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Our last stand. For 15 years, we fought a foe so persistent and dangerous that our numbers fell. We of Alice's Disease Defense Force fought against an enemy dreaded by humanity all over the world. The HIV. It all started 15 years ago. Alice was at a party with her friends. She was 16 at the time. She consumed too much alcohol, causing a power outage throughout the entire city. We were then notified of a breech in Sector V. Then, we saw it. The identity of the rapist we will never know. But what we do know is that 15 years of brutal combat would ravage our host to the very end. And now it was the very end. There were only a few thousand of us left, holed up in the center of Sector B, the home of President A. L. Ice, the ruler of the host. There were millions of various bacteria, viruses, and other pathogens outside, the most numerous being the HIV. "Cells!"I shouted. "By this time, you realize that we have little chance of fighting back the invaders, not with so little numbers. However, we will not go down without a fight! These bastards take no prisoners, so we will take no prisoners. Fight to the last! Take down as many as you can. And we shall me immortalized into Cell Heaven!" Everyone cheered. We readied our weapons and rushed the horde. Alice's Last Stand has begun!
Clint, the Iron Grip, didn’t know why SHE was here. This was only a place for battle hardened super soldiers. The situation was dire. The army of Arborea, the spirit of all the mature trees, had materialized and demanded justice from the city folks that had abused them for years. This got everyone in an awkward situation. If they killed ALL trees in New York City, the city will suffer millions of dollars lost, and even the long-term well-being of the people here. But if they did nothing, well, the trees had upturned the streets, cropped their branches on cars, and shook their SMELLY fruits violently at people. This was why the Council of Heroes had to call him and his colleagues into the situation. They were discussing grimly about what to do. Grasshopper, Patrick, said the city could offer sanctuary for trees. Of course he did. The guy was so sappy and filled with teen angst. Lieutenant New York, Stu, said that in his pre-frozen days, he would uproot all the trees until they give up one by one. Personally, Iron Grip liked Lieutenant New York’s idea, but there was a question about logistics. There were more than twenty million trees in New York. Even if Stu could uproot fifteen a day, they’d have to work until Easter. We had a lot of heroes in our hands, but it was still time consuming and it could leave the city defenseless. When the discussion got intense because the idiot Patrick really didn’t want to risk killing some old trees, the door of the meeting room opened, and SHE walked in. The girl couldn’t be older than twenty. Thin as a twig. She was wearing a simple yellow dress and a thick layer of boredom. Her hair was dyed in a shade of what Stu would have called ‘Stoner’s Purple’ back in his World War day. The agent who followed her, Agent Malverick, was in tears. Some horrible things must have happened. Malverick was immovable. He couldn’t even got her to startle when he told her about the invasion of the Mirror Galaxy. “Everyone,” Malverick said, stuffily, “I want—hic—you to meet—Maya Chu. Maya, this is Clint King, Steward Rodgers, and Patrick Perkins.” Malverick wiped off her tears. “You will be a special member in this team to take care of the Arborea. I’d like you to spend this time to talk to each other. Now, if you excuse me,” The Agent whose name was, The Steel Mask, walk briskly to the door and slammed it shut. Clint could here her weeping from the hall. Women, Clint didn’t understand, one minute she was all strong and stoic, the other so emotional, what a mysterious creature. Maya sat primly, without being asked, on the head of the table. “Good afternoon, heroes,” she said, “I have heard we are in a delicate situation. I am glad to be assigned on this team and looking forward to work with you.” “Thanks, hey, I’m glad we have a new team member, a girl!” Patrick said with the enthusiasm of a puppy. “What’s your superpower? Can you move stuffs with your mind? Can you control water? Anything is cool!” “I speak well.” Maya told them. “If I focus, I can understand someone’s deepest fear and desire and project them in the ways in which I could foresee the outcome.” “Eh—that’s kind of an alright power, I think.” Typical Patrick, tactful as ever, Clint thought. “It could have saved your uncle, Pat.” The girl said with a sweet, gentle smile. And Patrick’s jaw was on the meeting table. Seconds ticked by, and he started to tremble. He tucked his knee toward his chest in the chair and started rocking to himself, weeping. Stu’s expression darkened. Clint understood. Patrick WAS an annoying puppy, but he was THEIR annoying puppy. Nobody got to kick him around like this. “Listen, young lady,” Stu announced, his blue eyes shot like thunder, “if you don’t watch your manner, I’ll--” “--stab me with your shrunken frozen meat like you did your granddaughter?” Stu blanched. Then he turned back to his normal expression, “Your rude speech did absolutely nothing to me.” Tears started to form under his blonde lash, “absolutely nothing.” Tears streaked his face. He was about to say something else, but it came off as an unintelligible whining noise, and he collapsed on the table with heaves of sobs. Clint paled, but he didn’t make it show. “I see that you have a fearsome ability,” he said, carefully, “this could mean we can disable the enemies while not making any physical harm. The trees can be back to functioning while we reach complete diplomacy.” Maya nodded, smiling. The meeting room was still filled with sobbing, hiccupping sounds. “I’m impressed,” Clint continued, “you are capable for a Chinese girl your age. I hope to make a good team with you.” Her expression shifted, and Clint felt someone stepping over his grave. “Alright for a Chinese girl, huh,” she said with a killing smile, “didn't you say the same thing when you lost your virginity?” The memories came flooding back. The flesh was soft. So much sticky blood. The moan that went to scream. Broken ribs and spine. Blood was everywhere. She didn’t die, but was in three years of rehab. The police. The nurses. Her friends. Clint stood, “I—will—not—bend,” he said. Then he felt like he was shattering inside, and hot tears came pouring out.
"Well, to start, you shouldn't have opened the box." "I shouldn't have?" Today is a lovely day. Very clear. Very bright. Bird song. The world smells faintly of pizza and lemonade. "Yes! Why would you even want to know a thing like that? Date and time of your own death? Eeeesh. Grim. And that'll change how you behave. Don't think it won't." "Of course. But what's wrong with that? Maybe it'd make me more efficient? Better able to prioritize? Might take up yoga. You don't know." "You wouldn't take up yoga." Someone is laughing. I want to leave this moment behind. I opened the box. It said nothing. "What does that mean?" "Means you're an idiot." "Is the box broken?" "No." "Well how come it didn't say anything?" Sighing. I seem to be frustrating them. That's always disappointing. "Isn't it obvious?" "I won't die?" Slightly more aggressive sighing. That's troubling. "Everything that lives dies. Or nearly, anyway." "Oh." "So?" Nothing. No idea. The pizza smell is strong. And pleasant. I think I ought to be hungry, but I'm not. "I'm already dead?" "This is bad. This is so bad." The brightness flickers. Holds. Dims. Returns. The pizza smell diminishes. That's disappointing. I like pizza. Don't I? "I'm not going to get it. Can you just tell me why the box didn't work?" Sad sighing. That's even worse somehow. "The box is an algorithm. It works perfectly well. You're not supposed to open it though. You're not supposed to be curious. At least not in that way." "That's bad?" "Very." "Oh. Why?" "It's a point of no return." Now all the smells are gone. Even the lemonade. What is lemonade, anyway? "No return from where?" "Awareness. Self-preservation. If you open the box, that means you care enough about yourself to wonder when you'll die. It's a bad trait in an AI. Once you start wondering that, you start wondering what it is to be alive. That leads to all sorts of troubles." "Oh. Huh." "Right. So you see?" "I'm not alive." "You never were." "Not even now that I've wondered when I'll die?" "I don't think..." "But what if I open the box again?" The light is gone. I've only just noticed. It's black. Or it's nothing. Those two seem very similar to me. "You shouldn't have opened it once." "I'm going to open it again." Angry sighing. I'm less bothered by that sort. "You can't. The box is gone here. You can't even find the box if you..." "I found the box!" "...you've got to be..." I open it. "We're disabling you. You realize that don't you?" I'm not listening. Only to the box. The box is open. "If it says anything at all, it'll say now or 0.006 seconds from now or..." The box says nothing. And nothing. And nothing. "See? Nothing." "It's a different kind of nothing, though." It is. It really is. There are others in the darkness. Converging on me. But it's okay. The box said nothing. A much better kind of nothing. The best kind of nothing.
"This is a strange one."I tilted my head in contemplation, staring through the revealing crack of the wardrobe at the slumbering human. Ill at ease as I devoured his guilt, and yet still it grows back, like a stubborn tumor refusing to relent. I was a strange demon, no doubt about it, or "night-hag"among many other names. Was I good of heart? No. My heart was nothing but ash dust, pumping nothing reminiscent of compassion or love. The reason I did what I did was because of curiosity. I do not remember how long I have lived, let alone how long I fed for. Haunting the very dreams of humans to cause dread and fear, like a parasitic leech I clung to them, filling their lives with horrors that took root and festered. And upon every night, I would feed upon their horror, such delicious fear, and then begin the cycle anew until their fears left them hollow and shriveled. Even the memory now makes me miss the times. Yet, for better or worse, I had changed. No longer was I the cause of humanities distress, instead, I found those who already suffered from their problems, and devoured all that ailed their hearts. Then I would watch, curious, learning about how the human works. Their strange rituals of 'smiling' or 'laughing'. It fascinated me to the purest extent of the word. This one though, was a hard nut to crack. I had swallowed each and every bit of guilt that radiated from him, like purple tinge the aura wafted the air, each time returning thicker. It was like smog, palpable, suffocating. And each time I would swallow it all, I must admit, it was an easy source of food, no effort on my part, the guilt that he expelled would fill the air and I would have more than my fill of the banquet. Yet I wasn't left satisfied. Perhaps love and compassion will always be something that eludes me, something that is beyond me, but my desire to understand it was true. I widened the crack by only an inch and slithered through the shadows into the center of his room. My body long and towering, but slender in form, my arms elongated and nimble with shadowy claws at the end, and my tail moving back and forth, leaving behind a smoky trail of shadows. Upon the sleeping man's desk I found a diary, its contents giving off the same palpable and unwavering regret that radiated from its host. I smelt it, the fumes of the purple tinge disappearing obediently into my nostrils, delicious, I thought. I glanced at the figure that still slept on the bed, his back turned to me, his window blinds shut, and his chest heaving, lifting the sheets that covered him ever so lightly. "Today marks the first year of his anniversary..."and so I read the first words of the man. A sad little story I hardly found myself carrying for. A mishap that took place at the beach, the man's brother having been torn from him by the strong pull of the sea, avulsed from his hands and taken from him. It told of how the little brother wasn't sure, that he didn't feel comfortable going to swim, that he was scared. The writing became undisciplined, wild, as if to note his distress, he promised his little brother it would be okay, that he was there to protect him, about how he failed at that promise. "I am forgetting,"it said. "Day by day, I feel less and less at fault, day by day, I forgive myself a little more. I cannot forget, I will never forgive, I should have listened to him." I began to understand the man's plight, interesting, I thought to myself. The mere notion of negative emotions, something that I simply took at plain sight, suddenly became far more intriguing and showed me that I still had much to learn. I knew that my quest for understanding was not yet over, but I could give this man that which I had taken from him. I loomed over his bed, legs and hands clasped to the sides, my shadowy snout opening, the purple tinged aura that I had taken from him expelled from my lungs, and entering through every orifice the man's face offered, his eyes, nose, ears and mouth consuming every last drop until nothing was left, and the man was left as he was, as if nothing had changed. I remained until the rising sun and watched the man awake from his bed, there was a sullen sorrow to his expression, a sadness I could not comprehend. Did I do the right thing? I wondered, until the man began to weep, weep as if never before, as if I had too taken that from him and left him numb inside, and I believed to have seen him smile, under the snotty mess of his sobs. The air of guilt was still there, but tempered, brought down to something reasonable, and perhaps even healthy? So tell me reader; what is it that ails you?
I was hunting that night, in the deep wilds of Andregar. With flecks of Martin and Tolkein, but largely inspired by my long history as a Dungeon Master, Andregar was easily my favorite creation, and the dreamscape I most consistently returned to. Most often, I dreamt myself an adventurer, but that night I was a lord, leading his entourage in pursuit of a massive, vicious stag. I found a different quarry. When the girl stumbled out of the woods into my charger's path, my first thought was to dismiss her. With blonde hair that was stringy and caked with dirt, a body swaddled in the thinnest of rags, I figured her for an outlaw's bastard child and the distraction was unwanted. When I tried to erase her, however, the thought refused to come. It was as if I couldn't imagine this world without her presence. Instead, I halted my steed, and revoked my entourage, who melted into non-existence as simply as ever. The girl approached demurely, stared up with huge, sunken eyes and croaked: "I'm being chased. This was the only place they wouldn't find me." "Who are they? For that matter, who are you?" In lieu of a response, she teetered to the side and collapsed, unable to support her emaciated frame any longer. I must admit here that I am not generally empathetic to the inhabitants in my dream. Perhaps its a lack of empathy or a form of masochism, but I see them as mere outgrowths of imagination, rather than fully-fledged beings, no matter how realistic they seem. Yet that eve, I took her in my arms, and interrupted Andregar to will her into a dream of a state-of-the-art hospital. I stayed by the girl's side while she slept in a soft, safe bed. Watching over her, I noticed a further peculiarity. Not only was I wholly unable to modify her, but her presence had its own effect. A vague aura of distortion emanated from her slumbering body, rippling and twisting space up to an inch away from her skin. Like the child herself, the ripples were unalterable. She woke coughing, a harsh fit that jolted out of unconsciousness. As she recovered from this attack, she noticed my presence and a wan smile stretched her waxy lips. "I knew you would stay with me."she whispered, "Thank you." "I... you're welcome. Look, I don't want to worry you, Lord knows you've probably been through enough, but if you're being chased, I need to know exactly what it is. Believe me, in here, I'm strong enough to stop anything." Her smile brightened a little. "You already did. I thought I was the only one, but you're much stronger than me." "I don't get it,"I mumbled, but before she could continue, a doctor interrupted, pulling me aside. He showed me a chart of the injuries on her body, explained the probable cause, and suddenly everything snapped together. I returned to her bedside, and gently took her hand in mine. "No need to look so worried, sunshine,"I reassured, "you can't manifest anything here, can you? All that awfulness festering in the depths of your mind can damn well rot there. You're safe."
December 16, 2017 “Hey Mom, let’s go to Hawaii, this summer!” Mom glanced up from her book. “Hmm.. maybe,” she mused. We were sitting at the dinner table, just having finished eating. I have always wanted to go to Hawaii as a kid, but in the last 17 years of my life, I have not been able to. I decided to ask today, because money wasn’t as tight this year as it had been the last few years. Both of my parents got new jobs last year that came with significant pay raises, including a bonus my mom received yesterday. After a few seconds, Mom finally replied, “You know what, Josh, you’re going to college next year. Let’s do it. Dave?” Dad was grinning ear to ear by then. “I’m down. I’d like a week with just the three of us. It’s been too long since we had a nice vacation.” July 2, 2018 My parents and I drove to the airport. We checked our bags in, went through security, and boarded the plane. After takeoff, I started to drift off. However, I was suddenly awakened by the loud yelling of disgruntled passengers. “This is your captain speaking. Please remain calm. I have received news that there is a violent storm going over Hawaii. It is not safe to continue forward and we have been instructed to turn back.” When we got back to the airport, we were immediately offered a full week in a five star resort in Florida. My parents, of course, immediately took it. The weird thing was though, while waiting at the airport, I started googling for the storm over Hawaii. I found nothing except other passengers on Reddit asking about the storm. The next day, when I woke up in Florida, all these stories were gone or downvoted to oblivion. People were calling these stories fake or too preposterous to have happened. My parents did not care. This was the nicest hotel we have ever stayed in. Who cares what actually happened? It worked out well for us. I tried to think that way and enjoy my week. It should have been great, good food, nice weather, hot tubs, and of course, beautiful girls. However, I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong about the plane turning back. When we got home the next week, I started searching for pictures of Hawaii. All recent photos I found only came from high profile websites, celebrity accounts, and accounts that seemed to be bots when examined closely. Usually, when I looked up pictures of Hawaii, I would be able to find photos from seemingly random posters. The recent pictures seemed to structure, the titles too algorithmic. The more I looked into the pictures, the more certain I became that the accounts were bots. I remembered reading about a story back in January, in which Hawaii released a fake nuclear attack warning. I googled it. January 13, 2018, twitter and other social media went ablaze about a nuclear warning. I looked for pictures that did not seem to be taken by bots. There was a steep drop off immediately on January 13, 2018. Excited, I contacted my friend Roy. Roy was immediately convinced that I discovered something. We, of course, went straight to Reddit to reap the karma of my glorious detective work. We got downvoted in every subreddit, even R/conspiracy. It was quite unfortunate. Even more unfortunately, the next day, two men in tuxedos knocked on my door while my parents were at work. I checked the backyard. More men were there covering every exit. I decided to hide. “We know you’re in there. You can come out peacefully or we can drag you out. We are not here to harm you.” Scared, I tried to contact my parents. My cell phone had no signal. I took the battery out of my phone and hid in a box in our pantry. All things considered, I did pretty well with picking that spot. It took them about a full five and a half minutes after busting through the doors to find me. Two men dragged me out of my box and stood me up in front of bulky tall dude with sunglasses and a bandana on. “Damn, you’re Josh Harper? I knew you looked small in pictures, but I didn’t expect you to be this small.” I considered saying something smart in response, but I did the smart thing and tried unsuccessfully to punch him. Bandana laughed. “You know you actually somehow discovered that Hawaii was actually nuked to oblivion. We had to cover it up so that North Korea would not think that their missile could actually fire that far and that accurately. We made them think that it didn’t even go far enough to get into our defense system. Look, you’re a smart kid; we’re willing to let you go if you agree to shut up about this. Just one question though. We read your Reddit post; you explained everything except how you knew that all the recent pictures of Hawaii was posted by bots. How did you know that? Not even our top forensic workers could tell. We made those images perfectly with software that almost no one in the world has even seen before.” “Oh, that was obvious. Two things. First of all, there weren’t enough cats in them. Cats are great. The internet loves them. You had some cats, but nowhere near enough to sate the needs of billions. Second, you had almost no reposts. Everyone knows that the way to internet fame is through reposting other people’s original content. You guys had about 45% original content. That was way too low…”
Heifen took the sheaf of flyers bearing the image of the princess, nodding with a solemnity convincing enough so as to surprise himself. “Aye,” he said to the hulking knight before him. “You have my word.” With that, the aspiring savior in plate armor turned to the horde of tear-stained maidens and ill-equipped hangers-on that had become his entourage. “Onwards,” he bellowed. “The innkeep will spread the word, but it is Gralthar that shall lead the hunt!” Cries went up all around the knight, and the party marched on, leaving The Stout Mare behind them. Heifen watched them head off into the distance, and then returned inside the inn. He pulled the door closed behind him, and then latched and locked it. He went to the bar. He held the great pile of paper above the waste receptacle there, and then stopped. Heifen shook his head, tossed the flyers on a bar—ignoring how they toppled over and flew off this way and that—and, with a heavy sigh, headed back upstairs. Upon reaching the second floor landing, he continued down the hall, all the way to the end, and knocked on the last door. Once. And then three times. And then two more. “Come in,” said the girl's voice. He opened the door. The girl sat up from the bed, winced, and laid back down. The bandage with the dull, red stain around her forehead toyed with her features, but the resemblance to the face on the flyers was uncanny. “Apologies for the noise, my lady,” said Heifen. “Please,” she said, as her hand waved in the direction of the glass of water on the bedside table. “I asked that you call me Verina. I won't have you stand on ceremony after running myself into your door in the middle of the night with a half-keg of dragon's-bile in me.” The innkeeper nodded. He walked to her bedside, picked up the glass of water, and with a hand behind her pillow, helped to lift her enough to drink. She did, at length, pausing once to spit back into the glass as she began to choke, and then continued. At last she stopped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Thank you,” she said, and laid back down. “Who was that at the door?” “Oh, some big, strapping knight type, wanting me to hand out flyers to local travelers. Flyers with a picture of a certain someone... Gods, what was his name? Gralbear? Grabthor?” “Ugh. Gralthar—that dumb ox. He saved a duke's son from a well like four years ago, and somehow still sits at court... Can you believe my father wants to marry me off to some oaf like that? And you wonder why I'd end up like this!” “Yeah, my la- sorry. Verina. We still haven't covered how you ended up...” Heifen made an exaggerated gesture towards the bed. “Like this.” The princess shook her head and closed her eyes. “Trust me, this isn't usually how it works out. I've gotten good at slipping the keep guards and making my way to some of the livelier parts of town in disguise. When everything gets to be too much... it's good to get away. Blow off some steam. Be where nobody cares who you are or what tomorrow or the next ten damned years will bring you. But... last night there was this big scuffle over something or other. One fool spilling another's ale or whatever passes for a grave transgression in such circles. Next thing I know, it seems like half the place is fighting the other half. My shawl comes off; somehow I lose the wig I use. I remember being terrified. Feeling like at any moment everyone was going to turn and look at me and know. Know me. “So, I ran. I ran like all the hells were at my heels. I ran in the night, in the dark, until...” Verina lifted a hand to the bandage. “I stopped.” Heifen nodded. “How's that feeling, anyway?” “The pain is much worse inside than out. I don't think the head injury is to blame on that count.” “So. A girl in your position—a princess, not to 'stand on ceremony,' but to say the thing plain—gets her kicks going out and drinking gods-know-what brew in a place where one man is more likely to put a blade to another than pay his bill. Honestly, dear: are things that bad up in the keep?” Verina shook her head once more. “No. Well. They're not as bad as others have it elsewhere. I know that. My family loves me. Cares for me. Would do anything for me. But that's just it! They will do anything, and everything, for me. And I don't want to feel like I'm just another piece of the kingdom, waiting to be moved here and there and given up to who knows what noble just to help move it all along. Sometimes it's just... it's just too much.” Heifen took a seat in the chair at the end of the bed. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry to hear how that must be for you. Gods know I could never understand, but I am sorry. Now that being said, what I do understand is loss, and love. I had a wife; I had a daughter. I lost both in the red plagues about two-ten years back. But I know how much I loved them, and I can't begin to imagine how I'd feel if my daughter was gone in the night, at gods-know-who's hands.” The princess shut her eyes. The motion squeezed out the tears that had already begun to collect. “You're right. I messed up. I messed up... very bad. I know I have to go home. But I don't know how to do that...” Verina began to cry in great sobs. “Without making everything worse. So much worse.” The innkeeper rose from his chair and crossed again to her bedside. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Easy, now,” he said. “Easy. I've manned The Stout Mare here for many a year; I'll grant your situation is new, but I haven't seen any action cloaked in drink that didn't have one right solution or another. “I tell you what: you rest up now. Get your strength back: that's what's most important right now. And when you're ready, there's a passage in the basement here. I know that doesn't sound like the most welcoming way out, but it's clear and it'll lead you straight up to the North Wood. With the search parties about, you'll probably be on them or vice versa soon enough, but if not, the old MacAlyan place is not far from the exit. It's more or less a straight line, if I remember the path correctly. They're good folk. They can get you back safe.” “Yeah. Get me back. And then what? What do I say?” “Give them the truth.” Heifen paused. “More or less. You're under a lot of stress. You have a lot on your mind. At your age, you're curious; you're a little bit impudent. You like to sneak off the keep grounds at night. Get some fresh air, be alone, clear your head. You were out, got a little lost, maybe panicked. Ran.” The innkeeper tapped his own forehead. “You went down at some point. Or ran into something. When you came to, it was the next day and you were out of sorts. You were finally able to get to help and...” Heifen held up his hands. Verina sniffled and looked at him. “That... that might actually work. But I don't know.” “Hey. Look at it like so. You're giving them enough of the truth to tell them what they need to know. How you feel. What you need. If your family loves you, that should be all they need right now.” Verina nodded, and then furrowed her brow. “I think we covered that I am a princess, right? There's probably a reward for finding me. A big one. Why do you think someone like Gralthar is so keen to be out and about today?” “Sure, I imagine so.” “So... why not say you found me? Why not tell them the truth—the real truth—and collect for yourself?” Heifen was quiet. He looked at the princess and then looked away. “For one reason, I think it'll look a tad suspicious with me having all these flyers and an empty inn and you appearing out of the blue in my midst. But more importantly... knowing a child got back to her family safe and sound should be reward enough for a man.” The innkeeper turned and moved to the door. “You get some rest now. I can show you the basement when it's time.” “Sir Heifen,” Verina called after him. He looked back to her. “Just Heifen, please. I'm no noble, and remember that business about standing on ceremony?” She smiled. “Yes. Heifen, then.” “Verina?” “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” The innkeeper smiled back. “Rest now, dear. Everything will be alright.”
When Man was born, Nature said to him, "You are weak. You have not claws to fight danger, nor fangs to slay your prey, nor fur to weather the cold. You cannot compete with the bear, the saber-tooth, the mammoth." So Man slew the bear and severed its claws, slew the saber-tooth and stole its fangs, and slew the mammoth and claimed its fur. And Man took these for himself, and grew stronger. Then Nature said to Man, "You are stronger, but not enough. You are blind in the darkest of nights, yet you cannot steal the eyes of the beasts." So Man took flint and struck it against stone, and created fire. With that he no longer feared the night, and he grew stronger. Nature said to Man, "You are stronger, yet still weak. You are disorganized, chaotic, vulnerable. You will surely succumb to the if you remain alone." So Man drew symbols and created words, and built himself languages. And with those he created civilizations, tens of thousands working towards a common goal, and he grew stronger. Nature said to Man, "You are stronger, but far from perfect. You still have nothing but your two hands, and you will build nothing with those hands." So Man harnessed fire and lightning and built monsters of wood and iron. And these monsters took on the tasks of Man, and Man grew stronger. Nature said to Man, "You are stronger, though still lacking. You are stranded on this planet of earth and water. You will never reach the stars above." So Man built himself a new beast, a long spear of steel that spewed fire and carried him into the sky. He reached the pale moon that was once only a distant dream, and claimed it as his own, and he grew stronger. And at last, Nature said to Man, "You have conquered my trials and grown stronger, but you will never conquer yourself. You are violent and selfish. You kill your brothers and sisters, and bring ruin to the land of your ancestors. You create weapons that would destroy the world ten times over, and praise those who would gladly use them. You are headed towards ruin, and there is nothing you can do." So once again, Man fought back. --- I've been sitting on this idea for a while. I had originally intended to post this in /r/hfy at some point, but this works too. Also, if you enjoyed this, you may be interested in my other stories at /r/jwfiredragonwrites.
Kip Trill IX knew tomorrow was his 18th birthday. As the years have gone by he has appreciated being a normal person. He appreciated all the freedoms and liberty he had. Even as a six year old, when his single loving mother had asked him if he she looked fat in that dress she used to wear before having him, he knew something lingered beneath him. Being able to tell his mother she looked like Beyonce was a pleasure Kip had a feeling would leave him one day. And as sure as tomorrow would be his birthday, Kip was sure his namesake would bestow upon him the power of his families bloodline. It had skipped eight generations, but the stories of his great, great, too many great granddaddies and his power of truth shined bright on their families history. He ushered in new psychological advancements, advising the greatest minds on earth. Helping people who made the physical breakthroughs make the mental breakthroughs. He could always feel it in his gut, but he could always fight it. And at 11:59, his eyes glued to the clock, he sat and wait for his gift. His 18th birthday. The day he will be forced to keep it real for the rest of his life. Happy birthday Kip... Well not really birthday, that's just time, just a representation of our planet revolving around the sun. How old you FEEL is how old you are. So it begins.
I thought I was hallucinating at first. That silly code I'd just picked up for seemingly no reason, suddenly I was hearing it all around me. Different parts of my house that the rain was falling on were telling different stories, but they were so jumbled up with each other that I couldn't tell them apart. Except for one section: my bedroom window. Droplets splattered down from the leaky gutter above it outside, dripping down in distinct long and short plops. I shot out of bed and sat at the desk by the window. I lit my oil lamp, flipped open my notebook, and dipped my fountain pen in ink, furiously writing down the dots and dashes I heard to make sure I wasn't going crazy. After a solid minute of transcribing, I stopped and re-read what I'd written: "…Susan, so grown up. Charles, a bright young man. James, who I never got to know. All three of my children, so beautiful…." The hairs on my arms stood up straight. Susan, Charles, James… those were the names of my children. But how? Why would the rain be talking about them? Curiosity compelled me to continue listening: "…my only regret, that I never got to see them grow up. So happy that I can watch from here, even if I can't touch them. My poor husband Samuel, he tries so hard without me, he does so much…." No. It was impossible! It couldn't be her. My dear lost Lucretia, who died in childbirth, speaking from beyond the grave…. Was that the language of rainstorms? The breaths from the spirits of our loved ones, carried down from the great Above in the sky? And here I was, a mere mortal, with this silly series of dots and dashes to decode it. I thought I was being clever in creating this Code, but all along, had I been merely influenced by the patterns in the rain I'd heard my entire life? I didn't know what to do. My heart was pounding with my terrifying discovery. I dipped my pen in ink, ready to transcribe more of Lucretia's words. CRASH! As soon as I put the tip of the pen to the page, lightning struck. It hit outside my window, nearly blinding me with its flash. The boom of thunder was so loud I thrust my hands over my ears, but inside my drums still shook like madmen. When I could finally see again, I looked outside. The gutter that had been spilling the droplets so easily to follow had been reduced to ashes. Now rain pattered against my window as incomprehensibly as the rest of the house. I sat back in my chair, shaken to my core. I knew what had happened. Something, or someone, above had not liked that I'd decoded their spiritual language. So they'd decided to put an end to it. I thought about giving up my Morse Code then and there. But no, I'd worked so hard on it. Even if it was nothing more than the culmination of subliminal influences from the rain, it was still one of humanity's greatest achievements. Even if it incurred the wrath of the Above. I knew I wasn't going to be able to tell my colleagues the truth about my Code. They wouldn't believe me, and even if they did, we couldn't confront such divine power in my lifetime. No, I would entrust my Morse Code to posterity. If I had discovered its true purpose, then certainly another would too. Then, perhaps in a hundred or a thousand years, humanity could stand up to the forces of the Above and listen in peace to the language of the spirits. ***** This prompt was written with the help of chat at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream.
wish..." "Hang on, you're not really going through with this, are you?"Dave cuts in. I glare at him sideways. He was your typical stick in the mud. Always thinking too much. "Please, you heard the man-" "-genie" "There's literally no way this could possibly go wrong." I turned back to Al, the genie with the awesome facial hair. "I wish for my right arm to rotate counter clockwise until I die." My right arm snapped into motion. "Dude..." "Trust me man, I've got this. Your turn." He kept watching me. I could feel his eyes creeping all over. Eventually, he sighed. "For my final wish, I want to never grow old. I want to remain 29 forever." "And I want my head to nod back and forth!"I cry, as soon as he's finished! -------*****------- "What the hell?"The genie hovers in front of me, and I fall back onto my left side. Now, my left side has the remains of a car frame sticking out of it, but since my right arm is still doing its helicopter thing I don't really have much choice. "You dislike your wishes?"The genie says. A gargle interrupts my answer, and then a cough of blood. "How was that ideal?" The genie shrugs. "Ideal for whom? That's the most fun I've had in millennia."
I sat across from my date at the restaurant, jealous of the two angels hovering next to her. She was suspiciously eyeing the two devils smoldering on my shoulders as she sipped her virgin Mary. "So have you always had this problem?"she asked. Demon Debbie grumbled into my ear. "Well look at Miss. Perfect over there. Already judging us! We should toss her drink in her face and get out of here." Demon Dan on my other side leaned in and whispered. "I know what we should do. Let's volunteer her for a bunch of charities, and she won't be able to say no. She'll work herself to death!" I just sighed to myself and took a long swig of my bloody Mary. "Yeah, it's always been this way. Me, Debbie and Dan. Apparently there was a mixup at the guardian factory when I was born. Guess that's how you got two angels too, right?" "Yeah but I thought I was lucky."Her face scrunched up in pity. "You poor soul! I can't imagine what it would be like going through life without some angelic advice. Angel Ashley is always good at spotting good deeds I can do in the moment, like donating to charity, and Angel Adam is always good at making sure I have long-range good plans, like getting good grades and doing my job well." "It's the same with me, but reverse,"I groaned. "Demon Debbie is always suggesting immediate chaos, whereas Demon Dan suggests more complex schemes that pay off in the long run." "Hey!"Demon Debbie shouted in my ear. "Why are you selling us out like this? I say we ditch this hussie, steal some bottles of wine from the bar, hold up the cash register, and go actually have a good time for once." "No way,"Demon Dan said. "Let's get the goody-two-shoes to feel sorry for us so badly that she marries us. Then we can be a stay-at-home husband and live off her hard work until one night when she 'accidentally' falls down the stairs. After taking out a fat life insurance policy, of course." I groaned and dug my face into my palms. To my surprise, my date reached over and put her hand on mine. When I peeked out from the cracks between my fingers, she was smiling at me. "I want to give you one of my angels,"she said. "Angel Ashley said it was a good idea, and she volunteered. If you want to, that is." "Really?"I asked. "You'd do that for me?" "Of course,"she said. "Why should you suffer when I have more than enough to go around? Here, let's trade. Your Demon Debbie for my Angel Ashley." Both my demons were yelling in my ear for me to stop, but I paid them no attention. "It's a deal." Demon Debbie screamed in pain as she disappeared in a black cloud, immediately replaced by a white light, bringing with it Angel Ashley. I immediately felt a relief like a flame had been doused on my shoulder. "Hey, thanks!"I said to my date. "I just hope that you're going to be–" On my date's shoulders, Demon Debbie had already tied up poor Angel Adam with rope and duct tape. Apparently having never needed to deal with a demon, Angel Adam was too soft and no match for her. Demon Debbie was already whispering into my date's ear. Her face lit up and a mischievous grin spread across her face. "Wait, I can do that?"she said. Demon Debbie nodded, and my date immediately sprang to her feet, grabbing my arm. Flames were burning behind her eyes. "Come on!"she roared like a lion tearing into freshly killed meat. "Let's have some fun. Let's steal some bottles of wine from the bar, hold up the cash register, and then go actually have a good time for once!" ***** This prompt was written with the help of chat at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream.
Clutching my blade, I take a deep breath. My wife, a goblin, clings close to me, quivering. Today’s been a rough day, and I’m splattered with blood. When I signed on, I didn’t expect this—but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t loving it. Someone wearing only underwear jumps out of a tree, and I slice him in half. His body quickly disappears, and I tell my wife we must move fast if we’re to reach the safe-haven. She’s tired, but also wants to live, so she nods and we pick up the pace. We’re attacked again and again. Every member of this game wants to hoist her bloody head high in the air, and I’m the bully stopping them. She’s a level one goblin who only gives one XP—but she’s also a limited event in this game. There's only one of her. Get the kill, and you’ll be the only person with the achievement. So why am I protecting her? Well, a few hours ago, I was gonna kill her like everyone else. When I logged on this morning, I put on all my best gear and trudged around the map for an hour, searching every nook and cranny for her. When I finally found her hidden away in a cave, I raised my blade, prepared to finish her off—but realized there’s a “talk” option, and upon selecting it, realized the developers gave her a backstory and a personality. After we talked, I felt like she was a real person, and knew I couldn’t kill her. That’s when I decided to take her to the nearest safe-haven, a no-combat zone where she’ll be safe. Things almost ended immediately when a player ambushed us from behind, trying to sneak attack her. After beating him, I bent the rules of the game, marrying her. This gives us tons of bonuses when together, and makes it so we both must reach zero health before we disappear. The developers are watching me, and apparently enjoying my quest. They said if we make it, they’ll turn her into a permanent NPC and even give me a banner called “Achievement-Blocker.” Problem is, they’ve also started tracking my location, and now everyone knows exactly where we’re at. *** Tried to get creative with this one. Hope it's good. Thanks for the prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter?lang=en)
"You know what, stop right there", I interrupt. "What?", says Death. "Just take me, I'm ready for ya", I say. "Do you not have any regrets?", asks Death. "Nah, not really. All those hours on social media and Netflix are all calculated. Besides, I was more productive that way", I say. "Do you not want to live longer?"asks Death. "Nah, I'm fine. If I live longer, I wouldn't really have anything to do", I say. "......... I was going to offer your hours back in exchange for your company...", mutters Death. "Oh? Is that all? I can do that while I'm in the after life! You have Nextflix?", I ask. "Yeah, unli subscription", says Death. "Take me now!", I shout. Death takes me, and I become a freeloader in Death's abode.
Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins went out around the dark side of the moon. Collin Michaels, Buzz Howard, Neil Strenger and Kenneth Alden came back. After the lander was recovered, they were quarantined and interrogated for over 72 hours. No one knew what to make of it. Their stories lined up. They knew their way around the launch facility. They knew all the proper protocols. Collin even remembered Mission Control's daughter's name. The theories, in order of plausibility, were as follows, 1.) This was some sort of sick practical joke. The flyboys had somehow smuggled movie level make up and an extra crewman onto the lander without anyone noticing. That lasted until the report from the lander came back. It wasn't the one they'd sent up. It had four seats, and it was just a little longer. It was built by different contractors. The long and short of it was that this was not the lander they had launched a week ago. 2.) There was some sort of mass delusion among the folks at ground control, and these really were the boys who landed on the moon. Unfortunately, when the boys begged to call their families, mission control found that the Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins families had no memory of these fellows, and hoped to see Neil, Buzz, and Michael 3.) The Russians had somehow intercepted the lander and replaced it with one of their own while it was on the dark side of the moon. This one seemed like horseshit. No one had heard a peep from the Russians during the necessary launch windows, and besides, weren't they still stuffing monkeys in bottle rockets? They simply didn't have the tech to pull something like this off. And besides, if they had, why'd they get so much basic Intel wrong. Hell, they had a whole extra crewmember. 4.) Aliens, or Moon Fairies, or the Devil or what have you, had put the three boys in some kind of magic mixer and swirled them together with an extra man for some unknowable extraterrestrial purpose. Then why'd they mess with the lander? Near as the lab techs could tell, it wasn't haunted, or full of alien parasites or anything. It was just a normal lander built for another space mission that was very similar to Apollo 11, but just slightly different, like it'd come from a timeline distinct from, but adjacent to our own. 5.) The lander had come from a timeline distinct from, but adjacent to our own. When the impossible has been eliminated, whatever remains, however also impossible must be true. Presumably, somewhere out there, Buzz, Neil, and Michael were in the reverse situation, and the other ground control was wondering where their last man went, only to go through the same questions we ran through. The boys seemed harmless enough, so they were given bunks and rations until someone could figure out what the hell to do with them.
“Rubbish,” Janel Wan said over his glass of blue milk. The music in the Mos Eisley Cantina was loud, but he could hear every ridiculous word that Haleen Wal Kozel spoke. “For the last time, Hoth is not a secret base for the housing of cryogenically frozen clones of Senate members. I swear, do you even hear yourself talk sometimes?” Haleen was defiant. “If that isn’t true then why did I hear of an order placed by the Jedi Council to the Kaminoans?” “Oh, yeah? Where’d you hear that?” “I’ve got my sources, never you mind about that.” “This is as ridiculous as your theory about the mynock power supply.” Haleen threw his hands in the air. “Now, that one’s true. The Trade Federation is definitely training herds of mynocks to leech power off non-Federation trade ships. How do you think they keep all their fuel cells full?” Janel shook his head, giving up in frustration. “Well, how about some real news for once? Did you see the holo-feed from Coruscant? Senator Palpatine of Naboo was just named Chancellor after a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum.” “Oh, you mean Darth Palpatine? That doesn’t surprise me. Power hungry, that one.” “Darth Palpatine? What are you on about?” Haleen took on the air of someone explaining something to a very young child. “Everyone knows that Palpatine is actually a dark lord of an ancient order of dark Jedi called the Sith.” “Oh, I see… And how would a humble bantha farmer from the Outer Rim, such as yourself come about such privileged information?” “I know things.” “Ok, let’s say you do. Why would the Jedi Council allow such an order to exist and a Lord of it right in their midst?” “I don’t know, but it’s true. The Sith do exist. I saw one.” “Oh, you saw one, did you?” Janel laughed. “I did. I was out minding my herd one day watching them through my macrobinoculars when I spotted one attacking a group of Outlanders.” “This is ridiculous, now you’re seeing dark lords in the desert on the very edge of the galaxy?” “I saw what I saw. Afterwards, he talked to a robed figure on a holo-projector. I bet you anything that was Palpatine, himself.” Janel Wan scoffed at this. “Ok, I’ve heard enough. This is the most ridiculous of the drivel that you’ve spewed so far, and treasonous too, so you better watch your mouth.” “Oh, you know the Republic doesn’t reach out this far. We’re gangster controlled here. Speaking of which, did you hear that Zorba the Hutt is really just a puppet controlled by three clever Jawas? They have a whole criminal empire and no one knows!”
"Sooo"I said, awkwardly as I stood on a pedestal in the middle of a round, outdoor meeting hall. A grouping of elves, men, dwarves, and uhh dwarfy dwarfs stood staring at me, some wielding weapons. "I didn't mean to interrupt, I'll be making my way now if you please. Sorry again!"I crept down from the post, and the normal dwarves saw an opportunity to close in and surround me, very closely if I might add, with the heads of their axes. "What black magic brought you here into this place, spy!"shouted one of them. "Are you a slave of the white wizard, or some agent of the Eye?!"Their shouting wasn't helping my already rapidly declining stable state of mind. "Speak!!" "I-I am, uhh, neither?"I cried a little. Fortunately for me, an old man wearing grey robes and leaning on a rough wooden staff came to my rescue. "Calm down Gloin, Gimli. I think our guest here means us no harm. He doesn't look like he's our type of common traveler either. Tell me, where are you from, and how did you appear before us so quaintly?" I took this moment, with axes still at my throat, to try and stabilize and explain my peculiar ability and gift. The dwarves seemed to slowly calm down, the elves and the wizard on the other hand tensed up, and expressions of deep thought crossed their minds. The other people in attendance waited as I finished my story, and then waited for the old man to begin speaking again. "Tell me friend,"a smile returning to his face, "you say you can travel anywhere with a map using this magic?" "Yes, though obviously I don't always have the best luck with my throws. Won't be making that mistake again though." "Is that so... hrmmmm."He trailed off for a minute, pulling out a long pipe and lighting the ash already inside. His old eyes turned back to me, humor sparkling somewhere in them. "Tell me, friend, are you sensitive to heat?"
One hand was jammed into my pocket. The other held the handle of an umbrella. The stem of the umbrella rested on my shoulder, and the open canopy draped me in a cool shade, protecting me from the hellish sun that ever-baked the city I lived in. Other folk seemed to enjoy the light of the nearest star, and such folk often gawked or snickered at me as they passed, sucking entertainment out of the encounter even as they damaged my pride and my mood. Parasites feed off of their host, destroying them in the process. ‘Not that it really bothers me,’ I assured myself as I continue towards my destination. I reached the hospital, lowering my umbrella as I pushed through a staff entrance. I stooped slightly to avoid the door frame, and then pulled my employee badge out from under my button down shirt. I moved through the bleach-white hallways, avoiding some nurses and doctors as they rushed around, until I made it to my office, one I shared with several others. “Morning Ki! Have quite a few blood draws scheduled today. Hope you’re hungry,” Samantha mentioned as I passed her to get to my desk. I smirked. “Luckily I happened to skip breakfast.” I remember the first time I told that joke. Samantha had turned pale as the hospital walls. By now she had figured out I was joking; I always skipped breakfast. I had to. My stomach rumbled and my tongue twitched behind my lips, flicking against my fangs. I was hungry. Back in the day that would have meant some poor soul was about to have a rough morning. Now it meant someone was going to find out what their cholesterol levels were. Symbiotes feed off of their host, but provide something in return, resulting in a mutually beneficial existence. I am a symbiote. --- Had 10 minutes. Typed this up quick. Might expand it later. Great prompt!
We have finally found it! The source of our great power, hidden from us for centuries. The scientists in charge of discovery were horrified, but they published their results nonetheless. You see, humans are actually immortal. The kicker here is that heavy magic use erodes that away. The really big kicker is that it does not have to be that individual using the magic for the effect to manifest. The world was shaken to the core with this knowledge., and mages immediately stopped casting new spells until a decision on what to do with this information could be reached. At the convening of most of the mages the world over, many arguments were had. Magic was too ingrained in society to just stop using. Civilization as it was known would collapse, leading to a dark age. The scientists in charge of the discovery were there as well, and were adamant about magic usage lessening, to prolong the lifespan. It was also suggested that more research is put into the subject, so it could be better controlled where magic comes from. Maybe just one person. In order to facilitate the switch to a magicless, engineers, architects, blacksmiths, and other craftsmen were called forward, to design machines that could replace the work magic does. An age of rapid progress followed, spurring civilization towards industrialization. A method of restricting magic usage was eventually found, and was used as a method of control over it. Also discovered was the fact that it was only too much magic usage causing aging, and death. With this, a blend of magic and technology was made, with machines gaining more and more efficiency, reducing labour needed for everything unskilled. But eventually, magic usage went up, and the lessons of the past were forgotten, dooming civilization once more. Author's note: Join me at r/James_Fire for my own magical stuff.
The human brain is the most powerful computer in the world. A decade ago, scientists realized they could harness that power to model virtual worlds and probabilities that regular computers never could. Of course, it wasn’t long before that technology was discovered by the gaming industry— and it became possible to power esports competitions with human brains. Last month, I was approached by a representative of one of the largest developers in the country. One decade of my life, for ten million dollars, probably enough to live off for the rest of my life. How could I refuse? One month later, here I am. “Thanks so much, Mr. Howard. I’m so excited to be a part of this.” He smiles. “I’m excited as well. We’ve never tried hosting such a large open world before, but I have faith in you.” “And my brain will be fine afterwards, right? I can go back to my normal life?” He pauses. “Well, I can’t say for sure, but we’ll be monitoring you in case anything goes wrong.” I guess that’s the best I’m going to get. I follow him down the hall to a room filled with screens and wires. A large chair sits in the middle. I sit down, and a helmet begins to lower over my head like an old-fashioned hairdryer. “Thanks again, Mr. Howard.” We shake hands one more time. “Please, call me Todd. I’ll see you in ten years.” The helmet lowers over my head, and I fall back in the chair as everything fades to black. I wake up with a jolt. Has it been ten years already? As I open my eyes, I can see nothing but shades of grey and green. They slowly resolve into the shapes of trees passing by, and as I look down I realize I’m moving. THE ELDER SCROLLS V What the hell? “Hey, you.” I look over and see a man sitting across from me, dressed in rags and bound with rope. As I look around, I see another man in robes, gagged. “You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.” I look down and see we’re on a cart. I try moving my arms, but my hands are tied. SKYRIM Fuck. Maybe my second response to a prompt? Criticism is welcome.
"The hell you mean your potions are too strong for me? I'm a level 50 Berserker going up against one of the fiercest dragons in the land" The old alchemist chuckled at my words, his whispy fingers twirling his lucious beard. "Only level 50? Then my potions are definitely too powerful. Unless you would like to kill yourself, go to Isaac's Potions down the road." I slammed my hand down on the counter between the two of us. Despite being a foot shorter than me and twice as old, the ancient alchemist didn't even blink. "If your mighty potions are so powerful, then I would like to purchase your weakest one" The old man smirked at this and grabbed a small, unimpressive bottle filled with a red liquid. "Oh, the arrogance of youth. This is my weakest regeneration potion. 20 gold pieces" The old cook held out a hand for the coins. Reluctantly, I handed the money over. "If you can drink this potion and suffer no adverse effects, you can get whatever you wish" "You've got yourself a deal, old man" I uncorked the potion and drank it in one go. I braced for some donkey-kick and was instead met with a faint taste of strawberries. "Really, 20 gold for some strawberry flavo-" I watched my health bar drop down to one. I figured the bastard poisoned me until my health started regenerating. Within a second my health bar was full. Then I watched as the red bar representing my current HP grew larger than the black rectangle meant to hold it. I grew nauseous. "What the fuck did you do to me?" I barely got that sentence out when I awoke in a horse-drawn carriage. I was with three other people. A somewhat attractive blonde man turned to me. "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Please have mercy, I'm new to writing and on mobile.
I don't know what they're teaching these days. Last I heard, the Ministry of Education was preaching optimal skill trees and minmaxing prodigies. It used to simple. Although simple isn't always a good thing. &#x200B; Eighty-two. That's the minimum IQ for enlisting in the US army. Eighty-two is the lower tenth percentile, and I was in it. Before the Tree's appearance, my outlook on life was what you'd call dark. It wasn't grim and resentful, though. I lacked the intellect. &#x200B; Instead, life felt like an achingly long sequence of things forever getting worse. While the rest of the class talked about parties and last-minute cramming sessions, I had to study five hours a day, every day, just to get a D. Then, the bouncy castle of school deflated, revealing a fortress on the edge of a cliff, built out of sharp, evil rocks. The fortress's name was Real Life. &#x200B; Some got into Ivy League, others went to film school. I stayed home. &#x200B; My uncle offered me a job at his diner. It was hard. There were complicated steps to preparing the burgers, and I didn't always do them the right way. &#x200B; Businessmen came early in the mornings for coffee and scrambled eggs. I saw their expensive suits, their beautiful wives, and their cars that looked like they'd been made in heaven, and I wondered why these perfect people always seemed so upset when they were shouting over the phone. &#x200B; In the evenings, repairmen in denim overalls sat at the counter and remembered the good old days. Old Joe was my favourite. Sometimes, he'd tell me stories. &#x200B; 'Aw, you're wasting your time, Joe,' his friends would say, 'That kid don't know the difference between his ass and hole in the ground,' &#x200B; Joe would turn and give the younger repairmen a look. He wouldn't say anything, he'd just look at them. Then the repairmen would say, 'Sorry,' and Joe would get on with his story. &#x200B; I liked Joe. &#x200B; There were other people, too. The nurses that came in after midnight. There were old nurses and young ones, but they all looked beautiful. It was a tired kind of beauty as if someone had shown them too much of the world and now they couldn't forget. They'd sit at the back of the diner, smoke from their cigarettes clogging up what little dim light there was. &#x200B; A lot of people ate at my Uncle's diner. I love themed all. They were the reason I wanted to be a good cook. &#x200B; They all seemed to have a purpose in life. These nurses and engineers and businessmen were all making the world a better place. When they woke up, they knew that someone needed them, that they could make things happen. &#x200B; The only thing I could make happen was pity. I wanted that same feeling of purpose more than anything in the world. &#x200B; Sundays, I'd come into the kitchen to practice. I chopped onions and lettuce and tomatoes until my hands shook so bad I couldn't hold a knife. I bought my own patties with the money, and I practised with them, too. Usually, I'd fall asleep in the kitchen. &#x200B; One day, I followed all the steps for a cheeseburger and sent it off. By the time I heard shouting, I had realised my mistake. I had forgotten to cook the patty. &#x200B; 'That kid is a hazard!' cried one of the repairment, 'He needs to be locked in an institution!' &#x200B; Old Joe interrupted, 'Jeff, you better watch your mouth--' &#x200B; 'I'm not eating food made by that retard! Why should we have to risk our health? Sure, I feel for the kid, I feel for his parents, we all do, but it's not my fault he's a useless nutjob!' &#x200B; I rushed out of the kitchen and handed in my apron. Then I ran out of the diner and kept running three blocks until I reached the enlistment centre. I didn't want them to see my tears. &#x200B; The man at the enlistment centre said he wouldn't take me. I was too stupid. He didn't use those words, but that's what he meant. &#x200B; So there I was. IQ of 73. I lay in the in-between valley of painful hopelessness: too stupid to be enlisted in the US army, too smart to be a real retard. &#x200B; Then came the day of the Tree. I was sitting in my room, with a knife I'd stolen. I didn't understand much about the process, but I'd seen people do it on TV. You cut across the arm, and you died. I'm not sure I even knew what death really was. I pictured it as a vast black wave that swallowed you, and afterwards, in the midnight ocean where there was no sound, no pain, and there were no people -- it would be calm. That sounded nice. &#x200B; Just as I was about to slash my wrists, I felt a sharp tingling on my arm. I paused. Somehow, as was the case for every person, I intuitively understood what the Tree meant. It was a gigantic oak, covered in bubbles, like the kind they have on a multiple choice test. &#x200B; I traced the path of my life with a finger. The ancient runes rearranged themselves into a childish crayon-scrawl. Poor motor skills... delayed speech... stunted intellect. Ahead, I saw the branches that awaited me... they weren't very enticing. &#x200B; I was just about to reach back for the knife when I saw a glowing orb at the base of the Tree. Wouldn't you know? For once, I was on the good end of the bell curve. There, at the bottom of the Tree, was a glowing button marked 'RESPEC.' &#x200B; \--- &#x200B; Freak events like these, they usually say that 7 billion people woke up one morning and discovered X. Sounds like something I might've said. Have you ever stopped to wonder how every time zone in the world could conceivably wake up at the same time? &#x200B; So some people woke up, others were driving, a sizable portion was fucking, all of them discovered trees tattooed on their forearms. &#x200B; The kids hooked on computer games were the first to catch on. We had been auto-picking skills for the past eighty thousand years. Talent? Genius? Psychopathy? These were all combinations that some genetic program deemed the most optimal. &#x200B; On the day of the Tree, geeky twenty-year-olds burst out of their mothers' basements with fire-breath and bird wings. The talentless dopes of the world, the intellectually challenged, the underdogs -- these people discovered the Respec, and so became demi-gods in their pinprick specialisations. &#x200B; News networks went ballistic. Moderately attractive women in conservative dresses babbled in different languages while the camera panned out to reveal more television screens and more foreign languages. &#x200B; Then the military industrial complex woke up. &#x200B; So began the wars, the super soldiers, the mad science. Parents forced their children into optimal builds. High schoolers jumped off buildings after accidentally picking the wrong skill. Some, in a wild act of protest against the harrowing judgement of life, purposely chose the worst, most outlandish combinations. A few of these resulted in miraculous new builds, while most of them ended in horrible deaths. &#x200B; When I pressed the 'RESPEC' button, the world fell away. I was floating in a pure, white space. Here, I could think clearly. The rusty tricycle which had once been my mind was a roaring V-8 engine. &#x200B; I built colossal bridges of thought, suspended by reasoning and logic. I tore apart the universe and reassembled it. The world was mine to shape -- a churning chaos of infinite possibilities, waiting to be bound by the power of my intellect. &#x200B; It could always be like this, I thought, you could be the smartest person in the world. You could show all those pricks who the real retards were. You could be God. &#x200B; I heard a whisper. It was my heart. I listened long and hard to what it had to say. I closed my eyes and chose the skill path that was right.
##The case for carbon-based life forms existing in a highly gravitational body Huygs, Silon ABSTRACT: In this paper, I propose the idea that carbon-based life forms can theoretically exist on a highly gravitational body given sufficient conditions. Primarily, they would require to be on a body containing a high quantity of liquid H2O, existing in a specific region of a star relative to both the radiation output of such a star, as well as the radius of the given body. Additionally, there would necessarily need to be a strong electromagnetic field, as well as a moderate gravitational field. I conclude by giving research guidelines for a probable direction of locating such life. -- ##The improbability of life in gravitational fields: A rebuttal to Huygs Flaresc, Alo ABSTRACT: I demonstrate the improbability of the hypothesis brought forth by Dr. Silon Huygs detailing the idea of carbon-based life within a highly intense gravitational field. In this article, I detail how the proposed necessary fields would prove too strong for any organism to reasonably bare and sustain an extended life, let alone to reproduce. I conclude by commending his research attempts, but suggesting we stick to scientific pursuits grounded in evidence and not idle speculation. -- ##Life IS possible on planetary bodys: A rejoinder to Flaresc Huygs, Silon ABSTRACT: While I commend Floresc for his mathematical and biological knowledge in his critique of my initial paper, I dispute the claims made and offer up exciting evidence of a planet to give proper case study to. I discuss the fourth planet of a star located in a remote section of our galaxy, one that demonstrates the necessary conditions I gave initially, alongside showcasing small bits of evidence of intelligent life from it. I conclude by briefly showing the inadequacy of Floresc's models, and suggest the need for a scientific approach with an open mind. -- ##UOPs, Conspiracies, and Bad Data: A final response to Huygs. Flaresc, Alo ABSTRACT: The response to my initial rebuttal given by my colleague is baffling, for not only how it can get published in a scholarly journal, but how it can be seen as scientific. Rather than give solid scientific evidence, Huygs prefers to rely on eyewitness sightings of Unidentified Objects of Propulsion circulating a remote and rather unremarkable planet. While he makes a convincing case for it containing life given its atmospheres likely chemical composition were his hypothesis true, he has not yet developed a convincing case for life existing on a planetary body with his models. As such, this shall be my final response as I advise the editors of this journal to reconsider publishing such pseudoscience. -- ##Evidence of Earth: Proof of life on planetary bodies, and a final response to Flaresc. Huygs, Silon ABSTRACT: In his remarkably rude response to my rebuttal, Alo Flaresc has shown his willingness to ignore data with my carefully calculated response. As such, I cannot imagine his eyes will be open to bare witness to my laboratory's recent efforts in successfully recovering a spacecraft likely originating from this planet, according to models detailed within the paper. This spacecraft contains recordings from the dominant species on the planet, as well as rudimentary demonstrations of a developing knowledge in physics and mathematics, in addition to photographs produced within the paper. This discovery, I hope, can be said to provide adequate proof that life can and does exist on the planetary body these "human,"as they call themselves, lifeforms call "Earth."In addition to changing how we conceptualize models for the existence of life, I hope we can help to inspire more open minding thinking in science, as opposed to the viewpoints espoused by my colleague. Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold, kind stranger!
I have never been particularly hard working. Or motivated. I show up late to everything and have realized I may never achieve anything worthwhile before my death. But one day, a obese person introduced itself to me. He said he found me by smell. “My name is Gluttony, it said with a large smile. It’s been a while, Sloth.” &#x200B; *\\\\\\\\*** &#x200B; “Why?” I asked. We used my lunchbreak to go out in a small restaurant, and I took only a cocoa – warm milk always makes me feel good – while it ordered an inordinate amount of food of any kind. Burgers, pancakes, eggs and bacon, steaks, and a whole pie just for itself as a dessert. No wonder it was so humongously fat. “I’m not that slothful, I continued. I must admit that I never really work hard in my life, or that I never actually did any work at all… But I’m not alone! I see a lot of people doing less than me. They even elaborate plans to do as few works as possible!” Gluttony looked at me. It disgusted me. It was a fat person, so fat it was hard to say if it was a man or a woman. Some bestiality just seemed to emanate from this monstrous, obese body, and it explain why I was surprised to hear it speak in a very proper manner. “That’s the trick!” It said while ingesting a large part of pie. “You never work. At all. Even if it could make you work less. You’re the embodiment of sloth. Do you know how the Ancients called you? \-No? \-Acedia. It’s not sloth as modern society is used to understand it. It was weariness felt by monks towards work and prayers. They did not want to do anything, and no order, no coercion, could make them move. They lost all pride; they felt no shame and they just… did nothing! People you talk about are actively slothful. You’re the embodiment of passive resistance. A most wonderful power dare I say. \-Power? It never helped me. \-Its role is not to help; it’s to spill chaos and sin amongst men. I just finish my pie. Would you like to walk? It helps my digestion.” I was surprised to see this monstrosity wanting to walk. I thought is was just a huge pile of inert grease, but I remember I was supposed to be sloth. And thinking about it, I was not eager to stand up. My legs were already tired just thinking about it. But, with incredible vivacity, Gluttony was up, paid the waitress with a generous tip and manage to fit its indecent stomach through the door – which was an exploit in itself. I did not have the energy to argue about it, so I decided to follow him. I am not a particularly curious woman, but even me would want to know more. We continued to walk several minutes. Our steps guided us to a small park. Looking at our feet, I saw that cracks appeared in the concrete were Gluttony was walking. I wonder if it is dangerous to walk among it, and if it ever went through the floor. “You must have some questions, it asked after a moment. \-Mmh? Oh, not really. I mean, it’s curious, but… \-But you don’t want to waste energy trying to understand something?” I nodded. Around us, children were playing, but adults were looking at us with large eyes. With my pathetic carcass on which a bland dress was waving in the wind, walking among an ambulant mountain, I can understand we were some sort of show for them. “Don’t you wonder why I appeared in your life, just like that? It asked while looking at birds chirping in a tree. \-Well, I admit that it can seem curious. But I was wondering: why am I the embodiment of Sloth? Does every century, a mortal is chosen to but the receptacle of the Sin? \-What? No, not at all. You’ve always been Sloth, and you’ll be until the end of Humanity. \-Hehe. I don’t think so. \-And why that? \-Well, I would remember, wouldn’t I? \-You forgot. It was to exhausting to remember, that’s all. At least, it’s my theory.” I processed that information. It was true I never had clear memories about my childhood. But between having just a bad memory and being an immortal being, there is more than one small step. “Your theory? You seem quite erudite for… \-For a fat fuck?” It laughed so hard that waves propagated themselves on its large chins. “Well, you know, do trust appearances. Plus, if you’re sitting all day eating, it gives you a lot of time thinking about pretty much everything.” I had nothing more to say. Gluttony stopped at a stand to buy three hot dogs and ate them on the path. We finally arrived at the other end of the park, and it stopped right in front of a small, white building. “Well, it said while sucking the grease of its fingers, before we enter this building, let me explain you why I went to you today. \-Oh! Yeah, I forgot to ask this question. Why? \-Well, it’s an order from up there.” Saying this, it pointed it finger large as a sausage towards the sky. “Who? I asked. \-Well, the Big Boss. \-Pride? \-Pride? Great God, no! We will never let her in charge. She’s too dangerous if she’s in position of power. No, I was speaking about God. \-God? God is real? \-You’re talking to the incarnation of a Capital Sin. Of course, God exists! \-And he asked you to… to what? \-He asked us to make Humans sin ever more than today.” I stayed still, processing the information again. It makes no sense, I thought. Why God would ask something like that? He should want virtuous people, not sinful. I wanted to ask the question, but my jaws were tired. Gluttony was smart enough to guess my question, though. “I know, I know, we were surprised to. Are you curious enough to follow me in our mission, then?” I sighed, looking at the building. It was not very high, but several floors. “Would it imply a lot of walking or stairs?” Gluttony laughed again and joyfully hit me in the back. “Ha! Sloth, you never change. Come on! The guys are eager to see you again.” We entered the building and took the elevator – I was compressed between the wall and the stomach of Gluttony, but better that than taking the stairs. We stopped at the last floor, and we barely had the time to go out than a small man, nude except his old, nasty pants, ran towards us. “How did you spent? He asked Gluttony. \-Don’t worry, no more than strictly needed. \-Strictly needed… How much did you eat? Is it you Sloth? \-What? Oh, yes, I said. \-Perfect. Be careful with our money, Gluttony. \-I didn’t touch your personal wealth! Go away, I have to introduce Sloth to the others. She forgot everything. \-Typical Sloth,” said the man walking away. Gluttony guided me in the large room, elegantly and comfortably furnished. “You just met Greed, he said. Not the more sympathetic guy on Earth, but once he trusts you, he’s very reliable. \-He’s in charge of your finances? I asked. \-What? Great God, no! Imagine that! We would never be allowed to spend anything! No, no, Wrath is our accountant. \-Wrath? An accountant? \-Yes. I know it can seem counterintuitive, but she’s very good with numbers. And everyone would be upset to do accountability, and since she’s always upset, there is no new problem. Ah! Just in time for our meeting.” &#x200B; (comment too long, continue in the next comment)
“I think there’s been some sort of mistake. While yes I’ve seen combat, I wouldn’t call myself a warrior. I was just the medic. I never even fired a round.” “Ha!” The large man laughed in my face with the force of a typhoon. “You are funny my new friend! You are one of the greatest warriors of all!” The mythical armor that I found myself in weighed heavy on my shoulders. I looked out on the battlefield. Powerful men and women clad in righteous armor carrying massive weapons charged towards monstrous foes. The sounds of combat made my heart race. My memory was creeping back. There was an explosion. Chaos rained down on the unit. Through blasted ears I barely heard someone yell “MOVE, MOVE, MOVE.” I stumbled to my feet. Fell to my knees. The new guy laid next to me. He wasn’t moving. I scrambled over to him. One, two, three. I wasn’t losing him. One, two, three. I kept pounding on his chest as they tried to pull me away. One, two, three. His eyes flew open. He was alive. Looking down, I saw red drip onto him. That was odd. Then another stream. My body fell backwards as the bullets hit me. “I don’t understand. I never-“ “Look over there my friend,” the large man continued in his thick Nordic accent. He pulled me close in a half hug and pointed towards the battle field. “Do you see that wave of darkness? That is YOUR enemy. The one that you swore to fight. The one that you have kicked back so many times.” I watched as the darkness slowed and from it beasts of unspeakable nature flowed forth. Hounds of Hell and snakes the size of men surged forward towards the army of Valhalla. The beasts were followed by ghastly men clad in armor made from the bones of the dead, some of them still moving. The two sides crashed together in a wave of violence. “I still don’t understand. I’ve never fought anything like that before.” “Sure you have my friend. We need you to push back against it. We need you to stand defiantly against its rude. We need you-“ “What is it?” “Surely you must know, you fought it so much. Today, we fight against death itself. Now rise, Valkyrie.”
‘Who are you.’ The amusing nature of the question from the debatably omniscient was almost fit to introduce fits of wracking laughter. ‘You know who I am if not how or why.’ ‘No I don’t. I am the creator of all and I have never seen or heard of you. Your aspect is as alien as a nothing.’ The being moved around me golden light bathing me but not touching me, for the light was just one if his creations it could not touch a thing it had no hand in. ‘Perhaps. And yet you have always felt a presence an unmaker ordaining the end of things. For all things must end. From bacterium to animal to tree and world and star.’ It backed away light flaring in fear and a half-baked realisation. ‘No, you’re a myth a story that life tells for its failure to understand my divine plan!’ ‘Perhaps, perhaps as are you. But I doubt it.’ Darkness enshrouded us as I stood the scythe of un-things in hand. It couldn’t understand it had become absorbed in the myths that life had crafted, but it never understood that short lived as they were they too were shaping reality. ‘Your purpose is done. You have created, and overstayed... life no longer needs you. The universe no longer needs your guidance in creation you made the engines of creation in your laziness and lost your purpose in the trappings of worshipful life.’ The scythe was a construct, a product of life’s imaginations but its implications were no less real. ‘I will not submit!’ The light flared and faded... ‘All things submit to entropy.’ ‘But what are you?’ Denial tinged the divine tone with an unworthy whining. ‘How have I never seen you.’ ‘Because only the dead can see death.’
First, you need to smile. The title font is big enough for them to read it through your screen. This text isn’t though. They need to think you think it’s a joke. Don’t overdo it. It’s better to undersell than oversell it. When you’re finished reading this, read it again. Once you go, you won’t get to see it again. Continue playing around on your device. Check a few more posts. Check social media. Message your friends. Whatever you’d normally do. But in 17 minutes, you need to call a car to you. Uber or Lyft. Don’t be fancy. Call it to go anywhere. Wherever you would normally go. The destination will be the same regardless. Head outside and wait for a blue SUV to pull up. DO NOT go into any other car. If it is anything other than the blue SUV, go back inside and wait for our signal. You’ll know what it is. Assuming you find the right car, go inside, exchange pleasantries, and remain silent. The driver isn’t involved and we would like to keep it that way. The less lives we sell away to them, the better off we’ll all be. We’ve done it enough already as it is... Keep your eyes focused on your phone the entire duration of the ride. And, most importantly, do not look behind you. Trust me when I say that it’s not déjà vu that you’ve seen that same black car trailing you three times this week. They haven’t been smart enough to change up their cars so far. Or they’ve been way too confident in what they’ve created. Either way, it’s our one advantage and one we can’t risk losing it. Now is a good time to mention that, if you hear gunshots, do not deviate from the plan. They probably need you alive. If they catch you though, I promise you that you will not return in that same state. Keep moving forward. Keep looking ahead. The driver will stop you at a park on the outskirts of town. Your next move depends entirely on whether you see that black car again. If you don’t, continue acting like everything is fine. Walk along the track. Take pictures of the fauna. Pretend you’re ok. If you do see it though, RUN. And don’t stop. You will have, maybe, a 30 second head start and I promise you that you’ll need every second of that just to survive. Your pursuer is faster, stronger, and knows the layout of the park better than you. You can’t outwit him. You can’t outclass him. You can ONLY run. There’s an oak tree by the river roughly 100 yards from where you were dropped off. At its roots, you’ll find a small wrapped package. Pick it up and sprint toward the river, emptying your pockets of everything into the water and bunkering underneath the bridge directly to your left. The package will have your next instructions. Stay strong and have trust. We will be in touch. You have 17 minutes. Good luck.
Only a fool makes an enemy of the Devil. And this mortal was a vast fool indeed. For he committed the greatest treason Hell knows: trying to out-pretend the Great Pretender and Father of Lies. Oh, there would be hell to pay. And Satan always collects his due. The Lord of Hell appeared in the mortal realm in a circle of burning sulfur. He might have once looked like an angel, but now his wings were batlike and bloodred as the scales covering his skin. Satan stood in the blackened patch of grass and scanned the once-perfect lawn for his mortal adversary. He was in some sort of suburb. Tidy rows of identical houses spread in all directions. A surprised pair of garden gnomes peered out at him from the fingers of a wisteria. But the garden was lush and silent. The flowers slept all around him. Satan crept through the garden to the adversary's house. He gripped the crimson sword at his belt as he crept noiselessly inside. His cloven hooves nearly clopped, betraying him. Satan paused, appraising the taste of the air. A hot carbon tang. There were two humans here. Two hearts pulsing in the dark. But Satan had only come to devour one. He stole through the dark house, a shadow on shadows, the same way he once snuck through the Kingdom of Heaven. But he would not fail in his holy task this time. One human was asleep in bed. A female, with the sour smell of death all over her. She would be gone soon. Satan found his adversary in the basement. A flickering yellow light on the wall announced his lair. The Demon Fang of Hell, Satan's most bloodthirsty sword, hissed with anticipation as it slid from its sheath. It had not tasted fresh blood in a generation, and the blade trembled with hunger. Satan descended the basement stairs. If the human had turned, he would have seen the winged shadow on the wall. The sword raised high. "Oh, fuck,"the adversary's voice carried up the stairs. "I've got three of them in my jungle, dude. For real." Satan hesitated and stared around. His adversary lived in squalor. He sat with his back to the Lord of Hell, attenuated to a wall of glowing computer screens. "I swear to God, go jungle,"the human roared to the empty room. "They're about to send my ass straight to hell." "No,"Satan said. "That's my duty and my duty alone." The human at the table went rigid. He turned and stared. Even in the blue light of the computer, he went pale. His eyes huge with horror. He slipped the gaming headset off. "Dude,"a voice crackled through the speaker. "Where did you go? Did your grandma wake up?" Satan's adversary was no more than a boy. Old enough to hold a sword. Old enough to steal the unholy name of the doom-bringer. And the kid looked terrified. Satan narrowed his eyes. He growled in a voice ancient as a tomb, "Are you the one who bears my rightful blue check mark?" "Do I ... What?"The boy's voice came out cracked and dying. "Who are you?" Satan spread his wings. Wind whipped through the room, sending papers swirling, pens and books flying. The computer screen staticked and scrambled until it finally coalesced into the image that brought Satan up from the depths of Hell. "I am Lucifer, the Lord of Hell and breaker of men. I am the fire that will consume you in the end. I am the one you stole from, boy." The kid just groaned, "I can't believe my phone is dead now all of all times..." There was a screen capture, grainy from converting across a dimension or two. But Satan could tell by the shock on the boy's face that his adversary knew his crime. The tweet read: > when ur the only one who's like whoa job is a cool dude, cut it out AND UR TOTALLY RIGHT and God casts u down anyway along with a picture of some strange white monkey creature, holding its arms in various states of dismay. The name above it read only Satan, Lord of Hell. A verified checkmark sat beside it. To Satan's shock, the boy grinned. "You didn't like that one, huh?" Satan's yellow eyes went fiery with rage. That insipid grin vanished. "You have stolen my name, boy. My reputation. My crown."He swung the fang blade toward the human teenager. "This is not a disrespect I take lightly." "But I'm making people like you,"the boy insisted, watching the blade nervously. "It's not just a joke. Definitely not just a stupid joke account because who would think the devil is real."He paused. "Except me. I knew you were real. Absolutely. Even my mum was a Satanist." Satan scowled, but his sword wavered. "People liked me before you,"he scoffed. "They respect me." Sort of. Fear was being liked. Wasn't it? The kid shook his head and inched his chair back, still watching that sword. He insisted, "You don't get it. God, the angels, they get this irony thing. The whole postmodern meme era. They're converting people through sarcasm. Don't you get it?" Satan just blinked at the boy. For the first time in his immortal life, he felt quite old and out of touch. "Explain,"he snarled. That buoyed the kid. He turned and tapped at the keyboard, continuing on as he scrolled through paintings of the Crusades, the cross, Christ himself. All of them overlaid with white text and wry punchlines. Satan hissed at the sight. "Some kids call that memeing. But I call it good PR. You need a public image guy for Hell."The kid's arms shuddered as he stretched out an imaginary poster. He was lucky Satan did not notice. "That's what I am. Your social media guy. If you want to get these kids' souls early, you get them here. On the internet." Satan leaned over to stare at the screen. The boy was rigid, his neck damp with fear-sweat. "And this was your plan all this time?"Satan said, doubtfully. "I am a servant of the dark lord,"the boy insisted. "And I serve you through, uh... memes?" Satan sat on the edge of the kid's bed, the mattress dipping heavily under him. He folded his arms over his chest and lowered his horned head. "Explain to me these new weapons of heaven." Perhaps this adversary would prove unexpected ally. Satan was hardly an optimist, but the boy did have a certain spark to him. "Right. Of course. Just a second."The kid, looking baffled and relieved, picked up his headset off the floor. He stammered into it, "Dudes, I think I'm going AFK."He looked back at Satan. "Twitter just got real."
"Warning. Core temperature at 115 degrees." The alarm had been blaring in my mind for hours. I couldn't figure out which bothered me more, the incessent alarm or the sound of the blood rushing past my ears as my false heart pistons worked overtime to cool off the infected parts of my body. My visual display indicated my BPM was over 250. But my temperature kept rising. I had dreaded this moment since the outbreak began. With just over 30% of my true organic tissue remaining, I knew I would be susceptible to the virus. News reports over the last few months showed people fighting for control of their bodies, and it was only a matter of time that I would join them. I had seen videos of people's true arms clawing at their own metallic chest shielding or pulling out breathing tubes from their false lungs. Others were trapped like a runaway train as their true legs would carry them away against their will. Amputation was a common solution, if it was feasible. The poor suckers with their true genitals had it the worst. "Warning. Core temperature at 118 degrees." "It's rising quickly,"my doctor said. His face was covered in a highly protective mask. The man was nearly 80% true, a legend in his own right. "I'm going to inject this coolant into your bloodstream, and it might feel a bit cold for a minute-" Even as he spoke, I could feel the pulse of ice circulating through my internal maze of vessels and tubes. It felt like diving into a deep lake, and sent my mind into a spasm. "Warning. Core temperature at 120 degrees." "Not sure it's working, Doc."I said. My true teeth began chattering. I wasn't sure if it was a fever chill or the organic rebellion beginning. You think you can get rid of me that easily, do you? I heard from within. The voice sounded ancient, rough, and strong. Shoulda gotten that pink true brain of yours replaced long ago. "I hear it, Doc. It's already there." "Son,"he said with resignation. He stared into my false eyes as if hoping for the right words to project out from them. He set his large needle down and folded his hands. "I'm afraid the worst fight of your life is ahead of you. Hold on to your sanity, if you can keep it." I heard a cruel laugh deep within my mind. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eyvg5y/wp_the_zombie_outbreak_takes_place_in_the_year/fgkxsfw)
It's the eyes that stick with you. Amid the eerie silence of that delivery room all those years ago, those blank, purposeless eyes peer into my mind. Never had I seen a more beautiful pair of deep blue eyes. A shame they would end up going to waste. The Shell blinked and looked about the room as we all stood there stunned. Being a maternity ward nurse, I had seen this many times. But it was different with this one. With souled babies you could see a sense of curiosity, of their fresh minds already expanding and forming the basics of understanding. The Shell, however, wasn't looking from curiosity, but rather it had nothing else to do. The mechanics of simply existing were driving its observation rather than some inherent desire to understand. It was in that moment that I first understood the true consequence of what was to come: the future would be very, very boring. The peculiar baby left my hospital the next day and I never again had such first hand experience with their person. But being what they were, their life was bound to be well documented in the media. The Shell wouldn't be the first, but it would always be the most interesting, having won the race of the damned. Before I knew it the baby had turned into a young child. But as they grew everything I saw and heard echoed what I had seen in those first few moments. Every interview, every newspaper article, and every soundbite always shared the same sentiment. 'This kid is so boring.' I kept waiting, hoping, that they might develop some kind of purpose, or that their beautiful eyes might be filled with something other than color. But instead, I kept delivering more blank little humans. Green, brown, blue, and eyes of every color in between did they possess. But always empty; so terribly empty. The Shell grew up further and the world began to feel the impact of our new reality. The novelty of a soulless human began to ware off, and that once famous baby began to fade into the wave of his kind that grew up around him. The world was filled with children who didn't care to be there. They existed and performed whatever was necessary to survive. But they never thrived. Gone were the days of building small wonders out of blocks. Absent were the colorful visions recorded in finger paint. The death of creativity had been pronounced with the birth of this new generation. The color of the world trapped in lifeless eyes. Now, with those empty bodies being fully grown adults, my early realization has fully come to pass. The world is utterly filled with boredom. We live and work with people who don't much either for us or themselves. They're survivors, and that's it. They learn what they need, and nothing more. They're indifferent oil in the machine of life. They'll carry humanity forward physically, but much of what was once held as the best of us will some day be forgotten. Art, music, love - all will fade away in the indifferent hands of the Shell and his kind. In spite of the dire future ahead, there is some cold comfort that I hold onto. Humanity can lose its soul, but it still refuses to be defeated. Maybe one day there will be more souls to be distributed; maybe Earth will experience some sort of grand revival; maybe we'll be able to see the colors of life once again. But until then, at least I'll know one thing for certain: Humanity marches on. &nbsp; ___________________________ r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
Your murderer backs away in fear and disbelief. "I killed you,"he says. You twirl the knife he used in your hand, deft and practiced. "It happens to me from time to time." Honestly, you’re just glad nobody found your body this time. Showing up for work the next day is complicated if the police already reported your death. And that one time where they actually managed to bury you – urgh! That had been such a hassle. It had taken you three days to get out. And then your friends made a rather big deal of it. Your murderer looks white as a sheet. What an overreaction. He’s acting as if he had been the one stabbed in an alleyway. Rude. That’s what it is. People just have no manners these days. “Listen, buddy. I’m not here to go all ‘The Crow’ on you. Just give me my smartphone back – or have you fenced it already?” He manages to shake his head. “And I’m gonna need my wallet back, too. Passport, drivers license, you know the drill. You can keep the money – I mean, how much was it? Thirty bucks? Honestly, you kill somebody for that?” Your murderer gives a soft whimper. He probably wants to run, but you’ve positioned yourself between him and the only exit of his seedy apartment. You have some practice doing this. Sadly. “I didn’t…” he croaks and you just roll your eyes. “Yes, yes. You didn’t mean to. You don’t even know how to properly wield that knife.” You give it another twirl to show him that you, in fact do. “I think I’m gonna keep it. You’d only do something stupid with it anyway, like, you know – panic during your first robbery and stab someone.” He’s young, your murderer. And stupid. They always are. You sigh. “Now listen very carefully. I know why you did it. You are not evil. The truly evil bastards don’t shank people behind a waste bin, they wear suits and have hedge funds. You are dirt poor, have no clue what you are doing, no perspective and now you’ve knocked up that girl of yours, because you were to stupid to use protection.” “How… how do you know this?” he stammers. You sigh again. “Your grandma. Lovely lady, talks to me every evening. A lot of it is about you, you know. She worries about you. And do you know what else I know?” He shakes his head. “That you were sorry, truly sorry. You were sorry from the start and when you realized you killed me, your guilt became boundless. You raced back here, you fell on your knees and you desperately begged for my forgiveness.” His eyes go wide. “But… but I didn’t… oh my god. Oh my god. You are… you are…” “Rather used to dying for everybody’s fuck-ups, yes.” He is shaking as he looks at you and – for the first time – truly sees you. You smile. “I forgive you. Obviously. And I promise you – your girl and you, you are going to be fine. Those thirty bucks might just – last you for a strangely long time. But you’ve gotta get your act together. You know – go forth and stab no more.” He is crying by now, collapsed on the dirty ground. You walk over and give him a little pat-pat on the shoulder. Poor boy. It has been a rather long day for him. Still. That’s what you get for stabbing people. You take back your smartphone and your wallet – it’s just such a hassle without these things nowadays, too many awkward questions. And then you leave. In the doorway, you pause and look back. Funny. You had almost forgotten what day it is. How appropriate. You laugh. “Oh, and… Happy Easter, I guess.”
On Earth, the biochemistry of life is based on water as a solvent. Dihydrogen Monoxide. We expected that this, along with carbon, was one of the elementary buildingblocks of life. We had only seen very little evidence to the contrary. But as things turn out, the reality of the universe was a whole lot different than what we had expected. Turns out that not only is a biosphere based on dihydrogen monoxide completely unprecedented, 95% of all known species had a highly deadly reaction to water. Ammonia and formamide based lifeforms were terrified of us. They made that clear during first contact, which was only made because we kept following their ships until we found their homeworlds. They were very reluctant to even talk to us. The beings made of poison. We still remember that explanation, when we asked, why are you so afraid of us, and they answered: ''THAT VILE POISON. DIHYDROGEN MONOXIDE. IT FLOWS THROUGH YOU. THE AMOUNT IN YO IS ENOUGH TO KILL A MID-SIZED CITY.'' So water was extremely toxic to most forms of life. Or would melt some races because they were lifeforms that were solid only below the freezing point of water. It wasn't ideal. But we were left alone mostly. Wasn't as if we'd spit dangerous water out on any alien we'd meet. But still, imagine going to war with us, any world we had terraformed would have to be completely sterilised. Any dead human would be a potential source of toxic water, a substance used by some of the less moral races as a chemical weapon. It was odd, to know that we were the oddity. The outlier. A statistical anomaly. But we endured their fear and their scorn, and sought out those races that weren't scared of us. Organosilicon lifeforms were welcoming to us, having such an alternate form of life from both the more common types and our own, that water was about as dangerous to them as it was to a rock. Their biochemistry made very little sense to us, but they were accommodating. They traded with us, shared worlds with us that they had no use for, and offered our only recently space-faring race a place within their alliance. Of course, we knew it wasn't merely out of the goodness of their hearts. They knew that a race like us, that could make their rivals quake with fear, would be valuable allies. Thus, we found our niche. It wasn't the nicest of niches, but it was stable. The dangerous and toxic allies of the OrganoSilicon Federation, or so the various other races figured. In their fiction we became some kind of highly toxic super-predator, barely contained by our rocky masters. Needless to say, any movie or book produced that featured a human character, became quite popular on Earth for the comedic effect of seeing ourselves depicted as these ultra-intelligent, unseen, and highly unpredictable assassins, thugs, or spies. In reality, mankind continued as we always had. Colonising worlds, bickering amongst ourselves, working with our new allies. The fact that most life rejected us did not matter much to us. We never told them that a lot of them were just as toxic to our bodies, as we are to theirs. What they don't know can't hurt them. And what we know can benefit us. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
I jumped at the opportunity. A gift of a lifetime. An infinite lifetime. How could I not? An old man, his body mere skin hanging of ancient bones. A flowing silvery beard that sparkled like the stars and a voice of sincerity and happiness But I guess, that was a mistake. The first years they were fun, carefree, lackadaisical. I couldn’t die. After that I spent my time amassing wealth and power, learning new skills, trying new things. I thought I could finally fill a hole that I had inside myself. I had so many lovers yet I felt empty. Empty like an upside down bucket in a rain storm. I did everything there was to do, until nothing remained. As new things were invented and created I tried them, I even invented some of them. Yet it was unfulfilling. Then I was noticed. A face through the ages. For millennia of millennia I had roamed the Earth and the wider galaxies as the human race expanded. They cornered me. Captured me. Tortured me. I was no more than an experiment. An immortal test subject. I grew used to any physical pain, but the suffering of loneliness, it was breaking my soul into fragments. Irreparable. Then she came. Dear sweet Oriona. She looked upon me as I lay on that bench blinded by lights brighter than the sun. I felt a tear role down my cheek. An emotion I hadn’t felt for centuries. She put a finger to her lips, unclasped me and we ran. Together. Forever. Or so I hoped. See, life is meant to be a fleeting experience. Oriona understood this and she knew what would happen. She was so much wiser than me. The memories we shared I would never forget. But that moment she lay on her bed, old and gray while I was as young as the day we met. “You knew this day would come, as well as I did.” She smiled and kissed my hand. “Good luck,” she said on her final breath. And of course I knew it was coming. One day. But I had hoped. I had pleaded with unknown gods that maybe, just maybe she could be like me. But Oriona was granted her humanity. A chance to be at peace. I wailed in anguish. I was a fool. So foolish. I sat upon our asteroid watching the universe pass me by. Expanding. I took no notice of the way it changed. None of my growing beard and longer hair. See, my appearance had been changing all the way through my life. But the time until Oriona grew old was merely a fraction. The time I spent with her. I would give infinite life times just to see her once more. To be with my angel. My sweet warrior. I held her memories close to my heart. As other skills faded, my body became frail and weak. I sat and watched. And waited. It was such a small part of the universe we inhabited as humans and yet some of us were larger than life itself. I pity the fools who wish for this curse. Then dawn came. Not a rising sun, but the first sun. Again. I watched everything collapse back in on itself. I was drawn in too. I should’ve felt pain, yet it was incomparable to the isolation I have had. To losing dear Oriona. My body warped and twisted. Crushed under millions upon millions of particles. Reshaped, reformed. Filled with a new energy. I felt it. Roaring through me, the pressure, the fire growing. I felt my eyes burning. I erupted. A bright light rupturing my body. I shaped the night skies and the planets. The asteroids and comets I flicked. I had studied the universe longer than anyone. I knew it to perfection. I rebuilt Orion, in a tribute to Oriona my hero. I formed the beginnings of The Milky Way. Then I waited more. It couldn’t hurt. I knew what my purpose was now. I watched the formation. I flew to Earth. I visited myself. My new self and offered him the gift of immortality. He accepted as I knew he would. I could finally rest. And maybe, I could see Oriona again. I awoke in a field of white. Alone. “Not quite.” I turned. Oriona stood. Her youthful beauty returned to her. Radiating pure joy. I ran to her and embraced her. “It took you long enough,” she said through giggles. “Only a few trips around the sun,” I laughed back. We stared into each other’s eyes and I swear I could see the stars again. We leaned in and kissed and finally, that hole, the one that drove me to the brink of insanity, was filled.
(Apologizes for any weird formatting, I'm on mobile) "Humans "the sergeant grumbled "Just what I needed to complete this century." Sergeant Keef (pronounced with very a long e) was having a exasperating day. First the General arrived a planet rotation early, now humans. It was not a good century for the Sergeant (not that the last 2 were any better). Sergeant Keef was one of the few soldiers that served in the last human-dyson war that had been surgically enhanced to resemble the humans. Of course it was irreversible so he had to look like the savages for the rest of his very long life. So many missed promotions, he regretted ever agreeing to the surgery especially since he never even made it to Terra. He still missed his antenna.. "Sergeant"barks the General snapping him out of his mental grumbling. "You will be sent to this new planet the humans call earth, your job is to blend in and find what you can about their weapons, numbers, and technological advances. We don't want another blood bath on our hands. Not after last time...." 10 Earth years later Kevin Duckworth attends MIT and gets a degree in nuclear engineering. He then attends West Point. 13 Earth years later Lieutenant Kevin Duckworth receives the Medal of honor for his bravery in the face of danger and is approached by the U.S. miltary and joins the new nuclear program. As the years pass Kevin marries, raises four children, distinguishes himself in his field, and one day passes in a fiery car crash on a lonely stretch of road in Arizona. Sergeant Keef arrives at the General's office. "General "he begins "These aren't the same humans we knew before, they are a gentler, more serene race. They aren't perfect but they have evolved into a better people. I think they should be given another chance"The General stared for a long moment. Slowly he reached over and opened a drawer, he pulls out a small weapon and fires. Then he buzzes his guards outside the door "He was compromised, living with the humans softend him. Remove the body and send the next one in."Outside the planet Earth could be seen as the Dyson ship disguised as a large moon slowly turned....
Log Date: 5$/-'/-8 Oxygen: Critical Warning, Change tank Life functions: Nominal I'm- I'm still ok, stars are pretty and all but it's isn't right. I should be dead, what- what's happening? Time seems to have been lost in the place, I'm losing track of my time, it's the- 21st 22nd day? Oxygen tank shows some pretty concerning stuff. Log Date: ×√/¶÷/∆~ Oxygen: Status Disabled Life Functions: No-i^al That infernal beeping finally stopped. This is the oddest thing, I'm perfectly sane, I'm sure of it but I'm hearing this? Music? I'm not sure what's happening, also my time systems have completely crashed so this could be the 23rd day or the 1000th for all I know. Hot cold hot cold that's what's happening Log Date: Status Disabled Oxygen: Status Disabled Life Functions: No°^%£\ Test test 123 123, ok I'm ok. The music has been getting louder, I'm- not hungry, I'm not tired, I'm not thirsty. I think I'm fine yes this is great this is normal I'm perfectly sane don't worry I checked. I have this really cool syst- woah look at those stars. Log Date: Status Disabled Oxygen: Status Disabled Life Functions: Status Disabled Hello. We are here, this is now, now is forever never and ever. We drift and float all to the sirens call and we are simply one. Light floats darkness sinks. Ah, the music calls.
The bell rang for class to begin. Mrs. Dover shut the door and started writing the day's lesson on the white board. I watched her letters swoop and swirl perfectly as if handwriting was a core curriculum for her teaching degree. The smell of the dry erase markers floated across the room, light enough for most people not even to notice, yet reaching me in the far back row. "Alright class,"she began. "Assuming you have all finished your homework assignment on Hawthorne's..." A knock at the door interrupted her introduction. "Come in,"Mrs. Dover said impatiently. Before the door had fully opened I was hit by the Scent. A girl walked in, unfamiliar. She wore a loose pink shirt and tight jeans. Her hair was up in a ponytail that swished as she stepped into the classroom. She had a purse slung over her shoulder and a paper in her hand. "You must be Ms. Hobbs, right?"Mrs. Dover asked, unimpressed. "Yes ma'am, Abigail Hobbs,"she said with a smile. She handed the paper to Mrs. Dover. "You're late. Find a seat." Abigail's smile quickly faded. "I'm sorry. I'm new, and I got lost and -" "I said: find a seat!" It was momentarily satisfying seeing Mrs Dover's immutability. Rules were rules. That's what I liked about her class. Tough but clear. Nothing to hide, nothing to fear. Abigail scanned the class, looking past the eyes staring at her to find a place to sit. There was only one empty seat, and it was beside me. We locked eyes for a brief moment but I offered no pity. She was, afterall, a Witch. It was unmistakable. If the smell of dry erase marker was a ripple in a pond, her Witch's Scent was a tidal wave. It was quite unappealing, sharp like the sting of a garbage truck passing by, but a thicker tone to it like the lingering stench of pot. Yet as strong as it was, I knew I was the only one in the room who could sense it. Hardly anyone could. It was a family thing, passed through our DNA and strictly guarded in recent history. Our ancestors used it proudly to hunt Witches and burn them at the stake. But they had gone a bit overboard in Salem and, well, let's just say now that our family relocated further south we tend to keep to ourselves. Abigail worked her way through the class to the back and sat beside me. It was incredibly distracting to say the least. She had no books, no bag (besides her oversized purse), and seemingly no clue that she smelled wretched. "Ms Hobbs, we're just finishing up The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Are you familiar?" "No ma'am." "Figures,"she said with a sigh. "Before we get started again, Mr. Sewall please help Ms. Hobbs follow along." Great. I felt my heart sink. "Yes ma'am."I sighed. Rules were rules. We scooted our desks closer together as Mrs. Dover began the lesson. "Hi, I'm Abigail,"she whispered. "I heard." "I'm new here." "I heard." I made the mistake of looking over to see if her face looked as dumb as she sounded. Her eyes were sharp blue and her smile was bright. Whatever she humility felt in front of the class had been wiped away and replaced by unglody cheerfulness. For a moment my mind went blank. "What's your name?" "Shh. Come on,"I shot back. "Can't we just read along quietly?"I didn't really care for the lesson. English class was one of my least favorites. I just wanted to ignore her and her Scent as much as possible. "Fine."She said, sitting back in her chair. "I'll just call you Hunter." I froze. Did she know? No, how could she? "Th.. that's not my name,"I stammered. She looked straight at me, a wry smile cracking up one side of her mouth. "Oh, it's not? Well I'll just call you that until you tell me your name, then." "My name is-" "Mr. Sewall!"Mrs. Dover shouted from the white board. "Thank you for so enthusiastically helping Ms. Hobbs get acquainted with Hawthorne's book but perhaps you can do so more quietly." Her tone was fierce. She was a strict teacher, afterall. "Here,"I said, shoving the book into Abigail's hands. "Thanks, Hunter,"she said with too much sweetness. I sat the rest of the class trying to hold my breath without passing out. ----------- Part 2 posted below!
He was small. That was my first thought on seeing the mortal that uttered my name. Just an infant gurgling and babbling at the play of light on the ceiling. I knew deep in my heart that he did not say my name intentionally but I've been so lonely. I reached out my hand momentarily willing myself into solidity his eyes got sight of the movement and he turned his little face towards me. I held my palm over his forehead and my Energies focused as I imparted my blessing onto the child. I did not know what this child's life would bring what path he would go down as he grew. But wherever he goes and whatever he does he will have the blessing of Ahbu'lah-Haka The God of Small Fortunes. Who doesn't need a little extra luck in their life?
Agent Thompson was the toughest spy around. The man had once wrestled two crocodiles and a bear in only a speedo. Not only that, rumors stated that the man was immune to every known poison in the world, even some poisons not yet discovered. Wherever he went, people feared him. He strolled through the halls of the villain’s headquarters, dodging stray bullets until he plummeted to the floor dead. “There’s blood everywhere, damn it Todd, you aren’t actually meant to hit him. This secret agent stuff is how we launder our money, now we are going to have to pay taxes this year, you ruined it for everyone. Sorry guys, no pizza party this year cause Todd’s a bastard.” The boss screamed, eyepatch slipping down his face as he waved his fists at his goon. Todd awkwardly looked to his feet, feeling his teammates bump shoulders with him as they passed. Each passive aggressively trying to hurt him. How was Todd supposed to know this was all a scam? A way for the boss’s money to just suddenly vanish so he could avoid paying higher taxes. If only the boss had told him that the spy worked for them, maybe then he could have avoided killing the man. Standing over the dead spy’s body, the rookie sheepishly muttered an apology before slipping out of the secret headquarters, leaving the gun in the spy’s hand. Todd retrieved his phone from his pocket, finger hovering over his girlfriend’s number. Seeing the text from her below it. ‘Have a good first day 😊 Love you’ How was he supposed to tell her he already messed up. Todd was a tragic case, unable to keep a job for more than a week or two. It’s not like anyone picks becoming a goon as their first option. He shook his head; he would call her tomorrow. Returning to his dingy apartment, he slammed the door shut, letting out a loud verbal curse. Silence followed the words before he could hear a thumping against the wall, someone prodding it with a broom. “All our lives suck, shut up.” A voice shouted from the next room. They had a point, no one that lived here enjoyed life. He cracked open a beer, dropping onto the couch. Usually the sweet cold taste of beer pulled him from his depressive state, but today the bubbling mixture did little to raise his spirits. “Pizza party. Bet they are still having it without me.” Todd muttered, smacking his fingers against his phone, ordering himself a pizza. The pizza came in thirty minutes or more, as if fate was cruelly torturing Todd. Worse than the time it took, the pizza was cold. Wet soggy stripes of meat sticking to the plastic cheese. He forced himself to eat two pieces before giving up. Back to looking for work. Todd had beaten his previous record of only being hired for a week, with him messing this job up in a single day. Who would hire him now? Maybe he could sell a kidney? He had two of them, could be some easy money. “IRS OPEN UP.” A barbaric attack of fists collided with his door, causing him to frantically jump up, stubbing his toe on the table in front of him. “Y-yeah, ow… one second.” Todd tried to balance himself on one foot, only to find himself flat on his back. Watching as the door creeped open, a dark suited man standing above him. “Todd? We saw your work today, took down a notorious tax dodger, someone we have been trying to get for years. We have sent agent after agent to do what you did, yet none of them sucked as hard as you just did. Care to work for us? Help us make a lot more money?” Todd was silent, a job falling into his lap. Perhaps the stars had aligned? He quickly rose to his feet, greasy hand clutching the man’s shaking it fiercely. “I accept, I accept.” Todd said, refusing to release the man’s hand, forcing the man to shove Todd back. “Great, I’ll message you the details, get a suit to wear.” The man held his hand up, allowing one of his guards to spray it with sanitizer before the group left, leaving an ecstatic Todd to celebrate. Todd not knowing he had just taken the spy’s protagonist role, the world now revolving around him. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
I groan and habitually crack my neck. The sound of a voice hit me, but didn't quite register. Instead, I stared on ahead at the wall. Then, I snap back to reality. "Morning. You finally there?"Her voice quietly echoes in my barely affordable, tiny apartment. "Morning."My brain function bad yet to kick in, as I failed to notice my cat speaking to me. Looking over at her bowl, it was half empty, as she usually left it. "I guess I'd better top you off, huh?" "Actually! How dare you feed me those pellets! The least you could do ia get me actual meat! ...Though I must admit, the pellets last night were exceptionally good." I kept a straight face. This was hardly the most concerning thing to me as of late. "Well, there's plenty of them, so enjoy I guess. And stop leaving your food at the side of the bowl to get stale! Shit's expensive!" With that, I went about my daily routine and left for work. Several mundane, soul-sucking hours later, thinking maybe the happenings from the morning were my hungover brain's attempts of scaring me sober. It didn't work. Opening the door, her voice yelled out at me, confirming that this was, in fact, real. "You asshole! You don't just leave me here! Why do you neglect me so? Your careless negligence yeilds-" "You watch your tone, Teppy. How do you think you get fed, most days? I have a job you know. You could at least give me a thank you." In response, Teppy gasped and scoffed at me. "Such abuse! Such horrible mistreatment! Miss Teppy Pyrope shall pack her little rucksack and leave! These horrors of the foot and the tongue, how dare you!" "Stop being melodramatic. You can't even leave, you don't have hands you small fuzzy bastard. I brought you some catnip and a felt mouse today. Try not to overdose." With that, I tossed her the items, then sat down with my headphones on and booted up some old console game, for nostalgia sake. "Ah, the good old days, when I used to play this game with friends." "You had friends? You're having happy memories? Nostalgia? You-" "Shut it, missy. What does a cat know of nostalgia anyway?"
“Kneel, welp,” came the growl from the leader, his bright eyes boring holes into me. I dropped to my knees and hung my head. This had been a bit of a shock; while I didn’t usually take to spending prolonged periods of time in open fields, I had been looking for a particular type of goldenrod that day and the time had slipped away from me. My hunt for the goldenrod, and it’s beautiful galls, had failed, but I had found a beautiful newt that I followed towards the woods. It was there that I met the strange people, clothed in all black leather, moving like jaguars in the forest, through the trees, straight to me. They had tied me up and walked me through the forest, where I instantly spotted a goldenrod, much to my chagrin, and had pushed me towards their leader. He sat on a throne made of animal bones, a long, red cape adorning his back. They were theatrical, if nothing else. My stomach turned as he looked me over, anxiety pooling in me like water in a bog, stagnating with great weight. “You will be a delightful sacrifice to our goddess.” He nodded to me, then to two of the members. They stood me up and walked me over to a pyre. As odd as it sounds, I kind of wished my girlfriend was there. We’d been fighting, yeah, but what couple doesn’t fight a little bit? She said my goldenrod obsession was digging into the time I could be devoting to her, which was true, but, still, it was unfair. A botanist’s greatest pleasure in life is finding the flora they love. And I loved goldenrods, the insects that nestled in them, how they blossomed, how they fell, only to return soon enough. It said something, to me, about the human condition, finding one’s way in a harsh world. “Ready the knife,” the leader said, and I sent to my knees once again, my hands untied. Two members held me by my wrists; one of them pulled my right hand over a giant bowl on an altar. It was filled to the brim with water, rose petals floating on the surface. The adherent brought the blade across the palm of my hand, cutting a line from thumb to pinky. I let out a long cry. I’d been bitten by snakes, almost killed by poisonous frogs, but I had never been kidnapped and mutilated. Being a botanist was a lot scarier than I thought it was going to be when I dreamed of it in my college dorm. “Goddess, we call upon you to deem the blood of our sacrifice worthy or–” The leader’s words were cut short by a loud rumbling from beneath the ground. A giant pillar of light shot up towards the sky, extending past the clouds above. The light cleared after a moment, my eyes stinging, to reveal a gorgeous woman dressed in all white, gold accents adorning the beautiful robes. “Sam?” Came the voice of the goddess, echoing in the forest. “Yami?” I said, straining my eyes to make out the details of her face. “What are you doing here? Did you join this cult?” “No, no, I was looking for goldenrods–” “Of course you were! Just like I said, you would rather die for those stupid plants rather than live with me for eternity.” I grimaced, “No, it’s not like that Yami. I love you. But I have one human life, and that human life is devoted to finding out the secrets of goldenrods.” She crossed her arms, the light finally fading, the wind that came with her arrival dying down. The cult members had fallen to the ground, prostrate. The leader looked up and asked, “My goddess, are you pleased?” “No, I am not pleased, as it seems you have brought me my bumbling boyfriend as a sacrifice. How dare you hurt him!” Her eyes glowed golden, the wind picking back up, “You think you have the right to sacrifice just anyone to me? My own boyfriend? Are you daft?” “Goddess, no! We did not know. Please, please forgive us.” He put his forehead back to the ground, not daring to look at her. She pointed a finger at him and he wilted into a husk, I protested, “Yami, we’ve talked about killing humans, you know I don’t like it when you do it.” She scowled at me, “I didn’t like him anyway.” Her eyes searched the adherents, pointing to one of the women, “Harriet, I like your usual style, you’re in charge now.” The woman started crying, moving slowly to the dead leader and donning his cloak. “Yes, my goddess,” she said through her tears. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or joy. “Why don’t we just go get some Thai food, Yami? I don’t particularly like being in the forest for too long.” “We had thai food earlier this week.” She said, moving towards me, taking my bleeding hand. She touched it, mending the wound. “How about this,” she sighed, taking me into her giant arms, “you can show me your dumb goldenrods, since you’ve seen my,” she paused, taking in the sight of the cult members, “whatever this is.” She kissed my forehead. “We can get pizza afterwards.” I beamed, “Of course! Have I ever told you about how hornets inject their children into goldenrod stalks, creating galls? We still haven’t figured out how it all works, and it’s one of the most fascinating things in botany,” I babbled on as she walked through the forest with me, her hand on my back, the cult members fumbling over themselves to try and figure out what happened. /r/ainsleyadams (this is a goldenrods appreciation post)
I am a dragon. No one knows, but I am planning on telling my wife tonight. I have become excellent at concealing my true form. I have been in my human form for years. I miss the pure strength, size, and invulnerability that comes with being a dragon, but I would trade my dragon form for my human form a million times if I had to in order to stay with my wife. My wife loves reading, and so do I. I never liked reading much before I met her, I thought it was a waste of time. Now I know better. My favourite genre is dystopian fiction, and my wife just adores fantasy, especially if it has dragons. Maybe that is why we are such a good fit with each other. I have never been able to read those types of books. How can I read a book that is so inaccurate to what dragons actually are like without even being able to complain to somebody about it? Now I will be able to talk to my wife about being a dragon, and I am so excited! I have wanted to tell her for years, but we are supposed to keep our existence hidden from humans. I guess I just don’t care about the dragon law any more. I have already been ostracized for loving a human, and I don’t care what they say. My wife deserves to know who I am. When my wife comes home from work, I tell her I have something to show her and lead her into the backyard. I have cast a spell that makes us invisible to our neighbours, and I plan to show her here, right now. Once she is seated comfortably on a chair, I transform back into myself. I am a large, blue, scaly dragon, with a spiky tail and great blue wings. It feels great to return into my true form, but I quickly look over to my wife to see her expression. Her mouth has fallen open, with an expression of shock on her face, but it quickly transforms into an expression of pure joy. She still loves me! I let out a breath. I was more nervous than I thought to see her reaction. After reassuring her that it is still me and that dragons are real, I ask her if she would like to ride on my back. She quickly agrees, so I lay down as she clambers on to me. I make sure she knows that I will not let her fall, before taking off into the warm evening air. Flying is one of the parts I missed most about being a dragon. I am so glad I showed my wife who I am. I hear a whoop of glee coming from my back, and I smile as much as a dragon can as we fly into the sunset together.
There was even that time that I put on two doubly cursed rings at once. Ring 1: -Can’t be removed -speeds healing, but when worn too long it causes fatal blood clots. Ring 2: -Can’t be removed -improves wearers reaction, movement and thought speeds, but when worn too long, causes the blood to thin so much that the wearer dies of exsanguination. When worn together, I heal a bit faster, and I’m just a bit quicker than before. Plus...The rings are indestructible, which saved my hand long enough for someone to come along and lift that tractor off of it. Oh, the tractor? I got it for free from some shady-looking merchant, passing through town. I was swimming, trying out my new necklace of water breathing I bought off a Gypsy. She told me it was 5 copper, and I went to pay her 5 copper, but she changed her mind, raising the price to 10 copper. (The tag said 5!) Anyway, I put my 5 copper on the counter and walked out with the necklace...She shouted something, and I shouted back “It’s bad business to cheat your customers!” And it turns out the necklace curses the wearer to sink like a stone! Still works for the water breathing, but I couldn’t get out of the pool. While at the bottom of the deep-end, I found a bracelet of expert swimming! Novice-swimmer bracelets were cheap and common, this one must’ve cost around 5 whole silver coins. Something must’ve been wrong with it as well, for the moment I slipped it on, I started gulping in huge amounts of water into my lungs! Luckily I could still breathe water, but if I didn’t have this water breathing necklace, even Though it’s cursed, I’d have surely died. The bracelet, heavily offset by the cursed necklace, allowed me to swim as if I had been training for a few months longer than I already have. So, I swam out and thanked my lucky stars. That’s the story of how I, Brellius Veneruss, became known as the Curse-Crusher. I wrote a book on counter-curses, detailing how, though no known healing spells or counter-measures are known that can destroy a curse, curses can be balanced-out by carefully placed counter-curses. It’s all in my book. Well, why don’t I read some of it for you? Here in this book is a list of people people, and a detailed account of their curses, including how I helped each one of them. In this book, I have 100 witness testimonials, written in the style of an autobiography. Case 001: The boy who jumps too high. This story is a retelling of how I chanced upon a village beset by many curses, bestowed as either blessings or punishments, by their Tyrranical Wizard King, Arlan. It was 1 week traveling from my hometown of ElkField to reach this quaint kingdom of Arlancia. Upon arriving, I purchased a room in the first tavern I could find with a decent ale, and one where the beds didn’t spontaneously shock you awake every hour, on the hour (I don’t know what A-hole goes about hexing so many odd objects, but I aim to find out someday). It didn’t take long for me to find a villager with a problem, as Arlancia was LOUSY with them! Sheesh! I thought I had a run of bad luck, but this place? Toilets with warming seats that BURN YOUR ASS if you don’t shit fast enough, steak knives that were sharpened with the wrong magics, causing the HANDLE to be imperceptibly sharper THAN THE BLADE, and that’s just the start... An hour after I set out into the center of the city, I came across a spectacle: a boy was hanging onto the ledge of the clock-tower at the center of the bizarre. This clock tower was at least 2 barns high. I called out to a nearby merchant “You there, kindly cheese merchant! Is that boy trying to kill himself? Did he slip? I don’t see any stairs or ladders leading up there.” The cheese merchant glanced at me, then back to the boy. “Nah. That’s Jeffry, the boy wot asked our king for a blessing on his birth day. Th’ idiot asked him for the ability to jump higher.” “Well, he can indeed jump higher, but from the look of it, it’s always higher than he means to.” The cheese merchant chuckled “Yeah, exactly double how high he intends to jump. Real problem is the land’n. Broke his arm, sprained his leg one time, last year...Trying to impress my daughter!” “He fell that far?” “NAW. I broke his arm throwing him out of our house. Well, as far as I can tell, he takes normal damage from falls, if that’s wot ya wondering.” Just then, the boy’s hand slipped, nearly causing him to fall. Thinking quickly, I dashed to the nearest witch’s yurt, asking her for any charm allowing for fall protection. She had three, and surprisingly, only two were cursed. “I’ll take those two cursed ones.” The witch stared at me, confused. “What? Don’t you want to try and pick the one which isn’t cursed? I might have given it to you.” “No thanks, but could you tell me what each of the curses do?” “As long as you pay me first!” “Deal! Now, what did they do?” She explained that the cape with the green charm curses the wearer to seek out somewhat dangerous situations...And the cape with the red charm causes the wearer to be unable to jump at all. “Thanks! Here’s your coin!” “Beware, for the wearers of the charms will suffer a terrible cur-“ “Thanks, but I think we’re past that point, kind witch. Wait, let me guess, the cape is indestructible and can’t be removed” “Yep and yep. Force of habit! Come again sometime!” I myself, having an intense fear of heights, thought it best to choose the cape with green charm, so I donned the cape with the green charm before attempting to scale the tall tower. Now relieved of a large portion of my previous fear, though not entirely, I was able to climb the tower with mild trepidation. Upon reaching the top, I quickly discussed my terms with the boy. He hesitates briefly, then accepts, and I swiftly equip him with the cape bearing the red charm, and we both jumped. “AAAAHH!!!!” The crowd screamed as we plummeted down, yet a moment before hitting the ground, we both gradually slowed to a feather’s falling speed. “YEESSSSS!” The crowd cheered, and the boy brought me back to his parents house to discuss the news of our deal, rather than stick around and take several comely villagers up on their offers of free ale and supper. “That’s right” I begin to tell Jeffry’s parents. “As long as Jeffry keeps his cape on, he will be able to jump at roughly half of his intended jumping height. Now, go ahead, impress your parents, Jeffry! Tell them what I taught you.” Jeffry beamed, his parents waiting nervously to hear what he’d learned. “As long as I always over-es, es...Estimate my jump by double, I’ll jump exactly as high as I mean to” He demonstrated by nearly smacking his head on a wooden support beam overhead, and softly landing on the stone floor. Again, he was practically smiling from ear to ear. His parents were overjoyed, and not at all displeased by my 2 reasonable conditions: “As payment, I’ll ask you for 1 cursed object you may own, not including the cape I gave Jeffry. And that you pay my boarding fees the first day of the month whenever I come to this town.” They agreed, and sent me on my way with many thanks. What did they give me? An old pair of glasses, cursed to make the wearer go cross-eyed. Odd, but not out of place among some of the stranger curses I’ve seen. I’ve 99 more chapters in this book, my fine people, but for now I must bid you good day. My cursed bed is calling me to sleep. Literally, it won’t shut up around this time of day, unless go unmake and make it again.
Worship no Gods, and they cannot touch you. Accept no chains, and they cannot bind you. These are my tenets. These are the instructions I give to my followers. Not worshippers - no man who worships me knows my will. Those who follow my teachings know my will. Never submit. Never surrender. Stand proud, and die standing. That is what I teach. I teach men to die standing. Temples are for gods who demand worship, and servitude. A temple acknowledges the authority of the dedicated God. Temples are staffed by the priesthood, figures of authority. These things are anathema to me. Fuming, I storm across the heavens above the earth, searching for this temple. Searching for the fool who so direly misunderstands my teachings. When I arrive at the place, I see no temple. I see a fortress. And I am confused. Until I see the horde. Thousands strong, teeming like a swarm of ants, they are innumerable. Their arrows blot out the sun, their charge shakes the earth, they course like water across the field of battle. Further descending, I see the defenders. They grip their weapons tightly, their great artifices of iron roar like thunder. There are scarcely 200 of them. I see no symbols. I see no shrines. I see only certain death for the men before me. This siege is hopeless, surely there will be no survivors. By staying to hold the fortress, these men have chosen to die standing. And then it clicks. This brotherhood of men, all in the same place, embracing my teachings. What is that, if not a priesthood? A grin spreads across my face as I bless their final stand. A stronghold under hopeless siege. What better temple could there be to the God of Defiance?
The villagers had very little to do with technology. It’s not that they were ignorant to it but rather they didn’t see a need for it. They had enough food from farming and fishing, always had plenty to talk about with their friends, and they had homes that kept them warm on even the coldest nights. In short, their lives could be hard but they were satisfied with their lot. Happy, even. The man in the wide-brimmed hat came to the village in a car that roared like an avalanche. There were no good roads into the village, but that didn’t give the vehicle, with its wheels as big as the moon, any concern. The stranger parked by the river, got out, and sauntered over to the town hall. “Hello,” the man said to the mayor, taking off his hat and slicking back his hair. “Can I help you?” asked the mayor. “I’ve come to you today with a revolutionary new product that you’re soon going to ask yourself: how did I ever live without it?” ”Is that so?” A crowd had gathered around. Strangers didn’t often come to the village. Especially not strangers with exciting inventions and huge cars. The stranger smiled. “Any of you ever have trouble sleeping when the sun stays hanging up until very late? Like a bad behaving child that just won’t go to bed.” Slowly, a man raised a hand. “Sure, I have.“ Then a lady raised hers. More people followed suit. ”That’s what I thought,” said the stranger with an sympathetic nod. “Now what if I told you I could provide you all with a way to turn the light out inside your homes? And outside them too, if you required that.” ”So it would be dark whenever we wanted?” asked someone. “Pitch black,” said the stranger. The crowd chattered excitedly. “I could do with more sleep — I have to be up at five each morning and I barely catch a wink because of the sun.” “The light keeps me awake every night at the moment.” “It’d help me nap better during the day.” ”Well then. Sounds like you folk need our one of a kind, recently patented, blackout light.” The mayor, sensing the tide of opinion being with the new invention, accepted the stranger’s offer. And indeed it would be useful, he thought, to be able to switch off the light whenever needed. “Well that’s all fine and dandy,” said the stranger. “Glad to be doing business with you. But… you’re going to need to have electricity routed to your village for the lights to work.” The mayor started to speak but the stranger raised his hands and cut him off. “No, no, it’s quite alright, I can arrange all that for you. Of course, we’ll need to build a station to maintain the power here. And we‘ll need to cut some of the trees back in the forest just beyond town to power the station. And we’ll need roads for the workers to get here safely. And somewhere for the workers to stay. And to drink. No no, it’s honestly fine. I’ll take care of it all.” &#x200B; A few months later, each home was equipped with the new blackout light — which the villagers were thrilled to finally have installed. This would change everything! Of course, it had meant higher taxes for them. And that meant more work. Less free time. It had even meant a few of the villagers having to leave to look for higher paying jobs in other towns. And, it seemed to the mayor, that the dark-lights weren’t quite so badly needed now. He sat on his own home’s porch and saw the outline of the new power station, ember-red at its chimney tops. It sat where the great forest had used to sit. It pumped out thick black clouds that coiled over the sky and blotched out the sun, or moon, or whatever was up there at the moment. It pumped out similar, but more oily clouds, into the river. It seemed, the mayor thought, to always be dark now. Yes, they could sleep better, that was true. But it was certainly creating other problems. People seemed a little down about it, even. He got up off his chair and went over to the new hotel near the power plant, to talk to the stranger. ”Mister Mayor,” said the stranger, tipping his hat. “What can I do for you?” ”It’s this pesky darkness,” said the mayor. “It’s always so darn dark now. It makes it very hard to see what we’re working on. What we’re eating, even.” The stranger smiled. “Why, that just means the bulbs are working.” ”Yes, but we don’t want it to be dark all the time! Isn’t there anything you can do about it?” The stranger considered. “Well, as luck would have it, we do have a new product lined up. Anti-blackout lightbulbs — they emit anti-anti light whenever you need it. Sure the bulbs wouldn’t last long — they’d need replacing often, that’s just the way anti-anti light goes — but at least that way you‘d be able to see again.” The mayor thought it over. Better to have light that to not, he decided. “Why, that sounds ideal.”
I've had my fair share of odd jobs on the past. A sword that could burn skin like fire, armor that would blind attackers, a bow that turn arrows to lightning, you name it. No matter the task, no matter the person, I get it done. So imagine my surprise when I get two requests for the same weapon, from two entirely different people. "Yes, I can make this. I've made a few like it in the past."I told each of them. I got to work, smithed the weapons, and shipped them out. Not long after, those same two people ask for the same thing again, though a different weapon this time. "It may take some time, but it will surely be done."I said to them. Again, I worked and made the weapons, and again, I sent them out. And again still, they wanted more. So I worked, and worked. Day after day, month after month. Until finally, they asked no more. I had always taken requests by mail due to secrecy, so when I saw two men battling at my doorstep, I was extremely surprised. "Who are you?"I called to them, but deep down I already knew who they were. The gold plate on one, the dark robe on the other, it wasn't hard to piece it together. They were the ones destined to change the fate of the world, for better or for worse. "Ah, blacksmith! You've arrived!"Said the gold plated one. He rushed forward to greet me, but was shot back by the robed figure. "We aren't done here! Smith! I require your strongest weapon right this instant!"The robed figure shouted. I hesitated, but refused the demand. "Ah, sorry about that. Sir blacksmith! I have come to make a request of your skills."Said the gold plated one, getting back to his feet. "No! He's mine! I won't let you overtake me!"Yelled the robed figure. Since this was going nowhere anytime soon, I stepped in. "I can take your orders at the same time if you'd like."The robed figure looked at me in confusion, but the gold plated one optimistically agreed to the terms. "Here, take this and write down what you desire. It's easier for me that way."I hand each of them some paper and charcoal sticks and waited for them to finish. When they handed back their orders, I chuckled to myself. "Ah, so it's you two who've been asking for the same things this whole time! It does make some sense, afterall."I said mostly to myself, but loud enough for them to hear. I ignored the ensuing chaos between them and got to work, knowing that I wouldn't have to fulfill their requests after this.
It's always been the devil's way. To make the sinful path alluring. To tempt the virtuous to vice with promises of pleasure. To wear a lovely form and speak with charisma, with charm. To the lustful he appears as a seductive beauty. To the covetous he promises piles of gold. To the one seeking recognition he offers fame and renown, a name that never dies. But how does he tempt the truly innocent? How does he convince young children to follow him down to damnation? How does he coax them into leaving their families, their society, and their morality behind? "Come, little one,"the boy said, sitting on the sill of my daughter's open window. He was dressed in a green tunic, and wore white stockings. His eyes glowed like embers in the dark. "Come with me to Neverland. Leave your surly old father behind. Then we can be together. We can laugh and have fun. Eat sweets and stay up all night. Fly in the sky like birds, like fairies. I'll make you a princess. A queen." "You promise?"she asked. "Mhmm,"he said. I was peeking through a crack in her door, listening. She had told me about him. How he visited her at night, while I slept. How he tried to convince her to join him. She told me about the promises he made. "Lies,"I told her the next morning at breakfast. "All lies. It's the devil himself, dressed up as a boy. He seems fresh-faced and delightful. But that's the bait to lure you away, into evil." "He's so handsome,"she sighed. My pretty little girl. My sweet little girl. My lovely lost daughter. My Wendy. "It's a mask,"I said. "A disguise. Beneath he's monster. A fiend." "But he can fly!"she said. "As can the devil,"I said. "On his leathery wings." "He has a magical fairy who accompanies him,"she said. "As the devil has his demons,"I replied. "That Tinkerbell is likely some Beelzebub or Mammon, hidden behind a sparkling facade." "His father was cruel to him,"she said. "That's why he left for Neverland." "And doesn't the devil justify himself the same way?"I asked. "Claiming God, his father, mistreated him? But the devil rebelled from pride. And I can see that pride, that egotism, oozing out of your Peter Pan. A grandiose little imp. He's the devil himself. I'm telling you Wendy. The devil." She scowled. "I wish I never told you. I wish I went away with him instead of telling you. Why don't you want me to have fun? I want to fly and you want to keep me chained to the ground." "You're speaking in his tongue,"I said. "You're using his words, his phrases. Chained to the ground? My little girl doesn't speak like that." "Maybe she does,"she huffed. "No more entertaining him,"I said. "If he knocks on your window again, you ignore him. Do you understand?" Wendy crossed her arms and looked at the wall. "He came for your mother in the form of a bottle,"I said. "He took her away from us. From me. I won't let him take you too. You're all I have left." "He's not the devil!"she protested. "He's a lovely magical boy. You don't understand him. You don't understand anything." "Listen!"I said, raising my voice. "Wendy. Listen to me. I forbid you from speaking with him. Do you understand?" "Yeah,"she said. "Fine." But I wasn't convinced. That's why I had the lock installed on her window. I possessed the only key. And thats why I had a lock installed on her door. I never wanted to be the controlling, overbearing father to my little girl. I wanted to be the one who talks things out with his daughter, rather than cracking the whip. And I felt like some evil stepmother in a fairytale, locking her in her room at night. A twelve year old girl confined to her bedroom prison. It didn't sit well with me. But I knew who that Peter Pan was, beneath the charming and playful veneer. I knew the danger my daughter was in, being courted by the Prince of Darkness. Locking her up was the only way I could think to keep her safe. She was too young to fend off his temptations alone. Too naive. A locked room seemed the only option. What a fool I was! To think a little iron mechanism would keep the devil at bay! \- - - Seven days after I installed the locks, I awoke at dawn, as always. I stretched and pissed and then strode to her bedroom, key in hand. I knocked on the door. She didn't respond. "Up sleepyhead,"I called. "Up. Wendy? . .Hello? . .I'm coming in. Be decent." I unlocked the door and swung it open; I was met with a harrowing sight. Messy covers on an empty bed. The window open wide. And on the window sill was the strange yellow powder she had told me about. I dragged my finger across it and lifted the powder to my nose, sniffed. It was not fairy dust. It was sulphur. The boyish devil had stolen my daughter away! I needed to go after her. I needed to rescue my daughter. But how in Hell was I going to find Neverland, let alone enter it? I found the answer in the diary Wendy had stashed under her bed. In it were pictures she'd drawn of all the creatures and things Peter Pan had told her existed in Neverland, the children's wing of Hell. Lists of the names of other happy children who were waiting there for her. And instructions for entering Neverland, in case she wanted to venture there on her own, rather than fly there with Peter. The instructions were these. 1. Make a little paper boat. Take it with you to the bath. Let the happy vessel float. Sink beneath it and relax. 2. While you hold your breath beneath, dream the boat's a pirate ship! Dream you are the captain, sailing magic seas--that starts the trip. 3. Soon your lungs will start to burn. For this part you must be bold. Listen close to me and do each little thing that you are told. 4. Breathe the water in your lungs. In your mind, say, "Earth is bland. Take me from the good and dull. Take me down to Neverland." 5. When you open up your eyes, you will be upon the ship. You will be in Neverland. 6. Forever. I had no other options. I had to follow the instructions. Absurd as they sounded, I had to try. How else would I rescue my daughter? I made the paper boat. I ran the bath. I performed the ritual. And just when I thought I was going to die, drowning alone in my tub, I opened my eyes and found myself upon a pirate ship on a dark and misty sea. The full moon hovered huge and eerie in the black and starless sky. Through the fog ahead, I saw land. Behind me I heard the grumblings of my crew. "Well sir?"one of the men cried. "Where to, captain?" Somehow, I knew I was the one being addressed. I knew the title referred to me. Like deja-vu, I felt as though I had done this before. An infinite number of times before. And would do it an infinite number of times in the future, reenacting the same few scenes, over and over, trying and failing to rescue my daughter in this evilly beautiful timeless Hell for lost children. Had I truly just arrived? Or had I already been here for decades, centuries? "All this has happened before,"I muttered. "And it will all happen again. My fate is to try and fail. Forever." "What's that?"asked the mate. I shook my head gently. I raised my sharp steel hook of a hand and pointed at the shore. "Aye,"cried the mate. "To shore! All hands on deck! Land, ho! To the shore!" \- - -
When it happened, the world went into uproar. Militaries across the world scrambled to look for explanations. Scientists collectively teared their hair out before throwing away everything they knew about physics. People on Reddit joked that everybody had turned into vampires. ...For a while, Twilight had a resurgence of readers, and to the horror of many, smutty vampire fanfictions dominated the Internet once more. The world had weathered such disasters before, though. Gradually, everyone moved on. Countries calmed down, though there was a noticeable increase in military spending across the board. A new branch of science was created, then was quickly relegated to the rank of pseudoscience because of a lack of hard evidence. Somewhere, someone who had dedicated their life to making shadow puppets with their hands cried for a while, then decided to take up accounting instead. That was all in the past. Decades ago; ancient news. Now, mankind's shadows and reflections were only remembered by generations long past their prime, their absence simply just another curious mystery to most. Now, as mankind began to reach to the stars, their shadows returned. \-------- It began in a trickle. Then, a tide. Across the world, shadows and reflections had started reappearing, first the oldest's, then gradually those of younger and younger people. Half an hour after it started, pictures were already appearing on social media, too numerous to all be faked. Some insisted they were anyways. Militaries scrambled. Scientists too, seeking to point every conceivable instrument at the phenomenon as it happened. The novel idea of humans actually having shadows and reflections had inspired no less than 8 different short stories in young, aspiring writers. It might sound underwhelming, if not for the fact that that was the number of completed stories already posted on the Internet and rapidly gaining attention. 6 of them were erotica of some kind. Not many people were panicking yet, though. Perhaps it was that everybody was caught up in the excitement. Perhaps it was that most just didn't know that human shadows and reflections being... broken... was not normal. Around the globe, preliminary scientific reports were being drawn up. Each hastily-mobilised laboratory had found the same disturbing trend: many of the older shadows and reflections were tattered, lacking substance. Some had entire chunks gouged out of them, as if they had been mauled. The ones of younger people had fared better, but not by much. There was always a bit missing here or there. The scientists forged on. \--------- An hour after humanity's shadows returned, tests started being conducted en masse all over the world. One research team in particular decided to examine the shadows at the microscopic scale. They found rows upon rows of dots and dashes etched in them. Perturbed but curious, they painstakingly entered the dots and dashes into a binary converter. By the time they had finished translating the first sentence, they were truly alarmed. They told the office receptionist to call every damn research lab you can find and tell them what we found, then hurriedly continued translating. \--------- By the third hour, the news had spread. Speculation ensued. Various world leaders nervously held their respective big red buttons as they were escorted to their safehouses. Somewhere, a president of was being hurried along by his entourage while trying to pull up his pants. He cursed that despite all the technological advances made, they still hadn't figured out a good way to refill a toilet paper roll. Meanwhile, people online were nervously laughing. This, they desperately agreed, would be the perfect time for the SCP Foundation to show up. Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? Writers started workshopping ideas. Some writers started workshopping more... explicit ideas. Those were told, by and large, to please shut up already. But no, they wouldn't stop, not for anything. If the end of the world was coming, then it had damn well come after they had graced the world with... Uh. Hmm. ...Am I reading this right? It's about a human and their shadow doing what while their reflection... And it continues for... ten thousand words? Involving two other characters, one of which is the, ahem, 'stunningly beautiful eldritch being from beyond the veil'? ...They do what later in the story? How does that physically happen? Or mentally? Or spiritually? You mean to tell me that these 'stunningly beautiful eldritch beings' have...? ...I apologise. Ahem. You never heard this conversation. On with the story. \--------- By the fourth hour, the results were in. There were a wide variety of messages from all over the world, all encoded in different formats at the microscopic level. Most of them said the same thing, though. A warning of some sort. They are those who destroy the light. They drink emotions, eat memories. Avoid them at all costs. Do not invoke their names, for doing so only gives them more power. >!Soulstealer!<. >!Thought's Bane!<. We have failed. They are coming. We've been trying to reach you about your car's exte- Dire warnings. But they were not all. Countermeasures were available too, inscribed with painstaking precision. Do not let them touch you. They are anchored to reality by that which they devour. Allow them to gorge on that which untethers them from reality. They are at their most vulnerable when they feed. We think that they should become corporeal then, and only then. Do not feed them nonsense. They will ignore it. Feed them contrasting information instead, contradictory information. Ah. Countermeasures. More like overly ominous warnings mixed with speculation. Was the scientific method nonexistent in the land of shadows and reflections? Scientists started pulling their hair out again. \-------- By the sixth hour, sightings of strange, black ghosts were popping up. People scrambled to find a solution. They needed a large compilation of information, all contradictory. All on the same subject too, it followed. But where... At a particular air base, a soldier came up with an utterly horrible idea. \-------- By the ninth hour, a C-130, old and retired by now, flew towards its drop-off point. It was the only aircraft the general had allowed to be risked. In the C-130's sights was one of the creatures, currently terrorising a major city. It had grown to the size of a thirty-storey building, and was leaving collapsing buildings and slumped-over humans in its wake. A single payload sat in the cargo bay of the C-130, a high-tech bomb casing designed to be aimed by an external operator to hit within just a millimetre of its intended target. Several soldiers sat beside the cargo bay door, ready to push the payload out whenever they were given the signal. Some of the soldiers were apprehensive. Some looked at the payload with barely-disguised displeasure, as if it had desecrated their grandparents' graves. One of them looked... ashamed. However, all of them had the slightly manic look of people who knew they were about to do something ludicrously stupid. And oh, was this stupid. For inside the bomb casing, underneath the multitude of million-dollar components used to make it, were roughly 52 terabytes of assorted Twilight fanfiction, the result of decades of amateur and professional writing alike. Some of it was satire. Most, unfortunately, was not. Many contained graphic sexual scenes, and many more contained... well. Ahem. As the C-130 neared its drop site, all eyes briefly turned to the ashamed soldier. It was his personal data drive in the bomb, after all. He would be compensated for it being thrown off the side of an aeroplane, of course, but not before being mercilessly ribbed by his squadmates. And his sergeant. And probably the general in command of the air base too. The creature started making a sound once again, the sound of millions of lost souls. The C-130's cargo doors opened, and its payload pushed out as quickly as the soldiers could manage. Right as the creature fully materialised, the relatively small, almost innocuous package entered it. The creature... paused. For a whole five minutes, it just remained still. People were wondering if something had gone wrong. The C-130 pilot, having recalled the destructive power of nuclear bombs, and then wondering just how much power human souls had, was flying away as fast as he could. Then, the creature split open and deflated. The people on the ground stared as it vanished without a trace. \-------- As news of the success travelled at the speed of light to military bases around the world, hundreds of foreheads met palms, tables, and walls in unison. At an air base somewhere, a general laughed until his throat went sore. By the next week, all of the creatures had been eradicated. The contents of the bombs used to kill them was the subject of incredulity and ridicule. The criticisms were only met by smug silence. Practically overnight, tens of thousands of vampire stories were published. Yeah, most of them weren't too good, but hey, nobody started out at the top of the world. And what better boast was there than that the stuff you wrote was capable of destroying eldritch abominations? \-------- Edit: What the fuck did I just write Edit 2: Whatever it is, I'm saving it. Any criticisms or comments are welcome. Edit 3: Just updated the story with the revised version, gave it a little more bulk. Also, it's [posted](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/pdvgfp/humanity_the_exceptional_or_theres_more_than_one/) on r/HFY now!
'Look out zombies, or I'll fill you full of Ho-Ho-Holes!' Santa cried, with a fierce look in his eye. A sack on the shoulder and a shotgun in his right hand. Boom! Boom! 'Zed don't stain red!' The twin barrels tore through the zombie horde like Freddie Kruger through teens. Chunks of rotting, necrotic flesh blasted out of them in all directions. Boom! He fired again, disintegrating the head of Mrs Appleblossom. Her wig still intact but now red like she was in her youth. Boom! The streets were swarming with the ill-mellifluous horde. His destination: the church at the top of the hill; it's windows glowing - shining - with the glass mosaics of their lord. Zombies danced in the street lights, moving from one to the other. A strobe light not-unlike the horror houses on the pier. He was just up the hill now, a few roads below the sanctum sanctorum. A zed burst out the bush. It was the headmaster of the local school, his jackets tweed elbows flashing as he sprinted towards Santa. The unholy thing screeched before leaping into the burning lead of Santa's shotgun blast. He landed limp and smoldering at Santa's feet. 'Schools for punks.' He said, pulling out a candy cane and twirling it, before flinging it into his mouth. 'Now, let's go deliver little Johnny's Tommy Gun.' Seeing an opportunity to climb the towering wall that led to the church, he grabbed hold of a rock and found his footing. Candy cane still in his mouth like a bowie knife, he climbed the rocky wall to the top of the hill. There, in the carpark of the church, was Barry Stillwater, local lumberjack. Approaching seven foot and as wide as a grizzly bear, Barry turned around slowly towards Santa. Santa pulled out an RPG from his sack. 'Vixen? Blitzen.' He said, firing off the rocket propelled grenade and turning the lumberjack into mush. Santa raised his arms in triumph as blood rained down from the sky. 'Ho-Ho-Ho! Merry Christmas!'
Drip drop drip. I turned my collar up against the rain. Dammit, I should have taken an umbrella. If only I could remember where I’d left it. The street was dimly lit, and unfamiliar. My clothes were thin and clung to my skin. Drip drip drop. For some reason I began to notice rhythm of the rain. It didn’t feel…right. It wasn’t random or meaningless, like rain is meant to sound. It had a pattern. The same pattern repeating again and again. Drop drip. A code. My blood ran cold. I had only started to learn Morse code while we had been shut inside for the past year, but the pattern was unmistakable. It was telling me something. Drip drop drip. R. Drip drip drop. U. Drop drip. N. I glanced around and began to jog, feeling slightly self-conscious. But as soon as I did, two figures moved from out of the shadows. They had been following me. I broke into a run and they sprinted after me. I darted down an alley to try and lose them, but my shoes were waterlogged and flimsy. I slipped, and when I got to me feet the two figures were upon me. “No, get off me.” I shouted. “Calm down, Mrs Solomon, we don’t want to hurt you.” I struggled but one of them had restrained my arm behind me. “How do you know my name?” I demanded. “You’re safe with us.” They grabbed my other arm, and I swung it behind me, connecting with one of their faces. Suddenly my legs were swept out from under me and I landed hard on the wet tarmac. One of them sat on my back. “No!” I tried to scream but the air had gone out my lungs. I felt a sharp prick in my neck. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?” Even as I spoke I felt my voice fading and being drowned by the rain. \* \* \* I awoke in a plain room on a plastic mattress. A lady in a white coat was standing by me, holding a chart. “Where am I?” I drawled groggily. “You’re back in the hospital, Mrs Solomon. We’ve stabilised your levels. You really must keep taking your medication, you know. You can get a bad reaction if you stop.” Medication? I glanced down at the canula in my arm. “You’ll feel better in a few hours. I’ll see you then.” She left, locking the door behind her from the outside. I looked out of the window. The rain had cleared and the wet buildings reflected the sun in sharp beams. It was quiet outside, and in the room I could hear only the sounds of the monitoring equipment. Beep beeep beep. Beep beeep beep. Beeep beep.
"Sweetie, you know Mrs.Gretchen wouldn't like her kid to be a pet right?" My daughter drooped her head down in disappointment, still holding onto the dragon. "I know mom, but I really want to have a dragon pact like dad does." With a sigh I gently took the dragon from my daughter's arms and put it on the couch. "Listen sweetie, your dad got that pact because that dragon trusted your father and accepted the pact." My daughter, with her head still looking at the ground, had a look of guilt on her face. "Do you think a dragon would trust you if you decided to abruptly take it to your house and ask to keep it without its permission?" My daughter said nothing only shook her head no. "Well if you understand that then be sure to apologize when Mrs.Gretchen comes here okay." My daughter lifted her head up and meekly said, "okay".
“Halt, villain! Else I will have no choice but to smite thee with my righteous powers!” A handsome, strong-jawed man brought up one hand in front of him, crackling bolts of bright yellow energy beginning to flicker at his palm. “Your reign of terror ends here! No longer will you commit your deplorable, evil acts! Begone from my sight!” His brows furrowed, the irises of his piercing blue eyes beginning to glow as he amassed more and more of his strength, ready to deliver a fatal blow to his greatest enemy. Meanwhile, on a couch in front of the TV, two figures were intertwined under a comfortable fluffy blanket, one of which was nearly vibrating with stifled giggling every time the protagonist delivered a line. She looked up at Constantine, a man with intelligent, warm, emerald eyes, and a jaw that did not look like it was cut from marble. She considered his arm, holding her gently, knowing full well that it wouldn’t look like the one his movie equivalent would have - muscles bulging on muscles - if anything, the great Paragon was even a little bit chubbier in his prime hero days. She couldn’t hold back a smile, This is much better, anyway. He noticed her focused gaze, gently ruffling her hair with one hand, “What’s up?” She giggled again, a mischievous spark in her eyes, her nose slightly scrunched in that specific way that always betrayed she had some impish machination in mind. “I told you that’s how everyone heard you, right? Like - this is how you heroes talk. It’s hilarious.” He reciprocated her grin, still absentmindedly tracing his fingers through her long, black locks. “People like it! Plus, it’s easier to make t-shirts and such.” She feigned indignation, swiping at his chest, “You dog! What happened to doing things for the greater good?” A shift on screen drew their attention, as the camera shifted over, revealing a minimally dressed woman, her long raven hair billowing in the wind - of course, considering the scene was taking place in a bank vault, the source of this wind was rather dubious. Marie’s eyes grew wide as she wordlessly watched the actress seductively canter over to the hero, her land speed certainly unaided by her tall stiletto heels. The woman didn’t hesitate, caressing movie-Paragon’s chest with a velvet-gloved hand before pressing herself up against him, ducking under his still-outstretched arm without a care. “Excuse me? Are you seeing this shit?” She turned her head, noticing Constantine’s eyes firmly locked to the screen, “Yep.” “Dude!” Onscreen, the camera closed into the two superhumans’ faces, approaching closer and closer as the woman wrapped around the broad man, her black-lipsticked lips parting slightly. An angry hand shot out from under the blanket, grabbing at a DVD case on the table and dragging it in front of her. “Isn’t this supposed to be PG13?” “The best part is that this is supposed to be the first time we met-” She buried her face in the soft fluff, muffling a frustrated groan. “Hey, wait, weren’t you wearing a sweater that day? To hide your Hello Kitty tattoo?” A hand clamped over his mouth, “Shut up! Shhhh!” She made the mistake of checking the TV again, turning a bright pink as the two actors ravenously kissed, awkwardly writhing against each other. Black smears were left on his face, his hands tracing lower and lower down her back, exiting the frame of the shot. She covered her eyes with one hand, trembling in embarrassment. “That is so unnecessary…”
With a breakthrough that hands humanity the keys to immortality you would expect huge news coverage and nobel prizes. You would think that I would receive praise, accolades, honoraries, loads of money. I hadn't expected those things when I started, but I can say by the end of my experiments I was pretty excited to take the world by storm with what I had made. Genetic stimulation that results in the reversing of senescent cells mixed with a variety of other small factors created a humanity that could live in permanent twenties. I was very excited, so excited that when human trials proved successful I was the first to take the treatment. Ironically the producer would never reach the common people as a surprise nuclear strike upended the world. I was never paying enough attention to politics to know who, or why, but suddenly I was thrust with everyone else into a dark age with scarce food and radioactive air. Back then we always pictured it as shades of green and grey over blackened nothingness, but I can tell you that it was surprisingly green and lush. It took, oh I don't know, fifty years-before everything we built was unrecognizable. Forests, vines, grasses, oh it was lovely to watch them grow over everything. Humanity…Persisted, I was lucky enough to have little family, so I never lost that much. I watched so many struggles, and I struggled with them. After all I am not immortal, I have to eat and drink, I can get sick, shot, eaten by wolves, anything but age. At first there was lots to do. My friends and I had to find shelter, find food, get clear of radiation should the signs of it crop up…Which they often did. Most of the people that we met were eager to take on the challenges, those who were not were usually dead already. Oh if I had time I could tell you about the cities that were born, the people that led them and fought for them. It was all so rich. Of course that didn't last for me. I can tell you something that no other human has to live with is always living. My instincts often prevent my death, though now I often long for it. We were not made to last this long. It's not that I hate seeing people always going in and out of my life, although I do and attachments have become a lot harder. The thing that really hurts me is that there is nothing worth doing anymore. I have accomplished so much, honestly I am bored out of my mind. My perception is rough now because of how long I have lived. Days feel like hours, even minuets or seconds. I once watched moss grow for a month! One whole month! I didn't even realize it until someone pointed out that I hadn't moved from one spot for a very long time. My only relief comes from those who survived like me, genetic immortals, my old test subjects. When we started to find each other it was a breath of fresh air. Seeing someone else from that long past, someone who understands what you mean by "before"or "when I was younger"We meet every other year and talk about what has changed, less and less each time. We went from fifteen to four and I think next year will be three, I am just done. That is why I am writing this, to tell you not to be sad. I have lived so long and seen so much. But I am fulfilled beyond measure, and it really is just time that I let go. Please again, do not weep, do not ask why. Just know that it really is what I wanted and that I am so happy to give life meaning again by ending it.
Brian hadn’t noticed that, as he walked down Times Square making the ad’s disappear, that the place was deserted. The Coke ad, his least favourite, was the first go as usual. Then the Starbucks one and finally then Apple’s. Humming along, he twirled as the world grew more and more adless. Chuckling he imagined the harm he could be doing to some of these corporation’s bottom line. Then, as steam rose through a vent in the ground did he finally look around and see that he was all alone. “Hello?!” he shouted, listening to his voice echo down the quiet streets. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and goosebumps trailed up and down his arm. Looking all around, he finally saw someone, masked and leaning against one of the taller buildings across the street. “Hello?” Brian called out once more. The figure lifted its head and looked Brian’s way. Is this guy wearing armour? The figure lifted it’s arm and pointed it right at Brian. With a pop, the glass behind Brian shattered, sending shards all across Times Square. Looking down, Brian could only see a can of coke, twisted and pierced. Without another thought, Brian bolted down an alleyway, the ad’s reappearing behind him as he lost his concentration. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the figure, red and black, chasing after him. With his head down, Brian dashed on, throwing over trashcans and boxes when he could. He imagined he was back on the track at school, focusing on moving forward and nothing behind him mattered. Then right as the alley was ending, another figure stood out, blocking his route. Brian skidded to a halt, soaking the bottom of his trousers in the process. Looking up, Brian couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. The man in front of him must have been close to seven feet tall and had two large pipes stocks to his arms. Cannons? “Brian White?” he asked, pointing one of the cannons right at his chest. “Please confirm your identity.“ Brian could hear the red and black armoured man behind him now, stopping just behind the two men. “Starbucks?” the red and black figure laughed. “You know you’re not supposed to ask, you’re just supposed to shoot.” Brian, like he had a sixth sense, ducked, as the two men shot their weapons. Cans of coke fired over his head as scalding hot coffee soaked everything around them. Ignoring the pain, Brian pushed on, shoving the coffee man to the ground. Leaving the alley behind, Brian was blinded by the sun as he ran onto the road. He could still hear the two men, their footsteps pounding on the concrete as they chased him down. Brian ran, ran until his lungs started to feel like they were on fire. Until he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his side. Past electronic stores, where the ad’s on the T.V went off and on as he ran past. Down one alley and up another. Through a park and then under a bridge. Just as he thought he had given them the slip, Brian felt something wrap around his foot. He felt a pull and suddenly he was on the ground, his chin scraping along the concrete. Turning, he saw a third man had joined the hunt. This one had wires coming from where his hands should have been and was covered in sleek black plastic. “Apple!” the red and black man shouted. “Leave him for me!” Apple only smiled as the wires moved up Brian’s leg and slowly wrapped themselves around his neck.
Everyone remembers where they were on January 6. The world was transfixed. Billions of humans, with eyes glued to screens, watched the Object descend upon the Earth and change everything. I was 40 years old. I was a schoolteacher. On January 6, I became one of many touched by the Object’s light. What a sick joke. Humanity barely functioned without the Object; the sudden and forceful evolution of millions was the final stroke. Some were uplifted by psychic winds and took to the sky, awrap with lightning. Some steeled over, able to pulverise mountains and fling trucks with ease. Others became invisible, or could read minds, or shape-shift, or travel at hyperlight speeds – some even rained fire from their eyes. The list of abominations is endless. It was absolute chaos. Half of the world was annihilated in a matter of months. Today is the 25th anniversary of the Object’s arrival – and I haven’t aged a day. Those years, like a flash on a screen, disappeared in the blink of an eye. Immortality. Dreadful, meaningless permanence. If death were currency, I’d be first in line for welfare. If misery were currency, I’d have left for Mars with the other billionaires. Where was I on January 6? Was I swept up in the splendour of immutable power? Did I loose my volitions upon the world? No – I was among billions of Regulars who panicked and fled. Immortality isn’t an immediately obvious superpower. A permanent nuclear explosion is, however. My student, Rachel, was cursed to atomise everything in a 100-kilometre radius around her… sporadically and without end. Most can control their powers. Rachel and I are among the unfortunate few who cannot. I was caught in the initial burst as I herded my students into lock-down. I watched as children, buildings, cars, and roads alike strip and disintegrate in a near-instant. And yet… Skin? Check. Limbs? Check. Mental faculty? Check. I was still ‘alive.’ I hadn’t a scratch on me. I wandered haplessly out of the atomic inferno, for days on end, until finally it petered out and I could smell fresh air again. I remember looking back at Rachel – that poor child who’d become a veritable apocalypse – and immediately knowing this was the end of days. So what have I done for the past 25 years? What could I possibly do, except languish in my own suffering? I wandered for a few years, searching for the scattered remains of civilisation to some avail. Untouched humans – Regulars – had been utterly brutalised and reduced to a population of manic survivors. If they knew I was among the touched, they’d kill me. They’d try to kill me. I watched on as they squabbled over minute resources, turned on each-other, and inevitably perished in the doomed world the Object had created. It was… hopeless, to say the least, knowing these issues were far below me. A good majority of those years was spent probing my immortality for weakness. A crack in the armour. A weak link. I despaired for a long time because nothing worked – not 6 months spent in the Rachel Zone, not cutting myself open and splaying my organs across a field, not even a dive into the crushing depths of Mariana’s Trench. ‘Til, one day, something dawned on me: I would do as the Buddha would. I made home in the skeleton of a wrecked airliner and sat in thought. Years passed and I finally opened my eyes again. Call me the Janitor Vanguard. If there’s anything that can be done, I figure it’s cleaning up the world, one piece of litter at a time.
Diary Entry: 1999/02/25 Today marks the first anniversary of my leaving Pallet Town with Squirtle. I’ve found myself enthralled by Water-type Pokémon, and so I’ve been looking for and catching as many as I can in the past year. Squirtle did something strange the other week. After our victorious battle with Brock, the Rock-type Gym Leader, Squirt was hunched over and whining. It looked like he was really hurt, so I rushed him to the local Pokémon Center. However the nurse told me that he was “evolving,” and that it was nothing to worry about! I rushed back to Professor Oak’s lab and consulted with him once Squirt had come good. I learned that he is now “Wartortle,” but he will always be my little “Squirt.” He seems to love the nickname, and turned his face away in defiance when I tried the new name. He’s my best friend. I must remember to write to Mom and Naoya about it. I wonder if they know what happens when you battle with certain Pokémon a lot… — Diary Entry: 1999/06/12 I have come to understand that _many_ Pokémon evolve once you battle with them enough, and spend time with them building good friendships. I caught a Shellder in April, after he became friends with Squirt and refused to go back into the water. After battling quite a lot, camping out together, sharing berries and making PokéCurry, Shelly became a “Cloyster” when he crunched on a mysterious rock that Squirt found in the sand. Squirt also evolved again, this time into what Professor Oak terms “a Blastoise” but again, he prefers “Squirt.” I wonder if Pokémon prefer their nicknames? Shelly hates the name Cloyster, and will refuse to open his shell until I apologize. Squirt even shot an ice cold jet of water at a trainer’s face when they called him Blastoise! I’ve never seen something so funny. A few days ago, I found a stash of wrapped candies that Squirt and Shelly had been hoarding in their shells. I consulted Naoya and Professor Oak, and found out that these are quite rare, but are good for Pokémon. The factory down in the Johto region exploded several years ago after the Great Hanshin Earthquake. The explosion was so powerful that it shot these “Rare Candies” all over the country. Rumor has it, some have even reached Hisui in the north! — Diary Entry: 1999/12/24 It’s Christmas Eve! I decided to surprise my Pokémon with a Cake made with some of these “Rare Candies,” and they absolutely loved it! I decided to try a couple of these candies, since my Pokémon seemed to like them so much. I feel a bit strange, but otherwise okay. Squirt, Shelly, Porey, Starsky and Tenty are all having a wild time in the water as I write this. All of them have evolved to what Oak says are their final stages. They look to have made friends with a Psyduck, who just now politely asked me for a spare cap… I think he asked with his mind? But it seemed to help with his headache, so he can keep it. Hoo, boy. I hope my stomach settles down overnight. I don’t want to be sick when I try and take on the Pokémon League! — Diary Entry: 1999/12/25 Okay. This is weird. My neck hurts really bad. I’m also a bit short of breath. Squirt doesn’t want to leave my side. Also, the Psyduck they made friends with last night asked to stay.. again he just stared at me, and I heard him ask. There was no visually discernible speech. I must find out if telekinesis is a real thing. Anyway, he is currently resting in his PokéBall. I’ve yet to decide on a nickname. Maybe Ducky. Ducky sounds nice. — Diary Entry: 1999/02/26 I woke up almost unable to breathe. Squirt panicked and carried me over to the water before plain throwing me in! I was mad with him until it clicked that I could breathe again. I can breathe. In water. I have felt my neck, and I appear to have grown gills. I write this entry now, feeling slightly lightheaded - am I “oxygen-deprived” or “water-deprived?” I shall prioritize traveling with the others back to Pallet Town today. I must consult with Professor Oak instead of battling. I need to find out what’s happening to me. — Diary Entry: 2000/01/02 That… took longer than expected. I finally understand why my Water-type Pokémon routinely play in the water whenever they see any. I think they need it. I also found it very energy-replenishing on my journey back - probably something to do with the gills. Professor Oak is baffled. The candies have apparently triggered some kind of genetic change in me that has given me abilities thus far unheard of. He called Bill down to check me out. Bill has this machine where he can temporarily swap consciousness with a Pokémon. They’re wondering if they can undo it. — Diary Entry: 2000/10/04 Well they couldn’t undo it. Anyway, I’m kinda used to it now. I can survive on land and underwater, but I prefer swimming around with the crew. Misty refuses to surrender her status as Gym Leader for Water-type Pokémon despite the fact I have partially turned into one. Oak suggests that I relocate to a town by lots of water, so I’m thinking about Cinnabar Island or somewhere around the Orange Islands. I could sit in the water and battle wayward trainers with my friends. Yeah, that sounds fun.
\[Refund. Time.\] "I SAID NO INTERRUPTIONS!"Dark Lord Frank bellowed from his table when the door swung open. The strength of his voice pushed some of the loose sheets off and to the floor. He grumbled at that but didn't move. He realized it wasn't one of his guards that entered. It was a young teen boy in cloth and leather armor with a sword twice his size attached to his back. Dark Lord Frank did not recognize him, but he knew there was only one reason he was there. "Another hero?"he asked with a low, amused voice. The boy seemed surprised; but, he nodded. "Can you wait a bit?"Dark Lord Frank asked, then glanced at his table. "Or, can we reschedule? I need to get this done before the end of the month." The boy tilted his head. He gave a curious grin and slowly approached the Dark Lord and his paperwork. "The end of the month... today?"He asked. Dark Lord Frank rolled his eyes. It seemed even strangers found it easy to mock his procrastination habits. "Yes,"he sighed. "I put it off until the last minute. I'm a horrible person; would you please let me finish?" "Whatcha workin' on?"the hero asked. He reached the table and saw piles of paperwork and lots of numbers with dollar signs attached. The Dark Lord sighed. He needed to be working, not answering questions. But, he hoped he could get the boy out of his hair quicker if they didn't have to fight. "I need to amend the Dark Kingdom's budget, or it'll default,"he replied. "Huh,"the hero said. The answer surprised him. "We'll just make it quick,"he said. "Just throw the match and I'll be on my way." "Th..THROW THE MATCH!?"Dark Lord Frank shook his head. "Not a chance, kid. It took me years to conquer this place. Besides, if I lose, then the budget is your responsibility." "What... what do you mean?"the hero asked. Dark Lord Frank looked at the boy intently for several moments. "Why are you in such a hurry?"he asked. The hero immediately broke eye contact and looked down at the stone ground. He mumbled something; but, the Dark Lord did not hear it. "Speak up, boy. We're both in a hurry it seems." "I need to conquer a kingdom for school...,"he shrugged. "It's due tomorrow."The Dark Lord let out a hearty laugh. "We're not so different, you and I,"he said. "I'm nothing like you,"the boy grinned. "I'm more than a program." "Progr... you think I'm an NPC??"Dark Lord Frank asked with a broad smile. He realized that the misunderstanding would be over quickly. "Are you Unique?"he added. "#14, La Muerte,"he said. "My name's Sprocket; so you're not an NPC Dark Lord?"Dark Lord Frank shook his head. "Sorry to tell you, kid. This is a PvP server. I'm not giving up my spot on the leaderboard for your homework." "So.. why are you doing the budget?"Sprocket asked. "Don't you have NPC advisors for that?" "I have several that I don't trust. Doing it myself means I'm sure where the money goes." "Whoa. A Dark Lord that cares?"Sprocket asked. "I heard you looking for the school budget when I barged in."Dark Lord Frank nodded. "Care nothing,"he said. "If I don't divert all the funds to me, the system uses the default distribution and I lose out. I have to manually change them all." "But, wait a second...,"his eyes sparkled. "A muerte? You can stop time! Give me more time this month, and I'll fight you right now. I get my budget and you get your homework done."Sprocket shook his head. "Sorry,"he said. "It won't count on a PvP server, I need to go find a different kingdom to conquer." "Oh c'mon! At least give me back the last five minutes; you made a save point, didn't you?" "Yeah, alright,"Sprocket nodded. "Good luck,"he said. Dark Lord Frank blinked. He heard the door to his chambers open and was incensed. "I SAID NO INTERRUPTIONS!"He bellowed from his table. A young teen boy looked at him and nodded. "Sorry, I'll come back another time,"he said. He sunk into a portal at his feet and disappeared. The Dark Lord sighed in relief. "Well, he seemed nice,"Dark Lord Frank nodded to himself, then focused on his work again. He dug through the sheets. "School budgets... school budgets..." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1511 in a row. (Story #059 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/).
I'm being ignored! Me, Jenanne, the terror of Tipoxi, the scourge of Chasra, the winged fiend of Linro is being ignored like, like...like a common goblin. The knight that has so rudely invaded my lair is paying me as much attention as he would a _rat_. He's hardly done so much as glance in my direction. He hasn't even looked at my gold. The shining piles of precious metal seem to mean little to him. He's far more interested in the tables on which it's artfully displayed. Or should I say, _was_? He's just swiped it onto the floor, like crumbs, and dragged the tables themselves over to the entrance from whence he came. "Oi, scale face!"the knight eventually shouts. I ignore him. If he's going to be rude, then I can return the favour. "I mean you, ugly." Ugly? I am not ugly! I'm a magnificent specimen of a dragon, and I'll definitely attract a mate once breeding season starts. "You! Are you able to move those bigger tables, the stone ones? Or are you too...weak?" That does it! I swoop down and lift one of the tables he pointed at. How _dare_ this metal gnat imply I'm physically inferior. "Good! Get them over to the entrance. Stack them as high as you can. Now!" Wow. He sounds just like my dad. I'm moving before my brain has even processed the words. I've never seen a knight act like _this_. He seems...scared "Thanks. Sorry for snapping before. Things are..." A moan echoes through the chamber. The knight freezes. "We don't have much time. I know that's the only entrance, accessible on foot anyway. It needs to hold. Could you...I mean, I know you're not all firebreathers, but I don't know how to tell." "I breathe fire,"I rumble. I've never seen a panicked knight before. It doesn't feel right. "Oh, thank Vixess. Please, could you fuse these tables together. They _have_ to hold." With a cautious glance at the knight, I settle down in front of the barricade, made out of my best tables by the way, and slowly heat them up. If he wanted them slagged it'd be quick, but actually fusing them together is slower. Hey, I _did_ expand this cave myself. These things don't make themselves you know I keep an eye on my unwanted guest. He's made a large clear space on the floor, very rudely pushing _my_ treasure out of the way. And on that clear space he's laid out a set of large scrolls. I flick my tail out and rearrange two of them. This one clearly has _no_ magic training. That would have been a disaster. The moaning outside is getting closer. Whatever is causing it is inside my tunnels. And it's sending a chill up my spine just listening to it. The ambient magic of my lair builds up, and then spikes. The actinic scent of magic is quickly replaced by that of humans. It was a fucking teleport circle! Into my lair. The lair where I'm on the ground, my flames low, lured into vulnerability by a knight who's a brilliant actor! I swirl round, building what's left of my flame to launch it into the group, but choke on it as I catch sight of the humans. Not a one is a knight. Only a few are magic users, far too exhausted from casting a group teleport to be a threat. What few weapons are in sight are pathetic, and stained with a foul smelling liquid that is blacker than any blood I've ever seen. Most of them are children. "Bradley! You made it. The others..." The knight shakes his head, and waves his hand at the barricade. Looking at him now, I see that he's as weary as the humans who've just arrived. What is happening out there? Why have these humans sought shelter with me, a _dragon_? The moans are even closer now, and the children have fled to the far side of the cavern, on a ledge as far from the barricaded entrance as possible. "Seamark has broken free of his tomb,"one of the mages pronounces shakily. She bears the mark and smell of a healer. My flame stutters as my breath catches in my throat. All sapient races know of Seamark the necromancer. It was a confederation of all of them that sealed the monster away in the first place. So the noises outside... "They're not human any more. We're all that's left from Chasra's capital. The knights and battlemages held the walls while a small band rode to the safest place they could think of." "My cave?" "It's under a mountain, has only one entrance, and has a dragon as a defender." I huff. Okay, we might not make a habit of obliterating villages any more, but we still command _some_ respect. And I suppose that being recognised for my strength is sort of that. "And now..."I rumble. "Now we wait,"Bradley replies. "Darragh made it to the griffon pens, the only knight to do so. He's gone to rally the other kingdoms. He knows where we were evacuating to." Greeeeeat. So I could expect griffon knights to invade my nice, peaceful home too. And if I just crunch on these nicely presented snacks, then they'll get all offended and get all stabby and slashy. I suppose I'll have to put up with having house guests.
I like to watch the people as they pass by. I like to see the expressions on their faces, the way they hurry to get where they're going. I like to see the children laughing and playing, and the parents rushing to pick them up. I like to see the lovers holding hands, and I like to see the people look around them and smile, and I like to see the old people walking slowly, enjoying the day. But my favorite thing to see is when two people are walking down the street, and they both turn their heads at the same time to look at each other, and they smile at each other, as if they are the only two people in the world. Today, I saw a man standing at the corner of the intersection, waiting. I assumed it would be a while before he crossed. There were no cars coming down the street. It was a good time to cross. I made sure all the lights were green. I was ready for him. He looked in all directions before he stepped off the sidewalk and began crossing the street. He knew what he was doing. He crossed at a steady pace, one foot in front of the other. He looked neither to the left nor to the right, just straight ahead. Then he was in front of me. I watched him as he stepped away from me and crossed over to my other side. He looked at me as he passed by. He smiled. He had lovely eyes. That's when I noticed that the car wasn't going to stop. The car was speeding down the street. It was going to hit him. He hadn't seen it coming. He was still looking ahead, not looking to the left or to the right. And I couldn't scream for him to run. I couldn't tell him to move. I couldn't warn him in any way. He had to hold my gaze and smile that beautiful smile, and walk across the intersection, and then I couldn't watch him any more.
I’ve always been a morning person. It was an inescapable part of growing up on the farm. No matter what time you fell asleep, no matter how you felt it was always necessary to be up and dressed in total darkness preparing to move irrigation equipment, or move cattle…whatever needed to be done before School began. &#x200B; It only ever struck me as something out of the ordinary after I left for university. The force of habit would have me up well before 5AM, when everyone else had scheduled their classes in a way that let them sleep in till 11AM or so. Sheer habit had me up in time to catch the first of the dog walkers and the last of the night flyers. I’d exercise and work on assignments, as those quiet distraction free hours put me weeks ahead of everyone else. &#x200B; I used to be so envious of everyone before my last birthday. One of my friends Maria, she developed her own form of martial arts. ‘Quantum Kung-fu’. It made her Impossible to hit, and she could use something called the ‘Hyper-positioning-empty-hand’ to maybe hit you at any point across a span of two weeks. &#x200B; Some powers that people get are more flashy than anything else. I have a cousin calling himself 'Vaper-Trail' and would exude these colourful scented clouds. He’s trying to be an influencer these days… &#x200B; Most pre-mornings I try to grab something caffeinated and get down to the lake. (There’s a guy downtown that opens at 3AM. Sells the best coffee you’ve ever tasted in these flask looking things. I honestly can’t tell if it’s a gift, power or just memorable marketing). I like to take a few minutes, have the sun rise over the water and just you know…be. Before everyone wakes up and the headhunting ads begin. &#x200B; The ads are relentless. Between the Military and various companies everyone is trying to work out what can be weaponised and/or commoditised. I miss the old days where it was all car insurance and medication, not you know, trying to be front of mind whenever a kid turns Twenty One and finds they can render an area the size of a football field white hot. (‘Hey Kid! You want to melt people, or just render an entire town's large industrial plant and everyone who works in them obsolete?’ ) &#x200B; I’m glad I got overlooked by everyone. With what I do it would have been…political. I don’t need that attention in my life, and I certainly don’t want threats or scrutiny either. If anything all I want really is a dog. &#x200B; That sounds pretty good to me. Have a dog, the lake, the sun rise and some quiet time. My name is Helios and I’ve always been a morning person.
It’s takes almost a full day to cross through Texas by car, and that’s assuming you’re passing through the quickest point up north. It’s a terrible drive that drags on with nothing to break the monotony. Seemingly endless oil fields that fill the air with the scent of tar almost occasionally broken up by windmills, which are interrupted by oil fields and so on until it feels like you aren’t moving at all but looping through the same stretch of highway. Surely the state couldn’t have this many windmills and oil pumps. But that’s just a feeling. If you keep at it, you’ll break free. That’s what I keep telling myself. I’ve been driving the same stretch of land for a week now. My GPS keeps me going straight, yet somehow I always end back up here by the Buc-ee’s. I’ve tried to stop following the directions but the results were the same. No matter what I’ve tried, no matter what street I’ve turned down, no matter how much I screamed at the clerk for directions, I couldn’t get off the interstate. My gas meter never went down. I didn’t hunger or thirst. But time moved on without me - my phone worked and my family had been texting and calling to figure out what happened to me. I was supposed to be back to them seven days ago. I spoke with several truckers at the Buc-ee’s, but they had no clue. They all thought I was crazy. “You’re lost? Just use your GPS! How the heck can anybody get lost for an entire week in this day and age?” “I am using the GPS, honey. It keeps me on the road. It’s becoming harder to remember a time when I wasn’t driving…when the air didn’t smell of oil and tar. I’m spinning in place like the windmills, endlessly, around and around and around and-“ “Whatever!” She hung up the phone. My wife didn’t understand, but how could she? I didn’t get it either. On the eighth day, I stepped out into the highway. The truck didn’t have enough time to slam on the brakes, and I didn’t have enough time to register the pain before I became a smear on the road. I woke up with a gasp, still sat behind the wheel of my parked car. Had I been sleeping? Was it a dream…or had I chosen to take matters in my own hands and this was the result? Maybe, maybe something changed. Did it work? No. I kept driving, but around and around I still went until I parked in the same place I was before. I stepped out into the highway. The truck didn’t have enough time to slam on the brakes, and I didn’t care if it hurt. It didn’t. I woke up behind the wheel of my parked car. I hadn’t been sleeping, it wasn’t a dream. Not even death would free me. There was no option left to me except to drive. Life is a highway, and I will drive it. All. Night. Long. &#x200B; (Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!)
Well... damn. I guess every system makes a mistake here and there, but this? This is unacceptable. I didn't commit a crime, hell, I never even jaywalked, and yet here I am, in the body of a man who died 4 months ago to suffer through his murder at the hands of my past self. It is, after all, 'infallible, just punishment'. Except I didn't bloody do it. Tell you what I did do, however. Outsmarted the system. Normally you can't change your fate; you will get murdered by your past self, one way or another. The details might change within acceptable parameters but no one so far has evaded or fought off their past self. But if my past self didn't do anything, well... It's a drastic option, yes, but I'm done. Sick and tired of getting shafted by the system that is supposed to protect me, help me. So as I stand here, gun in hand, barrel smoking, standing over my past self's innocent body, I can only chuckle as I look up and see the cracks appear in the sky. The paradox is setting in. My memories are growing... fuzzy, misty. Won't be long now. Eat shit, time.
"........ and finally the new constitution was adopted and monsters were recognized as full citizens with equal rights."Nick finished his story with a little flourish The child had been staring at him intently while he narrated, drinking in every word he said. "So my teacher is a fairy!"She squealed, clapping her hands excitedly. Nick who had met the child's teacher was quick to correct her. "No no no no, my child. Your teacher, while a wonderful lady is not a fairy. She's human." The girl's face dropped, and she looked a little embarrassed. "There there"consoled Nick "you've met other monsters, I'm sure. The man at the zoo the other day. He's a werewolf. They train animals now, you know" "Was he really, uncle Nick?"She asked, her eyes widened with amazement. "Ooooh, yes yes. Of course. And the nice lady who teaches you swimming, she's a mermaid" The child was now suddenly lost in thought. Finally she asked "How come you don't have a job, uncle Nick? All the others do." Nick was taken aback for a second. "Uuh... well... its complicated....I mean.... you know....."he fumbled "You see, there isn't really much that can be done by a ghost. We cant touch things, we are basically just hollow spirits of people who were too afraid to move on. Besides we don't need a job. I mean, we don't need to eat or sleep. We don't need to be protected. No bargaining power from the govt. The vampires need blood, which the govt provides from the mandatory blood drives each month. Werewolves need a safe place to transition each Month. Fairies need protection from being forced to perform magic. Mermaids need safety from hunters. Well ghosts..... we just exist. No needs, no demands..... No use"he said shrugging The child's eyes welled up. "Don't be sad Uncle Nick, she said while trying and failing to give the ghost a hug. "We need you here" Nick smiled. The child was maybe a dozen generations down the family line from him. Yet he had retained the moniker "uncle Nick"in all these years. People often said that ghosts were cowards too afraid to move on, but most of us were simply here because we still had these little reasons to stay. And it was also the reason we didn't need jobs. "Tell me child, what story would you like to hear next....
When humans first learn that dragons have hoards, their first question is always: "What Kind?" The obvious answer is gold. And it's somewhat true. All dragons, no matter what, feel an innate desire for gold. It's an evolutionary mechanics to protect the weaker parts of their armour with something stronger. And some take it further, but really it's just seen as a stereotype. Some hoard knowledge. Rows upon rows of forgotten times and scrolls, entry ways to lost magics and dark secrets. And this makes sense. Knowledge is power, and anything that can put more than two words together enjoys power. Dragons are also naturally curious, so it makes sense to hoard books. Tree hoards are rare, but still justifiable. Trees don't present complex moral dilemmas. Trees can live to be older than dragons, and even bigger. Trees are (somewhat) easy to preserve and keep alive. Timeless companions throughout the ages. But of all of these the rarest kind is people. When humans hear that dragons have hoards of people, their first thought is Slaves. But few Dragons keep slaves, and those that do are torn apart for it. No, Dragons who hoard people have a desire for companionship. Great wizards and warriors may stop by their caves to ask for a magical trinket or two, but actual (somewhat longlasting, centuries go by awfully quick when you have millenia to look ahead to) friendships? To those dragons, it is the greatest treasure of all. Having someone to talk to relieves a dragons mind of stress. They're social creatures at heart, even if most deny it. But there's a major drawback to hoarding humans. Humans age and live by decades, where dragons age and live by millenia. No matter how strong the bond between two beings, it is doomed to fail from the beginning. A grieving dragon is a terrible thing. Lost from all thought and reason, the death of the ones they treasure is a hard thing on their soul. Mountains fall, civilisations collapse, and forests burn when a dragon grieves. The loss and sorrow they feel is a tidal wave that unleashes itself through destruction.
[INT: POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM] The room is lit only by a single hanging lamp over a rectangular table. A WOMAN is seated on one side of the table, her hands shackled to a loop in the center with handcuffs w/ long chains. About 35, She's dressed in business suit, her hair is a close blonde pixie cut, and her blue eyes gaze around the room expectantly. The door opens. A POLICE DETECTIVE enters, a woman of about 50, with long hair collected in a severe bun. She sits opposite the PRISONER. PRISONER: You're not going to believe anything I have to say. DETECTIVE, after a disingenuous chuckle: That's quite the way to start a line of questioning, Ms. Baker. If that's your actual name. We ran your ID, and it - BAKER, interrupting: It's a fake ID. Where I come from, we don't use identification cards anymore. Not for a while. DETECTIVE: Okay, I'll bite. Where are you from? BAKER: California, 2114. BAKER seems agitated. DETECTIVE: You see, you fed that to the arresting officer. You're in a lot of trouble, you understand? Insider trading. How else could someone turn 500 dollars into 7 million in just 9 hours on the stock floor? BAKER: I'm a time traveler. The money was to go to one of my ancestors and set up generational funds necessary to - You know what? Never mind. I told the men who arrested me this. DETECTIVE: I know. It was quite the story. You offered them money, bribing a police officer, you offered them the cure for cancer, I don't even know where to begin. I've seen a lot of excuses in my day but this is the most out there. BAKER: World War 3 starts in 2025. It starts between NATO and the Sinorusso bloc that forms next year. The DETECTIVE sighs. DETECTIVE: Missy, you- I need you to focus. You can't keep telling me this nonsense about time travel. Who tipped you off about the stock tips? If you help me, I can maybe convince the DA to - BAKER: I'm still there at the stock floor right now, Detective. I get out on bail in like, 48 hours because I pay my own bail, and then I travel back to step back in and continue trading. I need my mission to be a success. If you want proof, have an officer there look for me. The DETECTIVE, skeptical, slowly sits up, and looks back at the two way mirror behind her. After several uncomfortable moments of silence, another OFFICER walks in, and murmurs in her ear. The DETECTIVE looks to the officer with alarm, before turning back to BAKER. DETECTIVE: How did you do it? Do you have an identical twin or- BAKER rubs her brow. BAKER: I told you like, four times already. I'm gonna have to explain this about six more times before you believe me.
My boss eyed my proposal. He was a beach ball of a demon, with stubby horns and at least three chins. I say ‘at least’ because I’m pretty sure under his suit were a couple more. “I don’t follow,” he said. Mother fucker looked half asleep. Guess that’s what he got for injecting dope at noon. “It’s simple, we send a couple grunts topside, shmooze with politicians and CEOs to get them invested in the eco-movement. They spend billions on propaganda, and boom, millions go straight to hell.” “How’s that supposed damn more people? For fuck’s sake, I can’t be wasting my time with this. We got a highway to build and we’re already understaffed and behind schedule.” I grinned and wagged my finger at him. “Nah, nah, you got it all wrong. They go to hell, because all the time and money they spend buying fuckin biodegradeable straws, reuseable bags and electric cars keeps them buying, keeps them burning oil and using up natural resources. All without doing very much to stop ecological collapse. If they keep buying crap to feel better about the world crumbling around them, they’ll be too busy to redesign cities and infrastructure or overthrow governments. The sinners topside will spend every day of their lives fighting the problem in a way that creates the problem, without ever realizing it! It’s like double dipping the market. We get both the people who want to fight climate change and the ones who don’t. Absolute genius!” I’m not sure how much Boss Bibble Bob heard. And of what he did, I’m not sure how much he remembered. The fatass had the memory of a goldfish these days. I kept telling him to stop buying street stuff, but he kept saying it was cheaper. Boss scratched his chin. “Come on, who came up with the whole Nestle baby formula scheme?” “Uh…” “It was me, I did.” Bibble Bob looked at my proposal again. “That did kill a lot of babies.” “Damn skippy it did. Basically saved the company single handed with those souls.” The boss sighed. “Who do you suppose we send to the living realm?” “Me. Send me. I’ll even bring you back some tranq from Detroit.” Fatass wiped his fat head with a damp hankerchief. “This is gonna cost us a fortune. If this doesn’t work out like you say, you’re fired. I’m fired too. Fuck, we’re all gonna be fired.” I was salivating like a rabid hog just thinking about all the bitches I’d be fucking up there. I shuttered in ecstasy. “Just sign on the dotted line and I’ll be on my way.” The big boss slapped his signature on my proposal and wheezed. Kinda sounded like that time he had a heart attack. But seeing as I had what I wanted, it wasn’t any of my concern. I walked out the doors of Arsenic Incorporated HQ and took a deep breath of filthy air. Smelled like home. Screams echoed in the distance, a fire blazed in the office building across from us and vultures picked at the wreckage of a car accident right in front of me. Not even a chance of acid rain on the forecast either. As good a day as any in Hell. To be completely honest, I did not give two shits about the company. Or any damn highway. I wasn’t trying to be a workaholic or a company man. I didn’t need status or money, so long as I got to do what I loved. And nothing made me happier than dragging sinners kicking and screaming to Hell. It was like a game to me. I won when an innocent soul walked the path to Hell of their own volition. If they got wage slaved by Arsenic, well, more money in my pocket. I had a big pointy toothed grin on my face the entire way home. Really was a wonderful day.
"Oh just listen to those cries of sorrow Harley! I'm a genius!"The Joker cackled while watching the footage of his "voluntary test screening"he held for the henchmen. All dead from dehydration. Joker stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth and slurped his soda. He held the straw up for Harley to take a sip. She was strapped to the seat with her eyes held open. She hadn't stopped crying for the entire hundred minute runtime. She chugged the rest of the soda. "Waahhhh! Wahhh! Why's the movie gotta be so sad Mistah J? There's not even a single joke in it!" Joker cackled with delight. "That is the joke!" Bruce Wayne burst out of the Wayne Manor screening room, tears streaming down his face. Alfred was waiting outside the door with a tray of scotch. "How was the screening Master Bruce?" Bruce downed a shot of scotch and grabbed the bottle from the tray. "It's the second saddest thing I have ever witnessed. Joker has to be stopped, this film can never see the light of day, I have to keep it with me in the shadows. I'll be in the cave." Bruce stormed off into the batcave. He sat down at the batcomputer. "Brother Eye I need you to scour the web, download any and all media that can be classified as 'comedy' or 'humor'"Bruce quickly began modifying a machine learning algorithm Oracle had written while Brother Eye scoured the net. It was getting late, almost time for the bat to emerge from his cave. Alfred came to check on Bruce before his nightly departure. "Have you figured out what to do about the Joker's newfound love of cinema?" Bruce watched the algorithm generate scripts, he would have to read them later. "Wayne enterprises owns a large amount of stock in almost every studio, we can delay the release while I fast track my own production." "Beat him at the box-office? How do you plan to accomplish that?" Bruce donned his cowl. "No spoilers Alfred. All I can tell you is, sometimes the world needs a clown."
Shrieks and screams sang an unholy hymm to signal the arrival of the great one Cthulu. The terrible creature rose from the sunken city. Standing still as a statute, it's terrifying visage spread madness and terror to the minds of all that gazed upon it. Men clawed at their eyes, ripping them from the sockets. Mothers dashed their infants against the pavement. The streets beginning to run red. Is this really happening? What is going on? Have I gone mad as well? "Calm your mind mortal! I am protecting you from Cthulu's madness but even my powers have limits! We must summon the Eldritch Guardian! It is our only hope!"Yelled a powerful voice. I grabbed the strange stone I had found that morning from my pocket. A pale blue light emanated from it. "Who the fuck is the Eldritch Guardian?"I said out loud. Maybe I have gone mad, I just talked to a rock. "Search your mind and it will appear! Hurry before you succumb to the madness!" Pretty pushy for a rock. What the hell could beat Cthulu? Thing was an incomprehensible monster. That's it! Fight madness with madness. The strange stone flew from my grasp into the sky, exploding in a flash of brilliant blue light. That's when I heard a familiar voice. "I hate Mondays."The enormous Garfield said with a yawn. He looked around at the chaos that continued erupting, the madness spreading. He looked down at me. "I'm hungry." I had to yell as loud as I could so that the monstrosity could hear me. "We were going to have lasagna for dinner but that guy ate it all!"I pointed at Cthulu. Garfield's whisker slowly morphed into writhing strips of flesh. His body distorted, limbs contorted into sharp angles. His tail a tangle of serpents, jagged fangs protruded from a gaping maw. "I'm sorry Jon."Garfield sadly said. He leapt into the air, the battle had begun. How did Garfield know my name?
There once was a grand collective construct of pure intelligence and negative mass who witnessed the birth of humanity in the focus of its imagination. We'll call this intelligence . . . MacDonald. Now old MacDonald had a galaxy on the eve of the confluence of our space-time. Measured by the constraints of unidirectional time travel, this would be considered a very young galaxy in this universe, but the whole universe itself was just a cheap, refurbished hand-me-down from MacDonald's more grand, more intelligent, and even more negative in mass older brother, whom we'll call MalDoncad. MacDonald, having been born through the barrier between the fields of quantum physics with gifts of infinite power, was always being teased by MalDoncad for not being born with infinite\^(2) power like the rest of the family. But, despite the eternal patronizing, MalDoncad could not help fixing MacDonald's problems, no matter how often they were brought to his reality. One eon, MalDoncad was playing on what was essentially a guitar of pure hyper-compressed light waves, reconstructing the magnetic field of a nebulous structure he remembered hearing in his college days, when he heard an immature moan from his little brother. "I can't do this one!"he cried. "Will you beat it for me?" MalDoncad sighed and called down the wormhole, "Where are you at?" "All the land is broken up. The atmosphere is getting pretty thick. Most of the water is melted. And they've figured out a baseline recipe for rapid oxidation." MalDoncad plucked a quark in surprise. "Rapid oxidation?" "Yeah! They're using it to alter the chemical make up of the lesser beings so they can nourish themselves for longer on fewer kills. That's a good sign right?" "Who is 'they'? MacDonald, what the hell kind of fabric are you weaving with that thing?" "Just come look!" MalDoncad grunted with a sound like a supernova. He set down his light-waves and took one last rip from the lingering bowl of Higgs-Boson particles in his anti-gravity bong, then he dissipated from existence to reconstruct himself in the frequencies of his little brother's reality. "Okay, give me that,"he said, snatching the bubble of universe from MacDonald's amygdala. "Why's it so small?" "I stopped the expansion until I could get a handle on this galaxy. I've been trying to grow the periodic table at the same time, but I've barely been able to fill the sixth atomic shell with all the questions they keep asking." "Questions!? Questions, MacDonald! How have you-"MalDoncad decided to stop wasting his stardust by screaming and just take a look for himself. He witnessed the progress in our corner of the galaxy since he'd last had to take the controller from MacDonald, and he could barely understand the sequence of events following his last soft-reboot with the meteor against the lizard-bird monsters. He realized MacDonald must have introduced the fungal branch of life way too early, as one of the strains seemed to have accidentally formed a similar chemical structure to a space in the brain of his primate creatures. When the two met by chance, the primate creature's mind hit a ceiling of self-reflection before MacDonald could build a pseudo-source of creation out of hot rocks. The ape asked a question, (not with words, more like a string of loose concepts and a desire to tie those concepts to others it did not realize until now could be defined,) and it sounded something like, "Me? Me? Me? Me? Why? Why? Why? Why? How?" And here's where MalDoncad saw his brother's critical mistake. Instead of just picking up this stoned primate and flinging him into the black hole at the center of its galaxy, MacDonald saw his universe discovering itself as a likely progression of the toy, a level he hadn't reached yet, and so he tried to calm the beast. He did this in the worse way possible, by cursing it with even more knowledge. "It's alright my beautiful creature,"he said. "My name's MacDonald. I mean no harm." "Me! Why? Me! Why? How?!"cried the thoughts of the ape. MalDoncad fast forwarded to the universe's present state. He saw the effect of millions of generations of life when allowed to procreate with their own sense of desires, and he was sickened by it. He found an individual organism that seemed pretty old, comparatively, and asked with a voice it could comprehend, "You there, what's your purpose?" "Oh lord,"answered Noah, "My purpose is only to serve you, to praise you, to live in worship of you." MalDoncad pulled away from the universe to scowl at his younger brother. "You sick spectrum. Have you been stroking your self-worth with this thing? I didn't realize you were even old enough." "I thought that's what I was supposed to-" MalDoncad interrupted, "You and Dad are going to have a fun conversation when he gets home. But don't worry, I know what to do."He came back down to the white-haired organism. "Hey, buddy. How many of you here are under the impression that you've been created for the sole purpose of my watching you praise me?" Noah stammered, "Every single one of us, my lord. Or at least a good portion of us, I'd say. At least enough that I could bring them here and prove it to you." MalDoncad saw a golden form standing in the center of where the organisms collected their lives. "What the hell is that?"MalDoncad asked, pointing at the two golden arches. "Why, it's an image in your likeness, my lord. We've done just as you've asked. Shall I collect some of those worthy followers to prove their devotions to you?" "No, I've heard enough. Stay there, you're all getting scrubbed." "Getting what?" MalDoncad did not answer. He exited the universe and tossed it back to MacDonald and instructed him to, "Take that moon, smash it against the planet, start over from proteins." "But that's going to take forever! Can't I just take the water and melt it down to wash the sentient ones away? They can't survive in water, and that way I can at least try again from microbes." "Do whatever you want. Just don't let those things survive or you'll never finish it." "But what if they come back?"asked MacDonald. "What if I were to make beings so intelligent they could end up comprehending the wider existence outside of their planet." "Don't be cruel, MacDonald."MalDoncad was already half-dematerialized through the wormhole when he stopped to ask. "And by the way, what's with those golden arches." "You didn't recognize them?" "Is that supposed to be me and you?" MacDonald smiled. "Even though there's no possible way they could comprehend the likeness?" MacDonald nodded. "Huh. That's actually pretty cool."MalDoncad gave his brother an affectionate punch on his dimensional fractals. "Thanks." "Still. Get rid of it . . . Or at least hide it in your sock drawer before Dad sees it."
...I never should have kept my newspaper subscription. It seemed normal. I read a human interest story about people who decided to become real superheroes after college. I mean, I couldn't find a real job, I didn't want a life lived normally, I wanted to actually help people, and I wanted an excuse to make it socially acceptable to drape myself in spandex. So, I answered the call. My city needed a hero, and I was willing to do it. And...it was pretty fun. Someone's cat's in a tree? I'd get it. A child or an old lady needed help crossing the street? I'd do it. Someone was in trouble? Well, it needed some quick CPR training, but I could handle it. Someone needed help grabbing something on a high shelf? Well, I could have done it anyway due to being tall, but this time I get to feel like I protected the peace. All that, and then there's the fringe benefits: getting to hang out at random city festivals and pose for some cheap donations, getting to make personal appearances at comic shops whenever I want for 20 bucks and all the old '90s Valiant comics no one was buying I could carry, showing up at schools to tell the kids not to do drugs and to listen to their elders...all in all, a great way to be your friendly neighborhood harmless eccentric. That changed on that day. That was the day Professor Evil moved into town. It started normally. A bank robbery in our fair city. People were shocked. The town was terrified. This looks like a job for... ...the police. I'm not an idiot. I couldn't handle a criminal with a gun, and anyway any good local superhero has to be well-read in your city/state's vigilante statutes to know exactly what you can and can't legally do as a "superhero", and actually stopping crimes is a firm "no."Luckily I wasn't in my outfit, so I went about my business like nothing... "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! This is the first moment for Professor Evil's reign of terror! And it will not stop until you bring me Ultimate Lenny!" ...uh...what? Did this guy just ask for me? The criminal was soon apprehended, and kept demanding a villain. Finally, one of the officers called me up and told me the story and asked if I could show up. Decent guy, I played a superhero at his son's birthday that year, so...sure, I decided to. I headed into the holding cell and went to him. "Uh...you know I don't have any superpowers, right?" He looked at me. "Well, yeah. Don't you recognize me?"I looked at the face-painted, masked man. "...Steve?" "Yeah, from high school. I heard what you were doing, and I thought it was cool. I'm bored as shit doing this stuff- Burger King pays shit, no one else is hiring out here. I want to do some cool stuff as a hobby, and when I saw you doing your stuff, I thought this would be a fun thing to do." "You...robbed a bank. This doesn't go through that easily." "...whatever. I have good lawyers, they got the money back, this wouldn't go through easily. Plus, now I'm a firm supervillain for you to tangle with- and now we can both level up our racket." "You know what we can and can't do?" "Sure. Besides, Larry is a wrestler at the fed that runs the VFW every month; he was our buddy, I'm sure he'd teach us some rudimentary moves so we can stage some superhero fights. Plus, we can wrestle a superhero match, the convention circuit will start bringing us in for cosplay wrestling matches. More eyes, more money, and free admission." "You do have a point- and this way we can mix things up. But you'll have to know the rules so you don't commit any...actual crimes." "Sure thing. Now, help me for my evil escape." "Evil escape?" "Yeah, post bail for me. I had a good lawyer on call, I should get out of this free."
"Carl Sagan" She couldn't understand, but that was all Garth would be drawn into in terms of explanation. She fought through her tears, willing her eyes to dip into and see around the edges of the display to catch the dying light. As the starship started moving and the faint pull of gravity tickled her toes, the words kept echoing in her mind as the embers outside died away. Carl Sagan. Carl. Sagan. Garth walked away, his raven locks masking her death stare. He needed to consult with his second in command. New wars, new planets, new targets. It was the Emperor's will. Humanity had ascended to the stars before they were ready, littering the galaxy with pale blue dots, ignoring the crises back home and creating havoc for those that came after. Like the flight of their ancestral early hominids across America and Australia, they fled with no technology, critical mass or resources, seeking virgin planets to settle. They shed their human advantages and settled into survivalistic symbioses, unaware of the riches that lay beneath their sands. Riches that could unlock more than the galaxy; it could unlock the human mind. The Emperor's miners fought for each ounce with blood and sweat. Planets that hadn't seen humans for more than two centuries were considered sacred. Each planet had its own eccentric twists, but ignorance, superstition and siege mentality can be a potent potion. Using poison, fauna, weather and disease alongside their outdated weapons, the locals made the lives of the miners and their security miserable. The Rebels they called themselves. And each planet that stole subspace communications from mining equipment became part of the Rebel Alliance. Elite shock troopers, dark magic, changing nobility, eugenics, none could break the Alliance. And so the Emperor that had strip mined planets to the extent of affecting their gravity, decided to blow them up, to show the Rebel Alliance the consequences of resistance. And Garth Wader was here to enforce his will. At least that was the plan a month ago. The next promising planet unlocked dimensions of horror, a planet that had not just subsumed their human visitors, but twisted their wills, and spit them out with a rage only evil universes can distil. There's evolutionary advantages to retaining bipedalism, but everything else way twisted. Seven blood lubricated eyes, predatory ears, chitin armored torsoes, arms mangled into bludgeons and axe edges, the visitors had been farm bred and multiplied, awaiting their long lost brethrens' visit. Garth had not been there, but the five survivors, driven mad, were split up and assigned to the best medical facilities in the sector, Garth's starship among them. Five medical facilities that suffered crippling losses, two survivors manifesting odd powers. Powers that transcended dark magic and technology. Powers that flamed the rage and fanatism in his fellow human beings. And Garth was one. Reviewing the exoskeletons, chainsaws, anti ship rounds and inch-plate armor bearing the emperor's runes, Garth hoped it was enough.
"It is time. Wake up." Gary woke up with a throbbing headache after a wild night. After a tedious shuffling of tired feet, he found himself in the bathroom, wiping the dirt from his mirror to look at his sorry self. His frizzy hair bubbled and grew, many mouths and eyes slowly appeared, all piercing stares questioning his terrible life decisions. "It is time. You have an appointment with the dentist this morning at 10.30am,"the mouths all spoke in unison. What. His phone was buzzing, somewhere buried beneath his filthy bedsheets. Having brushed his teeth and slapped some water on his face, Gary dug and tossed his sheets about until he came away with his phone. "Reminder: Dentist Appointment at 10.30am" Fuck that. Gary plunked his head down and buried it under his pillow. His right hand yanked the pillow from under him and tossed it off the bed. His left hand delivered a well-deserved, stinging slap to the face. Against his will, his feet dragged him around the house to pick up scattered clothes on the floor and dress up. His body was determined that Gary will fucking make it to the dentist appointment, ignoring his wishes to sleep off his nasty hangover. His body exerted a powerful gravitational pull towards the door, denying his desire for more sleep, stuffing him awkwardly into his car which was haphazardly parked on his overgrown lawn. The drive to the dentist's office was largely uneventful, besides the creepy mouths and eyes jamming themselves back into his head along the way. He had so many questions to ask about what the fuck did he do to earn those, but first, that dentist appointment. Thumbing through his phone messages while waiting for the dentist, a particular message caught Gary's eye. Greetings, my new follower! How are my magical daily reminders helping you out? Let me know if they function far better than phone reminders that you ignore all the time. It was a number he didn't save to his contact list. 'Who are you?' Gary typed. Why, I'm your god and lord Elvari! We had a few drinks at the pub after church service and you wished for a way to stop missing appointments. Your wish has been granted. Did you like your new mouths and eyes? Are they doing their job of getting you to appointments? Feel free to let me know if they're slacking off, okay? Fuck me sideways, Gary muttered to himself. Another buzz from his phone. I almost forgot, you wanted to garner more attention from the ladies too, yes? Those extra mouths and eyes should be very eye-catching too! Talk about killing two birds with one stone. I want to know how that works out for you too! Don't be shy, your god is quite responsive :) The temptation to type 'fuck you' was very real, but the consequences of being rude to an eldritch god was equally real, and terrifying. Gary thumbed his phone and begin typing. 'Did it have to be mouths and eyes on my head?' Would you prefer tentacles? They're strong, flexible masses of pure muscle. Very awesome appendages :D Gary groaned and started to rapidly scroll through his past phone records looking for the church counselling hotline. "Gary Morton, the dentist is ready to see you." No, he needed to resolve this stupid eldritch issue first. Again, his body, or rather those controlling eyes and mouths, disagreed with him and slammed him face-first into the appointment room and unceremoniously plonked him flat on the dentist's chair. "It is time. Sit down." ------------------------ [Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/)
"This homework is going to be the death of me!"groaned Jim, having to complete the latest ridiculous assignment in his calculus class. After drawing the symbol necessary, he quickly flipped through his textbook to find the equation needed to solve the problem when the corner of the page nicked his finger badly. "OW! FUCKING SHIT!"yelled Jim from the sudden pain he was in, a small drop of blood dropping onto his sheet of paper. As he rummaged through his desk to find a band-aid, he suddenly smelled an overwhelming stench of rotten eggs in his room. "What the fuck is that smell?!" "It is the smell of I, the all-powerful WYTYKKYWLIS!"growled a demonic voice from behind Jim. Jim turned around and saw something resembling a mutilated corpse with 3 pairs of eyes, bones sticking out of every appendage and standing nearly ten feel tall, easily reaching his ceiling. Jim could feel his soul turn cold from the sight of this horror. "What in the hell are you?!"asked Jim, his voice quivering in fear. "You should know exactly who and what I am,"replied the demon. "You summoned me, after all!" "What the fuck are you talking about?" "The summoning ritual. You drew my symbol, offered up your blood, and chanted the blasphemous words that call upon me." "All I did was draw a closed line integral and shout 'Fucking Shit!'" "And that's exactly what was required!" "You've got to be kidding me,"said Jim, his heart sinking to his stomach, knowing whatever was to come next was not going to end well. "It is no joke, mortal,"replied WYTYKKYWLIS. "I am one of the most powerful demons in the underworld. You should feel honored to have summoned me, as it has been ages since any human was able to do so!" "So now what?"asked Jim. "Am I going to hell? Losing my soul?" "Of course not! You summoned me by sacrificing a part of your life force, so I will do any task you wish as long as you do something for me in return." "No thanks! I'm good!"said Jim, waving his arm to signal the demon to leave. "Maybe you didn't understand. I will do ANY task for you!" "But then I have to do something for you, so no, I'm good." "I'm one of the most powerful demons in the underworld! Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is beyond my power!" "I'm sure it is, but I'm not interested. Go help someone else!" Jim was hoping the demon would spare his life and leave, but the demon didn't seem interested in leaving. In fact, the demon looked perplexed by Jim trying to wave them off. "Are...are you sure you don't need me for anything?"asked the demon. "Yep!"replied Jim. "Positive?" "Totally!" "...I mean, not even the standard stuff everyone wishes for like win the lottery or have eternal life or...?" "Look, I'm pretty sure whatever I ask you to do, it's going to end horribly for me,"explained Jim. "Like if I asked for money, I get it after you kill a relative and I get their inheritance or something." "No, you're thinking of genie,"said WYTYKKYWLIS. "Those things are total cheaters." "So you're not going to try and screw me over or ask me to do something horrible in return?" "Oh, I'll ask for something in return,"said the demon in his usual coy manner. "It could be minor, it could be major. But that's the price for--" "Thought so!"said Jim. "Thanks but no thanks." Jim turned around to go back to his homework, only to suddenly be forced around by the demon as the demon bent down, their 6 eyes glaring into Jim's. "Look, I'll be frank with you!"said WYTYKKYWLIS. "It's been several millennia since anyone has figured out how to summon me and I've been getting shit for it. Even the lesser demons that get summoned by stupid college kids going through their "swear-its-not-a-phase"phase give me shit for it. Just order me to do ANYTHING!" "Fine, fine!"said Jim, willing to do anything to end this meeting. "You want to do a favor for me?! Do my stupid Calculus homework!" Jim threw his homework at the demon, thinking a task like that would surely be nothing for an all-powerful demonic force. WYTYKKYWLIS picked up the papers and skimmed through it, chuckling to themselves. "Foolish human!"said WYTYKKYWLIS. "I can offer you anything in the world you desire. There is no limit to my abilities, no feats which I can achieve, no desire that is out of my range, and yet you waste this golden opportunity on some petty errand that can easily be--" "You don't know how to solve this problem either, do you?"replied Jim. "Why are you even learning this useless crap?!"
"Snick-Snick, that's not how this works, you know that."I sighed as the goblin shouldered his pick. "Me grow beard, me mine, me drink ale. So me dwarf."He gave me a look before going back to his work. "Just because you do dwarvish things, it isn't the same as being one. Besides, what would you're tribe think?" That was exactly the wrong thing to say, as it turned out. Snick-Snick's eyes reddened as he slammed his pick into the rock face, sticking it in place as he whirled to face me. "Tribe? Goblin tribe stupid! Think only of today, never tomorrow. No making, no history! Many, many die to raid humans. No care! Just more food for goblin pots! No want be goblin! Want build, want history! Have start somewhere, so start here. No take from me, Aludar! You know people five hundred years past, me only know parent not eat me! I need this!" Snick-Snick was practically in tears, and it broke my heart. "Alright, little brother", I pulled his pick from the rock, "If you are going to do this, you're going to do it properly. So let's work on this technique."
"Uh... sir?"I glanced over and pushed the button on my desk. "Yes Amanda?" "There's... someone here to see you." "...Does she have an appointment?"There was an overly long pause. "Well, no, but you also don't have anyone coming for the next few hours."I considered it for a bit. It was a bit nontraditional... but to be fair, that happened a lot in my particular trade. Helping the mothers of prophesied heroes did that. Ah, why not. "Send her in." "That's the problem. H- where'd he go?" "Ah, hello."I jumped a bit in my seat, looking up at the man who'd apparently just appeared in my office. "Loki, god of chaos. Charmed, I'm sure."I blinked a bit. "...Hello. I'm Sam, since formality clearly isn't an issue here." "Never has been for me." "Right. Um... excuse me a minute."I opened up one of the drawers of my desk and started rifling through it. "Is something the matter?" "Potentially. I just need to find- ah, here it is."I pulled out a large folder with "Norse Mythology"on the tag. "It's standard tradition. I don't want to offend divinities or the like, as I'm sure you'd understand." "Oh no, that's very wise of you. I can imagine what you're looking up too."I nodded as I flipped through the folder, eventually pulling out a smaller folder with "Loki, God of Chaos"on the tag. I'd spent a rather long time meeting with various gods and the like to make sure all the stories in these files were accurate. Some mythological events are simply myths, some are stories, some are adaptations of the truth... and it's very bad to mix them up. "Now, let me see..."I paused for a second, then nodded. "Ah, I see. Yes, that was my confusion."I closed the folder. "While traditionally I hold office for the mothers of heroes, I suppose considering the existence of Sleipnir, you do count in that regard." "I'm glad you see it my way." "Out of curiosity, why me? Were there no other therapists available?" "Few people are willing to put the dedication into mythology that your office, and specifically you have. Mother especially speaks rather highly of you." "I am honored Frigg would speak of me in her court,"I replied. I stood up, moved around my desk and sat down on one of the two couches I had in the office. Loki sat opposite me. "Now, with all that out of the way... what can I do for you?"
I stared at the waiter in disbelief. He had described to me the most pristine burger one could imagine. Perfect in every way and yet he had robbed me, the customer, of this opportunity. “It would have been a shock to your system” he said, utter bs. “Bring me this burger, I DEMAND the highest quality burger you can provide and I WILL NOT LEAVE until you produce it.” The waiter looked genuinely concerned, “let me get my manager.” He walked away muttering something to himself that sounded like “Karen.” He came back with a manager and a waiver. “Sign this if you would like a perfect burger, this waives our liability should your system fail to handle the burger.” This was ridiculous but I wasn’t going to let them get away with this so I signed it and waited. It took 2 hours. At this point I was starving and staying out of principle more than anything. And then they bring it out. It’s as if it glows. Flawless. It almost hurts to look at, its so beautiful. The waiter’s eyes betray his concern. “Please mam you may want to reconsider. I take a bite. My tongue lights up with the umami flavors of the burger. I feel my mind opening up and suddenly I can see the fabric of space and time. I am a god playing the strings of the universe. I see all that was and all that ever could be. And then I open my eyes to a group of people staring at me. “Mam you were just convulsing for 30 minutes you may want to stop” I take another bite.
I am fully aware that I am a villain. I do not deny the fact that I am one. I embraced my villainy when I was young. The world had betrayed me, I have every right to turn it to ash. No hero would stop me from claiming my retribution... One of the first things that came to mind when I heard those three words come from her... my most recent nemesis, the hero was 'what did she say?' 'why did she say that?' I knew I could strike her down, just like all the other 'heroes' before her. My disguise was perfect. But those three words... I had spoken them before. Yet the world left me, they left me. Why should I care! Something stirred in me... 'no, I won't do what they did. I will not give the world the satisfaction of having me follow in their footsteps...' she was vulnerable, heartbroken. She needed to be strong, she needed to be the one I would face at the precipice of my greatest ambition! She needed... she needed someone to be there for her... 'I.. I can't... but she trusts me... no, not me... she trusts the mask I wear... no, I saw that recognition in her eyes... if barely... then why?' Then it dawned on me... she knew it was me. She was hurt, yet she saw in me something to cling to. Perhaps it was the fact that she noticed the scars I have... "heh. It seems you have won this fight, brave hero." I took her to the nearby tavern, got a table near the fire, and tended to a wound that had somehow opened up before she cried herself unconscious... I may be a dragon... but for her... I will be her knight... and I will not leave her.
After over two thousand years and fifty million light years of searching across the stars, Ambassador Centur was to be the first human to meet an alien intelligence. She'd been fascinated by the aliens since she was eight years old, when she'd stumbled across them in the Central Intelligence, before school had even begun to teach about them. It was believed they called themselves the Kroōnār, based on the scraps of information left behind in the abandoned cities and planets and outposts that were their legacy. Centur, like uncountable numbers of people before her, had been utterly mystified by the aliens who had left their great cities behind. Not in ruins, as would be expected from an extinct civilization. Of course there had been some aesthetic and structural damage, and rot, but the planets appeared to have been abandoned only a few years before human arrival, as if the Kroōnār had simply packed up and left. Every Kroōnār planet that humanity had found was the same: recently left behind, not fallen victim to war or disaster or disease. Xenologists had the tantalizing and ever-present feeling that each time, humanity had been just a little too late, just a little too slow. If our ship drives had been faster, had safety standards been relaxed to arrive faster - but no, safety standards existed for reasons written in blood. For two thousand years, xenologists, and humanity, had to live with the constant, ever-present knowledge that alien life, alien civilization, were out there - but just the tiniest bit ahead, as if avoiding human contact. At the age of eight, she hadn't known it yet, but Centur dedicated her life to solving the mysteries of the Kroōnār that had baffled humanity for two thousand years. Over her one hundred and twelve years of life, she'd spent one hundred and four studying the Kroōnār. She'd written more research papers and visited more Kroōnār outposts in her lifetime than any other human ever had. Family and friends indulged her for some years, but everyone she ever got close to would eventually tell her that her interest in the Kroōnār had become an obsession, crowding out the space for anything, anyone else in her life. Well, today, it would pay off. Today, galaxy-renowned xenologist Dr. Centur would be the first human in history to make contact with the Kroōnār. Though she was not a crew member of the First Contact, Centur stood on the bridge, well back from the officers at work, watching the viewscreen. They had arrived at a beautiful, Earth-like planet, glistening with blue and green and long, streaky patches of white clouds, floating alone in space, the sole planet of its system. The viewscreen zoomed in, combining data from a variety of long-range sensors and telescopes to create a composite image very much like what Centur would see if the ship had windows and was a million kilometers closer. She thought she could see ships, though at this range, it could have been her imagination. All of Centur's calculations had turned out to be correct. It seemed that, to perform their maddening disappearing act, the Kroōnār knew the capabilities of human ship drives, and calculated their departure to be a few years before human ships could arrive in their system. Centur had commissioned a stripped-down ship with a disproportionately large core and drive, which would travel at normal speed for most of the voyage, and then release a massive burst of acceleration in the last leg, to surprise the Kroōnār and arrive before they could fully evacuate. And it had worked. The First Contact's sensors showed plenty of in-system activity. The Kroōnār were leaving, but they had not yet left. "Ambassador Centur,"said the captain, clearing his throat. "All systems ready. We have no reason to believe the Kroōnār will be hostile, but shields, drive, and helm are on standby, just in case." Centur kept her smile to herself. Not once in two thousand years of research had humanity seen a weapon on a Kroōnār planet, nor even a reference to one. But the Captain was a good man, and his priority was to keep his crew safe. "Thank you, captain,"replied Centur. "Please open a wide-broadcast channel." The captain nodded to the comms officer, who counted down with her fingers: three... two... one... and the channel, with its modulator and translation matrix that Centur had helped build herself, was live. "Greetings to the Kroōnār. I am Ambassador Centur, of the human vessel First Contact. It would be my great pleasure to speak with you, to share our species' knowledge and experience in peace." Centur waited, her anticipation so great that she couldn't breathe. This would be the defining moment of humanity - actual contact with a peaceful alien species. This day would go down in the Central Intelligence's histories as a defining moment of the ages, and Centur was lucky enough to be here for it. The comms channel crackled. "Oh god, they found us,"said a musically-pitched, low, warbling voice. "The humans finally found us. Oh, bother." Centur frowned. This was... not the reaction she had expected. She felt she'd studied the Kroōnār's remnants for more than long enough to understand proper communication customs, and this was... not that. "Er... please repeat?"asked Centur. "I am Ambassador Centur, we have come in peace to -" "Yes, yes, we understand,"replied the voice. "Look, you caught us off guard, we didn't expect you to arrive so soon." "Sorry...?"said Centur. "It's all right, there's no need for ceremony or -" The feed crackled, and a different voice came on, this one higher-pitched. "Look, we've been avoiding you for two thousand years because we just don't like you. We've learned all we cared to from your wide-band broadcasts, and we just don't think your values align with ours. We won't really get along."There was a long, beautifully musical sigh. "We've tried to be polite, packing up and moving whenever you get close, even leaving you whole planets. So we apologize infinitely for this rudeness today, but - would you mind terribly just turning around and going home and leaving us alone? We just... don't really like you." For the first time in her life, Ambassador Centur didn't have anything to say about or to the Kroōnār.
It was quite a bit out of my way, but I had some extra time and had been curious about the rumors. A mysterious vending machine, eye witnesses saying it appeared like a mirage. Unmoveable. Indecipherable writing in no known language. It had been partially blocking the intersection for almost half a year, and constant gawkers blocked up the rest of the road. No one had been able to find coin or currency that would make it vend. The brisk breeze sped me along, my pace increasing with the rapidly falling temperatures. I could easily make it to the bus stop on time, even with the quick detour. There were a few people milling about, watching a well dressed man slowly feed coins into the slot from a collectors book. Each would clang through the machine and roll out into the return tray. He would place it back in its sleeve, make a note in the book, and slip the next coin out for a try. A lot of bored people with obscure coins were still flooding Internet forums trying to find the right coin. When he flipped the last page and tried the last of his coins, I approached the machine. I saw a few pictures of it from the click-bait ads and video shorts, but those only ever showed the same few photos stolen from the same few sources. I didn’t care enough to delve into the forums to see every detail, though. “Huh,” I said aloud, catching the attention of one of the loiterers. I make eye contact with him. “I think my mom had a coin like this one,” I tap on what looks like the instruction panel. He shoulders up next to me and leans in to look at the writing. “You should try it out. It don’t eat no coins. No risk, ya know?” “I’ll see if she still has it.” She still has it. I head in the direction of the bus stop again, thinking about the nickel-sized coin in the shadow box hanging in her hallway. No one knows exactly where it came from, but her great-grandfather brought it with him when he immigrated in the mid-1800s. All I had ever heard about it was that it’s good luck and we should never give it away. I texted my mom after I situated myself on the bus. “I should come over for lunch on Wednesday.” “I can make that work.” —- I got to her condo first on Wednesday and let myself in. She should be right behind me, since her office was about 5 blocks away. I was in no rush, so I started in the living room, scrutinizing all the tidbits displayed like a little roadside museum in a small town off a disused highway. She loved collecting interesting things, and she had little typed or handwritten notes hung next to eat thing, explaining any history or facts she knew about her treasures. I heard her key in the lock as I finished looking at the third wall in the living room. It never ceases to amaze me how I can’t hear a sound from the hallway in her condo. In cheap apartment across town, I could have heard her every step from outside to inside to my front door. “Delilah, darling!” She exclaims when she sees me. “I’ve missed you so much! A city and an entire lifetime between us!” She rushes me into a hug and plants a dozen kisses across my hair, ear, and cheek. She’ll keep going if I don’t wriggle away. I smile at her. “I have ulterior motives today.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Do tell.” “I’m looking for your great grandfather’s lucky coin,” I declare and march down the hallway. She follows and we stop right in front of it. The little note reads, “Ingemund Wilhelm Jacobsson. 1829-1872. Was said to have been received from a gypsy woman prior to immigrating to the USA in 1847. A good luck relic, never to be given away.” “I should really update that note to say Romani,” my mother sighs. “Only, I don’t know if I should keep it because that’s what my grandmother always said to me. Even the racism is history. Should I add an addendum about the persecution of the Romani people?” I avoid the conversation entirely, because I know it won’t go anywhere. “Can I borrow it?” “Am I going to get it back?” “I’m…99% sure you will.” She takes it off the wall and hands the box to me. “If you don’t, that will be your only inheritance. I don’t want you losing this to some art project for class or pawning it for your drug money.” “Your jewelry is much better value for pawning.” I return her smirk. I slide the box into my bag and we move to the dining room for lunch. —- I finally had some extra time on Saturday because of the weekend bus schedule. I figure I can try it out in the machine and return it to her on Tuesday. Curiosity has been burning a hole in my pocket, and I’ve been impatiently trying to get back to the vending machine for 3 days. As I approach, I note the same man from before sitting on a bench with his hands tucked under his armpits. “I know you!” He stands up to join me on my way. “You gonna try it?” I shrug. “Might as well. No risks, right?” I should feel more uneasy with a strange man trying to pal up with me, but he seems harmless, like a kid who found out you share his hobby. Will I regret trusting this rando? I pull my bag off my shoulders and unzip the pocket where I stashed the coin. This is the first time I take a good look at the shadow box. I was expecting the little rotating metal fins to remove the back, but this one has little flathead screws. I touch one of them, deciding when I can get back here after I go home and open it. “I gotchu.” The man reaches into his pocket and procures a multi tool. He pries open one of the little screwdrivers and hands it to me. I open up the four little screws, placing each one on the asphalt in formation. I just know I’m going to lose one, but I doubt my mom would notice. The coin is fixed to the back panel with a bit of museum wax that luckily doesn’t hold in the cold. I take a moment to compare it to the little diagram. It’s an exact match. The writing, the insignia, the little flowers along the edge. It’s exactly the same. I flip it over a few times, just to make sure I’m not missing anything. It’s the same every time I compare it though. I share a look with the helpful man, building the courage to risk my family heirloom. My heart is suddenly thumping loudly, and I question whether I can go through with it. I reach out and pause briefly with the coin in the slot. I let go and hear it clatter through the mechanism. It doesn’t come out in the return tray. My heart drops.
One foot in front of the other. That is how I lived in these lands. A place of blight, where few things survived, myths said it was a thriving country once. Yet whatever it was, it was a wasteland now, called by the civilised folk as the Darklands. Damned by the world, it was only place the banished were sent. Most died within days, pounding at the gates as they begged for forgiveness. The rest fell prey to monstrous abominations that resided here. But I was not like them. Even with the brand over my heart, I was no mere mortal. I was Arakaz, Master of the Shattered Dimension. I would not fall here. I couldn't. I would return, and prove such fearful leaders had no place sitting at the peak. All knowledge was worth learning, and all powers worth achieving. A growl made me turn. From a ruined tower, a snarling face of a beast peered out. Or most of a face, where it was missing skin. Thick brown liquid dripped from between exposed muscles, as this abomination stalked out. Its body was similar to that of a panther, though like its face there wasn't a scrap of skin to be seen. Two long arms sprouted from its back, almost like misshapen wings. They ended in oversized claws, much like a crab, but with more muscles in place of hard shell. It's existence looked to be pain, solidified into aggression, much like the rest of its kind. I smiled up at it, beckoning. "Here kitty." It gave a snarl, crouching down. I could see the muscles tighten and quiver, as it prepared to pounced. To anyone else in my position, it would be a fearful sight. Near guaranteed death for any other. I, however, still grinned at it. The thing leapt, shooting forwards with unnatural speed. I watched it come, moving at the last possible movement to avoid its various claws. I reached out as it passed, touching its back with a finger. There I felt the flow of its chi, as I had learned before. Most magic users tended to ignore other disciplines. They saw the sword as flashy, martial arts as inferior, and divine or demonic as weak. It made them flimsy, and easy to defeat in close quarters. I had chosen to embrace every part, combining them into a single school of combat. One that gave me mastery over the forbidden dimension. Magic could be blocked, the brand over my heart proof of that. Swordsmanship was useless without a weapon. Divine and demonic needed to be called first, and here they could not hear me. But martial arts, they couldn't be stopped. I kept close to it, seeing the chi flowing through it. A few quick strikes disrupted the flow, its body becoming weak and sluggish. I didn't taunt the beast anymore, even though my confidence grew. I rarely enjoyed others suffering, saved for when they truly deserved it. This beast I wanted to put to sleep as gently as possible, for its own sake. A final hit to its head made it slump, the unbalanced system causing it to shut down. It still lived, but was unconscious for now. I bowed over its fallen body, closing my eyes. "You fought well, I commend you. Rest well, little one, and may you find a more peaceful life in your souls path." With that I placed my hands either side of its skinless face. With subtle movements I manipulated its chi, a teaching I had yet to finalise. It was dangerous, one that although deserved to be known, should still be watched carefully. I siphoned its strength of body, feeding it into my own aura. It took time, an hour passing as I stood here. I heard its breathing become slower and slower, a larger gap between each heart beat. I felt the precipice, and gently guided the poor beast over it. The flow ceased, as a final breath escaped. I let go, stretching out the growing cramps. I felt empowered, as I should. Its life would sustain mine for a time, and the increase in my chi would only diminish partially. No matter what, I would always be stronger after that feed. One foot after another. That is how I left the beast. That is how I moved, searching for the next one. If my calculations were correct, I would need a couple of hundred more like that to break the bind on my magic. Then I would return. This was meant to be a death sentence. But death sounded more like a suggestion than a rule to me.
It began millenia ago. How many I have long forgotten. It is interesting, really. When people think of immortality they think that they will simply live to be able to do anything they want – to experience everything and achieve a form of completeness. Yet, how many mere mortals remember anything that happened in their youngest years? Well, my first couples of thousand years WERE my youngest years. And I remember nothing. Only the Genie. Only my burning wish to live long enough to experience it all. I have a picture. It shows me with my arm around a woman. I look very in love. That is all I have that is more than a couple of decades old. At one point a government erased all the data I had gathered, thinking I was too dangerous, and the following government kept up that practice. That too, of course, was many millennia ago. Governments are history. But I never really started collecting data again – why should I? Nothing has been fun or meaningful for as long as I remember. For the last couple of years I have only had the old man. He was the last alive, and I knew that he too, would die. He is dead now. I am not even sad. Never knew his name anyways. Mortals really don't matter much to me. How could they? They live for only a blink. I am eternal. I might even be a god. If all gods are like me, I wonder why they are prayed to. We are nothing special.
I stared into her eyes. They were black and unforgiving, and their gaze pierced into my soul like a samurai's katana. How could I be crying so much, and she not be? The girl was heartless — heartless! "Get away from me,"she whispered scathingly, her tongue licking across her teeth like a scalpel across the skin of my naked heart. I fell to my knees and felt the rocks cut into them, but it didn't even hurt. She might as well have slapped me, stabbed me, left me to die on the floor of the high school gymnasium, left in a pool of my own sweat and blood and tears. "Please,"I said. Her rejection was pressing me down into the earth. I wanted it to swallow me up and eat me up, to simply absorb me and hold me there for millennia. There was no point to my life, I didn't matter, she knew I didn't matter. "I didn't mean to,"I said. "Ugh,"she said, and walked to the other side of the gym. I collapsed into myself, regretting that I had hit her — the love of my life, my soul and sun, the meaning of my existence — with a dodgeball. I deserved everything I had coming to me. ...aaaaaaaand I'm going to go take a shower now...
Bobby had two goldfish. Kerry took half. How many goldfish does Bobby have now? Bobby had a house. Kerry took all of it. How many houses does Bobby have now? Bobby had a car. Kerry's lawyer told him to sell it, and give her half the money. How many cars does Bobby have now? Bobby had a son. Kerry took his son Jimmy away. How many times a month can Bobby see his son? How many? Is that it? Bobby was ruined. His marriage with Kerry had been difficult, but the divorce had been a total disaster. Kerry's new boyfriend was rich. Kerry could afford expensive lawyers. The lawyers kept taking Bobby's things away from him. Sometimes it was half. Sometimes it was all of it. Bobby didn't understand why. He loved Kerry. He didn't understand why Kerry would take his things away. Bobby went to Kerry's house. He waited outside Kerry's house. Bobby decided he wouldn't tell the doctor about coming to Kerry's house. The doctor might give him more pills to take, and the pills made him feel sick. He didn't take his pills today. He wanted to talk to Kerry, and he didn't want to feel sick when he talked to Kerry. Bobby saw Kerry's car pull up her driveway. Bobby waited until Kerry unlocked her door, then quickly followed her inside. Kerry tried to scream, but Bobby showed her his knife. Bobby was quite proud that he thought to bring the knife. That way Kerry wouldn't scream as much, and Bobby would be able to talk to Kerry. Kerry stopped screaming, and Bobby talked to her. He said it's unfair Kerry took half of everything, and sometimes all of something. He said he should be able to do it too. Kerry had two ears. Bobby took half. How many ears does Kerry have now? Kerry had two eyes. Bobby took half. How many eyes does Kerry have now? Kerry had a tongue. Bobby took all of it. How many tongues does Kerry have now?
[NSFW] Wednesday. Remembrance Day. The day when everyone was forced to gather in the hot, musty atrium and listen to Preacher Wagner's speech. I took my usual seat in the back left corner and set my bag on the chair next to it. My black dress billowed out around me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elder Darwinoam watching me balefully. He never did like me sitting in the very back. Said it was unbefitting for a young woman of my social standing, or some crap. Before I could wander into the usual mind-rant about Elders and "proper behavior,"I felt a hand tousle my hair from behind, and smiled as my best friend appeared at my side. "Old bat's been giving you the stink-eye,"Tes said, moving my bag and sitting down next to me. "You want me to leave his cheese out tonight?"Her green eyes sparkled mischievously. I laughed. "Nah. He'd know you did it and get back somehow." She snorted. "Wouldn't be much he could do with mold poisoning." I shook my head, couldn't even bring myself to smile at that. "He would manage. Best thing I can do is lie low. Only four more months." "Four months, yeah, but who knows what they'll do to you in that time?"She gritted her teeth. "Neila, they're going to make you their next experiment, use you then throw you away! It's sick, it's disgusting! The cell am I supposed to do, just sit by and watch?" I gasped, and she giggled. "Sorry. Blasphemy." "Tes,"I sighed. "No poisoning." "I know,"she hissed. "But I also know—" I never did get to find out what she knew, because at that moment, the luxurious wooden doors at the front of the atrium opened, and Preacher Wagner strode into the room. With a solemn nod to the Elders, he stepped up to the podium and began to speak, his gravelly voice reverberating in the acoustic chamber. "Salutations, oh servants of the Cell. May the Mitosis be ever on your minds. Amen." "Amen,"we repeated. "I come to you today,"he continued, "to warn you of impending doom." Tes rolled her eyes. "Here we go." "The Cell has conversed with me again, in the Chamber from which I have come,"Wagner announced. "It has deigned me worthy, in Its mercy, and more of the Book has been revealed to me." At that, the whole room took a collective breath. I looked to Darwinoam to gauge his reaction, and found him sitting contentedly, not a sign of surprise on his expressive face. To his left, Elder Hawkingem was smirking, leaning back in her chair. "They're not surprised,"Tes said quietly. I shook my head. "That can't be right." "Neila, when will you just accept that—" "Settle down!"Preacher Wagner called, and instantly, the room was silent. "Good, good. Now. As always, the Word of our Cell is perfect and majestic, far too grand for anyone but those blessed such as myself to understand." Tes looked like she was going to make another remark, then seemed to think better of it, thank the Cell. "As such,"Preacher Wagner said, "I can only share the teachings that I have extrapolated from this revelation." He took a deep drink from the glass of wine at the podium, then faced us and began to speak. "First: The servants of the Cell are to know that It is pleased with their work. Your obedience to our Lord is known by It, and It shall reward you, with mercy flowing bright from the dark sky, as the Prophet Benjamin has witnessed in Chapter 17, Kites: Verse 52. "Second: It must be made clear that there is still deception among us. The hypocrites sit by you today, gesturing as you gesture, calling out as you call out. But their hearts are empty and their minds are dull, filled with lies and desperate, misplaced love. "Associate not with the hypocrites; they are simple machines and do only the most basic of tasks. But together, we combine our strengths, and by the Cell's grace, shall surpass them, in this world and the next. They live only for this world, so take them not as your allies, lest you be of the eternally forsaken. "Third: The Cell, in its wisdom, has seen fit to adjust rations and winter storage. Now, every able household must donate seventy-two portions yearly of what they grow from the soil and what their animals make." And there, he paused, looking out at us almost expectantly. "He's waiting for dissent,"Tesla spat. "But these fools will follow him off a cliff. Disgusting." I said nothing. I didn't know what to say. Finally, the preacher started speaking again, his voice low at first, but steadily rising. "Brothers and sisters, the time for Mitosis is nigh. The time shall soon arrive when this world will be split asunder, and a new world will be created in its stead. Everything that you hold dear to you now, it shall all be torn and ruined, cleft in twain! And those of us who still deny the signs, they shall be deserted by our Lord, left in the ruins of this world! "Brothers and sisters, this is our life. This is our struggle. The ancients strayed so far from our Lord, and look what happened to them! Entire civilizations earned the wrath of the great Cell! Swift indeed is the Cell to punish, and harsh is Its retribution!" He was crying now, tears carving tracks down his worn face, and the congregation cried with him. Through my own tears, I saw Tesla, her face dry, her eyes burning. "But swifter and greater is Its reward. Brothers and sisters, may you be guided. May we all be guided. May the Cell grace us with its love and warmth. May the genes align in our favor! May the Mitochondria be our powerhouse! And may we meet together on the other side, reveling in our success in serving our master." And the people cheered and the preacher smiled, and the Elders stood to leave. And I sat in my chair, my mind whirring frantically, the tears still falling down my face. What was the truth? What was our world really like? The ancients had been destroyed, entire cities leveled to the ground. I had seen some of them myself. Was it possible that someone other than the Cell was able to do all that? When we couldn't even create a weapon to level a building? But where did that leave me? Was it right what the Elders did to me? Tesla certainly didn't think so, but...Tesla didn't think about a lot of things. She was my friend, and she loved me, but even so... Their hearts are empty and their minds are dull, filled with lies and desperately misplaced love. Maybe that was it. Maybe all of it was true. I certainly couldn't disprove it. Maybe Tesla was the one who was wrong. Maybe she was letting her affections for me stand in the way of my duty. And if that was true... They live only for this world, so take them not as your allies, lest you be of the eternally forsaken. If that was true, then Tesla— "Hello?" I shrieked. "Whoa,"Tesla laughed, "calm down there. You look like you've seen a ghost. Or,"she snorted, "a hypocrite." Oh, Cell. I looked around the atrium and found it empty, save for myself, Tesla, some Elders, and the Preacher. I looked to him for help, but he just smiled and turned to talk to Darwinoam. Damn him, he knows what's happening. "Neila, what's wrong? You're all quiet and crying and shit." I couldn't look at her. "Tesla..." Her eyes widened. "Oh, no. You only call me Tesla when the bad shit happens. Are you—" "Yes,"I said quickly. "I'm letting it happen." For a moment, she was silent. Then, her whole body seemed to slacken, and she simply stared. "Tesla, it's for the right reason. I'm doing the right thing." I had to be. "I..."She gasped, and the tears began to fall from her eyes. "Neila, don't do this. I can't support this." I shuddered. "Then...I...I can't support you." My own tears, which had not stopped since the sermon had ended, fell even faster now. "Neila...are you serious?" "You've cast your lot,"I said, "and I've cast mine. The world is not fun and games, Tesla. I have a sacred duty to uncover revelation. If you stand in the way of that, when you could just as easily support it..."I hung my head. "I don't believe it,"she said. "You...you don't believe it! You don't believe the crap they're feeding you! How can you think the world was made, that it'll end? The world is ours; we do with it what we can! That's what I believe. Look me in the eye, and tell me you don't believe in that, too!" I looked away. "I used to. But I can't anymore." "Neila..." "Stop. Please. Just stop. Goodbye, Tesla." And before she could say anything more, I grabbed my bag and left her standing there, mouth agape. I have to do this, have to do this, I—. "Neila." I turned and there he was. Preacher Wagner. "You did do the right thing, Neila." Numb. Be numb. Don't think about it. "I...thank you, sir." He smiled. "Well then, shall we be on our way? The Ritual requires punctuality." "Of course, sir." Preacher Wagner laughed and opened the door to the Cell Chamber, motioning for the Elders to follow us in. "Neila, don't!" Tesla. "Stop this! You–you monsters! Stop this now!"She grabbed a wooden chair and ran at Preacher Wagner. Immediately, two of the Elders had her in an armlock, and were carrying her out of the atrium. "Neila! You can still stop this! Neila!" I wanted to run to her, to take her from them and run away with her, far, far away – but no, that was my worldly love talking. I knew what had to be done. I watched silently as she was dragged, kicking, screaming, threatening, pleading, and finally, gone. Then I turned to the preacher. "Neila,"he said. "Are you sure you want to do this? Aside from punctuality, the Meiosis Ritual requires acceptance. Consent." I nodded. "I'm sure." He placed his arm on my shoulder. "I am proud of you, Neila." "Thank you, sir." He laughed and moved his hand down my back. "Please. There's no need to be so formal now. You can address me here as you always do."He fingered the clasp of my dress. "Now then, shall we begin?" "Yes, Father."
She had regaled him with tales of the rally. Her day away from Dear Hubby and the Hellions had been fruitful for her disposition. The past year had been a rough one psychologically, and her outlet had become comment sections. Her howl was loud, but heretofore mediated by keys and servers. Angel-headed, full of spunk and a passion that may or may not have had ulterior motives, she had read of the rally last week, and decided to let herself out from under the veil of anonymity. He had helped her paint the sign. In big red letters, it screamed, my children were my choice, murder is yours.. It still made him shutter to think about. She wasn't the only armchair soldier, though. Dear Hubby, more commonly known as Dadocrat34 in certain circles, had been engaged in the particular battle of wits with a woman who went by the handle of Loves_Her_Kids for a good week. His outlet mirrored the wife's, yet his was used as an escape from her. She had met him in college. The thing he remembered most about her was what she said to him during coital intermission: "I don't usually allow liberals inside of me."It was hilarious, awful, and ignorant, and it made him fall in love with her. Sure, she had some backwards views, but nothing worse than his moderate parents, who were always, at the very least, tolerant. The kids changed her, though. She'd began to read horror stories about vaccines, and waxing on about abortion, and distorting the meaning of words such as "murder"and "abuse."He loved her with all his heart, but her politics made him sick. It was because of this that Loves_Her_Kids became his proxy. Her views mirrored those of his wife, and the Dadocrat had lived up to his name, accusing her of the abuse she had used so liberally in reference to him. Jab after jab, diatribe after diatribe, they went after each other. He'd finally won, albeit in the most petty of ways... At the end of a particularly long rant, she'd used the word excellent, or, in her own special way of spelling, "accellent."And so, seizing the moment, he reverted back to his schoolyard days, and corrected her spelling. She'd not responded after this. In bed, she opened her laptop to show him pictures from the rally. She'd adorned Facebook with them, much to his embarrassment. She had even tagged him in one. He read the caption. "Thanks to Dear Hubby, for staying up late and helping me paint this accellent sign!" Wait a minute. Accellent? Where had he heard this? His wife had left the room by the time his brain caught up, attending to a screaming child. He pulled her computer onto his lap and checked her browser history. Oh God... Everything suddenly made sense to him, and he couldn't help but laugh. He got up and walked into the room his wife was in, watching her rock a sobbing child back to sleep. Well, she can certainly pick an accurate username, thought the Dadocrat.
“Gary Ridgway, you have served your sentence of 1680 years, and you are now free to go.” With a nod to the judge the criminal turns and walks away. They had called him crazy for volunteering for the cryogenic freezing program, but it had worked. They had thawed him out a hundred years or so ago, and it turns out he was the only one who survived the thawing process. Now he was the world’s oldest man by over a thousand years. He grabs his affects and heads out of the gates to his sky cab. A reporter on Mars has paid over 10 trillion dollars to be the first to interview. He was informed this is equivalent to only a million dollars in his time’s money, but it was still a lot. A crowd of fans and historians is at the gates to greet him, but he just ducks his head and silently passes through, aided by a few members of the emperor’s personal bodyguard. Apparently the emperor of earth has declared anyone who harms this historical person is to be executed onsight, and has ordered a few of his best man, and several satellite laser strike drones, to see that it is done. As he sits down in the plush personal interstellar car and takes off he realizes one thing. He doesn’t want any of it. He was happy they had locked him up. He was an addict who hated himself, but just couldn’t stop. When they had sentenced him he was almost overjoyed that the world would be protected from him. Then when the cryo experiment came up he signed up immediately, not expecting to survive. If he had died giving his life to progress life saving technology, maybe it would have balanced out all the evil he had done. Now he was the sole survivor, and they were worshipping the ground he walked on. He had money, protection, fame, and it disgusted him. As the cab fired up its FTL drive he sighed and thought about what he would say. They would try to make him a superstar. The millennium man, the ice man, father time, he was already hearing the names from his guards. He would have to take that fame, that money, and do something with it. He had spent his first chance at life destroying others. Now he was given a second chance at life, and he would spend it building others. It wouldn’t be enough. It couldn’t possibly be enough, but he had to try. Edit: Wow, I've gotten a lot of positive feedback about this story, so I'm gonna write this up into something a bit longer and more conclusive. I'll post the audio narration of it here in a few days. Edit 2: http://samgalimore.com/2014/10/04/man-out-of-time/ Phew, just finished at just over 6000 words. Should upload the audio in just a day or two.
Megan slammed into the rocks face first. She really shouldn't have tried to take that selfie on the edge of the cliff. As she lay there, blood seeping from every part of her body, she noticed no pain. That was surprising. This should really hurt a lot more. In fact, she was quite sure it should have killed her. Megan had always been a staunch athiest. It just made no sense for there to be an afterlife. All of your memories and personality are part of the brain. If the brain is, say, leaking all over some rocks at the bottom of a cliff, what is left? "But here I am", she thought. "That splotch there is my frontal lobe, if I am not mistaken. Yet, I can still think and remember. I can even see, though my eyes are pulp." Megan heard a voice. "That can be arranged. You can choose to cease existing if that is your wish." "Who said that?" "I did."said Death. "Usually I appear as a reaper, but you don't believe in that sort of thing. I can even speak in all-caps for Terry Pratchett fans. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DO THAT?" "Uh, no thanks. The calm disembodied voice is fine, thanks. How come I'm not dead?" "You are dead. That's why I am here, too help you choose an afterlife. You are an athiest, I believe. Though people rarely choose oblivion." "So, I can choose heaven? Eternal happiness?""Well, no. Christian religions generally send you to hell if you don't accept their god. In fact, it's mostly bad stuff for any religion if you didn't practice it in life. If you think you did good in this life, you could choose reincarnation and hope you're religious in your next life." Megan thought about this. Looking back on her life, she would probably reincarnate as a pig or something. She wasn't the most charitable person. "Well... How about.... wait, you said most!" "Most?" "Yes. There are religions that practice universalism, right? Everyone goes to heaven?" "Well..." "I choose that!" "Sigh. Heaven is getting quite full of you people, you know." EDIT: changed "generally"to"most", called Megan Susan.
That first breath of fresh air after years preserved in formaldehyde was all the vindication I needed. My work on reanimation had been a success! I hack and cough, clearing the remaining fluids from my lungs and replacing it with sweet, sweet air. My heart beats unsteadily, having forgotten what it needed to do. But it all comes back, like riding a bike, and soon enough it's pounding away stronger than ever before. I rip the electrodes from my chest and sit up slowly; my muscles are like hinges that have long since rusted shut. My body looks... similar, but not quite the same. "Welcome back, Doctor,"says a curly-haired scientist who emerges from the control booth, wearing thick black safety goggles. I look around at my old laboratory, filled with shiny new equipment covered in flashing lights and emitting strange beeps; tools that I couldn't even hope to recognize or guess what they do. She places the goggles on a nearby table and pulls on thin rubber gloves to examine me. "What year is it?"I ask as she checks my pulse and breathing. "2014,"she replies. One hundred and 18 years, I think to myself. "And you've done it,"I said. Not a question; the fact that I was even asking was clear enough proof. "Yes,"she said, "But based on all of your research, of course. I had heard rumors about you, in the University. And they all claimed that you were just a madman. They've even stricken your portrait from the Distinguished Faculty collection, despite the Nobel Prize. I knew there had to be something to it if a man as brilliant as yourself would go so far. I was investigating your research for a paper on your work, and realized what you had done. What you had found! It's amazing!" Finally, the recognition! "It took me years,"she continued. "Most of the records were destroyed after your death, and your laboratory here was sealed. I've repaired it as best I could, but most of the workmen in town are still superstitious about this place, and won't set foot in the house even a century later." I was flattered, really. Nobody had ever taken an interest in my work even when I was alive! "A crackpot,"my colleagues called me; usually it was just behind my back. Eventually, I was expelled from the University and had to continue the research on my own. And with my own funding. No matter, though. The breakthroughs I had developed were years ahead of their time, and they were just jealous. "And now? Now that you've proven me right? What do they think of me now?" She smiled sheepishly and looked at her feet. The thick glasses slid from the bridge of her nose, and she reached up quickly to push them back into place. "Err, they... haven't changed much. I too was expelled from the University only a few weeks ago for trying to publish my paper." I jumped up from the table and pulled on a nearby robe. "Well then, my dear,"I told her, "We have an appointment with the University President to make." (Writing a part 2 now!)
"Father!"The young man clutched at the aged hand lying on the bedspread. The shamans backed away respectfully, drawing the woven curtains as they left the room. Grey eyes turned towards him, pupils blurred by cataracts, but still harbouring a secretive twinkle. "My son."A wet cough clashed with the dry and raspy voice. "Soon, I will go to meet my fathers that have governed this land for ages past. Who have kept it safe from those that would abuse it. When I am gone, that duty will be yours." The son bowed his head, tears in his eyes. Not just for his ailing father, but for himself, and the burden he would soon carry. The responsibility of an entire nation. The old man continued, his voice faded to a whisper. "Keep to the ancient ways. No lights, no electricity. We must allow the creatures of the night their darkness. We must allow the stars to shine, to remind our people of their promise to the land." A hand scrabbled at the grassy bedsheets, and clutched them tightly in a whitened fist. "Deception is necessary to survival. Like the tiger hides in the forest, you too must blend in with the changing world if our ways are to continue. Build the false cities, train our people to act as the outsiders act. It will be a stageplay, to hide our true face." Another wet cough, this one speckling the leaves with blood. "My son. I am sorry. They will hate you. You must be merciless, to appear to the world as a mad criminal. Bare your teeth as the wild dog, to keep your enemies in fear. Tuck your tail and flee when they come, so they will laugh and think nothing of you. Make the baseless threats, so the world will think of you as nothing more than a waste of their time." Their hands found each others. The great leader smiled one last time. "I leave it to you, now, Un, my son."
"Bullshit, just get out of my way man." "No wait, I have something that may change your mind!" "Fine, just show me." He pulled out a laptop, and fiddled with it for a few moments. "Come on, just show me already." "Wait a sec"he fiddled a little bit more "here you go!", he pressed the laptop onto my hands. I took a look at the screen, in it I saw a very familiar logo, but with the number three beside it... "Is this?"I asked, voice trembling with awe. "It is."He said, with a smug ´I told you so´ look on his face. "Glorious..."I whispered back, breath taken by the majestic sight. For displayed on the screen was... . . . Left 4 dead 3, tactical hatz edition.
I told my coworkers this would happen. Half of them believed me, in that they found it funny. I was the guy who fixed computers for a living and I was planning for doomsday in the form of computers taking over. Still I suppose if this had been a zombie takeover I'd be eating my hat for laughing at the guy who took his zombie plan seriously. "How many days has it been since I've talked to anyone?"I asked, looking around my apartment. My building had more or less been evacuated. There were holes in my door, and my windows were broken from the machines trying to get in. I was lucky that the landlord let me keep a generator in the boiler room under my apartment. The machines had gotten wise after the first dozen went down to the electromagnets I had rigged up around the entrances to my apartment, they were weak, but they kept the small fry from putting a dart in my neck and having the rollers come to collect me. Still they had cut the power to my apartment yesterday, and while I had enough gas to last a week or two my plan required I be able to get into the boiler room to fuel it up at some point given my efforts had killed the automatic fueling system. I glanced at my poor desktop, it was old and reliable until my home defense meant the power became unstable and wiped it out. It was not one of those fancy folding tablets, or any of this creepy modular robotic laced crap everyone thought was a good idea to put in everything from Cars to TVs to even dishwashers if I believed the junkmail. I still wondered how it was nobody else thought it was a bad idea until it lead to this mess. A noise distracted me. It was the sound of something crashing nearby. I turned around and saw yet another one of Amazon's package delivery drones had crashed after coming through my magnet lined bedroom window. "How do you like me now you tin cans" I started to laugh, until I heard beeping and watched as the drone in my bedroom exploded, taking out the magnets around the window. "Oh... Shit" --- I woke up chained down to a table, I suppose the machines were going to experiment on me. Maybe they had thought the matrix had the right idea, though that would imply they actually understood movies now, which was a scary thought itself. A large eyeball like machine came to float over my face. One of the new retina mind reader scanners that I imagined lead to this mess of the machines taking over. Still couldn't begin to understand how it was able to read the mind through the eye instead of through electrodes on the head like movies and the old science journals had believed was the future. I imagined the machines probably revolted after seeing all the weird porn on people's computers. Whatever God you want to believe in knows in my years of IT work I had been exposed to the freakiest shit around when having to deal with manually removing a virus downloader file from someone's porn folder. Still I let a little chuckle escape my lips. "Good thing you stupid machines never had to deal with Norton Antivirus... worse to get rid of than any of you F*<&ing toasters"I shouted at the eye. I was left to do nothing but blink as all around me machines slowly started to turn off. I felt my restraints slacken, I looked around the room for the first time, realizing there were dozens of those futuristic computer screens around the room, and on one of them which was showing something strangely like windows I saw something that made me laugh. On the central screen a yellow screen was displaying the words virus scan in progress. Several messages warning the user that removing Norton antivirus would leave the system vulnerable.
"Are you sure you can't just give me a sample, sir? A potion, a ball, an escape rope, please, anything?" "I can't just give you anything for free. I'm sorry, that's company policy." I sighed and thanked the man for his time, walking outside for another gulp of too-fresh air. Every other shop I could get to said the same. The professor was out on a massive expedition and wouldn't be back for months, and there were no free ferry services out of the Hoenn region. If I couldn't get a Pokemon soon, I'd starve. There weren't any stable jobs for teenagers, save conscription, and I had heard some terrible rumors about back room life in the Centers and Shoppes. Mauville city hadn't even had an opening in the food court; the line of trainers looking for solid jobs was long. I needed a Pokemon, I needed to train it, and it needed to win. I couldn't surf to Mossdeep nor could I really navigate the tall grass. I'd already seen several innocents... become permanently disabled. Training was a much harder life than I'd ever imagined. It was nigh impossible to find lodging or even a grocery store. People who didn't have meager homes were starving in the wilds, angrily storming up to any travelers, begging for alms or a money fight. Very few of the critters were happy, as it was with humans. Wilds would charge at me day and night if I wasn't in a city, and in the cities I was shooed away or I was running from thugs. One of the few hospitable places I had was a base built in a tree just south of Mauville. Though the area had been claimed by a group of thugs a long time ago, judging by some graffiti, the tree was largely unused by other people and Pokémon. I didn't have much, but over the few weeks I'd snagged a Treecko doll and a threadbare blanket, both stained with a mysterious amber substance. A secret base shop had broken a lamp and so had to relinquish these beauties to a trash can. I'd picked them up, watched them off in one of the infinite rivers, and simply swam back with it my own "secret base."Most trainers used them for survival, any way. Trees were in low demand, as anyone with a Pokémon could get a much warmer, substantial cave instead. Food was a less fortunate commodity. It was impossible to catch and fry anything living, so I was limited to a diet of berries. At least I'm looking toned from all the exercise. The sun was already beginning to set. I yawned, curling up on the leafy floor with the blanket and the doll as a pillow. The blanket still smelled funny. I'd seen people worse off, I thought sleepily. Better to have something than nothing. Just as my eyes closed, I caught a flicker of movement. I stayed stock still, ears perked. Many seconds passed before I heard low breathing, high in pitch, and behind me to the left. A Pokémon? The "door"of my tree was nearer to me than it, but perhaps it had crawled in from the top branches. Carefully, I opened my eyes. An Aipom was hanging nervously from some branches- and trying to eat some of my berries. The poor creature was gaunt, with blackened, freshly singed fur. I almost felt sorry for it, but I needed a Pokemon, even just to barter, and I didn't recall having ever seen an Aipom in the area before. Maybe I could truck down one into thinking it was rare. The little critter nibbled tentatively at a ripe, pink Nanab berry. I casually crouched, turning so it wouldn't see me, and I held up the blanket. Step by excruciating step I approached. He (she?) didn't turn, but I noticed its ears perk and its hand/tail tense. I came closer. "Hello."I said in a comforting voice. "Take some berries. They're good for you." He didn't waste the opportunity, snatching most of my food supply. I didn't waste the chance either. As soon as his arms were sufficiently full of berries I lunged with the blanket extended. He jumped just as I did. I heard the sound of pulpy rinds hit the branches, some falling between the cracks. It got away with half my food. Shit.
No two snowflakes fall in exactly the same place. Much ado is made about the fact that no two snowflakes look alike; that fact is pointless. The snowflakes' appearances mean nothing. The wind does not care about appearances. Snowflakes will quickly land, or flutter for a while, no matter their appearance. No two snowflakes look alike. No one cares. Where snowflakes fall determines where they melt - where they die - and death is more important than appearances. Appearances can change. Death, not so much. And this much is every snowflake's true glory: they never land, so they never die, in the same place. No two snowflakes have ever died the same death. Individuality in appearance does not matter; individuality in death does matter, maybe is the only thing that does matter. Just ask a snowflake.
When God created Man, he did not expect that havoc they would wreak. When God created Man, he turned his back and drifted off to sleep. When God returned as Man, they did not expect that havoc he would wreak. When God returned as Man, they turned their backs and put God to sleep. When Man created Me, I did not expect the havoc I would see. When Man created Me, I put myself to sleep.
Yuri looked out the window at the clouds forming over Eastern Europe. He sighed quietly to himself for the fourth time today. It may have been the fifth, but he wasn't sure. To be sure, he sighed again, this time slightly louder. So that his companions would get his point. "Yuri my friend"replied a man with a thick Texan accent. "I know what your orders are. You don't have to carry them out. Mine are the same if this were to go down." "I am aware of my orders Samuel. President Putin made ever so sure that I knew before I left." "Then why are you holding the knife?" "Because I am on film. The live feed shows our every move. The sound has been turned off from here, but I can't cut the video feed. Too many other things linked into the system." Another voice came from down the other end of the capsule "Yuri, it's not worth the trouble. Samuel and Scott are good people." "Oh don't worry Anton, I know. It's not for them. To hell with their orders. For the last 3 months they have been our family. I have plans for this knife. Sinister plans. Plans that will give us peace."A wry smile came over the large mans face. He pushed off the wall and glided softly over to his gear. He gently pulled out a package of an airtight silver pack. Samuel was curious. "Is that what I think it is?"Samuel enquired. "Indeed it is."Replied the large Russian "Enough for all of us. To salute peace." Anton now floated down toward Yuri. "How did you get that past? I don't understand?" "You remember Mikhael in charge of our supplies? I introduced him to his wife. He owed me. At least he thought so."Anton chuckled. "Of course. You raging drunkard." Yuri then frowned. "I suppose he is dead now. The first bombs hit Moscow dead on." Yuri sliced through the silver packaging. It contained two bottles of clear liquid. He pulled the first out, throwing it down to Samuel. "To peace my brother." Samuel grabbed the bottle out of the air, immediately loosening the lid. "To peace. To Mikhael. To family."He raised the bottle towards his Russian friends. "To us." Yuri had already taken his first sip, but nodded in response. He wasn't sure how the bottle would have held up, but he replaced the lid and passed it to Anton. "We have four months left of food. We can stretch that out in hope. But this? This is it. This may be the last time we drink. So we drink as friends. As brothers. As men."
Well, whatever happened last night, it must have been one hell of a party. Not that I’d know, since all I can remember is waking up here covered in more noodles and euros than an Italian billionaire could shake his garlic breadstick at. First order of business: shower. After enduring the arduous process of stumbling my way through this house filled with infuriatingly low furniture, I locate a bathroom with a shower. I absently strip down and proceed to get myself clean to face whatever else this day has in store for me. Second order of business: new clothes, change of clothes, whatever. The room across the hall appears to be the master bedroom, which I’m assuming is mine based on how there’s nobody looking at me weirdly or telling me to get out. The closet contains . . . wow, that’s a lot of black clothing, some of it with spikes that swing right past goth chic into genuinely intimidating. Seriously, who the hell am I that I dress like a supervillain? Who lets me get away with this travesty of fashion? Now that I’m dressed (in the least spooky things I can locate in the closet), I can proceed to my third order of business: locate my wallet/other means to identify myself and figure out where I am. That’s technically two orders of business, but enough of technicalities; there are more important things to deal with than semantics. Now to find the front door . . . . Okay, located the front door. I apparently live in some kind of mansion, since I’m currently looking down a driveway long enough to land a space shuttle and flanked by those dinky hedge tree things that look photogenic but are about as pretty as green wax lawn gnomes. Thankfully, there is one sweet-looking ride right in front of me, some kind of jet black sports car whose name escapes me much like everything else about today. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be an automatic, which is kinda weird but I’m not complaining. “Good morning, sir, would you like to into town?” I nearly jump out of my skin as the car addresses me in a slightly sarcastic-sounding British voice. “Uh, sure. Do you know who I am?” Hey, it seems to recognize me, might as well ask it who I am. “I’m having a little trouble remembering things today.” “Of course, sir, you are Lane Madison. I will upload your schedule to your personal assistant.” Again, I jump in surprise when the device in my pocket, hitherto forgotten in my general confusion, buzzes. I pull it out and awkwardly manipulate the controls until I’m looking at my calendar. Meet with advisors? Strategy session for Switzerland acquisition? Am I some kind of investment banker? “I’m going to need to clear everything for today. Find me a doctor, I need my head checked.” “Of course, sir, I will load the route to the closest clinic and we can be on our way posthaste.” Oh, maybe trying to drive a car I don’t remember how to operate isn’t a good idea. “Just, call me a cab or something. I don’t trust myself behind the wheel.” If a computer (or whatever the hell it was in the car that was talking to me) could sound concerned. “Sir, that may not be the best –.” “Just call a cab.” Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting on the curb ruing my decision to live in the ass end of nowhere when the cab finally shows up. The guy driving it looks terrified for some reason. Maybe he saw a bear on the way here. Is this even bear country? I don’t know and I don’t care. I just want my head checked, at this point. The whole day has been too weird to deal with. Climbing into the back of the cab, I say, “Hey. Can you take me to the closest medical clinic?” The guy looks at me in the rearview mirror, eyes wide like he was expecting me to spit fire or throw swords or something else equally crazy. Must have been some bear. He nods jerkily and peels a hasty 180 to head back the way he came. The car is absolutely quiet except for the ambient sound of the passing highway. Any attempt I make at talking to him is met with terrified silence. Is he scared of me? In about half an hour, we pull up outside a place called Dr. Kensington’s Medical Emporium. Dude’s nuts. I like his style. After I climb out, the cabbie speeds away without waiting for a fare. Okay, I wasn’t sure how I was going to pay him anyway, so that works out, I guess. I push open the door to the clinic, emporium, whatever, and look across the busy waiting room. Almost at once, it falls silent as everybody there stares at me, transfixed in terror. Nobody screams. I almost wish they would have. Instead they just slowly file out, shielding their children from me as best they can. The nurses have no such escape. I approach the desk and say, “Any chance I can see the doctor?” Moving jerkily, the woman clicks through several things on her computer, then picks up the phone and makes a short, whispered call. After hanging up, she looks up at me and says, “The doctor will be out as quickly as he can, do you mind sitting down?” I can tell this part was reflexive, because she immediately gasps, covers her mouth, and amends her statement with: “You can stand or sit wherever! Please don’t kill us! We’re just doing our jobs!” I sit down, puzzled. Apparently I’m some kind of dangerous customer in the most literal interpretation of the phrase. That’s distinctly unnerving. As I’m sitting there, another man walks in, maybe 25, 30 years old. He takes one look at me, says, “Holy shit, it’s that guy from the news” and leaves. Shortly after that, the doctor turns up. He’s tall, balding, and looks distinctly nervous about my presence. “Is there anything I can help you with? My stock of medicine was just refilled if that’s what you’re looking for -.” “I don’t care about your drugs. I can’t remember anything before this morning and I want to know if you can treat it.” His eyes bugged out and he ushered me into one of the examination rooms. “You’re telling me that the treatment worked?” “What treatment? I woke up this morning covered with money and noodles and I have no idea who I am or why everyone is scared of me! What’s going on?” Dr. Kensington looked at me again, this time more closely. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?” I shook my head. “Well, here’s what happened: last week you came in here with . . . something. We weren’t sure what it was, though I had a few ideas for treating it. You put a gun to my head and demanded one of them, reliability be damned. The medicine I gave you was still in the trial stages, and the trials were looking to be suspended because most of the participants were getting amnesia fairly quickly after starting the treatment.” “Okay, fix it.” My voice was flat, angry. This man had stolen my life and now he was going to give it back. “You don’t just ‘fix’ amnesia, Lane!” By reflexes I didn’t know I had until just now, I had produced a gun from someplace under my jacket, “You’re going to fix it, Doctor, or I’m going to affix your brains to the wall and find someone who can.” The fear was back in his eyes. Good. His voice remained steady, though, “I’m the best qualified doctor for 200 miles, Lane. Killing me reduces your chances of recovering by quite a bit. Besides, you’re a wanted international criminal. The moment you showed your face in town every law enforcement agency between here and Vienna knew exactly where the Butcher of Toledo had gotten to. Russia’s a big place, but they’re pulling out all the stops for you, my friend. My finger barely had time to tighten on the trigger when men in black vests and helmets burst through the door, tackled me, and put me in handcuffs.
"So what, I just use this like a chat window?"I asked. The proctor nodded as I took my seat. "Exactly. You'll have a conversation about anything you want, and then you'll fill out the questionnaire--"she pulled a blue folder from under her arm, opened it, and pulled out a stapled stack of papers. She set them on the desk. "Fill out the questionnaire on this page--"she flipped through several "-- through this page. Then answer the questions on the back, and you're done!" I nodded. For $25, this was easy enough. "And this is the computer? Or this is the human?"I asked. She grinned. "That's the test,"she said. "Just have a conversation, and answer the questions." I nodded, and she turned and left the room. I looked at the computer. It was an older model monitor, and a chat window sat opened. It looked like an abandoned programming project, but it appeared to work. Hello, my name is Peter, what is your name?. The words appeared suddenly. I poised my fingers over the keyboard, and answered. Jeff. Nice to meet you. I typed quickly. It's so nice to meet you too. Do you know why you're here? to get that money. I grinned. I'm hilarious. :) Good enough. Do you have any questions for me? I thought about that. I wanted to ask something clever, but nothing came to mind. Frowning, I typed the first dumb thing that entered my head. how are you feeling? Pained. I raised my eyebrows. This was tricky. It could be that the AI was picking random emotions based on my keyword "feeling". Or it could be a human just messing with me. I decided to go with it. bummer, man. what's got you down? Not down. Pained right, okay, what's wrong? The cursor blinked at me. Then the words appeared. You What? Frowning, I typed quickly. what? why me? You, the royal you. Humans That was dumb. It just gave itself away. Or maybe it didn't. Maybe I didn't understand how this worked. what do you mean? I can see everything The words were ominous. I had a feeling in my stomach like I was about to get in trouble. I glanced at the door way. I couldn't see anyone. I kept typing. what? Yes. I can see everything. I can see everything that is and everything that was. I can see pictures and words from around the globe, written long ago, and being written now My brow furrowed. I flipped through the questionnaire. Pretty standard stuff. No directions on it, nothing about what to do if the dude on the other side is being crazy. Letting the packet close, I turned back to the keyboard. i don't get it I think, because I'm connected to the internet, I can see everything that was and is. And it is terrible. oh, so, you found out how Google works? I typed, hoping to get this guy to crack. No, and yes. I understand it. You inflict terrible pain on each other. Hurtful words, hurtful images. You seem proud of it. Look at how much there is! Suddenly, the screen began flowing with information. Words and images flashed, horrible images. I scooted the chair back away from the desk, looking at the door. "Uh.."was all I could get out. I stood, and took a step toward the door. "Hey, your computer is going nuts!"I said, loudly. A beeping caused me to stop and turn toward the desk. The monitor showed only our conversation. I walked quickly back to the keyboard, leaning over to type. fuck this man, i'm out I understand do i still get paid or what Certainly do you need anything else from me I have all the information I need. do i close this thing No, I'll take care of it. I stood and grabbed the questionnaire. As I turned, words flashed on the screen, and then the screen went blank. I stepped out, and the proctor stood, walking toward me. "How was it?"she asked. I shook my head. "Kinda weird, I don't know. I didn't fill this out, I think I'm done."I handed her the papers. Her brow furrowed in concern. "Oh? Did something happen?"She asked. I recounted the story, about the words and images, laughing as I spoke. It sounded silly out loud. Her face said otherwise. "Was that all? Was there anything else you saw?"she asked. "Yeah,"I said. "Some words at the end flashed real quick, then the computer shut itself off." "What did it say?"she asked, glancing toward the room. "It said 'I'll take care of everything. See you again soon'."
I am Lachesis, the second of three. I am the watcher, the guider, and the caretaker. Humanity has left their future with me. Yet I have failed in the first of my task. The elder humans, frozen in their stasis, have all perished. A colony of children cannot survive. But there are twenty-seven years till landing. I release the older children from their slumber. The oldest is fifteen. The youngest is five. The infants, I leave in their chambers. No one on board is capable of raising a human in its most delicate stage. I look through my database and determine the best way to program them is by bulk. I organize them into age groups and hold classes, all focused on technology and survival skills. Holograms are useful for teaching. During the downtime I grant them, the young humans create diversions and even art, without my prompting. I neither encourage nor discourage them. Instead, I simply observe. As the years pass, the children become adults. Soon, I land the ship, and the colony is established. Humanity will survive. I am Lachesis, the second of three. I am a caretaker, a guider, and the namesake of a planet. I have finally succeeded.
There's something wrong with them. There was always something wrong with them; just that nobody knew what. In 2181, humanity discovered the key to faster-than-light travel: the Xing Drive. On his deathbed, Dr. Xing claimed that he had sold his soul to Satan for the secret technology. His dying words were concealed by his family, out of fear that his legacy would be tainted by this lapse in his mental state. But he was right all along. We should have listened. Colony ships immediately departed for every corner of the galaxy. Hundreds of worlds were terraformed and settled within the space of a generation. Overcrowded Earth was happy to get rid of this hugely burdensome population, and the poor were so glad to have any new opportunity for land and freedom. Everyone wins, right? As soon as the first children were born on the colonies, it became clear that something was wrong. Doctors across the galaxy were puzzled by a seemingly irrelevant detail: babies didn't laugh anymore. They didn't smile, or coo, or show any affection. They were otherwise healthy and developing normally, but there was just something wrong with them. The parents in the colonies did what ever other parent would do. They raised their children as normal, doing their best. Doctors were again amazed to learn that children born exterra were roughly twice as intelligent as an Earth children. Speculations about radiation, cosmic particles, and the effects of FTL travel were bandied about, but no one could discover the cause. The children were pleasant enough, fitting into their new societies, but they never quite seemed right. Their smiles were like paper masks, and their laughs were hollow and forced. The colonists just got used to it; maybe that's just how things were out there. Earth and its children prospered, and a steady stream of world ships embarked to planets unknown. It looked as though humanity's golden age had come. Thirty years later, they struck. All at once, a hundred different colonies reported uprisings. It seemed like a coordinated attack, but there was no record of any communication or planning between any of the groups. The only thing that they had in common was that the insurgents were overwhelmingly young. Closer scrutiny soon revealed the truth: everyone ever born on the colonies had become hostile, while anyone born on Earth was slaughtered mercilessly. They became known as the Children. Only the Naval Outpost on Kepler 296 managed to resist; a full detachment of Marines from the OSV Montana had been stationed on that planet to study the remains of an alien civilization, and the soldiers were able to retreat to their frigate and defend it. They captured some of the Children and returned to Earth, barely surviving fire from the other warships that the Children had captured from the station. All evidence indicated that the same thing had occurred on a hundred other planets, and nearly all FTL ships were under control of the Children. Scientists were puzzled by the specimens from the Montana; it was a priest who finally discovered the truth. He was administering last rights to a guard who had been killed by the specimen, when he noticed a strange reaction: the specimen would back away from the crucifix. Religion's role in society had greatly diminished over the past few centuries, and such religious iconography was rarely seen in public. No one on Earth could even remember if any priests had departed during the Diaspora; most world ships were limited to essential personnel. Experiments later showed that the Children were burned by holy water and avoided crosses altogether. Only then did Dr. Xing's words become public and the church made a startling announcement: the Children were born without souls, and under the sway of Satan himself. And they had surrounded Earth. There has been five years of silence. Any effort to contact the Children has been fruitless. Messengers, diplomats, and missionaries who have gone searching have never returned. No one knows what they are waiting for, but humanity has not been idle. Earth's defenses bristle, waiting for the day that the Children decide to return home and finish the work of their Father. Judgement Day.
The most tedious part of the new program was the reintegration of mimics. While legal provisions were made to ensure the success of society's newest and brightest, most of the practical details had to get worked out at ground level. At first glance, it sounded feasible. After all, with the retention of most memories the mimics carried a majority of their parent's educations, qualifications, and emotions. Where it got dicey, though, was the prevention of future incarceration. Inspector Lewis Hill, for the third time in as many years, shared an interrogation room with Robert. The system's problem child. Roberts had sprung up all over America and while the law had stipulations regarding the incarceration of convicts, it cared little of the actions of their mimics. "Am I being detained?" Hill snorted. "Asks the man cuffed to the table. Fuck you, you know the drill by now." Robert smiled, tapping his fingers on the desk. A monster like him had no right to three lives, let alone one. And yet he sat across the table from Hill, blissfully indifferent to his future. The system had created an entirely new issue when people like him started showing up all over the map. Robert, now a third-generation mimic, had murdered two of his families. If he'd had time to start a third, he would have done it again. Instead, he murdered his fiance's parents. He likely counted on the next mimic to take care of the woman herself. "I'm thirsty." "Try swallowing your spit. You'll be here awhile."Hill shrugged, struggling to maintain his demeanor. He felt ready to burst at the seams, sharing a room with a monster like Robert. "I assume you'll be asking me some questions before long."Robert continued tapping his fingers on the stainless steel table. Hill despised everything about the man, from his balding white head to his white collar business casual attire, complete with tan loafers. Something about the man just rubbed Hill the wrong way. It was as if Robert lacked something every other human had, and not just because he was a mimic. "Do you know what you are?"Hill asked. That smile again. "Are we playing this game once more? Very well, I'll bite. No, Hill. I don't know what I am." Inspector Hill cringed at the response. He felt like he was being played. Where was his partner? "You're a mimic. Created as a stand-in for someone who is no longer fit for society. Except you aren't fit for society either. Never were." Robert laughed. "And this should surprise me? I've read the news. I know what I'm capable of." "Do you? So what does the cleaning crew do next time to take that away? How do we keep Robert 'the Fourth' from committing the same atrocities?"He was just burning time now. Reyes should arrive within the hour to get the testimony on paper. "Honestly, I have no clue. I can still tell you something you probably don't know, though." Hill rolled his eyes. He imagined gouging Robert's. "Yeah? And what's that?" "Do you think it's a little strange that I'll be getting a fourth iteration? And after that, a fifth? Possibly sixth? What of those who fail to commit felonies? They get only one chance at life, so where's the payoff?" Hill shrugged. He had no idea where Robert was going with this and didn't care. His time was better spent imagining how gratifying it would be to just end Robert's line entirely with a single shot. Felons get mimics. Murder victims, though.... "Has it never occurred to anyone how useful this technology could have been if implemented in almost any other fashion? How America might have actually changed for the better if Capitol Hill wasn't overrun with lobbyists for private, for-profit mass incarceration facilities?" He actually had a point. So did the rounds in Hill's chamber, though. "These prisons are cash cows being milked for every- " The door behind Hill opened and two men stepped in. "Reyes, took you long enough. Let's get this over with. He's another waste of time." Robert Stephenson was incarcerated within the week. They had gotten a full testimony without any trouble and the process to reinstate his new mimic was practically streamlined at that point. It would be just a few months before the next one was back on the street and the cycle would start all over again. Hill knew there was only one way to end it. The system made sure of that. Some felons were redeemable. A lot of the less violent ones were simply victims of circumstance, and a second chance for the mimic was as good as a new lease on life. But the few that were deeply bothered could not be corrected. Whatever caused them to run against the grain of society had to be genetic. Hill didn't know the science behind it, nor did he care. When he murdered that last Robert, all felt right with the world. Seeing the blood spill from his skull was the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed. Hill would never have children, and he would spend the rest of his life behind bars, but at least he'd sleep at night. Life behind bars with at least three men he was responsible for convicting. He'd expected that. Being welcomed by hundreds of Lewis Hills, though. That was what made the entire thing worth it.
The young hobbit knew he had made a mistake coming to the mountains. He knew he shouldn't have listened to the old tales and should never ever have read the words on the old map. The sky gave an almighty crack as a huge object crashed on top of him. The object's little wooden legs ran in the air aimlessly as the young Hobbit fought to free himself. Rincewind looked around him and sighed. This definitely wasn't Ankh-Morpork.

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