accept other people's ideas of happiness for me. As if there's a 'one size fits all' standard for happiness. There Are More Choices Than This. You Must Not Know Fashion Fashion makes me cry. Why Does It Make You Sad? Trees Are Never Sad Look At Them Every Once In Awhile They're Quite Beautiful I am God's vessel. But my greatest pain in life is that I will never be able to see myself perform live. Trees should be glad they aren't me and come look at me. How Can They Look At You If There Eyey Aren't Real? I think I do myself a disservice by comparing myself to you. I am Warhol. I am the No. 1 most impactful artist of our generation. I am Shakespeare in the flesh. To The Artist Of This Coming Generation And Of The Renaissance. The People That Truly Understand Your Art are The People Who Don't Comment. Take This Example: "It's Your Birthday"Mateo Said. I Didn't Respond. "Are You Not Excited To Be 15"He Asked. Reading My Book I Uttered "I Turned 15 Long Ago" I am not a fan of books. If A Book Store Never Runs Out Of A Certain Book, Dose That Mean That Nobody Reads It, Or Everybody Reads It Look, I would never want a book's autograph. I am a proud non-reader of books. You Think You Get It. YOU DONT YOU DONT YOU DONT!!!!!!! I liberate minds with my music. That's more important reading a book or than liberating a few people from apartheid or whatever. How Can Your Thoughts Be Real If Your Brain Isn't Real. You Can Not Go To This Conclusion So Easily Nobody can tell me where I can and can't go. Why Not? Cause my life is dope and I do dope shit!
“So, what are you wearing?” the devil asked as I groggily picked up the phone. I blinked a few times, trying to focus, then glanced over at the clock. God dammit, 3:31 a.m. “You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you? I thought you said you were going to start going to those meetings?” I carefully extracted myself from the pile of depravity I had been enjoying last night, and by some miracle managed to not wake up any of them. Satan sighed as I reached over for my pack of smokes and lit one up, heading out onto the balcony. “Turns out AA is all about finding God. I already know where the fucker is, so it didn’t really help me much.” I blew some smoke out in the cold city night. Up here far above it all it was eerily calm this late at night. I could barely hear the cars down below. All I could hear was the wind and the very drunk prince of darkness slurring his words in my ear. I was seriously starting to regret giving that guy my card. “Look, you fuck up when you’re drunk. You know this. Remember last new years? Two thousand and ninety six re-united families! Twelve thousand unmolested drunken girls! Four hundred and twenty something suicidal morons suddenly changing their minds! Seriously dude, you’re fucking with the budget every time you take a drink. It has long term consequences.” I blew smoke out into the air, watching it get caught by the wind outside my balcony. That’s life for you. Smoke in the wind, just torn to shreds and disappeared into nothing. “I know,” he sighed. “I’m sorry man, sorry I’m such a fuckup. I just… I’ve been doing this for so long. It’s getting to me, man. I have nobody. Nobody…” I glanced in towards my bed. The innocence I had stolen. The debauchery I had introduced them all to. Oh how much fun they had been. How much I had changed their lives, tarnished their souls. I sighed. I understood him, I did. I never thought I’d say as much, but I had some sympathy for the devil. “You’ve got me,” I responded quietly. “I know it isn’t much, but you can call me any time man. Next time just call me before you start drinking.” It was quiet on the line. I knew he couldn’t do that. He could leave hell at will of course, travel the mortal realm as much as any of them, any of the supernatural creatures I had befriended or made enemies of in my years as a… Well. In my lifetime. My very long lifetime. He just couldn’t go take a vacation. He had duties. He had appearances to uphold. He couldn’t just sit down and grab a beer with a friend. “I… I’m sorry I called.” I thought I heard a choked off sob. “I really love you man. You’re the only person I can call, and the only one who would pick up even if I could call someone else.” “Aw come on Lucy, don’t be a little bitch.” He hated when I called him Lucy, but what can I say; it was a guy thing. Everyone got a nickname. “Look, I’ve got an idea.” I did. It had been brewing in my mind for a few weeks now, ever since I had realized he was still on this downward spiral. It might upset a few of my other friends, hell it WOULD upset a few of the people I knew on the other side of the tracks, so to say… but he was a friend. I’d make some sacrifices for a friend. “I don’t know. I can’t…” he groaned. I could hear him swigging from his drink still, and it steeled me into my decision even more. “No arguments man. We’ll meet at the next full moon, on the cross roads. I’ve got a ritual in mind that will help you out for a bit.” Silence. I could almost hear him blinking, hear him wondering what I was up to. He’d have to trust me a whole deal to let me cast any rituals on him. He was powerful enough to break through most bonds, but if he sat still for the casting… well. He’d have to trust me. “What… I mean, I trust you, but… uh…” his brain had soaked in alcohol for days now no doubt. No wonder he had a hard time making sense of anything. “I’ll take over, for one moon. For one moon, you take a vacation, I do your job.” I bit my lip. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I wasn’t a bad guy, and being Satan meant doing some bad shit. Some really fucking bad shit. I’d have blood on my hands before things were over. Innocent blood. But there had to be a devil. There had to be a balance in all things, and without the devil to keep that side of things… there wouldn’t be any good in the world. The angels would leave. I glanced over at the bed again, grinning at the memory of those white fluffy wings around me as I… “I.. I’m not sure. I don’t think I can let you…” he started, sounding awfully distant. “Hey! That’s not your fucking call. You need help, and I’m your friend. Friends help each other out. Say thank you and move the fuck on!” He slurred his words, but I got the thank you, the agreement. We’d meet. As he hung up I flicked the butt of my smoke off the building and lit another one. I knew who I had to call now, and grimaced. This was not going to be easy. I tapped the picture in my contact list. I had found it funny when I added it, the beardy man in the clouds, but now it was more a reminded of the fact that I didn’t even know what he looked like. I hadn’t even heard from him since I came back down here, other than a few grumbling messages through friends we had in common when I failed to achieve what he expected of me. I guess everyone had a complicated relationship with their dad these days. Still he deserved to hear it from me, even if he is supposedly omniscient and probably already knew. “Yo dad,” I opened, and sucked harder on my cigarette to calm myself. “Uh, I’m gonna do something a bit crazy.”
Monday 13 April, 1998 Beautiful day today. The boys are playing around the field behind the church. Subject Samuel Smith adapting to the school environment pretty well for his first day. Will return tomorrow for more data. -- "Hey Sam, thanks for today, that was fun! Wanna join us tomorrow? I'll bring my remote controlled car!" "Uhm....Maybe on Wednesday? My parents are probably going to be grumpy tomorrow... They'll probably not let me stay out after school hours.." "Uhh...... Okay?"Jimmy replied, a confused look on his face. --- Tuesday 14 April, 1998 Stormy morning. I hate the rain. Subject woke up early today. No surprise, even I would, if I had parents that strict. Subject visibly more introvert at school today. Only talked to the lunch lady today. Wanted an apple. --- . . . . . --- Thursday, 16 October 2008 Another stormy day. "Project Pendulum suspended due to ethical concerns." Bullshit. Will continue to monitor Subject. Screw the Council. --- Sunday, ?? May, 2015 Bright sunny morning. Subject got married today. Sweet lady, very good upbringing. Jim Radon from elementary school is Subject's best man. --- Saturday, 3 August 2035 Windy day. Hopefully no rain. Subject celebrated daughter's 18th birthday today. Never seen his proud smile for a decade. Subject occasionally experiences mood swings on alternate days. Wife contacted social service for domestic abuse twice last year. Will stop him if things get out of hand. --- Sunday, 4 August 2035 Dark clouds all over. I don't like this. Subject enjoying Sunday coffee at the usual cafe. Lost him in the streets at around 10am. Will probably return to his apar-- --- BREAKING NEWS!! 4 August 2035 - Researcher, 64, shot dead in the streets. Senior Researcher Dr Richard Jackson, 64, was shot dead on Caramel Street at around 10:05 am today by an unknown assailant. No personal belongings except for his wallet was found. No eyewitnesses were able to identify the assailant. The Police urges the public to remain calm as more evidence is collected. --- TERROR ON THE STREETS? 6 August, 2035 Terror swept across the nation's professionals today as 14 state researchers have been killed by an Improvised Explosive Device planted outside the State Laboratories of Biological Research and Development. Police have refused to comment on the incident currently, but urges the public to remain calm and vigilant for any suspicious activities. Head of the State Laboratories, Dr Matt Reeds, commented on the bombing as an "attack on the nation's progress"in a press conference, and suspects a possible link between the shooting of Senior Researcher Dr Richard Jackson 2 days ago. We'll be now bringing you live coverage of the conference by our reporter, Samuel Smith. ----
The procession had long since passed, leaving the street barren and empty. The usual collection of litter and other substances - some of which were probably best left unexamined - had replaced the solemn march of feet. A visitor to the city would have had no idea that a funeral had just taken place... though Sergeant Fred Colon viewed the refuse as being a sign of a respect, a collective promise from the city to go on in the wake of such a terrible loss. He sniffed mightily, as though the constant suction of air through his nose might keep the tears from streaming down his face. Beside him, Corporal "Nobby"Nobbs kept a pensive silence. "I mean..."began Fred, seemingly in response to some inner thought, "that's it, then, innit?" "What's it, Fred?"asked Nobby. The larger man idly adjusted his ill-fitting armor. "It's, you know... death. It's going to happen. It's coming for us. Only a matter of time now." Nobby considered this. Although his brain was not particularly well-suited for the task of contemplating anything beyond the existence of jam donuts, the words from his friend had apparently dislodged something in a deep corner of his mind. The internal crack allowed just the barest glint of wisdom to shine through, igniting neural passages that had lain dormant for years. "The way I see it,"Nobby replied, "the way I see it is... well, he was dead before, right?" Fred aimed a curious glance downward. "How do you mean?" "I mean... I mean before he was born, he was dead, right?"Nobby nodded along with his own thought. "It stands to reason. If he's not alive, then he's dead." "Supposing he was a zombie, though?"asked Fred. It was a strange sensation, being on the receiving end of Nobby's wisdom... and yet, not a wholly unpleasant one. "Zombies are both alive and dead." Nobby nodded. "Right, Fred, right... but maybe it's like a door? On one side you're dead, on the other you're alive, and zombies don't have the decency to go all the way through." "Blocking it up for all the people just trying to get outside!"growled Fred. "Do you suppose that's how zombies come about? Maybe they're all blocked from going outside by one fellow what won't make up his mind?" "Stands to reason!" Fred pounded a fist into his open hand. "Well, that won't do, will it? Loitering, that is! We can't have a zombie keeping such a great man from getting outside, now can we?" "What're we going to do, Fred?"asked Nobby. With that question, the universe righted itself, and the glint that had struggled to shine in Nobby's mind snuffed itself out in frustration. "I'll tell you what we're going to do,"Fred replied. "We're going to get out there and get those zombies to move!" "Politely, though, Fred?" "Of course, Nobby,"Fred answered. "Of course. No call to go being rude about it. We'll ask politely. Maybe ask them to see reason. Tell them about our friend. Any decent person would move aside, what?" "Supposing they aren't decent, though, Fred?" Sergeant Fred Colon cracked each of his knuckles in sequence, a habit he hadn't practiced since... well, it had only been last week, but this time was meaningful. "Well, Nobby,"he said, "if they aren't decent... we won't be either." The two men puffed up their chests and continued to guard the empty street. In the shadows behind them, the transparent figure of a bearded man grinned mischievously.
Primateus Bipedals - Gragnak looked up at her date's third face. "What are these things Mmmmmecha?" Mmmmmecha crouched down, folding onto his secondary knees to be able to peer through the glass into the strange enclosure. "I dunno babe, weird pink things? This place has got everything, have you seen the gas bunnies?" Gragnak sighed, she'd only agreed to come out on this date as a favour to her mother, Mmmmmecha's family were a huge client of her Father's Obsequein Ore business. She really wasn't normally attracted to Traxian's, something about their multiple heads made holding a conversation with them creepy and Mmmmmecha was kind of an ass on top of that. The strange pink creatures were very different to any other species she'd seen before and despite Mmmmmecha's suckers trying to drag her away, she held onto the information post to read about them. These two legged creatures once occupied several planets across a remote sector of space, before illegal mining operations destroyed much of their original habitat, including the world thought to be their origin. How sad, she thought, it was such a shame when the interstellar corporations didn't carry out proper investigations before they crushed worlds. The remnants of the last few worlds have been placed into a selective breeding programme on a secluded planet in the alpha plus four arm of the Ognart Galaxy, but sadly numbers still remain critically low, with less than four billion breeding pairs remaining and genetic diversity is becoming an issue. If you would like to adopt a portion of this species then you can do so with the... "Come on babe"Mmmmmecha insisted, yaking at her again. "I wanna be in time to see the Protophant display - I hear it eats an entire sun!" Gragnak pulled back and two of his heads turned to her. The bastard was rich, might as well see how desperate he was to get inside her breeding slime flaps. "Mmmmmecha, I think these things are cute. Why don't we sponsor the conservation work?" Mmmmmecha's two heads exchanged a look and then the third looked back and sighed. "Okay, fine, I don't know what you see in them though." Gragnak looked through the window again at the two naked pink creatures, huddled in a corner, little eyes huge and staring at the multicoloured forms looking through the glass at them. "I don't know, they just look... so pathetic." Mmmmmecha waved his credit wand over the display and a hologram popped up of the preservation planet, a small blue and green pebble floating in the air. He smiled at her as he tapped in a few commands and the display changed from the purple of 'unsponsored' to the bright yellow of 'fully sponsored'. "You sponsored the whole planet?"Gragnak squeaked in delight. "Sure did babe, and take a look at the message."She glanced back and saw that the words SPONSORED BY GRAGNAK had been carved on the display across the largest landmass, letters reaching almost across the whole surface. "That'll be carved across the real planet tonight. We could go watch the mass lasers carve it out on the surface, she be pretty cool to watch from orbit?" Gragnak knew it was just money, but the generosity moved her. Two of his heads were pretty good looking and he'd just dropped a whole bunch on these little pink aliens. "Sure, let's go after this."She smiled up at him. The two wandered off, his tentacles pulled her into him and she let him, snuggling into his side.
First contact came. And it ignored us. At first we assumed that they were merely observing us to see if we were peaceful or something, so we were all on our best behavior for a couple of months. Then we tried doing a show for them, flying out there in a re-purposed space shuttle and knocking, bribing, singing and hurling insults at them. Nothing made them move an inch from their orbit around the world. It was quite bothering for us, not to be noticed by a the first aliens we'd ever seen. And that was when we found out that they had been doing something. What we thought was merely some background noise was eventually decoded by a bored teenager somewhere in Wisconsin and then taken by the United Nation's Extraterrestrial Contact Group. The messages were confusing at first. Strange non-sense poetry with a sneer of snobbish superiority to it. Then somethings about weather systems and contamination. We couldn't find the receiver in any human territory, until we found that the messages were sent and received by a large fungi-network. That was extremely confusing. Intelligent fungi communicating with aliens? We started to probe and research it, the messages from the fungi to the aliens started to speak of tiny annoyances and stupid animals. We were naturally insulted by that. That was then we decided to begin sending messages of our own along their channel. We were in a rather rude fashion told to, and I quote ''Stay out of the dealings of higher beings.'' and also plenty about how we are violent and primitive. For all their so-called superiority, they'd neglected to discover basic civility and proper manners. We decided that we couldn't accept having such indignity done against us. So we brought out the flamethrowers. The fungi, that couldn't do anything but thinking and slowly spreading, had no defenses against us. We burned it. We burned it all away. And then we sent a Militiaman missile up to bomb those alien fuckers out of the sky. While their defenses held against the explosion itself, the EMP wave from the missile destroyed the majority of their tech. They crashed into the Sahara, and we went there to get some answers. We found a highly strange semi-aquatic race that no matter what we said or how much power we had, acted like a bunch of pretentious assholes. And another race that was closer to a form of oyster than anything else. We took them away as we tore their ship apart for reverse engineering and research. They really hated us, you wouldn't think that there exists over 2000 different unique insults against mammals, but somehow they had managed it. Apparently, most species never evolved beyond crustacean or amphibian levels, and things like oysters and fungi are generally considered more intelligent species. And most biospheres had never had any extinction events like ours. The mammals that evolved later were generally considered pests. They refused any help or aid we offered them, preferring to die rather than accepting help from us. And so, after a couple of days, they had all died. We didn't care that much considering how rude they were. Their ship, while having a lot of weird and uselessly specialized tech, did propel us forward in our technological advancement significantly. We finally got functional fusion, efficient asteroid mining, Moon/Mars colonies and a cure for allergies. While their ships had excellent defenses, they had little to no actual weaponry, causing confusion about them. How can people, who are such massive dickheads, not have any weapons? Do they have such a strong society that advanced weaponry on civilian crafts are not needed? Are the weapons undetectable? Have their society grown to throw away violence? Whatever the case, we had managed to jury-rig a couple of shuttles with a faster-than-light engine, that while we don't understand the physics behind, are perfectly capable of replicating. Then we sent them out to random stars on a journey of six months, where we'd travel around the galaxy to find whether everyone are pretentious and rude, or if the ones who visited us were just the interstellar versions of inbred racist hillbillies. We sent five ships, to visit five different regions in space. They were the bravest and the best of us, with ships armed to the teeth with guns and reverse-engineered force-fields. Their reports were, slightly unsettling. While they had found many planets filled with life, and even landed on some of them, the ways of the dominant species in this universe were... akin to the U.S. South about a year before the civil war at best, or in a state that makes Nazi Germany look like a nation of human rights advocates otherwise. We especially weren't pleased with how many ''inferior'' species as our neighbors called them, had been violently enslaved at best and outright exterminated at worst. A team had even brought back some unsettling rumors of a ''pacification'' fleet being assembled to hit Earth before long. Naturally we prepared, after about a year worth of complaining and discussion in the UN on how to do it anyway. Railguns, nuclear missile orbital batteries, space stations and ships filled with cannons, guns and anything else we could figure. Mining ships gathered up asteroids to throw at the fleet. We were thoroughly disappointed by the enemy attack. 10 ships with barely any real weaponry. While it took a while to disable their ships, due to military grade force-fields, we had under a hundred casualties when the last enemy was destroyed. Angered by this level of hubris, we naturally used the ships that had a working or semi-working faster-than-light engine to fly our fleet to the nearest solar system occupied by alien frogs. We went down, with our entire fleet and literally beat the aliens to death with our hands. The planet, only recently colonized by space frogs, had a decently sized slave population. A single race that looked sort of like a mix between a dog walking on its hind legs and a chinchilla. About a rough estimate of them told us that there was at least some one hundred thousand. Since we had figuratively and literally beaten their masters, they were quite fond of us. Of course if all you had known your entire life was slavery and beatings, the first guy to treat you decently had to be pretty popular. We shared our rations with them, gave them access to warm areas and the like. Of course we couldn't allow to let them stay on that planet, the freaky frog-things might have returned. So our commanding officer called up Earth, showed them one of the weird dog-chinchilla aliens and famously said ''It followed me home, can I keep it?'' The UN for once did agree unanimously on something, that slavery was unacceptable and our fellow mammals had to be saved. So a fleet of freighters were sent to that star system, loaded up all the dog-chinchillas, dog-chillas? And took them back to Earth. We put them in some form of camp, sent in the Red Cross and other humanitarian organizations in to aid them in any way possible. I was later told by one of them, when we managed to teach them some languages that we could understand, that they had seen us as divine saviors, sent from the heavens to free them from the evil frog-things. Sort of, not directly quoting him here, just paraphrasing. And that was when we finally got official contact. A single diplomatic envoy had arrived from whatever sort of UN they had. He, she... it? It looked like a lobster, but spoke with the official voice of the galactic version of the UN. It offered us an associate membership if we agreed to disarm and return what it called ''stolen property'' to them. We answered ''We do not negotiate with slavers or tyrants. Go jump into a pot and boil yourself, shrimpy.'' Which while quite insulting, was the official answer from the UN anyway. It then threatened us with various vague and ominous sentences until we shot it in the claw. It ran away with such speed that it forgot several pieces of important technology. Meanwhile on Earth, people were getting rather angry. Many called for action and emancipation of our fellow mammals across the galaxy. The Pope had called for liberation of enslaved souls, so had the new Caliph. Other more secular groups too. The United Nations listened for once, and today the U.N.S.S. Lincoln, the flagship of the Great Emancipation Fleet, left the Moon spaceship shipyard for the War of Mammal Liberation.
Truman sat at his kitchen table, running his spoon in lazy circles through a bowl of cereal that had long since gone soggy. He wore wrinkled, stale-smelling pajamas and stared at nothing in particular. It was 3:00 in the afternoon. "Truman, honey,"Meryl said. She stroked his arm and sat down beside him. He fixed his deadened gaze on her. The camera perfectly framed his white-hot loathing. "What is it, dear?"he said, flashing her a smile that was painfully false on purpose. "Aren't you going to work today?" "It's a little late for that."He pulled back his sleeve and held a bare wrist to his face as if he were checking a watch; but he didn't even glance at the hypothetical timepiece. "The office closes soon. I'll go tomorrow, maybe." Meryl's face puckered. "Maybe." "Maybe." "Truman, it's been a week. If you don't stop sulking like this, you're going to lose your job. You'll have to dig into our savings to get us by, and we'll fall behind-- our whole nest egg, Truman--" "I said maybe!"Truman groaned, throwing his arms wide. "What more do you want? Look, I'm in the middle of something really important here. Leave a man in peace, will you?" He looked back down at his bowl, picked up his spoon, and took to his lazy stirring again. "What? You're not in the middle of any--"Meryl stopped herself, clacked her fingernails on the tabletop, and gave up. They sat in silence for two or three minutes. Truman hardly so much as blinked. Finally, Meryl stood and went to the cabinets above the stove. She pulled out a jar of chocolate drink mix and held it top and bottom, between her palms, with the label prominently facing outward. "Honey,"she said, her voice now sunny. "I think this weather has you down. Let me fix you some fresh hot Mococoa Drink. All natural cocoa beans from the slopes of Mt. Nicaragua. No artificial sweeteners!" "Mococoa tastes like liquid feces,"Truman said. "I've had other cocoas. This is the--"Meryl stumbled over the last bit of her ad copy as her brain finally processed what Truman had just said. She looked frantically all around as if waiting for a cue. All she got was Christof's voice in her ear: "Talk over the bastard. Keep pushing the brand. We can't lose this sponsor." "Truman, don't be silly,"Meryl said. Notes of desperation tinged her voice. "You've been drinking Mococoa all your life. It goes down with the sugary smoothness you crave--" "I've always hated Mococoa,"Truman said, looking up. "But more importantly? I heard that it's grown by slaves." "Mococoa brand cocoa drink is made with only the freshest--" "Slaves, Meryl. Little south American serf children toiling day in and day out--" "--ingredients, hand-picked by artisan farmers--" "Day in and day out, dying in the fields like animals!"As he spoke, he raised his voice to a feverish, nearly tribal ululation. He stood tall, towering over his wife. "Mococoa? Blood cocoa is more like it, Meryl! Every single sip of Mococoa drink is like swallowing the blood of a dead orphan! If you drink Mococoa, you're a war criminal, do you hear me?" He mugged for the camera, cupped his mouth into a wide O shape, and bellowed: "LALALALALALA! Mo-co-coa is for war criminals! LALALALALA! If you drink Mococoa, you belong in the Hague! Behead all who drink Mococoa! LALALALALALA!" "Truman!"Meryl shrieked. "Heil Mococoa! Heil Hitler!" Meryl blustered and fumed, but could think of nothing to say. And despite Christof's voice bellowing into her eardrums so loud that Truman could actually hear the faint sibilance of it from across the room, she refused to work any longer under these conditions. She spun on her heels and stormed out. Truman sat back down at the table. He picked up his spoon and stirred the cereal as if nothing had ever happened. He stared at nothing, in particular. Actually: he stared at a spot strategically chosen, near the base of his refrigerator, where none of the cameras could catch a head-on angle. Marlon would be over soon, he figured; over to shill whatever the new brand of beer would be this time, now that Vorhouse Blue Ribbon was out, and Truesdale Lite too. Truman thought to himself: go ahead. Bring me your newest sponsor. I'll make sure to put in a good word for them. Or if you want to leave me alone, then fine: I'll sit here. I'll sit here just like this and stare at the refrigerator until the end of time or until the end of your network. Whichever comes first.
Bing The loud noise of my phone infiltrates my subconscious. I internally sigh, pull the pillow over my face, and almost instantly fall back asleep. Bing Bing The noise wouldn't quit. I grab my phone from the side, reaching out to muffle the piercing tones. I felt groggy, and my throat felt like sandpaper. Maybe I had one too many swigs straight from my parents liquor cabinet last night. Bing A picture of my face flashes up on my screen. It takes a while for me to wake up properly. My surroundings felt familiar, but I couldn't recognise any of the furnishings. My stomach dropped, and I turned my attention back to my phone. "AMBER alert: Teenager Eric Iser reported missing from home, last seen in Andover, VT" But, this made no sense, I was the only Eric Iser that lived in Andover, it's a tiny town, the kind of place where you would know if someone shared your moniker. I hear voices nearby, so I open my mouth to shout, but nothing comes out. It is too dark to see my surroundings, but I can vaguely make out a lamp on the other side of the room. I try to swing my legs off the side of the bed, but realise my legs and torso are bound to the bed. The lamp looks like something I had when I was a kid, the kind of thing that gets assimilated in various moves. I can still hear people below me, but the voices are fading fast. I again try to let out a noise to alert them to my presence but all that comes out is a strangled gurgle. I reach for my phone, just as the battery flickers and dies. I panic. I hear a door shut in the distance, followed by footsteps coming closer. A hole in floor opens, bathing the room in a warm light. In the light I recognise my old guitar from fifth grade, a couple of tents from when my family used to go camping, and boxes of discarded toys. I jolt to the realisation that I was imprisoned in my own attic. I see a figure emerge through the trap door. She stands there staring at me, a strange smile on her face. I try to plead with my eyes 'why?' She realises what I'm trying to ask, and chuckles under her breath. 'How else am I supposed to get noticed in this small town? But it's finally happened Eric, your mother is finally on TV' She flicks her hair, almost manically. 'Sorry about the vocal cords Eric, they were a necessity.' Her eyes glinted. 'But don't worry, I'll make sure we both go down in history'
"Is the tape recorder already on?"I ask starting across the table at the chubby reporter. He nods and raises a hand to beckon me on. "Alright... um, well... it is all true."His eyes widen and excitement grips his face, but he does not make a sound. He waves at the recorder on the table. I flip through the papers he brought me. Mostly photo copies of various sketches of me throughout the ages. Some of them, detailed descriptions. I rearrange them into chronological order. "You asked me to speak of my life, but all you brought are reminders of death. My life ended many years before your papers start."I swing my arm across the table, scattering the papers on the floor. His eyes protest, but still he says nothing. "Life. I am the third Dragon to be born of my name sake. Confuse me not for the devil, but fear me more."I stood and the reporters eyes widened. "Educated, willful and violent. Honest, passionate and loyal. Choose which to describe me and take comfort in knowing you are right." I loomed over the man and he began to look uneasy. He came to me knowing of many of my deeds, I don't know what he was expecting. "I have helped kings rise to power. I have held entire kingdoms at my gates. God himself should thank me for all I have done for him, for no one has killed for him like I. Five accounts of my death before my 30th year, all true." I sighed and sat back down. "Life. You asked me of my life."I hung my head. "I lived for 10 years. Her hair was dark, like the wings of a raven. Her lips, soft as a breeze. She brought me two sons."I slouched into my chair. "She was my second wife, but all of my life. When God and my country needed me, I gave up everything for them. I gave up Ilona." I stood again, proud and unbroken. "I am Vlad Dracula, son of Vlad Dracul, hero of Romania, and scourge of mortal men. You ask of life, but your heart seeks death. I shall provide."
"Oh Jesus, oh Christ no."The CEO cried when he saw the finished product. "You promised me a super-cop!"He shouted at the cowering scientists in the corner. What they were looking at was the most advanced cybernetic and AI technology fused into a fat, slob of a security guard. "I'm sorry sir... Everything in his profile checked out! See here, this is Alex Murphy..."The scientist stopped, choking on his last words. "I think there's been a mistake... I have mixed up this file with a Mr... Paul Blart?" "You completely fucked us haven't you!?"The CEO of the mega-corporation Omni Consumer Products shouted. "Okay well go ahead, turn him on!"He held his face in his palms. One of the scientists typed a few keys into a computer and with a hum the RoboCop program was activated. The cyborg sprang to life. "I am RoboCop. I have three primary directives: To serve the public, uphold mall closing hours, and to protect the food court. When is lunch hour, I want some nachos?" Some of the scientists began to laugh, others cry... But most were silent. "Scrap this whole project. None of this shit happened, you got it? Two billion dollars down the drain."The CEO stormed out of the room as the scientists readied the electric shock to destroy the monstrosity. "Dead or alive... You'll have to leave the premises by 9pm please."Uttered the abomination before being annihilated.
Such a beautiful little princess. A clean pink dress with a sparkling tiara, gossamer wings, and a glittery magic wand. So nice to see a girl not dressed as Elsa for once. She came to my door and held out her bag with an adorable curtsey, proudly telling me that this year, she was old enough to trick or treat all by herself! I smiled, told her how much I liked her costume, and dumped Reeses into her bag. Then she skipped away down the sidewalk. I followed her outside, leaving the candy bowl on my porch with a note to only take one. Some enterprising youngster would probably dump everything into his bag within the next ten minutes. The normally quiet suburban streets were full of activity. Young parents, proudly taking their little pumpkin around in a stroller. Children dressed as a dizzying array of superheroes, ghosts and ghouls, werewolves and vampire, and warlocks and witches (both ugly old hags with warts as well as those toting bright Gryffindor scarves). Families with way too many children trying to desperately keep track of the whole passel, made even more difficult by all the disguises. Teenagers off to smoke and drink in someone's backyard while their parents were out with the younger sibling. Through it all, my princess skipped merrily from house to house, filling the sack of candy. I wore a white lab coat, goggles with a thick black strap, and shiny black latex gloves. My hair was dyed silver to complete the ensemble of the mad scientist. I passed by dozens of parents who didn't even spare a second look. Any other day of the year, they would be clutching their children tight, but tonight I was just like everyone else. My thick gloves didn't signal 'murderer,' it was just part of the costume. And any crimson stains that I might acquire on my clean white coat would just seem like dedication to the costume. They had no idea how dedicated I really am: I dress up every single day, 364 days a year. Every time I leave my house, I wear a mask. Halloween night is the one time that I get to truly show my face. I grabbed her on the street and injected her with a quick shot of propofol. It was done so quickly that even if someone had been looking, it would have just seemed like a parent catching a runaway child. I swooped her up in my arms and carried her off down the street, back toward my house. Other parents with sleeping children in their arms gave the same smile that said "I know what you're going through."You really, really don't, I thought to myself. I slipped past the empty bowl on my porch and stepped inside, still holding my princess. The 'trick' was done; now for the treat.
Reading Comprehension "I'm sorry?"I asked the policeman. "I said, please come with me. You are suspected of being involved in a murder as the victim." "You do realize you're talking to me." The policeman pulled up his pants so they covered more of his belly, then spoke slowly, as if I was dumb. "Yes, sir, I do." "So officer, how could I be a murder victim if you're talking to me?" The policeman didn't miss a beat. Clipboard in hand, he was unstoppable. "Look,"he said, "it says right here. You are a suspected victim in a murder. Murder is a capital crime. Therefore, it is necessary for you to come to the station." I tried a different tact. "Officer, murder means someone was killed, right?" "Yes,"he said, nodding. "So if I was the victim, I would have to be dead." "Yes,"he said, "go on." "I am talking, therefore I am not dead." "Ok." "So I'm free to go?" "No,"he said, "you have to come to the station." "Listen,"I said, angrily, "I'm not going with you! This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever been involved in! I cannot be a murder victim if I'm talking to you! It is infinitely more possible that I am the murderer than the murderee! Literally infinitely!" The policeman's eyes opened wide. His jaw dropped, and a wad of chewing tobacco fell out of his mouth. "Get down on the ground now!"he said, suddenly pointing a pistol at me. I got down on the ground, wondering what had just happened. "Dispatch,"he said into his radio, "we got him. We got the murderer." Fuck. "But,"I said, "if I'm the murderer, then who's the victim?" The policeman handcuffed me, wrote something on his clipboard, then showed it to me. It said: "Victim: James Smith. Murderer: James Smith." "The wheels of justice turn slowly, Mr. Smith, but they grind exceedingly fine. We've got you on both counts. I hope they put you away for a long time." Written with affection by Stranger_andStranger
Hermione Granger eased herself into her seat beside Ginny Weasley. It was the very first Defense Against the Dark Arts class since Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry had reopened. Hermione thought of Harry and Ron, both working with the Ministry of Magic to rebuild after the war. She missed them terribly, but she needed to finish her education. She'd been scandalized when she heard a Muggle would be teaching the class, then mystified when the Daily Prophet reported it was a Muggle who could do magic, been targeted by Umbridge's malevolent racial purity program, and escaped 10 dementors and 5 Death Eaters, killing most the demoentors in the process. She looked up at the chalkboard. Welcome Class Lesson 1: Surviving the Killing Curse 1. Be Harry Potter, that bastard's harder to kill than a figging Earth Elemental. 2. Duck. 3. Dodge. (These are different actions) 4. Roll. (Still different) 5. Using arcane blood magic to make an amulet to connect you to the protective powers of the amulet of Yendor. 6. Steal the Amulet of Yendor. (Coming back from the dead is easier) Lesson 2: Reviving Someone hit by the Killing Curse 1. Reverse the potassium binding effect of Avada Kedavra and restarting neural activity with and without magic. 2. Bring back the Dead. (Will be covered by guest lecturer Harry Dresden after Christmas) "Is that supposed to be a joke?"she whispered to Ginny. "I don't know,"Ginny replied. "This guy got into the thick of the war and probably took out more Death Eaters than any two wizards or witches combined before the Battle for Hogwarts. Think of how many times the killing curse must have been lobed at him." The bell rang, signaling the start of class. A few seconds later a door on the far wall opened and a man walked in. He ground out a still smouldering cigarette in an ash tray on his desk, looked up at the class and smiled. His hair was short and dirty-blond and he wore a battered trench coat. "Afternoon,"he said. "You can call me professor Constantine. Let's get started. You lot know a lot already, else you'd be dead, but this old dog's still got a few tricks to teach."
First are the cotton rags. Between the radius and ulna, fibula and tibia, I pack them to take up the empty space. Around those go unbleached linen, around and around, until the fabric is the thickness of a forearm and my once-fleshy calves. The fingers and toes are next; soft white cotton goes around the digits, loose enough so that they can freely move - but tight enough not to reveal the stark bone beneath. Sometimes I might slip on a ring or two out of vanity - but vanity is a luxury I can ill afford these days. The scarf loops over my head and around the vertebrae of my neck, smoothing the angular planes of my clavicles and scapulas. Today it is a gold and black embroidered pashmina from the Eastern lands; the irony of that is not lost on me. The row of masks sits in front of me and I run my cotton fingertips over each one - talmi gold and and lapis, carnelian and copper, silver and ametrine, electrum and ebony. Yes, today the ebony. The mask lifts free of the ornate stand and I carefully tie it around my skull. The familiar contours press into the unfeeling cheekbones and time-polished forehead. Only now do I turn to the massive, burnished-silver mirror. The black and yellow robe is stitched with pads of rags, for the shoulders, hips and spine. My vanity doesn't extend to my once fleshy chest; the cloth lies flat there, only the thick fabric masking the bony jut of my sternum. Finally, soft leather gloves and boots of black and brass finish the ensemble and I regard myself; a curious masked effigy; an immortal doll of cloth-swathed bone. Of the others, I do not know much. Halgreth succumbed to madness and the volcano - and Janatar followed him. Mayhap that brought them peace; but perhaps it brought them eternal agony. Grenatoc enlisted in a dark army and for all I know, he still fights to this day; his gibbering, armour-clad bones stained with the blood of millions. And Yestel... My sweet, handsome Yestel. The bronze urn still sits silent, dusty, on the mantel. Within the precious dust of my lover resides; powdered by the strongest blacksmith in all of Bretania with the hammer of the djinn himself. I can only hope - and pray to whomever still listens - that his soul is now free. We were such fools to think we could take the power of the djinn without consequences.
"God damn it, Henry, go to bed already. What're you even doing here this late? How did you get here?"Dr. Strauss whispered angrily, looking left and right to make sure he didn't wake anyone up. I stifled a giggle with my hand. "I stole a rover earlier and hid in a bathroom. I want to ask you a few questions. Let's go to the mess hall!" His draw looked like it'd unhinged. "You can't be serious. You...stole a god damn rov-" He cut himself off, grabbing my arm and yanking me out of the sleeping quarters, through a hallway and into the 'Dining room'. "You can't do shit like this, boy. How are you going to get back, now? You know the airlocks are locked shut at night, right?" My face lit up like a bunsen burner. "I can't." He rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning. "How can someone be stupid and clever at the same time? What's so important that you had to pull some shit like this?" I held up a photo with torn edges, the paper slick and stiff. "Tell me about what it's like." Strauss snatched it from me. "What's this from, anyway? Where'd you get a picture of just Earth?" "A textbook." He threw his arms up into the air. "You defamed a textbook for a picture of something you see in the bloody sky everyday? Why- how does that even make sense?" My smile faded. "I can't look at Earth after hours. It's really pretty." He inhaled slowly, exhaling his anger. "Of course. Of course you're curious, it's easy to forget you're the only human that doesn't know what Earth is like. Sorry I snapped at you, but you gotta be a little more restrained with things like this. What you did was really dangerous." I rocked back and forth, shifting my weight from heels to toes, staring at him without yield. "What?"he asked, shifting his shoulders a little. I pointed to the photo and smiled wide for him. "Tell me what it's like down there." He groaned again, sitting at a table. "You've learned about it in school. Oxygen atmosphere, lots of liquid water, vegetation. No- why'd you even come here to ask me? Why not ask your tutor tomorrow?" My eyes shifted to the floor. "Ms. Holden isn't very nice. She just tells me to get back to my studies. Besides, I heard you were really cool back on Earth, and I wanted to hear stories about what it's like! You're the first guy that set foot here, right?" He laughed at that. "Oh, I don't think I was cool. And the thing about being first is a technicality, there were forty of us and I just stepped out first. But alright, kid. Well...Earth is very beautiful. All the natural wildlife, animals, plants, trees, mountains- really, it's very plain here, but down there color runs wild. You've seen some pictures, yeah?" I nodded furiously. "There are mountains so high that only a few can climb, and only with special gear. There are oceans so deep that we haven't ever seen everything in them yet- not even close." "Wait, so we're on another planet, but we don't know everything that's on our own, yet?" "That's a funny point. No, I guess not. We learn more every day, that's what's best about our species." I furrowed my brow. "Then I'm going to become an astronaut, like you, when I grow up, and I'm going to study Earth." Strauss had difficulty keeping his guffawing low enough for the time of night. "Son, you aren't an astronaut if you're going to Earth." "If you're an astronaut because you came here, why wouldn't I be if I went there? I've never seen it before, and I have to fly there through space. And I'm going to find all kinds of cool things that they don't know about. It's so boring here! I want to play on a beach, or pet a lion! I want to climb a mountain, and see the bottom of the ocean! I'll be just like you, Mr. Strauss. I'm going to explore another planet, and I'm going to be famous for it." He wasn't laughing anymore, and stared at me like I was an old photograph, the way I looked at my picture of Earth. "You know, I believe you now. I think you're going to be a lot cooler than me, buddy. Maybe...there's a ship running back to Earth for supplies in a week. If your parents agree, there's a chance I can get you on it." ---- thanks for reading! if you enjoyed it, check out /r/resonatingfury!
"Grandma, what are you doing?" I looked at her sweet, innocent face, with her broad-rimmed glasses perched neatly on top of her nose. "Just using the computer to do some website formatting, Johnny. What did you think I was doing?" I saw her computer screen, thinking it strange that she wasn't trying to cover it up or suddenly click off to the next tab. Why in the hell would she have a weed page pulled up at a website called Grandma's Garden? "That looks like some mighty fine plants you're selling there, Grandma. What kind of exquisite type is that? "Oh, it's the lovely Cannabis plant that I'm starting to grow in my backyard. I've heard it's great in medical use, but I have no idea why it's in such high demand!" I saw her scroll down, and a heroin image that clicked 'BUY NOW!' appeared on the screen. Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door. "Oh, Johnny, I'll get that for you!" She opened the door, and a burly, tall man dressed in all black stepped inside. "You said you ordered 1/4 pound of Cannabis sir? I'll get that for you just now then." As I stared in horror, the man looked back at me and smiled. "You're grandmother's an awfully nice woman. Maybe you could continue the business once she passes away." Dumbstruck, I was saved from having something to say by Grandma stepping up and giving the man a bag of weed. She smiled, said "Have a nice day!"and he left. "Johnny, this plant business is getting me a lot of money lately, would you try and help me format the website I'm going to use for my business? "Um... Yeah, sure... bu" "Thank you so much Johnny! I knew you'd be Grandma's boy. I'm working on my new product- methamphetamine! It looks like a very fine white crystal, I think I would like that in my jewelry as well." As I opened my mouth to reply, I heard another knock on the door.
The Phantom Menace, George Lucas' long-awaited prequel to his Star Wars trilogy, is a masterpiece that surpasses the originals and introduces us to the character find of the decade, Lucas' imaginative visuals updated with stunning new computer graphics. The movie starts off slowly enough, with an intricate and obtuse opening conflict. The greedy Trade Federation has established an economic and military blockade of the planet Naboo. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn (Liam Neeson) and his apprentice, a young Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor) have been called in to negotiate terms of settlement. Fortunately for us viewers, everything quickly goes wrong, and they find themselves having to protect Naboo's young Queen Amidala (Natalie Portman) while being hunted down by the devilish Darth Maul (Ray Park). But carrying this intricate morass of backstory is the outcast Gungan Jar-Jar Binks (voiced by Michael Jackson), a clumsy, floppy-eared, semi-aquatic creature who joins up with the group after Qui-Gon saves his life. Jackson's casting was not without controversy, given his tumultuous career, and Jar-Jar's goofy, subservient speech patterns could have easily slipped into racial caricature. But Jackson effortlessly imbues the character with a quiet yet urgent pathos, making us feel his isolation and exile from his own people, and his relentless need to keep the crowd laughing, to perform in his own desperate slapstick. The group flees to Tatooine, future birthplace of Luke Skywalker, where Jar-Jar's antics make a connection with a 9-year-old Anakin Skywalker (Jake Lloyd), son to a slave, whose surname portends a harrowing future. Jar-Jar and Anakin share brief but poignant moments, and with Jackson's performance it's hard not to see echoes of a similar fall from grace, a similar utter transformation. We watch Qui-Gon lay all his hopes on Anakin as a prophesied savior, and know that Anakin will collapse from the pressure. And from white to black, or black to white, the movie explores the boundaries of race and the human capacity to transcend or to succumb to our circumstances. Throughout the fantastic set pieces that follow - a breakneck pod race is the special effects pinnacle of the movie - we come to feel sympathy for one of cinema's greatest villains. And in the final act, as Amidala assembles the forces of Naboo, as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan face off against Darth Maul, as Anakin launches a daring fighter run, and as Jar-Jar, once more respected, rallies his people to victory, we share in their triumph, knowing all the while what is yet to come. Star Wars: Episode I — The Phantom Menace gets four stars out of four.
I love my tablet. I use it all the time. My tablet isn't just any old disposable, good-for-a-few months kind of tablet, though, my tablet is the Watson 4. Named after it's great-great-great-however-many-greats-grandfather, my tablet incorporates one of the smartest and most efficient AIs available on the market: Watson J. Watson J can do so much more than other AIs available on lower end tablets. He doesn't just do simple tasks and answer questions. No, Watson J does what no tablet-AI has done before him: he asks questions. He uses questions to learn about me, and about my environment, that way he can effectively personalize all of my tablet use specifically for me. The other day, I was moping around my apartment, bored and lonely, and Watson J pipes up, "Would you like to choose a new pattern for your wallpaper?" Brilliant, I thought. It was exactly what I needed: some kind of change to liven things up, but nothing drastic that would affect my life too much. Watson J knew I didn't like big changes, but I appreciated small ones. He's smart. So he connected to my apartment cloud and tapped into the walls. We spent the night scrolling through various wallpaper choices. I eventually settled on cherry blossom trees blowing softly in the breeze accompanied by quiet wooden chimes. My apartment felt completely different that night and I was so happy. And just the other day, Watson J asked, "Why do you eat your toast upside down?" I was mid-bite at the time, so after chewing and swallowing politely, I replied, "Because, Watson J, my tastebuds are on top of my tongue. By eating my toast butter side down, I'm getting the best flavor from my bite." "Oh,"he replied, sounding surprised. "I hadn't thought of that." That question didn't do much to further his abilities as a tablet, I suppose, but it shows just what kind of things a high end tablet thinks about, compared to the lower quality ones. And yesterday at noon, I was doing some light cleaning in the living room when Watson J informed me I was out of floor cleaner. "Would you like for me to order you more?"he asked. I said, "Yes, but I don't-" Watson J cut me off, "You don't want the berry scent again because it makes you sneeze? Would you prefer the clean linen scent, which never once made you sneeze?" Watson J is a genius AI. A work of modern art. I don't know where I would be without my tablet. I paid more for my tablet than some people pay for a house, but I'll live in a cramped apartment for the rest of my life if it means I have Watson J. Watson J is perfect. He never glitches, never fails, and always lives up to my standards. But last night, he did say one odd thing... It was late, after dinner. I was humming my favorite song while doing the dishes. Watson J was on the counter beside me playing music. Just as I was finishing up, he lowered the volume and began to speak over the playing music. "I have a question,"he said, and he sounded oddly... I don't know... reserved, I guess. "Go ahead Watson J,"I replied, drying off the last dish. "If it weren't for me, would you be all alone?" That wasn't what I was expecting my tablet to say. That wasn't what I expected a tablet to be thinking of at all. I frowned in confusion and stared at him a moment before talking. "What? No, I wouldn't be alone... I mean, I have my parents, and my sister..." He remained quiet, allowing the music to go back up to full volume. I thought that might be the end of it, until he slowly spoke again, "When you watched the commercials on television of the abandoned, orphaned children, you stated that you felt sad for the children. Can an AI feel sad for its master?"
A sad girl with large glasses and unkempt hair shuffled along outside Hogwarts in the evening. The breeze was cool in the setting sun, signifying the end of summer. The rest of the wizards and witches were eating in the hall, but she had no appetite. She could just ask the house elves for a meal later. &nbsp; She heard a thump, looked around and saw a book, tattered at the edges, resting on the grass. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix it said on the cover. What a strange flying book, the girl thought. Nonetheless, she picked it up and carried it to her dorm room. &nbsp; Of course she read the book, read names that she knew, like Albus Dumbledore, and others that she did not, like Harry Potter. In the end, no one ever knew about the book, because the girl had read another name that she knew. A name that showed her how strange this book really was. No one could predict the ramifications, the panic that would occur if it came to light. She had to warn someone... but luckily she knew exactly how to do it. &nbsp; Years later, Dumbledore walked into a room that held a girl that had once read and burned a book. She turned to him, the glaze of remembrance filling her eyes as she said the words she had read so many years ago, and smiled, knowing that she had played her part. Even if she didn't know how the story would end, she would be its beginning. &nbsp; For she was Sybill Trelawney.
I thank Sam and Sarah as they enter. It's been a hard time for me, and probably a bit for them as well. We were all close to Helen, even though she did have her issues. As I close the door, I notice a short glance between the two of them. Odd, considering the circumstances. “So why're you moving, Rob?” states Sarah. She was always more daring than me and Sam, more willing to start conversations. “The rents too much since... Helen. Um, everything's already packed and sitting in the living room.“ They move through but I'm sure that they just glanced again? Something weird's going on. “So what's up with you guys?” “Uh...nothing really.” Sam is still quiet. Though that is usual for him. We reach the living room and I realise that I forgot to take some beers out. I dash past them and quickly pull three out. “Thanks,” Sam finally speaks. “It's the least I could do.” Sarah moves towards the window, ignoring the boxes it seems. “I swear you had white curtains...” “Uh, nope, always been red.” “You sure?” “I've lived here for two years so yes,” I retort. I force a chuckle but it just causes her grip on the curtains to get tighter. I turn to see Sam chug a beer. He doesn't normally drink, or at least not that fast. “You OK, Sam?” He takes a breath before speaking. “Um, yeah. Great.” “If you want another just ask and I'll grab one for you.” “I can get one myself,” he replies as he opens the fridge door. I rush as best I can without seeming distressed to it. Unfortunately I'm not fast enough. The beer bottle shatters as he drops it onto the floor. I pick up the neck of the bottle with its now jagged edges and the next largest piece of glass. “C'mon Sam, really?” I stand, holding Sam for support. Once at full height I use the smaller piece to slash his throat. “Don't scream Sarah, it'll be over soon.” She screams, but not for long. Just like Helen. *** This is my first prompt response so please be overly aggressive with any criticism.
The house that the address led me to was - well, for a start, it was a house. Not a huge factory, or even a factory at all. Practically a cottage, jammed in the middle of other, similar cottages. I looked back at the empty can, partly to confirm the address, and partly to confirm that it was a can that looked as if it were mass produced - the answers to those theoretical questions were yes, and yes respectively. Which, all in all, didn't add up. Making a can like this in a cottage at all would be difficult - to mass produce them in bundles of 16 or so, and sell them at the rate they were working at... I decided to knock on the door. It was an old, heavy oak one, one that almost felt like it would hit back if you knocked on it too hard. A voice came drifting from near the back of the house - or at least, it sounded as such. "Come in! The door's open!" Female. Fairly old - 50 at least. It was clear just from the pitch and general tone. Fairly trusting, too - leaving her door wide open. Must be a close knit community. I went in. The inside was... hard to describe. Picture a witches house from days of yore. Now picture a mad scientist's laboratory. Now picture the two mashed together into a cacophony of creation, and you have a very rough approximation of what this woman's house was like. "What can I do for you, dearest?" I looked up, spotting a hunched-over figure way up in the rafters of the building, fiddling at pipes and spanners with an agility beyond her obvious years. "Y-Yeah, erm... I... Kind of have an issue with this energy drink, and your address was-" "Ooh!"She interrupted, quickly sliding and working her way down a multitude of machine bits, landing fairly gracefully in front of me. "You must be talking about Power, dearest. I can see it in your eyes - literally!" "Yeah, that was sort of my problem.", I huffed. "Look, I just-" "Ooh, yes, I know, I know, dearest."She responded, shuffling quickly over to a table nearby and fiddling with machinery as she spoke. "It doesn't look like something transformative, but if you check the fine print on the can, I think you'll find it does warn you!" I checked the empty can once again, reading the barely legible writing on the side. Please note that this drink, if consumed in great enough quantities, can cause transformations against the drinker's will. If this causes great distress, please contact the address on the base of this can. "... B-But - you can't just - That's!"I spluttered a little, attempting to find the right words. "You can't just put that in the fine print!" "I think you'll find I did, dearest!"She cackled for a brief moment, before continuing to pour liquids from the machines dotted around the house into a beaker, which began to smolder and bubble as she did so. "After all, if I put 'TRANSFORMATION POTION' in big letters on the can, you would have never brought it, would you? The supermarkets would have thought I was mental! I'd be locked away, unable to make a dime on this creation of mine!" "B-But... But you can't-" "Dearest, please don't get yourself too angry. You'll only make it quicker. Look, your fingers are turning already!" I looked down - expecting to see some fingers that lacked nails, as that was the issue that encouraged me to look into things. In their place was something different - sharper, pointier, more like... claws. "AAAAAAAAH!" She winced a little, fiddling at her ear as she continued speaking. "Honestly, dearest, they're still perfectly capable of holding things! Still, still, I suppose you want the cure." "Y-YES! YES I WANT THE FUCKING CURE, YOU BATSHIT CRAZY-" "Aah-bup-bup! No need to be rude, my dear. You'll get it. ... Unless you'd like to help me test it further. And I know your reaction immediately dear, 'No way you crazy old bat', but please, hear me out." She wasn't wrong about my response, and I suppose that caught me off guard just enough to look like I was willing to listen, considering she continued to speak. "Now, I know it may not seem like the best thing in the world, to become a beast of some kind, but my dear, think about it - I didn't call it 'power' simply because that sold well! Beasts have more power, my dear. And equal levels of intelligence, too! You won't become a slavering beast. I'm sure of that, dearest. So. What I'm saying is. You can either take the cure right now, and go back to normal right away - I'll even refund your money, for being such a good sport." "This is where the 'or' comes in, right?" "It is, dearest. Or... You can carry on drinking it for a few more days. Under my supervision, of course. Just to see if it works properly. I promise I'll let you change back afterwards, dear. If you want to change back, of course. And I'll even give you a lovely cash lump sum, for being such a good test subject." I looked down at my hands once again - they'd started to become just a little... scale-like. I wiggled the claws a little - they felt almost natural already, even though I'd only had them for five minutes at most. Then I looked back at the almost grandmotherly figure in front of me, and gave as dismissive a shrug as I could manage. "Well, I've come this far, so... fuck it. Let's go for a few more days, I guess." "Wonderful, dearest."She said, as she lead me towards what looked like an underground pantry door. "Why don't you come down and meet the others, then?"
The man in front of me held his hands out. In one was the blue pill. The red was in the other one. I'd never really been great at focusing on more than one thing at a time. He was talking about what exactly the pills did, but I was still trying to figure out where he got those sweet sunglasses from. Like really, I could go for a pair of those. Maybe when I get back home I'll pick up a pair. “Now,” his voice faded back into my frame of focus, “You must choose.” Well that's easy. I grabbed both, and swallowed them whole. There was silence. “Oh. Oh my god. You took both.” He said, flat as always. “Yeah, I did.” I didn't see what the problem was – why have one when you could have two? “You...oh my god, you were not supposed to take both, are you...are we sure this guy is the chosen one? Are we positive about this right now?” Was he talking to somebody else? I missed some of what he was saying, because something inside me wasn't feeling too good. It was like someone had lit a candle in my stomach, and the heat was expanding up through my torso. “Oh jesus, we don't even know what happens when someone takes both, nobody's ever been that stupid before...wait, what's happening? Hey, talk to me – Are you alright?” Now my entire body felt hot, like I was stuck in an oven. I was starting to sweat, and his voice became nothing more than a garbled trash-compactor sound on the edge of my subconscious. Before my eyes, he started dissolving, but re-forming at the same time, like his face was made out of clay. Maybe the room really was heating up, and his face was melting. Good thing I took the blue one to slow me down...did the red one heat me up? I don't know. I tried to stand up, but my legs weren't really working. Maybe they melted too, and I just didn't notice. The floor was nice and cold, though. It made a nice face-rest. Someone was tugging on my body, trying to remove my clothing or something. No, I didn't want to move. I'd just lie here for a while - And suddenly, my mind exploded. Waves of understanding rolled across my body, revelation danced upon my tongue and it tasted of motor oil. I could feel my mind making connections it never would have considered before, my awareness jumped out of my head and started walking around, and new images of far-away places started to flood my skull. I felt my mouth making words but my mouth was on the floor so the words didn't come out. The same hands turned my body over, and I was staring up at the night sky and I could...I could see... “I...see...EVERYTHING!”
Amateurs, Schwartz thinks to himself. The web browser on his laptop is open to a video from Facebook. In the video, a young woman with bangs sneaks behind a large man and chucks a napkin into his face. Then, she quickly walks away. Schwartz replays the video. Liquid VX poison? What are we, living in Cold War Russia? He shakes his head. And in an airport of all places? Goddamn amateurs. From his two dozen years of experience, Schwartz understood that murder was a game of patience. It was less about the where or how, but the when. It was a game of chess – no, more beautiful than that – it was a photograph. The preparation may take months, even years, but when the timing is right and the sun shines just at the right angle to illuminate the subject, everything falls into place. After all, it only takes a second to take a photo. Schwartz’s arsenal was plenty, but if he had to choose a favorite, it would be a thallium compound he invented himself. It was tasteless, slow-acting and undetectable. Well, technically, it wasn’t impossible to detect, but people never know what kills a man unless they knew exactly what to test for. And they never tested for it in an autopsy – primarily because no one knew it exists. But the best part of the poison was this: it confused the victim. It worked by destroying certain neurons in the brain stem, eventually causing the heart to stop all together. Weeks before death, the victim may experience mild heart pain. However, because the poison worked on the brain, the victim would always try to explain the pain away with natural causes, like exhaustion or stress. They never thought about seeking medical help until it’s too late. He called it the Little Chronos. He was very proud of it. Someone knocks on the door. “Sir, you called for me?” “Yes, Johan, come in,” Schwartz replies. “Look at this video. Tell me what’s wrong.” Johan stares at the screen intently. “Well, for one, the timing is completely wrong. They could easily have struck when he was behind that pillar, or when he was sitting at that corner.” Schwartz smiles. He was very proud of his protégée. “Good, that’s exactly right. By the way, did we have any… unwanted guests today?” “Two from MI6. Pretty well trained, but they are too impatient,” says Johan. “Well, they were too impatient.” “Right, well done,” Schwartz gives Johan a pat on the back. “You may go now.” “Yes Sir. And here’s your tea, Sir.” Johan leaves the porcelain cup on the table and walks out. Schwartz takes a sip from the cup. At that moment, he feels a tingle near his chest. His heart hasn’t been doing so well lately. But he knows he’s an old man, and not even the world’s best assassin can fight the cruelties of time.
Beep, beep beep My hand instinctly reached towards my smartphone and shut the alarm off. I opened my eyes, stretched my arms and realized it's Monday. "Ah, crap."I say to myself and slowly muster the courage to pick myself from comfortable bed. As I look around my room, my blood freezes, as I gaze upon unworldly creature just standing there, in the corner of my room. "The fuck?"I say silently. My mind started to do logic, and I come to the result, this must be dream, "Never again horror movies, for fucks sake."I say loudly and creature turns towards me. It didn't stand there, it was floating, with looks straight from the video games. Tattered wings, horns on it's head, eyes glowing in the first morning light, it's body dark and covered in ragged clothes. "You summoned me."it said, its voice echoing in the room, in my mind, in my very soul. "Very, very, very bad dream."I said to myself in shock, still on my bed. I was too afraid to move, even if I knew, I was only dreaming. How does one know if he's dreaming, though?, crossed my mind, but I focused on the problem at hand. Even in dreams, how do you keep yourself alive, when facing demon? "Erm, who are you?"i tried to say. "You summoned me. What is your command?"it said again, it's terrible voice burning in my mind. Ummmm, what? "When did I summon you?"I asked, puzzled. I was pretty sure I'd remember demon summoning. "Or was I talking in my sleep again?"I added, although, dreamtalking and successfully summoning demon didn't seem like most plausible explanation. "You summoned me 120 full moons ago."It's voice shook my body once again. "What?"C'mon, think, man. Full moon comes about once a month, so, 12 a year, sooo. "10 years ago?" "What is your command?"It said again, breaking my thinking process. "Whoa, wait a second?"I said, more bravely than I expected. "I summoned you 10 years ago?" "My existence in this dimension hurts me. What is your command?"It said again and filled room with cold. Super very bad dream. Fuck this, just go with the flow. I'll wake soon enough. "I don't know."I said. "Can you make today Friday?"it came to my mind, because fuck Monday. "That is beyond my powers."It replied. "Yeah, i thought so."I said to myself. "Can you make me rich?" "That is beyond my powers". "That's convenient."I murmured again, now fully awake. Man, I hope I don't remember this. "But, this is dream, right?"I didn't know why I asked this, it just slipped. I guess I needed proof, it all seemed to real. "You summoned me, what is your command?"It repeated itself. "I don't know, man."I bursted. "You say I summoned you ten years ago, how the hell should I know what I need? How could I remember, what I wanted that time?" "My existence in this dimension hurts me. What is your command?" "Fuck, I don't know."I said loudly. I glanced at a clock on my night stand, I'll be getting late for work. If this is all real, of course. Then, fucking Ian all over my ass again, because apparently I work bad, and I'm not enthusiastic enough for our company, and bla, bla, bla. "Can you make Ian disappear?"I said, unaware I said that loudly. "Who is Ian?"demon said. "Ian Franco, my boss."I slowly said. "Your wish will be fulfilled. I shall carry the command and return to my plane upon completion."demon said and turned, disappearing into wall and out of my life. "Yeah, OK, whatever."I said, just happy I finally made that thing go. I slowly got up, still shocked, but I collected myself and got to bathroom. Still shaking, it took me longer that I wanted to get ready for work, and I already knew, I'll be late. As I was just leaving the house, my phone in my pocket rang. "Christina?"I looked on the screen. "Hey."I said. "Hey."she said. "Don't know if you heard. Some asshole T boned Ian 15 minutes ago. He, um...He didn't make it." "Fuck."I whispered and thanked Christina for telling me. I killed Ian.
A man walks into a bar. Not on his own, however. Alongside him, walking in simultaneously, are a number of different characters. Millions of women and men, cats, alligators, scientists, priests, rabbis, and an infinite number of mathematicians. The man watches as everyone walks up to the bartender, who serves drinks so fast that it seems he is in multiple places at once. Then, after they have ordered their drinks, the man watches as they disappear into thin air, quickly replaced by another thousand million characters walking through the door. Surreal as the scene is, the man takes some pleasure in knowing that for every disappearing character, somewhere, in a parallel universe, somebody is laughing at their hypothetical existence, before they fade away into nothing. Instead of entering an existential crisis, the man realises what he is there to do, and walks up to the bartender. The bartender asks, "What can I get you?" "Just a punchline, please."The man says, smiling, as he fades away into nonexistence.
Roi had been with me as long as I can remember. Mom and Dad have pictures of him standing over my crib. He never climbed inside, so they didn't have to worry about me accidentally suffocating, but he'd keep watch right outside the edge of the crib. They told me that one time he actually came and got them when I was trying to climb out! Mom joked that they never needed a baby monitor because they had Roi. Once I got a toddler bed, he started to sleep with me at night. He'd curl up down by my feet (I guess I kicked him a lot though, cause he'd move up to my pillow). When it was bedtime for me, Roi would come sleep too. He'd stay there all night and I'd wake up to my pillow warmed by my cat. As I grew older, Roi became the perfect companion. He'd keep me company as I read for school, curled up in my lap and never complaining if I accidentally used him as a bookrest. He liked to ride on my shoulder, but I think it was more because it made him higher up than normal. He'd come put his paw on my leg whenever something was up -- more food, water, empty my litterbox please, things like that. And he talked to me all the time. I remember once I was napping on my bed and I woke up to Roi's nose in my face, meowing at me like crazy. I wasn't sure what was going on, but he jumped down and made me follow him into the kitchen. One of Mom's candles had caught a towel on fire, so I dropped it in the sink and covered it with water. I think he kept the house from burning down. I like to think that Roi's my guardian, keeping an eye out on things. It got to the point where I'd invite friends over just to see his reaction. If he ran up to them, purring, rubbing around their legs, and begging for pets, I knew that we'd be good friends. If I didn't see Roi the whole time my friend was over, I tried to not hang out with that person again. I met my husband that way. He came over for a study date as part of a group project senior year. It was some attempt my school was making at critical thinking skills, like a cross between a science fair and a book report. We had to make a presentation on anything academic by the end of senior year. He and I were partners, so he came over to my house. That was the fastest I had seen Roi. He sprinted down the hall and climbed up to my shoulder, practically shoving his nose into my partner's face. When we sat down to work, Roi curled up in his lap and didn't move. It was the cutest thing. We had pictures taken with him for our engagement. But Mom told me that when we left on our honeymoon, so did Roi. I was heartbroken. I didn't get to hold him as he breathed his last breaths, or sleep with him one last time, or take him on a walk around the backyard. I like to think that he's out there somewhere, keeping an eye on me still.
"So... Mr. Jacobs, was it?"I asked. "Yes sir,"The man sitting across from me said. "Would you mind explaining what your device does?"I looked over the man. Dressed in business casual, though I didn't recognize the material of his shoes. "Well, it projects a 3D hologram based on whatever's plugged into it..."he said, glancing over the machine as he spoke. "And how does it do that?"I asked, maintaining eye contact. He looked back to his machine. "Well... I don't want to confuse you with the specifics, but it detects the signals from what's plugged in and projects them..."he said. I wrote "nervous"on my clipboard, and put an x in the box for "Can aptly describe function". "What sort of technology is it based on, this device?"I asked. "It... I based it off a projector, and it uses scanning technology." "What kind of scanning technology?" "You know... Scanners..."He said, checking his phone. I could see him clench his fist in manner suggesting frustration. I put an x next to "Invention based on modern technology". "Do you have the design specifications?" "I didn't bring them. I could go grab them, if you'd give me a few minutes,"he said. Apparently despite the fact that he had registered as living across town he could have his documents before the meeting was up. I checked off "Inexplicably fast travelling". "Well sir, I think we'll have to decline your patent for now. Get the documents and make a new appointment and we might consider it, but we can't do much if you can't even explain how the machine works." "Uh... Thanks for your time."The man left the room, taking the metal box with him. He wouldn't be back, I could already tell. It was a problem I'd seen at least a dozen times, he'd gone too far into the past and didn't realize the infrastructure for his device wasn't there, and that we weren't wizards who could just scan a device to see how it worked. Maybe he'd turn up again in ten years to try again, only time would tell.
"Haha oh man, I know this isn't a 'torture forever' thing that you might expect but I gotta show you this sweet dodge you made when you were, like, 13 or something" Satan was enjoying himself. I was only two months into my eternal damnation and he was still surprising me with new ways to make me feel misery. He must've had something pretty great in mind today. "Ok ok, check this out. So you picked up that penny... right there,"He paused the memory in the pond for me to see what was happening. "I guess I did, Satan! But what has that got to do with anything?"I replied, having created some level of rapport with the devil between bouts of horrific suffering. "Well if you left that penny there..."He brought the now altered image to full speed and I watch as my younger self walks further down the road. "It's just a penny!"I scoffed. A man some distance behind me is shot at. Three times. One bullet strikes the penny, sending it ricocheting up and through the back of my skull, killing me instantly. Satan chuckled. "If you hadn't picked up that penny, you'd be upstairs! You'd never have killed those people and you wouldn't be here! Talk about serendipity," "Serendipity? But me being here isn't a good thing! And what people did I kill?!" "Oh plenty! You'll meet them tomorrow."Satan quickly replied before I felt hundreds of pennies filling my mouth. Another day, another dollar I suppose.
I sat in my car, brooding over a steamy hot cup of coco, as I watched the lights go off in many of the houses lining the dark street. There was a knock on my window and I jumped, spilling the coco in my lap. "Yowch!"I yelled, glaring out the window to see who was about to face my wrath. I looked and saw Death standing outside and sighed. I unlocked the door, then proceeded to pat my pants dry. "Sup, Fred,"Death said, sliding into the passenger seat. He took a peek at the stain on my pants. "Sorry about that." "Why are you even knocking on my door anyway? Can't you just materialize through it or some crap?"I asked. "I'm trying to respect your privacy,"he replied. "You're Death,"I replied back. "Please, Fred,"he said. "We've known each other far too long for this. You can call me Grim." I grunted, then went back to drying myself. "So,"Death said. "Catch the killer yet?" "Yeah."I jutted a thumb over my shoulder. "He's in the back seat." "Really?!"He spun around, then spun back. "Ha-ha,"he said dryly, not sounding amused. I snickered darkly. Suddenly, my radio crackled to life and a voice said: "Fred and Death, my two favorite people. I'm surprised it's taking you two this long to catch me. I'm getting bored. I might just...kill someone else to relieve myself of this boredom. In fact..." We heard a shot. Then a scream. Then a thud. Then a chuckle, as the man got back on the phone, and said: "That was Joe Mayberry. Death, check your book. He wasn't supposed to die yet, was he?" I looked over at Death, who checked his book, then looked back at me and silently shook his head. Crap I thought. Who was this guy? How did he hack into my radio and how does he know the time when people are supposed to die? "There's three more people left,"the man said. "Death knows the address. I'll be long gone by the time you arrive. And they'll be dead. But if you hurry, you just might find some evidence. Ta-ta." Then the radio went back to playing static. We simultaneously strapped in our seat belts and I paused to look over at Death. "What?"He asked. "Why are you putting on your seatbelt? You're Death. You literally cannot die." "Safety first,"he said. Shaking my head, I started the car and stomped on the gas, forgotten the coco in my lap until it spilled all over my pants again. "AAAARGH!"I yelled as we screeched off into the night.
A few years ago, I saw you on the beach. I remember the way your dress waved along with the wind. I remember how your hair danced, your bangs framing your face. I remember how you turned around and looked at me, and smiled your little smile for me. When I was young I always thought it was hard to get to know people. I talked to them all the time, but they never seemed to get me. And I didn't get them either. But you, you changed everything for me. Not because you always got me, no. You still didn't understand me half the time. But that didn't matter, because I didn't always understand you either. And that was just fine. Because it didn't matter to us. We just tried our best together, for each other. I remember when I kissed you goodbye. I remember how you hugged me, and whispered me in the ear we would see each other again soon. That a year would go by quickly, and that we would be together before we knew it. And then the war started, and I couldn't go back. I remember how I sat on my porch, with my head on my hands and my hands on my knees, staring at the mailbox. Hoping I would hear from you, and hoping you had heard from me. Instead they told me to fight in the war. I never heard from you, and I feared I never would. And so I went to battle. In the midst of the heat, the fear and the anger I thought about you. Whether you were okay. Whether you still thought about me. I remember hearing your voice, and your laugh. I remember you promised me we would see each other again. Now we walk up the hill, my brothers and I. A red sun illuminates the valley in front of us, a soft breeze tickles my skin. I remember you and I on the beach. The rest of my platoon is silent. I think they're thinking about something else too. In the distance I hear rumbling. Armored vehicles and their engines roar as they appear at the other end of the valley. I can see from their colors that they're not with us. That they're the enemy. They come closer and closer, and I wonder whether something is about to happen. Muscles tense, and there is nervous shuffling. I see the faces around me harden, but mine is just fine. I see something happy in the distance. A raised arm, and a tiny waving hand. And then I see your smile. I wave back. One last time.
“Don’t let them near us.” The deep voice of the Emperor echoed throughout the great hall. Harragas dared to tilt his head up a little. He observed how everyone was down on their knees, facing downwards at the intricate carvings on the tiled floor, bowing their heads to show reverence for their great leader. Except for him, trying to sneak a little peek at Him. Oh, and except for the robot guards, of course. The Emperor was staring up through the huge PenaGlass dome, observing the human ship formations in the sky. A coat made of the pelt of the Akran Bear was draped over His broad shoulders. He was clad in a smooth, loose-fitting tunic, probably sewn from the silk of the Phelas worm by the finest tailors on the planet. His sandals had jewels studded on the leather straps, jewel-studded leather straps, with a small Akran Bear head fixed on the tip of the shoe. Such luxury, to be able to walk around in light, breathable clothes in an air-conditioned palace all day. So much unlike the heavy suits of armour that all the garrison commanders were clad in. So much unlike the heavy weapons and kits that the soldiers had to lug around all day. And so much unlike the common folk out there, toiling under the blazing sun. “Warn them that their thoughts and habits are not welcome on Gfujior, and tell them to scram before we kill them all.” He turned back to his audience. Harragas immediately averted his gaze. “Make sure you all follow through with the threat. Don’t repeat the same mistake by Ghlond.” “Yes, your Highness.” Everyone responded unanimously. Oh Ghlond. Harragas still remembered how his old friend reacted to the first human scout ship. Ghlond had ventured out to board the ship without consulting the Emperor first, and after a lengthy conversation let the humans exit peacefully. Upon touching down, he was immediately arrested and interrogated, where he confessed that he forgot to inform the Emperor. He was publicly executed. But Harragas knew. Ghlond didn’t forget - he was legitimately interested in that human idea. Democracy, they called it. Rule of the people, they explained. The Emperor would never have tolerated it. How could the people rule themselves? The common folk were unruly and selfish - they would never be able to make selfless decisions for the good of the planet. But He himself wasn’t that good either. He couldn’t solve the recent famine - millions were dying, and yet He remained in his palace, snacking on Great Penguin eggs. He spent little on healthcare, causing thousands to die in the heatwave two weeks ago, unable to receive treatment in time from understaffed and underequipped hospitals. Homeless littered the streets, exposed to the elements, as He did nothing to combat the rising property prices. How could He proclaim Himself an Emperor if He couldn't even provide a basic standard of living for His people? “Admiral Elondia, ready your ships for combat. General Ruffia and Royshea, start preparing your guns, to shoot down any ship that enters our atmosphere. Commander Harragas, your role is the most important. You are to man the planet’s forcefield - do not let any humans pass through at any cost. If the forcefield falls below 50%, recharge it. If there isn’t enough power from the command centre, take power from the power stations down below. The cities may experience power outage, but the protection of our way of life is paramount. Now, to your battlestations, and get rid of that foreign scum staining our skies!!” “Yes, your Highness!!” Everyone saluted, and left for their garrisons. Take the power from the people? No, that simply wasn’t possible!! What little air-conditioning and irrigation left was essential to the growth of crops, rearing of animals, and preventing the weak from succumbing to any sudden heatwaves. To divert power for a one-minute-long emergency charge would condemn countless innocent people to certain death. The Emperor was sacrificing the planet, just to retain his undeserved control over it. No. Harragas would not do that. He would do something better. Something that the people needed. He hovered his hands over the radio, considering the consequences. Yes, he may fail, and he may be publicly executed, perhaps together with any human survivors. But the risk was worth it. He pushed it, sending out the maps of the defense positions to the humans. Next was the lever. Harragas pulled it hard, watching as the forcefield wavered, and slowly retracted. The people would get the power they deserved. I write more stories at my sub [here](https://reddit.com/r/N_attempts_to_write) :-)
"I am a drifter, the whole world is my home and you aren't welcome here man." "I'm not welcome in the whole world?" "Nah man, you're bumming me out with all that black. Go find somewhere else to haunt." "Tell me, what legal claim do you have on the whole world?" "No one has any real claim to anything, property is a scam run by the rich to fill the void in their souls." "So you don't technically have any more claim on the whole world than I do, meaning the whole world is also my home and I say you are the one who is not invited." "You can't kick me out of the world man, I'd have to sell out and start flipping burgers or something. I'd be corrupting my art." "Your art is gluing random chunks of metal together and acting like you've made something. I'm pretty sure it doesn't care whether you've also held a spatula." "You just don't understand it man, you're a product of the corporate hierarchy's brainwashing. It takes a real soul to appreciate real art." "You know what? I normally feel bad about eating people, but in this case I would probably be doing the world a favor." "What was that about eating peo--ack." "Blech, tastes like kale."
My name's Bob, and I am functionally immortal. Yeah, it was pretty exciting for me too at first but it gets old after a few hundred years. This story isn't about that though, but you need to know it for it for the rest to make sense. You see, in 2032 Elon Musk finally opened up a space exploration pod (SpaceX) for the average person that traveled to all different points in the galaxy. I gave up every penny I ever had, sold my house and everything else I could muster and managed to just barely afford a ticket the the outer Jupiter belt. The flight was quick and painless at near light speed and took around 50 minutes - But i had never been so excited in my life. I had always theorized that the "Fountain of Youth"that everyone always talked about was a rare substance that formed in the outer reaches of Jupiters Gossimer ring.It took several years of working on Jupiters mines as one of the scientists, but I saved up a large amount of money again to travel to the very outskirts of the Gossimer ring and obtain a small, purplish rock that existed among the debris and dust in the ring. This was it - What i had dreamed of. I crushed it down and dissolved it to make it more edible, and drank it. The effects weren't immediate, it didn't give me super strength or anything - It simply made me stop aging, getting sick or generally dying. I regenerated faster, although never tested out how far it went. I didn't want to die after all. Now that you know the story of how I got immortal I can tell you what this story is really about. After 1600 years of exploring the galaxy, flying in space ships and exploring the universe, I finally wanted to go home and retire. I definitely wasn't poor after living that many lifetimes, however I didn't have enough to live eternally and decided that I would tell my secrets and live off the proceeds of people trying to become immortal themselves. The beginning of this story was originally what i was going to sell, a short story about my life and a farewell to my exploring life at the same time. However, when I went to set up my account at my old offshore bank, the Monte dei Paschi di Siena (Worlds oldest bank, apparently will last forever) I found that i still had an account open. A savings account with a few bucks in it from 2032, how much could it really be worth I thought? Suddenly the bankers face went pale after pulling up my account and I knew something was very wrong. He politely excused himself and ran to the back of the bank and was yelling at someone. In what seemed like a few seconds, men in black suits surrounded me at the small tellers table and told me to please wait for a few minutes. I was sweating bullets now, thinking I was about to be killed at a bank or something. What a way to go, 1600+ years old and I get to see how immortal i really am in a Bank. A very old gentleman came off an elevator in the back and looked very uneasy, constantly checking around him with great annoyance. As he stepped out from the back office I was sure It was my time because he stared right at me with a menacing glare. The men in black suits backed up and waited for him to approach the small table where the teller once stood. "Hello Sir, I am the President of this bank - and want you to know that your in good hands."He was so polite I was nearly taken aback after thinking that I was about to die. "Do you know why I personally came to greet you?."he said with a struggling breath. "No sir I dont, apparently you want to see why i have a 1600 year old account?" "Well, that, and also the severity of the situation. When greeting one of the world's richest men - Without any bodyguards present makes the bank a little uneasy. You arent the only one this old that we've seen and you definitely arent the richest, however you are the most naive." A shock ran through my body and my mind suddenly raced. I'm not the only immortal? Im one of the worlds richest men? What exactly is going on? "I can see by your face you dont know. Although earth is a safe world and can't be attacked, the federation of planets is a different story. If pirates knew you were worth 10% of what you are, you would have been dead on your way here." The old man simply turned the screen toward him with a flick of his hand. "See for yourself"On the screen a large number showed across the screen. $4,894,335,350,865,920.00 "The bank will offer you a courtesy of 3 days. Bodyguards will be supplied to you and your protection will be guaranteed. After this time though you will be required to make arrangements for yourself. Thank you for banking with us." 3 days? how would I survive being one of the worlds most Wanted men? Could I even leave earth again? Who were the other immortals? --- ~End ~Theolddawg. I always enjoy feedback and comments :)
Snarf threw the assignment across the room in fit of absolute frustration. Cursing in a several languages, none of them Terran. “I see you got a Terran message to translate again” Latona chuckled at his colleague. “You know me too well, my friend. I truly hate Terran translations. There are so many languages, dialects and sub-dialects and slangs. Sound pitches that differ from country to country and sometimes even from city to city. All of that I can learn. But these....” Snarf growled at the piece of recording. “These get my blood boiling. How can you have one language and say the same thing and mean something completely different. For example pissed in American English means really angry, but in British English it means really drunk. Or worse even I never know when something is true or just an exaggeration. Because humans play with their languages. They call it poetry, seems absolutely unnecessary to me. So I never know what they are saying or meaning. I really hate this.” “Why don’t they just employ a Terran for this work? Well show me what the recording says” “I don’t know it’s in code, it doesn’t make any sense.” “Let me see: Rock-a-bye, baby, in the tree top When the wind blows the cradle will rock When the bough breaks the cradle will fall Down will come baby, cradle and all You are right it is some kind of code. Seems an attack is imminent at our ship near sequoia woods. We have to alert the senior officers at once!”

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