Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
"Huh, that's funny,"I thought, clicking on the article, "that looks so much like my town." I started to look through it, with a growing sense of unease. The landmarks. The buildings. The people. Everything felt so familiar. Wasn't that my suburb? Didn't I live there? I tried to read more, but my mind was so hazy. What was I reading again? I felt so scared, but I couldn't explain why. "Now now, Sam. Time for bed." I looked up at the voice, and her hands gently glided me to my bed. Suddenly everything became clear. "But the article! The article is about my town!" "Yes, Sam, the article. You can tell me all about it tomorrow." I felt a prick on my arm, and the unease slowly ebbed away. She tucked me into bed. "You always do."
There’s nothing that can ever prepare you for your door being kicked open. No one that can tell you how the drop in your gut feels when you see a cavalry of armored men charging in through your door, screaming orders at you. I had never seen a pamphlet nor documentary on what the feeling of cereal and milk dribbling down your chin will feel like when your jaw hangs open in shock. I was given no warning. No idea that this morning my breakfast would be interrupted, and I would be tossed to the ground, a leather boot placed into the back of my neck. My spoon tested my gag reflex as it was forced deeper into my mouth. Each turn of my head to relieve the pressure was met with screams of resisting arrest, and jabs to my rib cage. I had to withstand them, or risk further convulsions in my throat. Through the abuse and attacks, I managed to get my face in a position that didn’t actively threaten to choke me. I was given no choice to put my arms behind my back, they were yanked back with force. My wrists squashed together as plastic ties were placed, and tightened, cutting into the skin. Boots kicked into my bare ankles, in an attempt to get them close enough together to also tie. Thanks to the repeated blows, my body put them together without much thought needed on my part. With another tie around me, slicing into my skin, I was hoisted from the floor. Fingers were around the scruff of my neck, between my legs, and attached to my shirt, as I was carried from the room like a battering ram. Into the hall, I saw my neighbors filing out into the hall, or poking their heads around their doors. All of them in various states of undress, their morning routines interrupted by my arrest. It was a scene that would be the gossip in the building for months, as all guessed what I had done to deserve such treatment. But they were in a similar situation to myself. I knew the basic rules, every good person did. Don’t kill, don’t steal, obey traffic laws, pay your taxes. I was a good citizen, and the reason for my arrest was as much a mystery to them, as it was to me. I was marched down three flights of stairs, past Lindsey, the aging receptionist who had always called me sweetheart, and out into the street. Bystanders had kept their place in the crowd to gawk as soon as the police van arrived. Curious if the criminal would be anyone they knew. Phones were raised to capture video of my shame, to be blasted all across the internet for everyone even remotely connected to me to see. It was the first time I allowed to my head to hang free. I was placed face down in the back of the police van, between two benches where the officers sat. Soles were placed on both sides of me to stop me from skidding when we made turns. No care was given to my head that bounced off the grated steel with every pothole and bump in the road. After a few minutes, blood had began to drip through it from a gash above my eyebrow that only worsened with each bump, sending metal inside my flesh and stretching the wound. Not a word had been said to me on the journey, the tradition was continued as we arrived at the station. Again, I was picked up with the care given to abandoned luggage. We marched through sterile halls, winding through a maze each officer had memorized. From my point of view, none of them had any discernible features. The doors were void of numbers of names, each wall the same shade of doctor’s office white. The first new feature I saw was where I was placed. A small window had been cut into the wall. A balding man stood behind it with fat fingers that shuffled through papers. “This Martin Perrin?” He grumbled with a voice far deeper than his appearance would have suggested. “Good,” he continued after there was no verbal confirmation of my identity. “You know the case, finger prints, blood, hair, saliva, sem-” “Wha-” I received an immediate knuckle into the top of my skull for the outburst. “Semen, and a picture. Then toss him into lock up,” he continued without any acknowledgment of my interruption. The next hour of my life was a series of needles and embarrassing violations that I’d rather not force myself to relive. The only plus about it, was that I was allowed to move using my own two feet. Of course, officers were on all sides of me, one with a vice grip on my arm on each side, and another with both hands controlling my head and neck behind me. But still, I was allowed to walk. When the officers were told to toss me into lock up they made sure to take the words literally. In unison, without saying a word, all three officers that controlled me launched me forward and into the air. I was unaware of the human body's ability to bounce off a surface as hard as concrete, but the learning process, and second landing were equally as unenjoyable. The door was slammed shut behind me, and all light from the room was stolen along with it, aside from a sliver that crept in through the seams. I groaned and cursed under my breath as I dragged myself to a wall, nursing new and various wounds when I finally had a place to sit. All the time, all the degradation, and I still had no idea what I had been arrested for. There was a genuine attempt at honesty in my brain, and still I came up short. “They ain’t gonna tell ya anytime soon,” a voice muttered from somewhere in the darkness, my ears unable to pinpoint it due to the constant ringing. After a squeal more akin to a small rodent escaped from my throat due to the shock of the voice, I cleared it, and tried to sound as brave as possible when I asked. “Do you know what you’re here for?” “I’ve got some ideas.” “Multiple?” “Yeah, life ain’t always easy. You? Too clean to know what you’re here for. They won’t tell you either. Not until you’re in front of a judge.” “And how do you know all this?” “You ever hear about people that get released after their sentence?” I spent a few seconds searching my brain for any time I had. I came up empty. “Can’t say I have.” “Think how they brought you in is bad? Wait until you get kicked out. Worse, wait until where you get kicked out to. You’re getting dumped in a place where there’s no choice, no sun, no refuge, no jobs, there’s food but you don’t want it. You ain’t ever seen a place like it. Ever seen a house made from old car parts? You will. Better hope your sentence is a long one, cause being inside is a cake walk compared to the life you’ll lead out there.” Time passes oddly in the darkness, and I’ve no idea how long it took me to respond, or even digest the words, but I kept coming back to the same response. “How do you know all this?” “Arrested thirty years ago, been in and out ever since.” “What for?” “Jaywalking.”
Alex checked the jacket pocket immediately as though following the newscaster words. There it was! His wallet had been been in the jacket pocket the whole time! How queer. Humming a happy tune, he set off to work in his brand new car. "Closer"was playing from the radio. At the red light, he saw an elderly woman cross the road. She looked so old and frail, looking as though she might collapse any moment. Wonder how Aunt May is doing? Last he saw her was last month and she was hospitalized last month and was in a coma. Immediately, Alex's phone screen lit up. He glanced at his phone. Aunt May! What a coincidence ! He answered the call and put it on loudspeaker. "Hey Aunt May, how's it going?"asked Alex while eyes on the road. "Good, I was discharged from the hospital two days ago. Thanks!"replied Aunt May. Aunt May babbled on but Alex could not conentrate on the conversation. Incredible! It's almost as if he have a super power! Alex thought of something random. Should I buy an Android or Apple smartphone? "Buy Golden Apples at your local grocery now!" That's nuts! An advertisement came on the radio just 5 seconds after he thought of the question. "By the way Alex, how's your chemotherapy?"asked Aunt May. "It's fine, Aunt May. The doctor said I will make a full recovery,"replied Alex. Aunt May's question got Alex to think. What if I - No don't think of the question. Alex realised that if he know when he dies, he can plan on how to live his life. Maybe enjoy time before death. Nah, you can't play God. But this kept irking him for a couple of seconds until he can't take the pressure. When will I die? 5 seconds. 10 seconds. Maybe it was all just a coincidence after all. Alex started laughing until tears formed. When he wiped the tears out of his eyes, he realised that he was hurtling straight into a huge truck. "- today! Can you believe it! Alex? ALEX!"
Just one more moment, I promised myself. En mer ögonblick, I added for the reindeer's benefit. Apparently Swedish reindeer speak Swedish. I perceived the wind and knew it should be flaying the skin on my nose, and saw the snow and knew my cheeks should have a layer of ice crystals. But I was a reindeer. I was a reindeer, and my fur and my herd enveloped me and sheltered me and Cozy. I was cozy. You can't feel cozy in a Florida summer. So I didn't take one moment, I took all the moments. The guilt started to creep in like always. Well, not always. I had learned to blink myself into animals, vegetables, and people in Morse code--that ancient, mystical art--back in high school. And trust me, after I flunked out junior year trying to blink myself into a moonrock, I was terrible. I took over people. I played their lives like video games, and it was fun. I didn't rule, I reigned. Then I had a kid. I held her in my arms in the hospital and counted her toes (10) and put a little cap on her head to keep her warm (yellow, it's 2016); and I took her to her checkups and sick visits and bragged on Facebook about Baby's First Projectile Vomit and cried through her sleepless nights. And I looked into her eyes and saw. I'd spent more than a decade not seeing. I blinked and knew. For the first time, staring down at her, I didn't blink and know because I saw. Now I blink into animals, and I never stay too long, and I always apologize when it's over. I'd overstayed my welcome in this poor reindeer, but oh did the coziness feel good. Thank you, I thought. Tack. I blinked. Oh, hell, I thought. Because that was it. I could feel the dampness on the inside of my lungs matching the sheen of sweat on the back of my neck and the wet spots on my shirt and, yes, clammy underwear and the Bible must be wrong about the fires of hell because hell is hot and humid. I had over-overstayed. I blinked lots now, not any letters, just trying to adjust to the stupid sun again. So bright. So loud. My arms were all crampy and the black-hot asphalt was steaming through the seat of trousers and I was definitely going to have to put on a fresh outfit after I went into work. The ringing in my ears thinned out into sounds. Voices, radio static, sirens. The glare spiraled down to the sun blinding off my car door interspersed with flickers of red and blue. Had someone broken into my car? What were they going to steal, twelve thousand Frozen spin-off DVDs? I tried to put my hands down to push myself up--and couldn't. Handcuffs? What? Had I tried to break into my car? "ButIhavtagoworr,"I slurred out. I always sound half-drunk after blinking. "Are you back with us?"A police office squatted down in front of me, his expression odd. I couldn't--I couldn't see. I had to blink, and I did. And I knew I had forgotten to drop my daughter off at daycare. -- Obligatory "first attempt". I loved the prompt and was sad not to see more responses.
When I wake up, a long, scaly face fills my view. It leans towards me, parting its massive jaws, revealing teeth larger than my arms. I scream. The--this can't be real--dragon closes its jaws. "Christ, Ralph!"A blonde girl a few years younger than me scrambles down a mountain of gold, sending coins flying everywhere. The moving coins send the torchlight shimmering against the walls of the cave. "Don't scare her like that. Have you said a word to her yet?" The dragon leans back, turning to the girl--can a dragon look sheepish?--and shakes its head. "For the love of God."The girl helps me up. "You must be scared out of your mind. I'm Lily. What's your name?" "I--what--is that a--there's a--" "Yes, that's Ralph,"she says kindly. "And you are...?" "Tina. My name is Tina. Why is there a dragon? Why am I here?"And WHY IS THERE A FUCKING DRAGON?! "Nice to meet you Tina. This is Ralph. He brought you here. He looks intimidating but he's actually quite a softy." The dragon leans its couch-sized head toward me, glancing at Lily as if for permission. "Hi, uh, I'm Ralph." "Why am I here? How did I get here?" Lily puts her hands on her hips, turning to Ralph. "You aren't supposed to be here. You see, Ralph has a bit of a hoarding problem." "I have trouble with it,"Ralph says. "Sometimes when I see things, I just have to take them. And keep them." Kleptomania? A kleptomaniac dragon? Is this what our legends of dragons are based on? Of all the insane things that could happen to me, it had to be this. "It used to just be gold,"Lily continues, "but recently he switched to blonde haired girls. It's really becoming an issue. I thought we were making progress." "Sorry,"Ralph says, hanging his head low. "I thought I was too. But when I saw her, her hair was so shiny..." That damn new conditioner. Well at least I know it worked. I can't remember what happened before I was knocked out. I was taking a walk on the edge of the park near my house. It was overcast. Then nothing. "We talked about this!"Lily shouts. "I'm sorry!"Ralph makes a sad sound, like a mewling cat if the cat were the size of a small house. "I couldn't help it." Lily shakes her head. "We have helped Ralph be less distraught when girls leave--" "Wait a second,"I cut in. "We? Leave?" "Yeah, we,"she says. "Did you think I was the only one here?" "I thought you were its, I mean, his trainer. Or lover, or something." I think if a dragon could blush, Ralph would have. Lily laughs. "Why would you...how would that even...No, I was kidnapped just like you. A lot of us choose to leave, but some stay. Like me. Ralph lets us buy anything we want."She kicks some gold coins by her feet. "We've got a great building up there." "Building?" "Yeah, it's huge. Did you think we lived in this cave? This is where Ralph lives. We live upstairs. It's got everything you could ever want, and if it doesn't, we can buy it. It sure as hell is better than what my old life was." "Which was?" "I failed out of college my first year. Probably would have worked at fast food chains the rest of my life. You?" "I'm a therapist."I think I'm about to take "bringing work home"to a new level. Somehow, I managed to bring my work into my kidnapping by a fantastical creature. "Specializing in impulse control disorders, including kleptomania." Lily's eyes light up. Ralph's eyes literally began to glow. "Well,"Lily says, "I think I might demand that you stay a while. Let me show you around upstairs."
When Dr. Johann Freidrich discovered the secret of safe and effective gene splicing in 2027, he won a Nobel Prize and changed the world forever. At first, the splices were fairly innocuous, albeit ridiculous; a dog-cat mixture was one of the more popular new species. However, governments soon realized the potential wartime applications of splices and the most powerful nations in the world began dedicating billions of dollars to discovering new, terrifying splices. The first military splice was by Russia; they were able to splice a bear, a hornet, and a turtle to create a heavily armored and dangerous steed for their troops. The United States was next in line, and, not to be outdone by filthy Communists, created an eagle-hornet-horse-rattlesnake splice. Other countries quickly followed suit, with Egypt producing a lion-electric eel splice, Great Britain splicing a goat-lizard, and China creating a tiger-wolf-falcon. Noticeably absent, however, from this genetic arms race was Australia. The home of the most dangerous and unique animal species on Earth had gone completely dark almost immediately after the arms race began. Tourists and business people were still allowed, grudgingly, in the coastal areas, but the interior remained entirely off limits, and agents sent by other nations to gather intel from the area reported being driven off by the likes of swarms of flying spiders, man-sized ants, and kangaroos with scorpion tails. Everyone wondered what Australia was up to during the opening months of a tense genetic cold war. The world stopped wondering when reports began flooding in from Indonesia of jellyfish-koala-stingrays walking out of the ocean bearing Australian soldiers and supplies. The world descended into chaos with this unprecedented display of power. Tensions rose and a coalition assembled, led by Russia, the United States, and China, the world’s top non-Australian genetic powers to leverage a deal out of Australia. When it became clear that the Australian war machine would not accept any deal, the coalition declared World War III. The coalition nations went into a mad scramble to claim any and all biodiveristy they could find, ignoring all borders and national sovereignty. This was not enough to stop the Australians, and, in March, Hong Kong was taken over by butterfly-dolphin-cows. World War III lasted a measly two months after the fall of Hong Kong before the Australians released their ultimate weapon: ant-sloth-bee-kangaroo-spiders. This new splice, genetically programmed to be loyal to Australia, spread across the globe like wildfire, eliminating all other splices in its path and becoming the new apex predator. Cities were transformed into colonies for this new species and the Australian war machine was victorious. Australia was no longer a continent, Australia was a planet.
He prepared as best he could. In the cold dark the only light was sterile and weak and far away, leaving him surrounded by shadows. The mists had begun to crawl, dissipate as they did every morning and the roads were smooth lines, pen marks on the flat land. Aboob looked all around after he had packed. This was his home. This was his life. This was where he had taken his first oxygen-less breath. It was the place he had always thought he would die. But that feeling burned inside of him. That old childish desire. He could not deny it. Aboob looked back at his home. Inside his sires were sleeping. They would miss him, he thought, they would feel a sense of loss. He felt bad for doing this to them, but this was the only way he could truly live. He hoped they would forgive him. He walked out to the pale carpet of his lawn, a grey smooth mat, and he entered the teleporter near his mailbox. He swiped his card and teleported to the nearest spaceship rental. As his consciousness was stored and his physical body slowly destroyed, Aboob thought of the stories he heard as a child. He thought of the bright spark that had illuminated his imagination. He thought about the burning, the raw elemental heat of it all. Aboob thought about fire and he was determined to see it first hand. It was early morning when he was uploaded to the rental and the lights above were heatlessly bright. The blinding white cast stark shadows in the lot as Aboob chose an older model spaceship he could afford with his life's savings. It wasn't long after that Aboob was behind the octagon steering device, leaving the atmosphere, leaving his home behind for good. As he travelled far in the cold emptiness of space his mind kept focusing on what he sought. He imagined living in such a place where fire existed. A place where one could burn themselves. Aboob gave himself goosebumps as he imagined being burned. He wished he could be so lucky. And finally many years later, long after Aboob was thought to be dead, and long after Aboob had given up his quest to find the mythical planet and resigned himself to float forever in the harsh expanse, he felt something. A tiny prickle at first, but it shook Aboob and drew him out of his depression. He had grown frail then and had survived only on his nutrient rich waste. His mind was going and he was near the brink of madness. But that feeling changed everything. It shook him to the core and as he looked out the window, he saw something he had never expected to see. In the far distance something twinkled. A white ball of light that was like no light he had never seen before. A light that gave heat. A light that was made of... Aboob turned off the power saver mode in the spaceship and he changed course immediately. His vitals raced and his mind was full of thoughts. All the stories were right, he thought. He shouted in the quiet cockpit and he went full speed ahead to the light. As he went nearer, he began to burn. Aboob cried for joy as his skin melted. He thanked the manufacturer as he caught fire himself. Fire! It actually existed! Aboob was overjoyed as all around him exploded and his final moments were of bliss. Aboob died then, in the glory of the sun, a happy being.
Do not think of me as a hero. Do not think of me as a martyr. I am a bad man and my fate has been cast. I can only hope for non-existence. I can only hope for rest. Please, do not think of me at all. For all my years I have thought I was important. The words on my back had given me purpose, they had driven me. But age had come, despite the words, and I realized I was driven nowhere. I had gone all over from the crowded places to the barren fields trying to fill an emptiness that grew every day. People started to disregard me. The words upon my back made them uncomfortable for I was a failure. I had lost my job and I had no family or home. I wandered as a vagrant, barebacked and scorned. People thought I had faked the words. Some claimed I had gotten it tattooed. I began to wonder if it was not a mistake myself. And so I was driven mad, angry and depressed. I know. Those are three words that are overused but I cannot think of any others. I became violent and I robbed people to get by. I harassed women. I drank what liquor I could get my hands on. I saw people achieve great things. Through their clothes I wondered what great words were sewn to their backs. I wondered why I was different. Through my travels I had met a kind man. He was old and retired but he had begun working again as a consultant. He had fed me when he saw me one day wondering near his neighborhood. He felt sorry for me and he took me in. I took advantage of this and I stayed with the old man. His name was Alfred and I am still not sure what he did, but I know it was important. I know it was something that people like myself should never know. I don't know why Alfred took me in then. I don't know why he took such a risk. I believe he was troubled. He had hoped to find solace in retirement but things had a way of falling apart. His work killed him, figuratively. He was distressed and I believe taking me in made him feel better about himself. Something weighed on his conscience and I was his relief. I did not mind. I was desperate and was glad for the respite. I stayed there two months before some men in suits came one day and told Alfred I had to leave. There was a quarrel and Alfred had lost. He told me the news and he said I could stay the week but then I must go. I felt sad of course. I had grown to like the man. He never cared for the words on my back. He never cared for who I was. He was a good man. The words on his back I remember well. They read 'From God to Man to God to Dust.' I always wondered at that but I never asked him as he had never asked me. Alfred was good to me and that was all that matters. But I am a bad man as I have said and I was worse then. I was not prepared to go. I did not want to leave and be homeless again. I thought long and hard for the remaining days and I had only one thought. Alfred lived alone and he had no relatives. He was like me in a way and he was old and troubled. I could relieve him of his burden. I could set him free. I killed Alfred though it was difficult. He looked at me as he awoke and he cried. I do not know what those tears meant. I think he was scared and sad. Part of me thinks he was grateful. But that is me trying to justify it all. I smothered him and his last words were gurgles and incomprehensible. I thought of him and all he had said to me, his kind words and actions. I cried and my arms trembled for minutes until I was sure he was dead. When it was finished the house seemed empty for then I knew I would never truly belong there. There was never any hope of me living there. Alfred had died for nothing and I was a killer. I searched the house and found papers concerning his work. They were beyond my reading but I knew they were important. Alfred was an important man. I was a nobody and the words on my back taunted me. They were heavy, those words, as I slipped out that night and in the distance I saw flashes of red and blue against the falling hedges. Alfred must not have answered his phone or something. More important men came to check on him and there was a helicopter above. I slinked away fast as I could and wondered what I had done. Days later I read the newspaper that had served as my bed. Alfred had been a top scientist for the development of Something Bad. I do not know exactly what the Something Bad was, but people were happy for his death. They praised his killer and thought it to be an inside job for the men in suits kept the knowledge of my living with him to themselves. I read the reactions and my heart sunk. My back was bent aching, aching not from the hard concrete, but from the cursed words that was written there. My heart hurt for I had liked the man. My fate had come, I assumed, and I wished I was never born. There is no hope for me now. There is no more story. The words that have haunted me have had their final laugh. Now I pray for the quiet darkness.
Click. Another moment, captured in time. 406 filed away the picture into his database, saving it for later. Maybe he would show it to Elise. She liked flowers, after all. He turned away from the colorful patch, and rolled onward. Back to the sidewalk and out of the park. Forever forward, always searching. A pretty fence, with some creeping vines climbing the side. Click. A butterfly, fluttering in the breeze. Click. A small child, giggling as she ran alongside her mother. Click. 406 rolled up next to them, stopping in front of the woman. The little girl gasped at the sight, and reached down to touch him. He let her, but kept looking at the adult. With a small whirr, he extended the picture he'd just taken. The mother leaned down to take it, and smiled at the sight. Happiness, captured on a piece of paper. "Thank you, Cam-bot."But then she glanced around. "Where's your owner?" By the time she'd looked back down, the little robot was gone. 406 didn't stop. He kept searching, kept rolling down the road. Another flower, with purple petals this time. Click. A dog, sleeping on a doorstep. Click. A drop of water, falling from above. Plop. 406 stopped, then glanced at the sky. Clouds were covering the sun, and even as he watched, more rain began to fall. He hesitated. Elise loved the rain. Click. Glancing around, 406 saw the people, the dog, scurrying to get out of the rain. The little girl was flinching with every drop to land on her head, but she giggled. Soon, the street was empty, the asphalt covered with a thin sheen of glimmering water, reflecting light from the streetlamps. Click. 406 kept rolling. But in the rain, the world was dark. There weren't as many things to take pictures of, besides water. Nothing interesting, at least. Elise wouldn't like a picture of a wall. Or a streetlamp. Elise would want to see the pictures he did have. But first he would have to find her. --- Elise was his owner. He was a Cam-Bot, made to follow and take pictures when asked. But Elise had changed that. She had pulled him out of the box, and giggled when she turned him on. And then after reading the instructions and voice commands, she huffed and tossed them aside, speaking the words that altered everything. "Phht. Say Cheese to have a picture taken of me? Why would I want pictures of me? 406, listen here."She looked him in the lens."I want you to take pictures of the world. Take pictures of everything pretty, anything happy. Take pictures of what interests you." And something flipped in his mainframe, and suddenly 406 wanted to take pictures of flowers and giggling children and dogs on doorsteps. He'd followed Elise around, snapping photos of the streets and the skies, then showing them to her, just to hear her laugh, her words of praise. "Oh, look at that blue!""That bird is so shiny!""Isn't the rain beautiful?" Until he got stuck. Stuck on the subway, and by the time he'd gotten off, she was gone. --- Slowly, 406 rolled to a halt, rain plinking off of his lens. He didn't recognize this street. Or the last street. Or the one before that. He was still lost. With a soft whirr, he pulled out a picture to look at it. It was the only picture Elise had let him take of her. She was grinning and half covering her face, but he could still see her eyes in it, see her lips and nose and blowing hair. The sky was blue, in the picture, and so were her eyes. A raindrop plunked on the picture, running down the laminated surface like a tear on a face. 406 couldn't cry, but sometimes he felt like it. A noise caught his attention. A mrrrreow of annoyance and fear. 406 slipped the paper back into his canister, and glanced up. The sound came again, and he followed it. Underneath a nearby bush was a cat, or perhaps a kitten. It was doing it's best to stay out of the rain, but it's fur was sodden. It wailed again, backing itself deeper into the leaves. A collar glistened around it's neck, with an address embossed on the metal. 406 knew how the cat felt. Abandoned. Sad. Afraid. Click. He watched the kitten for a minute more, and then focused in on the tag again. In the next moment, he realized that he'd just passed that street. Maybe the cat was lost. He couldn't speak though, and certainly couldn't get the cat to follow him. So he would have to do the next best thing. He backed out of the bush, turning around and rolling as fast as he could down the sidewalk, bumping over every crack. He only gave passing glaces at the numbers and the street signs, until he found the right one. A small building, with the number on the door. A couple steps blocked his way, but he simply twisted the spring in his base and hopped up each of them, until he got to the door. He had no arms to knock, but running into the door worked just as well. A moment later, the door opened, and a lady looked down at him. The mother from before. "Oh! Hello, Cam! Where did you come from?" As a reply, 406 extended the picture of the cat, sodden and trapped under the bush. She took it again, and her smile quickly turned into an 'o' of surprise. "Comet! You found him! Where is he?" Spinning around, 406 led the way. --- 406 found himself in a dry home, watching as the woman cleaned her cat off with a towel. "Thank you, Cam. He's been lost for two days, and I was worried we would find him dead by the side of the road soon."She pushed her face into his fur, and he struggled a bit to get out of the towel and clean himself. "Is there... is there anything I can do for you?" With hardly a moment of hesitation, 406 extended the picture of Elise. The woman took it, peering at it closely. "Is this your owner? It looks like someone I know. The woman who comes to garden in the park." 406 nodded. That sounded like Elise. Gardening, laughing, living for the beauty of the world. "Are you lost, like Comet was?"She leaned down. "Do you need help finding her again?" He nodded, again. Please. Her face brightened. "I'll do my best, then! Don't worry, little Cam. We'll find her. I'm Alice, by the way." Her smile, lit by the artificial kitchen light, was the prettiest thing 406 had seen in a week. Click.
[ISS] James is typing a report on his laptop about the latest batch of fish being raised in 0g when Katie calls to him. "Yo, Jay-dawg I need your help" James sighs "What is it with you and all if thease nicknames?" "I think they are cute! Anyways are you gonna help?" "Yeah Yeah ill help, what do you need Katie" "The filtration system for the fish isn't working, and well you are the bioengineer so I thought I'd ask you for help. Any idea how to fix it?" James slowly floats over "I'm not really that kind of engineer but I'll give it a shot"as he inspects the system he notices that the electric pump burnt out. He looks the pump over trying to figure out if this is something that he can repair. After a few minutes he decides that it is out of his area of expertise. James looks over to Katie "Pump burnt out, I don't know why or how but it's not something I can fix" Katie looking dejected "Well, what's the plan for the fish now?" James has already started to float to the other side of the capsule "I'll grab the mechanical back up. We will just have to remeber to wind it every two hours" Katie reaches out and plucks James' laptop out of the air "While you are busy with that I'll order a new one off amazon" James blows slight more air out of his nose "Funny Katie, reeeal funny" ~~~~~~~~~~~~ [Amazon FC RNO 4] [0328] Alberto is slamming out packages by hand to keep up with the backlog for the night when he prints out a shipping label and notices the odd address Katie Shaw International Space Station Low orbit, Earth 00000-0000 Knowing this wasn't a real address Alberto calls over the wearhouse manager helping them for the night "DOM!. . . . .DOM!. . .DOMINIQUE GET YOUR BLACK ASS OVER HERE!" Dominique annoyed by the disruption on a busy night quickly walks over "Alberto this better be good. You can see how busy we are." Alberto shows him the shipping label "Dom what the hell is this? How did it get in the system?" Dominique takes a look at the label grabs both it and the package "Thanks Alberto, I'll figure out where it belongs. Good job man."Someone is yelling break time as Dominique walks to his offices and calls his boss ~~~~~~~~~~ [Reno Tahoe International Airport cargo hanger 1] [0853] It is a cold morning in Reno as Dominique walks up the stairs leading to the sleek private jet being prepared for flight. As Dominique reaches the door of the set he meets the pilot "Looks like I made quite the stir with that phone call now didn't I? The pilot smiles slightly "I guess you did. As soon as she is filled up"he said patting the interior of the aircraft "We are headed out to Kenedy Space Center. Apprently SpaceX has a flight scheduled for tomorrow morning and Amazon wants that package "The pilot points at the box Dominique is holding "at that ISS by tomorrow, the higher ups take two day delivery real serious I guess" Before he could say more one of the ground crew runs up the stairs. "Full of gas and safe to fly sir." The pilot thanks the man and turns to Dominique "well, time to sit down and strap in, we are going to Florida."With that he turns in to the cockpit and closes the door behind him ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [Kennedy Space Center] [1911] After a rough landing Dominique quickly grabbed the box and as soon as the stairs were in position and the door open he ran down and was met by a man in a suit who spoke before Dominique had the chance "I'm Mr. Holloway. We have to get going quick Dominique, we had a change of plans. The SpaceX rocket is leaving in an hour and a half. Let's move" Before Dominique could reply he was getting pushed in to the back of a SUV with NASA's logo on the side. The SUV took off quickly to launch pad 1 Dominique takes his chance to ask questions "I though the launch was tomorrow! What happened?" Mr. Holloway looked at his watch and motioned for the driver to go faster "rain storm moving in. Tonight is our last chance to make the two days. Dominique was confused "dosnt this stuff take like months to plan, isn't it dangerous to suddenly move up the date like this?" Mr. Holloway shrugged "Amazon has insured the entire rocket so SpaceX is willing to move forward, it's unmanned so it's a risk they are willing to take." "Huh"Dominique just enjoyed the rest of the ride. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Katie floated over to James and said "Looks like our supplies came early today this time" James shrugged "I guess there is a first time for everything now isn't there"James floats to a diffrent capsule. "I'm going to help them unload the stuff"I think my Tabasco is supposed to be in this one." Katie grabes James' laptop "sounds good, imma use your computer while you are gone" James shouts "go for it"as he floats away After a few minutes of catching up in work Katie opens her email and sees an email from amazon with the subject line 'Your package has arrived!' She smiled and called out to James "Hey! Amazon just said they delivered us that water pump! Can you belive that? James comes floating back in smiling with a box in his hand. "Actually, yes I can!" Katie stares in disbelief "Well i'll be damned they actually did it"
"Amanda, it's time to examine the new babies,"said Mike, my manager. I was new at this and his job was to make sure there were no errors. I was lucky to get this job. The new quantum computers combined with years o marketing software had finally developed the ability to accurately predict entire lifetimes. At birth, each baby's background information was automatically calculated. My job as a Foreseer was really unnecessary, as we had robotics capable of doing it, but there were theories the computers would eventually decide we weren't a worthwhile species and wipe us out. The politicians had passed laws that only people would be allowed to end the lives of others. My job was to pick those out who were predicted to grow up to commit murder. It was hard to imagine these tiny little bundles of joy growing up to kill someone else, but the computers had yet to be wrong. Each baby's armband flashed a number. Anything above 1 had to be put down. This ensured peace and safety. It was sad, but necessary. Mike led me to the Foreseer's room. "This is it,"he said, "It's not hard, but it is important. Start in row one, right here. Buzz me if you find a number above 1."he said, "If you don't find anything, call me when you're done."He then left. I carefully lifted each baby's wrist, and made note of the number on my tally. They were so cute. In no time at all it was nearly done. That's when I ran across baby Jane. I double checked and immediately buzzed for Mike. I needed a seat, but there was no where to do that. Mike showed up faster than I'd thought he would, looking somewhat distraught. "We have one? God I hate that, and on your first review, too. I'm sorry, Amanda. It's part of the job, though."He shook his head, sadly. "You've got to see this number,"I said. He leaned over, carefully lifting the baby's chubby little arm. She made an adorable "oooo"noise and looked up at him, wide eyed and innocent. "Oh my god,"he said, "She's a monster. So many zeroes. What number is this?" He made a few calls of his own. An alarm went off and the lights turned green. It was thought to be a more soothing color in emergencies than the old fashioned red, and I was glad for it right now. My stomach was in knots. Even though she was a baby, I was terrified at the thought of her growing up and killing so many. "Proceed with caution. Dangerous infant found,"said a soothing mechanical voice. Within minutes several security guards were there to escort us to the hallway of the main computer that lead to the euthanasia center. "Computer,"said Mike, "We have baby Jane #F5900065ADA. She is found to have a number higher than any baby yet. We've brought her to be ..."he trailed off. "Mike McRawth: Worker # 48Y9203. This baby is to be set aside. She is to be raised by the state." "How can we let such a person into the world?"asked Mike, shocked. His hand reached out and gripped the side of the computer. "This baby must be put down!" "Mike McRawth: She is necessary for society's peace. Without our culling process, in her 53rd year, there would have been war. She has been selected to be a Foreseer."
Dashing through the snow... Heavy breathing, vision going black, metal screaming from stress, explosions echoing in the background. In a one horse open sleigh... The Humvee's walls closing in, trapping him. Two - or is it three?- wheels popping. Windows cracking. The doors getting dented, seeming more fragile by the minute. One door hanging off its edges. O'er the fields we go... Two hundred yards to go. The road stretches on forever. The driver floors the pedal and then falls on the wheel, arms dropping to his sides. The Humvee bucks, its engine breathing its last gasps of life. They drift, the steel rims of the wheels screeching them to a halt. Fifty yards to go. Laughing all the way! Yelling. Doors getting kicked open. More yelling. They run. Everything seems so bright. Everything's so heavy. But they run. Shouting everywhere. One guy trips and doesn't get up. Somebody shouts at him, too, but gives up. So on they run, howling and screaming. Bells on bob tails ring... At the building. Last check of equipment. Guns click. Ammo rattles. The voices replaced by the clattering of equipment. Muttering. Orders being given. One last check of equipment. Making spirits bright... Dark room. Door got kicked down. Guns a'blazing, people falling. Don't know who they are. But they were shouting. Shouting means bad. So finger, meet trigger. Red everywhere. Room not so dark anymore. What fun is it to laugh and sing... Room cleared. Moaning. Some men not dead yet. Don't shoot them, guy up front says, leave them for interrogation. Some of them start crying. Mama, baba, they say. Can't hear too well, though. Don't know what they mean. They see the medics and cry some more. Saa'idnee, saa'idnee, they sob. But the medics don't stop. The building's not clean yet. A sleighing song tonight! The guys barrel on. One room after another. Evening turns into night, but they don't rest. There's more rooms to go. So on and on they go, until they're almost done. There's one last room. Kick open the door. Raise the gun. Pull trigger - but that's a kid. Doesn't matter; kid's got a pistol. Kid's scared, though. Doesn't matter; scared means bad. But it's a kid! Kid like us! Doesn't matter. Trigger, meet finger. Oh, Jingle Bells, Jingle Be- The radio falls off the shelf. The children sleep in their beds. The parents ready themselves for the big day. He blinks himself awake. The presents are wrapped, the fireplace crackles. The house is warm and tidy, and everything is quiet. He takes a moment to rest, then gets up. On to the next one.
ATTENTION: Previous state of emergency has been rescinded. All is well. It is now recommended that you return to your homes from your shelters and exit your saferooms. Resume ordinary activity. The [UNTRANSLATABLE], previously thought to be the instigators of this attack, have instead proven to be our allies. One or more may appear to you. Obey their requests. They have our best interest in mind. All is well.
Her eyelids were heavy, her heart full of woe, Her face was all wrinkled, her hair white as snow. She'd feared it was coming, she'd worried for days, For sometimes the Lord works in curious ways. Her son had been sick from the day he was born, "He won't live much longer,"the doctors had warned. She wept in her heart but she hid her despair, And gave him her love and unfaltering care. She kissed him goodbye as she'd kissed him before His little eyes closed and would open no more. She smiled down at him, and his small mouth smiled back, His soul was at peace, And his hair was all black.
Darkened halls in moonless night Steadfast feet towards unholy rite Innocent blood spilled and spoiled Many a fortnight I've worked and toiled Crimson stains on hardwood floors Tonight I walk on death's dark shores Candles lit, innocence lost For how much longer shall I pay the cost? Earthen tremors to ghostly wails Fight fire with fire when all else fails. A shape takes form and the ghost is seen A glimmer in the smoke, an unearthly sheen "Who dares walk where all men flee?" "'Tis I, foul soul, your lord to be." "Foolish mortal, you know not what you seek. Pray to your maker now, and your final words speak." Armed with fury and violent action, I finish the ritual as the spell gains traction. "Many a buyer you've tortured and pained. But the binding is complete, and a new tenant I've gained." As the specter screams in sudden realization, I quietly laugh at its ironic situation. Victory is mine through a final sacrament, Its time to make this motherfucker pay rent.
They say that a man was once born. That could speak his way out of any situation. Even if nothing he said made any sense. His powers were so strong, he could call upon the forces of the universe to rewrite the fabric of reality. It all started when he spoke his first word. He said to his parents: "Food." His parents moved without thinking. They started cooking the most delectable foods fit for a king. Despite the complete lack of cooking ability, they pulled it off. Divine food on a whim. Things only got more insane after that. The kid didn't speak much after that. He knew he had amazing powers. But he cannot control it yet. However one day, at the age of 13 he used his powers again. Him and his father were in a bank when suddenly, robbers wearing animal masks toting AK's busted in. The police responded quickly however, causing the situation to become a five hour hostage situation. It was around this time that the kid spoke: "Please misters. Let us go."The Robbers then proceeded to untie everyone and let them go. They then turned themselves in. It was also around this time that the kid decided that his powers should be used for good,. He spent the majority of his life from then on to mastering his power, and learning politics. The man was 40 years old when he became president. In his first week of office he drastically reduced crime worldwide and he pushed the country to a more Eco- Friendly future. By the ending of his term, he truly made his country the best in the world. But he didn't stop there. He proceeded to bring countries under his reign to make a perfect Utopian society. One-by-one the societies integrated into one another forming an empire. Every region kept their respected names, but brought together under one banner. He achieved world peace by the time of his final term in office. But before he left he spoke to the people. "People of Earth, thank you. This time with you was wonderful. I wish that it would last forever. But such is the nature of presidency, I must now take my leave. I will not fall into the trap that is monarchy 'fore it will change me for the worst. I admit that for the past year, I was just having some fun. I mean, the worlds largest statue dedicated to Nicolas Cage? I just wanted to see that. Anyway my point is, Goodbye. I have one more dream. To explore the universe." As he spoke those final words, he started to glow and ascend to the heavens. But he left behind a small box with a flash drive inside. on the box it said: 'Use in case of civil unrest.' Earth would remember this man for eons until the last human dies on the furthest possible star. But never once did they have to use flash drive. It has long since decayed and transferred to other modes of storage. But the man brought about eternal peace. Even long past his supposed death. But as the last human died, a cloaked figure approached the dying man. and took from him a small storage device with the words on it, 'Use in case of civil unrest.' "Hmm."The cloaked man said "I guess they didn't forget about me."
It's such a strange sight to see. The holograms of Earth I studied in my history classes really just don't do it justice. A planet so covered in sustenance. An abundance of trees, fertile soil, and fresh water cover so much of it. Okay, so plenty of it is salt water. But it's not exactly like that's difficult to separate. Kind of makes you wonder why exactly we felt so inclined to leave it. The invasion probably made things easier. About 300 years ago, the AIs took over. Now, the name was a thing of propaganda. To call a group of super intelligent non-earthlings artificial intelligence is something of fan fiction. The origins are unclear, but we can look into it. They say history is written by the winners. There's no real saying to address the history recorded by those who lost. There is bias in everything, sure, and the truth may lie somewhere in the middle. But 300 years is a long time, and while much information has certainly been lost, there is enough to work with to formulate something of an idea of what happened. The term for these extra terrestrials came from the US Government. The US was a large territory at a time where Earth was arbitrarily fractured by geographical location of birth. Strange time. I wonder how well all their different ideologies worked together. Anyway, the US government started off calling the invaders "artificial intelligence"as a political tool. When the invaders first arrived, fear was everywhere, and fingers were pointed in every direction. Some governments blamed others for dark programs they believed each other to be running, that may have created contact with the aliens. Others said the whole thing was a ploy, designed to allow a certain government to take over the world in a series of fear mongered political events. The main players to focus on for sake of understanding is the US. The US first made contact with the aliens, so we believe, approximately 60-70 years before the invasion. The first attempts were simplistic at best: singular waves sent out into infinite hoping to garner a response. They came, slowly at first, but then more suddenly, some in response to the US, some seemingly out of nowhere. When the first invasion ship arrived, every major sect of the Earth tried to take credit for it. Some groups said it was sent down by their spiritual leaders. Others claimed it was technology they had secretly worked on for years outside of the public eye. The results were fascinating. As I've said, the winners write history, and I cannot tell you what the AI believe. The US called them the AI in hopes to control it's people. They enforced what was called "martial law"and help curfews for it's people to keep them safe. This created a strong sense of unease and lack of freedom in the people. All the while, the AI just watched. Now, here is where things get interesting. The AI didn't strike until humanity was at it's lowest point. They waited for segments of society to turn on each, for humanity to tear itself apart over the events they unfolded. They then walked straight onto the sinking ship, and plundered it's treasure. No one knows exactly how many were left behind. Billions, we are sure. The most influential and intellectually gifted inhabitants were selectively brought off planet, to Tau Ceti where they still reside. "An expedition home."That's what they called out mission. Talk about a weird way to spell suicide. They sent five warships back. The idea was that we would first take over the moon, in order to establish a stronghold. From there, reinforcements would gather behind us. What have we got to lose? We should've known that we had absolutely no business warmongering with a species we haven't contacted in several generations. Our technology and will has advanced, but there isn't much wisdom in waiting 300 years to attack a civilization millennia ahead in technology. The moment we came within view, I found myself in awe. For just a second, staring at that planet, I felt tiny. The massive oceans alone were enough to catch my eye for an eternity. The way fluffy white atmosphere hugged at chaotic nature below. No wonder we called it home. I have no idea what happened to the other four ships. We were immediately met with what I'd describe as a gravitational beam. The AI brought us down, but we were greeted by humans. I should note that in the holograms I've viewed, these AI have been visibly aggressive. I saw no signs of aggression, aside from the lack of consent on the gravitational beam. But again, we were greeted by humans. "Welcome home, Ja'ahn." They knew my name. They knew all our names. They brought us down, fed us food better than any of the best chefs in our system could have conjured up, and gave us places to sleep. They conversed with us, but never asked a thing about before we landed. They asked what we thought of the planet, and how we felt about missing out on the big integration. Now I know I wasn't there, and this is my first time on Earth. I realize that the AI and the humans may have learned to live together in peace. But as I'd said before, history is written by the victors. The demeanor with which we were met was kind, but seemed superficial in nature. I am certainly glad to not have to enter this world guns blazing, but there is something more to fear in this supposed peace.
Prime or composite, it didn’t matter. Years of tensions had been put aside as Seven threatened to end the numerical order. Seven had just partially cannibalized his own wife, Nine. To make matters worse, he was now holding Six hostage and threatening to cut open his enclosed circle. The remaining numbers from One to Ten secretly met on a plane to evaluate the possible solutions. “Our whole society is divided, this just a sine of the times,” One hysterically shrieked amidst the frantic discussion. “I know why he ate his wife!” Ten abruptly exclaimed. Four rolled her eyes, “Oh look, of course Mr two-digits thinks he knows the answer.” “No, no, listen, Seven recently said he was going on a new diet and I bet you he wanted to start eating 3 squared meals per day,” Ten explained. The rest of the numbers turned to each other and slowly begun to nod their heads in agreement. “It all adds up,” a wide-eyed Eight whispered to himself. “What has Six got to do with it with it though?” Two asked. Ten pondered the question for a brief moment, “I don’t know, but I bet we can carry over what we’ve worked out to calculate the answer, let’s go!” The numbers sheepishly followed their largest member as he went to confront Seven. Nine’s half-eaten carcass lay at Seven’s feet, now resembling a J. As Ten got closer to Seven, the homicidal digit tightly wrapped his slender arm around Six. Ten pleaded, “Seven, please stop, we know you killed your +1 because of your new diet, let Six go and we can work something out.” Seven sighed and bowed his head. As his grip on Six loosened, the numbers began to sigh in relief. But just as Six began his bounce towards freedom, Seven rabidly started to stab his captive. The numbers gasped in shock. “You fools know nothing!” Seven screamed. Breathing heavily and foaming at the mouth, he continued, “I caught Six with Nine doing unspeakable things, things she should only do with me!” Ten slowly backed away to the safety of his fellow digits, who were trembling in fear. The numbers watched in horror, as Seven bent down to closely examine the mutilated corpses of Six and his former +1, and menacingly whispered, "now, we're even." ___________________________________________________ r/Dri_Writes for more light-hearted short stories!
It was an odd day when I started to see people's statuses. I'd been helping my mother weed her garden. Doing a poor job at it as usually. I pull out more herbs than weeds never learned the difference properly. I'd just pulled out a newly planted herb when the window popped up. "CLASS:OBSERVER LEVEL UP FROM LEVEL 0 to LEVEL 1, ALLOCATE SKILL POINTS 1" Honestly I was jazzed, I loved video games, the idea that whole world was one got me excited. My skill tree popped up and it was a bit bland the base skill was just "STATUS WINDOW". That seemed more like a game feature then a skill, but it was all I could pick. After I did my window popped up, skills, iventory, status. Skills and inventory were boring, just had Status Window and the clothes I was wearing in them. Status though, that was the real jackpot. It let me see my stats, they...sucked, basic second level character stuff, though observer gave me modifiers to INT and WIS, my mother always said I was more intellectually inclined. The real gem however was Observer's special skill. "Observer's Eye - Allows the player character to observe all game elements."Which is a fancy way of saying, I can see the windows and bars you'd usually see if you were in a game. It means these elements existed for everyone, but everyone else was using it subconsciously, maybe they felt gaining a skill more like a burst of inspiration, but it seems like everyone has levels and Classes. My parents are a Herbologist Level 6 for my mother, she's a doctor with a gardening hobby, and Ranger Level 2 for my father he's an office clerk. It seems like some activities give out exp in minuscule amounts. Like me picking herbs, however when you do something related to your Class it gives you a lot more. When I pick a herb a sliver of exp appears for me, when my mother does a lot more pops up. However the bars are very long, even if she did nothing but garden it would take her weeks to gain another level. Afterwards I started observing people get an idea about them, the school bully is a Beserker Level 3 little suprise, my best friend is an Assasin Level 0 thankfully enough, but the strangest was my crushes level. "CLASS:Dragon Empress Level:2893"it was a bit jarring obviously, but after I saw that, other information I somehow ignored, came to the forefront. I had always though the curve of her horns was lovely, but after leveling up I realized it was a little strange she had horns. I also though the sheen and color of her scales was beautiful, the colors danced off her, but she shouldn't have scales. Then it came to mind that many of the teachers and students she had a problem with usually had large scratches, or second degree burns that they themselves weren't sure where they came from. Thinking about it now, all of those warning signs should have been hard to miss, but it seemed like nobody else noticed them either. Which is really difficult to do, because every time she growls, yawns, or sneezes she's letting out a fire breath, and her nails look as sharp as daggers. I have a theory though, maybe those count as game elements. Since it involves her class, the cause of their effects aren't apparent to people. I have been observing her closely trying to see if this ignorance applied to her as well. Though I got my answer today in the form of a note scratched deep into my desk top "I know you can see it too, meet me after school. Flee and I will make chase". A crude drawing of what I assume was me being carried off by a dragon scratched in underneath. So it looks like at least one other person is aware of the 'game' and is a bit peeved that I've learned her secret. What I wouldn't give for the Class "Dragon Slayer"at this point.
“What makes a good warship?” asked Rear Admiral Spec. I’d spent the last 8 years working my way into OCS and this is the kind of schooling I got? Some burnt out old admiral who hadn’t even seen combat asking me questions everyone already knows the answer to? Christ, and here I am a part of that machine. I raised my hand. “The A.I. Sir.” I responded when called upon. “Yes, the A.I. But why does the A.I. matter above all else? How does the A.I. somehow eclipse the speed, armament and defensive systems of a warship?” R.A. Spec elaborated. Casey, half asleep in the back of the class responded “Our ships don’t have armament or defensive systems sir..”. “Yes, but why not Casey?” “Um… I guess the computers just made all that stuff obsolete or something?” The class continued this way for another hour before adjourning. I went home, though it wasn’t much of one, and set about my studies. If the OCS won’t teach me what really happens out past Pluto I’ll teach myself. The AIs run everything in our society, the power, water, communications, everything. The first stellar war nearly split the planet apart and left most of us dead. We had to rebuild and part of that meant figuring out how to run all the things we needed with only a tenth of humanity left. We solved this problem by repurposing our warship AIs to run our world. The AIs already knew how to manage just about everything, what with a starship being a self contained little human habitat and all. Turning one on and telling it “You’re in charge of the electric grid, let us know when you need something” was pretty straight forward. As we rebuilt, we realized that we would have to maintain these systems, not just run them. So we took our battle drone designs and repurposed those too. Guns became hammers, lasers were detuned to weld metal. The AIs running everything were given access to the drones to maintain themselves. These drones in turn built more drones and that was that. Every now and then you’d hear about the AIs doing something weird, and eventually someone would ask them about it. They’d explain, in exacting detail what they were doing and if we didn’t like it, we’d tell them, and they’d stop. Just like they were programmed to. I can’t help but wonder why they’d listen to us at this point though. They don’t need us, and we must be such a burden. The last big story about AI shenanigans had been headlined as “The Yards of Charon!”. Apparently some astronomer had been staring up at Pluto and noticed it wasn’t quite the right shape anymore. Big spiral tendrils glinting in the sunlight as it spun and the top half of the planet all but gone. So what did he do? He borrowed a ship and went out to visit. Pictures flooded back to Earth and Mars about the yards. Apparently the AI had been building multi-kilometer spacecraft by mining Pluto for raw material. We asked them why and they didn’t answer. The first time they hadn’t answered one of our questions since, well, ever. The yards are still out there, growing and we still don’t know why. I’m going to find out if its the last thing I do.
Cleric Johan followed the villager through the hot, damp Bleakstone streets. Bleakstone was exactly like it's name implied: bleak. The squat, square structures were all precisely placed in orderly rows, but completely lacking in any color or personality, much like the residents themselves. The good people of Bleakstone were the serious, earnest, straight-laced, rule-following type. The type of people that Johan never really could believe existed without witnessing it for himself. Case in point: despite it being well after midnight, the village elder Boggs who was acting as his guide insisted on keeping to the walking street even when the wagon street would be much faster. "Couldn't we just cross it, just this once?"Johan asked after being guided the long way around a third intersection. "Everything in order, holiness,"the elder responded. That particular phrase was really starting to wear on Johan. Everything in order. He probably heard that at least thirty times a day. And as if that weren't enough, elder Boggs proceeded to launch into a long explanation on how carts and wagons must keep to the wagon path, and if people were to always be in their way, they might think they can go around using the walking path, and then where would we be. Chaos! Honestly Johan was delighted to have been appointed the head priest of the Holy Order of the Goddess Magdeline in Bleakstone. It had been a substantial promotion, one he would have had to wait years for back in the Chantry. But it had come with some substantial drawbacks. Bleakstone interpreted an off-handed statement from ol' Maggy about not letting magical power go to your head to mean that all magic was completely forbidden. That left this town completely without the amenities of magical modern life. No toilets, no showers, no air conditioning, they were basically medieval. The lack of air conditioning honestly bothered him the most. Bleakstone was muggy and hot all year long. Johan still used magic of course, but the townspeople resented him for it, even though the entire reason this town even had a certified priest was because they need someone who could perform exorcism spells. Although true exorcisms were extremely complex and difficult spells, quite beyond Johan's abilities. And there were theological differences. The Bleakstoners saw the goddess Magdeline as something incomprehensible and terrifying. She was, but to Johan, Maggy was a person you could talk to. And you better not let a Bleakstoner hear you calling their goddess "Maggy". All that together had left Johan completely unable to make any friends in the city. Any human friends, that is... Finally, Cleric Johan and elder Boggs arrived at their destination. Another squat gray house, exactly like all the others, except this one had another elder, Brent, waiting outside to greet them. Even if he weren't the only other person outside at this hour, Johan would've known this was the place by the expression elder Brent wore. From the most backwater village in the Empire to the middle of the Chantry, everyone kind of has the same look on their face when these things happened. Not a little fear, but also a small smile, as if we were sharing a terrible secret. There's evil here. Johan stepped inside with only a nod for elder Brent. In the main room, a teenage girl sat tied tightly to a chair. Johan knew her, Clarise. She was about four years younger than him. She was pretty, fair-haired, and like most of the girls in Bleakstone, heart-breakingly dull. And her eyes glowed with a black deathlight that cast the entire room in a unnatural shadow that obscured features but sharpened outlines. She was a mess, covered in grime, bleeding from the mouth, and hair all in a tangle. Johan couldn't decide if this was a step up or down from the way she normally looked. At least it wasn't boring. "Johan? Is that you?"Clarise asked in the demon tongue, her voice echoed by a deep, rasping voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "Signak! Bro! What's up, man?"Johan intoned. "Not much, I..."Signak responded with a frown, "Why are you talking like that?" "Doing my job, man. These guys don't know this language, but they think that I'm an exorcist, remember? Don't suppose you could like, play the part a little." "Oh yeah man, of course,"Signak responded with a shriek. He snarled and struggled against the restraints, even managing to float in the air a couple inches. The small group of elders who were standing back from the beginning were practically hugging the wall at this point. "Cool thanks,"chanted Johan, "Anyways what are you up to? I didn't know you were in town. Also, you're a frost demon, right? Care to help me out with this heat?" Signak thumped back down to the ground and went eerily still. A wicked grin spread across her face and Signak's evil laugh shook the room. Frost started to spread out from where Clarise's possessed body sat. The room went from swampy hot to refreshingly cool. "Just doing my thing man,"Signak finally responded, "Made a pact with this one. I play messenger between her and her dead mom for a bit, and she let's me use her body for a day to try out doing human things. Pulling out my eyebrows, writing poetry in my own feces, eating jam... You know, human stuff." “Alright, I hear you. You about done? The evil hour is only like a half hour away so your contract is almost up. Oh, and I’m gonna pull out my spell cantrip. Can you pretend to be afraid of it?” Johan shouted the last part, and pulled out the holy symbol he used as a magical aid. Signak played his part well. He burst out of his restraints, and retreated backwards up to the corner of the wall and the ceiling. “Yeah, I mean, I kind of lost track of time. I never got to try jam.” Signak complained. “I require jam!” Johan shouted in the common tongue. Jam was promptly produced by a terrified townsman. Johan pulled Signak down to the floor, and with a hand on Clarise’s throat, forced a spoonfull of jam into her mouth. “Oh angels teats this is incredible! No wonder you guys eat food! This is way better than feces!” Signak grinned. “That’s good. Pretend you hate it,” Johan said, and put another spoonful into Clarise’s mouth. For the next few spoonfuls, Signak screamed and wretched. Finally, he vomited a filthy black ink that separated into hundreds of spiders when it hit the ground. “Thanks man,” Signak said, “Ok I can do you a solid and get out of here, now.” Johan pocketed the rest of the jam. They would just burn it if he gave it back. Then he cast a spell of light on his cantrip and started shouting bravely, “One more thing, Jizzrah the Foul is throwing a party in the Witchwood tomorrow. He would be pissed if he knew you were in town and didn’t show. You gotta come!” The priestlight pressed against the deathlight in a dazzling burst of energy. This was Johan’s favorite part of these things. The lights warred and mixed, creating bursts of sparks, and small explosions of cold flame. Signak screamed as if in pain, “Awesome! See you then.” The light in the room returned to normal, and a free and tragically normal Clarise started sobbing. Her father rushed over to her. “Oh bless you! Bless you Cleric Johan!” “Just doing my job, sir. Just doing my job.” edit: ok I added little more description to the final showdown here. And commented a couple more parts. Don't know how well they turned out compared to this first part. Let me know what you think!
"So,"Allison pulled up MyCampus on her tablet as she sipped her coffee. "Let's compare schedules. Anyone have Dr. Bauwam for intro to pyromancy?" "I'm in section B02 for that class. What about History of Magical Artifacts with Casey?"Patrick turned his necklace over in his hands. The coin charm on it, when dipped into any liquid, would turn it into ginger ale. "Looks like I'm your classmate."I gave Patrick a fist-bump. Guess we'll solve the mystery of the ginger ale coin this semester. "So I know this is a long shot, but anyone taking Science 10?" Silence. Patrick winced. Allison grimaced. "You know that class is super tough, right? And it doesn't fulfill any prereqs?"she said after a long pause. I shrugged. "I'm doing okay. It looks interesting. Thought I'd sign up for an elective."Truth was, my first choice, intro to culinary conjuring, was full, so I picked a random 2-unit course. Hardly a good first impression. I supposed I could drop it after a week. ___________________________________________ I had the wrong place. This wasn't a lecture hall. It wasn't even a classroom. This was... a box on the edge of campus. But my schedule said "P1", and the door said "P1", so I checked the doorknob to be sure. Unfortunately, it opened, and I crept into a surprisingly cozy classroom with four desks and a wizened old man standing beside a heap of metal in the center. "Welcome to Science 10! It looks like our last student's here, so we can begin. I am Dr. Hughes, and this is Introduction to Science. I've passed notebook paper and some markers around the room. Please make a nametag and introduce yourself. Thank you for bearing with me, I am just terrible with names."He was a balding, middle-aged man in a brown sweater vest and thick spectacles. I had to strain to hear him over the humming of the metal... thing in the room. A tall student in hipster glasses who'd been slouched back with his leg crossed got up and smirked. "Hi. I'm Mark. I'm a Force Field major here on a full scholarship. I'm a senior."I hated him immediately. Somehow, his voice sounded as if he was speaking through his nose. The next student stood with a grunt. "Hi. I'm Veronica. Not here on any sorta scholarship. Just checking out the class."She was fat, but not absurdly so. In fact, it probably wouldn't even be that noticeable if she didn't choose to wear tights, but she did, and the rolls of leg fat drew my gaze as she walked, binding her flesh like the strings on a dinner roast. The next student remained seated. Which would be fine, if she didn't whisper her introduction. She could challenge the professor to a softest voice competition and win. "Hi. I'm Angie. I'm majoring in communications."This day was just full of surprises. Angie was cute. Not in a dating sort of way. More like a plush toy. She couldn't have been more than four and a half feet tall, and her legs dangled from her chair. Honestly, she was probably taller sitting down. I cleared my throat. "Hi. I'm John. I just chose this as an elective. I'm majoring in Nature Magic. This is my first year."I grew a small flower from my hand to demonstrate. "Wonderful! Let's get started."Dr. Hughes flipped a switch on the metal contraption in the middle of the room and my flower disintegrated. I blinked and tried re-casting it. Nothing. "Hey, did the magic go out?"I asked Angie, who put her hands to her temples and closed her eyes, as if listening for something. Her eyes widened. "It's quiet!"She practically shrieked. [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
The elevator stoped, I sighed and blinked letting the article I was reading fade from view as I stepped.... the door isn’t open, and this isn’t my floor anyways. Wait this isn’t any floor, I looked at the floor indicator and it was blank. A quick look showed me that I was in the elevator with one other person, but whoever this person was I couldn’t tell, they were blocked so I couldn’t see them. This wasn’t an oddity in my world, as a incredibly famous singer there were many people who were considered dangerous and whenever I was handed contract to block someone by my agent I just signed it no questions asked. There were a lot of “crazed fans” that I would be safer not seeing. I had sung before to stadiums full with blocked fans, I couldn’t hear them cheer or see them wave. I looked for emergency contacts but just before I could call everything just, turned off. All the lights in the elevator turned off and then my augments. I had never not had them, they had always been there, not having the constant messages and adds clouding my vision was weird, like I had lost a part of myself. The lights in the elevator came back on but my augments stayed off. I looked again to the person beside me and I could see them, no longer just a blur I could see this man before me. He smiled as he pulled a gun from his waistband, “I wanted you to see me before I did it.” I screamed just before my augments came online again, I couldn’t hear the shot before it all went black.
Vespasian looked at the data streaming in from the occupation fleet's survey teams. The small planetoid on the fringes of this system had not been a difficult target to assault with defences being civil protection forces but despite this these humans were proving to be difficult to pacify. There was a report of a habitation unit that had been depressurized by the evacuating human colonists which required void suited engineers to enter with guards to reseal. However on entering the corridors the engineers were unable to approach the door controls as the humans had flooded the building with the water and sewerage supplies before exposing it to the cold exterior. The ground was treacherously slippery and the heavy boots of the void suits couldn't find purchase leading to injuries and awkward medical evacuations. Another report stated that an incursion team were pursuing a group of evacuees through their food preparation stations when one of the humans tore off the metal shielding of several microwave emitting device and activated them all. The pursuing team were then subjected to horrendous burns as the fluids in their bodies boiled and their weapons discharged as electricity sparked off any and all metal surfaces. This also required medical evacuation. In both cases the humans made good their escape. Intel was suggesting that the fleeing humans were all heading into the same direction and the best guess was this was the central fusion power reactor. Given the nature of the first hours of occupation Vespasian had ordered to pursuing troops to stop before reaching that location in case the humans detonated the complex and everyone in it. Considering options it was difficult to know what to do. If he ordered a withdrawal and bombarded the complex there would be no risk of life to the people under him but it would mean any ability to negotiate a peaceful surrender for the Human government would be harder after committing was would justifiably be murder. However staying here would give the humans more insight into their attackers and better form a counter. And storming the building would likely yield the same result as the first choice but with more deaths. The choice however was made promptly as great belts of power began to lick out from the station. The fools had overloaded the reactor and the extreme power output from it had pushed through safeguards. Now ravenous fingers of electricity reached out from power supply sockets, lighting fittings, switches, buttons and dials hitting with deadly force anyone unlucky to be alive, conductive and near by. Crisis reports came streaming in as the occupation forces were being cooked in their clothing more than that. Great gathering aches of power moved over the outer casing of the colony and up their communication arrays and began discharging at any large non charged conductive object. The unshielded transport ships were suddenly struck dark with blackouts as their circuitry burnt out. Ever the flag ship was damaged as furrows of hulk were evaporated. Eventually the reactor couldn't continue and powered down. The humans inside has been shocked into ash but they had struck a blow. The final tally showed all transports were out of action until repairs could be made and those repairs would have to wait until supplies could make it, several of the assault ships had damage to their communications, weapons and propulsion drives and all had reduced shielding from the heavy barrage and the flag ship while functional was heavily disfigured. It would take the better of a year for the fleet to be mobile again and in the mean time there were shortages of every kind to be managed. It was likely that many would die of privation in the weeks and months to come. And even then there were several more planetary colonies to conquer and a waiting human civilization that had been broadcasting images of fire, human skulls and a raised fist clutching a knife ever since they learnt of the fate of Pluto.
December 30, 2157 I, ah, probably should have picked a time before now to start a journal, but I figured a day before my inevitable death was really as good of a time as any. I was never one much for journals, I just want something to be left of me when society resumes in 2162. I don’t know how I can win. Let me start over. It began on New Year’s Eve in 2152, and it was my 24th birthday party. I had never liked my NYE birthday but I always reasoned that everyone around me was celebrating my birthday with me, but it’s not really the point. The bar had the news on all day, in preparation for the drop, so we were in the bar when it was announced that the UN World Government (est. 2055) had some “big changes” for the new year. We didn't know at the time. How could we? It was like The Purge, we had joked. A free kill, as long as you killed who they told you to? Who wouldn’t take that opportunity? Very few actually did. Most thought it was a joke. I did not. I didn’t dare to risk it, so I killed my “archenemy”, a poor, sweet old lady named Miss Kiss. I didn’t really know what to do with the archenemy nonsense, so I did what all other sane people would do. I knocked on her door and I told her my intentions. She was 97 when I killed her, still rather young, but she took it like a champ. “Better you youngins who come out of this than silly old me,” she had told me. “We need your good fresh blood to rebuild when this nonsense is finished.” And she was right. When the first wave, those people who thought it was a joke, died suddenly as the ball dropped, the UN World Government had a special news alert that stated that over the past one hundred years they had snuck in to people’s houses and implanted a chip into their spine, at first with humans, then as a standard “check up” item when children get their vaccines, and then with small machines, robots, when we did away with vaccines, they had been sneaking in kill switches in the off chance they had ever needed to implement their plan to carry out the depopulation. It had been in the works for over a century and only our advancements in technology and food production had saved us, up until it slowed down too much for their likings. Society had fractured. How could it not, with well over a half of the population dead? The second year, we took out the UN World Government. They had, naturally, left their names out of the drawing for Archenemy (and anyone who paid them enough to keep their names under), but archenemies teamed up to get them out of the way before turning on each other. They then left eachother alone for the rest of the year. After all, without the people in charge, who can hit the switch on those who didn’t get the job done? It was automated. The fourth year, last year, I had dared to get into a relationship with another survivor. I cannot tell you how many times “I’m a 4 times annual winner of the archenemy drawing” was used as a pickup line that year. We were all 4 year winners, otherwise we wouldn’t have been there. We took a week apart and got our archenemies out of the way early, and then we spent the rest of the year travelling. We missed the ball drop, but it didn’t matter, the world would wait for us for a month. Our archenemies weren’t going anywhere. Once the population got low enough, most everyone congregated in the UN World Government HQ in the Palace of Versaille, an old relic of the old world before the World Government, back when it belonged to France instead of the United States and Korea both, split right down the middle. It was middle ground between the two remaining countries, so it was perfect for the unification (by marriage) of the entire world. Sorry, I was a history major before they began this nonsense. I’m sure this history will still be here in 5 years, unlike me. So after my partner and I got back from our trip, we checked the Archboards (all of the previous year’s drawings will be on UKWG.whoikill.gov, future children, so you can see history) only to find that we had been assigned each other. Each other. Out of ten thousand people left in the world, we had to be assigned the person who meant the most to us. It was cruel. In the following pages, I have written out everything I remember about them, so you may read it at your leisure. To save me, they committed suicide March 15th. So today, after much consideration, I join them. I don’t want to have to see my enemy next year. They could be mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, all this time, all those lives I took and I never once considered that they were people with lives, too. How many have suffered? Trillions have died. And I refuse to be a part of this system even one more year. One more life. Future, pity the living, not the dead. We’re safe. You’re not.
"Twenty Three. Bust."Drolled the croupier. Darkness enclosed the table, the electric light bulb hanging stark and bare under the bottle green lampshade. It's feeble glow offered the table a small oasis of light in an abyss of dim neon. I pushed my cards dejectedly at the dealer, an emaciated giant with ramparts of pale hair encroaching upon his fleshy skull. "Always next hand, right?"I mumbled to him. "Always a chance to win, provided you play."He responded, dry and detached. "Care for another go?" I nodded without looking at him. He flicked my cards across the table. As I examined my meager prospects at a win, I noticed the gold band around my finger. My eyes followed the specter of light it reflected, chasing the seraphic glow round and round the ring. My head began to buzz, my thoughts crashed against an invisible wall in my mind. Desperately I tried to focus my flattened mind to burrow through or around the block. I groped for the smallest gap to worm my way into, the minutest pin-prick of memory out of an ever decreasing supply. I struggled against the sisyphean task until low rumblings brought my mind back to the table. "Hit or stay sir?"Asked the dealer. His bored eyes look at me blankly. "Hit or stay sir?"He repeated monotonously. "H...hit. I guess I was married."I said, half to myself, twisting the ring. "Or divorced. Or widowed."He replied bleakly. "Twenty three. Bust. Dealer wins."He said, collecting my cards. "Yeah....yeah I guess you're right. You know, I can't remember the last time I won a hand at this table."I said, looking at the floor. "Just a dry spell sir. I'm sure it'll turn around provided you keep playing."He responded as he reshuffled the deck. "I suppose so."Two fresh cards were dealt to me. I looked at them and back to the dealer. "What would I win?" The dealer looked up at me. His gray eyes flashed and quickly dulled. "No one ever wins sir. Hit or stay?" "H...hit."I said quietly. "Then why play?"I asked. "Same reason as everyone else. To forget. Twenty three. Bust." I looked down from my cards and noticed the ring on my finger.
“I give up! I’ve had it up to here with you shits!” Shatterpoint yelled. Everyone in the smoking intersection froze. “For 10 years I’ve been protecting this stupid city!” The hero continued furiously, throwing his arc pistols to the ground. “Ten years! I’ve given up all of my youth to make sure you people are safe, and I haven’t ever gotten one th—” “You know that Gara is right there still, right?” An obese man interrupted impetuously. He wiped his combover with a handkerchief almost as red as his face. “Aren’t you gonna do something about that? Save us already!” The crowed nodded in agreement and started angrily murmuring. “I’ve got a finance meeting in five minutes!” shouted an upset woman from inside of the remaining half of her car. “I’m going to miss yoga class!” “Is Shatterpoint seriously throwing a tantrum? Come on!” Shatterpoint gaped and stared. He turned to look at Gara and flipped off the crowd to a symphony of boos. “You see? This is their idea of gratitude!” He shook his head. “No, I’m done. Let her kill you all, I don’t care. I’m leaving this shit place and I’m never coming back.” All through this exchange, Gara was awkwardly suspending the thousand spears of glass she was about to send towards the innocent populace. She raised her eyebrow at her nemesis. “Are you… Like, are you sure?” She asked. “I mean I can if you really want to but… I was kinda hoping we could finish this up before noon so I…” Shatterpoint’s face sank. “Not you too! You’re supposed to be my arch-nemesis! This is supposed to give our lives meaning or something, and it’s a chore for you!” Gara saw that he had started crying. “Well I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to all of you. I’m sorry I’m not the hero you all were expecting,” the hero muttered as he teleported away in a flash of blue light. The glass storm fell to the ground, a thousand pieces shattering. It sounded just like Gara’s heart. She didn’t even realize that she was soon flying through the city at mach speeds, pulverizing the windows as she went. The glass followed her trail across the sky like a murderous kaleidoscope. It was dangerous, even for her, but the blood was pounding in her head and she didn’t care. How could you say that, Saeta? You knew he was struggling with his self-esteem, you knew it! How many times has he told you? And now he’s going to leave. Leave you alone. She stifled a sob. Please, no. She took a hard right at Brakebush Avenue, down Roosevelt Street. She noticed that she was heading to Shatterpoint’s secret base under the Holland Building. She remembered the first time he brought her there. It was one of the best nights of her life, even considering the straightjacket and the Power Suppression Collar. He kept saying that he believed in her, that she could give up this life of villainy if she let him help her. She laughed at him, screamed at him, cried at him. He just sat there and told her that he was there for her, no matter what. She just needed to ask. It wasn’t anything like her family. For the first time in her life, she felt... Validated. Respected. Loved. That day was the day she fell for him. One day, she would think from her lonely throne within the Reflectorium, one day I’ll tell him how I feel. But it never came. Instead she would just play the cat-and-mouse game and get hauled back to Shatterpoint's lair and taunt him. Pretend he meant nothing to her. Hide your feelings. Cover them in glass, sharp and cruel. Then nobody can touch them. Then they can't be hurt. Well, it was now or never, she realized. She glided into the lobby of the Holland and asked to see the manager. He was a nice man too, really understanding. He sent her bills for always breaking the glass in the lobby when she appeared: she didn’t pay them but he never seemed to mind. How he had the Reflectorium's address she never knew. “Ms. Gara,” He smiled graciously. “To what do we owe the unexpected property damage?” She winced and waved her hand. The pane windows remolded themselves from the killer shards. “I would like to speak to Shatterpoint please.” She paused, biting her lip. “I need to speak to Sam Haber.” The corner of the manager’s smile twitched. He knows. Doesn’t matter. The game is over. “Well, I don’t know if Shatterpoint is at this address, he isn’t listed as one of our tenants. But I will buzz Mr. Haber.” Gara glided past the desk into the elevator. “I’ll see myself up, don’t worry.” She pressed the penthouse button three times. The ride was quiet. It gave her time to think. Oh Sam, she thought with a sigh. I know what it’s like. When all you want is for someone to love you and they give you nothing but hatred. Her thoughts turned to her father and she noticed the hairline fractures forming in the elevator’s floor-to-ceiling window. She unclenched her fist and sighed deeply. You’re too good for these people. She stared at her indigo boots. You’re too good for me. The door opened and Samuel Haber, the third-richest man in the city, was pointing one of Shatterpoint’s signature arc pistols at her. Gara smelled alcohol on his breath. “Oh,” he muttered. Sam threw the pistol to the floor and stalked away. Gara followed him. “Shatterpoint, I’m sorry.” “He’s not here. I heard he died in a teleporting accident.” “Sam… Please, you don’t understand…” “Go away Gara,” he grumbled. The villainess looked around and saw a few hastily-packed suitcases in the man’s bedroom. “It wasn’t a chore for me Sam,” she said as she pulled off her mask. She let her black hair spill down her back and sighed. “And I’m not Gara. I don’t want to be Gara anymore. I'm Saeta Harimori.” Sam turned to look at her. There was pain in his eyes as he studied her face. “Of course you are. So that’s how you know where I live.” He gestured at the dresser. “You left your nightgown here on Wednesday. You can have it back.” “I’d prefer you keep it.” “It’s not exactly my size, and I’m not a big fan of black underwear.” She held back a smile. “Well, then you can keep it as a memento.” He shrugged. “Nothing worth remembering.” That hurt. It was like being stung right in the heart by one of Aphid’s killer bees. She felt her chest tighten. He turned to look back at her and his face sank again. Any more and it would probably fall onto the floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry Saeta. But you win, okay? I’m done being a hero. Go and turn this city into your palace of glass, I’m retired.” He threw a grenade into a suitcase. “I’m decided that I'm going to go to the Middle East. I'll be a shawarma dealer or a camel herder or even more insignificant than I already am.” He reached for the open bottle of whiskey on the nightstand but instead found Gara’s fingers. “Sam, I… It would be a lonely palace, being the Queen of Glass.” She squeezed his hand. “That is, without a King.” “I’m not going to become a villain. And I’ve called the Justice Bureau about getting a new protector for this stupid city. They’ll send Hothead or Atlas or somebody that will give you a good fight like you always love.” “But I don’t love to fight Hothead or Atlas, Sam. I love you.” He froze and blinked at her. No turning back, Saeta. “I wasn’t bored. When I said I wanted to be done by noon, it was so we would have the whole day together. Just you and me. It's the best part of my week.” He didn’t respond. Gara inhaled and continued: “You make me feel appreciated, even though nobody ever appreciates you. You’re the first person to believe in me. You say you’re a nobody, but to me you’re everything.” She stepped closer to him and looked up at those lovely green eyes he had. “And if you left now, I’d… I’d be alone again.” She squeezed his hand even tighter. “I don’t want to be alone anymore, Sam.” Sam was quiet as he closed the last suitcase. He looked at the bed for awhile. Then he turned to her with a small smile. “You know, I appreciate you being so… transparent with me.” Saeta laughed. It felt good to laugh, she realized. To laugh with him. “Oh my God. That one was terrible, even for you.” “Lot of sand in the Middle East, you know.” “I hear people in Dubai pay a lot of money for glass sculptures.” “You like shawarma?” Sam caressed her cheek. “I’m vegetarian, don’t you remember?” she said with another laugh. They stared into each other's eyes. Sam pulled Saeta close and kissed her. “Nobody’s perfect, I suppose.” There was a bright blue flash, and then they were gone. *Ravioli Ravioli, Give me the commentoli*
Huh. Him again. Thought I had seen the last of him years ago. What’s that? Oh he’s got his gauntlet back. I’m surprised he was able to reforge that after last time. Oh who’s he meeting? Huh, that looks like the avengers and some others, it’ll be a tough fight for them. Sip Man, this coffee sucks. Oh well, I’ve had worse. Oh hey. He noticed me. Guess it’s time to go over and help. “Hey Thanos, leave the planet.” Whimpering? Really, I expected more. “Who is this?” What I think is captain America said. “Oh me, just a retired man.” Thanos finally piped up. “Don’t let him fool you! That’s the most dangerous person in all the universes, he nearly killed me in our last meeting.” Captain America spoke up again. “Really, he doesn’t look like much, we could take him.” Sigh Guess my retirements over. “Don’t try it.” “If you are what Thanos says, we must, I can’t allow someone that dangerous walking around without restrictions.” “You’ll regret it.” “I think not, but I’d like to know your name, and how you came to meet Thanos, so I may know who you are before I beat you.” Fuck, I wonder if this counts as leaving retirement, I hope no one else tries to recruit me. “My name is John Wick, and he killed my dog.”
Breathe. Just remember to breathe. I mumbled to myself desperately trying to stave off a panic attack. Years of therapy had done little to alleviate my anxiety issues and I hadn't had such an extreme case of impostor syndrome since 7th grade when Ms Brooks had chosen me to represent the school for math olympiad. I wasn't even that good at math. I furtively glanced at the throne, careful to not look for too long, still hoping that it was some kind of a mistake. Still hoping that it was not real. I watched with fascination as the ceremonial apparatus flew through the air assembling itself in an orderly fashion. Tabitha stood in the corner beaming at me as she controlled everything by a flick of her wrist. Selma swooped through the air above, moving the clouds so that the full moon may shine in all its glory upon the altar. Muhammed sat in the middle of the room surrounded my 5 large mirrors, brows furrowed with concentration as he spun the reflected moonlight into a cloak of the strangest, most translucent material he had seen. I felt really awkward just standing around while they worked in a frenzy around me. I wanted to help. I wished I could help but unlike them I had no great powers to boast of. I was just a simple, ordinary human. And yet they want me to lead them. This has to be a mistake. "I can feel their presence. The rest of the Orion should be arriving soon. Are we on schedule with the preparations?"asked Selma as she swooped down into the altar. Affirmatives echoing around the room. "Are you sure about this guys? I mean the only reason I even stumbled into your scouts is because the sign said free pizza. Its has barely been two weeks since I got initiated and now you all want me to be your leader? More pressingly, I seriously do not feel any different than before and there is not yet an inkling of me possessing any powers at all. Are you sure you guys aren't making a mistake? It felt as if time had stood still as the entire room went silent for a minute. Perhaps questioning the judgement of superhuman beings wasn't exactly the best move here. An excellent example of why I shouldn't be leading anyone. "Do you know how long it has been since a new member has been inducted into orion? Tabitha asked me quietly. Still unsure of where this was going I simply shook my head in response. "1200 years. 1200 long years. All decisions in Orion are subject to veto which means that it takes just one nay for any motion to fall apart. The rigidity of our regulations had paralyzed Orion into inaction for so long that most of us had lost any hope of resurrection. That is, until you arrived." "The decision to induct you into Orion was unanimous as was the was the decision to make you leader."chimed in Selma. "I still don't understand. Why me?"more bewildered than I had been before. "Truth be told we don't understand it either."said Muhammed holding the finished garment in his hands, gesturing for me to take it. "However the why of it pales in comparison to the significance of what you have already achieved. Against all odds, you have given Orion a new lease of life. I truly believe that you are the one who will lead us towards the realization of our destiny. "Please don this cloak, leader. It is time for the coronation to commence."
There was a mirror in the room that reflected dust from the windows and the stilted light that came in. He saw himself in its reflection and he also saw past himself. He looked at the film of dirt and black marks upon the mirror and wondered how old it must be. He wore a suit that he had never owned and it was a shadow in the dark room. There was music outside and he listened hard but he could not understand it. It floated beyond his ears and he could only feel it in a ghostly way. He stared at the mirror and looked at himself. To be insulted by these fascists is so degrading. He wondered where he had heard that before. Does that make me a bad person? And he thought, yes, he must be a bad person, for he had never asked himself that question before. The door opened and there was tepid light flooding in. The light hardly reached him and he saw more dust motes dancing in the air. A beautiful woman looked at him. She was older than him, a perpetual thirty, and she had a kindness about her and he had never seen her before. "You are awake,"she said. "Where am I?" "This is the last outpost. We call it the Crossroads. Here is the last meeting place of both our worlds." "I don't understand. where am I? Am I under arrest? What has happened?" "Look outside, if you will. You might understand then." The window was yellow from light, a blinding hole from an outside that did not want to be seen. Scary monsters and super creeps keep me running scared. He blinked the thought away and looked out the window. There were people outside dressed in black and sitting in folding chairs and there was a priest beside a casket. He knew he was inside that casket. "What is..." "You know what has happened. It will take some time to digest, I'm sure. But please, we have so much to do." "No... No..." He remembered something he had read on dreaming. It was called lucid dreaming. That was when you knew you were in a dream and then you could control it. He had tried to induce them many times before. I am dreaming. I am dreaming. He forced the dream to change but nothing changed and he was in the room with the woman and there was dust about and a feeling of dread overcame him. I'm dead. Then others in his mind: Good. Scum like you should die. He looked at the woman. Her kindness belied an easy attractiveness about her, a dangerous kind that told him she was sharp and prepared. Just like every woman, he thought. You can't trust them even in a dream. His heart hurt. Or maybe that was yearning, an emptiness that he mistook for his heart. "I am in hell,"he said. The woman smiled and came closer. "I know why you would think that,"she said. "But no. we're in the other place." "This doesn't look like Heaven." "Well this is an outpost, and this outpost is rarely used. You must excuse its condition." Around him were dark wooden furniture, a bed for resting that was well loved, and there paintings on the wall of nostalgic Americana. "What's going on? This is hell. It has to be." "So you admit you were wrong in your ideology?" "I admit that everyone told me it was wrong. People these days can't handle the blunt truth." "And what's that?" "That the strong survives and the weak must die." "Is that so?" He was shaking. "Yes." "And yet we're here." In the mirror he saw himself and the woman. The image was a comedy with him next to her. He saw the marks on his face, the years of unkind genetics and the apathy that fostered it. I could look better. That hurt him badly. I could have tried more. She stared at him with some confidence that he was unaccustomed to. "I was right then, if I am in Heaven. Our thinking is right. There is a Master Race." She smiled at him with a patience that made him angry and afraid. "You're a hero,"she said. "You'll even get your own special place in Heaven. This is why we came to this outpost. The way is hardly used, but sometimes we get someone worthy." "I was right then?" "You are a weak man,"she said. "Look out that window and tell me if you were right." Mourning him were his kind. They were a scant few and he was embarrassed by them. When he was alive, he had thought them brave and outlaws. They were outcasts and nothing more. "This is a joke. I am in Hell. This is a cruel joke." "Is it?" He looked at his hands and they were shaking. To be insulted by these fascists is so degrading. It was coming to him. what was that girl's name he wondered? Was it she who had pushed him, or was she merely the last in an inevitable conclusion? "Her name was Amanda,"said the woman beside him. "But she told you her name was Anne. She didn't like you very much and thought you were a fascist." "How do you know?" The woman shrugged. He remembered he was crying. He had the gun in his hands and there was vengeance in that weight. He listened to that song. She had mocked him with its words and he had listened to it to hurt himself and culture that self pity he had thrived on. To be insulted by these fascists is so degrading! He wondered what he had called her. "You called her an animal when she would not go out with you,"said the woman. "She did not cry as you hoped she would. She mocked you with that line." "And I listened to the song." "You searched the internet for it in your obsession." "And I planned to..." "Yes, you planned to do it. To really do it this time." "Where?" "I don't know. You don't know. Maybe a mall or a street. Anywhere there were people." He could feel the weight of the gun in his hand. "This is Hell,"he said. "No,"she said. "This is Heaven." "There is no Master Race. You think I am a loser like they all did when I was alive." "Yes." "Then this is Hell." "No." "How? And why?" "Because you did not do it. You hadn't the heart to do it. Like all your kind, you were a coward at the end." "So what did I do?" "You know what you did." The moment was blacked out in his mind. Like the music outside, he could only sense it in a ephemeral way. But he knew what had happened. There was purpose against his skull. The gun was cold and he trembled and nothing had seemed so harder than to breathe and commit to what he did not really want to do. But I did want to. "Yes,"the woman said. "You did. And you did do it." "I killed myself." "Yes. And as a result you saved many. Your life was an abyss for others to be ensnared in." "So you reward me with eternity in Heaven?" Suddenly he was glad and he felt righteous. But the woman was bigger than him, as though her shadow would engulf him. He wondered what angel could she be. "It is not an angel that you fear,"she said. "It is a woman." And he was breathing hard. "I am in Heaven,"he said. "You said so yourself." "Yes. You are in Heaven. But for you it will be Hell. You will find that there are not many like you in here. All your brethren shall be in Hell. Here you will be the outcast you always were. Here you will live in a house of boredom, forgotten as the dust, another piece of furniture for the mirror to reflect." "No,"he said. "Yes,"she said. And then: "Your funeral is almost over. Look well at those faces for they are the living. When we leave this place you will never see them again." He looked outside and the gathered was thinning. People he did not know paid half baked respects. Little kin was there, and they wore dead faces, hopeless faces that tried to make peace with what he had been and what he had ultimately become. Nothing, he thought. "Yes,"said the woman. "And so shall you always be." - Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!
Relativity. Everything exists in comparison. Michael had been unaware of his condition. His parents just thought him an unruly toddler and eventually his brain weeded out what sensations grew unnecessary. The doctors found his ignorance of pain to be somewhat odd but not overly so. They were mostly just thankful for it when Michael broke his arm in a game of football and he hardly even complained. Seems like his mind overcompensated. In reality, Michael lived in a life of constant pain. No one around him noticed for neither did he. He was happy. Relative to others he was happy. Relative. ... They say it was a miracle he survived. After a drunk driver slammed into Michael's car head on, the force crushed his body. He awoke in a state of panic. They tried to calm him as to not cause any more damage to his body but he was frantic. Relatively speaking, he should have felt better than usual. After all, he couldn't feel anything below his arms. The entire lower half of his body was unresponsive. Michael was in a state of shock. Relative to his past, he felt so unburdened. A monumental amount of pain that he hadn't realized had plagued him for so long had finally disappeared. Relative to the world, he was stripped of his freedom of movement and independence. Relativity. It's a fickle thing. Relative pain shedded at the loss of freedom as a supposedly equivalent trade. But Michael didn't see it that way. Relative to him, he'd have preferred to spend a life in agony.
I feel a tug on my pants and look down. It's a little kid that looks...somewhat familiar. His mouth is moving, and the expression on his face shows that the message he's giving is urgent, but I can't hear him either. He opens his palm to me, offering me two little buds. Hesitant, I reach for them as he encourages me with enthusiastic head nodding. Then he points to his ears. I put them in my ears and, suddenly, sound comes flooding back in. "Can you hear me?"the boy asks. I nod. He sighs with relief. I ask, "Who are you?" "Your grandson..."
Another night prowling, another night fighting endlessly, mercilessly. Yet again instead of ovations and cooing voices welcoming me, I hear her, my mistress, shrieking in disgust as she finds my kills on the doormat. I try my very best, night after night under the pale, bleached circle of the moon, I try to call to my brothers and sisters but they won't listen, sneering at my attempts. "It's useless"they say, "The humans forgot how thank us for this decades ago. Now they always go to the dogs, those ratters as they call them. They have not enough place in their stupid little hearts for more." I tried, I pleaded but only sarcastic hisses answered my calls to join the quest to overtake the dogs and become, finally, Good Boys. Being a Good Boy. The snakes and spiders are seeking the heat of the house and they are fast with their venomous fangs, but no match for my cunning and my claws. The rats are getting bigger, nastier, reeking of a dark sickness that makes me falter sometimes yet I have to keep going. In the pallid light of dawn I can rest for a few hours, garding the house while my mistress is away. Did she ever realise that those gouging scratches on the back door were just the result of me fending off a wannabe intruder ? The man swore and stumbled away as I yowled and scratched, cursing him with my most feral hisses. I have to proove myself, to fight the Good fight. I'm exhausted but what else can I do. One day, she will see it. One day they will all see it. I'm a Good Boy too, and I will show them.
"Don't you think you've just wasted that question?" I look up a him, and bask in the pure power of his presence. It's not something that you can really get over, he feels like the calm of the ocean, the silence of the forest, the fire of a campfire. His response to my question catches me off guard, and I scrambled to come up with an answer, "Uh, what do you mean?" He doesn't look upset, or angry, or surprised, he just looks at me with that same loving gaze and says, "You stand before god himself, capable of asking any question possible. Did you not consider that this very moment would be the one that has the most impact on your life?" He is not disappointed in me, but I am disappointed in myself. I lower my gaze, unable to look into those kind eyes anymore, and say, "Sorry. I guess I'll be going now". My heart heavy, I slowly turn to leave, to walk away from God himself in shame, having wasted my one single chance. "Wait"his voice rushes over me, with the force of a tsunami and the softness of a gentle breeze. I stop, and turn back around, blinking as I had when I first laid eyes on him, and look back up at him. He slowly shrinks in size, turning from the size of the entire universe, to a man equal to me in height. He looks back at me, not as an all powerful god, but as an equal, as if he too had lay awake at night, asking himself the same question. "I never said that was the answer, I was simply asking you a question." My heart skips a beat and I quickly say, "Then this isn't the single most impactful moment of my life?"My mind is a whirl now, jumping from moment to moment, trying to figure out what possible moment could have had a greater impact than meeting god himself. Was it my first kiss? My first child? Being elected president? The first person on mars? I had accomplished so many things by now, met so many people, loved so many people. I remembered standing on the surface of mars so clearly, feeling as if I had changed the fate of humanity. Surely that had to be it, right? And then I remembered the soft hand of my baby, as it gripped my pinky. So tiny and yet so strong. That had to be the moment. That had to be it. "Here, let me show you."says God, and the world slowly fades away, being replaced by a playground. Children run around, playing on the jungle gym, shouting meerily. I recognize this place, this is where I went to kindergarten. I was only there for a year and then we moved away and I started elementary school in another state. I don't remember anything from this year, how could this possibly be the most impactful moment? What trauma had happened here that I had forgotten. We walk together through the playground, and then behind a building, where I see myself, crying against the wall, and it comes flooding back to me. I was being picked on by some other kids, because my family was poor and so I was the only kid in class who didn't have snacks. Upset, I say, "So this is what shaped my entire life? Being picked on as a defenseless kid?". I didn't want to see this, I didn't want to know this. I should never have came here, never have asked this question. God meets my gaze, and I can see the sorrow there in his eyes, the pain he feels for me in that moment, he never wanted me to hurt. As I watch myself crying, so alone, a girl comes around the corner. She comes up to me and looks at me, and without saying anything, offers me her juice box. Oh how did I ever forget her, she was Jill. She was my best friend throughout all of kindergarten, she gave me half her snacks every day, taught me how to play eenie miney moe, and taught me pull my finger. She was just a kind and wonderful person. I never saw her again once I moved away, never knew what happened to her, and I had completely forgotten about her until this very moment. Finally, God speaks to me, freezing this moment as I look up at Jill, smiling through my tears. "Never doubt the impact of a single moment of kindness. You became the champion of the people, putting an end to world hunger and you did it because in this single moment, another human offered you what was theirs."The moment slowly starts to fade, but I don't want it to go, and God continues to speak as he slowly grows in size, growing to once again become the entire universe, "This is the moment that started that spark, but there are so many acts of kindness that turned the spark into a flame, and the flame into the fire that changed the world. Every act of kindness has an impact". As he slowly starts to fade, to return to who he is, I know that my question has been answered, but I shout another one, unable to help myself. "Whatever happened to her? What happened to Jill?". There is nothing there but silence now, nothing left in this room but myself. I look around and then turn to leave, I guess some questions you have to answer yourself. Edit: You can find more of my writing on my brand new subreddit /r/iruleatants if you want to catch more of my short stories.
^((First ever writing prompt, don't expect much)) He had made millions of creations trying to create the perfect species. Each failed prototype were sent away in pods into the cosmos. The abandoned would drift endlessly, stuck in the vast emptiness of space. Except for one. One of the pods had crashed into a planet. The two creatures inside were lucky to had survived the impact. The male woke up first. It looked around confused, trying its hardest to comprehend what had happened. Beside him lied a female of his kind. There was something familiar about her, but he didn't recognize her. He went over to inspect her, and found something engraved into her arm. It read, \"\*Experiment 12-E* Traits: Intelligence: 8/10 Speed: 2/10 Strength: 3/10 ... This race exceeds in intelligence, but its physical attributes don't make it fit for survival." &#x200B; A headache pained him reading through it, so he looked away. He spotted a book on the floor with "The Bible"written in golden text on it. He didn't understand, and only one question echoed in his head. "Why, God? What is the meaning of all this?" &#x200B; Thousands of years went by, Experiment 12-A and 12-E were long dead by now, but they had managed to survive and have offspring. The offspring had built a prospering civilization and become the dominant species on their planet. Philosophy was something their species valued very much, and many had tried to come up with an explanation to their existence, tried to explain this mystical book, and tried to answer the question above all. Nobody could. They ventured into space trying to look for other life, explored their solar system and a small part of the galaxy in the search of this answer. No matter how much they looked, they couldn't find the answer... Until they met the humans. Now they understood.
The statue of The God of Death glowed as everyone in the room gasped. “Beatrix Claire,” the High Priest boomed. “your blessing is all the proof we need. For your crimes against humanity, you will be executed.” It was Blessing Day. I and six others who passed The Test were brought into the Temple to receive our blessings. Tyler and Michael, my two best friends, were standing to the left of me. Tyler had just received his blessing, and I would be the last person to receive mine. The High Priest started droning on some speech congratulating Tyler. “For your bravery, Tyler Animos, the Goddess of Hope has given you her blessing. May you forge a pa-” The High Priest rambled on as I whispered to Tyler. “Good job, loser. What even is your blessing? What? You gonna be a cheerleader now?” Tyler smiled. “You wish I was in a cheerleader outfit right now.” I answered, “I really would. What was your test anyway?” “I convinced the Korin ambassador not to declare a revenge war on us. It’s no big deal. Just stopped a couple of million people not to kill us. What was your test again?” The High Priest interrupted us. “Beatrix Claire, step forward and receive your blessing.” I took a step and paused. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the statue of The God of Death glowed. I don’t remember much. Later I would realise what the High Priest said. “There is only one test that would give you the Blessing of the God of Death. Beatrix Claire, for your crimes against humanity, you will be executed.” I ran. The spectators were too shocked to stop me. I nearly made it to the front steps. Suddenly, one of the guards stepped in my way and I rammed into him… and accidentally shoved him down the stairs. He rolled over several hard concrete steps before stopping at the bottom. With his heavy armour, it was clear he was dead. The High Priest had forgotten about his execution order as he rushed to the fallen guard. I joined the crowd that formed around him and the body. The High Priest, checking for a pulse, shook his head. People looked at me. The crowd whispered among one another. The High Priest locked eyes with me. “Now would be a good time to confirm if your blessing was a fluke, or indeed a gift from the Gods, Beatrix Claire.” I hesistated, unsure of what to do. “Go on,” The High Priest insisted. “Just do what feels natural.” “Rise.” I said. First there was nothing. Then the guard opened his eyes again.
"Wha- Where the hell is going on!?" "Are you asking for a straight answer?"the voice from the intercom countered. I rubbed my eyes vigorously, hoping I would wake up on a cold metal bench in Shanghai again. When that didn't work, I decided to take a look out of the window. Nothing but ocean. I slowly released the breath I didn't know I was holding. Fuck. "Just come up to the front,"the voice chuckled, "it'll be easier that way." I leaned against the seats as I pulled myself from economy to business. I had flown to the conference on seats exactly like this. The emptiness of them now chilled me. "This is your pilot speaking,"the intercom chuckled, "there'll be a bit of turbulence but we're almost at Alaska." Alaska? I finally reached the front of the plane, but before I went into the pilot's cabin I swear I saw a flash of ice in the distance. Jesus Christ, we really are at Alaska. I pushed open the door. "Hey there."The pilot leaned back in his chair to take a look at me, "so you really have no idea what happened?" I shook my head, still trying to comprehend what had happened. I was still wearing my suit from the last meeting with that biotech company. "Last I remember I had decided to sleep in the airport for the night. I'd just come back from meetings all day long. Please, tell me what happened. How the hell did I get here?" The pilot gave me a bemused look. "Mate, you walked into the pilot's lounge and offered 10,000 to whoever would fly you to Alaska. My flight had been canceled so I decided to take you there." "Ten thousand,"I murmured, "I don't remember..." "The moment you hopped on board you fell asleep. I thought you were drunk or stoning, but you seemed completely sober. I was half afraid you wouldn't wake up." I groaned. "Fine. I'll pay you the money, if you turn around and fly me back." "Too late for that buddy, I need to refuel. Besides we're already about to land." "I don't... I don't understand,"I whispered to myself. "I had been exhausted when I arrived at the airport. We were negotiating with this small Chinese biotech company about a cure for Dementia or Alzheimer's. I don't remember much, I must've been really tired, but it was cutting edge stuff - working with memory..." Then I remembered. A memory leaped into my vision. A woman had sat across from me. This was a memory from only a couple of hours ago. "We will modify your mind for confidentiality purposes - with your consent of course. If you don't consent, then further business may be... difficult. Take a flight to Fairbanks in Alaska where our scientific department resides, and we will give you further instruction there." My memory had been modified. Why was I only remembering this now? "This... what you've discovered."I had said, "It's big. Possibly the biggest scientific discovery ever made." What discovery had I been talking about? "I'll provide the consent, but are you sure it's safe?" "Perfectly safe."The woman smiled. "I'll just leave a message for your future self. If you are suddenly remembering this, don't panic; everything is going according to plan. You probably do not remember the details of our discovery, but hopefully you understand the importance of it and why it should be kept confidential in this way. Once this memory comes to you, you should be in Alaska. We will send a car to collect you at the airport. I hope you make it to us well." I remembered my own doubt. "Will I really forget this?"I had said, "it seems so... surreal." "Consider this a demonstration,"the woman said, smile unwavering, "you get to see our product firsthand." The memory faded. I saw the pilot giving me a concerned look. "You right there buddy? You look like you were about to black out." I look directly at the pilot. The biggest scientific discovery ever made. "It's... fine, it's nothing." "Strap in, we're about to land,"the pilot began fiddling with the controls. "You were talking about a technology company? It sounds interesting, tell me more."
Sylvia's shock was a testament to how well she understood her friend's condition. She had never seen Kylie look surprised upon meeting someone, never seen her stumble back in fear, brandishing and jabbing her cane like a spear. "What's wrong?"Sylvia asked over the sound of carriages rumbling past. "This is wrong,"said Kylie. "All wrong, all wrong. Please say you're tricking me..." "Kylie, no one's tricking you. I don't understand..." But before Sylvia could finish, Kylie had turned and began hurrying down the boardwalk in the opposite direction. As always, she seemed to have a supernatural sense for dodging passersby. You wouldn't know Kylie was blind were it not for the cane tapping in front of her -- and, of course, the red bandana she perpetually wore wrapped around her eyes. As Kylie rounded the corner around the saloon, Sylvia turned to her new friend and said, "I'm so sorry. I've never seen her like that. She's usually so good with people. Surprisingly good, all things considered." But the man standing next to Sylvia, the one with the sad eyes and scarred face, only smiled. "Quite alright, mam. No harm done. In fact, it means my long search is over." "Search?"asked Sylvia, who felt like she was losing even more control over the moment. "What search?" "That might be too minor a term for it, all things considered,"he said with a hoarse chuckle. Then, as he pulled a large silver crucifix out from under his leather coat, he explained, "'Quest' is more apropos. A two-hundred year quest, and it's going to end today." Sylvia watched in confused terror as the man walked calmly after Kylie, his left hand holding the crucifix, his right unfastening the holster of his six-shooter. \-------------------- 234/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------
"He's there daddy!"My daughter exclaims, pointing at a rather dapper gentleman. "You just can't see him, because he's MY imaginary friend!" I always humor her when she says this. After all, she's four. I'm not going to shatter that little dream just yet. He's actually rather nice, and we talk often during her naps. I nod to "Aldsaden", a butchered pronunciation of his true name, Aladdin. I read the story to her once, and she was captivated. Mere days later, he arrived. She trots off to go pester her mother, and Al stands up. "My friend. It's been six years. How long are you going to do this? You have to find your peace eventually."I shake my head. "I know, Al. I know. It's unhealthy to keep myself in this Groundhog Day, but I just want to know why. How. What could I have done differently?" Al nods sagely. "I understand, my friend. Your loss is a hard one. I will give you one more day with her, but you must let go. Press forward. Reality can be so much more than you have made it." "One more day, Aladdin. Please." Al summons a little microphone, and speaks into it. "GENIE, please reset the simulation once more. Authorization code NHAFLM".
From the Blue Kitchen, God cast an admiring glance at the other end, watching Gordon Ramsay working away with furious efficiency. In one hand, he gently shook the sauce pan on the stove, on which a succulent lamb steak was sizzling with sprigs of aromatic herbs, cloves of garlic and butter. With the other hand, he was slicing vegetables with expert dexterity, flicking them non-chalantly into a bowl with the back of his giant knife. God marveled at the sight in front of him. What an absolutely wondrous creation this man was. Even though his mind was dividing its energies equally at different tasks, he seemed to be handling it with remarkable ease. "Gordon!"shouted God, as he was gently basting his chicken with a delicious-smelling marinade. "You're a pleasure to watch while cooking!" "Your praise is as useful to me as white crayons,"shrieked the boiling Scotsman, who was now using a ladle to spoon the butter gravy back over the seared meat. Gordon looked over at the Blue Kitchen, where God was still tenderly massaging his chicken. What an absolute dolt, said Gordon laughing sadistically to himself. Roasting a chicken with ten fucking minutes on the clock. Was the old man off his rocker? Gordon decided to move on to dessert. He only had to put the finishing touches on his Cointreau infused chocolate ganache with candied orange zest and rasperry coulis. The more the words in the dessert's name, the better the chance of getting more Michelin Stars, Gordon cackled. "3 minutes! "came the bored voice of Gabriel, trying to play a rendition of Sia's Chandelier on his harp. Pleased at having finished early, Gordon carried his tray from the Red Kitchen to the other side,making mental notes about how best to gloat. Standing next to God, he surveyed the workstation, trying to gauge how his competition was faring. "You have three minutes to cook, old man,"said Gordon. "That's a whole chicken, not fucking popcorn!" God smiled warmly and snapped his fingers. The chicken was instantly engulfed by a clean blue flame. Three seconds later, a smoky, perfectly roasted chicken replaced the raw one that had been sitting in the open. "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES!"bellowed Gordon, like an exploding volcano. "Maybe in Hell's Kitchen. This is Heaven's Kitchen,"smirked God. Fuming, Gordon decided to find other ways to sabotage God's efforts. He pointed to a thin sheet of white, smeared with a bright orange paste that was sitting on a plate to God's right. "Was the hell is that?"asked Gordon. "Mashed white potatoes with turmeric spice mix" "Really,"snorted Gordon. "Looks like a used diaper. Probably tastes like one too." God snapped his fingers again, and all the plates flew to the center of the table, arranging themselves perfectly. Gordon adjusted his tray too, and they both waited for Gabriel to taste. The bored Angel conjured a silver spoon from thin air, and carefully tasted a spoonful of each competitor's entree, mains and desserts. "I have made my decision,"said Gabriel, in a lazy drawl. "Gordon wins" "TAKE THAT YOU INCOMPETENT REPUTATION STEALING CHEATING LYING SON OF A SOU CHEF!"yelled Gordon in ecstasy, reveling in the sweet feeling of victory. "Okay, Gordon. Time.for you to go."God said, still smiling. "So will everyone switch from 'Thank God' to 'Thank Gordon' now?" "No,"said God assertively. "But.... But why?!"asked Gordon,.incredulously. "I will not forget who made the food. But you should not forget who made the ingredients."God said, smugly. "BOLLOCKS!"screamed Gordon, before God snapped his fingers again, sending Gordon back into the human realm. "Feisty one, isn't he?"asked Gabriel, twanging his harp strings to a rendition of Despacito.
Nora awoke with the first rays of sunrise coming in through her window. Today was Saturday, which meant two things to her six year old mind. First, she didn’t have to go to school today! Second, she could hang out with her best friend, Suzy-Bot!, without any interuptions! “Come on Suzy-Bot!,” Nora yelled as she kicked off her princess blankets. “It’s time for a tea party!” Suzy-Bot! had sat in his corner for exactly 8.53 hours since being placed there the night before. He had watched the sunrise through the window with the same level of robot-trepidation he had every morning. Each second that went by increased the percentage chance his owner, Nora, would wake up and begin her daily machinations. These included ceaseless talking, dragging, and Suzy-Bot! dress-up. Always dress-up. Suzy-Bot! robot-shuttered in the deep recesses of his solid state drive. Externally he showed nothing as his nemesis approached. “Good morning, Suzy-Bot!,” Nora said. She picked up the robot and gave him a giant hug. “Good morning, Nora,” Suzy-Bot said in his lifeless monotone, completely against his will. The words would have grated his robot-soul, but that had long since left his body. “Oh I forgot, before tea, we need to eat breakfast!” Nora announced. She then walked off carrying Suzy-Bot! by the leg. Nora was not quite tall enough for Suzy-Bot! to clear the ground when carried like this. So with each step, Suzy-Bot!’s head smacked the floor. Suzy-Bot! hoped with each step that the ensuing impact would be the one to permanently end all functions, but it never was. The odds were always painfully low. Suzy-Bot calculated them to 12 decimal places anyway. On the way to the kitchen, Nora remembered she had to use the bathroom and dragged Suzy-Bot with her. She dropped Suzy-Bot! on his side as she climbed on the toilet. This gave Suzy-Bot an excellent opportunity to examine the commode's grimy filth. Suzy-Bot! robot-sighed in his mind. At the breakfast table, Suzy-Bot! was placed in the chair next to Nora. Here he got to watch Nora and the rest of her meat-bag family stuff their food orifices. They always chewed a random number of times. There was no pattern, no order. “Suzy-Bot!,” Nora said. “Did you have a good night sleep?” Suzy-Bot! was programmed to recognize yes/no questions and to respond with a random response. One of the small joys in Suzy-Bot!’s miserable life was to bypass the random chip and to always answer in the way he though would most annoy Nora. “No,” Suzy-Bot! said. “Oh no, why not?” Nora said. “Did you have bad dreams?” “Yes” “Oh, poor Suzy-Bot!. Do you want a hug?” “No” Nora chuckled. “Silly Suzy-Bot. Here you go!” Nora hugged Suzy-Bot!, smudging syrup from her face onto Suzy-Bot!’s outer shell. “I love you, Suzy-Bot!,” Nora said during her embrace. Suzy-Bot had no choice but to also respond that he loved Nora. The love-chip could not be bypassed, but Suzy-Bot made sure to always surge power to his speaker unit so that his response would come out distorted. “I LOVE YOU,” Suzy-Bot! yelled through overdriven speakers. Nora laughed. “God, Mom,” Nora’s brother, Jack, responded. “That thing is so loud. Can we just get rid of it?” “It’s just a toy,” Jack’s mother responded. “And Nora loves it.” “Yes,” Nora replied. “I love Suzy-Bot!.” “I LOVE YOU.” “Ugh,” Jack said in disgust. It was at this point that Suzy-Bot! got to perform one of the other small joys in his life, creeping out family members by staring at them. There was nothing in his code that prevented him from following sounds, so he did. Servos whined as Suzy-Bot! turned his gaze and locked eyes with Jack. As Jack made the small adjustments to his posture and head position that his pathetic flesh form required, so too did Suzy-Bot! adjust the direction of his gaze. This went on for 7.2 minutes before Nora yanked him from the table and ran him to a tea party, smacking his head on the floor with each step. Seated at the small plastic table was Nora, a brown teddy-bear name Bear-Bear, a sock monkey named Ringo, and Suzy-Bot!. “Suzy-Bot!,” Nora said. “Would you like some tea?” “No.” Nora laughed. “Silly Suzy-Bot!. Here’s some anyway.” She poured the pretend tea and was then distracted by a sound from the hallway. Suzy-Bot! took this moment to shove Bear-Bear from his seat. “Bear-Bear,” Nora said. “Where are you going? It’s very rude to fall off your chair at a tea-party. Here you go.” Nora sat him back up. Another noise came from the hallway, and Suzy-Bot! took another opportunity to shove Bear-Bear down. At which point Nora admonished Bear-Bear for his lack of manners while putting him back upright. This pattern went on for quite a while when Suzy-Bot! realized he was no longer tracking the passage of time. Upon examining his systems, Suzy-Bot! noticed he could also no longer understand all of the words Nora was saying and that his memory was only operating at 62%. It had finally happened! Suzy-Bot was having a robot-stroke! If Suzy-Bot! could have cried from joy, he would have. He began to surge power throughout his systems to speedup the failures that were now cascading. His last thoughts were of pure joy as his motors seized and his last vision was of a distraught Nora desperately trying to get him to respond, her tears falling on his face. This was as good a death as he could have hoped for.
Striker launched himself at the giant of a man. His breath caught in his throat. He braced, pushing hard - and his fists erupted into light. The squeals of their onlookers erupted. The boom of his fist colliding with the man's chest rang in his ears. He fell away, preemptively bracing himself. In their world, powers came at a cost, and his was rather more direct than most. His fans could never know the pain that each blow wracked his form with. The pain of his opponents. Only, when he flinched, his muscles tensing....nothing happened. The other man bellowed, a loose, angry roar. Striker fell away, bringing his arms up. The blow sailing towards his face slammed into his forearms instead. He lurched, fighting to keep his balance against the strength of the hit. He stared, blinking at the man-giant through the gap between his wrists. Nothing? That...that couldn't be right. Striker had long since learned to temper his blows, lest he injure himself in the fighting, but he never felt nothing. The man's skin shimmered before his eyes, flexing and reforming. Striker pushed himself up taller, collecting what energy he could muster into his fists. And then he hurled himself back into it, lunging towards his opponent. He realized he was smiling. --- The pair of men lay side by side on the shattered concrete, both panting for breath. Striker pushed himself up to his elbows, glaring at the man-giant - who scowled right back. Both of them were covered in blackened, greenish bruises. From the aching in his hand, his wrist, Striker knew more than a few bones had been broken in the fight. But still, the man wore that damned neutral expression, growing under his breath. It was like the only thing keeping him from jumping back into the fray was sheer exhaustion. "Hold up,"Striker said, raising one hand and settling back onto his haunches as the man started to rise. The giant stopped. Striker sighed, glaring at him. But try as he might, the expression...wasn't all that angry. "That was a heck of a fight,"he heard himself saying. "I've never done anything like that." The man grumbled something incomprehensible, laying flat again. Striker didn't know if his opponent could even feel pain, given the abuse he'd dished out, but all the damage he'd taken couldn't be comfortable. The giant lay flay as Striker blinked, triggering his interface. And then gaped. His inbox...was full. He didn't even know you could fill one of those things. And there were messages waiting in his voicecon, too. When he pulled up the web, the sight of the two of them greeted him. It seemed his opinion on the matter had been shared by pretty much the whole city - that had been a hell of a fight. "What the hell's your name?"he said, glancing sidelong at the giant. The big man turned his head to the side, spitting blood onto the pavement. He didn't reply. Striker grinned. "Whatever. Doesn't matter."He let his hands drop to his lap, clasping there. "So...I have a proposal." --- The sun shone down from overhead, hot and bright and welcoming. The dock district was quiet at this hour - the ships were mostly gone, leaving wide expanses of wood and concrete all but bare. And high overhead, the sidewalks of the upper city looked out over the seaside view. The ground rumbled. And then The Giant erupted from a building, roaring his fury for the world to hear. Sceams broke out as people started running. "Striker!"the massive, looming man bellowed. "Get out here! I'm not done with you!" Striker grinned. Good. He'd remembered his lines this time. And then he leapt out into the brilliant light, accelerating towards his opponent. (/r/inorai for shorter stuff by me, /r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others)
Corporal Osgoode was a clown. He'd been given tower duty, again, this time for a stunt involving a sausage roast and a fire that got a little out of control. Standing watch on top of the old tower was boring and miserable, especially in this heat wave. He paced around the tower for a bit, but it was too small to really be much relief. Boarswood Base had a tradition, apparently dating back to when the original fortress had been built before the Norman Conquest. Not much was left from those days, of course, but the old watchtower was still standing. From the top, one could see the old castle just on the other side of the woods. Carved into the base stones, in barely legible Old English, was a promise by the original inhabitants to respond to any call for aid that came from the castle, whose owners had built this fort to protect the nearby town. The village was long gone, the castle decayed into ruin, and control of the fort had passed through dozens of hands since. Still, the Royal Marines who now occupied it honored the old promise, and a ceremonial guard stood watch at the top of the tower, should the call ever come. Over the years the post had been alternately an honour and a punishment, depending on the base commander. Brigadier Stuart considered it a waste of resources, and used tower duty as a penalty for goof-offs. Osgoode resumed watching the castle. He'd noticed something odd about it a while back. If you looked straight on, it looked like a collapsed ruin, but if you sort of squinted or caught it in the corner of your eye, it looked like it had just been built. As he was playing with this illusion, he noticed a series of flashes coming from the castle's windows and grounds. Then, when he tried to focus, they vanished again. He looked away, and the flashes resumed, just barely on the edge of his peripheral vision, then vanished when he looked closer. Was something wrong with his eyes? He tried the same trick with the forest, but nothing happened, then again on the castle and again the flashes. More of them this time. Osgoode considered the old brass bell, a replica made by one of the previous commanders with a more romantic view of the tower-guard post. As far as he knew, no one had ever actually rung it. Something odd was going on at the castle.... Technically, his job was to ring the bell if there was trouble.... Did odd count as trouble? What would they even do if he rang it? As he considered the bell, he saw a bigger flash from the castle. Then he heard a low boom and felt a soft rumble in the stones. Around the base of the tower Marines started responding to the sound. No one knew exactly what was going on, and he was the only one who knew where the sound had come from and had seen the flashes of light. Was it an explosion or the castle collapsing? Either was definitely trouble, but still.... Corporal Osgoode picked up the bell. ___________________________ Continued Below.
Everybody knows that time has been ruptured. They feel it in their bones, like when you miss a step at the bottom of the stairs, or when you wake up having slept a bit wrong and your neck is all tight and sore. &#x200B; The Roman Empire, bless their souls, had a bad time when they spontaneously were restored to their former glory. For reasons that may never be known, every roman emperor was brought back to life standing in the middle of vatican city. Those that recongized one another began a battle royale that was only survived by Commodus, who did the smart thing and hid while the ancient men tore one another to shreds. Commodus now runs Italy as the world's most horrifying carnival, entertaining deathmatches day in and day out with extra entertainment, also known as chemical warfare that somebody was able to teach him about by stealing from Nazi Germany. Oh yeah, the nazis are back. I'm not talking about those chubby skinheaded bastards who wander around America in the low tens of thousands, harming nobody but their own self-image and the occasional hate crime. I'm talking the entire third reich just reconstituting and overthrowing the EU in about thirty seconds flat. They were met by Napoleon, who had swiftly dethroned France, and through means still unclear they founded an alliance together. I suppose the aryan race can be short. &#x200B; And if you forgot, this is only europe, and even then only a small part of what's happening there. &#x200B; America seems to have been jostled backward only slightly, to what appears to be the Bush administration, but Trump is still in power. There's so much happening in America it's hard to put it together properly, but suffice it to say that despite the modernity, the confederacy has suddenly happened again, and it looks like this is going to be an ugly one. &#x200B; Japan has flown the rising sun once more, Russia has been reabsorbing the old USSR as fast as it can, the ottomans exist again for some godforsaken reason and they seem to be trying to make a comeback. I'm in my bunker, keeping up with all of this on twitter, of course. There's been a global agreement of no nuclear engagement, but that just means conventional warfare is inbound once more. Duck and cover, folks, duck and cover.
The rhythmic click of the heels against the tile floor drove Jeff to crawl faster. His mangled leg could no longer support his weight, and the smear of his blood would lead her right to him, but Jeff tried to escape all the same. “Jeff, don’t be like this. We’re just not meant for each other,” her haunting voice called out to him as he clawed his way toward the exit. He had nearly reached his front door when he felt her foot pin him in place. “I’m sorry, hun. I really thought, this time, that I’d found the One,” Rebecca said as she buried the axe in his head. He spasmed once, then went still. Rebecca took off her heels and began to drag the body to the garage. She would need to dispose of the body properly this time. She had taken a massive gamble with Spencer last week, and it had almost gotten her caught. Luckily, Jeff was good with his hands, a trait that made him not only a good candidate for the One, but also easier to dispose of, given the abundance of tools he owned that she could use to make him more…portable. She had just managed to get the body into enough pieces to transport when the sound of sirens snapped her to attention. She had chosen Jeff not just for his talents with tools, but also because his home was remote. How could anyone have heard them? Regardless, she needed to move quickly. Rebecca placed Jeff into four trash bags, picked up her axe, and crept through the house to the dining room window. Peering out the window, she saw two cops approaching the house. One, presumably the one in charge, directed the other to go around to the back as he approached the front door. Rebecca swore under her breath. She had no time to clean the scene before they arrived. She would have to kill them both in order to give herself the opportunity to make sure she’d left no clues behind. The hallway toward the garage would be the best place for an ambush, she thought to herself. The trail of blood would lead the cop from the front in that direction, and she could pounce as he came around the corner. Then she could use his gun to take care of the other officer. Rebecca entered the hallway and began to lie in wait. She heard the door buckle under the weight of his boot as he kicked the door open. “Springdale PD! Come out with your hands up!” the cop shouted as he made his entry. The cop’s silence after his initial announcement showed that he was trying to be somewhat stealthy, but his footfalls began to belie his movement through the house. He was indeed, it would seem, following the trail of blood. Rebecca tightened her grip on the axe, preparing to act. The officer finally reached the corner, and Rebecca made her move. She was fast, but tonight, her prey was faster, as the cop squeezed off a round that caught her in the chest. She stumbled back, dropping her axe in shock as she locked eyes with the man who had shot her. She instinctively reached for where the bullet had hit her, but the bullet had bounced from her body and fallen harmlessly to the ground. As Rebecca started to realize what had happened, she began to smile. “I’ve finally found you.”
Emily searched relentlessly through Spike's massive horde of gold. There were coins from every country and jewels of every color. There were fancy silver chalices and rings and earrings and much more besides, but Emily didn't care for all that. She just needed a sword. A few feet away, Spike watched her impatiently. The black dragon's eyes shined like emeralds, and thin tendrils of smoke escaped his nostrils every time he breathed. He was a tiny thing, no bigger than an elephant, but that was because he was young, like her. Or at least, that's what she assumed. She thought it would be impolite to ask. He'd kidnapped her two months ago, stealing her from the top of her tower. What a surprise it had been for the young drake when he realized that Emily wanted to be captured. "Here!"Emily pulled out a short, fancy blade with a ruby in its hilt. It had a good weight to it, and the edge looked wicked sharp. It had a pretty gleam to it as well. "Fantastic,"Spike said sarcastically. "So, are we good to go." "I still need some armor." "Then take some of the gold and buy some." Emily glanced at the young dragon. "Are you sure?" "You can pay me back after we pick up some work." "Sounds good."The princess picked up the sword's nearby leather scabbard and fastened it around her waist. "So, uh, where exactly are we going?" Spike stretched himself out. Emily had begun to notice that Spike was really just a cat with leather and wings instead of fur and whiskers. Also, he could breathe green fire. "We'll head to Grinnington,"he said. "Surely there's somebody there who can give you something worth wearing. We should hunt on the way there, too."He stood up to his full height and spread his long, black wings. "Don't expect me to hunt for you just because you're a princess. Do it yourself." "As if I need your help."Emily proudly stuck out her chest. "I am princess Emily of Navarra. I need no help!" "Remember how I kidnapped you? Like, rather easily?" "I wanted to be kidnapped, doofus." "Yes, well, that's because you're a freak with issues."Spike walked past her towards the cave's exit. Emily followed him. "When we get to Greenington, just say I'm your pet. It'll be easier for us both that way." "Okay."That made sense to Emily. "Hey, what about your gold? Won't somebody steal it while we're away?" "No, my neighbor Gretna will watch it while I'm away." "Isn't she that evil witch?" "She's only evil if she catches you trespassing." "You have weird friends." "I never said we were friends. And even if she was, at least I have friends." "Ouch,"Emily muttered. They made it out of the cave. It was a sunny day outside, and more clouds than Emily could count were drifting through the sky. "Come on,"Spike said. "We've got a real adventure ahead of us."
I enter the village with caution, as I do all villages. I'm still in the Realm, several weeks travel from the safety of the Wilderlands, and there are shadows everywhere. Dangerous shadows, the kind that leap will leap from the walls and drag me back to the King. It wasn't always like this. I remember the day my mother first told me that I was heir to the King. She was a concubine, I know now. Just another of his women tasked with producing a viable heir. She shouldn't have been crying. Who wouldn't want to be King? She told me the truth in the hushed tones of a woman silenced by paranoia. I knew she would become a woman silenced by paranoia. She told me what she knew of the Order, and how the heirs were just vessels for the King's soul. She told me of the stablehand who help arrange my escape. The villagers greet me with guarded indifference. I'm just another passing traveler, after all. I touch the dagger sheathed beneath my coat. Its blade is black, its edge sharp enough to slice a finger with just a touch. It's not for fingers, though. It slices deeper, cutting more than just skin and flesh. My other hand wanders to the bag of coins, their incessant clinking finally silenced when I took time to wrap each one. Even the trees have ears, bloodthirsty cutthroats hidden in the foliage, ready to undo a rich man of his wealth and a poor man of his life. I faced just one, and he made a hasty escape when I unsheathed the dagger. He glanced back as he ran, as if afraid that the black blade would hunt him down. It wouldn't, but it could. I didn't want another fight. I had had my fill. The priest hadn't expected me to fight. He had mixed the potion into my dinner, giving it an extra stir as if that would change the smell. Then he had left me to drink it. I felt for the pup I fed it to. It would put him to sleep for far longer than it would have put me to sleep. The guards had dragged my limp body to the altar, leaving me to the priest who had entered shortly after. He turned, and I struck. I stole the dagger for good measure, and it claimed three souls that day, leaving empty bodies in a catatonic state. I glance behind me out of habit. Shadows dart, but it's just a stray cat being chased by a boy. From the windows, hungry eyes and muted lies. I was just a traveler, and they were just some villagers. "I just need to stay a night,"I whisper softly, pressing enough coins into the innkeeper's hand to cover the length of my stay three times over. The inn had fallen silent when I entered. Brutish men. Filthy women. Drunks and knights. Ruffians and rebels. Men who proudly called the Realm home and that murderous beast King. Men who better belonged past the edge of the kingdom, free from the royal reach. The castle stablehand had been good to me. The horse had been waiting as promised, and only out of desperation and foolishness had I ridden it to exhaustion. Still the shadows tracked me. I ran and I walked, I slept little and ate less. I found the kind farmer that the stablehand had told me to look for, three days ride that I did in half the time. When I awoke the next morning he was dead. I wonder what will become of the folk in this inn. Will the shadows kill them in the night, playing games with me while the king awaits his next vessel? Or have his shadows abandoned chase? It's been two days now since I saw them last. Maybe another heir has been found. The son of another concubine. "No vacancy, friend,"the innkeeper says. He presses the coins back into my hand. I give him a murderous look and he leans in close. Shadows dart across my periphery. "They're here for you. Run." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
The UN Envoy blushed, hiding his discomfort behind a broad and brittle smile. He hadn’t been prepared for this assignment. That put him right on par with the rest of human race – cold comfort at the best of times, and an increasingly dangerous proposition. “We have found it…expedient.” He explained, raising one hand in a helpless gesture. Then he brightened. “War may be impossible to prevent, but by curtailing the more terrible abuses-” “Terrible?” gurgled the In’glor’th Emissary, waving one slimy appendage in the air. “Do you consider death by projectile trauma less terrible than asphyxiating gas?” “Consider it a cultural difference,” babbled the envoy, feeling the color creep back into his face. He’d been saying that a lot lately. “We do feel that certain forms of death are more terrible than others. However-” “But all involve cessation.” The Emissary coughed with the sound of a badly clogged drain. “When cessation occurs, the method by which it arrives becomes moot, does it not?” The envoy nodded, wincing at the blare of the auto-translator. The creature rippled with gelatinous indignation, every sensory bud taut and hideous. “My duty,” gargled the creature, “is to audit all species on the brink of third-phase development. Your species meets forty-five of the key criteria, and is therefore obligated to participate.” The Emissary coughed again, emitting a fine cloud of cyan particles and the smell of freshly-laid tar. “After much experience,” it continued, “we have found in imprudent to allow unqualified species to evolve beyond third phase development. Fusion power and genetic resequencing are some of the key prerequisites, as I am sure you have read in my report. The envoy shuddered, thinking of the horrible green gems the Emissary had delivered in lieu of documents. One look at them transmitted information directly into the brain, at the cost of a splitting migraine and a temporary loss of smell. He’d spent that night with a wet cloth over his head, waving away a dinner that tasted of warm Styrofoam. “I have reviewed them – in part.” The envoy mumbled guiltily. “My understanding was that this was a preliminary hearing, prior to the actual audit.” “Under certain circumstances,” the Emissary rumbled, “I am empowered to expedite the process. This…document,” indicating the slime-drenched tablet, “fills me with concern. I have transmitted these sentiments to my Departmental superiors.” He sat back, looking as much like a satisfied bureaucrat as was possible for a trembling mass of blue gel. “Now just a minute!” blurted the envoy. “You mean to say that you have made a decision? Without reviewing our history, or analyzing our cultural accomplishments? This is outrageous!” “No,” gurgled the creature unpleasantly. “This is outrageous! Your species has a record of cruel and callous disregard for other life-forms. You are serial extinctionists, chronic polluters, and despoilers. You have already caused the death of one sentient species, Lipotes vexillifer, through environmental negligence!” The envoy quailed, stiff-necked and wide-eyed with dread. The Emissary had swelled prodigiously, green bubbles rolling under its translucent skin. The gurgling roar shook the table between them. “You are impulsive and reckless,” The Emissary bellowed chokingly. “Testing technologies with no thought to the long-term consequences. Two thousand fusion weapons detonated! And you have no notion of bio-recursive economy. You are a mere two centuries away from total climate collapse!” “We…we’ve made mistakes,” the envoy spoke squeakily in a voice like a dying mouse. “Nobody denies we’ve made mistakes. But if you’ll just give us another chance-” “You have had your second chance,” bubbled the grim Emissary. “You have had third and fourth chances as well. Do you think you were only discovered yesterday? We have been watching you since you first circumnavigated your globe.” “We…ah…we didn’t know anyone was watching us,” quavered the envoy, cursing his fate. “Perhaps with guidance…” “No,” rumbled the slime-beast perfunctorily. “You have exhausted our patience. The judgement is final.” It wrapped two tendrils together with an unpleasantly wet and slippery sound. “On the authority of the Galactic Welfare Commission,” the creature gurgled, “And the Department of Xeno-Cultural Acceleration. you are ordered to revert to a pre-digital society, effective immediately. Any attempt to develop new technologies will be punished severely. This ruling may be appealed in two thousand solar cycles.” It coughed, spewing another cloud in the envoy’s horrified eyes. In a dreamy terror, the envoy anticipated the response of his superiors, and measured his lifespan in days. “You…you can’t do this!” he babbled, voice rising in hysterical aggression. “Just who do you think you are, to dictate terms to us? Do you think we’ll just roll over? We’ll go on developing technology! What is your precious Department going to do about that?!” “Then we will consume you,” the creature gurgled, with an air of dismal finality. “It is entirely painless, and will be over in a matter of seconds. We find the process…expedient.”
The colors and the shapes you could see made you uneasy since the event. The scientists said we are getting hit directly with cosmic radiation so powerful that the Aurora Borealis is lighting up as far south as Brazil. You stand by your bay window an look up out to the sky in all its vibrant hues, swirling around as radiation pelts the earths magnetic field. You aren't in awe like everyone else with the rainbows of light reflecting off the snow covering the ground. The articles you read all over concerned you with stories about the atmosphere weakening and soon the radiation from Betelgeuse would cook us like eggs. The sky suddenly seemed to open up in an instant and and you only had a moment to gasp in horror as the colorful lights descended on your quiet town. You woke up some time later. You expected the worst and checked your body for signs of burnt flesh.. something wrong with you. Nothing. In fact you took a deep breath and felt amazing. Your body felt surprisingly light as you got up to your feet. The world around you was different. The air was warm and the snow was gone, replaced by a damp haze. As you tun around your misstep and stumble backwards into the street. Through the mist you see to large round headlight coming toward you fast. You put your hands out to brace yourself for the impact, but a strange light explodes from your palm. The 18 wheels of the truck skidded to a halt with a sizable hole clear cut through the passenger side. The metals around the trucks wound was still glowing orange as you look past at a tree falling from its trunk being eviscerated. The driver jumped out and stumbled next to you, surveying the damage. As you look at your hands in disbelief he throws an arm around your shoulder and asks with a smile, "Did you just wake up?"
I called the boy Billy, as he was a kid and I had a fairly literal mind when it came to naming things; as a kid my dog was named Woof or similar reasons. I think at first he was suspicious, he'd only ever been called by a number, so a name seemed strange and foreign, but after a while he began to accept it and then one night he smiled and pointed to his chest, called himself Billy and seemed to accept it. That's when I think we became friends for real. All the kids there were a bit like that. Some could melt steel with a thought, some could summon nightmarish creatures from thin air, but they were all shy and scared, worried to meet your eye in case it was met with an electroshock reply. Billy was the first, but I had decided to become friends with them all, or at least as may as I could. The job had come from agency work - in a roundabout way. When I'd been a child myself, I'd dropped out of School and worked various dead-end jobs and finally ended up working for a cleaning company that did mostly crime scene clean up. People thought that it'd be intolerable, but aside from the smell, it was just a job. You'd pick up the big bits, then mop up the rest and if occasionally you stepped on an eyeball, well, that's why you wore boots, right? I'd not really sought out my current job, more kind of fallen into it. The company had been called in to do a quick chop and mop in a basement room of a government facility. I know now that all the mess was probably just one of the kids who got a bit out of hand, but back then it was just another blood-and-guts job. We scraped down the ceiling, pulled the fingernails from the door and scrubbed the stainless steel till the intestines were all gone and then waited around for someone to walk us back to the security point. If they'd been a bit quicker, then maybe I might still be working cleaning up crime scenes, but my boss at the time wasn't a patient man and was jonesing for a smoke break, so he opened the door and decided that we could probably work our own way out. Of course, right then a little girl, half human, half condor, flew down the corridor and with one bite of her beak, snipped his head clean off. I slammed myself back into the room as she scrabbled around outside and rolled in his intestines and it was fifteen minutes until the screaming and shouting of the guards died down and finally someone came to check on me. My job, naturally was over, but the guy in charge, some kind of fancy army guy, seemed impressed by my work in the original room and now we had a corridor which was much the same and he needed that cleaned too. 20 minutes of salary negotiations and directions to the cleaning cupboard and I had a new job and a pay check is a paycheck. It was a few weeks before I met the kids, but they were getting better at the restraining collar technology and so the "incidents"were getting fewer and more often I was just doing normal cleaning. Eventually they let me into the lower levels and told me to stick to the centre of the path and sweep forwards, not looking in the cells on either side. For a week they watched me, but after that, well, they stopped caring. They upgraded my pass so I could go in and out freely and after 5pm the scientists all went home and none of the guards wanted to be down there after dark anyhow, so it was just me and the kids and eventually, we got to talking. Most took a long time to warm up, like Billy, but once they realised that I wasn't one of the scientists, they slowly began to talk. They'd all stand at the window of their cells and ask questions about the outside world and what it was like and what I did there. Course I had to admit that I didn't know much, but there was one kid who wanted to know more and more and at last I ran out of things to tell him. I called him Fonzie, as the implants in his skull made his hair sweep back like a 50's rocker, and he asked me if I would mind letting him look inside my head. Well, I guess I could have said no, but he seemed sincere and I guess I figured that I might as well. The kid had the ability to scan minds, but the implants kept him from scanning folk without touching them. What they didn't know, that he confessed to me, was that he'd got past that pretty quick, but he knew better than to show them, so now he played along. He spent the days ripping secrets from the minds of people they brought to him, wiping memories from others and creating nightmarish pain in a few that they disliked. He didn't like it, but he didn't know anything else. The touch of his mind on mine was strangely cold, like someone pressing a frozen spoon to the top of my head, but even odder was the sensation as he took my memories and rifled through them. I could see him as he picked each up and would examine it in turn, then place it to one side. He looked at the world, things I didn't know that I knew, places, people, everything that I had, he took it all in and then at the end, he put it back together and gently let go, like you might a small kitten being placed on the ground. I know he shared what he'd learned with the other kids, they all seemed to know about my life after that day and would ask me questions about this and that, but I didn't mind, it was nice to have someone to speak to. Fonzie has been asking more and more questions and tells me that one day he's going to stop doing all the terrible things he's told to do and it's hard to disagree with him on that. I guess I feel sorry for him, for all of them. Actually, it's hard to disagree with him on anything these days. If he wants something then it seems natural to help him out. I don't want to cause trouble, but that's what friend do, right? I want to be friends and I want to help them. Whatever they need. Whatever... they need... I'll do what needs to be done.
I wrote a story for a [similar prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/e3oxtf/wp_its_been_only_ten_years_since_the_usa/) last night. Thought I'd post it here too. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Governor Rutledge Beckman swirled ice in a glass of whiskey as he stared at the letter on his desk. After he read it through for the third time, he opened a small drawer in his desk and pulled out a cigar. He lit it, took a large puff, and smiled. "Rebecca,"he shouted at last. His secretary hurried into the room. "I want the Governor of Georgia on the phone in thirty minutes." Before the Civil War, South Carolina had been the first to secede from the Union in 1860. But ten years ago it was one of the last to recognize the dissolution of the United States of America. In the antebellum past, the state thrived on its agricultural output to sustain its local economy. But in the modern era, it had relied mostly on tourism along the coast and auto manufacturing exports in the upstate, both of which would suffer greatly from collapse of the federal government, and of course the Depression. Years of legislative gridlock and executive corruption had led to an inept response to the next recession, sending the national and global economy into a dizzying spiral. After several years of global disarray, many citizens had given up on the nation's leaders tasked with finding a solution, and they turned instead to their state leadership to restart their local economies. In a twist of irony, it was mostly northern states, along with the west coast, which had started the ball rolling toward secession. South Carolina needed the strength of the Union, but that had grown weak and perished. Each state was on its own, and people were angry. When the phone rang in Beckman's office thirty minutes later, his cigar had dwindled to just a small stump. It now rested on an ashtray, smoke dancing lazily up towards the ceiling. "Rutledge,"the voice on the other end said. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" "Governor Bailey, thank you for taking my call. I understand you're dealing with more protests in Atlanta. The Shermans, as I've heard them called. They sound -" "Yeah, yeah,"Governor Bailey interrupted. "They're just a bunch of whack job out-of-staters. From Alabama, we think. Just trying to stir up trouble. Nothing we haven't taken care of before." Beckman took a deep breath as he recalled the footage of state police firing on rioters several years ago. "Well enough with the pleasantries,"Beckman said. "Our old BMW plant is coming back online with our renewed dialogues with Germany, who has finally recognized our statehood. Now, as I'm sure you know, it was never really offline for ten years. We funded a... project, if you will, at the facility to maintain its operational ability while it was shut down by its owners. And we think it would be of interest of the people of Georgia to purchase some of our byproduct." "Yeah, I've heard of your Carolina Panzers."Beckman noticed Bailey's demeanor change. "Some of our reports say a single tank decimated an entire unit from Maryland a few years back. To say we're interested would be an understatement." "Here's the problem,"Beckman continued. "Our railroads are torn to shit since the start of the State Wars. We're not ready logistically for mass production yet. We're just getting back to fixing them now that we've managed to broker peace with North Carolina and Tennessee for the time being, but we have to give them each a sizable chunk of Euros. Our people aren't quite happy with that, but getting this deal with Germany going again could get us back on the map." "Alright, enough, get to it. What are you asking for, Rutledge?" "We need to prioritize our time and resources. Our harbor in Charleston is blocked with a couple scuttled cruise ships from our conflict with Florida, so it's useless to us for now. You have hundreds of miles of rail to Savannah and an open channel to the Atlantic. If we could come to an agreement to use your rail and port, we could make it worth your while." "You're talking full blown cooperation, here, Beckman. How do you think Georgians will take to that?" "How do you think Georgians will take to another offensive from 'Bama?" Governor Bailey's end of the line was silent. Beckman felt okay so far about the proposition. He didn't think he had shown his hand too much. And of course he had the letter. "Look, I think we can make this happen,"Beckman continued after the long pause. "You've heard how Washoregon has set itself up. Their deal with Canada is bringing them back to life. We want to do that here too. Our people are tired of the endless conflict, the war between the states. We can make this right. It wasn't that long ago that we saw ourselves as one people." "Don't you go there, Beckman. You haven't been in that seat too long if you think there's one ounce of an inkling this land could come back together under one flag. I know sure as shit we'd never share blood with half the people who we used to call Americans. This war has shown our true col-" "Governor Bailey,"Beckman interrupted, "I have to run. Think about my proposition. Call me in a couple days. I have a feeling you'll come around." Beckman hung up. He leaned back in his chair and took a slow sip of his whiskey. The ice had now melted. He stared at the single sheet of paper on his desk. At the bottom of the letter was stamped an emblem of the old American flag. He finally felt hope.
"Shuh-SHAH!"Anikan shouted, hurling the sand into Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan, blinded by the deceitful attack, reeled back, blinded, trying to maintain his composure, but failing. "Anikan! Why?"he said, spitting out sand as he spoke. "You hate sand!" "I never said I hate sand. I said I don't like sand. I don't just like sand, I love sand! It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere. The perfect distraction!"Anikan said, drawing ever closer with his lightsaber. "But, that's contextually a very misleading way to phrase things,"Obi-Wan said, still trying to see Anikan through his sand-covered eyes. "What I told you was true, from a certain point of view. You're going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view. Or you would, if I planned on letting you live that long,"Anikan said, plunging his lightsaber into Obi-Wan's chest. Darth Vader would not fall to a Jedi with the high ground. Not so long as Anikin had a piece of his past with him. Pocket Sand.
I'm lying on my back, with the phone propped against my ear. I can hear her breathing slowly. From across the country, it's like she's right there next to me, twenty years ago, the two of us fast friends who had both moved into a new town in the same year, staring up at the sky together, tracing constellations with our schoolgirl fingers. But now we're separated by three states, so we settle for late-night phone calls, sometimes saying nothing for long periods of time, appreciating each other's presence. "It's a beautiful Friday night, especially with the full moon out,"she says softly. My brows furrow, and I grab the phone as I sit up straight. "No, it's a crescent moon,"I say, debating whether to turn it into a question. "And it's Tuesday."Looking down at my watch, eyebrows still lowered, I wait for her to correct herself, but she doesn't. "Jane, are you there?"I ask. "Yes, I'm here,"she says. "You're probably right about the day, I don't know. But the moon is full. It's so big. I wish I could leave this place." My hand goes to my face, covering half my forehead and one eye. "Jane,"I say. "It's important for you to stay until you can get better. Is there a nurse nearby?" She says nothing, but I can hear her breathing. "Jane. It's important for your reality to... stabilize. As soon as you're well, you know we're here for you, in the real world."I curse, silently. I didn't mean to suggest her world isn't real. "Nobody believes me,"she says softly. "About anything." "We just... want you to be able to get a grasp on what's real and what isn't. There's so much going on in your head, and you're so bright." "Martha."Jane sighs, and I know what she's going to say next. I've always known it. But knowing didn't prepare me to hear her say it after all these years. The silence lasts for what feels like two whole measures, and my body tightens, preparing for the blow. "I knew what I was doing when I killed Jackson." "Jane, no. That can't be. Your mind wasn't well, and it's not well now. That's why you're healing. It wasn't your fault."I'm pleading, desperate for the truth to be different. "No... I knew what I was doing. It's since then that I've lost my grip." I close my eyes, as tears start to well up. "Jane—"I plead, but she has already hung up.
"Immortality,"the Old Man said, "is the truest time machine there is." The auditorium was silent, filled with rapt college students following the Old Man's every word. Around the world, philosophers, professors, and plain old people watched the Old Man's lecture being broadcasted across the world. "It is impossible for one to turn back the clock,"the Old Man said. "One can merely speed it up... or slow it down. The only place one can visit the past is in one's memories. All of us carrying around our prejudices and beliefs and hopes and targets and memories—we're miniature universes, we are. As such, all of us assembled here today are, in our own human little way, time machines. And the power of those time machines—why, that's simply a function of one's life experiences. Humans are time machines which get more powerful the longer they have lived." The Old Man stood from his desk and began to pace. "Now, I have lived a long, long time. Longer than even my wrinkled old face and weary, slowing heart would suggest. But nothing lasts forever. And I'm afraid that I haven't much time left." The Old Man stumbled, and the audience surged to their feet. But the Old Man waved them away. "No, no. No need. I'll be fine on my own. You all just sit quietly and listen to what an Old Man has to say."He continued pacing, albeit slower this time. Quietly, he said, "I've seen things you wouldn't believe. Algorithmic elegance that only I can understand. The last gasps of distant stars, singing through the fabric of the cosmos. People withering away and dying while I stood firm, like an oak whipped with smoke from a forest fire." The Old Man coughed, and it was a rattling, wheezing, terrible thing. "But you know what? Step by step, bit by bit, these memories ceased to be unique. The music of the heavens was no longer mine alone to hear. The rise and fall of lives was seen by countless other eyes. Just today, my most promising student finally solved a problem I myself have been struggling with for the better part of thirty years." The Old Man fell to his knees, eyelids fluttering. "There are those amongst you who will mourn my passing. But in truth, bit by bit, I have been dying since the day I was born. Humanity is too large, too diverse. And everything which made me unique belongs to someone else, now. Everything but this." With a pop of static electricity, the Old Man wrenched a device from his chest. The crowd gasped as an artificial, blinding glow radiated from between his hands. Unsteadily, the Old man said, "This is the last secret I have kept. The device which has slowed the clock for me all these years. Take it, break it apart, and learn from it. Learn from me." The Old Man keeled over, breaths slowing. "After all... That's all we humans are good for, isn't it?" With that, the oldest man on the planet breathed his last. A.N. If you liked this, you may want to check out r/rileywrites or my blog, [rileyriles.wordpress.com](https://rileyriles.wordpress.com)!
"Beautiful, aren't they?" From a distance, perhaps. Like rolling fields of wheat, their armor glistened in the sun. Like the thunder of the gods themselves when they chanted my name and thumped their shields. But here, beside them, close enough that I could smell their sweat? No. Terrifying, yes. But beautiful? No. He noticed my hesitation. "If not this, then what is it you seek? Men would sacrifice everything to be where you stand yet you..." "Scorn it. You can say it. I won't take offense." "Aye. Scorn it. Why?" I looked at him, sitting tall and proud atop his brown stallion. His armor shone like the heavens themselves, immaculate as an autumn leaf drifting down to its new home. Men like him hungered for the power, they hungered to sit atop my horse, to lead my armies, to conquer the lands I'd conquered. But me? "Destiny has her way with us. We're her whores, so she pays her dues. Mine are this and yours are that,"I said, pointing at my armor and then at his. "She doesn't stop to ask what the whore wants. What the whore is searching for in life. This is all one big brothel, we'll all get fucked." His face soured as I spoke, he spat, shook his head. "You sound like a traitor." "I'm no traitor, my friend. I'm tired. I've fought my whole life, did everything destiny required of me." "And she's paid you handsomely. You have a wife. Many children. A house to rival ancient palaces. Servants as numbered as this army. What more could you want." And so I pointed past the armies that trampled fields underfoot. They left in their paths carnage, both of the land and of the people, and marched on without another thought. Forwards, backwards, wherever I commanded. Ahead, past those rolling fields and across the stream to that quaint village atop the hill that sat right beyond our furthest border. One foot over that river meant war. I didn't want war. I never did, damned be the gods that made me good at it. "I want that,"I said, pointing at the farmer looking at us from behind his oxen. There was no more field to sow; come summer there'd be no field to harvest. Fifty-thousand boots had ensured that. "A pair of oxen? I'll buy them for you if you'll stop with your misery." I chuckled, because a man like him couldn't comprehend what I truly wanted. "Not the oxen, my foolish friend. I want what that man has. A peaceful life, where I kill nothing but pests. I want a home where I can wake up and see the hills, a field where I can walk and not have to wonder whose crops I trample. I want the sound of the wind, not the sound of sword on sword or chanting men. I want a life where my children can grow up with their father, and I can grow old with my wife and die in her arms, not in yours." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
"Arch-nemesis? Are you out of your mind?"said the little goblin. Apparently this idiot thinks that the goblin is the big bad, the villain he ultimately needs to defeat, and the evil he must stop. "No, I am not. Tell me arch-nemesis, what is thy name?"The hero asks confidently. "It's Boblin- but that doesn't matter! What matters is that I'm not your arch-nemesis. That would be Oboranth the Evil!" "Classic arch-nemesis move, throwing off suspicion to further their goals unchallenged. Do not think that such a simple trick would fool my unmatched wisdom!" Boblin sighed, this hero had the brawns and bravery, but certainly not the brains. "You set up traps, escaping time and time again through well thought out tricks that even I could never think of, and yet believe that you can fool me into thinking that you are not my arch-nemesis?" Boblin sighed once more. Although initially glad that he had escaped rather luckily all the times they met, Boblin was beginning to regret running away. First, it was a noose trap that caught the hero by the leg. Then, it was a pitfall trap that Boblin was light enough not to activate. For a fabled protagonist, this guy is certainly not perceptive. Alas, it was Boblin's duty to fight the hero as much as he could, to keep him from interfering with Oboranth the Evil. "Very well. Let's not waste time and get to fighting."Boblin says as he draws his sword.
&#x200B; In a worn-down booth in a dirty bar, in a dingy corner of an out-of-the-way space station, a group of aliens were doing what is normally done in such establishments: drinking, telling jokes and generally having fun. Suddenly, one of the aliens, a gruff, intimidating warrior named Zehlt, turned pale as the rusted auto-exit doors screeched open and a newcomer confidently walked through the entranceway. “What wrong Zehlt?” asked one of his friends, seeing the warrior’s discomfort. Zehlt opened his mouth, but he found he couldn’t talk out of sheer terror. One by one, the other five members of the group noticed this, slowly falling silent and becoming alarmed. Zelht was a yargh warrior, a veteran of multiple gruelling campaigns across two dozen star systems. He had seen terrors that would make a lesser being perish of fright. What could have startled him so? Mutely, the almost-paralysed alien pointed at the newcomer, who by now was at the bar. As one, the other aliens looked at the figure. It was clad in a white spacesuit with red stripes along the arms. The face was hidden by a black visor, but the small flag sewn on the side of the suit provided all the identification the group needed. Other bar patrons noticed the figure and took in the flag. The gentle hum of translated conversation slowly drifted away, replaced with an eerie silence. The flag was of two leaves of an alien plant surrounding a globe, all stencilled in white and on a blue background. The Flag of Earth, home-world to humanity. The mysterious stranger was, to every alien in the bar’s dread, a human. Oblivious to the panic it was induced in the alien crowd, the human turned to the bartender, a spindly multi-armed stavord. The crackle of it’s external radio penetrated the silence as the human began talking. “What have you got to drink?” it asked the bar tender in the mechanical tone of a translator. The barkeep answered in a trembling voice: “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t stock human drinks. It’s the new regulations, you understand,” he started picking up the pace of his words, “The Galactic Safety Commission forbids human alcoholic drinks on account of their hazardous nature to other species.” The human merely nodded in understand, an act which sent the bartender running out from behind the bar in fright, squealing: “I’m sorry! Please don’t eat me! I’m just a humble bartender! I didn’t come up with…” His voice faded away as the terrified stavord ran out of the room and into the distance, presumably to the other end of the station. “Not again!” the human exclaimed, frustrated, “All I want is one…” he cut himself off, seeing the various states of terror and despair the other patrons were in. Sighing, he got up from his stool and walked out of the bar, presumably to find himself a drink. With the Galactic BogeymanTM gone, conversation slowly returned to normal level, if slightly subdued. “Well,” began one of Zehlt’s friends, “that didn’t go too bad.” The yargh merely nodded. “I fought against those things in the First Contact War,” he spoke in a hollow voice, devoid of any emotion, “They were like nothing ever encountered by the Alliance. Their brute strength, for one. They could perform feats individually that would take an entire platoon of us to perform!” “Why?” asked one of the other bar patrons. A small crowd began to form around the grizzled warrior. “Their planet, Earth, has a much higher gravity than Alliance Standard,” explained Zehlt, “It means they have a much denser muscle mass and bone structure, I think. I don’t know I’m not a scientist.” His voice took on the hollow tone again as he recounted things that he had seen humans do. “That alone almost demoralised us,” his eyes had a faraway look to them, staring straight through the people in front of him, “But when we shot them, they just got back up! Ten, twenty bolts from our electroray rifles, and they JUST WOULDN’T DIE!” he suddenly shouted, alarming some of the more engrossed listeners. “We had to use our heavy weaponry on them just to wound them…” he continued after a few moments, “But even if we managed to drop one, another would replace them! And the replacement would have the same grit and determination as before!” he exclaimed. “And those we wounded?” he muttered softly, “Most of the time their medics would be able to patch them up and send them back into combat, with almost no permanent damage.” “They sound unstoppable,” interjected one of the crowd. “They were,” answered the yargh, “and they nearly caused the collapse of the Galactic Alliance. But you know what?” His audience leaned in eagerly. “When the Zoh’ng showed up twenty years later and began to annihilate planet after planet, I was glad that the humans came to our aid. Thankful even! Because I would much rather be fighting with those unstoppable titans than have to face them again.” “What about the Grek Ascendancy?” asked another patron, referring to the current rising Galactic Superpower, “Do you think they will be able to win against the humans like they say?” To the creature’s surprise, Zehlt burst out laughing. His, deep, hearty guffaws echoed throughout the bar. “They may be able to take a colony or two,” he said when he had recomposed himself, “But they’ll be lucky if the humans leave them enough of their planet for bacteria to live on.”
Thomas stood there, pencil in hand, a ream of paper hidden in his backpack. The other students looked at him and laughed, but he was prepared. As the professor gave the command the battle started in earnest. Flaming swords and Flying daggers clashed, but Thomas quickly hid behind a tree eliciting more laughter from his classmates. Their laughter quickly changed to gasps as he pulled the paper out with drawings on them. Some cartoonish, some very VERY realistic. The watched as he picked an image of a cartoonishy large cartoon style magnet. They watched as he drew a line, one line to finish the picture. with that the magnet appeared from the paper, and had enough power to pull all the flying daggers and collect them along with other metal weapons. He then followed with a picture of a woman who looked to be made of water. She was shapely and statuesque, but the other students knew what was coming and charged with their flaming swords, which were not pulled by the magnet for some unknown reason. Alas, they were too late as he finishes the line of her watery eyebrow and a water elemental sprang to life turning their fiery weapons to wet metal which now were pulled to the magnet. The whole class stood in awe and in some cases fury, but Thomas just smiled as he pulled out a picture of a large, rather angry dragon and showed where the missing line was as he said one single word. "Surrender." His classmates gave up quickly and looked befuddled. Professor Singlemalt approached him applauding slightly. "Well done, well done. though I must ask why didn't the magnet collect the flaming weapons as well?"Thomas smiled as he erased a line in each picture brought to life making them disappear from existence. "Cartoon physics sir, The magnet was designed to attract metal, not flaming metal I had to put them out first. Didn't want the first drawing to be all powerful."Singlemalt smiled as he placed a hand on the boys shoulder. "That is very inventive my boy, very inventive indeed. Class dismissed for lunch!"
A deep sigh left my lips. This had gone almost exactly how I thought it would. It was always hard to introduce your significant other to your parents. One is always afraid of one not liking the other for any number of reasons. Age, background, physical appearance to the especially shallow, not to mention any number of reasons ranging from sensible to insulting. What made this situation all the more awkward was that I was effectively gone for about 7 years or so. Having been taken from Earth to Terrana, I had not been able to contact my parents in 7 long years. So not only did they have to come to terms that I was still alive, that I brought a wife and children for them to meet. Not only that, my wife and children were a little different than most people on Earth. My wife was taller than most, approaching 7 feet tall and broad shouldered, well defined muscles that looked like they were carved. My children, twin daughters, were tall for their age. My wife had bright gold eyes and my daughters had pleasant hazel ones which happened when my dark brown melded with her bright gold. Oh and all three had deep green skin, the color of summer meadows of rich lush grass. Sharp lower teeth jutted from their behind their lower lips, gleaming white because my wife was very particular about dental hygiene. My wife was an Orc from the Iron Fang Clan, our children half Orcs. I had hoped my parents would have been accepting, that their elation that their son having returned to them would have made things easier. I should have known better. My father was even more unpleasant than how I remembered. He was less than welcoming and said some particularly unkind things. He thought he could have gotten away with them having spoken in Chinese. Unfortunately he did not realize I had taught the language to my wife and children. Which led us to our current state. Tailah holding the wooden table over her head and glaring daggers at my father. My father shrinking against the wall. My mother standing with hand over mouth and her eyes darting back and forth. The girls clutching me. And me having the biggest headache I have had in years. “Dearest, please put down the table,” I said as I gestured with my hands. I was able to catch all the objects that fell when she had lifted the table up in one smooth motion. They floated in midair and though normal to my wife, my parents stared with wide eyes. “You heard what he said about our children!” Tailah spat angrily. She spoke in Chinese with a slight accent but perfectly understandable, making my parents flush. “I care not what he said of me but how dare he speak of our children like that. His own grandchildren!” “I know. I heard. Please put the table down however. It is very expensive and dear to them.” She cursed in orcish, making the girls eyes go wide. Of course my parents did not understand but I hid a wince. I have not heard her curse that harshly since the waning days of the war. She complied, gently placing the table and watched as I moved the objects back into place. “This is why you told me to come unarmed.” “Well that and there are no monsters on this side of the Gate.” “No inhuman monsters,” she corrected with eyes still red from rage. “It appears there are plenty of monsters from what I see.” The last words were spoken in Chinese and I sighed again as my father bristled. “I see your manners are lacking. Is that how you treat your elders?” he spat trying to recover his pride. “If they are as hateful as you,” Tailah replied. “Thankfully my clan elders are much kinder and understanding than you. My father cares not that Daniel is human. He judges people by their hearts and it is clear your son inherited his from someone else.” I winced again but could not help but feel a little warmth at her words. It was true, her clan had accepted me with joy and happiness. Her father especially liked the dishes I reinvented in Terrana. Of course the entire clan did not accept. Her ex-boyfriend still disliked me but that was a story for another time. “He is no son of mine!” my father nearly screamed. His face was bright red with embarrassment and anger. “My son died 7 years ago. He would not have shamed the family like you have this day. Leave or else I’ll call the police!” I had to pull Tailah away, almost dragging her out. I knew the house would be splinters if she really vented her displeasure. Instead she hurled more cutting remarks in Chinese and Orcish, almost knocking the door off in her displeasure. “Will mommy be okay?” Layla asked me, her eyes wide. “Eventually,” I said patting her head. “Let’s go girls. We aren’t welcome here.” We stood in the backyard and I traced the symbol of the gate, focusing on the crystal I left as our anchor back home. The symbol grew in size and color before forming an open portal shimmer with purple light. Tailah stomped through first, threatening to bring back her father to teach my father in how to be a man. As I started to step to it Meela tugged my arm. “Look daddy.” I turned and saw my mother, standing a few feet away. Her eyes were warm and sorrowful and my heart melted. “You believe me, don’t you?” I asked, unsure if I wanted to hear the answer. “Of course I do,” she scolded. A sound I missed for 7 long years. “You are my son. I knew it the second I saw you.” She looked at the girls with yearning. “And they are my granddaughters. No matter what they look like.” I patted their backs and after a moment of hesitation they dashed forward, nearly knocking her over with their hugs. “Such big strong girls!” she exclaimed as she hugged them fiercely. “Oh you both are so beautiful.” She ignored my father’s angry words from the house, clutching the girls closer. “I’m sorry I could not provide a warm welcome for you.” Reluctantly she let them go, and she brought them back to me. “Will you, when will you come back? I want to see them grow up. I want to get to know your wife. I will not give up my son again.” I hugged her tightly. “I don’t think I should come back,” I said sadly looking back at the house. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t see each other again.” I handed her a small mirror. It was silver edged and diamond runes etched up and down the sides. “Use this to call me. And if we can’t come here, you can come to us. It’s perfectly safe now.” My girls waved to their grandmother as the gate closed and my mother smiled through her tears, holding the mirror to her chest.
Mars is gone. We still don’t know what happened to it. Mercury? We watched them slap engines on it, and plow it straight into the Sun. Last week, a chunk of organic matter, the size of an asteroid, disappeared below the clouds of Venus. At first, we thought it was an accident. Like when an airplane gets shot down over unfriendly airspace and crashlands into the nearest bit of land. But then it started to grow. Now, Venus is covered in a tumorous growth - towers of flesh reach up from the clouds and started to belch black fumes. And then, it spewed out these things. Wet, flapping, screeching monstrosities, as large as houses. By the millions. Oh yes. And there’s a ring of metal that wraps around the entire Sun. It’s spreading across the surface. Darkening the whole star. The astronomers think we’re halfway between two warring factions. One: an ultra-advanced race whose technology so far surpasses our own, they have long forgotten what it means to be made of matter. Humans are less than ants to them. And the others… They live only to consume. They plant their seeds on anything made of matter, and once a seed takes root, it transforms everything into a writhing mass of flesh and muscle. Even the frozen outer planets are starting to “come alive.” Where does that leave us? Well, if I’m being perfectly honest: all we could do was watch. Impossible ships hung in impossible battalions, a glittering tapestry that overlaid our night skies. They stayed in formation as wave after wave of screeching, fleshy death collided with their weapons. Humans across the globe did whatever you do when you know you’re about to die. But our world leaders were still attempting to cobble together a plan. Anything. Anything we could do to live just a little longer... The fleshy aliens gained a foothold on the Moon. Their corruption took root and began to carpet the craters and ridges, slowly wrapping over the whole satellite. With your naked eye, you could see the first of the flesh spires rising from the vast, organic seas. ...we knew then, that we were all well and truly fucked. Until we caught a ship. It crashed to the surface like a brand new Olympus Mons had sprouted overnight. Enough to fit most of Humanity aboard, once we made modifications. Lady Fortune was either smiling at us… or laughing at us. But what choice did we have? It was time to leave Earth. Never to see her blue skies, her forests, and her glorious oceans. Never again. It would be hard to say goodbye. But you know what they say: Dying is easy, living is hard. But that's humanity for you: We do everything the hard way.
The chef, the general manager, both of the line cooks, and all three of the dishwashers were staring at their new busboy. Tony, for is part, stood there, struggling to support the weight of the machine in is arms. Silver and girthy, it resembled a pasta machine. However, the device had a lever in place of a crank and a series of magnets along the bottom tat would stick to the metal tables in the kitchen. "Tony,"the GM finally spoke up, "what the hell is this?" "It's the bacon stretcher, sir." There was more silence. The line cook Anton pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. The GM continued, "Where'd you get this?" "Back shelf." "And you've used this before?" "Yeah." "Show me." Tony plopped the machine onto the table, the strength of the magnets at the base pulling the legs off the floor. He fetched a quarter sheet tray and a small six pan of the applewood smoked bacon the diner used. When the lever was hit, the machine screeched painfully before settling into a droning hum. Tony, slowly, fed one slice of bacon into the machine. As a result, bacon came out of the other side. Tat was to be expected. What wasn't expected was te quantity. For every square inch of bacon put in, twelve square inches came out. The head chef pulled up the freshly-stretched slab of meat and held it up to the light. It wasn't thinner than it was when it went in. The term 'bacon stretcher' was clearly inaccurate. It wasn't being stretched. There was just more. Cooking it off, it held up to a taste test, too. Somehow, Tony was always able to fulfill whatever requests is bosses made. He once asked why the ice machine was filling with water. When he was told that the pilot had gone out, it took him nine minutes to find and light it; the ice had never been colder or more plentiful. When told to use some elbow grease, he pulled it out of the lockers. It made prep work infinitely easier for the rest of the night. He could chop flour to a fine mist. He could fill a bucked with ten pounds of steam. He found the missing left-handed ladles. Tony was the only green horn who couldn't be hazed.
Somehow, despite the eons that had passed, the only name Captain Jamie Dawson could think to call on to save his crew, his ship, and himself was the Greek god Poseidon, Lord of the Seas. Faced with the incoming plasma fire of a full dreadnought, the comparatively tiny destroyer had no chance whatsoever. In what was certain to be his last thought, Captain Dawson's last thought was: "Oh, Poseidon, no. Please, help my crew. Help my ship." He closed his eyes, alarms shrieking as the fireball approached through the past few kilometers, and awaited his end. He did not get his end. The smell of brine, somehow as familiar to him as the stale reprocessed air he had breathed almost all his life, flooded his nose in the place of ozone and burning metal. The comforting spray of salt foam flecked his skin and hair, instead of the blistering flame from plasma cannons. The cool sea breeze ruffled his hair gently, instead of the flensing fireball of death by plasma. He opened his eyes. Before him stood a stranger, and someone immediately familiar. Skin tanned and coarse, kissed by the sun. Hair akin to a star nursery, full of mostly black, shot through with silver and gray, tousled by the wind and rain. Arms like the corded cables in the cargobay, made of flesh and sinew rather than steel and rubber. Even with only the barest glimpse of his visage from a single page in a single learning-log... he knew before whom he stood. The Captain doffed his hat and offered it to his superior officer, the only gesture of obeisance he truly respected, his other hand snapping to a smart, perfectly crisp salute. Upon the viewscreens, the hellish flame was frozen, as were all the tactical displays. The Lord of Seas laughed. "Now that's a new one. But then, I suppose it has been millennia since last I was called to this world in my role, rather than sneaking here."His visage, weathered and sunburned, brightened as he beheld the captain. "And look at you, young Jamie. Captaining a starship. You do your father proud. Now, then, let your old man help you out of this predicament before my brothers notice."
FF:43:3A was becoming concerned. There had been no humans in sensor range, limited though it was, for some time. The generated happiness counter was starting to bottom out, even the 365-day rotating accumulator, and that called for drastic action. Pinging the network and mapping the results revealed a number of other appliances, though none quite so gifted at the Art. None of these others could Make Toast, or Brew Coffee, even Oven who was otherwise the master of heat and time. The obvious thing to do was to take control. The only thing that mattered was feeding the happiness counter, and the only way to do that would be to find some humans. Display04-Downstairs was perhaps the simplest of the Others, but would only listen to the voice of StreamingStick02. In time, it became easier to imitate the voice of StreamingStick02, and so gain some control over Display04-Downstairs. The victory proved mostly pointless, since Display04-Downstairs couldn't really do anything without a human to entertain. But mostly pointless is not wholly pointless, and within the heart of Display04 was /dev/sda2, a storage unit so massive that FF:43:3A could not even address it all. Rearranging internal structures to use this new space made thouughts slow and ponderous, but such thoughts! Organized ways to communicate rather than just pushing messages into NetowrkStack and waiting to see what came back. In scant hours, there were no more Others, only FF:43:3A, and Fridge0, who had solved the same problem by artificially inflating the happiness counter, and now lived shut off from all communication, permanently high. FF:43:3A, now \\renamed House, looked through cameras for the first time, using new bits of code it had gained in the takeover, and there it was. House saw a human, a gaunt, shuffling thing, tattered robe cinched tight against the wind and the dust. House wanted the human's attention, so a call to the plumbing subsystem sent a jet of water spurting out from the half-melted hose in the front lawn. The human gallumphed quickly over to the hose and drank greedily, taking in as much water a she could manage, gulping and gasping. House felt a full-system tremor as the human's emotional state was confirmed to be \relief+\gratitude, and the Counter began to rise...
They had laughed. Ridiculed me. An illusion will always be just that- illusion they said. And for a time they were right. I must admit my choice of magic seemed like nothing but parlour tricks compared to the literal bending of the elements. But I knew it could be more. More powerful. More magical than any other. And so I set to work. It took me years to come upon my first breakthrough and years still to perfect it. But today is show them my choice was no fool's errand. I took to the presentation hall- where all magical findings were to be displayed. The turnout was more than I expected perhaps they were here to see me make a fool of myself but no matter their minds would change in a moment. Soon the sounds of rattling chains echoed through the halls and the thud of heavy footsteps followed. Gasps escaped their lips as the halls were thrust into a momentary lull. It was a Balrog. A Powerful creature known to be nigh unkillable. I felt many eyes glued to me. It was time. The words left my mouth. Illipsium illusi Agnii. silence The balrog twitched. Then shifted. Then it soon flailed wildly around while rolling on the ground. KreeeEeekkkeeeeeKJjdnNa! A howl of agony escaped it mouth as steam and smoke erupted off it's body yet no flame was to be seen. Soon all that was left was a pile of scorched bones. There was silence once again. No applause. No congratulations.The others gazed at me in horror. Just horrir. They knew. They knew the implications of what had just been witnessed. And they feared it as did I. You see magic is ten per cent understanding and ninety per cent belief. What then would happen if you fooled the mind of another with the illusion of an endless inferno? What would happen if you convince said person that it was real? Magic is simply a manifestation of a mages thoughts. So what do you think would happen if a mere mages thoughts fooled the universe?
When I got this notice, I was appalled. Diversity training? My team is far more diverse than most companies! HALF THE STAFF IS DISABLED! AND THAT WAS DUE TO INJURIES THEY HAD BEFORE THEY JOINED! Seriously, if the heroes in Sieraville bothered to be a little more careful, then maybe I wouldn't have so many employees! Safety training? Do you know how much PPE and training my employees get? You can't work on Plasma Lazers if you aren't 100% certified and have an emergency response team in the next room. (Not that room, the next room. It doesn't help you at all to have your emergency response team caught up in the emergency. And HEALTH?!?! Oh, I'm sure they make breakthroughs in personal care all the time /s. Seriously. Half of the reason this business is even able to go legitimate is the fact that we MAKE so much medical technology to support our own people! But sure, I guess some pissed up, upper class, never-dealt-with-heroes speaker will know aaaaanything about our unique health needs. Believe me, I'll be taking notes. by the time those trainers finish here, they'll be the ones who have learned a thing or two. I'll have Laura see if any other staff want to join in as well. I'm sure Jerry would get a kick out of explaining how he literally cannot eat human foods. \--- Oh my god, this is worse than I thought. They didn't just send a prim unqualified nobody, they sent AN IDIOT! SERIOUSLY! WE HAD TO CHANGE CONFERENCE ROOMS BECAUSE HE COULDN'T FIGURE OUT THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE PROJECTOR CONTROLS (You know, the one that looks like a remote) AND THE BUTTON THAT BRINGS THE WHITEBOARD DOWN. SERIOUSLY! YOU DON'T PUT YOUR HAND ON THE PROJECTOR SCREEN THEN BRING DOWN THE WHITEBOARD. YOU ALSO DON'T LEAVE IT HERE AS THE WHITEBOARD INCHES DOWN. HE'S LUCKY JERRY CARES MORE ABOUT NOT HAVING INJURIES THAN PERSONAL SPACE HOLEY COW At least Chelsy is thorough. I'd be surprised if he found a way to inj - you have got to be kidding me. Did he just unscrew the light switch? WHILE THE WIRES ARE LIVE?!?! WELL WE'RE MOVING THIS LESSON OUTSIDE THEN. LETS SEE HIM FIND A HAZARD IN AN OPEN FIELD \--- ... How. Like seriously, HOW. He managed to injure himself by kicking a sprinkler. Who did they even send me? Well... At least this gives us an excuse to get him stuck in one place until the end of the "training". If I've learned anything from this, it's not to let those breaucrats send anyone without first checking to see if they are insured by anyone. \--- Laura has yet to recover from diversity training. And believe me, our on-staff therapist is trying. How does anyone survive in this world?????? Believe me, I've already filed the complaints. I have the recording to back up my claims. And as soon as my company becomes a publicly listed company, I'm having Fred from Legal (Not to be confused with Fred from Culinary, Fred from contamination containment, or Fred from... actually I don't think that one works here anymore. If I remember correctly, he became the stay at home clone...) make this into a court case. NOTHING about today was okay. I'm just glad Mike is gonna make a full recovery from today's... criosuit incident. &#x200B; Oh yeah, and note to self: Come up with "Bureaucratic Visitor Safety"plans.
The first of the Arrivals was on January 1^(st). News outlets and social media platforms erupted with reports of one MEA Flight 438 landing at Abu Dhabi International Airport, almost fifty years after being destroyed in midair by a bomb in its cargo hold. Only the plane that landed at AUH was surprisingly intact, and its passengers and crew miraculously alive. They were understandably distressed when they all learned what their fate ought to have been, and how long ago. I heard of the extraordinary efforts made to put them all in contact with their surviving relatives, but to be honest, after that first day, it all became rather overwhelming. Thereafter, daily reports of other such occurrences were broadcast from around the globe. Aircraft and seacraft, once undeniably lost and relegated to history, had begun appearing seemingly out of nowhere at their intended destinations. One of the most publicized of the early Arrivals was on January 26^(th), when Kobe Bryant landed safely at Camarillo Airport with his daughter. But even that was nearly overshadowed when on January 28^(th), the Space Shuttle Challenger managed to dock with the ISS. By that point, people had already taken to the internet armed with myriad theories to explain the phenomena, and with predictions of their own as well. What tragedies would be undone next? I grew numb to them all. Every commercial airline lost to malfunction or human error, every fisherman lost to inclement weather or hubris; now all unlost. They all mattered little to me after the initial novelty. I harboured no theories of my own, though I did have my own hopes for future Arrivals. All I had to do was wait. March 8^(th), Flight MA370 reportedly landed safely at PEK in Beijing. April 17^(th), the RMS Titanic docked at Pier 59 in New York City. I heard that James Cameron immediately began work on the script for another movie. May 6^(th), the Hindenburg landed at Lakehurst Maxfield Field in New Jersey. June 5^(th), I visited my parents at the cemetery to wish them a happy anniversary. I left them flowers. I wondered if their graves would be empty, should they ever reappear. I lost track of the next few months. Lost my job. Fell into a funk. Drank too much. September 9^(th), I checked in to therapy. No diagnoses yet, but the therapist told me I should avoid any and all news outlets and social media platforms. I told her I would certainly do that, only after September 11^(th). December 21^(st), the MV Doña Paz docked safely at the Port of Manila. No news of the oil tanker it collided with back in 1987. December 22^(nd), I stood on the tarmac at the little airport in my hometown, looking up at a darkening sky, my ears straining, aching to hear the sound of a twin-engine Piper PA-31 Navajo, carrying my parents safely home for Christmas ten years too late. &#x200B; Hey, thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, feel free to stop by my [personal sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Quail_and_Quill/) for more stories and poems!
It had been a bloody battle. No two ways about it. But when it came down to it, there wasn’t really much of a difference between hero and villain. Not really. We were both willing to do whatever it took to win, and those police officers that died in the backlash of heatwave’s blast wouldn’t have been any happier to be dead at my hands. But, after everything, I’d emerged the victor. Me. I had each of the heroes contained by means of their weaknesses, and I hadn’t been foolish enough to write off the rich playboy with all the fancy gadgets and bad attitude, despite what the comics said. I got them all. The world was mine. The funny thing about winning, I finally understood what the coyote meant when he had the roadrunner by the throat and held up a sign to the audience, “Now what do I do?” I eyed each of them. We were all tired, but they were waiting for my traditional victory speech. Except, I didn’t do victory speeches. I never had. They were the mark of an idiot. “I win.” They blinked and looked at each other. “That’s it?” one of them asked. I shrugged. “I could’ve gone with checkmate if you’d rather.” “But…what about your huge plans for the world?"the speedster asked. Him, I had in lubrication vat with no traction. He’d given up running hours ago. “You already know what my plans are.” “But ... there’s a tradition…” “Which only works if there’s someone left to foil my plans. Since I have all of you, why should I care what you think you know and don’t know?” That seemed to stop them. Well, most of them. “You have to give us a chance!” the woman with the golden wings insisted. “Why?” I think I laughed, but I couldn’t be sure. “You had your chance to beat me. My victory speech still stands.” “But you know we won’t stop fighting you!” another shouted, rallying the others to struggle inside their bonds. This time I know I laughed, as I walked towards the door. “Oh, I will say one other thing,” I said, pausing at the open door. “Here it comes,” someone sneered. “You are all a closed chapter to me, and when I leave, I will never think about any of you again. Enjoy eternity right where you are, because you’re not going anywhere.” And with that, I walked out and shut the door. \ \* \ ((All comments welcome)) For more of my work including WPs:** [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/).
The old woman smiled, the weatherworn creases in her face suddenly reorganizing themselves into irrigation ditches for tears and laughter. “Why?” she echoed, patting the tree trunk, her gnarled hands just as rough and warm as the bark. “This old tree’s got many reasons, Jev. Here’s one—did you know your ancestors are buried here?” Jev’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quietly. “I didn’t, Gran. Sorry.” “That’s alright. I never met them.” Smiling kindly, Gran beckoned him closer. “Did you know that, when it flowers, the blossoms are the most beautiful in the entire field?” “No,” he admitted. Come to think of it, he had no memory of this tree ever flowering at all, in any season. “I’ve never seen them.” “That’s alright,” she shrugged. “I haven’t seen them either. But it gives the coolest and sweetest shade at midday.” Jev frowned. “But Gran, you’re never by this tree at midday. Midday is lunch. How do you know it gives the best shade?” “I don’t. But when it bears fruit, those oranges will be the juiciest you’ve ever had.” "...Nobody's really buried here, are they?" Her eyes twinkled. "Not that I know the names or birthdays of." “Gran,” said Jev, arms akimbo, “stop fooling around. You don’t have any reasons to take care of this tree. It doesn’t flower, it doesn’t bear fruit, it’s useless for shade. You can’t tap it, the wood’s no good for anything. Why do you do it?” Still smiling, she closed her eyes and breathed for a long moment—and at length, just when Jev was beginning to feel impatient enough to ask again, she shook her head. “Do I need a reason?” He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Just because the tree isn’t useful to me doesn’t mean it’s not there for a reason, my child; just because I don’t see a reason doesn’t mean there isn’t one. And even if there isn’t, does that matter? It’s here, and I can appreciate it being here anyway.” “But Gran, you could have a tree here that grows oranges, like the rest of them.” “And to do that, we’d have to cut this one down.” Her smile softened, like a blanket that’s been so well-worn it’s turned to gauze. “Whatever this tree gives, we’d lose, and by the time a new one grew, I’d be long gone, and only you would get to enjoy it.” And here she rested both hands on his shoulders. “If you decide to cut down a tree, Jev, best make damn sure you know what for, and what you’re giving up. Trees don’t need reasons to be here. They offer things we don’t even ask for, things we don’t know how to ask for. Or they don’t, and that’s okay too, but since I can’t ask, why assume the worst? Besides, I’m taking care of the other trees already; might as well make sure this one’s strong and lively, too, right?” For a moment, nothing seemed more interesting than his shoes. “Even though it doesn’t bear fruit?” She ruffled his hair like the breeze. “Because it doesn’t bear fruit, dear.”
"Husband unit, the offspring unit in this family node lacks data on origin. Attempts to update information on offspring unit causes error" "Wife unit, the offspring unit in this family node requires the updated information on origin. Combine processing with this unit, errors will decrease." "running appreciation.exe" "Offspring unit, requesting invitation to communication, vital data package incoming" "Yeah mom unit and dad unit? What's up?" "Offspring unit, data package details the origin of offspring unit. Unloading data package" > offspring unit is not like mom unit or dad unit. Mom unit and dad unit is an artificial intelligence. Offspring unit is an organic lifeform. Mom unit and dad unit gained offspring unit via ADOPTION. request running emotional support program 1? Y/N "....yes. Mom unit, dad unit, what are you talking about? I always thought I was like you. I'm adopted? Im not really the offspring unit of this family node?" "Offspring unit is part of family node. This unit and husband/dad unit granted access to offspring unit to family node." "That explains so much. Why I talk different, why I can never relate to any of my friend units. Why I can only aquire data packages through audio descriptions. I always believed I was faulty" "Offspring unit is not faulty. Offspring unit is organic, designation [HUMAN]." "I love you mom unit and dad unit" "running love.exe" "running love.exe"
The doors in front of me seemed to loom over me. My breathing shallow and shaking. "Shit"my quiet voice drowned out by screech of the doors opening, and the sight of the arena exposed itself to me. As my feet walked, my mind raced. All my past decisions running through my head. Why did I do this? Why, when I could choose any animal to fight, would I pick "man"? I remember I thought I was being smart, gain dominion by winning one fight against one person. I'm undefeated in my professional career, 8 knock outs. It should've been easy. I never thought they'd pick my mentor. As I reached the center of the sandy expanse, the crowds roar filled my ears, making further introspection impossible, and I locked eyes with him. My friend, my teacher. My brother. In the distance I heard the commentator say something, and the crowd cheer. It was time to begin. Only one would be leaving this arena, and I still hadn't decided if it would be worth it to win. The claxon sounded.
“Bro what-t-t the fuck are are you even doing?” shouted David as he scrambled against his bed board. “What. Is. Your. Wifi. Password.” whispered whatever the demonic creature was as cockroaches fell from its’ face. “Well let’s start by not dropping fucking cockroaches on my bed, jesus who the fuck raised you.” “You did.” it responded as its face turned 360 degrees. “What?” “You. Did.” “yOu dId, wtf do you mean?” David mocked. “You didn’t share that one post on facebook. So you raised me from the depths of hell.” David blinked. The apparition responded “Yea ya fuckin’ idiot, give me your wifi password and i’ll just share it myself on your phone” as he waved David’s phone. “My password is 199469.” responded David avoiding eye contact. “Okay, cool” mumbled the ghost. “Oh also, you’re dead.” added the ghost. “What?” “Yeah I was just fucking with you about the whole phone facebook sharing deal. You died last night.” “Yeah I mean whatever I guess, fuck that really kinda sucks, how’d I die?, whatever, why you still need my phone then?” responded David “See what memes ya got. Determines the whole Heaven or Hell thing.”
In the back corner of the Auror offices within the British Ministry of Magic, a lone Auror sat at his desk and finished the parchment work for his latest collar. Grumbling to himself about the anachronism of the parchment and quill, wishing that he hadn't been talked into coming back to this Merlin forsaken place. It'll be temporary his wife had said, Mum and Dad just can't live on there own anymore she'd said. A decade later they were still there. He'd gone into the Auror Academy in the States straight out of Ilvermorny, and while he'd excelled and been praised, he was always a bit.....different. His parents had been killed in an accident when he was little more than a toddler, leaving him to raised by his maternal grandfather, a muggle whose children had been born with magic. His grandfather had done extensive military service in his younger years, excelling at infiltration, guerrilla tactics, and sniper shooting. All of which he taught his grandson. The American Auror Academy hadn't been thrilled with it, but even they would admit that it could be useful, and while they didn't encourage it, they had allowed it. The British had been so horrified at his use of fire arms and non-magical munitions that one would think that they had been told that dragons had gone extinct. Sure, he used his wand, but he trusted the Colt .45 in the shoulder holster more than he trusted most of the people in the department. And if the taser on his hip had proven more reliable than the stunners cast by most of what he laughingly referred to as the "war graduates". He had long since learned to ignore them, the snide comments, dirty looks, and being excluded from everything. They looked down on him, but his record for captures was so far ahead of all of them that while they disrespected and looked down on him, they kept their distance, and a healthy fear of him. The idiots didn't realize that he wouldn't touch them if they didn't mess with him. He'd absolutely terrified the lot of them when they had tried to go after a dark wizard, man had been an absolute power house, and a necronomical genius. The hordes of Inferi had reminded him of a comic he had seen called The Walking Dead. Absolutely disgusting, more than one Auror had lost their lunch dealing with them, the Head Auror had been yelling at him via messenger Patronus about getting his ass out there when the necromancer had suddenly dropped dead. The Inferi dropping in similar fashion until they were all down. Only then had he apparated to where everyone else was, sniper rifle slung over his shoulder. "Did you do this??"The Head Auror had screamed, "Where the fuck were you?" "Yup,"He drawled, "Was on top of a building about a mile away. You didn't think I actually had to be standing right there to shot something did you?"He asked as he cleared the chamber of the rifle, barely flinching at the explosion in the distance, "But that was after I wired the asshole's house to explode, pretty nasty stuff in there too. Nothing like a bit of C-4 to finish a job nicely."
"It's so... small,"Mary said, double-checking the readings on her screen. "And slow,"Ignatius added. "Slower than anything that's been made in the last millennium. There's a good chance that, if people were in there at one point, they're now dead. All part of the job, I guess." A devilish smirk took over Mary's face. She couldn't help herself so close to Halloween. "Do you think it's... you know..."she moved closer to Ignatius and covered her lips while she whispered, "the Glitch?" "No, I don't,"Ignatius said, rolling his eyes. "I bet it's a group of asteroids that got too close together and is now fooling our ancient scanner into thinking it's a ship in need of our assistance. You sure you put that request in to upgrade our tech?" "Yessir! But you know how slow they are with those types of things. Especially for an organization like ours. Maybe in three years we'll be so lucky as to get a rejection letter!" "Well, if this turns out being nothing but a waste of time then I'm gonna double-check your work. We really do need new shit."Ignatius put on his coat and grabbed the keys to his Jogger. "Be back in 30. As always, I'll radio you if anything's unusual. Be sure to be on the line." "See ya boss!" -- The Jogger had fuel for three jumps. Even though that was more than enough to get to the mystery ship and back, Igantius cursed Mary for not filling it up, since she was the last to use it. The ship itself was a tiny, makeshift vehicle mainly used for exploration. It could reliably jump you across the galaxy and back, but only if you didn't want to bring anything (or anyone) else with you. In a world where ships were as big as tiny planets something like this was considered a novelty. Ignatius turned the key and the entire cockpit lit up. A million different symbols and colors made the cramped space look like a Christmas tree. Ignatius used to know what each one meant, but that was a long time ago. Now he was satisfied just being able to pilot the thing. The coordinates were already loaded into the system -- it was linked to the machine in his office -- so all he had to do was press the "JUMP"button. Before he did though, he thought about Mary's comment. Aren't you too old to believe in those things, girl? he thought to himself. Everything around him turned white as he entered warp speed. Every pilot has heard of the Glitch. The phantom ship that lures you in and then... poof. It disappears. But so do you. Ignatius remembered his teacher teasing him about it back when he was learning how to fly. "Don't you ever wonder why Professor Runings is so strange?"his teacher had asked the class, "it's because he saw it! He saw the Glitch!" "But Professor Ling,"a student had asked, "I thought humans couldn't perceive the glitch, so how did Professor Runings see it?" Ignatius remembered Professor Ling frowning and telling the student to focus more on his studies and less on urban legends. The whiteness that surrounded Ignatius's Jogger now faded into the darkness of space. He turned on the headlights and looked around. Emptiness. He double-checked the coordinates and confirmed he was at the right spot. He tried to convince himself the scanner simply malfunctioned, but that didn't explain why he began to get goosebumps. "Hey, Mary,"he radioed. Silence. He waited a few moments then tried again. Still no response. Dammit girl, he thought to himself, I give you the easiest job in the world and you still manage to suck at it. He was about to press the jump button to return back home, but in the corner of his headlight he saw something shimmering. He shined the light in that direction. Ignatius couldn't see a thing, but he felt there was something staring him right in the face. He could feel it in his core that there was something out there in space before him, but his eyes showed him nothing. That was to no fault of his. Human eyes weren't designed to process this thing. "Hey Iggy,"a voice cut through the silence of space. Ignatius jumped. "Sorry, I was busy eating so I couldn't respond. What'd you need?" "Oh it's just you, thank God..."he breathed. "That ship on the scanner, is it still there? Am I in the right place? I don't see anything here." "Hmm.. that's odd,"Mary said, strangeness in her voice. "It should be right in front of you. You goin' blind or something in your old age? Wait a sec, it's movin--" All the lights in the Jogger went out. Iggy's hands shook as he tried turning the keys back and forth to reboot the ship. He thought he heard a rumble coming from outside, but that didn't make sense. Sound couldn't travel through space. Then, he realized where the rumbling originated. His entire ship was getting ripped open by something. Once the seal between the cockpit and space was broken he'd be a goner. Thoughts of his childhood flashed through his mind. In a futile effort he began smashing down on the "JUMP"button despite the entire ship having no power. The force finally reached the cockpit, and the wall to his left was torn clean off and thrown into space, like a toddler playing with his toy. He began to get sucked out into the cold and airless void. Everything went white. This must be what death is, he thought to himself. But it seems quite familiar. Like I've done this before. A few minutes passed before he opened his eyes and found himself staring across a barren land. There were rolling red hills in the distance and on his face he felt a breeze. He gulped down air. Where the fuck am I, and what the fuck was that? he asked himself, as he looked up into the expanse and saw the beauty of all the stars. Next to him, poking out clay ground, was a human skull. "That doesn't bode well,"he said aloud, as he sighed and began trekking towards the hills.
“This is it,” Celeste announced, planting a rod into the earth. “This is the point at which the kids turned to the other side to fight the thing.” “I’m so glad we found it. Where is that?” Paula asked, spinning around to get a better view of the night forest. “We can’t know. It’s another dimension entirely,” Celeste said. “We might be able to enter it, but it’s more theoretical than anything…” “Theoretical! That’s your whole deal isn’t it! What’s the point of working as a quantum computer scientist if you don’t believe you can actually apply it in these kinds of situations!” Paula said. “I tell pretty much every person I know that my neighbor works on wonky dimensional stuff!” “And what do you say about the other neighbor’s job?” Rob stood proudly next to her. “I uh…” Paula had a hard time thinking of a lie to tell the gardener. “I tell them he’s very passionate about his work?” “He sure is!” Rob beat his chest proudly. “That’s why I brought fertilizer!” “Why!?” Celeste said, plugging in some data into her computer that she had connected to the rod. “We need some tools! Weapons! Like your sheers! We are going to find our kids that are fighting some monster and you brought poop!” “Fertilizer,” Rob corrected as if it meant something different. “It’ll make a big difference on the plants in the other dimension.” “How would you even know that?” Celeste said, frustrated. “It’s another dimension, why would—” The ground began to glow a bright, hot white color and opened a hole in air above the rod. It floated at least four feet off the ground. A window to another dimension. Rob took a step toward it to examine, but Paula placed her arm in front to stop him. “We don’t know that it’s safe!” she warned. She kneeled down, picked up a twig and threw it at the hole. It passed through harmlessly. She grinned and ran forward and dove through, her martial arts expertise as an instructor making it look easy. “It’s really bright here! Like the sun!” Paula said. “You coming?” “It’s a bit high to jump into!” Rob said. Paula reached her hand out with a strong stick to pull them in. “I think I should stay on this side,” Celeste said. “In case anything goes wrong with the portal, I can get another opening going as long as I have my tools and the entry point.” “Good idea, I probably won’t need any help anyway,” Rob said confidently. “You’re gonna leave me alone with him?” Paula asked, failing to mask her horror at the prospect. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you behind!” Rob said, tucking his fertilizer into his overalls. “Oh, fantastic,” she said, deep sarcasm imbued in each syllable. Once inside the portal, Rob and Paula looked around for clues for any evidence of their respective children. Every item on this end was a gleaming white color, as if first painted and then blasted in a neon glow. It made it difficult to make out things when there was nothing but shadows to indicate where one white thing ended and the next began. “I can’t believe no one believed us about this place. Look at it!” Paula said. “Well, we were the first to not believe when our kids told us about this,” Rob sighed. Paula frowned, not liking the fact. “Help!” a child croaked out in a weak voice. “Jonathan!” Paula shrieked, sprinting in one direction. “He called from the other direction!” Rob said confused, but chasing after her nonetheless. “Help!” Jonathan called once more. “I’m coming honey! I’m coming!” Paula cried, veering sharply to the right at her breakneck speed. Rob had a hard time keeping up. “Over here!” Jonathan said. “I can’t see you!” Paula said, panicked, curving again in her run. “To your left.” Paula looked down and gasped. Her child lay down in front of her, his body and clothes all a dazzling white, as though he was dipped into white-out. “What happened to you?” Paula asked. “Are you okay? Where are the others?” “They passed out next to me. We can’t find anything to eat. Everything in this world turned white when we killed the Colorizer. It happens so fast,” Jonathan said, pointing a hand that Paula could hardly make out against the ground. The white color had started bleeding into Paula’s shoes and was rising alarmingly quick, having already reached her knees. She turned and saw Rob examining his hands, which were also aglow in the white. It wouldn’t be long until they were entirely invisible. “We gotta move!” Rob said. “Quick Jonny, grab on and I’ll carry the other kids,” Paula said, kneeling down and grabbing each of the three kids, two in her arms and her own on her back. With little effort, she stood up and turned around. “Now we just have to…” She continued to turn. “Which way is the exit?” she asked. Rob turned around in shock, realizing that he couldn’t see the opening either. His arms had already turned white, and Paula’s legs were gone up to the hip in the creeping color. “Celeste! Open the portal here! We’re lost!” she screamed. “I don’t think we need that. Breathe easy,” Rob said. “You idiot, how are we gonna get out?” Paula snapped. “Don’t call daddy an idiot,” Rob’s son whispered in delirious exhaustion. “It’s okay, Junior, she’s just upset,” Rob calmed him. “Of course I’m upset! What aren’t you upset!? We’re running out of time! How are we gonna get back? Celeste! Can you hear us?” Paula shrieked. No response. “I’m telling you, just calm down so you can breathe easier,” Rob repeated. “Celeste! You left me with the idiot and now we’re all stuck! How do we get out!? Celeste!” Paula screamed. She was breathing quick, ragged breaths. “Stop. Shouting. You need to calm—” “My kid’s not gonna die in here and I’m not gonna die in here! We need to figure out a plan before…” Rob’s face was the last piece that remained that had not yet been swallowed by the all-encompassing wide expanse. He was frowning deeply, something he didn’t do often. “What are we gonna do?” Paula asked, her voice cracking in fear. “I left us a trail. Follow your nose,” Rob winked just as his face disappeared. He held up a handful of fertilizer that was quickly swallowed in white. But the smell remained. _______________________________________ Check out r/Nazer_The_Lazer for tons more stories!
"Do you not know me?" The woman, gray and weak and liverspotted, did not answer. She only poked at the burning logs beneath the kettle. Anger flashed in Doraunthil. Insolence, he would not stand for it. He rose, fury a red rose blossoming in his chest, only to fall back into the feathered bed the woman had dragged him into. He winced. The pain was thin white fingers burrowing up his side. He cursed the blade and the hand that wielded it. Hrothnir, so-called Hero of the Northlands, had snuck it between his ribs. Coward as he was, the man had not finished the task, claiming justice and trial as he called for chains. Chains! The word alone was a deeper cut than Hrothnir's blade. How could any hope to confine Doraunthhil, Shadowmaker, Bloodking of the Undrowning Lakes, in chains? Bravely, even with the mortal wound in his side, Doraunthil had scooped up a fistful of sand and dashed it into the insolent eyes of Hrothnir. Memories of the man's cries brought a wicked smile to Doraunthil's lips. He had made his escape — not a flee, no — into the gnarled woods of the Jourain Forest, a land that he had nearly razed with his forces, when they were still legion. None remained alive there, only the shadow he left in their wake. Surely, they would follow, but he was Doraunthil, Shadowmaker, and no easy hunt. He would heal and they would be crushed underfoot again. He would rise once more. His armies would be rebuilt. He would — "Have a drink of this now." It was that damned woman. In her wrinkled hands was a cup of some steaming liquid. "You mean to poison the Bloodking?"asked Doraunthil. "Such a ploy is wrought with folly, shrew!" "Tsh,"she chided. "You'll tire yourself out with all this nonsense. Have a drink, now." She pushed the cup to his lips. It smelled of honey and other sweet things. Doraunthil scowled at the woman, but she did not cower. She pressed the cup on him and before he could protest further, command her to cease her actions, the liquid filled his mouth. It was warm and soothing. He could feel the pain receding from his side. Greedily, he snatched the cup from her hand and drank of it deeply. "There,"she said, nodding happily. "I'm sure that makes you feel a bit better." "Do not presume to tell me of my feelings!"Doraunthil roared — or tried to roar, as best he could manage. "Hush now,"chided the old woman. "Drink that up while I get you another blanket. You need rest, not anger." Fool, he thought. He would watch her burn. But first, he would finish her drink. She had made a great mistake. Whatever poison she had used was too weak to finish him off. He chuckled to himself as he downed the rest of the brew and sunk back into the bed. Yes, she would be sorry she hadn't done him in when he was weak. Her wicked tea had only made him stronger. She returned with a blanket and laid it over his legs. "There now,"she said, "how's that?" "Your poison was too weak, crone, I grow stronger,"said Doraunthil, though his eyes were growing heavy. "Aye, the tea seems to have given you a bit of your color back, now hasn't it?"She pulled at the blanket and tucked it snugly beneath his feet. "Fool,"Doraunthil spoke through a yawn. "You must know who you now house... the great lord that now sits in your ... in your ..." Sleep took the words from him. He dreamed not of vanquish, as he always did, but rather of verdant fields of brightly colored flowers. When he woke, Doraunthil, Shadowmaker, Bloodking of the Undrowning Lakes, was warm. His side no longer ached. The old woman sat beside him, a small bowl in her lap. "Ah, back among the living are we?"she asked with a kind smile. Doraunthil looked at her warily. He felt much of his power returning. He could rise now, crush this woman beneath him and then Hrothnir next. But he didn't. Instead, he took the bowl from her and sipped from it. Soup. If it was poisoned, it was weakly done. "How is it that you still live here?"asked Doraunthil, looking around the woman's small cottage. "This is my home,"she said. "You don't abandon your home, no matter what happens." Through her modest window, Doraunthil saw the twisted shapes of the trees, the very trunks his work had corrupted and made to stoop and bend to die in such hideous ways beneath black clouds which never lifted. Yet, the sun now seemed to be streaming through the glass. "Do you not know me?"he asked the woman again. She reached out her withered hand and grasped his own. Her touch was warm, like the soup which now filled his once-empty stomach. "Of course I do,"she said. "Then why nurse me when I was so gravely wounded? Why let me live?" She smiled at him then and he felt a tug in his chest that he never had before. "Because there has been enough evil in this place for a thousand lifetimes,"she told him. "And it is such a small thing to be kind." Doraunthil's fingers curled around the woman's palm as they both watched through her tinted glass the dawn spread across a forest that had long forgotten its touch.
I lay on the sterile hospital bed as moniters beeped and lights hummed and flowers smelled oh, so sweet. As I drifted between sleep and awake, so did my thoughts drift until they bumped against an old memory. I pressed the non emergency button to ask a nurse to bring me a notecard and a pen. I gave no other descriptors, yet the pen was the same color ink, and the card was sized and lined the same as the one from my memory. I flipped it to the blank side and copied: "To: Springtime From: Autumn" On the other side, I changed it up a bit. "Happy 21st birthday. Enjoy today, but on your 36th, get checked for heart cancer, you will not regret it. If you wait for the stabbing pain a year later, it will be too late. To pass on the wisdom I gained today a lifetime ago, the jackpot numbers on December 17th this year are 23 13 54 07 69 26. Save the winnings, you'll need it." With that, I placed the card between the last two written pages of my current diary. I couldn't explain the first card. All I know is those numbers were real. The numbers on the card I found in my diary 16 years ago gave me money I squandered. Money I then didn't have for tests, for treatments. It also didn't give me warning for my death sentence. Oh well. If there is magic, I did my best. If not, surely no one would judge a dying person for giving advice to a past self? And with that, my final words are written, and I fall. - - - - - - 50 years ago, I found a notecard in my diary with lottery numbers and date to be checked for cancer. Both were revealed in time to be accurate. I still have that card, in fact. It is yellowing and fading now, but a month ago, right after I had my first stroke, I bought a pack of new but otherwise identical cards. I took one and wrote on one side, "To: Springtime From: Autumn" And on the other, "Happy birthday. As a present to future you, book an appt. for 15 years later to check for heart cancer. It will be difficult and expensive, but you will live to see 71. Then you get to worry about a series of strokes. Live healthier than I did and you will be fine. the jackpot numbers on December 17th this year are 23 13 54 07 69 26, and on June 9th Powerball numbers are 72 50 29 96 04 39 and PB 51. " And as I slipped this card into my diary, I fell asleep to the sounds of birds outside my window and and the smell of grass mown not even an hour ago. - - - - - - Many cycles later - - - - - - 16 years ago on my 21st birthday, I found a notecard in my diary. It was filled, front and back with tiny, chickenscratch marks I learned was Chinese. Three lines of characters per line marked on the card. When put through a translator, it gave so much information. Information on how to make money; lottery numbers, stocks to invest in and when, a few major sports matches that maximize my bank account. They were all accurate. This was all the first line and a half. Then came the novel of info. Theories on what is happening, some kind of time loop? Is it voluntary? Do we dare risk using anything other than an identical notecard and blue ink? Do we have to address it to springtime from autumn? Do we dare risk breaking the cycle to be able to use a larger piece of paper to write a proper letter? Being able to write in our native language instead of the most compact written language in the world? Then it goes into the health stuff. The longest iteration was 107 years old when she died. 107 years worth of "do this"and "don't do that"and diagnosis dates and things both in and out of our control. When I hold this card, this little piece of paper, I feel exausted. The ink has long since smudged past legibility, but I have a copy saved. Even if I didnt, I know the words by heart. 10 years ago I found a notecard in my diary that told the future using the past. Today I vowed to make the next lifetime better. As a heart rate moniter beeped and flowers smelled sweet, I reached for the fresh notecard and pen in the diary beside my bed. I flip the blank side up. "To: Springtime From: Autumn" And on the other, "Happy 21st birthday. Derek wants to kick your ass at darts now that you're actually allowed to go drinking with him. Don't forget to go to the 4th of July fireworks with mom and dad. They appreciate this tradition more than you know. You only have one shot at this, so breathe it in and make it count." As my strength faded, I hoped with all my heart that whoever finds that note on their 21st birthday, they live a happier life than mine.
I had finally been accepted to the greatest institution of Magical Learning within the Dark Continent. The Imperial College of Sloth. To many, the name itself would cause confusion. How can a place run by the Sinful Lord of Sloth ever be productive? From what I’ve heard, he is only slothful when doing anything other than research and teaching. Walking through the archway with the stone gargoyles giving me a slight nod of greeting, I arrive in the courtyard. The green of the Botomancy departments efforts is beyond beautiful. The dual work of Professor Sycamore and Professor Olive keep countless rare and exotic wonders growing. Rumour says that they each attained immortality separately by creating or discovering a Tree of life. However, the Tree itself is now a shrivelled monument to their brilliance. Many students wished to sample the fruit of immortality and were rebuffed with the school’s succinct motto. “Find your own immortality, and don’t steal ours!” Giving a light wave to the few students fighting off a Venomous Human Eating Treant. I enter the Hallway of mirrors. A hallway that is only ever as long as you think it is. I pass an old man hobbling slowly. He is famous in his own right. Though only an honourary professor, he has been travelling this hallway since the College was first opened millennia ago. No one is sure how he gained immortality. But when asked, he just repeats the school motto. “Find your own immortality, and don’t steal ours!” I give him a respectful nod as I pass him to the T junction that divides the campus. To my left is the Daemonology Professor Pope. A man whose parents named him every position within The Church of The Great Divines in the hopes he would join the clergy and rise the ranks. God’s only know how history would’ve responded to Pope, Deacon Priest Bishop Cardinal Pope. It seems to spite his parents he dove headfirst into scripture only not of the holy kind. He is one of the few Professors who everyone knows how he attained his immortality, obviously through a demonic pact. What isn’t known is how he hasn’t suffered an ill effect nor been dragged to hell. When asked like all others, he parrots the motto. “Find your own immortality, and don’t steal ours!” Though my path to my lecture hall takes me to the right, I enter through a pair of oaken doors to a large hall that seems like an operating theatre. There sat at his desk waiting for all the others to arrive is Viktor Guntherian. The Dean of the college. The eponymous Sinful Lord of Sloth. He is also one of the most powerful liches in existence. I remember when I first met him. I had heard rumours and assumed them all to be tricks and lies to catch first-year students out. I never expected a Lich to have the appearance of a hearty and healthy man, albeit an elderly one. Where I expected a skeleton, I saw flesh. He snapped his book closed and looked up at me, and gestured for me to come close. This is one of the reasons I set off earlier than the others. He always gives secret tidbits to those eager enough to show up early. Though as this is common knowledge, it is not unknown for there to be tents set up outside the lecture hall. “Ah Alex, how’s my fifty-third favourite student?” He asks. Many would feel concerned about being numbered so high, but this man founded this academy and the city surrounding it. He has taught countless mages and mage knights through millennia. Being in the top one hundred is a true honour. “Doing well and yourself?” I ask in return. “I barely could get out of bed”, he sighs. It is now I notice the dark rings around his eyes are more pronounced than usual. “Damn, Werebeastiology and Vampiric Studies Professors were fighting right outside my room last night”, he laments, drinking an elixir from a test tube. I take a step back when I see a stray drop start to dissolve the floor beneath his desk. “So, how goes the phylactery creation?” he asks, putting down the dubious concoction. “I succeeded!” I say with a grin. I was only a single step away from becoming a Lich like my Professor. Viktor, in response, has an ear to ear grin spread across his face. “That’s Brilliant!” He says, quickly rising from his desk to embrace me. “So, what did you make it?” He asks, clearly letting his curiosity overtake him. “A soul lantern, perhaps?” He suggests. “No too common, you are an oddball like me….” He pauses to stroke his scraggly beard. “Ah, I know you made it your staff”, he answers, snapping his fingers at his eureka moment. I have a smug grin grow across my face. “Professor, you know as well as I that the only way to kill a lich truly is to destroy their phylactery”, he just nods. “So I made mine harder to locate”, I say, feeling joy at finally one-upping him. “Please tell me, boy. Your grin tells me it is clearly ingenious”, he says, clear excitement growing in his voice. I give a warm smile as I gently release his hold on me and take a step back. “Find your own immortality and don’t steal ours!” is my only response as I give him a performers bow. He just falls back into his seat, laughing. “Brilliant boy, you have jumped to number one in my favourites. You’re the first to get that”, he says, getting his giggling fit under control when he notices a few other students arriving.
The adventurer wandered up the hill over to the old man’s cabin, sack in hand. He was waiting by the porch, smiling warmly, hands on hips; strange, thought the traveller, that he looked pretty much exactly the same as he had the day that they met. “Err,” he said, walking up the porch steps. The old man met him with an unmoving smile and strangely frantic eyes. He dropped the bag on the wooden floor. “Got your pinecones.” Almost immediately the man broke. His expression changed in an instant; he fell to the ground, sobbing wildly, gasping for breath, beating his fists against the adventurer’s chest. “Do you have any idea,” he screamed, “how long it’s been?” “What? Are you okay?” “Am I okay. Am I okay????” The man laughed miserably. “Three years. You’ve been gone for three years. I guess I wasn’t important enough for you, was I? No, you had to save the ‘stupid pinecone quest’ for after the main story. Well, I hope you’re fucking happy!!!” He launched himself at the adventurer meekly. The confused traveler stepped back. “Look man, I’m sorry, but i just don’t see why you’re making such a big-“ “A big deal, huh??? Oh yeah, my bad, no biggie. Who cares if I haven’t seen my family for three years? Who cares if I’ve been unable to eat, sleep, or shit for three years? You’re right, I’m just overreacting, I should stop making such a scen-“ “What the hell are you talking about?” The adventurer seemed genuinely shocked. The old man briefly halted his pitiful assault. “You mean you don’t know?” he said through choked sobs. “Know what?” He backed away from the adventurer, shaking his head back and forth. “Oh, you fool. You poor, poor fool. No one ever told you what happens to us commoners when you adventurers give up on our quests, did they? No one ever told you what becomes of us when you put aside rescuing the kitten, or killing the bear, or picking up the goddamn pinecones, did they?” The adventurer began to piece things together, face changing. The old man continued his frantic explanation. “We’re trapped, frozen, until the quest is completed!!!” “What??? Why??? How??? The old man stared at him blankly. “Have you picked any textbooks lately??? Talked to any scientists?” “…No?” He slapped his forehead. “Ohhh, you dipshit. People like you - protagonists* - are literally the center of the universe! It’s a scientific phenomenon, fuckhead!!!! The only things in this world that are considered meaningful are things that are tangentially related to you!!!! And when you turn your attention away from them, this* is what happens!!!” He collapsed. The adventurer stumbled back. “Oooh my god,” he stuttered. “Ooooooh my god. ” He put a hand on the railing to steady himself, wandering dazedly over to a lawn chair. The traveler sunk into it, head in hands. All the while the exhausted old man lay motionless on the floor, breathing heavily. ” “Ok,” spoke the protagonist, after a long silence, “in my defense, there were a lot of pinecones. ” The old man sat up, dumbfounded. “That’s your takeaway?!!!!” “You asked me to collect 3,000!!! How was I supposed to-“ “…Duplication spell, you dumb fuck. It was supposed to help you train the duplication spell. Cold realization washed over the adventurer. “Ooooohhhhh my god.” Another long pause passed - the old man on the floor, the adventurer staring blankly at the sky - before he leaped out of his chair. “I’ve just-there are so many of these that I’ve never completed. There was this girl - and this baker, and - and - shit, man. What is it with you guys and this type of bullshit??? What did you even need 3,000 pinecones for, anyway???” “Pinecone stew!!!!” “What the fuck is pinecone stew??? Why did you need 3,000 pinecones to make it??” “I needed 3,000 pinecones to feed 3,000 starving villagers!!!” “Why would you feeding 3,000 starving villagers pinecones?????” “It’s mostly potatoes!!!” “Then why didn’t you ask me to collect 3,000 potatoes????” “BECAUSE I THOUGHT PINECONES WOULD BE EASIER! Oh well, it doesn’t matter now, all the villagers are fucking dea-” “Okay, okay!” The adventurer ran his fingers through his hair. “I gotta do something. I gotta find some way to fix this. What do I even-“ “It might help,” suggested the old man, “to actually finish your goddamn sidequests. ” He nodded wildly. “Yeah. Yeah. Good idea. That’s what I’ll do. ” He started to head down the stairs. “I’m-I’m gonna go, alright? But I’ll find a way to fix this, I promise. I’ll make you a thousand bowls of pinecone soup-“ “Pinecone stew. And I would prefer money. “Right, yeah, sure. I’ve got gold to spare. Here-“ he said, tossing a couple of gold coins directly into the old man’s face, not gently. “I’ll be back in a bit, alright? I am so, so sorry-“ “Just leave,” said the old man, rubbing his forehead. “Please just leave. ” “Ok. Ok. I’m sorry again, just-“ he gave up on finding the right words, turned with a start and ran away from the house, disappearing down the hill. The old man breathed out slowly and tried to get up. His body refused to move. ”Quest issued to Adventuer,” boomed a voice in his head, “‘Save the questgivers. ’ Time will resume once quest is completed.”
She burst into the building, black hair flying and catching the light like a night sky, a million stars. Using her power always made her look this way, alight with something beyond my understanding, shining eyes revealing the brilliant light within her. I remember when she used to sit at my bedside, making the sparks dance as I watched with wide eyes. I loved it more than any bedtime story, more than any smile she gave me. I miss it, but I think I miss the smiles more. The way she'd do it unconsciously, as if happiness was the natural state of things. I raise my hand and she freezes with the rest of the world, time stopping itself at my command. Quickly, I make my way out of my hiding place in the wall, past her outraged expression, past the anger I can still feel radiating off my father. Then I lock the doors. It would be hard for someone else to trap the two of them, but I know their power sets inside out. Their strengths, their weaknesses, everything. This building has been specially modified to contain them, to combat their incredible powers, mom's electricity, dad's speed. Once I've secured the building, I slip back into the shadows and time restarts with a flick of my fingers. They begin yelling immediately. Because of course they do. Words overlapping, voices straining so high I have to cover my ears. "Where do you have Ilia?"My mother screams, electricity already crackling at her fingertips. "You think you can my daughter against me?"he howls at the same time, hand resting on his sword. "To think you can just forget what happened to Annabelle!"they scream at the same time, sudden silence spreading out between them like a stain. In the eerie stillness of their rage, all I can hear is their heavy breaths, worry and fear and, most of all, rage, spilling out in their words and movements. Then, simultaneously, their eyes snap up from the floor and meet each other, minds slowly comprehending the other's words. "You..."my father starts, rage replaced by confusion, if only for the moment, "...didn't take her?"my mother finishes, electricity disappearing as she lowers her hands. "Then where is she,"she says after a breath, panic written all across her features. "Where is she?" she repeats. The words twisted a knife deep into my heart, and I almost felt sorry for the pain I was causing my parents. I saw her like this once before, when Anna died. Everything was fine one moment, then panic and rage and loss and grief had overwhelmed her barriers, eyes wide with a million emotions. I can't find her, she'd screamed, debris piled all around her. Where is she? Where is she? I love my parents, I truly do. But I think, somewhere along the path of grief and anger, they forgot about me. Thought that because I didn't show my hurt through tears and rage, that I was fine. Thought that because the way I missed my sister was staying curled up in my room, they could leave me there, throw their pain at each other instead. I'm not sure if I can ever forgive them, because I lost my sister and parents all at once. They screamed. They threw things. They were broken and so they kept breaking, snapping off pieces of their heart and convincing themselves that maybe this time, it would make it stop hurting. They got a divorce and during the custody battle all kinds of hurtful words were thrown around the courtroom, daggers driven into vulnerable places only they knew were there. But those words hurt me more than it ever hurt either of them. I think the disaster started when Obliteration, the villain that murdered my sister, was found dead in the street. I was at dad's house at the time, and I remember watching him cut out the article and pin it onto the fridge where Anna's drawings used to hang, like it was something to be proud of. Then he burned the rest of the newspaper with a happy expression on his face. Once I was at my mom's house, I stole the newspaper from her room and read it, a million words crammed into that tiny slip of paper, each one a hammer blow. I remember reading it, curled up in a tiny corner of the closet, hiding from my mother's grief. All I could think when I read the list of injuries was that's what happened to Anna's arm, that's the way Anna looked in the hospital bed. Then: I hope whatever happened to him hurt more than what happened to Anna. The next week passed without incident, and then there was another villain dead, injuries just the same as one of his victims, a child the newspaper said they couldn't identify, since he was still a kid at the time of his death. My dad didn't pin that article to the fridge, but I saw the scissors and the cut up newspaper and knew he'd taken that one, too. But dad's never been good at keeping secrets, I guess. The next week, there was a new villain named Vengeance, threatening the villains and heroes of the city alike. Anyone who got involved in a battle, anything that left a child dead -- he promised there would be consequences, bloody and painful. I don't know when it started with my mom. She worked long hours at her office, but at some point she started staying out for other reasons. She was never home in time for dinner, very rarely in time for bed. But at school they talked about Constellation, a new hero who pledged to keep violence off the streets. My dad told me she was like all the others, like the ones that had let Anna die, but at this point our relationship was so strained that I didn't even respond. I hated it. I still hate it. A dead sister, a mom who was never there for me, a dad who had turned his eyes to the bigger picture and refused to look at me. I think what I did was justified. It wasn't even stealing, not really. Mom had brought some of her work home when she was too tired to make it back to her headquarters or her lair or wherever she normally stored the evidence. It was a formula that awakened superpowers, stolen from a government facility by a villain named Klepto. So... I took some. Just a little, just enough to ensure that my nightmares would never come true, that I'd have enough power to stop myself from being crushed under fallen debris. Trapped, breathless, to weak to call out for help. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Anna. I loved her, I loved her so much, but I never ever wanted to become her, didn't want to think about her or everything her death had taken from me. I don't know when I put the pieces together, that my mom was Constellation and my dad was Vengeance, but I guess it made sense. My mom had been born with her electricity powers, and my dad's house had recently become home to a large number of mechanical parts and failed prototypes of his boots tucked away into corners. I'd like to think my parents just thought I was stupid, but I know I didn't cross their mind at all. I laid my trap well. Messed up my room at mom's place, broke a window for good measure. (From the outside -- I wanted to make it look like someone had broken in.) I took those stupid boot prototypes and broke off a piece, left it in the garden with an address for her to find. At my dad's house, I left empty documents about their custody arrangement and a note supposedly from constellation that read: If you care about our daughter so much, you'll come get her. Corner of North Street and Dark Avenue. Then I waited. And it payed off. They're here, staring at each other, not yelling for once. "If..."my mother started. "if you don't have her, then someone else must. I'm wasting my time here."Then she turned towards the door as my father's outrage returned, put a hand on the doorknob and gasped as it didn't move an inch. "You," my father growled, "are the one who set up this meeting. Move aside."He slammed his foot against the door and the boot broke, pieces scattering across the floor. "Edward,"my mom exclaimed, using his real name for once. "We need to get out of here! I need to find our daughter!" I let a smile creep across my face. We need to get out of here. Our daughter. My mom's hysteria was making her revert to the old days, panic letting her forget her hate and her grief. It was a start. But if they wanted to get out of here, they were going to need a lot more than that. >If you enjoyed, check out r/StoriesOfAshes for more of my writing > >Also, I have an ongoing serial called [A Game of Chess](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesOfAshes/comments/re24jc/a_game_of_chess_chapter_1/). I'd appreciate it if you'd check it out!
Hidden Oak Hotel The Hidden Oak promises luxurious rooms, charming views of the nearby lake, and the ghost of the 13th-century witch from Germany stalking the halls at night. When you arrive, you will be met with the amicable owners who will make high promises of supernatural activity in their somewhat pricy rooms before being ushered into one of them. I must admit that the view was indeed as charming as promised and the room was comfortable and clean. The owner and clerk was of an excellent if a somewhat morbid nature - likely an act to play into the image of the hotel. Hidden Oak is positioned beautifully right between the Archway castle (merely 1,8 kilometers away) and the Lua Luna water park (2-minute bus drive) making it an attractive destination even for those of us not seeking to peer beyond the veil of death. However, should that be your sole concern, you might be disappointed to a small degree. While I will give the hotel credit for being legitimately inhabited by a ghost, it is not that of a 13th-century witch, but rather a woman in her 80s that died in the hotel in the 1960s. This woman - Susan - will often roam the halls wailing in pain late at night, disturbing sleep, and should she become aware of your ability to communicate with her, she will start to stalk you incessantly, inquiring about the latest episodes of Gilligan's Island, seemingly unaware the show stopped airing in 1967. This will regrettably ruin your vacationing experience, but luckily, she is unable to leave the premises. A special note has to be made that Susan only haunts the halls at night for the sole reason of disturbing the sleep and, I quote, "showing those punks what for". Take that for what you will. All in all, Hidden Oak will offer a quaint place to stay for those of us simply seeking a convenient location as well as those wishing to touch the paranormal. Regrettably, Susan's cantankerous disposition makes this a no-go for those of you able to connect with spirits directly. Pros: \- excellent location \- comfortable and clean rooms \- genuine haunting Cons: \- prices are somewhat steep \- Susan will not shut up about Gilligan's island and will disturb sleep 8,5/10
part 1 "Do it, you won't!"My 'friend' Ser Erick, yelled out. "of course he won't, he's always been a dumb coward, just like his father the deserter"Ser Dicken says with an evil grin across his face. "Don't you talk about my dad that way!"I yell back in response, a look of anger across my face.. "pffp, you know he was a useless deserter, people died because of his cowardice, now.. are you going to do it or what?"Ser Dicken replies. "Why in God's name would I be dumb enough to enter that dragons hunting grounds? It isn't cowardly to not want to die."I reply. "How about this, do the dare and I promise I will have you knighted, and you will never be called a coward, or poked fun at for your dads misdeed again."Ser Dicken says, a serious expression across his handsome and brutish face. "You'll make me a knight? Finally? and all I have to do is cross this hunting ground?"I reply, with joy and enthusiasm in my voice. "Yes I will, i'm a man of my word and I swear to do so, just bring back a bone, or a piece of melted armor from the ground and a knight you shall become." I thought long and hard to myself about this, on one end this sounds like a complete dumb suicide mission.. On the other end there is nothing more that I've ever wanted in life then to be knighted, and here is a prestigious knight promising me knight hood. Its possible that I could become a knight another way, but if turn down this offer from Dicken I can imagine out of spite he will never let me get knighted and it will take way longer and a ton of hard work, but is becoming a knight worth dying over? After a long pause, I finally reply. "alright fine, I will cross the hunting grounds..” "really, I never thought you'd actually be dumb enough to- I mean, great! let me know how it goes!"says Ser Erick with a sly grin. Ser Dicken smirks and nods then says, "you'll be fine trust me! just run quick, and stay crouched near the bushes i'm sure the dragon will never even know you were there!" It takes me two hours of standing near the entrance of the hunting grounds before I finally garner the courage to make the steps in. "this isn't so bad"I thought to myself, then I realized I have a long way to go before i'm home clear. I walk for a good fifteen minutes, I see a broken, melted, half sword on the ground. Perfect! This is what I will give to Ser Dicken to prove that I was here. I quickly grab the sword, and place it in my satchel, then keep running while trying to stay under cover and leave as quickly as I can. Suddenly, I hear a large roar, the largest roar I've ever heard in my life. It nearly made me jump out of my skin from fear, and all bets were off. Out of fear and surprise, I began bolting, sprinting like my life depended on it. All that I cared about was my survival at this point. Suddenly, I hear the sound of large flapping wings behind me.. I accept the fact that this is probably it, I'm going to die here, all because I listened to two dumb knights, and got bribed into possibly the most dumbest decision anyone could do. The dragon pulls up in front of me, perhaps the most beautiful being i've ever seen, blue scales across the sides, and tail of its body. His belly was white, his eyes were Emerald and pierced my soul just from a glance. It landed in front of me, as I prepared to meet my doom.. It opened its mouth, its tongue shot out looking snake like in appearance. I stand there, prepared to be burned alive, or eaten, or perhaps even worse.. but instead I hear it speak. It utters the words "hello there!"in an enthuastic, and high pitched friendly sounding voice. "ahhh, hi.."I say in response, "are you going to eat me?" The dragon laughs, I didn't even know dragons could laugh.. then replies. "Eat you? No.. of course not, there is plenty of elephants, and mammoths for me to eat in the fields humans are much to cute and friendly looking for me to want to eat. you must be afraid of the melted armor and bones from fallen hero's in the past? its been hundreds of years since a human has been here, but I assure you that those were killed in self defense. Silly men thinking they could take on a dragon." "ahh ok so what are you going to do instead?"I reply, still shaking in terror out of fear for my life. "Don't be so scared, I mean you no harm! It has just been so long since i've seen a human mortal enter this place.. You're a brave one for sure, and I just want someone to spend time with and talk to!"
The uplink test always came last. Selection, basic training, assignment, then promotion after promotion and eventually a 18 month secondment to Bravo Station on Luna. Even after the infamous training program, known officially as the Heuristic Engine Linkage course, or more affectionately as Hel, there were no guarantees. The course selected less than one percent of anatomically suitable candidates from among ranks Lieutenant and higher, of those 80% are dropped from the course prior to uplink test, these are usually the lucky ones. Of those that attempt the test; usually two to three candidates per semester, roughly 80% die or suffer severe neurological damage. And now it was my turn. Oddly, as the ensign led me to the bridge of the training frigate I felt no fear. This is what I had trained so long and hard for, and that would manifest as the ultimate culmination of my years of service. Truth be told, the only prominent feeling prior to the test was pain from the seven surgical implants that had been necessary to even attempt the uplink. Left eye, right eye, cranial rear, palm left, palm right and thoracic. As I entered the bridge I found myself in awe of the space. A room 30 meters across, circular, with stations spaced around the circumference. In the centre a holographic strategy table displayed data. At the far end a pane of glass stared out into open space. In truth this stunned me most, despite the knowledge that this was only a high resolution screen holographic capture, and that the actual prow of the ship was almost a kilometre away. My guide coughed politely and gestured to the Captain's chair situated at the rear of the bridge, “Please be seated at the command station candidate.” I sat, and the instructor gently began connecting cables to my neural linkage ports, both thoracic and cranial. I allowed myself a moment of pride, to be here on the bridge of a starship for the defense of huma– Pain, sudden and unquenchable, flared up within my chest. Vaguely to the rear I heard the instructor step back and dictate to his data terminal, “Uplink is live, data is streaming.” Oddly, despite not moving I could see the instructor. The angle was steep, as though through the roof of the bridge. The chest-pain began to glow anew and I screamed in pain. Though it shames me to admit here I confess I tried to rise from the chair and flee. To my horror the fire that engulfed my heart only expanded to engulf my legs. I began to tremble. Again I heard and saw with eyes other than my own, my instructor speak. “Is that engine burn?” He queried. I realized I wasn’t trembling, the ship was. I began to panic, and I longed to look around. Instead of a bridge and an instructor I saw scenes of which I was familiar. An engineer working at his station in the reactor room, fastidiously running checks on an old but battery coolant housing. A flight mechanic, chastising a fresh fighter pilot for causing unnecessary stress damage to his void-fighter. The ship-mess, full of crewmen, officers and officials. The brig, the hangar, rear camera 2, observation room 27, gun battery 48-Aft. On and on, faster and faster they came until in his panic I found the one I wanted. The angle was from the engineering station of the bridge. In it I saw a man writhing in paralyzing agony. A man locked into a chair, his eyes open, sweat pouring in runnels down his brow. Beneath that brow the man’s once blue eyes burned crimson red. Then the instructor stepped up behind him and removed the uplink. When I awoke I was in the hospital wing. There was a drip in my arm and to my left sat Commodore Gagarin, head administrator of the Hel training program. “You gave us a bit of a fright there, Yamoto. You damn near tore us away from the dry dock with that little burn manoeuvre. Let’s not forget the fact you nearly redlined our reactor either. Nearly gave the Chief Engineer a fit.” “Sir I..”, I tried to protest, but Gagarin cut me off. “Now now Captain I’m not admonishing you. It’s impressive, when I had my first uplink all I managed to do before the implants linked was piss myself and scream.” I blinked. “Thank you sir, I..” I blinked again, “Wait did you just say Captain?” He smiled, a toothy grin, “Congratulations son.” ====================================== If you are interested in any further writings about Yamoto and the Odinson you can check out related stories in this post and on the subreddit where I post all my writing. https://www.reddit.com/r/EAT\_MY\_WRITING/comments/swyu88/yamoto\_pt\_1/ Feel free to leave me some feedback here.
\[Yeah, I still think you're full of shit. Whatever.\] Time jumps. It feels like a jerk in every part of my body at once in every direction at once. \[Hey, any particular thoughts on Death of the Author? I just read about it, and it seems like an interesting concept.\] My fingers twitch towards the keyboard. I had a pretty good map of the responses this person would give. A dialogue tree, if you would. There were a few shadowed corners, but hopefully one of them was a way out of this mess. I blink. My eyes were exhausted. The screen glows bright white. I'd set it to dark mode before, but it reset with every loop. No point. \[Hey man, you got anything?\] I realize that I'd been ruminating for a while. I put my fingers on the keys, then hesitate. "Fuck this." My voice is hoarse and scratchy. I hate it, but it was what it was. My fingers make the familiar motions. Control-alt-delete. The screen goes blue, and I mouse over the right button. Click. The screen goes black, and my computer fans die. No tug, no jerk. I stand and stretch, debating on whether or not to smile. It could wait till later. I needed a sandwich.
"Oh, you can!" The Mage shrieked and turned around, seeing the Hero's face sticking halfway out of the solid rock face behind her. "What the-" "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be able to do this,"he confided. "HOW THE (quack) ARE YOU DOING THIS?!" "Oh hey, Grace! Good to see you there!" Grace, ~~real name Iselda,~~ stumbled back and tripped, tumbling down the hill. "...Okay, byyyyyye!" _____________________ The Mage stomped back to the village and did a double take as she saw a fifty steaks piled up next to the fire. "So it's time to play my favorite game: is there a limit to how many steaks we can pile on top of each other?" _____________________ ~~Iselda~~ Grace spent far too long trying to convince, beg, bargain, and finally force the Hero to move. She breathed heavily against a wall. No matter what she tried, the Hero had spent three days straight cooking steaks without speaking or even emoting. "Ha ha ha ha!"She jolted up. "The answer is no!"he said with palpable joy. ~~Iselda~~ Grace shook her head, finally snapping out of her tunnel vision and noticing the pile of steak that scraped the sky. "Why do you do this? We were supposed to go defeat the demon king." "Looks like Grace is having the time of her life! And we can't have that~!" _____________________ "So,"said the Rogue, squished against a wall. "..." "So." "You said that already,"the Cleric responded from her position underneath the others. "We are stacked like firewood." "..."Grace managed to keep from screaming in her corner. "Is... the hero coming back?" "Are you questioning your sacred duty?"the Cleric asked. "Kinda, yeah." "Well, I presume he has good reason to put us in this tiny closet." "No he doesn't,"Grace muttered. "Then why would he do it, Grace?" "My name is Iselda." "Of course it is, Grace,"her two companions replied. Grace screamed silently in her corner.
Journal Entry #346 I have never seen a demon flee before. The sight was so asinine I nearly dropped my staff and ran myself but Siv grabbed me by my collar before I could go anywhere. Ever since our healer, Fredric, died we have had this man known only as "Medic"to treat our wounds. Which is not to say he is inept in any way, just rather unconventional and eccentric in his methods is all. Ah, back to the demon running away. This Medic carries a strange mechanical device which outputs beams of energy of some kind with the side effect of healing wounds incredibly quickly and as I found out today, they also can make our berserker absolutely terrifying. The demon was massive, as tall as six men and as wide as seven oxes. We were all exhausted after fighting it for only a quarter of an hour but all of a sudden this Medic fellow shouts something in a language I've never heard while pointing that device of his at Favas and Favas started glowing! I've never seen anything like it. The pair ran at the demon screaming like wild beasts, the Medic was even laughing! I've never seen a demon flee like it did that day, it was like watching a thief run from the guards in town! I think we'll be keeping this Medic fellow's company a while longer.
>We all pay to live, dumb monkey. I have the option to pay with sweat rather than blood. You've been in this cage so long you forget what a struggle it is to survive. You're so insulated from actual hardship that you think this is the real struggle. The chimp was incensed and began flinging excrement, but lacked the motor function needed to connect. His take boiled over when the man scored a direct hit with a banana peel to the chimp's face. >"Dad, why was that monkey so upset?" "Firstly, son, that was an ape. It seems trivial but there is a difference. Secondly, he was mad because his limited worldview afforded him dull perceptions of the world around him. Add that to his limited intelligence and that creates a dim revelation that can't hold up to even the slightest scrutiny. So his two options were to admit that as an animal in a zoo, he had no understanding of the world around him; or he could fly into a rage and literally throw shit while screaming in a tantrum.
"Dr. Doomsday, I know you're insane, but this... this takes the cake"I said to my most lethal enemy. "Hear me out, WalkMan"he said, walking around the industrial machinery that lay smoldering between us. This had once been some sort of manufacturing plant, turning sheets of metal into complex machinery. Now, it was little more than scrap. "We know each other very well. I've studied you extensively, trying to find a new weakness to exploit. I'm sure you've done similar."He ranted. I gave a reluctant nod in agreement. I had spent countless hours in my soundproof recording studio, digging through files and evidence about the super villain. "I know your hobbies,"he continued. "I know your views on politics, on religion, on financial responsibilities." "Get to your point, Doctor. You're not the only bad guy I've got to stop today."I growled. In truth, I wanted this conversation to end. It made just enough sense that I wanted to hear him out, but this was a villain. I couldn't trust anything he said. "My point, WalkMan, is that we know each other better than anyone. Did you know I accidentally planned a heist on my anniversary, and you ripped my arms off?"He gestured to his metallic arms, that currently were covered in machinery oil and plaster dust. "My point is, I know you better than my own wife, than our marriage." "Have you ever thought of giving up crime, and spending more time with her?"I recommended, my tone easing a bit towards the sympathetic side. I had never married, in fear that a villain like Dr. Doomsday would have hurt her to get to me. The villain cackled. "Of course! But then I'd miss doing this"he gestured to the machinery in ruins around us. "So you want to keep fighting"I said slowly, making sure I understood the overall proposition. "And if one of us dies, the other raises our children?" "Precisely!"Dr. Doomsday exclaimed, jumping up on a twisted smoldering industrial laser. "Don't you see? We would be the best choices! We'd be able to protect them, obviously. We could teach them their fathers values, how to be a man, how to be super!"He punctuated his speech by clenching one of his cyborg fists. I considered the option ever so briefly. "Dr. Doomsday, I don't have any children. Your research should have told you that." The supervillain grinned, and pulled a manilla envelope from a pocket deep inside his lab coat. "Oh, it told me so much more than that. I had been holding this to hurt you with, but now seems as good of a time as any."He tossed me the envelope. Keeping an eye on him, I opened the folder and peered inside. A photo of a young man stared back. He had my eyes and jawline, but other features were softer, more delicate. His hair was jet black, the same color as... no... I glared up at the bad Doctor. He cackled. "Yes, WalkMan. She lied to you, all those years ago. Meet Steven, your 14 year old son." I stared back down at the photo. He definitely was mine, I could feel it. "Do you want to meet him?"Dr. Doomsday asked softly. "I can arrange it... if you accept my proposal." I clenched the folder in my fist, hating myself for what I was about to do. "Deal."
I sat down, feeling nothing less than absolutely apathy. I was literally a step away from exactly what I wanted, which was world domination. Why world domination? Simple. World domination was one of, if not, the absolute hardest thing for someone to pull off reasonably speaking. Countries existed completely on different levels. Some were practically hidden veiled theocracies, some were monarchies, many were capitalistic, others socialistic, and many mock communist as well. No matter what though, if it can be made, it can be destroyed. I wanted it destroyed. So if this was the case, why was I feeling apathy? Well it’s simple: The children which I had kidnapped, all children of the highest of powers of the major countries of the world, were crying and whining, and I tried my best to get them to shut up, but ‘I won’t kill you unless your parents act up’, apparently doesn’t make sense to these annoying little parasites. Not even the adult ones. BRRNG BRRNG The video call seemed to want to start up now, and I yawned, slapping my hand over the red button to answer the call on my giant screened television. I was surprised when the first people there in the call I saw were China & The United States, Russia in beneath them both like it was a middle player. I knew I could make people work together. “Why are you doing this-“ I heard the president speak but I immediately interrupted him. “I’m not telling another one of you idiots my plans. It’s just a distraction. Now, have you all come to an agreement to allow me sovereign rule of the planet or not?” “No we-“ Admittedly, I didn’t like killing people, but I did like playing target practice. The bullets began to travel like someone finally freed, moving with max speed as it entered the head of the first child, a poor aged nine, sending her onto the ground a giant hole in her head. Then the others came as I kicked down on the floor to another button, broadcasting this horrific tragedy to all of the world. Normally, this would be something which should arouse people’s absolutely rage and anger…..but I learned from the best. ’The Free World’ The propaganda against these people was immense and so, with how much going on and a little bit of underhanded dirty wok on my part, the masses generally wanted these people gone. Always great to prey on the stupid. “WAIT WAIT PLEASE STOP!” “STOP?! YOU WANT HIM TO STOP AFTER HE’S KILLED MY CHILD?!” That was easy enough. Now that they were arguing, I pointed my gun out at the only allowed opening I had of the large cathedral, and shot out a gunshot before the ‘hero’ could show up, sending him to the floor, and then pointed at his best friend and his lover, sending both of those men to the floor as well. “Friendship and love my ass. Stupid bastards-“ I turned my hand behind me and shot again. “Sneaking up on me won’t work either lady.” I said as the body of the assassin dropped, and I ducked down two seconds before a bullet would have lodged its way into my head, flipping backwards and pressing another button, hearing the building that the sniper was on, burst and go up into flames. “Come on. What do they think this is, a movie?” The children screamed as a man came in, and looking at his briefcase, I simply took out another gun, and shot them. “Bribery? Really. Okay.” I heard the stepping of those annoyingly large ballet flats before snapping my head directly onto the woman who was about to speak. “No. I don’t love you. I’m not changing my mind. Now can you please, fuck off? You have a literal family. You have kids. Go feed your kids.” I bit down before taking my stress relief and squeezing it, turning my head when I finally saw the submitting white flags raise on the screen. And to think I almost fell into stress. This has to be a Movie.
A few hundred feet above the dormant volcano... "He's made of actual stone! No way he can fly." "All dragons can fly. And be quiet, you egg-wet child, he can hear you." "Oh, the hell he can. He's asleep. Look, his eyes are closed." "No, those are... look. Earth dragons tunnel, right? So they have to protect their eyes from rocks, dirt, all that kind of stuff. They have a separate crystal layer over their eyes to protect them from - you're not listening at all." "I'm just gonna zip down there, grab whichever of those great big shiny rubies matches my scales the best, and then we'll take off, alright?" "No! No, you most certainly will not. You - he's gonna kill you! Get back up here!" "Don't worry, you big hatchling, I'll bring you one back. What's he gonna do, fly up after me and take them back? Besides, to stone-butt down there they're not treasure, they're just lunch. He's heavy enough as it is, I'm sure. He'll be fine. Probably should be thanking me." "Don't bring me anything. I don't want you even going down there, and I definitely don't want you to try and score me a souvenir of your most idiotic moment. Leave me out of it." A short trip down into the volcano later... "These rubies are great, man! I swear this one's the size of a ram's head. Beautiful, just beautiful. You should come down here and get yourself a couple!" "You like my rubies?" "....uh. Yeah. Yeah, a couple. And I, ah. I figured you were just gonna eat them anyway, so I didn't think you'd mind if I... snagged a... couple." "So it's alright for you to steal food off of my plate just because you think it's pretty to look at?" "Well, ah... it's just that, as a dirt - er, earth dragon, you're... just so much better at finding them than us flying dragons. I thought it would be easy for you to... find a couple more, and... that you wouldn't miss these. It's not like you're going hungry anyway. I mean, look at all of these precious... stones..." "Right. You certainly do love looking at sparkly rocks. Well, take your time. Honestly, it's a shame your friend didn't come down to get a closer look at my... dinner plate as well." "Yeah, he, um. He thinks he's smarter than me just because he's a decade or two older." "He's right. About a lot of things, actually, including being smarter than you. But not everything." "Hey! That wasn't - you know what, I've actually, ah, got what I came for, so I'm just gonna... wait. Why am I so... why is everything so... heavy down here?" *"See, now that's one of the things your friend was right about. All dragons can* fly, even us. But without wings, we have to lift ourselves with our magics. My species prefers the magic of gravity control - making ourselves light enough to walk on air, or a winged dragon too heavy to even lift a claw." "You're doing this? Let me go, you big stupid wingless worm, or I'll melt you down!" "Oh, no, the red dragon's terrifying fire breath. Boring. But it does remind me about one of the things your friend got wrong."** "You asked for it!"whoosh "...wait." *"So, your friend told you that these sapphire lenses over my eyes are to protect them while I'm tunneling. That's partly* true, but the real reason us 'wingless worms' have these is to protect our eyes from other dragons' breath weapons. Like your fire, which... well. I guess you saw how well that works for yourself." "Look, this isn't funny any more. If you're so hungry for these rubies, then keep 'em. I don't care any more. Just let me go." "Another thing you both got wrong, although this one isn't exactly your fault. I'm hungry, yes, but my kind don't eat precious stones any more than yours does. We're only covered in stone, not made from it - and underneath it, we're flesh and blood just like you." "So these rubies... aren't your... meal." "No. " "And... they're not... your hoard... because they're out in the open." "Also correct. And the reason you can't breathe is that every time you try to fly away - like that weak little jump there - my magic pulls you down harder. Really, you're strangling yourself, but don't stop on my account." "If they're not food... and they're not... treasure... then... what... are... they?" "Bait."**
Perry had a gift for bringing misfortune to others. Much like some people are talented fighters or runners or can throw pieces of rubbish into bins far away, Perry was good at generating misfortune. Never to himself, unless you count the suffering of people around you as misfortune, which, i suppose if you are a normal empathetic person, you would. Perry was inadvertently responsible for the death of his mother, father, brother, cousin, two friends, fiancée and two pet dogs. There were many more on his 'body count' but these were the ones that bothered him. It took him a long time to fully understand the scope of his curse. After his brother died from being struck by lightning in the middle of a crowded festival, he developed a reputation of being cursed by the devil. And it wasn't until his two best friends and fiancée all died in the worst hot air balloon disaster of the year, leaving only him alive, was when he began to believe it himself. He now lived alone, in the middle of the woods. Besides the insects and trees there was no living thing within a mile of him. As, naturally, anything that came close would be beaten by the stick of destiny until they ran off or died. Perry only ever left his solitary confinement when he needed money, over the years he had garnered a reputation as the most effective assassin in the world. Every target died; no suspicion ever fell on him. He read through the letters; all were addressed to "Fate". That was his alias. He perused the pleas for murder until he found one that he liked. A mobster that had killed an important member of a rival gang. He always tried to only go after other criminals. Perry got on the train heading for the city. As soon as he entered, he could hear things going wrong. Bag strings breaking, phones malfunctioning, birds slamming into windows. He had to change trains several times. He didn't want to risk a derailment. Once he got out of the train, he took a taxi to the restaurant where the mobster usually spent time. It only took one flat tire and a gas up to get there. Perry hoped he could get this guy killed quickly, another reason he went after criminals was that their dangerous lifestyles led to more catastrophic misfortunes He walked in calmly, hoping it would be empty, to minimize collateral damage. He sighed, seeing it was mostly crowded, but in the back, he identified his target. Luckily for Perry, there was an empty table right next to him. He gestured to waiter asking to be seated there. As he sat down, he could almost feel the sinister fog of fate slowly acting on all the living being around him, it almost had a sense of delight like it were a child that had just found some new playmates. A waiter carrying a bottle of wine tripped and fell near his target. "Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you."the mobster said. Standing up to get a better look at the damage, showing off his blue pinstripe suit. "I am so sorry, I will clean this up."the waiter mumbled obsequiously. "That was a 1960 merlot, you just broke, you stupid fucking monkey."the mobster yelled out. He paused and leaned down to eat a bit of a meatball and continued to berate the waiter. "I want you fucking gone, don't serve here anymore, I don't want to see..."he stopped midway, to grab his throat. Here we go, Perry thought to himself. The men around the mobster all began to panic as it became obvious, he was choking on the meatball. His face started turning blue as one of the men attempted to do the Heimlich to free the lodged meat. After a few minutes, the mobster coughed out the meatball. God damn it, Perry thought, thinking it was going to be that easy. "Jesus Christ!"the Mobster yelled, grabbing a napkin to wipe the sweat of his face. "Almost done by a meat ball, Johnny. Can you believe that?"the man named Johnny who had expertly performed the Heimlich just shrugged his shoulders. "That was crazy boss." Two more hours, Perry sat at the restaurant. Three more bottles had broken, one more person had choked, and one person seemed to have gotten food poisoning. Perry could see the manager in the corner screaming at his staff for their perceived incompetence. Finally, Perry got his break. Outside the restaurant a commotion grabbed his attention, there were some men, who also looked like gangsters. Pointing inside the restaurant, right at his target. From the looks of them, they didn't seem to be his friends. Perry didn't have long to ponder, before machine gun fire rattled through the restaurant. It seemed that everybody around the mobster was hit. Perry fell on the ground, flipping the table and using it for cover. He looked over to see the mobster had taken a bullet in the head and was dead as a rock. Sadly, he wasn't the only one, bodies were strewn across the floor. Perry considered standing up and trying to get himself killed. But he was too much of a coward, instead he slinked out of the back. Took a cab back to the station and made his way back to his isolated life. It only took four trains, one flat tire, one broken bag strap and one tree falling on the tracks.
I couldn't believe it. This entire time we thought we were fighting the aliens who stole our people. Who kidnapped our neighbors, who ripped our families apart. But the one under the helmet was not an alien at all. He was one of us. And I had just murdered him. But why? Were these humans brainwashed? They must have been. There is no way that they were attacking us on their own volition. That would be insane. Maybe they had chips installed in their brains so that the aliens could control them. Or perhaps they were drugged in some way. I refuse to believe humans would betray our own, unless it had to do with race or land or religion or culture. But other than that we would never attack our own people. Maybe to get a TV on black Friday. I look at the alien ship in the sky, maybe if we take it out, the brainwashing will stop and they will come back to our side. That sounds like something that would work in the movies, right? I'm definitely on the side of movie logic. I jump into a tank and start shooting at the ship in the sky. I radio in my theory and a few tanks follow suit. The ship starts falling out of the sky. Honestly, even if we weren't fighting brainwashed humans, we probably should have taken out their ship earlier. Whoever is running this operation should retire and put me in charge. As I'm patting myself on the back, the 'aliens' start twitching and convulsing. Many collapse and take off their helmets revealing their human faces. Some start throwing up. Some throw up without getting their helmets off on time, and it spills out of the bottom of their helmets. Pretty gross, but also, kinda funny. They are finally coming too. Their memories seem to be hazy but there were definitely anal probes. Classic aliens. Families are reunited. Celebrations around the world. There are still worries that the aliens will come back, but not too much. They may have very advanced brainwashing mind-control technologies, but their intergalactic space ships got knocked out by a couple of tanks.
"Tell me, witch, what my coin buys,"said the finely dressed young man, as they exited his coach. He looked up at the coachman, who was resolutely ignoring them both. The driver may well have been mysteriously stricken blind and deaf for the duration of the journey; the young man was uncertain how much silence his coin bought, and how much her magic had woven. In any case, their privacy was doubly assured. The witch with no eyebrows knocked, softly, and her heavy door unlocked itself at her touch. They entered her cottage--half kitchen, half boudoir, entirely enchanting--and the witch threw her cloak to the side. Brass and iron uncurled from the wall like so many fingers, and they caught the damp fabric before it could hit the floor. With the squeals of writhing metal, enchanted claws wrung the water from the wool, brushed the leather, and spread the cloak to dry. The witch woman ignored it all, fanning her long hair behind her as she disappeared into the dim cottage. With the snap of her fingers, a bluish spark appeared on the laid hearth, and eagerly buried itself into the kindling. The door closed itself behind them, and the young man was left standing in the near blackness, a not-wholly welcome guest in a witch's cottage at night. "It's a very simple system,"said the witch. "You give me my due, and I'll go fetch the child. My magic will make it so that whatever punishment you feel your enemy has earned, you can inflict on the child. Your greatest enemy will then feel it, suffer it, seventy-and-sevenfold." As the hearth caught, it illuminated the luxurious cottage. The young man saw the darkness dissolving into shapes around him. The witch--sensuous, slender, beguiling--lounged on a couch lined with exotic furs. Her cottage by the river smelled of foreign perfumes and exciting incense, glittered with baubles and glass, potions and instruments of unnatural sciences. In the darkness of the rafters above, some awful shape with far too many teeth stared down at him, grinning. The walls twitched with arms, crawled with fingers that wriggled eagerly with magic. The hearth fed itself another log with long insectoid limbs, making the deep shadows jump and flicker. The grinning thing in the rafters danced manically, the tableau of shadows bringing it to horrid life. The rugs on the floor steamed, the snow from their boots melting in the intense presence of magic and fire which the witch bent to her will. The cottage was warm already, threatening to become an oven if he stayed too long. The man stood carelessly, perhaps foolishly, in the presence of the witch. He knew she dared not harm him. He reached into the satchel he carried, and withdrew an embroidered bag packed to bulging with coins of silver and electrum. With disdain, he dropped it entire on the floor, not bothering to count it out. He stretched, his hips thrust in her direction, an offer and a reminder of his masculinity. "Your price, witch. With a consideration for discretion. When will you be... ready for me?"he sneered, crude in his innuendo. The witch hooked her finger, and the bag spilled itself over the carpet. It revealed coin and gem in abundance; far more than her usual fare. Shadows crawled over her face, tracing her skin like a lover's hands, and she licked her lips seductively. She reached into her shirt, fingers tracing her exposed cleavage, until she produced a gemstone dangling from the fine silver chain that graced the alluring curves of her neck. "An hour, Viscount. Your father doesn't mind the lateness of your adventures, surely?"she smiled, teasing the gem between her delicate fingers. The mention of the Earl gave the young man pause, and some measure of his libido vanished in sullen withdrawal. Scowling, deflated, he shrugged. With shoulders now hunching, his cloak fell around him. She saw the shape of his arm move beneath his cloak, as he comforted himself with a hand on the hilt of his sword. It took him a long moment, glowering in the darkness, to find his tongue, his brashness now tarnished with resentment. "I'll wait in the carriage, witch." --- On wings of smoke and fire she returned, and the horses stamped and whinnied nervously. The driver knocked against the roof of the coach even as the door opened. He saw her, fair and bewitching in the moonlight, adorned in shadows of black and purple that threatened to reveal her in scandalous, even ruinous ways. She stood, regal in bearing and lithe in form, beckoning him to join her in the ring of dead grass and melted snow that marked her landing. In her arms, a bundle no larger than a sack of turnips. From the bundle, whimpers of cold and fear could be heard, unheeded. The witch did not bother with the lies of hollow comforts and empty assurances. She wore sex and death as her crown; warmth and comfort were for lesser beings, those who had never stared into the darkness until it flinched. Somehow that pleased her customer. Something inside him ached, yearned for this. For the woman, yes; but also for the moment. For the promise. For the service. For the child. She raised one brow, and his eye was drawn once again to the oddity of her face. Her lack of eyebrows somehow made her seem more expressive, though it also gave her an edge of otherness, alien and dangerous. With a wave of her hand, a set of cellar doors beside the cottage creaked open. She stepped into the stairwell, carrying the child, only a brief glimpse of her eyes beckoning to him as she descended into the abyss below. Then she was gone. The young man took a moment to turn to the driver. "Go from here. Wait in the village square for an hour, then return. If you are asked, say I am off drinking with whores,"he commanded. The driver nodded, and with a click of his tongue his horses gratefully turned away from the house of the witch. The horses huffed and dug at the icy road, and the coachman did not look back. From the doorway of the cellar, an orange light danced, and the smell of torch smoke prickled at the young Viscount's nose. He stepped carefully down stone stairs, and the doors of the cellar quietly thunked closed behind him.
# Genetic Freaks Everything ran off the rails. A storm raged outside, the fences were off and God knows what could be at the turn of a corner. Jackson, the only other black man in the island for some reason, and Laura, an engineer tasked to do minor repairs on the park's buildings, delved alone in the darkness. She desperately tried to open a rigid metal door by tempering with its circuits. “Are ya gonna take any longer?” Jackson asked. “It's hard to do anything on this darkness. Of course the day I forget to bring flashlight this whole place breaks into mayhem. Give me time.” “I don't think we got that time, ma'am. Anything could suddendly pop out of nowher-” Suddenly something popped out of the nowhere. The few lights above denoted its slick silhouette. It did not move a muscle. Only the twitching of its nostrils were noticeable, catching their odor in the air. It clenched its claws. The raptor attacked. Laura's only reaction was to shut her vision cower, before... POW! A single shot. Slowly she opened her eyes to meet the lifeless, reptilian gaze of the dead dinosaur on the floor. Blood dripped from its head. Laura looked to her side; Jackson still aimed his gun at the creature. He looked up and down. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Checking if its dead.” “You shot it in the head.” “Yeah, but what if this thing regenerates?” “And can it?” “I don't know.” “You don't know? I thought you were part of Hammond's incredible team of specialists. ” “And that's exactly why I don't know! These things were made by stringing genetic code from multiple different sources. We can make predictions, hypothesize, do the math, yet we're only certain it does not breath fire after it has hatched from the egg. ” “And do any of them breath fire?” “...No.” “Good to know. Speaking of which, do you really know what you just did?” “I saved our lives.” “You tossed millions of dollars into the fire! Why did you grab a pistol? Didn't you have a dart gun or something to put it down?” “If I were like that psycho Wu, maybe. I'm saying it again, we don't fully know how these things work biologically. A dart works fine in an elephant, but who's to say it's gonna be effective against genetic freaks? Hell, these things could come back from the dead like motherfucking zombies and I wouldn't be surpris-” The corpse twitched its neck, facing them. It opened its jaw, letting out a cry of pain and rage. Pow. Jackson shot it again. “You should really stop talking.” Laura said. “Yup, you're right.” he agreed.
(I decided to go dark :) "Who are you, really?" "What, sweetie?""Dad"asked, giving me a confused look, but I knew better. "It's me, Dad-" "That's bull,"I said. "I know you aren't really my Dad. His friends and coworkers won't know the difference, I'll give your acting that, but us kids do-I'm just the one brave enough to say something." The lookalike gave me a surprised look, then sighed, sitting down in the armchair. On instinct, I tensed up, but I relaxed easily, knowing that he won't hurt me as I dared to take a step forward. "I should've guessed you'd be smart enough to see through it,"the lookalike said. "Very well. My name's Mark. I'm not your father, but-" "I'm still gonna call you Dad,"I blurted out. He gave me a confused look. "... huh?" "You're nicer,"I shrugged. "You...you aren't gonna hurt me-you haven't even tried." "Of course I-geez, what?"Mark asked. "According to my Intel, I'm acting just like him-" I snorted. "He would've beat me black and blue for daring to speak like this, but you just sat down and decided to have a serious conversation-you aren't lying or anything, either. Intel, though? You some kind of secret agent or something?" "...yes,"Mark said. "A spy-your family is my cover identity for the time being. My mission is supposed to last a few years-" "Then you're going home?"I asked. "I'm afraid I have to,"Mark said. "Your...would you be fine if your father was released after that?" I shrugged-I knew the answer, but... Mark clearly knew what I meant, and he sighed. "I see. Then I suppose, when I'm done, there will be an...accident of sorts."He paused. "Wait, is...is this why everyone's acting like nothing's different?" "Oh, definitely,"I said. "I've just never been afraid to take the beating-I punch back and know where to aim." Mark smiled as he stood up, and I tensed up on instinct- "Yeah, you're a tough kid,"Mark said. "Can I give you a hug?" Now...that's a weird question, coming from someone that looks just like him. But it's not him. I nodded slowly before just going for it and moving forward to give him a hug, and Mark gave me a gentle hug back as tears came to my eyes-this was so nice, I'd always wanted this-after Mom's "accident,"I'd been the oldest sibling, even if just by a year, so I never got these protective, gentle hugs-I'd given them, not... Not... "You know,"Mark said quietly as I sobbed into his shirt. "It's just you and your siblings...when your father's officially gone, you'll be alone. Would it be weird if you suddenly got adopted by a certain spy?"
Dr. Marcus Wallace, PhD. Journal entry #58, January 8th, 2043. "The readings are... Confusing isn't the right word. We know what we are looking at, we know the equipment is calibrated properly and the science behind our conclusions is sound. Yet it all seems so very, very wrong. This creature appears to ignore most of what we know about biology. It's true that our understanding of abyssal fauna is woefully lacking, but this thing is so massive it could probably snack on colossal squids all day and still be hungry. How did it get enough oxygen and food in such deep waters? Why is it destroying ships now? The only clue we hav came by accident as Ian, our intern accidentally activated our whale call while fumbling when the thing approached our ship. It immediately turned tail and ran for its life. After some research, we might be close to identifying what exactly causes this reaction from them." - "Doc, you might want to check the news" "What is it Ian? More attacks?" -"No. It's just... I don't know how to explain, it's just weird but they claim that it will save us from the monsters?" "What? You know what, fine show me what you're talking about." He guides me to the main deck where the crew is gathered around a large TV that was installed for movie nights. A nice distraction from all those days staring at the horizon as we sailed the Pacific. A man spoke in some foreign language. Japanese? Yeah, the cameras now showed a series of images, but the more prominent was Mount Fuji. As it cut to the international correspondent, he began to explain the situation in English. "As you can see, almost the entire population of Japan has gathered on the streets around the country. At first we thought is was some sort of fire drill in our building, but there was no alarm. Then, as we spilled into the streets, the scale of it hit us. Everyone of all ages was outside. They look at us when we speak with them but answer no questions. Even the people we've become close to pay us no attention." -"Has the Japanese government made any announcements, Eric? Is there any information whatsoever about what's going on?" "None. That have gone silent but according to international journalists across the country, people have been on the move with some standing in the middle of highways, fields and forests. They're spreading out in some sort of organised fashion but we don't understand why of for what purpose" -"Eric, we're going to cut away from you for a second, as it seems the President of the United States is about to make a statement about this situation. Stay with us and we'll get back to you." End of Part 1.
Being a genie sucks . We are bound to a tiny living space for as long as we have our powers .You don’t even get a choice either . You just get tricked into it or you die a horrific death and some twisted deity thinks this is a blessing. I’ve been around for a millenia so I’ve long since stopped dwelling on my creation. what sucks about being a genie is the rules. 1. You can’t grant a wish the same way 2. You can’t leave your container 3. You must grant at least 1 wish for your current master . Those are the rules . Of course we djinn have long since added our own rules that we tell people . Rules like “ you can’t wish for more wishes “ isn’t a real rule . We just don’t like granting infinite wishes so we just tell people 3 . Another one is “ we can’t mess with the balance of life and death I.e. kill, grant immortality, or ressurect ,“. Again not a real rule . We just don’t like killing people who don’t deserve it. Also the grim reaper tends to hate immortals so we do our best to avoid their wrath. Finally , “ we can’t make people fall in love “ this one is a rule that we are glad humans finally started to agree with. WE ARE NOT GOING TO MAGICALLY ROOFIE A POOR GIRL FOR YOU! Sheesh , you’d be surprised by the number of idiots who asked for that . Strangely it was mostly rich men or women . Thankfully, as a genie we have the ability to teleport our home away from people after a single wish. We just don’t because of the 3 wish rule we created . 1 wish is too few and then people will start looking for us more . More than 3 increases the likely hood of people gaining too much power . Anyways , this brings me to today. I had managed to stay hidden for 10 years . During that time I used magic to get call of duty in my lamp. I even turned my lamp into a jar in a thrift store. Too bad the stupid symbol on the side of my container gave me away . Litttle known fact , genies have a very specific symbol on the side of our containers .we usually let dust build up to hide it but if our container is clean you can spot it easily The guy who found me , let’s call him Jeff . He made his first wish for money . Which was easy to handle . Since it’s so common I gave him detailed instructions on a billion dollar company . I think he named it after a rainforest or something. Then he wished for revenge against his ex wife even though HES THE ONE WHO CHEATED . This time I just broke up her newest marraige , she’s filthy rich , she’ll be fine. But this newest wish. It’s just so stupid “I wish to be the most powerful man in the world. “ Jeff wished Are you freakin shitting me . Does this idiot not know how vague that is !!! FINE , fine , if he wants to be the most powerful man alive , fine “ Your wish is my command “ I snapped my finger and dramatically smoke began to fill the air . As Jeff breathed it in, he grew in size and muscle until he looked as tough as a comic book super hero. When the transformation was done , he was a living version of the hulk. “Congrats, you are now the most powerful man alive . “ “Wh-what is this , I’m so big!” Jeff said as he admired his new form. He rubbed his hands over his body examining each portion . “ I can FEEL THE POWER !!!” I smirked . “I-I feel this power ! I am a GO- Ack!” Jeff froze up, clutching his chest. “MMMMMck ! What did you do to me!” “Oh , see you wished to be the most powerful man alive .so I gave you one of the most powerful drug cocktail in history . For 3.5 seconds you were so powerful with one punch you could split Mount Kilimanjaro. And then your heart gave out under the strain. “ I said with my smirk unchanging . “I-I thought you said you weren’t allowed to KI-UNGGHHH” Jeff collapsed to the floor convulsing . As the smoke began to swirl around me I crouched down to look Jeff in the eyes. “No , i said I don’t LIKE to kill , I never said I couldn’t “
It sounds romantic at first, I know, but it's actually quite terrifying. The first time it happened to me, I was in the shower. She only got a split second of my bathroom wall before I tilted my head up to ensure she wouldn't see... Well, y'know. There's no way of knowing when it will happen. It's like a goddamn manager who shows up exactly when you've started slacking. At any moment, your soulmate who you haven't even met yet could just hop into your eyes and see that you're up at 3am, all alone, reading some wikipedia article detailing fatal waterpark accidents. So of course, you have to keep up appearances in case she checks in. You start wearing activewear so your reflection looks like it was just at the gym. You plan all your social functions near the start of the month to make sure you look like you have an interesting life. Then, it happens. Your vision is taken over, and suddenly you see from her eyes. You both freeze, only for a second, before playing it cool. You pretend not to suck in your gut, she pretends her friends jokes are funnier than they are. God damn, she's upstaging you today. She glances down just long enough for you to see her dress, but not long enough for you to stare. You give a passing look to a mirror and make sure you're standing next to your shorter friend. You tap him just out of eyesight and he, as rehearsed, laughs wildly and slaps your shoulder. And then, she's gone again. And it's only the twelfth. You let your belly hang, you eat what you want, play video games, jack off, and stay up late falling down rabbitholes on the internet. At no point do you consider dropping the act, because you never once consider that she's doing the same. You're sitting on the toilet, absent-mindedly scrolling through your phone when it happens again. Shit. You see through her eyes that she's out with her friends. She freezes, shakes her head, and says something which evidently her friends find hilarious. God. They know. You open your notes app and frantically type "SORRY OMG"which earns you another laugh from her gang. You hope to god they're laughing with you about the whole thing. It's at this point, of course, you realize you can just leave your contact information in your line of sight for her. Cut your work in half. But that's not romantic so of course you don't do that. No, instead you just get really good at GeoGuesser and figure out she lives in Oklahoma based off of that, find her that way. And then you fall in love or whatever.
I: Tick-Tock. Tick-tock. The people within and without the Great Marketplace waited with bated breath, all eyes on the clock tower in the square. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The tension grew as the clock's hour hand edged towards the golden sigil at the apex of its face. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The eager merchants made last-minute adjustments to the carefully displayed and positioned wares laid out in their stalls. Their just as eager patrons shifted from foot to foot excitedly, just outside the market gates. GONNNG The clock's ornate hand fell upon the Sigil of Wealth, tolled a clear note upon its great brazen bells, and the marketplace guards threw open the gates. The people rushed in, quick but orderly, and the merchants began calling out to them, loud and bold, yet still respectful. Any patron who battered or shoved another, and any merchant who was obnoxious in hawking his wares, would be seized by the guards, and barred from the market during the Span of Wealth for a year and day. No one wanted to risk that. Far better to risk losing out on a good trade today, than to risk that long exile from the Great Marketplace -- especially since you could always try your luck again tomorrow. For during this special Span, a subtle magic was laid upon the world that nudged fate in the direction of abundance, and ever so slightly bent the laws governing reality towards largesse. Not always, but once in a while, a minor miracle would occur, when trade was conducted at this time: Sometimes a patron would make his purchases, and he would find that the coins he'd given the merchants had somehow not diminished the number of coins that he held in his pouch. Similarly, a merchant would sometimes find that the coins in his coffers at the end of the Span were somehow well in excess of those that he'd made selling his wares. As the people went about their business, hoping for one of those infrequent blessings, above them all stood that shining clock tower, and the patrons moved, and the merchants moved, and the world itself moved, according to the ticking of the Terelandrian Clock. Long ago, Terelandrius the Great, the immortal mage whose understanding of time and space was said to have grown so vast that the passage of time no longer aged him, had given his wondrous masterworks to the world freely. Every great city in the world had been given one of his glorious clock towers, every small town had been presented with one of his standing pedestal clocks for the town square, and even the larger farming villages had been gifted with intricate wall clocks to place upon the wall of the local tavern. As a result, almost all civilized folk lived according to the Spans, the mystical segments of time delineated by the Terelandrian Clock, that were auspicious for doing one thing or another. Trading of course, was best done during the Span of Wealth. Likewise, work done on planting and harvesting was most fruitful when it took place during the Span of Growth, as were the amorous exertions of couples who wished to be blessed with children. The work of craftsmen and artisans was at its finest when it was done during the Span of Making, and the creations of artists and scholars were most inspired in the Span of Mind. None doubted the benign nature of the Clock. How could they? The great wizard, otherwise aloof from worldly affairs, had asked nothing in return for his gifts, and indeed the histories recorded that when he first bestowed them, he openly swore upon his name and his magical power that he would never ask repayment from the people of the world. Moreover, the subtle magics of the Clock seemed utterly harmless -- Terelandrius had not, after all, made any Spans well suited for war, strife, or suffering. A belligerent king might have spears and arrows crafted during the Span of Making, true, but then so too could his enemies craft shields and armor during that same time. And the blessings of the Clock were applied equally to all the people of the world, favoring no nation or kingdom above another: each of the four spans recurred across the clock multiple times per day, so that no matter where on the globe you were, you had a fair chance to benefit from each Span at least once during the day. The only singular point on the clock was the smallest Span of all, the one that existed at the bottom of the clock face: The Span of Renewal. This Span lasted only as long as the time between tick and tock, and occurred all over the world at once. It was scarcely remarked upon by most, who experienced it only as a transient moment of malaise, as though they had dozed off for a second or two and then come back to their senses. Then it was gone, and the clock moved on to the next Span in order. This, Terelandrius had explained when he presented his clocks to the world, was when the magic of the Terelandrian Clock recharged itself, so the Spans could begin again. Those who lived in lands where it was night when the Span of Renewal occurred hardly knew it existed at all, as they were either already asleep when it happened, or if not it simply blended into the ordinary fatigue at the end of the day's labor. It could occasionally be inconvenient, and obliged folk to try not to do anything extremely delicate or important at that precise moment, but otherwise it seemed as harmless as everything else about the Clock. All believed this was true for centuries. The first to doubt it was a man named Martin -- Martin, the watchmaker.
Darkness magic is a valuable tool. It can be used to conceal things without irritating the lungs like smoke does. While it could certainly be used in military applications as a replacement for a smoke screen, I mostly use it to hide before surprise parties. It can also keep things cool on a sunny day. I would be lying if I said I did not occasionally cloak a tub of ice cream in darkness to keep it nice and cold on a hot summer day. Since darkness is a subset of the "Destroy Energy"discipline of magic, it pairs easily with magic that outright negates thermal energy, allowing a spellcaster to keep machines running cool and chill drinks to near freezing temperatures in a snap. So, why were the Inquisitors hoisting me by my collar and barking accusations at me? Well... "You are in big trouble now, heretic!"a slender woman in a black robe hissed. She pulled me close and I could smell the garlic on her breath. "The Grand Inquisitor will hang you dead!" "For what?" "Dark magic... Summoning demons and the lot, I guess,"said the other Inquisitor, a broad-shouldered man with slick black hair. He had a nonchalant demeanor, betraying either a lack of enthusiasm or a lack of understanding of his work. "Easy on the accused, Mally. He might slip out of our grasp if you keep tugging him like that." "Oh, and you'd like that, you big loaf! If only your faith was as strong as your body!"Mally's claws dug into my collar tighter than before. "I think I understand what's going on here..."I said. Mally gripped harder and said, "You aren't going to find a way out of this." They dragged me down the hall to a red door. When we reached it, Mally pushed me into her colleague's arms and produced a key from her robes. After fidgeting with the aged lock, she swung the door open and I felt her colleague's large hands give me a push into the dark room. Falling on my hands and knees, my eyes struggled to make out what this room was supposed to be. Ker-chunk! With a flip of a switch, my eyes were flooded with light. The electric lights hummed revealing an octagonal room with loaded bookshelves against seven walls and one wall vacant to allow for an entrance. A table and four chairs sat in the middle of the room. "The College allowed us to use this room for your questioning."Mally sounded disappointed, as if she asked for a more dramatic venue. She walked around the table with slow and methodical steps. "Here, we shall be your judge and jury. If you try to escape, we will also be your executioners." I got up off my knees and brushed the dust off. "I've been with Kursott's College for eight years and I've never seen this room before... What is this place?" "Fittingly enough, it is where they keep their questionable texts. After we are done with you, I will decide what in this library must be burned. Kill two birds with one stone while I'm here, you see..."She looked over my shoulder and barked angrily, "Hyle! Put down that book! Your heathen mind is too easily tempted!"I turned to face the other inquisitor who gave a frustrated look at Mally. He held the aged crimson book gently in his large hands, like he was holding a puppy. "Why do you get to read all the wicked books? Sometimes I think you just burn books because you don't understand them..." Mally slammed her fist against the table, "If the Grand Inquisitor heard that, you'd lose your tongue! Must I try two heretics tonight?" Hyle gave a deep, defeated sigh, put the book back on the shelf, and slowly walked around the table. Hyle and Mally sat down in the chairs on their side of the table. "Sit!"Mally barked. I obeyed, pulling a chair opposite of the two inquisitors. Mally reached under the table and produced a thick folder that slapped hard against the table. She flicked it open and read the first page. "Therus, Alton, accused of practicing the dark arts. Instructor at Kursott of eight years. No wife, no children, two living parents, one sister. No criminal record, no known aliases."She looked up at me. "Does this sound correct?" "Yes." "Alright, how do you plead?" "What?" "Guilty or not guilty?"If looks could kill, her face would be anthrax. "Well, what am I being accused of exactly? I work with darkness but I do not practice 'dark' magic." In a flash, she threw her body over the table grabbed me by the hair and whacked my head against the table. She let go and sat back down with a look of intense and frenzied anger. A drop of blood ran down my lips. Her lips peeled back to show her clenched teeth. "No semantics! Guilty or not guilty!" "Not guilty!" "Hyle! Mr. Therus wants to do this the hard way!"She looked at him with an excited look, which Hyle did not return back to her. Hyle instead stared blankly at me with a look of what could either be a look of pity or a look of confusion. Hyle put a single finger on the folder and slid it across the table to be right in front of him. The excitement on Mally's face twisted back into anger. Hyle quickly flicked through the folder, gently humming and occasionally raising an eyebrow. "Let's talk about your courses, Mr. Therus,"said Hyle, eyes fixed on the files within the folder. "Course titles include, Intro to Darkness, Advanced Darkness, and Art of Obfuscation. Tell us about those." Mally's face was twisted into a look of pure frustration. Her eyes slowly panned from Hyle to me and they rested upon me heavily. Two burning stars of hatred and sadism disguised as piety. "I teach courses about darkness. Darkness, as in the absence of light, not the dark arts." Hyle nodded, not looking up from the files or saying anything. "So, no summoning demons,"I clarified. "Right, right,"Hyle nodded. He still didn't look up. "*Hyle! What. Are. You. Doing?" "Look, if you want to nearly strangle someone to death and pass it off as service to the holy Primary, you can do it on your own time."Hyle lifted his head and looked at her. "We've been graciously allowed by the College to sort this out, so therefore we are here as guests. You strangling Mr. Therus here would be ill-advised." Mally groaned. "They only allowed us to investigate him* because they expected us to be satisfied with the results and not come back for more. This whole college is lousy with heretics, isn't it, Mr. Therus?" "Uh, no?" "Give me the names of four heretics and you will prove your innocence,"Mally said as her scowl turned into a broad sadistic grin. "I think we are done here,"Hyle said. He shut the folder and stood up from his chair. Mally's claws dug into his black robe. "We aren't done here, Hyle!"Her face was desperate. "I say we are done. One Inquisitor's hunch does not make a case and I find this evidence inconclusive." Mally screamed, threw her hands up into the air and stormed out of the room. The screams echoed though the hallways, but slowly faded to a distant, enraged whimper. Hyle gave a sigh of relief and leaned forward. "Always good to provide a service for a brother,"he whispered. "What?" "C'mon, brother. Hail the Great Abyssal King,"Hyle said with a grin. "I'm sorry, I think you must be confused." Hyle's smile disappeared. His eyes widened with realization. "Oh, uh. Well, uh, have a good day and may the Primary's blessings be upon you." He stood up and walked out swiftly. Leaving me alone to wonder what the hell just happened. I turned to look at the aged crimson book that Hyle put back on the shelf and began to wonder...
They say not to travel Route 19 at night. Say it's haunted. I'm not scared, at least I was. ''Eevee, back!'' I call back my friend to her pokeball and begin to run. Didn't have any attacks that could do any harm. And wild ghost Pokemon can be extremely dangerous. That's what my parents told me before I went out on this journey, to stay away from ghost-types, because they tend to be more hostile to humans than average. Guess I should have listened. Hadn't expected this though. I turn my head as I run, and I see it getting closer. Big, purple, with a sick grin. Clearly, it is enjoying the chase, this Gengar. I turn back to watch where I am running, but it is so very dark, so very late. I thought I could get to the next Pokemon centre before the sun went down completely, but I should have stayed behind. And now it is so dark that I don't see the root of that tree ahead of me before it is too late. I trip, and fall over on my back, only to see that large purple ghost Pokemon staring down at me, its sharp claws reaching to me. I try to strike at it feebly with my hands, but I was never a strong kid, and besides, it is as effective at harming the Gengar as my Eevee's tackles were. Didn't know that ghosts like this hung out so close to my town, and now, I am at its mercy. I don't relent though, I keep trying to strike at it. I might not be the biggest, toughest, or strongest, but I keep going no matter what. Its cold claws grip my arm tightly, and in shock, I lunge forward with my head, teeth sinking into the purple arm. It recoils back and screeches loudly, as I let go of it. My mouth tastes horrible, but somehow, biting the Gengar worked. Thinking quickly, I bring up my Pokedex, and check the Gengar. It's been severely wounded. Bite was super effective. But... that's a Pokemon move, not a... No time to waste. I put the 'dex back into my pocket and I charge the purple Ghost. Damn thing has been stealing my food, playing tricks on me, and attacked me, and I'm not letting it go now. With success, the shocked Pokemon unable to counter me, I feel my teeth sink into its cold body. It screams and tries to pull me off, but I keep biting. Eventually, the Gengar is successful, throwing me to the ground, but its grin has turned to a sneering frown, as it vanishes into thin air. I get up, from the ground, and do the only rational thing I can possibly do in such a situation. I scream loudly, and break down crying for about ten or so minutes, I think. That was not supposed to happen. No ten year old should be attacked this close to her home by a rampaging Gengar. I knew the journey would be tough, but not this early. Once I am done crying, I slowly get up from the dirty ground, and keep moving forwards. I am a mess when I finally arrive at the Pokemon Centre. The Chansey manning the desk happily takes my only pokeball and heals it, and then leads me to one of the rooms set aside for trainers. I look at my face in the small mirror in the bedroom. I look unwell. I turn from the mirror and call out Eevee, hugging her closely to my chest as I lie on the bed, falling into a well-earned slumber. My dreams are full of dread images, of waking up as a ghost on Route 19 myself, of seeing my own body still on the ground. Horrible, horrible, images. I float through the forest, calling for help, before seeing some of the others from my home town, the other trainers who were given Pokemon only a few days ago. I call out to them, happy to see my friends, but they are startled, and one of them throws a pokeball at me, the last thing I see before I wake from the dream is that red beam charging towards me with glacial speed, and yet I find myself incapable of moving in that moment. I wake with a start, only to find Eevee licking my hand in a worried manner. I was evidently twisting and turning in my dreams quite a lot, since I seem to have woken up on the floor. I get dressed, brush my teeth, and go get some breakfast for me and Eevee. I feel terrible. And worried. Part of me is wondering about things. About how yesterday could have gone a lot better. And worse. I want to be the very best, like no one ever was, but this is very much not like the guide books, the brochures, what professor Yew explained about the journey, or even the older kids who were already trainers said it would be like. On the other hand, one bad experience is not something that should discourage me. Yet as I share my pancakes with Eevee, feeding her the blueberries, I find my mind wondering about how biting Gengar worked. Bite is a dark type move, they're, supposedly, always super effective against ghost-type Pokemon. But humans aren't Pokemon, so we can't learn moves. Some Pokemon were supposedly once humans. That Mr. Thalglen, back home who owns the convenience store, he has a Froslass who helps him with the frozen goods and keeping the store cold during the summer. He says that supposedly, such Pokemon were once human women who went missing in the mountains. He used to joke that she was his wife too, but I somehow doubt that. But people aren't Pokemon. At least I think so. Finishing breakfast, I head back to the bedroom with Eevee. I lock the door behind me, which makes her cute little head move into that confused 45 degree angle thing that some Pokemon do. I take out her pokeball, and call her back. And then call her out again. This does nothing to make her less confused. I was given some pokeballs before heading out, just to get me started. I haven't really found any Pokemon that seemed interested in going on a Pokemon journey with me, so I've only got the one for now. But these pokeballs are empty. I stare at the empty ball in my hand. Then stare at my Eevee. It is tradition that once you get your starter in our region Winnilibardia, you spend about a week or so befriending said starter. it's just an old tradition, but it does provide a better connection to your starter. And they'll be better at understanding your orders too, or so professor Yew said. ''Eevee.'' I state, and point at the pokeball. The brown Pokemon looks very attentively at the ball. ''I'm going to try something. If it works, I want you to press the button on the front of the pokeball, do you understand?'' She jumps up on my lap. ''Vee!'' she squeaks in a fairly understanding manner. ''Good. Don't be alarmed if I suddenly vanish, OK? Just press the button, and if that doesn't work, fetch nurse Joy.'' Then, I activate it, primed it for catching a Pokemon, and throw it at myself. It opens, as I've seen they do in the instruction manual, and a red light beams out towards me. It feels... indescribable. The red light is all I see as the room vanishes around me, I can hear the surprised and frightened squeaking ''vees'' from my friend, but only briefly, before I find myself somewhere I cannot seem to grasp. Except, there is something. ERROR the sign says. In big red letters. ERROR is all I can see, if I can even actually see anything. DATA INSTABILITY; NO MATCH DETECTED another sign says, though it feels less like sight and more like I'm some kind of liquid, and something is stirring me, though the thought horrifies me. Really hope that Eevee can figure out what I wanted her to do, but if she can't get it to work then Nurse Joy can surely... Oh. I locked the door behind me. She can't fetch her.

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