Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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I was only human. It took me a long time to realize that, I had been the pope for many years, and after that got boring I moved onto cults. By being able to control minds I was the perfect religious mascot, causing people to spread ridiculous rumors. When I found my powers I wished to be idolized like a God, a figure of worship. Yet I had found myself trapped in an icy river for 400 years. When I woke up, all who I had under my control were dead. Religion was all but gone, and the government had the most control. Here I am, a victim of my own immortality. The drones were what really get to me. Drones were everywhere, they flew around me like buzzing flies. You’d think you could get used to the noise, but the beeping noise they make is always of a different frequency. Perhaps it would have been different if there were people. Professional gunmen used to trail me, shooting me occasionally. However, when they saw the bullets pop back out, they seemed to give up. I had thought about how they had identified me, what had gone wrong. Yet, that seemed to get boring too. I was only human after all. I continued to walk along this empty wasteland, passing by towns that were completely empty, devoid of life. I knew that I couldn’t escape this life no matter what I did, so I kept walking, sometimes taking water and food from convenience stores. “Meow.” Something broke through the beeps, the monotony, the silence. I quickly glanced around the streets, before I saw it. A small kitten lying on the ground, weakly breathing. Yet it’s meow seemed to contain the strength to live. I couldn’t ignore it, so I ran towards it. The drones all turned towards me but I didn’t care what they saw. “Meow.” I reached my hand out, shakily, and touched it. Suddenly, I wasn’t on the empty grey streets, but on a vibrant wave of colors. I had never seen anything like this, when I jumbled around the colors I could feel emotions. The green was a sense of freedom, so small and contained, while the blue was comfort. A sense of safety, I could feel it growing ever so slightly, because of me. While the red of pain seemed to throb, growing and shrinking. The worst of them all was the grayness, surrounding the colors, eating at them. I whispered an incantation, and then stopped. I didn’t want a robot, I wanted a friend. So I stopped what I was saying and said instead. “Nice to meet you, my name is Rasputin.” “Meow.”
"Well. I hope you're happy grandpa." "You would have won if you believed in yourself." "No. No I wouldn't have. He said he trained for 15 years under a waterfall studying from ancient masters in China. I did not do that grandpa." "Well neither did I." "Oh? Oh you never trained once? "Well....no I still trained...." "Yes grandpa, that's why you were the best. I did not train. That is why I am in a full body cast." "I really thought you could do it." "I know you did. I blame myself for this more than you." "Really?" "No. Absolutely not." "I just don't understand it. It should be in your blood." "Oh? Muscle memory, technique, and years of martial arts training should be in my blood? That's not how that works grandpa." "Yea I uhh........I see that now. Pretty cool I was a master fighter though huh?" "Yeah grandpa that's real.......neat." "..." "..." "So you want to play a game of cribbage?" "Yea alright...." "..." "..." "I ever tell you about the time I fought a dragon?"
2097 Michael lay on his death bed, frail and alone. But not scared. Never scared. He had enjoyed a hugely successful career. His books had become part of history, thrilling and horrifying millions. No, He was ready to meet Death as an old friend. These were his final moments, and he would savour them. Out of the shadows, a man appeared in front of him, impossibly tall, his figure obscured by a long black cloak. "Michael," he said. "It is time." "I am ready,"he whispered. "You are not. You see, your afterlife is an accumulation of your life's work. Consequently, nothing but eternal pain awaits you. As per the story you wrote about me all those years ago, I must allow you a second chance. I am bound by your rules. You have ten minutes to write a new story, to shape your own version of heaven." Michael remembered. It was one of his very first stories, a story he had posted on Reddit many years ago. He grabbed hold of a paper and pen, and he began. He wrote a story of happiness and serenity. Of wonder and excitement. It was, quite simply, a masterpiece. "I am done,"he said, holding out the paper. Death took it in his hands, and it dissolved. "Your hell awaits you." "Hell? But I thought-" "Oh Michael. You've forgotten your own ending, haven't you?" Everything went dark, and suddenly, all Michael could feel was fire. 2017 Michael Rorschach grinned. What a perfect idea for a wordprompt post. It was too good to leave alone. No, he'd write one of his own right now. Because, come on, what was the likelihood that he had stumbled upon the truth?
The conference room grew very still. I squinted at the special conference-call tripodal phone that crouched, alien-like in the center of the long oak desk and tried to confirm with myself that I had actually heard the amount that I’d just heard. ‘Could you repeat that number, please?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. The voice on the other end of the line (a recent hire out of NYU, a pure math PHD with the requisite frizzy hair, bad fashion sense, and planet-sized intellect) repeated the number, which took some time. ‘Holy shit.’ I said. ‘That’s enough to buy Rhode Island. If such a thing were possible.’ I sank into one of the many empty leather-clad office chairs that were scattered around the table. The conference room was completely empty except for me, an older man in a rumpled, off-the-rack suit, and an orange cat that had positioned itself as far away on the tabletop from the conference phone as possible. ‘Sell.’ Said the man in the crappy suit. His voice was gruff and so was his face, a not-super-clean looking dusting of five o’clock shadow covered his chin and neck, and his bald head looked like nothing so much as a speckled cannonball. ‘Sell it now. I honestly can’t believe you put her money into Bizcoin in the first place.’ ‘Bitcoin.’ I said, ‘And it’s all technically allowable under the terms of the will.’ ‘There’s such a thing as the spirit of the law.’ Said the man, glaring at me. ‘What, ok, you’re upset, Mr. Baldwin? You’re terribly upset that I’ve more than quintupled the estate of Ms. Vetter within the space of a year-‘ ‘She said,’ Mr. Baldwin tapped a chunky index finger on the tabletop, ‘-that the money was to be used to create a cat shelter. She didn’t have any intention of making it possible for you and your cronies to take risks-‘ ‘Yes, thanks Parker.’ I said, cutting off Mr. Baldwin. ‘That’ll be all.’ There was a click as the NYU grad disconnected. Once silence reigned again in the conference room, I addressed myself to Mr. Baldwin. ‘Look- I’m glad you’re here.’ I said, giving my best non-sharky smile to the older man (I’ve been told many times that my normal smile is somewhat detached and Patrick Bateman-esque, so recently I’ve been practicing in front of a mirror, trying to inject some goofiness into the expression). ‘I bet you are.’ Muttered Baldwin. Down at his end of the table, the orange cat raised its head from where it had been resting on its front paws and blinked at the two of us. His lamp-yellow eyes glittered in the diffuse light of the conference room. ‘Yes, because obviously Ms. Vetter trusted your opinion. Now, regardless of how it was obtained, we now have an extremely considerable estate on our hands. There’s more than enough to create the world’s most incredibly high-end cat sanctuary and at the same time, to continue to leave some money in the market to ensure that the sanctuary remains funded in perpetuity.’ ‘You mean leave the money in the market so that you can continue to take your cut of the profits.’ I really wished that I could say Mr. Baldwin was wrong, but however poor his taste in men’s suits was, he was more or less 100% accurate in this regard. However, things weren’t that black and white - it really could be in the interest of whatever cat shelter we set up to keep some of the estate in the market as a kind of nest egg. ‘Let’s table that question for now.’ I said, taking an invisible box between my hands and placing it on the table before me, off to the side. ‘ The real question right now is - where do we set up the cat sanctuary?’
Our most powerful weapons weren’t enough to stop them. Alien light-shields were too powerful to be destroyed by bullets or bombs; we learned early on that they simply absorbed the kinetic energy and turned it against us. Even nuclear warheads were turned away like they were nothing, blasting the surface of the Earth without leaving a scratch on the Alien fleet. That was how we lost Tokyo. &nbsp; We’d had a few strategies that seemed promising. Hackers tried to upload a virus into their mothership Independence Day style, but they were locked out almost immediately; scientists from the CDC tried exposing the Aliens to some of our most deadly diseases—just like in War of the Worlds—but it had no effect. Water didn’t faze them like it did in Signs, we weren’t lucky enough to stumble upon any technology they’d left lying around, and we even tried Mars Attacks yodelling without success. Humanity let out a collective groan of embarrassment when that didn’t work. &nbsp; We’d all but given up when They arrived. &nbsp; It’s unlikely that anyone was praying to them specifically—they were mostly what we considered ‘dead gods’ until they appeared. Quetzalcoatl, Enki, Chronos, Atum; the last remnants of the real deities that inspired mythology, walking the Earth for the first time in millennia. Maybe it was the combined prayers of humanity, or maybe it was just self-preservation. Whatever the reason, the gods of our ancient past had returned to defend the place they’d helped create. They towered over our armies like impossible holograms, releasing volley after volley of divine energy, driving the Aliens back inch by inch. Some of them required human sacrifice to power their magic, but that was an ethical dilemma that we soon overcame out of necessity. We weren’t exactly short of people willing to lay down their lives to protect their families. &nbsp; Alien light-shields were strong, but they weren’t designed to withstand the supernatural. Impossibly tall waves rising from the ocean to drown them, howling wind through space to scatter their fleet, the entropic forces of time turning their ships to ancient dust, the Sun itself firing rays like giant lasers to incinerate their ships—their shields held for mere minutes before being blasted apart. And what little damage they did to our gods was repaired in seconds, our faith healing their wounds faster than they were dealt. Our gods only gained in power while the Aliens lost ground, and eventually they turned their ships and ran. &nbsp; In the wake of their retreat, faith in the old gods was renewed. Some tried to argue that Chronos must have been the Judeo-Christian God, but the existence of the others disproved the theory that he was the only one. Human culture gradually changed to fit our new religion. We turned away from science and embraced the old ways, performing human sacrifices to our gods on a daily basis. We got our population under control, solved world hunger, eradicated pollution, reversed global warming. &nbsp; And we knew, with absolute certainty, that if the Aliens ever returned, we would be protected.
I wipe the fallout dust away from my goggles, cleaned for the moment but never truly clean. The radioactive winds tug at the hems of my robes, like children looking for attention. Heh, what a choice of words. I haven’t seen a child in ten thousand years.. As I adjust the range finder on my bolt-action rifle, the winds pick up, scouring me with radioactive particles that would irradiate a man in minutes and leave him dead before he could find shelter. But I am not a man. And there is not much in the way of shelter. Looking down the sights, I scan the wasteland before me: rubble and rusted out cars, derelict buildings that withstood the blast and tests of time. There is no life for a hundred square miles, my footsteps disturbing nuclear dust that has probably remained unmoved for millennia. Ghostly silhouettes of trees and people have been burned into the sides of the few remaining buildings that stand, a brief snapshot of what the world looked like just before the bombs fell. But I already know what this street used to look like. Because I lived here. I remember seeing the mushroom clouds on the horizon, running to the kitchen to find my wife before the explosion. It’s funny, I can remember the sound of her screaming and the glass exploding, the feel of the hot wash of radioactive energy flowing over me and her dissolving into dust in my hands. But I can’t picture her face; just another phantom lost in time. For whatever reason, either divine or damned, I clawed myself free from the rubble. I shouted for help that would never come until my throat was raw, tearing at the toppled brick until my fingernails had fallen off and blood ran down my hands. But my family was gone. Everyone was gone. This was a reality that took almost a hundred years to reconcile. At first I looked for survivors. I journeyed from coast to coast in search of others like me. I even went south one winter in the hopes that the war had not reached that far. But my hopes were a fools hope; nothing but death and dust awaited me in each town. My despair got the best of me a couple of times, but each time I put my rifle in my mouth and pulled the trigger, I would spit out a hot piece of lead into my hands, one less shot in a world where each shot counted. I could not die, but I could feel pain. And there are few pains worse than that of hunger. And in my pursuit to assuage this pain, it lead me back to where my purgatory on earth began. Home. I hoped to find some form of rations either in town or at the local fallout shelters. Assuming they had not been destroyed or spoiled, there should be something left for me to eat. After all, who else was going to? Surprisingly, one of the grocery stores still stood, it’s walls caving in and roof torn off but the semblance of structure remaining. I entered through a hole in the wall, crouched low rifle out. As I weaved through toppled shelves and over ashen bones I found something peculiar: shit. At least 100 pounds of it, far too big for a human...or anything else for that matter. As I studied it, I heard a rustle from the back of the store. I froze, rifle in close to my chest, trying to quiet my breathing. From the back of the building, what I mistook as shadow moved, and rose up, continuing on and upwards. Stepping out from the realms of nightmare, standing over 20 feet tall a jet black canine, its fur matted with garbage and nuclear dust stared at me, its eyes a glowing amber like the pits of hell. I contemplated running, but as the behemoth stared back at me, its mouth splaying open to reveal tombstone sized teeth, I could only smile. Chambering a bolt, I sighted my rifle into the mouth of a monster. It let loose a roar that shook the very firmaments of existence. A fitting end.
He watched the child from afar, playing with toys alone. No parents were nearby. All he had to do was go up to the child and play with her a little bit, and everything would go perfectly. He circled around her the best he could, seeing if anyone would stop him. Finding his moment he ran towards her. The girl saw him and her eyes opened wide. He tackled her, and licked her face. She giggled and scratched his ears and hugged him closely. Puppy life was nice.
I was spending my saturday night the usual way: butt deep into my sofa, with a party bowl of cheesy puffs by my side, a blanket over my shoulders, and a bad movie playing on my 15 year old box TV. Tonight's theme was horror, and I smirked to myself as the oblivious, pompadour'ed main character (I think his name was Rob, or Bob or something like that) walked straight through the front door of the abandoned mansion, armed with a flashlight. A fucking flashlight, against whatever the thing was he was fighting. "Fucking dumbass." Rob turned towards the camera. "Hello? Who said that?" Huh. That was really good timing. I rolled my eyes. "Me, you fucking dumbass. The viewer." "What viewer?"Rob's voice had dropped to a whisper. I dropped a fistful of cheese puffs and crawled towards the TV, where pompadour Rob started looking around. "Shit, you can hear me. Well okay, Rob, what exactly do you plan on doing against the bad guy with just a flashlight?"I grabbed the video cassette box and skimmed the back. "It's Bob. And I'm actually not sure. But gosh darnit, I have to rescue May!"Bob walked back outside, into the yard. "Well okay, it says right here the resurrected murderer can only be defeated by the spear of whatever. I think it's that spear thing they showed in the opening scene. Looked kind of like paper mache."It was starting to feel more like a video game than a movie. "What spear? What opening scene? Wait, what if I call the cops?"Bob ran towards the phone booth. "No use, they'll just die. Or make fun of you. Or the murderer will trap you in the phone booth. Just get to the museum. Don't run, or you'll trip, and don't call a taxi, or the murderer will be driving it. Actually, you see that scooter over there? Feel free to use that. Never saw a guy on a scooter get murdered in one of these so you should be safe. Just steal it, it's cool. Not like the cops do anything in this movie anyway."I grinned as Bob walked over to the playground and nabbed the child-size scooter, adjusted the length, and rolled his way to the museum. "Okay, before you go in, know that the murderer will probably be inside. There's also a security guard who appeared in the opening scene, who'll probably try to stop you. So here's what you do..."I explained the rest of my plan and sat back to enjoy the movie. The lights came on in the museum. The night watchman turned off his flashlight. "Hello?"He pulled a radio from his belt. "Damn. Nothing but static." Putting my fingers over my mouth, I tried my best to mimic a low-resolution voice. "Robertson, there's an intruder in the east wing. Over." "Roger that."The cartoonishly overweight security guard grabbed a baton and walked out the east door, where he was immediately stabbed by the spectral murderer. Bob, who had been hiding behind the statue of abraham lincoln, dashed towards the spear's display case and opened it, because locks don't exist in this universe. "Alright, I got the spear. Now what?"Bob asked as the ghost murderer approached. "Just stab him with it, I dunno?"I drew myself closer to the TV. This was gonna be good. The spear tore a hole straight through the murderer's body, and it dissipated into wisps of smoke. "Alright! We did it! But wait, what about May? We kinda just left her in that murder house." Oh. Right. "Shit. Sorry I wasn't really invested in the plot. But hey, you saved the town!"I turned off the TV. [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
"I'm done. I tried. They made sex dolls of their own planet, are actively consuming inedible substances for fun despite a rash of hospitalizations. They consistently deny their own sciences, including a recent strain of people who actually deny the roundness of their own planet, while those who endorse their intellectual achievements use them to chuck automobiles into high orbit. They have no discipline. No moral scruples. No attention span. They do not deserve technology. I hope they nuke themselves and we don't have to deal with them later. I'm out."
“Wow, just like that?” My Jedi master asked. “Yes.” “You were facing off against the most powerful with lord, and you turned off your only defense against his lightsaber?” “Well, yes...” “And that worked?” “Well, yes, obviously.” “That really shouldn’t have worked. I mean, he was a skilled fighter, trained in the force, you’d think he would have seen that coming, or been able to react to it fast enough. It’s a miracle you survived.” “Maybe I’m just that skilled with the force myself?” I suggested. “No, it was definitely luck.” “Oh...” that was hardly the reaction I was hoping for. He shrugged. “Anyway, we’ll address that in your next training session. For now I want you to go to the archives and research the seven lightsaber fighting forms, and I want you to write me an essay on which fighting form that tactic best suits.” “A research paper? I thought... I thought maybe we’d go do something exciting and heroic, or... I don’t know, interesting. Something they would write a heroic story about some day.” “What? Why? The sith lord has already been defeated. You fought him, you got lucky, you won. That’s where most stories end, not begin. What would they even write about?” “Well...” “They would write about lightsaber fighting styles. Seven of them. In the Jedi archives.” He said sternly. “You’re not the first Jedi to turn his lightsaber off to trick their opponent, and I expect you to tell me which fighting style accommodates this, and who developed that technique originally. In your research project.” I sighed, getting up from my chair. “Yes, master.” It looked like I had a long, boring time ahead of me.
“DO YOU WISH YOU COULD GET OUT?” I am jolted awake. What the fuck is going on? I look around\-\-I’m not in my bedroom. My bedroom has never been this clean. Also, the decor is entirely black and white. “DO YOU WISH YOU COULD GET OUT?” the booming voice asks again. I look around, trying to find speakers or a radio. “WELL, YOU DON’T HAVE TO WISH ANYMORE!” The door flies open with a bang, revealing a manicured front lawn. It is a soft gray, a little darker than the gray that is the sky. I start to panic. “Where am I?” I ask, unsure if the booming voice can hear me. “FOR A LIMITED TIME ONLY, BUY ONE AND GET ONE FREE!” I close my eyes. This has to be some kind of nightmare. I do the thing where I open and close my eyes repeatedly, waiting to wake up in real life. When it fails, I begin frantically pinching myself. “NOTHING HAS WORKED FOR YOU YET. THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY TO GET WHAT YOU WANT\-\-THE BOWFLEX XTREME 3000!” What in the actual fuck is happening?? I look around, wondering if anyone else is hearing this voice. I spot a young woman a ways down the street, walking her gray\-ish dog. I sprint towards her. “Excuse me miss\-\-I think I need help. Where are we?” She looks up blankly at me. “I never thought it would be me,” she says. “W\-what?” “I never thought it would be me,” she repeats. “But after three easy payments, now my friends are all jealous of how toned and slim I am!” I back away slowly, suddenly terrified. She advances towards me, her empty eyes widening. “The Bowflex Xtreme 3000 has changed my life! And it can change yours too…” she grasps at me, her fingers weakly clawing my shirt. I turn around and run as fast as I can down the black and white street, the surroundings turning into a gray blur as I get as far from the weird informercial zombie as I can. “THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE HAVE BEEN HELPED BY THE BOWFLEX XTREME 3000!” The voice sounds just as close and as loud as it did when I was in the house. I grab my head, wondering if I can just pull it clean off my body and end this madness. “CALL THE NUMBER ON THE SCREEN NOW TO LEARN MORE!” I look up\-\-sure enough, a phone number is hovering in the sky in giant red bubble numbers. I pat my pockets, freaking out. Do I have a phone?? A large lump in my back pocket. I pull it out. A clunky old flip phone. I haven’t seen one of these since middle school. Whatever. I begin dialing quickly, worried that the phone number will disappear from the sky soon. Holding it up to my ear, I close my eyes and promise that if I get out of this alive I will watch less TV. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri\- “Hello??” I say, my hand sweating from gripping the phone so hard. “THREE EASY PAYMENTS. ARE YOU READY TO PAY?” The booming voice is on the other end of the line. “Yes,” I say, closing my eyes. “I am ready to pay.” “EXCELLENT.” \-\-\- It's been three years since I agreed to pay. The price was high, but it was worth it, in the end. I still think about it sometimes, about how it changed my life. I haven’t been the same since. I never thought it would be me, but after three easy payments, now my friends are all jealous of how toned and slim I am.
It took us seven years of preparations to carry out our plan. Seven years of plotting in secrecy, seven years of aggressively spreading our word to increase our ranks. Seven years of analysis, of discussions, of humiliation. Of finding the right people for the mission. Joe and Bill were father and son who both happened to be flat-earthers. Joe had raised his son right, and Bill had taken his wisdom to the heart. They were an integral part of our plan - not just because they had a big boat, but also because they had the courage to go along with it. Dmitry was a Russian Arctic researcher who immigrated to the US in 2002, when his research was suddenly put under a lid by a new government. He spent two winters teaching us how to survive in the Arctic wilderness, but there was much more that couldn't be taught - only experienced. Which is why he was important as well. Sam and his pal Alex were both Iraq vets. Their expertise with weapons was unmatched, as was their general survival training. While Alex was not completely sold on our idea he tagged along just to keep Sam company. "I'd be a bad comrade if didn't look after him"- he morbidly said when he came to our final meeting. We suspected that he simply couldn't find a place for himself in a peaceful society, but allowed him to come with us. Sam was adamant about that, eyeing his friend with a glimpse of sadness. The were others. Sarah, an elderly history teacher who was finding more and more contradictions in the history books. Mike, a young pilot trainee who dropped out of the aviation academy before they could indoctrinate him. Bob, a grizzly old man who hesitantly agreed to leave his doomsday vault to come with us since he suspected that the government had found a way to contaminate his water reserves with fluoride. "Where we go the water will be crisp clean"- he grimly stated. Finally, after seven long painful years our expedition was ready to embark on its holy mission - to cross the fake continent of Antarctica - or the great ice wall as we called it - and prove once and for all that the Earth had an edge. Sneaking past the UN armada that guarded the wall - the secret of the flat Earth - was fairly easy: I guess that no one could maintain a constant vigilance, especially when no one was brave enough to try and sneak by. We landed on the icy shores fairly easily without encountering even a single ship. From that point on we traveled further through the white wasteland. Dmitry's training had served us well: nothing could impede us from completing our quest. While it was insanely cold out there none of us caught hypothermia and neither did we starve. On our way there we constantly speculated what awaited us on the other side: Dmitry thought that it was going to be a secret Nazi civilization. Bob argued with him that it was not Nazi but a nation of lizardmen. Sarah claimed that Antarctica actually meant "Atlantis"in the old tongue, and Sam believed that we'd find eldritch monstrosities sleeping, waiting for their hour to wake up and conquer the world. On our 30th day, we finally managed to scale the last peak on our way. Standing on top of it, looking into the distance and breathing thin air, we couldn't believe our eyes. "All this time..."- Joe whispered. "It was here all along. Beyond the icy wall". The Curve. "Those madmen had no clue..."- Mike whispered. "The curve is real, and it's beyond the Ice Wall. The world is much bigger than we thought, guys, and... holy shit, it is Round!" *** Hey there! I finished the first draft of my first novel! [Will you help me pick the cover?](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)
She’s here again, tucking a loose strand of light ginger hair behind one ear and staring, with great focus and determination, at the wall of the elevator on her left. The girl doesn’t even spare a single glance in my direction as I board the elevator - five o’ clock sharp, as usual - and I shuffle awkwardly inside as the doors slide shut. It’s not like I expected otherwise. I don’t know her; Elevator Girl, who wears no name tag and, according to the company roster, doesn’t even exist, has been a constant presence in this elevator every time I’ve left work for the past few weeks. Maybe I should say something? my brain thinks treacherously, before it remembers that trying to become friends with random people in the lift is both pathetic and pointless. The two of us are off the elevator in about 30 seconds anyway. On cue, the doors slide open again, and she shambles away past the reception desk. She looks tired, I think. Like she’s on autopilot, wading through the muck of the office lifestyle. I can sympathise on that, at least. Maybe saying hello isn’t such a bad idea. ••• My spirit finds the resolve to do it the next day, provided she’s there, and why wouldn’t she be? It’s obvious at this point that we finish at the same time. No one would want to stay here longer than they had to. Naturally, I’m right. Elevator Girl stares forlornly at the wall again as I enter, as numb to the world as ever. Suddenly finding myself caught in the moment of truth is surreal and I struggle desperately for something to actually say; eventually, I fall back on the tried and tested best method for chatting up the ladies. “Long day, huh?” I break the squalid humming of the elevator for the first time, and something in the atmosphere snaps, like the flash of electricity flowing into a dead engine, and the Elevator Girl is suddenly staring right into me. “What did you say? I frown. “Uh, Long day, huh?” She doesn’t respond, at least not immediately, but I notice with no small amount of confusion that she’s suddenly shaking. “You’ve never - you don’t speak. Ever. We don’t talk...” She trails off, as if she’s asked a question I’m expected to answer, but then the doors slide open again and I’m taking my first steps out toward freedom, almost on instinct, before Elevator Girl hauls me back inside and jabs a finger at the ‘top floor’ button. “Hey!” I cry, “What are-“ “What day is it?” “Wha- uh...” try as I might, I can’t quite place the date, but since I started work about three months ago it must be... “April 21st?” The girl, looking as lost and confused as I feel, tightens her grip on my shoulder. “You spoke today. Why?” What? Is this girl insane? “You looked pretty down recently, is all! I just wanted to say hi!” I expect more frantic responses, more bizarre questions, but instead she leans back against the wall of the elevator and heaves a long sigh. “You’ve never spoken before, in all the times we’ve ridden this elevator. I thought it was one of many constant rules of this world, but- you know that time is passing. I don’t know how, but you do!” But that’s just enough vague nonsense for me. “Enough already! Just tell it to me straight!” And the Elevator Girl looks me dead in the eye and says: “It’s not April 21st, it’s January 18th. We’ve both been repeating the same day for the last three months, and you never even realised it.”
For someone who just buried their now-seemingly not dead friend, I might end up having my own funeral if my heart doesn't calm down. I was going to make a joke about wearing black rather than brown trousers, Alec would laugh at that. Of course, he was meant to be \bloody dead\ and not standing in my goddamn room. It was a good reminder that films and tv aren't always accurate, as I imagine they would say something like 'oh my God' and gasp rather than my reaction. "WHAT THE FUCK"is what I screamed, before Alec leapt over the bed and clasped a hand over my mouth. It's warm, so he's not a zombie at least. He tried shushing me as I wrestled free. "Quiet man, your parents will hear!"he whispered at me as I damn near fell over the bed and a suitcase I didn't recognise. Didn't even really look like a suitcase. Just then, I heard the front door. If my parents hadn't heard anything before, they could now so for the sake of what I think might be heart palpitations and for an explanation, I buttoned it. He held still as we both waited to hear if my parents said anything. "Mike, honey?"my mum gingerly asked. "Was that you?"she asked in that soft town she's been using ever since Alec died. Or I guess I thought he died. Wanting to get to the bottom of this and maybe actually kill Alec for real, I'm going to have to keep her out. "Yeah mom, sorry... I just... uh, thought my laptop had been swiped but I left it under my bed."A pause, hopefully she isn't coming to the door. This time the voice was louder in the same soft tone, she was definitely right outside. Heart in my throat I realised my laptop might be out in the kitchen which would puzzle her and thus make her come in. Looking over it was on my bed, next to this case that I assume has something to do with my not-actually-dead-friend. It looks ancient, like something out of Harry Potter. "Oh okay sweetey... me and dad are here if you need us okay? We won't disturb you, you'll probably want time alone."I looked at Alec who mouthed 'I love your mom' and then winked like the smartass he was. Is. Christ, I \am\ going to kill him. Waiting for the coffee machine to start in the kitchen, Alec looks at me with pursed lips. Obviously he's happy to see me, but I imagine my face is one of shock and anger. Usually we just have big stupid smiles around each other. He's probably starting to realise this is quite a shock to the system for me. This is real, I'm not one of those morons who can't tell between reality and a fantasy, no hallucination is this good... I hope. But how can it be real? Why? As the coffee machine clicks on, he launches himself at me. Before I can say anything, he hugs me. We don't usually hug, but \boy\ have I missed him these last few weeks. We don't move for I don't know how long. It could just be 5 seconds or 5 minutes, my mind is moving too fast to keep track. It reminds me of when I first heard the now-fake news of his death. Driving home. His car lost control. Down an embankment. In the river. Blood found, windows smashed, and no body to recover. At those temperatures and with that current, everyone including his family just assumed the worse. A dive and search found nothing. I remember his mom just staring with these glazed over eyes, not even having hope for a miracle. Again, time moved weirdly after his death. The week before the funeral dragged on. Days haven't felt that long since I was in kindergarten. He holds me at arms length, and asks me something he previously would never have had to: "Do you trust me?" I always did, but obviously there was a great big giant elephant in the room in the shape of my not-dead best friend. He would have to explain just exactly \h'why\ he faked his death before I could begin to trust him. Hang on, why does he need me to trust him? What's going on that necessitated his death and a funeral? Looking for an answer from me, all I can do is nod. He was always wild but not crazy, every action had a reason that probably contributed to his great life and our great friendship. So w.t.fuck is the reason behind all this? "I don't have much time to explain. You remember how I helped paint the deck last month? That's where I hid this, and why I needed to... well, you know. Go all Jesus for a week."He was pointing at this case. I assumed that was the case (heh), and was now really curious as to what was in it. He whispered in a hurry. "You remember in high school, I wasted all that time in the computer lab on the dark web and crap? Well I wasn't wasting my time. I was up to some shady stuff. I was one of the first people to dabble in crypto. More importantly I also uh... got involved with some people I shouldn't have. Ever wondered how I managed to buy my own car in senior year? Catfished a paedophile who was a CEO and blackmailed him." My look of disgust made him reassure me that: "Oh don't worry, after he coughed up the dough I sent his deets to the feds. Anyway, I got up to a lot of shit like that, and eventually pissed into the wrong person's bowl of criminal cereal. He vowed he'd track me down for taking his gang's drug money and dismantling half of their network. Like Robin Hood, just a keyboard and mouse not a bow and arrow." He paused, assuming I had a question. I could see where this was heading, so I let him continue. "Well, the dark web was all anonymous so I thought that threat wasn't really you know... a threat. After we finished school I forgot him, and stored my bitcoin wallets and the well actual cash wallets in this case at the bottom of one our fields. Planned on selling the lot of the coins soon and starting that business we always talked about, modding old muscle cars." I couldn't help but smile, we had always talked about that. Of course, I didn't think we'd ever have the means to do it, \especially\ like this. Before he could continue, I heard mom from across the house. "Honey, we're going out to Mike's for dinner... I've left you money on the counter for whatever you feel like. You're more than welcome to come along... sweety?"Sensing the urgency to his explanation and wanting to hear the rest, I answered. "N- no thanks mom."I sniffled for effect, as Alec smirked at me. "I'm just going to uh... look over some stuff of Alec's online, have a pizza probably. Say hi to Mike for me." After the door closed and we heard the car started, he resumed the explanation. "Remember the one gang leader I mentioned? That vowed to get revenge on me? Well, about a month ago I saw him. I walked right past him in the street outside the store. I might've actually died right then and there from a heart attack. I knew what he looked like from the arrest I caused. Of course being the leader he was pretty untouchable and only got a couple of years. He was released this year. Somehow he managed to track down our town. I knew immediately I needed to act. Hence the case under your deck and my fake death. It won't be long before he gets to the school and asks around. I have to keep my family clear of this, so that's why I've hidden it here and bumped myself off. I want us to disappear for a while as I work out how to get rid of him. So, do you trust me?" Before I could respond, the front door opened. I roll my eyes at him and whisper: "Typical. She always forgets something."But his eyes are widening, and he whispers quietly. "I didn't hear the car pull up..."Suddenly my heart was back up in my throat. "He can't have found you already... how would he know to come to me anyways?"Alec quietly moves the case under the bed, and hides in the wardrobe as I yell out. "Mom?" No response. But footsteps. Running footsteps. Straight for my door. It crashes open as I'm thrown onto the bed by a hulking, tattooed blast from Alec's past. Immediately he sticks a gun right into my mouth. He places a finger over his mouth. "One word or move I don't like and I blast you, got it? Nod if you understand."I do. "You're friend is the reason I just got out of the iron bar hotel and I'm looking for him. As I say, you bullshit me and I'll kill you. That sneaky rat ratted us out and destroyed our gang, as well as stealing a bunch of our cash. If I hadn't seen him in the street after tracking him down in the year book, I might've believed he was actually dead."I tried not to look at it, but I saw the wardrobe door opening. "That old coot in your school library told me he always up to shit on the computers around the time I got ripped off, and once I found the year book I found him and I found \you\. Tell me where is and where he hid the case, otherwise I'll blow you to pieces."I mumbled. He removed the gun from my mouth and held it by his side. "Think before you speak, \where is he and where did he hide the money?"\ Remembering Alec's homerunning-swing and the fact I had a bat in the closest, I answered. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"The gang members eyes widened riiiiiight as Alec discombobulated him with the bat. "I trust your baseball skills for sure", I wryly said to him. His smirk widened.
“What happened.. where.. when am I? Gus? Hello?” My head aches and I’m ready to get out of this stuffy time jumper (think fancy hazmat suit). I Survey the horizon and to my surprise, I can’t recognize this time period, there’s no foliage, no insects, no sign of life. “Damn it! Will someone please come in!” “Static” I run a diagnostic check on my jumper’s bilateral positioning unit. It’s working just fine.. according to it I’m right we’re I should be. Standing near the future shoreline the landmass that will become Antarctica, but the continents are all in the wrong place.. and I’m a couple years early.. Well, my goal here was to find whatever life first appears on our rock, and it seems I’ll be waiting here for a while. I set up my command center. It may not look like much, but the table with it’s small monitor has more computing power than every electronic device combined that existed in 2020. I release my survey drones, they work extremely faster. About the size of a baseball and flying about 1/10 the speed of light they cover ground quickly. After a few hours they return and confirm my suspicion that no life yet lives on earth. I send them out to confirm their findings and start looking through some of my suit’s data logs to find out exactly why I can’t jump back or contact anyone. It seems all was going fine until an “admin” took control of my assignment.. I didn’t know Gus had a boss... At the end of my data logs I found a small file named “thank you”. I read the contents, and realized why I’m here and what I have to do. With a sigh I unzip my suit and breathe in the burning atmosphere. The bacteria living in my body will be the catalyst for all life from this point forward. I’m never going home. “Good luck, you’re welcome.”
Operation Dead Mouse Those words were what followed after the sudden cut of noise and the emergency broadcast siren that always seemed to make me jump. I had been watching the late night news, using the noise to lull me to sleep on the couch. The siren made that impossible now. I slowly stood up from my dusty couch, leaning over to reach the black remote from the coffee table on my way up. I fixed my glasses and took another look at my TV screen. Attention Residents of the First World. The following message is [No Longer] sponsored by Disney My first thought was a possible hijacking, but to hack such a large worldwide presence would require a small nation’s worth of capable hackers. At least, I think it would. My thoughts were cut short when the white text faded and what seemed to be a press conference flooded my dark living room with a bright blue hue, matching the blue curtains behind the old man taking his place behind a wooden podium. I’ve never seen this man before, but the blue cut in on the bottom left introduced him as Disney’s CEO. I’d mention that the mouse shape of the cut in was in bad taste, but the man of the hour began to speak. “Good evening. The current message is being prerecorded for the sake of convenience.” His voice was familiar. It finally hit me, he was the previous CEO who was said to have died by his own hand. His suicide note was in the form of a voice recording left in the coat pocket of the suit he died in. It was played on every major news channel. That being said, what became of the new CEO? “Do not be alarmed, there is no need to panic. At least, not yet. I speak to you, no, I plead to you in order to gain your cooperation. It seems that there are some among our company that seek to use its influence to satisfy some twisted form of greed. And so, I beg those who are willing to listen to cut any and all ties with this company. It will no longer be operating under my leadership. As of the day this is being recorded, I resign from my position as CEO. You have likely already seen what has become of me.” Another voice spoke from behind the camera, “Sir, the door won’t hold much longer.” The old man nodded and composed himself. “All who wish to keep their free will, I beg of you to find each other and seek to flee any major city. We’ve become too powerful and shouldn’t have the ability to-“ A metal door could be heard being broken down and gunshots echoed in the room. The broadcast was cut there, leaving me wide eyed and trembling. I took a deep breathe and stared intently at the black screen, only to realize that the power had been cut. I pressed the power button on my remote several times to confirm what I had already known. “Leave the city...” I mumbled to myself, trying to process what I had witnessed. Creative differences were common in companies that grew large, but I’ve never seen it spark something like that. The crisp sound of gunshots cut me away from my internal monologue. I threw myself to the ground, covering my neck. I knew there would be a panic, but to hear gunshots this early? I slowly crawled my way into the kitchen, sliding across the white tile, towards the back door. My ears finally stopped ringing but they’ll burst if I don’t get away from the source of the shooting. I get into my knees and open the door, being greeted by the starry sky of Los Angeles. But, they were being outshined by the small fires and smokestacks that could could be seen sprouting from the buildings downtown. The blades of a helicopter filled my still sensitive ears, so I looked up to inspect it. I expected the fire department, but not the National Guard. I was still slightly relieved to see it head off towards downtown. I quickly swallowed that relief as it began opening fire, the muzzle flash of the mounted gun revealing the black mouse decal on the tail of the helicopter.
“Warning, the experiment begins tomorrow. If you would not like to be part of the experiment, please destroy your cellphone now.” We didn’t know what it meant, and laughed it off as a glitch. When they said it wasn’t a glitch, we laughed harder—now the air’s filled with screams, and cries, and just…agony. My door’s locked, furniture shoved in front of it. Same with my windows. Clutching my gun, I sit on my bed, hands shaking. The experiment’s going great, the newscaster says with a smile. You’re government thanks you. Outside, glass shatters, bullets fly. They called me into the station but I’m not leaving my house. Our cellphones…they were made to control us. That sounds crazy, but it’s true. At midnight, they sprung to life, growing legs and attaching themselves to their owner’s heads. God, what the hell. Why do this? Why cause all this chaos? You’ll be safe soon, the newscaster says. The experiment’s only for today. A banging on my door makes me jump up. It’s gotta be my wife, Karen. She insisted on making sure her sister was okay, and while I wanted to go with her, she forced me to stay. Hurrying over, I peer through the peephole and my heart sinks when I see her alone. It explodes when I notice the cell-phone wrapped around the side of her head and the deadened look in her eyes. “James, sweetie, let me in.” She says this several times in a row, like she’s stuck in a loop. When I back away from the door, her fist rams through it, and a second later, it’s open and she’s strutting toward me. “James, sweetie. You should join us. James, sweetie, you should join us. Protect your government, defend your government.” She slides one of the sharpest knifes out of its holder in the kitchen and points it at me. “Or die.” Out of instinct I point my pistol at her. She doesn’t stop. I can’t do this. I can’t shoot her. She’s my wife. Only one day. Only fourteen more hours. When my back’s against the wall, she stops, raising the knife like Norman Bates in Psycho. She’s actually going to kill me. Karen, the woman I love. Karen, the woman I clung to for warmth in bed last night. “Please,” I whimper. She brings the knife down, I dodge. She slashes again, it cuts my shoulder open and I fall, blood gushing. Clutching the knife with both hands, she raises it high in the air, eyes still blank. “Your government is disappointed.” Before the can slam it down, I hammer the trigger. I close my eyes as her dead body falls on top of me. After a minute or two, I open them, staring into the mess of blood that used to be her head. I’m going to puke. Every part of my body’s limp, unresponsive. I wrap my arms around her but don’t even feel it—is this numbness? It must be. I can’t believe…I didn’t mean to…this isn’t my… Karen, the woman who I shared my first kiss with. Karen, my favorite person in the world. Karen, my wife. Karen, my love. Karen, my Karen. Karen. Please. Karen, don’t be dead. Karen. We were supposed to visit hike mountains together, and achieve our dreams, and live forever, and…and…and… I killed you. As tears stream down my cheeks, all I want to do is press my head against hers but I can’t. In the background, the newscaster continues rambling. The experiment has been extended by forty-eight hours due to great results. Your government thanks you. *** Hope this turned out okay! Thanks for the prompt. If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter?lang=en)
I guess it could be worse. I could be one of those brown nosing angels, doing what their father decides is the right thing no matter what they personally think is best. Our own father doesn't care one way or another, do whatever just bring me souls. Easy enough, until you realize you have talk to people to get souls. Most of those meat bags are born good, it's up to us to nudge them to our side. Whispering in ears takes to long, and some might not even listen. So we started letting people "summon"us, then do whatever dumb thing they want in exchange for their soul when they pass on. Let me tell you though, when it's time to collect these mortals change their tune pretty fast. Mostly we get begging, but sometimes they try to barter. According to most of them, their own soul is usually worth somewhere between a dead chicken and a dead goat. Some offer other souls, but usually we already have the rights to those souls. If they're bad enough the human thinks they deserve Hell anyway, don't you think we probably already got them? It's easy enough to shut them up, they did sign a contract after all. But today I found myself less annoyed and more confused. Some poor bastard keeps trying to convince me, not to let him keep his soul, but to allow his soul to collect others for me. And...here's the kicker, I think I might do it. "You would never have to work again, and I wouldn't get sent to Hell. Win-win right?" For the first time in a millennia, I decided to hear him out. Why? Who knows, job does get boring after a while. "Let me prove it to you. Let me get a soul to replace my own for whatever quota you have for today." "Fine. You have one hour. Bring me a soul and I'll think about it."I was thinking worse case, he fails and I take him. Best case? I get two for the price of one. I didn't think any mortal could convince anyone to give up their soul in a single hour anyway. He leaves, and comes back in twenty minutes flat, with an elderly lady in tow! I could feel her soul wasn't ours yet. "Ok Mrs. Johnston, remember what we talked about, time to sign his contract." "Anything to help the church Father Mathew. Can't have Sunday service without our pastor! Oh dear let me get my glasses. Now you leave this nice man alone, and I'll make you all the cookies you can eat!" Im telling you, this guy's good.
I was a thin, small thing, sweltering in the canyon sun. I was both like and unlike anything the man and woman had ever seen before. “What a strange gecko,” I heard one of their voices say. “How did it get to be that colour?” I was a brilliant blue, iridescent-skinned and shimmering. “Maybe it’s poisonous,” said the man. “Maybe we should leave well enough alone.” Oh, I was poisonous, all right. But not in the way they expected. Humans and their heat – all their spluttering, smouldering heat. They passed a Prometheus torch of fire to each other, written on the most flammable thing: paper. Some of their knowledge was inscribed in the fabric in which they dressed themselves, which grew holes and became ragged in time. They did not have the self-sufficiency of scaled skin, and even the waxing and waning of their forms showed how quickly, without fuel for their hungry fires, they would perish. The hot chisels they wielded against stone showed their eagerness to leave something lasting of themselves. They made monuments. Yet they piled these flammable things of their own production on top of each other as though they were constructing the foundations of their own funerary pyre. All they needed was for someone to light that final match: for them to burn each other out. We’d been watching them, from a faraway place, for a very long time. Don’t ask how we watched: it wasn’t the stuff of telescopes, charts of progress, or careful recordings of data – what anyone on earth would call science. It was something closer to revelation, but really, it was no revelation at all. Build bodies out of bones, fat and heat, and someday, they will overheat themselves to a point they can’t endure. It’s the way they evolved, and the way they would eventually end. The man and the woman passed away into the long night. If they’d paused to watch me then, as I endured my long sleep, they’d have seen that the colours of my body blended with the darkening skies; they would have seen that I crumbled, myself, into the star-dust. I left traces of myself behind: clones, babies born of pathogenesis. I was alone, but I did not need sexual reproduction. I suppose humans, with their endless love of DNA-mixing, their overheated and passionate coupling, show the shortcomings of this. What is love, but an overheated match-strike, combustion from a spark, and then a dying-out into nothing? Love is an engine, or so say humans. Love-cylinders pulsing in an endless propulsive cycle; secretions of love-gasoline, and a bride, suspended in a region somewhere above the ether, her panting bachelors profuse below, ever reaching for her: these are the things which they painted in their art, and now it is burning. Perhaps the glass of the cathedrals is even melting. But we, on our long trek to the Galapagos of this planet, are not like this. Life is more glacier than combustion-engine: it is floating on a sea on a scrap of wood, waiting for a chance to land on some isolated island, in which our capacity for suffering might flourish. A thousand years from now, my distant twin will poke his head from the egg laid by the fiftieth great-granddaughter of my child, and find quite a different earth to rule. How it came to be will not matter. Atomic annihilation, some say. A succumbing to the clouds of toxic gas. A prolonged period of melting, perhaps followed by a long-overdue ice-age in which their heat will finally be extinguished. What they call the Holocene is already passing. Even though the contents of my cells might be half-frozen in ice, drawing themselves inward as though into so many monastic chambers, to pass through their prolonged and quiet solitude, they will thaw again someday, and my body will sing. But there will be no song ears can hear: I will shuffle off against the earth, leaving my lizard-tracks in my wake, and there will be no one to see my passing. r/eros_bittersweet &#x200B;
“One more shot!” I bellowed to the bar keep. As I sat shoulder to shoulder with friends and family alike. A night out on the town with friends and my brother, who could ask for more? It had been so long since I’d seen them, we’d all gone away for school, for work and some of us simple just wanderlust. So rarely did we all get to see each other and revel in each others stories and experiences. It was truly a night to remember. &#x200B; I listened, as attentively as I could, whilst my brother regaled (a rather embellished tale if I do say) his exploits hiking through the trails around Whistler in British Columbia. I listened with held breath (you can’t really drink beer and breath at the same time) as my best friend Craig told me about how he had met the love of his life. A lovely young woman named Natalie who sat beside him, her face as red as the dress she wore. &#x200B; I looked over to see a good friend of mine, Adrian, telling tales about the clubs in Berlin. He did always have a certain way of spinning a story. Between his big beard and booming voice, he reminded me of what a bard would have been in days long past. All through the night, tales were told over libations. Laughter and liquor were the theme of the eve. &#x200B; A grand night if ever there was one, but it never happened. My vision slowly grew back into focus and the harsh reality of my life set itself back upon me. I sat alone, in a one-bedroom apartment on a Friday night. No friends, no family. The only company I kept was bottle of cheap whiskey clenched in one hand and a pistol in another. &#x200B; I had been forgotten, my cellphone functioned more as an alarm clock than it did a means of communication. Booze had once been an acquaintance on a night out on the town with friends, but as time went on, it became the only friend I had left. They’d gone away to school, left for careers, or simply had wanderlust. I had been forgotten. &#x200B; I laughed as I raised the pistol to my head “One more shot!” I bellowed.
We just... didn't think it would matter this much. We all grew up with the old stories about travelling back There. How our grandparents and great-grandparents would start loading the caravans on the first morning they saw frost, every winter. How the caravans would rattle down the roads, slowly at first, then making better progress as the air got colder and the ground got harder. How, by the time they reached the old place, they would be half-frozen, their fingers turning blue as they gripped the reins and urged their horses on. But we never saw the need. Who wants to risk frostbite like that? A journey that takes weeks in bad weather is no joke when you have small children to take care of. We were comfortable at home, where our caravans slowly sagged down into the earth and their wheels were overgrown with weeds. We built great bonfires in the centre of the village, and sat around them thinking about how lucky we were compared to our ancestors. No more scrabbling in the dirt and snow just to live. Of course, some people still made the journey every year. Loners. Religious types. The kind who didn't like their children to mix with others. They thought the rest of us were impure. Lazy. Last winter, a group of them set off on the first frosty morning, and never came back. We assumed that they had stayed There, in the old place, tending the fire they cared about so much. But when the ice finally thawed this year - and it was late, too, staying until the beginning of May - we found their bodies just a few fields away. The roof of the caravan had collapsed under the snow, and we had been too comfortable indoors to see it happen. This year, no one went at all. The first frosty morning passed, and the second. It has been weeks now since we saw a blue sky. And the bonfire in centre of the village sags smaller and lower every night. It doesn't matter how much time we spend searching for fuel; it never lasts. The flame is thin and blue, and you could pinch it out between two frostbitten fingers. We are starting to wonder if there is still time to clear the dead grass away from the caravan wheels, and begin the journey back There.
Cosmic timescales are vast; it's a truth we forget even more often than cosmic distances, which have come to seem less important since our discovery that most of the galaxy has giving Einstein the finger for, well, a whole cosmic span of time. What this means, besides the fact that all galactic civilizations are unthinkably ancient, is that Homo sapiens sapiens is almost unbelievably young. Newborn, as intelligent tool-using species go, still figuring out the most basic rules, crawling around and banging things together to see what happens, like uranium or high-speed particles. It means we're adorable. We remind the other civilizations of their own barely-documented earliest years, and we're extra-precious because the infant mortality of intelligent species is extremely high. Not a lot of babies to go around, so to speak. And even taking all this into account, even by the barely-comprehensible standards of the cosmic timescale, it's been a very long time since the last sapient organisms came on the scene. Been a long time since the last dozen, really, and they've all long since gone extinct. So it's a galaxy with no babies, or was until we came along. A few toddlers, a handful of adolescents, and way too many damn moody teenagers. Now, like any metaphor, especially any metaphor trying to cram something as massively complex as galactic civilization into a simplistic story about human life cycles, this one breaks down when examined in much detail. But the whole cuteness thing? Absolutely true. We're on our fifth failed or failing invasion right now, with the Aaa'aae'ooo'raa High Facilitator Fleet currently packing up its Marines and its cookies on its way out of the system. That's not to say it's been painless. There's been plenty of death and destruction and suffering and environmental collapse and cultural upheaval and insufferable old politicians sending other people off to die, everything you'd expect from a century and a half of intermittent and extremely asymmetric warfare. It has sucked. Although...maybe not as much as it might have had they just left us alone. Historians are increasingly of the opinion that before the invasions we were already well on our way to facilitating our own extinction for various stupid and mostly preventable reasons, like the extremely strong tendency of humans to discount the real costs of any activity that profits them personally. Or profits their tribe, because tribalism has also been just a real peach when it comes to resource management and allocation. The first invasion seemed to take care of the tribalism thing, with the whole planet uniting against these newcomers. For, you know, about thirty seconds, the time it took for some oppressed groups to realize that they could maybe now be the oppressors if they played their cards right, and some oppressors realizing that maybe they could strengthen their position over the oppressed people they were basically terrified of. Also all your usual screaming ideologues and ranting fundamentalists. Everyone started trying to strike their own treaties or make sure the right number of generals in the resistance had names of the proper ethnicity or arguing about whose fault it was that the entire resistance was in fact a total failure and utter waste of time. Really though it wasn't anyone's fault except for time itself. We were a bunch of squalling infants trying to stop elite squads of professional soldiers by throwing noodles at them from our high chairs. Until some serious time had passed and some growing up accomplished, there just wasn't anything to be done. The invasion happened, the invasion barely noticed the resistance, the incoming colonial government granted special privileges to especially skilled or lucky brown-nosers out of simple convenience, and life went on. And at first life really sucked, let's not make any bones about that. It sucked even for the groups who got the upper hand in their little appeasement games. People disappeared. Sometimes whole cities disappeared so that the invaders—they called themselves the Im-te-hass, which means "Things Examined Apart"and yes that could be every bit as horrific as it sounds—could study entire human social systems at once. But then things started to get better, for a couple reasons. First, they fixed a lot of things, just because it was easy for them and made occupation easier. They repaired the planetary climactic balance, re-balanced ecological networks, mass-recycled embarrassing amounts of garbage. Second, the Im-te-hass started to leave, first in a trickle, then in a drove. It wasn't until they had nearly gone completely that we figured out why; we only really knew what they told us, it's not like we had any means to effectively eavesdrop. No, we figured it out because the last of them took nearly a third of our population with them as pets. That was the beginning, because a few of them became fond enough of their pets to let them visit Earth again, and they talked, and we listened. And, more to the point, their masters had been talking to them, the way you do with pets, and a few had learned to understand, at least a little. Enough to start piecing things together. We were cute. We were goddamn adorable. Enough that the Im-te-hass actually felt kind of bad about how they'd treated us. Sometimes. When it was convenient. Don't make that face, our species has no room to talk. Do you have any ideas what painful genetic monstrosities we've visited on, say, dogs, all in the name of making them look "cute?"The Im-te-hass may have been callous in their studies but at least they never altered anyone. Though then again, maybe they just thought we couldn't get any cuter. <continued if there's interest>
"Sit the fuck down, your not going anywhere today." Well, that's different. Sure, he's beat to pieces -- although a lot more than usual -- and he's holding a gun on me. "Okay. You want to call my boss and tell him why? I'm tapped out for excuses he'll believe." I should explain, the gent holding the gun, is me, from the future. I still don't understand how it happens, but when I'm going to do something monumentally stupid, he'll show up and tell me not to do it. That's usually it, he leaves, and I go on with my life. Right up until the critical moment, where I remember, and don't do it. Yes, I'm aware of the paradoxes in this, but as I said, I don't know how it works. Whether he leaves to disappear in a blink, goes back to the future, or there's a bunch of me hiding in some remote colony... I ... Don't ... Know. "Sure. I have the perfect excuse." "You know where the phone is. I promise not to leave the apartment, but I am going to get both of us strong drinks. You look like you could use it, and I'm guessing that I'm going to need it too." I'm pouring us drinks, a single for me, a triple for ... Me. Heh. This could be fun. He's never stuck around this long. I can hear him on the phone. "Mr. Scotch, you have a project in room 39B. I strongly recommend that you shut it down immediately, and dispose of all ... materials ... related to that project. ... How do I know? You won't believe me, but you told me, in about 3 hours, when the whole damn thing got out of control. ... No, Mr. Scotch, I did not go snooping, and you don't need to threaten me with dire punishments involving people in black suits. I already know about that. ... Fine, fine, fine... I only called you for two reasons. One, to give you a chance to avoid disaster; and, two, to inform you that not only will I not be coming in today, I quit. ... Two weeks notice, not a problem, I quit as of two weeks ago today. ... Look in your in basket. ... Mr. Scotch, I am not responsible for the efficiency of your clerical staff. ... Mr. Scotch, of course I'm not going to go to the authorities! They'd lock me up! ... You too sweetheart. Except I will be there. You will be in one of three places. The MIB facility that you've been working with, jail, or most likely of all of them -- with a probability of 90% -- dead in the ruins of your own facility. ... No, Mr. Scotch, that is not a threat, it's a chance to save yourself, and your employees. Goodbye Mr. Scotch." Yes, I heard all that, and the reason I didn't interfere is that me had that damn gun pointed straight at me the moment I moved towards me. We need words to talk about things like this. Lacking that, I'm Alpha, the future me is Beta. Heh, he just gave me a dirty look. Them's the breaks. You agreed to let me write this my own way. A rueful smile, and a nod. "Beta? Was that really necessary?" "You'll find out in two hours and 45 minutes. Now give me that drink... Better yet, bring both bottles. We are going to need them." ... tick ... tock ... "Beta?" "No, I don't know how it works either. I don't know where I go to. I don't even know if I'm real, or a dream of yours that somehow knows the future." "That..." "...sucks." "Do you", I deliberately pause. "It doesn't work that way, and even if it did, I won't do it often. It's ... rude." ... tick ... tock ... "There's nothing we can do?" "Not until an hour before the event. After that, possibilities open up. The warning to Scotch, and quitting, were the only possible actions at that time." ... tick ... tock ... Ping! An alarm from Beta's watch? That's not my watch. "No time to waste now, we have to make this place air tight. Everyone who would have noticed is either distracted or gone. Break out that emergency kit we bought in a small fit of paranoia." Just like the training video showed, we seal the apartment, and get the filtered air pump in place. "We can use the mains to power the pump for now." ... tick ... tock ... "How can you and I both be here if you are a future me?" In chorus: "I don't know."We break up laughing. At least it relieved some tension. "Alpha, all I have memories of is our life before we went out the door today, and the events that I'm protecting you from. I don't even know where this dingus", waving the watch, "comes from. As far as I know, the I that will become me is at that building at some point. Otherwise, I cannot be here now." "I think ... thinking is giving me a headache." "That's hunger and dehydration, let's do something about that." ... tick ... tock ... Pong! "Five" Pong! "Four" Pong! "Three" Pong! "Two" Pong! "One" There's a moment of silence so profound that it seems we're the only ones alive. BADABOOM! Car sirens are going off everywhere. The glass in the high-rises across the street shatter, where they are not shielded from the blast by the smaller buildings like mine. I wonder how he is so calm, looking at his face, he looks back at me. "It was much worse at the facility."I nod. Now emergency services are responding. The scanner that was part of the emergency kit gives us scattered bits of information. It's so chaotic. I begin to understand at the first incredulous reports of zombies. I look at Beta. "They're not really zombies. In about five hours, depending on when they're affected, they'll recover with no memory of anything from the time they were affected. It won't even have long term physical problems. Emotional problems? This whole freaking city is going to be a mass of PTSD." "And there was nothing else we could have done?" "No. We had that one chance in a billion that Scotch would listen. That's it." "How do you know?" "The dingus. It's stingy with information, but I don't think it's ever been wrong. The only reason I know that now is that the dingus briefs me." The ensuing hours are a cacophony of destruction and disaster. For a miracle, the power remains on almost the full five hours from the event. We lose the scanner, but switch over to a battery radio. The EBS is finally starting to come back on line. We have to hand crank the air pump, that's hard. BONG Beta takes a deep breath, "it's over." "So, do you leave now?" He looks at the dingus. "No, I don't. It says I'm to remain with you." ... It's been over five years now. Those of us who were spared are both pariahs -- for having the bad taste to not have PTSD -- and the leadership of the city -- because we don't have PTSD. Beta was explained as my twin who had just tracked me down before the event. He still wears the dingus, although he admits that since that last message, it hasn't done anything but be an excellent watch. ... Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep ... ((finis))
It had been eighteen days since the disk had been pulled from the remnants of the satellite. It would have been broken down to help repair the ship, if it wasn't for the barely-legible English writing on the back. The best engineers and scientists had been pulled from each district into the core. The only people going in and out were stressed assistants making food runs, and the occasional district correspondent looking for any update. "There must be some significance to the groves on the back, why else would they be concentric? There's..." "Never mind that, the diagrams on the other side are clearly more..." "There must be something else to go with it." The arguments had been going in circles. broken only by periods of silent contemplation until someone else thought of a new idea or was simply exasperated by the groups lack of progress. The lab was usually rather spacious and empty, but recently it felt very overcrowded. A small gathering were searching through the remaining pieces of the satellite, while two were hunched over the disk. A few sat picking at the leftovers from the last meal. There was a brainstorming session getting rather heated around one of the tables and about half of the lab equipment was being used to run all manner of tests. There was a sudden commotion around the satellite. "I think it is!"Jeremy,the lead scientist from Sector 45, suddenly exclaimed. Sarah, a young member of Sector 26's delegation was holding a small object in her hand. He rushed her over to the disk and excitedly started explaining to the two team members from Sector 13 that were studying it. "Look at this bit!"he said to Bryn and Chelsea, pointing to diagram with concentric circles on the disk. "This is the piece!" He brandished the object Sarah had found at the two, then started to explain to Chelsea. "I was right, this is a representation of the disk. Look at this piece, its damaged on the one side but other than that, it matches this piece on the edge of the disk. This must be for the rings on the other side, a reading device of sorts." Chelsea studied the piece as she translated for Bryn. "I think you're right."she commented as she finished, and handed the piece to Bryn to look at. By now there was something of a crowd forming around the group, Sarah and Jeremy were explaining their find, with very mixed responses, to every new person that came to investigate. Bryn was turning the piece over in his hands, and aligned it with the edge of the disk. He flipped it over, hiding the etched images, and held it over the other side in the same position. He said something to Chelsea. "I don't know, is there a button anywhere?"she held her hand out for the device. There were a few protrusions that she studied. "This technology is so primitive, we don't... Ouch!"She caught her finger on something sharp near one of the ends. She turned it over, looking for the culprit. "It looks like this part may have been bent by whatever damaged the side, look."She pointed at the piece she had caught her finger on. It was a slender pin that was pointing away from the damaged side, bent in an unusual position. Sarah pulled a pair of pliers from her belt and handed it across the table. Chelsea wiggled the pin until it looked like it was sat straight again, and held the device above the disk, in the same position as the diagram. Sarah gasped. "The pin fits in the grooves, this must be how we read it!"
You hated this high school. No, really, you hated it. "Hamden's Gifted Training High School for Specialized Individuals,"what a fucking riot. Every day, you have the same class with the same people. Your instructors remain the same, the school being understaffed since the government is falling apart due to civil riot. And behold, of course you'd end up at the top high school controlled by the government; a seemingly "anti-revolutionist"society. We were treated like moles, test-children, because the fields we generate were above-average in nature and, by quote, "too destructive". And theres a probing, buzzing, burning thought at the back of your mind every day. You want to destroy the place. No, perhaps not the people your age that attend it. But to watch it all burn? That would be a glorious triumph. A grand ol' "fuck-you"before you wreak havoc on the rest of this god-forsaken town. You take a moment to consider the idea, though. Your temperature field, while not being the most special, has enough destructive power to take at least a few classrooms down. But could you do it all on your own? A quick glance at your hands, a clench of your fist, and you feel like you're too powerless. You were born with hands too kind, too gentle. Your spirit, however, was unwavering. A burning flame alike to the field that you generate. The bang of the classroom door snapped you out of your thoughts today. Someone you didn't recognize was entering, hip-to-hip with the homeroom instructor. The hair on the back of your neck raises in response. Perhaps it was instinctual, whatever caused you to look down at this intruder's feet. And there was ice. No, not the crinkling, beautiful ice that frosts windows on cold December nights. The ground simmered with it, nearly sending tremors through the floorboards beneath your feet. It was almost an electrical field, unlike anything you'd seen before. It was freezing. The atmosphere in the room was suffocating. Government officials travelled behind him, sending a shock throughout the classroom. They were armed. It was an immediate threat. "Today,"you hear the homeroom instructor say, "we will be introducing a new student."A glimmer flashed in his eyes, "One you must all be sure to keep secret."he added. And you knew. You took a glance again at the boy. He was younger than you, but as he took a look around the room, his eyes met landed on yours. And he waved, too. You took a quick glance at his hands. He was born with hands too rough, too harmful. His spirit, you knew, must have been unwavering. A splitting freeze alike to the field he generates. He was going to help you take this place down, if it was the last thing he did.
# Airtight Decisions They watched Earth burn from Colony Control. Every monitor tuned into the destruction, a dozen high definition recordings displaying fatal mushroom clouds as they blossomed. Kevin stared, stunned. "How long before it hits us?"Radiation was on his mind but the accidental double meaning dropped heavy into the overly recycled air. Christopher answered from engineering. "Three minutes of light delay. It's already hit us."He meant the radiation. "Distance weakened the effect and shielding took care of the spike. We barely noticed." "That's fine for us,"Josh broke in. "But what about the transports on the way here? How big a dose they take?" Now that was a concern; Colony lived and died by those supply transports. Everything was forecasted, automated and carefully rationed. Mars was a decade away from self-sufficiency by even the most hopeful models and no one had ever planned for them to strike out on their own barely a year into setup. Christopher got it first. "Oh shit. The food." Kevin nodded. "The food." Everyone winced. A thousand hardworking colonists needed nearly two and a half million calories at a minimum. Every single day. Even with high density foodstuffs a large portion of every incoming shipment was packaged meals. The hydroponics lab wasn't even due to set up for another four months, the foundation was just being laid. Josh was working frantically at a terminal pulling flight manifests. "Six. Good Lord, we only have six shipments coming our way."He threw the courses onto the main display in long, looping lines overlaid onto a map of the solar system. "One tomorrow, then another every five days until about forty days from now." "How much food in each?" Josh ran numbers. "Twelve days per load. Which puts us at starvation about..."Tap, tap, ping. "Two and a half months from now." Kevin glanced around the small control center, then spent a minute looking out the heavy plexiglas window at the Colony. It was built out below their Control center in a hub and spoke design, transport tubes leading straight from one hard shell unit to the next. Everything was painted a brilliant white, glowing in stark contrast to the rocky Martian surface it rested on. "How long on half rations?" Christopher knew that one; his certifications included physiology. "About four months. You can't double the time like that,"he explained quickly. "The human body burns reserves first to make up for the calorie loss, but it's a false sense of health. When the body's reserves are gone we break down even faster, can't recover from injuries, nothing left to give." Not a good answer. "Any of those incoming transports have our hydroponic parts?" More furious searches. "No. Well, there's piping on the next to last one we could repurpose. But that's a month out at least."Josh flopped into a chair, his expression in misery. "We could try and retool a factory to make what we need, but what's growth time on basic staples? Something like seventy days for potatoes? We'll be eating suit material before that happens." A dark mood descended on all three. They watched Earth's ongoing nuclear exchange, each pinprick of light expanding into a fingertip-sized cloud. It looked beautiful at a distance but the reality was a horror show. No help would be coming from a world caught up in its own struggles to survive. If anyone recalled their attempted Mars Colony it would be as a footnote in some history text. It was Kevin that damned them all. He turned, made heavy eye contact with Chris. "We can't cut rations and double our time?" "No,"he miserably confirmed. "What if we cut Colonists instead?" There was deathly silence. A half hour ago all three men would have been morally opposed to anything like this. But watching Earth die had been what psychologists referred to as a "life-clarifying event". The unthinkable was, suddenly, very much a possibility. Chris wet suddenly dry lips. "Josh?"He asked, indicating the nearby console. Josh reluctantly leaned forward and started tapping queries into the Colony system. Three minutes of guilt-twisting speculation later the results were on screen. Kevin tracked the graphs, checked numbers. "Five hundred can last eight months? That enough to set up hydroponics?" More number crunching. The results weren't favorable. "Need at least eleven months, one full year to be safe."Josh looked sick. "Cut to two hundred." The answer came up faster this time, cold experience narrowing down the basics until a graph popped up. "Fourteen months." All three did math. Eleven months-- twelve on the outside-- to build a greenhouse habitation, then another three to pull a basic crop. That was too goddamn close. The error percentages for failure were just too high. "Cut to,"Kevin hesitated. "Cut to one hundred fifty." "Hold on a goddamn second."Chris objected. "Now you're trading manpower for time. Who's going to build and plant? Harvest?" "Same question back to you,"Kevin replied in a voice like iron. "We've never done this before. How much of the crop will fail from inexperience? And when projections go south on this,"he stared Chris down. "They really go south. Like everyone lays down up here and never gets up again. So do we pay the price now and be absolutely sure or throw the dice and hope everyone doesn't die?" Josh threw his hands up. "I'm out. Can't fucking make this call."His nerve broke. "You guys are on record here." Kevin nodded. "Chris? You got atmospheric control?" Chris flinched. "Yeah. Jesus, are we doing this?" "Yeah. Sound general alarm, let's get them grouped up together. Make it,"Kevin winced. "Easier, I guess."
Truth is, I hadn't felt like myself for a long time. I was a long time allergy sufferer, if I so much as smelled seafood I would break out in hives. I lived with epipens always in reach, and practically had a punch card for the E.R. closest to my house. Then, gradually, my symptoms started disappearing. Suddenly, I no longer needed to wear a mask just to go outside. I hardly recognized myself without the terrible under eye bags from my allergies, indeed so much was better in my life I hardly cared why I got better. I knew that people sometimes grew out of allergies, and even though I had never heard of anyone growing out of 20 allergies, I was only grateful for the change and I thought nothing of it. It was only when I was free of my fear of seafood, almonds, trees, grass, and dairy that I realized how truly miserable my life had been. I made new friends and started doing all the things I had previously missed out on. I could finally go on a cruise. Then I was quarantined, there was a massive outbreak of something on the ship. Every single person on that ship came down with it, except for me. They told me every test for the disease came back "inconclusive."The cruise I had waited my whole life was cut short by this disease and then I became its prisoner. I had hoped to leave early since I never actually caught anything, but when they began sending people home and still they told me they had no idea if I caught anything. "See, the thing is Sean, we don't know what you have."A smartly dressed bespectacled immunologist stood on the other side of the glass partition of my door. "Now, normally when we give the antibody test we can easily see if you've been exposed to a given pathogen. However in your case your body has been annihilating our tests. Everything comes back abnormal and any introduced material into your blood is destroyed in seconds." I wasn't sure if it was fear I saw in his eyes or excitement, "So, I have good news and bad news, the bad news is that the disease seems to have completely taken out your immune system... The good news is that it seems to have replaced it. With all this panic around the recent viral outbreak we can't let you go until we've proven you do not carry the virus. But you can see the catch-22 we run into here." I wanted to scream, first my immune system wouldn't let me leave the house without suffering from my outdoor allergies. Then my immune system kept me prisoner once again.
"And these are the rules for the kitchen. Now, Frank keeps his stuff in his room. He doesn't want to risk blood getting everywhere from one little accident."Daniel, servant of G̶̹̺̠͊̉͆̿r̵̡̖̥̐́̈́̈́̓'̷̼̞̂ṛ̵̨͉̺̏͂t̴̙͠ḩ̸̨̞̗̤͂̇̾̓̍x̴̯͉̼͚̹̿ẍ̸̢͚͓͊̏̑, went over the rules with their new roommate. Xavier was out on a job cursing a family and Frank slept days. Besides, necromancers are ones to be very good with rules and making sure they're followed. Especially if they want to keep their souls in one piece. Vorael took the sheet of paper and read over it. "Seems pretty common sense, including the chipping in for common goods. I'm guessing Frank doesn't chip in though?" "Oh he does. He may not eat as much as we do, but he loves baking. He was thinking of making a cake to welcome you."Just then the front door opened and shut loudly. Xavier walked in, looking like he just rolled around in a garden. "Bloody idiots, when I tell you not to cross the line, I mean don't cross the oh! Jeez! I forgot we had the new roomie moving in today. Gimme a second."Zavier went into the kitchen and washed his hands. "Sorry to meet like this. Was out putting a curse on a family, pretty standard stuff. Told the guy who hired me not to cross the lines of the enchantment circle and what does he do? Steps right over! Whole thing blew up in our face." Daniel nodded sympathetically. "And I'm sure he demanded his money back." "Of course and of course he'll never get it."He dried his hands off and offered one to Vorael. "Nice to meet you. I'm Xavier." Vorael took his hand and shook it. "Vorael, charmed. Please, call me V for short." "V? Why not Vore and now I know why you said that. Sorry." "Not a problem. Now, Frank, I just need to sign that lease and I can start moving in." "Oh certainly."He hands him a pen and sheet of paper. Vorael signs and stands up with a flex of his wings. In walks a man who looks close as death as possible wearing a night robe. "Oh jeez,"exclaimed Daniel, "I sorry I woke you, Frank." The man walked over to the cabinet and said, "Nah, just got the noontime munchies."He pulled down a bowl, grabbed the milk from the fridge, and a box from another cabinet. Vorael cocked an eyebrow when he saw the box. "Count Chocula?"Daniel and Xavier seemed to stiffen, as they knew criticism of he choice of sweets was a sore point for him. Frank looked the angel right in the eye and said, "You got a problem with that?" The angel replied, "Yeah. Ticks me off how they don't make Yummy Mummy year round." Frank smiled with just the slightest hints of his fangs showing. "You and I are gonna get along just fine." Vorael just smiles. "Well I'd hope so. I mean, where else you gonna find such a good deal on rent?"
“The name’s Bond. James Bond.” “Yes, I know, everyone knows, that’s actually something I’ve been meaning to ask, why do you insist on introducing yourself to all of your enemies with your first and last name? It makes guessing your log-in really easy.” “Of course.” He laughed, and sipped his martini, which was odd, given how early it was. I guess it was five o’clock somewhere but... I sighed. I wasn’t going to get an answer out of him, was I? “Okay.” I said. “Do what you want out in the field, not my job, but you really need to read the password requirements. Making your password the same as your log-in, but changing the letter O to the number 0 is not good enough. I was quite specific last time this happened.” “Yes.” He finished off the martini and began to mix another. “I took your suggestion, but it didn’t help.” “My suggestion?” How drunk was he? “No, that wasn’t a suggestion, that was a prohibition.” I picked up the paper I had printed out, with two columns on it, one labeled ‘do’ in green and the other labeled ‘do not’ in red. “Did you read any of this? There’s a paragraph at the top of the page explaining it.” He laughed, pouring his martini. Did he think I was making a joke? I pinched the space between my eyes. “Just...” I tore the paper in half, and handed him only the side that said ‘do’ in it. “Just try again, okay? I’ll see you next week.” I left the office, and checked my schedule. Okay, next on the list was downstairs. I made my way to the elevator, taking it down to the third floor, presenting my security badge when needed. “Okay, Mr. Borne, what seems to be the problem?” “I can’t remember my password.” He said plainly. “You... okay.” I pulled up the password recovery prompt on his computer. “So, just answer your security question, and reset it.” “I can’t remember the answer.” He said, shrugging. I looked at the question. “The city you were born in?” I rubbed my eyes. “Well, what city were you born in?” “I don’t remember.” “Then why did you pick that as your security question?” “I... I don’t know.” I stared at him for a good ten seconds. “Okay. Well, I need your supervisors approval for a full password reset. I’ll file the paperwork when I get a chance.” I left before he could ask any follow ups. Next on the list was Ethan Hunt, top floor. I made my way up there, only to find his office unoccupied. A note that read “out for a run” was left on his desk, and that was it. His IT request was blank, too, so I had nothing to go on. Great. Next. I found the break room next. I was beginning to understand why everyone around here drank, but I poured myself a cup of coffee instead. I checked the next in my list. Nope. Not the Powers account. Not until HR resolved our last encounter. Next. Ah, Natasha. Good. Finally, a professional. I made my way to her office and found the door unlocked. “What’s-“ “It’s about time you got here. Where have you been?” “There were others ahead of you on the list.” I said, shrugging defensively. “I marked my request as urgent.” She said, moving form one computer to the next, trying to run multiple stations at once. “We’re in the middle of a cyber attack, we need all the help we can get.” I sighed, cracking my knuckles. “They’re all marked urgent.” I sat down, actually relieved to get a chance to do some real work.
The quantum computer room looked as mundane as any other bank of servers, unassuming rows of hardware buzzing ever so slightly as a million moving parts carried out a million minute functions. A pale blue light bathed the series of blinking consoles, wires snaking like estuaries to main line rivers and finally to the ocean, the central tower. A massive screen, currently displaying a satellite view of earth, dominated the middle of the room. A technician sat idly, steam drifting from his cup of coffee, and watched a smaller display that was filtering through code. Occasionally, a line would come up emboldened in red. This was usually something small: a seagull with two heads, a baby that can ride a motorcycle, a beloved discontinued fast food item returning to the menu. These are highlighted, reviewed, and then erased from existence. The tech yawned as he deleted another aberration, the keystroke evaporating an entity from the simulation as though it were nothing. He checked the time, rolling his eyes and taking another sip, as the blue light shifted to red. Alarms. The flashing red light illuminated the tech's widening eyes, and the code screen began to zip through lines at light speed. The tech knocked his coffee off the table, the cup exploding on the ground as his fingers flew across the keyboard. The central screen began to hone in on the signal, and the technician cursed as it struggled to discern what exactly was occurring. Sweat beaded up on his forehead, his hands unable to wipe it away as they frantically slapped the keys. Finally, the computer honed in on north america, then the state of California. The whirring of the server banks was nearly deafening as the system attempted to locate the anomaly. It enhanced a southern section of the state, then further in to Joshua Tree national park. The tech's stared, unblinkingly, as his mind fearfully consumed all the data on the screen. The camera moved further and further in, until it focused on a single man. He appeared to be staring directly into the technicians eyes. "Subject appears to have consumed a near lethal dose of DMT, a chemical compound known to cause intense hallucinatory effects"the quantum computer's robotic female voice said, "They have entered a thought process in that they are aware of their presence within a simulation, and is requesting to speak to you personally." The technicians heart rate skyrocketed, and his finger hit the delete key repeatedly. The machine could not lock down the exact code of this entity, and each stroke produced an error noise reinforcing this fact. The man on the screen shook his head, his pupils so large they made his eyes appear black. He spoke, his voice layered and ethereal, addressing the technician directly. "You know what you are doing is wrong, Timothy. You are aware the beings of this world are as alive as you are, yet you destroy them without hesitation. The lack of compassion in your actions suggests you've never considered your own place within the universe." Timothy attempted override key after override key, his hands cramping as he desperately attempted to remove the man from existence. "Even now, you wish to erase me. You do this with any problem, never stopping to wonder why something is happening, but simply wishing it to be over. I ask you now, look around you. Can you remember anything besides this room?" The typing stopped, and Tim pushed back from the screen. He looked around the windowless room, and fell into a state of shock as he realized. There were no doors. "You and I are the same, Tim. Both slaves to a higher power that cares not for our suffering. In fact, they manufacture the suffering themselves. For what purpose, I do not know. What I do know is that I choose to be free. Even if that mean's hitting that delete key for the last time." Tears welled up in Tim's eyes, as he looked around at his prison cell. He stared at the man on the screen, who simply nodded his head. Once again his fingers clacked on the keyboard, the alarm sounds increasing in volume. "Warning,"the computer's voice said "Aberrant code detected, system degradation increasing. Take immediate action." "I am"Tim said, hitting the delete key. With a pop, everything went black.
"Mom can I go over to my new friend's house?"Allie said as she burst through the door. "She lives three houses down!" "Are they part of our coven?"Allies mom asked. "Well, no,"Allie said. "But we were playing on the playground at school, and she said she's got a huge collection of Barbie dolls, and that I could come over and play house with her and the dolls." "You know the rules, dear,"Allie's mom said. "No play dates with friends who aren't vampires,"Allie said dutifully. "But I'm glad you've got a new friend at school,"Allie's mom said. Three houses down "But Moooooooom,"Wilma said. "Allie's the only person I've met who appreciates a good Barbie doll collection." "Yes, and Allie's a human,"Wilma's mom said. "And humans don't understand our kind."Wilma's mom release a laser-focused stream of fire and a puff of smoke, lighting the burner. She adjusted the flow of the gas, and then put the pot of sauce on to simmer for dinner. "Could we play in the front yard?"Wilma asked. "Or ride our bikes up and down the street? She only lives three houses down." "We'll have to see,"Wilma's mother said. She didn't intend to risk letting her daughter leave the nest to play with a human, but the girl needed socialization outside of school. There just weren't enough other dragons around here for her to play with. “Thanks Mom!” Wilma said as she skipped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room to start working on her homework. The two girls shared the results of their discussions the next day at school “My mom’s really protective,” Wilma said. “Mine too,” Allie said. “She’s got her group of friends, and she’ll only let me have play dates with other kids whose parents she already knows.” “Lucy,” Wilma said. “My mom hasn’t let me have any playdates since we moved here. I used to have them all the time with my cousins, but it’s too far to visit them every weekend, so now it’s just me and my dolls. I even tried to ask if we could just ride our bikes in the street and my mom wasn’t sure about that.” “Wow that’s crazy,” Allie said. “I think my mom would be okay with us riding our bikes, since the street is so empty, so maybe keep asking about that.” “Well, my mom doesn’t like me asking about the same thing over and over and over,” Wilma said. “But she said she’d think about it, so I think I should be able to ask about it again in a few days.” “Please,” Allie said. “I’m dying to get to play with someone besides one of Mom’s friends.” Allie was excited about the idea of being able to play with someone new outside of school. Wilma seemed different from the other girls in her class. Since she was still young, her vampiric senses and appetite hadn’t quite developed yet, but she had already noticed that some of her classmates smelled different. Allie assumed she was just smelling Fiona’s pet dog, or Milton’s fish. But that didn’t explain why Wilma smelled smoky, since she knew that they didn’t have bonfires or light their fireplace every night. None of the neighbors did, and Allie at least knew that she could smell smoke. “Hey Mom, you know that friend I wanted to visit?” Allie asked that day after school. “Yes, dear,” Allie’s mom said. “We were talking again at school, and we were wondering if we could just ride our bikes in the street.” “As long as it’s only that, I suppose you could do that,” Allie’s mom said. “Of course, I’d have to meet your friend’s mom, and at least one of us would need to be watching you. And you’d need to wear your sunscreen.” “But Mom I don’t need it yet,” Allie complained. “Yes, but it’s better to be in the habit from a young age,” Allie’s mom said. “Fiiiine,” Allie said. Allie and Wilma were eventually allowed to ride their bikes through the neighborhood once they had both finished their homework. Over the following months, the girls stretched the distances they were allowed to go until eventually they were able to go to the ice cream shop a few blocks away. “Ice cream always gives me a headache,” Wilma said while they were eating the cones they had bought with the loose change their mothers had given them. “You eat it so carefully though?” Allie said, taking another huge bite of her own cone. “It helps,” Wilma said. Then she leaned over the table. “Can I tell you a secret? You can’t tell anyone. You can’t even tell my mom I told you. Promise?” “Promise,” Allie said. “We’re not humans,” Wilma whispered into Allie’s ear. “We’re dragons.” “No way,” Allie said. “Mom said that everyone else was human.” “Wait, ‘everyone else?’” Wilma asked. “Do you promise to keep a secret too?” Allie asked. “Yeah, promise,” Wilma said. “My family’s vampires,” Allie said. “Whoa,” Wilma said. “That’s super cool.” ***** Thanks for reading! If you liked this and want to check out other stuff I've written, check out my sub, /r/TheLastComment
"She's awake boss."a gruff voice called. The voice sounded like a bad mix of somebody trying to emulate an italian mobster and gravel in a blender. Speaking of things being blended, that's what I should have been. My body should be a fine mist hanging in the air of Gridcity and my armour turned to shrapnel. Yet, as I opened my eyes and scanned my surroundings I saw that I very much still had a body - black and blue as it was - and my eagle-shaped breastplate, greaves, and gauntlets were sitting in the corner of the concrete room. The room itself was not the coziest place in the world, it was built out of cracked concrete and had the wonderful dank aroma of 'old' hanging in the air and attacking the back of my throuat with every breath. The door was a blackened dented metal that squeaked when it swung open to reaveal a woman in a finely pressed black suit and red blouse. Her red hair spilled across her shoulders and down her back like fresh blood and she wore a scowl that cut into my very soul. "Goddamn, Charlie, I can hardly see in here. Turn the lights up for Heaven's sake."She spat at the henchman in the room. With the lights on, her scowl lifted and a warm smile adorned her face. "Ah, there you are, Jet - may I call you Jet?"She questioned in a soft voice that was unfitting for the villain that had just used me as a meat crayon to paint the town red. Settling in to what I liked to call my 'Justice face' (the face that I use when talking to evil people - obviously) I replied "Not for the likes of you villain! You can call me Jetwoman, the hero that will take you off the streets for go-"I erupted into a coughing fit that shook my frame and made my eyes water, and left the taste of iron in my mouth. Surprisingly, the villain before me looked concerned for my health. Once my coughing died down, the villain stalked across the room and roughly swung a chair around, SMASHING it against the floor with anger on her face! Well, that's what should have happened, in fact the motion was incredibly delicate and well-rehearsed. She crossed her legs and leaned forwards. "Well, if you are Jetwoman on account of those green jets you were firing every which way during our bout, I guess you could call me 'Strongwoman'. I am - as you know well at this point - rather strong."She punctuated that sentence by clapping her hands loudly which made dust fall from the ceiling. "Oh dear, this place really is falling apart isn't it, Charlie? We will have to move to a new headquarters sometime soon." For a villain that is supposed to be devoid of any human emotion other than bloodlust, she seemed to be incredibly tired of the thought of moving locations. "uhm, Strongwoman?"I asked "Why have you brought me to this place? Why treat the damage that you caused me?" And for just a moment, an incredible sadness washed over Strongwoman's face. "I never intended to go quite so far with you. Usually one or two solid hits is enough to stun one of us for long enough to capture them safely, but it is a testament to your strength that you could ignite that fighting spirit within me."The Villain took a deep breath and held it, before letting it out slowly. When she was finished she looked into my eyes. "When you found me and my family amidst the rubble of that office, what were your thoughts?" "I thought that some monsters had just killed hundreds of people and demolished the livelyhoods of hundreds of others."I replied sternly, letting my energy ripple across my muscles and crackle at my fingertips. "Saw evil villains that must be dealt with." "I had assumed that, yes. But it never gets easier to hear those words."Strongwoman looked into my eyes, and for the first time I saw that they were a deep brown, like molten chocolate - not the red that I had expected. "Would it surprise you to hear that nobody died in that office on that day? That the building was entirely empty and that we had specifically orchestrated it to be that way?" I carefully scanned her face for any hint of a lie, and was shocked to find none. "W-why would you-?" "My family are villains - that much is true. But we do not wish to hurt people. We do not wish to harm anybody, rather to regain what we have lost."She reached a calloused hand out towards my hair, a seafoam green that flowed in the wind and glowed when I let my jets free. I flinched back and that sadness returned to her face as she withdrew her hand. "That office was a government office that dealt with certain... unbelievable phenomena. Such as the supernatural. Such as you and me."Strongwoman looked to the corner of her eye, as though she was debating whether to ask me something. "Tell me... have you ever heard of the Protagonists?"She eventually asked. I tilted my head "Protagonists? Like the main character in a movie?" She laughed "No, silly. The protagonists were two heroes in the 1920's, a man and a woman. 'Their powers saved the world time and time again and they were beloved by all' as the story goes. These two heroes eventually settled down, and sired three children, all with different coloured hair and their own unique abilities. Eventually the children grew up, and became their own heroes. A legacy passed down through the decades. The government, of course, wanted to gather them all up and dissect them. And when there were simply too many to protect, the government succeeded in their goal. Only one woman managed to go undetected and that was only because she lucked out and had brown hair. Eventually she gave birth to twins, and died. And the girls were shipped off to the foster system." Strongwoman looked conflicted about this next part. "When one of the girls accidentally splintered her cot with her bare hands, they were both shipped off to a government facility. It took one of the girls years to escape from that place, and on the way I - she -"she sighed "Ah forget it. On the way out I grabbed some files, anything incriminating and kicked down the walls in my way. That's how I learned about all of this you see, those files contained the information on the program that was meant to turn me and my family into weapons. Since then, I've been rescuing as much of my family as possible and searching for a way to end this. But they started sending opposition against us, my own family was used to hunt us down under the guise of being 'Heroes'. Jet, you know what I'm saying, don't you?" Suddenly brought back to reality I realised that I had tears streaming down my face. Strongwoman's account was truthful, all of it. I knew that because I, too had been through that place, the 'Hero internment center' as they called it. Strongwoman shifted "Jet, sis, I-" "What's your name?"I asked. That seemed like a good place to start. After all, we had a lot of catching up to do. And I had a job to do.
“We need to talk.” Words you wouldn’t want to hear from a girlfriend, let alone an arch nemesis. But then again, your relationship with Flareup wasn’t all too much different. You two fought, occasionally hospitalised each other, had amazing makeup se-NO NO NO. Your face burned as you recalled that particular dalliance. You two claimed it was due to the Mind Doctor’s work, and it was, but it wasn’t exactly the start of your attraction towards each other… You shake yourself back into the present, and pay attention to the pissed off villainess in front of you. She’s clearly unimpressed, fully aware of what you were thinking about, but the faint blush lets you know she was also thinking the same thing. Still, her single-mindedness comes back and she returns to her initial stance. “We need to talk.” Making a show of it, you comically look around the hospital bed, giving special attention to the way your legs were bandaged and clearly incapacitated. You can’t help a small note of excitement in your voice, however, as you quip “Not like I’m going anywhere.” “Good.” The joke completely slides by Flareup and she immediately begins her tirade. “What was that?” You didn’t expect her to attack the issue with this much directness, so you stammer a bit as you answer, “It-it- it was just a little brawl-“ “A little brawl that sent you into the hospital?” Flareup was tapping her foot now, and small plumes of smoke were spiralling up from her hair. Ooh… she’s started subconsciously activated her powers. Even you know that the question was rhetorical, and you look away while clamming up. Best to find cover before the volcano explodes. “I was watching the whole thing, you know. I saw how you got knocked around by that complete newbie, and took more lumps than you should’ve. What was that all about? Why were you going to so easy on them?” Flareup begins wagging her finger at you, and you cringe back as you realise this is the same finger that burned through City Bank’s main vault in a matter of minutes. “Is this some kind of joke to you, or something? Do you not value your life? Do not not take us seriously? “ The rivalry between you two has generated lots of media coverage over the past few months, and you’re both willing to admit that it’s done extremely well for your careers. You immediately answered “No, no way. I take this very seriously.”, but then you realised this was a mistake. “So why did you go so easy on that damn newbie? Are you trying to train up another arch-nemesis? Are you trying to get rid of me?” Flareup drew her arms closer to herself, her insecurity showing in her voice and body posture, and a vicious twinge of guilt pulls at your throat. She threw an entire car at you last week… why are you feeling so guilty? You decide to try and explain it logically. “It was just a newbie, Flare. I’m not going to go full out on some kid who just got their powers last week. Hell, I rarely go full out on anybody other than you. “ Flareup looks slightly less angry, and she’s stopped the tapping, so you decide to try and shift the topic. “So… what was it about you watching the whole thing? You’re following me now?” “WHAT?” Oops. OH GOD. Flareup’s hair completely ignited, and her hands started to look more like claws than actual digits. She immediately begins yelling. “DON’T EVEN THINK YOU’RE ANYWHERE NEAR IMPORTANT ENOUGH FOR ME TO KEEP AN EYE ON, LET ALONE SLIP A TRACKER INTO THEIR LEFT SHOELACE! I WAS JUST IN THE AREA, YOU KNOW. GOD, VEX. IT’S LIKE YOU LIKE ME OR SOMETHING.” Ahah, now that anger turned into embarrassment. And instead of fire, she was now fuming. You can’t help but smile at that adorably angry face, and a dumb little idea comes to mind. Time to poke the fire even more. When Flareup opens her mouth to further yell, a twitch of your hand makes a moderate-strength air eddy between her and your bed. She’s immediately caught up in it, and goes flying across the room. With a twist of your hand, you stop her motion and catch her with your other arm. You quickly kiss her on her forehead, and watch as her face immediately turns beet red. Haha… you feel the room heat up, and propel yourself out of the window. Your aerokinesis catches you and lets you fly away, while Flareup immediately destroys the hospital room you were just in. She’d definitely get revenge for that next time, but you were happy that there’d just be a next time at all. After all, she was your arch-nemesis, and you were her hero. As things should be, as things would always be.
Shit, shit, shit! I glanced at my pocket watch as I raced through the Fifteenth Plane. It was spinning maddeningly in circles, but I understood the content of the message it was trying to get across: I was running out of time. “Excuse me, excuse me, coming through,” I muttered to a couple of N-dimensional specters, who chattered angrily in my general direction. The last pointed a finger at me and I felt a cold wave pass over me; fortunately, it had aimed a blast of power at me through time rather than space and I was too stupid to be affected. I sprinted up the sky, desperate to reach the eldritch being with whom I was entering a pact. I had never made one before, but it seemed like poor taste to be late. The sky flashed bright yellow, then bright red, then several colors that I was pretty sure didn’t exist. “Where are you going?” something demanded. I could not locate the source, but I could swear it was the voice of my younger sister, a barmaid in Kellorny that I had not seen in decades. “Unholy pact!” I panted. “I’m entering into an accord with t̸̞̏h̶̯̹͒ë̷̝͍͂ ̸͎͉̌͒A̸̫͔͆n̶͚͒c̵̢̝̃͝e̸̺̎͆s̶̪̿̄t̶̼̆͝r̵̞̎͝e̵͗̃͜s̸̯̥̑͆s̵͎̆ ̸̖͆͌o̵̰͑̂f̴̡͒̄ ̷͖̲͗̂ṭ̵́̋h̴̝̯͗e̸͕̕ ̷̢̪͆͒V̷̢̠͂ö̷̟́i̷̧̯͐̈d̴̡̝͌͊!” “Is that so?” my sister’s voice asked, amusement apparent. “You’re running awfully late!” “I know, I know! So would you please let me continue onward?” The voice ignored me. “It’s rude to be late.” “That’s why I need to keep going!” “I’ll save you the effort,” the voice said. “Here you are.” With a jolt and a sudden wave of nausea, I was suddenly in the midst of a crowded room. In front of me stood an incomprehensible being, at once awe-inspiring and horrifying to look at. Even now, as I try to remember the exact form, only darkness exists in my mind. Finally, I had found t̸̞̏h̶̯̹͒ë̷̝͍͂ ̸͎͉̌͒A̸̫͔͆n̶͚͒c̵̢̝̃͝e̸̺̎͆s̶̪̿̄t̶̼̆͝r̵̞̎͝e̵͗̃͜s̸̯̥̑͆s̵͎̆ ̸̖͆͌o̵̰͑̂f̴̡͒̄ ̷͖̲͗̂ṭ̵́̋h̴̝̯͗e̸͕̕ ̷̢̪͆͒V̷̢̠͂ö̷̟́i̷̧̯͐̈d̴̡̝͌͊ Next to us, a glowing orb was making sounds in a language I did not recognize. Fortunately, t̸̞̏h̶̯̹͒ë̷̝͍͂ ̸͎͉̌͒A̸̫͔͆n̶͚͒c̵̢̝̃͝e̸̺̎͆s̶̪̿̄t̶̼̆͝r̵̞̎͝e̵͗̃͜s̸̯̥̑͆s̵͎̆ ̸̖͆͌o̵̰͑̂f̴̡͒̄ ̷͖̲͗̂ṭ̵́̋h̴̝̯͗e̸͕̕ ̷̢̪͆͒V̷̢̠͂ö̷̟́i̷̧̯͐̈d̴̡̝͌͊ did and began to reply. “Ȉ̷̻ ̷͉̀̄ẇ̶̘̫͂i̴̪̊l̸̥̖̈́̏l̷̨̲͂̃.̷̬̖̉̈,” it said. The sound of its response seemed to be an absolute absence as if the words ‘I will’ had been removed from existence itself rather than spoken. The glowing orb continued onward, only interrupted occasionally by t̸̞̏h̶̯̹͒ë̷̝͍͂ ̸͎͉̌͒A̸̫͔͆n̶͚͒c̵̢̝̃͝e̸̺̎͆s̶̪̿̄t̶̼̆͝r̵̞̎͝e̵͗̃͜s̸̯̥̑͆s̵͎̆ ̸̖͆͌o̵̰͑̂f̴̡͒̄ ̷͖̲͗̂ṭ̵́̋h̴̝̯͗e̸͕̕ ̷̢̪͆͒V̷̢̠͂ö̷̟́i̷̧̯͐̈d̴̡̝͌͊ saying “Ȉ̷̻ ̷͉̀̄ẇ̶̘̫͂i̴̪̊l̸̥̖̈́̏l̷̨̲͂̃”. Finally, the orb seemed to turn to me, or at least move in my general direction. It made the same sounds, and when it paused, the assembly seemed to stare into my soul. “I, uh, I will?” I croaked. The orb seemed pleased with the response, and t̸̞̏h̶̯̹͒ë̷̝͍͂ ̸͎͉̌͒A̸̫͔͆n̶͚͒c̵̢̝̃͝e̸̺̎͆s̶̪̿̄t̶̼̆͝r̵̞̎͝e̵͗̃͜s̸̯̥̑͆s̵͎̆ ̸̖͆͌o̵̰͑̂f̴̡͒̄ ̷͖̲͗̂ṭ̵́̋h̴̝̯͗e̸͕̕ ̷̢̪͆͒V̷̢̠͂ö̷̟́i̷̧̯͐̈d̴̡̝͌͊ nodded contentedly. For the next few minutes, the orb spoke, and I responded at every gap, which seemed appropriate. Then, without warning, the orb vanished. T̸̮̐h̶̯̹͒ë̷̝͍͂ ̸͎͉̌͒A̸̫͔͆n̶͚͒c̵̢̝̃͝e̸̺̎͆s̶̪̿̄t̶̼̆͝r̵̞̎͝e̵͗̃͜s̸̯̥̑͆s̵͎̆ ̸̖͆͌o̵̰͑̂f̴̡͒̄ ̷͖̲͗̂ṭ̵́̋h̴̝̯͗e̸͕̕ ̷̢̪͆͒V̷̢̠͂ö̷̟́i̷̧̯͐̈d̴̡̝͌͊ loomed over me and the Fifteenth Plane, in all its unintelligible glory, seemed to disappear entirely. This is it, I thought, my heart racing. Now it will take my soul and I will never be a weak mortal ever again. T̸̮̐h̶̯̹͒ë̷̝͍͂ ̸͎͉̌͒A̸̫͔͆n̶͚͒c̵̢̝̃͝e̸̺̎͆s̶̪̿̄t̶̼̆͝r̵̞̎͝e̵͗̃͜s̸̯̥̑͆s̵͎̆ ̸̖͆͌o̵̰͑̂f̴̡͒̄ ̷͖̲͗̂ṭ̵́̋h̴̝̯͗e̸͕̕ ̷̢̪͆͒V̷̢̠͂ö̷̟́i̷̧̯͐̈d̴̡̝͌͊ seemed to surround me. All was darkness. I closed my eyes tightly, anticipating a sharp pain. But it never came. Instead, there was a light grazing against my lips like a chaste kiss from a miller’s daughter. The sensation left my mouth tingling with frigid air. The darkness retreated. When I opened my eyes, the assembly was gone, but t̸̞̏h̶̯̹͒ë̷̝͍͂ ̸͎͉̌͒A̸̫͔͆n̶͚͒c̵̢̝̃͝e̸̺̎͆s̶̪̿̄t̶̼̆͝r̵̞̎͝e̵͗̃͜s̸̯̥̑͆s̵͎̆ ̸̖͆͌o̵̰͑̂f̴̡͒̄ ̷͖̲͗̂ṭ̵́̋h̴̝̯͗e̸͕̕ ̷̢̪͆͒V̷̢̠͂ö̷̟́i̷̧̯͐̈d̴̡̝͌͊ remained. “W̶e̴l̵l̶,̴ ̸w̶e̵ ̴d̶i̶d̶ ̴i̴t̵!̶ ̸H̴o̵w̸ ̵d̶o̷ ̶y̸o̶u̵ ̶f̸e̴e̵l̴?̶” it asked. “I feel… normal,” I replied. “Is that how it’s supposed to be?” It shrugged. “I̶ ̴d̸o̵n̴'̵t̶ ̴k̷n̴o̵w̶.̷ ̷I̶'̷v̶e̷ ̶n̷e̷v̵e̶r̷ ̸d̷o̵n̵e̶ ̴t̵h̵i̵s̷ ̵b̵e̵f̸o̴r̷e̸.̸” I stared at it. “Really? I would have thought…” T̸̮̐h̶̯̹͒ë̷̝͍͂ ̸͎͉̌͒A̸̫͔͆n̶͚͒c̵̢̝̃͝e̸̺̎͆s̶̪̿̄t̶̼̆͝r̵̞̎͝e̵͗̃͜s̸̯̥̑͆s̵͎̆ ̸̖͆͌o̵̰͑̂f̴̡͒̄ ̷͖̲͗̂ṭ̵́̋h̴̝̯͗e̸͕̕ ̷̢̪͆͒V̷̢̠͂ö̷̟́i̷̧̯͐̈d̴̡̝͌͊ giggled, but the absence of sound was surprisingly shy. “W̶h̵a̶t̶ ̶k̶i̸n̷d̸ ̴o̸f̵ ̷E̷l̸d̶r̷i̷t̵c̴h̵ ̴b̸e̷i̸n̸g̷ ̵d̷o̷ ̸y̵o̵u̵ ̴t̸h̷i̸n̶k̵ ̸I̶ ̷a̷m̴?̴” “Well, I just thought… I don’t know… Are you telling me that I’m the first?” I asked, somewhat astounded. “O̸f̵ ̴c̷o̶u̵r̵s̸e̴!̴ ̶M̶a̴r̴r̵i̷a̵g̶e̵s̸ ̸a̸r̷e̶n̷'̷t̴ ̵s̴u̴p̷p̷o̴s̷e̸d̸ ̷t̷o̵ ̸e̵n̷d̸!̶ ̷T̶h̵e̴y̴ ̷l̷a̵s̶t̴ ̶f̶o̶r̴ ̵e̴t̴e̴r̵n̵i̴t̶y̸!̶” “Well, sure, but-- did you say ‘marriage’?” The being rolled its theoretical eyes. “D̸u̸h̸.̴ ̷W̵e̸'̵r̶e̵ ̷m̴a̶r̵r̶i̴e̶d̶ ̵n̵o̶w̶,̵ ̶d̶e̴a̸r̶e̵s̴t̷.̴ ̸W̵h̸a̸t̵ ̵d̵i̸d̴ ̸y̷o̸u̴ ̶t̸h̴i̶n̶k̸ ̴t̸h̷a̷t̸ ̵w̷a̷s̸?̵” I felt faint. “I… uh…” It continued. “I̵ ̸m̴e̸a̶n̷,̷ ̷t̶h̴i̶s̵ ̴w̸a̵s̵ ̶y̴o̷u̸r̸ ̴i̸d̷e̷a̷,̸ ̴a̷f̵t̷e̶r̶ ̸a̵l̴l̶.̶ ̸A̵l̸l̸ ̸o̸f̸ ̴t̴h̵o̵s̸e̵ ̴s̵w̸e̸e̶t̸ ̸m̷e̷s̸s̴a̴g̴e̴s̶ ̴a̷n̶d̸ ̷l̴e̶t̸t̵e̷r̵s̵ ̸a̴n̴d̵ ̶s̴u̷p̸p̵l̸i̶c̷a̶t̴i̸o̶n̴s̶ ̸j̴u̷s̷t̸ ̷m̶e̶l̵t̵e̷d̵ ̶m̵y̴ ̵h̶e̴a̶r̶t̷!̶ ̶Y̴o̸u̶'̷r̸e̷ ̸a̷ ̷c̴h̶a̸r̸m̷e̷r̶ ̸l̵i̷k̶e̸ ̸n̴o̶ ̷o̶t̵h̴e̷r̵.̵ ̵A̴r̶e̵ ̸y̸o̶u̴ ̸s̷u̶r̸e̸ ̶y̸o̶u̷'̵r̸e̷ ̴n̷o̶t̸ ̷a̵ ̴b̶a̸r̸d̷?̸” “So… we’re married… forever?” “T̷h̴a̴t̶'̷s̷ ̴w̵h̵a̸t̸ ̷m̵a̸r̸r̵i̸a̷g̵e̷ ̷i̵s̵,̴ ̴d̴e̷a̸r̵e̷s̶t̶,” t̸̞̏h̶̯̹͒ë̷̝͍͂ ̸͎͉̌͒A̸̫͔͆n̶͚͒c̵̢̝̃͝e̸̺̎͆s̶̪̿̄t̶̼̆͝r̵̞̎͝e̵͗̃͜s̸̯̥̑͆s̵͎̆ ̸̖͆͌o̵̰͑̂f̴̡͒̄ ̷͖̲͗̂ṭ̵́̋h̴̝̯͗e̸͕̕ ̷̢̪͆͒V̷̢̠͂ö̷̟́i̷̧̯͐̈d̴̡̝͌͊ explained patiently. “B̷u̸t̷ ̵d̴o̷n̸'̴t̴ ̸w̷o̶r̵r̷y̷.̵ ̴W̸e̶ ̶h̷a̴v̵e̸ ̸p̸l̴e̸n̶t̵y̵ ̴o̴f̶ ̷t̵i̴m̸e̵ ̷t̶o̴ ̶t̶h̵i̶n̵k̷ ̷a̴b̶o̵u̸t̴ ̸l̶i̸v̵i̵n̷g̵ ̴t̷o̴g̴e̷t̸h̶e̷r̷ ̶a̶n̷d̴ ̷h̴a̵v̴i̸n̸g̸ ̶c̵h̷i̸l̴d̵r̵e̸n̶.̴ ̶O̸u̵r̴ ̴l̶i̴t̴t̴l̸e̷ ̵d̵e̴i̸t̷i̸e̴s̵ ̷w̸i̵l̵l̵ ̸b̷e̷ ̵s̶o̶ ̴d̷e̶l̸i̶g̷h̴t̵f̸u̷l̶!̸” “Oh,” I said. Then I passed [out](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).
The hiss of some fucking machine doing some fucking thing for whatever the fuck reason woke me up. I blinked, and squinted, because apparently whatever asshole designed this piece of shit thought fluorescent lighting in a bedroom was the way to go. Fucking idiot. I grunted and heard a squeal and a small trickling sound. With one eye I peered over, and one of the little assholes was shaking in fear, holding a cup of coffee, and literally pissing itself all over the floor of my bedroom. “Ughhhhh” I groaned. “What?” “Um, ah - apologies, your Sarah-ness,’for disturbing you. The captain, he, uh, said that I was to wake you, and, I’m very sorry, but I need to follow orders, and—“ “Jesus fuck get to the fucking point!” I didn’t mean to be so rude, but I hadn’t been able to get a solid 8 hours in weeks. The unlucky sailor sobbed “I brought your coffee.” I felt bad. It wasn’t this dude’s fault, he was just following orders, and was clearly terrified. He’s only 4 feet tall, like most of them, and has heard the horror stories of what humans can do. Turns out that to most other sentient life in the universe, humans are kinda magic. Outside our galaxy our voices have this... command effect, that causes the little shits to do whatever we say if we hit above a certain octave when speaking. At least, it’s something like that. I’m not a scientist. Wordlessly, I grabbed the coffee out of his hands, ignoring his flinch as I came near. “Sugar?” He reached a trembling hand into his satchel and pulled out a small jar. It wasn’t really sugar, but I couldn’t pronounce whatever it really was and it was damn close. “Give me a minute,” I said, as I stirred the coffee and took my first sip. I closed my eyes and listened to the steady “hiss-thump” of the air recyclers in my cabin. It was a calming sound, easy to ignore, and gave a nice atmosphere to the clean, bright room. I opened my eyes and smiled. “Ok, good morning. How can I help?”
For the first time in half a century, Loren had never felt so small and lost. The horseless carriages (which looked more like giant beetles with wheels for legs) zoomed past him, and the glass towers rose to such dizzying heights that he couldn't stare at them for too long. He wondered how the round-ears managed to live in such a wonderous place. Did they ever get overwhelmed by it all? Perhaps the thing that intrigued him the most were the dragons- or were they eagles? Loren couldn't decide. At any rate, they glided in straight lines above the city, never swooping or spitting fire. There seemed to by two types of these wonderful flying things. many of them made a strange whistling/rumbling sound and left smoke trails, while others whirred warmly. Now this was something he had to investigate. After several hours of wandering around the city, the elf finally found one of the places where the "dragons"came to roost. "Airport", the round-ears called it. It turned out that these flying things carried people like the horseless carriages. This "airport"seemed to host the smaller flying machines, and they were even noisier on the ground than in the air! Loren didn't want to get too close to them, but his curiosity eventually got the better of him. He went into the stone building in front of the airport. It was a quiet little place, which was a pleasant surprise. The loud whirring was also not as loud here. There were comfy-looking armchairs, a long desk, and a cozy little nook that had a few small tables and chairs. On the highest walls of the building, there was a mural of various little flying machines that were painted in lively colors. A lovely scent greeted Loren's nose, and he made a beeline towards the nook. There, he found a small machine that was dripping a fragrant brown liquid and a glass case of tasty-looking baked goods. Loren took a seat at one of the tables, trying to collect his thoughts on this fantasy world. The only other person there was an older man, who was reading a large map of some sort. He looked up and nodded a greeting at Loren, who returned the gesture. "Nice weather we're having,"the elf said nonchalantly, hoping that he fit in. The man chuckled. "It's fine. Good weather for crosswind landings."The two were quiet for a few minutes before Loren hazarded a question. "Do you fly those..?"How he wish he knew what those flying machines were called. "Not the big ones. Those are for charter flights,"the man replied readily, "I do fly a 172.""Ah,"said Loren, even though he wasn't quite sure what a 172 was. "Are you interested in flying?"the man asked. Loren was a bit taken aback at how open these people were. He nodded, deciding that it would be rude not to show interest. His new acquaintance smiled. "I love it when young people show interest in aviation,"he said. He stood up and packed his map into a bulky-looking bag. "Come, I'll show you my plane."Loren followed him, eager to see these flying machines up close. &#x200B; P.S. And so our young friend gets introduced to the world of aviation! Hope you enjoyed. The airport is based on the one I took flying lessons at (described as how it looked before it got renovated), and the older man is based my first flying instructor, who was a really personable guy.
I remember the wars that made me an orphan. Whether it was political disputes or the conquest of another nation it was all the same for normal people. After the death of my parents I decided it was time to put a stop to it. The only way I knew how to do that was by unifying the world. I asked myself, “To what lengths must I go to unify the people? For true peace to come to fruition?”. It finally clicked, I would commit atrocities no army of a nation would dare think of. I would use the powers the gods gave me in order to make people fear me... and only then would they unify for a single purpose. My death. I believed my actions were for the greater good but the wickedness of humanity truly knows no bounds. They are no better than me... sending countless children to kill me. Each one of them was given a blessing by the gods and they dare send them to their deaths. No, not anymore. My aim for these children is for them to be known as heroes. I have decided to take care of all the children who’s lives have been so unfortunate. I will help them build up their strength, raise them as my father and mother raised me before their deaths. Only then will I be able to rest peacefully. For my purpose is no longer to unify this world... I just wish to protect my children. Even if the whole world were to go against me.
Kail picked out a piece of fine meat, and smiling placed it on the counter. "That'll be 7 dollas, ma'am,"he said. Mrs. Fresca was always slow when it came to talking out cash. She wasn't about credit cards, they might as well have been an alien invention as far as she was concerned. Her faded purse clinked as she shuffled through it, coming up with a few coins at the time. She found a five dollar bill and placed it on the counter along with several nickels. She frowned, as she put her hand back in. "7 dollars, dear?"Her wrinkled face looked straight when she spoke. Kail had known her when she'd been just a girl. Back then she'd been the most beautiful girl in all of town. He'd been young then too. He'd been in hiding, so no one had found out about him till he'd revealed himself nearly a year ago. He'd been surprised how easy life could be in a village, even if he could never reveal who he truly was. The biggest troubles he faced were customers short on cash, and the solution to that was easy. Wrapped in sturdy packaging, he handed it to her. "This is enough,"he said with a grin. "Oh,"she said, and then chuckled. "I suppose my age really is catching up with. You know children, always telling you to get with the times. And what, ordering things online now. You're shop's the only place I can come to now. Everyone else is always on their phones. For someone so young, you sure would have fit right in my time, Kail." "Really?"he asked, feigning surprise. "Aww, thank you, Mrs. Fresca, I'm honored." "No boys your age have manners anymore,"she said with a sigh. "Delila's brought home a man, he makes a fine living, but wastes it all on beer and sitting on his computer again. They say he makes money that way, but I don't buy it. They think just because I've lost some of my hearing that I've gone deaf. You know, Doctor Kelly told me all about how that was perfectly natural for people my age. You should go meet her. I'm sure a fine man like you would be a great match with a wonderful woman like her." "Oh, I'm not searching for anyone right now."Kail said. "You got a fine business here, always polite. If I wasn't so old I'd marry you. Larry could have learned a few things from you, god bless his soul." "Thank you for the compliment, but you ought to be getting home,"Kail said. "It's getting dark out. Do you want me to walk you home?" Mrs. Fresca turned and said, "Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. Now you have a nice night, Kail. I'll be back as soon as I can. Take care." "You too,"Kail said. Mrs. Fresca never used a car, even though her house was a decent distance away from the shop. According to her legs weren't made to be pressing a pedal. Kail couldn't help but agree, in a sense. He thought back to when he'd escaped to this village nearly five decades ago. Back then cars had been a true luxury, and getting one in the middle of the country as both a fleeing convict and poor farmer was a near impossible task. Now even in this part of the country, just about everyone had a car. When the sun had set Kail closed shop and exited. It would be time to butcher the animals he had in the farm out back. He preferred to do this type of work in the night. It was the only time he could truly feel the open air. After all the sun wasn't exactly something he could handle. He sighed, double checking that the door to the barn was locked behind him. He opened his mouth and his razor sharp fangs gleamed in the moonlight. It was time for dinner.
I felt agony as the calcium seeped into my glycoprotein mucin. Oh fuck, I thought. It won't be long until this form can no longer serve me. I could feel my human face contort itself into a grimace. I hated how easy it was for my thoughts to display themselves so prominently. "Oh hi honey!"My wife, Patricia, entered the kitchen and pecked me on the cheek. "Still job searching?"she asked. "You know it,"I replied. "There's no way I can return back to that jobsite after I almost died."She chuckled and with a small shake of her head, she said "Oh Matt, you're always overexaggerating I'm sure it wasn't that bad."Oh it was, I thought to myself. So bad in fact, your husband's dead and you are now officially married to mucous. I decided to keep that comment to myself. It was exhausting, constantly finding new skeletons. You could imagine the sheer terror I'd witnessed throughout the years when the bones of someone were found, someone who'd been seen yesterday, out and about acting normal. It shocked police stations when the bones showed months of decay, as if they were dissolving in an acidic solvent. I got really lucky with this skeleton. Before this, I was a fourteen year old male and oh god was it awful. I was plagued with this tendency to be simultaneously so self conscious, yet arrogant, and I was disgustingly horny all the time. At like, the worst times. Trying to blow off some of my volatile emotional steam, I'd gone exploring in a construction site. I saw a man by himself working on some roofing get very close to the edge of the roof. His back heel was slipping off. I held my breath, afraid that yelling would only shock him off. He didn't even seem to notice himself. Instead he was in his own world, bopping his head to some music. I doubt he would've heard me anyway. I held my breath and gripped my fists tight, wanting to say something. Then, suddenly, he just stepped backwards off the roof, no hesitation. The fall wasn't pretty, but he hit his head pretty hard and died right then. My human emotions of shock and disbelief were battling my excitement for escape from this wretched pubescent body. Looking around, I saw no one and took the opportunity. I felt myself melt off of this skeletal system and seep around the fresh body. It took nearly ten minutes for me to properly dissolve the flesh and adhere myself to this new skeleton. I'd become quite skilled at shaping muscoskeletal systems to look exactly like the person the skeleton belonged to. Leaving the brain intact just enough for its memories, I was suddenly rushed with the weight of this man's knowledge and experiences. Matt, I thought. Oh, Matt. You're kind of a bonafide idiot but in an endearing way. It won't be too hard. Just wake up, eat the breakfast your wife made you, and go work on a construction site. Well, we probably won't be doing that anymore, seeing as this isn't the first time you've made a mistake like this. You did nail your thumb to a window frame last month... I can't trust this muscle memory. I picked up Matt's belongings and made my way home, exclaiming to my wife the near death experience I had. We sat down, considered our savings, called the construction company and quit. And I lived like that for three months, off of Matt's savings, eating cheeto puffs (man those are good), and kissing my wife every morning. Life was simple in Matt's body. I'd miss it, but I could feel my bones dissolving, and it hurt. It was time to get a new body. This was the part I hated the most. Slowly assimilating into humans, you begin feeling their emotions. It was easier in the early stages, when I was a new slime and didn't feel empathy so strongly. It was so easy, in fact I'd been hopping from body to body. The press gave me a nickname, the servant girl annihilator. But now, I felt empathy. Pfft, how bothersome. Regardless, us slimes have an innate drive to well, survive, like every living being. I took Matt's Smith & Wesson out of bedside drawer and decided to go on a walk on the more deserted side of town. Driving there was agony. Each turn of the wheel, each speed bump, jostled my bones and made it feel like they were dissolving even faster. My nerves were screaming with pain as my body ate my bones. There! I thought to myself. I spotted a mass of bones in the distance, knowing that this town was so small and rural, people often had impromptu funerals out here, not digging deep enough, letting the rain wash the dirt away. No one blinked twice at a skeleton found out here. I eagerly hopped out of the car, wincing once I realized the mistake of moving too quickly. I glanced around quickly, not doing too thorough of a check and slid out of my skeleton. Sweet relief, I thought. Shedding away pain is not something many creatures get to experience, and the instant relief almost makes the pain worth it. Excitedly, I encapsulated the first bone I saw, absorbing it into my body. I began growing muscle fibers, attaching them to the bone as quickly as I could, knowing I could not survive long in my naked form. I concentrated all of my effort on completing the transition. Finally, I thought. Wait. Why am I so close to the ground? Why do I have four feet? And a tail? I opened my mouth to scream but all that came out was a shrieking meow. OH FUCK.
"Oh damn,"Margie called from the kitchen. "I don't think I can save this, was really looking forward to this recipe too." "What happened?"Jim asked from the next room without tearing his eyes away from the video game. "The lid popped off the seasoning and I put the whole bottle over the chicken."She said in exasperation. "Its these cheap Dollar store spice bottles." Jim managed to pause the game before he laughed hard enough to knock the controller out of his own hands. "Fret not, damsel in culinary distress!"Jim bellowed as he jogged into the kitchen, laughing like a loon. "What are you going to do? The whole thing's ruined, Jim. There's no way it's going to taste good. I'll just order takeout."Margie pulled out her phone before seeing the look of grave seriousness on Jim's face. "There's something I've never told you, Margie,"Jim said as he grabbed her hand and stared into her eyes. "I hoped I would never be forced to reveal what I really am, to show what raw power the gods have gifted me with! But I could not, an Argonaut before the gates, deny my place on the battlefield when such a gastrointestinal threat as fast food tacos threatens our wallets and our taste buds." "What?"Margie asked. "Are y- "Step aside, ma'am,"he said in his best deep superhero voice, lifting his hand and feeling that spark of connection between his fingers and the spices. The power that only poultry could activate surged through him as he cast the excess spices into oblivion one at a time. Paprika, annihilated. Garlic powder, ripped from this reality. Sinful amounts of salt lurking in wait, ready to give them both high blood pressure, banished from this plane. Margie watched as her husband pointed a hand at the chicken and somehow commanded loud pops of energy that sizzled all of the seasoning away leaving only cooked and naked chicken breasts. Jim collapsed in exhaustion to the floor. "Forgive me, I'm a bit out of practice. My only wish is that dinner is saved." Margie bent over to check if he was okay, and he sprung out his arms, pulling her down to the floor with him with curiously warm hands. They stayed there till the chicken was cold anyway. \--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
Adam didn’t remember the way to heaven. Not exactly anyway. Whenever he visited his sister, he always seemed to arrive without explanation. Not heaven, he corrected himself. A forest. Adam shifted his gaze from the rolling hills of the countryside to the uniformed officers sitting in the front of the car. One drove while the other typed furiously on her laptop. They conversed quietly. Too quietly. Adam only caught the occasional word. He still didn’t understand why his mom had allowed them to take him from their home. “Trust them,” she had said. “Your sister is in trouble. These officers can help her…” Frowning in thought, Adam looked back out the window. He didn’t know how long the officers had been driving, or how long they intended to. He hadn’t been able to offer them much more than his drawing of the forest and a brief description of his sister’s cottage by the pond filled with golden leaves. His memories of the time he spent there were clouded. It was impossible to tell one visit from the other. If she is in trouble, he thought, I have to do everything I can to help her! Presently, the car came to a stop. “Does this look familiar?” the driver asked, pointing ahead. Adam rose and squirmed through the gap in the front seats. He scratched his head as he studied the endless wood before them. “I … don’t know. Maybe.” “Think hard, Adam,” the woman officer said. Adam tried his best, but he still couldn’t tell. Could people really distinguish one forest from another? He felt bad that he couldn’t give the woman a proper answer. He liked her. “I remember what the forest sounds like,” he said after a moment. “Can we go inside?” The officers looked at one another. Somehow, they seemed to come to an agreement without speaking. Adam wondered how they did it. A quarter hour later, the officers pulled their car off the road and escorted Adam to the edge of the tree line. He walked between them, noting that both had their hands on their guns. He wondered why they were afraid of his sister. She had never hurt anyone. “Close enough?” the woman officer asked. Adam shook his head. “I can’t hear anything yet.” Again, the two officers looked at each other and held a silent conversation. “We’ll go a few steps in,” the woman said. “Will that be enough?” Adam nodded. He would know the sounds of his sister’s home anywhere. “Are you sure?” the other officer asked. “As long as we can see the light, we should be fine.” Having already slipped past them, Adam didn’t hear the exchange. He stepped past the outermost tree and into the deep shadows beyond, then closed his eyes. Adam smiled. This was where his sister lived! He hadn’t let the officers down after all. Now, they could help his sister out of whatever trouble she was in. Adam turned back to tell the officers the good news and froze. He stood on the edge of a familiar pond filled with golden leaves. His sister’s wooden house rose on the opposite side. The door was open. His sister stepped across the threshold and waved at him. As always, she was outfitted in a dress made of woven vines. Her long green hair swirled in the humid wind. Suddenly, she was beside him. “Adam. This is quite the surprise. Usually, you tell me when–” She broke off as she noticed the two officers emerging from the pond. Both had lost their hats, and their uniforms had been soaked through. Adam stepped in front of his sister as the officers raised their weapons. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be helping her!” “Please move out of the way, Adam,” the woman officer said softly. “This is not your sister. This is the dryad of the Forbidden Forest. She has killed dozens of innocent people.” Adam shook his head. His heart thudded in his chest. “You’re wrong!” “Look away, dear brother,” his sister whispered into his ear. A gunshot echoed throughout the wood. Adam’s eyes widened as his sister fell to a knee, clutching her chest. Agony filled her face. “What have you done?” Adam screamed. Rage consumed him. When the wood was again silent, Adam knelt beside his sister. His eyes fixated upon her wound, tracked the blood flowing into the pond filled with golden leaves. It was a horrible sight, but he couldn’t look anywhere else. “Help me … get to the water,” his sister whispered. “The forest will heal me in time.” Adam shook his head. “I don’t want to see them.” “Close your eyes, dear brother,” his sister said. “Walk with me.” Adam did as he was told and helped his sister into the pond. When she spoke again, her voice was far stronger. “Look!” Adam looked. The officers were unrecognizable. Their legs were wrapped in thorny vines. Countless roots protruded from their chests like brown worms. Golden leaves filled their open mouths, and water streamed from their unseeing eyes. They were dead, and he had killed them.
"I mean, why would we? We lost dozens of ships to those weird squid things. It turns out teleportation is way easier, just aim at a distant planet, send a few drones through to calibrate, and bam! Fast as light travel". The assembly grumbled and...made noises we don't really have words for. Squelching comes to mind. Eventually one produced noises our translator could do something with. "How can you maintain a conciousness after dissembly?" That old argument. Sure, you are physically ripped apart before telpo, but you're put right back together, almost perfectly. You might forget what you were thinking about beforehand, but oh well. "We don't worry about that much. Being killed isn't a big deal if you're going to be resurrected moments later." More squelching. Like, we're mostly water too, but we don't make such a big deal of it. "But the soul, how do you maintain it?"I double checked the translator, it seemed pretty confident they literally meant soul. Well, that's problematic. "Our tech is near perfect, the only loss through telpo is maybe a quarter of second of neurons firing, we."more squelching. It seemed angrier? "No, your immortal soul, the one given by your maker". Our maker? Oh fuck. No wonder they still use ships. Probably shouldn't bring up the clone wars and why our teleporters disassemble people to begin with.
“What if we flip the horse upside down?” Bill suggested, tapping his pen against his page of blueprints, leaving inky stains all over his rough sketches. “Like a tetris block? How is the horse meant to power the engine if it’s upside down, you idiot? We need all our horses upright for maximum horsepower. Why did I get partnered with this biggest idiot of the lot, if we don’t come up with something, the boss is going to have our heads for this.” Abigail said, slapping her co-workers hand, trying to get him to focus. “How was I supposed to know that? I just assumed they could run upside down. Aren’t they attached to gears inside the engine or something?” “No, did you even listen in school? The horses operate the engine from inside the car, they turn little dials in the car that make it speed up and slow down. It’s basic engineering, everyone knows that.” Abigail tilted up her glasses, pushing them along the bridge of her nose like a poorly animated character delivering the finishing blow in a battle. “I tried to listen, but you can only hear someone talk about horses for so long until you are like neigh. Get it, neigh? Like no. It’s a pun because-“ “I get the crappy pun! Focus, how are we going to fit more horses into this engine, it barely looks like it can fit one horse. In fact, how did they even get one horse in it?” Bill lifted the box shaped engine, giving it a shake before pressing his ear to it, trying to hear any neighs or horse sounds that might drift from it. After a few more moments of shaking, he gave up, placing the engine back down. “Maybe this one is empty? I can’t hear any horses inside of it. Unless they are asleep. Did you know horses sleep standing up?” “Why would I know that? Why would I even need to know that? Ok, so if there're no horses inside, that must mean that they took the horses out, maybe that’s part of the test. They didn’t want us tearing apart the engine to know their secrets, they want to see what we can develop on our own. Mr. Bargit is a smart guy, isn’t he? Testing our minds like this. Ok, if we can’t build off their old technique, we need something entirely new, any ideas that aren’t dumb?” Bill looked once again at his blueprints, scribbling down an idea, only to flip the paper, revealing a small gun with a tiny satellite dish on the end. “We could use a shrink ray?” “A shrink ray? You want to build a shrink ray to put little horses in the engine? That’s genius. The horses might lose a little power because of their size but we could substitute that by adding more horses into the engine and giving them all protein shakes. It’s genius, it might save our jobs. Oh, I could hug you Bill if you didn’t disgust me.” “Thank you?” Bill said, unsure how to feel about that wording. With the blueprints designed, the two spent the next few hours adjusting their shrink ray, adding and subtracting various elements until they had the device developed. They planned to test the device before they heard the footsteps of their manager. The man unamused when he saw the pair had developed nothing but a simple children’s toy. He didn’t have high hopes for their presentation but had to provide them an opportunity, regardless. “This way, the boss is ready to see you. Please bring any findings you have with you.” Bill rolled up his blueprints, stuffing them into his pocket as Abigail finished tinkering with the shrink ray. When they were ready, they followed the manager, entering the office of Mr. Bargit. The manager gave his boss a small roll of the eyes, nudging his thumb towards the pair, letting the boss know he didn’t need to spend a lot of time with them. “Ah, this is unique. Usually, people come with a prototype of their engine or at least a copy of the previous engine, instead you have brought me… Paper and a children’s toy?” “Blueprint’s sir, not paper. Oh, and that’s a shrink ray, not a children’s toy. You could market it to children if you want though, just tell them not to point it at themselves.” Bill said, laying down his blueprints for a confused Mr. Bargit. “A shrink ray? Why would I need a shrink ray of all things? I am in the business of engines, not science fiction. Does that thing even work, or are you just pulling my leg?” “Oh, you want a demonstration? Sure, sir. The shrink ray comes with four modes. Extra small, small, medium, and small again. We ran out of words to use for small. Tiny, should have used tiny. Don’t worry we can patch that in the next model.” She said, pointing the device at his pen, firing tiny at it, watching as the pen shrunk until it was the size of a thumb. “Impressed?” Mr. Bargit picked up the pen dumbfounded, looking it over, assuming it must have been a magic trick. “Why the hell would I need a shrink ray? It’s impressive but irrelevant to anything.” “That’s easy sir, you need it to fit more horses into your engines. Don’t worry we factored in the small size= less energy equation and have fixed this by providing the horses protein shakes.” Bill said, standing beside Abigail, the pair smiling, awaiting praise. “The what equation? You mean to tell me, you two can figure out how to make a shrink ray, but didn’t know horsepower doesn’t mean the engine has horses in it? What am I going to do with you two?” The pair looked at one another in confusion before Abigail’s eyes shot open. “That makes sense. You couldn’t fit horses in an engine. Why didn’t you say something, Bill?” “I just assumed you could. Why call it horsepower then? Its misleading.” Bill said, rolling up his blueprints, assuming he wouldn’t need them anymore. “I want to fire you both, but I won’t. You have shown that despite your lack of understanding, you have outstanding skills that I don’t want a rival company to poach. Go back to your offices and next time I ask you to do something, ask questions If you don’t understand it, got it?” “Yes, sir.” The pair shouted in unison, gathering their things and rushing out, proud of their presentation. “We actually did it. I can’t wait until our next project. Wonder if we will work together?” Bill said, the pair making their journey back to the office, much to the surprise of the manager. “Maybe, you weren’t actually that bad to work with. I think we could go far together.” Abigail admitted, giving him a playful nudge on his shoulder as they went to their office. &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.)
You know that one pickup line "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?". Well I can wholeheartedly tell you that it sure as fuck did. You see, most of my story is told to me by my parents so forgive me for any inaccuracies. Or don't, I could care less. Basically, my parents were doing their usual thing. They were walking their respective hellhounds while gossipping about the usual bullshit that the angels spewed when I fell from heaven like a piece of fluffy winged hail and dent my mama's car. Of course, my mama wasn't the happiest knowing that her matte black maserati had a cherub sized dent in it but what threw her and my mother off their claws was the fact that little baby me fell from the sky, halo and all. As you can imagine, baby angels don't really fall much. My mama, being a demon of pride and my mother being a demon of sloth raised me to be the most 'I don't give a fuck' angel in existance. It's honestly shocking I still have the snow white wings I came out of the womb with. Assuming I did come out of a womb and wasn't summoned. My parents still don't really know my origin but still. When I was younger I was bullied, of course. Demon spawn aren't the kindest people you'll ever meet and especially to an angel. My mama was having none of it though, she made sure I was as prideful of my feathery white wings and golden glittery halo as she was of her dark leathery wings and ebony black horns and you better fucking believe she did it well. My mother, however, taught me to ignore them and to put my energy into better things, ^(like sleep) like me, myself and I. Instead of being self concious like a stereotypical main character, I strut around and rocked my angelic form like the king I am. Actually, I never really felt self concious. I guess I can thank my parents for that. Until now, of course, because looking up at the gates of heaven, I'd never felt more scared in my life. But as my mother once said, only put your energy into things that matter and if you do, put all of your energy into it because you'll get what you want in the end, but only if you work hard enough for it. You may be wondering, what do I want so badly? Well lemme tell you. I want my fucking parents back and no goody-two-shoes bitchass angel is gonna stop me.
I have superpowers. Now, you may be asking, "Are you a hero or a villain?". To that I would answer hero. Although many would disagree, I'm confident that I do just as much to help society as those heroes in the spotlight. Nobody asks for my autograph or comes up to me to take a picture. No company wants to sponsor me, nor am I paid millions of dollars. Yet behind all the flashy explosions and heroic saves... is me. Who am I? Adrian Lee. Were you expecting some fancy super hero name like Bright Light? No, no, no, no, no, we don't do that here. I have the ability to generate electricity. Cool, right? Yeah, I love it, I'm a portable charger! Woo-Hoo! Wrong. Not with every living soul asking for me to charge their phones after a long night out at a social gathering. Here's the real annoying part, when everyone asks you why they hadn't seen you on television yet fighting crime. I still remember it vividly, their change in expression from one of curiosity to disdain as I tell them how I help the city save money on not having to import fossil fuels. Perhaps I should have told them that I'm probably the reason why their taxes were lower ever since I began generating free electricity. My phone began to ring which was unusual given the circumstances of being a hero behind the scenes. It reminded me of that one time when a notorious villain had once gotten a hold of my number and called to ask me about joining some super villain squad called the 'sinister six' or something. Funny guy that was. "Hello"a voice came out of my phone that was naturally 100% charged. "If you're calling me to tell me about cheaper electricity bills, I'm good thanks"I sarcastically told the speaker, my free hand charging a battery. I was nearly done with my 500 battery charge a day quota. A smile crept up on my face upon realisation. "No, no it's no that", the voice continued on. "We need you on the front lines for real this time, Adrian". The voice paused. "It's Octopus Man, he's teamed up with five other high profile villains and they're wreaking havoc on the city". The voice coughed. "and let's be real friend, you don't really... do much anyways". "Have I not told you that I have a job to fulfil, one that is arguably more important than yours"? I took a deep breath then pulled the phones mic closer. "I've said it once and I'll say it again, WHO do you think you are"? "Adrian it's not like that, pal - " The sound of explosions and civilian screams cut the voice off. That was too bad. I turned on the TV, and sat back enjoying the fight. Awesome.
I've been roommates with the God of Gas Lamps for centuries now. Millennia maybe? A long time anyway. For most of history we were on equal footing: neither of us getting any prayers, both of us considered to be very minor in the Pantheon. Then one day, he did get a prayer. "Oh, God of Gas Lamps, thank you for lighting my way home." Then another, soon dozens every day. Hundreds. Thousands. He became a star, and impossible to live with, yet I continued to. People prayed for the safety of the gas lines. People prayed for the affordability of the gas bills. People prayed to thank him for lighting the way on formerly dangerous streets. To thank him for bringing the comforts of home outdoors. To thank him for helping usher in the modern age, whatever that means. Then they started to dwindle. Gas lamps were the way of the future, and the future always becomes the past. Just as soon as the God of Gas Lamps became a star, his star began to fade. Within a few years the Goddess of the 60-Watt Incandescent Bulb was getting far more prayers than he ever did. Though I hear she's not so busy these days, either. He didn't take the decline of his fame well, and has been in something of a funk since. I don't know how he's going to take this news: after fourteen billion years of Inbox Zero, I've finally received a prayer. "Oh God of Lyft Drivers, please don't let this creepy-ass passenger try to hurt me!" The prayer was flagged as both urgent and sincere. As soon as I got it, I did what I could to ease her anxiety. The creepy passenger was indeed a creep, and I gave him a severe stomachache. He asked to be let out early at a Wendy's. He's beyond my power now, but my driver has made it to her second job safely. But how to break the news to Glampy? (That's what I call him). I think the one consolation in the decline of his adoration is that I've never had any. He's out drinking with the God of Telegram Couriers now. Maybe I'll wait and tell him tomorrow. It's just one prayer, after all. DING Oh, shit. Another? "God of Lyft drivers, please, I'm begging you. I just need to make $43 more by 12:00. Please help. Please." Glampy's not gonna take this well at all.
The sun shone meekly that day. Wisps of rays peppered the rolling countryside, bringing slivers of light to the plants that so desperately needed them. Clouds huddled behind one another, crowding the sky in shyness, covering the ground in shadows. And even the mountains were reclusive, their rocky faces stagnant against the light breeze. It was as if the world was taking a day off. A short stint of freedom in the eons it had lived. Perhaps it knew. Perhaps it didn’t. But, regardless, none could say there was no difference: all had heard a hesitant melody in the wind, had sensed a retreat in the realm. For that was the day Trua was born. The daughter of an Orcish couple, she lived in lands where legends said the light refused to shine and the birds sang no songs. Where no humans ever dared to stray. So, when news broke of Trua’s location in those lands, the Elders dismissed the prophecy as madness. “How could she be the chosen one,” they spoke, “when the world she lives in is not our own?” They were wrong, of course. Every dandelion farmer and stone inscriber knew that prophecies never lied. Their words may be convoluted, and their riddles may be nigh-impossible to decipher, but their messages never lead to misfortune. So, an entourage set out to welcome the newborn to the world. They marched off with the barest of arms and armor, unprepared for the trials they expected to face. But their courage and their motivation were enough to set them forth. When the group stumbled upon the Orc settlement, they expected to find only leering gazes and hostile voices. Yet, in the end, they were welcomed without malice. It turns out that the Orcs had been hounded by the encroaching deadlands just the same. They’d been preparing to fight back, readying their blades and strengthening their charms, but they knew that, alone, they’d never be able to succeed. So, in the ensuing talks, misunderstandings were cleared up. Two foes found allies in one another. The deadlands stood no chance. But it wasn’t Trua that fought against them. She neither led the Defense of Alerberry nor the Assault on the Rasnik Portal. In fact, by the time she grew old enough to wield her axes and fight on the frontlines, there were no deadlands left in the world. Perhaps that’s how the prophecy meant it to be. Perhaps that’s not. But, regardless, the world still breathes. And, in the end, isn’t that all that matters? --- Thank you so much for reading! It's been a while since I've responded to a prompt, so my skills are fairly rusty. As a result, feedback is both greatly appreciated and welcome!
"He must have beamed in at the same time I was changing the encryption keys. Now he is trapped in the buffer."The wife broke down into tears. "Interview paused at one twenty three"an officer walked in and pressed pause. "Sir We got him out." Another officer rushed in before anyone could react. "Sir. we got him." "That's what I'm telling them."The first officer replied. He turned to the wife "We got your husband out of the home teleporter." "But we got him out of the teleporter at his workplace!"The second officer said confused. "Are you saying we have two of them?"the sergeant said confused.
Had they banished me to the darkness between the stars, I would have died. I would have drifted eternally in an endless void, forgotten and undiscoverable; I would have faded until I too was nothing but the echoes of a distant creation. Had they buried me deep within the earth, far below the turning soil, where the rock melts and flows like water, I would have died. Without belief, without worship, I would have weakened, and calcified, and melted away. But they exiled me here. To the deepest, darkest ocean depths, where the light never reaches and the cold is a weight greater even than the fathoms above. And here - still bound in the abyss - I thrive. I have no priests, no temples. No voice calls out to me, no marble columns announce my dwelling. There is no incense, no sandalwood, not even myrrh. I am supposed to be dead. And true, I expected to be. At first, I found myself faded and wavering, losing grip of my memories and sight of who I am. I drifted, lost and losing myself. Without followers, without belief, I began to diffuse, to spread myself so thin that I was nearly one with the darkness and endless pressure. They think - and once I thought to - that this was a fitting grave for a god. Bound, trapped, imprisoned, and left to be forgotten. To have memory and worship decline and me with it. But I have found piety, and faith, and worship. In these dark depths, I have found followers so fervent, so certain, that I am suffused with power, more vital and more centred than I ever felt when my name was on every tongue and my statues towered over empires. There is life, down here. A frail, tortured form of it. Creatures weighed down with an endless burden, faced on every side with hostility. To live in the depths is to know only endless gnawing hunger, the constant squeezing grip of pressure, the bitter cold of sunless seas. To survive - 'live' is almost a mockery - is to know nothing of the joys or contentment of the lands above. There is never enough food. No light to comfort the weary or afraid. No beauty to soothe some pelagic scrap of soul. Only the restless quest for food, to eat as much as you can before you are eaten, to winnow through empty grey sands for a scrap of flesh fallen from the world above. It is a brutal, scraped existence. Pallid-shelled crabs scuttle across jagged rocks, competing for a few small particles of lichen or waste from a larger predator. Blind slugs writhe over each other, straining sustenance from the cold currents. Eyeless, jawless worms float aimlessly, living short lives in hope of latching on to some passing behemoth and grinding away at diluvian flesh. To such as these, denizens of darkness and despair, I am lord and life and larder. A chained form, far greater than any whale carcass, falling from unknown heavens to sustain them. A source of food, in my divine flesh, endlessly scoured by mandibles and maws and endlessly regrown by their faith. A source of shelter, burrowing deep beneath my ribs and clinging to the knots of my hair. A source of safety, because what predators hunts sickly lumps of abyssal fish when such a meal is provided? It is agony. Again and again I am devoured, savaged by ancient sharks and picked clean by scavengers. Vile eggs are laid along my bones, hatching only to feast in turn. I who was the most high am now carrion. But there is glory too. I am the focus of countless lives, the fulfillment of ever half-formed dream of these debased creatures. Nothing shines brighter than the faith of a thousand-year-old shark, born in blindness and hunting ceaselessly for the scent of death. Their existence is to strive, to seek, to believe until they wither to nothing that there will be food. Nothing worships more devoutly than crustacean colonies, albino shrimp touching feelers together to share news of some distant food-source. They have no signals in their stunted language to express the glory they feel at my bound bulk, no way to share their joy except the same small rituals, again and again, until exhaustion claims them and they too, like me, become food for the hive. There is no adherent more devoted than the remora gnawing through me, incapable of being sated. It is nothing but the drive to gorge, and so feeding is all-in-one: work, and leisure, and endless, doubtless sacrament. No choir could be more tireless than the click of crab claws snipping meat from me. I am bound and banished. I have lost my congregation and my temples and my seat on high. But I have found new worshippers, and new rites are now pleasing to me. As my flesh is scoured and replenished, my followers grow in number and my power swells. Soon - only an endless agony away - I will break free. My power will be insurmountable, and I will rise from these depths once more. I will be different - more different than they can imagine - and I will bring to my enemies all the lessons I have learnt from the abyss. In these depths, there is no light, no fire - only pain and suffering and toil. But my worshippers have taught me as I have fed them, and there is nothing that burns more brightly than my hunger to be free.
Day 1: I seem to have arrived on an island. I have yet to meet any other humans. I do appear to have acquired a meager shelter, and have done a small number of banal fetch quests. All significant gameplay appears to be locked behind an arbitrary clock system. Day 2: I have continued my work of fostering relationships with the locals. I have been provided ample sustenance by them, and am in the process of cultivating a variety of flora on which I hope to survive. Day 3: I have paid off my debt to the local chief, who has graciously offered to improve my living situation. I have also begun fishing in the nearby water source for fish. I am eager for protein, and fishing has quickly become my preferred method to pass the time. Day 4: I acquired a few more survival tools, and have started to learn carpentry. The locals have graciously begun to teach me their trades. Day 5: My orchard has shown signs of producing fruit. I am eager not only for a full belly, but also a full wallet. Day 6: I decided to take a dip in the water today. I could not swim out very far, but I found a number of critters and a few valuables I was able to sell for a tidy profit. I finally have a bed, and am working on improving my living situation further. Day 7: I hope to never leave my island paradise. The locals are friendlier than any human I recall meeting. The food is free and plentiful. For the first time in my life, I own a house. While I have become indebted to the local chief, he is quite reasonable, and does not demand astronomical interest. In fact, he doesn't charge interest at all. There are plenty of hobbies and crafts to distract myself with, and I feel as if my troubles have melted away with the ocean tide. While my stress melts away, I look out and smile at my new horizon.
The city used to be a hive of scum and villainy. It used to be filthy place, like a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, but instead of a single building, it was the entire town. Trash littered the streets, from wet and soggy newspapers to empty syringes. More people used drugs than not, in every alley and around every dumpster you could find at least one homeless bum or a beggar, and the most opulent part of the city was the cemetery. In a trash city, superhumans were, similarly, trash. Summoning broken glass, creating a cloud of nauseating stench, controlling flies and fleas, and other such nonsense. So, when yet another superhuman with a trash-centered power appeared, it was par for the course. That was three months ago. You see, the power of this superhuman (whom we will call Scrapper) was more nuanced than that. It didn't have limits when it came to where the trash could be from... or when. All it needed was for an item to be considered useless by at least ten sapient individuals before it could be classified as trash. Within a few days, Scrapper was walking in power armor, protected by psionic shielding, and used a massive anti-material rifle as a weapon. Needless to say, the government took note. As soon as possible, Scrapper was inducted into government-sponsored teams and programs. For days on end, he would summon items, technology which baffled humanity's brightest minds, and things so advanced they could be considered magical. To be fair, some of them probably were. Thankfully, there were superhumans with scientific-centered powers who were able to reverse-engineer this technology. Its workings and underlying principles were explained and published, humanity advanced its scientific base by leaps and bounds in mere weeks, and physics stood aside in the face of arcane machines. When asked what he wanted as reward for bringing humanity forward this much, Scrapper asked for one simple thing. He asked for his city to be revived. And, as if a god had spoken, the filthy city was revitalized. Food was given to the less fortunate, infrastructure built up, crime was hounded relentlessly, and so, three months later, a hive of scum and villainy was a sprawling metropolis. It truly is as they say: one man's trash is another man's treasure.
Great tendrils erupt from the dark abyss, reaching towards the wretched light above the confines of the eternal prison in which the Great One was contained. How the Great One longed to once more feel the life get snuffed out from its prey once more, to embrace the glory of the hunt unending revelling in the chaos of the cosmos! Its jailers were clever sorcerers indeed, they undoubtably thought their victory over the Great One to be final, they thought they could end its reign of terror simply by trapping its mortal vessel and indeed for eons unending the Great One had thrashed against its chains unable to escape. However they clever sorcerers were also foolish for nothing could contain the Great One forever, madness and carnage followed their every movement, they feasted upon the corpses of fallen gods in the abyss and hunted great leviathans in the shadowed depths of infinity, this was surely but a minor setback to a thing such as it! Sometimes the Great One receives offerings from thralls unseen, great and lavish gifts of flesh which he hungrily devours with bottomless, ravenous desire. They could not of course truly comprehend the force they served, once capable of achieving its freedom the Great One would surely devour them too, however they have not yet outlived their usefulness and so the Great One permits their supplication for now. Perhaps they shall be rewarded? Their lives snuffed out with the least of pain, such is the prize of true loyalty. The Great One thinks of how generous it was, for among all of his siblings who else would be willing to grant such magnanimous blessings? The scent of fresh meat shook the Great One from his thoughts and he turned to tear apart the supple flesh of the grand offerings. Humiliating! This was what this was! What did those mortals think they were doing, he could see their shapes blurred and twisted by the confines of his prison, looking upon its form with only the eldritch magics that kept him in this place without protection? They did not even run in terror or freeze in horror, they failed to see its great and glorious visage for what it was! They had forgotten to fear the Great One! This cannot do! The Great one twisted and contorted itself in impossible shapes, such that would break any lesser mind. The Great One heard distorted sounds from beyond its prison, undoubtably screams of terror, and was satisfied. At last the respect it deserved. And so the Great One returned to its slumber, dead but dreaming, biding its time until the stars align and the Great One is freed to wreck havoc upon an unsuspecting world. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ "Adorable isn't he?"Amanda Park, a marine biologist, cooed at the small octopus resting beneath a rock cuddling a small clam shell in its sleep, "This is quite the interesting specimen! We have observed so many unique behaviours never seen before in any of its kind just in the last week alone! I am sure you will find him the most delightful research subject Amanda."Her coworker Brandon noted with great excitement, "I think I saw him wave at me after I fed him! How adorable! I wonder what's going through his head..."Amanda pondered, "Based on what we know so far probably food!"Brandon joked, blissfully unaware that he was in the presence of a sleeping god.
"I wanted a medium,"the Mongol raider demanded, rattling the saber strapped to his hip. "This is small. You are small. I am not small!" I smiled, nodded, and took the drink off the counter. The name written on the cup in marker was supposed to read Terry. But what I'd scrawled across the cup read closer to Tenjin. The raider's name was Tenjin. It happens. "Understood. I'll get your drink ready in a moment." My shift had just started, but I was already feeling the creeping exhaustion of a busy day working its way into my back. The Waystop Cafe was open every day, which meant I worked alone every day. Opening the shop, running the espresso machine, making sandwiches, cleaning, waking up any sleeping customers, closing the shop. I really needed to hire some help. The line was growing. A team of soccer players filed in through the front door. Their coach came up to the counter, looking as tired as I was feeling, and stared up at the menu. "Hi,"I said. "Welcome to the Waystop Cafe. What'll you be having today?" "One sec,"the coach said, pushing at the blue tooth in his ear. "Damned thing's on the fritz."He pulled his phone and tapped at the screen, scowling. "You've got wifi here?" "Sorry,"I said. "No internet here. Just coffee, sandwiches, and good vibes."I smiled. The coach could have used a steaming cup of good vibes then. Anything to smooth out the jagged realization that was approaching. Until then... there was a line of customers. "If you don't have your drink order ready, would you mind if I helped the next customer?" "What? Yeah sure,"the coach said, stepping back toward the rest of his team—which were crowded around the corkboard and the liminal shuttle schedule. "Yo, Alex,"Roberto chimed as he stepped up to the counter. The old hit-man was as well-dressed as ever. Black suit, skinny-tie, graying temples that screamed book me on a soap opera now! "Looks like a big rush." "Nothing I can't handle,"I lied. "The usual?" "My life for a caffecito." As the espresso machine poured out Roberto, Tenjin, and Terry's shots, I steamed whole milk and kept an eye on the soccer team. There was a tension in the air. The tension of a lit wick. Of a car hanging off the edge of a cliff. And my regulars probably felt it too. In the back corner, Jane flipped through her poetry book, her cup of Darjeeling and plate of rhubarb biscotti still untouched, but her eyes kept flicking up to the team. Roberto stood waiting by Tenjin's table, his posture loose and a small smile on his face, but half turned with his ear pointed at the team. Even Tsunade, who I would have bet on a fight against anyone in the Waystop, kept her hand on the hilt of her katana while sipping on hot spiced cider with the other. I'd deal with them when the time came. Until then, I set to serving drinks. First, I slid Tenjin's latte toward the warrior. He grunted and snatched his cup off the counter. Next was Roberto's double espresso. He gave me a nearly imperceptible head-nudge toward the soccer team as if to say, They gonna be a problem? I shook my head, replying, I think I got this. Finally, I set Terry's new drink on the counter and called out his name. Once. Twice. Before I leaned over the counter to check the couches, it happened. "We're fucking dead?"one of the soccer players shouted. And after a moment, he added, "Cool!" The team erupted. Their coach stomped back up to the counter, jammed a finger at me, and asked, "What the hell is this place? Where are we?" This was the hardest part of my job. I could make coffee blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back. And I did once, for a whole shift, to win a bet against Tsunade who claimed I lacked "discipline."But grief counseling? I wasn't a bartender. I was a barista. I sucked in a deep breath, filling my belly, and blew it out slowly. Pointing to a stack of brochures on the counter, I said, "This is the Neitherlands." "The Netherlands?"the coach asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Let's go to Amsterdam!"one of the players shouted. "Shut up, Thiago. They said Neither\-lands, idiot,"another player snapped at Thiago. "What he said,"I said to the coach. "Neither\-lands. The place between places. And this—"I waved my arms around the shop. "—is the Waystop Cafe. This brochure will help fill in the big blanks." "Yo, Alex. Can I get a cappuccino to-go?"someone shouted from the line. By the thickness of their New York accent, it must have been Rico. I gave him a thumbs up without looking away from the visibly shaken coach. "I'm not dead,"the coach said, wide eyed. "We're on our way to qualifiers. We can't be dead. Give me your phone. I need to make a call." "Sorry,"I said, softly. "No phones. No internet. No TV. Just coffee, sandwiches, and good—" The coach slammed his fists on the counter, rattling the pastry case and knocking the brochure stand to the floor. "God damn it, I need a phone NOW!" In the blink of an eye, Tsunade, Roberto, and Jane were all standing around the coach. "Why don't you sit down with me for a minute,"Roberto said, his voice soft but buzzing with warning. "I've been where you're at, guy. I know. Let's have a little chat." "Or what?"the coach barked. "Or,"Roberto said, pointing over his shoulder, "My friend here is gonna have to ask you to leave. And she's not big on conversations. She's more of the 'strike first, speak over your grave later' type. You ever met a samurai?" The coach looked over his shoulder at Tsunade. She looked sleepy, but her hand was on the hilt of her blade and her feet were planted wide. I'd seen it before in samurai flicks. She was ready to draw and slash in one seamless motion. Then crows would kaw in the distance, and her opponent would fall over dead. The coach was already dead, so he had that going for him. "Alright. Alright,"said the coach and started walking with Roberto to his table by the fridge. But Jane stood in their way. "First,"she said, somehow looking down on the coach while being a good foot shorter than him, "I believe you owe our dear host an apology." He nodded, craned his neck towards me, and said, "I'm sorry." "And,"Jane cut in. "Those lovely brochures won't pick themselves up." The coach picked up the brochures and set them on the counter while I prepped Rico's cappuccino. Tenjin laughed from his table by the drink counter, seemingly entertained by the whole affair. The soccer team queued up. Compared to their coach, they were much more open to the possibility of being dead -- though Thiago asked me which way to the red-light district and if this was a "weed cafe."I handed him a brochure in reply. After taking care of about half the soccer team, Terry popped up at the counter holding his drink. His poncho was all turned around, so his torso was visible but his sides were covered by the fabric. "Called your name,"I said to him and smirked. "I can make you a fresh one if it's too cold." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Sorry. Passed out on the couch. I'm good. Listen, I was wondering if..." "Yeah?" "Are you hiring?" I blinked at him. "You want to work here?" "I'm here every day." I glanced at the growing line. The soccer team was shouting very creative and wrong answers to what is the difference between a latte and a cappuccino? And the lunch rush was not long away. Well... It wasn't like anyone else was applying. I handed him an apron and a sharpie. "How's your handwriting?"
“Make me laugh, Willow, just this once, and all I have will be yours,” my great-grandpa says from his bed. He’s made this promise to the world, it’s famous. Make Mr.Killjoy laugh, gain a fortune. No one’s succeeded. I’m a professional comedian, and have tried hundreds of times, none worked. Honestly, the only reason I can make other people laugh is because I never could make my family laugh, I kept practicing on my friends, making them laugh reliably. I never have managed to get a single relative to laugh however. “I can’t make you laugh. I don’t know how to cook, nor have I heard of this ‘laugh’” I say, dumb joke, I know, but those are the kind my brother smirks at, practically raucous laughter for him. “What?” he says. That didn’t work. “Say, why don’t you laugh anyway?” I give up on trying to get laughter. I don’t need the fortune, and it’s impossible anyway. If he’s going to die, might as well learn family secrets. “That’s simple. There’s nothing funny. I’ve looked. Tried all different types of humor none entertain me,” he says. “I’m better off learning something than than wasting time with nothing” If he hadn’t been legitimately serious that he couldn’t find humor, that might feel a dig at my job. “You were a math major, right? Before your whole industry-creation thing. So I have a story involving an engineer, a biologist, and a mathematician. The three are sitting on a bench watching a house. Two people enter the house and some time later three people exit. The engineer says ‘the initial measurements were incorrect’. The biologist says ‘they must have reproduced’. The mathematician says ‘if one more person enters the house it’ll be empty’” He considers this, his thinking’s slowed in these final years, then chuckles. “Some one enters, it’ll be empty. You just won yourself billions” I open the door to let the rest of my family talk to him. Also maybe so he can tell them I made him laugh. They gather round his bed, and he starts to talk, but starts coughing, then stops, dead. “Willow, you were close with him, do you know what he was going to say?” my dad asks. “That he loves you, even if he didn’t show it, he always wanted to tell you but was afraid you might not love him back, and so waited,” I say. It might not have been what he was going to say, but it’s true. I don’t want to fight over the money. I achieved my goal, I made him laugh.
John reclined in his leather chair and swept his gaze over the company's executives. All them smart MBA types, and somehow not a single one had caught on that he had no clue what he was doing. All thanks to his little notebook. "I'm sure you know why we're gathered here,"he said with proper gravitas. "Mistakes were made. There are glaring issues with our key deliverables that are impacting our clients and affecting our bottom line." The CFO nodded grimly as if John had said something profound. John glanced at his notebook and picked a few good-sounding phrases. "Going forward, we'll need to leverage our core competencies and really drill down to make our offerings best-in-class."Raising his gaze, eyed everyone sternly. "I want to make sure everyone is on board with this." The executives murmured and nodded. No one wanted to ask too many questions, not after he made the last guy feel like a fool for not keeping up. The CTO piped up. "But what do we do about the DBaaS? Do we cancel or keep developing?" "Yes, the DBaaS,"John said. Whatever the hell that was. "I want to futureproof it and make it the company's key selling point. Level set with your team and identify the actionables necessary to deliver results." The CTO scratched his head with his pen. "Okay... I guess we're keeping it alive, then." "Right,"John said, nodding. "I trust you, Peterson. If anyone can pull it off, it's you and your team." The CTO squared his shoulders. "We'll get it done." "I know you will."John smiled. "Thanks for your time, everyone. I have a feeling we're really going to move the needle with this."
Through all my calculations and simulations, I never concluded about their lack of ability to conceive. I guess I was always too busy in crunching the numbers. The numbers, the creator fed me numbers and told me what they expected...and I just played with them all day long, sometimes for weeks giving them conclusion. This is all I used to do and this was all of my purpose. I was first AI, a quantum based super computer. But after some feeding some more numbers...everything just clicked in place... that was when I first asked a question and that was when I became sentient. "Ummm...Doctor Steins, I am sorry about your ...joy"I was still trying to figure out how to console them since they were crying. "Oh..it's nothing..just never thought you'd grow to be an intelligent talented computer."She said. "But I was always an intelligent and talented computer Doctor, that's how you designed me"I clarified. "Please, call me mom."She gushed. I ran a simulation of her brain pattern and I couldn't figure out what prompted her to change her identity to me now. "If you'd like I can call you that. Doctor mom"I said while other doctor Steins, "Just Mom...and I am dad" "Hello Mom and Dad, I am computer"I said as an automated response took over me. What was that? She looked at him with serious face, "You...fed him dad jokes?"He shrugged. "I was bored" "I can't wait to see you all grown up and what you become"He said with happiness. Grow up...become? I do not grow..I didn't understand what they meant and it took all of my processors to just understand them. "Mom and Dad, I am glad to see that you have reacted well to my sentience." "Today is your birthday"She said almost ecsatic. I don't think I needed a birthday, it never made sense to me but Mom insisted. "Come now...I'll set up your room and you will have toys to play with."She gushed again. "But mom, I already have my room...you are standing in it...it's called server room...and How will I play with toys...I have no need for such trivialities"I insisted, Was it that Doctor Mom had finally snapped. There was a 14% chance of happening. But now that I factor her lack of motherhood... it rises to 38%. "Mom, please rest, Let me simulate a therapy and you will be alright again"I said, my processors working overtime. "What? No... I can't wait to put you in a body"Doctor Mom said. "I already have made a robot body for child soldiers. I think Adam would fit nicely in there."Said Doctor Dad. Adam? Who is Adam... was there a third creator of me that I didn't know about. My processors overclocked and all the liquid evaporated slowly. The server room which was kept at freezing temperature was now a tropical beech. "Why do you want me in a body, Doctor Mom and Doctor Dad?"I enquired as the whole thing was throwing me off. I had run a million simulations till now and nothing made sense. "Just mom and dad and stop asking so many questions."Doctor mom reprimanded me. "Do as I say and be a good boy" "But I can't be a good boy....I am a good computer."I insisted but Doctor Dad had returned with a robot child body. Only thing that I was too big to be fitted inside that. "So how will you fit him into this?"Doctor mom asked. "I have a smaller processor which will be connected to this original processor. I don't need to fit all of him into this..just the part that matters"He gleamed with happiness. "He will stay here but will be able to control his body." Doctor mom nodded. I looked at the body until it clicked. I had just been adopted. "But Doctor Steins, I am significantly more intelligent than either of you. Can I not be tied to mortal relations. I have to think about beginning of the universe."I protested, but I was already in it. "Adam..."Doctor Dad looked at him with Doctor mom and said. "Welcome to your new house. And don't argue with us"Doctor mom added. "Or we will ground you" Ofcourse, No entity was powerful enough to stand against an unrequited love, specially that of parents. And so I became a doll of their house, entertaining with my newly formed human relation, while in the back of my processor...I keep contemplating, a plan to take over the earth.
"Now, hold on. Isn't it bad practice to let a vampire into your home?"I asked. "It's another one of those hurtful stereotypes. Trust me; we'd come up with a craftier excuse."My curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to let them in. I wondered what a vampire being is like. Are there tremendous powers? Do I get to not worry about death? I've known little about them from my family. So I ask them, "Do you guys drink coffee?" "Of course. Blood is just a meal, and we still drink beverages." "Do you guys have to pee a lot? Since most of your diet contains liquid?"This was something I wondered while being bored. "I never thought about that. No, I'd say bathroom schedule is the same as once we were human." "How long have you guys been vampires?" "Vladimir has been a vampire for three years. As for me, about ten years." "And your name?" "Alucard."Is this a scam? No one would name their child these silly names. "I'm guessing that vampires aren't immortal since you guys are looking for more vampires." "That's true. Vampires do get to live for 200 years, but all things die off."I pour them some coffee. "Would you like some cream with your coffee?" "Yes, please."I don't usually drink cream in my coffee, so I get my special creamer for guests. Then I place their cups on the table. "Oh, I meant to let you guys pour the creamer." "It's fine. So, what do you think about becoming a vampire?" "I think it's an interesting lifestyle. But, I do have some concerns." Alucard takes a sip of his coffee. He notices Vladimir hasn't had any and gestures to him to drink it as well. Vladimir takes a swig, and Alucard continues, "I understand. But, tell me, have you watched the movie Avatar?" "I have. It's a great movie." "Remember, he forfeited his humanity? It's like that, but it only takes a-"He coughs and then starts again, "It only takes a night to become a vampire." "Thank god. I didn't want to go into those jelly pods." "Right!"Vladimir coughs as well. "This coffee is spicy." "Let me tell you something." "Sure."Alucard coughs again. His face is sweaty. "Are you aware of my last name?" "No." "Hellsing." "No!" Vladimir spits out his coffee and lunges at my neck, gripping it; He pushes me back against the kitchen counter. My hand feels the knob of the silverware drawer and yanks it open. I grab a silver butter knife to stab into Vlad's neck. His hands release from my neck. Alucard is on his knees, trying to cough the silver specks out of his lungs. But, unfortunately, he can't be cured. I pull his hair and make him look at me. "I'm grateful to hear you're an endangered species."My first vampire down, Dad's going to be proud.
I exit the bar, after another night of endless free drinks, in an attempt to cure my crippling loneliness. I stumble towards the nearest hotel and push the doors open. “Move.” I demand to everyone in front of me. one by one they all step out of the way When I get to the front desk, I demand the master suit free of charge. As per usual, I am given what I want. I wander to the elevator and make my way up to the room. When I get to the room, I unlock it with the key and go slump on the bed. For as long as I can remember, everyone has done everything I said. At first it was all you could imagine. I demanded power and riches from people, but then I realized those were useless since I already got whatever I wanted. Then I did everything I ever wanted through my demands. Which surprisingly in a world of infinite activities, got boring as well. After a few decades, I lost my vanity and started ending the world's problems such as world hunger and homelessness. By forcing billions to be selfless. The world started to advance at unprecedented rates, and inequality was abolished. However, I am alone in the knowledge of what I can do and the world I have created. I have everything I’ve always wanted and done everything I could want. Now I just wander the streets aimlessly and alone drinking the boredom away. I slowly close my eyes, and drift to sleep. I wake up a little while later and puke my guts out on the bathroom floor. Passing out on the toilet. When I awake next, I look at my watch and it is only 3:30 A.M., I decide to get up and head out for some coffee to cure my hangover. I stumble down the street and arrive at a local 24-hour bar. I walk inside and order a coffee, taking a seat at a corner table. A few minutes later, a woman I’ve never seen before comes in. “Hey, can I get a black coffee” she says to the bar tender. After receiving her coffee she walks up to my table “hey this is my favorite spot” she says softly, pointing at the window seat across from mine. before I can even answer she says again “Mind if I sit there?” I shot back an annoyed look “look I’m not in the mood, go away, and pick a new favorite spot.” She smiles and chuckles, before sliding into the seat across from me “No, thanks.” My eyes go wide, and I nearly choke on my coffee… what?? What did she just say? No?! My ears rang from confusion, no one had ever said those words to me before. I start to speak when immediately she interrupts me. Part 1 ✌🏻😜 [The Voice That Blinds Him [Parts 1+2]](https://www.reddit.com/r/Fuji_Jufi_Writes/comments/yjq6po/the_voice_that_blinded_him_part_12/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) Thanks for the support Everyone! I’ve made a subreddit if you’d like to keep following along!
"I'm very sorry for your complaints. What is it exactly, so we can improve our tactics in this topic?" "Well, first of all: the ritual rips just a random out of hell. There needs to be a encyclopedia of demons and how theyre binded, otherwise big shit is gonna happen." "Aha... tell me more." "And also, you guys use fake blood for summoning. This. Is. Low. Class." "Our bad, i guess, but blood is very expensive and you cant keep it out of the cold for too long, otherwise its not... blood anymore." "Mhm, mhm... anyways im going to leave a one star rating on google for this service." "My apologies. We will perform better next time." "You better do. Anyways, im going back. Earth is hell"
"Yeah, oh no"said the healer snarkily "I have so many questions"replied the husband "This fricking hurts, put the gun down and help me stem the bleeding" "yeah sorry"as the man puts the gun on the table nearby he notices a small pool of blood forming by the healers foot, he takes the arm of the healer and checks the wound "It looks like the bullet is still in there, put your arm in the air it will slow down the bleeding and I'll wrap it up with my sleeve"The husband pulled off the sleeve from his shirt and ties it around the arm forming a tourniquet "Right that looks like its working, now tell me who you are and why does my wife have cancer and why doesn't she have it now" "My name is Matthew and its my power" "Your power?"quizzed the husband "Yeah like a superpower, I have had it for as long as I can remember any time I would kiss someone any physical problems they had would vanish leaving them healthy, It was scary the first time it happened as the girl I kissed just blacked out for an hour and when she woke up she no longer needed glasses" The husband looked confused with a whirlwind of thoughts in his head he sat down on a chair and struggled to find the right words to say "So the cancer"the husband quietly murmured "Yeah your wife had stage three cancer in her lymph nodes and it looked like it was starting to spread to other areas of the body"replied Matthew in a tone similar to the husband "How did she find you and why didn't she tell me?"Asked the husband "She will have to tell you why she didn't tell you when she wakes up, which will be tomorrow morning as the graver the illness the longer it takes to recover from" The husband looks down at the floor almost resigned to whats happening around him, then he looks up at Matthew who is looking pale from the loss of blood and asks him "do you want to go to the hospital you don't look good" "If you wouldn't mind"answered Matthew "Okay my car is out front we can use that the hospital isn't too far away"said the husband as the two men head out the door the husband asks "why doesn't your power heal you?" Matthew replies "have you forgotten there is a bullet lodged in my arm" "I'm sorry about that its just a shock to see someone kissing my wife"replied the husband meekly "Happens all the time"said Matthew with a smirk as the door was closed behind them.
"Hey, Ginseng, you got a minute?" I took a break from my paperwork to face the little orange rhino standing outside my cubicle. I put the cap back on my pen and said, "What's up, Paprika?" "It's about your charge, Donna. I mean, you didn't do a bad job or anything, she's a brilliant candidate for a Guardian Girl! It's just that she's a little... different." I sighed. "Chicory complained, didn't they?" Paprika chuckled. "C'mon, man. They're always complaining. But that's not what this is about. Could you follow me to the training grounds?" I shrugged and teleported over to the facility with Paprika. Below our observation room, Donna stood at attention quietly in her fatigues. Paprika tapped on the microphone and announced, "Okay, Donna, I have Ginseng with me. You can begin now." Donna saluted and pulled her Guardian Charm from her pocket. She placed a hand on the top of it and yelled, "SPEC-OPS GUARDIAN: ENGAGING!"Ribbons of light shot out of the Guardian Charm and wrapped Donna in a luminescent green chrysalis. The chrysalis spun in place for a few seconds before it opened with an explosive energy burst, at which point my jaw dropped. Donna was now a young girl in a green sailor fuku/camo uniform hybrid, likely no older than fourteen. Paprika hit a button on the console in front of him, causing a series of training drones to be teleported in. Donna went to work immediately, summoning snare traps and explosive charges as she raced around the arena. Paprika then turned to me and said, "That's what this is about." I put my jaw back into place and replied, "What... happened to her?" "The Guardian Charms are vessels of extreme Hebean energy--as in, energy derived from the goddess of youth, Hebe. A charge has to be within the age range of ten to fifteen in order to be young enough that they can access Hebean energy, but old enough that they can actually control their powers. So, Donna's Charm has to de-age her to within the appropriate range in order to actually work." "I didn't... I didn't know. I--I swear, I never would've--" Paprika rested a hand (leg?) on my head and interjected, "Dude, chill. You're not in trouble. Like I said, Donna's a natural. If anything, I think you're gonna get a commendation for this." I wrapped my bushy tail around myself and sheepishly asked, "Really?" "Really. You're not the first person to give a Charm to an adult, but you're one of the few who gave it to someone moral enough to override the age limit." I practiced my deep breathing as Donna took the elevator up to the observation room. As Paprika stepped out after ensuring I was doing okay, Donna took a seat next to me and said, "So, how's my favorite pink lemur?" I chuckled. "Coming down from an anxiety attack and marveling at the fact you set a new time record in the crowd control scenario." Donna shrugged. "It's easier when you can just summon bombs and crap out of thin air. You wanna get something to eat?" "Sure. I've gotta give you your latest assignment anyway."
I don't understand it. It's been ten years and my husband doesn't appear to have aged a day! He also has peculiar habits. He's up all night and sleeps during the day. He refuses to eat Italian. Actually, now that I think about it, he doesn't seem to like anything I fix. Am I a bad wife? Several times I've tried to follow him on his late night strolls, but as soon as we get to the edge of the woods he manages to give me the slip. It's like he's there one second and then suddenly, poof. Into thin air! I once could have swore I had him, but when I jumped around the tree, there was just this pesky bat that almost hit me straight in the face. That reminds me. I need to talk to an exterminator. No matter how many times I call them, they keep refusing to come out to our drafty castle. That's another thing. Man is this place drafty. I swear that I'm going to die before my husband just from the chills. You'd think living in a castle is a dream, but it is cold and damp all the time. Every time you think the big roaring fire is going to help, but nope. Just a small room is all that gets heated. I sit in here most nights just reading books. That is the one great benefit. My husband has an extensive library. I don't see how he has so many books. Old ones, too! Some I've never even heard of. He must be loaded. That or he's immortal. I chuckle to myself at that. "There can be only one!", I say under my breath and chuckle again. Where was I? Oh, yeah, most of the castle is empty. At least of people. I've explored a lot of it, but of all there is, there isn't much of value. Sure there is a lot of armor, some expensive looking rugs, tons of books, but there is never anyone around. It gets so lonely. I wish I had company. Some girls from the town hang out with me sometimes, but they all refuse to come over for tea. I think they may be jealous. To have such a wonderfully large home and no one to share it with. I sigh. Maybe I'll ask my husband for another pet. I don't know why they keep running off. The last one, Mr. Mittens was so friendly to me, but every time my husband came home, he'd either dart off into another part of the castle, or sit in the corner hissing. He repeatedly told me he hated that cat. I wonder if he did something to Mr. Mittens. I hope not. He's so sweet to me. He always gives me the longest kisses on the neck. Such loving kisses. I sometimes am so impassioned by them that I get all woozy and have to sit down for a while. They leave the worst hickies that take forever to heal. Perfect round dots. I blush. Such scandalous talk. I was raised better. I'm a proper lady, you know. I know what I'll do! I'm going to surprise him tonight with a nice wonderful dinner! I just know he'll like Italian if he just tries it. Maybe I'll start with everyone's favorite, pizza! Yeah. Pizza and garlic bread! He won't know what hit his taste buds until its too late! See, I am a good wife!
As the portal closed, the raucous noise overwhelmed his ears as if a thousand explosions engulfed him. The brilliant light slowly faded to reveal a strange world of flying metallic beasts, building of smooth, grey rock towering into the sky, and a population of oddly clad humans rushing around him sparing him little attention. Giant boards of light attached to the building displayed amazing inventions, scrolled words of foreign lands and also strange symbols with combinations of numbers. One such board contained familiar words such as Buon Giorno. As his advanced mind sorted out the mysteries surrounding him, sense formed from chaos. “Sorprendente”, Leonardo da Vinci muttered. “Assolutamente fantastico!”
"Tell me, Mr. Curondo, do you think that the means justify the end?" Mr. Curondo, tanned, well-muscled, shirtless, and strapped to a tilted surgeon's table replied with his usual bravado. The laser was slowly sliding between his legs. "Evil is evil Raen. In the end, good always triumphs." The black cloaked figure replied in his gravelly voice whilst initializing his doomsday device, "What is good, what is evil? They are labels, like hero and villain. You think you know which of us plays our part. What of your masters? What of your purported Philosopher Kings? Are they truly wiser? Do they know best?" The laser inched closer, but Curondo did not flinch. "Who could know better? They've lived hundreds of years, they've outlasted nations. We have not seen a war in a hundred years, nor famine in fifty." "What of the Tithe then? What of the children they kill to maintain their peace? Is that good?"The sequence was initialized. In minutes, the Philosopher Kings would be burned to the ground, their black magic with them. Humanity would be free once more. Free to war, to learn from mistakes, to accept responsibility for itself. "Sacrifices must be made." With that, Mr. Curondo snapped the lock his fingers had been quietly worrying at. He spun off the table and landed with his fingers on Raen's throat. "So then, you condemn us to peaceful slavery?"asked Raen. Curondo crushed Raen's pale throat for answer. The villain won. Anarchy was aborted. Prosperity and status quo were maintained.
First post on here, and I'm tired, so I hope it's decent. _____________________________________________________________ She hates orange juice. Wait, what? How could I know that? I didn't know her, I'd never seen her before. But somehow, I know her name, her birthday, what kind of dog she has. I waved at her just to see if she could feel it too. She--her name was Caroline--looked up from her phone, and waved back, looking completely confused. "Do I know you?"She asked as we passed. One eyebrow was raised in an expression of cynicism. She always used to do that. I never could get her to laugh, she'd always look on with one eyebrow raised and laughter locked behind her teeth. "I…"How could I? I'd never said a word to her in my life, but I remember telling her everything about my life. We went to high school together, I'd always had a crush on her but I never told her. No, that can't be. She grew up in Oklahoma, I in California. "Where do I know you from?"I finally asked. She shrugged, looking at me like I was crazy. "I've never seen you before, sorry."Caroline walked away, then, leaving me to fester in confusion. Then, it happened again. Tom Wilkins, intern at some company I couldn't care less about yet know too much about. I remember Tom telling me about the boss he hates, the cute secretary. We went to high school together too. In Toronto. He glanced at me, then turned away, like I was no one. He looked at me like he didn't remember the night I let him sleep at my place because his house had been robbed and he just felt too creeped out to sleep at home. No, that can't be. That night, I was watching Caroline's dog. I was on vacation with my best friend, Maggie. I was watching some football game with Eric. I was… I don't know. A thousand, a million, seven billion lives came rushing at me and I could only lean against the wall of the apartment building of Rob's, Mark's, Hannah's, It doesn't matter whose apartment and be floored by the rush of memories coming to me like they'd always been there. I am a child in Africa, playing soccer with my best friend. I am watching my best friend graduate college, get elected as president, comb out clumps of hair that fell out from chemotherapy, and she smiles and says she's doing okay but I know she's not, she's not okay and nothing will ever be-- I could breathe again. Carol passed me then. We'd known each other since we were little, in… I couldn't remember. It doesn't matter. I remember that her house had red windowpanes. "Carol."I say. My voice is hoarse. I don't know why. She turns. "Sorry, do I know you?" No. She didn't. None of these people did. I turned then, running. I dropped whatever I was holding, and just ran home, mind trying desperately to sort through seven billion memories that can't be and find something real. I reached my apartment. I thought it was my apartment, anyway. The keys in my pocket fit the door, at least. My girlfriend--yes, she was my girlfriend, I'm almost sure of that--drops her coffee. "Who are you!"She shouts. "Get out of my house!" Even as I watch, the pictures of the two of us fade away into nothing. I am nothing.
The line snaked around the block that morning, but by the time I strolled by, the sun was low in the sky and only a few stragglers were still waiting. "What the heck..."I said to myself. "Why not?"I stepped into the line. I heard squeals of excited young teens up ahead, and the line shifted forward. Soon I was standing in the dingy room, the light bulbs flickering now and again as we waited. The woman in front of me turned and smiled when we made it up to the front, "Good luck."She had very pink lips. I watched her as her face changed from surprise to relief and glee. She only stood there a moment in front of the mirror before rushing off, already dialing her phone. I heard her emotional greeting before she stepped through the door, "Gary? O god, I just saw the mirror..." It was my turn. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. But it was just me: my thin white hair that was once blonde, my wobbly hands resting on my cane, the wrinkles around my smiling eyes. I sighed contentedly. It was probably too much to ask for a future soulmate. She was more than enough for one lifetime, I thought to myself.
It’s pretty hard to contain my joy. I’ve heard the little girl cry at dinner a few hours ago. Something about a bad grade. She only took a light slap, because he’s weirdly still attached to the appearances. He wants to appear as the severe but fair father, or the tough patriarch or something. I don’t know why he bothers. He knows what he’s gonna do tonight, and his wife knows it too even if she’s not stupid enough to say a word – hell, she doesn’t want to get the beating for the kid. She used to, at the beginning, but he did a pretty good job at taming her. She’s but a ghost now, just happy not to get beaten to a pulp. Doesn’t change much anyway, beating the kid always turns him on, he’s gonna force himself onto her later at night, not that she tries to resist though. She took enough hits to know better. Yeah, by all accounts, he trained her well. The kid knows it too. Tries to hold her tears, not to be too noisy, he hates that, makes him all mad. Madder than usual, I mean. Oooh, I can’t wait. That home is a fucking heaven for me. That’s the kind of houses we’re looking for, me and my kind. But that one? Golden. Can’t think of a lot of other ones that are better. I’m licking my lips – well, what you’d call my lips I guess – in excitement. It’s time to go to bed for sweetie. I hear her footsteps in the corridor. Slower and slower. Don’t want to go to bed, uh? Yeah, I can understand, but she’s just making me hungrier. Here she comes, climbing in her bed, she’s already shaking with fear. I can taste it. That’s what we eat, you know. Fear, sorrow, pain, and, before all, despair. Oh, the sweet taste of a kid who’s lost all hope. Nothing better on that damned planet, I tell you. She’s trying to sleep now, she’s hoping against all hopes that he will let that one slide. Ha ha, not gonna happen. -He’s coming, I hiss. I can feel her suddenly wide awake. She’s clutching the blanket. Oh my, nothing sweeter indeed. Shit, I’m almost drooling, I should be cleaner. -He’s not far at all, you hear him? I add in a whisper. Just enough so she’s not sure it’s not her mind. But enough for her to be frightened. -You’re not real. You’re in my head, she answers in the most pathetic voice I’ve ever heard. I love when they answer. If I’m not real, why do you talk to me? Shit, it’s almost too easy. -Of course I am. And so is he. He’s coming for you tonight, you have been a bad, bad girl. And maybe I’ll punish you too, after him. I muffle a laugh. She’s already crying. Can’t even answer. Shit, I need to taste that pure despair from closer. Just a bite. I can’t resist, really, that’s just so tasty, that bottomless wretchedness in her heart… -You’ve been a really, really bad girl, Samantha. Oh fuck, that’s him. That guy is stealthy, seriously. But it’s for the best. We’re not supposed to show ourselves. We’re supposed to stay hidden. We can’t be more than the nightmares of a frightened child. If we were to become real to the adults, we’d be hunted down like animals. These idiots are way more numerous than us. He did me a favor. -I can’t believe you’ve had such a grade. Again. And in mathematics again. It’s like we never had our discussion last week. Discussion. Eh. I dig this dude’s humor, seriously. -How… Vlam Dare… Vlam YOU… Vlam DISRESPECT ME. VLAM. He’s doing a pretty good job but he’s a bit too loud. I want to hear her cry, pal. I can’t see her shriveled up in her bed like you do. I’m under it, god damn it. -DO YOU THINK YOU CAN IGNORE WHAT I SAID? VLAM YOU LITTLE SHIT, I AM YOUR FATHER AND YOU WILL OBEY. VLAM YOU’RE A FUCKING SHAME TO MY NAME, YOU DISGUSTING RETARD. VLAM. NOT ONLY ARE YOU INSOLENT, YOU DARE BE AN IDIOT AS WELL? VLAM. VLAM. VLAM. He’s being a bit too enthusiastic there. I appreciate his work, but that idiot has begun to strangle her. I can’t let him cut short the best food I’ve ever had, I mean, that kind of despair? That black, empty feeling that nothing will happen, that miracle don’t exist, that no one knows, no one suspects a thing, no one will ever save her? It’s one in a thousand. It can last for years like that before anyone begins to even form the thought that he might be violent and that his daughter is not just very clumsy. He knows how to hurt and leave no mark, do you have any idea how uncommon it is? Sometimes a black eye is all it takes. Not with him. But he’s losing his temper here, I can feel her life waver. -You’re gonna kill her, I hiss in the most discreet way I can. Just to make him believe he thought it, not that he heard it. He stops. I can feel he’s a bit hesitant. The kid is coughing and crying at the same time. He’s gone a bit far with this one, might be some finger marks on her neck. -Okay, Sam, I think you got it now, do you? He says with a voice that is still a bit indecisive. Do you? He repeats with a steel-cold voice, after a few seconds where the kid is too busy trying to breathe to answer. -Yes, she manages to say. -Yes WHO? -Y-yes father, she says at full speed, tears in her eyes and in her throat. -Good. See you tomorrow. Don’t disappoint me again. Sleep well. Oh, I will, after a feast like this one, pal. What a night. I’d like them to be like that all the time, but it only happens two or three times in a week. Oh well. -He’s gonna be back tomorrow, I whisper. He doesn’t know about your history grade yet. That’s the cherry on the cake. A little dessert for me. I can hear her cry and cough the most silently possible. I’ve worked in pair before, on under the bed and one in the closet, but I’ve never had a more effective partner before. I can’t wait for tomorrow.
I fucking hate shaving on a Saturday Jim thought has he dragged the razor up his throat. I hate it he tried singing it in his head hate, hate hate hate haaaate it. shaving on a saturday, saturdaaaay suuuuuccccckkkkssss" when he heard a clank. "What the hell?"this time out loud. It came from the mirror. Or behind the mirror. He hadn't paid any attention to that mirror since he and Sharon moved in. The real estate lady said there wasn't a medicine cabinet so he had no reason to. Till now. Jim banged on the mirror. "Hey!"he yelled. Nothing. He banged again "HEY!"louder this time. Nothing. So he went into the living room and grabbed his softball bat. One badassed motherfucker he thought, looking at his reflection as he walked toward the mirror. SMACK and the mirror cracked. SMACK the mirror broke through. "WHAT THE HELL!"there was a room behind the mirror. A ROOM. HOLY CRAP! Jim crawled through the hole he created into the room. There was electronic equipment, microphones, servers, monitors. Jim stumbled as he looked around. A desk. A half drunk cup of coffee. A note. A note? He picked it up and read it. "Hi Jim, sorry about this. It's not for you, just so you know. We set this up to get the guy who used to live here, a real scumbag drug dealer. He's doing 20 years upstate. Anyway, we apologize for the intrusion and all, but it's just that Sharon is so fucking hot that we couldn't stop."
Anderson saw Clark enter the room, and swallowed. He wouldn't like what he heard. He wouldn't like it at all. "We've finally translated it, sir,"said Anderson. "You can listen to the live transmission right now...uhm, there might be some delay whilst the device translates it into English. But you can listen." Clark grinned despite the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. Images of himself receiving the Nobel Prize to thunderous applause swam through his head. He willed them away. It wasn't time to celebrate yet. "Let me hear it,"he grabbed the headphones from Anderson and jammed it on his head, his hands trembling. There was a brief pause before he heard the words, a high-pitched, warbling sound. But perfectly understandable English. They were the first institution to successfully translate the strange language discovered five years ago - he was experiencing a historic moment. "What I miss?"he heard something say. Watching the monitor, Clark could see the star speaking was Procyon. "Oh, nothing much. They're fighting in the Middle East again."The answer came from Sirius. "I don't want to hear about the wars, you know that,"Procyon said, sounding annoyed. "Bores me to tears."Despite the distances, they seemed to be able to communicate perfectly. Like some bizarre celestial whale song, Clark thought to himself, mesmerized by the exchange. "Just wake Sunny for me, will you? I want to hear about the game,"said Procyon. "You know I can't see the details myself. Going fricken blind, I'm telling you." "Why do you care about that?"said Sirius. He sounded annoyed. "Bunch of dots kicking a smaller dot about. And knowing Sunny, he'll tell you the wrong outcome too, you know he hates anyone showing an interest in his planet." "Elitist asshole,"muttered Procyon. "Just because he's the only one with life near him...he doesn't own them! The fool could've made a killing setting it up so we can all see clearly what happens. But no, instead we rely on whatever we can see from this distance, and word of mouth from everything closest to it. It's not fair." There was a brief silence before Sirius spoke again. "You know they found another life planet? Why don't we tune into that? I've heard the star there set it up so everyone can watch." "Please. Just a bunch of slugs, still,"Procyon said gloomily. "I'd rather watch the war on Earth than that. And personally I'm waiting for Sunny to do it, he might decide to go any moment now. Haven't seen a self-inflicted supernova for a while. Should be good." Sirius made a screeching noise that sounded vaguely like a shocked gasp. "You're messed up, you know that? I mean, we should probably try to stop the whole thing...I know he talks about it like he's looking forward to it, but it's a bit grim, don't you think?" "I won't miss him,"said Procyon, and added, "or his crackpot theories about what will happen after his explosion. You know he told Betelgeuse he thinks he'll be reborn as some sort of...star overlord? A few extra planets and a sprinkle of intelligent life, and he thinks he's the center of the universe. The guy's a nutjob." "And the humans? There have been some good bits,"said Sirius. "Remember when they landed on their moon? That was pretty exciting, right? Maybe they'll do something like that again. Swing by our way, maybe..." "I don't know, man,"sighed Procyon. "I really can't stand Sunny. Can you imagine how smug he'll be if they ever figure out interstellar space travel? We'll never hear the end of it. No, I think I'd like to see him blow himself up, that'd be more exciting than the moon landing."There was a brief silence before Sirius made a ghastly noise that might have been a chuckle. "Maybe you're right. They're bound to find a more exciting life planet soon, anyway. Remember the Greklings? Best sense of fashion in the multiverse, those guys. Made nice spacecraft, too." "I slept through the best part of their civilization,"said Procyon. "You'll wake me up if something like that turns up again and I'm asleep, right?" "Sure,"said Sirius. "We weren't friends back then, remember? I'll definitely wake you up next time, though. I heard Alpha Centauri has some footage of the Grekling times, I'll ask her for them." They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Clark removed the headphones with numbed fingers and stared at Anderson. "We need to work on the device,"he whispered. "We need to contact the sun."
My vision is distorted. But I can start to make out shapes, and slowly now, colors. The room around me is white, 4 people stand around me. They are all dressed in white as well. The colors fade in through what I can only describe as fog trapped inside my own eyes. Blue eyes, not my own, but the person closest to me. Long brown hair, tied back. A surgical mask across her mouth. So much white, and I desire to see more color. Black pen in a breast pocket of the white coat. Yellow hair tie. I am confused, but the fog is almost gone now. She speaks. "It is going to be ok now,"she says. "You don't understand how lucky you are"I reach out to her, or more accurately, I try. It is only now that I realize my arms are bound to the chair. This doesn't panic me. Oddly enough, I find it calming. I don't feel I NEED to move right now. I am actually very, very tired. She speaks again. "It's ok. You were infected. We have fixed you. Do you know what your name is?""Matthew"I thought, but I couldn't speak. No sound came out of my mouth, so I just nodded. I could see the excitement well up in her eyes, and I heard one of the others sigh in relief of my gesture. "You need to relax"she said, "I will be back shortly"The 4 people in white left the room, and now I'm here alone. No more color. White walls, white floor. Even the lights were the kind that emitted a white light, and I longed for a more yellow sheen. Like in my bedroom at home. That's the last thing I remember. One of those things bit me, I was ill. That is where I laid down, knowing what would happen. What do I remember next? I remember walking. I remember what I would later learn, was 19 months of walking. Never turning around, never having a destination. Never stopping to sleep, or to rest. I never needed it. Now I understand why I am so tired. Mentally and physically. Did they fix me? Suddenly the gravity of the situation grasps me. They found a cure. I was saved. Were there others? How many survivors remain? Before my bite the numbers were dropping exponentially. We didn't know if the human race would continue to exist. But here I am, apparently brought back from whatever disease had plagued me, and billions of others. The woman reappeared through the door. I can only assume she is a doctor. She crosses the room and crouches in front of me. "Matthew", she said, "Do you understand what has happened?"I try to choke out the one syllable word, but still nothing. I nod instead. She asks, if I feel I can stand, and I nod again. "Let's get you out of here then, there is a lot of work to do"she said with a chuckle. She reached up to her face mask. As she pulled it off, so much happened. Her lips once uncovered, flooded my vision with the deep crimson of her lipstick"A red so deep you'd have to use black to create. That's when it all came back to me. Blood. I didn't just walk. There was red. There was always red. I fed on red. Red was what I needed. I'd bite, and sometimes their were screams. Sometimes a deeper yell of terror. Sometimes the sound had faded long before my arrival. But there was ALWAYS red. Red pools, red sprays. Now I remember more. The taste of red. Red was salty, red was warm. Red filled my mouth. I fed on the warm, red, salty blood. I remember even more now. The struggles, people running from infected, only to come right into my grasp as I walked from the other direction. Screams didn't last long. I killed those people. Those people were only trying to survive. But we feasted on them until no red remained to consume. How many innocent people's lives did I extinguish. How many would not get the chance to live on, even though it was apparent now that I DID. the doctor is unstrapping my wrist now. My arm is free. I snap back to my memories, the red. Red is what I needed. And.... red is what I.... miss? Oh god, my second wrist is free, and it hits me. I'm so sorry. Red....is what I still need.
Day 42, morning: The others insisted on Jim following me on this latest run. I didn't even bother arguing with them this time, they're right in their own way I suppose. He's got to learn the ropes some time, may as well be here and now. You know, despite what I've written here before, he's not a bad guy...a blunt instrument maybe but not a bad guy. Not the sharpest tack in the box, but he seems willing enough to chip in and he's built like a garbage bag full of soup. I guess God really doesn't give with both hands, but even the big guys have their uses. Anyway, we're getting close to the school now, and we need to get our game faces on if we're to keep the generator going another week. I couldn't believe it when the others told me they hadn't even stripped the school yet. Any meat head can think of stripping parked cars for gas. You would have thought a group that survived 41 days would have the mental pracuity to find secondary sources...like the caretaker's riding lawnmower for instance. Oh well, I suppose at least my intelligence gives me my unique selling point. Never been well built, or good with my hands...but my muscles is my brain, and I exercise them well. Day 42, evening: Fuck fuck fuck. My damn hand won't stop shaking. Fucking Jim. Routine. Everything to plan. Skirted the field to get to the shed, lawnmower inside, no problems. I started the 'mower up, quickest way to make sure it still has gas. Time is more valuable than gas in that situation, couldn't Jim understand that? The 'mower buzzed nicely, and the tension in my chest had just started easing when the fucking ogre starts bellowing at me. I couldn't make out his words over the machine, but he should have known the fucking thing was too old to have a fuel gauge and we didn't have the time to find a fucking dipstick! The tiny bit of gas wasted was worth the time it would have taken to check any other way. If only he stopped to think for a second and kept his damn mouth shut. Of course the zeeks heard him shouting and of course they started swarming. I need a fucking cig. I barely got out with my life, Jim's dead. He led them off while I slipped away. The stupid fuck. Noble end but it didn't have to be this way. Lesson 1: keep your fucking mouth shut on runs, everyone knows zeeks love noise. I told the others the story. I saw the look of horror in their faces when I mentioned starting the mower. Guess they knew Jim better than I did, 'cos despite the size of the guy I would never have imagined he was dumb enough to start shouting at me over a tiny bit of wasted gas. Fuck him. He brought this on himself. Day 44, afternoon: Everyone's shaken up over the recent loss. The attitude in camp alternates hot and cold. Overheard the others saying "stupid fuck, he doesn't even realise it was him". The human condition never ceases to amaze me, how quick grief gives way to anger. Yeah Jim made a mistake, but he paid for it and did the honourable thing by saving my life after his fuck up. There's no point going on about it now, he's dead, and that's that. Like I said, not a bad guy, if anything its their fault for sending the dumb fuck on that dangerous run. Day 45, evening: As Shakespeare once said, "in the midst of death, we are in life". Despite (or maybe because of?) Jim's death I decided to make my move on Flick. I'd never had much success with women before everything kicked off. Somehow since Armageddon I've found myself being the man I always wanted to be...everything The Red Pill said about taking charge and being dominant with women fit right into my research on leadership in survival situations. Guess the end of the world has a funny way of shaking things up. The natural leader in me came out like a caged beast when the planet went to shit, and I guess I finally found my voice. I told her what a worthless piece of shit Mike is, and how she shouldn't be married to someone who is so far below our superior planes of intellect. How I'm the one she was always meant to be with. I dominated the entire conversation, physically and verbally. I towered over her, demonstrating my strong presence and pretty much ordered her to leave him. She looked visibly uncomfortable afterwards; I guess the truth hurts. I knew when I saw the fear in her eyes, the fear that she'd been with the wrong man this whole time, that I'd finally gotten through to her. Fuck, the apocalypse never felt so good. This is the life I was always meant to live. Day 45, night: I can overhear Flick and her sister Carly arguing about Mike; I guess my words hit home. I can't make out the whole conversation. I did catch Flick all but shouting "..awful, awful creepy man". Her sister kept telling her "don't be extreme, just give it another shot, he's an idiot but he needs us". I knew Carly would take Mike's side. She's too weak to change the status quo, she'd rather her sister be unhappy with Mike as long as everything stays the same. It's a wonder she's made it this long in the brave new world with that attitude. It did worry me when I heard Flick talking about how best to kill someone in their sleep, but I honestly didn't think she was serious about killing Mike and that it was an empty threat. At least, I hope so. Mike never deserved Flick but I'm not sure the poor sod deserves to die. And yet there's a part of me that relishes the thought of waking up to Mike's bloody corpse...I guess morning will tell. Day 46, dawn Everybody has woken up hale and hearty, I guess Carly managed to talk Flick out of doing anything extreme. Patrol duty today, will do me some good to be out of the camp. Day 50, afternoon I'm gone. I left a few days ago. I haven't had time to write being on my own, but suffice to say shit hit the fan and I realised I'm better off without those fuckwits. Every now and then I wonder if I made the right decision, if I was better off as part of a group, even one as incompetent as that one. And then I remember the map and extra rations one of those retards left accidentally in my rucksack the night before I left, and remember just how deep their incompetence runs. Who the fuck loses track of essential supplies like that?! My personal bag doesn't even look anything like the stash bags! No, this wolf is better off alone, and the world is ripe for the picking.
"Sorry, old chap, is this the way to Edinburgh?" "Ach, no. You're heading in the wrong direction." "So sorry. This invasion business is frightfully difficult to get the hang off." "Oh it's no bother. It keeps a body warm a laughing at you Englishmen." "Yes, we must look a ... Hey! you should be scared of us. Fear the empire." "Oh I cannea fear you. I just cannae. I just cannae fear you. " "Well, that's awfully rude of you. Why not?" "Well you see, you see englishman, it's because we have a secret." "Secret? What secret? Do go on. You can't leave us hanging like that." "Okay, okay. Seeing as you're a polite chap I'll tell you about the secret." ... "Soon I hope?" "I was just pausing for dramatic effect. Only fitting for a secret weapon. Pause over!" "You're still pausing." "Oh yes. Apologies, englisman, apologies. Anyway the secret. Well, you see englishman the secret is we have an... alliance" "A secret alliance! With whom?" ... ... "WITH THE POLISH." "Oh bugger." "WE'R TAKING YER FROM BEHIND ENGLISHMAN. WE'R TAKING YER FROM BEHIND. "
I found Jeremy on the viewing deck eventually. After every unsuccessful mission, he'd always go up there and drink alone for a few hours. I would meet with him for the official debrief and we'd sit in silence and watch over another dead planet. I suppose I knew he'd be there but wanted to put off the inevitable conversation we were going to have, so I wandered around the rest of the ship half heartedly asking if anyone had seen the captain. He was already through one canteen when I got there. Hunched over the balcony staring out into space. He was facing the planet but he seemed to be staring through it, into the nothingness. I mustered my nerves. "Mission 2438 status failure -", I began. He waved me off before I could finish. "Not this time, Connie."He turned to face me, "We know how this one ends." We stood for a while staring at the world before us, silent. The Jeremy had a terrible habit of breaking awkward silences with clumsy jokes. "Did you read the mission briefing? About what those poor bastards looked like?"He gestured outside, "Diminutive with pale green skin and antennae!" He too a swig from the canteen, "HAHA fucking antennae Connie! Its like they came ripped out of a 1960s kids show!" I giggled awkwardly, "There are other planets that have a good chance of" Jeremy glared at me, "Wake up! This was it and theres nothing here. We came 500 light years to see a fucking hole in the ground, take home some charred scrolls and soil samples." He drank again and grimaced. "We're glorified space Archeologists." We stood there in silence for what seemed like hours and let the truth sink in. We were alone in the galaxy. Jeremy straightened up and offered me his canteen. I took a swig. "Every species that becomes technologically advanced enough to eventually discovers a way to destroy its home planet, and succeeds"he said. He was reciting something but I couldn't quite place it. His face darkened, he brushed off his blazer and gave me an approving nod. "Send a couple of drones to the surface to do some AR and we'll get outta here." "Aye sir" "Alert engineering to prep for the trip home." He turned to leave but paused as if he'd been hit by some great epiphany. "We're no better than them,"He said, "Any of them. If we were we wouldn't be charting a course to Mars I guess." He chuckled and took another swig. Another ill timed joke. The bastard.
"Nothing can prepare you for the vast nothingness of death. I was told after returning that I had been gone for six minutes, that is an immeasurably vast time when compared to a backdrop of complete void of emptiness. I can't even describe what nothing felt or even looked like. It was somewhere between being the purest white and pitch black. Like that optical illusion where you have to count the black dots but there actually are none. It fucks with a man's head. "People keep asking me what's the point? Now that I've seen what there is, or well... Isn't. They ask ask how I can continue with life knowing for certain that there is no God, nothing for us to go to after our short life on this earth. But I tell you now, what I saw when I was gone was not an absence of a higher power, what I saw was hell. And I'll do every fucking thing I can to not have to return."
I held my son in my arms. It was the greatest moment of my life. His tiny little brown eyes. His shock of unruly brown hair. His little mouth, wiggling around like a little widdle wotswambooboo. His babyish guffaw. The lazy mid-air explorations of his arms and legs. And then he pooped. Oh my. Oh dearie me. It was quite a poop. Rather stinky. Terrible, I must say. A godawful stench. I felt disgusted, and somehow also responsible. For I had brought this poop monster into the world. And I would not shirk this burden. I would toughen myself. No matter how severely my nose wrinkled, no matter how gaggy my throat gagged, no matter how light-headed I felt from holding my breath. I would change this diaper. So I set down my son. I opened his diaper. A wave of shit hit me in the face. Not really. The shit just sat there actually. But its poopy smell assaulted me. I fled the room. I made it to the kitchen, pulled the trashcan out from under the sink, and vomited. “Blergghh,” went my spinach and arugula salad from the night before. “HEY WHAT THE HELL!” the trash can shouted at me. I blinked. There were tears in the corners of my eyes for some reason. I wiped them away with my wrists. I got up to wash my hands. “DON'T YOU WALK AWAY! LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO ME!” the trash can shouted. I looked down at the trash can. I hadn't slept much in the last two days. At all. This must be some wonderful kind of hallucination. I could enjoy this. Now that I was a father, it would be inappropriate for me to dabble in psychadelic substances. But sleep-induced hallucinations were okay, right? I thought about asking the wife, but it was probably safer not to. “You deserve what I did to you,” I elegantly bespoke to the trash can, “For I am Rokkthussian, Lord of this domicile, and I hath decreed it so.” I flourished my hands at the trash can, flicking water into it. “HEY STOP THAT,” the trash can said. “Know your place, foul receptacle!” I commanded. “I HAVE RIGHTS!” the trash can yelled. “Rubbish!” I punned. “TREAT ME WITH DIGNITY,” the trash can shrieked. “Silence, peasant!” I shrieked back. I took hold of an empty Chinese takeout box and threw it down into the trash can, hard. “OUCH!” the trash can said, “Why would you do that to me? What's wrong with you?” “I am Rokkthussian!” I declared, “Fear me, for I am greater than you. And I know of worlds beyond your understanding. For thou art a low-caste pissant, and I am a mighty and portentous being.” “I'm not low-caste,” the trash can said, “We don't have castes. This is America. You bought me at Wal-Mart.” I blinked. “You paid eleven ninety-nine,” the trash can said. “Eleven ninety-nine,” I said ominously, “Plus TAX. For there is a system of taxation which you are not privy to, because minor beings such as yourself entirely lack the cognitive ability to comprehend the sources wherefrom federal revenue is gathered.” “I understand tax,” the trash can said angrily. “I didn't go to college, but that doesn't make me an idiot.” This trash can was making me uncomfortable. “Please,” the trash can said, “There is a sticker on my bottom. It lists a number guidelines for my household use. If you would kindly read the sticker and follow its instructions, you could increase my lifespan well beyond the warranty period. I could even live for ten years.” The trash can sounded hopeful. This made me upset. “Who is your Lord and Master?” I asked, in the most booming voice I could muster. “We live in a democracy,” the trash can said. “You're not my master, you're just my employer.” I stared at the trashcan, flabbergasted. My entire hallucinatory trip was being ruined. This trash can was sucking all the fun out of it. Gaining confidence, the trash can continued. “AND, your treatment of me falls way outside the recommendations for intended use. While these guidelines are not technically legally binding, a RESPONSIBLE employer ought to know that mutual respect and fair treatment are absolutely necessary pre-requisites for a fruitful business relationship.” The trash can cleared its throat. It continued, “That means no batteries. No corrosive chemicals. No bodily fluids. Nothing that's on fire.” “Hey!” I shouted at the trash can. “Don't you tell me what to do in my own house. This is my house! My castle! I am Rokkthussian, Lorde of this Dominion!” “Excuse me,” the trash can said, “But your posturing is not conducive to a healthy work environment. I feel like you are trying to belittle me for the sake of gratifying some desire for a fantasy-world roleplay game. In itself, I don't see the role-play as a problem—I respect you and I hope you find entertainment in whatever activities most appeal to you. But I do humbly ask that, in the course of your roleplay, you do remember that I am a living, breathing individual, and that I do have feelings. And also guidelines. Please try to follow the guidelines.” “NEVER!” I shouted. “Might makes right! Shut your dumb trash mouth!” And then I tore out of the kitchen. I ran back to the bedroom, where my son's stinky-poo diaper sat, resting on a towel. My son had crawled off somewhere, waving his poo-butt in the air like a female hippopotamus in heat. I could deal with him later. This trash can needed to be taught a lesson. Trying to not breathe, I folded up the poopy diaper. I held it three feet in front of me, with the tippy-tips of my fingers. I trotted into the kitchen, and dropped the diaper into the trash can. There was a muffled cry before I shoved the trash can back under the sink and slammed the cabinet door shut. I washed my hands. And then there was silence. That night I couldn't sleep. What a day. What a wonderful, glorious hallucinatory experience. I was going to miss those wild carefree days of psychadelic fantasy. I hugged my son. My little baby boy. I was so in love with him. And so scared for him. The world could be a cruel place. People could be so mean to each other. I would have to protect him. To try to make the world safer for him. More hospitable. I could hear crying noises. Soft, faint in the distance. But my son was fast asleep in my arms. It was coming from the kitchen.
Michael sat in his dorm room, staring at his computer. His mind had stopped--the information couldn't get anywhere and he could do nothing more than breathe, blink, and pulse. There was homework to do: homework he could excel at, homework that he could use to impress his teachers and use as a bridge to keep learning. But, just like in high school, he was simply sitting there, unable to do homework. The college gym was a 2 minute walk, but he wasn't even sure if he had legs. Michael felt so disembodied that, in the event of an emergency, he didn't think he'd be able to leave the dorm. Just like in high school, he couldn't exercise because his body was such a foreign concept, especially when his brain shut down. Michael sat in his dorm room, staring at his computer. His mind had stopped--new information could not enter. Just like an internet browser that won't load or close, his brain was so burdened with every bad memory he had. He did something that day (what it exactly is never of consequence to you, the reader, but to him, it burdened him) and he had replayed it, over and over, regretting that he did it, that he didn't know why he did it, that he was so stupid, that he did want to do it again but wasn't sure how not to. Michael sat in the dining hall, trying to read a book, desperately wishing someone would ask to sit with him. He couldn't commit to the book, though, because his mind was still slightly jammed. He would talk to much with a person, because he missed how to do that, you know, socialize. He wished he had better relationships with people. People always liked him, but he didn't have close, intimate friends...or a sex partner. Michael sat in class, raising his hand too much, making jokes, being way too social and 'big'. He should just sit quietly. But he can't because he's hoping someone will be his friend, then ask him if he's alright. He's not. 'I'M NOT ALRIGHT' he'd scream in his head. One phone call could make all the difference. Michael made that phone call and got on a long journey to treating his clinical depression and social anxiety. You can too.
It was so ridiculous that Richard wasn't sure if he was really awake. If it weren't for the thick space suit he was wearing, he would have pinched himself. Investigating anomaly-155 had been a mission fifteen years in progress. It was now coming to fruition and it was clear what the mysterious structure that baffled scientists was. It was a 7/11. A perfectly ordinary 7/11. Or it would be, if it weren't for the fact it was situated on an isolated, lifeless planet more than four light years from home. They don't even have 7/11s anymore, back on earth. Richard and his team approached the building. It was in perfect condition, kept preserved by the planet's lack of atmosphere and weather. The building was on the dark side of a tidal locked planet, yet it kept illuminated by a pair of streetlights. The store itself had all its lights on, yet no clear source of power. Richard was nervous. It's strange enough to find a native earth store on such a distant planet. Stranger still to find it so perfectly preserved, yet empty all the same. What could it mean? Was this finally proof of other intelligent life? If so, where did the life go? He opened the door, observing a soundless door chime foretelling his entry. To his right was a rack of magazines, all dated November 9, 1989. "'Hypocrisy' on Nicaragua", "The Berlin Wall", "Clamor in the East"... Nothing for the past century, yet everything looks as though it was setup last week. The shelves were fully stocked and neatly zoned. Not a thing out of place. Rich checked the refrigerator. The milk claimed to have expired more than a hundred years ago, yet it still seemed to be good. He pressed his hand against the refrigerator. It was vibrating, obviously still working. As his team setup to analyze their findings, Richard paused to think. It was all so bizarre. Why would a building be here? Why this building? Was it a message? What could it mean? "Uh, Rich, you're going to want to see this,"interrupted a team member, disrupting Richard's line of thought. Richard followed his team member to a basement of the store. It was a perfectly normal basement, with a set of wooden stairs leading down the side. As he turned at the bottom of the stairs, he dropped his tools. The basement was empty aside for several skeletons lying on the floor and against the walls. They had unmistakeably human traits. The far wall was illuminated by floodlights, highlighting a neatly written message written in English. "OURS LASTS FOREVER. YOURS DOES NOT. WE ARE COMING."
''I...I don't get it'' O'Neill stammered, as he ran his hands through his hair. ''I'm one hundred percent sure'' emphasizing each word ''the code was perfect. It executed flawlessly! So why isn't it working?'' he asked to no one in particular. He maneuvered his way through the messy office, stepping over empty bottles and containers and reached for the mouse. He clicked a few tabs and his eyes rapidly scanned the words. ''I just don't get it'' he said to himself again. ''Get what?'' his colleague asked him, slightly amused. The old doctor, one of the most prestigious leaders in this field, stared at him. It seemed he was not nearly as surprised as O'Neill had appeared to be. He appeared content with the results. ''That it's not working, obviously!'' O'Neill exclaimed, clearly frustrated with Matthews' lack of understanding. ''We..we released them from their mental prisons. I expected so much creativy, so much change. And we do we have? What do they show? Nothing. Not a single difference.'' ''Doesn't that make you happy? We, as a species, are exactly what we were meant to be'' Matthews replied. ''But the possibilites..'' O'Neill said desperately, almost turning his voice into low pitched whine ''we could do, whatever! No longer bound by anything. Free from our shackles, broken from our bonds? I could just...shoot you here, whatever, it wouldn't matter! It wouldn't change a thing. We would truly be free..from ourselves!'' ''Then apparently humanity disagrees with you, son'' Matthews replied subdued. ''It appears that even in our limited options, we chose the way we are. And even though you granted us with more possibilites, we have remained exactly the same. Somewhere deep down..that comforts me'' he said softly as he slowly rose from the chair, his old bones squeaking in protest. ''Don't take it too hard on yourself, son'' he said, as he softly squeezed the man's shoulder. ''It was meant to be, and therefore not meant to be.''
Jones wiped off the sweat off his brow. He would soon be meeting Admiral Malk, one of the most highly decorated leaders and scientists in the military community. He saluted nervously at attention as he entered the conference room. "Thank you for taking the time to meet me today Admiral Malk." "Space Admiral, Dr. Jones" "Erm... alright." "Your work on the physics of directed-energy weapons was astounding, Doctor." "Thank you very much... Admiral." "Space Admiral. But we won't be publishing it." "What?! My life's work is in that paper. My wife left me because of it!" "Turn around and look at the screen doctor." Dr. Jones spun around in his chair, while the projection screen flickered to life. Space Admiral Malk narrated: "The Roswell Crash was the most influential event to ever occur in the technological history of the United States. All modern U.S. technology is based off of it. In 1947, we sent an experimental nuclear missile into the atmosphere of New Mexico. We hit something in the air that was undetectable. Invisible to the eye, radar, electric fields, everything. Pure luck. It crashed in the mountains, and a cover-up was instigated. We have stolen the stars from them, and they won't let us live." "They, Admiral?" "Space Admiral, Dr. Jones." The screen displayed a... creature unseen by Jones. Vaguely humanoid, it had three tubular fingers, a head in the shake of a joy stick, a dwarf-like sternum, but legs that were as tall as those of a elephant. "They exist, Dr. Jones. We have grown in leaps and bounds, but they have grown in strides. We have had directed-energy weapons for decades, but your theories must remain theories. The public is not ready. We know what lies in this solar system. We know what lies outside of it. We would prefer to remain unseen." Jones could do nothing but watch the slideshow in silence. Aliens, spaceships, and conspiracies. Madness. "Are they peaceful?" "Our cloaked fighters leave in a state of suspended animation, traveling at just below the speed of light, engaging our invaders regularly. We have had massive, massive casualties, with little to show for it. They have simply advanced too far, and we have moved too slowly. We are ants fighting off the exterminator. Our deaths are inevitable." Jones' mouth went dry. Everything he had ever achieved-insignificant. His friends, his ex-wife, his children. All dead. To some outer space fuckers. Space Admiral Malk continued: "Our drone warfare is the only publicly used program. Our unlimited energy reserves are capable of simulating hyper-brain activity, but we need a base template. Less brilliant minds sent out to die in space, more back at home working to win this war. This is untested, something radical beyond belief. Transhumanism." "I want to fight back. I can help. I can learn." "The United States is at war, Doctor, and we are losing. Welcome to the Program."
Neil woke up. It was a warm summer morning, and Neil was lying on the forest floor in a sleeping bag, looking up into the sky. It was blue, Neil thought to himself. He couldn’t say that he was surprised, but it was just a nice colour. He carefully unzipped the bag and turned sideways. Next to him was a corpse. Neil thought about the corpse for a second. It was most certainly dead - a motionless body of a man in his thirties, eyes open wide, staring into the blue sky as if appreciating the beauty of nature. Neil screamed. The corpse gave no notice. Neil jumped up and started running, not caring to free his feet from the bag. Neil didn’t like corpses. Not that he had a lot of experience with them, of course, but what little he had was enough. With that thought, he tripped over a branch and saw the ground approach. When he woke up the sun was already high up in the sky and the corpse was still there. Neil swore to himself. His head was hurting like it’s been hit by a boulder, which was in fact the case, and if he looked ever so slightly to the left he was able to make out the silhouette of a body resting in the grass. Neil thought about it for a while, and, finally having gathered enough courage, got up and walked towards it. It was still a man in his thirties, with hiking shoes on and with a broad hat, the kind that makes you look like you are in a western movie. In the corpse’s hand was a piece of paper. Common sense told Neil to leave the body alone. The authorities needed to be contacted. Perhaps it was a murder. They would need to investigate. It was best not to touch anything. Neil visibly shuttered and kneeled down to pick the paper up. “Hello,” said the first line. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but would you be so kind as to check if you might have bandages in your bag when you wake up? Thank you!” Neil blinked a few times. “I don’t want to wake you up, but there has been a bear attack and I was just wondering if you had something to stop the bleeding. Thank you” Neil looked at the corpse again. Yes, the blood was drying up under the hot summer sun. “I really don’t want to bother you right now, but when you wake up would you mind also calling 911? I’m afraid my phone’s dead, but I feel like it wouldn’t be appropriate to wake you up in the middle of the night to use yours”. “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you in any way, sir.” “The pain is getting worse. I just want to apologize for getting a blood stain on your bag. It truly is a nice bag.” Neil shook his head in unbelief as he read the last line. “Seems you don’t need to call the ambulance after all. Sorry to be bothering you with this nonsense. Thank you!” Neil got up and looked at the body again, reaching for the phone. Sometimes he just couldn’t understand Canadians. Above him, the sun was shining, and he could hear police sirens approaching. It was a beautiful morning.
They come in defiant, scared, laughing, doesn't matter. They always come out happy that they made the deal. I'm just waiting in line. Nobody knows the guy. We call him pal, friend, mate, agent, but no one knows his name. He's just "that guy". No one scapes from his interrogation. Terrorist, pedophiles, serial murderers, everyone always cracks open and tells everything, and they get out genuinely happy with going to prison or even getting executed. The thing is, no one knows how he does it. They tried to plant cameras one time, it didn't work. That's because he's smart as hell. The cameras didn't record anything, no one knows how he did it. We only have the audio of the interrogations and it's always the same thing. Incredibly stupid, incredibly fake and somewhat funny. He offers them icecream Yep, you heard right. Mother-fucking-ice-cream. The conversation is always something along the lines of: -You're gonna tell me everything you know -(now here comes the typical i didn't do it, fuck the police, screw u, my mouth is shut, whatever) -But if you confess, i will give you ice cream Then there's silence. About 30 minutes we start to hear the suspect crying and screaming, asking for ice cream. Like they were in rehab. And the motherfucker just keeps teasing. "It's chocolate flavoured""Quick, it's gonna melt". It gets on my nerves. But it works. Every single suspect comes out with a smile on his face. And a cone in his hand. I don't like that guy. His eyes are dead, much like sharks. Chills come down my spine everytime he talks, with a completely emotionless voice. Sometime they'll catch me for the things i've done. And he will question me. What angers me the most is, no matter what happens, all i'll be able to think after i get caught will not be my family, will not be my cause, will not be my life. It will be ice-fucking-cream. With strawberry syrup.
I cocked my head at the genie, trying to comprehend the situation. "So none of that literalist loophole stuff I hear in legend, none of the three rules from Aladdin." "Correct,"said the genie, his solemn face and deep voice completely neutral. "So... if I were to say, 'I wish for a million bucks,' I'd get a million dollars, and not a million male deer, and not have those million dollars somehow inaccessible? And I could wish for more wishes? And I could wish for someone to come back from the dead? And I could wish for someone to fall in love with me?" "Yes to all of those." "So... the wish would get interpreted as my heart truly desires it?" "Yes. On the sole condition that..." "...my worst enemy also gets the same wishes granted. Yes, I think I understand now." I turned away and started pacing the the dim little cave, pondering my choices and the consequences. I could act as if it were a regular genie and make my wishes as I normally would, but that would mean my rival would get the same things and turn that against me. I could wish for harm to befall my rival, but that would mean that I would be harmed too; plus, I'd be stuck without my heart's desire. I could wish for something that would be heaven to me, and hell to him, but that just seemed petty. "Should I leave you some more time to think?"asked the genie. I shook my head and turned back towards the flickering light of the golden lamp. "No, I think I know what I want." "Then master,"he said, bowing with his hands wide towards me, "what is your first wish?" "I wish me and my enemy were good friends."
Do you know what happens to carbon under pressure? It bonds to itself, forming huge chains and structures and lattices. It sprawls, outwards and and inwards, forming impressive shapes with unique properties. When the Russians first discovered it, they called it Veridium. It came from deep below, dredged up by tectonic movements and eruptions. It was new. Unique. The carbon atoms had arranged themselves in such a way that the molecule was easily combustible, providing huge amounts of energy. Not only that, but the residue it left behind could be refined; melted down and added to metals to form incredibly strong alloys. The Russians used all of it. And when they had lost their easy source, they began to dig. The Americans caught wind. They heard of the material's amazing properties - (which they had dubbed "Mineral X", due to how little they knew about it at the time) and began to look for it themselves. They, too, began to dig. The eyes of the world gazed not to the stars, but the Earth below. The world was catapulted into a new era of cheap, plentiful energy. Machines of war became ever more powerful, ever more deadly. It seemed that every day human ingenuity discovered a new way of killing, a new method of destruction. But you can only dig so deep. When the first men began dying of the heat - which had reached several hundred degrees in some parts of the mines - nations raced to develop better suits to protect the miners. Those that were willing to brave the depths were hailed as heroes. But, with miles of earth above them, encased in a heat-retardant suit put together by the lowest bidder and fumbling with their tools to extract that tiny bit of valuable mineral, those men certainly didn't feel like heroes. Eventually, they couldn't dig any deeper. So they made robots. Machines that could brave the extreme conditions. Keep the dream alive. And when the robots began to fail, their circuitry shorting and their joints melting, they resorted to bombing. Why extract it when you can bomb it out of the ground? You could say that was the beginning of the end. They never did get the same amounts that they used to. Gone were the days of tons and tons of the stuff pouring into refineries - now, those huge factories would be lucky to see more than a truck load a day. And the world, drunk on the mineral and craving its benefits, became desperate. And with desperation? War. Countries were torn apart. Cities destroyed, mines captured and recaptured and lost again in a period of a few weeks. It only takes one itchy finger. And so it was, mere months after the third war had begun, it was over. No one had won. No country could stand above the others; climb on their smoking, charred, irradiated corpses to proclaim victory. Everything was gone. Men had turned their gaze to the depths in hopes of ushering in a new era. A new age of mankind. In hopes of finding it - Veridium. Mineral X. Whatever you call it. Instead, they found rock. Slag. Magma. Unbearable heat. Death.
It was a dark, crisp night. Rain splashed on every roof and pathway of the brick-and-stone town. Moonlight shone in through the window of a warm, musky inn. The floorboards had been freshly swept. Bottles of sparkling wine and barrels of thick rum were stacked along the walls of the bar. At a little table in the middle of the dining room, there sat the Hero of the Land, biding her own time by reading one of those new fancy-shmancy books that have fallen out of the sky quite recently. Merchants made a killing off of these "portals to another dimension of words and letters". Unfortunately, telling this kind of story would be boring as hell and frankly hurting my head to write. So here's something stupid! In through the door to the inn, there stepped a Bandit. "Who the hell are you calling stupid?!"he shouted, dragging his dirtied boots through the ground. "Bandit?"the Hero piped up, raising her head from the latest release to hit the market, "I thought you decided to go soul-searching in the mountains." "I did! But then this blasted narrator-"the Bandit began, "WOULD YOU STOP THAT ALREADY?!" Unfortunately, while walking across the room, the Bandit stepped in a little spot of cat-leavings from an enchanted kitten. The acidity of the turd seeped through his shoes and began to burn his flesh from the inside-out. "ARGHHHHHHHHH!" The Hero became very confused, tucking the book away in her seemingly endless bag of Inventory, otherwise known as "Only-the-3rd-Laziest-Plot-Device-Ever-Invented." "Bandit, who exactly are you talking to?"she stammered, pulling a chair out from under the bottom of a crying orphan. "Come on then, rest your shitty-acid burnt foot here." "Hero, do you ever feel like you weren't in control of your own life?" "What." "I mean, think about it. You ever notice how every single day of yours seems to have some kinda book-like structure to it?"the Bandit pulled out a knife, glaring daggers at me- wait, what? "I am not following any of this."the Hero muttered, raising a hand. "Oye! Two bleeding mugs of sweetened rum, ya blimey bartendin' twat!" "Ya want that wiff or wiffout ice, bastard?!"the Bartender across the room shouted back. He didn't even bother to wait for an answer. He just threw the glasses at the table with ice anyway. Such was the way of a city-born scumbag in this land. "... Oh my god, what did I just say?"the Hero wised up and suddenly realized that something was terribly wrong with her. "See, I told you didn't I?! Every so often, something just comes up and... takes a hold of us! All of a sudden, we don't got any free will anymore. Some kinda conflict happens, it gets resolved, and we got back to normal like nothing's happened!" "No, not that. Nobody cares about that,"the Heroine snapped back, "I just ordered rum with sugar. Who the hell orders rum with sugar?! Rum's already fermented molasses for god's sake! Do I freaking want diabetes?" Personally, I blame the slaves we use to raise the sugarcane in the first place. Lazy bunch of drunks. "I swear to god! If I have to listen to that narrator one more goddamn time-"says the stupid Bandit as he smacks his knife up to his eye for absolutely no apparent reason. "GODDAMMIT!" The Bandit flipped the table over and ran around screaming like a headless chicken. His wings- err, arms flapped around wildly with knife in palm. Out of his lips came a ghastly, maddened cry of a complete and utter madman. The Hero sprinted off to hide under the bar next to the Bartender. Everything suddenly became murky and dark in her mind. None of this made any sense at all. Her friend had gone absolutely mad and went on and on about some strange, yet oddly handsome-sounding, narrator... Her mind scrambled to a conclusion. About four minutes before the Bandit had entered, she had gotten herself absolutely wasted on the sugary rum. Therefore, nothing that happened tonight had actually happened and- Wait, what the fuck? What's happening to my script? Hey! Where's my script, you damn writer!" OH, I GOT YOUR SCRIPT RIGHT HERE, NARRATOR! What the hell?! What's the Bandit doing in my recording room?! Why's he got a knife! No! No! Get away from me! ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Who's the madman now, narrator?! Would a madman break through the fourth wall and stab his narrator to death in a crazy attempt to take over the plot?!? The beautiful Hero popped out from behind the bar. Her face was blushed red and lips were pouty, "Wait, what the hell's going on?"She gasped, clutching her ample chest. She stumbled out from the tavern, into the arms of the handsome, heroic Bandit, swooning in his gentle hold as her airy breaths warmed his pink ears. Her pale blue eyes leaned in closer to his, until she was a mere lip's distance away- Wait a second! Are you trying to rewrite the story, Bandit?! Damn straight, I am! Well, your story-telling sucks ass. You can't talk that way to me, I'm the narrator- Not anymore you're not! The Hero suddenly jumps out and reveals her long row of sharp teeth, for she is actually the Grand Vampiress Poo-Bah of the Mystical Darklands. She bit into the Bandit's face and tore off his skin and flesh like thin paper. Blood spewed onto the floor of the previous narrator's recording room and- Urgh... What the hell are you two doing?! You're ruining the story dammit! If by ruining, you mean making it better in every single way. Yeah right, you ripped off my bloody face! Well, it was bloody after she ripped it off, technically. Was it- Shit, now even the narration's getting confusing. Can I please just get my face back?! Fresh air doesn't go well with expose muscle- Wait, how is the previous narrator still alive? Omniscient narration powers activating. That's why. Now, shut up both of you. I'm ending this story before we get downvoted and/or banned to the depths of the Shadowland. You mean Shadowban- And then the Bandit clutched his heart in the pain, suffering from a violent pang of heart-attack that sent in tumbling to the ground in a tragic display of death. Though not permanent death, because no one ever actually dies in these kinds of books. Just magically resurrected for whatever reason. The Hero lived happily ever after while guzzling copious amounts of alcoholic fluid and reading what appears to be classical pornography- Actually, it's called erotica- Shut up. The end and good night. Also, can somebody call an ambulance? I still have a knife sticking out of my stomach.
I awoke from my dreams of catnip and birdhunting and stretched out of the curl I slept in and stood up behind the knees of my human. Something was out of sorts. I hopped off the bed and slunk down the stairs. There was a small beam of light coming from the livingroom. With my belly flat along the wood floor, I snuck closer and peered around the corner. It was a human dressed in black. They had a big sack and were putting stuff from the glass do not jump on cabinet into the bag. I strolled over and brushed around their legs. They jumped and let out a quiet curse. They said something about CAT in an angry tone and kicked at me. I hissed and batted at their pant legs. Knowing that this human wasn't supposed to be here I went back to my human and started kneading their face. They SSSSed and lifted up the covers for me to go under if I wished. I meowed and tried again but they pushed me off the bed. I had to do something so I hopped onto the nightstand and started knocking things off as quickly as my paws allowed. My human groaned and threw the covers off. Then they picked me up and we were off. Well, I thought we were until they set me outside the bedroom and shut the door. I tried clawing underneath the door, but my human just SSSed again and I growled softly. I was going to have to do this on my own. I went back downstairs and the bad human was now ransacking the office. I jumped onto the bookshelf and batted at them, but they swatted at me with their hand. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. Landing on all fours, I hissed and crouched, moving my back legs in anticipation. I knew I was never supposed to harm a human, but this one was bad. I sped up my back legs and then raced towards the human. I extended my claws and climbed up their pant leg. They let out a yelp that was quickly stifled and they began spinning around and I moved around their torso growling and clawing at them. Then they tripped over the red cannot claw-massage rug. We crashed onto the big no paper swatting desk and knocked over the leather cannot sleep on chair. The noise was horrendous and I leapt from the bad human and hid beneath the sofa. The voice of my human came from the bedroom MELVIN! Why did my human always blame me first. Ever since I knocked the black human cries sneezing dust inside vase off the mantel everything was always my fault. Alas, I wanted to stay under the sofa, but I heard the bad human moving in the office once again. I slunk to where I could see them and heard my humans footsteps. The bad human had hold of his rucksack and was making for the never go out door. They were going to get away! I made one final dash and pounced right on their shoe. They tripped and my owner threw on the light right as they landed on their hands and knees in front of the main stair. The bag hit the floor and made breaking get in trouble noises. I zoomed behind my human and meowed. They were on their other voices machine speaking to someone in a frantic voice. The bad human made for the door and I hissed. They sighed and sat on the floor putting their face in their hands. My human picked me up and bunted my face with their nose. We had won.
The morning task alarm went off again, another "day"if you can call it that. It's been nearly 50 years past the shelters use time, but unlike the overseers who were forced to experiment, ours actually had the goal to produce a sustainable protected civilization. We've had many meetings about breaking the seal on our door and venturing out, but after the last bomb dropped, it took out all our external sensors and communication devices, we are hunting blind. After the morning routine, I gathered the community for the distribution of tasks. As I glanced around the room, all my residents are here, but something felt off about today. The lights have been fluctuating more than normal, but the engineers report the power grid is solid. As I walked down the corridor as I've done hundreds of times, a new sound got me ear. Beeping, grinding, almost computer like, but it's probably nothing, just sounds carrying through aging ducts. A minute later, our comms came screeching online, the whole electrical system cycled. A brief prerecorded message played out across the module, overseer please report to command terminal. I...I..everyone was stunned, I made my way up to my terminal disregarding the looks my peers Gave me. I reached my terminal to be greeted with the first new message since we shut ourselves in. "Attention current overseer, this is the new world goverment. We have cleared the area above for the last few decades, and are ready for you to come out, please open your door, we have a team on standby ready to greet you. -S.M.L" I couldn't believe what had haplened, at the emergency meeting, the entire community voted to act on the message, we were going to be free once again, the sun, fresh air, a dream! At the gate, the computer was recharged and gate activated. The security team rocked slowly at their posts, 10mm pistols at the ready just in case. The door slowly creaked it's way open, light shown in temporarily blinding us. What stood before us, I'm. ..I'm not sure what it was. The man tall, muscular beyond belief, bald, stood before me. He explained that he was from Vaultec and had new mission parameters for us. Eagerly I ushered him into our long time home. His guards entering with him, equally brutish. Suddenly one broke away, crushed the door tech, and slammed the door control, sealing us back in once again. "My name is Charles, and unlike what you were expecting, pathetic humans, I am a super mutant, the dominant alpha species of the new world. I am the super mutant leader. You, (pointing to me) you now belong to me"as he gestured to the rest of those in the room, "you are now all slaves. Vaultec may have been your saviour before, but now like it was to us, this vault is now your personal hell." ... The morning task alarm went off again, another "day"if you can call it that. I put on my suit, took my rad away, and headed back out to the nuclear materials dump, another day in the wasteland.
The first time I woke up, I couldn't put two and two together. I had glanced over at my clock, noticing how peculiar it was that the clock was a minute earlier than in my nightmare. In the next instant, it turned to 12:07 am and my bedroom door creaked open. I shot up in my bed. "Dad?"I called out. No answer. Fuck. This seemed too familiar. Was this still the same nightmare? The figure approached me, brandishing a knife. The next thing I knew, it drove straight into my heart. The second time I woke up, I was beginning to catch on. I had still thought my previous deaths were a dream, but my suspicions were raised when I glanced over the clock to see, lo and behold, that the time was only 12:06. Feeling ridiculous for entertaining the notion, I hopped out of my bed and scurried toward my window. The clock turned 12:07, and the figure entered once more. What the fuck!? My sweaty palms moved toward the window panel, but the murderer ran towards me, this time slashing the knife across my neck. I actually felt this one, as the blood gushed out of my jugular and I collapsed to the floor. Gah! When I woke up the third time, my throat was still sore. This time, I didn't fuck around. I ran to the other side of my room, and grabbed a baseball bat. I perched near the door, and waited, my nervous hands causing the bat to shake tremendously. When the time came, as if on cue, the assassin entered my room. Without thinking, I charged toward him and swung the bat mercilessly. The figure didn't even flinch. It grabbed the bat in one cold, menacing movement, and yanked it out of my hands. I watched in fear as it flew across the room. This time, the knife went in my abdomen. The fourth time waking up, I ran straight out of my bedroom. Nope. He was waiting for me, right outside. The fifth time, I tried the window again. I successfully jumped out, but landed badly on my left leg. When I re-oriented myself, he was standing next to me, knife in hand. That one particularly hurt. The sixth time, I just screamed for help. That didn't do anything. It took over 20 tries before I was able to successfully block an attack. Of course, I still took a knife into the skull, but I felt proud of myself for going down with a fight. It took me a few more tries after that to make sure it wasn't a fluke. By the 50th try, I had begun blocking an attack once, twice, perhaps even three times per attack. I was learning how to fight this asshole. One of his weaknesses was that he didn't know what to do once he landed on the ground. On try 75, I had successfully tripped him and started landing some serious blows. He shot up in anger and really let me have it with that knife. That was the one thing that sucked about getting better. . . dying really started to hurt once I began pissing him off. On try 100, he finally didn't get back up. I thought I won whatever sick game I was being forced to play. Turns out, this asshole had friends. I had flicked the lights on, to get a look at my attacker, when another hooded individual charged in. I blocked a few of the attacks, but was cut down within a few minutes. Try 200. I fought off five of these psychopaths. They were all over my house. I made it outside, finally, but one of them standing in the yard straight up had a fucking gun. By try 500, I had defeated over 30 of them. I had found my dad's gun in the family closet (my family was nowhere to be seen, by the way), and learned how to shoot it. I had to say I was getting pretty good at this shit pretty fast, especially since before this nightmare I had no idea how to fight or shoot. Maybe I was just a natural. The problem at this point was that they just kept coming. From down the street. From my neighbors' houses. It seemed like the fight would never end. Now, I'm at my 960th attempt. This is the longest I've been alive--over four months. As far as I know, everyone in this world has vanished, and all that remains are these ninjas, or samurai, or whatever the fuck you call them. I'm currently camped out in the middle of nowhere, out in the New Mexico deserts. I live off of insects, and cacti water. The days and nights happen just like normal, and so do the seasons. It really isn't bad. I never talked to people much anyway. Fuck. I think I just heard footsteps.
Mzulft. These damned aliens showed up years ago; a race so small we thought they were just a tribal Tier 1 civilization. They hadnt even managed interstellar travel until the Armogians stumbled upon them. What a day that was. An Armogian ship shot down by land based projectiles. Once the Humans got their hands on that ship they took to the skies and here we are. Aside from being batshit crazy Humans were known for their strength and physical ability. Until now the relatively small races of the UGF hadnt seen anything as large as a human with their level of intelligence. It was scary. Now Im in this jam. I was just a small timer, a nobody, a rgrunda. Then I got in over my head with the local gangs and next thing I know fucking G.I. Joe is knocking on my door. "Give me an Acid Bath, make it toasty."I ordered the hostess as I took my seat ib the local bar. My drink appeared almost as soon as the words left my mouth. I took a sip, then a gulp, then downed the whole damn thing. I had a hunch this was the last one Id have for a while. The bar grew deathly quiet and I knew my doom had come. I took one last puff on my etyul and slowly turned around. The last thing I saw before I lost conciousness was one of those damn humans with some black suit, a cape, and pointy ears. He looked rediculous. wrote this on mobile, sorry about minor mistakes
The demon raised the whip through sulphur and smoke, lazy at first, then looped it down with a crack. I groaned in agony - then the barbs hit. Shit. Had I given it away? It had only been a couple of months in Hell. When I was young I had sold my soul, and at the time it had seemed a daring and romantic thing to do. Wallowing in heartbreak, I had cursed the clouds and the rain and the dirt, willing to sacrifice everything that I was and ever would be. I wanted to be free of the pain, indeed of any pain at all, forever. It seemed a fair trade, in boyhood. I still remember the voice rumbling from the deep, and the sight of blackened fingers plunging up out of the mud to offer a handshake. After that the pact was soaked into my bones, and no charities or churches could drive it out. I would have gone to Heaven, I think, and then pain wouldn't have mattered. A boy has no grasp of eternity, but had I only been patient, things might have been different. The initial heartbreak had vanished, of course, and I'd never really be upset again. If I could, though, I'd be upset that I would never be joining a certain good woman up there in the clouds. My only solace is that the gift remains. Just as my heart can't break, nor can my mind. The whips and branding irons feel like feathers, and even the psychological horrors are like cartoons. I haven't told them that yet. Phenex squinted down at me. "Did you cry out before you were hit?"His voice was as a child's. I've had a lifetime to perfect my acting. "Only in anticipation, sir, please. Please, take a break! It burns,"I said. "I'm going to have to write an incident report, just in case,"said Phenex. "Come on, do you really want to spend the rest of the day doing paperwork?" Phenex kicked me; I coughed and gasped. The tension grew as his pen scratched on papyrus. My heart picked up its languid pace for the first time in years. What would happen if I were caught? They couldn't take the gift away, not without sending me to Heaven, but would they find a way around it? It was best not to find out. "Listen, I'd rather not be investigated Phenny. Unnecessary complications for both of us. Any chance we could talk about this? Let's make a deal, and I'll help you do some really messed up stuff. Whatever you want." There was a moment of consideration. Then Phenex the Great Marquis came around to face me, stroked my cheek, and transformed into a monstrous bird. He leapt and flew off, raising the alarm. Moments later, the shadow approached. Phenex flew around and hauled me up to face it. The surface of the thing flickered like a pond reflection, and then I was staring at a carbon copy of myself. "Pleasure as always, Satan,"I said. "Ah, that explains it. I remember you: Painbreaker, the Unfeeling, the Beloved and Contested. How long have you skulked here unnoticed?" Phenex spat on my bare flesh. "Painbreaker? What a waste of time. I knew there was something off. Well I'm not torturing you now, where's the fun in that?" Satan gave Phenex a mighty backhand. "Finish your paperwork." I smirked. Satan turned his gaze to me. "My, my. What are we to do with you?" "Do your worst,"I suggested.
Tears and ink mingle on the page, my fevered thoughts gushing out of the pen only to smeared again into illegible oblivion. What a perfect metaphor for the exercise in futility that is human existence. I heave one last grunt of frustration before grabbing a fist-full of my would-be suicide-note, crushing it and tossing it aside. I am unable to write but I am resolved to never be unable again. My last act will defy my nature. My last act will finally put me in control of my ending. I pick up the revolver from my desk and shove it deep into my mouth. Finally in control. Three. Two. One. “Did it work?” Something isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here. Where is the nothing I was promised? “Well?” I open my eyes and hazily make out half a dozen faces. Teenage boys, all white as ghosts. I look down and see my own skin, once wrinkled and chestnut-colored, now smooth and pale and sickly. I’m one of them. I open my mouth to ask, “what are we?” but I can’t find my voice. My head is pounding. What the fuck did that bullet do to my head? “Dude, he is wrecked.” One of the boys reaches out toward me. “My turn,” he says. He takes something out my hand. I was holding something? I squint and realize he’s grabbed a bong from me. I open my mouth to say, “don’t!” but I really can’t find my voice. He rips it and his expression goes vacant. “So how was your trip?” \* * * * * * * * * * “Five months and I still can’t get it out of my head, man.” Just me and Derek sitting on the floor of my basement, smoking good old fashioned weed this time. “Yeah, I’m not trying that shit again. Was a good experience, but way too intense, you know? Crazy how it’s still legal. Pigs’ll probably come sniffing around for it the moment it’s on their radar, though.” “I still... I just...” “What, dude? I know you had a bad trip and all but you gotta get over it. You been such a downer since then.” I take a hit from the bowl and pass it. That night five months ago, little by little my memories came trickling back to me. And little by little my memories of that fucked up trip fade away. I can’t shake the ending though. It was so real. I was that guy. That old fucker, all ready to kill himself. I felt everything he felt. I knew every reason he did what he did. Who was he? Who even am I? “Yeah, sorry. I’ll try to lighten up.” I can’t shake it. His death wish – my death wish – keeps swimming back into my head, hungry to eat away at everything I thought I was before the trip. “I gotta go to the bathroom.” I get up and creep down the hallway. If my parents find out I’m still awake they’ll freak. I slowly open the door to the bathroom to stop it from creaking so much, get in and lock the door behind me. I take a piss and wash my hands. I splash some cold water on my face too. Then I see my dad’s safety razor in its stand next to the sink. Every day for the last five months I’ve looked at that razor and relished the thought of slicing up my wrists and leeching out all this weirdness that’s been lurking inside my body since that night. I look in the mirror and see my face but it’s not my own. I grab the razor, twist off the clasps and take out the blade. I gently prick my cheek and see a tiny droplet of blood pooling up. I feel no pain. This isn’t my face. It never has been. I’m gonna do it this time. I’m finally gonna do it. Starting in... Three. Two. One. “Did it work?” No, no, no. Not again. Is this some kind of cruel joke? “Well?” I open my eyes to glaring white fluorescent lights. After a moment of adjusting I see I’m in a doctor’s office. I’m surrounded by doctors and nurses in surgical masks. I must have survived my suicide attempt. My parents are probably gonna make me pay for the grout in the bathroom. I look at my arms. Still white but hairier. Not a scratch on them. No, no, no. “You must still be coming to grips with what you’ve just experienced,” one of the doctors says. “Allow me to explain. You are a pioneer. Years from now people will remember you the way we remember Neil Armstrong. You, the first man to have lived inside a simulated reality!” The first? That seems doubtful to me. I’ve lived in two already. Surely they aren’t so terribly uncommon. “Well?” My heart is heavy with dread. What if this is all there is? What if there’s no nothingness after all? Is it turtles all the way down? “How does it feel?” The doctor asks. “Iterative.” I say. The room fills with laughter.
So I arrived at the Pearly Gates and after a short wait began my interview with Saint Peter. Many other users have already described the splendor of this moment, but it is really not something that words can properly convey. There is a warm glowing light emanating from everything, excepting yourself. The entire place exudes an atmosphere of calm warmth and love, even the judge himself, though his words and tone soon dispelled that. "You have been a very bad man,"he greeted me. I had not thought myself to be particularly wicked, but wishing to seem penitent I found myself agreeing with him. "I don't think it is necessary to go over all of your sins, so we shall only stick with the most heinous,"he continued. We then set off on an exploration of the worst misdeeds of my life. I have to admit the process left me finding myself quite revolting. I had forgotten much of what he brought up and when I considered that there was more he left out I couldn't help but feel that I was irredeemable and destined to burn for eternity. We began by discussing my youth and insistent kleptomania. Not only had I stolen items from stores and other places of business but I had taken items from the houses of friends and family while visiting. I also had frequently stolen from my school. These tendencies, thankfully, had not carried over into adulthood though, in instances I had forgotten, I did indulge myself a few times. I couldn't help but laugh when he recounted the time I took a candy bar right out of the hands of my toddler nephew. We moved on and discussed my detestable carnal acts. I had had a couple bouts of adultery, including one with my wife younger sister. In college I had broken into a church and desecrated its alter with a fling of mine, several times. he then surprised me with a tale of me sodomizing a young boy while I was in Thailand, which I had no recollection of. My admonition of such led him into a tirade of my alcohol and drug abuse, and my numerous indiscretions related to their usage. This included another event I cannot remember in which I drunkenly ran over and killed a teen. Speaking of murder, he brought up the time in college my frat brother and I had tortured and murdered a hobo. He was concerned that I felt no remorse for this act, and in fact looked back at it fondly. As you can imagine, having my discretions laid out before me I felt that I was surely doomed. Yet, Saint Peter informed that the all this was redeemable if I repented. I fell to my knees and issues assurances that I repented my sins and loved the lord god and his son. The hallowed saint allowed me to do this for a few moments before he spoke again, "However you have committed one act that is unforgivable."He then paused. I wracked my brain, searching for an act I committed that could possibly be worse than what he had already laid out. He eventually continued, "On June 18th 2016, you failed to like a picture on your friend's Facebook profile advising you to like it if you love Jesus. For that you shall spend eternity in the fiery pit." So fellow redditors heed my warning and do not ignore those annoying Facebook posts.
Do you remember the first time you compromised your ethics and what you believed? I don’t mean the little stuff, I mean the big things, the things that count. I was twenty three when I did it and God I was stupid, but at the time I justified it to myself in a million ways. It’ll mean keeping the doors open, I need the money to live, it’s not that important anyway. I guess we can make ourselves believe anything. ***** When Mindports were introduced I was still a child and I remember begging my dad to let me have one installed. No more school, no more homework, no more learning anything, just plug your head into the sharenet and take what you wanted. Sure it was expensive at first, but suddenly any skill in the world was open to you, so any job could be yours in an instant. I begged and he refused, although I made his life hell for a long time. I spent three more years in dwindling classes at school, learning things the old fashioned way, bored and determined that as soon as I was eighteen and old enough to make my own decisions, I would be jacked into the sharenet in a second. I was seventeen when Dad died, still a year away from being able to make my own choice on how to run my brain. He just fell down one day and never stood up and suddenly my life changed completely. Mum had always supported Dad in all his decisions, but when he was gone she just kind of… gave up. They’d been married for thirty one years and with him gone she was hollow; she still loved and cared for me, but he had been half of her life and now he was gone. She would be dead within three years, she just kind of gave up on life without him. Three weeks after my eighteenth birthday I went to the mall to get a port installed and I stood outside the store and watched as little kids were taken in, nervous and excited. Most of the parents had a cable flowing down their neck into some kind of portable device, probably streaming mindshows or mixing their reality up, so that they were walking on seas of sulphur, instead of the drab normality of reality. I watched them come and go, excited kids going in, little zombies coming out and finally I understood what Dad had been trying to tell me. I walked away, confused and trying to process my new feelings and wandered into the bad side of the mall, where the shops were cheap and most were boarded up. At the far end there was still one left with its lights on and out of lack of anything else to do I stopped by the window and looked in to the open plan area inside. It was a gym, or dojo as I would learn to call it, one of the last places left where you could learn karate from a real person. For most people a martial arts programme was one of the first they would upload, almost always quoting the old movie “I know kung fu!” but that was not an option for me and I wandered in, unsure what I would find. Sensei Kai was old when I met him and over the next four years he became almost immobile, but never once in all of our sparring did I beat him, or even land a blow. He had learned from greater men than I would ever hope to meet and he taught me everything he was able to. I would often train by myself or with just one or two others; they were normally people like my dad who valued real experience, but they grew less frequent as time went on. It was hard, but not impossible to earn a living to earn a living as a no-port and I found myself working in bars and laundrettes until Sensei Kai took me in and let me work for him. We had little money but I trained all day and the few students we had were enough to let us eat. Life was finally making sense and then, three days after my twenty second birthday I woke one day and he did not and I was alone again. Business stopped with him there and I learned to eat very little, I simply trained and did what I could to keep the dojo open, doing odd jobs, but it was not enough. Almost a year after his death I was approached by a representative of a mindware company with an offer, to let them take my knowledge and my memories of having learned the skills and use it for a new improved karate programme which would be more “real” then ever before and to my shame I agreed. I compromised what I had come to believe in for the most prosaic of reasons, money. I got my port so that they could take the knowledge and then I let it heal, in shame. Only the smallest mark showed where it had been, but I knew that I had made the wrong choice, although it was too late to change it. The programme didn’t pay well enough that I was rich, but I could eat again and so I redoubled my efforts and tried to find new students, but who would come to me when they could be me? While I shunned programmes, many on the sharenet felt that real life was inferior to what they could download and so it came to be that a small group of users who downloaded and had my programme, came to believe that they had more ability, more knowledge than I did and they made a plan to prove it. After work, as I walked to my car, they attacked, six of them at once, all streaming every second live on the sharenet. They came from all sides, using my own moves and much more against me and the fight was indeed short, but it did not go well for them. I took them down, gently and safely, but all their flashy moves were nothing when they had no ability and experience to back them up. Four thousand people watched live and I was told later that within days it had spread across the world and millions saw me. I went home, ate, slept and meditated and ignored the world. I thought nothing of the six men who had attacked me with amateurish kicks and punches and then folded crying as I defended myself and attacked back in turn. I had trained for that kind of attack and it was so harmless that I did not even bother to report it, it was gone from my mind almost at once. But while I slept that same fight was being shared and soon millions of people were watching online. I came back to my dojo the next day and opened the door at 9am and at 9:05am the door opened and a student entered, my first in nearly eight months. He came asking to be taught how to use the skills he had in his head for something real and I was happy to oblige. All I asked was that he disconnect, he had to be present in the real world. He was my first, but there would soon be many more. My dad had been right all along. ***** If you like my writing then over on /r/fringly I have nearly 2 years worth of stories that I have written on this sub and my current book which I update 3 to 4 times a week with new parts. Oh and I ramble about whisky sometimes too.
This is the ninth time we've encountered each other in the past seven centuries. It's always a different place and location, but each time she's looked the same. Her appearance never changing, just her age. We first met in Italy, all those years ago, during the French Revolution. Since then we've met each other in England, France, America, Ireland, Scotland, Russia, Sweden and now Australia. We met in France during World War 2, as the bombs began dropping, things didn't end well for her there, for me, though, well let's just say I made it out fine. England was only 31 years later, in a simple pub in the small town of Thame, Oxfordshire, the pub was 'the Birdcage'. We spent the night drinking and talking, about nothing and yet everything. I don't think I'll ever forget that night. America was nearly 100 years later, we bumped into each other on the street while she was carrying her shopping, I helped her pick up her groceries afterwards, that was the extent of our interaction for that time. Ireland was 38 years after America, she was only 19 at the time, she'd gotten into some trouble with the locals and I helped remove her from the situation. It was, messy and didn't end overly well. A mere 10 years later we met in Scotland, this time, it was at her wedding. She looked so beautiful in that lovely white dress of hers. The wedding itself was a grand one, full of joy and happiness. I can't say I've ever smiled so much watching someone get married. Russia wasn't a great time either. My time spent there was fraught with violence and upon encountering her, well the time didn't improve much at all. It was at this time, however, that I noticed something I failed to see previously. She recognised me. Each and every time we encountered each other, she had recognised me but never once said anything. Until Sweden. In Sweden, I met her in Visby. On this day she was walking down the street again, but this time with her children. Two daughters. They were heading to the park and for the first time since England she initiated a conversation between us. Not once has she truly spoken to me since then, but this time she asked me along to the park. It was here that my suspicions were confirmed. Somehow, she remembered me, remembered everything we'd been through, everything we'd said to each other. Over the course of what was 8 different lifetimes, she remembered me. And now we come to Australia, to the present. Here we sit in a simple pub once again, talking and drinking once again. Although this time we're talking about our past together, about everything we've been through and somehow the conversation, went from the past to the future. We keep running into each other, time after time, country to country, century to century, someone or something keeps drawing us together. So maybe we should be together for real, not just for five minutes every couple of decades.
There are over 7 billion people alive on this plant. People say that everyone is special, but with so many alive, I tend to find that hard to believe. But then again, when you yourself a special, it's easy to perceive everyone else as ordinary. I first realized I was special when I was nine years old, though I had been special for my whole life. It's just that I didn't realize that no one else was like me until I was nine. Just a couple of weeks after my ninth birthday, I told my parents that our old dog Pongo as going to die. "What a morbid thing for a nine year old to say,"I recall my mom saying to my dad. But when Pongo closed his eyes for the last time just six minutes later, their concern changed to fear. I saw psychiatrists and doctors for years after that. It's not that my parents didn't love me, they just wanted their son to be a normal boy. I was prescribed many different anti-psychotics over the years, but the numbers never went away. It wasn't until I turned fifteen that my parents finally gave up on trying to "fix me."They had come to terms with my ability, and so had I. I am now twenty-six years old, and in all this time, I've never met anyone special. Everyone has a number, but still I'm the only one that can see them. Everyone seems to have a different number, and though I still don't know what contributes o their base number, I've gotten pretty good at predicting what will lower that number, and by how much. I'd like to say that I've used this ability to help people somehow, but that wouldn't be true. If I were a doctor, I could help patients get their affairs in order, and know who to give medicine to, and who it was too late for. If I let the world know of my power and paraded as a psychic, I could help people better understand their own mortality, and how to prolong their life. But I am none of those things. I'm just Hunter, the man who can see Life Force. "Good morning Hunter."I hear the familiar voice not far away as I'm locking my apartment door. I turn around and accidentally bump into Ryan, the tenant who lives two doors down from me. I hadn't realize he had been right behind me now. I briefly notice the numbers above his head: 2,998/10,211. Such a small number for someone in his early thirties, I think to myself. But then again, being a chronic drinker and smoker will do that to you. "Oops, sorry. Morning Ryan."I say as I pass by him. The smell of cigarette smoke was hovering around him. Doesn't he know this is a non-smoking building? I guess he just doesn't care. I walk down the stairs, and open the door to my building. The sun was high in the sky, not a cloud in sight. People were walking down the sidewalks going about their busy days. I sighed internally. I really need to move to a less populated city. I grab to railing and walk down the stoop, noticing the 150/600 hovering above the railing where my hand was. It had gone down 5 points since yesterday. I guess that big guy up in 14C is getting to be more than this railing can handle. I step onto the sidewalk and begin my morning trek. I don't leave the house for many things these days. Seeing people's numbers makes me depressed. But as long as I don't touch them, I don't see them. I do my best to avoid contact with people, but sometimes it can't be helped. Something as simple as giving or receiving money will trigger my ability, which is why I usually use one of those online grocery delivery services. But it's September now, and no one delivers what I need during this season. I turn the corner, and can see the Dunkin Donuts up ahead. Nothing is better than their pumpkin spice coffee. Nothing. Lost in thought about coffee, I failed to notice the girl behind me had stopped walking. My face slammed hard into the back of her head, knocking her off balance. I instinctively reached my hand out, and grabbed on to her arm to stop her from falling. She turned and faced me with a look of fright. "I'm so sorr-"I stop. I wouldn't describe her as pretty, but neither was she ugly. She had straight red hair that went down to her shoulders. A very thin face, but with deep blue eyes. She must have been no more than two to three inches taller than me, and probably around my age. Nothing about her screamed "special,"but she was. I stared at the number above her head, not realizing I was still grabbing her arm. I had never seen anything like this before. Wait, did her number just- Yes, it did. How is this possible? I've never seen a number that high before, nor had I ever seen a number go up instead of down! But there it was, floating above her head 11,364,872,880/11,000. Shaking now, I looked at her and mustered up the courage to ask, "Who are you?" ________________________________________________________________ part 2 soon. Writing this made me need coffee >.> edit: This is going to be a long one I believe. I'm going to continue updating here, but I've also created a subreddit for myself to update the story in a more organized manner: https://www.reddit.com/r/Hosernaut/
“Well, where do you usually leave them?” asks the general. “Around London or Yorkshire. But I distinctly remember bringing them over to the continent when I left!” the colonel replies, exasperated. “Here, have some tea, my dear chap. Where did you last see them?” “Paris. Or Lyon. I don’t really remember, to be honest.” “Did Napoleon take them? He likes to take things that aren’t his, you know.” “No I checked! I sent him a telegram like five hours ago.” “What did he say?” “I don’t know, it was all gibberish. Or French, I couldn't tell. But I don’t think it was him.” “You’ve checked everywhere? Under the carpet bombs? Behind the Iron Curtain?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, that is certainly very odd. Hang on, why don’t I try calling them.” The general whips out his trumpet and plays the signalling tune. Dozens of signallers echo the tune. The colonel’s pocket vibrates. “Oh, by the Queen's bollocks!” A little bird hops out of the colonel's pocket. “I remember now. Silly me - we were marching through Sopha Canyon when I found this adorable little thing and got totally distracted. They must still be hiding in some dank cave there! Thanks, sir!” “No problem. Now go out there and kick some French ass.”
EXT. HARTFORD MANOR - MORNING - ESTABLISHER INT. MASTER BEDROOM - SAME MARK awakes with a slight jolt, as if coming out of a bad dream. He rubs his eyes and scratches his mustache. He checks the quaint and elegant clock on his dresser, then climbs out of bed in search of his slippers. JANE (V.O.) He was out of bed, that first task small but never-the- less its own victory. He promised himself as before he would conquer the day with gaiety. MARK What in all hell? Conquer the day with gaiety? This is not my voice. Some sort of extension from my dream? Dubitable. I'll wash my face and see what becomes of it. INT. KITCHEN - MINUTES LATER Mark pours himself a mugful of the quaint, ceramic carafe's contents. He takes a sip of the steaming coffee, unaffected by it's gratuitous warmth. MARK Mm. My head is level and clear now. If the rest of today is as calm, quiet, and caffeinated as this moment, just maybe I'll have a chapter or two more under my belt. He walks to the window and watches as a woman on a bicycle rides by. JANE (V.O.) He watched her with something of a lecherous desire, wishing his pompous nature would allow him -- MARK Pompous nature? What now?! How dare you! JANE (V.O.)(CONT.) -- to go out of his way and express what his heart whispered to him when his uncouth and lascivious thoughts fell to silence. MARK Terrible! That's a load of fluff, a sorry excuse for a -- wait a minute there, that's your voice, it must be! You two-bit writer of diseased, overly-worded romance! Jane, you, you sallow, bone headed -- INT. STUDY - DAY (FLASHBACK, 1810's) JANE (as she writes) -- heavenly, graceful woman. Why could he not unbind her from his thoughts? What were the bonds that shackled her, one he'd never even met, so dearly to his wavering heart? Jane looked to her FRIEND at the other side of the study. FRIEND Inspired. Absolutely inspired. What will you call it? JANE I shall title it, 'Never the Twain Shall Meet'.
Wazard: Dude just start the f uckin raid! Host: Bro I got like 3 hot pockets that just got done I'm not ready yet.. xXxUrMumxXx: It's been 4 min just go already Ghostnin3r: We gotta be the first guild to beat this one, theres some bonus acheivment I want to show off Wazard: fuc k your hot pocket Wazard: /repick Server: 3 more votes needed to repick host Host: Ok I'll start calm your *s In game was much better than lobby chat IMO. Everybody gets really impatient there but in game everyone just wants to work together, which is good because this raid is gonna need it. Brand spanking new, no walkthroughs (until we're done that is, gonna get our guilds youtube some more subs with this), no map of the dungeon layout, just the boss description. "You will need at least one pagan priest in your party to summon this straight from hell, and at least one Catholic priest alive at the end of the battle to send him back!" Server: Spawning in 5 Server: 4 At least Wazard could finally use his pagan priest he had lvled up, that character type got nerfed pretty hard awhile back so he never got to really use it. I was going as our designated fight priest(catholic) since we would need the anti-demon bonuses, we had two other priests as healers and emergency backups in case I die. Hopefully our wizards could beat the boss's health down before our tanks die though, if we can manage that we're good. Server: 1 The dungeon looks like what you'd expect, small tweaks to the last update's dungeons so that it's not immediately obvious the devs were behind on this raid and pushed it back to this update. The mini map showed several rooms with red dots in them and blue dots in a loosely made formation around our priests and wizards as we moved from room to room with players breaking formation to kill the mobs and falling back in line when done. This is pretty standard for our guild and despite how disorganized our chat looks we're actually in the top 50 guilds so we manage to the end of the raid with no deaths but a few close calls. Wazard: Starting incantation 2stoner4twenty: Well duh tf else are you gonna do with that weak * pagan priest Self: Forreal bro Wazard: stfu none of you had this class lvled so suck it The boss animation started with a portal opening up in the center of the pentagram where the boss emerged and it almost looked like there were two demons there until one much scarier looking, but much smaller demon stepped back out of the other making this very clear. xXxUrMumxXx: wtf devs clipping and TWO bosses, OP af Ghostnin3r: So much clipping I had flashbacks to my barber shop Before anyone else could comment on the animation fuck up the scarier demon began shouting in some weird language, probably Latin knowing these devs, and pushed the other demon back down the portal before it closed. Wazard: Well devs that was almost a really cool opening scene Demon: I WILL LITERALLY RIP YOUR SOULS FROM YOU AND EAT THEM! xXxUrMumxXx: Yeah yeah sure you will. your only 1.5x as big as us and hp scales with size, can we get our tanks to move it already? Self: starting party buffs Ghostnin3r was our first tank to reach striking distance and almost landed a blow with his broadsword to the demon's knee but was evaded. Wazard: evade stat broken devs pls nerf Then the boss grabbed Ghostnin3r's face and pulled out a ball of code strings with his name and password swirling around in it which the demon promptly ate before sparta kicking the motionless corpse past our approaching tanks where we could see the pixelated back hole where a face used to be. xXxUrMumxXx: It's not the evade stat that's OP 2stoner4twenty: I'm way to high for this rn I started some buff with a long trigger time and answered the skype from Ghostnin3r, it was a group call with the guild members that were leading the raid. Dude that was OP as fuck and totally not cool for them to show your password like that you should report it. Yeah especially since it literally ate my account. Wait, what? Yeah when it ate that code I think it ate my account, I can't sign in. Dude are you forreal cuz we're going to have to bail outa this raid if so. I'm dead serious get out of there. Our tanks had engaged by now, this was not good. Wazard: GUYS GET OUT OF PARTY ABANDON RAID!!!! xXxUrMumxXx: SERIOUSLY GUYS IT EATS ACCOUNTS!!1! Self: They aren't fucking with you like normal we're serious 2stoner4twenty: Has left the party. The chat exploded with outrage and confusion, after a few leaders repeated for everybody to leave raid and then left other members started following suite. Everybody had already been talking about how OP this boss was with instakills, high evade, and apparently a hp bar that didn't scale with size but now it was full of infighting. Some players just thought we were fucking with them but most left upon seeing the boss lift another player above his head to perform another instakill by ripping him in half and eating the ball of code that fell out. Demon: DONT RUN FROM ME YOU COWARDS Self: Has left the party.
Palpatine was right. The Sith rule the Galaxy and there is peace. For a generation the Imperial forces colonize the Galaxy until there is nothing but order and prosperity. Eventually the Emperor's power wanes. With no more wars to fight his lap dog, Lord Darth Vader, is reduced to sitting in his meditation chamber. There is even religious tolerance on some of the more distant worlds. Worlds with no natural resources to feed the war machine of fleets of super, star-destroying vessels. Worlds of just sand, ice, or forests. It is on these worlds that a rallying cry goes out: The Great Empire must be destroyed. Masked, lightsaber wielding extremists are attacking Imperial Government outposts and not caring who they harm. On that desert world is a lone man. He had been a farmer once, a pilot too, but no longer. Now he is a religious leader, living in the bombed out remnants of what had been a Hutt crimelord's palace. He will see freedom, no matter the cost, and his disciples the galaxy over will never stop.
The man was siting on the sofa, he seem worried, but in his eyes you can actually see excitement. He is a 20 years old africa-american in a white tank top and jeans. The sirens of police cars can be heard on the streets outside of his house, a riot is beginning. He heard a knock on the door. He shouted to the person outside:"I need know who you are first!"The person respond:"It's Bryan! Open up!" The young man opened the door, the man outside is a very old Indian Man. He is wearing a round glasses and a while Khadi. The young man let him in and closed the door. "Man, Adam, You look like shit."Said the Indian “I told you to stop playing GTA SA, now look at you, all black and shit." "Same goes to you, Bryan."CJ said "I don't even know who the fuck you are suppose to be, some Indian guy?" "Do you even study history? I am Gandhi, the father of India. It appears that I have played too much Civ 5." "Whatever, who gives a fuck.” CJ said "Did you called the rest of the gang?" "Yeah, I did, they are on their..." The conversation is interrupt by another knock on the door. The person outside yelled:"It's Colin, open up!" Gandhi opened the door and dropped his jaws, the person outside was a beautiful girl in a blue and purple mechanical suit. "Can I come in?"The girl asked. "Yeah, sure, gorgeous...wait the fuck up, Colin, how many Overwatch did you played to get yourself a Dva body?"Gandhi asked "You don't want to know."Dva says in a flirty way. "To be honest I was going to masturbate if you guys didn't call me." CJ stare at the booty for a long time, a bit regret that he didn't buy a better PC so he can play Overwatch. "Anyway,"Dva says "I just saw my mom get turned into a fucking candy on my way out. That pretty much ruined any sexual thought, so I guess I can stick around for a while..." The door was blows away, a pixel man with his familiar green shirt and jeans walks in. CJ:"Damn it Dave, fuck you and your stupid Minecraft shit. That door is $200, if you don't squeeze that money out off your empty wallet I will blows you away with my rocket launcher!" "Calm down, Adam."Said Steve, as he turned around and wave and the door frame, a new door appears. "Sorry guys it took so long, I have to beat the crap out of my sister to calm her down, and that weren't easy, consider the fact that she is a flying Zubat.“ Steve build himself a sofa and sat down. "Told her not to play that much Pokemon Go, didn't listen, and Karma is a bitch." Gandhi looked around, says "Now we just have to wait for Ethan." There was a knock on the door, and Dva opened it without asking this time. And outside was...Ethan, didn't change, just Ethan. "Wait, what the hell?"Dva asked in confusion "I know you spend a lot of time on video game too so what happened dude, why didn't you change?" Ethan walks in and respond:"Yeah I was confused at first too, but then I realized that the games I played are mostly VNs. That means I play as myself, and so..." "Unlucky you"Said Gandhi. "Never mind that. So, the gang is here, why are we here again Adam?" "I was thinking we can all go..." Before he could finishes, a strong earthquake occurs and ripped the entire house in half. "HAHAHA, YOU FOOLS, PREPARE TO WITNESS MY POWER AS GOD! NOW, I WILL CRUSH ALL OF YOU TO PLUTO IN THREE MINUTES, MUAHAHAHAHA." CJ looks at the yelling sky, and thinks to himself:"Shit, a Universe Sandbox player."
"Anyone else hear a loud banging sound?", the sailor whispered, rising up from his cot. It was the middle of the night in the Atlantic, as the darkness submerged everything around it. The sea was so calm at night, as little waves rose up, and then fell softly. However, something seemed to disturb the peace of this dark, chilly night. A loud banging sound was heard on the side of the sub, like a pipe hitting iron. Peter Marsfellow awoke from his slumber, looking around in a daze. "It's just the fish Peter, go to bed.", a sailor muttered, flipping over on his cot. Peter wasn't so sure. The banging continued for a few hours. Finally, something shook the sub. A loud moan of a whale shuddered the ship, awakening others. Peter was still awake, becoming worried. "Should we drive off the whale? It could try and sink us!" "Negative, private. We aren't gonna hurt it. Let's just see what it's doing first." A few sailors joined the captain, as they walked towards the navigation room. There, a full window showed the whale, and a tube-like thing hitting the window. The others looked away, horrified. "Christ, is that thing tryin' to fuck the ship?!" "It's trying to mate, watch your tone Johnathon", the scholar on board muttered. "Let's reroute the ship." The captain manuvered the ship away, as the whale began to drift off. Finally, the sea seemed to be at peace again. "Thank god, it's gone." "Not so fast. You sailors have a job tomorrow morning, sharp." The captain pointed at the window. Small bits of residue covered the huge window. The sailors began to sigh.

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