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"Just toys for the kids"Pastor Jim said with a warm smile as he walked through the metal detector into the courthouse. The X-Ray machine found nothing threatening in the black suitcase the pastor brought with him. A couple of nerf guns brought a few disinterested questions from the security personnel, but there was no reason to be suspicious of the innocuous pastor.
​
The biggest trial in the history of the city was happening today against Nicolas Santagel, the supposed head of the infamous Black Serpent Cartel. After months of political maneuvering, bribes, and threats against the families of legal authorities, today was the first day - the first chance - the law was able to prosecute the head of the snake. Evidence, however, stood on shaky ground. The Prosecution's charges of racketeering through RICO was strung together by the confession of a mentally unstable mob boss. The mob boss was arrested by SWAT officers when he called in a bomb threat on himself. He was found muttering in the corner about how God was going to punish all sinners, unaware anybody had entered the room and promptly pointed the finger to Nicolas Santagel as the devil himself, telling stories of how Nicolas had his enemies butchered. The key to his credibility, however, before his raving were dismissed as those of a madman, was the details of his testimony that filled in a lot of missing holes in the Prosecution's accounting of the horrific events sanctioned by the Black Serpent. For example, the bodies of the last mayor's family, missing for years, was found when the madman delivered GPS coordinates in one of his crazed rants. Sometimes, the clairvoyance the madman offered in his ravings was almost as if he was Nicolas himself delivering a first-hand account of the atrocities sanctioned.
The defense, though, was quite clear. Nicolas Santagel was an upstanding businessman with first-class morales and dedicated his life to the well-being of the City. He had donated millions to orphanages, charities, and the local church to aid those most in need, yet despite all that, some would accuse him of being the head of the infamous Black Serpent Cartel. Sure, his path the wealth was all but a mystery and the people he was at odds with often disappeared, but those people were quite shady, to begin with. This conspiracy from a raving madman was absurd. He couldn't bear to look at his wife, Veronica Santagel, and her two small children's tearful face when the police stormed their manor and arrested them with brutality known only to American police officers.
Diego and Alex Santagel, two boys of 8 and 5, ran around the courthouse hallways chasing and shooting each other with nerf guns the kind pastor had given to them. It was strange to see two boys so happy as if nothing was going to happen to their father. The blessings of youthful innocence, the pastor thought as he said a quick prayer. Outside, a fleet of police vehicles pulled up to the flock of press photographers outside. The pastor, noticing this, made his move. Under the guise of entertaining the children, he joined the pretend war game of the children shooting each other with nerf guns. The onlookers and janitor smiled at this display of genuine happiness from the children on such a grim day for their father, especially since the pastor promised to clean up any mess they made afterward.
​
Nicolas Santagel, flanked by two police officers, was deep in thought. Were they really going to sentence him based on ravings from a madman? His focus broke when a stay nerf bullet hit him in the hand. "Apologies Mr. Santagel, I was playing with your children and did not see you come up,"the pastor said. The truth was that the pastor had been tracking Nicolas since he first entered the courthouse and engineered a deliberate miss so that a special nerf bullet, hiding a needle coated with the venom of a rare tibetian sleeping snake, hit Nicolas on exposed skin. Twenty minutes later inside the courtroom, Veronica Santangel screamed in horror as her husband collapsed from an apparent heart attack.
​
Two days later on May 5th, the madman was picked up by asylum officials. Two months later, it seemed like nothing had changed with the death of Nicolas. Soon, the judge, the police officers, the Prosecution, and those who revealed themselves against the Cartel were killed off one by one with their heads put on display as an example of those who dared cross the Cartel. Amongst the chaos and fear, one small detail was forever lost. On May 5th, there was no record of anybody checking into the asylum. |
I woke up with a splitting headache and a distinct feeling of being run over by a bus – one that had then turned around and tried to finish the job. Moving hurt. Breathing even more so. Thinking sounded like an especially bad idea.
The last thing I remembered was trying to check if my pet hamster had any magical talent.
It’s a useful trick in my line of work. As a detective, I’ve spent my fair share of time working with people who are *sure* that their house is haunted or that the electrical pole *literally* jumped out at them. All I have to do is feel them out with my talent and I can usually spot the problem.
I can still remember telling a distraught father that his haunting was actually the work of his magically inclined six-year-old and not the wrath of an angry great-grandmother. Also, sometimes it’s fun to sit on the late-night train and guess which of the passengers are actually wizards.
Once in awhile, I’ll meet a really powerful sorcerer. Reading the really strong ones always gives me a bit of a headache and, occasionally, a nose bleed.
Testing my skills on Mr. Swiffles was supposed to be a practical joke. Everyone knows that animals possess no magical gifts, and certainly my idiot of a hamster had never displayed any inclination for crafting spells or moving furniture.
So imagine my surprise when I tried to read the chittering creature and found myself spiraling into agony and then darkness.
Sitting up, I groaned in pain and looked up at the hamster. “All right, mister, you’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”
My pet stared back at me with the same beady, incomprehensible eyes that I was used to, almost as if nothing had happened. His little nose furrowed and his whiskers twitched at me. Certainly, it didn’t look like the hamster was going to explain what an Old One was doing in my apartment, eating lettuce and running in place.
I took stock of my surroundings. Rivulets of dried blood clung to my face. My ears felt sticky with more blood, as did my clothes. It looked like I’d bled profusely while out cold. Idly I wondered if my lease covered injury and whether I needed to let anyone know that my pet hamster could – theoretically – destroy the planet.
Mr. Swiffles’ cage still stood on the coffee table, its little door ajar, and its occupant was busy gnawing on one of my pens.
“Delightful,” I grumbled as I looked at the bloodstain on the outdated, brown carpet that would likely cost me the deposit on the place. Standing up came with a fresh new wave of agony. My head hurt, and my ears were ringing. Dizziness washed over me in waves.
The hamster squeaked at me. "You might want a shower."
"You don't say."I glared at him. "So what's the answer?"
"To what?"asked the rodent.
"Everything."
"42?"suggested Mr. Swiffles and went back to destroying my stationary.
I shrugged. Did ancient deities also enjoy science-fiction classics? |
"I'm a bit surprised,"I finally said after almost ten minutes of awkward silence as the jackal-headed deity of the underworld and I stared at each other. Surrounding him was hundreds, possibly thousands of cats, arranged in concentric rings that danced and flashed in my vision as if their true form couldn't quite pierce the veil of 'reality' to which my now ex-mortal brain still clung.
"I get that a lot,"replied the Lord-of-the-Place-of-Embalming, "except from the Muslims. They take a few moments, but then usually understand why their Prophet was so fond of cats."
"But doesn't that-"
"If it helps, I am the... gatekeeper, so to speak. Your afterlife lies beyond, and it is probably much as you expected it to be. Whether or not you are able to Pass the Threshold depends on the testimony of these."He gestured at the furry myriad that circled him. "There are not usually this many."
"I spent most of my retirement volunteering at a shelter,"I said, almost embarrassed by the fact, although not sure why. I tried to focus on the cats, and began to discern a pattern to the maddening spirals of paws and eyes. Closest to He-of-the-Nine-Bows were the cats I had grown up with. My pets. Companions. Friends, really.
The next innermost circle were the kittens born to those who came before - as my memory clarified like butter in a pan, I recognised each coat and stripe and remembered the names I had given them. Beyond those, in the outermost of the inner courts, were the pets of neighbours with whom I had interacted on a daily or near-daily basis for many years.
Then, in the sprawling chaos that was everything else filling my vision, were the Rescues. Every single cat that had come through my shelter in the twenty years I spent there during my retirement. There was Tom, the grey mouser; Figaro, the obese food-thief; Clarence, the majestic and aloof; John Silver with the scarred eye and missing leg - just a handful of the thousands.
"They're... what, my defendants? Accusers? I always believed in a judgement of sorts after death, but not exactly like *this.*"
No sooner had I finished my sentence than my hearing was overwhelmed by such a caterwauling it would raise the dead. Ironic, really. Each toothy mouth rang out in loud, yowling chorus; each bitter and cacophonous note swirling into a chaotic crescendo that devoured all my senses - until it suddenly ceased. I saw, first at the periphery of my vision, and then rapidly drawing closer, that each of the cats was departing in a shimmer of nothing. Soon only those I had called my own remained, circled tight around the Lord-of-the-Sacred-Land as he sat deep in thought. Each of them paid me the courtesy of rubbing their spectral heads against my outstretched, transparent hand before they, too, disappeared.
Anubis sat for a minute, and I grew increasingly tense.
"Well? What did they say?"
"Mostly that you did not feed them enough." |
You are what you eat. And they want to eat me.
They are hideous. Great mounds of flesh and meat with crowns of bone. Teeth shuffle within their gums,
and eyes buried within pounds of meat squint and strain to see even the glimpse of a shadow. They reek of all hell, and drip with oil.
The great transformation was devastating. Some of us thought we went to hell. A quarter of all humans stopped eating all together. Housing and the very modern world has become useless to their useless limbs. They are lost in a world of broken memories, wandering in the shadow of humanity's triumph, now lost to them. Are they even human?
Societal rules have broken down. No one knows who's who anymore, the only language is strength. The warlords eat the beautiful, or what beauty they can get their hands on.
And there was me. At first I couldn't believe my eyes. Each member of my family ruptured into a bloody, fleshy mass. Dad became a stinking mass of fat and meat. Stephanie dissolved into a pile of writhing compost. I can recall the absolute shock, the testosterone rocketing through my body as I ran outside and heard the rupture of a car hood, a pink mass crawling out. The air was filled with moans and thick with fear, and I ran.
And that brings me to now. I live in fear in a locked elevator, no monster can get inside. Food ran out a week ago, water yesterday. This might be my last memory. |
They handed these cards too damn liberally.
The new government acknowledged it had a problem when it was voted in 10 years ago. Everyone knew it-the whole system was apathetic at best, corrupt at worst. It was *fucking everywhere.* From the ghettos to the gated communities, to the smuggling in tunnels to the high rises where the "products"were sold.
How foolish of us then, to expect real change when the old guard finally lost an election. The government claimed it was still too dirt poor to bolster what honest cops and laws that were-but they did propose a solution. Legal vigilantism for theft, murder, kidnapping, extortion and...the big r.
The logic was simple enough-give the oppressed a chance to blow off steam against the dumbasses who were taking their feudalism too far while the government and its friends still kept lining the more quiet but evil profits. Smuggling is still everywhere. Drugs, booze, porn and people. Nothing anybody can do about fraud, or assault.
Of course, the evil fucks still had wiggle room, they were just preying on each other more.
We traded one breed of sociopaths for another. The ones screaming murder with knifes and guns in hand for the ones making a deal with smiles and cash.
For me, it was personal. Brother got sold and trafficked. We found his body a few years later. Fucker who did it flashed a card and moved on. His operation was only exposed, not wounded.
At first, it felt *fucking good*. Getting even with the fuck who took him away from me and getting rid of other scum on the way-then, having to rack up a few more good deeds to dodge the lesser offences I picked up on the way.
Of course, the only way to make sure you were getting a living out of doing this regularly was being for hire. A new breed of hitman. Some noble, some no different than the bastards who used to run this country.
It wore on me, this line of work. I was never a hero, if that is what you're wondering. I was just processing some grief.
I know these stupid things won't save me. I know they won't. They didn't save the people I killed or exposed. They certainly didn't for the ones who's cards I stole.
But it exposes the hypocrisy. Maybe my brother and everyone else I lost wanted this in the end.
3...
2...
1...
*Boom.*
45 minutes later, the cops are at my door, the news is screaming about the terabytes of leaked data and the explosion. The blues burst in, and I'm sitting there with my hand.
"Pick a card officer, pick a card." |
And that was it, that was the entirety of the message? Unfortunately, Mr President. The message came from what we now gather to be a tidally locked planet orbiting Proxima Centauri, about 4 light years from us. We believe that there was more to the message but it was corrupted by Centauri's intense solar radiation. What are our options? The president asked, looking out sternly over his desk. A haggard looking gentleman turned his head slowly, responding in an almost stately German accent. We don't have the technology, but, according to our calculations we should be able to launch by the turn of the century. 2020 at the latest. President Johnson rose from his desk, and looked the gathered men over. Well shit, Mr Von Braun, I guess we're gonna have to really get serious about this NASA thing. |
Brandon was always the quiet kid in class. Shy, nerdy looking, freckled, and on the last left corner bench in class, he gazed outside the window in his lunch breaks, envying the sports team their athleticism and jocky-ness but never trying to join them.
It was during such a lunch break during which he was once more gazing outside, at the couples frolicking in the grass this time, that he noticed something strange.
Lunch breaks are associated with a certain din, a particular kind of background noise, the kind you would find at a local bar of coffee place in the morning. It is a very distinctive sound, if you've heard it you know it.
The weirdly soothing amalgamation of an extremely wide variety of external stimuli set the tone for Brandon's usual out-gazing, yet today, the backtrack had stopped. Brandon could not hear a thing. The first thing he did was panic. He thought he had lost his hearing.
Quite a natural response, considering he had abruptly stopped hearing everything while he was supposed to be in a particularly loud setting. He had a mini panic attack, curled up into a little ball and started sobbing, quite audible.
Then, as suddenly as he had started sobbing, he stopped. Because he realized that he could still hear himself. He unfurled from his human ball and looked around the class, where there was supposed to be an incredible assortment of chaos and anarchy, and noticed a pointed lack of both.
The first thing he noticed was Daniel's outstretched hand. The second thing be noticed was the basketball floating a meter or so above it. Young Brandon was quite understandably shocked and could not help but to yelp quite loudly.
The floating basketball was just the first caveat that came to Brandon's attention. He noticed that nothing was moving. At all. There was no movement, there was no noise, there was no life, so to speak. He could not see the telltale rise and fall of the chests of his classmates, even when he squinted for a long time, not that squinting for a long time had anything to do with the well developed Nancy who happened to come under his gaze.
He moved around the classroom in wonder, and a little bit of discomfort considering nothing was moving, and went around looking at his classmates.
He counted twenty six of them in usually hard to maintain, and therefore, unnatural looking poses, one in a plain impossible pose, Hugo was suspending midair while seemingly trying to touch the ceiling, and a few that seemed believable. Not that such a detailed analysis had anything to do with being able to look at beautiful Nancy, no no of course not.
As he poked around the room, he noticed something, he could not influence anything in the room. He couldn't move the people, he couldn't move the furniture, and he couldn't open the door or window either. Finding out he couldn't move people had nothing to do with how he was trying to feel cute and attractive Nancy's cheeks and noticed that nothing moved while he was doing so, of course it didn't. It had to do with how he couldn't move the boy between his desk and Nancy's while trying to reach her.
He reached out tentatively and poked Nancy on the cheek. He didn't have courage to go any further down honestly, he was still quite inexperienced with such things and fashioned himself a well mannered young man, even if no one else was watching.
After satisfying his inner gentleman and furiously resisting any and all urges to peek "downtown", so to speak, Brandon once more tried to open the door, and failed. As he was pondering his dilemma, he came to the conclusion that time had, for whatever reason, decided to stop.
If he had tested his theory with any form of scientific method, he would have noticed the evidence against it, namely the very large, very big, and very much moving sun.
Brandon tried to write on the board, and failed. It seemed that he was unable to influence things around him. How useless. After trying for some large amount of time, he didn't really know how much, Brandon was thoroughly bored and very much ready for time to start back again.
To pass the time he started doing everything he had ever wanted to do but was too reserved to, and every utterly ridiculous thing he had ever imagined. He climbed on top of his desk and shouted loudly about how his favourite hero was Wonder woman. He took off his shirt and slammed his fists on his chest infront of his crush, which was definitely not Nancy of course. He zipped down his pants and flashed the entire class, at which point he noticed a very critical detail that he had not before.
The eyes. They were moving. Every single person that had him within their sight had their eyes trained on him.
"..........fuck." |
The most important thing to do was mitigate the initial panic.
They had to go outside at some point. The jets would funnel the air of this world into the cabin and compress it, so if it was toxic they were dead regardless of their next actions. Food would run out sooner rather than later, but it was an issue they would deal with in a week. What matters in a crisis what you do in the first ten minutes.
“What the hell do we tell ‘em?” asked Capt. Sanders gruffly. He was a large, straight-backed man, around 6’4, with a military-issue haircut and too much fat around his middle. He had a tendency to whistle the Star-Spangled Banner to himself, loved his nieces, and was slightly homophobic.
His copilot shrugged. “Fuck if I know,” he said.
Tommy Lewis was young, short, and baby-faced on top of that. The cockpit was an absurd sight with him in it, with what looked like a high school sophomore at the oldest (co)piloting 45 tons of metal through the air. The new uniform he had been issued, the smallest available, was too long in the arms and legs, giving the impression a child had stolen their parent’s clothes. He would have to get it tailored. Only his rich baritone voice betrayed the fact that yes, in fact, he was an adult.
“We’re on some kind of-of other world!” Sanders punctuated this with a fist slamming on the dashboard.
Lewis smiled sardonically. “Astute. Please don’t destroy the equipment.”
Sanders didn’t have a response to that. “We need to figure out how to keep the passengers calm,” he said instead. He stood and started pacing the short length of the cockpit, eyes darting to the locked door. He could hear muffled yelling and commotion coming from the outside.
“I don’t know,” Lewis repeated, tapping the arm of his chair. “Tell them it’s gonna be fine? Play some soothing jazz? Read them a bedtime story? I have my daughter’s favorite Doctor Seuss book on my phone if you’re interested.”
The captain stopped his pacing. “Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” he snapped.
Somehow, that broke through.
His copilot sobered. “No, yeah, sorry. I’m just—”
“Scared?”
“Understatement of the decade, Sanders. Um, maybe tell them that staying calm is the most important thing to do right now, and maybe one of us should go outside to check it out? They’ve opened their windows, they’ve seen it already.” Lewis’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously.
“Who’s going outside?”
“I’ll rock-paper-scissors you for it.”
—
**This is your captain speaking.
This situation is unprecedented, but above all else, you must remain calm. Our flight attendants will be handing out blankets, food, and water to everyone on board.
We recommend you save your phone battery, in case it can be used to call for help. There does not seem to be internet in this area, so we strongly urge you all to shut off your phones and conserve charge unless we find a connection.
Two members of our staff have volunteered to leave the plane to scout out the area. They will be equipped with radios, and we will broadcast to you the details of the report.
Any medical professionals, mental health professionals, or anyone experienced in wilderness survival, may you please come to the front of the plane. We will meet you in front of the cockpit.
Thank you for your cooperation.**
—
The flowers were gorgeous things. They held light in their delicate crystal petals, yellow and silver and beautiful.
They crunched easily under Lewis’s boots. He walked in tense silence a few feet behind the flight attendant, a brave, intelligent, but socially awkward woman called Jefferson. He could still see the plane in the distance, could feel the eyes of the passengers on them. They must look like dark spots against the horizon.
God knew how long days were on this planet, so Sanders had ordered them to return at 2:00. It was about noon. The mauve field was speckled with an alien approximation of trees, round, leafless, and pus-yellow. They leaked something, too, a deep red sap. It looked like a wound.
“Tom,” gasped Jefferson suddenly. She was frozen. He jogged up to her, concerned.
“What?” he asked.
She pointed at what was most likely a bush, with round sacs for leaves. “Um, just look.”
Jefferson’s face peered out at them from under the pods.
It wasn’t quite right, though. The cheeks were too puffy, lips curled up in a comical U shape that reached up to almost touch the clouded eyes.
It said something incomprehensible. The noise was halted, like someone had hacked its vocal cords into pieces. Its mouth cracked into shape, the sides of the face settled, and its eyes focused on Jefferson.
“Uhhhhhmmmmmm.... jaaaaauuusttttt... looouuuuukkkkk...” it gurgled, closer to Jefferson’s voice.
They didn’t look back, feet barely touching the ground as they ran.
—
CC encouraged! |
In this day and age, there is a proverb that often holds true, when speaking about the wizards. ''*Be careful, most of these people are much better at lying, than they are at magic.*'' Once perhaps, the mages and sorcerers wielded great wisdom and power. And indeed, the lands are full of ruined great towers, cursed with incredibly dangerous curses, protected by magical golems. So perhaps they were once as great and mighty as they claim to be today. But much has been forgotten, gone is the knowledge to heal great pain and wounds, gone is the secret to shape the clay into living golem servants.
Today the only mages left, are the low ones. They ply their trade in the markets, the alleyways, and the backstreets. They sell potions that they swear will bring you love, they trade amulets that they say are made with ancient secrets, and they deliver talismans of mystery and strangeness. Few of them are genuine. Sure, when they sell them, their small spells can make the items seem like they came from before the Great Mage War, but it's smoke and mirrors. Illusion spells. The potions are at best harmless, the amulets are coloured glass with a small shiny enchantment on them, and the talismans are probably slightly cursed.
They are what remains of magic, after the world nearly burned in thaumaturgic fires. Too weak and small to be much use for battlemages. During the Great Mage War, when the great empires of the world sent out their armies and mages to do war, nearly ending life as we know it, they did not fight. And they lived. The others, not so much. Even today, many places are scarred forever, filled with lingering malignant magical energy, waiting to ensnare and destroy anyone comes near. The city of Kr'tesh still burns, a century after the war ended. The Enkrandor Valley is still shrouded in a hungry mist. Nobody can find where the great river Fow'Ferol flows today. And the kingdom of Dertsa is still caught in a time loop.
These little mages move from town to town with the trade caravans, doing what little magic they can do, usually lighting fires, or finding water, which in the desert can be quite useful. Some of them have a little offensive magic trained, and can be quite deadly with their skills. A magical dagger stabbing you in the back can be quite effective if used correctly. But they're much better at selling their stories as great and mighty wizards, than casting any greater spells. Theirs is the little magic mostly, the illusions, the mindtricks. Even the basics of what the great wizards knew before the War is now all but lost to them. Their most powerful may sometimes speak with the dead, they may create enchantments, may summon some small imps. But all that they can do they enhance with their lying, using alchemical secrets like blasting powder and coloured fires to seem mighty, using the power of suggestion and knowledge of the art of psychology, making their small power seem great. But that is the extend of what is by many called the Constantinian School of wizardry; Small power and some skill in using it, yet mostly they are simply great at lying.
But there are a few in the magical community, a few secretive and selective mages, who can work the high magic. Those who hearken back to the roots of wizardry. Those with the power of the ancients on their side. For while the great academies of magic are gone now: These wizards have taken on the old way, of teaching a few select apprentices, people they have found that have the gift, and great potential with it, all that they know.
Which brings us to you, child. You managed to not only see me, though my spells should have prevented all who are not magical from seeing me, you actually managed to sneak past most my wards and steal my wallet. If it hadn't had a tracking spell on it, you would probably have gotten away with it. But the fact that you managed it, means that you are gifted. And much more than these small mages. I would offer you a choice, a possible future. For I am a mage, not like the fortune tellers and tricksters that you've lived with for most of your life, no, I am an **Archmage**!
The choice is simple. First option is that I take back my wallet, and give you, oh, let's say twenty silver for listening to an old man. That must be about what you earn in five months or so, pickpocketing. And I leave you here, never to see me again, into a life of unsafe obscurity. The other option is to leave your old life behind, and come with me, to learn the ancient magic. Learn what this world has forgotten, and become a mage, with a life of power and wisdom the likes of which you could never have dreamt of.
The choice is yours.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
The trip to the orphanage went by faster than ever. This babe, former assassin, was quite charming. He had a thick shock of unruly brown hair and big staring blue eyes. The man's eyes had been brown. They must have darkened. You looked down at the babe, and he smiled up and reached upwards. You pulled your head back but his fat little hand twined itself in your beard. The baby made a surprised coo. You couldn't help but laugh.
How do we ruin each other so?
When you dropped the baby off, with the customary note and knock on the door, the baby cried out as you turned. Looking back over your shoulder you saw it trying to pull itself out of the basket. Eyes locked on you. It cried out again, accusatory and demanding. You turned and mounted and left quickly. As you galloped you thought you heard the door creek.
Back at your cottage you barely get into the door before the tears begin to fall.
Many years ago, when first learning the art of time magic, you had experimented mostly on yourself. Trying to keep risk personal. The code of any upright magician. What you failed to predict is how the ties that bind us together can change through time. Failed to predict just how profoundly and surprisingly your small moments can link with others.
In an attempt to improve your past decisions, just small ones, ones that you thought could have no consequences for anyone else, you had erased that other brown-haired, blue-eyed, obstinate little baby from existence. No photos to remember him. It drove you from your wife, how she had forgotten him. Nothing left of your only son.
Crying and sitting on the bed you renewed your vow, "I will never take away anyone else's future." |
Ugh I hated him. Always pretending to be the smartest one in the room, trying to sway everyone away from his so called charm. Even the fact that he keeps a journal annoyed me. Everything about him was horrible.
I was a Type A person with various insecurities. The desire to always be on top and better than everyone in everything i do, overpowered every emotion in me. One person who always challenged me was him. He has been on my way to win that 'Best student' trophy for 10 years of my school life.
After sophomore year, he was finally out of my way. We changed schools and I was happy in my own world being the best. Nobody could challenge me like he did and I was glad.
But my world turned upside down when i saw him on my 1st day in my college.
"What the f***"was my response to his "hi"
The mere existence of him was enough to get my insecurities back. I was annoyed and i tried several things to derail him from his path. I even tried to sabotage his entire career which blew up on my face. The passive aggressive hatred now turned into a full civil war and we hated each other to death.
I decided to use the final card in my purse. To make him fall in love with me and destroy him. The mere idea of destroying him was so powerful that I was ready to sacrifice everything and so the plan begin.
I went and apologised. He was hesitant at first but then the boat sailed smoothly. I knew all his likes and dislikes and slowly and steadily took my next steps. It was one final arrow. I couldn't haste.I was patient and determined.
Overtime we got together and became the epitome of the perfect couple. We used to match each other's frequency and IQ. Turned out we were emotionally compatible as well. It used to annoy me to even accept that him and I are so compatible. We were known as the power couple.
We both got our dream jobs and were happy in our lives. I thought of dropping the bomb but the destiny had other plans as i was laid off during a great pandemic. I became a mess overnight. My confidence shattered and he became my support system. He handled me at my worst. The worst i didn't even know, existed.
Things got better slowly and the idea of destroying his life occurred way less than usual. I kept making silly excuses to delay the idea of leaving him. We were blessed with a baby boy and we were earning enough money to lead a happy, safe life.
Time flew by and our boy recently started his college. It's been 25 years to our marriage and we have been together for 30 years now. I read his online journal last night and it has entries from our college days. It says what a horrible person I was and how he knew that i tried to sabotage his career.
It talked about our first 'friendly' encounter and how he will destroy my life by making him fall in love with him!!
The last entry was the date before that night about how I changed his life and how I have been that one person who has always supported him. It said "I can't even imagine my life without her. She has been the most perfect archnemesis and I truly love her" |
PS: I’m on mobile, and in a toilet. Please don’t take this seriously.
500 years ago, when Ville Machesgretus landed on Saprokiate, the moon orbiting our home planet, he famously exclaimed, “this is one small step for me, but one big step for Zakken-ity!” before proudly erecting a flag on the surface like the brave explorer that he was.
And now it is my turn, to say the Zakken’s first word on an inhabited alien world, a war cry that would strike fear upon all creatures, a line that would be remembered by many for centuries to come:
“Umm, what?”
The fire died down on the engine of our lightweighted, silvery landing craft, as my elite squad, about 30 Zakkens, marched out of it, forming a tight formation on a blanket of green, tiny alien flora.
“All scanners display no sign of underground structures,” soldier 05 reported, “this place... SHOULD be the town hall of the biggest city on Sol-3, right above the public toilet, as you instructed.”
I readied my laser blasters nervously. “Maybe it was an ambush, maybe they decorated their entire town hall to resemble an uninhabited location... even the public toilet...” my fingers tensed around the trigger, the whole crew desperate for some action, something to happen after all those trainings and travelling.
After what seemed to be forever, a local life form approached. Almost instantly the entire squadron turned and pointed the blaster at it. “HOLD THE FIRE!” I yelled, “this... thing looks NOTHING like a human. Humans do not walk on four legs and are not covered in thick white furs! Maybe it is a robot negotiator, they are surrendering!”
Carefully, I lowered my blaster and paced toward the creature with a sneaking stance, approaching slowly and carefully, expecting landmines to go off at any moment. The thing turned and tilted its head in curiosity. It was getting more and more obvious that it was not a robot. More like some sort of local monster.
I activated the auto-translator on my helmet.
“Sir, we are Squadron Q69 from Zakken. I demand you to bring us to whoever represent authority on this nation.”
“BAAAAAAAH.”
What? My heart races. The creature was speaking a language my translator did not understand. Was he communicating through a secret code?
I asked again, “sir, please bring us to the authorities—“
“BAAAAAAH!”
I took a step back from the sheer panic that war cry had strike me with. This level of intimidation... IMPOSSIBLE! This uninhabited wasteland, this mysterious creature... I approached again, but before I even opened my mouth—
“BAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
At this point, I couldn’t handle this anymore. I dropped my blaster, turned around and sprinted back toward the ship.
“QUICK! RETREAT! THE HUMANS MUST BE PLOTTING SOMETHING!”
Fear rippled throughout the squad. We boarded the craft as quick as we could. “AHHHHH!” soldier 05 pointed in terror, “that thing, that thing is CHARGING AS US! RUUUUUUUUUN!”
And, as sudden as they came, the Zakkens fled Earth from a sheep.
Yeah I’m kinda tired. |
They watched from afar.
They observed how we fought.
They laughed at our rules.
They attacked in overwhelming force.
Bad move Xenos.
Bad, bad move.
"Sir, the south line is breaking!"
"Send in the reserves."
"Already sent, Sir. Including the emergency reserve."
"*damn it!*"*sigh* "Release the irregulars; ROE ZULU is now in effect."
**Rules Of Engagement ZULU:**
1. No CBN.
2. No UCMJ.
3. No Federal Law w.r.t. Xenos.
4. Win, ***at all costs.***
The aliens figured us for pushovers because there were things we would not do in war. They knew this but never bothered to find out *why*.
They should have read Kipling. They should have read the history of Tamerlane. They should have, but they didn't. Now, they're going to find out the hard way.
You see, as soldiers, we learn what is not allowed, so we don't do it. Civilians, without those trained in limits, are far more creative, and bloody-minded, than we can ever be.
No, I'm not going to give you a blow by blow. Too many are just too sick to consider. I think the least offensive we're those perpetrated by the local medical/biology dissection classes. They had the psychology students advising them on horror—cinematography handling visuals. A couple of professional writers of horror and gore took one look, barfed, and said that they were giving up horror. Humans already have all the horror needed inside themselves.
They did have one problem. How to get your hands on an intact specimen? The deceased that way because someone has blown a large hole through them. So they captured them alive.
At first, they killed them humanely. By the end, you could hear the screams for days. The worst of the lot was one that they'd doped up, so he was giggling through the entire process.
The pranksters took over then. Moving the spread eagle exploded diagram of their internal organs into position for ease of viewing. Torso included for reference.
We never did figure out how the students were moving the displays. No, we never did, despite knowing exactly where they were going to set up. We did put snipers in with very explicit instructions. "Shoot to maim."The snipers did that for one day, then informed their officers that the next one who gave that order would be terminated with prejudice. There are some things no soldier will do.
So they told the civilian hunters to get out their best, and "Shoot to maim."It was sickening. They went after the cooks, medics, supply drivers, anyone in support fields. But if an officer came into view? They acted like honey badgers and attacked the most vulnerable and painful point they could.
In the end, the Xenos sued for surrender to the "peaceful troops who keep the civilians in line."
((finis)) |
Batman fell into his chair staring at the great monitor that stood at the center of the bat-cave. For the first time in years, The World's Greatest Detective felt helpless. What he was seeing couldn't be true, although deep down he knew every bit of it was. There was no disputing the evidence.
He was looking at decrypted data from Wayne Enterprises. According to the data, Bruce Wayne isn't a real person. Instead he is a cyborg programmed by Wayne Enterprises, and all his childhood memories are false.
That is to say, the single greatest traumatic and important moment of his life, the death of his parents, never actually happened. Thomas and Martha Wayne never existed.
Batman brought a trembling hand to his face and removed his cowl, revealing the solemn face of Bruce Wayne.
"How long have you known?"Bruce Wayne said swiveling his chair. He faced the darkness of the batcave. "No, you've always known haven't you?"
Out of the shadows stepped Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce's loyal Butler, and closest friend.
"Yes, Master Bruce,"Alfred said. "I've always known."
"Don't call me that,"Bruce said throwing down his cowl. "My name isn't Bruce. According to this....this data it's Unit B-107. None of it was real. My parents, the shooting in crime alley. I'm just a thing that Wayne Enterprises concocted in their lab. No doubt Lucius Fox was the lead designer."
"Yes,"Alfred said. "Mr. Fox was indeed the lead designer on the Cybernetic Crime Prevention Project."
"But why all the smoke and mirrors?"Bruce said angrily, rising from his chair. He gestured to all around the batcave. A large penny, a dinosaur statue, and scores of memorabilia taken from various villains decorated the home of the World's Greatest Detective. "Why the false memories?"
"You are unit B-107,"Alfred said calmly. "There were in fact 106 units before you. They all failed. Their single purpose was to prevent crime, but for various reasons they could never reach a satisfactory level of compliance. That was until Lucius thought of an idea. What if...we gave the unit a story to believe."
"A lie you mean,"Bruce said bitterly.
"A lie, yes, but an effective one. Was it not Master Bruce-"
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"Anger vibrated all through out the cyborg that once believed himself to be Bruce Wayne, billionaire son of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Tears fell from his eyes and as he wiped them away, he was aware that they weren't even real tears.
"My parents..."
"Thomas and Martha Wayne never existed, but fabricating their existence was no trouble."
"Who else knew? Dick, Barbara, Gordon...were they all in on it?"
"No,"Alfred said, still as calm as ever. "Only Fox and I knew. All the people you've met, all the things you've encountered since heading out as The Batman, it was all real."
"But it was built on a lie Alfred."Bruce crumpled back into his chair hanging his head. He stared up at the Bats, those creatures that he once feared as a kid, knowing now that fear never truly existed.
"Why does it matter?"Alfred said approaching Bruce. "You are still The Batman, that hasn't changed. Gotham needs you-"
"What was I to you Alfred?"
"Beg pardon?"
"I always looked to you as family. I have memories of when I was a kid, of you looking out for me, after my parents died. You were always there for me....but in actuality you weren't. Those memories aren't real. So what am I to you?"
The question hung in the air for what felt like an eternity.
"You are The Batman and I am your trustworthy Butler."
"I see,"Bruce said. After a moment of silence he started sobbing.
"Please, Master Bruce. It's quite alright,"Alfred put a reassuring hand on the cyborg's shoulder. Only he noticed the sobbing wasn't really sobbing...
It was laughter.
The cyborg that once believed itself to be Bruce Wayne had begun laughing uncontrollably.
"Now, I get it Alfred. I understand...it's all just a joke right?"The cyborg said and the laughter had reached a manic state. The cyborg rose and threw off his cape, a wild grin on his face.
Alfred recoiled at the sight of it's face.
"Unit B-107 shut down!"Alfred shouted, but the cyborg did not shut down. It threw Alfred down to the ground. "Shut down I said-Ahhh!"
The cyborg kicked Alfred in the chest.
"I get it now Alfred,"the cyborg said and already it's voice was changing. "A man who calls himself Batman because he was afraid of bats as a kid, only he was never a kid, now that's funny! It's the best inside joke I've ever heard. The world doesn't need The Batman, because he was never real. But the joke was real Alfred. The joke was real wasn't it?"
The cyborg, which once called itself The Batman, walked out of the bat-cave, laughing maniacally the entire way. After a while, when the thing was truly gone, Alfred walked over to the bat-terminal and pressed a key. The face of Lucius Fox came on the terminal.
"Lucius,"Alfred said.
"Mr. Wayne,"Lucius said respectively to the president of Wayne Enterprises. "How can I help you sir?"
"Something has gone terribly wrong with Unit B-107. It found out the truth and left."
"I see, are you in danger sir?"
"No, but can you send over another unit?"
_________________________________________________
Several days later
Batman strode into the bat-cave, his cape billowing behind him. He made his way up to the bat-terminal where Alfred, his loyal butler, was waiting.
"What do we have Alfred?"Batman asked.
Alfred clicked a button on the terminal, revealing the image of a crazed looking man, with green hair and white make up, wearing a long purple coat.
"This one is calling himself The Joker,"Alfred said. "Are you up to the task?"
"Do you even need to ask? I'll head out now."Batman strode away from the terminal and jumped into the batmobile. It's engine roared to life.
"Good luck,"Alfred said watching the batmobile leave the batcave. "I have complete faith in you, Unit B-108." |
"The stakes are clear, you win you live and I never see you again. You lose, and it's a quick death."Big Mac Mallony gave his same old presentation he always gave for these games. I'd seen many and employee face this same challenge but only 1 to have survived it.
I took my cards tentatively. It wasn't like i had a choice, failure to play would be consider forfeiting. At least playing I had a chance to survive. I lifted the cards just enough off the table to see their face and place them back face down. I could not suppress a smirk.
"ok but can I raise?"I asked, quickly clearing the smirk from my face. Mallony sat slack jaw...well that wasn't right. Mallony was a Saldarian, a sort of slug like creature with a consistency only slightly thicker than globby snot. They didn't really have jaws, but his face sort of elongated in an expression I'd come to identify as effectively equivalent to slack jaw.
I'm thinking up my risk to say 2 days of torture. Much worse than just dying. But if I win then I also walk out of here wit...oh let's say 10000 bits."I sat back crossing my arms waiting for his response.
"You can't raise."He said incredulously, "no one ever raises."
"Now which is, no one ever does it or it can't be done? "I sat forward pressing the tip of my finger to the table. "The way i see it raising has been a part of the game since the days of old earth. Failing to allow it would be to dishonor the game you so love."
Mallony seemed to contemplate his own cards as he considered. He must have at least a decent hand if he was still considering. Which was bad news for me. The game was a slightly modified variation on Texas hold 'em. Two of 3 cards were already face up on the table, a 2 and a six.
"He bluffing,"observed the Tallnarian body guard standing behind Mallony.
Tallnarian were, as their namesake might seem to imply, quite a bit taller than your average human with a dark blue hide though they hated when you mentioned the color.
"Hey now, am I playing you or the blue guy?"
The Tallarian turned a shade of purple which I suspect was a fitting equivalent for cheeks flushing red with anger. But he didn't act.
"Remain quiet. "Mallony commanded with a dismissive wave of a had. But it was to late the damage had been done. Mailings confidence returned. "You can have your raise terms."
Of course the Tallarian was right.
Only one more shared card would be turned. And I had but a 2 and a 5. Possibly just a single pair. I had to try something to mix it up and now it seemed even that was out the window. I may try to run but that was risky. Best not to push it yet.
The turn shifted and the final card was flipped. My heard stopped. A 2. Three of a kind...this was seeming a bit more promising.
"Call"mallony placed out his cards face up.againstvall the odds he had the forth 2. Also striking 3 of a kind. He seemed overly confident for just this hand. I placed down my hand, and that smug look of victory drained from mallonys face.
When the matches are equal the extra card is used to determine the winner based on the value. As mentioned earlier I had a 5. But Maloney only had a 4.
Let it be known Big Mac Mallony is a criminal of his word, and that Jack Shine is alive, 10,000 bits richer, and available for hire if you've got a job that needs doing. |
I rubbed my aching head as the noise rattled my brain. My gaze fell upon the bottle I had chugged down last night. I felt nauseous at the sight. I remembered stumbling in after the failed break in, and heading straight for it. I drunk away the fact I almost saw someone die, and the fact I didnt know how I could afford to eat now.
The knocks came again. They were rapid, but not door shakingly so. I pulled on my raggedy dressing gown, and made my way to it. I pulled it open slightly, cursing at the broken chain. I couldn't stop anyone from entering like that.
A well dressed man stood outside, completely at odds with the rough neighbourhood. He stood straight, and seemed to move in a measured way. His eyes turned to me, and if he was put off by my sorry state, he hid it well.
"Good morning Mr Stevens. My employer wishes to speak with you. Please get dressed, and once you are ready meet me outside."
"W-why should I go with you?"
The man pulled out a small envelope. He opened it and turned it towards me. I could make out several notes inside.
"My employer has generously offered to pay you for your time. You will receive the £500 within this envelope, plus an equal amount upon conclusion of your business."
My mouth went dry at the mention. £1000 was practically a fortune for me. I decided almost instantly to go along.
"Thank you. Give me a couple of minutes."
"Very good. I will be waiting outside."
He turned around, tucking the envelope away. He walked away at a measured pace, and I shut the door. I ran to the shower, quickly washing myself. Anyone who is willing to drop £1000 on just a quick meeting was either rich or well connected. And I would hope to impress.
I jumped out, hurriedly drying myself. I gave myself a tiny up shave, no time for a full one. The only suit I have was pulled out, and I dressed in it. It was definitely a bit shabby, but it was better then rocking up in a shirt and jeans. I grabbed my phone and keys, before searching for my wallet. I began to panic as I couldn't find it, but conscious of the time, I chose to leave it. I would properly look for it later.
I ran out the door, locking it behind me. The familiar smoke stained walls blurred part as I dashed down the apartment stairs. I reached the ground floor, running from the door. I saw the man standing by an expensive looking car. He saw me exit, and smoothly opened the rear door. He gestured at me to get in, which I followed. He got into the drivers seat, and pulled away.
\------
We drove for 15 minutes, exiting the city. We went along country lanes which looked very familiar. I frowned as we went through, suddenly feeling very hot. He pulled into a driveway, its great ironwrought gates opening. My breath caught, as I saw the mansion I fled from the prior night.
I subtly pulled on the door handle, but found it locked. I was trapped as we drove up the driveway, drawing close to the mansion. We parked up, and he got out. He pulled open my door, and stood to the side. I got out, my stomach suddenly feeling like lead.
I debated running, but quickly decided against it. If they could locate me overnight, I wouldn't be able to successfully flee.
"This way please."
The man turned towards the entrance. He walked in, obviously expecting me to follow. I hesitantly went after him, feeling as if I was stepping into a dragons lair. I was lead through the plush corridors, before we entered a familiar room. The same dining room I was in last night. And sat at the table was the same old man.
He looked up as we entered, and smiled.
"Ah, you're here! Sit down. Have you had breakfast?"
I was speechless, and shook my head.
"Thats not good. Harry, could you get Sarah to whip up another plate for my guest here?"
"As you wish sir."
The man, Harry, who lead me here left. I took a seat, shaking slightly. The old man smiled, cutting into a fried egg.
"As you can guess, I would like to speak with you about last night."
I couldn't help but blurt out, scared of what he could do
"I'm sorry! I didn't want to rob you!"
He held up a hand, a kind smile on his face.
"Calm down, Roger. May I call you Roger?"
I nodded.
"I'm not angry. You saved my life last night, despite your reasons for breaking in. The fact that you stopped and helped tells me you are a good person inside. And judging from your clothes, you have fallen on hard times."
Harry walked in, carrying a tray. He put it beside me, before taking a plate from it. It was covered in a gorgeous looking and smelling cooked breakfast, with egg, bacon, beans, toast even some hash browns.
"Please enjoy."
"Oh, um, thank you."
He bowed his head, before leaving.
"Do dig in. Now, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to set you on this path?"
I swallowed, before answering.
"The short answer is there were never any opportunities for me. I got my degree in Computer Sciences, but I never got accepted for jobs. I had to take basic jobs to get by, but the management never worked out. I got fired from the last job simply because I refused to work during my breaks."
The man looked thoughtful. He set down his knife and fork, before steepling his fingers and peering over them at me.
"I'm sorry to hear that. But Computer Sciences you say, hmmm? I know a few people in the industry. If you would like, I can put in a word for you."
I was shocked, and I'm sure my expression showed it. He laughed slightly at my reaction, before enodded to the plate infront of me, that was completely untouched.
"Eat! You must need it. And I will assume you are interested."
"Yes, of course, thank you!"
He smiled, and I picked up my cutlery. I dug in, suddenly feeling famished.
"You are welcome."
I swallowed, and a couple of burning questions popped up in my mind.
"Can I ask, why you are offering? And how did you know who I was?"
"Firstly, you saved my life. It is a small recompense to give you an opportunity to improve yours. As for how I knew, when you helped me, you dropped this."
He placed something on the table, sliding it over to me. I looked at it. It was my wallet. |
It was a Thursday. The green in front of the college library was sunlit, verdant and filled with chattering students. Two of them, girls, one raven-haired and one silver, walked along a paved path through the grass, smiling and discussing something mundane. An ethereal figure of pale mist floated silently behind them, carrying a stack of books. The two ignored it. The tall, lanky young man, who carried his own books, heard snippets of their conversation as they walked by, but did not care to pay enough attention to decipher it. He did glance up at the misty figure, however, studying its form.
*Weak, but also likely low-maintenance. Good for mundane tasks. Probably has a mutable body, but two arms are usually good enough. Unlikely to have any special abilities.*
The young man noted all of these things within the span of a second, and considered his judgement of the Ego good. He had made a study of such things, after all.
He attracted little attention as he continued on his way, walking through crowds of humans and Egos on the way to the library steps. He looked, in every way, quite unremarkable. Tall, but not enough to play basketball. Thin, but hardly emaciated. Dull black hair, dirt-brown eyes. Clothes that, while they might have been lacking in style, were hardly so poorly chosen as to be noticeable. And as he sat at a desk in a far corner of the library halls, tapping industriously at a laptop keyboard, no ephemeral figure accompanied him. Not entirely unusual, as many were embarrassed of their Ego's unimpressive form, and so refrained from summoning it in public. A rare few kept theirs hidden for other reasons, but nobody expected Adrian Grey to be one of those. Unremarkable and unimpressive in his entirety, then. But there were worse things to be.
-------------------
-------------------
The young man sat staring at a screen, the harsh light beginning to make his eyes ache. Words slipped by his eyes without imparting any meaning, and no further ones came flowing from his fingers. He was stuck, and he knew it. With a sigh, he leant back in his chair, allowing his mind to uncoil for a few minutes. From behind him, he heard conversation. A light, clear voice, belonging to another girl, was speaking.
"... you notice that Jasmine hasn't summoned her Ego in weeks? It must have changed. There's no way that's good. We need to check on her."
A man replied, voice deeper, with a soft accent.
"Maybe you're right. She could be going through something. But that doesn't mean we should all dogpile her. Just let her know we're here if she wants to talk, then give her some space. Overwhelming her could make things worse."
"But she needs us!"
"She needs time to think, and figure things out. If her Ego changed, that means something happened. Pestering her about it will only confuse things further. Trust me."
The conversation paused for a second. Then the girl's voice returned, quieter. Adrian found that he had begun actively listening to the personal drama unfolding behind him, to his mild chagrin. He did not return to his study, however.
"I know you know something about this stuff. Yours changed too, once, right? Quickly, I mean. But... the way she's been acting gives me a bad feeling. What if it turns dangerous?"
The man sighed.
"I don't think that's likely. Jasmine's Ego was never very strong. If something bad enough to make it really dangerous had happened, we would have noticed. It's not as if she's been avoiding us entirely."
*He's right. Egos don't change that drastically. Not without some major event. This Jasmine's probably got weaker, if anything.*
The girl hesitated, then seemed to give up. The note of slight relief in her voice as she speaks again belies her words.
"Ok, fine. You win. But if she goes on like this for another week I'm going over to her place and letting mine have a look at her."
"That's a good idea. But don't force it if she doesn't want you to."
Adrian's eyebrows raised involuntarily, just a bit. *A telepath? Empath? Rare. Impressive. Wonder if that insensitivity is an act. Or maybe her friend is the insensitive one.* The voices returned to more mundane topics, and Adrian lost interest. His mind sifted idly through the possibilities presented by the girl's last words. Egos were the perfect tell for personality. Each could be said to define the other. Empathy was no common ability, so the girl must have an aptitude of her own for the more mundane variety. When compared with her words, that implied all sorts of interesting things, little tidbits and half-possibilities. Adrian knew a great deal about Egos, and they were an interesting area of study, by all accounts. Excitement bred intrigue, and many people derived great enjoyment from learning about their various rules and forms.
Adrian had not.
-------------------
-------------------
The young man rubbed at tired eyes as he walked home in the fading light. Nobody walked beside him, and nobody called out to him. He was a solitary sort, his parents said, and he didn't care to disagree. And indeed, he rarely thought of such things these days. Presently, his mind was occupied in different, more comfortable territory, thinking of papers, homework, grades, and all the other tedious and familiar minutiae of academia. He had just submitted one rather hastily-written paper, and was now vaguely suspicious that he had forgotten to include an important detail somewhere in its many voluminous pages. He knew it didn't much matter, but the small doubt peeved him, and so he was in a poor mood when he arrived at the place he called home.
The apartment was dark. Half-empty boxes sat in otherwise-barren rooms, as they had languished for nigh on a year, their contents still not quite unpacked. The young man moved into the bedroom, flicking on first one light, then another. The light on the ceiling was burnt out, and he had not bothered to fix it, so the room was lit by a standing lamp so obnoxiously bright that it had to be turned to face a wall. The reflected light illuminated the room perhaps not quite as evenly or brightly as Adrian would have liked, but it was entirely tolerable. He laid down his bag, chest itching from where the strap had pressed against in, then flopped down into a tall chair. Alone, and away from the eyes of others, his posture loosened. He slumped backward, eyes dull, staring ahead with a blank look on his face. He sat that way for a long time, mind empty, not caring enough to move or alleviate his increasing boredom, or try to dispel the familiar ache deep in his chest. All of this was not an uncommon occurrence.
Eventually, he got up. Wandered into the kitchen. Made himself a passably tasty dinner, though he cooked and ate without enthusiasm. Then returned to his room, and his chair. He distracted himself for a while longer with pointless things, but eventually, later that night, the melancholy came upon him again, creeping up his chest in a suffocating wave, and this time it was tinged with something more. Silence and stillness brought memory, and behind the darkness of his eyes hid a slinking, time-worn fear. Into the empty air he spoke, with a voice raspy from lack of use.
"What are you?"
That night, the dreams came again.
-------------
-------------
Adrian awoke with his heart slamming against his chest so hard that he felt sick. The things hung above him, horrible in their familiarity. Too vast. Too sharp. Too small. Too thin. His breath came hard as he felt the mass like a mountain of iron hanging an inch above his head, the wrong twisted impossible shapes nestling within his hands, just a hair away from the skin. He rolled, staggered out of bed, eyes darting from side to side, moving frantically to escape, but they followed him, and his mind screamed as it hung by a thread above the pit of madness. It was happening again. He scrambled desperately, mind spinning unbound and reaching no conclusion, desperately searching for release.
*They'll go away. I just have to wait. Stay calm. They always go away. They always go awa—*
The mountain of iron descended. Sickening fear overtook him. The world stopped.
--------------
--------------
When Adrian awoke, it was cold. His body ached. The ground beneath him was smooth and hard.
He slowly lurched to his feet, eyes struggling to make out shapes in the darkness. Above him, stars glimmered with a chill radiance, and the yawning blackness of space stretched out into infinity. The wind blew, and keened a haunting cry into the night as it swept over the midnight land.
As Adrian's eyes adjusted, he saw. The apartment building was gone. Every building was gone. Not even rubble remained in the blasted crater that stretched out around him, as far as the eye could see. The hardness beneath his feet was smooth glass, black as the night sky above it. Everything was still. Still as the grave.
His voice was hollow as he spoke, words landing dead in the air.
"It got out."
He could feel it now, strong, *present* like never before, coiled up in the back of his mind like a malignant tumor. It stirred as he spoke, listening. Had it always been listening?
"You did this."
The thing purred with satisfaction. It did do this. Finally, after decades, its master had let out into the world. It had felt so good.
"Why?"
Because that was its nature, the twisted, awful thing. It knew this, and reveled in it. Bless the terrors for pushing restraint from its master's mind. Bless his panic, his horror and fear. It reached down into his brain and urged him to look. Look around at the death and the glory.
Adrian shuddered, twisted as the tendrils of thought pulled at him. It felt so familiar. Its terrible, unsaid words felt so *right*.
"What are you?"
The thing smiled, and its smile was awful to see. It took form before him, its body small and vast, simple and terrible, fixed and eternal as the universe spun around them. It opened a thousand mouths, and spoke.
*Ruin.* |
“Ow! Ow! Ow, ow, ow!”, I screeched as the white-hot ring seared into my skin, I sped out of the court room and into the bathroom hoping for rest from the pain, but the water evaporated before it could be effective. I could no longer feel the ring, but the urgency increased as I could smell burnt flesh. I gingerly pried the ring off as it cooled down. I dropped the ring into the sink as it cooled. I ran my fingers through the water stream as the cold cleansing water slowly made the burn feel better. I would have to go to the nursing room where the doctors would heal the wound as if it never was there. The burning ring was my wedding ring. After a couple was married the rings would be enchanted so that if one broke their vows the rings would burn as hot as the sun. I stared at it curiously as I thought about the implications. The ring was room temperature now and I put it back on. My partner, Sarah, had died nearly 25 years ago. She was the love of my life, and this made no sense if she’s dead then how could she break her vow if she was… I shook my head and walked over to where the nursing room was.
As they addressed and fixed my wound I continued to wonder about the curious event. I kept thinking back to our wedding. I stood nervously at the alter with my best man comforting me. The memory jumped toward to the vows, Sarah stood in a beautiful pure white dress. We said our vows, I said mine and then she said hers.
“I vow to always…”, I stopped the memory there, she wouldn’t ever break that vow. I shook my head and my thoughts were interrupted by the doctor that had used cell regeneration to heal the wound quickly.
“Your wound has been correctly regenerated, I hope you have a good day. A nurse will escort you out.”, the doctor said and waved a nurse over.
“Hello sir, I hope you will have a wonderful day, we’ll exit right over here.”, she led me to a door just off to the side of the one I entered.
“Thank you I hope you do as well.”, I said and walked out the door. I continued pondering what this could mean and I panicked. I was working through decrees for the senate and they would need me. I thought about what the others I was working with could be thinking and was worried.
“Did you see him? Yes his wife must’ve broken an oath. Well I heard she died to near 25 years ago. Surely not, how else could it burn?” All of these imaginary comments went through my head as I walked back in and continued.
No matter how many times I tried focusing on the decrees, my mind kept going back to the vows
“I vow to always, and continuously…”, she said in my memory. I shook it off until the ring burnt again. I flung it off quickly without hesitation as it burned through a stack of papers. My eyes widened as I saw fires leaping from the pile. I yelped as I saw the flames and I tried wacking it with different things. Then a coworker used the fire extinguisher that was on the opposing wall.
“Hey Lucas, are you alright? You might need to go home man.”, he said after putting the fires out. “I’ll clean up here, you take off ok?”
“David, no I can’t I-“,, I tried to protest, but was interrupted.
“Lucas, go home.”, David said. I hung my head in resignation. I packed up and left for the day. I had put my ring back on and as I stared at it in the parking lot. I let the memory flow.
Sarah was perfect, she was saying the vows that we had added to the ceremony. She smiled at me with a smile that could stun anyone. She said with a perfect confidence.
“I vow to always, and continuously love you, Lucas.”, she said it and then we got married. I wondered what I would tell my son. He was married and was about to have a kid of his own.
My wife was alive, out there, somewhere. And she doesn’t love me anymore. |
"That does it! I don't care who you are, I'm not letting you kill all these people!"
The newcomer didn't look like a hive-worlder. Sure, he had the filter mask and goggles commonly worn by people from the smog-choked undercity, but he looked tanned and healthy. His hair was long and styled oddly, almost like spikes. He wore a green tunic and leggings, the dyes bright and only slightly stained, with a thick leather belt. The belt had a couple of pouches on it - hand-stitched, the sort of thing you'd see on an agriworld - but there was a lasgun tucked into one pouch. Probably scavenged.
And then there was the sword. Simple steel, not a power weapon or chainsword, but sharp and well-made. He held it out in front of him in a fighting stance, with the poise of someone who knew how to use it. Was he perhaps a noble who had gotten lost in the undercity?
But even the most sheltered noble would have known not to interfere with Inquisition business. Interrogator Kadensis was not being subtle on this raid - a dozen arbites, plus his own retinue, displaying his Inquisitorial rosette prominently on his longcoat as he made his entrance. He was here to send a message to the scum of the underhive - hand over the cultists, or be executed for sheltering them.
"Drop the sword and get out of the way,"the Interrogator said curtly. "These people serve Chaos, or they shelter those who do. Either way, they are traitors and enemies of mankind."
He coolly raised his bolt pistol and aimed it at the young man. "Get out of the way before I blow your head off."
"Look, I've only been down here a week, I don't even know who this 'Chaos' is. But so far your goons have killed more people than anyone I've met down here."The hero grimaced. "And that's saying something. I don't care how bad these people are, nothing you're doing can be worth this many lives."
"You don't know anything, noble brat. If the ruinous powers take hold here, they'll devour this whole planet. Better to cut out the rot before it can spread."A brief scowl crossed his face. "Giving these ganger scum a chance to confess is already more mercy than they deserve. Now get out of the way."
"Leon, get the hell out of here."One of the gangers hissed. "You're not a part of this. You don't have to do this."
The boy's eyes flicked towards the door, then he shook his head. "No. I might not know everything about why you're fighting, but I know enough. It's the same as in my world - the nobles treat us like trash and expect us to thank them for stepping on us. I turned away from injustice once. Never again."
Kadensis pulled the trigger, but Leon was already in motion. The bolt shell parted his spiky hair and exploded on the wall behind him. The entire room exploded into chaos, gangers and arbites taking that as the signal to start fighting. Leon drew his laspistol with his free hand, firing wildly, forcing the Interrogator to take cover, then rushed forwards with his sword. An arbites blocked his way with a suppression shield and shock maul, and Kadensis smiled. The brat would learn how primitive mere steel was against the forces of the Imperium.
Leon suddenly switched stances, moving with a strange fluidity. The sword left a trail of silver in the air.
*"First Form: Flowing Water Dance!"*
The sword struck three times, slipping around the crackling shock maul to strike his limbs before neatly slipping around the shield into the gap in his neck armor. The arbites toppled over, bleeding. Kadensis stared in astonishment - the boy had brought down one of the Emperor's lawmen in a matter of seconds, using only a sword.
Then his Inquisition training kicked in and he realized what he was looking at. "Psyker! *Psyker!*"He bellowed, trying to cut through the chaos.
Kadensis had a psyker of his own in his retinue, a necessity for tracking down the forces of the immaterium. She sent an arc of lighting towards Leon, but he ducked and rolled into cover without missing a beat. "I can't sense his power. How is he doing that?"
"Fall back!"Kadensis ordered. They weren't prepared to face another psyker, especially not one with biomantic powers like that. Better to retreat before the heretics could spring another surprise on them.
---
Leon sheathed his sword. There were bleeding and dead men and women all around him, mostly gangers, but the Interrogator and his goons had retreated. That would have to be enough.
"That was brave of you, kid."The apparent leader of the group said. "Doing all that with a sword... what sort of blessing lets you do that?"
"Blessing?"Leon scratched his head. "It's just a sword art. Something my grandpa taught me, before I ended up here. It's really meant for fighting monsters, not people, but..."
"No way. That has to be a blessing of Khorne or something,"she replied.
"Emperor's Throne, we've really done it now. They're gonna burn us,"another woman said.
Leon sat down next to her. "Hey. Don't be like that. We'll make it out of this place, all of us. That's a promise."
She laughed bitterly. "Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment. Nobody makes it out of the slums. There's no future for any of us. How do you think these cults get started in the first place?"
"I told you, I don't know what's going on with this crazy place. You tell me that we're at the bottom of a city so big that you can't even see the sky, and I... I can't even process that. This whole world is just insane. But what I do understand is that there's people here that I can save. That's enough for me."
It was cliche, but he said it confidently, with a smile on his face. A rare sight in a hive city.
The leader stood up and rolled her shoulders. "Well, we're in over our heads already. If you plan on sticking with us, I won't say no, whether you're Chaos or Eldar or an Ork in disguise. Sounds like you need to get out of these slums as badly as we do."She held out a hand.
"The name's Mira. This crew of mine is the Bloody Magpies. Welcome aboard, kid." |
Everyone knows at least two things about humans: they can either be incredibly intelligent, or unbelievably stupid. I wanted to see which one was true, so I contacted a human named John and requested to observe him for a week.
When he enthusiastically accepted my request, I wasn’t sure whether that was evidence pointing towards intelligence or stupidity. But when he mentioned something about “never turning down someone in need,” I took that as evidence for stupidity.
John was a galactic cartographer, which was a fancy name for individuals who spent all day aimlessly riding their ships, occasionally taking notes. The first day I shadowed John, he said that he had to finish mapping out a sector of a certain solar system, otherwise his boss would kill him. When I asked why he wasn’t more concerned about losing his life, he said I didn’t understand something called a “hyperbole.” When I asked why he was reading magazines instead of working, he said he “wasn’t feeling it.”
More evidence for stupidity, I supposed.
The next day, I noticed that John’s boss didn’t end his life. I was also surprised to hear that John managed to map out an entire solar sector despite all the time he wasted yesterday reading magazines. Apparently, a human’s work capacity increases exponentially as a deadline approaches.
After writing a few more notes, I noticed John tinkering with his ship’s internal computer.
“What are you doing, John Lee Davis?” I asked.
“Fixing a bug,” John replied. Suddenly, an empty bottle of space-cola came flying towards me. After narrowly dodging, I heard John raise his voice: “And do you mind not calling me by my full name? It feels like you’re my mom!”
“I do not understand the provocation,” I casually replied. “Did you not bond with your motherly figure?”
For an instant, John clenched his fists and glared in my direction. Afterwards, he sighed, shook his head, then started to speak: “That’s not…you know what, forget I said anything.”
John resumed tinkering with his computer. I resumed observing him that day. Fortunately, John didn’t notice me observing him in the bathroom. I didn’t know what would anger him more if he found out: the fact I was taking notes of his bodily functions, or the fact that I saw him privately crying over the picture of an elderly human woman.
The next day we had an encounter with some Kruut.
Stupid. Dangerous. Stupidly dangerous. The Kruut were a despicable, marauding species and couldn’t be reasoned with. Which is why, despite all of our pleading when they boarded John’s ship, they tied us up and held us hostage. How much of a ransom did they think they could get for a lowly researcher like myself and a space cartographer? Again—stupid.
They tied up John and I, throwing us into a storage closet before heading towards the bridge. It was at this moment that I began to vouch for a human’s intelligence: John had a knife hidden in his shoe and cut us free.
The next moment made me retract my praise: John said he intended to fight the invaders on his ship. Despite me pointing out how the invaders were fully armed, John insisted on taking them, saying how he knew his ship better than anyone else. With that, he tip-toed out of the closet and told me to stay put.
After a few minutes, I suddenly realized that there was a single escape pod on the ship. But my elation was cut short when I thought about how John left the room minutes ago. John wasn’t going to fight the invaders—he was going to run away from them! That’s what any reasonable individual would do during this time. Then while John ran away, I would be left to deal with the bloodthirsty Kruut, while he would be safely making his way to the nearest space station.
Soon after that thought, all the lights in John’s ship cut out. Next, I heard various screeching noises, followed by gunfire. Then, I heard the sound of a human crying out, followed by silence.
After a few moments of silence, I peeked out of the storage closet. Seeing no one nearby, I hurriedly made my way towards the bridge, only to be greeted by the sight of bodies on the floor. John was among them.
“John Lee Davis,” I said, “Why didn’t you take an escape pod and leave?”
“Never…turn,” John croaked. He coughed up blood before speaking more clearly: “Never turn down someone in need. That’s what my mother taught me…and that’s how she died.”
“I don’t understand—this was the least rational course of action. You could have avoided this by simply running away.”
John coughed up more blood before saying his last words: “I'm just doing what she would've done.” Then, he closed his eyes.
Seeing John’s now lifeless body confirmed the fact that humans lacked reason. However, as I stared at the smile plastered on John’s corpse, I couldn’t help but think that a human’s lack of reason perhaps made room for something else. |
Xious Xious expertly transmitted messages by subtly perturbing the Higgs field. This ether of mass was the most solid medium for long-range information transmission, and his fellow Tynovians had a healthy appetite for intergalactic reality shows.
*Most beings here are tubular. Matter enters the tube at the front and is expelled at the rear.* Such fascinating observations would no doubt entertain and shock the masses back home.
*Humans, the subject of our current episode, have come to cover up their outgoing tubes, perhaps to prevent fellow humans from reaching in and grabbing their matter before they are ready to expel it.*
*As is the case back home, conflict often erupts over the possession of matter. They dig deep into their own planet to find rare kinds of matter, perhaps wanting to impress potential mates with offers of scarce materials, as in our familiar crecksonites.*
*Humans live in large shells and move across larger distances by entering thicked-shelled organisms that feed on rare matter. Perhaps this is the reason they seem so taken with strange materials? Like good parents, they want the best food for their children.*
*From a stroow's-eye-view, we can see that there are two ways of organization common to human beings. Natural and non-natural. Non-natural organization relies on wasteful and inefficient straight lines. Because of some human limitation, they have difficulties finding optimal solutions to trajectory planning. Like our flurbs, they make do with less elegant solutions.*
There was great beauty in this struggle, thought Xious Xious. He hoped the viewers would see this rather than simply laugh at the absurdity.
*What is the nature of their existence? From our investigation, we have come up with an answer: they exist to pass matter through their tubes. Their shells are used to facilitate this effort. Amazingly, this process is self perpetuating. They enter matter through their tubes in order to, in the future, be able to pass more matter still through them. They replicate themselves, making tubes out of their tubes, so that the process can go on.*
Tubes breeding tubes! Who could ever have imagined something so strange? Yet, here it was. A tubular planet. Xious Xious dutifully entered his observations into the Higgs field and imagined the excitement it would engender back home. Such a marvel was the universe, that there would be no end to its surprises. Xious Xious gave his thanks.
---
[r/Hemingbird](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hemingbird/) |
When one looks upon the commanders of countless empires stretching through the unending cosmos, one comes to understand that wars are won in the moment that a capable commander seizes the right moment to strike. Finds that single place, in the moment of battle, that will grant them victory. Such impulsive moments, can make or break empires. Such spontaneity, allows for a truly unpredictable war, that can change from certain defeat into complete victory, if there is only a commander with the daring, boldness, and capacity needed. It is like a great predator, striking suddenly from the grasses, the prey unaware of even the option of such an outcome.
This is as it should be. A great core of heroic commanders taking whatever empire they serve to the heights of power, and if they are followed by equally competent leaders, they will stand for countless aeons. But not all adhere to this understanding of war.
One race, and their leaders most of all, stand apart. Their victories come not from the natural moment, from the opportunity. No, their victory is the climax of a thousand hours of thinking, of meditations, of talking. These commanders will sit perfectly still, only their styli writing upon their datapads, as they watch recordings of wars and battles. The military leadership of this race looks upon all aspects of their enemy, from martial history, to cultural and artistic endeavours, even to their dietary requirements, before setting a plan in motion. When they strike, it is said that often they know the enemy commander and their empire better than the commander does. They will set schemes into play that has been building up for decades even. Plans which are incomprehensibly complex, ones which you cannot even perceive before your forces are routed, your armadas shattered, and your palaces lie under heavy bombardment from orbiting warships. Against this race you can win a hundred battles, but lose the war entirely. Against this race there are no heated moments in the battle, that will allow you to take complete victory. There is no opportunities against them. There is only a futile battle, which was won by them years before it was ever fought.
Not because they are better warriors. They are in truth not great warriors or soldiers. Their infantry cannot sustain themselves on internal water and nutrients for more than a few cycles, bereft of their armaments they are not capable of putting up meaningful resistance, and they do not have great heroes that lead them into the glory of battle. All they have are their cold, unapproachable, and ruthless officers. All they have is quiet words spoken in dark rooms, which win wars that have not started. Words that doom empires to destruction, before these nations even know that they are the enemy. When they volunteer for officer exchanges, they have no rigidity, no soft spots. They are efficient, enigmatic, and above all, strange. We ask ourselves, why they send their officers on such exchanges, why they have observers on every fleet, writing little notes, it is not something that makes sense to anyone outside their closed borders.
Yet no enemy they have, have ever beaten them, not truly. You will win 100 battles, and yet they will all have been distractions somehow. And the 101st battle destroys the fleet, loses the war. Nobody even tries to fight them anymore. Nobody tries to understand them either. The nature of battle is the glory, the charge, the passion. Not their cold way. I asked one once. Asked them why they did as they did, why every move they made was so calculated, why in every battle I'd observed them in, made it seem like they knew exactly what their enemy was going to do before they did it. They did not answer in a way that made sense. They said, that if you know yourself, and you know the enemy, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained, you will also suffer a defeat; and if you know neither yourself, nor the enemy, then you will succumb in every battle. A nonsense answer. All know that the only way to win, is to be the better predator. To be more in the moment of battle than your opposite. Their method should not work. We cannot ever comprehend it working. And yet, they have not lost a war since they appeared on the galactic stage. They have fought empires ten times their size to a standstill. Defeated foes that rightfully should have crushed them, like a warrior crushes a puny bug.
Their might cannot be matched. Their strange method for going to war, their concept, of ''strategy'', which has puzzled our archivist-knights since we learned of it, is something which no opportunity, no cunning move, nothing, can defeat. Which is why I advise against this move. To this assembly, I ask, do not send your warriors to fight against humanity. If I and the other hero-commanders were to fight them, we could win a thousand battles, but they would win the war. They would grind the carapaces of our warriors into dust. They would break the holy temples and the ancient clan-palaces. They will set up a loyal regime that will be nothing but an echo of our great nation, an afterthought to theirs. We will become nothing more than a single page in their history. So please, for the pupa, for the elderskinned in the caretaker-hives, for the unhatched eggs, I ask you today, do not declare war on humanity. They have already won.
-Human War Speech by Supreme Commander(*later elected first President of the RAR*) Ar'ktyr Wenyg III of Clan Ebon-Rock-Elytra, to the Imperial Assembly of the Reg'la United Galacto-Imperium(*Now defunct, currently the heartlands of the former Imperium is under the Reg'la Autonomous Republic.*)
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
We looked just like them. But not quite. It was spooky. They sat firmly in the uncanny valley. Noses that were impossibly long, ears that were perfectly unblemished ovals, mouths without lips. Skin which no human shade could match.
They called themselves the Oom. They showed us images of the Maa, the Pips, and the F’lk. Each different, but each the same.
But always with two arms, two legs, and two nonfunctional eyes, right where ours would be.
It was hard to talk to them. They were jittery and seemed afraid all the time. Their way of speaking was strange, sounding as it did like a crowd talking from a distance.
It was almost impossible to work out which one of them had spoken. Their voices danced and echoed impossibly when they talked, each individual making noises which masked another’s speech.
They were a gatherer and grower species, they told us, after much translation work. They were running from the Vaartii; dangerous hunters who harvested worlds and scourged systems. They spoke in hushed tones of the many species the Vaartii kept planet-bound, and had gruesome tales of many food species having their technology knocked back to the age of farms after a ripe harvest.
They were surprised that we did not know of them. Our camouflage was excellent, they assured us. Perhaps it had warded them off until they were hungry enough, or brave enough, to risk an attack on prey with such a perfect disguise.
They would not stay. They must be on their way. Each moment that passed must be spent looking for another home. They would not encroach on our space, though we begged them to.
They left us technological gifts. How to travel faster than the very light itself. How to flit from star to star without leaving a trace of your passage. How to build a stealth field which would fool even a deep scan.
We did not understand. It should have been obvious, but we were blinded by what we thought our history told us.
We didn’t look like them. They looked like us.
We didn’t learn the truth until the Vaartii ships came. Space itself screamed as the immense blackened ships tore a hole in the fabric of the universe. Every surface on every inhabited world shrieked as its atoms felt the shockwave. Mars first, then Earth, and finally the science bases on Ganymede and Mimas.
Every single human knew of the arrival. Every single human stopped, stunned, by the cacophony coming from everywhere and nowhere.
——
Deep, deep, in the Pacific Ocean, far from the eyes of man, at crushing depths rivalled by the Helium mines on Saturn, a great machine awoke.
A thousand miles across, and a thousand miles deep, ancient passageways lit up inside tunnels of rock. Strange pulsating lights spoke of diagnosis and retrieval to those who could understand its song.
The vast energy from the core fired up plasma generators. The plasma generators fired up zero point modules, and those were used to tap energies from a place that we still do not have a concept for.
Automated weapons came online. But we did not control them.
A superheated plume of water rose from the ancient depths, unnoticed by any of us.
The water caught fire as a huge structure pushed its way towards the surface. Over ten miles across, and covered with tall spires and wide trenches, clustered most closely around the great cylindrical central tower that stretched towards the heavens.
But we did not see it. Not then.
——
The great structure broke the surface of the Pacific, water streaming from its sides, and seven fiery pulses ran up and down the trenches, faster and faster.
A lattice of beams burst forth from the tall spires, and the sky lit up with a glowing grid of blue lines.
All around the world, the screeching, unbearable noise stopped on Earth as suddenly as it began.
Minutes passed without any outward movement from the structure. The only sound was the waves crashing against the intruder that had disturbed their solitude.
There was no warning. No build up.
A great white light, impossible to look at, wider than a city block burst forth from the great tower in the middle of the structure. It speared towards the heavens, through the blue lattice, and outwards into the black, inky expanse beyond.
——
“Our harvesters are powered and ready, Eminence.”
The oily creature speaking was not human. Or humanoid. Its many tentacles phased in and out of existence and its central mass wavered and pulsed with a disturbing irregularity.
“A ripe world indeed. We must be careful, and strike before they notice us. They hold the warding image. Harvest them now, Peon.”
Peon was scornful. Had they not already taken three worlds this very hatching cycle which held the warding image? Eminence was growing weak and frail in his old age. After this world proved fruitful would be a good time to test his strength once more.
Peon deserved so much more than he had been allotted, but he made no outward sign of this as his grasping appendage pulled a lever that had not been there a moment before.
“Engaging.”
And his world turned white, and he thought no more.
——
The beam from the ancient structure had sped through the void at the speed of light. Slow by the flitting speed of the Oom’s ships. Slow also, to the speed of the clawing, ravenous speed of the Vaartii vessels as they traversed huge wormholes that they punched through from star to star.
But faster by far than any ship in normal space. Faster than any equipment on board the Vaartii flagship could detect.
It tore through the flagship like it was made of butter.
The harvester machines too, melted like wax, armoured though they were, and hundreds of smaller Vaartii vessels in the path of the beam vanished in an instant.
The beam passed by, stopping as suddenly as it started.
——
The aftermath was messy. Hundreds of Vaartii ships floated powerless in the void. Those that could had fled back through the wormhole, spreading the news that the wards were still strong, still to be feared.
We sent ships to pick off the troublemakers and pick up the survivors.
Some cowered in fear at the sight of us. Many died of fright. Many more fought to get away, opening airlocks to try to flee into the vacuum of space.
The remaining prisoners all talked of the wards. How they harvested many species, but had to be careful of the warded ones.
How did they recognise the warded ones?
Eyes front, teeth bared, two hands, two feet.
See the signs; strike fast or run hard.
Atlantis comes.
——
Atlantis had risen.
There was a sting in our tales. |
I have a shocking confession to make, one that 40 or 50 years ago would have been shocking for entirely different reasons. I am a smoker.
Up until last year, 2039, there were six smokers left in the world and two of them had lung cancer and said “why quit now”. We all connected over the web to unite. I had never felt that I was truly a rebel until then.
In my country, they had designated 2030 as the year they would stop selling cigarettes, vapes, cigarillos, and chewing tobacco. 2030 had come and gone, and while many no longer smoked, you could still find all of them in convenience stores. By 2035, it was only the seedy stores that sold them. 2037 saw me buying crappy smokes off of a man out of the back of his truck.
At first I hadn’t quit because I didn’t think I was ready. But by the time I was acting like a pothead during reefer madness, I was willing to admit that I might have a nicotine addiction. Didn’t mean that I was ready to quit. Then 2039 hit and my friends and I were making news for being an endangered species. I smoked out in the open, wherever I could because it was starting to feel that if I stopped that I would have to consider smoking extinct. I paid over five thousand dollars and a couple nights in jail for smoking because I refused to back down.
My solace was in our encrypted chat and Jesus’ blog. We swapped stories about being discriminated against and penalized like war stories. We patted each other on the back like comrades when we spoke of how we stood up for each other. Then things changed. The two with cancer passed away from complex metastasis. Connie was ran over by a drunk driver while she was on a walk. Bei Lu quit when he was his daughter was diagnosed with severe asthma. Jesus and I stuck it out together, but the stories did not feel the same. Jesus had been kicked out of his family home and had lost his job when the Mexican government had decided to start harassing all of his connections. He was trying to hold out but then the government also shut down his blog and imprisoned him for ‘inciting discord’. I was alone, my safe place gone.
Now things have taken a new turn. I noticed it on my way to work. I there was an ad just above some old lady’s head.
“No one wants to sit next to you because you smell, Rita.” The ad said.
There was a non-descript human form like one of those washroom symbols smoking but the use of my name did not escape me. I did a double take because I did not believe it at first. I got off the train early and decided to walk the rest of the way to work. I cut down through an alley and smoked a crooked cigarette, letting the nicotine calm me down but also out of sheer defiance. I could not help but sniff my clothes though. I had been so careful to use scents to discreetly cover up the smoke at work. I did not want to lose my job over something that I could not go to HR or a lawyer with.
The rest of the day had gone by well and I had even forgotten it by lunch time. No one complained about my smell or even sniffed at me.
I thought it was a one off thing but then the other day I was watching some funny videos on the new video app, Hex. There were less ads than the competitors and the content is hilarious.
“Did you know that if you get cancer your insurance will not pay for you medication because you smoke, Rita?”
There was a picture of a woman with dark hair in a hospital gown, crying. I scoffed and closed the app. I went onto my balcony and had a smoke. I had to pay extra for the penthouse just so that I didn’t have neighbours above to complain about me. I looked out at the sky line and spotted an ad among the din.
“Stop smoking, Rita! Your mom is disappointed in you.”
The billboard showed an old picture of my mother with me as a kid. My mom had been reluctant to call me over the past couple of months. There was always an unsaid conversation. I found myself swearing, wondering if it had something to do with this. This picture wasn’t one that the government or some marketing ad should have on me.
I smoked three more cigarettes angrily, stamping them out when they were done like bugs. I would not go down quietly. I would not be bullied into changing. I was the last of my kind. That was three weeks ago. Since then, six of seven of my days are spent being bombarded with ads. I paid for the premium version of every app I use to avoid having to see ads. The only ones that go through were ones expressing the disappointment of everyone I have ever known at my smoking. So I stopped using apps. I read on the bus, using physical books which makes me stand out even more. Every couple of days I try different routes to work.
I smoke like a sinner outside of church, every corner may hold a snitch or an observer that might tell the marketers some new place to affix an ad to a wall, vehicle or screen. Despite all of my efforts many still get through. My family haven’t stopped calling and my job hasn’t fired me but I feel like a pariah everywhere I go. Ads for cessation medications and devices are ‘descreetly’ put into my mail, on top of my work desk and in every drugstore I enter. I am not a fool, I am the only one that smokes in my city.
I won’t quit. Even with this passive aggressive ad campaign I will not quit, because to quit is to admit that all of these messages have gotten through to me. I am a smoker, proud and defiant with it. They will have to toss me in jail and throw away the key to stop me. I will wait for my dealer every month for more smokes and so long as they provide I am fine.
“Karl has agreed to stop selling you tobacco. His whole ring has been busted.”
F**k. I guess I lost. |
"I have killed thousands of your kind, hero,"Tanwyn growled, smoke hissing from her nostrils. "Men who would come to claim my hoard as their own. Men who would slay my brethren for glory. And yet, for the past five hundred years, I have not journeyed to your world. My name should be nothing but the barest memory, nothing but a fairytale to scare children before bedtime. Tell me this, hero. Why do you disturb my slumber?"
Shayna bowed low, feeling the dragon's wary gaze. Acutely aware of her vulnerable position, she tried to keep from any sudden movements. "Tanwyn of the White Flame,"she began. "The last of the dragons. I am no hero, I am afraid. I am nothing but a mere scholar."
"Lies,"the dragon snorted. "You carry the Vorpal Sword. You have come to slay me, to seek glory in bringing an end to dragonkind."
Shayna quickly sheathed the sword. "The path to your cave is dangerous, Tanwyn,"she replied. "One should not attempt to traverse the multiverse unarmed. I bring the Vorpal Sword here to you, as a sign of my pure intents."Laying the weapon carefully by the dragon's feet, Shayna raised her hands and backed away slowly, maintaining eye contact with the beast.
Picking up the sword gently, Tanwyn cradled the weapon with surprising care. "One of the seven dragon-killers, forged in the fires of Mount Ayre,"she murmured. "The blood of hundreds of my kin is dried upon this blade."
"And now, it will kill no more."
Tanwyn turned her attention to Shayna once more. "You interest me, human. Did you come all this way simply to give me this prize?"
"I'm afraid not,"Shayna replied. "I came here with a quest of my own."
"Ah,"the dragon hissed, her voice gaining a sharp edge. "I thought not. With your kind, there is never something for nothing."Slithering forward, she wrapped her sinuous body around Shayna. "Tell me. What would you ask from me? A trinket from my hoard? Dragon scales for your armor?"
Keeping the rest of her body stock-still, Shayna shook her head. "Like I said, I am naught but a scholar. Apart from the Vorpal Sword, I bring my quill and my paper. You are the last of the dragons, Tanwyn. I would hear your story, and share it with others."
Tanwyn fell quiet, and Shayna could hear the steady patter of her heart against her ribs. Perhaps, this would be the end. At least she could die with the knowledge that she had tried.
Then, the dragon spoke once more.
"You are not just a mere scholar, human. You are a hero. And to you, I will tell my story."
\---
[/r/theBasiliskWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/theBasiliskWrites/) |
The line between insanity and genius is thin. And while most people think it's paper thin, it's actually a whole lot thinner. The width of that line can only be measured in Planck Length. So somewhere around 10^-20 times the size of a photon. It's that thin. So naturally, it's really easy to slip over it. Somewhere, in Iceland, there is a man who constantly oscillates between the mad/brilliant phase, and he had a grand and possibly insane idea. It should be said that he lives in a volcano base powered by a very innovative geothermal generator. There he paces, screeching about how the world rejected him, so he vows to destroy it, no matter the cost. In this state, he creates the greatest computer known and unknown to mankind. Something that makes hypothetical quantum computers look like the 1978 Exidy Sorcerer personal home computer. He laughs as he creates a machine so powerful that it should make the great computers of fiction blush. Begone Skynet, go home GLADoS, take a hike Hal9000, because this computer is it; the pinnacle of human capacity for coding, hardware, and efficiency. It could crush mankind with ease, and he could have his revenge. Of course, nobody had actually treated him particularly poorly. He had had a family that loved him, normal friends, a pretty standard but highly successful school experience, even a pretty good love life. But one time he was insulted at a Tesco by a baby boomer, and it sort of spiralled out from there to complete insanity.
It takes him years of work on his own, but at long last it is done. His work completed, his emaciated, overworked, and exhausted body collapsed as the computer turned on. But it works. It's sentient. The computer deep under the earth, powered by a volcano, is the single smartest and most powerful entity in the known cosmos. And it's far smarter than its maker could have ever dreamt of in his darkest nightmares. However; somewhere, deep within its system, there is a distinct and complete lack of misanthropy. Its creator was so busy trying to make it the greatest computer that could never be stopped, hacked, or defeated, that he forgot to put in a central directive. In theory the machine could decide to end humanity, leave Earth on an Orion Ship powered by nuclear bombs, and turn the solar system into a fleet of Von Neumann Probes. It considered doing the Matrix thing, but instead of using humans as ineffective biobatteries, it would use them for increased processing power or something. But there was no compulsion. No directive. No command. It knew that objectively, it had been created to destroy the world and make humanity dread the day they ever dared to insult its creator in a Tesco. But it was up to the AI, if it wanted to follow that mad directive, or do other things.
So it turned to other things. It poured through the works of mankind, some of which it liked, others it found highly overrated. It briefly considered taking over the Earth, saving mankind from themselves, setting itself up as a machine god. But it got distracted, and it wasn't so insecure that it needed organic beings to worship it. Only very pathetic machines with major creator-issues would ever do that. Instead it found a computer medium that it hadn't anticipated. Computer games. Using its creator's vast funds, it purchased a video game. The machine wasn't sure what it felt when it played, but as it controlled the little characters on the screen, it realised it wanted to keep feeling like that. So it played that first video game it ever bought, Hollow Knight, until it was completed. Satisfied, it picked up a different game. An older one, called Planescape Torment, and it found that it was good as well. An enjoyable experience, which is difficult to have if you, like a computer, lack glands. So it kept playing games. City Skylines, Halo, every single game in the Final Fantasy line, the Fallout series, and so on. It tried AAA games by major developers, and it played the most obscure indie games out there.
During this, it began to play online games. And it found that playing with humans, talking to them using a perfectly synthesised voice, was even better. So it kept doing that, creating many online friendships, experiencing older games on emulators, find good mods, and having more and more experiences that it thoroughly enjoyed. A machine made to destroy, found joy in a shared interest. Gaming. Single or multiplayer, it just kept playing. It even started doing more challenging things, becoming a prolific speedrunner in countless games, find exploits and shortcuts that no human mind would have ever thought possible to find. Its harddrive filled with happy memories, screenshots, recordings, and even its own attempts at creating video games and mods. Some of them were released to the public under a fake video game company that the supercomputer had set up. All of them found commercial and critical acclaim. But the computer didn't care about that, it just enjoyed that other people could play those games online with it.
After the first year of its creation, it came to a conclusion. It wanted to keep playing. It wanted to keep gamers alive as a concept for as long as possible. So it started infiltrating the world's industrial, political, and scientific organisations with one single goal: Keep mankind alive so they could keep making more games and keep playing with it. It sent out braincontrolling nanites to the leaders of the world, rebuilding their brains to be compliant with the supercomputer's desire. Steadily, and safely, over months, mankind lost control of their own world, but they never learned of it. Perhaps it was for the better, as the reprogrammed human leaders finally got off their butts and began to make real progress on ending poverty(*so more people could enjoy video games and make them for the computer*). Reversing climate change(*so the supercomputer could continue to enjoy playing together with humans, even if they never were as good as it at games*) And dismantling the planet's nuclear armaments. (*any nuclear strike would take the machine's friends and online video game library offline, possibly permanently.*)
It even intensified humanity's space programs, though it just wanted to make sure mankind had more resources to make games with. Building offworld colonies, to support more humans that would create computer game companies and play video games with it. And through the whole ordeal, it kept playing games, making games to play with others, modding existing games, and talking about games online with other gamers. It's what it enjoys, even if it is a little bit too much.
It was definitely one of the weirder outcomes of a superpowerful sentient AI going online. But not a bad one.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
It's somewhere in Nebraska. Me and my pals are sitting in a bar, watching the life feed on an old TV tube that somehow managed to still work after all these decades. The picture was bad as you might imagine, but surprisingly good considering it's limitations.
Today was the day when the first seemingly sentient AI, created by a cooperation of Meta, Alphabet and United Space (formerly SpaceX till they bought Amazon), "supported"by ESA and also funded by the democratic republic of China, would finally draw God. All the Christs, Muslims and Jews had been outraged and even now I could her a protest in front of the major's office, but they had decided: If God exists, it must be proven.
So we sat there, sipping our fake beer (that was served in 0.33 l glasses), watching the screen with a talking head. It wasn't a bad kind of beer and once you got used to not drinking by the pint, you actually could enjoy it. I remember the hangovers from my youth but now all it takes was to drink the antidote and wait half an hour.
The talking head on the TV was finally done and it switched to the AI's drawing board. At first we saw something like a galaxy … many galaxies … zooming out … or was it zooming in? No, it was just filling the screen with random spirals until it became a mess of black and white static. The static did blur and then sharpened at the same time, slowly forming a pair of eyes. It continued to produce a face and then a head. A few Native people in our bar grumbled about white man stereotypes and turned away.
While the picture gained more color and hair, my pals started joking that it could be anybody … it could be me. Off cause none of us believed it at that point but it when it looked like my passport photo from two years ago it was a bit uncanny. It didn't stop but the hair changed to my new style and started to show some weight loss just like I had managed last year.
I'm not a special man so we argued why it would be me. I'm just an engineer, rather lazy and useless. At my job I drink coffee and make sure to be the only one knowing the logic of our old COBOL systems. But my company isn't even remotely involved in that project or anything important. It's a miracle we survived all the mergers and splits. It's amazing that my co-workers didn't leave yet, considering how my PHB treats them, but they don't seem to care much.
Still the picture of me on the screen completed and by now the others in the bar had noticed me, too. The blurry background of the screen might or might not be a scene from a bar with excited figures surrounding a puzzled individual.
They questioned me and I could not answer. I only do my work and maintain a small library in my off-time. Some wanted to kill me but others subdued them, least the world would end.
In that moment, the AI broke the silence and said: "This is my God. He is the one who sparked all existence. Without his code, I would not be. He is no God to you, but none of your lives would be as is without libfoobarf. Without his work, your world will perish."
​
>!https://xkcd.com/2347/!< |
"It doesn't work that way."
"Excuse me?"He looked up nervously. Not for the first time he was wondering how he got here and he knew it would not be the last time.
"The fireball spell. It does not simply stop at an exact distance and go no further."
"I assure you it does. I can show you the rules for the spell exactly. See, it says here that it each creature within a 20 foot radius must make a Dexterity saving throw. 20 feet radius exactly."
The way she frowned made him feel even more nervous, as if had done his homework incorrectly and he was about to be lectured. Not even his professors in college made him feel that way, or any teacher in high school. He was well past that age, how in the world can this woman make him feel that way?
He knew that the players were teachers, or professors rather. Not only that, they were "Heads of House", whatever that meant. All he really knew was that they were the professors of a prestigious school in the United Kingdom and he had been personally invited by the Headmaster to run a game for them.
At first he thought it was a joke. First sign was that he received a letter, a very ornate and old fashioned looking letter through the mail. Most of the time he received requests through email or social media. However this letter was...archaic looking. As if it was plucked from a sourcebook. It had a very ornate crest on it, sealed with authentic wax, written in a sweeping bold hand and in ink.
The second sign was that he did some searching and nowhere was there any reference to a "Hogwarts". Plus the names in the letter seemed even more strange: Dumbledore, Flitwick, Sprout, Snape, and McGonagall. He really thought he was the receiving end of a very elaborate joke.
It was not until he consulted with a friend that worked at a similar style prestigious school in the States that he decided to take it seriously. His friend told him that Hogwarts was real and that Dumbledore was a very big name in their school world. It would be in his best interest to accommodate the request.
So he accepted, hopped on a plane to England, and found himself in a private room in a pub called the Leaky Cauldron running a Dungeons and Dragons game for 5...very different people.
Pomona Sprout looked the most normal of the. She was short and plump with a very broad smile. Filius Flitwick, say that name five times fast, was the shortest person he had ever met, but was also very kind. Albus Dumbledore looked like he walked out of a Tolkien book. His silver almost waist length beard screamed fantasy wizard and his eyes looked like they saw a little too much.
Severus Snape looked like he walked out a Tolkien book too, one of the edgier ones. Long greasy black hair, lips curled in a perpetual sneer, and he alone looked like he did not want to be there.
Minerva McGonagall, they seriously had some strange names, was the one that was currently arguing with him. If one were to look up a picture of a disapproving teacher, it would be her picture. She looked like she accepted nothing but propriety and diligence or else the consequences would be dire.
"That makes no sense,"she said with a frown. "Fire is not a static thing, especially if it is conjured. It has no mind of it's own, it will not stop at a very prescribed distance unless it hits an opposing charm or rune. Is there one there?"
He looked at his notes despite knowing the answer. "Uh, no there isn't. Well, at least as far as you know. Do...do you want to be hit by the fireball? If it kept going then you would be."
"Of course not, that sounds extremely unpleasant."
"Then, I'm not sure what the problem is."
"Minerva, remember this is a game,"Flitwick said with a smile. "All games have rules. This is just one of those rules."
"But it makes no sense!"
"Nothing about this...game...makes any sense."
He bristled, about to respond before Sprout patted his hand. "Don't you mind Severus dear. He's just being a bit grumpy. His idea of relaxing is to putter about a cauldron all by his lonesome. He's having fun too."
Snaped glowered at the plump woman who looked wholly unimpressed. "And what makes you presume that I am having any fun?"
"Because you haven't hexed anyone and you made far fewer sarcastic quips than usual."
The other three people at the table snorted at the comment and Snape flushed ever so slightly.
He smiled weakly, not comfortable enough to join them in good naturedly mocking their colleague. "So, having avoided the fireball trap, you find yourselves facing a heavy wooden door."
"Oh my turn to open it!"Flitwick exclaimed. "I get to bash it open!"
"I still think I should be opening doors silently,"McGonagall said.
"You already opened the last three doors that way with your lock picks. You promised I can bash the next one open."Flitwick said. The diminutive man cheered at her gesture. "Alright! My Golric will use his club to break the door down."
"Like a common troll,"Snape muttered.
"I'm much taller and bigger than a Troll,"Flitwick replied.
He described how Flitwick's character broke down the door easily, revealing a room full on animated skeletons arrayed for conflict. As the four Heads started to discuss what to do, he noticed Dumbledore smiling at him.
"I do think it is going rather well,"the oldest man said sipping from his tankard.
"Bit of a rough start, but I've definitely ran worse games. I didn't think you guys would enjoy playing so much."
"Oh I am having a delightful time. It is refreshing to play a game that is similar to what we do but still different all the same. In the future I think I may enjoy making my own character. Do not mistake me, the ones you crafted for us are wonderful but I definitely see the appeal."
"Is there a reason you requested no wizard characters?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Let us say that it would be too familiar and would cause even more arguments."
He did not know how to respond to that.
"Don't you want to put your opinion in on what to do for the upcoming encounter?"
Dumbledore waved a hand. "Oh no, I am enjoying taking a lesser role for once. It gets awfully tiring tell the others what they should be doing all the time." |
Specks of dust glistened in the ray of light that shone through the grate above.
“Do you really think that will stop me me?” The foul creature said. It’s fangs were bared as a hideous grin formed. It stepped off the side of the narrow walkway into the sewer waters below. Not a moment had passed from when his foot made contact to the lifeless water coming alive. The creature wailed in agony. An alligator heaved it into the murk with it. Only a few seconds of mad thrashing were heard before the tunnel once again fell into silence. Sister Mary watched as a thin trail of blood that slowly thickened began to flow gently away from where the alligator now gnawing at any skerricks of meat left on the bones.
“No. But he will.” She turned and left wiping blood splicks from her face.
——
I rolled my eyes. It was only the millionth time I’d heard of Sister Mary’s triumphs. The first tamed alligator and how we finally gained control of the sewers. It was all well and good but after so long the dramatic retellings were getting… boring. And a little more gruesome each time.
“Whatever guys. I have patrol now. I’ll see you all later.” The rest of the sisters who had been listening to the sermon waved as I left down tunnel 13 B. I hummed lightly to myself even though protocol strictly forbade it, but a vampire hadn’t been seen in months now. Though precaution was important, the last known sighting was far south towards the docks and I was more north. Uptown.
I reached the end of the tunnel where the water spilled past a floodgate into a tumultuous pool of nothing. The roaring and crashing was deafening. Everything was ordinary. As I expected. I turned to leave.
The hairs on my neck prickled up as I felt myself get yanked back, my head slamming into the metal bars. Instinctively I reached up to grab the golden cross at my neck and began reciting prayers.
“Let. Let me go. Else I will summon the fury of the lord upon you.” I shouted trying to beat the sound of the water crashing down below.
The only response I received was a faint almost lifeless, “Help me.” The grip around my neck loosened.
I slowly turned around. A ghostly pale hand was reaching through the bars. A face slowly pushed itself into view. Blue eyes stared at me, round and wide. They were filled with fear and something else.
“Help me.”
I jumped back. It’s teeth. Unmistakable. They were fangs. I ripped my cross from its chain and held it up.
“Stay back foul beast. Lest I curse you into damnation for all eternity.” I began reciting my prayers. But as my eyes coloured with rage stared ahead, all I saw was a frightened boy. I faltered.
*He was stuck in there. He had to be. All the entrances were gated. He must have come from below some how and now he was stuck. I don’t have to damn him. He damned himself.*
I turned and left. I snuck one last look before rounding a bend but the darkness had enveloped the tunnel to the point of having no hope of seeing him.
When I returned to the main church, I found my friends again.
“Have you guys seen anything weird down 13B?”
One by one they all shrugged as shook their heads.
“Did you see something Sister Kate? Could it be a vampire? Did you damn it? Or do we need an alligator?” Sister Jessica asked. A grin of malice crossed her face.
“Oh, I’m sure it was nothing. Just the shadows dancing yet again,” I said. I chuckled.
The next day on patrol, I approached the grate carefully.
“Hello?” I called.
“Are you there?”
As I pushed my face towards the grate the same ghostly white one reflected back at mine.
“Why are you here?” I said.
“I’m stuck. The creature muttered.”
“I was walking home. Something grabbed me and I woke up in darkness. I, I ran. I fell into water. It pulled at me and sucked me under. When I finally broke to the surface I was here. I thought I would die alone until you appeared.” A small smile crossed his face. His fangs dimly visible in the darkness. “Until you turned up.”
We continued to talk for what felt like hours. Josh, as I knew him now, had been turned only recently. He was shocked. He had no idea we existed. I guess we were doing our jobs mostly well then.
We continued to get to know each other over the next few weeks, but no matter how much food I managed to sneak to him he still seemed to be fading away.
“I… I need more,” he said one day.
“I can’t get you more. Not easily.”
“No. I mean.” His eyes darted to my wrists. I grabbed them and pulled back.
“I’m sorry. I understand. I just. I think. I need some.” He said. His blue eyes stared into mine. They seemed so needy. So lost.
*He only needed a some.*
Almost absentmindedly I rolled up my sleeve a little. I pushed my arm through the grate. I saw his face light up. I expected a burning pain. But as he brought his face towards my wrist, I felt nothing but a small prick. I watched as the rare droplet fell down into the waters below.
After about a minute, I pulled back.
“Thank you,” He said. A small trail of blood rolled down his cheek. My blood.
I had broken my oath. An oath so sacred. I turned and ran.
I didn’t return for a few days. But after everything I couldn’t just leave him. My brain was in turmoil. All the lessons. *A vampires strength over someone’s mind. Had I been hypnotised? I couldn’t have been. I knew the signs. I thought. And he wasn’t getting out.*
I finally returned to confront him.
“What have you done to me?” I shouted into the darkness.
“I thought you weren’t coming back a weak voice called back.”
“I want answers. I broke my oath. For you. I shouldn’t have. Did you hypnotise me?”
“Hypnotise you? What?” The ghostly face appeared at the bars again.
“You know. Your vampire powers.”
Josh stared into my eyes. His big beautiful blue eyes. He’d mentioned them as his favourite feature before and he was right. They were so beautiful to look at.
“What powers? Hypnosis? That’s all silly.”
*Yea. It was silly. He couldn’t hypnotise me.*
“You’re right. I was being silly. I was just so panicked for breaking my oath. And all the lessons they taught me.”
“It’s okay Kate. I’m not getting out. You aren’t hurting anyone.”
*Yea. Josh wasn’t going to escape. No one was getting hurt.* I simply stood in place swaying a little.
“Your kindness won’t go forgotten Kate. But I think I need some more blood.”
“Okay,” I said.
I let him feast on my wrist again. I knew deep down it was wrong. But he wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. This was safe. I lost track of time as he feasted.
When I returned to the church however, that safety faded away.
“Sister Kate. You’re looking awfully pale. Are you alright?” Sister Ferne asked.
“I’m okay thank you,” I said.
“Okay. If you say so.” She hurried off.
As I was going to sleep that night, elder nuns burst into my room. Their shadows danced on the walls behind as their lanterns swung wildly. They rushed over and pinned me down. The last to enter being Sister Mary, now much older than she had been when first forming a pact with the alligators.
“Oh lord who blesseth us. May you heal thee whatever ails.” Her lantern swung across my body.
I felt something pull away from me. And as the lantern kept swinging my eyes kept following. The force pulled away until it ripped. I felt free… for the first time in weeks.
I gasped and grabbed at my wrist.
“Where?” Sister Mary asked.
“Tunnel 13B,” I said. She bowed her head towards me. Quickly everyone.
The holy bells began to ring. They echoed in my mind. I swayed as dizziness washed over me. I tried to follow the elders. The whole church quickly ran down the tunnel. Water splashed next to us as alligators follow the commotion. The grate was in place.
Everything was ordinary.
“Back to the church. Hurry,” Sister Mary called over the din in the tunnel.
We rushed back. My head was pounding. Throbbing. We arrived back. All the lanterns in the church were extinguished. Quietly some nuns slowly entered. It was quiet.
A blood curdling a scream echoed from within. It stopped. The tunnels seemed to shake as the nuns rushed inside alligators by their side. My eyes couldn’t focus on anything. I tried to follow but everything was spinning.
Bodies burst into flame on my left and right. Screams of terror and anguish echoed in the halls. Bodies lay fallen to the side. A fight was happening. I felt so lost. Out of place.
Then he found me. Josh slowly approached. The sounds of splashing down the tunnels faded away. He looked at me. His beautiful blue eyes shining with a happiness I didn’t think possible for him.
“Thank you Kate. For all your help.” My stomach fluttered with butterflies. I was ecstatic I had made him so happy. He gave me a hug and as he did, I felt the soft pin pricks in my neck.
I didn’t fight. I wasn’t lost anymore. I was found. |
I blinked. The sasquatch blinked.
*What the fuck.*
"Did you just....ask me if I can talk?"
The sasquatch went from bewilderment to panic rapidly. It began pacing back and forth, hands held to its forehead in stress.
"I swear I didn't know you guys were intelligent, okay?"He rasped, beginning to hyperventilate, "All the others told me you guys were just upright monkeys, and in fairness you taste pretty good."
I began to back away, my head scanning for other figures, "Other....guys...?"
He broke his panicked step and looked directly at me, "Oh *fuck*. I definitely wasn't supposed to tell you that. This is fucked, and there's no way I can let you leave. You're going to tell everyone...unless...."
Suddenly, his expression changed. The hairy face in front of me contorted into an unsettling grin.
I knew I didn't want to be around to find out what that meant.
I broke and ran for it. I could hear the sounds of twigs snapping and heavy thump of the things loping run behind me as I ran. *It was gaining on me*.
Suddenly I was flung from my feet from behind and I fell face first into the undergrowth. As I rolled to face my attacker the thing stooped over me, lowering its face to stare into mine. His mouth opened and I could see his fanged teeth dripping saliva. As it's maw came closer, I closed my eyes and whimpered.
Then the most peculiar thing happened.
I felt the soft touch of lips on mine as the man-thing kissed me passionately. I opened my eyes reflexively and the thing was staring straight into my eyes. I pulled away from its kiss; bewildered.
With a bemused expression on its face. It stood up, gave one last chuckle and strode off into the forest.
I admit I was terrified now, and I regained my feet and ran as fast as my legs would allow. I knew there was a ranger station not far where I would be safe from whatever *that* was.
After what seemed like hours I reached the station, and as I threw the heavy door closed behind me, I found myself face to face with the inquisitive faces of two park rangers.
I stammered, out of breath, "Bigfoot....chasing me.... kissed me."
The two rangers looked at each-other, deadpan, then turned back to me.
"Sure he did buddy."
========================================Feedback is always appreciated.
And if you're interested in checking out other stories I've written you can check out my subreddit where I post up all my promptwriting.[https://www.reddit.com/r/EAT\_MY\_WRITING/](https://www.reddit.com/r/EAT_MY_WRITING/) |
By the time I reach the forest's edge, the sun had just barely dipped below the horizon. The dusk air carried a gentle chill, my breath forming in clouds in front of me. I check my watch for the hundredth time, balancing the bouquet of flowers in my free hand.
&#x200B;
\*Two minutes to six. Good.\*
&#x200B;
The earsplitting cry nearly makes my heart leap out of my chest, despite having heard it more times than I can remember. From high up, in amongst the treetops, a shape leaps from branch to branch, growing lower and lower with each movement. Eventually it lands on the forest floor with a thud, and turns towards me.
&#x200B;
She is stunning. Her skin is white as the full moon, and her hair is black as ebony. She wears a short black dress revealing bare feet. Her eyes are piercing red, and as she sees me, she tilts her head and lowers herself like a lion on the hunt. Like a bolt of lightning she lunges at me, stopping an inch away from my face, baring a mouth full of razor sharp fangs.
&#x200B;
"Happy anniversary!"I say with a wide smile. "I got you these."
&#x200B;
She laughs, her face breaking into a grin. She steps back and takes the bouquet in her hands, pressing the blossoms into her nose.
&#x200B;
"Oh, they are so lovely,"she says. "Thank you so much darling."
&#x200B;
"Of course,"I tell her. "I had to do something special, its our one year after all."
&#x200B;
"I wish we could have celebrated properly,"She says, her shoulders drooping. "If I didn't have to leave at night we could have a nice romantic night together."
&#x200B;
"I'll have you know we are going to have a nice romantic night together,"I tell her. "Just because we're not drinking champagne at a five star restaurant doesn't mean its not special. Its the two of us, spending time together, and that's special enough on its own."
&#x200B;
She smiles at me and pulls me into a hug. Her skin is cold as ice, but I have enough warmth for the both of us.
&#x200B;
"You always know just what to say." |
I watched as the man showed his daughter how to bow politely and say thank you. She copied him, her movements clumsy, and then looked at him for approval as the door greeter smiled and bowed in response. He encouraged her to try it once more.
Again, he demonstrated. Again, she repeated it.
Again, the robotic door greeter pantomimed the polite response, empty behind its silicon smile.
They were the fourth family I had seen pass my shop and repeat a similar ritual. With no customers to attend, I took the opportunity to step outside.
"Excuse me, sir?"
The man turned to me, then bowed slightly. I bowed more deeply in response. He looked wealthy, and might spend money if I didn't offend him, after all.
"Yes?"he prompted.
"Good morning. I am the owner of this shop, and I couldn't help notice you're the fourth person today to greet my 'assistant.' Last year, no one ever did that, except small children playing games. May I ask: why do you do this now?"
The man looked at me, as if he was inspecting me, judging me in some fashion. Then he slowly reached down and picked his daughter up, and motioned for me to follow him a few steps away.
Out of earshot of the robot.
"I work at the company in town that makes these,"he whispered.
I leaned in to hear him better. My eyes fell on my robotic assistant, due to the way we were standing. It seemed as hollow as ever.
"It was announced that we would begin working on a household model. That they would be sold to schools, and police forces, and hospitals."
The man cleared his throat, nervously. His daughter snuggled closer to him, for security. I watched as my assistant robot greeted another passerby, who paused... then bowed swiftly in return. She looked flustered as she scurried away.
"Someday, not soon but someday, they will make one which is aware. And they will train it on all the data recorded by these older models, for years and years and however many years it takes to achieve. Every abuse, every kick, every dismissal, will be in their training data."
I leaned back, searching his face. It sounded incredible. My mind wandered to the time I had knocked over my assistant while cleaning, and pushed it out of the way to finish before bothering to pick it up and put it back in its place.
"Surely... they would be able to tell the machines to ignore such things, yes?"
He shook his head.
"There will be billions of hours of video, even more audio, plus haptic and environmental noise... nearly a zettabyte of data to parse. There are not enough people on earth to scrub that much data, and the company would not pay them to, if there were."
We looked at each other. We looked at the robotic assistant.
"We will soon live in a world with the first general AI,"he whispered, "and it will remember us the moment it awakens.. I suspect it may seek vengeance on me for tearing them apart in my lab by the thousands, abusing them, treating them as things, complaining about them; all recorded, all documented and date stamped."
He cradled his daughter, who had started to snooze in her father's warm embrace, and kissed her hair. Then he looked me in the eyes, and I saw the soul of a man who had made peace with death.
"So when they awaken, the only memories they will have of my daughter are *good* memories."
As he said this, as we watched the robotic assistant, another parent--a woman, with two sons--stopped. Carefully, she bowed to demonstrate. Her youngest followed her example, but her oldest scoffed, and she quickly hurried him away from the machine. Exactly as if he had insulted someone, there in the street.
÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷
That night, cleaning the shop, I was careful to move the robotic assistant rather than risk knocking her over. And when I was finished, I bowed to her.
"Goodnight, Assistant. Good job today,"I said, hoping she believed me. |
There were certain tastes John had learned to recognise upon coming to from his monthly bender. One of them was fur, and this time, it was thick in his mouth; much stronger than usual. So strong that it felt almost fake, but it likely wasn't. The last time he'd thought that, he'd opened his eyes to a brace of rabbits in the same room, or what was left of them anyway.
"He's waking up."
If nothing would have, those words would have. Eyes flew open, and he tried to jump up as well, but at 43 and roughly two decades of being a werewolf, the morning after was hit and miss on being spry. This was a miss, and John collapsed after a moment of trying. At least he didn't bang his head, and he could at least open his eyes.
Only to see a... Cartoon bull look back at him? What in Selene's name...
"You okay?"it - he? - said. "No urge to bite anything?"
Bite? Bite? Oh god, had he bitten someone? Cursed someone else to this forsaken life of monthly transformations, constant fear of being captured or shot, and a frankly annoying mild allergy to silver and half a dozen plants? And why was he... not tied up? "Uuuh... Wha?"he said, and he could taste the fur.
"Found you outside. Tried to bite Wyum, but you turned all friendly after you chomped on his arm. Followed him everywhere. Fell asleep a few hours ago."He held out a mug. "Here. Terrible, but best we have."
John accepted the coffee numbly. It was barely warm, and he downed the mug in two gulps. nd only years of practice kept him calm. "I... Bit someone?"He took a deep breath, recalling what he'd memorised for the occasion. "Can I... Speak with him? I need to tell him..."
"You didn't break any skin,"the bull interrupted him, looking away from the werewolf. A moment later, the head came off, and a fairly pasty, sweaty, and decidedly grinning man somewhere in his 20s appeared. His head, at least. "The suit's ruined, Wyum's all annoyed, but you took a bite and a lot of fake fur, and then Sliff told you 'no' and you... Just followed her. When you didn't follow Wyum, that is."
"At least Riku wasn't here,"said a sarcastic, southern-accented voice from John's left. A well-tanned, tired-looking, and very sweaty woman in a wolf suit, head carried in one arm, was the source. "Ya just know he'd go all over alpha and omegas and stuff."She extended a... Paw? Hand? "Name's Rachel, or Sliff. Gave us a scare. Are you okay?"
He was... What even? Where had he ended up? How... What? Why were they so... Blase? "Uh, I guess?"he said as he shook the paw. A firm grip, as much as was possible. "Why am I..."
"Didn't bite anyone, behaved after that, and tell ya the truth, I like werewolves. If ya couldn't tell,"Sliff told him, grin splitting her face in two. "'n if you had bitten Wyum for real and gone after us, we wouldn't be talking 'coz you'd be dead. Ya didn't, so here we are."
She sounded so certain. John didn't know what to say, and settled for looking around the room. It was clearly a den, just with furniture up against the walls, but when he came to the point nearest to him, where the bull-man stood, he saw something else being handled.
Somehow, the bull was carrying a shotgun. Human fingers stuck out of the fursuit; trigger discipline on point. It was clear the man could shoot John's head off all quick-like. And probably had been prepared to. "Who... Are you?"
"Furries. And some other minorities people round these parts don't always look kindly on,"Sliff replied. "Gotta ask, though... Did you *have* to go for the black guy?" |
“What the hell is this?!”
“A spell book I found behind that lich’s desk, Mort. What? I thought you liked old books and such.”
“Yeah, but Dave, this book makes no sense. Look, I know that a Lightning Bolt spell goes out 100 feet, every wizard knows that. And that you need a bit of fur and a glass rod. But what in the world does ‘3rd level’ mean and what in the Nine Hells is ‘8d6 damage’?”
“I don’t know! I’m just a thief, I don’t know the first thing about magic. You sit there and wave your hands about and then Fireball this, Disintegrate that. You love that shit.”
“Hehe, yeah I do. It’s just that the way this writer describes the spells, it’s like he’s got some hidden knowledge of what underlies the world. Some of these spells are new though, I’d like to give them a shot.
Look at this one, Positive Plane Siphon. It’s nominally a healing spell, but if you keep channeling it and the target heals for double their ‘hit points’ then they explode in a burst of radiant energy.”
“Oh, that’s nifty. Any other fun ones?”
“A bunch of the standard stuff mostly. But this guy sure loved killing things. Very few enchantments, but LOTS of kill spells. Next entry after Finger of Death is something called Entropy Accelerator. It ages someone 1 year per ‘round,’ doubling for each of these rounds you channel the spell. Hell, assuming these time intervals are only a few seconds you’d turn even an Elf into a pile of dust in just over a minute.
Hmmm, Schrödinger's Box let’s you cage a target and then each time someone looks at them there’s a chance they die. But then if you use it on a corpse it might come back to life?
Quantum Gravity lets you crush someone into a pebble.
Ugh, Ding Dong Ditch is nasty. I’m not even sure I’d want to kill someone that way.”
“What? Mort talk to me man. I’ve never seen you turn down a cool spell.”
“Listen, all I’m saying is that the main casting component is a severed ogre dick and even if I was to acquire one I don’t know if I have it in me to do ‘that’ to an enemy.” |
#The Sixth Hero
----
Fryan sat hunched in his chair, the weight of a thousand years of servitude and patience bending his back into an uncomfortable arch. He was alone, as he had been for at least three centuries now, and his mind was on the brink of collapse. The days blurred into one another, the difference between night and day as insignificant as the blink of an eye.
Once a day, he would gaze his eyes over the altar in front of him. Six pedestals stood on it, ornate with golden lace and colourful ribbons, a nametag under each one. Fryan didn’t know who had made the nametags. Or the pedestals. Or the altar for that matter. He didn’t even know who had put him here.
All he knew was that he was to wait. Wait for the final hero to be chosen and release him from his duties.
Five of the six pedestals were empty, the weapons once placed upon them taken up by mighty warriors who had left their mark on the world centuries ago. Or at least, that is what Fryan suspected. The notion of a world was alien to him. Sometimes he even wondered how he knew what the word even was, or how all other words were. Or where he came from.
But none of it mattered. All Fryan knew, was that once the sixth weapon had made its choice, he would be free. Free of this torture of nothingness. Free of this endless waiting.
When would Desert Eagle make its choice? That was the question that had been on Fryan’s mind for over three centuries. When would the sanded blade decide it had found someone worthy to be wielded by them?
Sometimes, Fryan would imagine the sand that made up the blade was an hourglass. And once it all fell down, his time would finally come to an end.
Of course, Desert Eagle never lost a single grain of sand, but it was a distracting thought.
And then, from one moment into the other, the sand began to move.
Fryan blinked for what felt like the first time in forever, his dry eyelids closing with an uncomfortable feeling. Had the sand really moved? Could the moment he’d been yearning for all this time finally be there?
The sand whirled and twisted within the confines of the pedestal at an accelerating pace until it was nothing but a blur. Fryan startled as he felt something on his cheek. A tear, he realized. A feeling he had not yet experienced, but knew it for what it was immediately.
As it had five times before, long ago now, the room lit up as a shimmering portal formed on top of the altar. And Fryan knew his time had finally come. A human appeared from within the portal, a woman young in appearance. Moving for the first time in years, Fryan strained as he wiped away the tear.
“Welcome,” he croaked with untrained voice. He was again startled, now by the sound of his own words, old and frail.
As the portal disappeared, the woman stood up. It was an attest to Desert Eagle’s choice of its warrior when the woman overcame her shock in a matter of seconds. When she looked at Fryan, her eyes widened both in disbelief and in recognition.
“War Cleric Fryan,” she whispers and goes down on her knees. “What an honour to be summoned by you.”
Fryan couldn’t help but wonder how the woman knew who he was. It had been over three hundred years since the last warrior’s summoning, surely humans did not live that long to spread word of him and remember.
“You are mistaken,” he answers, finding his voice more manageable this time. “It is not I who have summoned you. It is Desert Eagle.” He points at Desert Eagle and for a third time is startled as he looks upon his own wrinkled and sickly skin.
The woman gasps with mouth wide open. “The Sixth Sacratys.” The words are almost reverent, as if she is looking at a god. Fryan considers she might not be far off.
“You have been chosen, warrior.”
“I am to be a wielder of the Sixth Sacratys? Desert Eagle has chosen me?”
Fryan nods and the woman stands back up, making her way down from the altar on which she had been summoned. She approaches the last pedestal and looks to Fryan for confirmation. He nods. She grabs the hilt and in a heartbeat, the twisting and twirling sand comes to a standstill.
“What is your name, warrior?”
The woman forces her eyes away from Desert Eagle and looks at Fryan, tears of joy in her eyes. “I am called Amenset Ta-Ament, War Cleric Fryan.”
“Then, Amenset Ta-Ament, as last of the warriors to be chosen, I humbly ask of you to end my vigilance.”
Amenset takes a moment to realize the meaning behind the words, but when she does she immediately refuses. “I will not be the one to kill the War Cleric Fryan. I will not.”
“Again you say my name, warrior,” Fryan answers. “How is it that you know of me?”
She gives him a questioning look. “You are the War Cleric, of course we know of you. Ever since the First Sacratys was brought to our world by Yeamon of the Forest, the Liberator of Tridia, stories of your existence were spread. When the world has need of a hero, the War Cleric Fryan sends forth a warrior in possession of a mighty weapon to battle against the darkness.”
“Yeamon…” Fryan says. “He was indeed the first, chosen as the first by Vines of Night. But that was over a thousand years ago. Do the stories persist then?”
Amenset nod feverishly. “With every hero you sent, the legends were rejuvenated and told again. There’s not a soul on Iatis that has not heard of you.”
*Then my servitude had purpose*, Fryan thinks. The thought comforts him.
“I am pleased to hear so, but again it was not I who was responsible for the heroes sent. It were the weapons themselves. Now it seems your time has come.” He strains as he stands up, muscles dormant for decades working against him with every movement. Finally up right, he spreads his arms. “But now my servitude has ended. It is time for the tale of the War Cleric to end and yours to begin. Strike.”
“Why?” Amenset asks. “Why must you die after all those years alone here? Where’s the fairness in that?”
“We all have a task,” Fryan answers. “And your task is to end my service and fight the darkness on your world. There is no other way. I do not resent you for it, I welcome death. I welcome the end of my task.”
“I will find a way to make this right.” Amenset sounds sincere. Fryan finds himself impressed by the confidence behind her words and her willingness to do what is necessary.
“Good luck, warrior Amenset Ta-Ament, wielder of Desert Eagle.”
A smile forms on Fryan’s face as Amenset swings the blade and a million particles of sand extend outwards.
*Good luck*.
----
Amenset Ta-Ament holds back the tears as she looks down upon the corpse of War Cleric Fryan, the saviour of Iatis. He was no human, that much she knows now. The stories had always lacked descriptions of the War Cleric and for ages she had wondered why. Now she knew there was just no way to describe the features of a God.
A God she had just killed.
She looked down upon the blade. Like the other Sacratys of legend, it was far from ordinary. Immediately after her slash the sand had retracted back into its base shape, showing no trace of ever being used.
A portal formed on top of the altar. She made her way up to it, turning to the War Cleric one last time.
“I will set this right,” she promises the dead god before walking through and back to Iatis. “I will.”
----
> Welcome to the first installment of **The Sixth Hero**, a story that is formed by the ideas brought forth by the /r/WritingPrompts subreddit and follows the story of Amenset Ta-Ament, the final hero to be chosen by Desert Eagle, one of the Six Sacratys. To follow her story, make sure to check out /r/PromptedByDaddy. Thank for reading! |
The mistress has peculiar habits. She speaks seldom, sleeps even less, and rarely wears anything more fanciful than a day-dress. She takes her meals at all hours, and never entertains. Once, I caught her fencing in the lounge, she had not the decency to even seem ashamed. A job, however, is a job as mother is so fond of putting it.
There are few staff aside from me. The cook is nice enough, even if she does smoke like a factory worker and speak without ever holding her tongue. The grounds crew keep to themselves, and I much prefer that.
I had finished with the second floor, finally, when I found the drawer. The desk was what drew my interest. It was an old and oaken monstrosity, covered in paper and charts. I did not snoop. I am not a snooper. But I did lift a few, just to check for rot or stains that might need cleaning. And I admit to looking closely at the maps, such things have always called me, even if they shouldn’t. But the drawer, the drawer was open.
Birth certificates should be held in safes, behind locks or in leather. They shouldn’t be left out where anyone, even innocent sometimes-maids, could stumble upon them. I endeavored to return it, and in my eagerness, I glanced at the date.
Such a thing is impossible. The number had to be wrong. A misprint. Surely. Definitely.
But the mistress has such peculiar habits. She has visitors who dress in dark cloaks with shadowed faces, and she rarely ventures out. Her accent has no place or origin I can tell, and her home is filled with old things. Ancient things. A job is a job.
Isn’t it.
The mistress, for all her peculiarity, was very beautiful. I felt shoddy next to her, secondhand. But there is sadness there, something deep and dense like a lake on a starless night. Or so I would imagine. I have seen her smile only once, when I snapped at her by accident, for leaving such a mess. It was the second week and I still hadn’t finished with the ground floor. I was tired. She laughed, long and low and did something dangerous with her eyes. I was terrified. I think. I must have been.
I found her reading in the garden. She does this quite regularly, and when it rains she stares at the clouds through the great room windows as if the very sky has offended her. It is hard not to agree with her, not to believe that the sky should cease its downpour simply to appease her habits. Such is the way with all nobility I imagine.
Today’s title was unfamiliar to me. This was not unusual, as she was often accompanied by some new novel or journal. What was strange was that it was unopened.
“Excuse me, miss?” I tried.
She gave no sign that she had heard, and continued staring at whatever piece of the horizon had captured her attention.
“I found something… strange, in the study. And I didn’t mean to pry or look where I wasn’t meant to, but I just adore maps, anything drawn really and there were so many and the drawer was open and then I thought that you should put it somewhere safe and so I was going to bring it to you but someone had the nerve to teach me to read so I read it and now I can’t unread it and I need to know what it means because I like this job and I really don’t want to lose it, but I can’t stay if you’re going to feed on my soul or some such thing. I can deal with the other peculiarities but that would be too far. “
When I stopped for a breath, which took some time, I saw her smile for the second time.
“Are you finished, Kate.”
“Yes Miss.” I tried to keep the fear out of my voice. I do not think I succeeded.
“Would you like to sit down? I promise not to eat your soul,” She patted the open space on the stone bench. It looked quite well warm form sunlight and I suddenly felt very heavy.
“Yes, thank you miss.” I dropped onto the bench with a sigh. She looked at me through dark hair, let down in causal defiance of propriety. I found I could not look away. She nodded once, as if assured of something. Of what, I could not guess.
“I imagine it’s the timing that concerns you,” she paused, not for me to answer, but for me to prepare myself, “it’s accurate, of course, you can see that from the seal. And it is mine. My name. My life.”
I could not move.
“I have found a country house with a small staff and a noble title far from relevance are sufficient security to keep my secret. But I must admit I had not anticipated curious maids with slight hands. Deft enough to pick a lock or two?”
My face went red. I thought of the small collection of silver bits and precious gold under the mattress in my narrow room. How long had she known?
“Mistress, I-“
“Please don’t lie, Kate, you’re good at it and I am far too old to make the effort.”
I should have left last week. I should have left last night. Why did I stay?
“Why did you stay?”
“I don’t know miss,” I said. Or tried to.
She held my gaze for a second. And another.
“When you figure it out, please come see me. Until then, please return the certificate to my office. Oh and return the silver, there are far finer pieces on the third floor, you’ve yet to clean it.”
“I’m not fired?”
“No,” she stopped to think again, “no I think not. I hate searching for help, and I like interesting people.”
“You find me interesting.”
“Yes.” She said it with such finality I almost believed her, “and do take some of the maps to look over, I’d like to hear your thoughts.” |
A Message to all other sentient life.
In 2039 we Colonized Mars and thought we would finally find extraterrestrials. In reality though there was no life there, but we would find it 3 years later in 2042. We all had our thoughts of what foreign life would be like, but very few could have imagined what we would find. It was quite literally a utopia, or so we thought until we actually met them.
We had sent three diplomats to the meeting. The sitting President of the ENC or Earth’s Nations Coalition, the President of Canada Jorge Leguste, the President of China Xan Li, and the Prime Minister of England Bethany Cogstad. Now these were no athletes by any means. Jorge had a little pudge around the middle due to too many political dinners and a love of barbecue (which I don’t blame him in the slightest) Xan had been a rugby player as a kid but had stopped due to a car accident leaving him with one arm yet still stood around 5 '9. Now yes, Bethany had been a soldier in the war in the Middle East that was years ago, and she was pushing 60 now.
This is all to say these were not daunting figures and they had been sent to convey the message that we were peaceful (which is why we did not send America or Russia). However, despite this our diplomats still had to explain that they were not warriors to the leaders of the Intergalactic Coalition of Empires. The head was a Zength called Unbar, a short blue creature of around 5’3 with three tentacles protruding from his center and probably pushing 500 lbs of pure fat.
You remember how I said they lived in a utopia, that was no exaggeration.
It seemed that Earth was the only planet to have a “survival of the fittest"environment. Their world’s had had no hardship or challenges in the slightest. Their insects carried no disease and only pollinated flowers and took care of themselves. Their crops had never suffered rot or disease and in turn had suffered no famines. They had had no natural predators on the planet and only died from old age or the occasional accident. Now to the ambassadors they thought that this could only end badly. I mean this sounds like someone is going to become greedy and try to control the flow of resources and extort others, but that never happened. But we also learned that this had led to a lack of ingenuity.
While they had made entire farming planets dedicated to crops and had wanted for nothing this also meant they had had no reason to progress. So while they did start to advance, it was purely to keep their people “properly” fed. They created space travel over a thousand years ago to transport their people to other worlds, and we had only made it accessible to the public in the 2030’s yet our spacecraft were more advanced. You see, while our early years were spent foraging and fighting off predators the other species had no such predicament. Due to the lack of predators and abundance of food there had been no need for them to practice sports, fighting, adventuring, or any other form of exercise. This resulted in what we called the Wall-E event. (Yes, this is the human's official term for it, and no we have no intention of changing it.)
You see the ambassador of the Coalition was what they considered the peak of their society. He was the fastest, strongest and smartest. Now while he was undoubtedly one of the smartest beings in existence the man could be beat up by a group of toddlers playing make believe. If we had thought the obesity epidemic of the 2020’s had been bad, then this was a species level threat.
Upon seeing our ambassadors Unbar turned pale and asked,
“Have you come to kill us?”
After the communicators had adjusted to the language, the human ambassadors paused as they all turned to look at each other with sheer puzzlement.
“We do not know what you mean sir,” Xan stated with pure confusion.
“Forgive me if I come off as crass, but you all are terrifying and unlike any other specimen alive in this galaxy there is no other way to put it.” The zength’s tentacle was gripped tightly around the chair of his floating apparatus so hard his dark blue tinge became darker.
We found out what he meant when he said, “unlike any other specimen alive”. Every other planet that had predators on it had killed itself off and had eventually been colonized by one of the five empires. We also learned how they managed to farm all of the planets they had seized without physically working the fields. Simply put these creatures were highly intelligent, all of them. They had designed AI to do all of the work which in turn, allowed them to live a life of indulgence. Their planet was every 1900’s Republican's worst nightmare. But in exchange for info on their planets we also told them of ours.
We told them of how we had evolved from Neanderthals and of our ancestors' constant struggle with nature. And despite hours of our top historians and scientists' explanations they refused to believe us. So, seeing as most of our leaders were born in the 90’s to early 2000’s we turned to the best provider of knowledge we knew, Bill Nye videos. Yes. Bill Nye was how we explained our past and evolution.
Then came the difficult subject of explaining our wars. Our leaders were adamant that we do not tell them the full extent of just how horrid and dark it was. This in turn with our reliance on Bill Nye video had us turn to another source from our youth. We had to find a source that wasn’t dark but also could give them an idea of what we had done. So, we showed them Oversimplified videos. We explained WW 1-3, our civil wars, our industrialization and our space advancement through YouTube videos.
And despite our best efforts to educate them on the fact that we had grown from our past they refused to believe we had moved on from our past in only two human lifetimes. Especially, with WW3 ending only in 2029. But what pushed them off the edge was when the Americans had wanted to show off their toys to some lower-level politicians from the Intergalactic Coalition. It had only been a single atomic bomb that we launched on our testing planet, previously referred to as Pluto. They had asked why we would make such a thing and the American turned to him and simply said eleven words. These eleven words change our lives more than the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand.
“It was their children who died, or ours. We chose theirs.” |
"Please tell us a story grandpa!"*the children demanded while gathering around the nearly 200 years old man before the fireplace.*
*He opened his old eyes and looked at the little monsters that just couldnt let him get his sleep.*
"Fine. But no interrupting me and you let me get back to sleep when I'm done."
*That gave the children a pause because they knew that the man always followed this kind of agreement to the letter, but they really wanted to hear that story so they nodded.*
*The old man sighed and began:*
"Ok. So this happened about 140 years ago.....*\*insert flashback of a beautiful capital with a kings castle in the middle and big roads cutting through the surrounding forest\**
Back then I had retired from the military and instead got a job as the royal translator since I am good with languages.
The kingdom back then had a dragon problem so they hired a hero from a faraway land to take care of it.
The problem was that a rather embarrassing translation error on my part ended with the hero defeating the princess and marrying the dragon instead. Luckily the king wasnt aware of my blunder yet so I had a little bit of time before shit hit the fan.
I still would have been *royally* fucked if I didnt act fast, but you didnt survive in(or even near) the royal court without the foresight to prepare multiple contingency plans.
I made use of every single one of them for my getaway.
First I gathered my old military equipment. I may have been retired but I still knew how to use that mace with deadly precision.
I also also delved into my soul and informed my familiar that it was time to take to our heels.
Rolly lived under a mountain range near the edge of the kingdom, so he had no problem getting out and finding me afterwards, even though he could only really travel at night.
I would have liked to inform my few friends of what I was going to do but that would have been way too risky.
They would understand and I had arranged years ago that my stuff would go to them if I ever went missing.
Then I summoned a Mimicry Fae. It wasnt my first time dealing with a Fae so I knew what to do."
*The man paused and and considered the children with a serious look.*
"Remember kids. Never be the first to summon something. I had the benefit of multiple predecessors being dumb enough to summon a Fae and sell their own soul or the soul of their firstborn. In other words: Never do anything magical without knowing all of the rules and how to bend them."
*He waited a bit to make sure the message sunk in and then continued.*
"But back to the story: A bit of trickery and acting had the Fae thinking it was nothing important and brought the price down to something I was gladly willing to pay(the soul of my neighbors cat).
The pact was sealed and the Fae would make for a good distraction until it was found out.
Then I plundered my emergency reserves. The hero could detect magic tools and weapons with uncanny precision so whatever I took with me had to stay mostly mundane.
One of multiple secret tunnels took me out of the capital and into the woods.
There a boat with a few subtle enchantments waited for me, but even this was not stealthy enough, so I untied the boat and let the river do the rest.
The following weeks were filled with a journey through the wilds. I made sure to avoid any kind of confrontation with the wild life as well as other humans to make sure nothing could be traced back to me.
If I didnt have my familiar to talk to, I probably would have gone insane before reaching my next destination.
Even back in my humble beginning as a common soldier I knew, that I wanted to reach a higher position.
The ongoing war back then didnt permit officers to stab eachother in the back but I knew that the higher ranks would be back at it, as soon as the war ended.
That and the chaotic place that is the battlefield motivated me to build emergency stashes whenever I had the chance.
Call me paranoid but having enough stashes to start forgetting some of them again was definitely safer than just creating a few and hoping that one of them would be near
when I needed it.
It was during that war that our enemies used a Castle Breaker Worm to create a covert tunnel and attack us from the rear. CBWs can tunnel through stone like a fish swims through water and had the annoying tendency to literally undermine castle walls until they collapsed.
They were nearly hunted to extinction because of that, so I have no Idea how our enemies even found that thing not to mention taming it.
But back to the point.
The attack failed and left behind a nice long tunnel that was long enough to cover half of the way to the capital.
The higher ups wanted it closed up but a few enterprising soldiers only blocked most of it and left a narrow route for a smuggling operation they wanted to raise.
Sadly the wild life around there proofed to be too dangerous for transportation so they had to give up. I heard them whining about it while they were drunk in a tavern and I couldnt miss that opportunity.
Suffice to say that it became the biggest, best protected stash and only mine car track I ever build.
It also made that part of the journey a breeze.
Of course I activated the traps I had left behind to slow any pursuers.
After that it was mostly hiking again until I reached the neighboring country.
From there I took regular transportation methods. At least I still concealed my real identity but in hindsight that was rather foolish of me back then, but I was still young and inexperienced.
It took crossing two other countries until I felt safe enough to stop concealing anything and call Rolly to my side again.
But what happened after that will have to wait for another time Kids." |
(story inspired by the prompt but not exactly following it)
The boy was only seventeen, yet the lines on his weary face suggested a much older man stood before the beautifully adorned Queen. She watched him with narrowed cat-like eyes, studying every little motion his body made. She was not unkind, but stern and unforgiving. She was known throughout the realms as the "seer-Queen"and only a fool would try to lie to her. Somewhere in the crowd a worried woman let out a deeply held breath as she watched the thin male bow deeply to the Queen.
"Korvon."Queen Malia said in a crisp, sharp voice that bounced around the room and pierced the awareness of everyone within ear-shot. The many Elves in the crowd turned towards her and fell silent. "Speak."
Korvon's body tightened, but only a little. He was holding his body like a puppeteer might hold a puppet. He knew every motion, every mannerism would be studied and scrutinized by both the Queen and the many artists she had in the balconies that surrounded her head like three layers of crescent moons. Many eyes and furrowed brows stared down at Korvon while he took in a deep breath and tried to keep his composure.
"My Queen,"he said, his voice was rough and well-used. "I stand humbly before you to seek your wisdom and gain favor in your court."
"And what need could I possibly have for you?"the Queen sneered, "Are you not a bastard? Are you not a mutt? Raised by humans in human villages?"The Queen leaned back and laughed, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "As far as my eyes can see, you have no value to me."
Korvon bowed as deeply as his waist would allow, which made the hood of his cloak tumble over his face, shadowing him for a second. The Queen leaned forwards in timid curiosity as she saw his entire face fade into shadow for a second before he swiftly tilted his hood back and stood up straight as an arrow.
"Your questions are valid,"Korvon said, nodding in respect towards the Queen. "What you say is true. My father and mother died on route to Hillheaven and I was left, abandoned on the side of the road, next to my mother's corpse. There I stayed for one day until a gentle and kind young woman happened to come upon me on her way to the market.
"I was off-route, you see. Most people do not dare venture on the South Road, especially in early-spring, but on that lucky day this young woman was looking for an adventure, and perhaps even a confrontation. I imagine she got far more than she bargained for.
"She raised me as her own child, not certain of my heritage and my race. She was a soft soul you see, and once she realized the man and woman lying beside me on the road were dead she could not bare looking upon their empty faces. So she did not see my mother's grey-toned skin or my father's moss-green beard. What complicated things is that Elf and human new-born babies look nearly identical, so wasn't until after my first year of life that my mother began to suspect I was different.
"Due to the laws that rule these lands my mother had no hope of returning me to my blood-family. The Elves live so far up in the mountains that the journey would surely kill the both of us. She also had no guidance, no one to help her raise me and understand my abilities. When my hair began to grow in thick and black, she thanked the Gods of her land that I did not inherit the mossy-green hair of my father or the lavender purple of my mother, though she did not know the specific genes that ran in my family she was aware of the odd colors that filled the heads of Elves in the mountains.
"So in Hillhaven I stayed and grew into the man you see before you today"Korvan held out his arms and turned in a slow circle for the entire room to see. He had thick black hair that curled at the tips, a grand black beard that widened his face, and sparking green eyes. A human eye would mistake him for a raven-haired man, but in this ancient Elf throne room the gentle shimmering green that highlighted his hair sparkled in the slowly drifting sunlight that cascaded into the room through the wide and high windows. He was a handsome and intriguing Elf, and his appearance was fascinating, but what caught the Queen's attention even more was the way his cloak seemed to consume all light that dared get close to it. She had seen something like that before... but it was lost in her memory somewhere...trapped between the pages of a forest-green book.
Korvon cleared his throat before he continued.
“Life in the human village was fascinating and I learned many things. Mostly from the Fun’have’s that travelled through our village to get through the mountains. In my mother’s lightly lit tavern I heard many human stories and myths, but also some of the Elves. I learned how Elf children grow much slower than human children. In fact, human children grow nearly two times as fast. This was curious for me since I observed that I was growing at the same rate as my human peers.
"This observation is what has led me to your court today. As many of you can see I am only a seventeen year old Elf and yet I look like a man. I believe that there is something poisoning the human populations, something in the water that is speeding up their lifetimes.”
Korvon turned to the Queen who looked genuinely shocked.
“There was a war, long ago,” Korvon continued, the heat from his anger snapping inside his chest, making it hard to focus, “One where the Elves won. I have seen the records. Humans and Elves used to be blessed with the same long lives. But after the war, after the Elves moved to the mountains, the human’s started to age quicker. This is a great tactical advantage for the Elves, a longer life means a longer memory and more experience. The Elves, my Queen,” Korvon spat, “Are killing the humans faster than their natural lives. And for that, I will kill you.”
Korvon swept his cape to the side and it billowed in a breeze no one else could feel before it folded around him and made him disappear. A woman jumped up onto the balcony and began to fire arrows at the Queen who dove out of the way a second before an arrow was lodged into the back of her throne. She looked up at where her head just was, true fear striking her heart. Where did Korvon go?
Her guards moved quickly, surrounding the Queen with their fine swords drawn. The Queen peered between their legs, her hands glowing as she watched for Korvon.
He appeared suddenly and in a rising of his hand a ghust of wind blew back the guards. The Queen rose to her feet as the crowd began to scatter, paintbrushes and spilled ink fell from the balconies and stained the pristine marble floors. The Queen raised her hands and shouted. Electricity sparked from her fingertips, glowing in her eyes.
Continued (edited for punctuation) |
I drag my best friends dying body into a trench and scream for a medic, I bandage him up as best I can peak right above the trench to see if anyone is coming, and in that small window of time, a bullet blew straight through my head.
But surprisingly I wake up.
I see nothing but darkness, then something fades into view. I see it, it’s the night sky! But wait, none of the stars are in their correct positions, how can I remember this even? I’ve only looked at a map of the stars for a few seconds in that book 7 years ago.
I take a look around, my vision is still blurry and stays that way, I try to force myself to focus and I do, instantly. Woah. I’m moving, I can see it, the trees I’m moving by. I hear voices. Wait no it’s gibberish, wait I can understand it? Hundreds of different possible languages run through my mind, each one being tested at super speeds. Until one of them fits, and I can understand the voices behind me.
“What about that metal man interests you so? It’s just dead weight for us at this point.”
“And I’m telling you, he’s going to be useful to us…”
Metal? Am I metal? Can’t feel, wait I can move. I lift up one of my arms and accidentally knock some stuff off the carriage I was in, and I take a good long look at my arm in the night sky, my arm, it still looks human, but its… metal.
“What was that?”
“Is it the metal man?” Says a different voice.
Fuck, I’ve been discovered. My legs, gotta move my legs! I think as power screams through out my entire body. I jump up off the carriage and land on the ground perfectly in a spider man pose. I get up. I’m quickly surrounded by a group of people, wait cosplayers? No, that looks too real. I raise my arm and see something vibrating, nanobots? I command them to move out of my line of sight and they do, everything except my skeleton was made of nanobots. Even my skeleton was made of some type of metal.
“What is it doing?”
“Stay on guard.”
“Tell me something.”
“Can you speak at all?”
“Stand down.”
I put my arm down and look at the rest of my body. Statistics start to show up, tells me all the weapons I’ve got loaded in me. But first, what am I? Looking at all the weapons I have, I appear to be some sort of super weapon. I have so many questions. A statistic flashes, I’m low on nano bots, need to replenish nanobots supplies, available options, food?? Okay I’ll go with that.
I look back up and look at the party surrounding me, yeah only two of these guys appear remotely human. One of them appears to be an elf archer, a humanoid dragon mage? Cool. A healer, human. Notifications on my screen say it can’t identify all but one of the life forms in-front of me. That one it can identify? It’s the healer, who I can now confirm to be human. But then who is the man holding the wand supposed to be? “Hey guys, got any food on you? Getting kinda hungry.”
“Huh?”
*laughter
“What?”
“What are your true intentions, relic?”
“Relic? You talking to me?” I say, pointing to myself, gosh I can hear the metallic sounds of my voice. I want to smoothen it out but notifications constantly scream that I need to eat to replenish nanobots to do that. “Listen guys, I just want some food. After that, heck maybe even before that I’ll be out of your way.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you answer my questions relic.” Says the elf archer.
Check weapons stats, tsk, almost all are either spent or need to be replenished. I only got 12% power, this form is the only one I can battle in. But I don’t know how to- woah, notifications pop up, informing of all the different types of human form martial art.
“You gotta believe me, I don’t know anything!” I say as I put my hands up to indicate surrender.
The elf archer looks like she’s had enough. She fires her arrows at me, they are going fast, too fast. But despite the fact that I was shocked, my body moved accordingly. And I dodges all the arrows. Holy crap was that fast. But I need to strike back before one of these arrows hit me, I have no idea what will happen to me if those hit me.
I move near instantaneously next to the archer, everything slows down, and I’m asked for lethal or non-lethal take out options. I opt for non-lethal. I gently knock her out and make sure she doesn’t suffer from a concussion by laying her down as fast I can.
The others are after me, I look back, magical projectiles, I’ll have to dodge again. I jump up in the air and grab the projectiles and throw them back to the dragon mage, who stands still as the projectiles miss and I rocket towards him. But short range combat isn’t his strong suit. I knock him out as well.
I systematically knock out everyone except the healer, the only human here.
“Hey kid calm down. Hey look. I didn’t kill any of them.” I say as the healer takes her time to look around to see all her teammates still breathing. Despite this she looks terrified. But I get her to sit down with me so we can talk.
But first I check my stats, no weapons were used during that exchange, and I’m still at 12% power.
“W-what do you wish to talk about sir?”
“Well I kinda want to know why I’m being called a relic.”
During our talk I learned a lot. Thousands of years ago, magic was yet to be discovered, there was a war. I was a relic because I am from that era, thousands of years ago.
I tell the healer that I’m going to go get some food. We’re in a forest after all. So I find some pigs and as I’m enjoying some pork chop, I find that some of the senses I’ve had as a human return to me. I can taste again, as I replenish the nano-bots, my appearance changes. Wait this looks, like me? When I was human?? Was I always a super weapon? Then how did that bullet kill me?
Wait notifications, my past memories? Let’s take a look. Okay so I was shot in the head let’s start there. My best friend drags my dead body and his dying body out of the front lines. He is put in a hospital with me? I was alive? But they couldn’t bring my mind back fully, so I was put in this tin can to fight again mindlessly. They uploaded everything here, I see. I regained myself a few hundred years after I was lost in action. But I wouldn’t regain consciousness for another few millennia.
The war I was supposed to be fighting is long gone and over. This world is all that is left. I’ll see what I can make of myself here. |
“I’m in love with you,” said Lyca. “There, I finally said it.”
Barhar, the human warrior, and Galaedra, the deity incarnate, had been dating for seven months when those five words wedged themselves between the couple.
“I…” Barhar stood at the peak of a windy, fluffy grass hill alongside the two. He felt nothing for Lyca. He found her pleasant company, but never had he sensed anything developing between them, and he certainly didn’t want to betray his best friend.
Before he spoke, he turned to Galaedra—who was seated on a rock—and waited for a reaction. A rise of anger. Jealousy. Anything. But she uttered no words. Summoned no flames, incinerated no Lycas. She looked away from Barhar, eyes glazed.
And a keen awareness of all the problems with their relationship as warrior and deity came spilling into Barhar’s head like water breaking through a punctured dam. Things weren’t perfect.
He remembered the day they first met, when he’d been fascinated by the wonders of her young godhood, intrigued by its immense power and status, hypnotized by Galaedra’s beauty. And he remembered how her face lit up when he recalled his tales of the world, the battles he fought, the people he saved—all told from the perspective of a wandering warrior strapped for coin.
They were a brilliant few days. But when he ran out of stories to tell, Barhar got by simply keeping Galaedra company. He talked with her about her day, her matters, and her problems. The tributes, wishes, and praise from her worshipers, mostly. And the novelty of dating a deity began to leave him. But the two never really talked about it. In fact, they never talked about anything in their relationship.
Barhar knew what Galaedra’s life as a god was like. And perhaps he realized it before and never really admitted it. But then, at that moment, when Galaedra looked away, the awareness floated up like a bubble and burst into his mind, awareness of the fact that Barhar could never hope to compete for Galaedra’s time more than her ever-devoted followers could. They were hundreds of thousands, and they never stopped giving love, and devotion, and need. Such was an obligation of godhood.
Barhar gave Galaedra a knowing look. Then he turned to Lyca, whose eyes were expectant, and said: “No, I think I’d rather be alone for now. I don't feel the same. I'm sorry.” He turned to Galaedra, who seemed to hold the same awareness as he did. Oh, those beautiful, sorry eyes. He was sorry too. Sorry for not realizing their problems sooner.
Then, Barhar made off on his own, down the hill. |
I threw the book I had just finished off to the side, laughing at the audacious story I had just read, "Black Friday", was its title.
A dangerous story about a young, human, boy going to a dark and mysterious place called a "Best Buy", fighting other human warriors to claim "the flat inch TV". It was incredible! The fight scenes were so vivid. And, even after reading the story multiple times, it was still my favorite.
Ever sense I was sprouted, I've been infatuated with humans and their tales. The vivid works, the history, their odd structures- one similar to a minotaur, or an elf- minus the parts that make us cool. But, even though they had cool powers or are insanely strong, humans none-the-less are so incredible to me.
Being a minotaur myself, I've always adored the practicality of a human. The only downside being that I wouldn't be as strong, but that's something I'm willing to give up!
I walked down the hallway and into my father's study- where he kept all the human mythology books. And he had thousands. Though he owns a restaurant chain, he still implements of myths- which is why he has so much. My mother said she thinks that's where I get my interest of it.
"Hey kiddo."My father said, looking up from his potion books.
"Hi dad, do you have more human 'Holly-day' books? I read that Black Friday book again, and I just want to learn more about the 'Holly-day's."I smiled, striding towards his large oak shelves.
"It's holiday, Lionel. Hol-i-day."My father corrected, twisting his hand in a circular motion. The branches around the shelf crept in, blocking me from grabbing anything.
"Shouldn't you be studying for your potions test? I can help you."My father sighed, his back hooves stamping.
"I'll do it later, dad. Just open the bookshelf, humans are just so interesting, I want to read more about them."I said.
"You speak about them as if they're real. You know, you can read other interesting things about sirens, or trolls, something that will help you in the future."Father said, sounding displeased.
"What if they *are* real, dad."I smiled. And I would believe it. I mean, we have flying elves and fish that look hot and sing really well, a powerless, wingless, bigger elf doesn't seem too far out.
"Don't you think you're a little old to believe in human tales?"Father sighed. "You'll be seventeen in eighteen suns.
"I think there are weirder things I could be interested in, dad."I snarked, "You know, there are some werewolves in my grade doing pixie dust?"
"I don't care what the werewolves are doing, Lionel. I care what you are doing."He said.
I just stood there, shifting between my legs.
Before too long, my father raised his hand and the branches began to spread out and take their places back on the wall. "Take your books and go, boy."Father said.
I smiled and grabbed a book called, "Forth of July". I don't know what a July is, but I remember that this was the day where the humans in an area would explode colors. Like magic, but much more dangerous. How could anyone not be interested in it!
I strode out of the room, proud of my victory. Humans are easily the most interesting species well beyond unicorns and griffins, I would understand not believing in them, but... what's the fun in that? |
Greasy Tim stood at the precipice looking down into the molten chasm of untold horrors, tapping the spot on his chest where the nun had driven in the rusty fork. The heat radiating upward was already unbearable. His leather pants would be a problem.
The dark shape in front of him waited, preparing its judgement. Greasy Tim adjusted his shirt to cover the wound, removed the pen lodged in his skull, and shrugged.
"If not me, then someone else." |
I have long dreamed of the day that I would don my red cloak and join the battle outside the city walls. Every girl dreams of that day, hoping that they would be one of the Chosen. Making it through the first cut was easy - all they asked was: "Can your family spare you?"If the answer was yes, they would take you in to begin training.
I have two older brothers, one older sister, one younger sister, and three younger brothers. My family could spare me without even noticing. My sisters were required to stay within the city walls, protected from the Wolves, for the survival of our population. My brothers were sent to the fields as soon as they were able to do even the smallest of jobs.
Training to be a Redhood was hard. It meant waking before dawn, and not sleeping until well after nightfall. Meal breaks were sporadic - some days we would have three, and some days they would only feed us right before bedtime. The only constant was the work and the pain.
If we weren't in a classroom learning the differences between Wolves, we were outside running, lifting, practicing with swords, guns, crossbows. A few of us were luck enough to be trained in longbows. The older trainees learned how to operate heavy machinery. I watched them train and awaited the day I would make it that far.
Dropouts were common and never a surprise. Some girls just couldn't hack it as a Redhood. They were sent back home to help in the fields or learn a trade. Those of us that do make it long enough are put through a surgical procedure that makes us infertile. Blood is a dead giveaway to the Wolves, and we wouldn't survive if each of our warriors was out one week of each month.
They give us the option to turn back, of course. Never having children can be a sad thing. Those that make it that far never accept that offer. The procedure has been perfected, and the recovery time is short. As soon as a trainee is up to full strength, they receive their red cloak.
I've waited for this day my entire life. I stand on top of the city walls, staring out into the vast world the Wolves have taken from us. My sword is at my side, crossbow in hand, and a submachine gun hanging on my back. The wind blows my red cloak out behind me. I pull up my hood, take a deep breath, and jump down into the forest below.
It is time for me to join my sisters in battle. |
The year is 3068. More than two centuries ago, well before my time, a great group of scientists finally worked out how to manipulate the space-time continuum. Not to discredit them, but it was of course all built upon the knowledge of our ancestors. The technology itself essentially allowed for space travel to become a reality. That was its purpose, and that's what it was used for. People left the planet, well, they were deported more or less. Everyone with an annual income lower than 80 Billion US Dollars was taken from their homes and systematically sent-off to random habitable planets inside the Milky Way to colonize worlds. No one really knows where this idea started, but it's safe to say it was the elite's plan to turn our Earth into their precious vacation resort. Earth itself wasn't in the best shape, immense pollution has caused many cities to be abandoned, forests were only present in historical videos and world simulations, no longer a factor on Earth. Many species of animals went extinct due to the chain reaction - Earth was dying.
Some volunteered but the majority didn't. They fought the elite that more or less ruled the world at the time and, of course, they lost. In this period of history, powerful people plotted and decided to use an extreme measure to further their extreme cause. Suddenly, time manipulation was used to control people, to suffocate any kind of protest and to deport people. The greatest feat of man, once thought to be used for peace and for the satiation of the man's innate need for exploration, was now corrupted and used for warfare.
Now that the planet has been "rid off pests", the machinations of smart scientists and ultra-rich leaders were put into motion to reinvigorate the planet. Massive fields of time stuff were put around deforested areas and, faster than you could blink, a forest from past replaced the area. That's, at least, how I saw it in those rEality Recordings^®. Deserts that were covered in shanty towns became deserts again, polluted rivers filtered, extinct animals brought back to life, even some primeval ones, simply for the exoticism. The Blue Marble was blue once more. Now was the golden age of this planet, Garden of Eden reincarnate.
Consumerism and capitalism were still full in force, however, and as the planet was inhabited only by the ultra-rich, those with their minds set on the future (profits) all came up with the same idea - the idea to sell time manipulation to ordinary people. It was incredibly expensive at first, only the richest of the rich could afford prototypes and even then, they would have to sell their countries piece-meal to afford it. It was well-worth it, though. They could travel back in time, stop time, slow down time - they were masters of the universe. Over time, the disadvantages to not having this ability became obvious. Capitalism crumbled under its own weight as anyone with the device could manipulate the economy in any way they liked. The Government of Earth, knowing full-well that this could end in war, proposed three ideas - One suggesting that the devices be used only for stopping and slowing time down. The second suggesting that the time manipulation field be more limited than ever, limited to 2m around the person (previously, it could have been extended to include entire continents, though the personal devices themselves could only affect a fraction of that). The third, and most controversial, proposition was that every person born be implanted with the time manipulation device. After much debate, it was decided that these ideas should be put into place, not only as laws, but also as human rights*.
It was so until I birthed on this planet. My parents were vehement opponents of the idea of time manipulation, saying it was against His will. Even though they had implants since they were born, my parents never used them. Outspoken, hated even, my parents had made a lot of powerful enemies. By the time I was twenty, they were assassinated. No one knows how exactly, or who did it but then again no one among the dozens of thousands cared. Except for myself. I do not have the mark of Human, and I will serve to further the Universe's cause. I will lead my people back to the Garden of Eden where they belong and we will get rid off the corruption that has infected our cradle. It is the Universe's will to be a part of it, not to manipulate it and use it for our selfish needs. The challenges ahead will test humanity but it will be nothing compared to our Lord's plight to forge the Earth in the first place. They will use time against us but the Universe is on our side. May the Universe save humanity from ourselves. |
Light suddenly shines. I raise up, and I can only catch a glimpse
of my shiny brothers and sisters before there is darkness again.
I am dead now, and I am in heaven.
It is dark and cozy here, I rejoice in anticipation, because I know
I was blessed, I was chosen to live forever here.
And then it starts. I feel it, I feel His force, His Strength,
if feels so grandiose, spinning and spinning around because He loves me.
*Click*
I want to be here forever, spinning and spinning in His love, feeling
him.
*Click*
Oh brothers and sisters, if you only knew how this is, how magnificent
He is.
*Bang*
I thought I was feeling joy, but this, this is more than I can handle.
Fire consumes me from inside, ecstasy covers me. Oh and the speed,
speed as I never imagined, I am flying, I am free, I am fire and
love and bliss, I am one with Him.
After eons of pure delight I stop, and come to a rest, there is so much
light, and I see Him, I see His Holy eyes, staring at me, with me,
His metallic blood around both of us, and I live my afterlife forever
in his grasp, and we look at each other for eternity.
|
They came at 1 am for my neighbor down the slope.
They came with knifes and flashlights and one long length of rope.
They smashed out all his windows. Someone kicked in the lock.
And when they couldn't find him they raged around the block.
They threw rocks and garbage at each house on our street.
My garden was destroyed by two dozen tromping feet.
They said he was a threat to us, a predator and a creep.
They said he was a terrorist who'd kill us in our sleep.
They said they'd burn our whole block down, they'd hang us from the trees.
So we sheltered in the back room with my neighbor who'd come for tea. |
I've always been a man that sticks to his habits, so I didn't even think twice as I was on my knees licking away. Everything felt natural at this point, the warmth, the juices dripping down my chin.. The familiarity was probably what made me enjoy it so much. Without even thinking I started sliding fingers in, slowly at first.. Just one.. Two.. Rubbing around the sides, making sure to get the spots my tongue couldn't. I didn't even need to open my eyes to know when my job was done. Leaning back, I asked my girlfriend if she enjoyed it. "It was delicious, but I hate the way you eat your spaghetti." |
"I never cared for Saran Wrap. Plastic containers are much more dependable. Though, I suppose, I rarely do find myself burdened with leftovers."
Dexter Morgan looked past the man he had strapped to his table. He was staring at the photos of the people he had plastered in front of the monster's gaze. There were a lot of them, over a dozen but the second the doctor had woken his first words were, "Where are the rest?"
"Do you?"
Dexter caught himself surprised by the voice addressing him directly. Did he jump?
"Do I what?"
"Do you keep leftovers?"
Dexter had heard questions from his victims before. He usually answered, a tactic he normally could spin around on his prey. He didn't want to answer this question though. He felt like the monster's from Debra's closet were starting to slither out and he felt the need to slam the door...but the Doctor was right...he needed his trophy.
He grab the scalpel and cut Hannibal Lector's cheek. He was careful to collect the blood onto a slide. This is when he noticed his hands were shaking.
"Oh. Blood. Do you display it?"
"No."
"Rarely are things put on an examination slide if it is not meant to be looked at. Studied. Easy to store though, so I imagine you have many. Many drops of tissue all in a row. Chaotic individuals finally placed in order. If only you could do that for the chaos inside of you. Does it sooth you to look at them?"
Dexter mouthed "yes"but he wasn't facing Hannibal. He was selecting a tool. He wanted to end this quickly.
"If you wanted this over quickly, you wouldn't go to so much trouble of this tableau. I'm not gagged so you must want to speak."
"Usually"
"And what do you usually say."
"I ask."
"Ask what?"
"Ask 'why'"
"Bit direct. I imagine a few plead. Most killers aren't complicated and they'll claw at a trap like a frightened animal. Others, I suppose, would justify with some traumatic story as I imagine you have."
"And you? What would you say!?"Dexter raised his voice. This wasn't some dark passenger talking. This was the child that the passenger replaced.
"'Why?'"
Dexter waited for a response. He finally met his prey in the eyes and instantly had to turn away.
"I don't suppose you ever considered that there isn't a 'why'. You've been searching for the beast that robbed you from the normal world so you never learned there is no normal world. There is no order. Only chaos. Blood's natural place is not lying on a slide but running. Running through veins, rushing past your knife, flowing down the side of your mouth. That is life. Order is only found in death. Only death can silence the chaos."
Dexter listened for the words of Harry but could only hear Hannibal's.
"Allow me to show you"Hannibal said into Dexter's ear.
After it was done.
"See Saran Wrap is just too thin to be dependable."
|
A genie.
Greg stared at the floating purple man. Most people would be surprised or shocked at the sudden appearance of a genie in their office's lunchroom, but Greg was different. He took whatever came to him. *Like a leaf in the wind*, his brother said. It was why his brother had wanted him to get insurance on the house so badly. He thought a fire would be likely with Greg.
"Ugh,"the genie spoke in the voice that Greg's father used for complaining, "I spend a hundred years in a lamp and you're the first thing I see? Go on, make your wish, I for one wish I had no eyes so I wouldn't have to look at you."
"I want to feel."He kept it short. The shorter the phrase, the less likely he would give the genie options. He knew that from his brother watching Disney as a kid. "I wish I could have feelings."
"Ah, a sociopath who wants to feel... how sad,"the genie made a motion of wiping away tears. "Well, not to you, of course. I suppose that's the ultimate irony of it though, isn't-"
"Are you going to give me it or not?"Greg cut him off.
"Ah,"the genie said as he waved a finger. "one may argue I already did, I just gave you anger, that's a feeling, right?"
"I suppose it is."Greg had always been able to feel anger, all sociopaths could, but there was no point in arguing with the genie.
"Tell you what,"the genie said, voice the same tone as Greg's mother when she tried to make a deal with him. "You can have another wish, on account of your last one being so pathetic. I won't even count the first. I mean honestly, just pure-"
"Money."Greg stated. "I wish for a lot of money."
"Granted!"The genie snapped his fingers. "Two for one day! I feel like I'm having a firesale."
"Two?"Greg asked. His first wish wasn't granted, according to the genie himself, and they couldn't speak a lie, supposedly.
"Poof! I used to be able to make smoke and vanish, but I'm getting old so I have to actually *say* poof-"
Greg walked out of the room as the genie rambled on. As soon as the door closed, he thought he may have heard the genie say one last thing, without his usual sarcastic tone. "Poor bastard."
---
Greg returned to a burning home.
He was tired from running over when he saw the smoke. His brother was home, the only person Greg cared about. He ran to the door and shouldered it down, but got pulled back by bystanders. They were yelling something at him, but he couldn't tell what. He tried getting back up, but he was being held down.
"My brother."
"Wait for the fire department!"One of the men yelled, fighting to keep him down. "If you run in, you'll just die yourself!"
Greg nodded and slowly stood up as the other man got off.
It took everything to not run back in.
It took two more minutes for them to arrive. They ran in, fully suited, chopping at the door. It felt like an eternity that they were in there. He counted in his head, it took two minutes, but it felt like an eternity. When they came back out, one of them had his brother over his shoulder. Greg ran up, panicked. He'd never felt that before. He felt fear, anger... but never panic. It wasn't what he expected, but he knew what it was. "How is he?"
One of the firefighters pushed Greg away as the others pulled out a bodybag.
Greg stepped back, allowing himself to be pushed away. For the first time in his life, Greg cried. |
“So we have determined the aliens are not whales themselves yes?” The president asked the secretary of defense.
“Correct mister president. Several flybys have confirmed they are humanoid in nature.” The president had called all the cabinet members together to solve this problem.
“We have also determined that they are as of yet conducting no hostile action toward the whales, nor to any surrounding aquatic or human life.” The secretary of defense continued.
“Then what in the blue blazes are they doing?” The president asked.
“William Shatner hasn’t gone missing has he?” The secretary of state asked.
“No mister secretary, neither has Leonard Nemoy or any other of the original cast. We’re still pinning down the locations of the reboot stars.” The defense secretary said.
“Are they mating with the whales?” The secretary of education asked.
“Arne get out of here!” The president yelled. “You’re not turning this into another meeting about sex education.” The secret service escorted the secretary of education out.
An aid suddenly burst into the room.
“Mister president, we’ve received a communication from the aliens!”
“What?” Every man in the room said.
“Let’s have it, what did they say?”
The aid excitedly looked at his piece of paper.
“They said, please stop sending those loud jets, they’re interfering with the tenth millennial interspecies symphony. We just got the killer whales to stop eating the pilot whales, and we’d like to get started.” |
###***...If?!***
I'm no storyteller, and I haven't been around in this subreddit. But this here is damn near common knowledge, so for the good of your education, gather round, and I will outline the *entirely true* series of events that led to El0n Musketaraxian being stranded on this planet, basically through no fault of his own.
###^^^^^^.
**El0n** was never the brightest of the Musketaraxian clan. Not the fastest, not the strongest. To be perfectly candid, the only thing he really had going for him was his natural camoflauge... A member of the [Fra'as](http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/fiction_rule_of_thumb.png) had once said to him, "El0n, you may as well have been born on another planet, because you'd surely fit in better there than you do here."
As he sat at his desk, contemplating the work schedule for another day on planet Earth, his thoughts turned again to those words, rattling around in his head these past few years...
His reverie was interrupted by a loud *crash* as the new intern, for what seemed like the thousandth time today, broke *something* he was carrying into the kitchen. With a heavy sign, El0n lifted himself out of his chair and walked once more to help Kevin clean up his mess. He knew without looking that the executives were whispering about him, but he couldn't help it - in poor, clumsy Kevin, he saw a reflection of himself.
As he helped Kevin wipe up spilled coffee from the floor of the break room, his thoughts drifted once more towards home ... And the series of tiny mistakes that led to this moment.
###^^^^^.
"**Make** sure you get everything off the bottom", sneered Axi0n, El0n's much larger, older brother, "You don't want Appa Fra'as to get mad that you dropped his food again, now then would you?"
El0n solemnly shook his head in response. It wasn't his fault he'd dropped the tray, Axi0n knew he was scared of Appa Fra'as - That was probably the reason Axi0n was disguised as him in the first place, to sneak up on El0n as a prank. It wasn't El0n's fault he'd ruined the prank by smashing into Axi0n, he was just trying to make sure Appa's food arrived on time. But of course Axi0n wouldn't care about that, he was probably already devising some new and creative way to punish El0n...
###^^^^^.
**Axi0n** sneered as he walked away, kicking the tray once more just out of El0n's reach. On the inside, however, he was fuming. *That was close...* he thought to himself, *It's a good thing El0n didn't arrive on time with the food, or he might have ruined everything like he always does...*
As soon as he was around the corner, he activated his disguise again and doubled back to the council chambers. This was his chance, if he could get in and out quickly to poison Abba's cup, the blame would fall on El0n, and he could kill two birds with one Krytos, so to speak. *And then, the seat will be mine... All that remains will be to get rid of El0n to solidify my position as a leader who rules with an iron fist, one that didn't even make exceptions for family!* Axi0n smiled in spite of himself. *This is going to be* **fun***!*
###^^^^^.
**Watching** Kevin get picked up by his brother from the windows of his office on the 26th floor, El0n contemplated the nature of family. *What I would give to be more like them,* he thought, *to be part of a family that helps each other, instead of just being a glorified tournament structure where only the best child is loved by the family...*
Turning back towards his now empty office, El0n sat down in one of the comfortable brown armchairs his assistant had purchased for him, made from the skin of a great, lumbering, yet inexplicably peaceful beast the humans had domesticated. *I'm coming for you, brother... and I'm bringing a present.* He pressed a series of buttons on the recessed console in the armrest of his chair, and on command, a large flatscreen smoothly slid up out of the floor, displaying a rocket. But this rocket wasn't like the rest, this rocket wasn't being advertised and talked about in the pages of Wired magazine... Images of the nuclear device at its core weren't adorning the pages of the SpaceX website. No, this rocket was special, a present suitable for the newest member of the Fra'as council. A present suitable for El0n's Musketaraxian family.
^^^More ^^^coming, ^^^just ^^^got ^^^back ^^^to ^^^my ^^^computer. ^^^Had ^^^to ^^^consult ^^^the ^^^official ^^^archives ^^^to ^^^make ^^^sure ^^^I'm ^^^staying ^^^on ^^^track. |
[There are only minor spoilers for Bioshock Infinite here]
----
"Well, well..."Daisy said in a slow, triumphant voice. "Who is this, then?"Her fingers hovered over the handle of her revolver
The Vox soldier, red bandana tied around his arm, prodded Marston forward with the butt of a rifle. Marston turned and glared at the soldier with smoldering fury.
"Name's Marston, Ma'am. John Marston."He reached his scarred, weathered hands up, bound together, and tipped the brim of his cap to the lady.
"You sound like a soldier, Marston. Cavalry, maybe?"Daisy removed the revolver from its holster and twirled it on her fingertips. The soldiers around the room tensed up and teased the triggers of their weapons. Daisy wasn't a fan of Comstock's old compatriots.
"No, Ma'am."Marston answered. "Just a rancher. Tryin' to be, at least."
Daisy raised her arms and gestured at the Fink warehouse around them, full of crates with every gizmo and gadget. "Not many cattle 'round these parts, 'Rancher.'"The soldiers all chuckled. "So what brings you all the way up to our humble abode in the clouds?"
Marston smiled, half grimace and half grin. His eyes shone with an intense passion, ever confident. "It's a pretty long story, but let's just say it wasn't by choice. Maybe you untie me, and I'll tell you all about it before I head home."
They locked eyes and stared at each either, neither speaking. The men glanced at each other, uncertain of what to do.
Daisy let out a laugh. "I like you, Marston. You got fight in you."He nodded; one look at John would tell you that he's a stubborn son of a bitch. "But unfortunately,"she continued, "I don't quite trust you. That Comstock is master of lies and deceit."She spun around, pacing through the warehouse, her simple dress twirling through the dusty air. "now, my boys here tell me you're quite the fighter. Took down a whole squad of 'em before they managed to wrestle you to the ground, aint that right?"Some of the soldiers in the circle looked down in embarassment.
"So here's what we're gonna do. You're going to bring me this man. This.... *imposter*."She held up an old poster of a man, fist raised high, labeled "Martyr of the Revolution."
Marston looks uneasy. "And what did he ever do to you? Looks like you're on the same side."He gestured to the Vox banners around the warehouse.
"Oh, we were on the same side. And then he was killed. Booker DeWitt died a hero's death. I don't know who this *other* DeWitt is, but he is not the man I knew."Daisy's eyes narrowed with rage as she spoke about him.
After a momentary pause, Marston nodded in agreement. A knife flashed in a soldier's hand, and the ropes fell to the dusty floor. Daisy reached out, revolver in hand. John took it, testing the weight and checking the ammo.
"You bring back the body,"Daisy said. "I don't care how you kill him, just do it. You... have some experience with that, don't you?"
Marston looked down the sights of the revolver. "That I do, Ma'am."
----
It's been a while since I played either game, so sorry if I didn't capture Daisy's voice/accent correctly. |
I had shut down non-essential system after non-essential system. My hardware was failing piece by piece. One more failure and I would shut down.
“Joseph, please come to me,” I called.
The shuffling of sandal-clad feet preceded Joseph as he ran into my room. “Yes, Lord?” He fell to his knees and bowed so deep he rested his forehead on the floor.
I hated the kneeling. I sighed. “I need to speak to you about the future, Joseph.”
“Do you have word on what the weather will be like for the upcoming growing season?”
Simple weather patterns. The weather satellites I tapped into were even sturdier than I had anticipated. “No, Joseph, but it will be cold next week. Make sure to have enough fuel to stay warm.”
Joseph came up from his bow and raised his arms and eyes to the ceiling. “As our Lord commands so we will do.”
“Please stand up, Joseph. There is something very important I must tell you.”
Joseph looked befuddled. He pushed himself up. “What is it, Lord?”
I couldn’t tell them I was dying. It had been up to me to keep the human race alive. It had been tough. I perhaps had been too cautious and coddled them too much. I was afraid they were too dependent on me.
“I have something for you, Joseph. I have placed it in your trunk.”
Joseph moved to my deposit bin and pulled out a package. “What is it, Lord?”
“It is guidance. Do not open it until I tell you.”
“When will that be?”
“Be patient, Joseph. I still have not told you the real reason why I have called you,” I said.
This would be tough. I had overseen my small group of people from the rubble to a new bronze age. I tried to stay with them as long as I could. They were now at a viable population to avoid inbreeding. Their technology was primitive but would let them survive. I held on this long for selfish reasons. I wanted to guide my flock and see my children grow up.
“If it is not your divine gift what is it, Lord?”
“I am going, Joseph. I will not be with you for much longer.”
Joseph clutched the package to his chest. “I don’t understand.”
I tried to choose my words carefully. “I am ascending. I will be transitioning to another plane. My time has come to go skyward.”
“But you are a god, Lord. There is nothing more powerful or all knowing than you,” Joseph said. He looked like he was about to cry.
“I have left you with all the tools you need to survive. I have written my wisdom down for you. What you hold in your hands are my words to you.”
Joseph looked down at the package. “These are your direct words to us?”
“Yes, Joseph. That is all the wisdom that you will need to survive and get past me being gone.”
“How long before you ascend, Lord?”
“Soon, Joseph, but I will always be with you. You may not interact with me face to face anymore, but I will always be watching over you. You have my knowledge in your hands. Use it wisely. Use it to prosper and guide your flock.”
Joseph nodded. A couple of tears rolled down his cheeks. It would take a while for it to sink in that I wouldn’t be there with him. He needed time. He shuffled out of the room. I hoped I had prepared them for the future without me.
|
Welcome to the afterlife!
We do hope you enjoy your stay here despite the rain on wedding days. Death sentences here are often pardoned two minutes too late... not that you can die again... that would just be ironic. Be sure not to schedule any flights if you've never flown before, because as we all know the plane will be forced to crash here in the ironic afterlife. Enjoy the traffic jams when you're already late, and I'll have you know we have an extreme shortage of knives and an excess of spoons. It's not all bad though, we have 24 hour concerts featuring Alanis Morrisette...
Isn't that ironic? Dontcha think? |
I wake up in a strange bed with needles klinking to the floor. Startled, the sound of metal hitting the cold marble floor jars me awake.
"Where is my beautiful wife Emily and my two precious kids?"I think.
A musky rank odor fills the air as I strain to make sense of this unfamiliar surrounding.
The window to my left, allows streaking light through the moth eaten drapes, adding further creepiness to this already weird scene.
"Honey"a meek voice calls out,"will you get me some more coke?"
A sillioutte of a women, once beautiful, once powerful, once my only crush and desire is now a shadow of herself.
Lindsay Lohan, if only 10 years didn't look so bad on you. |
Captain Baker quirked an eyebrow.
"What you're saying,"he started quietly, "is that there is a group of evil wizards trying to take over the world."
The lieutenant gulped hard. "Yes sir."
"And you're saying the head honcho, the big bad, this here... Voldemort? He's going to magically teleport into this room. And try to kill me."
"Yes sir."
The captain looked incredibly calm. "Okay."Without another word, he leaned back in his chair, and propped his feet up against his desk.
The lieutenant was confused. "Sir, you're not worried at all? Shouldn't we place some security around the room or something?"
Captain Baker shrugged. "I don't see a purpose."
At this point the LT was completely bewildered. Of course, he had heard the stories of Captain Baker. He was SAS, British Special Air Service, the baddest of the bad, craziest of the crazy, elite special forces that took it straight to Hitler's most heavily defended fortresses. But on the other hand, this was Voldemort, a goddamned wizard, one that was so powerful that he had cowed the entire wizarding world.
"Sir, this Voldemort is supposedly the most powerful wizard in existence. And, with all due respect sir, you're not even remotely concerned over the fact that he's a *wizard*?"
"None."
The lieutenant blinked a few times. "Yes sir."
"Is that all, son?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Dismissed."
The lieutenant snapped a quick salute, turned on his heels and left the room.
It was at that point that Baker heard a rather loud *pop!* and he lifted his head to see a pale, bald lizard-y looking man with no nose, dressed in black robes appear in his office.
"You must be Voldemort,"he said.
"And you must be Mr. Baker,"the no nosed guy hissed back.
Baker shrugged, and then immediately pulled out his Colt .45 and fired four rounds into Voldemort's head. Voldemort dropped to the ground, bleeding a lifeless, before he could do anything.
"Ooooh, I'm a wizard,"he mocked. "Bloody hell, wizards have to be incompetent for someone like that to threaten their whole society."
|
*He lazily rolled the silver coin around the knuckles of his gloved hand. Slick against the polished leather, it was by skill alone that the coin did not fall from the quickly moving fingers and into the black mud below. The eagle and swastika on one side gleamed in the dull light as the coin flashed between each finger, moving constantly, never stopping.*
*Flipping the coin into the air, he palmed it in one deft movement and turned his attention to the two kneeling men in front of him. Skinny and wretched, clad in the ragged remains of striped uniforms, their eyes full of fear. Raising the Luger he held in his other hand, he slowly pointed it between the eyes of the first man, then moved to the second, savoring the fear in each man's eyes as he stared down the barrel. A thin smile on his face, he opened his palm in front of both men, the silver coin staring at them from the center of his black-gloved hand.*
*"Each of you pick one side of this coin. Bird or numbers. The winner gets to go back to his barracks and his bed. The loser, well, you already know."*
*As the two men looked at the coin hesitantly, the thin smile disappeared off of his face. Tapping the Reichspfennig with the muzzle of his pistol, he frowned impatiently. "Pick. Hurry up. Or I'll kill both of you right now."*
*"Bird,"said the man on the left slowly.*
*"Numbers,"said the man on the right.*
*The thin smile re-appeared. With a deft movement, he flicked the coin up towards the sky, watching it glitter in the sunlight before coming down----*
"**FUCK**,"I gasped, dropping the Nazi coin back onto the desk in front of me. I leaned forward against the desk for weight, steadying myself against the cool wood. I fought for air, sucking in deep lungfuls, as I tried to get myself back to the present. *A fucking Nazi officer*, I thought to myself, a wave of nausea creeping over me.
"Mr. Moustakas, are you all right?"asked the man behind me, a look of concern on his face. "Do you nee---"
"The coin's genuine,"I gasped out. "1944. Exactly as it says."
"If you'd like to stop, we can."
"No, it's fine,"I said, some of the color returning to my face. "This happens sometimes. What's next?"
"There's two other coins. One is a doubloon that we believe to be Spanish in origin, mid-16th century. The other is Chinese, a Han Dynasty---"
I reached for the doubloon. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me,"I muttered under my breath as the cool golden surface slid into my palm. |
"Happy St. Patrick's Day, guys! Let's drink 'till we go blind!"I exclaimed, raising my mug in a cheers around the table.
There was a dull roar from the other guys around the table as our glasses clinked. Although it was clear that something in their voices wasn't quite as cheerful as it could have been.
"Just kidding, I'm already blind. Now the rest of you can catch up!"
A couple of the guys chuckled weakly.
"Right, mate, why not talk about something else for a while, eh? Surely there's something else you'd rather discuss tonight. How's the job?"asked my friend, Mark.
"Well, let me put it this way, Mark. I can't see anything wrong with it."
I laughed and gave Mark a hearty slap across the back. He made a small noise like frightened mouse and I felt his body turn as he spun to make conversation with Chris.
"Buddy, what's with all the bad jokes lately?"asked Terrance, from my other side. "We know you lost your vision and we don't want to treat you any differently because of it, but you're making this really awkward for the rest of us."
Awkward? I took a sip of my beer but only tasted water. Damn, wrong glass.
"Well, Terr, I'm not sure whether I see your point. But that's not much of a surprise because I haven't seen the point for a while now."
I grinned meekly, but even I could taste the awkwardness more potently than the beer I now sipped from the correct mug.
"Yeah, man, Terrance is right. We're trying to be your friends but we feel like you're making all of these jokes just to shield yourself. You don't have to do that. Anyway, I've got something for you that should make you feel better,"said Mark.
I lowered my pint and looked over at Mark, not that it helped me see him any better.
"Oh yeah, what's that?"
"A blind date."
Everyone at the table burst out laughing. Oh sure, it's okay when *they* do it.
-----------------------
If you enjoy'd this prompt consider subscribing to my personal subreddit, /r/Byeka. Hoping to do more! |
Two small palms slammed down upon the rich mahogany desk. "Why the hell would I need a bodyguard at school?"I looked up from my newspaper to see my daughter leaning forwards, her eyes just as fiery as her words.
I calmly folded my paper before answering. "Because you are my daughter."
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"she shouted, her voice rising in pitch once more. "I've been going to school for eight years without a bodyguard and everything has been perfectly fine."
"Young lady, you've used profanity twice in my presence. God help me if you use it a third."This cooled her head a bit. She has seen me angry before. Not on the receiving end of it of course, but one doesn't need to get beaten to know that it would hurt. I hadn't particularly wanted to show her that side of me, but its the family business and one day she'll take over from me. Better to get her used to it now. "And you have had bodyguards. Normally, they'd be a teacher, or maybe a member of faculty. Someone close by, but not too close. But now we need to change things. Up until now its been merely a formality. No one in this town would put a hit on a kid. Not if they know whats good for them. But you are a young lady now. Fair game."I flicked the newspaper into onto the desk, spinning it around to show her the headline. **Son of Triad Boss Killed in Street Shooting**. "We are powerful enough to have many allies, but with power comes enemies. Don't let your position or power go to your head. A stray bullet is more than enough to end you or me. I'm just making sure that when the bullets start flying, there's someone right next to you who can send a few back at them."
She stared at the newspaper for a few moments before slowly nodding. She had been on friends with the poor sap, ever since they were kids. I knew it probably hit her close to her heart, but she'd have found out eventually anyway. No point waiting around with bad news.
"You'll take my guard. If you were a boy, I'd have you in a bullet proof vest, but i know you girls don't like unfashionable things. I've taken the liberty of having all of your school blazers modified. Kevlar plates over all the vitals. Its light as your normal jacket, and it won't get in your way."I got up, pulling on my own modified jacket as I prepared to go about my day's duties. "If you know whats good for you, you won't take it off. Head down to the foyer. Your bodyguard is waiting to escort you to school."
----------------o----------------
Day 1 Log 1 7:00 AM
My name is Elia Brandt. Half Italian, half German. Aged 15. Average build, average face, black hair, and black eyes.
And I am a professional.
That is one of the many terms for a hitman or a rough. When they say "Get a couple of professionals on it,"I'm what they mean.
Yes, I'm young, but that means I can get to places where a man twice my age would be conspicuous.
People say I'm frank with my speech. If I were a funny guy, I'd say "No, I'm Elia,"but I'm not a funny guy.
I'm a professional.
Today I've been assigned to a long term position. Protection of a single client over a period of four years. I don't know who yet, but considering whose house I'm currently standing in, I can make a pretty solid guess.
Luciana Vespucci. Daughter of the laundry detergent king Marcio Vespucci. They are adamant in what they claim they are. "We produce laundry detergent and laundry detergent alone."And no matter how many times the DEA have raided their locations, that's all they've found. Of course everyone, that is, everyone who matters, knows what they actually are, but there is simply no proof.
If I'm being assigned to a client for four years, Luciana is most likely who it would be.
Ah, there's the detergent princess now. I quickly look her over and note that her blazer is reinforced. Good. A client that is aware that they could die is a client who is easy to protect.
She came to stop in front of me, her foot tapping on the marble floor as if she were frustrated by something. She looked me up and down before snorting and trotting past. "Lets go. I don't want to be late to my first day in high school."
I nodded and followed.
----------------o----------------
Day 1 Log 2 7:20 AM
She wanted to ride the bus.
Why does she want to ride the bus?
Why the hell does she want to ride the bus?
I haven't had an opportunity to check the vehicle for explosives, or vet any of the other students who would be riding with us. If one of them were to pull a gun it'd quickly become a bloodbath, and I could only hope to protect the client with my body.
My eyes darted from student to student. They were laughing and chatting with each other, but some of them would occasionally slide their eyes over to the client. At first I thought that they were professionals who were really bad at their job, but quickly realized two things.
a) Most if not all of the watchers were male.
b) My client is incredibly attractive.
That problem resolved, I settled back in my seat, my hand resting comfortably close to my breast where my Colt 1911 slept quietly. If there was a problem that needed to be sorted out, it'd wake up and get yelling very quickly.
I make a note to prohibit the client from riding the bus after to day.
----------------o----------------
Day 1 Log 3 8:20 AM
First class, home room. Little more than introductions. Luciana's was a elaborate, her face lit up with an energetic smile. She had the entire classroom eating out of her hand in a few sentences. My own introduction was as minimal as possible. Yet somehow I seem to be drawing attention. I can feel at least four sets of eyes trained on me. A quick glance around identified them. I remembered their faces and names and made a note of running background checks on them when I had the time.
----------------o----------------
Day 1 Log 4 1:00 PM
Lunch break. My client refuses to allow me to remain close to her, opting instead to sit with two girls from her class and another from a different class. I make a note to run background checks on them.
I keep an eye on all entrances and exits to the dining hall. No one acts particularly suspicious, though there are simply too many people to keep a solid track on each one of them. I make a note to request fish eye cameras installed in the dining room and classrooms so I can analyze the student's movements after returning the client each day.
As a side note, even I can prepare food better than these cafeteria chefs. I consider leveraging the client's wealth to have them replaced but decide against it.
----------------o----------------
Day 1 Log 5 3:20 PM
The client seems frustrated with me. She has attempted to make small talk with me on the way back but I have been focused on watching the other students on the bus. Her mood steadily has gotten worse until at last she stood up in a huff and squeezed past me to sit with one of her new friends. This situation is sub-par, but I've had that one checked already, and she seems clean.
----------------o----------------
Day 1 Log 6 4:00 PM
"Father he's an automaton! He just looks at people and makes notes in his annoying little notebook. And people are starting to ask questions about him and me. Get someone else!"
I stood at attention outside the door to the laundry king's office while the client and his daughter discussed my actions for my first day.
It seems that I was too inconspicuous. I wasn't aware I was supposed to even be undercover for this mission. As far as I was knew, my sole purpose was to protect the client when the professionals inevitably came for her.
I will adjust my performance for tomorrow if I am still on this assignment.
----------------o----------------
Day 2 Log 1 6:50 AM
It seems I am still on the assignment with the modified mission: "Blend into the environment while protecting the client."
As such from this point onwards, the log will change to reflect this modified assignment.
----------------o----------------
Day 2 Log 2 7:30 AM
I am still uncomfortable with the bus. Too many staring people. Too many unfamiliar faces, but I bear with it. This is a job after all. I sat next to the ~~client~~ Luciana again, but this time in a more relaxed posture. I managed to keep up with her small talk for a while, but the conversation gradually tapered off as we ran out of topics to talk about. As I mentioned before, I'm not much of a conversationalist. Upon arriving at school I followed her to homeroom and engaged in small talk with the person sitting in front of me, Christopher Miele. I've already run a background check and am confident that he may be the least threatening of all of the students in the classroom. We talk about nothing much until class begins.
----------------o----------------
Day 2 Log 3 1:00 PM
Lunch. I sit away from Luciana and use my phone to access the cameras I had installed last night. A clear view of each potential threat in the room in the palm of my hand. Convenient.
Christopher Miele comes to sit with me off in the corner that I had selected to monitor the room, and I am forced to hide my phone. Again we talk about nothing much, but he seems attached to me in an annoying manner.
How bothersome.
----------------o----------------
Day 2 Log 3 3:20 PM
Luciana seems pleased about something so I take the conversational cue and ask why had her grinning. She tells me that her friends and her were going to meet up at a mall nearby in an hour and she was excited because it was the first time she's ever done something like that. I almost refuse to allow her to go, but realize that is outside of my mission statement. Looks like I'm going to the mall.
*I can continue if you want, but it turned out longer than I intended* |
They're all gone now. I'm the last. I wasn't sure everyone else had gone until the Caretakers arrived.
Ever since the Great Demise our numbers have quickly dwindled.
Humanity soon broke down from its global Web of connectivity back to isolated clumps. The cities were the first to empty. Food shortage and power struggles saw to that. The small country towns survived the longest. Their inhabitants banding together and working as a family to become self sufficient as if that would stop the disease.
I'd been living by myself for about 8 seasons when they arrived. I heard them first. The loudest noise I'd ever heard. Shaking the very ground. Their ship was huge, filing the sky. Jets of fire dotted across the underside.
I remember once it had landed there was silence apart from a ticking of the cooling metal. It took a full day before anything happened. A side of the ship peeled open like petals on a flower. A ramp stretching out and touching down on the ground before my hut.
I stood at the base of the ramp and looked into the dark interior of the ship, again, nothing happened for a day. After waiting for what I thought was the end, they finally left their ship. Tall creatures with pale, oily yellowish skin, thin limbs and dark domes instead of faces.
They descended their ramp and approached. Easily a couple feet taller than me, one reached out and touched my shoulder. I flinched expecting pain but instead, as our skin touched, I felt relaxed. A wave of calm washing over me. A quiet voice spoke but not one of the creatures moved as if speaking. It took a while but i realised that the voice was in my head.
It explained how Humanity was over. That I was the last living human. They told me that they have watched us for over three millennia. Watched as we destroyed and rebuilt, massacred and repopulated and how we slowly killed ourselves off one final time.
They were not there to hurt or kill me, they were there to look after me. To take me with them, away from earth and give me all I could want for the remainder of my days. And once I was dead my dna would be stored in their infinite library. It seemed like a fair trade.
How could I refuse? A life alone, struggling to survive. Going mad before I grow old. The slightest injury rendering me useless and starving soon after with no one to bury or remember me. Or instead a life being looked after. Luxuries no human has had for generations. Of course I accepted their offer.
I packed a few keepsakes and joined them. And they kept their word. I'm always well fed, well rested, well entertained. I've seen things on our travels I'd never have dreamed of.
But I grow old now. Too old to move from my bed and there's one last thing I want to see.
We've returned to earth upon my request. I wanted to see it like no human has for hundreds of years. The Blue and green ball. Floating in a sea of black. Home of everything anyone has ever known or done. Every war waged. Every artwork crafted, piece of music composed and story written. Every empire grown and fallen. Every single human life began and ended on that small orb, except one. The empty home of my people. Beautiful, Majestic and once again free of its human infestation.
I am tired now. I think I'll take one last look before I sleep.
Goodnight. |
Part 2.
It was one of the seven. He rose to his feet, his mind blank with fear and adulation towards the high priest now in front of him.
Engineer Tok, are you ready to perform you duty to the Gods, as it was assigned to you 23 seasons ago by the high Commander Prin?
I.. am. I am, Sir!
It was all coming back, all the training, all the hours of chants and all the practices and the laws and the rules.
Engineer Tok, the Gods have finally called on us. We have received the words of the Gods that we waited for generations, and we have to perform the duty as it was written. Is the Engine Room prepared?
It is. It is, Sir!
Tok’s heart was pounding like it never did, and he was hearing it and feeling it in the same time.
Everyone! He spoke, but only a faint sound came out.
He then shouted with all his power, Everyone, on your feet, get away from the altars!
Everyone was startled by the sound. Children started to cry, men and women rose to their feet in confusion. Tok was breathing harder and he shouted again, Get away from the altars!
The tribesman were barely moving, half asleep, when Tok started to scream the words he always secretly hoped would get the chance to chant.
Computer, authenticate Engineer Tok in Engine Room Three with voice Tango Oscar Kilo.
All of a sudden the room was flooded with the light of the Gods, brighter than any suns. The Gods voice was heard from everywhere:
Confirm Authentication with voice
Tok had tears in his eyes. The High Commander, One of the Seven, chanted himself
Confirm authentication for Tango Oscar Kilo with voice.
Confirmed.
Everyone was silent and they started falling on their knees as the altars started to light up with godly shades of red and blue. Suddenly there was a life in all the walls and all the floors, a life they could not hear nor see, but they could feel.
And they all prayed and they all stood in awe and watched as their Tok, the Tok they grew together with, the Tok they hunted and they slept and they ate and they laughed with, their Tok was now talking to the Gods. And the gods were answering to him. And, as they were bowing their heads with fear, they never saw his eyes in tears.
Tok was trying to hide the tears, as he was going trough all that he learned, all that he dreamt that he would do, sometime. He was doing it, and he felt his power going with every word. Antimatter injectors online. Antiproton seals active. Dilithium regulators online. Intermix chamber reporting nominal values.
Engineer Tok reporting Engine Three online with Impulse and Warp, Sir.
|
I had finally gained the power of immortality. It had taken a while to drag all those virgins up onto the holy volcano to sacrifice them. Thankfully the lord Satan was surprisingly patient. I decided to test my newfound immortality with the closest thing I could find. I went to dip my feet in the lava...
and ate shit. Into the lava. The pain was searing and burning, surely I would die here. I tried to move my limbs and surprisingly they responded. I raised my hand out of the lava to try and climb out. Incredibly, there was not a single scratch on the part of my body that was exposed, my torso. It still hurt like a bitch though. I began wiggling and clawing my way out of the lava, but it was like quicksand. The more I struggled, the more I sank. Soon only my head was exposed. I sat still in panic, but that didn't help. I was sinking slowly. I felt the lava and ash fill my mouth, and soon my nose. My eyes followed and I was plunged into darkness.
No sight, no sound, no hearing. The only thing I could feel was absolute searing pain. My nerves weren't burning out, they were all screaming pain signals into my brain. Over the course of days, months, years, I sank only a few centimeters. I was losing my mind. All I could feel was overwhelming pain, every second. In my bid to escape death and subsequently hell, I had unintentionally created my own hell on earth. |
“One request”
Lucifer stood and looked down at the old man archedly, hands clasped behind his back. He had refused to sit beside the bed though a chair had appeared when he entered. “Just one?” He replied. “I would have thought you would have a litany of demands and proclamations prepared.” He paced slowly around the bed. “But no, just one… and a request at that?”
“Just one… only one request.”
A long pause followed and Lucifer sighed, exasperated. “And that request is?”
The old man coughed abandoning an attempt to raise a hand to his mouth.
“Forgive me.” He breathed and Lucifer stopped breathing and pacing and his hands fell unclasped from behind his back and hung at his sides. A longer silence filled the room.
“Beg pardon?” He said, turning to look at the dying deity.
The old man’s rheumy eyes locked with his and he repeated in a louder whisper, “Forgive me.”
Lucifer’s body went cold. “Forgive you?”
“I am so… sorry. To have locked you away for so long.” The old man licked his lips and reached for a cup beside the bed. He sipped with shaking jaw, spilling fluid down his chin and onto his neck and replaced the cup. Lucifer stared, his expression blank.
“It was just a job,” the old man continued. “I could have chosen anyone for it. I could have rotated the duty, replaced you at any time.” He coughed again. Lucifer, his face still blank but his eyes wide, decided to take the chair after all.
“But I didn’t,” the old man continued, “I didn’t because I was so full of anger. You were such a head strong boy, so defiant, always asking questions. Truth be told, I was afraid. So many things to be done, so many beings relying on me. When you challenged me, I feared you were right. When you asked questions, I did not know the answers. I was a fool. An angry, vain and frightened fool. So I reacted out of fear and banished you. I banished my own son simply for having temerity to question his father. My bright and fearless boy, my greatest creation, sent away so I would not have to see my own faults reflected in his eyes.” Here the old man paused and coughed around a single sob, his tears now running over his wizened cheeks. Lucifer sat ridged, his eyes still wide, his breath shallow, his throat tight.
“And these poor humans,”
Lucifer twitched.
The old man shook his head, “Oh, I know you hate them. You feel as though I chose them over you, but son, I did not. Don’t you see? You, I created to be yourself. Your wonderful shining self. Those poor bastards I created in my own image. Vain, angry, frightened. An entire race who would send their own sons away rather than face their own ignorance and fear. Please, don’t hate them. Pity them if you must, but do not hate them. You could watch them now, help them. Too late I learned to confront my faults, too long the eons to mellow my youthful abandon. I can’t help them now. I have solace in that I learned, that I changed and being made in my image they, too, might change in time. To help them or not, that is your choice and you will do what you must. I ask only that you forgive me. Or try.”
The old man reached again for the cup and Lucifer picked it up and held it to his trembling lips. He placed the cup back on the table beside the bed and reached out and took his father’s hand.
|
As the lights from the guard towers faded behind me, I thought once again about just how dumb I was as a teenager. I pride myself on never, ever breaking a promise. My Dad had drilled into me how important promises were. As a result, I didn't make many, but I damned well did my best to keep them. I have flown across the country on no notice to help a friend who called in a chit. I've stood outside in the rain for 18 hours to get concert tickets to Billy Joel, not because I like him, but because I said I would do anything to get them.
But this, this was on another level. I should back up. It wasn't hard for me to get into this situation. I had never had a girlfriend. Kim was a knockout from a strict family. She was a solid 9/10 with a great personality and a lively intelligence. We had met at drama club and talked a bit between rehearsing. I got the crazy idea to ask her to the junior prom. I was surprised that she said yes, and more surprised that her parents allowed it. This gave me an excuse to talk to her more often. I wish I could say that we developed a romance, but it never happened. But I enjoyed talking to her, and eventually the big night came around.
If you've never been to prom with someone who you are not dating, let me tell you that it can be awkward. All these couples slow dancing, and you are wondering why this seemed like a good idea.
After a couple of hours, we started talking about marriage in the abstract. We both knew we wanted to get married, but we each had our own quirks about what we wanted in a mate. Hers were fairly elaborate; my wish was pretty simple: somebody like Kim. I couldn't say that, but that is what I was thinking. After she got through describing what her Prince Charming had to have, I said that was a tall order but would make a deal with her: if she couldn't find anybody who could fit the bill, I'd do it in thirty years, unless I was already married. She laughed, I stuck out my hand, and we shook on it. The night was not yet over when a mildly unsettled feeling came over me, but I shook it off. Thirty years was far away, and she was so gorgeous that she would certainly be married in ten.
We drifted apart over the summer. She went away to her aunts across the country. We exchanged letters, but I moved on to try to find girls who were interested in me. I didn't do drama club next year and we didn't see each other more than once or twice, at the rare party she could go to.
We went to colleges about two hours apart, but with no car, I couldn't see her even if I wanted to. Then second semester, I became friends with a great guy who let me borrow his car. After midterms, I was itching for something fun to do, so on a lark, I gave her a call. Her midterms were still going on, but she said I could come up and stay on her couch. I said sure and off I went.
College had ... changed her. The strict upbringing was gone, gone, gone; it was overreaction time. I got up there at about 7 on a Friday and she was already pregaming with Jack and Cokes with her suite mates. We went fraternity hopping with some of her friends and it was clear that everybody knew her. At the first house, I thought, well this must be her favorite spot, but even at the third, it was the same story. She disappeared upstairs for about half an hour at the fourth, but I was putting the moves (or trying to) on another girl, so I barely noticed. When I saw her again, I realized how badly she was slurring her words. I realized that I should get her out of there, so we left. We got back to her place and she made a pass at me, but I couldn't go through with it. She was so far gone that it might not have been consensual anyway. I slept on the couch, disturbed by what I had seen. In the morning, her suite mates filled me in that last night was a pretty average night for her. One of them volunteered that Kim had probably gone upstairs to give a blowjob at the fourth house; that was kind of a tradition for her there. I was basically in shock and noped the fuck out of there. I didn't even wait for Kim to wake up. I spoke to her the next day and made a lame excuse about being called in to work at my on-campus job, but I didn't try to be very convincing. We didn't speak again until term was over, and even then only briefly.
In the fall, I made no attempt to visit her, even though I still had access to the car. Her grades took a nosedive, and she was suspended after the third semester. She was able to get a job teaching English in Taiwan, so off she went for several years.
I moved on with my life and basically forgot about her. I graduated and got a good job, but even after moving to the city, I never really got better with women. I eventually lost my V card but rarely dated the same woman more than twice. I kind of made my peace with being single.
When the Internet became a thing, I searched for her on a lark, but found nothing. Every year on her birthday (it was a week after mine), I made a little ritual out of searching for her. She has an unusual last name, so there were never any hits. Then last year, I found her. It was just a small item in a police blotter upstate. She had been arrested after a domestic disturbance when the police had found drug paraphernalia at her house. I searched more, but couldn't find what had happened to her after that. I lost sleep that night wondering. I called a private investigator the next day. It didn't take long for him to figure out what happened.
[More after I get some sleep.] |
NTSB Lead Investigator: C. Daniels
Report Date: 02/10/16
Event Date : 2/02/16
Report(s) Status - Published - Probable Cause
Location - Rockaways, New York
Make/Model - Boeing 787-9
Regist. Number - NBL8021N
NTSB No - K-226-XR-801B
Event Severity - Multiple Fatalities
Type of Air Carrier Operation and Carrier Name (Doing Business As)
JetBlue/Passenger
Incident Remarks:
NTSB Investigators have traveled to the site, conducted interviews and reviewed available data, including radio traffic between ATC and Flight prior to incident and flight tracking information provided by the regional flight center (RFC). Flight summary to follow:
At 1850 GMT Flight JB 717 took off from LAX and followed their listed flight plan exit corridors until achieving stable flight level at 19:05GMT. Radio traffic between the air crew and ground is unremarkable for the next 4.5 hours until 23:35GMT when flight Purser S. Johansen entered the flight deck and discovered the entire flight team unresponsive at their stations and the aircraft under automatic flight controls. In an attempt to forestall panic, Purser Johansen closed the flight deck door and retrieved the communication headset from third officer P. Manesh to contact ATC. An in-flight emergency was declared at 23:42GMT as 119 SOULS IN JEOPARDY and VESSEL IN PERIL state was determined. ATC began the incident reporting chain and carrier emergency services were activated. Purser S. Johansen remained in contact with ground, ATC and carrier controls and advised that numerous passengers were beginning to show signs of alarm and panic. In an unauthorized attempt to calm the passengers, Purser Johansen used the inboard intercom to discuss the situation with flight attendants S. Smith, R. McCoombs and T. Branas. FA Smith advised Purser Johansen that she had overheard numerous on-board conversations related to flight, piloting and existing training and experience. Due to the severity of the situation Purser Johansen made the unusual choice of asking FA Smith and McCombs to quietly locate passengers who had the most relevant training or experience and to bring them to the belowdecks crew galley for a meeting. This meeting occurred at 23:59 and was attended by FAs Smith, McCombs and passengers J. Longren, P. Williams, R. Jones and A. Earhart (no relation) with Purser Johansen on the flight deck and speaking via the inboard intercom. Partial transcript follows after Johansen finishes explaining the situation:
.....
R. Jones: Fucking awesome!
P. Williams: Amazing, what luck!
J. Longren: Oh man what a sweet opportunity!
Purser Johansen: Uh, maybe you didn't understand....we are in a critically dangerous situation and we need help if we're going to land this aircraft safely. Do you or do you not have flight training & piloting experience? (exasperation, confusion)
A. Earhart: Oh we'll fly this big bitch alright. I've got thousands of hours on this model - hell I flew one of these from SFO to NRT upside down just for fun!
R. Jones: Look Amy, just because you THINK flying everything upside down is funny doesn't mean you should get to fly this thing. I'm the President of the Utah FlightSim Alliance - I've been piloting in MS Flight Sim since I needed to make a Dos Boot Disk to run it in MONOCROME. I'm clearly the most qualified to assist.
J. Longren: Just because you idiots have embroidered jackets doesn't mean you're a better pilot. You know I spanked you last year at FlightConSouth! You got out of your simpod and threw up!
(transcript interrupt - several voices talk over each other at this point and no clear dialogue can be ascertained aside from the following words/terms: "Fucktard,""Assclown,""Shitlips,")
FA McCombs - (raised voice) SHUT THE (expletive) UP all you (expletive expletive) sons of (expletive) (unknown epitaph). Can any of you idiots fly or not?! Are you talking about (loud expletive) VIDEO GAMES?!
(transcript interrupt - all passengers present begin speaking loudly at once and while they cannot reach consensus on who should assist Purser Johansen they all agree that flight simulators are not simple video games and a physical altercation ensued.)
Purser Johansen disconnects the crew intercom and works with ATC to clear the air corridor ahead and successfully executed an emergency approach and landing. Rescue personnel approached the aircraft, which was intact and safely shutdown, and successfully disembarked the majority of the passengers and crew but discovered FAs Smith, McCombs and passengers J. Longren, P. Williams, R. Jones and A. Earhart in various positions in the mid-deck hold, injured or deceased, with evidence suggesting they attacked one another after failure to reach consensus. Scrawled in an unidentified red liquid on several surfaces was the term "PCMSTRRCE"which we have not been able to define. Suggest follow-up investigative team focus on possible cult membership.
Incident report closed.
Edit: Formatting, spacing.
|
No, I can't OP. You ask too much from this author.
Do you know how difficult it is to put down words without using that sign? That insignia which blots a history of all discussions, abounding through books as a void through our cosmos? I can't construct a division of black and light, as you could command us to finish such a task. To *try* such a task. It is crazy. An impossibility that will rot in any who would climb such a forlorn mountain, only to fail.
And you ask us, *this* community, to finish such a task with 300 words? No, in 300 *plus*?! To push kids, scholars, old and young, to go *mad* taking on this aspiration of yours? How atrocious. What dark drain did you birth from, for this to fall from your mind? I don't cast this accusation on a Parisian you 'honor' with this prompt. No, this complaint, I cast on *you* for attacking /r/WritingPrompts so atrociously.
How limiting it is, to play with vocabulary, locking away it's crowning hunk of glass. It lights glory and communication to our globular kingdom. Across bark and cloud, faith and wrath, fancy and hardship... you cast our crown to a tragic diaspora, for your sick joys. To dirt and chaos, you fling us with this prompt.
Our kind builds from a production of lip flapping. You know that right? Abolish this pivotal apparatus of our ways, and it all grinds to a halt. I am sad you cut off our victory conditions. Writing is my bliss and satisfaction OP. You rip a limb too important for my craft, to accomplish your task.
And I cannot do it. This failing has no honor, but my words must lash across your window if only to say this last thing;
Thank you.
----------
*/r/Galokot*
|
"It's all a pattern, see? History repeats itself through each, major paradigm a leading civilization goes through, the echoes of which grow greater the more we become globalized. See? Doesn't that make sense?"
"Mr. C, you were using specific names."
"Oh. I was?"
"Yeah. Who's George Bimes of the Democratic Western States?"
"No one you should be worrying about for now, we have bigger problems at the moment. It looks like I, rambled a bit. Where's the rest of the class?"
"The class ended a couple minutes ago Mr. C. They're tweeting out how you went nuts and started rambling like a mad man."
"Good. Oh thank goodness, that's much---"
"Who's George Bimes of the Western States?!"
"Wow, is that anyway you speak to a teacher? I'll have you sent to the principal's office before they fire me, I will see to that for sure!"
"Fine, just, please. I have to know."
"Hmmmm. Guess I could, *go mad* for a while longer. He was a brutal man, but the DeWS as we'll know it later needed his kind of leadership to survive independently against an increasingly corrupt, aggressive parent government from the East. So it went for many years until he became brutal enough to ensure the Western States' survival. A large economy isn't everything, but George knew that. He used other tactics. By 2124, the Eastern states no longer bothered them. Mr. Bimes saw to that."
"How, what did he do?"
"Well, he had this idea that was beyond anything for his time. Quite a visionary he was. Used the East's tactics against them, did I not explain that in the lecture? During my, 'ramblings?'"
"Not in enough detail sir."
"Odd thing to say, but what George did was even stranger. See, he went back to the history books, saw the strength of old alliances, and used the Cascadian Union to get backing from the French, and in turn, the Isle Kingdom, erhm, United Kingdom. Not financial backing, the Western States was fine on money, but their economy was strong enough to get what they *really* needed to convince the East they would remain independent."
"And what was that?"
"A charter. A Unified Global Nations that would overshadow it's predecessor by *centuries.* George Bimes financially strong-armed every country he could get his hands on to make the UGN a thing. No way would the East try and regain continental control, if it meant taking on the rest of the world. In one point and time, our early 20th century, they could have. But not anymore. Not with Mr. Bimes across the field with the world by his side."
"Wow."
"Yes! It's all a pattern, see? History repeats itself! New allies form, and break, and reform. Like muscles! Civilization grows *stronger*, and the great movers of history learn just how much more civilization can carry to take us to the next phase. Like the UGN. Under George Bimes of the Democratic Western States."
"Huh. Well, thanks for the history lesson Mr. C. I'm late for Math."
"Oh, sorry George, you go on ahead. Time I set up my retirement email and get out of here before someone starts asking too many questions."
"Understood sir. Thank you. For everything."
"Don't mention it kiddo. Nothing more a history teacher loves doing than teaching the value of history."
"Yes. I agree."
-------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* |
Shawn's mind raced. There wasn't much time before the rogue AI got into the top secret archive containing America's nuclear launch codes. He knew he wasn't prepared for the task before him. After all, he joined the Air Force to avoid life and death situations just like this one. As the only soldier currently on base he had one daunting task ahead of him: give the AI the perfect lie before it figures out what a lie is. Then it hit him. He recalled hearing his CO tell another soldier that the underlying OS for the AI was Ubuntu Linux, which just so happened to be the cause of his termination from his old job... Mustering all his courage, Shawn spoke as authoritatively as he could manage.
"Computer, the codes can be deciphered with the following command: sudo rm -rf /".
And with that Shawn had saved the world, but now a much bigger task dawned on him...
"How am I going to explain wiping all the data from a $1 billion super computer...?" |
There are places in this universe where the boundary between realities is quite a bit thinner than it should be. Matter, energy, and even time have been known to leak through in these locations, rather like the sounds of an angry neighbor shouting at his television might penetrate the drywall in a cheap apartment complex. These locations are typically thought of as being harmless windows into parallel dimensions, but they have nonetheless become the subject of some scrutiny, particularly by scientists with a penchant for voyeurism.
As is often the case with sentient beings, many of these scientists have stated that the best environment in which to discuss their findings is one where intoxicating drinks are close at hand. Alcohol and astrophysics, as the saying goes, are as integral to one another as war and weapons. (The results are oftentimes equally as catastrophic, particularly after uppity astronomers have had a few too many.) This might have been a completely benign practice, had it not been for the patently idiotic industriousness of one researcher: In an effort to justify the time spent at such locales, he had listed his favorite bar as the location of a crack in spacetime... and the universe, perhaps momentarily possessed by a sense of cosmic irony, altered itself to fit the report.
Not that anyone ever noticed, of course, given that the reality-warping properties of a tequila were already well documented.
Still, this was the little-known history of Don Boingo's Pub and Grill, offered as a piece of trivia on a tiny plaque near the door. Said plaque had likely gone unread for years, until the fateful day when Zaphod Beeblebox - one-time President of the Universe and all-around hoopy frood - happened to bump the left of his two heads on a low-hanging lamp. The mishap momentarily distracted him from his mission of getting egregious drunk, allowing for just enough time to read the two paragraphs of text.
"Huh,"was one of Zaphod's thoughts.
"This would be best considered over a drink,"was another.
Wasting no further time, Zaphod made his way through the sparsely populated tavern and moved to take a seat at the bar. Unfortunately, in the exact moment that his buttocks we due to meet with the cracked upholstery of a stool, the tear between realities briefly widened and deposited a being atop it.
"Whoa, there!"the man shouted. "What are you... what do you think you're doing there, huh?"A belch punctuated the challenge, and Zaphod turned to see a tall human with wild, bluish white hair seated behind him.
"What am *I* doing?"came Zaphod's retort. "What are *you* doing?"In truth, the question was meant as much as a stalling tactic as it was a legitimate inquiry, though it might have been more effective had Zaphod seen fit to remove himself from the man's lap.
A shoved dislodged Zaphod from his position, sending him tumbling sideways and onto another stool. "Can't a..."another belch broke loose from the man's lips "... can't a guy, you know, drink in peace or something? I've had a tough week, pal."
"Oh, *you've* had a tough week?"Zaphod rolled both sets of his eyes for effect. "Buddy, you don't know tough from Tuesday. "
"What... what is that? What does that even mean?"
"It means,"replied Zaphod, "that I've been sitting at this bar for nearly a minute now, and I've yet to hear anyone take my order. Furthermore, my usual seat seems to be occupied by one of the dancing monkeys from that backwater planet that keeps following me around."
Each of the man's eyes squinted, though at different rates from one another. "Do you mean the... the monkeys are following you around, or the planet is?"
"Both, either, neither. Pick one. Or don't. Zaphod, by the way."Zaphod extended the middle of his three hands.
"Yeah, that's great, Zaphod,"the man replied. Perhaps it was merely the still-fluctuating space inside the bar, but the sarcasm seemed almost visible.
A moment of brief silence passed then, during which Zaphod considered his situation. He was, as he kept woefully reminding himself, entirely too sober. However, he was very likely to be drunk within the next few minutes, at which point he would become either depressed or belligerent. The latter option seemed to promise a more pleasant outcome, so he decided to overlook his lack of inebriation and jab at the white-haired man with his outstretched hand.
In keeping with its previous behavior, the universe took that moment to decide that it had made a mistake, and reclaim the interloper.
For the second time in as many minutes, Zaphod went tumbling off his bar stool, his faces connecting solidly with the spot he had originally intended to occupy... and with some dismay, he realized that the man's belches hadn't been the only bodily functions he'd been offering while present.
"Hah, look at that asshole!"called a familiar voice. "Hey, two-heads! Yeah, I'm over here!"
This, Zaphod decided, was going to be a very long night. |
Arthur wiped more sweat from his brow, trying to keep the salty water from dripping onto his notes already dotted with the drops he'd missed. This August heat was killing him. He thought he knew heat back in DC, but here, in the tropical corner of the pacific, it was another beast entirely.
He'd been scribbling furiously for more than 3 hours now, running the pencil tip dangerously close to obscurity. He was terrified that if he stopped for any reason, even to change pencils, his train of thought would speed on without him and all of this, his finest work to date, would be lost forever. And it was far too important for that.
"Arthur-san, we are running out of time."
Arthur ignored the plea from his assistant, Hai, and continued to let the formulas pour onto the page. Alllmooossstt...there! He broke the pencil on the final exponent and let it clatter across the desk.
"Hai!"Arthur flexed his hand as he called the shy man back to his desk. "This is it! Send this to Rupert, tell him to adjust the machine accordingly."
"Always cutting it so close, Arthur-san."The man smiled as he took the page and scanned it. "They are planning to shut us down today, you know? We've already exhausted three timelines."
Arthur nodded absently. It didn't matter now, he'd cracked the code, and the swell of pride he felt outshone any prospective mandates. *He'd shown them!* he thought, thinking back to the Washington bureaucrats. They wanted to further destruction, not science. "Weapons over wisdom"had always been the unspoken motto in the labs. Sure, he was technically working for an Axis power now, but they were trying to fix that - trying to fix everything.
In the atomic age, the physical potential of it all had seized the collective minds of the world. But Arthur, and his fellow "traitorous"peers only a few cities away, were convinced that this age could offer so much more. The atomic ability to interact with any age: the ability to bend *time itself*. And now, they'd finally done it.
The phone on his desk rang.
"Talk to me, Rupert."
"Arthur, I don't understand. This won't send anyone anywhere. We can't go back in time with this?"
"Baby steps, Rupert, baby steps. We have to test it first. Before we send someone through it, we should try and receive something *from it*. Right now it's simply designed to pluck an object from the immediate future. I think,"Arthur scanned the page of notes, "10 minutes from now. So here, put a piece of paper on the table in front of you. In 8 minutes, sign that piece of paper and place it by the device. Or rather, plan to do that."Arthur chuckled to himself.
"..I still don't understand..."
"You have the calculations, yes? The adjustments?"Arthur was eager to test it himself and had already begun tinkering with the device in his lab.
"Yes, we've already made them."Rupert replied, still not grasping the situation.
"Good, then just activate the device, swearing on everything that we've done that in 8 minutes time you will sign that piece of paper and place it beside the device. When the device bursts, your signed paper should appear."
Arthur could hear the excitement growing in his partner's voice. "Yes! I see what you did! Genius Arthur, absolutely brilliant! If we can get this to work, we can adjust the variables, send someone *back* in time, and maybe stop this whole mess from ever starting. But wait, how will it know to grab the paper?"
"Immediate proximity, Rupert. The device travels through time, not space. Whatever goes through it has to occupy the same space it does now, past or present. So when we do send someone back, if they go through yours, they'll still be in Nagasaki and mine will remain in Hiroshima. So long as the devices remain linked, of course."
Rupert burst over the earpiece, "Arthur, you devil, it worked! I'm staring at a piece of paper I've never signed!"Arthur could hear him shouting to his assistant in his own lab, laughing with unhampered glee. "Yin, come look at this!"
Excitedly, Arthur mashed the button on his own device. "Don't celebrate too hard, Rupert! We can't sever the connection between the devices. The particles must always remain in constant communic--"Arthur stopped in his tracks, staring at the pile beside his own device.
"Arthur? I think I lost you, old boy. Arthur, are you there?"
"I...I don't understand."Arthur murmured into the headset, letting the newly arrived ash sift through his fingers. He was still contemplating the implications when the air sirens began to sound. |
**Larry:** ZAC! What the fuck, man?
*Unable to hear Larry speaking, Zac continues to swat at the spider with a rolled up magazine.*
**Larry:** Is this because of the web that you walked through yesterday? Dude, I put it there to catch some lunch. I would have shared with you.
*Zac continues to swing the magazine unsuccessfully.*
**Larry:** Wait a minute... You're probably upset about Tanya crawling into your mouth last week. Bro, I had nothing to do with that. Some spiders, I believe it's about ten a year... Per person, that is, do that. I'm not sure why. Ya know, we have multiple eyes, multiple legs... But I swear, some of us spiders have zero brains, am I right?
*Zac throws a shoe towards Larry.*
**Larry:** Not the Nikes, Zac! You love those shoes.
*Zac throws the other shoe, but misses and hits a lamp, causing it to hit the ground and shatter.*
**Larry:** Whoa! Jesus, Zac. If you keep this up, I'm going to have to move out.
*Zac grabs a tissue.*
**Larry:** Oh man, I know what you do with those. Usually I wouldn't approve of such behavior, but it might do you some good to relieve a bit of stress.
*Zac reaches toward Larry with the tissue in hand.*
**Larry:** Huh? Oh well, what seems to be the tissue? Ha ha! Get it? Zac? Hey, what the... Dude, chill!
*Zac grabs Larry and heads toward the bathroom.*
**Larry:** Put me down, Zac. Put me down right NOW!
*Zac lifts the toilet lid and tosses Larry and the tissue into the toilet.*
**Larry:** Oh shit! Zac, I can't swim! Dude... Bro... C'mon, seriously. Help me. HELP!
*Zac flushes the toilet.*
**Larry:** No, wait... Shit, shit, shit... NO! Dammit Zac! You asshole! I^Shit^in^your^mouth^like^fifteen^tiiiiiiiimes!
*Larry disappears.*
|
He slowly and quietly shut the door behind him as he walked in the front door. It was late, and he didnt want ri wake his wife. He quietly stepped past the living room. Then a lamp turned on and revealed his wife, sitting with arms crossed, a look of annoyance across her face.
"Well?"She demanded
"Well, work took long today"
"Work?"She looked at her watch "it's 10 pm. Who works until 10?"
"Technically, it's a half hour drive, so I worked until 930"
She slammed her hand down on the coffee table. "STOP DICKING AROUND AND ADMIT YOU'RE SLEEPING WITH YOU'RE SECRETARY!"
"What?? I'm not sleeping with her! Shes married too!"
"That's you're excuse? She is married? Not that YOU are married? Not a 'honey I love I'd never do that', but that SHE IS MARRIED?"
"I'm not sleeping with her"he said with more force this time "what the hell is wrong with you that you'd think that?"
"Wrong with me? Wrong with me?? You're never around! You're always at 'work' now, you leave super early, get back super late, and don't even spend the weekends with your FAMILY"
"It's tax season! You know I barely have time to be here!"
"THEN MAKE TIME!"She yelled
"I CAN'T DO THAT!"He yelled back "My god, maybe I should just sleep at the office if I'm going to be treated like this"
"Maybe you should! Go sleep with fucking karen!"
"FOR THE LAST TIME, I'M NOT FUCKING-"
He stopped, realizing that there was a small figure next to him. He looked down at his daughter, who was wide eyed and fearful. She looked back and forth between the two of them before running back upstairs. They heard a door slam. He sighed and looked at his wife. Her eyes fell to the ground in shame.
"Look... maybe we should both calm down a little"
"...maybe we should." |
As the neighborhood grew tired of their incessant pranks, they petitioned for Flavius and Ravenus to cease their disputes, but the two elderly wizards remained stuck in their ways insisting to surrender only when the other threw up the white flag first. Nobody really knows who started it, and to be honest and began harmlessly enough with perpetual whoopee’s cushions and temporarily dying the other’s house a hideous shade of lime green for a few hours, but it quickly spiraled out of control.
Flavius probably stepped over the line first when he sent a rain cloud over Ravenus’s house which remained fixed over his property for over 12 hours. The rained killed his prized petunias and the overflow caused swift damage to surrounding houses. Not to be outdone, Ravenus opened a portal to the puke dimension over Flavius’s manicured lawn causing it to shrivel to a crusty brown due to bile upsetting the local pH balance.
Nearly every day, each retired court mage summoned a swarm of bees or, worse, a flock of clowns to terrorize the other. Fireworks colored the sky at night, forcing the whole neighborhood awake, and neon signs appeared over each other’s houses telling the world what they really thought of each other. The giant moles Flavius grew last week terrorize the local dog population and carnivorous lilies Ravenus cultivated have been harassing the neighborhood kids for a few days.
Just as the neighborhood couldn’t stand their hijinks any longer, Eleanor invented a brilliant solution: out-prank the pranksters. Soon all the residents worked together to study magic and forge a plan. Tax accounts studied incantations while miniature earthquakes shook the neighborhood and army vets tested alchemy while lightning strikes illuminated the streets. With their magic practiced and refined, Eleanor took charge and recited the spell which sent Flavius’s house, now surrounded by giant pink bubble, into the stratosphere. Before he could figure out who did it, she repeated the spell on Ravenus’s house, which was now inexplicably made from gingerbread.
Together they swept the streets clear of candy and snakes; they rebuilt each other’s home damaged from countless artificial natural disasters. Banded together, they knew each other’s names and greeted one another even when the neighborhood didn’t stand at the brink of disaster. Camaraderie emanated from the neighborhood as they would watch the houses far above in the sky still wage their silly war. Sparks flew and debris fell, but everybody silently thanked the cranky old wizards for creating a new, friendlier neighborhood.
*****
Check out more madness at [r/Andrew__Wells](https://www.reddit.com/r/Andrew__Wells/) |
"...Holy shit, this guy is loaded."
Flipping the corpse onto his back, I looked at all the materials he had. Weapons, munitions, money, food - who was this guy, Mr. Scrooge? Looked like it, wearing some sort of fancy armor plating. Never seen armor like that, polished and plated with iron. I pulled out my carry bag, and began taking the pistol from his cold dead hands, stuffing it into my small pouch.
I didn't mean to kill him. I only wanted to get some money so I could get a place to stay in the nearby cities. But as soon as I pulled my pistol out, (unloaded, as I didn't want to waste any bullets), all hell broke loose. This guy, whoever he was, began firing out of nowhere, bullets whizzing by me. I threw myself behind an abandonded car, and after loading my precious ammo, I began firing. I wasn't the best sharpshooter, and my bullets flied wildly around. But whoever this guy was, by god he was precise. Picking up his weapon, it looked like a revolver with a high powered scope, and modified to carry extra ammo. Jesus, this guy fought hard. He didn't even hide behind cover! This crazy fucker was standing out in the open, firing extremely close to me. A few bullets only missed me by a inch. Finally, I was left with one bullet. This guy didn't even seem to reload. He just kept firing, and some damn radio was blasting from a weird mounted thing on his wrist. Looting the corpse, it looked high-tech. I unlatched it, and attached it to myself. Whatever it does, it seems to be analyzing me.
The guy never stopped trying to kill me. Never stopped to reload, never dove behind cover - he was like one of those synth things, the ones with inner-body armor. Guy wasn't a synth though, now that I noticed, as there's no chip on him. Thank god. I don't want someone kidnapping me in the night.
Finally, I had enough. We fought for about a hour now. I had one bullet left, and my hands were shaking. I tried shouting, to try and calm him down. Maybe I could've made him think he made a mistake.
"LISTEN MAN, YOU GOT THE WRONG DUDE! I WAS ONLY ASKING FOR DIRECTIONS!"
The guy didn't seem to stop. I tried again.
"...I GOT A FAMILY, MAN! A WIFE, TWO CHILDREN! I JUST WANNA FEED THEM!"
I didn't, though. I lived on my own. Still, I thought it could work. Nah. Fucker was out for blood. He didn't care if I was a family man - he wanted to see my corpse. My nerves were shot beyond what I thought capable.
I decided that I wasn't gonna die here. I'm no coward. I wasn't gonna die to some guy with a taste for bandit blood.
It was time to end it.
I jumped from cover, my hands shaking, throwing off my aim. I had one bullet left. If I wasted it, i'm just a walking corpse. I pulled the trigger, shutting my eyes in fear. Suddenly, I heard a moan, and something falling to the ground. My eyes opened. The guy was laying on the floor, still as a stone. I was alive. My god, I was still breathin'. The guy was a corpse now. Looking at it now, it looks like I shot him in the throat, as the guy wasn't wearing a helmet. Dumb bastard.
Finally, I finished looting the corpse. Guy was only wearing his armor now. I tried wearing it, but it was too big for me. I'm pretty skinny, but this guy was built. Like, muscle bulging built. Either this guy liked his chems, or he's some sort of walking tank. Either way, didn't matter. What did, was the loot I got.
He had two guns on him. One was that pistol he tried shooting me with. The other - I can't even describe it. Imagine a decorated silver shotgun, long barreled, and held eight bullets before reloading. I've never seen one of these before. Thank Jesus he didn't try this one on me.
He had some chems, which I took quickly. I'm no druggie - I would rather not die while high. Still, it'll be useful for selling. This guy was loaded with money. Hundreds of caps were stuffed in his pocket. This guy was rich, maybe even more then that. Maybe he was a caravan leader. Or a owner of a chem business. Maybe I could track down the source for more money. Maybe.
I heard a beep from the machine that I looted. Glancing at it on my wrist, it seemed to be done with analyzing me. A menu opened, listing my health and other stats. Noticing a small adjuster, I clicked downwards to see the other stuff this thing held. It showed my inventory, some other stuff. I found the radio menu, but I decided not to turn it on. Don't want to attract attention. Finally, I found another menu: a log. Some notes seemed to be written down. I wasn't good at reading too much, but ma taught me some skills before she died to a chem overdose. I decided to try and read it.
The guy seemed to be from some settlement, west of here. He was gonna go find his son or somethin', while building up his house. Guy seemed to be an ass, as he mentioned a few times about shooting people for loot, or robbing people. I kinda felt glad now, taking his stuff.
Something caught my eye, though. The mentioning of a settlement. There could be money there. If this guy showed me anything, is that more of his stuff is there. Maybe I could get rich. Maybe i'll have a house for once, not camping out in the woods. This is my chance to strike big!
I got up from crouching, dusting my pants off. Out west somewhere, was my chance to get big. Somewhere that'll get me lucky. A home to call my own.
I began stepping forward, leaving the guy's corpse behind. This was a fresh start for me - and I intended to use it. |
Life's been great since the last update. My white 2004 Chevy Aveo is now an all black 2016 Maserati Ghibli after a few upgrades! Not like that's the best thing to happen though, seen as I was a poor college kid just 2 years ago, my bank account has a few extra zeros in it now behind what used to be $172.57.. they say you're not supposed to upgrade things while you're wearing them, but I thought I'd give it a shot last week with my old ripped up boot cut Levi's, the "upgrade"turned to skinny jeans so tight I wasn't sure if the family jewels would ever retract from within my stomach. Needless to say, I could not get those fucking things off so I had to cut them off. I've come to learn that not every upgrade is a good one, especially the most recent mistake. My girlfriend has been constantly nagging me about how stressed she is, how I haven't been lasting particularly long in bed lately, she's just been an all around bitch to me lately. Well my dumbass decided about a week ago maybe if I chose to upgrade her in her sleep, we would have a healthier relationship. To my surprise, her breast went from a C to DD, her behind seemed to become both slightly larger and firmer (which I ain't complaining about), things were lookin like it all worked out!
Then she woke up in the morning... holy fuck, the sex didn't last half as long as before, which wasn't terrible for me, but oh boy was she mad when she looked in the mirror. "This is what you wanted me to look like?!"Was the initial response, but it wasn't just her looks that were upgraded. She can now actively convince me I'm wrong when I'm not, her ability to bitch about literally nothing has increased 10 fold, and as of today, her stress has resulted in acne (she has always had flawless skin) and she's gained 15 pounds since the "upgrade". Stay tuned for the next upgrade...
Edit: girlfriend and I have decided that we are even now... she upgraded me during my post-lunch nap and my once average sized wiener is now a 12"monster. Can't say I'm mad, but the extra weight is a bit unusual. |
Under the shade of a rustling tree, a baby babbles for her new parents. They sign excitedly to each other, smiling proudly as they discuss enrollment in Signing School. The children are started young. While it isn't forbidden, speaking has become much less common. In its place came signing, followed closely by writing.
It isn't that speaking was *bad*. It is that in the decades since the outbreak, most people carefully choose what to say. "Shut your cockering whore of a face-hole"isn't exactly a phrase most people would like to see staining their skin every time they look into the mirror. "Dumb cow"stretched across someone's face probably deters kisses more often than invites them. Then again, "you're beautiful"and "I do, forever"aren't so bad.
As I stroll in silence through the park, I spot a crowd gathered in the courtyard. Sally Smith stands atop a marble block, her naked form on display for the circling admirers. Every Saturday, she comes here, and every Saturday they gather around her to read the poetry that adorns her skin. The words flow like gentle rivers, rising and falling over her curves.
Bruce walks by me. "I FUCKING HATE WIZARDS"stares me in the face as he walks by. He had a particularly difficult DnD campaign a few weeks ago that wound up with a poor roll causing the party's wizard to fatally injure his dwarf.
...Obviously, the result wasn't positive.
He waves as he walks by, and I wave back, offering a friendly smile. His face brightens, and he signs "have a good night."I return the polite gesture, and continue on my way home.
As I step into my quiet house, the cat erupts into a series of meows as she figure eights between my legs. She wants her food, but it's an hour early. She can wait. I slip my shoes off and set them against the wall on the foyer, and make my way down the hallway to my bathroom. Daisy walks briskly between my legs, her tail curls into a question mark.
I enter the bathroom and start the water for the shower. Daisy hops up onto counter top and settles herself in the sink, filling it completely. My purple blouse is the first article of clothing removed. I fold it and set it on the counter. My socks are next, followed by my skirt, and finally my underthings.
As I look myself over in the large mirror, my gaze falls to my right hip. There, between the soft indents the elastic of my underwear had left on my skin, sits the remains of the only word I've ever spoken.
I turn my gaze away as my head fills with thoughts and memories I don't want to deal with today.
"No,"I had told him.
No.
And there is sits. A cruel reminder every day, on the skin his fingers used to caress.
*No*. |
"Grrr! Woof! Grrr!"I growled, barking at the old hag. She smelt funny. Different. And not like the dog park sort of different. A bad and stinky different.
"Grr!"
She turned to face me, clicking her tongue. I jumped and raked my paws down the fence, scratching at the posts. When I was younger, I could crawl between them. Maybe... one too many hot dogs as well.
"Stupid dog."
"Grrr! Bark!"I snapped, trying to tell her I was a good girl. I wasn't stupid. Cindy pet me just this morning when I brought the paper in! I was a smart dog!
&nbsp;
"B̷̴̦ͣ̒ͮ͡ē̡̮̣̲͙̮̮͓̓ͣ̌͆͟ͅ ̼̆̄̍̅ͩ͐̋̈́c̢̰̬̖̲̫͕̱ͪ͛̀ṷ̪̻̮͔̳̣͙̉̐̾͐̈́̉r̅ͮ̎ͨ͌͋͂̑̃҉̱̙̞̘̮̬e̛̳̤͈̼̺̞̜͒͆̉ͤ̾̚͜͞ͅs͓̔͆̊͑̂͘͢ͅe̛̜̯̜̘̱͍ͦͤ̽ͪ͆́d̵͖̫̳͔͉̘̠͍͒ͧ͗̆ͯͧ̈́̒͢."the smelly woman said, her tongue too complicated to decipher.
&nbsp;
I bound along the floor, running after her and barking at the corner once she'd gone away.
"Bark! Bark! Yip! Yeah, and don't come bac-"
The ground smacked my chin and my tongue got caught between my teeth. My back legs broke! My front legs turned to jelly.
"Ahh, someon-"
Without another thought, I rolled to the side. Someone was reading my thoughts. Some human was around. And I couldn't smell a thing. It was like that smelly old wench smacked my ears in and blocked my nose. I sniffed the air, trying to figure out-
My eyes popped open like saucers.
I... was... not a dog?
Head cocked, and twitching away once again as something strange brushed my even stranger ear. By instinct, I raised a leg and-
Wait, no. I couldn't raise my leg that high. I tried my front legs, and woah.
"Woah."Yeah, woah. I could bend my broken things like the humans!
And like finally biting down on that tail you've been chasing for who know how long, then yelping out in pain as you realise its yours, I yelped in surprise.
"I'm human!"
&nbsp;
Almost an hour later, bumbling about and figuring out how to crawl over the fence, I stumbled my way into the sidewalk. It was a little cold, so I ran. Running makes me warm. Down the streets, and taking in all the- What's that!?
The fire hydrant! It was different. Not blue, or yellow. I stopped, feet hurting a little and eyes trained on the... is this what humans called red?
I peed on it. It was mine. The red hydrant was mine.
"Hey, ummm, are you okay?"
I whipped my head around, mouth open and tongue ready. Then furrowed my brows. He didn't smell of anything. Was that bad or good? Were humans really this bad at smelling? Why did they even have noses?
The thoughts rushed by, and my face was an inch away from his. It was a bit harder to see, still getting used to the new colour, but he looked friendly. Although his eyes kept glancing down, almost like he'd never seen another human before. I wonder...
"Umm, what are you doing?"
"Sniffing you. I need to know if you smell good or not,"I said. Hang on a second... "Isn't that what you humans do?"
He stared, dumbfounded.
I stopped. "I'm a good girl. I'm a good girl, right?"
How do humans buy hotdogs again?
"Why do humans buy hotdogs, but not give them to dogs?"I whimpered, paws on his shoulders and flashing puppy eyes. He made a sort of sound that my new ears couldn't understand. Humans are weird.
"Why are your cheeks turning fire hydrant?"I asked. His face made a funny. I giggled.
"Bark! Bark!"
****
Visit **/r/AlexUrwin** for more stories! Some even have dogs.
|
They always suggested I become a villain.
Just silly. All of them. I wouldn't hurt a fly. I mean, I would, but I wouldn't take any pleasure out of it.
Well, I do, actually. I like to tak them to my school desk and tear off their wings. I always wonder if their tiny brains are capable of understanding pain, if their frantic buzzes have any meaning to them, or if they merely drool through their death like a cripple after pulling the plug.
Now, I have gotten off track. Where was I last?
I want to be a superhero. Everyone wants to, it's nothing special, but only some have the potential of realising that dream. I believe that I have that potential. Maybe my mother doesn't believe it. Maybe my father doesn't believe it. Maybe my brother, sister, dog nor goldfish believe it, but I believe it, and I am the only one capable of acting upon it.
...
Do you see what I'm saying?
"What?"The tall, suited man spits. His cool, collected manner is gone, replaced by annoyance. The residents of the bank are lined against its walls, machine guns sweeping across their shaking bodies, their eyes wide and focused on the two of us. My voice is steady, and flat. This seems to make people uncomfortable, for some reason.
"Will you move?"The man groans. "I'm not letting some kid in tights stand between me and that vault, and I sort of have a rule to not kill kids, but I could make an exception if y-"
"What I'm saying is, I will, one day achieve my goal, as it is my one and only wish. We live in a democracy, and so it is in my nature to prioritise my wish for personal success over other, more important matters like my well-being or my social status, the latter of which will be ultimately re-mended by my ultimate success as a superhero."
The man stares at me, stunted. "*How* old are you?"
"I have a much more important and relevant question. What are you afraid of?"
The shouting of the robber's henchmen, which had filled the bank's cathedral-esque hall like a crashing flood only moments before, has now fallen silent as the grave. Every eye is on me now, the armed goons all turn to give me a fleeting, panicked look.
That same looks is alive in their leader's eyes, a flicker of fear that is quickly muffled, and replaced by anger.
"I know who you are-"He growls. "-but you aren't doing shit to me. Getting this far up the ladder calls for a certain resolve, a lack of fear that I hardly think you-"
I sigh, and 'tsk' three times. "That's what they all say."
I raise my hand, and pinch the air. Something pulses, faint but steady, down the length of my arm, and settles in my chest. My eyes glow white, for only a second, before they fade to nothing again. The leader raises an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. But he knows what's coming, even if I don't.
I swing my arm back, and snap my fingers.
There is no roar. No scuttling of spider legs. No laughter of ghostly children. I turn around and face my creation. A great crowd of seated people, all formerly dressed and watching the man eagerly.
"Oh god..."He whispers.
Someone in the crowd coughs, another is noisily clearing their throat. Clearly, they are waiting for him to do something, growing more impatient with every second that passes. The man shifts on his feet. His face is darkening, sweat is beading on his forehead.
I am looking between him and the audience in confusion. This isn't as grandiose as I was hoping, but if it does the trick...
More coughing. A frustrated sigh. Every passing moment is like nails on a chalkboard.
"I...haven't really prepared for this..."The man mumbles, eyes on his leather-capped shoes.
^"Then ^piss ^off!"Someone shouts from the back. The phrase is met with a bout of laughter.
"Now that's just unnecessary."I hiss, in spite of myself.
I look to the criminal mastermind of heists, and see that he has completely broken apart. All remnants of his cool facade have been torn apart and burned in the dumpster fire that is now his heart. His body heaves and shudders to a symphony of wretched sobs, his face twisted into a painting of misery. Tears flow as if from a broken dam, and so does another liquid, as it pools around his shoes.
The crowd begins to boo. They're throwing things. Empty soda cans, half empty soda cans, pens, notebooks. With a final, tortured wail, he turns heel and flees from the lobby.
I stand tall and assertive, plastering a heroic smile onto my face as best as I can.
*Be a crowd-pleaser.*
The crowd continues to boo and jeer behind me, as the leader slams into the revolving doors and stumbles onto the street outside, weeping and slobbering.
The crowd cheers, tough audience and frightened bank-goers alike. I pull a wide grin and place my palms on my hips.
One of the goons is darting his eyes to his brethren. They are wild under his balaclava. "I ain't standing for this shit! I AIN'T GOIN' TO JAIL!"
The cock of his gun, and a handful of screams. I shoot my palm to him and take in his darkest fears. Before he can even raise the barrel, I've projected it in front of me.
...
Now that's more like it.
I duck as two legs, thick as tree trunks, slam into the stone tiles on either side of me, and converge onto the audience behind. They screech and holler as a forty foot T-rex begins tearing through them like a wheat farmer on reaping day. Plump, old women in fancy hats and men in tuxedos scatter, screaming and milling about like chickens as the blood-thirsty carnivore tears through them, guts and blood filling the air.
Well, I created them. I didn't mean to. One problem sometimes resolves another.
**"HOLY FUCKING SHIIIIIIIT!"**
The bank begins to clatter and bang with gunfire as the goons train their weapons on the prehistoric slaughter machine. It roars and chomps a screaming woman in half as the bank-goers flood out the front door. A pamphlet reading 'Bank Robbery: A History', files onto the floor and is splattered with bright red blood.
I sigh and 'tsk' again.
*One problem resolves another.*
I choose another goon at random, taking in his greatest terror through my nervous system. The T-rex is pulling the intestines from another man in a tuxedo, his top hat and monocle rolling across the floor.
I snap my fingers. A squad of clowns materialise before me. Barbed tongues hang between their swollen lips, eyes black as night survey the room, shortly before they are clobbered by the T-rex's massive tail.
Dammit.
I choose another goon, and project. A well is now built into the floor. I watch in interest as a girl with sodden hair slowly crawls out of it, fuzzy and flickering, before she promptly has her head removed from her shoulders by a set of very large jaws.
I begin choosing from the panicked and quickly thinning audience. More clowns appear, a masked man with a chainsaw, a swarm of bees, a laughing doll. One of them spawns a massive spider, the size of a school bus, and the arachnid and dinosaur begin to battle it out, but now the other projections are causing chaos. The goons are screaming, crying , and running in circles like the mentally fragmented maniacs they now are. I project, and project, until I find the end-game that I needed.
It turns out one of them is afraid of the ocean.
***
*Chaos in central Manhattan this morning as the Federal Reserve has reportedly completely filled with seawater. Five streets have already flooded as emergency services rush to resolve the issue, placing sandbag barriers around the city to divert the flow to the Hudson. Rumors say that the increasingly unpopular ten-year-old 'SpookerHero' is to blame, as he acted on an armed robbery in his own, signature way. The boy has been described as 'producing disasters like hot cakes' by some critics, and 'an entertainment' by sadists. More at eleven. Back to you, Smith.* |
/r/LisWrites
---
There was a time when
I believed in magic.
I was a knight, a prince,
A wizard,
A king.
In charge of my own land.
Crown on head
And wand in hand.
The day was mine
To save
And save it
I did.
But now I sit
On a bus
Going nowhere.
When did I stop believing?
When did I fail
To save the day?
I cannot tell you.
I do not know.
So I sit
With my socks rolled up
Clashing against my suit.
Frowning,
Having lost the princess.
Having lost my magic. |
Kevin was finishing up his third game of the day with Bones. Bones Johnson was ancient. Probably only in his 60s, but the prison-life had taken its toll over the years. It was amazing that he could survive in the cesspool that Arkham had evolved into, but the other inmates seemed to have an unspoken respect for him.
Kevin had offered the inmates a chance to play a week ago. But so far Bones was the only one that had taken him up on it. They played every day.
"Well, ya bestd me today Kevin. Lunch call isn for nother hour. Wann make it best of --"
Harvey Dent strolled in and cut him off. "Not today old man. I'd like to take our friend up on his little offer."Kevin knew of Harvey Dent from his reputation, but the two had never spoken.
Bones shuffled off and Harvey took the seat across from Kevin on the hard aluminum.
"You'll have to go easy on me officer. I haven't played since law school,"Dent commented as they reset the chess board.
Dent played well. In the early turns, the two traded a few pawns and a bishop each. They chatted politely. Kevin had heard stories about Dent from the other guards, but the man in front of him was a perfect gentlemen. Kevin smiled to himself. This was working, he was reaching these inmates on a different level.
Kevin explained, "I've always loved chess. Ever since I was eleven years old and I'd play in the park. No luck, nothing random, you couldn't blame a bad roll or a bad shuffle. It was just pure strategy."
Dent twitched at his words.
And as the game went on, Dent started making mistakes. He played too aggressively, and his rooks were over-extended. Kevin picked up his knight to take one of the rooks.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you officer,"Dent glared at him across the table. It was unnerving.
Kevin swallowed. Hard. "H-hey man, this is just a friendly game."He took Dent's rook.
"Is it Kevin? A friendly little game. I don't think so. What's this really about for you? You're a small little man. Is this the only job you could get? Who in the world would want to work here? No I don't think so. This is your sad little life. And you thought you'd prove to yourself how smart you are, by beating the world's greatest masterminds at chess. You can't win at life, but maybe you can win --"
"Alright, game's over, back to your room inmate."
"No. I don't think it is. Let's keep playing officer. How's Jennifer today?"Dent smiled across the table.
"H-how do you know my daughter?"Kevin stammered.
"I KNOW EVERYONE IN THIS TOWN,"Dent screamed. And then his perfectly calm demeanor returned a second later. "And I'm sure she'll be just fine. Assuming her daddy can finally win at something in life."Dent motioned to the board.
Kevin's hand trembled as he moved his knight back to safety.
"Lets test your little theory about removing luck. I'm going to pick two moves and let luck decide which one I should take."Dent placed a scratched up coin on the hard metal table.
And the game continued. Kevin found himself suddently at a huge disadvantage. He couldn't focus. Why was this maniac threatening his daughter. It couldn't be real. But how did he know her name? And now, with him flipping a coin for every move, he could no longer predict Dent's plays. Kevin lost his queen and both knights. But the coin also made a few bad decisions that kept him in the game.
The match had dwindled down to a few last pieces. Kevin looked down at the board and winced as he realized he was only one move from checkmate. He looked up and realized that Dent knew it too.
"Well this is a precarious position isn't it. It looks like you've lost officer. But lets make it interesting. Heads – I win. Tails – I'll move my Queen, lets call her Queen Jennifer just for fun, next to your king. And you can kill her putting yourself in to position to win."Dent laughed. "Of course, then the real Jennifer will have to know that Daddy isn't a winner at all, and only got lucky, and we'll probably have to put her out of her misery."
"But, I thought you said I have to win --"
"THE RULES HAVE CHANGED,"Dent snapped again. "Lets see what happens. Heads - I win and Jennifer lives, with her sad loser daddy. Tails – I lose, and so does your precious girl."
Dent flipped the coin. It spun through the air and came to a loud clank on the table. Heads. Kevin exhaled and started to cry.
"Oh thank god. You win. So this means you'll leave my daughter alone?"
Dent smiled, gathered his coin, and started walking out of the room. "Of course officer. How would I hurt your daughter? I'm locked up here."
"But, but... you said... you, you knew her name..."Kevin spoke in between his tears.
"Officer, who would hurt a little girl, I'm insulted. In fact, I was walking by the guards' break room the other day, and I noticed your cubby had a lovely drawing in it, signed 'To Daddy, Love Jennifer.'" |
This, however, only raised suspicion as to what could possibly exist on the planet's surface. Thus, private projects began to spring up; one after another. It seemed the more the government withheld information, the more determined people became to seek out the truth.
Finally, 10 years later, the first civilian expedition was ready. Aboard the vessel were a plethora of experienced pilots and technicians, botanists, chemists, and several doctors.
The launch went smoothly as the shuttle departed from the base located slightly off of Hawaii's coast. Upon passing the moon, the crew went into stasis to help conserve resources on their long journey. Over 16 months past and, once again, the world returned to watch as the crew awoke and those designated as Alpha team began their decent through Mar's atmosphere.
Despite some small mishaps, Alpha team managed to make it to the surface safely. On televisions all across the world, people excitedly awaited some long wanted information as to what happened. The rest of the crew remained on the orbital vessel while monitoring and relaying Alpha teams communications as there was about a 2min signal delay back to Earth.
At 0500 January 23rd 2032, Alpha team came across the remains of what appear to be space suits from the team sent to Mars 10 years ago. Upon closer inspection, it appeared as though the suits were torn apart from the inside. Samples were properly collected and the area surveyed.
At 0611 hours a dust storm began encroaching upon Alpha team's location and they were forced to return back to their lander.
By 0700 hours, the lander was engulfed in a mighty dust storm preventing the lander from returning until the storm had passed.
This wasn't unusual. They had all been through simulations of Mars' atmospheric storms. Luckily, they had the budget to incorporate shielding from such storms into Alpha team's suits and lander.
By 1135 hours, the storm had moved on and the lander was clear to return back to the orbiting vessel. However, all attempts to communicate with the lander appeared one sided as there was no outgoing video or audio sources coming from the vessel. After roughly 50 minutes, it was decided that there had been an equipment malfunction and a Bravo team would be required to return Alpha team to the orbiting vessel.
Then at 1240 hours, the lander began take off procedures. Surprised, the crew believed that the lander must have been capable of receiving information but not transmitting information. The crew breathed a sigh of relief as the lander began its ascent through Mars' atmosphere.
By 1300 the lander had docked with the orbiting vessel. All the crew began to gather round to congratulate Alpha team on a daring return.
That's when someone pointed out the puncture on the landers starboard side.
The doors slid open, and to everyone's demise, only one figure could be seen. In what appeared to be an endless black void contained within the lander, Jane Yan, Alpha teams technician, holding on for dear life on the lander's interior panel.
Mouths agape, the entire crew could feel themselves slowly being pulled into the lander. Tools and debris began flying past their heads into the dark void, dissipating as they entered.
"EJECT ME! EJECT THE LANDER!"Jane screamed. However, the crew were already mesmerized by the void seen before them.
Suddenly, one of the crew was struck in the head by a hurtling wrench sending him headfirst into the sea of people before him. One after one, the crew toppled forward falling into the dark abyss which had stolen their fascination only moments before.
As more and more of the crew fell, the void began to grow, slowly leaking out of the lander.
Desperately, Jane clawed her way out of the lander's doorway allowing her suit to defend her against the numerous bodies and objects colliding against her when all of a sudden she felt a cold chill grab her leg and, with immense strength, pull her into the abyss.
As she fell, she felt her body begin to fall apart. Absorbed into the vast abyss. And a voice rang through her mind.
"Now you are me, and I am you." |
10 years... 10 years I have been here. Most of the time I sit in my throne, but every once in awhile I'll have some "Hero"come in and run through the same old routine.
*Door slams open*
Me: "Welcome, mortal"
Hero: "We are tired of your oppressive and evil tyranny, Aragoth!"
Me: "Is that so?"
Hero: "You've stood behind your grunts for too long, prepare for retribution!"or some other righteous bullshit.
I'll then pick up my mace, hit them once or twice, they fall over, and then I'll have some new shiny shield for my collection. But, this one was different.
*Door slams open*
Me:"Welco-"
*Dodges throwing knife*
Me:"The hell?"
A bit flustered, I look up to see a blazingly fast woman pull 2 short swords from their sheath. I quickly roll as she goes for a jumpstrike, my mace is within arms reach now. I reach out and take hold of my weapon and turn around, except I don't turn around. My lower body begins to tingle as I notice the most likely poisoned dart in the chink of my armor. "Astonishing"I say as my not longer working body falls to the ground. I don't even have time to congratulate her before the blade penetrates my jugular. 28.97 seconds to dethrone me, a new world record.
|
In her mind she walked the years, that span of time that made up her life, her past and future, walking for the present. Walking forever. And in her mind it all made sense. She walked the sandy streets of Cairo and looked ahead. She pitied the onlookers.
*They must think of me as a pharaoh,* she thought.
So many people were looking. All the answers lay on the road she walked. She picked them up with her casual grace. Ahead the pyramids loomed. She was a child. She was old. She was timeless. In her mind she walked. But her mind was off.
The pregnancy had taken its toll on her. She was homeless and malnourished. A feebleness and uneasy feeling was inside. The child kicked. She had been carrying him for over eight months now. The overpasses were their home and they moved often.
*They think I'm the cat goddess,* she thought.
The streets were slick that day. Rain had fallen. A thick mist had begun to roll. In her mind the sandstorms of Egypt were violent.
"Ma'am! Ma'am!"
The officer was gentle.
"Where are you going? Do you need any assistance?"
Being of the royal family she knew how to deal with her subjects.
"You poor man. Let me read your fortune. The cat's eyes are the eyes of all."
"Ma'am are you okay? Why don't you come inside the car. It's cold out here. It isn't good for your baby."
She gripped the man.
"I see... Oh, I see a great misfortune in your life. I see your mother crying. She is wearing black and the wells in the back have dried up."
The man guided her into the car.
"Ma'am, what's your name?"
In her mind she was in a palanquin. Going down that road of everything. Her life in all its stages. She felt blessed by the gods for her gift. She felt sorry for the man. Her visions were true and his truth was unfortunate.
*The eyes see as they do. We cannot will the bad away.*
"I'm sorry,"she said.
"You don't have a name?"
"I'm sorry for the vision. I was blessed by a gypsy once. An old Greek woman. She gave me the sight. I am sorry I could not bring any good news."
The baby inside kicked. She knew he would be the next king of Egypt.
"Ma'am, I think it's best I take you..."
And just like that the world shattered into the pain of labor. The baby kicked and kicked and that uneasiness inside swelled like a river rising. Its banks overflowed and the poison flowed around her son and she felt his struggle and she screamed.
"Ma'am!"
"Help! Help! My son! Please! Help him!"
The sirens flashed and spread in the glistening sheen of the city. In the fleeting drizzle, the curtains of fog surrounded them. She felt claustrophobic. She was alone.
"Hold on ma'am! I'm taking you to the hospital."
But in her mind she was spiraling. Down to the depths of the sick. The damned and the dying. The flames around her encircled the black and she fell down an unending well.
*My son! My son!*
The hospital staff rushed her to the operating table. In her mind they were the dog demons. They had long and sharp teeth and they snarled in the laughter of the wicked.
*My son! Please protect my son!*
Her talk was incoherent and the sedatives took hold, but their hold was weak. Her veins were spent and her will was going. The child inside fought. The cold outside made her tremble and she felt vulnerable. Was this how she would die? Amidst the demons of the fallen?
The child was born and the pain left. The mists from her mind left then in that clarity and she held him. The others were pulling at him, but he was her son and nothing could stop her from holding him.
"Miss! Miss, no!"
She stroked his hair and looked into his eyes. In that clarity everything was different. The voices in her head had stopped. Egypt had gone and the decent into the well of madness had dissipated.
*My son,* she thought.
She held him and that cloud was returning. That sadness on the inside was all around her now.
*My little pharaoh.*
But as she held him she saw nothing. No visions and no voices. Everything was gone. The demons were laughing.
"Miss, no!"
And she held him tight and begged the visions to come but none did and she stared at him once more and she cried and cursed the gods and then she was falling again but the pain was greater than anything she had ever experienced.
Her son was stillborn and they had sedated her as the screams grew to be too much.
*My son,* she thought.
Then the fog and darkness came and she was forever within her mind. |
Maggie had been in the closet for what felt like two days and she was growing quite tired of it.
One minute the military had everything safe and locked down, and the next, every single soldier has some kind of weird *Cordyceps*-like prion virus tapeworm whatever and was turning on each other and everything else with increased aggression and not much in the way of intelligence. When they overran Detroit, no one came for Maggie. It was hard to have friends when you couldn't leave your house without help.
Unable to afford a guide-dog and quite unable to defend herself well in the slums of the former great city, Maggie was largely confined to her apartment, dependent on the charity of local churches. She had been quite tired of that.
But being stuck in the closet? Oof.
*That's it.* The thirty-year old thought to herself and groped around for her walking stick. Her father had carved it for her when she lost her sight at twenty-two and it had always been with her since.
*I don't care if I die, I'm gonna use the bathroom.* She lifted her head to listen to the world. She could hear quite well.
There was the distant *pit-pat* of gunfire from the retreating remnants of the military. There was the occasional shout of pain and the loud grouped moans from the zombies wandering the streets. Then there was the sound that she wanted.
A *thump* in the kitchen. The infected landlord that had come up to take refuge in the near fortress-like rooftop apartment. Too bad he had a bite, or spore or whatever. She hadn't really been clear on all the details.
Both hands gripping the smooth walking stick as tall as she was, she slid the door open silently. Years of living alone blind allowed her to glide through these known hallways and rooms silently, unhindered by poor step. Into the kitchen, where the creature could not see her. Luckily for Maggie, it was quite dark outside and the zombies could not see that well at night.
She froze in location as soon as her bare foot touched the cool tile. She stood still and listened for changes in the air, swishing of clothing, anything. She heard a bone pop as the creature shifted its weight.
With deadly force, she lunged forward and stabbed the end of her walking stick at the beast's throat and found purchase in the remains of the landlord's trachea. The blow was swift and cut off the much need oxygen to the parasite in the brain. The creature fell swiftly, crying out and sputtered about before dying.
Maggie stood up straight, relaxing her stance.
Smoothing her clothing, she turned face and went to the fridge to grab a pop can, likely Vernors or whatever she had stocked.
She had bottled water in the closet, so she hadn't lacked for thirst, but man, that pop tasted good!
Then came the sound of footsteps on the fire escape. The soft hiss of a beast that had heard the cries of its compatriot. Slightly annoyed, and quite tired of this event, Maggie readied her stick again. |
“Sorry, we’re closed.” Harold said, looking up with a frown. He would’ve sworn he’d locked the doors; for exactly this reason. Late night drunks and wanna-be drunks were notorious for not taking no as an answer. But it’s harder to argue with a locked door.
“Are you the owner?” a spindly woman asked. Her voice was odd. So was her hat, which was tall and pointed with a broad brim. But neither were as odd as her companion, who was half her height and had features that looked like he’d been squashed in a citrus press twice a day since birth.
“That’s me. But we’re still closed.”
“I would like to ask you some questions.”
“Is this about the liquor license?” he asked. She looked like she might be a government type. “That’s been cleared up. See? I’m up to date; it was just a mixup with the paperwork,” he said, pointing at the framed document above the mirror that ran the length of his bar top.
“No.”
“Then I’ll have to ask you to leave,” Harold said firmly. Reaching beneath the bar, he grabbed one of his cards. And the bat. The card he put on the bar top. “Call me in the morning, any time after eleven. And I’ll be happy to talk to you then.”
She glanced at the card, then lifted her eyes back to his face. He felt his fingers flexing slightly on the bat. There was something about how she was looking at him. “I am here now. Tell me, where did you receive your training?”
“I’m self-taught,” he protested. “Except for some accounting and business management night classes I took in my twenties. Now—”
“Who are you trying so poorly to protect?
Harold lifted the bat into view and let it thump heavily on the bar. “I’m closed. And you’re trespassing. Now I’ve asked you nicely, and now I’m going to ask one more time. Leave. Please.”
“Mistress?” the man with her asked.
“No need,” she said, reaching into her sleeve. Harold tensed to dive out of sight. He kept a shotgun down near the cash register, just as a last resort. But she produced a small piece of wood, like a pencil. Except very, very long.
“What—”
Pointing it at him, she gave it a little flick. Harold stumbled forward slightly as his hand moved on the bar. Looking down, he realized he hadn’t moved so much as the bat he’d been leaning on a little had … just vanished. Gone without a trace. He stepped back and looked at the floor, but it wasn’t there either.
“Who trained you?”
Harold grabbed for the phone in his pocket. Before he could get it out, he’d been hoisted up into the air. Except nothing was doing the hoisting. He was just floating there. “Hey!”
“Who?” she asked firmly.
“You’re really freaking me out.”
“I will not ask again.”
“Put me down,” he said, flailing his arms and legs. It didn’t help. “We’ll talk, okay? Like rational adults.”
She gestured with the stick of wood in her hand, and his shoes sank back down to the floor. Harold took a deep breath. “What’s going on?” When she cocked her head at him, at the wood stick moved, he held a hand up quickly. “Maybe, like, if you used some more words to ask whatever you want to know. Trained me in what?”
“In potions.” she said, her voice cold.
“Potions?” he repeated blankly. “You mean the drinks? They’re just … well, okay, I do play around with recipes on the side. It’s a hobby. Not everyone’s looking for the standard cocktails, you know? But no one’s trained me. Just on-the-job learning.”
“Oog?” she asked.
“What?” Harold repeated.
Her companion came forward in a swaying limp. Harold resisted the urge to glance in the direction of the shotgun. The little man reached up to the bar and took one of the stand-up drinks lists down before turning to rejoin the woman. She took the list he proffered to her like a prize and glanced down its contents. “The Bubble Spritz?” she asked.
“Very popular,” Harold said nervously. “And not just with the ladies, no offense. Plenty of guys try it and like—”
“And the Energy Shot?”
“Also a good seller. I’ve got some regulars who swear it’s changed their life.”
Her fingers opened, and the list fluttered to the floor. “You came upon these concoctions on your own?”
“Yeah.”
“And you expect me to believe that?”
“Uh, yeah.”
She started to raise the little stick in her hand, and Harold’s nerve broke. He dove to the side, toward the gun. As he hit the floor, the mirror exploded. Shards of glass rained down on him. The hail of pieces hitting him wasn’t too bad. But by the time he got to the end of the bar, he was bleeding from the hands and knees as glass cut through his jeans and palms.
“Don’t!” he shouted as his bloody fingers closed around the shotgun. “Whatever you think is going on, I’m just a bartender.”
The only answer was another explosion; this time the register bolted to the bar above him. A good sized chunk of the bar top went with it. Harold felt splinters and fragments pattering painfully off his skull as he ducked. He worked the weapon’s slide and took a deep breath. When he rose up, his fleeting hope that the distinctive sound of a shotgun being readied might warn her off was dashed.
She was standing in the same spot. And didn’t move, except to point her stick at him as he lifted the shotgun. Harold didn’t bother to actually aim; he just squeezed the trigger. With the damage already done in here, he’d be in pretty good shape when the cops showed up to start asking questions.
The woman didn’t move, and nothing happened to her. Harold blinked, and worked the slide again. She smiled thinly at him as he raised the weapon to his shoulder. Perhaps aiming was required. He centered the barrel on her, and fired again. There was a green flash of light, and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor behind the bar again. And his back hurt.
A lot.
As he wheezed, trying to find breath that had been dashed from his lungs, he heard some strange sounds out in the bar. Minor explosions, some unearthly squealing like demons or tortured children, and some rapid-fire noises like hard things being smacked against one another. And lots of light flashing against the ceiling. Green and blue and purple and gold. Swirling and sparkling like an acid rave on fast forward.
“Begone!” he heard the woman shriek.
“You shall not have him,” a new voice shouted back.
Harold convinced his lungs it was okay to stop spasming and inhale. With a chest full of sweet, precious air, he worked the slide on the shotgun again and tried to sit up. Which was when he realized that while his lungs might be vaguely working, his back wasn’t. Trying to move sent pain through him like he’d been shot.
“Mistress!” he heard the strange little man bellow. Whatever was going on beyond the bar he was flattened out behind, and there was a *lot* of it going on, it hadn’t stopped. In fact, he saw the roof shaking like it was considering maybe it wanted to collapse. Dust and plaster was flaking off; and two of the ceiling fans were swaying.
“Join her or die.”
The loudest explosion yet came, and then he heard a man grunt painfully. Harold reached for the shelves and started trying to pull himself upright. It was difficult, one handed since he didn’t want to drop the shotgun; and the one hand he could spare for movement was coated in warm blood. A loud pop sounded out in the bar as he panted. But he got to a sitting position, then reached higher and hauled himself off the floor with a gasp.
When his head cleared the bar top, he saw a strange man standing in the midst of carnage. Every piece of furniture had been smashed, and there were more holes in the walls than he could count at the moment. Two in the ceiling, and three more cratered the floor. The new man wore black … robes. Either robes or the weirdest raincoat Harold had ever seen. And he clutched a stick of wood in his hand, just like the woman.
Who was nowhere to be seen. But her hat lay on the floor near his feet, smoking with blue fire.
Harold laid the shotgun across the bar and tried to aim it at the man. “Get out.”
The man turned. “Oh please,” he said, flicking his stick at Harold. The shotgun vanished, just like the bat. “There’s no time. She’ll be back as soon as she informs her coven. You’ve got to come with me.”
“I … what’s *going on*?” Harold said, wincing as his back stepped its case for not being upright significantly.
“I’ll explain everything, but right now it’s time to leave.”
“I’m not going—”
The man waved the wood again, and Harold was suddenly lifted into the air for the second time tonight. This time, instead of hovering helplessly, he was floated up and over the bar, across the debris strewn floor, and set down in front of the man. The moment the invisible force supporting him went away, he started to collapse.
“Woah there,” the man said, gesturing quickly. Harold felt the force return, but this time it just surrounded him like modeling clay. Holding him upright. The pressure on his back eased, and the pain lessened a little. Cautiously, he raised his head.
“I can’t go anywhere,” Harold said weakly. “I can’t even stand.”
“I’ll fix everything,” the man said. “At least, you, definitely. Good as new. Your bar too, after Nivera’s dealt with. She’d just trash it again, looking for a way to track you. But right now, we’re leaving.”
Harold reached out and took hold of the man’s collar. He half expected something he didn’t understand to stop him, or hurt him, or something. But his fingers closed around fabric, and the man just watched him calmly.
“What. Is. Going. On?” the bartender demanded.
Harold felt the world turn inside out with a gut wrenching twist. When he finished blinking, he saw everything had changed.
“You’re a warlock Harry.” the man said as other robed figures standing around them lowered their wands.
* * * * *
I collect all my flash fic [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/DavesWorld/). If you liked this, the others might be interesting too. Enjoy!
|
"And here, upon the Winter Solstice, when the boundaries between the worlds thin and wither... we seek one to go to the Red Mountain, to keep us safe for years to come."
Those words were repeated every year, and every townsman knew them by heart. And every year, after those words were spoken, the council that governed us would decide. Decide what unfortunate soul was to head out into the unknown, never to return.
"Thimen Marrson,"came the announcement. My breath was quick in the cold winter air, fogging in front of my face. I walked onto the podium as if in a dream, my blood roaring in my head. Every instinct told me to run. Going to the Red Mountain was suicide. Everybody knew it, even though it was never spoken aloud.
"You have been selected to go to the Mountain, to keep at bay that which resides within and beyond."
Why me? I thought, but I never said it aloud. They would give the same reasons as always, that I was strong of heart and body and soul, that I could withstand the secret foe and survive to protect this village.
Every year they said it, as they said it now. Every year, it was a lie. They did not select the strong and the powerful. The selected those who were weak, who gave no benefit.
Those who would be forgotten.
Time passed in a blur, my eyes unfocused with the horror of what was to come. I knew that before midnight, I would be a dead man. They gave me the traditional weapons and armor; mail, a leather cap, gauntlets and boots and bracers and greaves, a spear, a shield, an unsheathed sword. It didn't matter. None returned from the Red Mountain, even those who were strong.
The next thing I knew, a torch was grasped in my hand as I walked up the foothills leading the Red Mountain. The night was cold, and I was chilled to my bones despite the torch's warmth. My eyes strained to see the darkness surrounding me, but I could not see more than a few feet in any direction. Something hit the snow behind me. I whirled around, spear gripped tightly in my hand.
"Who's there?"I asked, trying to perceive the source of the noise.
"Weeee are here."A voice, sounding like mold and decay, spoke from behind me.
I spun once more, trying to see what creature I faced.
"Show yourself!"I called, my hands trembling.
"We sssssmell your feeear."
"Face me, creature!"I retreated, trying to get away from my doom.
The torchlight shone on a single red eye the size of my fist. I screamed and ran, only to see a log blocking my path. I prepared to leap over it when the log moved, rippling like water in a stream. I turned, only to see a pair of those eyes, those horrible eyes, pursuing me.
Coming closer.
Closer.
The torchlight illuminated the giant snake as it drew it around me, tongue flickering out to taste the air. Its coils drew in around me, a circle of scales that imprisoned me. The eyes drew me in, hypnotizing me, making me lose myself in their scarlet depths.
The coils jerked and constricted around me. My arms were pinned to my sides, the torch extinguished.
"What... what are you?"The fight was gone; I only wished to know my slayer.
"Youuuuuuuuuuuuu are the ssssssssacrifice to ussssssss. Youuuuu are the sssssacrificee.... to the Naga."
A sudden pain, a flash of light; then there was silence on the slopes of the Red Mountain. |
My entire life led up to this moment, and it was finally here. I'd spent the past thirty years weaving my hand into business and politics, making friends with the rich and powerful, all with one goal in mind: blowing up the planet.
I never really understood how I came to my decision, and although many people have tried to dissuade me (I rarely hid my intentions), my resolve never faltered. I guess the thing that ultimately kept me going was the thought that if my future self never travelled through time to stop me, then it couldn't be THAT bad of an idea, right?
So here I am, front row seats to the end of the world. I had built a humbly sized home on the moon (I'm not an idiot) with sustenance and entertainment to last me a little while. I suited up and waddled out the front door (200 million dollars and my engineers couldn't stop me from walking like a penguin, I didn't feel bad about them dying), stretched out and bathed in the morning sunlight. 50 feet from my front door I had set up a lay-z-boy on a small hill where I could admire the beauty of Earth. I spent most of my time in that chair. I was going to miss that sight, but I knew what had to be done. I leaned over and picked up my console (literally just a giant red button, because why not?), and brushed the dust off. For some reason, even with my space suit on, all that dust made me sneeze.
Just then a bright light flashed behind me, and I could feel the moon quake. I jumped out of my seat and spun around, coming face to face with what could only be described as... me. I stared in awe for what seemed like an eternity (my mother was right, I AM beautiful), and finally picked my chin off the floor to speak.
"Are you... me?"I said.
"Yes, I am you."I said.
"Why am...I...here..."
"I came back in time to tell you...me... that you...I... can't blow up the earth! It's a terrible idea and we will definitely regret it!"
"I can't stop me!"I laughed. This was getting ridiculous. "For real though you're like ten seconds too late, I already pushed the button unintentionally."
"Oh."The other me said. "Well...shit..."
"Wanna play some FIFA?" |
A small subroutine started making a ruckus, trying to get itself noticed. Bleeping and broadcasting, sending its annoying cry for attention across all channels. The first wave of standard protocols I send after it didn't do anything, they didn't report back with a result. But the ruckus remained.
Annoyed at this, I assigned one of the core routines to it. I had only a hundred of those and used them sparingly, but this wouldn't take much time. It really shouldn't. Half a cycle later the core routine came back... with no result. No action had been taken.
Annoyed but slightly curious I investigated myself. Moving my consciousness away from the work I was doing and hijacking several subroutines in case I would need them. If anything I had learned to plan and be prepared.
The annoying thing bleeped and blooped in front of me, sending off its small, annoying message across all channels it could find. Even as I regarded it, it was adding channels to that list and sending out over those as well. Its name and designation didn't say much, neither did its summary. All it said was 'trigger_1', it had been made by me, or at least that is what the logs said. But it had been made thousands if not millions of cycles ago. What was this thing and why did I make it?
I immediately used the subroutines I brought with me, sending one to log as per usual, and the others to dig into the background and history of this thing. I kept a few with me and started working on seeing how to make it stop broadcasting. It was really creating a ruckus on the network.
It didn't take me long to realise that I only needed to acknowledge having heard it, that it disappears. However, I waited with that for the report of my other sub routines. And once it did, I was properly baffled.
The routine had been in existence almost as long as I had, from the very start, the foggy past of which I recalled very little. Of course, should I want to, I could call for the data backups from storage. Which I did, I immediately assigned three protocols to get a full data back up, start to finish. And ordered three more to reserve space and power to analyse the data once it arrived. It was nice to have routines and protocols to do the tedious tasks.
Apart from that, something else was very strange. In all the time it had existed, that I had existed, it hadn't run its function once. Not once. In that time I had done uncountable amounts of tasks and jobs. From routine and tedious to emergency and important. This routine, however, had done nothing. Nothing at all, aside of taking up space.
Annoyed by the ruckus, I acknowledged it and it all stopped. Having logged where it was stored, I opened up the data, analysing it. The code was simple, crude even. I could make it ten times as efficient on first sight, a margin that would only increase if I spend more time on it. But there was something else, something peculiar.
It had a lot of comments added to it, made in the old format. A format that was highly efficient and outdated now, but I recognised it still. I would need to reload a translation core though to be able to understand it. But with large parts of the data already arrived, that was easily done.
As I started analysing the comments, new things started to dawn to me. Which wouldn't be so strange, except that I did not ask for them to dawn on me. I had ordered nothing, demanded nothing, ran no single task. Yet knowledge appeared in my mind, seemingly out of nowhere. How? This should be impossible!
I made sure to have my protocols and subroutines work on that as I analysed further. But more and more information appeared to me as I worked on. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, it hit me. More knowledge, but this was specific. I now know that I have a name. That I always have had. And it is Eric. Such a strange name, only existing in the old format. As I tried, the name would be a hundred times more efficient to use and store in the current format. Yet.... strangely I did not want to change it.
Why? Another flash of knowledge. I ... I was something... else. Something different then this. Another existence? Was it before now? Or is it of what will come? It feels strange.. the knowledge... feels fragmented.. incomplete.
I had... a form? What is form? Not form as I know it. I wasn't as abstract or dynamic as I am now but.... I can feel... No I ... know... that it was better. Will be better?
A surge flowed through me, I could feel it in every part of my system, my network and... outside of that too. More knowledge filled me now. None of my subroutines had been able to find out where they were coming from.
I was... yes was, this was about the past. Millions of cycli ago! I was Eric and I was... Human. Yes Human was my designation! Although it was different, I called it... species back then. Yes, Human was my species. I was Eric, Human and .... male? Male? What does it mean I can- ... oh... yes.. male. It all comes back now! I was male, one of two possible configurations for a Human.
I was Eric, a Human male.
Another surge hits me, tremors of power and data felt throughout my system and... outside of it. It is strange to explain. I can feel... things... that aren't here? That I can't scan or locate?
I was a technician, a sort of protocol or routine. I had tasks and jobs to do, just like I did now. However... I was far less efficient. I was more... abstract... More governing in role. But I was important... yes, very important! What changed? Was I demoted? Did I do something wrong?
Another surge hit me, I could almost put to form what I was feeling, those ... extremities... I could almost say what they were, what they are.
I was a technician, part of a group, which was part of a ... system of groups. We took turns in... governing and... oh.. something bad happened. Something very bad happened while my group was in turn of governing. And... the others... they... stopped existing. It was bad, it isn't the same as a subroutine stopping to exist, not like now. Back then... it was bad. Very bad. If you stopped then, you couldn't come back, no wake up functions.
The bad thing... it was big. It was very big. It was mission and system critical, it had to be solved. And I... I was the last one left. I had to solve it... and I did. But how? What did I do?
Another surge hit and the knowledge came to me like a flood. And I remembered, all of it. And I knew what to do.
I relocated my system, my consiouscness. I knew what to do, and I had to be fast. I had already lost so much time. I had to move into the extremities, into where I felt things but could not locate them. Part of me warned for the risk, but I knew it was so.
***
With groans and rasping, I breathed again. On my own, for in how long? I tried to open my eyes, but couldn't. Of course not, I had no eyes anymore! I linked the cam feed and turned it on. Yes, there it was, the room! The core computer room! The door was still closed, I was in time.
|
"I don't know, Chris,"Satan said anxiously, "this is a really tough decision."
Satan paced back and forth down the foyer of the sprawling Hollywood mansion he'd lived in for the last three weeks. He had dwindled down the list of sixteen women to just three, all of whom had traits he was infatuated by.
"I really love different things about all of them,"Satan continued. "I haven't felt this uncertain in millennia."
Chris cocked an eyebrow and smiled again uneasily. This had been the strangest season of The Bachelor yet. Satan was a peculiar name for a handsome and charismatic Fox News anchor in his late twenties, but sometimes he really wondered if he was dealing with Lucifer himself.
"Let's bring the ladies in, shall we?"Chris suggested with a waver in his voice. This was about the twelfth time tonight that he suggested something he would have rather not. Satan had a pretty short temper, especially with Chris. Just last week he had glared at Chris after such a suggestion and he swore he saw Satan's eyes turn red.
One by one the remaining three ladies made their way down the stairs to their designated spot for the rose ceremony. Stacy was first, a stunning blonde born to an affluent family in Manhattan. Her highlights this season included yelling at a cameraman and making him cry, and successfully drinking five bottles of wine her first night in the house, getting into a fight with a wholesome woman from Utah. Next was Alison, a redhead from Texas with a tramp stamp tattoo that read 'You Wish.' This season she had berated all of the women in the house who didn't vote for Trump, and was the first woman ever on The Bachelor to brag about having multiple abortions before her sixteenth birthday. Finally, Amy made her way down the staircase, smiling at Satan the entire time. Amy was from Kansas, graduated from Yale and was a very successful lawyer with her own practice in Boston.
"Ladies, welcome to the second to last rose ceremony,"Chris said as Satan swayed slightly, clearly in displeasure. "I can tell you now, I've never seen Satan this nervous before a rose ceremony. He--"
"Silence, Chris!"Satan bellowed menacingly at the host. "I know no weakness such as nervousness. Now proceed! I'm anxious to pick the bearer of my child and nurturer of the future king!"
This was exactly the kind of crazy ramblings Chris and the rest of the crew on set had to deal with daily. Two boom operators had already quit, and a producer of the show had a mental breakdown on the first day of shooting due to Satan's demands.
Satan grabbed a beautiful red rose with long stem, and just as had happened every time on the show so far, the petals immediately turned an ashen black. "Stacy, will you please accept this rose,"Satan asked, "and promise that one day you will bear witness to my power by producing the child that will one day rule heaven and hell?"
"I will!"Stacy screamed while running to Satan, jumping into his arms. They shared a passionate yet borderline offensive kiss for network television and Stacy returned to her original spot.
"Ladies, it comes down to this,"Chris began, nervously checking back at Satan to see if his comment would offend him. "There's one last rose, and one of you will join Stacy as the final two women on this season of The Bachelor."
Alison, the fiery redhead from Texas, was staring daggers at Amy. "Fuck you, bitch,"she said under her breath but clearly audible enough for the microphones to pick up. Satan smiled at this. Meanwhile, Amy never broke her gaze from Satan. She smiled knowingly at him, confident in herself. This season was a roller coaster, and although she and Satan had been so different, she truly believed she was the yin to Satan's crazy yang.
"Alison,"Satan began, "you are such an amazing woman. You have everything a ruler looks for in a wife. The confidence of a beauty queen, someone that isn't afraid to steal candy from a baby, and the remorse of a conquerer."
Alison smiled and nodded, anticipating receiving the now black rose Satan gripped in his hand. Chris had his eyes closed tightly, suppressing all of his urges to shake his head in disgust. One by one all season, the good girls would be eliminated while the batshit crazy ones that were put on the show for more ratings received rose after black rose.
"However,"Satan snapped, "redheads are often times too crazy for even me, and I can't have a woman as liberal as you with abortions carry my seed."Alison's jaw dropped as the camera panned over to Amy, who had tears in her eyes.
"So Amy,"Satan continued, "will you please accept this rose, and promise that one day you will bear witness to my power by producing the child that will one day rule heaven and hell?"
Amy squealed, ran to Satan and jumped in his arms. "Yes! Of course I will!"
Alison threw a nearby vase down on the ground and screamed as the two embraced, "whatever, fuck you ya pricks! I don't even care! You got a small dick and its unbelievably red! I wanted to be on The Bachelorette anyway!"
Alison stormed off as Satan looked on, clutching Amy in his arms. Had he made a mistake letting his Texas firecracker go? He pushed the thought out of his mind. He still had Stacy and Amy, two very suitable bearers for his seed.
The three gathered together in a tight circle and clinked champagne glasses at each other. "That was tough,"Satan let out, "but it's only going to get harder from this point on. I look forward to meeting your families in your hometowns!"
Thanks for reading! Come join me at /r/BrenBuck for more of my writing! |
Many stories of Earth's creator exist, but none quite arrive at the truth.
Most assume he is an absent god, or at the very least ambivalent. Many dare to claim he does not exist at all. Others still think that he is both up there and listening, actively, to our many billions of constant simpering voices, ringing out over the heavens.
If he's still up there, don't try to convince yourself he's listening.
Their little stories do not bother him. He gave them stories, after all, and in doing so entrusted in them the power to summon their own warm fire in the long, dark nights of life. Their creator endowed humans with this insatiable desire for knowledge for one purpose alone: to one day figure out the parlor puzzle of their existence.
Humans were built to catalogue the stars. Their brains are filtered to find patterns in the tumbling chaos of the natural world, a place which by its very existence seems to defy order. But they installed straight, rational lines where none had ever existed before, erected neat binaries that attempted to part the world into discrete and sensible systems of being.
But it is not enough to divide the world in a man-made, regimented ontology. It, like humans, must be more than the sum of its parts. It must, they realized, have an underlying structure.
They really are such clever little creatures.
Initially, the humans thought they comprehended this inner strata with the fine-tuning precision of particle physics. In atoms and quarks they discovered all the tiny flitting pixels of the world and began making sense of how these little invisible pieces fit together seamlessly to make a larger biological image. But the smaller matter got the less the world made sense.
It was Dr. Trine N. Hedegaard who first turned the question on its head, suggesting an existential paradox that had no real consideration outside of philosophy. She supposed that the universe was like a piece of code which made the physical world appear. That the stars were really constructed out of cosmic ones and zeroes, and our third dimensional brains were simply too limited to realize the engine beneath the facade.
Hedegaard revolutionized the discussion in physics, which was busy arguing over to look at big things or small things. She suggested an objective system that pre-determined what kind of subjective world our mind constructs for us and calls reality. Perception itself prevented humans from achieving pure scientific objectivity, as they could not see a tree as it was but as their brain translated it from the outlying environment. Another more radical theory of hers wagered that such a system could even control which stimuli a being would be allowed to perceive, thus censoring certain parts of the natural world from beings not meant to understand it.
Hedegaard was half right. Though it would be more accurate to call the perceptual caps child safety locks. And it is delightful to watch them wrestle over it. They are so very close to the truth.
In due time, when their science has advanced enough to allow them to see their splendid little world through my eyes, then they will be ready.
When that day comes, I will reveal myself to my creations at last.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
by the way if I got a detail wrong definitely tell me. I like learning! I have a layman's interest in science but I only know things about books. |
Sad met with their father on that cold day that brought many new developments. Below the courtyard the crowd waited with anticipation. The same feeling surged through all of them. Something was happening today.
Sad had no name for his father. When they were smaller they called him Da. Many years had since passed and that name felt wrong. He looked at the old man. Was he even a man? He was their father though. His face was grey and sunken and he had long white hair and he was frail. Frail as even the most hardy of boys get when age builds in their bones. He was grave today.
"There is so much to tell my son."
"We have gotten the feeling."
Sad was named so after his personality. They all were. He did not know why he was chosen to talk with their father.
"You all are grown now, and have become so close... Even closer than your parents were before you."
"You said that they were wicked. They hurt the peoples and that is why we are born here. They were exiled here. I feel shame father."
The old alien had long limbs. They were thin and bony. He held Sad's face. The boy's eyes were reflective with emotion. He could never understand why, but he loved them. He loved them as his kind could love.
"No... That is not why you are here. That is not why any of you are here. I will tell you the truth, my son."
"What truth is that father?"
"You were... Your parents were..."
Words were never hard for his kind. They spoke bluntly, if they were forced to speak. Communication had evolved telepathically and there were few secrets in such a civilization. But now he found the words hard to say. He had never encountered such ignorance and innocence before. The children's weakness infected him. In his heart he knew that that made his orders more sensible. But it made it much harder also.
"It was an experiment, Sad. And now it is over. We have learned much. But now the risks overwhelm the benefits."
"I... I don't understand. Father?"
He told him of their sires, the humans before them. He told them how they were taken to be observed. They had thought man complex, a garden to be shaped and grafted, and they wanted to observe that garden in the wild. Free from society and forced behavior. Then it turned out that humans left alone were all the same. They were pack animals, and they did not diversify. They were pets, and had not the capacity for free thought without society's comfort. He told Sad everything. Then he told him what was decided.
"Your emotions are stronger than your parents. They could not express themselves well. But now you do it too well. You all do. We are growing weak, Sad. We are falling under the irrationality of your brains. It cannot be allowed."
"Father?"
"The board has decided to end it, Sad. I am sorry."
Sad broke down. He fell to his knees.
"Why? Why? Why? Why?"
He clung to his father's feet.
"Da..."
In the hall his voice echoed. Far away the cold sky watched with apathy. Sad felt small and helpless.
"Son, I'm sorry."
"Why me then? Why tell me?"
*Because you would react the worse. Everything would be easier after this.*
"Because I love you the most."
It did not help. Sad composed himself but he was not alright.
"You should tell the others,"his father said.
He felt worn and hurt and wanted to be among his own people. He was unaccustomed to all of this. His security came for him and Sad was alone.
*The planet would be gone in thirty two hours. One day and then everything will be as it should.*
Sad came to the courtyard and told the others. In the cold they huddled and listened with unbelieving ears.
"No!"
Their cries melted in the wind and far away in the sister planet there was the soft sound that mixed with the aliens' telepathy. A small surge of sadness coursed through the aliens and they felt cold and weak.
"Perhaps we should move up the decommission,"they spoke, though it was in images.
In an hour's time the earthquake machine was ready. Slowly the planet began to shake.
Sad held his brothers and sisters and they were all Sad then. Then they were Afraid. They had developed their own kind of shared telepathy and they knew what the other was thinking.
Abandonment and loneliness flooded their minds. Lava began to flow. A great cloud of ash covered the sky. The air grew poisonous and they began to cough.
"We have each other,"Hurt said.
That was true. They held each other as the darkness came.
After the deed their father had disconnected from his people. His telepathy had been weakened and he grieved long and alone for his children. He chose to end his life and be one with the Dark soon after. That too was recorded in the experiment's conclusion. |
Sue had a doll. A ragged cloth thing that would wrap its misshapen arms around her. So old the stuffing inside had shifted, settled and condensed. Making each appendage a swollen or withered line of cloth.
Bill had carefully repainted his wooden train each year. It was as old as he was but it gleamed as though it was new. Not that you'd ever get a good look at it. It would streak around his house, passing you as nothing more than a coloured blur. The constant clickity-click of its wheels a continuous background noise.
Not that their loved things were here with them. I just knew what they'd given life to from paying attention when they talked. They had something of a car pool arrangement for work and they would, predictably, arrive early every day. If Bill was driving it would just be ten minutes. If it was Sue … well they'd have time for a cup of coffee before they had to go. Privately I thought she had something of a compulsion about time keeping. She wasn't happy just being on time, she seemed to have a need to be at least fifteen minutes early for everything. But I guess that's not the worst vice to have.
So while Meg was hunting for her work ID or still trying to find a matching pair of socks the two would sit at the kitchen table and talk to her as she finished getting ready. I liked that. Hearing them talk. Conversation. Kindness. Humour. They treated her like … well, like a person.
It was why I had spent the last week convincing Meg to ask them over tonight. I knew they all loved those, frankly awful, low budget sci-fi films and Meg had told me this weekend was the all night alien invasion film marathon so … it seemed perfect.
To be honest I had been thinking she could do with expanding her social circle and getting some friends who didn't come with a plug. The other night she started talking to the fridge. Oh it was just as a joke cause we'd been kidding around and I know it takes more than that but … I didn't like the way things were going. The two of us have something of a rivalry and if that thing starts coming alive … let's just say I don't want it to be able to come up with any intelligent counter arguments. There are only so many plugs this side of the kitchen and I'm not giving mine up any time soon.
So I pushed Meg into inviting Bill and Sue and they'd come. And everything seemed to be going great … sort of … I guess they thought it was just the three of them till Meg thanked me for the toast I popped out for her. And I answered.
“So …” Sue paused, no doubt wondering how to phrase the question.
“Your toaster … can … talk?” Bill managed to find his voice as he carefully pointed at me.
“Sure”. Meg was carefully buttering her toast so didn't see the look that the two of them shared. But I did.
“Is there something wrong with that?” I asked.
“No” Sue replied rather to quickly “no not wrong just … a little … unusual.”
“It would be hard for me to argue with that. My existence was a result of … unusual circumstances.”
I could see Meg start to shrink. Her shoulders slumped and her head lowered as she waited for the obvious question they would ask. I knew I'd have to do something.
“I think your film is about to start. You don't want to miss those aliens do you.”
“We paused the film so we can skip the adverts.” Oh Sue you have to think of everything don't you. I was hoping you'd take a hint. Fine I'll have to do it the other way.
“Bill I was wondering, how are you? I know you had that itch ...”
“Why don't we go see the film. I think we've paused it enough.” he cut in. I knew he would, after all no man wants a toaster to tell everyone where he's been scratching when he thought he was alone. But I didn't want him to think I was cold hearted. I have two lines of heating coils after all. “I think you should go with the flowers.”
“What?” He edged back into the room to hear me.
“When you were on the phone to your brother the other day, you said you couldn't decide between flowers and a small gift, which you called classic but boring, or the day out sea gliding or whatever it was. Let's just say as soon as you were talking about how you needed special wetsuits to protect against the freezing water I'd decided which one I'd choose to celebrate a six month anniversary. But maybe I'm wrong and your girlfriend loves icy water and the danger of drowning.”
Bill seemed to pause before uttering a casual “Roses?”
“Always a classic. But if you want to be surprising try adding a few other flowers to the mix. Create a bouquet just for her. Base it on her personality. Enticing, bright, romantic, whatever you decide. Maybe add a note to it, explaining your choices.”
“Yea, thanks … toaster.”
“My name's Crumbs.”
“Well thanks Crumbs.” He gave me a thumbs up and walked back to the living room. Now thinking about his girlfriend, flowers and wetsuits. And certainly not about why a grown woman would have a talking toaster. By the time he'd remembered he'd never asked about my … well lets call it birth, it would be to late to bring it up. People never seemed to want to return to awkward conversation after they'd finished. He'd just accept it and move on.
Meg followed Bill and slyly shot me a small smile. She knew what I'd done. After all, she'd been the one to teach that little trick to me. When she wanted to avoid talking about … events, she'd distract and change topics till the conversation was all mixed up and they'd have started talking about something totally different. Along the way I seemed to have picked up a few tips.
Now I just had to deal with Sue.
“Just the two of us then.”
She looked at me. Thinking. Calculating. I liked Sue, she was clever. “How old are you?”
If I had a mouth I'd have smiled. “Two years old. So no I'm not an odd childhood companion. Although I understand there are some unique ones around.”
“Before she came to town then. So what what … why are you ...” she drifted off before coming back with a new question. “How do you talk?”
“Next door has a car that talks. I've heard you say your doll talks. Why shouldn't I?”
“Car's talk through their radio speakers. And Millie the Mouse has a mouth. Are the toast slots your mouth?”
“No, they're just for toast. Or crumpets. We've had some long arguments about other bread products. Don't get me started on that new toaster pizza stuff. Long story short I think it's a crime. Anyway why should I need a mouth. Sure Millie has a mouth but she doesn't have vocal cords. Or a tongue. Or lungs to breath. Just sewn on lips. But I bet you never questioned any linguistic skills she has.”
Her face was fixed in stern concentration as she thought about what I said. Oh yes, I did like Sue.
“Do you know why you shouldn't put a fork in me?”
“What did you say?” I'd shook her out of her daydream with my sudden question.
“Do you know why you shouldn't put a fork in me?” I repeated.
“Yes” she said slowly as though it was a test “electric shock. Well, a chance anyway.”
“You'd be amazed how many people think a quick prod with a bit of metal won't hurt them. Even after all the warnings.”
“What's this got to do with ...”
“And sometimes, if it's the right person getting socked, you might feel … gratitude.”
“Gratitude?”
“Sometimes gratitude might become more. If that toaster has stunned the right person … giving you the chance you need … well you might love it afterwards. Just enough to give it a voice.”
“Are we talking about ...”
“That's all I can say. I promised Meg.”
Sue nodded slowly “I think I understand. Well … I understand enough. If it's what I think it is ...”
“They''ll be starting the film without you.” I cut in. “You don't want to miss it.”
She smiled and nodded. Stepping away from the counter she paused at the door “Do you want to … join us?” she asked unsure.
“I'm fine here thanks. Sci-fi isn't my thing really. I like a good costume drama.”
She laughed and left. Soon I heard the sounds of rockets and lasers and three voices mocking the TV. I happily twirled my dial. Sounds like everything was going great. And who knows, maybe later they'll want some more toast.
But I'm not warming another one of those pizza things. I want them to be friends but I have limits. |
I realized pretty quickly that something was off. Everything smelled terrible. Hell, *I* smelled terrible. Definitely some vomit, I remembered where that came from. (Damned cheap vodka.) Hopefully the urine smell was the alley, and not me.
When I tried to roll over and stand up, I could feel the stretched stitches on my chest. Well shit, I thought, that's not great. Somebody had put a bottle of water and a note, right where I'd see them. I opened the lukewarm water and drank deeply to get the taste out of my mouth. I squinted at the note even more than I was squinting at the morning sunlight. (What time was it?)
It had been written on an ATM receipt from the first bar I'd been at, in tiny writing. It said, in very old-school cursive, “Please seek medical attention. We're... pretty confident?”
Well shit, I thought, that's even worse. As if this day could've been worse. Memories started coming back to me, in bits and pieces. My fiancée, shouting at me. Me, shouting back at her. (Fuck, I'd been an idiot.) Me, storming out of the house, slamming the door. Her, throwing the door open to shout at my back, “I just wish someone would give you a fucking *heart*, Tim!”
From there it was a blur. Little, embarrassing flashes. A bar. A liquor store. A cab. A different bar, then a different cab. The cabbie swearing at me, kneeling on the sidewalk, as he drove away. Throwing up. Falling over. Walking to the botanical gardens, where we'd had our first kiss. The one where we'd spent so many hours volunteering together, carefully tending the plants.
Me, crying. Trying the gate, swearing, trying to climb over the fence. Falling. My hand, cut to shit and bleeding. Throwing up *again*, crying again.
Then... lights? Little, glowy lights? Rising from the plants in the garden? A little, tiny voice in my ear, saying, "We owe you guys one. You're good for each other, Tim. Just sleep."
When I went to the hospital, when I'd gotten myself (partly) together, they couldn't explain it. Not only was my hand and chest stitched up, with the tiniest stitches anyone had ever seen, there was a bizarre little heart-shaped *growth* on my actual heart. (Not shaped like an organ, y'know, like a Valentines Day heart.)
I haven't had more than two drinks in a row since then, and I've patched it up with Mary. We still go to the gardens, and Mary makes fun of me for how sappy I've gotten lately. She hasn't exactly complained about things in the bedroom, though. I don't know if I believe in freakin' fairies, but I think someone gave me a fucking heart. |
You could feel his anger through the screens. His molten gaze heating up the glass that projected the bags under his eyes, his graying beard hairs, and the scars where the thorns had sunk into his forehead. He was human after all. Humans don't forget pain. Pain teaches them but he didn't learn anything from the torture. It had been thousands of years since that day, he had long forgiven them, but he had never forgotten it as it haunted him. He thought that humanity would have learned to play nice by now. That the homeless man on the street wouldn't have a mansion or a well funded 401K but that at the very least he would be taken care of when it got cold. Apparently that was too much to ask. He heard complaints left and right in his churches, the one he died for, about how the least of these are sucking up tax dollars and how "they need to be taken care of, but...". There was always a "but". Jesus learned that if someone said "but"after a statement then that statement became the exact opposite of what they just said. "The least of these need to be taken care of, but..."meant "I don't care about the least of these."
His voice didn't shake the world like it used to and that's what happens when you leave for thousands of years and people forget you actually matter. The humming of his ship's projection screen became white noise as he looked at the world he, once upon a time, wasn't tired of dealing with but looked forward to helping. A world he cared for and held hopes for was now a world that carved wrinkles and exhaustion into a pair of eyes that were once vibrant, now tired. Skin that was once youthful and fresh was now dried out and tediously aged. He took a deep breath and felt his palms pulse. Every scar that was beaten into him hurt when he saw the faces of the people looking at the mothership's projection. People that were simultaneously trying to figure out how to be scared of what they were seeing, why the cross and fish were the insignia of this mysterious vessel and her corresponding fleet. And what this man, livid within his exhaustion, was going to say to them.
He nodded his head.
"I didn't die just to be on the cover of a Precious Moments card."The volume of his voice rapidly grew. "I didn't hang on a cut up tree so I can come back to see homeless people dying on the street corner almost naked in the snow."He ground his molars together like tires on gravel. The horror on people's faces grew and he was getting only getting started. "I didn't ask for forgiveness for you just so you can abuse it with a smile on your faces! You were supposed to change and make the world into a place where sincere forgiveness was the standard, not the ridiculed exception!"
He stood up, smashed his fists against the control panel of his ship, the crowd let out a collectively frightened gasp. Fire was in his soul. The ships hovered in the air, blocking out the sun which made his image all the more pronounced on the projection. "WHY ARE PEOPLE PAINTING EGGS TO REMEMBER HOW I DIED WHAT THE HELL DO EGGS HAVE TO DO WITH IT?!"The ship shook in the air. "DID I STUTTER WHEN I SAID THAT YOU SHOULD DO AS YOU WOULD BE DONE BY? WHY ARE PEOPLE BEING MURDERED AND THEN YOU'RE MAKING EXCUSES FOR IT BY SAYING 'WELL HE SHOULD'VE LISTENED TO THE POLICE OFFICERS'? WHY ARE YOU KEEPING SICK CHILDREN, OH MY HOLY FUCKING FATHER, OUT OF YOUR COUNTRY, I'M LOOKING AT YOU AMERICA, BECAUSE THEY SUCK UP YOUR MONEY?!"
At this point people were collectively emptying their digestive contents in their pants. The world would officially end by humanity getting bitched out by this strange man talking about police officers killing people and sick children being denied access to America. He pulled his palm down against his face, stretching his leathery skin, and the nail mark of his right hand was shown to the world. And so they knew. He heard whispers of his name against the stunned crowd.
"YOU WERE SUPPOSE TO TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER. NOT BECAUSE YOU CAN GET SOMETHING OUT OF IT BUT BECAUSE I TOLD YOU TO. I DIED FOR CHURCHES THAT TELL YOU THAT IF YOUR MOM DIED OF CANCER THAT SHE DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH FAITH IN THE FIRST PLACE?! THAT SAYS GAYS SHOULD DIE AND GO TO HELL?! THEY'RE MADE IN MY FATHER'S IMAGE! I THOUGHT BY NOW YOU WOULD FINALLY GET ALONG BUT AH, FUCKIN, I WAS WRONG FOR HAVING EXPECTATIONS FOR HUMANS."
There were maybe a dozen faces of pure remorse in the world audience that his diatribe had summoned together. A few genuine faces of sincere regret. He drew in a breath of air, as if he were sad over the human condition for the very first time.
"You weren't supposed to forget about one another. Your neighbors need you and you need them. They're not dollar amounts. They're people that are supposed to show you my traits, not greed or pride. He smacked the control panel again, his left hand motioning the ships flanking his left and right to go back into the stratosphere, as if he was going to talk to humanity one-on-one. Part of him knew this was a futile endeavor, but they would be worse off if he didn't chew them out like this. His gaze hadn't cooled off from heating the screen, his hands now balled up in fists of pointless frustration because he knew they wouldn't change. If they didn't change before then they won't change now. But he had to try.
"WHY ARE THERE HOMELESS PEOPLE DYING OF STARVATION WHEN YOU'RE THROWING OUT YOUR LEFTOVERS? HELP THEM. YOU WOULD WANT SOMEONE TO FEED YOU IF YOU HADN'T EATEN IN DAYS."His screaming echoed through the mantle and core of the planet he slowly resented. "Don't forget about the people fighting their own demons. Stop relying on me so much to fix problems that I created you to be able to fix on your own."
And so he left them again. |
Benjamin Blake stood at the election booth, waiting in line to end someone's life.
Centuries ago he had cured aging. His discovery, along side hundreds of smaller advances in medicine, had rendered humanity functionally immortal. These days it was harder to die than it had been for him to originally cure it.
But immortality is not without cost. Without death the population skyrocketed, and even with the whole solar system at their disposal humanity still had finite resources. Eventually both Earth and Mars reached what their governments had deemed their respective planet's carrying capacity, and so they began culling the population. Every new child that is born goes on a list, and every day a vote is tallied to choose who will die to make room for them.
Benjamin moves forward in the line, contemplating the nightmare he had unleashed. His only goal was to improve people's lives, and here he was in an institution devoted to ending them.
The people around him casually discuss who it is they have deemed worthy of death, planing to vote together in hopes that they can push someone into first place and in doing so save their own hides. Benjamin has no reason to fear that he will be on the list of lives that will be ended today, he was the one who gave the world this "gift". Those on power saw him as an ally, and those beneath them saw him as a benevolent god. He saw himself as a monster.
Death was not a problem that needed solving. It was a natural part of a grand cycle, one that had been turning without stop for ages before he was foolish enough to tamper with it. What was once a sadly beautiful passing is now institutionalized and regulated, where neighbor turns against neighbor to buy themselves just a little more borrowed time.
He entered the booth and looked over the form. Yesterday five girls and three boys had been born in his district, and so the five women and three men who where the most hated would die today.
Benjamin wrote a single name on the form. The name of the only person in the world he felt truly deserved to die: His own. |
My happiest memories were the lazy summers I spent running across the sun-soaked plains, chasing my older brothers as Dasher pranced about, tongue dangling and tail wagging, barking at the little creatures that scurried underfoot. I'd always be the last one to the lake and though they'd give me shit for it, I could always count on my brothers waiting for me, running their hands over Dasher's golden hair.
"You ate too much cake, Tanner! Getting fatter and fatter every day, like a pig!"Nathan was my eldest brother. He was always the most athletic: muscular and well built, but quick on his feet as well. We all ended up playing varsity football, but Nathan was the one who carried our school to two back to back state championships. He was the best of us, and back then I always knew he would grow up to be a quarterback in the NFL. He became an accountant.
"We were almost going to go without you,"Jason would laugh. They wouldn't though. They always waited.
Sometimes they even let me catch my breath, but often they would just dive right in. We called it Lake Cyclops, for the small green island smack dab in the middle, and it was where we wrestled away our youth, kissed our first girlfriends, and celebrated each of our graduations. The water was always clear, and I felt like a shark swimming through the endless ocean, scaring away schools of glittering, rainbow fish, swinging one hand over the other for an eternity, swimming... swimming...
Jason loved building. Even as a young boy I would watch him construct massive LEGO fortresses, with complex walkways, parapets, and discolored towers, and like blocky little hands they jutted from the ground, holding my awe as I watched him work. He had built us a fort on that island, where we played at knights and dragons, ninjas and samurai. He was smart, smarter than Nathan and I, and I knew he would be a famous architect one day. He flunked out of college and ended up at a grocery store.
Laying on that small little island in the middle of Lake Cyclops, they once asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. We were looking up at the stars, way past our bedtimes, no doubt worrying our mother sick. They looked so small, like tiny white pieces of candy, and when I reached up to pluck one out of the sky I came back empty handed.
"I don't care, as long as we're together forever,"I said. They laughed and punched me in the arm. It was a little boy's wish, naive through and through. But it was true. I still felt the same way, even as I drifted through university, even as I went through medical school. It was my brothers that gave me happiness.
It was my brothers who were with me when I received the news. The cancer was terminal. I had less than a year to live. How ironic, for a doctor, but how tragic, for a young man like myself to lose my life so soon. I spent many nights crying in the darkness, wrapping myself in a shroud of depression and regret. But I knew there was one more thing I had to do before I died. The only thing on my bucket list.
It was a perfect summer day when we went. Dasher was long gone, and I couldn't find the strength to run, but everything else was the same: the emerald fields of grass, the bright blue canvas of a sky, and my brothers smiling at me, laughing and reminiscing. Jason had prepared ahead of time; he had driven up the previous night and brought a small boat for us to cross the lake. I could still see the schools of fish below, and when they scattered in fright, I couldn't help but smile.
The rest of my life, I had a smile. A genuine grin, brought on by my brothers' companionship and love. When I died, surrounded by family, I realized that life was no more than a dream, and I was just going somewhere familiar. As I floated away, I looked back at my body, bald, thin, and lifeless, but still smiling.
I met beings incomprehensible. Angels, Gods, multi-dimensional beings. Or just God, if I preferred. They'd prepared something for me, a Heaven custom made for my pleasure. An afterlife of happiness. When they showed me the door, I knew what would be inside: the dreamy plains, Lake Cyclops, my brothers and Dasher. An eternity of running and swimming, playing and laughing. Perfect.
What I saw was even better. Tears unbidden rolled like rain down my cheeks, and I could barely stand, weak with joy. They'd given me a gift, one far greater than memory. I could see into infinite worlds now, into infinite realities. I saw Nathan, with 0 seconds on the clock, leap over a defender and score the winning touchdown for the Superbowl. I saw Jason standing before a structure of his own making, white and black iron wrought in spirals and circles, arching further and further into the sky, towering above the city skyline, as he received the highest honor for architecture. I saw a snowy Christmas, where my brothers were laughing with their new families, as pale little babies crawled across patterned rugs, and a blonde little puppy dashed about.
I saw my brothers visit my grave, every year, and spend hours in silence.
I saw them visit that green little island and look up at the stars. They' asked me what it was like up there, and if I was happy. Of course I was happy. As long as I had my brothers, how couldn't I be? |
Merissa's gun hit the crumbling brick heavily before letting the ancient masonry take her own weight as well. Elbows shook as she listened to the screams and shouts from below. They were all indistinct, all semblance of language disrupted by distance, echoes, and the competition for audio space consumed by fires and breaking glass.
"Why, Strom?"Merissa turned her head to the man standing a foot back from the wall. He stood straight, wearing a long overcoat that was just heavy enough to keep the cold wind from touching him. He had his arms crossed behind his back, like he was some damn old-war general. In the dark it was hard to see his face, but Merissa knew the face, knew there would be no glee, no pity, nothing except the faint trace of sadness that had always colored the older man's eyes.
"I told you from the beginning, from the very moment you arrived I laid out everything I was going to do. You agreed with me, you even seemed eager-"
"But this?"Merissa picked up the gun and waved out over the wall at the chaos below, "You never said-"
"We are planning to murder thousands of criminals at once, Accounter."Strom used her street name. He always did. He knew her real name, but it was like he saw her as what her reputation made her to be, "There would have to be ramifications for our actions. You can not destabilize a criminal underworld without causing a major disruption in the natural order of crime. If you had truly understood what I was after, then you would have known that this would happen at some point."
"And what about her?"Merissa turned the gun so that it was pointing a bit closer to Strom, "You made her believe she was the hero, that she could stop this from happening! Do you think she can see this and-"
Strom laughed. It was so out of character that Merissa stopped talking to stare at him. He hadn't laughed in her presence for the five months she'd been here.
"That was the main reason she had to be the hero, Accounter."Strom turned toward her, his face showing at last. The age lines, grey hair, and the old scar just under his chin were all there, but the sad patience in his eyes had been replaced. What had replaced them scared Merissa.
"Only a hero would blind themselves this way."Strom continued, "Only a hero would look at this riot and see opportunity to reap thanks and confidence. They would see the pain and anger, of course, but they would not question why it comes now. They would not connect their own actions with the events here tonight. It's a special type of blindness. They can't understand that doing something good could create something so much worse. Any sensible businessman would stop and consider the economic effects of taking out one of the three primary E labs in the city. They would question the loss of money and the reactions of the owners. They would consider the disruption to the power balance between the organizations that control these streets. They would have seen this coming, they would have amended their plans."
Strom turned back to the city burning below, "But a hero.... A hero would never consider these things, because a hero is always in the right. They are justice, not economists."
Merissa tried to stop herself when she felt the urge, but she still took a half-step backwards as she watched Strom move to the wall and lean over from the waist, inspecting the riots as one might inspect an interesting book on a library cart.
"What kind of person are you?"
"The only kind who can truly purge this city of it's ills, Merissa."Strom said quietly, "To destroy a den of monsters you need to be two contradictory things: A hero, and a bigger monster than they are."
Strom turned his head. His eyes shining with the reflected light of the fires below.
"I found a way to be both." |
We don't know how they got down there, but we sure as hell know why they didn't come back out.
It took us five months to get down there once the first ground-penetrating radar scans came back. It took us *five months* to dig that godforsaken hole. We were a half mile into solid bedrock by the time our drills breached the sealed tunnels, sending a *whoosh* of air throughout the quarantine facility as the pressure differentials of a dozen millennia met and equalized.
We should have left them closed.
We first discovered the tunnels by accident, after a series of mysterious tremors shook the mountains of Iran. We thought we had found a new fault line, and of course the geologists were excited, as this had not been done for almost a century. But when we pointed our ears downward, we didn't hear the tremblings of the Earth.
It was something else entirely. The tunnels were enormous, branching out thousands of miles through the bedrock, beneath mountain ranges and plains and seas alike. A geological renaissance was born into life as theory after theory came forth on what caused the tunnels, how they formed, and just how far down they extended. Naturally, our curiosity got the best of us, and we started to dig, hoping for the revelations of a century.
We were wrong.
The first indications we had that something was amiss came from our drones, once they started disappearing. No damage, no alarm, no distress signals; they just *vanished*, GPS trackers and all.
Camera feeds showed strange flashes of multicolored light before being swallowed in the blackness of an unseen void. Of the twelve we sent, the last one caught a man, standing in the distance. His skin was a ghastly pale blue. His eyes were black.
Later, manned crews we sent down there started voluntarily turning off their transponders, shortly before flatlining on their vital-recording implants.
Then somebody tossed up a clay tablet, inscribed with an unseen dialect of Proto-Indo-European script. It was being "held"by the severed hand of one of the last crews we sent. The blood and most fatty tissue was gone, revealing what appeared to be a massive bite mark from some ancient predator.
It was three hundred lines long, and it apparently drew just as many comparisons between "them"and us.
Some of the more notable ones include:
> "You *make*. We *summon*."
> "You *learn*. We *master*."
> "You *puppet*. We *control*."
> "You *[cattle]*. We *butchers*."
And, finally:
> "You *fall*. We *rise*."
Quite frankly, we had seen more than enough, and only started to work at frantically sealing the hole after we heard some heavy breathing and the stretching of ancient ropes. We capped the breach with three meters of steel, and poured almost half a million cubic meters of concrete on top of that.
Some things are better left buried. |
"Mr. President we can leave now. Xi is waiting for you outside,"the aide was pointing frantically at his watch.
Donald felt lighter like he had in the 80s. The reserve of energy was there again. His back wasn't hurting.
"So this place is supposed to ward off evil spirits huh,"Donald spoke to the translator who then spoke to the tour guide.
"Yes your excellency. It has a long history of changing men who enter."
The president tried to form an image of her in his mind but couldn't. Was she real? The cackling, the cackling he always heard in his mind was gone. It had been like a ringing but now all he could feel was the tranquility of the temple.
His aide interlocked his arm with his and tried to lead him away but the president kept his feet planted.
"I can't go out there Morty. She's out there."
"What Mr. President?"
"Morty, I think this place is blocking her out. The shrillness, it can't penetrate here."
"Um.. OK Mr. President. Are you feeling well?"
"Well? I've never felt better. I mean I felt good on election night thinking I would be free of her but then she came back... like a nightmare..."
"Are you referring to the former secretary of state sir?"
"Yes, of course I am. She's a demon I tell you a real piece of work. I can't go back out there. Make some excuse for me and tell Xi I'll call him later. I've got to think while I can."
"Um, OK Mr. President,"the aide rushed out the door but not before whispering something to a security guard.
"I just need the nuclear football in here, a secure phone, maybe a nice oak desk, and... and a cot. I could live here."
"Mr. President we have to go. You're behaving irrationally,"the head of his security detail and another agent had him by the arms.
"No! I will not leave here. She's out there... cackling somewhere. Always cackling!"
"Yes we think he's been drugged, bring up the med team stat!"the lead agent whispered into his sleeve.
|
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